Death Do Us Part (DI Damen Brook 6)

by Steven Dunne

  ‘He’d tapped Gibson up for more money the previous day,’ added Noble.

  ‘Did he get it?’

  ‘A thousand pounds.’

  Caskey was puzzled. ‘I don’t understand. Why kill Gibson and his partner if they paid out?’

  ‘When we see him, we’ll ask him,’ said Brook.

  ‘And maybe he’ll tell us why he dumped the money in Gibson’s garden and walked away,’ added Noble.

  Caskey shook her head. ‘Doesn’t make sense. Do we really like him for this?’

  ‘He was at the house,’ repeated Brook. ‘And people died.’

  ‘You don’t sound convinced,’ said Caskey.

  ‘He’s armed and at large, so I don’t think my opinion matters very much,’ said Brook.

  ‘But the money …’

  ‘Fry and Gibson had a brief fling last Christmas,’ said Noble. ‘Since you’ve been off the grid, there hasn’t been a chance to tell you.’

  A bitter smile creased Caskey’s top lip. ‘Some kind of gay sex killer revenge scenario?’ Brook didn’t rise to the bait. ‘Then why the blackmail scam if it wasn’t about the money?’

  ‘Allowed Fry the chance to set up a meet,’ said Noble. ‘The best we can come up with is that they argued, and Fry decides to kill Gibson and his partner, so he stays close to the house and waits for his chance.’

  ‘And the son is collateral damage,’ concluded Caskey. ‘But why?’

  ‘Jealousy?’ speculated Noble. ‘Fear of being outed?’

  ‘Some people can be obsessively secretive about their sexuality,’ observed Brook.

  ‘So I gather,’ said Caskey, her eyes narrowing. ‘And I see how that might tie Fry to Frazer and Nolan. But Gibson’s parents?’

  ‘It’s academic now,’ said Noble. ‘Fry was armed and here. ID is cast-iron.’

  ‘Do we have a fix?’

  ‘Not yet. But he’s on foot.’

  ‘I went to Gibson’s house first,’ said Caskey. ‘There were two cars untouched in the garage.’

  ‘Better make a note of that, John.’

  Caskey scowled at him. ‘I mean he’s not running, is he?’

  ‘He’s conflicted about his sexuality and looking at life behind bars,’ answered Brook. ‘Throw in post-traumatic stress and self-destruction doesn’t seem a bad option.’

  A police van hurtled round the corner and screeched dramatically to a halt, a high-powered Volvo pulling up behind. A dozen Authorised Firearms Officers in full gear – baseball caps, ballistic vests – disgorged, their boots crunching on the broken tarmac outside the makeshift incident room. They carried holstered semi-automatic Glocks and X26 Tasers, and several of them cradled high-powered Sig Sauer carbines under their arms.

  Caskey raised a lazy arm and called a greeting to the officer jumping out of the passenger seat. He was tall, well-built, face covered by a full beard, bushy and thick. ‘Hey, Tink.’

  ‘Rachel,’ replied the officer, walking over to her. ‘I keep missing you at the range.’

  ‘CID,’ she said, as though that was explanation enough. ‘I shoot when I can.’ She raised a hand to tug at his beard. ‘How long have you had this monster?’ He grinned without reply. ‘If you’ve got a spare gun and jacket, I’ll be happy to tag along.’

  He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘If it were up to me …’

  ‘I know,’ smiled Caskey. ‘Rules and regs.’

  He turned to Brook and offered a large hand. ‘DI Brook? Sergeant Tinkerman, Armed Response and Bronze Commander.’

  Brook shook his hand. ‘You have a good reputation, Sergeant,’ he said, aware of Noble’s head turning quizzically. ‘Alex, isn’t it?’

  Tinkerman’s smile was equally quizzical. ‘Ellis,’ he corrected.

  ‘Ellis,’ nodded Brook. Noble’s confusion was reaching critical mass. ‘Your work at Black Oak Farm was exemplary.’

  Tinkerman was a little nonplussed. ‘Here to help,’ he responded to fill the silence.

  Noble’s expression changed and he glanced at Brook, an element of comprehension creeping over his face.

  Cooper sprinted across to them, a map flapping in the breeze. ‘The helicopter picked up a contact.’

  ‘Where?’ said Brook.

  ‘Serpentine Wood. It’s only a mile or so, over Calke Abbey way.’

  ‘I know it,’ said Noble, fumbling for his keys and hurtling off to fetch the car.

