by Robert White
“Quite,” added Hanna with a practised smile. “Of course it is. Come this way please.”
Williams followed her along the hall, into the living room overlooking the canal. Eddie guessed he could have fitted his whole flat into the space.
Hanna waved a manicured hand toward an oxblood Chesterfield. “Please, sit down Eddie. Luuk won’t be long… can I get you anything to eat or drink?”
Eddie had used the hotel’s fitness suite that morning and had consumed enough eggs and bacon to satisfy a small army. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over the arm of the sofa, conscious not to crease his latest designer purchase.
“I’ve had breakfast,” he said. “But a cup of tea would be good… three sugars.”
Hanna brought out that smile again.
“Three sugars… of course.”
Finding himself alone, Eddie took to examining Luuk’s Bang and Olufsen Hi-Fi.
A voice emanated from behind him.
“It’s a Beomaster 2000 system Eddie. Do you like it? It’s brand new.”
Williams turned to see Luuk De Jong standing in the doorway holding his tea.
“It looks like something out of a spaceship,” said Eddie.
Luuk walked over, handed Williams his cup and waved his hand over the unit. Instantly, classical music played quietly from unseen speakers.
“Do you like Vivaldi, Eddie?” asked Luuk.
“Never heard of them,” countered Williams naively.
Luuk issued the same smile as his sister, considered correcting his guest, decided against it and sat.
He was a tall man, lithe and tanned with seemingly perfect teeth. His homosexuality didn’t show. There was no hint of femininity or camp about him. Just like Eddie Williams, De Jong did an excellent job of hiding his sexual preferences. In private however, this was a different matter.
He patted the sofa.
“Come and sit Eddie, it’s so good to see you again,” he flirted.
Eddie didn’t move. Instead, he took a gulp of his tea. “I’m okay standing thanks.”
Luuk looked slightly hurt, but it was brief.
“Of course… business before pleasure eh Eddie?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Yes… that’s why you are here… indeed.”
Luuk leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees.
“Before we go any further Eddie, I think we should lay our cards on the table, don’t you?”
Williams found a suitable spot for his cup. “Fair enough… shoot.”
Luuk’s smile returned. “I like your directness Eddie, and I like your innocence, it’s… how should I put it… refreshing.”
Eddie was not amused. He may not have been as sophisticated as the Dutchman, but he had a business brain and was as tough as any man.
“I’m not here for your refreshment pal. I’m here to do a deal… the deal we talked about. What’s the problem with that? Do you think we ain’t got the coin? Is that it?”
Luuk raised a hand.
“Easy Eddie, that infamous temper of yours will be your undoing. This is exactly what I’m talking about… Look, I can supply all your needs, the cocaine, the amphetamine sulphate, the cannabis and more, at prices that are very attractive in comparison to what you have been paying… but there are issues.”
“What are they then?” asked Eddie sharply.
“The issues are twofold. First, you need outlets for such large quantities of product. If you are to climb the ladder, so to speak, you need the customers.”
“We have those, no problem. We have a plan in place… so… the second?”
“The second, my dear Eddie, is that if you climb this ladder, there are people on the rungs above you. People that do not wish to move from their high position. People who will fight with everything they have to stay in this lofty place.”
“You mean that Scouser Tower? The Paki Mahmood?”
Luuk nodded. “You have been their customer, and now you want to bypass them. My concern is that these people will go to war with you for this slice of business.”
“We won’t be taking their custom. We have other options.”
Luuk shrugged. “They may not see that as a good enough excuse.”
Eddie’s eyes flashed. “We may not give a fucking shit.”
De Jong’s manner transformed from jovial host to hard-nosed drug dealer. He’d seen hundreds of Eddies over the years. Seen then come with big ideas. Seen them end up floating in the canal too. Especially ones who crossed Arron Tower.
“I want twenty grand, up front,” he said. “In English pounds. I want the money washed before it comes to me and I want you to deliver it in person. When I have the cash, I will ensure your goods are delivered to the Kent coast. Once they land on English soil, my part of the deal is done. These terms are not up for negotiation. If the big boys come and take your toys away, it won’t be my problem. Are we clear?”
“Clear,” said Eddie.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Palace Barracks, Holywood, County Down, Northern Ireland
Jamie Strange lay on his bed unable to sleep.
During the debrief, he had stuck to the tale that Bird had asked him to. He’d told the officer that despite repeated warnings, the Irishman had refused to surrender his weapon. Corporal Valance had turned the last corner in front of Jamie and, although, he hadn’t actually witnessed the final events, he believed that the lad had started back down the fire escape, weapon in hand leaving his partner no option than to engage him.
The officer who had conducted the proceedings had seemed unconcerned with the fine detail. The boy had shot at members of the British Armed |Forces and he’d been killed as a result of his own actions.
His instant verdict was one of a righteous kill.
Once the weapons had been checked and swabs and alcohol tests had been completed, Jamie had expected to be issued with a travel warrant and to be sent on leave.
