by Jack Gatland
‘William!’ He exclaimed after he took it, walking over and slapping Billy on the arm. ‘Glad you could make it. Drink?’
‘It’s eight in the morning.’
‘So a spirit rather than a pint, then?’
Billy took a lemonade instead and with it now in hand, he walked with Rufus over to his table, against a far wall of the underground room.
‘I wanted to thank you properly,’ Rufus said as he sat at the table. ‘Your little titbit about Devington Industries tanking saved me a small fortune. I sold high, bought back in low and almost doubled my portfolio. I really owe you there.’
Billy didn’t reply; he sat silently, sipping at his drink. The last time he’d seen Rufus, he’d given him the insider knowledge that Devington Industries was about to have a bad news day following the rooftop drama and subsequent suicide of Susan Devington, right before she was going to be charged with multiple murders. He had passed this on with the implicit suggestion that Rufus would reconnect Billy with his family, but since then he had heard nothing from the City banker.
‘Is this to do with my family?’ he asked. Rufus shook his head.
‘Sorry dude, still working on that. But I wanted to return the favour. You told me to sell my shares, to get out before the shit storm started, remember?’
‘I don’t think I used those words exactly,’ Billy muttered. Rufus shrugged.
‘Either way, I’m telling you the same. But it’s not shares, it’s your job. The people you work with. Get out, as there’s a shit storm coming for you.’
‘What do you mean?’ Billy leaned forward, placing his glass down.
‘I mean that there’s someone seriously gunning for you all right now, in particular some bloke named Walsh. And they won’t stop until all of you are mashed up under their boot.’
Billy nodded slowly at this. ‘Do you have a name?’
‘Yeah, but it’s not one I want to repeat, so you get this once.’ Rufus looked around the club, checking they were alone. ‘Charlie Baker.’
Billy almost laughed. ‘Christ, Rufus. I thought you were telling me about a credible threat,’ he said. ‘Charles Baker is toothless since he dropped out of the Leadership contest.’
‘Don’t be so sure,’ Rufus replied, stone cold serious. ‘His wife died a week or two back. Hanged herself, probably because of the shame of his earlier infidelities coming out. He might have shit the bed politically, but now he’s a widower, and he’s got the sympathy vote. Everything he lost, he regains in a public and transparent revaluation of his life, during a post-grieving period of course.’
He lowered his voice even more.
‘Charles Baker will be the next Prime Minister. They even delayed the Leadership battle for a month or two just to fix his PR. He's part of some high up Star Chamber thing, so I'm told, by the people who know.' He tapped his cygnet ring. 'Babies out-of-wedlock mean nothing these days, especially when it was while he played for the other team. And he was effectively a victim in the Victoria Davies case, not a suspect. But your team made him look bad, made a fool of him. He’ll want to close this chapter of his book before he moves on, and that includes exterminating anything that can cause him a problem.’
Rufus rose from the sofa, looking down at Billy.
‘Get out, while you can. This isn’t your fight. And if you try, you’ll lose. Try their breakfast menu. On me.’
With that, Rufus left Billy alone at the table. Billy leaned back, considering the news. Charles Baker had been a suspect in the Devington case, and Declan had eventually saved his life on the top of Devington House in a tense confrontation that ended with the death of Susan Devington. But in the process, rumours of infidelity, insider trading and of Baker being connected to parties involved with several murders had leaked out. His political career had been cut short, Billy had believed.
But what if it hadn’t? Baker had stepped down as Secretary of State for the Home Department, but he still consulted with his replacement. Technically, he had the Security Service and the National Security Council under his spell, not to mention whatever this Star Chamber was that Rufus had been so secretive about.
Finishing the drink Billy looked across to the pool tables, nodded a thanks to Rufus Harrington and left the Eight Club.
Things were about to get terribly bad.
