Born in a Burial Gown

by Mike Craven

  For Towler, SAS selection seemed inevitable. Fluke had assumed he’d do the full twenty-two years, finishing on a decent special-forces pension before going into the lucrative close protection business. For a couple of years’ work, ex-SAS troopers were earning seven-figure sums. Fluke had thought it entirely possible he’d never see his friend again until they were old men.

  And then Abigail came along and changed everything. One cold night, the rain lashing down almost sideways, the way Cumbrian rain did sometimes, Fluke’s doorbell rang. Towler was standing outside, soaked. He wasn’t alone. Far from it. Towler was holding a baby. His baby.

  ‘I need a job,’ were the first words he said.

  To this day, Fluke had never found out where Abigail, Abi, came from. Only that her mother wasn’t around anymore and he’d needed to come back up north so his family could help raise her. He’d asked Towler once, but he’d replied, ‘I’ll tell you after I’ve told her.’ Fluke had never asked again.

  He’d given up a career he loved for someone he loved more, and had never regretted it.

  He’d joined the police less than a month later and passed everything he was asked to. The fitness came easily enough. The restraint classes were more difficult. The police taught mainly defensive techniques. The Paras taught exclusively aggressive techniques. By the end, his instructors passed him as they didn’t know what else to do. He could do everything they asked but what he knew was better. He applied himself with a dedication that had surprised even Fluke, and was soon on the beat as a probationary officer. Posted to the isolated village of Cleator Moor, a terrifying proposition for all but the reckless or the hard of understanding, Towler reduced antisocial behaviour by fifty per cent within a month, almost single-handedly.

  He passed his detective’s exam and was immediately posted to Fluke’s team at both their requests. Towler was one of nature’s sergeants and it came as no surprise to anyone when he passed his exam a year later and was immediately promoted.

  But Fluke knew Towler sometimes missed the Paras, knew that the action was tame compared to what he’d been used to. He had a skill set he wasn’t using, and although he didn’t regret making the sacrifices he’d made, Fluke knew he was sometimes frustrated by the constraints the law imposed upon him. Therefore Fluke never took the piss out of the Paras. It wouldn’t have been right. He also wasn’t entirely convinced that Towler wouldn’t hit him if he did.

  Here he was in his element; some organisation to do, some action to come later.

  Fluke went back to his office to email Chambers and the assistant chief a summary of the progress made that day. For the first time, he was able to say the investigation was actually moving forwards. By doing it that late, he could also guarantee they wouldn’t receive it until the next day when it would be too late to interfere.

  Chapter 20

  Four hours later, Fluke felt as though electricity was coursing through his veins, he was so full of adrenalin. He could tell he wasn’t the only one feeling like that in his group. The action was always where the boss went, where the key arrests were made. He was in the back of a van, along with four uniformed officers, three armed response and Towler. Nervous energy and weapons were never a good combination but the armed guys looked calm enough.

  The smell of gun oil in an enclosed space brought back vivid memories of the Saracens they’d used in Northern Ireland. Fluke remembered sitting in the back with seven other heavily armed marines as they drove down the Falls Road in Belfast. He’d felt invincible back then. How times change. Not being able to rely on your body changed your perspective somewhat.

  They’d driven from HQ up the M6 to the staging area, a procession of vans and unmarked cars. No lights, no sirens. It was a covert operation. It was four a.m. and Carlisle was quiet so the journey was quick. The staging area was in an empty car park on the Durranhill industrial estate, close enough to Carlisle Area HQ that the modern glass building could be seen. There was still the occasional light on as police officers working nights went about their business. It was a big operation but that didn’t mean policing the city stopped.

  Each call sign knew exactly where they were going and the route they would take. Some were doubled up in vehicles if their targets lived close together. Towler had decided that quarter to five was late enough to ensure they were all at home tucked up, but early enough that the few with jobs weren’t up and about.

