by Dave Lacey
“That’s odd,” he said aloud; there was no dial tone. He clicked the button two or three times, but there was still nothing. As Caleb stood there considering the reason for the lost phone line, the power went out and he was plunged into darkness. As the realisation that the power could only be cut from inside the building dawned on him, Caleb idly wondered if this time he would be so lucky. He quickly moved round the desk, ready to leave, when his phone rang loudly in the terrible silence. He wrenched it out of his pocket and held it to his ear. He didn’t know or care who the caller was. He whispered, urgently into the mobile, hoping the signal was holding up. “He’s in the house, get the police, I’m at HQ!”
The phone cut off. He didn’t know if his message had been heard. He had to leave. Now. Somehow, he managed to reach the vestibule before his assailant caught up with him. Frantically Caleb snatched at the door locks and finally managed to pull it open, but as he stepped through it, there was a spitting sound, and the door frame exploded in a shower of splinters no more than a foot from his right ear. Caleb was speared in a number of places, including his right eye. He screamed in shock and agony, but managed to pull the door closed beside him and run.
Regretfully, he ran past his car, as he remembered the keys were on the kitchen counter, and, clutching the right side of his face, turned onto an adjacent street. Instinct was guiding him toward a thoroughfare, somewhere he would be among people, somewhere that made it more difficult for his pursuer to do what it was he had come here to do.
Knowing it would waste vital time, Caleb risked turning briefly to see if the man was behind him. Sure enough, he was there, eighty yards or so back and coming on strong. Caleb felt a jolt of adrenaline and increased his pace, fear fuelling his feet and arms as they pumped like pistons in the air. Surely the killer could not follow him indefinitely; surely he would have to show some caution? But on he came, relentlessly, seemingly indefatigable. In the near distance now, Caleb could make out people, cars, and shop fronts with lights burning.
It seemed, against the odds, that he would evade his would be captor once more. Caleb stole one last look over his shoulder, and felt triumph wash through him as he realised the man could not catch him up before he reached the safety of civilisation. This last look over his shoulder meant that Caleb did not see the transit van that came from his right as he crossed. If he had seen it, maybe he could have avoided it. Instead, it slammed into his body at around thirty miles an hour. Caleb was thrown ten yards through the air and landed on his left side, his head and arm hitting the ground first.
Caleb knew immediately that he would not be getting up from this. There was no pain, just a flooding numbness, which Caleb recognised as his body’s way of preparing him for bad news, the worst news. He was vaguely aware of the cooling rain hitting his upturned face, then a face appeared above him, concern on its brow, panic in its eyes. It must be the driver of the van, he thought. At least the killer wouldn’t get him now; he couldn’t break cover and do anything drastic.
***
Caleb was right, Clarence couldn’t get to him. This little maggot had evaded him twice now, and part of him wanted to walk over there and blow his irritating face all over the road. But the controlled part of him knew that would be his undoing, that he would not survive such a visible act. He watched for a moment from the cover of a telephone box, keen to see if it looked like Thomas stood any chance of getting to his feet. Happily, it seemed unlikely, and he waited just a moment longer, until another car roared to a stop at the scene and the two policemen from Manchester hopped out. It was time to become smoke, and, with a large grin spread across his face, Clarence turned unseen and strolled triumphantly into the night.
***
Jack and Smithy had turned onto New Cavendish Street, not entirely convinced they would find Caleb Thomas here either. He had not called back after Smithy had left his message, but to be truthful that had only been a few minutes before. The area was dead; it was clearly a place of business.
“He’s not going to be here is he?” Smithy muttered darkly.
“I have no idea, but your bad mojo isn’t helping.” They were scanning the street, just in case Thomas was on foot.
“Do we even know what he looks like?” Jack asked Smithy.
“Siobhan Mullins gave me a bit of a description, not much to go on though. Here it is on the right, stop here.” They peered at the property.
“I think the front door is open,” said Smithy. “Stay here, I’ll check it out.” He jogged around the car and up the short path. He turned almost immediately and ran to the passenger door.
“Looks like the door’s been busted open, either that or somebody took a shot at it from the inside. Let’s make a quick recce in case he’s still in the open.” Jack turned the car around sharply and headed back to the intersection they had just crossed. He looked right while Smithy looked left.
“Nothing this way,” Smithy said.
“I think we have a winner,” Jack said excitedly, as he stomped on the accelerator and the car roared and took off down an adjacent road. They weren’t sure what had happened, but there was a transit van stopped in the middle of the road and a man leaning over a body. Smithy was out of the car first.
“What happened?” he asked the man standing over the body.
“He just came from nowhere, I never saw him till it was too late, I swear. He just ran out full speed into the road.”
“Okay, stand back please. Did you call an ambulance?”
“No…I…sorry, I’ll do it now.” The man, clearly shocked, backed off and took out his phone and started dialling. Smithy turned the body gently. It was Caleb Thomas if the description was any good, and he was still conscious, just.
“Caleb? Is that your name?” Smithy asked.
“Who are you?”
