The Badge & the Pen Thrillers

by Roger A Price

  Vinnie cut the call. He had no wish to hear Dawson’s suffering, or to let Moxley grandstand further. He caught his breath for a couple of minutes and was aware of Christine looking at him as he tried to clear the sounds of Dawson from his mind. He put a quick call into Harry to see if the cell-siting on Moxley’s phone was up and running yet. He was told it wasn’t, though it shouldn’t be long. He ended the call and was sorely tempted to turn his work phone off. But he knew he couldn’t.

  He quickly briefed Christine and sat in quiet contemplation. After all the events of the last few days he felt exhausted. And, as close as he had come to catching Moxley, he had failed. He had no idea where he was. Wherever Moxley had Dawson for that final twisted torment; Vinnie could do nothing about it.

  “What’s up?” Christine asked.

  Vinnie told her.

  “Don’t let him get into your head; you’ll only feed his mania.”

  “You sound like Harry,” Vinnie said.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here. We may get inspiration on the way back to Manchester,” Christine said.

  Vinnie nodded as he restarted the car’s engine and pulled away from the kerb. As corrupt as Dawson was, he didn’t deserve what was happening now.

  Vinnie looked up ahead and saw a council worker putting up diversion signs forcing him to turn left rather than go straight on to the city centre. Damn, a minute sooner, he thought. Even the sat-nav was of no help now.

  Christine broke the impasse, “I never realised how shitty your job was until now.”

  Vinnie turned to face Christine as he made the left turn.

  She continued, “Reporting on events – no matter how horrible – in the past tense is one thing, but to be in the middle of it as it’s happening…” She let her words trail off.

  Vinnie looked beyond her, down a small street to their left and slammed on the brakes. “Look,” he said, as the Volvo came to a halt across the side junction. He watched Christine turn her head as he stared at the rear of a black cab parked at the end of the road about thirty metres away.

  “You nearly gave me a heart attack,” said Christine. “We are in the city centre Vinnie; there are black cabs everywhere.”

  “Yeah, but look at the hackney carriage plates,” said Vinnie.

  “Aren’t they all the same?”

  “I guess so, but that one has the Scottish saltire above it.”

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Having abandoned his car past the junction, Vinnie and Christine ran the short distance to where the taxi was parked. As they approached it was obvious to Vinnie that it was empty. He quickly confirmed this as he slid to a halt. He tried the doors, they were unlocked. “This had to be it,” he thought.

  “Look.” Christine pointed to a large hedge in front of the cab. The street was a dead end, but in the centre of the hedge was a turnstile.

  Vinnie realised that this was a side entrance to the park they had just left. He stared at Christine and could see the look of understanding on her face. He quickly rang Harry. He knew from the awful sounds he had heard during the phone call from Moxley a few minutes ago that they didn’t have long. He spat the park’s location down the phone prefixed by the words, “assistance required,” before ending the call. It was a time-honoured phrase in police communications, which also meant ‘don’t question, just send help, no time for pleasantries’.

  Vinnie sprang over the stile and heard Christine close behind him. Up ahead, he could see the rear of the pavilion. It was downhill and only a hundred metres away. Moxley had chosen his approach well. Probably one he had used more than the once Vinnie knew about. The thought made him shudder as he ran.

  Twenty metres away and he could hear a muffled scream. Dawson. It sounded as if he’d been gagged. It had probably only been removed for Vinnie’s benefit when Moxley made his call. The memory of the sounds made him cringe. He couldn’t help feeling glad that the screams had become stifled. He immediately felt a dreadful guilt at feeling such relief while someone else still suffered. An involuntary thought.

  He rushed around the building’s side and heard the sound of feet spinning around with grit underfoot.

  Vinnie came to a halt at the side of the concrete steps a few feet from the main central arch. He jumped over a low wall and stood three steps from the entrance. In the far left-hand corner stood Moxley staring defiantly at him. By his side on the floor was the crumpled and bound wretch that was Dawson, hands behind his back and silver tape across his mouth. Blood had run from his nose and the man’s chest was all red. His shirt was heavy with fresh blood.

  “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” Moxley snarled.

  Vinnie didn’t reply but walked forward and stopped in the doorway of the main arch. He heard Christine come to a halt next to him. He kept his eyes fixed on Moxley and noted the short bladed knife in his right hand.

  “And the Scottish bitch, too. A bonus,” said Moxley.

  “It’s over, Moxley, drop the blade. This place will be crawling with cops any minute.”

  “Well, I’d better hurry up then Traffic Warden, hadn’t I?”