  ‘My team are ready,’ said Tinkerman. ‘We’ll follow you, Inspector. You have jackets?’

  Brook shook his head, so Tinkerman whistled to one of his squad and mimed putting on a jacket, pointing at the two CID officers. Two ballistic jackets were handed to Brook.

  Caskey meanwhile was already at her vehicle, throwing her coat in the boot of the car. She pulled on a stab vest and fastened it around her upper torso before sliding protective ceramic plates into the specially designed pockets.

  Noble drew up and opened the passenger door for Brook. One of the AFOs jogged across from the Volvo with helmets and dropped them on to the back seat.

  Tinkerman adjusted a dial on the airwave radio clipped to his epaulette. ‘Get us there,’ he said to Brook. ‘When we make contact, the FIM will take over. Weapon status is already confirmed, so I’m afraid you’ll just be bystanders. Make sure you don’t get in the way.’

  A young woman from his team jogged over with Tinkerman’s protective helmet. He removed his baseball cap and put the helmet on over his dark hair. Then he tapped the radio in his ear. ‘Firearms channel, guys!’ Adjusting his earpiece, he ran through a couple of tests on his way back to the van, then clenched a fist in the air to initiate a rapid departure.

  ‘Sergeant?’ Brook called over to him from Noble’s car. ‘How do these things usually end?’

  ‘Up to the target,’ said Tinkerman, a hand over his mic. ‘We’ll do our best to end it peacefully, but if we have to shoot, we shoot to kill.’

  After pulling on a protective helmet, Caskey raced round to the passenger door of the police van.

  Tinkerman ushered her in, then stood on the footplate on the passenger side. ‘Let’s roll.’

  ‘How did you know?’ asked Noble, eyes glued to the road, hurtling along deserted country lanes.

  ‘As soon as I saw him, I remembered his name from the Black Oak Farm files.’

  ‘You recognise him?’ Noble risked the briefest glance across in a search for understanding.

  ‘I’ve stared at the artist’s impression long enough. The beard and the hair are recent. Take them away and he’s a match for the e-fit. Tinkerman is Maureen McConnell’s guy from the party.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Noble.

  ‘Ellis, not Alex. He was at Black Oak Farm, John.’

  ‘So it’s not Caskey now.’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but if it is, she should be manoeuvring David Fry over the trapdoor. Instead she’s defending him.’

  Noble ducked down, saw the helicopter in the distance. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘He’s one of our own. You can’t call him out unless you’re absolutely certain. Not now, not with an armed killer at large. If you’re wrong, Charlton will bury you.’

  At the top of a rise a stationary squad car with flashing lights blocked the road and Noble came to a screeching halt, but the Armed Response van powered past and turned down a track, slithering to a halt at the top of a slope in the next meadow. The van emptied rapidly and Tinkerman directed his troops with practised precision.

  Brook opened the passenger door to follow. ‘Get hold of Cooper. Don’t use the radio, use your mobile if you can get a signal. Tell him to find Tinkerman’s service record and get a picture to Maureen McConnell. If she recognises him, go through his personnel file.’

  ‘Looking for what?’

  ‘A dead wife.’

  Fry stared up through the foliage at the black and yellow helicopter hovering above his hiding place.

  ‘This is it, Davey boy,’ he mu
ttered, stripping off his camouflage jacket. He tipped the bourbon for a final pull, but the bottle was empty and he flung it into the undergrowth. Opening a flap of his rucksack, he extracted the unloaded gun before shoving it into his waistband, then slipped out his mobile phone from a trouser pocket and turned it on.

  To his relief, battery life was decent, but with a tic of dismay, he noticed he had no signal.

  ‘Shitty kit,’ he spat, tempted to throw the phone into the undergrowth after the bottle. He looked beyond the trees to higher ground, thinking it through. Settling on a solution, he flicked at an icon, then turned the camera on himself and sucked in a calming breath. He tried to smile.

  ‘It’s me, hon. I don’t have long.’ He took a moment to compose himself. ‘It’s time you had a fresh start. We’ve got some wonderful memories but that’s all they are. This is for the best and I think you’ve known for a while.’