The Gravelly Hill Interchange in Birmingham had been known under a different name for fifty years; to many locals it was Spaghetti Junction, a five-level interchange where the M6 motorway met the A38 Aston Expressway and the A5127, while spanning two railway lines, three canals and two rivers. It was an incredibly busy location, but the surrounding areas were less so. While cars sped above them, people could happily, and more importantly quietly stroll down the Birmingham and Warwick Junction Canal, meeting the River Rea before following the canal north, past Star City and eventually joining with the River Tame, following the route of the M6 above it, as you walked eastwards, meeting up with the Rea once more just north of the A47, Brompton and Washwood Heath.
It was a good place for quiet conversations; the cars above could cause problems with recorders, while the multiple routes out of the area gave you the opportunity to escape if things went wrong, or if the police had gained wind of your activities. And it was here, at the junctions of the rivers Tame and Rea, that Macca Byrne met with Harrison Fennel.
Macca was as ever in his black clothes, blowing into his gloved hands while Harrison wore a pale blue tracksuit with blue trainers. He was nervous as he arrived; the text from Macca had been brief and commanding.
‘Problems?’ he asked as he approached from the Rea side of the junction, looking around, checking to see if they were being watched. It had been a long time since Macca had been alone with Harrison. It was refreshing yet a little concerning to see him alone now.
‘I heard they arrested you,’ Macca said, a little louder than Harrison had expected, as if playing to a crowd. Looking around but seeing no one, Harrison shrugged.
‘Deliberately,’ he replied. ‘I thought I might get into the station and get word to Stripe, get him to turn for us.’
Macca nodded. ‘Good plan. Did it work?’
‘Nah, man. That old fed we saw in the church had him tight.’
‘I heard that you were tight with that old fed too,’ Macca watched Harrison. ‘Something you want to tell me?’
‘Sure,’ Harrison said, forcing himself to stay calm. ‘The old bastard recognised me from the church, took me into an interview room. Wanted to know about Gabby’s death, talked about Angela Martin.’ He watched Macca’s face as he said the name, but nothing was given away. ‘Anyway, I said nothing. The questions he asked were weird, so I just waited for my brief to arrive.’
‘You did the right thing,’ Macca smiled for the first time. ‘Man, it’s so hard right now, you see? I have to be careful that Moses don’t get no hold in Birmingham.’
‘I got you,’ Harrison said, and was surprised to realise that he actually meant it. ‘I’ve known you since we were kids, bro. I’d take a bullet for you.’
‘There’s no need to go that far,’ Macca replied, reaching into his pocket. ‘But I do need you to do something for me.’
Harrison tensed, but relaxed when Macca pulled out a small envelope.
‘When the time’s right, I need you to pass this message,’ he said.
‘What is it?’
Macca smiled. ‘It’s a call to war,’ he smiled. ‘Put it somewhere safe and read it later, yeah?’
Harrison unzipped the tracksuit top, sliding it into an inside pocket. Macca looked out across the water.
‘I mean, you’ll need to read it when you copy it out and send it to Danny Martin, won’t you?’
Harrison froze, his expression visibly the stark realisation that Macca Byrne knew. The riverside was silent for a moment, with neither man talking, but then there was a movement from the side, and Harrison turned to see Wesley O’Brien emerge from the bushes at the back of the bank, fury on his face. He
wore the same camel jacket and black jeans over trainers he’d worn the last time that Harrison had seen him, at the Jam House, but as he walked up to Macca, Harrison realised that this time Wesley wasn’t there for George Byrne’s son.
He was here for Harrison.
‘Looks like you were right, kid,’ Wesley said. ‘Look at him. He’s already shitting himself.’
‘You told your father?’ Harrison looked to Macca. ‘You didn’t even speak to me about this?’
Macca shrugged, looking to Wesley standing beside him. ‘I told Wesley, not dad,’ he said. ‘I wanted a witness to the message who my dad would believe.’
Harrison pulled out the envelope.
‘This message?’ he asked. Wesley nodded.
‘Turncoat bastard,’ he hissed. ‘Always knew there was something off with you.’
Harrison shook his head, backing away, but stopped as he realised that he was now at the edge of the bank. ‘I don’t work for Danny Martin no more,’ he said.
‘Yeah, but you did, right?’ Wesley continued while Macca stood silently. ‘Like your dad did?’