  Vinnie saw Moxley stand behind a terrified Dawson and grab the hair at the back of his head with his free hand, yanking the man’s head backwards. At the same moment, he moved his bladed hand towards Dawson’s throat.

  “Stop,” Vinnie yelled. He stepped forward and at the same time became aware of the pungent smell of faeces coming from Dawson.

  Moxley did stop but with the blade right against Dawson’s throat, already cutting in by a millimetre or two.

  “You stop, too, or he’s dead,” snarled Moxley.

  Vinnie stood still, twelve or more feet away. He’d never make it. It would only take Moxley a second to end Dawson’s life. Vinnie would try to stall him until back-up arrived.

  He heard the distant blare of sirens approaching and wished he hadn’t as he saw Moxley look up too. A decision influenced by the sound registered in the man’s eyes.

  In the split second that followed, Vinnie saw Moxley turn his attention back to Dawson’s throat and start to cut. He saw the blood start to spurt out as Moxley moved the blade from the side of Dawson’s neck towards his windpipe.

  Then Vinnie remembered the escort’s handgun in his jacket outer pocket. It was a Glock 17 pistol. He quickly drew it out and saw its presence register in Moxley’s eyes. He saw something else, too; as the man seemed to speed up his cutting motion. Even now his arrogant self-belief refused to accept the odds.

  Vinnie aimed and fired three rounds in quick succession.

  The noise echoed around the pavilion in a deafening fashion. Vinnie watched Moxley’s head disintegrate against the white wall behind it. His body bounced off into a heap on the floor. The reverberation of the gunfire rang loud in Vinnie’s ears. Time seemed to slow, giving the whole incident a surreal, almost cinematic feel.

  He stood stock still and watched Dawson fall forward on to the floor.

  Vinnie stared and, as time caught up, he realised Dawson was making noises. Christine rushed past him to the fallen man and quickly shouted, “He’s still alive, the wound only goes so far, I don’t think Moxley got as far as his windpipe.”

  Vinnie saw Dawson nod as Christine removed the tape. Relief started to flood through him. Then he heard a loud voice behind him say, “armed police – drop your weapon. Do it now.”

  Epilogue

  It had taken Vinnie a little while after he dropped his gun to convince the armed response unit that he was really a cop. Then Christine and he were taken to a local police station where their clothes were taken away and the long process of investigation began. An hour later, Harry Delany turned up to liaise with the locals and give the on-call SIO all the background he could. According to Harry, the local SIO had muttered something about wishing Moxley had driven a further twenty miles into the Manchester police area before stopping. Harry had apparently ignored this and also held back the true nature of Dawson’s involvement.

&
nbsp; It was fortunate for Dawson that Vinnie had fired his gun “in the nick of time” as Harry had put it. Vinnie was sure he had meant no pun, but couldn’t help smiling to himself every time he heard Harry say it.

  Two weeks later, Dawson had been fixed up and was deemed fit to be detained. Which he was, along with George Piper, who had been true to his word, leaving Dawson nowhere to go but to tell the truth. According to Harry, the interviewing officers had reported back that Dawson kept saying how he had still put the right man behind bars. He clearly didn’t get it that, by doing it corruptly, it might have had a slight bearing on the various outcomes that followed. Though, granted, through the logic of a damaged mind.

  Johnson had also been arrested and all three were now charged with various offences from malfeasant in public office to perjury or conspiracy to commit either, and they were on remand awaiting trial. Not a nice place for a retired police officer, prison officer and an informant to be.

  Vinnie hadn’t seen too much of Christine as she had been busy putting together her documentary, but had voiced her frustration at having to wait until after the trial of Dawson and the others. Vinnie had reassured her that it wouldn’t be sub-judice for long, as all three had indicated they would plead guilty in a hope for some reduction in sentence.

  A trawl of the computer systems by professional standards had revealed that Harry’s sensitive material policy log had been accessed by someone using Vinnie’s password and, as he’d been incommunicado so to speak, they readily accepted that it wasn’t him. A clue however was that the terminal used to access George Piper’s address in Govan was done from a computer used by a civilian police employee – a certain Lesley Palmer.

  Vinnie knew Lesley had his passwords. When he was out and about and wanted some database checks doing in a hurry, he would ask her if he couldn’t get an answer in the office, which was often. He had felt a mixture of pleasure and sorrow when she was arrested, then felt sorry for feeling the former when the explanation came flooding out. Apparently, Moxley had rung her and used his unique ability to threaten and terrify. He forced her to access the information by reminding her of Rob’s demise and what the boot of her Mini looked like.

