Takedown

by Heather Atkinson

  “Yeah. Thankfully he didn’t manage to get through my jacket.”

  “That’s good to hear. Why did you arrest him? Is it anything to do with Dillon Enfield?”

  “Maybe. Why?”

  “Because I need to know everything you know about his death.”

  “Why would I tell you? Something’s happened, hasn’t it?” he added when she sighed.

  “The vault was broken into. They took four hundred thousand pounds worth of product.”

  “Bloody hell,” he breathed. “Does Jules know?”

  “Yep. She told me to speak to you about it.”

  “You think it’s connected to Dillon’s death?”

  “I do. I know he nicked a little bit of product from us and then he’s murdered right before we’re blagged. We think whoever’s responsible is local, although admittedly we’re not a hundred percent certain about that. I know you’ll be interviewing everyone who was close to Dillon. Has anyone mentioned him getting in over his head with some serious people?”

  “They haven’t so far but if he did I doubt he would have told his parents or sister about it.”

  “I’m thinking more of his dodgy friends.”

  “A lot of them hang about The Red Lion. You might be better asking them yourself. You’ll inspire more fear than I do. Everyone in that pub just looks at me like I’m a turd.”

  “That’s the price you pay for carrying a warrant card,” she said wryly. “But if I go around asking questions everyone will start to wonder why.”

  “If they do you could tell them you want to find who killed Dillon because he worked for you and no one messes with people who work for you.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “So, any clues as to who did you over?”

  “They carried Glocks but they didn’t use them. They also had stun guns, which they did use. They’d had training and were in and out very quickly. They could have taken the lot but they were on a time limit and they stuck to it, leaving behind thirty five grand’s worth.”

  “So they’ve got restraint too. Not like most of the desperate blaggers around here.”

  “Precisely but they had too much inside information. I’m sure these are local boys.”

  “Well, I did haul Snappy McMichaels in on suspicion of attacking Dillon.”

  “What led you to him?”

  “He had a fight with Dillon a week before he died in a night club on the north shore over some woman. Snappy threatened to kill him and he has been known to carry a penknife.”

  “That’s what Dillon was killed with then?”

  “Yes, something with a short blade anyway. The killer knew exactly where to stab too. First Dillon was incapacitated with a couple of thrusts to the back. He was definitely snuck up on from behind. Either that or he had a row with someone and they attacked him as he was walking away. Personally, I think it’s the latter. The attack was definitely fuelled by anger. When he was on the ground, he was kicked onto his back and stabbed in the chest. Sorry,” he added when she winced. “I didn’t think.”

  “It’s okay,” she replied, recalling the feeling of shock that had gripped her when Marlow had stabbed her the first time. At first she’d thought she’d been punched in the back. She hadn’t realised she’d been stabbed until she’d turned and seen her own blood on the knife in his hand.

  “You don’t look okay,” he said gently. “You’ve gone pale.”

  “I’m fine,” she muttered, looking down at her hands.

  “You know, when I was a fresh-faced young constable I attended a road traffic accident four days into my career. It was a bad one. A car had collided with a truck. The driver of the car had been decapitated.”

  “Jesus,” she said.

  “I’ll never forget looking down at his head. Judging by the head’s expression, surprise had been the last thing he’d felt. It was so surreal I felt like I was floating. Then it felt like I was slammed back into my body and I threw up all over the road. I had to take a couple of weeks off after that and I seriously considered packing it in, I didn’t think I had it in me to be a copper. But I’ve never been a quitter and I decided to go back but I struggled. I kept everything in, refused to discuss how I was feeling and things got worse. I struggled sleeping and when I did manage to fall asleep I had nightmares. It was my mum who got me help. I was diagnosed with PTSD and had therapy, which helped me recover. If I hadn’t got that help I would have continued spiralling into depression until something really bad happened.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that I need to get help?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, for your information I’ve started seeing a counsellor.”

  “And let me guess – you refused to tell them anything.”

  “Actually, I did talk to her.”

  “But you didn’t let out what you really need to let out.”

  “I’m not sitting around here listening to this,” she said getting to her feet.

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. “I’m not finished.”

  Faith sighed and rolled her eyes.

  “Talk to the counsellor Faith, let it all out. You can’t be the strong leader your family needs you to be if you’re crumbling inside.”

  “I know. It’s just so hard for me to admit that I feel…”

  “Feel what?”

  “Afraid,” she said, shame in her eyes.

  “You’re human Faith. We all have times in our life when we feel like that.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. I’ll talk to her.”

  “Good. And I’d better get back to the station and interview Snappy McMichaels before he starts feasting on my colleagues.”

  “You’d be doing Blackpool a favour if you managed to keep that nasty little sod locked up.”

  “I’ll do my best but I don’t think he killed Dillon.”

  “I’ll take your advice and ask around, pretend I want to get justice for Dillon, even though he was a total arsehole. If I win the sympathy of the dodgy bastards in Lil’s pub they might open up to me.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “They wouldn’t be so stupid.”

