by Ted Tayler
“Chinese, or Indian?” he asked.
“Pizza would be kinder, Sir. They don’t stink the car up so much. The other drivers who use this car won’t thank me.”
“I’m ordering a large Hawaiian. We can manage half each, can’t we?”
“If I don’t finish it, I can always leave a slice for my mate. That’s great, thanks.”
Gus returned indoors and made the call. He selected a classical album and listened to the first side. Almost as the final notes sounded, the doorbell rang. Perfect timing.
Gus cut the pizza in half and slid his portion onto a plate. After he delivered the box to his new friend, he tucked into his meal. Still only a quarter to seven. How best to spend the rest of the evening?
He called Geoff Mercer; his wife, Christine, answered. Geoff was at work. She promised to get her husband to ring back if he got home at a reasonable time. Christine didn’t sound confident. Gus assumed they were organising support for the OCTF raid on Monty’s shed.
Gus turned over the album and listened to the other side. Another excellent piece of timing. He had just finished a long cold glass of orange juice when the phone rang.
“You wanted to speak to me, urgently, Gus,” said Geoff.
“It wasn’t life or death. I take it they’ve rushed you off your feet this evening?”
“Curran rang the ACC an hour after you left. OCTF are panicking over the undercover guy in the Swindon gang. They haven’t been able to contact him. To warn him the raids commence at dawn on Friday.”
“What did the ACC agree to do?”
“They’re switching people from the Cambrai Terrace raid to lift him before he risks getting exposed. We’re supplying bodies to assist in the raid on Monty Jennings’s building.”
“Please tell me that you’re leading that operation?”
“Yes, but why do I sense that makes you happy? It could be a nightmare. Those guys are armed and dangerous.”
“Remember the old days, when we didn’t get on as well as we do today. I want you to turn the clock back and stick it to Brendan Curran.”
Geoff laughed.
“You are a devious sod, Gus Freeman. If I get the chance to get in front of a TV camera, I will.”
“Remember to take care of yourself, Geoff. I’ll let you spend quality time with Christine.”
“Cheeky beggar. Would she fall for it though? Imagine we’re in the trenches, darling, and at dawn, we go over the top…”
“Goodnight, Geoff.”
“Whatever.”
Thursday, 19th April 2018
There was no change to the weather when he opened his eyes and peeked through the curtains.
Gus hadn’t slept well. He couldn’t decide who, or what to blame. Was it because it had been the warmest night of the year so far? Did it have to do with the fact he was seeing Vera tonight? The imminent raid on the drug farm on the hillside was never far from his thoughts, nor the death threat he’d received.
What troubled him most was his cold case seemed to be at the bottom of a long list. He could only spend this morning trying to test his theory. Another afternoon occupied sorting out trivial matters. Today, it was where his CCTV cameras were to be sited and agreeing on the installation date.
No matter how sensible the move might be, it still posed an unwelcome interruption. Gus missed Tess at times like this.
Tess would have been available to pick up these loose ends. Her shift pattern had meant she was home during the day far more often than him; which was never. Tess would have dealt with the glazier and the security consultant with a smile on her face. Gus saw these things as obstacles preventing him from doing what he did best - solve crimes.
He could imagine what these visitors said when they got home or back to base. ‘Miserable old git. You wouldn’t think we’re doing him a favour.’
Gus started the day with a fried breakfast. He needed something to cheer him up; even if it lay heavy on his stomach a warm morning. Life was just a bowl of poisoned cherries some days.
Gus stepped outside the front door at a minute before half-past eight. He needed the traffic to be light on the roads this morning for him beat the rest of his team into the office.
Gus drove through the gateway and into the lane. His overnight protection officer was already moving forward to follow him from the nearby layby. Gus wondered whether he had found a slice of pizza. There was no sign of a discarded box, so credit to whichever driver now had it. It was destined for recycling and not thrown into the undergrowth by the roadside.