  Three weeks after the shooting Vinnie was called in to see Harry. He started by saying his shooting of Moxley was clearly a justifiable homicide and the coroner had indicated he foresaw no problems when the facts would be fully put before him. It was clear he’d saved Dawson’s life. Helped by the fact he had two witnesses.

  “And the enquiry into my earlier discharge of a firearm?”

  “Utterly reckless,” Harry answered, but in the light of what had taken place thereafter, he was to receive words of advice, which was the lowest of the potential discipline outcomes. He was happy with that.

  “What about my ex?” asked Vinnie.

  “As you can imagine, she had been scared half to death, but shouldn’t have been able to access sensitive systems anyway; so you and her are to receive a written warning for that.”

  “Fair enough,” Vinnie thought again. He had expected as much.

  “Is that everything, Harry?” Vinnie asked at what appeared to be the end of the meeting.

  “Just two more things.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It looks as if Rob was straight after all. Johnson said he’d given him a phone as a sweetener to open him up about the bent cop, and to enable him to keep a check on him. Still shouldn’t have done it, but at least we can remember him in a better light.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that, Harry. And the last thing?”

  “Well, as the Dep has your career on hold for the next couple of years …” Harry started.

  This was the first time he had heard a timescale put on his persona non grata with regards to any hope of advancement to the next rank. But he said nothing and let Harry continue.

  “I’ve put a transfer request in to have you moved full time to the murder squad’s major investigation team. What do you reckon?”

  “That’s brilliant, Harry. Thanks a lot and I promise I’ll not cause you as much drama in the future.”

  Harry raised one eyebrow as Vinnie shook his hand and said his goodbyes. He walked back into the main incident room, which was in the process of being wound down, and pulled his mobile from his pocket. One thing he hadn’t had time to do yet, and that was to ask a certain reporter out for a meal.

  VENGEANCE

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Jack Quintel didn’t need to be here, he’d requested his usual proof of death, but as he hadn’t used this killer before, he wanted to see it for himself. It took him a while to find a spot among the trees, and he was conscious of not flattening too many bluebells that were everywhere at this time of year. He knew the killer Charlie was no mug, nor was the target, Jim Reedly. If all went well Quintel planned to use Charlie again. The last thing he wanted was for him to realise he’d been here checking up on him; after all, he’d asked for his normal, if not unusual, evidence that the job had been done. He just wanted to satisfy himself, and watch the killer’s craft. Enjoy the show. It was starting to go dusk so that would help; he just hoped Reedly wasn’t late home and it became too dark - he knew that wouldn’t bother Charlie, but he was beginning to wish he’d brought a pair of night-vison glasses.

  It took a couple of minutes to settle himself as he took in the surroundings. The house was a fairly new build, but a grand affair nonetheless, detached in its own grounds with a tree-lined private driveway – the privileges of rank. Its location was handy though, Fulwood was an established district of Preston and had more than its share of such houses – especially on the eastern side of the city
where a lot of the newer builds were situated. It wasn’t far away from the industrial unit Quintel had hired, or had had hired for him. That was in a traditional brown field estate behind a newish built Asda supermarket. Perfect; as it backed onto the M6 motorway. Quintel always liked an emergency egress from anywhere he used; he was cautious, he had to be.

  Quintel passed the time trying to fathom out where Charlie would be. He guessed somewhere where the car would stop, somewhere near the house-front. He could see a turn-around in front of the property which would seem to be the obvious place, but he couldn’t see Charlie, which wasn’t entirely surprising, given the circumstances. He just hoped his suspicions were ill-founded; it was not that easy finding a good assassin. You couldn’t just type ‘killer wanted to join enthusiastic team’ into an internet search engine, well, not without a world of trouble landing on you. It was just that he had learned long ago not to ignore his hunches; he wouldn’t have reached his forties if he had.

  The setting sun was dropping behind him now so he made sure he had good cover behind the oak trees. A peaceful vista, which was about to be shattered. He couldn’t help but inhale the spring fragrancies which were all around, in what was soon to become a place of carnage – he enjoyed both.

  Quintel heard a car’s engine about the same time as he saw its headlights – weak in the twilight - as they struggled to stretch down the drive. A silver BMW 6-series crackled along the gravel road and pulled up in the turn-around, with its back to Quintel. Game on. The engine was cut and the lights were turned off. Quintel could see the back of the driver’s head, and it looked like Reedly – greying hair around a tanned bald spot. The rest of the car looked empty.

  Seconds passed, and Reedly hadn’t moved. What was he doing? He’d soon find out if his hunches were right, or whether it was just paranoia. It was too easy to get over-distrustful in his line of work; he’d never met a decent villain who didn’t suffer from it at some time or another.