Buried - DC Jack Warr Series 01 (2020)

by LaPlante, Lynda

  CHAPTER 28

  Barry was squatting in the corner of the kitchen, feeding a tiny tortoiseshell cat. His forearm was in a cast and the plaster was covered in penned obscenities, mainly drawings, from various army mates. Four kittens lay in a cut-down crisp box under the workbench and when the mother climbed back into the box, three of the little kittens smelt their way straight to her and fed like there was no tomorrow – but the smallest didn’t stir. Barry picked this little one up, took it out of the back door and, moments later, came back empty-handed. The mother cat didn’t even look up.

  This property was a ground floor flat in a four-storey terraced house. From the outside, it looked rather opulent, but this part of Essex had recently been reclaimed by the council to create housing for soldiers. One of Barry’s army buddies, Topper, lived there in between deployments but, today, Topper had gone to Colchester Garrison for a stint at training the Army Reserve. He’d be away for three days and had said that Barry could lie low until whatever shit he was in had passed.

  Barry made himself a cuppa and went into the front room. A camp bed stood upright against the wall in the corner of the room and, behind the armchair, were two khaki rucksacks – one small, one large. Barry was trying to take up as little living space as possible. As he settled down to watch a movie from Topper’s extensive horror collection, he was oblivious to the vast number of eyes on him.

  *

  Ridley wasn’t part of the Armed Response Unit briefing, but he knew that he’d get the nod when the time was right. He and his team would follow at a distance and, when Barry was disarmed and prone on the ground, they’d move in for the arrest. Intelligence had confirmed that Barry had no army-issue weapons in his possession, but Ridley was taking no chances with someone who had been part of the armed gang from the 1995 train robbery.

  *

  Jack raced towards Essex, suffering a bit from the effects of the whisky. Ridley had rallied his team without even asking where Jack was. He’d stopped caring. So, Laura wasn’t exactly going against any orders by guiding Jack to their location via a series of text messages.

  The terraced building had a shared stairwell, so the Armed Response Units had to be very careful to cut off all routes to the other properties. If Barry made it into a neighbouring flat, the shit would really hit the fan. So, one ARU would block his route upstairs and out the front, while a second unit headed round the back to block the rear. Barry would have nowhere to run.

  What the police didn’t know was that the third floor flat was also occupied by soldiers on leave.

  Barry’s mobile buzzed:

  Armed cops out front. Back clear for now.

  He grabbed the smaller of the two rucksacks and put it securely on his back. He then pulled two handguns from under the cushion on the chair where he sat, tucking the Webley Mk IV .38 calibre into his waistband at the small of his back; this gun had seen his dad safely through World War II and was now Barry’s lucky charm. Holding the street-bought Glock 9 mm, Barry walked quietly through the kitchen. The tortoiseshell cat looked up at him through sleepy eyes, while her three remaining kittens, now with full bellies, slept soundly.

  In the backyard, Barry glanced up at the third floor, where a silhouetted figure signalled that five armed officers were approaching from the west. Barry signalled his thanks and headed east, towards the rural stretch of track running between Colchester and Hythe railway stations.

  *

  The ARUs entered Barry’s flat on a simultaneous command. They cleared each room they passed through and met in the middle. Nothing. In the lounge, a furious Ridley found the large rucksack down the side of the armchair, with the words ‘Pte Cooper’ sewn into the inner lining. The clothes inside were used as a scent reference for the second wave deployment: the Dog Unit.

  *

  Barry was making his way along the trackside, under Brook Street pedestrian bridge and on towards Hythe. Anik and Laura were moving in sync with the ARU up ahead, keeping the designated distance ‒ no more, no less. Ridley, on the other hand, was discovering that his brown patent leather brogues were not cut out for muddy terrain – he’d not actually chased anyone in years, and he hadn’t expected to be doing it today. He’d planned to have Barry Cooper handed to him on a plate, after which he’d give up the names of his crew in exchange for a lighter prison sentence. No such luck.