  He grinned. ‘Honey, I’m sorry I ever married you. Not because I don’t love you but because I really, really do. It’s not been fair on you, the lie I’ve been living. Guess I don’t need to tell you I’m not the man you thought I was, and it’s been eating away at both of us for longer than I care to remember, even before I joined up, hoping the army could make a man of me. Maybe you should sue. Might get them to change the slogan at least.’ He chuckled at this and wiped away moisture gathering in an eye. ‘I want you to know I’m at peace. No more violence, no more struggle, no more hanging tough, jumping on the first wrong word and beating it to a pulp. I’m finished with deceit, hon, with all of it. So forget me and live the life you deserve. Hope it’s not too late to find a nice bloke.’ He laughed. ‘You, I mean. Maybe you can finally have the kids I promised a million years ago.’

  His expression hardened. ‘And if you’re even remotely interested, Inspector Brook, I didn’t kill Matthew and I didn’t kill his family or his parents. It was one of your own. I don’t shoot people, I get shitfaced then smack ’em around to prove what a real man I am.’ The chuckling started again but stopped abruptly. ‘Staff Sergeant David Fry, 2nd Mercian. Over and out.’

  Brook’s phone vibrated. He finally had a signal and another text arrived from Terri, sent only ten minutes after the previous one.

  WTF, Dad! Seriously??

  Brook arrived at Tinkerman and Caskey’s position, in the shelter of a clump of trees on high ground looking down into a small wood, above which the helicopter hovered. He pocketed his phone then threw on the helmet and pulled on the protective jacket.

  ‘This is Silver Commander. Holding steady directly above the target,’ said a voice on Tinkerman’s radio. ‘Target hasn’t moved. No sit rep on weapons status, over.’

  ‘Bronze Commander. Roger that,’ said Tinkerman, before relaying the suspect’s location to his team, binoculars glued to his eyes. He sat with finger hovering over the talk button, glasses trained on the small thicket. Fry’s army camouflage jacket was clearly visible under the thinning foliage, though he didn’t appear to be in it.

  ‘Holly bush,’ said Tinkerman, identifying the only verdant cover since the autumn winds had removed many of the leaves. He could even see the steam rising from Fry’s body in the sharp dank air. ‘Bronze Commander, target acquired.’

  Brook knelt behind Caskey, watching Tinkerman manoeuvre his team into position in a rough circle beneath the helicopter. One by one they radioed their readiness.

  ‘AZ nine in position – eyes on target.’

  ‘AZ ten in position – eyes on target.’

  ‘AZ nine, AZ ten, stand by,’ said Tinkerman before glancing up at Brook. ‘Five eyes on the target.’

  ‘We want him alive,’ said Brook.

  ‘We want the same thing,’ said Caskey, taking the binoculars from Tinkerman. Brook noted her use of the word ‘we’ – the ARU was her home.

  They heard a noise behind them and turned to see Charlton running at a crouch towards their position, panting in his heavy wool uniform, shiny buttons hidden beneath his protective vest. Noble was with him and exchanged a quick glance with Brook.

  ‘Where’s the target?’ breathed the Chief Superintendent when he reached them.

  ‘Directly under the helicopter,’ said Brook.

  ‘We have him surrounded,’ said Tinkerman.

  ‘So what are we waiting for?’ demanded Charlton.

  ‘Giving him time to review his options, sir,’ said Tinkerman. ‘Right now, he’s considering everything under the sun, including staying put or going out in a blaze of glory. He’s trapped so he’s no danger to the public – giving him time to fully register the futility of his position might prevent loss of life in the long run.’

  ‘So we wait,’ said Charlton as though it was his idea. Tinkerman didn’t bother to reply.

  ‘He could’ve taken a vehicle at the Gibson house, sir,’ said Caskey.

  Charlton nodded, the implication not lost on him. ‘Can we communicate?’

  ‘He has a mobile phone,’ said Brook.

  ‘We should try—’

  ‘We’re not negotiating here,’ interrupted Tinkerman. ‘He has no options. When we’re ready to tell him what to do, there’s a loudspeaker in the chopper.’

  ‘Let me go down there,’ said Brook. ‘I might be able to talk him into a surrender.’

  ‘We don’t give him a hostage, Inspector,’ said Tinkerman. ‘He’s armed. No one goes down there. No exceptions. We keep it simple, make it easier for him to decide.’

  Fry scoured the higher ground with his field glasses in the hope of locating whoever was in charge. The glint of sunlight on a shiny button drew his eye and he found what he was looking for. A man in a fancy uniform, Brook crouching low next to him.

  ‘Inspector Brook,’ he said, training his gaze on him. ‘Just the man I was looking for.’

