The George Elms Trilogy Box Set

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘Ryker, you still there?’ George had abandoned the phone in the passenger seat. It had connected to the car and the timer ticked up on the screen.

  ‘Yeah, George. You sure you want to leave Harry in charge of the tactics? They’re not the most subtle.’

  ‘I’m not looking for subtle, to be honest. If they choose to stop that car with just four officers they will need to be anything but subtle. Are you turning out?’

  ‘I can if you want me to. Or I can head back into the nick and run the intel cell. Once you get them nicked I can make a start on a report for the morning.’

  ‘Yeah, okay. Makes sense.’

  ‘Are you coming into the nick? There’s nothing you can do now the armed team are on their arse. Apart from get in the way and get yourself shot. I’ll put the kettle on.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Ryker, I can drink tea any time. It’s not every day you can go and get shot at.’

  ‘There’s me thinking you might have had enough of that?’

  George chuckled as he pressed for the call to end. He could feel his own excitement growing. He was in the one-way system that took him to the top of the town. He needed an update. He picked his radio back up.

  ‘George to the team . . . do we have a last location? I am in Langthorne heading out towards Canterbury.’

  ‘Yes, yes. The asset is in North Elham. They are on the Elham Valley Road, headed in the general direction of the A2.’

  The A2. It was a major road that provided a link from the port of Dover to London and eventually became the M2. It would make sense for a gang based out of the county to make for it. It was the closest main road — the best option if they were looking to flee the county. George could only assume that was their intention. He didn’t like knowing so little about them. ‘Understood. I’ll take the A260 and join the A2. Have you caught up with it yet?’

  ‘No, no. We’re five minutes out. It’s not travelling fast, but we might not get to it before we get to the A2.’

  ‘Dammit!’ George spoke out loud but not into his radio. The team’s start point must have been too far away. Somewhere that did good coffee, he guessed. This time he did speak into the radio: ‘Received. Consideration for calling up on the main channel and getting a rolling road on the A2? You could get a sterile area to work in.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Doing it now. The A2 isn’t ideal though, George. You can’t cover the slips.’

  A ‘rolling road’ was a police term for a marked unit blocking all lanes of a major road or a motorway and bringing it down to a crawling pace or even a stop. It worked better on motorways where the options for cars to join it were limited. Harry had a point: cars could join the A2 from too many points to make it truly sterile. George focussed on his driving. He was making good progress, the flashing blue lights in the grille were vivid in the darkness, so he didn’t even need the sirens. He passed through the village of Hawkinge and powered towards the A2. He wasn’t too far behind.

  The next update seemed to take an age to come through. ‘All patrols, the asset is approaching the slip for the A2. Local patrols and traffic are a long way out. They are making their way, but we are unlikely to get a sterile area. We are still making ground . . . we should have a visual in under a minute.’

  They must have picked up speed. George was close to the slip to the A2 himself; they were all converging together.

  ‘We have a visual. A dark-coloured Land Rover Freelander with a horsebox. The vehicle is stop. Stop. Standby.’

  George was just a minute behind. The radio went quiet, it was a sure sign of police activity — everyone caught up in the moment and forgetting to relay what was going on. He got to the slip, the last location he knew them to be in. Immediately he could see the darkness shimmering in blue in the distance. He couldn’t see the source. He slowed up. To his left was H’s Café, a solid building just off the slip that was popular with bikers. George reckoned the blue lights were coming from the other side of that, further up the A2 maybe. They didn’t look to be moving.

  George edged forward. The road split in to two forks: left led around the back of the café; right took him onto the A2 where he would be committed. He took the left fork. A yard opened up in front of him. To his right was the shadow of a large, square building. George knew it had been a hotel once. It had been closed down for almost as long as he could remember. The blue lights were still further away. The road turned into a track as he passed along the front of the building. He could just see part of a static caravan in the distance, tucked around the side of the old hotel.

