A Duty of Revenge

by Quentin Dowse

  Things had gone well for the first six months. Then in early February, Billy had returned from one of his trips away with a broken nose and in a state of obvious terror. He had crashed into the house, dashed upstairs and gone into the shower for what seemed like an age. When he eventually came downstairs, she could see he was trembling, unable to settle and clearly terrified. When she asked him what had happened, he would not communicate, leaving the house as quickly as he had entered it and was gone for hours. When he returned, he sat sullenly in front of the TV, refusing to open up.

  Later that evening, when the local news carried the story of the murder of a young man in Ponteland during the course of a robbery the previous night, Billy began to cry. Debbie knew her brief period of married bliss was at an end. He allowed her to hold him in her arms and while he sobbed, the full story of how he had accidentally shot Ryan Harrod poured out. Once he had started he couldn’t stop, and he unloaded random details of the crimes he, Frame and Keegan had committed over the last few months. Debbie hushed and soothed him just like she would her kids until he fell asleep. Then she wrote as many of the details as she could recall in an old notebook and then hid it at the back of one of her drawers. She then sat thinking about what she should do. What was the best for her and the kids? She didn’t want to leave this house. She didn’t give a toss about Billy; he was now a lost cause. How could she use the information she had to best effect?

  The next morning, she worked hard to reassure her husband that it was an accident. He wasn’t a bad man. She would stand by him. It would all be all right. Bit by bit, slowly but surely, Billy calmed down. They didn’t leave the house that day, other than to take and collect her son from school. They talked about how he would continue to work for Frame but be far more cautious and careful in future. Debbie gleaned how much cash they had netted – and what had been Billy’s share. He described how Frame was the organiser – the leader – just as in the army, and how he recruited other gang members if they needed them.

  At this point, he blurted out how Frame had killed one of the men they had hired. Billy had been ill with the flu and unable to take part in the job. She gathered that this had been a building society robbery somewhere near Hull that had taken place just before Christmas. Once Billy explained why Frame had shot the man, she knew that Billy would not be continuing his criminal career with Peter Frame. In fact, he’d be lucky to live. These latest “confessions” went into her notebook later that day.

  Debbie was amazed that Billy had not even considered that he was destined to meet the same fate as the Hull thug. In fact, he kept repeating, almost as a mantra, ‘Peter will sort all this out.’ It was clear that the loyalty, allegiance and trust Major Peter Frame had imbued from his men in a war zone was just as strong here in Newcastle, when committing serious crime.

  Even when Mick Keegan contacted Billy later that evening and commanded him to meet him and Frame at six thirty the following morning next to his trawler, Billy still didn’t smell the rat that Debbie did. She spent the next few hours trying to wheedle more information out of him without any clear idea of why or how she might use it. She was resigned to the fact that just as in the past, all good things that came her way blew up in her face. But she was determined to salvage something from the wreckage that was her six-month-long marriage. Before they went to bed, she was pretty confident that she had enough information about their crimes to blackmail Frame and Keegan. She was equally sure that neither man would bend to such extortion, especially from a woman. But was there a reward? Without appreciating it, Debbie had followed the old adage that knowledge is power.

  As she fell asleep, she had worked out that the odds of Billy surviving his meeting in the morning were slim. Frame had shot the other bloke from Hull for being the weak link and Billy had committed an even worse error. Consequently, five minutes after Billy left the house next morning, Debbie followed in a taxi, leaving the kids asleep and alone. She told the taxi to wait and keeping out of sight she saw Billy, Frame and Keegan talking on the dockside before they all boarded The Blaydon Races and cast off.

  She never saw Billy again.

  Keeping quiet about her husband’s disappearance was difficult, but she rationalised that if asked, she’d say that he often worked away from home without contacting her. She banked on Frame turning up pretending to look for him, when she didn’t raise the expected hue and cry – and when he did she’d be ready. She knew he was attracted to her, and guessed that he knew she’d reciprocate. At this stage, her only plan was to change horses mid-race. If Billy could no longer provide for her and the kids because Frame had killed him, then he should take on that responsibility. She was not daft enough to think this was a permanent solution to her predicament – just a satisfactory stopgap until she could figure out her next move. So when the dashing ex-officer rang, she offloaded the children on her mother and dressed in her best underwear. When he turned up at her door pretending concern about the absent Billy Pike, Debbie told him that she had thought he was at work with him or Keegan, but then became angry at her useless husband’s unreliability when Frame explained he wasn’t. She lied that Billy had often spoken about running away from his newfound responsibilities, realising quickly after their marriage that he was not cut out to be a surrogate father. Her rehearsals in front of the bathroom mirror at dissolving into tears about how the hell she and the kids would manage now, before subtly seducing him, seemed to have paid off. Frame, like most men, seemed to be putty in her expert sexual hands, and Debbie smugly believed that phase one of her plan was in the bag.

