by Dave Lacey
“I’m sorry, what did you say Stan?”
“I said, I know what you’re doing here. I know what’s happening.” Stan looked miserably at the colonel.
“Do you? And what might that be, Stanley?” The colonel couldn’t possibly see how this little man would know what went on here, or why it went on, but he was keen to listen.
“I know the secret. I know about The End. I know about Jack Sumner. And I know what’s going on up there.” Stan raised his eyes toward the ceiling.
“Then, Stanley, let us start at the beginning.” The colonel took a seat opposite Stan and clasped his hands together on the table; this could be interesting.
***
The Saturday following the closure of the case, Smithy and Jack called Siobhan Mullins to ask her for the name of the Head of the Church of the Everlasting Covenant. As anticipated, she refused to tell them, and insisted it was none of their business and bore no relevance to the murders that had taken place. Smithy pointed out that it was really the police’s job to make those decisions and that he would prefer it if she left that to them. In the end, Jack took the phone from Smithy and got straight to the point.
“Look, love, either you give us the name, or we’ll begin an investigation into your church and its interests. We’ll cart each one of you off to the station in Black Marias, and I can pretty much guarantee that it’ll be leaked to the press. Not by me, of course, but you understand these things have a habit of getting out.”
“His name is Caleb Thomas.” She spoke coldly. “I hope, Detective, that this is the last time I ever have to speak to either of you again.” She hung up.
“You certainly do have a way with the ladies, my friend,” Smithy commented.
“Well, you didn’t seem to be getting anywhere, so I thought I’d take the initiative. Besides, I got the name didn’t I?”
“You did. But you know that almost none of what you threatened her with is actually feasible? I mean, I don’t think they even have Black Marias anymore.”
“Yeah, but there was no reason for Mrs Mullins to know that now, was there?”
“No, I guess not. I particularly like the way you opened the conversation with ‘Look, love’. That was really classy.”
“Enough. It’s time for some real police work.”
For the next three hours, the two detectives trawled through the police database for anything relating to a Caleb Thomas. Fortunately, there weren’t too many in the North West, let alone in the police database. They came across six entries, only two of which were in the police records; they found the other four on the electoral register. After a further hour, they had decided that it was highly unlikely that any of the six they had turned up was the one they were looking for.
“You’re wrong,” Jack said suddenly.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You were sitting there wondering why I’ve let Selena back into my life again. You were wondering how long it would be until she dumps me again.”
Smithy forced a laugh. “You’re an odd little man, Jack, and I’m not sure why you think I would be sitting here thinking about you and your ex wife.” He sat shaking his head, as if bemused by Jack’s suggestion.
“Well, you can try to bluff it all you like, but I know that’s precisely what was going on in there.” Jack tapped his head. “And by the way, she’s not my ex wife, she’s still my wife.”
“Fair enough, weirdo. But still, I mean, what does it have to do with me?” He turned back to what he was doing, shaking his head and muttering “You’re weird.”
“Yeah, you’ve said that, and now you’re flapping because I’ve hit the nail on the head.” He stood up. “I’m going to get a brew. Thanks for worrying.”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Smithy shouted after Jack as he made his way out of the office.
***
By six that evening they had trawled the entire country’s database and reduced their list to a manageable number. They decided to get dinner and a beer. “So, where do you think this thing is headed?” Smithy asked, after the waitress brought their drinks.
“I really don’t know,” Jack replied. He took a long swig before going on. “But I do know that I just wouldn’t feel right if we didn’t follow it up. At least if we give it a shot and turn nothing up, we, or maybe just I, won’t feel so bad about it.” His brows knitted in concentration, Jack picked at the corner of the label on his beer.
“Hmm, maybe. I do agree to an extent, though, that something seems to be missing. For a start, our watcher doesn’t appear to have left any further trace of himself since murder one. And I agree on the Alphonse thing – it’s hard to credit that Edward Warwick could have overpowered him. It’ll be interesting to see if any of our Caleb Thomas’s turn out to be the one we’re looking for.”
“Yup, and it’ll be even more interesting to see if it takes us anywhere. I’ve a feeling we’re not going to like what we find.” Jack looked at Smithy. “I wish I knew what happened to Paul Warwick,” he said with feeling.
“Me too, that was a real pisser. And it’s another thing that sticks out about this case. His father killing him?” Smithy was staring at his bottle, turning it round on the spot.
“I know. Arsehole though he was, I don’t believe he could have done that.”
“Aside from our frustrating case, what’s gonna happen with you and the wife?” Smithy took a swig of beer and looked at Jack with interest.
“I think we’ll get back together. I want to, and I think Sel does too. I know your thoughts on the matter, but I really need to give things a go. It’s not out of my system, and there’s the wee man to think about too.” Jack took another drink.
“I think you’re right,” said Smithy. Jack almost spat his beer out.
“I’m sorry?” he asked Smithy.