As they passed the gateway to the allotments, Gus thought of Bert Penman. He wondered what Irene made of the produce he had delivered to her last evening. Gus hoped she was taking care of herself. That was something he could discuss with Bert and the others from the allotments. Irene’s family wouldn’t be around much after the funeral by the sound of things. The village community should make sure she didn’t get lonely or stop bothering to feed herself. They had to be subtle about how they offered a helping hand, though. He could imagine Irene bristling at too many visitors and telling them she didn’t need charity.
A car sped past him at the widest point in the lane. He had been distracted, and the black Mercedes missed him by inches. Gus braked hard. What was this guy doing? The driver leapt out, and Gus saw the gun.
The escort driver had reacted as soon as he saw Gus’s taillights. He sprang out of the car and drew his weapon.
Gus took evasive action and dived to his left across the passenger seat. The windscreen shattered half a second later.
He heard the protection officer shout a warning to his assailant. Then two shots rang out. Gus held his breath. He felt every one of his sixty-one years. “I’m getting too old for this,” he sighed.
“Are you alright, Sir?”
It was the escort driver calling him. Gus slid back into the driving seat.
Through the broken windscreen he saw the gunman on the ground behind the Mercedes. He was alive but wounded. The young officer who had just saved his life stood over him, gun in hand.
“Fine, thanks to you. I never saw the car coming. Where did he appear from?”
“He shot out of the car park behind the pub, Sir. He’s taken a bullet to the shoulder and another to the stomach. The latter might give him more of a problem if he’s to see out the day. Can you call the cavalry while I secure him and try to stem the blood flow?”
Gus retrieved his mobile phone and dialled 999. While they waited for their colleagues and the ambulance crew, he looked at his beloved Ford Focus.
“Where are the bullets, Sir?”
“In the bloody headrest,” said Gus.
Gus leaned against the bonnet of his car, unsure whether his legs would hold him. He shook like a leaf.
If he’d moved a split second later, he would have been a dead man.
CHAPTER 9
The protection officer tended the man on the ground.
The shoulder wound looked painful, but the bullet had missed anything vital. The officer dragged the man’s leather jacket down his arms to restrict his movements. Neither police officer understood what the gunman said. It didn’t sound complimentary. The bullet in the gut had taken most of the fight out of him.
“Stay quiet and let me press this cloth on this hole, mate,” he said, “you’re not going anywhere. If I have to, I’ll handcuff you to the back of your Merc and leave you to bleed out.”
Another volley of abuse spewed at him
“Who do we have here, anyway?” Gus asked.
“He wasn’t carrying any papers in his leather jacket. His driving licence looks dodgy, even if the photo looks like him from ten years ago. I doubt he’s called Erik Drago.”
They heard the sounds of sirens in the distance.
“So, this must be Eron Dushka,” said Gus, “the bastard who broke into my bungalow and maybe murdered Frank North.”
“The gun is on the grass verge,”
“Don’t tempt me,” said Gus. “Okay,
I’ll make sure it’s not trampled on by the cavalry. Forensics can check if it’s the same gun. You concentrate on keeping him alive.”
Gus looked up and down the lane. His escort’s car had parked at an angle of forty-five degrees across the road when he exited the driver’s door and prepared to fire, that had offered him maximum protection. Thank goodness he knew what he was doing.
“Have you seen anyone driving this way from the village?” Gus asked.
“Two cars and a van. The excitement ended in seconds. They didn’t arrive until afterwards. I reckon they thought there had been a road accident. They turned around in the widest stretch we passed back there and headed away from us.”
“I haven’t seen anyone coming this way from Devizes, except these vehicles just arriving. We can persuade them to keep this quiet.”
“I think I can see where you’re going with this, Sir. It’s a quiet spot. There weren’t many cars passing to keep me from falling asleep outside your bungalow the last few nights.”
“I don’t even know your name,” said Gus.
“DS Luke Sherman, Sir,”
“Call me Gus, for crying out loud. I’m glad you were here, Luke.”