Harrison shook his head. ‘He made me do it. And it was only small things, bruv. I swear.’
‘Like burying Gabby?’ Macca nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, I know it was you, H. That’s why you got yourself arrested, to tell Stripe to keep his mouth shut. I should have guessed, really. Every time he saw you around, he damn near shit his pants.’
Harrison looked across the river now, as if realising why they were at such a secluded place. This wasn’t a meeting, this was an execution.
‘It’s not what you think,’ he said. ‘That wasn’t your Gabby. Danny got me to do it.’
‘We know,’ Wesley spat at the floor in front of Harrison. ‘I asked about. I know you were with him that night.’
Harrison went to reply, to deny everything, but then a sudden calmness came over him. An acceptance of what was about to happen. The cars seemed to stop. The birds stopped chirping.
‘This message you want me to pass,’ he said, his voice relaxed and assured. ‘I’m it, aren’t I?’
‘Yeah.’ Macca turned to face Harrison, and for the first time in the meeting Harrison saw the knife in Macca’s hand. A hunting knife.
The same knife that they’d made Dave Ewan hold a few days earlier, before they’d beaten the living shit out of him.
A knife with Dave Ewan’s fingerprints on.
‘The message,’ Harrison said. ‘The one in my pocket. When they find it, they’ll see it’s from the Delcourts to your dad, isn’t it?’
Macca smiled sadly. ‘Yeah,’ he said. Wesley was fidgeting now.
‘Give me the blade, son,’ he said. ‘I’ve wanted to gut this little—’ Wesley didn’t finish as Macca Byrne spun to the side, ramming the hunting knife deep into Wesley’s chest.
‘Didn’t see this coming, did you?’ he hissed as he twisted the blade. ‘My dad ain’t around to bail you out this time, you piece of shit.’
But Wesley couldn’t reply; his eyes were already glassy and dead as he slumped against Macca, who gently helped the body to the bank of the river. Looking around to confirm that there were no witnesses, Macca quickly removed the blade from Wesley’s chest and placed it into the hunting sheath that it came with, tossing it into the undergrowth that Wesley had emerged from earlier, the path he’d made both entering and exiting it plainly visible for all to see.
Harrison meanwhile had removed the envelope carefully, wiping down the edges to remove any fingerprints he may have placed on it, stuffing it into the inside pocket of Wesley O’Brien’s camel coat.
‘Man, you scared the shit out of me,’ he said. ‘I genuinely thought you were grassing me out.’
‘I had to think fast,’ Macca explained as, with a vicious kick to the side of the body, he flipped Wesley O’Brien’s body over the edge of the bank and into the river. The body would float away and be found, while the blood on the bank would give the forensics a field day. And then they’d find the knife with Dave Ewan’s fingerprints still on the sheath, and the note inside Wesley’s tracksuit. ‘He wasn’t lying when he said people had told him about your chat with the fed. I was just lucky he came to me first. Turned up literally a minute or two before you did, I had to work with what I had.’
‘So what now?’ Harrison asked, but Macca was already on his phone, waiting for it to connect.
‘The grown-ups are taking an interest now, so it's time we move everything ahead,’ he said, turning the phone onto speaker mode as it connected. ‘It’s me, bruv. We need to bring it forward. We’ve just left a message in a river, when you hear about it, you know what to do.’
‘Do we have a location yet?’ the voice of Moses Delcourt echoed out of the speaker.
‘Lawson’s sorting that out now,’ Harrison leaned in to speak. ‘I’ll get Danny, and what we just did will bring Macca's dad.’
‘You think George Byrne will do this?’ Moses seemed amused at the idea. Macca glanced across the river, watching the dead body floating down it.
‘We just sent him a message he can’t ignore,’ he said. 'He’ll be there.’
‘Then I’ll get mum to turn up,’ Moses agreed. ‘Man, it’ll be good to end this.’
Harrison nodded, even though Moses couldn’t see him.
‘All I care about is finding out who really killed Angie,’ he said. ‘And then killing them.’
With that, Macca ended the call, looking to Harrison.
