by Jack Gatland
‘Less than a day,’ Billy carried on reading. ‘They picked him up in Poplar. Fingerprints matched the gun. He didn’t have an alibi, claimed he’d been sparked out all day, and that his drink must have been spiked…’ Billy looked up, surprised.
‘This matches what Doctor Marcos sent us today, that Barry may have been framed. Stephen Lawson claimed all the way through the trial that he wasn’t Stephen, but was Barry Lawson. And that Stephen had set him up with the arresting officer.’
Declan sighed. ‘Let me guess. Derek Salmon.’
‘Give the lady a prize,’ Billy said. ‘I mean, I know you’re not a lady, but it’s how the saying goes.’
‘It would explain why he killed Derek Salmon, hypothetically,’ Declan added. ‘He’d blame him for setting him up, giving him a life in prison. Likewise, his brother.’
‘And that means he’ll be looking for Danny Martin next,’ Anjli nodded. ‘I’ll go find him, see if he’s not dead yet too.’
Declan looked to DCI Farrow. ‘Guv, we’ll need any CCTV you have of Father Lawson coming and going last night. And we’ll need someone to examine Derek’s body while Doctor Marcos is in Birmingham.’
‘I know a solid SOCO,’ Anjli said. ‘Rajesh Khanna. Did some work at Mile End.’
Declan nodded. ‘I met him on the Bernard Lau case,’ he said. ‘Knew his stuff, I thought.’
‘Make a call, bring him in,’ Farrow ordered. ‘And Declan, get out of here. Don’t use the pool car, as they have trackers.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Declan said, genuinely grateful. Farrow shook his head.
‘I just didn’t want to be the guy who suspended you twice,’ he said. Billy and Angela moved now, but Declan spoke, stopping them.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘All of this, it’s on me. Derek did it because he had an issue with my dad. And he wanted to make me look bad, to destroy my career. And in turn, he’s affecting all of you. So I just wanted to apologise. I know we can fix this.’
‘It’s not on you,’ Anjli replied. ‘This was going to happen no matter what. We just need to work out what the powder keg is going to be that kicks everything off.’
‘Let’s hope we do that before all the shit falls on us then,’ Billy said. ‘Need a lift to Euston?’
But Declan was already out of the door.
‘Well,’ Farrow said. ‘Who else wishes they hadn’t gotten up today?'
Monroe hadn’t heard about Declan’s inevitable suspension; instead, he’d made his way, with Stripe reluctantly following along for the ride to the Alum Rock Nunnery, hoping to find that last clue about Gabrielle Chapman. DI White had agreed to act as chauffeur; partly because he knew where the Nunnery was, but more because of the embarrassment that the unit had after the PCSO Holland incident.
‘Here,’ he said, passing Monroe a coffee as the DCI climbed into the passenger seat. ‘I got you a coffee. The stuff we have in there is shite.’
Monroe gratefully accepted the hot drink, sipping at it as they made their way through Birmingham. ‘How long you worked with Bullman?’ he asked. White shrugged.
‘Few months,’ he replied. ‘She’s a maternity cover, believe it or not. Came in while DCI Cao had her daughter. You got kids?’
‘No,’ Monroe said, looking out of the window, letting the coffee warm him. ‘Never seemed to find the time for it.’
White glanced at Stripe in the back seat through the rear-view mirror. ‘Well, you seem to have a way with them,’ he said. Stripe however was looking through the window too, a concerned look on his face.
‘This ain’t the way to Alum Rock!’ he exclaimed. ‘We’re too far north.’
‘I’m avoiding Saltley,’ White explained. ‘You’re too famous in that area right now. We’re heading south through Washwood Heath.’
Monroe heard the fear in Stripe’s tone and looked at White from the corner of his eye. There was something wrong; DI White was nervous as he drove.
‘You want to tell me what’s the matter, lad?’ he asked.
White ignored him.
Monroe went to pull his phone out but stopped. His hand wasn’t working. Slowly, he turned his head to White.
‘What… did you… do…’ he whispered.
‘I’m sorry,’ White said, still avoiding Monroe’s gaze. ‘I had no choice.’