  George rounded the building and the blue lights were immediately blinding. Two cars, both flickering their lights, blocked in a Land Rover with a horsebox attached to the rear. Both the doors to the Land Rover were open. George could hear shouted instructions but he couldn’t make out the words. He knew he should hang back; the armed team would be moving in with their guns and body armour. He was dressed in a shirt and trousers with a small torch — hardly ready for anything. He moved a little closer then stopped. He hesitated, unsure as to whether he should continue, not wanting to go back. Suddenly he heard a loud pop — a gunshot — then another two in quick succession. There were more shouted instructions. George couldn’t stand still any longer. He moved forwards.

  Sergeant Harry Robson was immediately recognisable, despite his ballistic helmet and partial face covering. George expected to be shouted at; to be sent away while they neutralised any threat. Instead, Harry met him with wide eyes, his gun still levelled.

  ‘They wouldn’t listen, George,’ he said, the shock clear in his voice.

  George strode past him. Two more officers were kneeling on the ground. They were fussing and barking at each other. George could see a pair of legs sticking out from under them. He moved closer. A man was lying on the floor, his front soaked in blood, his eyes wide open and unmoving, his skin already draining of colour. George knew a dead man when he saw one. One of the officers was pushing a clump of gauze into the dead man’s chest; the other was doing his best to carry out CPR. George looked around; he counted three officers. There were four on the team.

  ‘Harry, who’s missing?’

  The sergeant still had his gun covering the scene on the floor. His eyes were fixed on the activity. He seemed rooted to the ground.

  ‘Harry? HARRY!’

  His eyes flicked to George. ‘They wouldn’t listen, George.’

  ‘You had no choice, Harry, okay? It happens. You did your job. Where’s the fourth man? There were four of you, right?’

  Harry seemed to come to his senses. He looked panicked. ‘Goddes. He ran after the other one. They went into the woods.’ He pointed to a path behind George. It ran off parallel to the A2. George shone his torch in the general direction. The path twisted away and it was impossible to see far down it. He could hear shouting from further along the path. George broke into a run.

  PC Goddes was just twenty metres into the woods. George lit him up from the back. He could tell from Goddes’s stance that he had his weapon levelled. It was pointed at the ground and had a torch strapped to the top.

  ‘Don’t move!’ he was shouting. ‘Hands where I can see them.’

  George got to him. A man was on the ground in front of Goddes. He leaked blood from a wound under his right eye — it looked superficial. He was in just a T-shirt and jeans. Both were filthy. The mud under him was damp and reflected George’s torchlight.

  ‘Don’t shoot! I’ve got nothing, yeah?’ George could see this was just a boy — late teens maybe. He lifted his hands, his palms towards George and PC Goddes.

  ‘Get on your knees!’ Goddes said. ‘Place your hands on the back of your head. Any sudden movement will be seen as aggression and you will be shot dead, do you understand?’ Goddes stepped closer, the barrel of his gun just a few feet from the boy who moved to his knees. His head jerked in a nod. ‘Do you have any weapons?’ The boy shook his head. ‘Sir, can you pat him down. Stay out of the line of fire. Do his top half fir
st. When you’re happy, step away and I’ll stand him up, okay?’

  ‘No problem,’ George said. The instructions were clear. PC Goddes’s training had well and truly kicked in. George was careful to walk behind the boy. ‘Keep your hands still and on your head or he will shoot you. Do you understand?’ The boy nodded again. George could see his waistband was clear, his T-shirt had ridden up when he had lifted his arms and George could see a few inches of his back and stomach. George patted the centre of his back and his armpits.

  ‘Top half done!’ He called out.

  Goddes took over the instructions. ‘When I tell you to, you will stand up slowly. Keep your hands on your head at all times. Any movement will be seen as aggression and you will be shot dead. Do you understand?’

  The boy nodded once more. George could see that he was physically shaking.

  ‘Stand up now, slowly.’

  The boy did as he was told. George waited for a nod from Goddes. He went through his pockets and down his legs. He patted his ankles and untied his laces.

