by Jack Gatland
The ground was bare all the way to the house, and Declan knew that the moment he began to make his way across, he was open to anyone looking out of the window. There was a path along the wall though, and so he decided that the best course of action would be to sidle along it, to see if there were any better options to gain a closer look at the building, to see if there was another entrance he could use. This was nowhere near the size of Devington Hall, but it was old. There were always old tunnels and passageways in these buildings.
Well, he hoped so.
He was about to move when a noise stopped him, forcing him to crouch low as, down the driveway, a charcoal grey BMW Type 2 made its way towards the house. Moving to get a better look at the front of the building, Declan saw Father Lawson emerge from it, waiting patiently. Now stopping beside a white Bentley, the car doors opened and Moses Delcourt and a woman, most likely his mother, emerged. Father Lawson spoke to them softly; they were too far away for Declan to hear, and so as they entered the house, Declan moved quickly along the wall, hunting for a secondary entrance. He guessed that the Bentley was owned either by George Byrne or Danny Martin, although as he hadn’t seen it parked outside Danny’s house in Cyprus Street when they visited him, he assumed that it was the former.
Now on the west side of the house, Declan saw that this side had fewer windows, but at the same time had another car parked on the drive that Declan could use for cover. And, against the wall, Declan could see a covered entrance to what was most likely to be a cellar, an iron bolt keeping it locked.
Looking around and ensuring that nobody was watching, Declan ran across, pulling the bolt, opening the door and quickly sliding through, closing it behind him.
Down the steps, Declan quickly and quietly made his way into a large under croft. It was obviously the cellar to the house, but standing there, amongst the pillars, Declan could now see how large the house’s foundations truly were.
There was a noise, and Declan grabbed a length of wrought iron that was resting against one wall, possibly from the front gate. Moving slowly, he saw what had made the sound and, dropping the length of metal, ran to the unconscious forms of Alexander Monroe and Stripe, dumped in the under croft beside some stone steps that looked to go into the house.
They were both tied and gagged, although Stripe had been secured with zip ties while Monroe was handcuffed from behind. Sitting Monroe up, Declan pulled the gag off, pulling up one of Monroe’s eyelids up to check on him.
Stripe, now waking, was making a mmph noise through the gag, so Declan moved over and pulled the gag off.
‘Don’t shout,’ Declan ordered. ‘I’m police. I work for him.’ He pointed at Monroe, and Stripe nodded.
‘He’s drugged,’ he said. ‘Dunno what with.’
‘Who did it? Was it Macca?’
‘Yeah, and Harrison.’
Declan nodded. ‘Do you know what they plan to do?’
‘Kill everyone,’ Stripe said. ‘They’re planning something with the priest. And with Moses.’
‘They plan to kill Moses?’
‘Nah, man. They’re working with Moses,’ Stripe rubbed his arms, now freed by Declan, glancing at his watch. ‘They said it in the car. I pretended to be asleep. They’re planning to kill everyone.’
Declan looked to the door. The chances were that his message to Billy might not have gotten through yet, and even if he found a phone here, he’d likely not get the police from Milton Keynes here in time.
All he had to stop some kind of major coup, was an unconscious, drugged DCI and a terrified teenager.
Declan couldn’t help it. He laughed.
‘Plenty of time to sort this,’ he said, trying his best to believe it.
29
Peace Talks, War Acts
George Byrne was already in the living room as Janelle Delcourt arrived, led in by Father Lawson. The room was a large living area; the walls wallpapered green with the bottom half layered with mahogany. There was an enormous stone fireplace against one wall, currently unlit, and on the opposite wall was a bay window that stared out at the driveway of the house. There was a side cabinet with some decanters of whisky and brandy on it, a painting of what looked to be a Georgian woman and a spaniel, and in the middle, on top of the hardwood floor was a large oak table, rectangular and with four chairs, one on either side of it. George had his back to the window while facing the door, and saw them enter before Janelle saw him.
‘You’ve got some nerve—’ he started in anger, rising from his chair, but Father Lawson waved him back down.