“I think you’re right. I think you do need to find out whether there’s still something there. Regardless of what I think, and, let’s be honest, my thoughts tend to be limited strictly to those of a carnal nature, you should do what you feel is right. You know much better than I do what you want.” He looked serious, something that happened very rarely.
“Wow, that’s a really grown up thing to say,” Jack said.
“Thank you. I say something deep and heartfelt, and the best you can do is mock me?” Smithy affected a pained countenance.
“Well it’s not as if you don’t deserve it. Anyhow, I really think she and I will be okay. I never wanted to split to start with.” At that moment, their starters arrived. They ate in silence for a couple of minutes before Smithy spoke again.
“You think this is just a straight murder sort of thing?” he asked.
“I don’t know, why?”
“It’s just that it has the feel of something, you know, serious?”
“You think?” Jack asked, putting down his knife and fork.
“Yeah, all those people dead. Why?” Smithy had stopped eating too.
“You’ve turned around so quickly on this. Earlier today you treated me like a mental case.”
“I know, but since you’ve forced me to look into it with you, it’s started turning over in my mind and I can’t shut it down. If Edward Warwick didn’t kill them, then who did, and why?” Jack pushed his plate away.
“Do you have any sort of theory developing in there?” He gestured to Smithy’s head.
“No, not yet, but look at it objectively. What could be so bad that you’d kill five people for it? And we don’t even know that it is only five.” Jack looked slightly puzzled.
“Five?”
“Well, if Edward Warwick didn’t kill them, you have to consider the fact that somebody killed him too?”
“I never thought of that. Mr Smith, you surprise me again.”
“It’s a crazy theory, I know, but this could be a serial killer at work. This could be so much bigger than we’ve thought so far,” Smithy said.
“I’m almost sorry I started this now. Why do I get the feeling
this is going to become even more complex than it has been to this point?”
Chapter 38
The colonel felt a little queasy after his chat with Stanley Marshall. He couldn’t figure out what to do, and for the first time in a long time considered calling The Mechanic. His pride told him to handle it all himself, but the small voice at the back of his mind kept insisting it was too important for him to get wrong. Stanley knew way more than he should. Way more than any of the top brass had ever considered a member of the general public should know until it was too late. The colonel had sat down for the talk, safe in the knowledge that once he had gleaned whatever information the odd little man had, he would simply have him dropped somewhere convenient in the Irish Sea. However, as the conversation went on, he realised Stanley was quite a bit smarter than those stragglers he had dealt with in the past.
The little bastard had an automated email set up, which would be sent in around thirty-six hours time should Stanley not log in and cancel it. The email outlined what he already knew, where he was going and possible reasons for his not returning. It was standard practice for his kind, he informed the colonel – if there was a chance you weren’t going to return, you had to let others know what you knew. The email would be sent to all of his friends and fellow conspiracy theorists, plus twenty media outlets, including the BBC, Sky, The Times and The Guardian. In it, he also pointed out the fact that he was looking for a secret facility in the Brecon Beacons, which, for the colonel and his staff, was a disaster.
Immediately he had discovered this news, the colonel had employed some of the country’s most gifted hackers to find Stanley’s email accounts and wipe them entirely. This, he thought, would prevent the email being sent, and also enable them to find out more from their captive. They had been working on it for six hours and had found nothing. There was a temptation to torture the information out of their prisoner, but if they didn’t get it and had to let him go, things would be so much worse than they already were. No, they would have to find another way. He had briefly toyed with the idea of psychoactive medication, sodium amytal to be precise, but dismissed it. If they administered enough, they could render Stanley a vegetable, which would make it very difficult for him to do anything.
His next step had been to track down Stanley’s family and maybe threaten them. But once again they were thwarted. Stanley’s parents were dead and he had no siblings. There were cousins, but it seemed unlikely they would be able to make him feel the pressure that way. It was time to go chat with him again. The Colonel left his quarters, which were situated on the upper floor of an ancillary building within the complex, and made his way to the holding cell block. Block might have been overstating it; they didn’t have a dedicated building, or even a room for civilians they were holding, precisely because it was never anticipated that they would have any. An oversight, of course – how naïve to think that nobody would ever get close enough to cause an issue for the security of the facility. The colonel arrived at Stan’s cell just as one of the civilian scientists was leaving the building.
“He won’t play ball, Colonel. We’ve tried to appeal to his better nature, to his sense of duty, but he won’t give in.”
“I see. Well, I have three options, and I’m about to deliver the first one. I will update you on what happens once I’ve tried it out. Ultimately, we do have one final avenue open to us, which is to give him a golden ticket, so to speak.”
“Really?”
“Why not? One has to explore all options in order to arrive at a final supposition,” the colonel said.
“I suppose you’re right. But, well, I just never imagined you’d take that way out. I mean, you’re not known for your generosity, Colonel, no offence.” The scientist held up both hands in a defensive gesture.
“I quite agree, I quite agree. But then one must constantly re-evaluate the enemy and adapt to the game. We may have no choice but to bribe our man if we’re to avoid a disastrous outcome. If the world where to find out now, it could have serious repercussions for our long term campaign. Anyway, I must go in and see him, we’re running out of time as it is.” He smiled tightly at the scientist who stood aside to let him pass.