“It’s why we do the job. Rick Chalmers told me you were a decent bloke, so we agreed to do our best,” said Luke, with a brief smile. He struggled to cope with Dushka’s wound. It looked serious, and the swearing was less frequent.
“I had the chance to chat with Rick last evening.”
“Rick told me when he handed over last night that you treated him to pizza.”
“Did he leave you a slice?”
“Don’t be daft. Rick scoffed the lot.”
“That sounds like him.”
Gus wandered away to view the overall scene.
The Merc was parked across the lane, blocking access for any vehicles. Gus realised that between these high hedges on either side, they had a minimum of a sixty-yard stretch where they could paint the picture that suited their purpose.
It might have been quiet in the lane, except for a few Albanian swear words. But the activity ramped up several notches as an ambulance crew and several police officers threaded their way past the Merc and approached him.
“Who have we got here?” asked the officer in charge.
It was a young Detective Inspector Gus hadn’t met. Maybe the same age as Suzie Ferris. Luke Sherman knew him. He described what had happened.
The DI put his hand on Luke’s shoulder. If Gus had needed a description of the word condescending, this was it.
“You know the drill, Sherman. The world and his wife will want to talk with you after this. To ensure you carried it out per…”
“What, like this animal did with Frank North?” said Gus. “Give the guy a break. Luke saved my life. Give him a medal, don’t grill him for hours and offer him counselling.”
“Ex-DI Freeman, I presume?”
The little sod emphasised the ‘ex’. It was hard to believe, but he looked shorter than Geoff Mercer.
Gus took an instant dislike to him, and this wasn’t the time for the touchy-feely approach to modern policing that so many of his peers displayed. It was time to think on your feet and take decisive action in minutes. If not quicker.
“Forget bloody standard procedures and use your brain. Block this road with ‘Police Accident’ signs to prevent anyone from approaching the scene by car or on foot. We’re in a cocoon here, thanks to where the planned attack took place. News of this incident must not reach the gunman’s associates. Get onto Wiltshire Radio, Heart FM and anyone else who can spread these words. Car accident. Head-on collision. Road closed until further notice. Do you think you can remember that?”
“Why would we do that? I don’t follow.”
“That’s because you aren’t in the loop,” said Gus. “But, if we don’t keep a lid on this for twenty-four hours you can expect to watch your balls being run up the flagpole at London Road.”
Gus and Luke would swear on a stack of Bibles the young DI winced.
“I need to ring HQ for guidance,” he muttered.
“Insist on talking to DS Mercer. That’s M-E-R-C-E-R. Tell him Gus Freeman asked him to explain the word ‘misinformation’ to you.”
The young detective scuttled away.
“Luke, did you find a mobile phone on Dushka when you went through his jacket pockets?”
“I grabbed it along with his driver’s licence and several receipts for petrol and snacks. There was a bunch of keys on the car fob too. One of them will be for the shed, no doubt.”
“Terrific. We need to get this to someone immediately. If my guess is correct, Dushka was the muscle in charge of the drug farm team. He wouldn’t have been there twenty-four-seven. Otherwise, this Merc would have been spotted at the weekend when DI Ferris and I were up there.”
“That visit prompted the break-in the following day, I guess?”
Gus nodded.
The ambulance crew were ready to transport Dushka to hospital. They had stabilised his condition, but the look on their faces couldn’t hide the fact his chances weren’t great.
The DI assigned a uniformed officer to travel with the ambulance. As it moved off, two large white vans approached from the Devizes turning.
“Here come the forensic experts,” said Luke, “it will soon be as busy as Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Carry on with what you were saying.”
“We need to get inside this phone to find details for other gang members Dushka contacts. It will help the team Geoff Mercer is leading tomorrow morning. Once they learn how this guy communicated with his superiors, then HQ needs to locate a translator.”