  With ten minutes to go, the vans moved into their forward areas, where they would disembark. The van Fluke was in crept along the deserted streets of Meadowby as quietly as the combustion engine’s throaty growl would allow. Although he couldn’t see clearly from the back, he assumed they’d arrived when the van stopped and the driver cut the engine. Fluke felt a cold bead of sweat work its way down the back of his neck and under his shirt. He shivered.

  There was no rush as they disembarked. They all knew stealth was more important than speed. Fluke was last out. He didn’t know this part of Carlisle so was relying on others to find the correct address.

  It was still dark. More of a dirty grey than black. It wouldn’t be light for another three hours. After the regeneration of the infamous Raffles, Meadowby had become the most run-down estate in Carlisle. Like Pinegrove, efforts had been made to improve it and like Pinegrove, there were still streets where the residents just didn’t care. Yet it was a different kind of estate to Pinegrove; more urban, more suffocating. At least in West Cumbria everyone was only two minutes away from fields and open spaces.

  All the housing officers and community policing in the world weren’t going to get them to tidy their gardens. Or paint their doors. Or fix broken windows. Some people didn’t want to be helped. Some people don’t want others to help anyone else either. One thug could turn a whole street bad. There were few cars. Sensible residents parked in a different area.

  Repairing street lamps was a never-ending job for the council in Meadowby, but there were enough working for Fluke’s team to make their way to the target address. The house was two streets away and they walked in silence, passing houses that the owners had clearly given up on. Knee-high grass and rubbish piled high in front gardens were a clear giveaway. Fluke had always wondered why those crime families, cash-rich from the drug trade and other endeavours, insisted on living in areas they could afford to move out of. What you’re comfortable with, he supposed.

  They got to the house one minute before the go order was scheduled. A large blue Mercedes was in the drive. It was less than two years old and was spotless.

  The house was on a better street than the two they’d passed through. Cheap cars were in the rest of the drives. All legal by the looks of things. It indicated it was a street that believed in working, in escaping the benefit lifestyle. Or maybe a street with a Diamond in kept itself tidy. A dog barked in the distance and Fluke wondered if one of the other teams had been compromised. Doubtful, though, not at that time. There was a reason they did raids at those times. Humans naturally tire about five a.m., the spirit at its lowest ebb. Dogs, not so much.

  ‘Everyone in position? Leaders report in with a click,’ Towler said over the channel they were using for that op, a specific one that wouldn’t be used by officers on other jobs.

  A succession of clicks, that must have meant something to Towler, could be heard over the radio. No voices. At that point, he and Fluke would be the only ones breaking radio silence.

  ‘We’re set, boss. Okay to go?’

  ‘Go,’ Fluke said.

  ‘Right, on me. Thirty seconds to go. In position, everyone.’

  The officer selected for the actual door breach was a short stocky man Fluke had never seen before. Although he was small, he was carrying the metal battering ram like it was made of balsa wood. It was painted red but was chipped in places. Clearly not the first time it had been used. He was allowed space to quietly move to the front. He got into a position he was happy with, raised the battering ram and waited, staring fixedly at the point he was aiming for. The armed o
fficers took positions behind him. They would be running forward as soon as the ram was in motion. They bunched up close. Their knees pressed into the back of the knees of the person in front of them. Fluke knew there were two reasons for that. It meant they could get into position in enclosed spaces. What was more important, though, was that as soon as the go order was given there was no hesitation. The forward momentum of the person behind, meant the person in front was going into that house whether he liked it or not.

  Special forces breach techniques used by civilian law enforcement.

  Other than the lone dog barking, there was no sound. Towler wouldn’t count down the thirty seconds, only the last five. Fluke could sense a slight increase in his team’s rates of breath. A team confident in what they were doing. Confident that they had enough to overcome whatever was on the other side of the door. Confident that they would soon be back at Durranhill catching up with friends from other teams, swapping stories. But there was always going to be an element of nervousness when going through a door. The fear of the unknown.

  Towler caught Fluke’s eye and winked. He was chewing gum.