Unable to move now, Monroe looked at the coffee cup in his hand as his grip relaxed, and the now-empty cup fell to the floor. ‘You son of a…’
Alexander Monroe slumped in his seat, the surrounding belt the only thing keeping him upright.
‘What are you doing!’ Stripe moved forwards, moving between the seats to examine Monroe. ‘Are you okay—’
He didn’t finish the line, because DI White brought his left arm back hard, elbowing Stripe in the face, sending him flying back into the back seat, blood streaming from his nose.
‘Sit down and shut up,’ White said as he turned off the A4040, moving into a small industrial area. Driving for another hundred yards, he pulled to the side, turning off the engine. Quickly, and without speaking, he pulled out his handcuffs, cuffing the unconscious Monroe's hands behind his back. He looked to Stripe, now staring terrified out of the window.
‘You stay quiet, and nothing bad’ll happen, yeah?’ White said. But Stripe knew that this was a lie as, walking towards the car, Stripe could see the two figures of Harrison Fennel and Macca Byrne.
Opening the door, DI White exited the vehicle and walked over to the two men.
‘We just found the body,’ he said. ‘George Byrne is on his way to identify it right now. What are you playing at?’
‘It’s not a game,’ Macca Byrne said, pulling out an automatic pistol. ‘It’s war.’
And with that, Macca Byrne shot DI White point-blank in the face.
As the dead detective fell to the floor, Macca stared into the car, smiling when he saw Stripe.
‘Hey, little buddy!’ he said, putting the gun away. ‘Are we gonna have fun together!’
Macca Byrne leaned into the car, pulling out Monroe’s unconscious, handcuffed body while Harrison opened the back door, pulling the terrified Stripe out by his arm.
‘That looks painful,’ he commented as he saw Stripe’s broken nose. ‘Enjoy the pain while you can, kid. It’s gonna get a lot worse.’
Placing Monroe’s body into the boot of a nearby and waiting car, Macca climbed into the driver’s side as Harrison, pushing Stripe in front of him into the back seat, climbed in.
And leaving the body of DI White on the street beside his police pool car, Macca Byrne drove off into the morning sun.
25
An Invitation To Meet
Moses Delcourt stormed through the Seven Sisters building, shouting his mother’s name. Anyone who saw him knew to remove themselves from the situation; his face was one of fury, with murder on his mind.
‘Mum! Where are you!’
Eventually a door opened and Anita Taborsky, one of the Seven Sisters; a haggard, harridan of a woman, easily in her seventies with long white hair pulled into a bun, her physical appearance contrasting with the vibrant, expensive dress she was wearing stared out at him.
‘Your mother is in counsel,’ she said. ‘You must wait—’
She didn’t continue as Moses stormed past her, entering a dining room containing an enormous table with chairs all around it. On these chairs sat five more women of varying ages, with Janelle Delcourt sitting at the head of the table.
All were now glaring at Moses.
‘We’re in session,’ Janelle started. Moses just laughed.
‘Don’t give me that, mum,’ he replied. ‘Everyone knows these are just set dressing. You’re the one that gives the orders.’ He leaned across the table now, almost spitting in anger.
‘Like the one to kill Wesley O’Brien.’
Janelle Delcourt had an incredible poker face, but even she couldn’t keep an element of surprise off it. ‘Who?’
‘George Byrne’s right-hand man was found
in a Birmingham river an hour ago,’ Moses explained, his voice rising in anger as he progressed. ‘They found the knife nearby; it has Dave Ewan’s fingerprints on it. And in the jacket was a message, a little wet but readable. It said Macca is next, love the 7S.’
Janelle looked to the other women in the room. ‘Well, it certainly sounds like us,’ she smiled. Moses slammed his hand on the tabletop, the loud impact echoing around the room.
‘Dammit, mum!’ he cried out. ‘Macca and his dad were my problem to sort! Not for you to send your Paedo mate over to do my business!’
Janelle stared at Moses for a long moment.
‘Everyone out,’ she commanded. The other women in the room rose silently from their chairs, leaving Moses and his mother alone.
