The Devil's Interval

by J. J. Salkeld

  ‘Can you catch him?’ Henderson said to Abla.

  ‘If I leave the armed response cars, aye. They’re all heavily loaded.’

  ‘Then do it.’ Henderson told the armed response cars to make their best efforts to keep up, and turned and watched as the second traffic car overtook them easily.

  ‘They’re only two up’ explained Abla. ‘Not that you’re fat, like, Pepper.’

  For the first time in hours Pepper laughed, briefly.

  ‘We’ll have to assume that we’ve lost any element of surprise’ said Henderson, ‘so stick on the blues and twos. With a bit of luck they’ll see sense and give it up when they see us. You should be on them in about two minutes, Abla.’

  Henderson gave more calm instructions over the radio and Pepper looked across at the motorway verge with the sheep-filled fields and shadowy trees beyond, lit by pulses of blue light.

  ‘That must be them’ said Abla, ‘they must be doing one twenty, easy. What’s the play, boss? Shall we box him?’

  ‘Could you?’

  ‘Aye, I reckon. The firearms drivers have had the training too.’

  ‘Do it.’

  Abla’s partner gave the instructions to the other drivers, and listened as they each repeated them back.

  ‘We’ll be in front’ said Abla, ‘with the armed response cars alongside and behind. The other traffic car will stay behind us all in case it goes tits up, like.’ Pepper felt herself holding onto the grab handle, even though Abla drove smoothly. But the engine was roaring now, and the headlights didn’t seem to be illuminating enough of the road ahead.

  The four police cars were in line, the lead armed response car just a couple of feet from the rear bumper of their car. And suddenly they were closing quickly on the target vehicle.

  ‘He’s slowing down’ said Abla, ‘maybe he’s going to stop.’

  But the Lexus didn’t stop. Instead it pulled into the middle lane, and immediately started to speed up again.

  ‘Right, matey,’ said Abla, ‘we’ll give you the four car box then.’ Her partner called it over the radio, and Abla led the convoy up towards the target car. She broke right and overtook, while the two armed response cars started to move left and right. The other traffic car stayed in the middle lane behind them.

  Then they all heard the shot, even above the shriek of the sirens and the sound of the engine.

  ‘Shots fired’ called out the driver of the armed response car on their inside, who was now almost level with the Lexus, while they were almost past it. Abla Khan didn’t hesitate. ‘Brace’ she shouted, and turned hard into the Lexus, so that the front passenger door of the patrol car made contact with the target car’s front wing. The Lexus slewed left, fishtailed alarmingly, and then accelerated again. As it pulled past them Pepper caught sight of the driver, and even before the blue flashes illuminated him she knew for certain who it was. She opened her mouth, feeling the shout rising in her throat, but she stopped herself from making a sound. It would just be a distraction.

  The Lexus was more than a car’s length ahead now, and Abla shouted that the armed response cars were both falling behind. Henderson turned round and confirmed it. He could see no civilian cars at behind them now, and just a lorry ahead.

  ‘Try again. Try to get them to stop.’

  ‘We both might spin off, sir’ said Abla.

  ‘Your call.’

  ‘Go’ said PC Matthews, ‘I’ll tell the others. Try and get him on the offside rear quarter, and if he spins out aim straight for him, Abla. It’s the only way you can be sure of missing the bastard.’

  They’d almost caught up with the lorry now, and it was trundling steadily up the inside lane as if nothing was happening. But then, just as Abla floored the throttle and closed up on the Lexus, the artic’s brake lights came on and Abla swore as she tried to slow. The Lexus’ driver was later on the brakes, and started to turn left, as if he was trying to get past the lorry on the inside, along the hard shoulder. Everything was happening much too fast now, and Pepper and Henderson were both thrown forward as the police car smashed hard into the back of the Lexus, just to the right of the number plate. The target car continued to move left, as Abla fell back, but it suddenly snapped round and spun through three hundred and sixty degrees. Abla aimed straight for it, not braking, and the headlights of the other car shone full in her face for a moment, her eyes wide and a ‘shit’ on her lips. But then the Lexus was behind them, spinning fast in clouds of tyre smoke across the hard shoulder, and backwards into the ditch. They all heard the sound, a low thud, as the car struck the bank.