  While they smoked their post-coital cigarette, Debbie worked on giving the impression she was slow on the uptake and trusting, anxious not to give Frame any clue that she suspected they were engaged in criminal enterprise. She was blatant about her sexual attraction to the posh ex-officer and her desire to provide him with all necessary creature comforts – if he was prepared to deliver hers. When Frame seemed to accept all she said and was all too eager to comply, Debbie felt herself relax a little. Maybe this could actually work out. If this man was as clever as he sounded, being the mistress of a successful criminal could be a sound lifestyle choice.

  Frame for his part was happy to briefly enjoy Debbie’s finely honed sexual skills. He knew she was just manipulating him for her own ends but for now it suited him – he wouldn’t be around for long. He judged her to be a thick, cold-hearted, manipulative bitch and rationalised that a woman like her would have tried to blackmail him in some way, if she had any inkling about the trio’s crimes or Billy’s death. But Frame had never been involved with a woman like Debbie Pike before. He’d always moved in different circles. He saw her rough edges, lack of formal education and her willingness to marry Billy for money as a sign of low intelligence. He’d not recognised her cunning, callous nature and lack of heart.

  For her part, she thought all men could be manipulated with sex – it had always worked in the past. Just as he had done, she had missed those same cold-hearted traits in him. Both had very seriously underestimated each other’s survival instincts.

  Each thinking the other was now under control, they enjoyed their cigarettes, both apparently in a state of post-sexual harmony and understanding.

  In that mindset, Frame was not as careful as he should have been when his mobile rang and he recognised Keegan’s number. He climbed out of bed and went into the adjoining bathroom, failing to register that Debbie had crept to the bedroom door and was listening.

  ‘No problem. She just thinks he’s cleared off,’ he whispered. ‘She’s actually pleased to see the back of him and seems to be planning for me to take his place. Daft bitch. I’m going along with it for now to make sure she knows nothing.’

  From this one short exchange, Debbie knew where she stood – and gained an immediate advantage. She was assuming the call had come from Keegan, as Billy had given her no reason to believe there was a fourth gang member.

  ‘But
we do have another problem,’ Frame continued, ‘my contact at Catterick has been in touch. Northumbria Police have asked for our army records.’

  There was a lengthy silence while Frame listened.

  ‘Don’t panic. I’ve arranged for them to be mislaid for a couple of days. If they had anything solid, we’d have been arrested already… but they are clearly looking. So we’ll bring the job forward and do the one we’ve selected up here, not the one in Hull. Keep out of the way now. We’ll do it tomorrow night. I’ll stay here the night… I’m sure the silly cow won’t mind. Then we’re out of here as planned.’

  Silence.

  ‘We still need a driver – we can’t do the job up here without a third man. I’ll ring Grantmore now and arrange to meet tomorrow morning, somewhere down there. Then he’s probably going to need a trip on your boat too.’

  Silence.

  ‘No, leave it all on the boat for now. I’ll ring you back after I’ve spoken to him. Give me a couple of hours… and, Mick; make sure that boat’s secure.’

  The loo flushed, giving Debbie time to get back into bed. Frame strode back into the bedroom and began to dress, with no effort at all to try and maintain the air of intimacy and romance they’d enjoyed before the phone call.

  ‘Got to go, I’m afraid. Duty calls.’ He bent and gave her a cursory kiss on the forehead. ‘I won’t be long… back before bedtime… if that’s okay? I’ll let myself out.’

  With that he left.

  Debbie was nothing if not a realist and knew her thoughts of just a few minutes ago of living off Frame’s ill-gotten gains were dashed. He was clearly planning one last job and then planning to flee. She wasn’t in his plans. Her mind switched to how she might still resurrect something from the situation. Frame had killed her golden goose and he now had to pay. She fetched the notebook from her underwear drawer and added the latest information gleaned from listening to his conversation. That included the name Grantmore. She was now focussed upon either the blackmail approach or a police reward. Was revenge the only thing left to her? She resolved to grass up Frame and Keegan as her last resort.

  But it was not until she actually wrote what she’d heard Frame say about making sure the boat was secure that she realised there was in all probability another option. After all, he would never suspect her – she was just a silly cow, a daft bitch. He’d see how daft.

  Twenty-Eight

  Still That Same Evening

  I looked pointedly at my watch. It was ten past bloody nine and I was still in the incident room putting the finishing touches to my presentation for the morning. Pete Granger, however, did not take the hint.

  ‘He’s bloody disappeared, boss. There’s something wrong… I know it. I can’t help thinking he may have fallen foul of Grantmore.’

  Although his absence was worrying, I confess I was more concerned about him providing the statement we needed than him having fallen into Grantmore’s clutches. I pictured him at a stamp collectors’ convention in Harrogate or a steam train rally in Pickering.

  ‘Peter, you are right to be worried. I’m worried but there is nothing I can do right now. Tomorrow’s review has to be my priority. I’m relying on you to tell them that you are one hundred and ten per cent confident he’ll put all he knows into evidence. Do not even hint at his disappearance. After the review, we’ll pull out all the stops to find him… we have to… we need him.’

  I saw from his body language he had given up.

