The Badge & the Pen Thrillers

by Roger A Price

  He quickly stood and stared with a mixture of disbelief and relief as he watched a prone unmoving Moxley ebb out into the centre of the river where the stronger currents tugged at the body and quickened its pace.

  He turned to face a petrified Jimmy who was still holding the gun out straight, as he stared.

  “Jimmy, put the damn thing down, and relax. It’s over.”

  Jimmy did as instructed and seemed to slowly regain his composure. “I didn’t know I could do that. Even now, he was trying to control me. His arrogance is unbelievable. For the first time anger replaced fear. I wasn’t even aware I’d pulled the trigger until I heard the noise.”

  “I’m glad you did. And thanks, mate, I really owe you.”

  “No probs, but I’m going to need your help now Johnson. How the hell do I get out of this?”

  Chapter Forty-seven

  “First thing is to wipe that gun and get shut,” said Johnson, as he stood fully upright, holding the chain with his free hand to take the weight away from his damaged wrist.

  As he caught his breath he saw Jimmy wipe the gun and toss into the river. He looked for Moxley’s body but it was lost from view, which was not surprising given the speed of the water.

  “What now?” asked Jimmy, who still looked shaken.

  “Nothing’s changed,” said Johnson.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean as far as you are concerned, you escaped from that room, grabbed your mum and went on your toes to hide from Moxley. You only need show yourself once Moxley’s body is found and you hear it on the news. And the sooner you go, the stronger your alibi will look.” Johnson knew Jimmy wasn’t schooled or well-read, but as with most cons, they all seemed to excel in being street-wise. He saw the understanding on his face.

  “I’ll need to be somewhere in the north-west so I can catch the local TV news.”

  “Anywhere in mind?”

  “My aunt has a holiday caravan in north Wales. I can get there today and put it about the campsite that we arrived late last night. No one will know different, but if ever asked, they’ll just repeat what I’ve told them. What about you?”

  “Like I said to that monster; my wrist proves how I got free. I’ll give you half an hour and then I’ll wander down that road over there and flag someone down.”

  “What will happen when that turd Moxley is eventually washed up?”

  “I can’t see the cops being too fussed, can you?”

  “No, but they’ll have no choice but to investigate it.”

  “Granted, but the list of enemies he must have had was no doubt growing all the time. Could have been anyone. We’ll both have strong alibis so that’s all that will matter. I can back you up by saying you told me that once you’d got your old ma safe, you were going to help me.”

  “As soon as I get to the Piccadilly railway station I’ll put an anonymous call into the cops,” said Jimmy. “I can later claim that having got my old queen safe, I travelled back to Manchester by train to make the call, you know to put them off my trail, me still being scared that Moxley will somehow locate me from the call. We both know he has friends on the force.”

  “Yeah, that could work. It’s not a long journey by rail from north Wales to Manchester and it will further back up your story that you landed there last night.”

  “But what about your leg?” asked Jimmy.

  In all the excitement of the last few minutes Johnson had completely forgotten about his injured thigh. As soon he turned to look at it the pain kicked back in, or he became aware of it again. It wasn’t too bad, more like a throbbing toothache. He pulled his trousers down and sat on a large rock by the side of the path. The bleeding had already stopped. In fact, there had been little blood loss, which surprised him. Luckily the knife hadn’t gone in too far. It looked to be a straight wound, but he could say it had happened on some piece of jagged metal in the culvert. He explained this to Jimmy and wished him luck. Before he turned to go, he said, “One last thing, Jimmy,” Jimmy turned back to face him, “thanks man. Proper thanks, if I can ever …”

  Jimmy cut across him. “Don’t mention it, now I’m over the initial shock, I’m buzzing off it. All you have to do is keep me out of prison.”

  Johnson nodded as he watched Jimmy run down the path towards the car park.

  He checked around to make sure nothing had been dropped by any of them but couldn’t see anything. He cupped his hands into the river and gave the path a swill to remove the small amount of blood that had come from his leg. He wondered if Moxley had come by car and spent the next few minutes searching for anything obvious. The car park was empty. It was only small and was probably only ever used by the council, bar the odd angler. The road was fairly rural with no houses about and no cars. He was fairly satisfied there wasn’t one to be found. He recalled Jimmy saying that as he approached, he saw Moxley walking towards the entrance having come from the other end from some distance.

  He walked back to the car park and sat on the perimeter wall for a rest. His thigh was starting to tighten up, making walking more of an effort, and walking with the chain wasn’t easy. His clothes were steaming as they dried and the smell gave an ironic meaning to the name Moxley had given him. But none of that mattered now. He was alive, free, and rid of that maniac forever.

  He walked away from the car park and the culvert. It was slightly downhill, so easier to manage. He had no idea how long it would take to come across a house or a car, but he didn’t care. Though, taking stock of himself, it might take some effort to convince people that he was a prison officer and not some escaped convict.

  Fifteen minutes later, Johnson approached what appeared to be a major road crossing the end of the lane he’d been on. He couldn’t believe that not one car had travelling down it while he had been limping his way down there. Soon after he left the car park he had passed under a motorway bridge, which was where the traffic noise he’d heard earlier had obviously come from.