  Young smiled, reluctantly admitting to himself that the threat in her voice was pretty sexy. “I’m sure you’ll easily get them to open up. If you do find out who killed Dillon, will you be sharing that information?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Whether you can make it look like you got the information from another source. I don’t want everyone thinking I’m a grass.”

  “I’m sure I could manage that. If my actions damaged your reputation around here Jules would put my nuts in a vice.”

  “She told me to confide in you. She wants us working together on this and if you hear of a large amount of drugs flooding the market, or if you come across any in a raid…”

  “I’ll let you know but if the latter does happen you do know I wouldn’t be able to give them back to you.”

  “Of course but it would be good to find the product, even if we can’t move it on. It’s a point of principle.”

  “I suppose I can understand that. Right, as much as I love chatting to you Faith I must get on.”

  “Thanks for meeting me at such short notice.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll leave first. Give it ten minutes before following.”

  “How wonderful. Ten minutes sat here with nothing but the dead for company.”

  “You should enjoy the peace and quiet. With everything going on you’re not going to get much of that in the near future.”

  She smiled as she watched him walk away. She was very fond of him and she did find him very attractive. If her heart didn’t belong to Vance she might well have continued her affair with him. Faith inwardly chuckled. The two men she liked she could never be with publicly. Some of the people in her world would probably think her sleeping with a copper more shocking than sleeping with her own brother.

  Gett
ing to her feet, she decided to wander through the graveyard as it was getting too cold to sit still. She found herself in the Church of England graves. Many of the gravestones were aged and weathered as the cemetery had opened in 1873. Young was right, it was peaceful here, the only sound the caw of a crow flying overhead and the vague rumble of traffic from the main road behind her. An icy breeze wafted through the graveyard, agitating the grass, making her shove her hands deeper into her coat pockets.

  Glancing at her watch, she saw ten minutes had elapsed, which came as a bit of a shock as she hadn’t realised so much time had passed. She turned and headed back to the main gates, passing through the more recent Church of England plots.

  Faith stopped in her tracks when confronted by a gleaming new tombstone that read Marlow.

  She gasped for breath and suddenly she was back lying on the pavement, feeling her lifeblood draining away, Marlow straddling her, looking demented, ramming the knife into her stomach.

  “You son of a bitch,” she muttered, tears prickling her eyes as fear and anger waged war inside her. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”

  Drawing deep on the back of her throat, she spat on his grave, which did nothing to ease the torment inside her.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped at a passing couple, who scowled at her for her irreverence. “The bastard tried to murder me,” she told them, pointing at the grave.

  The couple just hurried on without speaking.

  Faith looked back at the grave, wondering if she was always going to be haunted by him. Maybe she hadn’t been followed at all? Perhaps it had been Marlow, still wanting revenge from beyond the grave?

  “That’s the stupidest thought you’ve ever had,” she told herself.

  She didn’t believe in ghosts or the supernatural. It wasn’t that she’d discounted the possibility altogether, it was just that she’d had no personal experience of it, so she had no reason to believe it was true. Although, during that moment when she’d been technically dead, she’d seen beautiful vivid colours that had taken away her fear and pain but the memory was so vague she could never really grasp on to it, no matter how much she wanted to.

  “Look at me Marlow,” she told him. “I’m still going strong, living the good life, raking in a ton of cash. You tried to kill me but you failed. Now what are you? A meal for the worms. That’s all you’re fit for. You couldn’t beat me in life and you’re certainly not going to beat me now. You’re just a rotting corpse with no power left.”

  The thought of his body putrefying just a few feet beneath her made her shudder and she turned and carried on her way, refusing to look back, even though she once again had the strong feeling she was being watched but this wasn’t some earthly stalker, it was her paranoia, a symptom of the trauma Marlow had left her with.

  Faith hurried out of the cemetery, got back in her car and slammed the door shut. At least, she hoped it was her imagination. If someone had just watched her meet with a detective inspector it could make life even more difficult.

  “I think it’s the perfect place,” said Jason as he got out of his black BMW.

  “It’s only three streets from the police station,” countered Kevin, climbing out of the passenger seat.

  “That’s what’s so beautiful about it. No one would expect us to keep it so close to a bunch of coppers.”

  “And what if they notice our family coming and going with packages? They’ll soon work out what’s going on.”

  “No they won’t,” said Jason, pushing open the front door of their home. “They’re too stupid.”

  “Who’s stupid dear?” said Rose.

  They went abruptly silent.

  “I thought you were at bingo?” said Kevin.

  “Not for another hour. So, who’s too stupid?”

  “The police,” said Jason.

  “That’s enough,” Kevin told him.

  Rose narrowed her blue eyes at them, making them shuffle uncomfortably. “Something’s going on, isn’t it?”

  “No,” said Jason unconvincingly. “Nothing’s going on.”

  “I think it is. I can always tell when my children are in trouble. I noticed it at the family dinner but I didn’t want to spoil the day, it’s very rare we’re all together now but I want to know.” In truth, she hadn’t pressed the issue because she knew Faith and Vance would have shut down the conversation immediately, however her younger children found it a lot harder to go against their mother.

