The Conspiracy 1

by Jack Probyn

  Jake’s eyes lowered. In front of him were four other police cars and two ambulances positioned awkwardly at different angles on the road. The entire street was cordoned off, and a uniformed officer stood on the other side of the white tape, his hands folded in front of him, his police cap pulled low over his eyes, his high-visibility jacket reflecting the early morning sun beating down on them from behind. It wasn’t even 10 a.m. and Jake was already beginning to feel the sun’s rays warming his back.

  Jake, Pemberton and Bridger approached the uniformed officer. They flashed their warrant cards and signed in on the log he held in his hands. Everyone who attended the crime scene was instructed to register their time in and out, and the purpose of their visit. Jake nodded appreciatively to the officer as he ducked under the tape and moved over to the forensic tent that had been erected on the side of the street. Inside, Jake, Pemberton and Bridger grabbed a forensic scene suit – consisting of mask, hood, gloves and overshoes – and donned it. Jake hated wearing them – they always rubbed and chafed his hands and neck – but he also knew the importance of wearing them at the vital stages of an early investigation.

  ‘Ready?’ Pemberton asked, already on her way out of the tent, heading towards the crime scene. It was then that Jake noticed she’d left the incident log behind in the car.

  Jake hurried after her. Outside the crime scene, a woman and a man were sitting on the edge of the van being checked over by a couple of paramedics. At the top end of the high street, a crowd had formed, and employees from other shops – replete in their multicoloured uniforms – along the street were still being funnelled out, moving to a safe distance. The sound of gossip and buzz and excitable conversation permeated the air like a dense fog.

  As they arrived outside the jewellers, Pemberton turned to face them both, and said, ‘SOCO have said it’s OK for us to have a look. But we’ve got to be brief.’

  They shuffled past the scene of crime officers at the front of the shop and entered. Pemberton first, followed by Bridger and then Jake. He was following the natural pecking order, and he didn’t mind. He was there to learn. These people were his seniors, and he had to respect that. Though it didn’t stop him feeling both nervous and excited about what lay ahead.

  As they entered the store, treading lightly across the stepping plates that SOCO had placed on the ground, glass crunched underfoot and sent shivers up Jake’s spine which branched out to the rest of his body like the splintered window displays. Three more crime scene investigators were huddled together in the centre of the shop, hovering over a body, snapping photographs of the gunshot wound to her neck. One of them moved closer to Jake and set an evidence marker down by the shell casing in front of him. Jake averted his gaze from the dead body and chose to observe his surroundings instead. The shop was no larger than his living room at home. On the left was a desk. Resting atop it was a computer, a cash register and a telephone. Behind that, a cabinet. And, on the right-hand side, a small booth with a desk in between the seats. Spread across the back wall was blood, dripping, forming streaks down the faces of the cabinets – it reminded Jake of a scene from Carrie. A few sparkling rings and bracelets and necklaces that had been dropped and abandoned on the floor, shimmered as Jake and the rest of his party distorted the ambient and artificial light above.

  ‘Doesn’t look like they were being too careful,’ Bridger remarked, looking at the floor. ‘It looks like they’ve thrown half of it about the place.’

  ‘I think you should be more concerned with finding out who “they” are, Elliot,’ Pemberton said, shooting him a disgusted and disapproving scowl.

  ‘When are we going to find out who’s in command, here?’ Bridger asked.

  A voice came from behind them. It startled Jake. He spun on the spot and searched for the owner of the voice. On the other side of the door, standing on the pavement, was a uniformed officer. The three of them exited the shop, shuffled past the investigators in the doorway and moved over to the officer.

  ‘I’m in charge,’ he said as they fanned themselves out before him.

  ‘And you are?’ Bridger asked.

  ‘PS Byrd. Some of my team were the first responders.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Pemberton said, brushing past Jake to get closer to Byrd. She informed the officer that she was the SIO and that she was now in charge of the crime scene and investigation. ‘What have you got for us, sergeant?’

