Nemesis - John Kane's revenge

by Bill Carson

  After half an hour, John made his excuses. As he got up to leave she took hold of his hand, gripped it tight, and pulled him toward her. Before he knew it she’d planted a big warm smacker right on his lips.

  “See you tomorrow, hun?” she asked, as her big gooey eyes pleaded for a positive response.

  “Bye, Debbie,” he said, and quickly mingled with the rush hour crowds. In that moment he decided to bring the plan forward.

  John had observed on two consecutive occasions that the judge had a habit of staying a little later on Thursdays, and would leave at around nine o’clock. John had managed to get home quite quickly despite it being the rush hour and had ridden back to the court just in time to see the old judge getting into his Mercedes with his minder. He twisted back the throttle and zipped across the road and fell in behind the big saloon. Your time is coming, you vicious old bastard, thought John, as the Mercedes rounded the corner into a long quiet road. They had now arrived in an exclusive district of north London, which ironically was only a few miles from the infamous Vamps night club.

  It was like another world, and each luxurious property had the customary huge, expensive four-by-four sitting on its gravel driveway. It was where the wealthy and influential chose to live, out in the suburbs and away from the limelight, and the ivory towers of these well-heeled hedonists were magnificently imposing properties where the asking price would start at a mere five million a pop.

  John pulled over to the kerb and observed the judge from fifty yards away, he stepped slowly out of the vehicle, and John noted his self-assured swagger as he strolled up the path to the huge, double-studded oak front doors. He paused for a moment and fumbled for his keys before entering the property, which was more akin to a castle than a house. John shook his head as he buzzed past, and he made a mental note of the layout, and he also spotted the name of the house. The ‘Heart of Oak’ name plaque hung above the wide porch way, the name was painted in black shiny letters across a thick slab of timber.

  It was around eleven o’clock when John arrived back at the house. He’d been suffering from a throbbing headache for the past two hours, partly because of the attentions of doting Debbie, and partly from the fact that he’d been forced to move quicker than he’d wanted to. The two combined had literally made his brain ache. However, after he’d swallowed a couple of powerful painkillers the headache began to ease and he settled down into bed.

  He pulled the thick quilt over his head, which still had that new shop-bought smell, and listened to the rumble of heavy traffic. He lay still in the pitch dark and ran a few things over in his mind, and came to the conclusion that he must act sooner rather than later.

  To hell with it, I’ll do it tomorrow, he said to himself as he closed his eyes.

  Chapter 9

  “Look who’s here,” George Smith said, and sported a huge grin as Nick and Anna sauntered over to the bar.

  “Can’t keep away from the place, and bad habits die hard, George, you know that,” Nick said as Anna pulled up a bar stool.

  “Right then, a pint of Bombardier for you and a vodka and blackcurrant coming up for my favourite gal. You two look very pleased with yourselves, what have you been up too? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

  “Go on, you tell him, Nick, put him out of his misery,” Anna smiled, nudging Nick in the ribs with her elbow.

  Nick divulged the good news and told him about the new case and the huge amount that was at stake.

  “Bloody Nora, that’s unbelievable. I saw it on the news, someone topped an old girl, didn’t they? Shot her in the head at close range, Essex, wasn’t it, Nick?” George said enthusiastically.

  “That’s right, mate, and I, sorry, we at the Harland Detective Agency will be in full swing tomorrow morning,” Nick said as he put his arm around Anna’s shoulder.

  “Bloody hell, Dempsey and Makepeace ride again,” George said, and then laughed out loud.

  “Yeah, something like that, mate, so I think we’ll have an early night tonight and then up with the lark.”

  “Well, all I can say is best of luck to both of you and I hope you get the bastard. When you do, give him a slap from me. Killing a defenceless old woman like that, what’s that all about? What’s the world coming to?” George said.

  “Just keep all this to yourself for the time being please, mate. It’s all gotta be kept a bit hush-hush as the plebs, sorry, the police force, would not be best pleased if they knew I was sniffing around one of their cases. They’d close ranks and shut me out, and I want to be able to use them a little for a while, so just keep schtum, OK?”

  “Yeah, all right, you don’t have to tell me that, you know. I’ll keep me ears open and me trap shut, and if I hear anything I’ll give you a tinkle. That reminds me, I need your new mobile number, mate,” George said with a deliberate wink.

  “Cheers, George, I think we’re gonna need all the help we can get on this one.” Nick said as he handed George one of his new impressive business cards.

  “Where do you start with a murder like this? I mean, an old woman? Who would want to silence a sweet little old lady? What for? Do you think she knew something about someone, and was about to blab and got given a shut up tablet?”

  “Fuck me, George, you’ve really got to stop watching those Columbo reruns.”

  Anna chuckled as she drained the remnants of her tall ice-laden drink as George looked on, perplexed.

  “Stick to pouring pints, my old son, and leave the detective work to us. One more pint in there and another for Anna if you please, landlord,” Nick said as he pointed to the empty glasses.

