Sarah put a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. 'I've never been here before,' she replied. 'And probably won't come again, either. The staff aren't exactly sociable, are they?'
Jack gestured towards the woman behind the counter. 'You wouldn't want to piss her off. The words face, slapped and arse come to mind.'
Sarah burst out laughing. For a second, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at her and Jack, no doubt wondering what was so funny. Jack was happy to be stared at for a reason that didn't involve his appearance. It made a nice change.
Getting herself under control, Sarah said, 'Best shut up, otherwise we'll get chucked out.'
'We'll get chucked out. It's you that's causing the uproar, love.'
They both smiled. Locked eyes for a moment. A tingling sensation ran down Jack's spine.
Sarah wet her lips with her tongue.
Too soon, Jack thought. This is too soon after Eleanor.
But he'd roll with it, he decided. Never miss an opportunity, someone had once said to him. And he didn't intend to.
####
The next day ...
The call came early, at eight a.m.. Dawn was flossing in the bathroom when her mobile phone tinkled on the shelf above the sink. With a worried expression on her face, she eyed the name on the screen: Reinbeck. She wondered why he could be ringing her. He was not one to disturb people on their days off, so she assumed it must be something important.
Cupping the phone to her ear, Dawn said, 'How can I help you, sir?'
'I want to talk to you,' Reinbeck said.
'Go ahead. I'm all ears.'
'No, I want to talk to you in person.'
An hour later, Dawn was in his office. Sitting across from him at his desk.
'So …' she said, 'what's all this about, then?'
Reinbeck seemed fidgety, not his usual flustered and confident self.
'Where to begin,' he said, talking more to himself than Dawn. 'Okay … well, I guess I may as well just blurt it out.'
'Blurt what out?'
'I was being bribed!' Reinbeck said. He looked towards the door, realizing he'd spoken too loudly. Wary someone might have overheard. 'They threatened to hurt my family, my two daughters, my wife. Threatened to kill them. You know me, I'm not the sort to give in to threats, but where my family's concerned …' He shook his head, perishing the thought.
'Why don't you take a step back here for a second. Who was bribing you? Elaboration, please?'
'Luke Armstrong,' Reinbeck said. 'He wanted to make sure no one investigated his case with too much enthusiasm. Wanted to be certain he wasn't found. Damn!' His fist crashed down on the desk. Pens and pencils rolled off. Fell to the floor. 'I should never have caved in like I did. I should have told his men where to go. Should have arrested them.'
'When did this happen? And where?'
Reinbeck explained: 'At the Red Lion, my local pub. Three guys cornered me in the toilet. They tried to intimidate me at first. When that didn't work, they started telling me everything they were going to do to my family. They new their names and everything. Even what school my daughters go to. Those men scared the shit of me, detective inspector. I could see from the look of them that they meant every word.'
'Have you seen them before? Did you recognise them?'
'Nope.' Reinbeck shook his head. 'Not familiar to me.'
'This explains a lot. No wonder you didn't want me on that case. And that's why you ignored me when I told you there should be a heavier guard on the convoy, isn't it?'
Reinbeck nodded again, then shrugged. 'Armstrong's dead now, so I don't need to worry. And neither do you. Well done for taking out two of his men and icing Ward. If I could give you a medal, I would. A gold one. Thirty-two carat.'
'Thanks,' Dawn said. She felt herself blushing. Not something she thought she'd ever do in the Chief's presence. 'It was actually my husband who killed Ward, though. Nailed him good and proper.'
'Whatever!' Reinbeck said, acting more like the man Dawn knew and respected.
'If Philip hadn't reacted so quick, this little nick on my neck,' she gestured towards the cut, 'would have been much deeper and I might not be sat here now.'
'Bravo for your husband,' Reinbeck said. He opened a drawer. Pulled out a file and put it on his desk. 'I just needed to tell you. Needed for you to understand.' He began reading through the file as though Dawn wasn't there.
'I understand,' Dawn said. 'I'd have done the same in your position.' She noted the name on the file: Charles Byron. 'That's another lowlife off the streets. Who do you think sent the black brothers?'
Reinbeck looked at Dawn and shrugged. 'No one. A local shop owner, Mr. Patel, has come forward and told us that Byron was squeezing the brothers for protection money at their snooker hall. They refused to pay and things escalated from there, it seems. That's what happens when you push people to the point where they have no choice but to fight back. Byron had it coming.'
'Indeed he did. But Derek and Chris Lambert might not have been the only ones at the mansion. Jenkins tells me that the CCTV footage disk is missing for that night. There's coverage for the past three months, with not one day missed. Looks like someone doesn't want us seeing what happened. Nothing was found on the brothers' corpses, although Byron's men could have disposed of it. That's a distinct possibility.'