  As he neared the junction, a police car of all vehicles turned up the lane and made straight for him.

  An hour later he was in a private room at the local hospital, his leg and wrist bandaged, as he waited for the specialist to have a proper look. The casualty doctor said he had some tendon damage but couldn’t see any bone fractures on the X-rays. He was hopeful there would be nothing that couldn’t be repaired. As for his leg, the wound appeared clean and had been stitched up and bandaged.

  Johnson laid back and relaxed for the first time in what seemed like forever. He knew he’d soon have that DI Palmer to deal with, but he was ready.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  A mixture of scenes played out in Vinnie’s mind and he knew he was dreaming. He was sitting in a room with no windows. It was like a cell but much bigger. He was in a chair in front of a huge desk, several feet back from it. The isolation that created reminded him of his last promotion board. Similarly, there were three people behind the business end of the desk. Harry Delany sat in the middle, with Lesley, his wife, on one side and the deceased DC; Rob, on the other. Rob and Lesley were looking at each other, staring even, and seemed oblivious to Vinnie’s presence. Vinnie felt renewed anguish, both for what they had done, and for Rob’s dreadful demise, but he wished they would stop looking at each other like that. He turned to face Harry to try to ignore them and only then realised that Harry was addressing him. ‘Answer the damn phone’ he was saying. Then Vinnie became aware of a rising ringtone, an unfamiliar one. He opened his eyes.

  It took a moment to realise that the pay-as-you-go phone Harry had given him was the source of the noise, dancing around the occasional table near the TV. He jumped out of bed and went to answer it, the mists clearing as he did. Grateful that the dream was over, he shook it from his mind as he pressed the green icon to accept the call. “Harry?”

  “You sound groggy,” said Harry.

  “Sorry, just pooped after everything.”

  “Well, I’ve good news and bad.”

  “G
o on, boss.”

  “The good news is that Johnson is safe, and Jimmy is believed to be.”

  “That’s brilliant, but how?”

  Harry went on to explain how he’d just got back to his office having spent thirty minutes with Johnson at the local infirmary, and all that Johnson had told him.

  “But we don’t know for sure about Jimmy?” Vinnie asked.

  “As sure as we can be without actually seeing him. He rang into the incident room from Piccadilly station as I was on my way to the hospital.”

  “So where is he now?”

  Harry went on to say about the threat to Jimmy’s mother and how he’d told Johnson he was going to hole up in north Wales until it was over.

  “What’s the story with Johnson?”

  “He’s gone sick and the prison service has already suspended him pending an enquiry by their professional standards people. But they can’t go near him until he’s deemed fit.”

  “Are his injuries that bad?”

  “No, but he’s still traumatised by what’s gone on.”

  Vinnie didn’t care too much for Johnson, but had to feel sympathy for what he’d been through. He could only imagine how terrifying it must have been in that sewer access room. To force his wrist the way he had was an obvious testament to that. “Any word from him on the bent cop thing, if indeed that’s where he got his info from?” Vinnie asked.

  “No, he blanked me on that and the doc would only give me thirty minutes with him. It’ll be several days if not longer before we can speak to him properly. I shouldn’t be ringing you, but it’ll no doubt be all over the press soon enough. Johnson will no doubt want to sell his story. I might call a press conference to get in first.”

  “I appreciate the risk, Harry.”

  “Just thought you’d like to know.”

  “Thanks again,” Vinnie said. “But what’s the bad news?”

  “We still have no idea where Moxley is.”

  Vinnie remembered the telephone interception on the phone Moxley was using, the one which had dropped him in the soft stuff, but should he ask Harry about it? He decided to choose his words. “What about the other help you were getting?”

  “You’re pushing it, Vinnie, but you may as well know that it’s dead. I’ve got to go.”

  The line went dead and Vinnie sat down in his boxers to consider the call. He wasn’t sure whether the ‘line’ on Moxley’s phone was dead, as Harry had said, or whether he was giving him a stock answer to put him off. To be fair, it would be what he would say if roles were reversed and the line was still live. Only time would tell, but there was a hint of something in Harry’s voice as he’d answered the question, something negative. His voice had dropped slightly. Vinnie couldn’t be sure.

  He was glad that the two hostages seemed to be safe and well, overall. That was a huge relief. But what now? What would he do, if he was Moxley? Would he give up his petty quarrels and get as far away as possible? Vinnie would, but then Vinnie was sane. God knows what Moxley’s next move would be?

  Fully alert now, and feeling refreshed from his sleep, weird dreams aside, Vinnie decided to put his new energy to good use. He’d shower and change, grab some food and start out on his own enquiries.

  An hour later, he finished his lunch in the hotel restaurant as they were packing things away. The clock on the wall said 2.30 pm, obviously the end of the lunchtime sittings. When he had sat down to eat, he had no idea where he was going to start his private investigation. He knew he would have to be careful and stay out of the way, but where to start? Then he remembered something Harry had said in his phone call, and suddenly knew exactly where to start. Or to be more exact; with whom to start; and were they in for a shock. He grabbed his Volvo’s keys from his table and went out into the foyer.