“I’m a police officer. Are you Caleb Thomas?” Smithy asked more forcefully.
“Yes. Man chasing me. Tried to get me earlier.” A coughing fit took him. The rain was falling harder now; Smithy took off his jacket and placed it over Caleb Thomas.
“An ambulance is on its way. Take it easy.”
“No time. Don’t feel good. Not going to make it.” He went quiet. For a few terrible moments, Smithy thought he was dead. Then his eyes opened again. “You need to stop him. Killer. Was here. Get…my…brother…too. All my fault…. This all…my fault. They’re…coming… can’t stop… them… Nothing… can stop… them… all going to die…. badly. He knows… brother knows… Killer…stop killer.” Smithy didn’t understand any of what the dying man was saying to him, but it was too late. Caleb Thomas was dead.
Jack quickly checked the other streets for signs of life, and came back just as Thomas died.
“Nothing. Shit, is he dead?” he asked Smithy.
“He is, yes. But he did manage to say something, though it didn’t make much sense.”
“You okay?” Jack asked him gently.
“Yeah. Poor sod. The van driver’s going to take this badly.”
Chapter 45
Detectives Smith and Sumner waited for the ambulance to come and take away the body of Caleb Thomas before they even considered their next step. Everything had changed. The whole thing had taken on a completely different complexion with the death of Caleb Thomas. They had been intrigued before their journey south; now they were resolute in getting to the bottom of this affair. As the ambulance disappeared from view, they got back into the car and drove to the property they had briefly checked out twenty minutes before. It was too soon for the local police to have made the connection between Caleb and the church’s headquarters, so they had a little time to take a quick look.
They did not have to force entry – the door would not shut now until somebody repaired the door frame itself. Using torches, they made a cursory examination of the hallway, which told them a shot had been fired at Caleb, from inside the house, meaning the pursuer had gained entry before taking his shot. They scanned the ground floor of the property, looki
ng for signs of a scuffle or anything that would indicate evidence of any kind. After ten or so minutes, Smithy took the cellar steps while Jack ascended to the first floor. Five minutes later, Jack heard a shout from deep within the bowels of the terraced house. He quickly he made his way to the cellar.
“What’s up?” he asked Smithy.
“This.” He pointed to the severed telephone cable. “This.” He pointed the torch at the fuse box where all of the fuse switches had been flicked to the off position. “And this.” He shone the torch on the glass shards directly beneath the empty panel in the back door.
“Our friend, and I’m assuming it is our friend from back home, got in here, cut the phone line, turned off the power and then went upstairs after Caleb. Who, smartly, seemed to know somebody was here and managed to get out of the front door before he was trapped. It then appears his luck ran out as he was chased down the street, where he was pummelled by a transit van. Which possibly means that our friend was at or near to the scene when we arrived.”
“Well, it certainly seems that way. I don’t remember anybody other than the van driver and Caleb though, do you?”
“No. God, we were shabby there weren’t we?” Smithy looked pissed off.
“We were, but, to be fair, we had no idea what was happening. Don’t be too hard on us,” Jack said.
“What do we do now, though? This is getting out of all control.”
“Take it easy, Smithy, take it easy. We’ll figure it out. For the time being, it’s important we aren’t here when the locals get here. They might try to take over, and that’ll make things a whole lot more complicated for us.”
“Okay, let’s get out of here.” Carefully they re-traced their steps back to the front door, out of the house and got into the car. They were pulling away just as the squad cars turned the corner and stopped in front of the property. While Jack drove aimlessly for a while, Smithy called a couple of hotels in an attempt to secure a room. After three calls, he got them into the nearest Travel Inn, hardly luxurious but it would serve a purpose. For a few minutes, they discussed the possibility of driving home, and although they couldn’t quite put their finger on why, they decided it was worth being here tomorrow should anything break.
One reason, Jack had mused as they drove to the hotel, was Caleb’s mention of a brother. If his brother lived here in London, then, judging by the dying man’s last words, he might very well be in mortal danger. They took their few items to their shared room and went straight back down to the bar. They took their drinks and found a table near the large windows, down which the rain was tracing complicated runnels.
“To think we were going to let it lie?” said Jack.
“Don’t go on about it! I apologised and got on board didn’t I?”
“I’m not having a go, I’m serious. I just mean it’s funny how things turn out,” he said, his hand raised in a placatory manner.
“I guess it is, yeah. Although I didn’t really expect it all to go this far. Did you?”
“Well, yes and no. It's been pretty mad from the start, so it kind of makes sense that it gets madder. What did he say to you then, before he died?”
“As best as I can remember, he said ‘they’re coming’, that ‘nobody can stop them’, that ‘we’re all going to die’, and I think he wanted us to stop his brother from being killed. Basically.”
“That’s cheery stuff. Who do you think he was talking about?”
“I’ve no idea, but let’s be realistic, the man was dying and he knew it. He could have been talking about the angels coming to claim him for all I know. But he seemed pretty clear on the fact that his brother was in danger.” Smithy leaned forward in his seat and looked seriously at Jack. “So at the very first opportunity we need to find the guy and warn him.”