“This attack wasn’t random,” said Luke, following Gus’s reasoning, “therefore they will hope to hear Dushka succeeded in his mission. If HQ sends a text confirming the hit in a manner that doesn’t raise suspicion, we might buy the time you say DS Mercer needs.”
“I don’t know how much you have heard, Luke. This morning isn’t just about the death threat Dushka left me or today’s attack. Nor is it only about the Cambrai Terrace cannabis farm. It’s part of a far bigger operation timed for dawn tomorrow.”
“So, you need to disappear for a while, am I right?”
“The misinformation I mentioned to the muppet we talked to just now is vital. We have to build on that. I can rely on you to convey the details to London Road. I need to go into hiding. We must keep the news of Dushka being in hospital with serious injuries under wraps. The ambulance will have taken him to Swindon. His identity must not appear in any official records. If he survives that stomach wound, he must have round-the-clock security.”
“Understood, Gus,” said Luke.
“If the gang hear news of the ‘accident’ they will assume it’s a smokescreen to hide the truth. The gang will expect the police to be crawling over West Wiltshire hunting an assassin. It won’t be unreasonable not to have had further contact with their man if he’s gone to ground. The last place Dushka would run to is the shed. If we can buy just a few hours before they get suspicious we may save the day.”
“What about you, Gus?”
Gus was thinking about how to prevent this from turning into a shitstorm.
He was due at an interview with Krystal Warner ten miles away in fifteen minutes.
He had an appointment this afternoon, and a dinner date this evening. His car was out of action for the immediate future; things could hardly get any worse.
Except for being dead; and that had almost happened.
“As soon as they can release you, Luke, give me a shout. In the meantime, I need to lay false trails.”
Luke ran off to liaise with the DI, and Gus found a calm spot to make his calls. Thank goodness he’d forced himself to have that fried breakfast, he thought. At least he wasn’t hungry.
In the CRT office at Old Police Station, Alex was getting nervous. Where the heck was the guvnor? Gus was never late. He hadn’t called to report anything was delaying him. Neil wanted to phone the
local hospitals.
Alex’s phone rang. It was their boss; he sounded stressed.
“Alex, it’s me. Sorry, you’ll have to interview Krystal Warner with Lydia. I’ve hit a problem. It’s too long a story to bother with now. Remember to concentrate on timings, Alex. Get her talking about everything that happened the day of the murder but take special note of who was where and when.”
“Got it, guv, I can tell Neil to stop panicking and ringing the hospitals now, can I?”
“If he did and heard a rumour someone came in with gunshot wounds, it wasn’t me.”
“Blimey, we miss out on the fun up here.”
“It wasn’t much fun. I can assure you. It might be Monday before I’m back in touch. Have a good weekend.”
“Righto, guv,” said Alex. He wanted to ask more questions, but Gus had gone.
Alex took a deep breath, then told the others what Gus had told him.
“Never a dull moment,” said Neil.
“Come on, Lydia,” said Alex. “we’ve got to get over to the Ring O’Bells for half-past. Neil, have we received that file from the Hub yet?”
Neil nodded. He had a fun morning ahead checking alibis for men guilty of a wide-ranging variety of deviant behaviour. If only he’d studied harder at school.
At the Wiltshire Police HQ in Devizes, Vera Jennings faced yet another day as PA to ACC Kenneth Truelove. No two days were ever the same. The ACC always kept her busy.
There were days when frantic described the way he appeared, and on other days he was mellow. Vera had learned to go with the flow, but today Truelove was frantic. Something was on the boil. The news hadn’t broken yet, but she’d seen this behaviour from him before.
Vera was excited, nervous, and looking forward to her dinner date with Gus Freeman. The phone rang.
“Vera, it’s me. Sorry, I need you to do something for me. Don’t ask me to explain. I want you to go to the Ferret this evening as arranged. I won’t turn up, I’m afraid. You can appear as annoyed or upset as you wish. The more people notice you, the better.”
“Gus, what the heck is happening? You’re worrying me. Are you alright?”