  ‘Armed robbery, ma’am. Witnesses report a group of armed robbers stormed the building just after nine, looted the contents and opened fire on one of the employees. The witnesses’ clothes have been taken for further examination. Paramedics announced extinction of life as soon as they were on the scene. SOCO are securing the body and preserving as much evidence surrounding the body, as you can see. And the witnesses are currently being seen to by a paramedic. Reports are suggesting the robbers evacuated the scene in a black van and their exit route was at the top of the high street.’

  ‘Very concise, sergeant.’ Pemberton interrupted. ‘Have you got scene logs for both of the cordons?’

  Byrd nodded.

  ‘House-to-house enquiries conducted and collated from the shops on the high street?’

  Another nod.

  ‘What about first accounts – have you obtained those yet?’

  This time Byrd shook his head. He’d made it two for three, and from the discouraged look on his face, Jake assumed the officer had been hoping he’d be able to make it a full house by the time the SIO arrived.

  ‘When can we speak with them?’ Pemberton asked.

  PS Byrd stepped to the side and gestured at the man and woman who Jake had spotted sitting on the back of the ambulance. Both were dressed in matching tracksuit bottoms and jumper a few feet from them. Their faces were ashen, their arms folded across their chest. The woman’s body shuddered, and she rubbed her arms as if she were cold despite the warm sun.

  ‘Thank you, officer. We will take it from here.’

  Pemberton stepped in front of Jake. She held her warrant card in her hands. ‘My name is DCI Pemberton and these are my colleagues. We are here to help you and make sure that you are OK and safe. I know this is a very stressful time for you both, but I’m going to need you to tell me what happened here?’

  For a long while neither of them said anything.

  ‘Anything you can remember now will be greatly appreciated.’

  ‘It all happened so fast…’ the woman replied, keeping her head low, avoiding any of their gazes. ‘We… We opened at nine. Just like every morning. This gentleman wanted to buy a ring, so I offered to help him. Just as we sat down, a black van pulled up outside. Three men jumped out with guns. They screamed at us. Told us to put our hands up. And that… if we didn’t, then they would…’ She paused a beat; there was a catch in her throat, and she coughed, clearing it. ‘They shot Rachel. Then they took everything. All the money. All the watches, rings… everything. And then… And then…’

  ‘What? Go on…’ Pemberton urged gently.

  ‘They took our manager. Candice Strachan. They drove off with her in the back of the van,’ the employee replied. A tear formed in her eye, and she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.

  Jake froze. Until this moment, it had seemed like a normal armed robbery: guns, jewels, a getaway vehicle. But now there was another dynamic to it that Jake hadn’t expected.

  ‘Took her?’ Pemberton repeated. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They kidnapped her. They abducted her and put her in the back of the van and then they drove off.’

  Shit.

  ‘Did you see which way they went?’

  They both shook their head.

  ‘How many of them were there?’

  ‘Three,’ the witnesses replied simultaneously.

  ‘What were they wearing?’

  ‘They were dressed in red. Lots of red.’

  Double shit.

  ‘Did you get a clear look at their faces?’ Pemberton asked. ‘Any defining fe
atures? Characteristics?’

  ‘No,’ Jake said before the witnesses had a chance to respond.

  ‘Excuse me, Jake?’ Pemberton snapped. Her inflection turned sour.

  ‘They won’t have seen their faces.’ Jake faced the man and woman. ‘Let me guess – they were wearing red devil masks as well, weren’t they?’

  They nodded. The only thing audible was the sound of Jake’s heartbeat in his ears as the gravity of what their confirmation meant resonated around his head.

  ‘How do you know?’ Bridger asked. He seemed more annoyed at the fact Jake knew something he didn’t than anything else. Until then, he had remained on the outskirts of the conversation.

  ‘Is there something you need to tell us, Jake?’ Pemberton asked.