  ‘Go home. Start again after the meeting… the meeting at which you have a big part to play… the meeting at which you bloody save your job… the meeting at which you emerge as the best detective… who never was a detective.’ We both laughed and the tension eased.

  When he left, he was smiling.

  I saved my PowerPoint presentation, closed down my computer and was about to leave when Sean Grantmore rang. My mouth went dry as I answered my mobile.

  ‘Sean. What you got for me?’ I kept my voice flat and unemotional.

  ‘Frame’s just rung me. They want to meet my driver… or should I say yours… tomorrow morning at ten o’clock at Ferrybridge Services on the A1.’ He sounded calm.

  ‘Have you passed them details of the two possible jobs?’

  ‘Not yet… he never asked for them either. I haven’t finalised them yet anyway… it’s not fucking easy. As soon as I’ve narrowed it down, you’ll know.’

  ‘Don’t piss me about, Sean.’

  ‘I’m not. He was keen to get the meeting set up with the driver but never asked me about the jobs. I dunno.’

  ‘So he’s still planning a job… or why else would he need the driver? Is there any way you can find out what the hell he’s thinking?’

  ‘Get your man in with him tomorrow and you’ll find out. He was talking about next week before he did it, so he’s gonna use your man as the local knowledge. He’ll get back to me for the details… don’t worry.’

  I couldn’t believe I had bloody Sean Grantmore reassuring me.

  We went over the details of how Frame would approach the driver at Ferrybridge, and I ended the conversation by telling him to keep his mobile switched on and to get back to me with concrete information about the targets as soon as possible.

  I had been praying that Northumbria would come up with something evidentially concrete before I took the step of planting the driver – but now it was decision time.

  The mere fact Frame still wanted the driver proved he was planning another job. Another crime where someone could get killed. With both the driver and Grantmore trying to find out more, we would have at least some element of control – a better chance of knowing where they might strike? A better chance of protecting another family? A better chance of uncovering some evidence of the crimes they had already committed?

  I thought through the likely discussions at tomorrow’s review. Most would favour the safe and obvious option of an immediate arrest of Frame and his gang based upon Grantmore’s admissions. They’d argue we might unearth further evidence in house searches and interviews, etc. – which of course was possible but not guaranteed. I wanted to argue that the information we had, strongly suggested they were not planning another job for about a week and we should give Grantmore a chance to find us extra evidence and even their next target. I of course knew but could not reveal that I also had a driver with the gang, more than doubling that chance. I knew I’d get some backers for this approach but most, I guessed, would see it as too risky and even unethical.

  Whatever the outcome tomorrow, if I didn’t arrange for my driver to be at Ferrybridge in the morning, there’d be no choice – so decision time.

  This was it then. All systems go. Shit or bust.

  I rang Russ Holland.

  Twenty-Nine

  The Next Day

  Two Months Since the Beverley Robbery

  07:00 Wednesday, 10th February 1999

  Debbie was woken by the sound of the toilet flushing just before 7am, and it took a couple of seconds for her mind to catch up with events. It was Peter Frame in her bathroom. She was instantly alert. He had returned the previous evening just before midnight as she watched television, walking in as if he owned the place. He’d virtually dragged her upstairs, and in what was an obvious state of high excitement edged with a hint of cruelty, he had insisted they shower together before roughly shagging her – that’s how she’d describe it – up against the bathroom sink. Gone was the smooth and cultured seducer of only a few hours ago. As soon as he’d finished with her, he softened a little and took her to bed, where he quickly fell asleep. But she could not relax. She felt trapped, as if in a cage with a wild animal. It was only a few hours ago that she’d entertained the notion of being able to string him along as her new meal ticket. That option had totally evaporated.

  She remained in bed, listening to him move about in the bathroom, before hearing him trot downstai
rs. She prayed that he’d just leave before the kids woke up. But a few minutes later, he returned to the bedroom, already fully dressed and carrying two mugs of tea. He smiled his gentle smile when he realised she was awake.

  ‘Morning, gorgeous… tea?’

  The feeling of being trapped with that wild animal flooded over Debbie again. He was acting as if their relationship was established. As if he lived there. As if he was in charge. Despite herself, she smiled back and raised herself up, plumping the pillows so that she could sit back and take the proffered mug of tea from him. His smile broadened as he appraised her nakedness and she instinctively knew it would not be a good idea to cover up. She told herself to keep playing the daft bitch – the silly cow who was compliant and under his control. It now felt like self-preservation. So she took the tea with a saucy grin and left her breasts on display. He plonked himself on the bed beside her and they sipped from the matching mugs, for all the world looking like a happy couple sharing the morning’s wakening.

  ‘Afraid I have to pop out shortly but I’ll be back mid-afternoon.’

  ‘Fine,’ Debbie replied, unable to quickly think of a way of putting him off returning, so she just concentrated on the here and now and keeping him happy – to make sure he left.

  ‘While I’m gone, you might have to do me a favour.’

  She could tell he was mentally wrestling with something. He wanted to tell her something but didn’t know if he should. She kept quiet and had begun to think he had decided to keep whatever it was to himself, when he continued.