Murder Of Angels - a crime thriller (Detective Inspector Declan Walsh Book 2)

by Jack Gatland

  Anjli nodded. ‘We think we know where he’s going, but we need confirmation, because if we go to the wrong location, Monroe could die,’ she said. ‘We believe it's his church in Beachampton. What we can’t work out is why.’

  ‘Because he’s a priest and they’re God-bothering troublemakers who want to put the world to rights,’ Johnny suggested. Anjli shrugged.

  ‘That would work if he was the Father Lawson you think he is, but he’s not.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well current opinion is that Barry Lawson was framed as Stephen Lawson, was sentenced to eighteen years, got out of prison six months ago and immediately went to Deptford to kill his brother. Since then he’s been pretending to everyone that he’s Barry, which is technically correct I suppose, and he seems to have been quite busy after he learned that his biological daughters were murdered.’

  Johnny opened and shut his mouth for a moment.

  ‘Okay, DS Kapoor, I wasn’t expecting that,’ he said. ‘I’m guessing that he killed Salmon? It’d make sense, as the rumours are that Salmon killed her.’

  ‘No, that was a smokescreen he told Declan—’

  ‘I don’t mean then,’ Johnny interrupted. ‘I mean that a year ago, my brother and I heard a tasty secret bouncing around, that Derek Salmon had killed Angie Martin on the orders of his overlord.’

  ‘But which overlord?’ Anjli asked. ‘He’s worked with all of them, I think.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Johnny smiled. ‘All three of them. After meeting up and deciding that she had to go.’

  Anjli stared at Johnny Lucas in shock. ‘Are you saying that Janelle Delcourt, George Byrne and Danny Martin got together and decided to kill Angela Martin, keeping it from Macca and Moses?'

  Johnny didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. Anjli already knew that this was true. And now, a year later, all three were driving to a secret location to meet each other once more.

  But this time the Father Lawson in the meeting was different.

  And he wanted revenge.

  ‘It’s going to be a bloodbath,’ she whispered. Johnny laughed.

  ‘Oh Kapoor, it’s already been a bloodbath,’ he said. ‘What with words being etched into men’s chests and others being gutted like pigs and dumped into rivers. What happens today? It’s going to be biblical.’

  Billy was about to leave Temple Inn when he heard the iPad on his desk whirr into life.

  Angela’s iPad.

  Using the silicone thumbprint that DC Davey had kindly made him, Billy opened the iPad up, glancing through it. There wasn’t much on it, as many of the apps were out of date still and needed uploading, but the Photos app opened.

  Billy scrolled through them quickly; they were mostly photos of Angela Martin, mostly safe for work selfies with her boyfriend, although as he scrolled through them, he found the more intimate images starting to appear.

  Which was fine, if it wasn’t for one thing.

  The boy she was with in these images wasn’t Moses Delcourt. It wasn’t Macca Byrne, either.

  It was Harrison Fennel.

  Grabbing his jacket and leaving the iPad on the table as he left the office in a dead sprint, Billy was already calling Anjli on his phone.

  It was early afternoon when Macca Byrne pulled the car into the driveway of Hall Place. He’d never been here before; hell, he’d never been to Beachampton before, but he’d already decided that he liked it.

  After picking up the fed and the grass, Macca and Harrison had taken the M40 south from Birmingham. The police had a number plate recognition system on the motorway, but Macca didn’t think they’d be looking for him just yet; Wesley’s murder would already be aimed at the Delcourts, and the dead detective had no links to Macca, even if he'd worked for his dad. Even if they did look for him, an hour down the line was still early days for the speed that the police usually worked. Still, to ensure that they didn’t risk too much, they came off the motorway at Banbury and headed across country, passing through villages with names like Brackley and Buckingham before coming up into Beachampton from the south, driving up the country lanes that led past the white metal sign that proclaimed

  Welcome to

  BEACHAMPTON

  Part of Aylesbury Vale

  Please drive carefully

  It impressed Macca that as if by magic, the houses suddenly became more opulent and the walls became higher. Enormous hedgerows hid white bricked houses from view, wrought-iron gates the only way to see into the driveways, surrounded by wide open fields that stretched as far as the eye could see; these homes flanked him now as he drove north, Harrison leaning forward to give directions. Harrison had been here before, only once, but he was fantastic at remembering places.