  As the dogs dragged the lead ARU at a pace behind Barry, Ridley prayed that he didn’t divert up the embankment at any point and into populated areas. As Laura ran, she just managed to text Jack to give him an update. Jack immediately turned off the A134 and got on to a dirt road running parallel to and above the train tracks. As soon as he heard the police dogs, he pulled over, jumped out and followed the sound of the sniffer dog choking itself with excitement at the end of its own lead. Jack was a good fifteen feet above the tracks on a dirt road and he very quickly realised that there was no way down. The embankment was almost sheer, loosely fenced off with barbed wire tied to staggered fenceposts. He resigned himself. Ridley was probably going to boil over if Jack ended up watching events unfold from above.

  *

  Barry was tiring. He kept slipping in the deep layer of small stones that ran along the side of the railway track; each time he stumbled to his hands and knees, he’d take longer to get back up. He could feel the stones through the soles of his trainers, whereas the dog handlers were wearing boots. The dogs, with no protection for their feet, opted to run higher on the embankment in the wet and muddy grass, the steep gradient being no problem for them.

  As Barry ran, he tried to remember what was ahead of him in order to plan an escape. He needed to think of a way to explain the five million pounds on his back, while also thinking of a way to explain his decision to set fire to Mike’s dead body. But he had no answers to anything.

  *

  Barry looked down at Mike’s body and watched the blood slowly stop pouring out of the gaping head wound. After a moment, the pain from his broken left forearm hit him and Barry slumped onto the small horsehair sofa. He controlled his instinct to scream, swallowing again and again to stop the sound from coming out.

  He scanned the room, desperate to find something he could use as a sling. Using his knife, he managed to cut off Mike’s T-shirt and tie the ends together, before slipping the improvised sling over his head and under the broken bone. He quickly stepped into the back garden to get some fresh air so he didn’t pass out, and to try to straighten out his head. The stars looked amazing above the undulating horizon and Barry was soon in control of the pain and calm in his mind. Although he’d seen and done worse in wartime, the only way to think straight now was to distance himself from the fact that he’d just killed one of his best friends. From this second on, Mikey was just another corpse and Barry knew how they burned.

  Barry took his time. If he made one mistake, he’d be caught. He stood on the garden hose, feet apart, holding it firmly on the ground, and used his knife to cut clean through it, before making a second cut to give himself a decent length of hose. He put the hose into a bucket, popped back inside to retrieve Mike’s Range Rover keys from his pocket and set off into the pitch-black night. Walking to the Range Rover, siphoning the petrol and walking back took Barry less than twenty minutes.

  By the time he was ready to move the body, the blood in Mike’s hair had congealed, sticking his head and the side of his face to the carpet like red glue. Barry grabbed a handful of hair from the top of Mike’s head and peeled his face clear. Then he used all his strength to drag Mike’s body one-handed across the carpet and up onto the short, two-seater sofa, finally curling his legs up into the foetal position. Barry then used anything flammable to create a bonfire around him.

  He poured the siphoned petrol all over the sofa and splashed the remains onto the stacks of £5 and £10 notes in the hearth. He then picked up the green garden waste bag, stepped outside into the front garden and lit himself a cigarette. The roses were doing well against the cold nights and, although they�
��d been left to their own devices, they still bloomed. Barry took in the silence and, once content that there was no one for miles around, he flicked his cigarette into Rose Cottage, picked up his green bag and headed back over the hills, on foot, the way he’d arrived.

  *

  Barry knew that, if he dared to look around, he’d see the dogs and the armed police hot on his tail. The weight of his small rucksack was slowing him down, but there was no way he was leaving it behind. As he ran, his Glock was clearly visible in his hand, although his dad’s Webley was hidden beneath his jumper.

  With Barry actually in sight ahead of them, the dog handler pulled back and the ARU took the lead. The dog strained at the end of its leash and barked loudly in protest at being taken off the job before he’d caught his prey.

  ‘Barry Cooper! Armed police! Stop running!’

  Barry ran on as he cycled through his options. There were only two . . . live or die.

  ‘Stop and throw down your weapon!’

  And then, from up ahead, the sound of a train approaching.