“Well good luck, Colonel, sir, our very secret enterprise rests in your capable hands.” And with that he was gone, and the colonel entered the building.
***
At eleven forty eight on Sunday the fourth of December, Detectives Sumner and Smith found the Caleb Thomas they were looking for. They had resorted to Googling the most likely candidates and seeing what information they could unearth. And there it was: the link into the Church of the Everlasting Covenant. Caleb Thomas resided in London, so no amount of searching for him in the North West would have turned up anything useful. A little surprised by the location, they were forced into the conclusion that the church must be bigger than they thought. It clearly had branches dotted around the country. The temptation to take the Monday as a day’s leave and hop into the car to drive south was almost overwhelming. For Smithy in particular, he had really bought into this whole thread now.
“I think we should do it. The chief won’t object – we’re model cops in his eyes.” He looked at Jack, eyes wide, hoping for agreement.
“He may not, but I’m still not sure we should rush into this right now. Maybe we should plan things a little more?”
“I say we just go for it, while the trail’s still hot. If we wait, and Thomas is involved in whatever this is, he could be dead before we ever get to speak to him.” He could see this had made the desired impression on Jack, who frowned and pursed his lips in acknowledgment.
“Hmm, I can’t argue with that I suppose. But we don’t even know where he’ll be. Or where he lives,” he argued.
“Well, we could always call our friend Siobhan and ask her. She likes you.” He nodded sagely at his own assertion.
“Yeah, right. We do at least know where the church headquarters are located though, which is a starting point.”
“Darn tootin’. And, if needs be, we can stay overnight and catch up with him there tomorrow. Or at least find out where he’ll be. I imagine telling whoever has that information that his life is in danger would be a good motivator.”
“Okay, well there’s little point in hanging around here then, Shorty, let’s move.”
Chapter 39
Manhattan, New York.
Moretti felt like he was going mad. He had honestly thought he was getting somewhere with the case, then it had all collapsed around him. After watching the news of the murders of the senator and her daughter unfold on TV, his reaction had been one of defeat. Then they had mentioned General Waldron’s name at the end of the bulletin, and a faint glimmer of hope had sparkled in the darkness.
Shrugging off the faint fear that he was becoming obsessive, Nick had found out as much as he could about the head of the NSA, then started to call him every half hour or so. He was not going to give up easily, and proved this by calling repeatedly over the course of the next twelve hours. Finally, the general’s secretary had told him, testily, “Detective, the general is not here. I have no idea when he will be here. The last I heard he’d been cosily ensconced with the D.C. police, with no hope of escaping any time soon. So, I’ll ask you once again, why are you calling him if you’re with the NYPD?”
Nick had grown vague at this point and managed to get off the phone before having to give away anything of meaning to the woman. His frustration was starting to boil over, and it was starting to affect his work too. He had taken a week’s vacation so that he might get to the bottom of the mysterious string of brutal murders up and down the East Coast.
He knew he was becoming obsessive; he didn’t need Leshaun to tell him that. They had argued about it last night, Nick’s stubborn streak rising steadily until he became completely intransigent. Leshaun made a good argument, insisting that the more Nick burrowed, the further away from reality and safety he strayed. There was a reason these people were dying, and, if he continued to pu
rsue, then he might appear on the radar of those carrying out the executions. Leshaun was scared even if Nick wasn’t, and in the end he had threatened him with informing the chief.
Nick knew this would be bad for him, but he had become truculent at this argument. He had accused Leshaun of betrayal, which he knew was not true, and told him that if things were that bad he should put in for a change of partner. It was clear from the tone of the remainder of the call that Nick had sucker punched his partner. He had been unfair, and on top of the many things keeping Nick awake at night, this was perhaps one that he could do something about. He dialled his partner’s number.
“Yo?” Leshaun answered, sounding slightly guarded.
“Hey Leshaun, you okay?”
“Yeah I'm okay.” There was little emotion in his voice.
“Look, I'm sorry about last night, I was out of line. I know you’re only looking out for me, and I threw it back in your face. It was pretty shitty of me,” Nick said.
There was a pause, then “Yeah it was.”
“You gonna make me work for this then?” Nick asked lightly.
“Nick, I just don’t know what to say.” Leshaun spoke with genuine concern. “This whole thing is pretty fucked up, and I just worry ‘bout where you’re going with it.”
“I know. I’ve been thinking of little else all night. You’re right to be worried – I’ve let myself get a little bogged down with this affair. You think I should give it up don’t you?”
“You know I do. I told you that last night, and it wasn’t the first time either.”
“I know, and I will. After today, that’s it. If I can’t get in touch with the general today, I’m gonna call it quits and get back to work. You have my word.” Nick’s tone was one of remorse.
“Good. I just wish you’d do it right now. But I guess one more day’s okay with me. You call me if you need anything.”