  “We’re not in trouble,” said Kevin, looking everywhere but at her.

  “I’m your mother Kevin, I know when you’re lying and I want to help.”

  “There’s nothing you can do Mum.”

  “So I was right – you are in trouble.”

  “Okay, something did happen but we’re handling it. Faith’s got everything worked out.”

  “You don’t look too certain about that dear.” She turned her attention to Jason, who was much more likely to crumble. “Well?”

  “What Kev said,” he mumbled, shuffling awkwardly. “Nothing to worry about. It’s all good.”

  “It hurts when you lie to me Jason,” she said in her soft, gentle voice, crushing his will with her own, which was like steel.

  “I don’t mean to,” he muttered, looking to his brother for help, scowling when he refused to look at him.

  “In that case you’ll tell me the truth, or you can do your own laundry for the next few months and make your own meals.”

  “Someone broke into the place where we store the drugs and nicked most of them,” he burst out. “Now we have to find whoever took it before we look weak and everyone in the town starts attacking us.”

  “Jason,” exclaimed Kevin.

  “Sorry but it’s mum and she wants to help.”

  “For Christ’s sake.” Kevin’s eyes widened when Rose looked furious at his irreverence. “Sorry, it just slipped out.”

  “So you did lie to me,” she said. “You do have trouble and a lot of it.”

  “Yeah but it’s nothing we can’t handle, really Mum. We’re all working together on it. Where are you going?” he said when she walked into the hallway to pull on her coat and scarf.

  “To bingo,” she said. “You need information and I’m going to get it for you.”

  “From bingo? Whoever did this won’t go there.”

  “I don’t need them to go there. Everyone has parents.”

  “Eh?”

  “I won’t be long boys,” she said before leaving, closing the door behind her.

  Kevin turned on his brother. “You are really going to have to stop doing that.”

  “Sorry but she knows my weaknesses – cooking and doing my own laundry.”

  Kevin sighed and shook his head.

  “Hello everyone,” smiled Rose, taking a seat at a table in the bingo hall next to her buxom friend Mary. Also at the table were Agatha, a tall, hard-faced woman and beside her sat Ginny who, with her small fragile frame and natural timidity was the polar opposite to the strident Agatha.

  “Hello,” they replied in unison, eyes never leaving their bingo cards as they marked off numbers with their dabbers.

  “Bingo,” bellowed Agatha, her loud, deep voice startling everyone out of the tension of the game.

  “Jammy cow,” Mary muttered to Rose. “That’s twice she’s won today. If she wins a third game she won’t make it out of the building alive.”

  Thirty jealous pairs of eyes watched the runner dash over to check Agatha’s card, tension filling the room as the young girl assessed her numbers. Agatha’s eyesight was notoriously poor. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d cried wolf.

  “Congratulations Agatha,” said the girl, making the room sigh with disappointment. “Another win. You’re on a lucky streak today.”

  She handed a triumphant Agatha a voucher to collect her prize and everyone took a break before the next game.

  “So, how are you all?” Rose asked her friends.

  “My knee’s giving m
e jip again,” said Mary. “It’s the cold weather. Every year I become a martyr to my joints.”

  “Oh dear, that’s terrible,” said Rose mechanically. She’d heard the same statement from Mary every day of every winter for the last ten years.

  “And how are you Rose?” said Ginny.

  “Not so bad thank you.”

  Rose spotted Carol Kirwan, whose son Alfie had been in Manchester Prison with Vance. After Alfie had threatened Faith, Vance had rammed nails into his face and hands to teach him a lesson and Alfie had thirsted for revenge ever since but had been incapable of taking it against Vance, who was far more physically powerful. Carol, wanting payback for what had been done to her slug of a son, had been the one to threaten to reveal the truth about Vance and Faith’s relationship. Rose had neutralised that threat by telling her that if one word passed her lips then Alfie would be the one to suffer. Carol was keeping her mouth shut but Rose got the impression she was biding her time. Just as Vance and Alfie were deadly enemies, so now were Rose and Carol but, like her son, Carol wasn’t up to the challenge. There weren’t many people who could take on a Chambers.

  “How are your kids Rose?” said Ginny.

  “Oh, good thanks.”

  “They’re real entrepreneurs now with their nightclub and restaurant.”

  Ginny was the only one who hadn’t realised exactly what business Rose’s children were involved in.

  “They don’t own them,” said Rose. “They only run them.”

  “It’s still wonderful. I wish my kids had the same. My boys are still moving from job to job, never settling down or building a career.” She sighed. “I wish they were more like your children.”

  Rose thought if Ginny knew what her kids really got up to she’d soon change her tune. “Your boys do all right.”

  “I’ve decided it’s time to face up to the truth. My children are idiots.”

  Agatha spluttered into her tea. “What?” she laughed, wiping the hot liquid from her chin on the back of her hand.

  “They’re really stupid. Dennis can barely look after himself. He needs me behind him all the time otherwise he wouldn’t even get dressed on his own or tie his shoes and Jeremy, well, he’s more interested in getting drunk and chasing girls. He brought two home the other night at the same time.”