‘The next word from your mouth better be ‘sorry’, young man,’ she said, her tone ice cold and dripping with venom. ‘I have sent no one to Birmingham. And I sure as Hell have sent no messages to that little druggie shit or his prick of a father.’
Moses went to speak, to reply to this, but paused.
‘Sorry,’ he replied meekly. ‘I’ll sort this.’
‘Birmingham was your idea, your plan,’ Janelle rose from her chair, now standing across the table from Moses. ‘I let you play gangster because that’s what you wanted. You think I didn’t know that you planned to work that druggie bitch girlfriend of yours into this room? You were never getting this. Never!’ She punctuated this by grabbing the small tumbler in front of her and hurling it at the fireplace, where it shattered in a minor explosion of glass shards.
She stopped, letting the silence hang ominously over the room for a moment.
‘I already knew that this has gone too far, regardless of who the bodies they found are,’ she said. ‘I knew before you did. And I already have a plan. I’ll be leaving shortly to hold peace talks with the Byrnes. Peace talks that we now need to ensure happen because you couldn’t keep your cock in your pants!’
Moses stared sullenly at his mother. ‘Where?’
‘A house in Beachampton, near Milton Keynes,’ Janelle said. ‘It’s been organised by a third party.’
‘Who’s gonna be there?’ Moses raised his chin defiantly, as if daring his mother to ignore him.
‘George Byrne for Birmingham and Danny Martin, speaking for The Twins,’ she replied. ‘It’s being organised by a priest we all know. He’s playing Switzerland in this war.’
‘I’m coming with you,’ Moses said. It was a statement, not a question, but Janelle didn’t even argue this.
‘Oh, I know you are,’ she snapped. ‘This is your bloody cock up, so they have specifically requested you. So grab your things as we leave in an hour.’
Moses turned and silently walked from the room, passing the other Sisters in the hallway without a second glance.
He couldn’t look at them.
If he had, they would have seen his smile.
George Byrne sat in his office overlooking St Chad’s Queensway, otherwise known as the A4400 and one of the main ring roads around central Birmingham, watching the traffic passing by. He wasn’t seeing the cars, or the dual carriageway though; in his mind he was looking at a time, long ago, when he played in the streets with his best friend Wesley.
For over thirty years George Byrne had held his offices north of the A4400, and south of the Birmingham and Fazeley canal; people called it St Chads now, or ‘just south of Newtown’, an area of decrepit buildings, cheap warehouses and forgotten pubs. But George stayed there not because of the price, but because of the history. This was the Gun Quarter of Birmingham. All along Price Street were remnants of the history of the Quarter; gun shops that still eked out a trade in this day and age, many now transformed into sporting goods or shotgun stores, some now converting their trade into air pistols and toys. Next door to him was Horton Guns, and across the street was The Bull Pub where he took most of his meetings and his lunch. Again, he didn’t go there for the closeness of the location, but for the history; since 1729 there had been a hostelry selling beer there, and in the mid-nineteenth century gun workers were paid their salaries there.
George liked to pay his men there too.
The Gun Quarter had first filled orders for the Napoleonic Wars and supplying the soldiers of the East India Company. They armed the Crimean War, sent arms across to the USA, mainly for Confederate soldiers during their Civil War, soldiers including General Custer, who was known to use a Birmingham Galand & Somerville .44 pistol. Even in World Wars One and Two the Gun Quarter stepped up, with local firm Webley & Scott creating the official British sidearm for the Army.
George had found one hidden away in the wall when he’d first taken over this office. He’d taken it as a good omen.
George had loved guns. He’d loved the power that holding one gave him. And, with Wesley beside him, he’d used guns to build the empire that he now held.
But Wesley was gone now.
The call had come through ten minutes earlier; Wesley’s body had been found in a river, and the police were searching for a weapon nearby. There’d been a note with the body, the contents of which had been passed on.
Macca is next, love the 7S
George had already tried to contact his son, but he wasn’t answering his phone and nobody knew where he was. This worried George, as even though he hated the little shit half the time, he was still his blood. And that trumped everything.