  ‘Crashed, crashed’ Matthews shouted, as Abla struggled to stop the car. The lorry was stopping now, barely a hundred yards ahead of them, and the other police cars were cutting inside them, towards the crashed Lexus.

  Abla slewed to a standstill twenty yards in front of the Lexus, but the two armed response cars had got in much closer. Henderson opened his door, and Pepper did the same, but three of the armed response team were already at the Lexus, one heading for the driver’s side, the other two running to the front passenger door. There were no further shots fired, and the officers were shouting ‘disarmed’ by the time Henderson reached the two cops on the passenger side. Maxwell was slumped, half out of the car, and there was a handgun on the ground next to him. He was semi-conscious. Pepper reached the driver’s side at the same moment as the other armed response officer opened the door, and it was obvious that the driver was very seriously injured, at the very least. It wasn’t the blood, because there was wasn’t much of that, it was the angle of his neck, hard against the steering wheel. Henderson looked across the cabin and called for the ambulance that was on stand-by.

  ‘We’d better identify that one quick, Pepper’ he said. ‘Looks like we’ll need next of kin.’

  ‘No need. I’m already here.’

  Henderson looked puzzled, as his mind struggled to resolve the apparent contradictions. Then Pepper saw the penny drop.

  ‘Jesus, love, I’m sorry.’

  Pepper felt the armed officer next to her pulling back, as if to give her some privacy, but she shook her head. ‘Don’t be, sir. I’m just grateful that he didn’t take any of ours with him.’ Her voice was clear and steady, and she moved back to allow PC Matthews, who’d been a paramedic before he’d joined the police, to get to her father.

  Pepper stood on her own while it all went on around her. She didn’t go back to the crashed car. She knew that she could do no good. Everything seemed to happen very slowly, but she still wasn’t taking it in properly. The motorway was closed, ambulances came and went, and then the bosses turned up by the busload. But none of them came anywhere near her. She was shivering now, but it was strictly the cold, not shock, she told herself. She’d been to much worse RTAs than this when she was a probationer.

  Mary Clark didn’t arrive for another ten minutes, but when she did she ran straight over to Pepper.

  ‘Let’s get you home, love. Or to the hospital, whichever you want. He’s still alive, you know.’

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘Didn’t anyone tell you? He made it to the hospital, anyway, so that’s something.’

  ‘I think I’d just like to get home. Ben, you know.’

  ‘Of course, love. Come on.’ Clark took Pepper’s arm, felt it shaking, and started to walk slowly back towards her own car. Abla Khan ran over from a group of officers, standing together on the edge of the floodlit crash scene, and caught up with them by Clark’s car.

  ‘I’m sorry, Pepper. If I’d know it was your dad driving I’d never have…’

  ‘Don’t talk daft. You did the right thing, and you were following orders. We all heard that. Come here.’

  Pepper reached out and hugged Abla, and a few of the other cops looked over in their direction. You didn’t usually see hugging on duty. Pepper had to turn away from the lights, so that they couldn’t see she was crying. It wasn’t for her dad, that would never happen now. But perhaps it was for
the life that he could have had, if he could only have been arsed.

  Yet as Clark drove them back to Carlisle Pepper still found herself talking about her father. ‘I used to pretend I was adopted’, she said.

  ‘That’s not unusual. I did it too, and I was pretty happy as a kid. It’s harmless, love, although if every little girl really was a princess, then who would clean the bogs in the old people’s homes?’

  Pepper smiled. ‘I didn’t ever imagine I was a princess. I knew my place, like. I just used to pretend that one of my mates’ mum and dad were really mine. They only lived a few doors down the street, like, and Brian, the dad, he worked in the biscuit factory. Nothing fancy, and they never even had much more money than we did.’

  ‘So why did you imagine that they were your parents?’