  Fluke wasn’t so calm. He could taste copper and a vein on the back of his neck was pulsating. His mouth filled with saliva. Signs of stress and adrenaline. It was the first breach he’d been on since returning to work. He wasn’t really strong enough, he knew that, but no way was he missing it. He needed to be there. Not just to show Chambers he was fit for duty, but also for a woman called Samantha. Someone who’d been discarded like garbage.

  Time seemed to stop. Fluke counted down from thirty in his head and got to zero. He looked at his watch. He was ten seconds out.

  Towler’s voice came loud and clear over the airwaves as he started the countdown. ‘Five.’

  Fluke breathed in sharply and held his breath.

  ‘Four.’

  He heard soft clicks as the armed officers moved their safety catches to fire.

  ‘Three.’

  Another bead of cold sweat formed on the back of his neck.

  ‘Two.’

  The officer with the ram tensed.

  ‘One. GO, GO, GO!’ Towler screamed down the radio.

  The secret to any breach is speed, aggression, surprise, the unofficial motto of the SAS. Carried out correctly, the suspect has no chance. Before he realises what’s happening, he is face down with three police officers sitting on top of him.

  The breach officer hit the door six inches above the handle. It was no match for the cold steel battering ram. Instead of opening it, the whole door flew off its hinges and landed in the hall. Before it had landed, the armed officers were through.

  The noise was incredible. A combination of nerves, the release of tension and legitimate tactics to disorientate the criminal meant that every officer was shouting as loud as they could.

  ‘Armed police! Armed police! Armed police!’

  Fluke waited outside with Towler as the house was secured. There was more noise as the shouts of armed police were joined by the shouts of frightened occupants. The noise reached a crescendo then abruptly stopped. He looked down and noticed that the letterbox still had a takeaway flyer through the door. An Indian Fluke had occasionally used when he’d lived in Carlisle. For some reason, sharing a takeaway with Nathaniel Diamond bothered him. He briefly considered confiscating it.

  ‘House secure,’ came the shout from upstairs. Fluke entered.

  He had a quick look around the rest of hall. He was surprised, and then embarrassed that he was surprised. The house was spotless. He’d fully expected filth. What he found was cleaner than his own home and far more tasteful. It seemed his surprise was shared by the rest of the team. Noisy and aggressive on entry, they’d quietened and he could hear some of them picking things up that had been knocked over as rooms had been stormed into.

  Fluke could hear screaming upstairs along with some muffled swearing. An armed officer walked down the stairs and approached Fluke.

  ‘He’s upstairs.’

  ‘Who’s the woman?’

  The reply wasn’t immediately forthcoming. The sergeant looked uncomfortable. What now? Fluke thought.

  ‘You probably need to see this, sir,’ was all he’d say before he made his way back up the stairs.

  Fluke followed him. Another armed officer passed him on the way down. He couldn’t be sure, but was there a hint of a smirk?

  Like the hall, the stairs were tastefully decorated. No flying geese in this house. Prints and maps of old Carlisle were on the wall. A huge black and white photo of local landmark, Dixon’s Chimney, was on the wall where the stairs turned left. Fluke had never seen that available commercially and wondered if it had been specially commissioned or whether someone in the house had taken it.

  He could hear muffled cursing as he followed the sergeant into the bedroom. He stared at the scene in front of him. Nathaniel Diamond was face down on the bed. PlastiCuffs securely bound his wrists and leg straps meant he couldn’t kick out. Fluke brought his attention to the woman, the screamer, also held securely with cuffs. He stared at her, not immediately registering what he was seeing for a second. When it did, the smirk from the armed officer he’d passed in the hall made some sort of crude sense.

  Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that.

  Chapter 21

  The woman being held securely by uniformed officers wasn’t a woman. She was a man. A very pretty man, but a man all the same. He was naked. So was Diamond.