  “That’s charming, that is, try to help the bloke and he takes the piss out of you,” George mumbled as he prepared the drinks.

  “Ah never mind, Georgie,” Anna said sympathetically.

  “All right, George, you’re not that far off actually. Remember, Columbo always used to say that all murderers have three things in common and that is the MMO: motive, method and opportunity. Most of the time there is always a good reason behind a murder, especially ones of this nature. So let’s look at the facts: we have the body of an elderly woman with two gunshot wounds in the forehead. The bullets were from a .45 calibre pistol, and only an expert would have such accuracy with a handgun. Also, a pro always goes for a head shot and so that narrows it down a bit. We are probably looking for someone who is ex-military.

  “The other obvious facts are that at first glance nothing seems to have been stolen. Cash was still in her purse and all of her jewellery remained untouched, according to the papers, but you can’t always rely on them. However, these are our first leads.

  “It’s safe to say that we can rule out a robbery, and we can confidently assume that she was killed by a professional, a hit man. Next, we need to find out what type of pistol was used. And from the large calibre bullets I’d say it’s probably an automatic, as most would favour an automatic pistol over a revolver. The revolver could be said to be a more reliable weapon, but with the automatic you have more ammunition, a minimum of eight rounds instead of six, so it’s a toss-up – reliability over firepower.

  “When killing at close range with a pistol, you want to make sure your intended target isn’t going to survive, and so you need to be using something that will deliver a clout like a sledge hammer, and so those large 45 calibre rounds will more often than not get the job done. But the biggest problem to solve of course is, why? So you see, George, I have managed to gather all of that info so far and I haven’t even started yet,” Nick said as George listened intently.

  “Brilliant, how does he do it? It looks like this is going to be a piece of piss then, Nick”? George asked.

  “We’ll see, mate. I have seen a few like this in my time. And don’t forget, pros are paid and they kill mostly to remove rivals, but sometimes it’s to obtain information and then, once gained, the target is silenced. We have to try and find out what she knew, if anything at all. And bear in mind that she may have been killed for reasons that we’ll pe
rhaps never know. It’s just a steady process of methodical elimination. Of course, every now and then, these investigations can get really dangerous, especially if the villains think you’re on to them. That can lead you to an encounter with some very nasty characters; there’s real nutters out there, mate, proper psychos wandering around, who wouldn’t think twice about blowing your brains out for less than the price of a dodgy second-hand motor.”

  “In that case I’ll leave it to you two then, and I think I’ll stick to pulling pints. You’ve frightened the bloody life out of me now,” George said, as he poured himself a double brandy.

  “See you later, George. We’ll keep in touch and I’ll let you know what’s what,” Nick said as he winked.

  “Look after him, Anna, and God bless now.”

  Nick had been unusually quiet during the taxi ride and was still a little moody as they climbed into bed. He turned over on his side away from Anna, which was extremely unusual.

  “Nick, you all right?” Anna asked.

  “Yeah, I’m OK, sorry, I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all, love.”

  “Are you sure I can’t tempt you?” she said as she nibbled his ear.

  “Do you mind if we don’t tonight, Anna?”

  “There’s a first, so now I know something’s wrong. Come on, spit it out.”

  “It’s nothing really. It’s stupid and you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me,” she said.

  Nick sighed deeply. “Well, it was what George said.”

  “What? What did he say? I never heard him say anything out of order.”

  “No, he didn’t say anything wrong, just odd. As we were leaving he said, ‘God bless’.”

  “What, and that’s it? That’s what’s upset you? George saying ‘God bless’? Bloody hell, yeah, you’re dead right, I don’t understand that one, Nick.”

  “Look, I’ve known George for over twenty-five years and he’s never said anything like that to me before, and it just bothered me, that’s all. Things like that bug me. Superstitions and omens, that kind of thing, it’s left over from my days in the army. Things like that tend to put the mockers on everything.”

  “The mockers? What’s that?” Anna asked.

  “It means it’s like a curse or something; you know, bad luck. It’s like what they do in the theatre. No actor will ever say Macbeth, they have to say the Scottish play when referring to it instead, or something bad will happen. It’s the same thing with me when people say ‘God bless’.”

  “It’s all mumbo jumbo, and a load of old superstitious rubbish. I’m surprised you thought like that, Nick, and anyway it was what you were telling him about murderers out there, you scared the crap out of him, that’s all. Didn’t you see that? And he thinks the world of you, you know? And that’s why he said ‘God bless’, that’s all it was.”

  “You think so?”

  “Of course. He’s worried about you. Now get those pyjamas off, big boy,” she said as she smacked his backside.

  “Well, seeing as you put it like that…”

  The next day Nick and Anna were up early, and after a quick bite to eat they were all business and switched into detective mode. Anna was on the net and began gathering all the info from back issues of newspapers which covered the Macintyre murder. While Nick’s black Audi was eating up the tarmac toward Essex, she began to convert his office into an ops room. After two hours of searching she decided to make a brew, and as she flicked the switch on the kettle the lights tripped out and the place was suddenly plunged into darkness.