  ‘Because I used to go round there or tea sometimes. Usually when my dad had been nicked, or had just got out, or whatever. And it was the way her folks were with my mate, Emma she’s called, that’s what did it. They were just interested, that’s all. They loved her, and they didn’t mind showing it.’

  ‘I’m sure your dad loved you, and your sister.’

  ‘That’s just something that people always say though, isn’t it? Because it should be true. It’s obvious, is that. But honestly, he didn’t give a shit about us. I would have known, if he had. To tell the truth my mum wasn’t all that bothered about us either, like, but she had problems of her own, didn’t she? And I wasn’t asking for all that much really, was I?’

  ‘Of course you weren’t. We’ll get you home and you have a bit of kip, love, and it will probably all look different in the morning.’

  ‘I bloody hope not, Mary. I’d be totally pig sick with myself if I changed my opinion of my old fella, just because he’s at death’s door. I wouldn’t have given a single, solitary shit if he’d died when I was fifteen, so why should I bloody care now?’

  Tuesday, 9th December

  9.25am, Hunter’s Farm, north west of Carlisle.

  Dai Young watched the helicopter touch down lightly on the concrete farmyard, but he only got out of the car as Tony Ferris walked across towards him. For a moment Young was surprised that Ferris had no minders with him, but then he realised that it was actually a certain sign of strength, rather than the other thing. The powerful man had endless close protection, advisors and arse-lickers, but only the truly invulnerable man needed none of them. The two men shook hands, and Young held a rear passenger door open for Ferris. The driver got out as he did so, and strolled over to the helicopter.

  ‘Thanks for making the time, Tony’, said Young, when they were both seated in the back, the armrest between them.

  ‘Oh, I would have been talking to you today, Dai, whether you’d asked for a meeting or not. You’re the first item on my to-do list for today. In fact, you’re the only bloody item. So what’s the story? The Irish are going fucking apeshit, because they had some sort of blood-brother thing going with Maxwell and his lads. All bollocks, obviously, but it seems to be important to them. So they want whoever sold their boy out, and I’ve said they’ll have a head, and maybe a few more to keep it company, before the day’s out. So the question is this, Dai. Will that head be yours? This was your operation, your responsibility. And you know there’s no point running. If this ocean-going fuck-up was down to you then you’re best off hanging on up here until a couple of my lads turn up. They’ll make it quick, and painless if you do. But if you run, well, then it’ll be different. They’ll probably, you know, toy with you for a bit. Do the job a bit at a time.’

  Young kept eye contact, and tried to fight down the fear. He made a conscious effort to speak slowly. ‘It was Alan Farmer, he informed on us. I thought he was ours, but it seems that Porter made him a better offer. Farmer knew what we were doing, and he grassed us up. I misjudged him, that’s all.’

  ‘Can you prove this? Where is Farmer now?’

  ‘He can’t come to the phone just now, Tony. In fact he can’t come to the phone again, ever. I dealt with him myself an hour ago, and now he’s…. Well, it doesn’t really matter.’

  ‘It does fucking matter, Dai. Are you mad? If you haven’t got your informant available for me to have to have a chat with, and then pass on to our friends over the water there, then you’d better have rock solid proof that he was the source. Otherwise you’ll leave me no choice. You’ll have to go. It’s the least I could do for the Irish lads, really.’

  ‘Of course I’ve got proof. I wouldn’t have acted otherwise, would I?’

  ‘Don’t tell me it’s a videotaped confession, or any of that shit. They’re fun to watch, I’ll give you that, but they don’t mean a thing. People will say anything for an extra thirty seconds of life. Pathetic, really, but there it is.’

  ‘Of course it’s not videoed, I know better than that. We’ve got a copper, on the inside, like. Knows exactly what Farmer said: when, why, the lot.’

  ‘And I can meet this cop?’

  ‘Not you, Tony. That wouldn’t be safe for you at all. But you send someone up here, and I’ll get it sorted. You’ll be satisfied, don’t you worry.’

  ‘It’s not me who should be worried, mate. And I’ll need evidence. Photos, recordings, emails, everything. Christ, I wouldn’t believe a single word that any copper said, let alone one that you’ve already bought.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it all, like. Everything you could possibly want, and more.’

