Consequences

by R. C. Bridgestock

  Larry returned the hire car, putting the keys through the garage letterbox. It was a brisk mile walk to his flat, but he felt as if he was walking on air. The streets were still and he could hear the odd bird sing out its morning call. The town was quiet; most people were still tucked up in their beds. Outside his flat, the mobile home looked huge as he turned the corner into the courtyard, but it was the latest edition of the one he usually hired: a Carloca four berth that had GPS navigation. ‘Freedom’ he whispered and whistled quietly to himself. Larry secreted the money around the van. He realised he was now in charge of his own destiny and financially he was sound. His first call was to the petrol station to fill up his ‘wheels’ to the brim. Then he would head for Dover and the P&O ferry to Calais. He wanted a drink to calm his jangling nerves but he’d wait until he boarded. Nothing was going to stop him now. This was his chance to start over and he wasn’t going to blow it.

  At the petrol station he went straight to the pump. The only other driver on the forecourt was a lady with a Spaniel in the rear of her car that caught his eye as it poked its nose out through the partially opened window, sniffing frenziedly. Its tail wagged frantically. Larry nodded.

  ‘Nice dog.’

  ‘Better than some people,’ came the tardy reply. Larry couldn’t argue with that as he swaggered to the kiosk to pay with a crisp, clean, fifty pound note.

  The lady watched Larry walk into the garage. Hadn’t she seen him before somewhere?

  Minutes later he was on the M1 south, foot to the floor, humming to the radio, eager to reach the port. The onboard Club Lounge beckoned him for his first stiff drink of the day.

  At ten minutes to nine, dressed in a towelling leisure suit and slipper boots, Liz sat on a stool at the breakfast bar watching the telephone and willing it to ring. She tapped her beautifully manicured false nail on the worktop, the other nine now non-existent. She inspected it closely and proceeded to peel it absent-mindlessly from its bed. Her scalp hurt where she had unconsciously pulled her hair by its roots; her nerves were undoubtedly shot. She glared at the phone. Part of her was terrified that it would ring, and the other part wanted it to do so. Every now and then she looked at the clock. Her eyes hung on the dials, which didn’t appear to move. She stroked the bruises on her arm that had started to turn blue. Pressing them made her wince. Had Larry taken advantage of her or had she dreamt it? She drummed the work surface. Usually her nails made a tapping sound but now, instead her finger ends made a beating noise on the wood, she noticed.

  The phone rang and she jumped, it was exactly one minute past nine. Her heart leapt into her mouth. It began thumping, faster, faster as if it was going to race right out of control. Her breathing was erratic; her hands shook as she lifted the receiver and inhaled a gulp of air.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. She felt a damp patch appear under her arms. Liz didn’t recognise her own voice.

  ‘You’ve got what I asked for?’ the caller snapped.

  ‘Yes. I’ve got it. It’s here. Please, I just want it to be over.’

  ‘Then don’t fuck me about.’

  ‘I’m not, I won’t, I…I…I wouldn’t, please… just don’t hurt us. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I promise. . .’

  ‘Listen.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘St Peter’s Park. The bottom car park, one o’clock. Park at the far end near the woods. Have the money on the passenger seat and the passenger door unlocked. Have you got that?’

  ‘Yes, yes I know where that is.’

  ‘Oh, I know you do,’ he sniggered. ‘Sit in your car, engine off. If you’re followed or I see anyone or anything that looks like the old bill sniffing around, you’re dead. Do I make myself clear?’ The dialling tone rang in her ear.

  A wrong move and she was dead. Thank the Lord she’d confided in Larry. She could hardly pick up her mobile. All fingers and thumbs she was thankful for predictive text. Breathe, or you’ll faint, she reminded herself. Swaying, she bent over and leaned on the work surface. Breathing in fiercely through her nose and out through her mouth, to the count of six, she put her head between her knees. She could feel the blood running to her head as she struggled to finish typing the message.

  Larry’s phone vibrated; he’d check it when he stopped at the services. Things could wait, everything could wait; nothing was more important than catching the ferry. A sign at the side of the road read, ‘NEXT SERVICES 20 MILES’. That would do him nicely.