  She didn’t have a clue where the fuse box was and knew she would have no chance in finding it in the dark. She phoned George and within the hour he was tapping at the front door with tool box in hand.

  “Hello, love, it’s Uncle George to the rescue!” he shouted through the letter box.

  “Hi, George, thanks for coming,” Anna said as she opened the door.

  “I’ll take a look around for the fuse box, Anna. Probably just tripped out I reckon. I’ll take a look in the basement, mate. Blimey, this is alright, innit? I like this and look at that office, that is as sweet as a nut; three guesses whose that is. I bet he sits in there like bloody Sherlock Holmes! Anyway, where is he? On the case already, he doesn’t hang about, does he?” George said, as he flashed the blinding torch beam around before disappearing into the basement.

  Anna watched him go down.

  George soon spotted the problem. “There you go, Anna,” he called up, “it’s the switch on the fuse box. It’s a safety cut off. I reckon you must have a loose wire somewhere. Probably that plug on the kettle; I’ll take a look.”

  George soon returned and had the plug reassembled.

  “Thanks, George, you’re a star. What’s down there by the way?” Anna said, as she nodded toward the basement door.

  “Nothing much, it’s empty apart from some huge spiders’ webs. Pretty small down there as well.”

  “Small? Shouldn’t it be the same size as the floor above?”

  “I dunno, not always I suppose. OK, Anna, I’ve gotta shoot off and get back to the pub, I’ve left a new barmaid on her own and she’ll be having it away with the takings if I don’t get back soon. You’ll be OK now, it won’t happen again.”

  “Thanks, George, I really appreciate it.”

  “What are friends for?” he said, as he hugged her goodbye.

  “George, before you go, can I borrow that big torch of yours, please? I’ll give it back as soon as Nick comes in, and I’ll get him to drop it round to you.”

  “Of course, mate, there you go.”

  She looks bloody fantastic. Nick’s a very lucky fella, he thought, as he enveloped Anna in his thick arms and tried his best not to stare at the hint of black lace bra that was peeking out of her low cut purple blouse – but he couldn’t, so he did.

  “Right then, Anna, I’ll see you later, love,” George said, as he climbed into his old 1960s Series 3 Land Rover.

  Anna’s curiosity had got the better of her, and she decided to investigate the basement. She grabbed the huge torch, and crept silently down the small flight of creaky stairs so as not to disturb the creepy crawlies down there. She stood in the pitch dark of the basement, and George was right: the dimensions of the basement were almost half the size of the floor above, which didn’t make sense. As the beam of the one-million-candlepower torch fell against the back wall, she noticed that the basement had been cleverly divided by a timber-framed partition which you would never have noticed until you were right on top of it.

  The timber was at least fifty years old, and the old horse-hair plaster work had crumbled away in some areas. She shone the torch through a small gap in the distorted wooden framework, and the powerful beam revealed a dark, dusty, mysterious little room beyond.

  At first she couldn’t believe her eyes, and so she tried to pull some of the partition away to get a better look inside. It was holding fast so she went back upstairs and grabbed a shovel from the yard, went back down and used the blade of the shovel to stab a hole through the old plaster work. After a few minutes she had made an opening big enough for her slender body to squeeze through.

  Once on the other side, the torch light exposed some old wooden beer crates stacked in one corner, and in another corner sat a dusty round table with six rickety wooden chairs surrounding it. Over to her left against the wall was a makeshift bar, which was constructed out of two huge wooden beer barrels and some boards. She carefully stepped behind it and as the beam lit up the dark corner, she discovered a strongbox which at first glance looked not unlike a pirate chest. It was quite big and covered in a thick coating of fifty years of dust. On closer examination appeared to have no lock attached to it.

  Anna plucked up the necessary courage to lift the lid, but convinced herself that a huge blood sucking rat with razor sharp teeth, or something equally horrible and hairy, would be waiting to leap out at her throat as soon as she opened it. She set the torch carefully down on to the bar, trying
not to make a sound, and positioned it so the beam was now aimed in the direction of the box. She then used the blade of the shovel to lift the lid, and it opened with a prolonged creak. She quickly jumped back in fright and the lid hit the wall behind with a resounding thud.

  There was nothing: no sounds of scurrying rats or fluttering bats so she tentatively directed the shaky beam of light into the open box. Her eyes grew wide in amazement, and her mouth opened with shock as the contents of the old mysterious black chest were revealed through the fine dust particles illuminated by the torch.

  Chapter 10

  Harold Harper decided that it was time that he checked in with his employer in order to offer up a progress report, and so a meeting was set up via the usual channels at Jimmy’s hotel stronghold at midnight, with all the customary precursors in place, of course. Harold arrived promptly, but this time he made sure that no one saw him arrive. He suddenly appeared in the doorway.