  ‘I’ve dealt with these robbers in the past,’ Jake said. He hoped that would be all the detail he needed to offer, but it wasn’t. Instead, they all gazed at him, silently pleading with him for more information. Sighing, he gave it to them. ‘When I was twenty-one, I went to purchase my first car in Oxford. We were in the bank when a bunch of guys stormed in and robbed us. They took us all hostage and then got rid of us all…’ Jake looked into each of their eyes before continuing. ‘Except for me. Their leader – the others managed to escape – kept me with him, until eventually I convinced him to leave the bank with me, and then he got arrested. You’ve heard of them before. Everyone in the country probably has. They call themselves The Crimsons. I’m the reason their robbery in Oxford was a failure. I’m the reason their former leader, Freddy Miller, is in prison. Nobody’s seen them for years. And I think they’ve just claimed Guildford as their next victim.’

  | EPISODE 1 |

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE DEVICE

  Danny killed the engine.

  ‘Nobody move,’ he told them.

  He slid himself out of the driver’s seat, rounded the van and opened the back doors. The light poured in, forcing Candice and the Good Samaritan to shield their eyes with their arms. He leant in, reached for Candice, hooked his hand in the nook of her armpit and pulled her out of the van. As Danny hefted her to her feet, she stopped squirming, and he gazed out upon the mansion in front of them. They were outside Candice’s house; for the next phase in their operation, they had forced her to give them directions. They had driven down winding, narrow country lanes, past large fields of green, and through a security gate to get there. The mansion before him was magnificent. Georgian. Elizabethan. Victorian. He didn’t care. It was from one of those periods, and it was one of the most elegant properties he’d seen. Almost as large as the estate that he and his brothers had grown up on.

  ‘Looks like we hit the jackpot here, lads,’ Danny said, pulling Candice forward until she was in front of him, making them look as though they were new homeowners gazing out at their latest purchase.

  Behind him, Luke shuffled out of the back of the van and grabbed the Good Samaritan by the collar. Luke groaned as he heaved the man out and up onto his feet.

  ‘Please,’ the man whimpered. ‘Please, I… I don’t want— You can’t—’

  Danny stopped and turned to face him, squinting behind the mask.

  ‘What are we going to do about him?’ Luke asked, pointing the gun at the babbling mess.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Danny replied. ‘Kill him.’

  ‘No! Please! Please! No!’ The man fell onto his knees and clasped his hands together, begging them.

  ‘You were the one who wanted to be the hero, mate. You’ve done this to yourself.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me.’

  Michael rounded the back of the van, sidestepped over the man and pulled out the device, wrapping it tightly in the tarpaulin. He clutched it in his arms and held it as though it were a cushion bearing wedding rings. Priceless. Delicate.

  ‘Just carry on as planned, Dan. We’ll leave him behind,’ Michael added as he joined Luke’s side.

  ‘Names, you fucking idiot,’ Danny snapped. ‘What did I say about using names?’

  Danny shut his mouth and exhaled deeply through his nose, feeling the tension in his body release, but there was still a long way to go – especially if he wanted to continue with the next phase of his plan. Danny ignored his brothers and turned his attention to the house, bathing in its grandeur.

  ‘How did someone like you afford a place like this?’ he asked, only then realising that Candice was still locked in his grip.

  ‘Husband,’ she said. ‘He was an art dealer. Somehow managed to sell art to Russians and other wealthy Eastern Europeans. Then he had a heart attack and left it all to me in the will.’

  Danny led Candice to the house where she let them inside using a spare key hidden behind a brick in the wall.

  The interior of the mansion was just as luxurious and opulent as the outside. Marble floors. Grand staircases. Glistening chandeliers dangling from thirty-foot ceilings. Mahogany cabinets housing glasses and plates and cutlery. The majority of the interior was old-school, old-fashioned, collectible. Something, Danny felt, that was out of the Middle Ages. Nothing too high-tech. No seventy-inch plasmas, million-pound fish tanks, self-flushing toilets, pool tables, indoor swimming pools, or Lamborghinis or Ferraris hidden in an underground garage. Nothing that would be worth stealing and selling on afterward.