  *

  Johnson was happy with the way the conversation with the cop Delany had gone; though he was taken aback he didn’t have that arsey sod Palmer with him. Surprised and relieved in equal measures. Delany was easier to deal with and seemed to accept he couldn’t push him on the detail, and especially not the areas he was obviously most interested in. Johnson had done his prep work with the doctor before Delany arrived; bigging it up on the emotional side. That said, he had been more scared than he could have ever imagined possible. Although he knew Moxley was no longer a threat, they didn’t; so he’d still have to act accordingly. But it did back up the premise that he was too shaken to be properly interviewed. He was pleased with himself; he should have been a detective.

  The doctor had said he’d be in hospital for a couple of days and would need minor surgery to his wrist. After that he could go home. When Delany had asked him about where he should stay, he gave him some waffle about a relative in the country, but he’d make for home. The cops wouldn’t know. Now Moxley was gone he wanted to get back to his own bed, though he did shudder at the thought of using the bathroom again. That would take a bit of getting used to. And, anyway, he was looking forward to seeing Denis the Menace.

  Johnson leaned back into his pillows; things would work out after all. He was even confident he could dodge the worst of the prison service’s discipline enquiries; after all, their star witness was no more.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Vinnie was halfway there before he remembered it was Sunday. Lately, all the days had seemed to roll along, one the same as the last. Not that there was a great distinction normally, but he kept going, he’d nothing else to do. However, as predicted, it was to be a fruitless journey. Should he leave a note and spoil the surprise? Or not? On reflection, he decided to leave a note. It might cancel the shock element, but no doubt pique some interest into the bargain. He posted a message through the letterbox and headed to his house to collect some other things, a couple of books to read and other stuff he might need later on. He didn’t dawdle, didn’t want to. He swore he could still smell Lesley’s brand of perfume in the bedroom, but perhaps his mind was having a laugh. Ten minutes and he was on his way back to the hotel.

  It was another sunny day. He couldn’t recall the last time they’d had such a settled period of fine weather. It seemed such a waste. He dropped his stuff off in his room and went down to the hotel bar to settle in a corner near a large flat screen TV. The place was empty except for an elderly couple in the corner drinking afternoon tea, and a bored barman. Perfect. He wasn’t in the mood to make conversation and could cosy down with the telly to himself and get drunk. With a bit of luck there might be some sport on.

  *

  Johnson couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well, until the nursing staff woke him at 6 am with all the clatter and noise of a prison wing. He never really understood why hospital days had to start so early when the place was so full of sick people. He ate his early breakfast and managed to wash and shave himself and hadn’t been back in bed long before some copper turned up with a bag of his clothes. Said Mr Delany had instructed him to drop them off. Johnson recognised them as the stuff he’d had in the safe house.

  It was late morning before the doctor came to see him. He said he was lucky as there was no tendon damage to his wrist and most of the injuries were to the surrounding flesh. He said there may be some nerve damage, but he could be seen as an outpatient for that. So, no need to stay in hospital for an operation. Delany had asked him to let him know when he was to be released, but stuff that.

  Having dressed, he had to wait hours for a sitting ambulance to take him home, and when it did, it dropped several other people all over north Manchester first. It was worse than a package holiday hotel transfer.

  It was four o’clock before he was sat in his armchair with Denis. He made a call to Tesco, and after he pleaded his situation to them they promised to deliver his order in a couple of hours.

  He lifted the carriage clock up from the mantelpiece and removed the bit of paper from underneath it and looked at the number written on it. He sat back in his chair and picked up the phone up again. The number he dialled rang out several times a
nd he was about to give up when a familiar voice answered.

  “It’s me,” said Johnson. “I know I’m not supposed to call but there’s something you’ll want to know.”

  “What?”

  “Moxley’s dead, so you can relax.”

  The recipient of the call blew out a long audible sigh, followed by, “How can you be sure?”

  “Trust me he is, but don’t ask how. I wasn’t going to ring, thought you would hear it on the news, but I’ve checked all the news channels and it seems his body hasn’t been found yet, so I thought I’d put you out of your misery.”

  “Thanks, Bill, I appreciate it but what do you mean about his body?”

  “Let’s just say he went for a swim in a river and must still be swimming.”

  “So it’s over then?”

  “For you maybe, but I’ve still got the cops chewing at my heels,” said Johnson.

  The recipient failed to react to this Johnson noted, but started on about his little friend. “I’ll give you-know-who a ring, and give him the good news too. Perhaps he and I can rekindle things.”

  This surprised Johnson; after all, he’d sold his little friend out. Using you-know-who’s name Johnson continued, “Does Piper know it was you that gave Moxley his details and his Preston address, albeit through me?”

  The line went quiet, Dawson didn’t answer. Johnson knew the question was really rhetorical, but Dawson’s arrogance shocked him. He’d given Johnson Piper’s details while Moxley was still in prison, which Johnson had sold on for five grand – not that he’d had chance to spend any of it before the bastard had taken it back – and now he was talking about rekindling things.