Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1)

by Vic Marelle

  ‘It’s alright Aunt Joan,’ he cut in. ‘It’s not your fault that a dosey old codger that shouldn’t be on the road bumped into my pickup.’

  Turning to the solicitor he told him that he had suggested meeting with his aunt so as to keep things friendly because, like her, he had had enough of the family in-fighting. He also wanted to keep the costs down. In his view a solicitor was simply not required.

  Seeing a combination of a client that could be running out of money – or had already reached that point – and the possible opportunity to draw in another income stream to replace her, Preston responded with his corporate message that where there were land disputes they could normally only be resolved by employing the specialist knowledge and services of a solicitor.

  ‘But that’s the whole point,’ stated the young man, ‘I have documents that clear up all issues to the point where there is no dispute. Everything is fully set out and detailed which means that the action my father started against Aunt Joan and Uncle Mike can be dropped and we can get on with being a family again.’

  ‘I would like that Kevin,’ she replied, ‘but a lot of water has gone under the bridge and I am afraid it will take a lot to put that right. Uncle Mike is in a pretty bad condition right now and he blames your dad for that. Whether he is right or not I don’t know, but what I do know is that your dad was wrong about the land and our house. We bought the barns and cottages from your granddad and we paid for the conversion work ourselves. And granddad legally gifted the land to us without any pressure from us. Actually, I told him that we didn’t want it all but he went ahead anyway. It wasn’t of our doing. But that doesn’t alter the fact that it was all done legally some time ago and it is ours. I can understand how your dad felt when granddad died and the land wasn’t in his will though.’

  Kevin looked first at his aunt then at the solicitor, before looking directly at Joan.

  ‘Well that’s not strictly correct,’ he said. ‘I don’t dispute anything that you have just said Aunt Joan, your land is yours and the caravan park is mine, but the boundary between us is not where you think.’ Turning to face the solicitor he continued, ‘the land between my caravan park and Aunt Joan’s place runs in a long stripe separating the caravan park and the hill up to their house and it’s always been taken that the boundary between us was on the caravan park side.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Joan, ‘along the line of the trees.’ Then, to make it absolutely clear she added, ‘our land goes from our house, down the hill and to the trees; your land is from the line of trees to the old road.’

  ‘Like I said, that’s not actually correct.’

  The solicitor could see a fair payday coming. Out of adversity might come opportunity. A financial opportunity. ‘The boundary line is well established Mr Archer, and if I am correct, the land gifted to your aunt here had been owned by your grandfather for many years before your own father set up his caravan park. We can establish positioning of the boundary exactly by checking the details held by the Land Registry and then re-surveying the land. We can do that of course, but a survey will be expensive.’

  Looking directly at Kevin and reverting to his friendly uncle act, Preston continued, ‘But I suggest that it would be better all round if you just accepted what we all know already. I can draw up a legal document confirming the boundary line as being how we have all believed for as long as we can remember. The document can then be filed at the Registry along with the plans. That will be much less expensive. What do you say?’

  ‘None of that is necessary.’

  Preston was exasperated. But inwardly anticipating some further income. This was going to run a little longer and with the value of the land in dispute, one of them would eventually have access to some money.

  ‘Dad didn’t set up Green Fields,’ continued the young Archer, ‘he bought it as a going concern.’ Kevin added that his father just wanted to protect their livelihood by adding some more pitches, developing what he already had and converting the old stone barn at the bottom end of the fields into a restaurant so that they could compete with the new marina site. Of course his father had been upset when he had been cut out of the will, but although the legacy would have enabled them to upgrade before the rival marina site had come on stream, overall it was the land that had been more important. Then just before his father had died, he had found out that in actual fact the land had been his all the time.

  As his aunt and her solicitor listened in astounded silence, Kevin explained that Arthur Jarvis, the original owner of the caravan site, had contacted him. Apparently Jarvis hadn’t known that Kevin’s father had died until the police had gone knocking on his door. After the police had left, Jarvis had phoned Kevin to express his condolences.