‘You ready for today?’ he asked. Harrison nodded.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Today all debts get paid.’
Macca looked back to the body, now floating down the river. ‘Thanks for your service, bro,’ he said as he joined Harrison in walking westwards down the Rea, heading back towards Star City and Saltley.
The body would be found soon, and the note would leak back to George Byrne.
That note would start a war that only one man could stop. But before that, they had to ensure that nobody could stop this, and that meant silencing Stripe Mullville and the fed he was hanging around with until the job was done.
It was going to be a busy day.
24
Jigsaw Pieces
Declan didn’t hear about Derek Salmon’s passing until he arrived at the office that following morning, and it was DCI Farrow, standing nervously beside the entrance to the building that informed him.
‘You’re a bloody lucky man,’ he said as they walked up to the upper level. ‘You’re useless with administration, so your records haven’t updated your change of address.’
‘Why’s that lucky?’ Declan asked.
‘Because the police raided your apartment in Tottenham this morning,’ Farrow explained. ‘They want you in the Interview Room right now, talking about last night.’
‘What about last night?’ Declan was already having a sinking feeling about this conversation. ‘Is this the Delcourts?’
‘This isn't the bloody Delcourts,’ Farrow snapped. ‘Derek died, Declan. He made a complaint, saying you attacked him, claimed he scratched you in defence. They found skin under his fingernails. Will it be yours?’
Declan nodded, still confused. ‘He scratched me. It was…’
He sighed.
‘It was when I rammed him against a wall.’
‘Jesus, Declan. You’re better than that.’
‘He was fine when I left him!’ Declan exclaimed, looking back to the office entrance as footsteps could be heard up the stairs. Instead of a police unit hunting him, though, it was Billy and Anjli. ‘He was going to speak to me again today!’
‘What’s happened?’ Anjli asked, seeing Farrow.
‘Look,’ Farrow checked his watch. ‘I’m here as a favour, but you need to disappear. Go hide yourself somewhere far away, and I’ll throw some red tape around to delay your next inevitable suspension or arrest. But you need to sort this, Declan. You need to prove you didn’t speed up the death of a dying man before his Last Rites.’
‘Las
t Rites?’
Farrow nodded. ‘Last person to talk with him was a priest who came on his family’s request.’
‘What priest?’
‘What’s this got to do with anything?’
Declan shook his head ‘Guv, there’s nobody in his family who would have done that,’ he said. ‘If a priest turned up, it was on his own volition. Did they get the name?’
Farrow tried to remember. ‘Actually yes,’ he said. ‘Father Barry Lawson.’
Anjli stepped between Declan and Farrow, diverting both gazes. ‘Keep the body there, sir,’ she commanded. ‘You hear me? Don’t let anyone touch it.’
Farrow looked to Declan in surprise at being spoken to this way. ‘Do all of you act like—'
‘She's right, Sir,’ Declan replied. ‘Barry Lawson isn’t Barry Lawson.’ He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Derek the night before.
‘There is no absolution from him, you dopey bastard! You can’t send me out there! He’ll kill me! I need police protection!’
‘Derek knew this,’ he said. ‘he as good as told me that if Lawson got hold of him, he was dead.’
‘Actually, we think he might be Barry Lawson,’ Anjli continued. ‘That is, he was Barry, but was arrested and sentenced as Stephen. Doctor Marcos was sent some forensics on a body found that led her to believe this.’
‘What sort of forensics?’ Farrow asked. Anjli smiled.
‘Willy forensics, sir. Stephen Lawson was circumcised. As was the six month old body they found.’
Farrow shook his head. ‘I don’t want to know,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t even be here.’
Billy was at his desk now, reading more from his monitor screen.
‘According to the arrest report, Stephen Lawson walked into a café, and Godfather’ed some drug dealer in Stoke Newington. Shot him twice in the head. Looked around the café, shouted nobody effs with Stephen Lawson, then dropped the gun and ran.’
‘So basically everything someone does if they want to be caught,’ Anjli shook her head. ‘I’m guessing it didn’t take long to find him?’