Except he hadn’t.
He lay on no more than a bunk in an eight-by-four room with no other furniture. He couldn’t call the room a cell, as it wasn’t. It was situated on the top floor of a single man’s accommodation block. However, all the other rooms were empty and there was a guard at the end of each corridor.
Jamie wasn’t going anywhere, not just yet.
Forty-eight hours after Richard Valance had shot dead an unarmed teenage boy, a very serious-looking officer arrived at Jamie’s door.
“Get up son,” he said sharply. “The RUC wants a quiet word.”
After a considerable walk, the angry officer pushed open the door to an interview room. Jamie stuck his head inside and found the obvious.
A metal table, bolted to the floor, with full matching accessories.
“Take a seat,” said Angry.
He did as he was ordered and waited.
An hour passed. Jamie knew what the game was, he’d had all the training, but this was different. This was for real.
Finally, the interview room door opened and in walked the detective he’d spoken to at the scene of the shooting in Coalisland.
In the starkly lit room, Jamie could see that the guy was much older than he’d first thought. The man still wore the same long black overcoat that contrasted his pale lined face and drinker’s nose.
He shrugged his mac off his shoulders, sat and lit a cigarette without offering one to the marine.
“I’m Detective Chief Inspector Kierney,” he said allowing the smoke to simply fall from his mouth along with his words.
“Sir,” acknowledged Jamie.
He leaned in closer and locked his watery green eyes on Jamie.
“I want a wee word with you about the boy McGuire… understand?”
Jamie nodded.
Kierney took another long drag, this time h
e blew smoke toward the ceiling in a long plume. “I’ll tell you this son,” he began. “There’s not many in here are too concerned about young Barry lying there in the morgue… know what I’m sayin’?”
Jamie remained impassive. The guy wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t know. There had been a lot of backslapping going on over the shooting.
The RUC’s insistence on further questioning, would cause political fallout upstairs and operational irritation down.
The DCI didn’t appear to care about either.
“You want to run the whole thing by me again there Strange?”
Jamie took a deep breath and began his rehearsed response.
“We were parked just off the junction of Anderson and Smithfield when we spotted McGuire walking toward our vehicle. As he got close, he opened his coat, pulled a long-barrelled handgun and opened fire on us.”
“How many times did he fire?”
“Four, five maybe.”
“It was four, son. We pulled all of them from the grill and bonnet of your car… there were two left in his gun. Not the best shot, was he?”
Jamie stayed quiet.
Kierney stubbed out his fag. “Why do you think that was?”
“What? Why he was a bad shot?”
“No son… why do you think he didn’t fire the last two?”
Jamie shrugged.
“Did he fire one-handed, or two?”
“Two, it looked like he’d had some training.”
The DCI cocked his head and managed a smile. “So, what happened then?”
“We… well I, started the car, and reversed down the road away from the danger area, whilst Bird… I mean, Corporal Valance, called in the contact.”
“And then?”
“Well… then the lad sort of just stood in the road.”
“He didn’t run away?”
“Not… not straight away, no. He only ran when he saw me and Bird get out of the car.”
“Did you not consider it a trap?”
“We never mentioned it, but it crossed my mind.”
“But you ran after the boy anyways?”
“We did.”
Kierney found a second cigarette and lit it. “Bit reckless wouldn’t you say? Out of cover, running down the middle of the fucking road, in a dangerous part of town. After all, despite all your Secret Service antics, you’d obviously been bubbled eh?”
“Obviously,” managed Jamie.
“I’d’ve been thinkin’ that the wee boy was a decoy,” pointed the detective. “A means for the Provo’s to drag me away from the relative safety of my car and my comms… down that dark alley… to shoot me down, or worse still capture me alive. But you didn’t think that did ye boy?”
“Like I said it…”
“Aye it crossed your mind… so you weren’t just following Valance’s lead?”
“He was ahead of me… so I suppose…”
Kierney nodded and examined the end of his fag.
“So ye chase him down the alley. Young Barry turns left at the end and runs up the fire escape… correct?”
“Correct.”
“And how close to him were ye when he started his climb?”
“Close enough to hear his feet on the metal rungs.”
The DCI managed a smile. “Aye they do make a row now don’t they?”
“They do.”
“Was that when you issued your first challenge?”
“Yes… erm… no… we challenged him as soon as he ran off.”
“You challenged him?”
“Yes, I think it was me.”
“You think?”
“Yes… yes, it was me, I issued the standard challenge.”
Kierney ran his tongue between his teeth and top lip.
“Then what?”
“Well once we got to the end of the alley, we could hear the lad rattling the door at the top of the stairs, trying to get away. When no one came to open up from inside, it was pretty obvious he was caught.”
The DCI eyeballed Jamie. “Like a rabbit in a snare eh?”
“We gave him every opportunity to surrender.”
“Did ye now?”