  ‘Kick your shoes off,’ George said.

  The boy didn’t hesitate. He was wearing loose-fitting trainers and no socks. He put his bare feet back down in the damp mud.

  George searched the shoes. ‘Nothing,’ he said.

  Goddes’s body language relaxed a little. He kept his weapon levelled. The torch on the top was bright and the boy narrowed his eyes to it. He relaxed a little too. His head dipped and he sniffed. George didn’t want him to relax. He needed information.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Cole. People call me Cole. Colin.’

  ‘Where’s your mate, Cole?’ George said.

  ‘What mate?’

  ‘Don’t fuck about. You’re part of a gang, right? So where’s the rest of your gang?’

  ‘There was two. Only two of us. I wasn’t even driving. I just came out to help. I got nothing to do with this.’

  ‘Nothing to do with what?’

  ‘Any of this. Jimmy . . . he just said to come out and help him pick up a trailer. That was it. I did what I was told.’ The boy sniffed again and his eyes flicked away, back to the muddy ground. George knew he was lying. He’d had enough of being lied to.

  George lunged at him and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He pulled Cole’s face in close to his own. ‘You were there, right? When the old lady was shot . . . when she was murdered? Did you pull the trigger, you piece of shit?’

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’ The boy stammered over his words. George wrenched him to his feet, grabbed his arm and twisted it up his back. The boy cried out in pain. George shoved him back down the path, forcing him to walk on his tiptoes, his bare feet scraping over the woodland floor. He pushed him back into the clearing. The car lights and torches lit up the scene. George pushed the boy onto his knees — just a few metres from where his accomplice was lying dead on the ground, on his back, his head lolling towards them, his eyes bolt open and reflecting the pulsing blue lights. The two police officers who had been working on him had the same shocked look as their sergeant.

  ‘Jesus, Jimmy!’ Cole said.

  ‘He’s dead, Cole. Shot dead. Who else was here?’

  ‘No one else! No one else was here. Me and Jimmy were sent out. It was a simple job — get the trailer. There’s a lock box in the back. Two man job.’

  ‘What happened at the farmhouse, Cole? You shoot that lady?’

  ‘Sir?’ Goddes stepped towards him. George raised his hand; his attention was still fixed on Cole.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘He’s dead, Cole. Look at him. LOOK AT HIM!’ George grabbed Cole again and dragged him another metre. Cole was now so close to Jimmy that they were nearly touching. Jimmy’s wide eyes stared into nothing, his lips already a dark blue in the torchlight. Cole recoiled, but George grabbed him by the hair and forced him to look.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing, man? You can’t do this!’ Cole screamed.

  ‘He’s dead. Jimmy’s dead, Cole. All I’ve got left is you. I’m gonna make sure you go to prison for the rest of your life for shooting that woman. I promise you that.’ Cole tried to move his head.

  ‘I didn’t shoot her, alright? We were just supposed to be there to pick up the cash. I didn’t know what it was all about. Next thing I knew it all got out of hand and I was running for my life.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Cole was starting to break. He clenched his eyes shut to the torchlight and the vision of his dead mate.

  ‘Joe and Jimmy never got on. Everyone knew it. Joe didn’t think we were getting enough of the cut, so he started skimming some. Joe said we could stash a bit up at a farm down here. We were going to share it out and fuck Jimmy off. We’d drop a bit down here and there. It was far enough that Jimmy wouldn’t find out.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘We get up there and the old lady comes out to meet us. Joseph knew her, I didn’t know, but it’s like his mum or something. That’s why we went to see her. She moved the cash about the place apparently, so her old man don’t find it. Then he comes down — the old man. He’s proper angry. Joe argues with the lady about his sleeping pills. I think she was supposed to load him up. The old man’s got a gun. Fuck knows what for — we all knew he was just shitting with us. Even when he shot one off over our heads, I never thought nothing. Joseph called him out — said he didn’t have the balls. He was winding him up. He come stomping out. The old lady shouted at him and he just shot her, man! I didn’t see it coming. It was like it was from nowhere.’