  For the lead Armed Response Officer, time slowed as he processed all of the possibilities in a split second. Barry Cooper was so desperate to escape, he reckoned he’d definitely attempt to cross in front of the train. And he’d not think twice about firing his weapon to make the situation even more dangerous. The lead officer instructed two of his men to cross the track and shouted out again.

  ‘Barry Cooper! Throw down your weapon!’

  The last thing he wanted was for some poor train driver to be faced with a shoot-out and then kill a civilian with his engine.

  Barry, knowing the parameters in which ARUs worked, threw his Glock up onto the embankment. As far as his pursuers were aware, they were now chasing an unarmed man and would be far more reluctant to use deadly force.

  From further behind, the lead officer heard Ridley shout, ‘Gun safe!’, scooping up the discarded Glock as he ran past. Ahead of them, the train’s headlights were getting closer.

  ‘Barry, do not attempt to cross the tracks! We have armed officers on both sides! Stop running!’

  When the train came round the bend and into view, the headlights were blinding ‒ which was exactly what Barry was hoping for.

  He left everything to the very last second. As he turned ninety degrees and darted across the track, he pulled the Webley from his waistband and shot one of the Armed Response officers who’d crossed the track. Before he could shoot the second officer, five bullets from five weapons entered Barry’s torso, hurling him backwards, straight into the path of the oncoming train.

  It took forever for the train to pass. Once it had gone, the lead officer ran to his man down and radioed for help. Ridley, Laura and Anik didn’t move; they just watched and prayed that the only dead person on this railway track was Barry Cooper.

  The man down was alive, releasing Ridley and his team to find whatever was left of Barry. They looked up the track in the same direction as the train . . . and there he was. As Ridley led the way, he forced his eyes to focus in the darkness. What was lying there was definitely too small to be all of Barry, but looked like it could be a significant portion. Laura and Anik silently followed. And along the top of the embankment, a shadowy figure walked with them. Jack had had a bird’s-eye view of Barry’s death – it was a vision that was now burnt into his brain and would stay with him for as long as he lived.

  Both of Barry Cooper’s lower legs had gone with a relatively clean cut, but his left arm had been ripped out of the shoulder joint high up, next to the ear; the rest of his body had been tossed and turned a dozen times as it passed underneath the length of the train and was now a broken pile of bones and bloody flesh. Ridley got out his mobile and turned on the torch. Laura and Anik followed suit.

  ‘Forget the legs,’ Ridley said. ‘I want the rucksack.’

  The three of them spread out across the train track and walked slowly back towards the Armed Response Officers on the ground. The noise had now turned to a strangely calm silence, in which only scurrying foxes could be heard as they ventured out to see if they could find a small enough piece of Barry to sneak off with. Laura’s mobile torch glanced over one of Barry’s missing legs but, as per Ridley’s instructions, she ignored it in favour of finding the rucksack. When Anik froze, hand in the air, unable to speak, Ridley and Laura knew that he’d found something. The rucksack was still on the shoulder of Barry’s missing arm. Ridley opened it up and the only thing inside was money ‒ £20 and £50 notes. All in bundles held by the same style of money wrap as the one they had found deep inside the coal chute at Rose Cottage.

  Jack looked down the top of the embankment. Below him, the contents of Barry’s rucksack were lit by three mobile torches.

  Shit! Jack thought to himself. This is all Ridley will need to put Barry and Mike at the heart of the train robbery.

  Any chance he’d had of convincing anyone that the Grange women were the real culprits had just been totally crushed, along with Barry Cooper.

  CHAPTER 29

  When Maggie got in from work, breakfast was on a tray in the middle of the kitchen table, along with a single red rose and a handwritten note. On the upside, the tea and toast were still warm – on the downside, Maggie knew that the rose had been stolen from their neighbours’ hanging basket as there was still soil on the stem; the note just said, ‘Sorry x.’

  Maggie recalled her ultimatum . . . Tomorrow morning, when I get home, I want breakfast in bed and a cuddle regardless of how bad I smell.

  Jack had failed.

  *

  Jack was waiting for Foxy when he pulled into the police station car park.