  Twenty minutes later he was sitting waiting for a full English breakfast when his phone rang: the estate agent, what did they want?

  ‘Mr Banks?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he drawled, smiling at the young waitress who brought him his pot of tea and toast.

  ‘As instructed we’ve managed to rent the room in your flat to a student who is studying at Harrowfield University.’ Larry listened absentmindedly as the waitress hovered around the table with the condiments.

  ‘Mr Blake’s parents will pay in advance to the end of the academic year, so you won’t have any problem getting your asking fee.’

  ‘Full amount?’

  ‘Yes. Mr Blake is leaving home for the first time, although he’s not keen, so they’re insistent that he’s got somewhere decent to stay, and with your police background, they think you will be an excellent role model.’

  Larry stifled a laugh.

  ‘Of course, good call.’ Larry beamed at the waitress as she bent over to clear the table next to him.

  ‘Thank you Mr Banks, we’ll deal with the paperwork and give him the key, since you’re going away, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m on my way now as it happens, thank you.’

  Larry sighed contentedly as he put the phone down and looked out of the café window. When the contract was finished he’d instruct the estate agents to sell the flat for him. He’d make a new start, abroad.

  ‘Someone looks as if they’ve just won the pools,’ said the waitress, as she put a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him.

  ‘Mmm, sommat like that.’ The salt he threw over his breakfast spilled all over the table and the young waitress picked up a pinch and threw it over her shoulder.

  ‘That’s for good luck according to my Nan,’ she said to him as he raised his eyebrows at her.

  ‘Tell you what, it could be your lucky day too. How about coming with me and I’ll show you the world,’ he said, pointing to his mobile home in the car park.

  ‘Sorry mister, I’ve got a boyfriend who might not be too happy if I took you up on that,’ she said, nodding towards a scruffy young man putting money in a slot machine beside the counter.

  Larry smiled. ‘Your loss little lady, your loss,’ he sniggered as he picked up his mobile phone to read the message shown.

  ‘He’s called. I’ve got to meet him in St Peter’s Park at one o’clock. Where are you?’

  Liz paced back and forth. Where the hell was Larry?

  ‘Don’t panic, everything is under control. We’ll be watching and waiting. Did he say anything else?’ Larry texted back, as he gulped the tea from his mug.

  ‘Yes, to have the money on the passenger seat and make sure the door is unlocked.’

  ‘Good. He’s most likely going to try to snatch it and run. My advice is to keep your doors locked though; once he finds it locked he’ll probably run away and give our team time to arrest him. It’ll all be over soon.’

  Larry winked at the waitress who was at the till, and turned his phone off as he mopped his plate with the toast. Yes, in a few hours he would be over the water. Larry paid with a fifty-pound note.

  ‘Keep the change love.’

  ‘You sure, mister?’ she squealed. ‘See, I told you throwing salt over your shoulder was lucky,’ she laughed loudly waving the note in the air.

  ‘Hey, shh...don’t make such a song and dance of it kid, it’s only a few quid.’ Larry gasped, looking around him. The services were getting busy and to his horror, across the tables he saw a PC Hannah Jordan from the nick headin
g in his direction. That stupid, noisy waitress. What was she thinking, making such a spectacle. He stepped to the side, pretending to read the menu on the blackboard, waiting for the tap on his shoulder, but it never came. As he dared to glance sideways, he saw Hannah sit down at a table occupied by a man dressed in black. It was Inspector Mark Baggs. Fortunately for him they were oblivious to anyone else in the room.

  Liz lay on her bed. The white linen duvet cover felt cool to the touch as she tried her best to stay calm. She waited. She’d never be able to thank Larry enough. Just knowing the police would be in the park gave her great comfort. The blackmailer’s voice and threats haunted her and she shivered. Time after time se replayed the phone call in her head. St Peter’s Park, she and Malcolm had done all their courting there. In fact it was where he had proposed to her, but that was years ago. She allowed herself a brief smile, despite what was happening. Oh God, how could she have such thoughts now, of all times? She’d felt safe when Malcolm was around; he was her protector, her ‘man mountain’. Nothing could hurt her when he was with her. Why, oh why did he have to go and involve himself in crime? What had made him do something so bloody stupid? She sighed, and threw her legs over the side of the bed. The next few hours were going to feel like an eternity.