  Preston and his client remained silent. Though neither could see where the young lad was going, both of them were anticipating some sort of earth shattering pronouncement. Joan couldn’t think what that might be but alarm bells were ringing in her head. Preston couldn’t imagine what might be revealed either, but hoped that the bells of a cash register might accompany it.

  Kevin continued by outlining how years previously the two properties had been created from one farm and the temporary loan of the fields to what had become Joan’s father’s smallholding, while title and ownership had always been with the caravan site.

  ‘That’s a bit far fetched lad,’ commented the solicitor. ‘This Jarvis bloke can say anything he wants but it doesn’t make it fact – or legal. You have two choices - either accept the boundary as being where we all know it to be or the surveyors will have to be called in. Can you afford that lad?’

  ‘I don’t think that you have been listening Mr Preston,’ he responded. ‘With all due respects, with your intransigence I can see why our family has been feuding for so long. I bet you have made a packet out of my aunt and uncle by keeping this going.’

  Preston started to sweat as the colour rose slowly up his neck and into his cheeks. ‘Now then lad, that’s a bit strong, just calm down a bit.’

  ‘No Mr Preston, I am going,’ standing up and pushing his chair back. ‘But before I do, let me tell you that I have everything on paper and it is all legal. I have documents from the time the farm was divided that describe in detail where the boundary lies and who owns what, accompanied by copies of the Land Registry plans. The fields and the boundary are all detailed. And it is all very clear Mr Preston. Before you ask, the documents are all signed by Mr Jarvis, Mr Jarvis’ father who was splitting the farm up and my Granddad. And those signatures are witnessed by the solicitor for the Jarvis family and also the solicitor my Granddad used.’ Placing his hands on the chair back he locked eyes with Preston, ‘It is all quite clear – and legal.’

  ‘I very much doubt it. I think you had better give me the documents so I can check them out young man.’

  ‘I don’t think so Mr Preston. Like I said, this has split our family and I don’t want that to continue. The one good thing to come out of my dad’s death and uncle Mike’s attacks is that the two sides of the family are again talking to each other. You are getting nothing from me because I am not prepared to let the originals out of my sight but I am quite happy to give copies to Aunt Joan. I am now going ahead with expanding Green Fields onto those fields and creating my restaurant.’ Then, as an aside, looking at his aunt he added, ‘If she wants to pass anything over to you then that’s up to her.’

  Standing ready to leave he said, ‘Aunt Joan, why don’t you come down to Green Fields? I can show you the documents – make you copies if you want – and we can talk about what I hope to do and how I intend doing it. It was all one farm if you go way back, so your land and mine fits together nicely. Surely it would be better to go forward together, but if you are not interested I can forget that option. I prefer to talk than be at loggerheads.’

  Preston frowned as he saw his next pay check walking out of the door.

  ……….

  Having briefed his team, Detective Inspector Radcli
ffe was confident that everyone knew his or her part and that the wheels of the operation would turn like a well oiled machine. They would rendezvous a mile from the former Catholic College before putting the plan into action. He knew that they were up against the clock. Although Wilson had been arrested, everything they had on him was circumstantial. But with the time he could be held without being formally charged rapidly running out, delaying until they had something more concrete would kill their advantage and allow him to warn his accomplices or distance himself entirely. Either option could stop their enquiry in its tracks.

  ‘OK. Let’s get the show on the road shall we?’ he said. ‘I want us to be absolutely clear on what we are doing before we leave. Our primary target today is car theft. But I am sure that somewhere there is a link to the murders that have taken up so much of our time.’ Looking around the team crammed into the office he wound down the briefing by adding, ‘It is down to the sterling work that Louise and Debbie have done that we got the break that identified today’s target and enabled us to bring Steven Wilson in,’ then, pausing while he looked at each in turn, ‘thank you ladies. But what we have at the moment remains tenuous. Don’t screw up today or we will lose the lot. OK. That’s about it. If there are no questions – we will meet at Martin Mere in one hour.’