  There was a stream running alongside the road, and Macca had a momentary thought of stopping to look at it; he could see ducks on it. And there was a part of him, deep inside, that knew that this could be the last normal day he’d have for quite a while. But that idle thought disappeared as they continued through the village, passing the high walled estates.

  This was why Macca liked the village. They didn’t like people observing them. Macca could relate to that.

  Turning left at a junction, Macca found himself on another country road, this time with a church, The Immaculate Conception of St. Mary The Virgin visible on the right.

  ‘That his church?’ he asked. Harrison nodded.

  ‘But that’s not where we’re meeting,’ he said, waving Macca down the road. ‘It’s a little way up and on the right.’

  And, just under a mile down the Thornton Road, no wider than a single lane country road, Macca saw the turning. A simple entrance, with twelve foot high hedgerows mixed with brick walls, it faced across at empty fields. Turning into it though, Macca saw a wrought-iron gate of its own blocking an avenue, about two hundred yards in length, with horse chestnut trees on either side of it. At the end was a red brick building, half hidden by the trees.

  ‘He got this for being a priest?’ Macca said, impressed. Harrison climbed out of the car, walking to the gate. Rummaging under a stone, he found a large iron key and used it to open the gates, pushing them to the side so that Macca could drive through. Leaving the gates unlocked and open, Harrison climbed back into the back seat. Stripe, sitting quietly and in utter terror, looked at him. Harrison smiled at him before waving Macca on.

  ‘This used to be Beachampton Hall, or at least part of it,’ he said. ‘It’s almost four hundred years old, but it was a bit of a pit when Father Lawson first came here. Luckily, he had a secondary income, a drug-related and very lucrative one that built it all back up over the last twenty years.’

  ‘Won’t the police come here looking though?’ Macca wasn’t stupid. He knew that eventually the police would come, and that the chances were they were already on their way. Harrison shook his head.

  ‘This isn’t in Lawson’s or the church’s name,’ he said. ‘Nobody knows about this.’

  They pulled into a driveway, staring up at the 17th Century manor house. It was a two-storied red brick house, half built with stone and with a tiled roof, the windows a mixture of both old and new, most likely from where Father Lawson had been repairing. It was larger than Macca had expected, the size of a small manor house, and he climbed out of the car to stare up at it.

  ‘I want it,’ he said. ‘When we’re done here, we’re taking Lawson out too, and I'm moving in.’

  ‘That’s not how you get houses,’ Harrison laughed. ‘Besides, I got the impression that he doesn’t really want it.’

  Macca looked to the unconscious Monroe. ‘So where do we put him?’ he asked. Harrison pointed down the side of the house.

  ‘You go past there, it’s clear fields all the way to the River Great Ouse,’ he said. ‘But until we need them, he suggested we dump Monroe and the kid in the cellar. There’s an entrance to it beside the gable wall there. The doors are all bolted from the outside and there’s no signal here, so they’ll have no way to get help.’

&
nbsp; Macca turned and looked at Stripe, still in the car.

  ‘Don’t worry, buddy,’ he said. ‘You’re just a witness. Nothing bad’s gonna happen to you.’

  Stripe scrambled back, as if trying to burrow into the back seat. ‘Is that what you said when Harrison there buried Gabby?’ he asked. ‘Nothing bad happened to her either, right?’

  ‘That wasn’t Gabby,’ Macca replied calmly. ‘That was a back-up plan.’

  He smiled.

  ‘You, however, are the principal attraction.’

  As Harrison reached into the car and grabbed at Stripe he bit at the larger man’s hand, but Harrison was larger and stronger and, with one hard punch to the side of the skull, Harrison sent Stripe to the floor of the car unconscious. Pulling him out and slinging him over his shoulder, Harrison looked to Macca.

  ‘So what, I have to take the fed?’ Macca asked. Harrison shrugged.

  ‘Should have punched the kid first,’ he said, already walking to the west of the manor, and the entrance to the cellar. Macca smiled, pulling the unconscious Monroe out by his feet. He’d need to hide the car around the back before they all arrived.