  ‘How long ’til I have it?’

  ‘Would now do? I appreciate that you’ve got places to be, people to kill, all that.’

  ‘Don’t try to make a fucking joke of it, Dai. But I’m glad you’re in the clear, maybe, because I’ve got high hopes for you.’ Ferris paused and flicked through the file. ‘Can I share this with our friends over the water?’

  ‘Do you need to?’

  ‘Maybe not. I can always, what’s the word, redact this stuff, can’t I? We went to war for less, if I remember rightly. And they call us lot killers, eh?’

  Young smiled. He rather liked being called a killer.

  ‘So, listen’, said Ferris, ‘about Porter’s retirement. You realise that if the various interested parties decide that they do believe you, and that I’m not obligated to have you tortured and killed, then the full weight falls on him, and on his family.’

  ‘But it won’t be us who has to get the job done, will it?’

  ‘Why, would that be a problem? You’re not getting squeamish on me are you, Dai? Don’t fancy killing his two little grand-daughters? Ah, that’s sweet. And them still clutching their little teddy bears, I expect.’

  ‘No, it’s not that. Doesn’t make any difference how old they are, does it? If they’ve got to go then that’s it. It’s just the hassle, really. We’re pretty stretched, taking over Porter’s half-arsed operation, so I could do without all the extra work, to be truthful. And I’d have thought Maxwell’s blood-brothers would want to take care of it themselves. Personal, like.’

  ‘I dare say they will, at that. But you stand ready, if called upon.’

  ‘Not a problem, boss.’

  ‘All right. I’ll tell them that. Anything else I should know about, while I’m here?’

  ‘No. It’s all going according to plan, really. Losing Farmer was no loss. He wasn’t operational, not really.’

  ‘Just another useless layer of middle management fat, then?’

  ‘Exactly. So how long will you need to confirm that what I’m telling you checks out? That Farmer was our rat?’

  Ferris laughed. ‘You mean how long before you can stop looking over your shoulder, you mean? You’re a cool one, Dai, I’ll give you that. Put it this way. If you’re still around to hear the footy scores at the weekend then I think you’ll be safe, for now at least. But just so we’re clear, son. If I find that you’ve been up to anything here, anything at all, then I’ll have you chopped and jointed. I might even do it myself, just to keep my hand in. And I actually trained as a butcher, did you know t
hat?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Always good to have a trade, I suppose.’

  Ferris laughed again, and this time it sounded as if he meant it. ‘What, I might need an honest job if the whole crime-lord thing doesn’t work out, you mean? Son, if I ever lose my touch I’ll be back in a butcher’s shop all right, but I’ll be the one bleeding out on a fucking hook.’

  ‘It’s a right good motivator, is that thought.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re not wrong there, son. But you’re management now, Dai, senior management nearly, and that makes you a big boy, doesn’t it? Your workers, the shop-floor lads, they’ll never know enough to get themselves killed, and they’ll get to retire, just like normal people do. But for you and me there’s only two ways that this story ends. Either you’re right on top at the finish, or you’re underneath, and in a million bloody pieces. There’s no third way. Just you remember that, son. It’s the thought that gets me out of bed every fucking day, I can tell you.’

  Dai Young watched Ferris walk back to the helicopter, raise the file in farewell, and then climb in. Young smiled slightly, and beckoned to his driver to get back in. He’d been right. Tony Ferris was just soft, not like his old man had been. Only three hours before Young had gutted Alan Farmer himself, so he’d seen his insides hit the floor before he died, and the two hard lads with Young had both turned away, and tried not to listen to those final screams. They’d looked at Young differently afterwards too, he was sure about that. And all that stuff about Tony being a practising butcher was bollocks. He didn’t doubt that Ferris gave the orders, but he didn’t have the bottle to do the job himself. And when his lads finally understood that then Ferris would be finished. It might not be next year, it might not be the one after, but it wouldn’t be too long. Not for a patient man like Dai Young.