  A hand shot up before anyone could leave.

  ‘Are we sure that this is the place boss?’

  In a word, no,’ replied Radcliffe. ‘We do know that the building figures somewhere in the thefts because a Bentley we are sure has been stolen arrived on Sunday. The links to Mr Wilson are several cars he legally owns that are stored there. We think that they are his cover. He’s got a car repair business and he is a partner in an auto electrics business so there’s the expertise to disable the tracker units and workshops in which to do it. It’s an MOT station so he has the computer links into the system and all the inside knowledge too. Oh, and he regularly exports cars to Poland and other Eastern European countries so he has the whole process neatly contained.’

  The same hand shot up again. ‘You said the links to Wilson are legally owned cars but that the Bentley is believed stolen. Surely, when a high value car is nicked it would be reported straight away. Why don’t we know whether it has been stolen?’

  ‘Good point Sean,’ responded Radcliffe. ‘Thanks to Debbie we were able to follow the Bentley for several miles. It was on false cloned plates and we know it hasn’t been moved since. But it hasn’t been reported stolen yet so that is a bit of a mystery.’

  ‘So where’s the link to the murders boss?’

  Radcliffe pondered the question for which he had no answer. If the evidence against Wilson for the car thefts was circumstantial then for murder it was little more than a hunch. ‘That’s what we desperately need to find,’ he replied. ‘The body behind the Bold – the Pole – was one of his employees. The body in the faked car accident was also a Polish national so there could be a connection. More than that I can’t say. Gentlemen, we need today’s operation to dot the i’s for us.’

  Twenty-Four

  With gravel crunching under its tyres, a police Ford drove into the car park. Slotting between a similar liveried car and a yellow surveillance van with its windscreen riot protection locked up, both driver and passenger strolled over to where a group were chatting. A young officer then left the group and walked to the entrance of the wildlife sanctuary, where DI Don Radcliffe and DS Kyle Fraser stood holding Styrofoam cups of coffee.

  The video lads have just turned up so that’s everyone accounted for,’ said the officer.

  ‘OK lad, thanks’ responded Radcliffe. ‘Get everyone together for me and I will come and check they all know the plan. We’ll only get one stab at this so it has to go like clockwork. We’ve half an hour before we move off so there’s no rush.’

  Back in the sixteenth century, where they were standing had been just a small part of a vast area of lakes and wetlands stretching several miles inland from the coast at Southport – then known as North Meols –the largest of which had been Martin Mere, a lake some two miles long. After the creation of an intricate web of ditches and gulleys to drain the land for agriculture and residential development however, the twenty-first century Martin Mere Wetlands and Wildlife sanctuary was but a shadow of the mere’s former size, having at its heart a lake only a few hundred metres long. But hidden as it was in the countryside just a few minutes away from the day’s target, its straggling car parks were an ideal rendezvous point for Radcliffe’s mission.

  Dropping their cups into a litter bin, Radcliffe and Fraser followed the young officer back to the assembled group. Surveying his troops as he walked, Radcliffe felt the familiar pangs of anticipation. It had become a ritual. After the build-up, the fitting together of pieces in the jigsaw, and the repetitive checking and rechecking to make sure that all bases had been covered, came a distinct apprehension in the minutes before the operation began. Once they were on the move it would be replaced by a positive action packed attack fuelled by adrenaline and backed up by a search warrant, but with its enforced waiting where minutes seemed to drag like hours, the immediate pre-operation assembly was the time when he always went through a series of negatives. Was his hunch correct? Did the evidence add up? Would they apprehend suspects or would the operation turn out to be a waste of time?

  There had been a few of those over the years: information that had been totally incorrect or villains who had fled following a tip-off. Failures didn’t do much for confidence or look good on a CV.