  He didn’t want the surprise to be ruined, after all.

  28

  Hideaway Gathering

  Declan had allowed Barry Lawson to pass him when the train pulled up at Milton Keynes station, Sitting in his seat by the door, he’d watched as the priest rose, folded up his paper and left it on the train’s table, following the other travellers as they left the train. Rising to follow, Declan ensured that he was keeping four or five people between himself and Father Lawson, still worried that he could be recognised at any moment.

  Making his way through the ticket barriers, Declan exited Milton Keynes Station and looked around. He’d never been there before, and he wasn’t sure what to expect. What he found was a built up area in front of him with two traffic loops; the left-hand side for taxis, the right-hand side for pickups and drop offs, and two rows of bus stops in front of him.

  He couldn’t see Father Lawson, but he assumed that he would head to the taxis, as while on the train Declan had checked for public transport routes to Beachampton, and found none.

  This was where Declan was convinced that Father Lawson was going; his church, The Immaculate Conception of St. Mary The Virgin. Billy had sent the address to Declan by text, and it made the most sense. And, as Declan walked towards the taxi rank, he saw Father Lawson climbing into one of the black cars, a larger people carrier model with the white TAXI sign on the roof. Allowing it to drive past and noting the registration, Declan ran to the next available car, clambering into the back. The driver, a middle-aged Turkish man in a blue shirt looked over his shoulder. ‘Where to?’

  Declan resisted the urge to shout follow that car and instead leaned closer, showing the address that Billy had texted.

  ‘Beachampton? Gotcha,’ the driver said, pulling out from the taxi rank and following the road out of the station car park. Declan leaned back in the seat.

  ‘How long?’ he asked. The driver shrugged.

  ‘About fifteen minutes, depending on traffic,’ he said. ‘The A5 is closed for roadworks, so we’ll likely go via Watling Street. You in a hurry?’

  ‘Meeting a friend.’ Declan looked out of the window as the car moved onto a raised dual carriageway. ‘I thought Watling Street was in London?’

  ‘That’s right,’ the driver said. ‘All the way from Kent, through London, past us and up to Wroxeter.’

  Declan nodded, pulling out his phone. With a few minutes to spare, he dialled a number, waiting for it to answer.

  ‘Hello?’ Jessica’s voice answered.

  ‘It’s me,’ Declan said. ‘Borrowing a phone as mine’s broken.’

  ‘Mum was trying to call you,’ Jessica continued. ‘Said some police officers called, were looking for you.’

  ‘I’m man-hunting so off the grid,’ Declan lied. Well, it was only a small lie. He was off the grid, and he was man-hunting. ‘I just wanted to see how the date went?’

  ‘Badly,’ Jessica admitted. ‘I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again.’

  ‘Why?’ this confused Declan. ‘He seemed like a nice boy.’

  ‘Too nice,’ Jessica replied. ‘And even though we made a bet, I think he was intimidated a little by you.’

  ‘Ah damn, sorry.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. I think we were just expecting different things. You know, moving at different speeds.’

  ‘Was he going too fast for you?’ Declan asked, his fatherly anger rising. Jessica however laughed.

  ‘Christ no, Dad,’ she said. ‘I was going too fast for him!’

  ‘He sounds like a keeper,’ Declan replied, smiling. ‘You should marry him.’

  ‘Nah, I think I’ll give up on boys for a while,’ Jessica replied. ‘They’d just interfere with my exams, anyway. Maybe I’ll become a nun.’

  ‘No nuns,’ Declan said, perhaps a little too strongly. Jessica paused on the line before replying.

  ‘You okay, Dad?’

  ‘I’m fine, really.’ Declan watched the road. ‘I just wanted to check in.’

  ‘Dad, mum’s going on a date tonight,’ Jessica said. ‘I don’t know if I was supposed to keep it secret, but it felt wrong keeping it from you.’

  Declan felt his insides tighten at this, but forced himself to relax.

  ‘I know, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘I told her to.’

  ‘Oh,’ this obviously surprised Jessica. ‘Does this mean you’re going on dates too?’