  Having put the suitcase on the back seat of the car, and listening for the grandfather clock in the hallway to chime half past twelve, she locked the front door. Adrenalin pumped around her body, and her head buzzed. All the traffic lights seemed to be at red. She braked hard at one, making the suitcase slide forward, and with a thud it went into the back of her seat. She instinctively locked all the doors.

  Larry was aboard the ferry. Upstairs in the Club Lounge he was enjoying his complimentary glass of champagne and gazing out to sea. Soon he would be in France, and as he sat in a window seat, he stared at the picture in his passport. He looked like a criminal, he thought, smiling, but then, he supposed he was. Fiddling with his mobile, he wondered about his new life. He contemplated the wonders of technology. He couldn’t believe he could actually type a resignation letter to work on his phone, and headquarters in Harrowfield would receive it within minutes.

  ‘For the attention of Police Personnel,’ his note began. ‘Due to recent events, which have caused me personal trauma, I find myself needing time to recover and regain my personal health. I am at present on leave and will be in touch in due course. Please pass my sincere apologises and kind regards to Detective Inspector Dylan. DS Larry Banks – Harrowfield CID.’

  After sending it, he dropped the mobile over the side of the ferry, all too aware how easy they were to trace.

  It was one o’clock as the ferry sailed from the harbour. The voice of the captain over the loudspeaker informed passengers of the safety procedures. The journey would take approximately ninety minutes. Larry raised his glass to Liz. His dinner was served.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Go on Lucy, tell me who’s left on the list?’ Dylan scowled, as he waited for the name.

  ‘A Sergeant Patrick Finch...he transferred to us from the Met. In fact he’s been working in uniform over your way ever since.’

  ‘Come again?’ he enquired.

  ‘Patrick Finch. Are you deaf?’

  ‘No, no...that’s marvellous...I thought my ears were deceiving me. He sealed a murder scene for me last year, he’ll do nicely. Can I have him as soon as possible.’

  ‘Well, since we’ve sorted the Child Protection post out, and as long as you take Sergeant Finch, you can act up from Division in the role of DS for development purposes, as long as the Divisional Commander agrees of course.’ Lucy said.

  This was turning out better than Dylan could have ever hoped. He didn’t need asking twice.

  ‘Good, I’ll act up John Benjamin as Temporary Detective Sergeant, please.’

  ‘You’ll need ‘the nod’, but I’m sure you’ll sort that bit out, won’t you?’

  Dylan knew the Divisional Commander wouldn’t pose him any problems.

  ‘Lucy, you’ve been very helpful. I’ll pass on my gratitude to your Supervisor.’

  ‘Oh… thank you Inspector Dylan, I’ll send it on e mail to you with the confirmation of what we’ve discussed this morning,’ said a seemingly highly delighted Lucy. ‘That’s very kind. No one has ever done that before.’

  ‘Well there is always a first time for everything, Lucy. Thank you.’ Dylan smiled smugly as he replaced the receiver. Why, he wondered was Patrick Finch still on the list, what was wrong with him? Dylan looked at his personnel record on screen. Fast tracked for promotion, young and bright. No negative comments.

  Dylan deliberated as he sat in his office waiting for the arrival of his two new Detective Sergeants. He’d only made one phone call, and without the usual blocks or delays, they were on their way. Would there be a catch though?

  Dylan was comfortable with the seemingly very capable Sergeant Patrick Finch, and the keen and gentleman like young DC John Benjamin. Most of all he needed to be sure he could trust them after what Larry had done. By lunchtime he was able to give them the good news regarding the agreed moves within the office by personnel as well as an outline of what he described as the sad events in respect of DS Larry Banks, and the exciting news of Dawn’s impending new arrival. He went through what he expected of them, the rota they would work, the on call cover and the fact that they could always call him, night and day. All he needed from them was proof that his selection had been the right one.