“Yes, we did, we both challenged him, both did our best to persuade him to throw down.”
“But he refused?”
“He did… yes sir.”
“Then what?”
“Then we heard the boy making back down the fire escape. Bird had point, he was right at the corner of the building, his back to the wall in front of me. If the boy had made the bottom, we would have been in the open.”
“So?”
“So… he did what anyone would have done… he spun left and double-tapped the boy.”
“You saw this?”
“No sir… heard it. I was still in cover.”
Kierney rubbed his chin. He needed a shave.
“And the boy fell down the steps to the bottom, gun in hand?”
“Like I said sir, I only heard the shots and heard the boy fall. As soon as he was down, I went to him, to see if we could save him, but he was stone dead.”
Another fag was pulled from his packet, before Kierney began again.
“I want you to think carefully now Corporal Strange. I want you to tell me how many steps the boy took down that escape, before Valance turned and fired.”
Jamie was well aware that Kierney would be an expert in the interrogation of suspects. He hadn’t banked on this question.
“I’m not sure,” he offered.
“Not sure?”
“No.”
“Well let me offer you this information son. That escape has twenty-two treads. It was pissing down and they would be slippery… agree?”
“I suppose…”
“Well suppose this. Young Barry is shitting himself. Let’s say he’s a little on the fucking reticent side. Wandering down the escape into your arms is not high on his list of priorities. His best chance of survival is to get halfway down the stairs, vault the rail and run like fuck toward the village.”
“His best chance of survival would have been to surrender his weapon.”
Kierney gave a sardonic smile. “Of course, how silly of me… but he didn’t.”
“No, he didn’t.”
The detective nodded and turned down the edges of his mouth.
“I reckon, the young boy, standing there in the pissing rain, had no idea if he had any rounds left in his gun. Even an experienced soldier as yourself… even you, were unsure how many he’d fired eh? It’s the adrenaline you see. A professional shooter should never pull the trigger on an empty weapon… but wee Barry was no professional.”
“He was a terrorist, nonetheless.”
Kierney sat up at that one.
“Oh aye, lad… no doubt about it, he was one of those… but I’ll come back to that in a moment.”
Another fag was lit.
“Let’s say,” started the DCI. “That the boy starts down the steps, clunk… clunk… clunk… how many steps before you two highly trained individuals realise that he’s either about to do a runner, or he’s coming for you?”
“Like I said…”
“Yes, I remember, you aren’t sure… but just hazard a wee guess for me. Five… six… seven?”
“Six maybe…”
“Six, and did you hear him open the revolver as he negotiated the steps, maybe a turn of the cylinder to see if he had enough bullets to kill you both?”
“No, the rain and wind wouldn’t have allowed…”
Kierney held up a hand to stop Jamie.
“So, at six steps, your partner Valance has heard enough, he spins to his left and double-taps Barry in the chest. Barry falls down dead, and it’s over.”
“That’s about it, yes.”
The detective stood and beckoned Jamie.
“Stand up for me there Strange.”
The marine did as he was asked.
“Now,” said Kierney. “Put out your hands, the way Barry had them when he was shooting at you in the street.”
Jamie stretched out both his powerful arms and cupped one hand with the other. Without warning, Kierney shoved him in the chest. Jamie was far too big and strong to be pushed over and simply stood his ground.
Kierney smiled that smile again. “Now put your hands on your head son. As if you had been ordered to do so by an armed officer.”
Jamie didn’t like the sound of this one bit, but did as requested.
Kierney gave him a second shove in the chest and Jamie was forced to take a step back to keep his balance.
“Thank you,” said the detective. “You’ve been a great help.”
“Can I go now?” asked Jamie, relieved at the prospect.
Kierney held out a hand and twisted it, first palm up, then palm down.
Jamie was growing irritated.
“Look, I’ve told you all I know.”
The DCI leaned over the table and got in Jamie’s face.
“No, you fucking haven’t son… You haven’t told me why, if that boy was shot six rungs from the top of the stairs, some thirty feet from Valance, why there are powder burns on his clothing, consistent with him being shot at point-blank range.”
The cop pointed a nicotine-stained finger in Jamie’s face.
“Also, McGuire was found on his back, with his head resting on the bottom step. As I have just demonstrated, if he’d been treading down the stairs holding his gun out ready to fire, the force of the shots to his chest wouldn’t have knocked him backwards, the weight of his outstretched arms would mean he would have fallen on his face, or his legs may have simply given way. On the other hand, if he’d done as ordered… had thrown down his gun, put his hands on his head, and walked down the stairs, he would have fallen backward as the rounds hit him, and slid the remaining couple of treads, just as we found him eh?”
Jamie shook his head. “You’re making this up. I’ve had enough.”
“Am I? Have you?”
Kierney found his briefcase and removed a plastic bag. Inside was a long-barrelled pistol. He lay it on the table and smoothed out the bag to make the weapon easier to see.