‘You know how this works, George,’ he said. ‘Only as long as all three of you agree to work together can peace work.’
‘You bring your son?’ George sat down. Janelle nodded, finding a chair on the opposite side of the large, rectangular table and facing George.
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘The damn fool is the reason we’re here after all. Him and your son. You bring your boy?’
George Byrne shook his head, pointing at his phone.
‘I left a message, and told my men to bring him if they found him,’ he complained. ‘But there’s no bloody signal here, so I don’t know if they did.’
‘Sorry about that,’ Father Lawson smiled benignly. ‘We have an issue with cell tower coverage around here. It’s why I like it so. No distractions.’
Through the window, Father Lawson saw a third car pull up at the front. A Mini Clubman, it was driven by Danny Martin who, getting out of the car nodded to Father Lawson and made his way towards the front door.
‘You need to go welcome him?’ Janelle asked. Father Lawson shook his head.
‘Mister Martin has been here many times over the years,’ he replied. ‘he helped fund the rebuilding, after all.’
A moment later Danny Martin entered the room, nodding to Father Lawson and sitting down on one of the two remaining chairs, glancing at both Janelle and George.
‘Where shall we three meet again,’ he chuckled.
‘You think this is funny?’ Janelle hissed. ‘This all started with your bitch of a daughter.’
Danny shook his head.
‘Not my daughter, remember?’
George Byrne slammed his fist down on the table.
‘Dammit!’ he yelled. ‘Shut up! My oldest friend was murdered today by you!’ He pointed at Janelle. ‘I want vengeance!’
‘And we will gain vengeance today, one way or another,’ Father Lawson replied. ‘But first, let us pray.’
In the cellar beneath the meeting, Monroe opened one eye groggily, staring at Declan.
‘Did you just slap me?’ he asked. Declan nodded.
‘Several times,’ he said. ‘It was the only way to wake you.’
‘You look way too happy about the prospect,’ Monroe muttered, looking around the cellar. ‘Did you get caught too?’
‘I’m the rescue team,’ Declan said, trying hard not to react to the absurdity of it. ‘But it’s just me, I don’t know when or if the others are turning up and I’m only here because I was following Lawson.’
Woozily, Monroe nodded. ‘Right then, we’re in the shite,’ he said. ‘As ever. How do I help?’
‘Try to shake off whatever they put into you,’ Declan turned to Stripe. ‘You were awake when they came in here, did you see what they did to get through the gate? Is it an electronic one?'
Stripe shook his head. ‘There’s a key under a stone,’ he said. ‘Harrison opened the gate and then left it open. They left the key in the lock.’
Declan nodded. ‘How fast can you run?’
Stripe puffed out his chest. ‘Pretty fast.’
‘Good.’ Declan led Stripe over to the steps that led outside. ‘If you leave through here, it’s a straight run past the car and into the bushes by the wall. Make your way around the wall, get to the gate, yeah?’
‘I can do that,’ Stripe replied. ‘Then what?’
‘Once you get out, turn left and run into the village. Find a phone. Call the police. Tel
l them that DCI Monroe and DI Walsh are in danger and give them this address. Can you do that?’
Stripe nodded, even though he looked terrified.
‘I can do that,’ he said. ‘I’m Beorma.’
Declan patted Stripe on the back, unsure what the boy meant by that, and looked to Monroe.
‘What’s going on up there?’ the older man asked. Declan looked up to the ceiling.
‘Some kind of peace talks, trying to stop a war,’ he explained. ‘Dave Ewan, the Delcourt man who was beaten up? Well, it seems he stabbed Wesley O’Brien, who was George Byrne’s right-hand man—’
‘Was it a sheath knife?’ Stripe asked. Declan turned to him.
‘Yeah.’
‘Then he didn’t do it.’
‘His fingerprints were on the sheath,’ Declan started. ‘And—’
‘I saw him hold it,’ Stripe continued. ‘When Macca beat him up. He gave him this knife, told him to take a shot. Dave wouldn’t. But he was holding the knife and the sheath it was in.’