More than anything, though, he was angry. He knew that Moses and Macca were spoiling for a fight, ever since that junkie bitch came onto the scene. He’d thought that when they removed her, things would have changed, but a couple of months later things had simply gotten worse. It didn’t help that Macca had visited that bloody priest more, although George couldn’t fault a man for finding God.
His phone rang; for a second George stared at it, surprised. Nobody called his land line anymore. He’d even considered removing it, as most of his conversations were done on his smartphone these days. Picking it up, he listened.
‘George?’ The voice was familiar, and southern.
‘Danny,’ George replied. ‘What d’ya want?’
‘Just heard about Wesley,’ the voice down the phone continued. ‘I wanted to say how sorry I was.’
‘Not as sorry as she’s gonna be,’ George hissed.
‘Come on, George. Do you seriously think this was on her?’
‘She left a note.’
‘No, her son left a note. I’ve seen the photo too. It’s more of this Moses verses Macca bullshit that’s been building up recently. They cut up a guy in Islington, for Christ’s sake.’
‘They cut up my guy in Islington.’
‘Because your son beat up one of her lieutenants,’ Danny continued. ‘It’s a circle.’
‘Yeah?’ George rose now as he shouted down the phone. ‘If it is, it’s one that your bloody daughter drew.’
There was a long pause down the line.
‘My daughter, my real one died at birth, and I’ve paid my penance for what happened to that junkie replacement,’ Danny replied coldly. ‘You were there.’
George rubbed at his temple with his free hand.
‘Yeah, of course,’ he said. ‘It’s just—’
‘I know,’ Danny interrupted down the line. ‘I get it. But this needs to stop.’
‘And how you gonna manage that?’ George asked, staring out of the window again, watching the cars pass by.
‘Father Lawson’s setting up a peace talk today, neutral ground, halfway between both of you. I’ll be there and so will Mama Delcourt. Alone, no crew.’
‘Her boy?’
‘I can’t say, but she’ll most likely bring him, especially as he’s a part of this. You’ll bring Macca?’
George nodded to himself.
‘If I can find the little bastard,’ he said. ‘Send me the details. But if that priest gets out of line—’
‘Come on, George. He’s worked hard for us all over the years,’ Danny replied. ‘We can give him th
is one moment. And let’s face it, this is all on us, anyway.’
George didn’t say goodbye, he simply disconnected the call, staring at the phone.
So Mama Delcourt and her son want to talk peace.
Pulling out a drawer in his desk, he reached to the back of it and removed a cloth package. Unwrapping it, he stared down at the 1887 Webley Mark 1 revolver that he’d discovered in a wall a long time ago.
It had been Wesley’s pride and joy. He’d spent hours working on it, and because of this the revolver was cleaned, oiled and ready to use.
And today it would execute Janelle Delcourt and her son.
In a Globe Town Boxing Club, Jackie Lucas stared at Father Barry Lawson with cold fury.
‘I don’t like you,’ he said. ‘I don’t like priests in general.’
‘I understand that,’ Father Lawson replied. ‘And I’m here purely as a messenger. Daniel has decided that we should play peacemaker in this war between North and South.’
‘Danny Martin should have asked me first,’ Jackie picked up a small free weight in his hand, staring at it for a moment before hurling it at the wall. ‘He should have asked me first!’
‘Mister Lucas,’ Father Lawson stayed calm in front of the unhinged maniac in front of him. ‘I’ve worked with your organisation for a very long time now. I’ve made you and Daniel an extensive amount of money.’
‘And lined your own pockets,’ Jackie snapped. ‘And treated your brother like shit!’
‘I did,’ Father Lawson nodded, but Jackie noticed a hint of a smile on the priest’s face. ‘And I will face God very soon about that. But I’ve agreed to allow this meeting, and I will host it today. George Byrne, Janelle Delcourt and Danny Martin will be attending. I was greatly hoping you would have joined us for these peaceful negotiations.’
‘I don’t play well with others,’ Jackie snarled. ‘Now get out of my club before I drag you into the ring and beat the living crap out of you.’