“I agree, but what’s bugging me is what they all have in common other than the church? What is it that links all of our murder victims? It seems pretty certain now that they were all murdered, and potentially by the same person. So, what is it that they know, or knew?”
“We can’t be sure that it's something they knew,” Smithy argued.
“I think we can be pretty certain, that is if Paul Warwick was anything to go by. Remember, he told us they died because they all knew something. So, if that’s the case, what could it be? What could be so bad that six people have been killed for it?”
“I suppose it is more compelling when you put it like that. You think Caleb Thomas might have had control of his faculties, when he said ‘they’ were coming?” Smithy asked.
“He might have been, and that could be the thing they all knew. Maybe they all knew somebody was coming. I just have no idea who that somebody might be, and where they’re coming to. Am I boring you?” Smithy was fiddling with his phone.
“No, sorry, I’m looking to see if I can pick up that info we got on Caleb. Here it is.” He fiddled a few moments more, and then put his phone on the table between them.
“So, now what?”
“I‘ve emailed it through to HQ and asked them to run a data search on Thomas’s known family.
I know a couple of the girls in there, so we should get something soon.” He winked conspiratorially at Jack and grinned.
“At last, your stalking may just pay off. You know, I’m looking forward to meeting our killer, should we ever have that pleasure. He seems like a real bastard, Smithy. I just hope we find him and not the other way around. This thing has always had a funny smell about it. There’s a level of importance about it that’s raised it above ordinary killing and cover up wouldn’t you say?”
“I suppose I would. It doesn’t seem run of the mill. And you’re right, he seems like a right bastard. It also looks like he’s pretty capable too. A few days ago this was almost written off as a family affair, and it must have been a tough ask to make this entire episode look anything other than what it actually is.”
They chatted for the next few minutes about possible outcomes and reasons for the crimes that had been committed. Jack’s left leg was fidgeting up and down and he chewed on his top lip. Smithy couldn’t sit still either, and checked his phone at least once a minute. After ten minutes a muted bell chime told them Smithy had a new email. He picked up his phone and read it with rising incredulity.
“Fuck me.” Smithy sat staring at the small screen shaking his head.
“What?”
“You’re not going to believe this, my friend. You’re not going to believe who Caleb’s brother is.”
“Who? Don’t make me drag it out of you?”
“It's Richard Thomas. The Richard Thomas.”
“The Home Secretary? No way! That’s mental,” Jack exclaimed his eyes wide.
“You’re telling me it is. This is getting out of control.”
“We’re going to have to tread very carefully. This is getting scary, and very dangerous.” Jack stared at the floor, lost in thought.
“What do we do, Jack? I have no idea how to handle this sort of thing.”
“Me neither. It's all new to me, Smithy, all new. I guess we start by telling the chief what’s happened here.” Jack paused, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. “I would love to have a conversation with the Home Secretary.” He said finally as he looked at Smithy from the corner of his eye. Smithy puffed out his cheeks.
“Well, me too, but I don’t see how. And I don’t mind telling you, I’m shitting myself.”
***
By eight forty five on the Monday morning, Jack and Smithy had the telephone number for the office of the Home Secretary. By eight fifty six they had spoken to the Home Secretary’s secretary and arranged a meeting for midday. She advised them that it was unheard of for anybody to get an appointment at such short notice, so they should under no circumstances be late. They were both stunned that it had been that easy, especially with what had just happened. With a combination of excitement and tension, the two detectives packed their belongings and dumped them in the boot of the car, then headed back ins
ide to wait for a short while in the hotel lounge. They ordered two coffees and some breakfast, then decided to call Superintendant Whittaker again.
“Detective Smith, good morning. I take it your partner’s with you?”
“He is, sir. We have some interesting news...” Smithy then went on to tell him about the phone call to the Home Secretary’s office.
“I see,” he said finally. “And what exactly are you planning to do next? Have you spoken to the local constabulary?” Whittaker was a stickler for police procedure.
“Not as yet, sir, no, we were wondering what to do about that.”
“You need to speak to them. This could get very messy if you don’t,” Whittaker said.
“Yes, sir. Are you okay with us being here and proceeding the way we are?” Smithy asked delicately.
“Detective Smith, I don’t really have any choice in the matter, seeing as you’re already there do I?”
“I guess not, but, sir, surely you must be intrigued as to what is happening here?” The super took a moment.
“A little, yes, but I’m also concerned that this may be bigger than the both of you. And I don’t want you getting caught up with the Met, which could lead to trouble in the long run. Be very careful as to how you proceed, both of you. And if you have any difficulties, call me immediately.”
***
Richard Thomas felt nervous. He had been nervous for some time now, and the telephone call he was anticipating in the next few minutes would only make matters worse. The Mechanic had told him about the deaths in the north, but somehow Richard had remained untouched by it all, as if distance itself made him immune from such trivial concerns. Of course, he knew it was his fault, but he was having a hard time caring about it. He had no control over his idiotic brother, a brother who had caused him no end of pain and embarrassment in the past because of his damn church!