  Fluke’s immediate thought was that he had just met another rent boy. Two in one case would be a record for him, the previous high score being zero. It was his first thought but he quickly dismissed it as he studied the rest of the room. There were photos spread around the bedroom, and the blond and Nathaniel Diamond were in all of them. It was clear that they were in some sort of relationship, and seemed to be happy, judging by their expressions. It was also obvious that they’d been a couple for a long time. They’d aged together in the photos which were all taken in different locations: Las Vegas. New York. Another one looked like Paris. Another was shot on safari somewhere, probably Africa, although it may have been Australia. There was one taken at an outside cafe in a European city Fluke didn’t recognise. Florence or Venice, possibly.

  Fluke looked around the rest of the room. There were two condom wrappers in the bin, different brands. One for each of them?

  Fluke needed to make a decision. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Nathaniel Diamond looked like a thug in the one photo they had of him and in truth, he looked like a thug trussed up on the floor. Shaved to the bone, not smooth and shiny but rough like emery cloth. He obviously tried to keep on top of it with a razor but the hair kept winning. He had the obligatory black tribal tattoos, all over his arms and back. He was heavily muscled but not in the steroid-induced way McNab had been. They were like the muscles Towler had. Built for stamina and speed. He looked dangerous. He was watching Fluke calmly, the early anger had been replaced by curiosity.

  Gay men living together in Meadowby wasn’t unheard of but the estate wasn’t exactly known for embracing diversity. People who were different didn’t go unnoticed for long. The fact that Nathaniel and his boyfriend were in an openly gay relationship, unmolested, was testament to the reputation of his family. The fear and respect his family commanded was the only reason the animals on the estate would have left them alone. For anyone else, it wouldn’t be a tenable way to live.

  There was no intel on file that he was gay and Fluke wondered why that was. There was always some little scrote who’d pass on information like that to try and curry favour with the police or to get charges reduced. Either it was a very recent thing, which evidence suggested it wasn’t, or the family had more influence over the criminal class than anyone had imagined. As Fluke stared into Diamond’s cold intelligent eyes, he had no problem believing it was the latter.

  Nothing was going to get sorted there. ‘Take them to Durranhill.’ he said. ‘If they resist, arrest them. If
they refuse, arrest them. I’m going downstairs to check in with the other teams.’

  There weren’t enough cells at Durranhill, so some of the Diamond family were being transported to outlying stations. A team of detectives was interviewing them, and SOCO were taking DNA samples and sending them off to the lab.

  It was going to be a close-run thing. Fluke had the power to hold them without a charge for twenty-four hours only, so the DNA results would start coming in from the lab at about the same time he’d have to start releasing them. It was possible, probable even, that when they matched the DNA found on Samantha to one of the Diamonds, they would have their killer. However, there wasn’t a superintendent in Cumbria who would authorise continued detention beyond the twenty-four hours if all Fluke had was ‘It could be any one of them, sir.’

  Fluke needed something more. Enough to charge someone or, at the very least, convince a senior officer to extend their time in custody to thirty-six hours. By then, all the DNA results would be back and he’d either have a slam-dunk rape with a conspiracy to murder charge on at least one of them or have no reason to hold any of them.

  Of all the Diamonds arrested that night, Fluke decided Nathaniel Diamond was most likely to slip up. When he explained the reason for his arrest – that he wasn’t a suspect in the rape and was, in effect, helping the police with their enquiries, Fluke hoped he’d get cocky and make a mistake. He was hoping to do mentally to Nathaniel what Towler did to McNab. Nathaniel was in the frame for the murder but he didn’t know that yet.

  Along with Nathaniel, Fluke had wanted his brother, Wayne, and his father, Kenneth. The three said to be in control of the family business. Wayne had been picked up without incident, but the father seemed to have disappeared. The team raiding his house said it didn’t look like he’d been there since the weekend, judging by the mail that had built up. However, they’d collected a toothbrush and a comb and were confident they had enough for lab to get his DNA profile to rule him in or out. Everyone else named on the target sheet was in custody. A good night’s work.