  ‘We’ll move off at half past,’ he said, ‘which gives you twenty five minutes to grab a coffee from the shop, but get the vehicles in their correct order first. Surprise will be important today, so we assemble here and arrive in correct order to peel off to our allocated positions. Sergeant Fraser and I will lead and I want the marked vehicles and uniforms at the back, followed by Inspector Davies and the CSI’s,’ adding, ‘they should be with us shortly.’ Continuing with his instructions to the group; who was to follow him to the college, who was to be stationed at the other exits to the building and who was to stop and be lookout at the gate, he concluded with, ‘I want you all here in fifteen, and from now on, radio silence and switch your Blackberry’s to silent please.’

  Within minutes the little convoy was ready. As wound up as their leader and willing the operation to begin, everyone remained with their cars, nobody having any desire to walk over to the wetlands foyer. Radcliffe and Fraser stood off to one side. As they watched the team, obviously tensed up and waiting for the signal to go, one of their number detached herself from the group and walked over to Radcliffe clutching a mobile phone.

  Speaking in hushed tones so that their exchange could not be overheard, Debbie Lescott apologised for disturbing him when they were on countdown, then passing him her Blackberry, told him that Simon Charlton needed to talk to him urgently. The group looked on anxiously.

  Taking her mobile, Radcliffe listened, his expression a clear annoyance that such a civilian intrusion should be allowed to interrupt their preparations, swiftly changing to surprise and then to obvious concern. Turning, he walked slowly away from the group and threw questions at his caller. Some of the answers confirmed his suspicions but others had the potential to cast doubt on the success of the mission about to commence. Jotting a few notes on the back of a business card, Radcliffe thanked his caller for his initiative and closed the call. The decision he would have to take in the next few seconds could either end in success or bring the whole case crashing down.

  After making a call on his own phone he turned back and beckoned to the two sergeants. The rest of the group watched intently as Fraser and Lescott joined Radcliffe, the trio hunched together in animated discussion as the unexpected scenario played out. This was not planned. Nobody spoke, the only sound being the quacking of ducks on the mere. What had gone wrong? Were they about to be stood down? Was the operation being aborted?

  Radcliffe returned the phone to Lescott. ‘Your man�
�s quite a bright spark,’ he said. ‘Apparently he was returning from Preston and took a short cut off the A59 at Burscough where he saw a number of cars nose to tail and in a hurry.’

  ‘Probably young lads tearing up the countryside Don,’ observed Fraser.

  Ignoring the comment, Radcliffe continued, ‘At least your bloke is observant Debbie. They caught his interest because they were expensive cars, but more importantly he clocked that only the one at the front and the one at the back had reg plates. The front one had passed before he noticed that the ones following didn’t have any plates but he did manage to get the registration of the one at the tail end. I recognised the number but I’ve just asked for a DVLA trace to confirm. I’m not sure about the one leading but from Simon’s observation of the makes and models it’s my bet that the ones without plates were three of our nicked cars. It looks like our friends have just removed some evidence,’

  The trio had almost reached the assembled group. ‘Debbie, get on to control and advise them that the timing has changed,’ Radcliffe commanded. “Tell them to get the CSI’s to go direct to the location, we are not going to wait.’ Then as an afterthought added, ‘Oh, and your boss DI Davies will need to go direct as well.’ Turning to Fraser he continued, ‘Kyle, get the chopper up. We might be closing the stable door after the horse has bolted but let’s see if they can pick that little convoy up and tell us where they have gone.’

  As the two sergeants ran to their cars to make the calls, Radcliffe raised his voice so that all could hear, ‘Right,’ he bellowed, ‘there’s a change of plan. We are going NOW!’

  ……….

  Viewed from above, the convoy looked like a multi-coloured snake as it wound its way along the country lanes. As if surveying the terrain to ensure its body and tail had a clear passage, At its head, driven by DS Fraser, DI Radcliffe’s red Vauxhall twitched from side to side as it negotiated the twists and turns. Behind it, unmarked cars in varying colours were followed by distinctive Battenberg liveried patrol cars with their white roofs and black numbers prominent. At its tail, the big surveillance van was followed by the two small white vans of the CSI team and the black Jaguar of DI Fraser that had finally caught up with the operation.