'Indeed it is. Something for you to sink your teeth into when you get back.'
'Who do you reckon whacked Armstrong?'
'I have no idea. But one thing I do know is that it's been a crazy few weeks in and around Boxford. We've had two local gangsters killed, people getting shot and murdered left right and centre. A guy's had his face cut off …'
'Any leads on that?'
'Witnesses at the pub reported seeing a man in a hoodie walking through the lounge and leaving via the rear exit just before the body was found. The man was carrying a black sports bag. He could be the killer. The guy who got murdered was one of Byron's men. I think we can make a reasonable assumption and say that it wasn't a random attack. Yes, you've got lots of work to sink your teeth into when you get back from your little holiday, detective inspector.'
'I can see me being very busy. My husband will not be pleased.'
'All the more reason for you to get back home now, then, isn't it? Enjoy your days off before you hit the grindstone again.' Reinbeck's greasy hair hung low over his mono-brow as he once more began scrutinizing his paperwork. 'Are you still here?' he said, without looking up.
Dawn went home to her family. She intended to enjoy her days off. She didn't tell Philip how busy she was going to be in the coming weeks ...
####
Finally, Michael was home. Back in his flat. This should have made him happy, but didn't. His boss was dead. Killed by some unknown assailant that'd sent the blacks (most likely a gangland rival, as the news channels were speculating. This meant that Michael was now unemployed. He wondered how he was going to live. How he would afford the bills and put food in his mouth. The Boss had paid him well. Always looked after him. He'd been The Boss's favourite, bar none.
When Michael had collapsed from a heart attack, The Boss had covered his hospital costs. Told him to take as long off work as needed. Michael was certain that, had he not been laid up, whoever had ordered The Boss's demise (Luke Armstrong?) wouldn't have got close with him around. Not a chance. Michael had been his favourite for a reason. He always nailed his target. He had never failed.
Take Armstrong, for instance. The Boss had expressed concerns about how powerful he was getting and was sure that eventually he'd encroach into Boxford territory. Before Armstrong was put away, The Boss had been close to ordering a hit. When news of the convoy raid had reached Michael, he'd made enquiries. Got a location. Three hours later he'd been at Wycliffe Lane with a gun in one hand, a machete in the other. Neat. Clean. Efficient.
The Boss had wanted Jack dead. Michael had offered to do the job. Hell, he'd been in the next bed along from him, so it wouldn't hav
e been a problem. A pillow over the face in the early hours would have done the trick. But Michael was told not to do it, because of the strain it'd have put on his ticker.
Taking care of business: that'd been Michael's job for as long he could remember. As far as he was concerned, nothing had changed. Loose ends needed tying up. Out of honour for his former employer, he would nail Jack. Do what he should have done weeks before.
Silence him.
Then he'd find out who had ordered a hit on The Boss. If it wasn't Armstrong then someone else was going to be silenced, too.
EPILOGUE
Westmoore Lake
A week later ...
12.45am
Pulling into the car park in his Astra, Jack circled around giving the area a quick once-over. No other cars. No pedestrians. No late night lovers with steamy windows parked beneath the arc sodiums that lined the path that led down to the lake. Good. As dead as he had expected.
He eased the Astra into a space. Killed the engine. Darkness enveloped him as the headlights dimmed. Blinked out. He sat there for a while, taking in the serenity. The silence. Somewhere close by an owl hooted and Jack took this as his cue to get moving.
He grabbed his sports bag and got out of the car. Then he made his way along the path, towards the lake. Into the trees he went, his feet scrunching on fallen leaves and twigs. Nearing the waterside, he stopped and looked around. This was it – the spot. He was sure of it. He knelt down. Unzipped the bag. Pulled out a foldable spade. Extended it to its full length and started digging.
A few minutes later the spade made a metallic clunk as it hit something hard and unforgiving. A steel storage box. Digging around the edges, Jack uncovered enough so he could lift it out. He took the lid off. Placed it to one side. He did an inventory: gun, knife, Face Book – all still there. All accounted for. He ran his fingers over the book, savouring the quality of its leather cover …
Author note:
Dear Reader, I hope you had as much fun reading this book as I did writing it. For updates on further books by yours truly, please check out my Facebook page (just search for my name). If you enjoyed reading this story, please let me know, because I'd love to hear from you.
Warm regards,
Paul Johnson-Jovanovic
Face Book: A disturbing novel full of shocking twists Page 25