Declan looked to Monroe. ‘Macca’s being clever,’ he said. ‘He’s setting this up.’
‘To kill Moses? Or are we missing something?’ Monroe was still groggy, shaking his head.
‘We’ll work that out later,’ Declan said, looking to Stripe. ‘You need to go now, get to the village and call for help.’
Stripe nodded and ran up the stairs and out into the garden. Monroe, now almost back to normal, looked to Declan.
‘So now what?’ he asked. Declan shrugged.
‘Now we find a way into the house and stop whatever this is.’
‘We’ll need weapons,’ Monroe mused. Declan looked out of the cellar entrance, over at the car parked to the side.
‘I think that’s Macca’s car,’ he said. ‘It was the only one here when I arrived. We might be lucky. There could be something in there to use, and I think everyone’s a little preoccupied right now.’
‘Then let’s go break into a car,’ Monroe replied, already making his way slowly to the steps. ‘If we make it out of this alive, I’m going to kill that DI White.’
‘You won’t be able to, I’m afraid, Guv,’ Declan checked out of the entrance one last time, ensuring they weren't being watched. Along the wall, making his way to the gate, Declan could just about make out Stripe.
‘Aye? And why’s that exactly?’
‘Because Macca Byrne shot him.’
Monroe was silent as they made their way over to the car. It was unlocked.
‘What kind of bloody idiot criminal leaves a car unlocked?’ Monroe hissed, rummaging fruitlessly through the empty glove compartment.
‘Maybe they were more distracted by dragging you to the cellar?’ Declan suggested, popping the boot of the car. Carefully moving around, they pushed the boot of the car open, careful to monitor the facing windows. Declan pulled up the base of the boot lining, where usually a spare wheel would be hidden away.
There was a spare wheel.
‘Goddammit,’ he muttered, picking up some cable ties, the only things worth taking in the vehicle, it seemed. 'Why don't gangsters hide weapons in cars anymore?'
Monroe, rummaging around his coat pockets, suddenly smiled.
‘They didn’t search me,’ he said. ‘They must have thought I’d be unconscious for longer.’ Pulling out his hand, he showed Declan what had been in his pocket.
‘Perfect,’ Declan said.
In Hall House’s living room, the conversation around the table was getting tense.
‘Dave Ewan was a kiddie fiddler!’ George Byrne was shouting. ‘He deserved everything he got!’
‘As did your boyfriend Wesley!’ Janelle yelled back. ‘But we didn’t do it!’
‘Your son did!’ George was almost apoplectic with rage now, his face reddening. Danny Martin was chuckling, watching his two rivals attacking each other. Seeing this, Father Lawson rose, walking over to the drinks tray at the side of the room.
‘As fun as this is watching you all shout at each other, the day moves on and so must we,’ he said, opening a drawer and pulling out a Rosary. Walking back to the table, he dropped it onto the surface. It was a black acrylic Rosary, with Paracord knots in between.
It was a familiar Rosary.
‘Where did you get that?’ Danny Martin asked, reaching across and grabbing the Rosary, turning it in his hands.
‘Same person you gave it to,’ Father Lawson replied. ‘My brother. Right before I killed him.’
There was a silence to this comment.
‘That’s not funny,’ Danny eventually replied. Father Lawson sniffed.
‘It wasn’t supposed to be,’ he said. ‘But I suppose I should really explain the entire story, shouldn’t I?’ And with that he clapped his hands, shouting out loudly, ‘boys, I think it’s time to come and say hello.’
The door to the room opened and Macca, Moses and Harrison entered the room. Each of them held a gun, and one by one they stood behind their parental figure, with Harrison instead standing behind Danny.
‘What the hell is this—’ George Byrne went to rise but was pistol-whipped back to the table by his son.
‘Stay down, dad.’
Father Lawson grabbed the Rosary back from Danny and stared at the table.