  ‘You want to know if you’re related to any more dead people?’ Foxy quipped. Then he saw the serious look on Jack’s face. ‘Shit, really? Barry Cooper’s not your long-lost brother, is he?’

  Jack handed Foxy a battered old baseball cap, sporting the Isle of Man TT race logo, complete with the three legs of man ‒ although time had taken its toll on the embroidered stitching and the iconic symbol now only had two legs. Foxy took the cap and headed indoors.

  ‘You owe me several pints, Jack. Don’t die before I can collect them.’

  *

  Jack was sitting at his desk when Ridley walked in. Ridley ignored him and went straight into his office. Jack remained silently at his desk and waited for everyone else to arrive.

  Ridley led the briefing.

  ‘Barry Cooper died yesterday, as you all know. In his rucksack was just short of five million in twenties and fifties from the ’95 train robbery. We know this because of the information on the bands used to hold the bundles of cash together. The shoe print found at the side of Mike’s Range Rover, from where the petrol was siphoned, has been matched to the trainers Cooper was wearing when he died.’

  Ridley looked at the jam-packed evidence boards and, without hesitation, removed the photos of Angela Dunn, Julia Lawson, Connie Stephens and Ester Freeman. He replaced them with pictures of Mike Withey and Barry Cooper.

  ‘Barry’s initials were written in Mike’s diary, identifying the person he was meeting at Rose Cottage on the night he was murdered. Thomas Kurts, otherwise known as Topper. Rashid Wassan, otherwise known as Stan, as in “Paki-Stan”. And Dennis Marchant, otherwise known as Dennie. These three are wanted for questioning in connection with aiding and abetting a fugitive and likely for a connection to the train robbery. They’re physically capable, they have the skills, the organisation, the weapons experience and the track record for this kind of crime. We have Topper, ’cos he was Reserve training at Colchester Garrison. But we don’t yet know where the others are. I want you to work with the Essex Police to locate them. Check their military records to get their whereabouts for the night of the robbery – I don’t want to discover any unbreakable alibis later than today. Barry’s death is currently being withheld from the public so as not to scare his accomplices into running. Get to work. Find them before they get spooked and disappear.’
>
  As everyone knuckled down to their computer screens, Jack stared at the pile of four photos that Ridley had removed from the evidence board. Dolly’s picture was on top. Once again, he thought, the police had got it wrong. The women ticked all the same boxes as the army gang: they were physically strong enough if they used horses; they were gun-savvy because of Gloria; and they were definitely capable of facing off against a couple of male train guards and winning. These women had been surviving in a man’s world their entire lives. Underestimating them now would be Ridley’s downfall.

  *

  Julia held Suzie’s hand as they moved down to the edge of the river Dee and then east along the footpath towards the pre-arranged meeting place. Julia was walking at a brisk pace and Suzie was running to keep up, her second-hand Shawn Mendes rucksack bouncing up and down and rhythmically hitting her in the back of the head. Up ahead, Sam was dribbling a football around his backpack, which he’d thoughtlessly dropped without looking to see how muddy the ground was. The expanse of mud-free waste ground that he could have been playing on was currently empty. They were early.

  ‘Where we going then?’ Sam shouted, as soon as Julia came into view. ‘The beach, is it? I ain’t ever played football on sand!’

  ‘Where’s Darren?’ Julia was trying to remain calm.

  Sam shrugged. He didn’t know or care where stupid Darren was and nor did Suzie, but Julia knew that he had no chance of surviving without her.

  ‘Sam. A coach is arriving to pick us up, OK? There’ll be a black guy driving ‒ that’s Rob. And Angela’s the one in charge, so you do exactly what she tells you, all right? I mean it, Sam! What did I say?’

  ‘Black dude driving. Angela’s the boss. I got it.’

  ‘Suzie, you don’t leave Sam’s side. You promise me.’

  Suzie nodded frantically , as confused as she was excited. As Julia headed off to find Darren, Sam made Suzie drop her rucksack to make goalposts and then get in goal, so he could hammer the ball at her. All Julia could hear as she ran back up towards the house was, ‘Don’t kick it too hard, Sam. Sam, that’s too hard!’