  Declan thought for a moment. ‘Maybe soon,’ he said. ‘Look, I have to go now, so I’ll call you back later, okay?’

  ‘Love you, Dad.’

  Declan finished the call, staring down at the phone. He hoped that the next time he spoke to Jessica, it wouldn’t be through a glass divider.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet. There, on a post it note was a phone number that he’d taken off his father’s desk weeks earlier. It was a number on his phone’s contact list, but he didn’t have that phone, or that list around. Quickly, he typed in a text message.

  It’s Declan. Don’t ask. When things are calmer, let’s have that drink. Let’s discuss the future.

  Sending it, he leaned back once more in the chair, looking around. They were deep in the country now, empty fields on either side. He went to dial the office, but noted that there were no bars on his phone, and therefore no signal. Hoping that by the time they reached the church there would be, he relaxed and enjoyed the ride.

  Declan didn’t want to spook Father Lawson, so he had the driver stop the taxi a little way down the road from the church. Paying him and leaving the car, Declan kept to the hedges as he walked up to The Immaculate Conception of St. Mary The Virgin. It looked quiet.

  Too quiet.

  He was about to enter through the main gateway, trying to find a way through the churchyard that would give him cover, when he stopped.

  Coming down the road towards him was the taxi that Father Lawson had caught in Milton Keynes. It was a people carrier, and the driver was a woman, the only one in the rank at the time that Declan saw. Pulling out his warrant card, he waved it at her as he walked into the road. Slowing down, she nodded as Declan made a ‘pull over’ motion, pulling to a stop beside the church.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ she asked, winding down her window. Declan pointed back up the road.

  ‘The man you dropped off, the priest,’ he said. ‘Did you drop him here or somewhere up there?’

  ‘About a mile back,’ she pointed back up the country lane. ‘big old place, can’t miss it. He in trouble?’

  ‘Do you have another booking right now?’ Declan asked, mentally kicking himself. He’d been so convinced that the church would be the target he hadn’t even considered another location. The driver shook her head.

  ‘On my way back to Milton Keynes now,’ she replied. Declan pulled out a twenty-pound note, his last one.

  ‘Can you
take me back there?’ he asked. ‘To where you went?’

  ‘Sure,’ the driver said as Declan climbed in through the sliding side door. Using the side road to three-point turn the car, she started back up the country lane.

  Declan stared at his phone with annoyance. It still didn’t have a signal.

  ‘Does your phone work?’ he asked. ‘Mine’s a cheap one. Doesn’t have a good connection.’

  ‘It’s not the phone, it’s the network,’ the woman explained. ‘All around here’s shit. Passenham to Thornton is like a black hole for cell towers.’

  Declan pulled out his notebook, scribbling down on it. Tearing the sheet out, he fed it through the small gap in the dividing glass between the back seats and the driver.

  ‘When you hit a signal, call that number,’ he asked. ‘Tell them I sent you and pass that message on.’

  Taking it with one hand while watching the road still, the driver pulled to the side.

  ‘It’s the next house on the right,’ she indicated the tall wall and hedgerow that surrounded the estate. ‘I’m guessing you don’t want to go in from the front?’

  ‘Probably not ideal,’ Declan climbed out of the taxi, looking around. He could see a public footpath that seemed to follow the side wall. ‘Do you know where that goes?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the Ouse Valley Way path,’ she replied. ‘Thirteen miler. It’ll pass through the fields at the back of the house. Or at least beside the back wall.’

  She looked down at Declan’s shoes.

  ‘You’ll ruin those though,’ she said. ‘It’s a bridleway. The mud’ll be thick.’

  Declan almost laughed.

  ‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘I was thinking of getting new shoes, anyway.’ He nodded to the driver, crossing the road and climbing the stile that led to the footpath. Making his way down the path, he realised that the wall was going to be almost impossible to climb. Luckily, about a hundred yards down the path, there was a horse chestnut tree on the other side of the wall that had grown over it, the branches hanging over the path. Declan realised that by using two bricks in the wall he could gain enough height to grab the branch, using it to pull himself over the wall, landing awkwardly on the other side, but still hidden by the horse chestnut tree.