‘Let me quickly get through the introductions here,’ he said. ‘Your sons, you know. But me? Maybe not so much.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Danny said. ‘I’ve known you since we were kids!’
‘Are you sure?’ Father Lawson asked. ‘What’s my name?’
‘You’re Stephen Lawson,’ Danny replied, noting that George Byrne looked surprised at this.
‘And how would I be Stephen?’ Father Lawson asked. Danny licked his lips, unsure whether to answer, but the muzzle of a gun, pushed into the back of his head by Harrison standing behind him, found his voice again.
‘You took Barry’s place after we framed him for murder,’ he whispered.
Father Lawson clapped his hands. ‘An inspired plan, too,’ he said. ‘Setting him up as Stephen meant that you could continue your drug trade without Barry’s annoying morals kicking in.’
His face darkening, Father Lawson leaned onto the table.
‘But here’s the problem,’ he said. ‘Six months ago, the original Barry Lawson was released from Belmarsh. He went to find his brother. And, once he found him, he killed him.’ Father Lawson frowned. ‘Tell me, is it still identity theft when you kill someone to take back your own one?’
Danny froze.
‘You’re not Barry,’ he whispered.
‘Oh, I am, mate,’ Father Lawson smiled. ‘The same one who you set up and left to rot. The same one that strangled Stephen with his Rosary, this Rosary, and the same one that smothered Derek Salmon with a pillow.’
He leaned back, looking around the table, at the expressions of shock on the faces of the three crime bosses.
‘And the same one that, after he learned that both of his daughters were dead, decided to execute the three people who killed them.’
And with that command, all three guns behind the heads were cocked and ready to fire.
30
Mexican Standoff
Now armed with the meagre pickings from Alexander Monroe’s overcoat pocket, Declan and Monroe had snuck around to the back of the house where the back door had been mercifully unlocked. Opening it slowly, Declan had peered into the kitchen of the building; a long, tiled room with wooden counters and benches. It was empty.
‘I thought this would have been a little more guarded,’ Monroe whispered, moving behind one counter. Declan moved over to a knife rack, taking a wicked looking carving knife for his own weapon. Pulling out his phone, he cursed.
‘Still no signal,’ he muttered. Monroe checked into his pockets with his free hand and sighed.
‘I must have lost mine in the car,’ he added. Declan shrugged.
‘All we can do is hope that the kid gets the message out,’ he said as they moved into a hallwa
y, making their way slowly towards the front of the house. As they reached a closed wooded door, though, Declan froze. He could hear voices through it.
‘That’s Danny Martin,’ he whispered to Monroe. ‘I think he’s talking to Lawson.’
Monroe prepared himself. ‘This is stupid, laddie.’
‘Channel your inner Rosanna Marcos,’ Declan hefted his knife and, with a silent three countdown to Monroe, he turned the door handle and moved into the room in one swift motion.
There were three people sitting at a table; Janelle Delcourt, Danny Martin and George Byrne. Behind each of them was their child, or protégé in Danny’s case, and each of these held a gun that was aimed at the person sitting to their immediate left. At the fireplace stood Father Lawson, looking shocked at the new arrivals.
‘Please don’t do anything stupid,’ Declan said, brandishing the carving knife at Macca as the teenage gangster spun the gun to face the two intruders. ‘You may think you can probably take us out first, but you really won’t.’ He indicated Monroe, currently holding up an unpinned grenade. ‘He drops that and this entire room goes up. No survivors.’
‘You’re bluffing,’ Macca hissed. Moses shook his head, nodding to Declan.
‘I dunno, bruv,’ he said. ‘That crazy bastard had a gun to Kayas when he came to see us. I can see him doing this in his sleep.’
‘You did that?’ Monroe looked to Declan.
‘Can we talk about that later?’ Declan asked.
‘Oh, we’ll definitely be talking about that later,’ Monroe replied, looking to the others. ‘Only way to stop the death is to ensure all the deaths,’ he stated. ‘You were going to kill me anyway, so what do I have to lose?’