  ‘What the fuck is all this? Can’t take anything in here,’ Michael said, adjusting his grip on the device.

  ‘Shut up,’ Danny snapped. He stopped paying attention to the opulence of the house and the paintings that hung on the wall. There was a job to do, and time was running out. He didn’t know how long they had left until the police arrived. And he wasn’t going to start pissing about to find out. He pointed to a spot in the middle of the foyer.

  ‘Sit down,’ he told Candice.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I told you to.’

  ‘You’re not going to hurt me, are you?’

  ‘Not directly.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Danny turned to Michael, then gesticulated with his finger to walk over to him. Michael removed the piece of plastic sheeting protecting the device.

  At the sight of it, Candice’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. The colour ran away from her cheeks, and she shuddered.

  Perfect, Danny thought – it was the same reaction Luke and Michael had given when he’d introduced them to the idea it.

  ‘What… What is it?’ Candice asked, lowering herself to the floor; beside her, Luke pushed the man to the ground. He fell and landed hard on his shoulder; the momentum carried him, and he rolled onto his back. Danny paid him little heed; he had no need for the man, but he wasn’t in the mood to kill him and give him any more attention than he deserved. The Good Samaritan could wait with Candice on the floor.

  Returning his attention to Michael, Danny took the device from his brother and felt the immediate strain in his bicep.

  ‘This… is a collar bomb.’ He opened the mechanical lock and snapped it shut; it closed with a frightening crack.

  ‘What does it do?’

  ‘It fits round your neck. It should be a nice and snug fit. There’s a countdown inside. And four locks. Each lock requires a key. The keys are scattered around the place – if you can find them and remove the device before the countdown ticks down, you’ll live, you get me? If not, the tiny charge inside this’ – Danny knocked on the rectangular box of metal connected to the collar of the device – ‘will spring six spikes into your neck and kill you instantly.’

  Candice’s body tightened. His invention was having its desired effect. This was going to be his final moment of evil. His final moment of heroism that everybody would remember The Crimsons for. This callous, destructive device that would impart doom on the bearer. It was genius.

  He was a genius.

  ‘Please,’ Candice said, scrambling, her fingers clawing at the smooth surface of the marble flooring. ‘No. There must be something else. Some other
way. What do you want to come from this? Money? I have loads. Just take it. All of this stuff may look like a load of shit to you, but I promise you it holds its value. Take it now. Keep it. Sell it in a few years’ time and you’ll have hit the lottery. Please don’t do this. I’ve got children. They depend on me.’

  Danny smirked behind the mask.

  ‘You don’t get it, do you? It’s too late. Soon, you’ll be just as famous as us. You’ll be the one people make documentaries about. Your face will be on the news. You’ll be an icon – along with us. The final member of The Crimsons. Maybe they’ll call you The Faceless Crimson because they won’t even be able to identify you when that thing detonates. No one will know who we are, but they’ll know you, and they’ll know your name for all the wrong reasons.’

  ‘B-But… do you not want them to know yours as well?’

  ‘Did Jack the Ripper want people to know who he was? We want to be bigger than that. Bigger than him. We want to create a legacy. And you’re going to play your part.’

  Danny snapped his fingers, and Michael took the collar bomb from him and stuck the device around Candice’s neck. She screamed and tried to wriggle away as Michael sealed the device shut, but her efforts were futile against the man who outweighed her two to one. Once the device was clamped around her neck, the corners of Danny’s mouth rose.

  ‘Don’t panic. You’ll have help soon – providing they can do their job properly and get here in time.’

  Candice’s chest heaved, raising the metal plate containing the small charge up and down against her breast.

  ‘We’ll make it easy for you,’ Michael said, crouching down by her side. He reached inside his pocket, removed a piece of paper and handed it to Danny.

  ‘The clue for the first key is written on here. The location for the others will be revealed as you discover the rest of them. Read the clues and decide for yourself whether it’s worth the risk of going alone or waiting for the officers of the law to help you.’