  ‘Who shot her?’

  ‘The old man. She begged him. She begged him to leave Joe alone and then she was on her back. The second she hit the deck we were gone. I mean, I never ran so fast. We got in our truck and we were gone. That night, though, it was such a mess that Jimmy got to find out about what we did. One of the crew called him up. I think we figured that he was going to find out and he would know what to do. We were all shitting it. We all played Joe. We got our stories straight blaming him. It was his fault after all. We said that we thought we were there to get the money for Jimmy. We said that Joe had told us that’s what we were doing. Joe tried to run. Jimmy was pissed. I mean, I’ve never seen anything like it. He was on some rampage. He had like a shotgun and something else tucked in his waist. It was the middle of the day! We got hold of Joe and he went after his girl. He wanted her dead real bad. He wanted to be the one to tell Joe when he did it too. There’s summin’ wrong with him in the head.’

  George pushed Cole back to the floor. He stepped away. He was suddenly aware that all the officers were staring at him. He could hear sirens too, more patrols arriving. Harry must have called up on the main channel. Harry still looked in shock.

  ‘We need to get him away, George. We need to clean this up.’

  George nodded. ‘Yeah, we certainly need to do that.’

  Chapter 32

  7:30 a.m. George pulled down the drive of the farmhouse with Paul Bearn in the seat next to him. Their car disturbed a layer of light mist that hung under a blue sky. The farmhouse appeared as a dark outline at first. George could see cars parked on the drive outside. One he recognised: an unmarked police car that was the same make and model as his. He knocked the door and was answered almost immediately by a smiling Louise.

  ‘George! Good to see you. I didn’t think you would be coming up so early.’

  George stepped in. Paul followed him in behind. They had come in through the main entrance. The kitchen was straight ahead, the large living room off to the right. George hadn’t been expecting anyone to be there, least of all Jenny. Hers was the next face he saw. She stood just inside the living room. She turned to smile at him too. A suited man stood next to her; George had worked with him some time before on a witness protection case.

  George moved into the lounge. At the far end, in front of the fireplace, was Stanley Wingmore. Baby Isobel was in his arms. Stanley hadn’t noticed Ge
orge yet. He didn’t look like he would notice anything; his attention was fixed on the tiny bundle that slept soundly in his arms. He was spinning gently on his scuffed floorboards, slowly and with a rhythm no one else could hear. George was close enough to hear his soft humming by the time he was back round to face him. Stanley raised his head, his face flushed with colour. George recognised it as pride.

  ‘Did you know? About little Isobel here?’

  ‘I did, Stan. We didn’t work it out straight away. When I knew, I spoke to Louise about the best way to tell you.’

  ‘It’s the circle of life, George, that’s what it is. A tiny miracle. The family goes on. The next generation. I had no idea.’

  ‘I need to talk to you, Stan. Alone.’

  Stan pushed his little finger into Isobel’s fist and she gripped it, her eyes still shut. Stan looked up at George. His expression didn’t change. The pride and the colour remained.

  ‘I thought you might. Jenny, love!’ Jenny moved over and Isobel was gently transferred. ‘Jenny here is going into protection for a little while. You probably know that already though, right?’ Stan said.

  ‘I do. I promised her we would look after her. I didn’t know she was coming up here to see you, though, Stan. It was something we were looking to arrange.’

  ‘I know. Louise said you were going to sort something out, but we just couldn’t wait. Louise tracked her down. She knows someone who works the reception at the hospital. An old friend from before she moved. They were able to get a message to Jenny here and she was happy to come up and see us. I’m so happy she did.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Stan,’ Jenny said. ‘She’s your granddaughter after all.’

  ‘She’s beautiful, Jenny. Absolutely perfect.’

  ‘I think so too.’

  ‘Do you mind if I just have a couple of minutes with the Inspector here? I think he has something important to talk to me about.’