  With a deep breath, he dropped his field glasses and broke cover, arms extended as though about to be crucified, his shirt out of his trousers covering the unloaded weapon in his waistband. He began to climb up the shallow bank towards Brook’s position on the ridge. It wasn’t easy – the grass was lush and damp, and instead of watching his footing, he kept his head turned to monitor the phone in his right hand, his thumb poised to send the recorded message to his wife as soon as he had a viable signal.

  ‘Bronze Commander. Target is on the move. Repeat, target is on the move. Direction RVP. Repeat, RVP. Over.’

  Tinkerman repeated the message for those behind him and pressed the radio to his mouth, staring down the hill. ‘I have him.’

  ‘RVP?’ muttered Brook.

  ‘Approaching RVP,’ said Tinkerman, ignoring him. ‘Do you have eyes? Bronze, over.’ Half a dozen AFOs confirmed they had the target in view.

  ‘Rendezvous point,’ explained Caskey, pointing to the ground beneath her. ‘Right here.’

  ‘He’s coming this way?’ said Charlton, straining to see.

  Caskey stared at Brook, a strange smile drifting across her face. ‘I liked your daughter. She stood her corner.’

  Brook’s reply was terse. ‘We’re doing this now?’

  ‘Might not get another chance.’ Her expression darkened. ‘Get her home and don’t let her out of your sight. The monsters are everywhere.’ She smiled, then moved dramatically away from cover, standing to face David Fry down the hill and taking a few quick steps towards him.

  ‘Rachel,’ barked Tinkerman, and then, into his radio, ‘Sergeant Caskey. Get back here. Take cover.’ Caskey pulled her radio earpiece out, allowing it to dangle down on to her protective vest.

  ‘What are you doing?’ shouted Charlton. ‘Get back here, Sergeant. That’s an order.’

  ‘Silver Commander, this is Bronze,’ Tinkerman barked into his radio. ‘Make contact, over.’

  The loudspeaker on the helicopter came to life, the message slow and clear. ‘David, get on the ground. Face down. Spread your arms. Do it now, David. Get on the ground …’

  After a pause to stare at the helicopter, Fry spotted Caskey and took another ste
p up the hill. The helicopter repeated the message, but Fry wasn’t stopping.

  Caskey mirrored Fry’s pose, arms outstretched. ‘I’m unarmed,’ she shouted. To confirm this, she began to remove her protective jacket as she inched forward, ignoring the various entreaties from behind to stand down. The message from the helicopter continued to repeat, but to no avail.

  ‘We need to put him on the ground,’ said Brook.

  ‘Think I don’t know that,’ shouted Tinkerman.

  ‘Get on the ground, David, or they’ll fire,’ called Caskey, continuing her slow descent towards Fry, some forty yards away. She dropped her protective jacket on the damp grass.

  ‘I can’t hear you,’ shouted Fry above the noise of the helicopter. He was smiling but appeared perplexed by Caskey’s disregard for protocol. The turbulence from the helicopter flattened the chunky grass and ruffled his shirt. ‘Hiding behind a woman, Brook,’ he bellowed. ‘I’m surprised at you.’ He snaked his eyes towards the phone. Still no signal.

  ‘Get on the ground, David, or they’ll shoot,’ shouted Caskey.

  ‘I still can’t hear you,’ said Fry, feet feeling their way slowly up the hill.

  ‘What’s that in his hand?’ said Tinkerman over the radio, eyes glued to his binoculars, as the smiling Fry again moved his head to check the display. ‘He’s got something in his right hand.’

  Brook wrenched the binoculars from Tinkerman and trained them on Fry’s hand. ‘It’s a phone.’ He leaned over to grab Tinkerman’s radio, but the AFO wrestled it back. ‘It’s not a gun, damn it. It’s a phone. Tell them.’

  ‘He’s a soldier,’ said Tinkerman, snatching back the binoculars. ‘He could have a concealed weapon or even some rough-and-ready IED. What the hell is Caskey doing?’

  ‘She’s lost her mind,’ said Charlton. ‘And if she gets through this in one piece, that’s not all she’ll lose.’ The sound of a second helicopter arriving turned their heads. It was a Sky News chopper.

  ‘Oh, brilliant,’ said Tinkerman.

  ‘How the hell … ?’ began Charlton.

  Tinkerman turned to Brook. ‘What’s going on? She’s one of yours.’

  Brook looked grimly back at him. ‘She’s damaged, Sergeant. You understand grief, don’t you?’