  There were no other vehicles in the car park. Liz stopped her car near the woods. The silence was deafening. Tentatively she looked around, but there was no one to be seen. She wound down her window slightly and felt the welcome rush of a cool breeze. A siren’s whine was loud and clear, the brakes of a lorry screeched nosily in the distance; all surprisingly comforting to her. She leaned over to the back seat and struggled to heave the case onto the passenger seat next to her, as she had been told. Pressing the button to unlock the passenger door, she followed the blackmailer’s instructions to the letter. Then she remembered Larry telling her to keep the door locked. What should she do? She flipped the button again feeling her heart hammering in her chest as she gripped the steering wheel tight and realised her shoulders were raised, her arms rigid. Shaking her head to relieve the fuzziness within, she craned her neck to and from side to side, and it cracked loudly like a stick snapping. All was now still. Two pigeons strutted on the grass in front of the car cooing happily. She could hear the low drone of distant traffic but above that birds singing and an aircraft overhead. Liz concentrated on the new shoots on the branches of the willow tree, which dangled before her; new life. A bee hovered before her eyes. Suddenly birds took flight. A shadow fell on the windscreen. She gasped, but it was only a black cloud covering the sun, weak as it was. Her mouth grew dry as she waited; she attempted to swallow and her parched throat made her cough. She shuffled in her seat. Peering behind her through the rear window she expected to see a car approaching down the driveway. As she turned she saw, stood before her at the front of her car a man wearing a black balaclava. In what seemed like a flash he’d made his way round to the passenger door and tried the handle. She screamed. He ran to the driver’s side, brandishing a weapon in the air. Without warning, there was a loud crash and her window came smashing through. She turned away and ducked instinctively as the tiny glass particles showered her.

  ‘No, please no,’ she screamed, hiding her face in her hands, ‘take the money.’ The man pulled at the handle and opening the door, yanked her crumpled body by the neck, from her seat to the gravel floor. Repeatedly he kicked her.

  ‘I told you to leave the fucking doors unlocked,’ he yelled, panting aggressively.

  Liz was only semi-conscious as she lay motionless. She could feel warm urine run between her legs. She heard the man retrieve the case from within car and she saw its wheels bounce on the floor beside her. ’Please Larry, please help me,’ came the gasp from her lips. ’Where was he?’ She thought. ’The pol
ice, where were they?’ She caught sight of the case springing open.

  ‘You stupid bitch, you’ve tried to trick me,’ the hooded man shrieked at her as he tipped the contents over her prone body. Books rained on her from above and she cried out. He lashed out at her foetus like, postured frame with the empty case.

  ‘What? No, no please,’ she cried through her sobs. The taste of blood filled her mouth and she spat it out with saliva.

  Suddenly there was silence. Then Liz heard the scrunch of his shoes on gravel which made a crunching sound. He was walking away. What was happening? Was he leaving her like this? She opened her eyes and could faintly see his outline by her car, through a fuzzy haze. Her boot ‘popped’ open, her senses were heightened. Hearing his footsteps marching towards her, she curled up as tight as she could, sensing him standing over her. All she could see clearly was his white training shoes. Again, silence. Was he opening a bottle? She dare hardly breathe, but gasped involuntarily as cold liquid trickled over the trunk of her body. Petrol fumes engulfed her lungs. Coughs ravaged her chest. She couldn’t catch her breath ’Quick.’ She shouted. Her mind raced. ’Stop him.’

  ‘Your husband won’t think you’re beautiful now will he Lizzie?’ he sniggered. ‘Banging on about you day after day he did. I looked after him you know, and for what? Nothing.’ He jumped. The gravel sprayed. There was a flash, made by the ignition of the petrol. Both Liz and her car almost instantly became a fireball. Flames rushed towards him, lapping at his feet and he jumped backwards.

  Frankie Miller was no stranger to murder. Money was his priority, money and drugs. He owed it, he owed lots of it and his supplier wouldn’t wait any longer. Liz had been his ticket but she’d failed him. He’d warned her what would happen, the stupid bitch.