The Badge & the Pen Thrillers

by Roger A Price

  Vinnie could feel anger rising through his weary body, but reached deep within himself to control it. He reminded Harry about hearing Jason say something about not wanting to use his gun.

  ‘Not good,’ Harry said, adding, ‘we’ll turn a search team out and wait here until they arrive.’

  ‘Thanks, Harry, but until we find a body, there has to be hope.’

  ‘I’ll use that line if they whinge about the cost, which they will.’

  Vinnie nodded as he picked up the spade and continued to dig.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Christine opened her eyes, or had she? The last thing she remembered was blackness. The first thing she saw now was blackness. She opened her eyes to blackness. Well, it seemed black; perhaps it was a dark blue. It was hard to say. Was this reality? She felt numbness all around, its edges softened in keeping with her vision. But was it vision? Was she seeing? Or was this a dream? Could it be something else altogether? All these questions flooded through her in an instant. Then in a further moment stretched in time, she realised she was breathing. She must be alive. She breathed deeper, but had to spit something from her mouth. As the extra oxygen fed her senses, her thoughts started to crystallise. As that second fleeting moment ended, clarity coursed through her with a searing pain from the back of her head, as her senses started to attune. It wasn’t too bad, but bad enough.

  She realised she was prostrate. She started to turn, spitting something out again. Loose grit or sand she realised. She was able to turn easier than she might have expected. The sand enveloping her was loose, but it weighed down on her nonetheless. As she turned, the blackness stayed. Was she up or down? She panicked for a second, until she realised the sand, now against her back, was firmer than that on her front. She must be the right way round now. It brought hope but it was still mixed with terror, like some caustic cocktail. She felt cold, very cold, but could still sense perspiration all over her. She opened her mouth to scream, but more sand fell in, she spat it out and tried to raise her arms instead. She felt some leverage, but it was tough going. Fear was winning, and she desperately tried to keep calm. Tried to retain her focus as she reached upwards.

  *

  Ten minutes later and lighting rigs arrived, as did the crime scene investigators. Harry had a quick word with the CSIs whilst the illumination kit was put in place. Vinnie carried on, but was mightily relieved to see the lighting kick in. The lamps were powered by a portable diesel generator, and Vinnie could feel the heat from the bulbs warming him. It spurred him on. It had also stopped raining now, which helped. He stood back and looked at the ground they had covered and the vastness of the task ahead. Vinnie had started to think that Harry was right, looking at the size of the area: the search team were on their way, perhaps he should wait until they got here. Then a uniform cop approached, he was one of the armed response vehicles’ crews. He offered Vinnie another Glock handgun, saying, ‘Your own gun’s been bagged and tagged, sir. Here’s a replacement. If you’ll just sign this form.’

  Vinnie did as instructed and put the weapon away in his shoulder holster. It would probably get in the way now if he carried on digging. Then he shook his head at himself, and reached for the spade once more.

  *

  Christine kept scratching away at the sand, but as soon as she made any progress more fell in to fill the gap. But at least she knew she was facing the right way now. She also realised that the sand was damp. This seemed to make it harder to shift, but it had created air pockets. She kept her head to one side and took advantage of the trapped air, even though it was in short supply. She stopped for a rest, her arms now feeling like lead. She needed to rest, if only for a moment. Then she felt suddenly becalmed in a strange way. The terror that she’d been fighting had all but ebbed away. An eerie serenity numbed her all over. She realised she was no longer cold.

  Then a crazy thought hit her; was this it? But instead of fearing an answer to her question, the very consideration of it seemed to remove all of her remaining terror. Peacefulness and extreme tiredness were taking over now. She knew the answer, but wasn’t afraid. Sleep was coming, but it would be more than sleep. She opened her eyes for what she knew would probably be the last time and could now see shards of light. Daggers of brilliance confirming her thoughts. She welcomed the release. As she closed her eyes again; one last thought raced across her; she saw Vinnie’s face and wondered, what could have been?

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Quintel couldn’t believe his luck. He could hear a filth dog, but it was in the distance and definitely going the wrong way. It had been behind him, he was sure of that, which was why he’d stayed in the water. He could barely feel his legs now, but the noise had definitely done an about-turn. He clambered to the side and climbed up the muddy embankment. It was only then he realised just how cold he was. His shivering was almost rabid in severity, and his trousers were stuck to his legs as if they’d been vacuumed packed on to him. But none of that mattered, he was free.

  He’d long passed the perimeter of the industrial estate and could see houses up ahead. He didn’t know the area as well as Jason, obviously, but he could see the street lights marking out the main road back into Preston through Ribbleton. He knew exactly where to go to get himself sorted out; his infrastructure, albeit limited in Preston, would pay off nonetheless. And he could clear up some business at the same time.

  *

  It had been taking a long time to clear each trench. Vinnie was worried about thrusting the spade in and hitting Christine’s body. If she was here, he was starting to accept the unthinkable. But the thought of hitting her with the spade, it would feel horrendous; like a fresh assault on her. So he’d been using the ditch edges, feeling his way in before scooping the sand out. And this way, when he hit the bedrock below, he knew what depth he was playing with.

  He’d just started another ditch, a short one, and had gone down about a spade in depth when he felt something. His stomach churned as he threw his spade to one side and frantically used his hands to excavate the wet sand. Then he saw it sticking up; a hand. A woman’s hand.

  ‘Harry, here,’ he yelled as he grabbed hold of it. It was cold, very cold, but not ice cold. But how cold would be too cold? He noticed Harry arrive, who started to dig with his fingers on the opposite side to where the hand was.

  Harry was directly opposite to him; he was looking for the other hand.

  ‘Found it,’ Harry shouted, as Vinnie took a firm hold of his hand’s cold wrist. His heart broke when he recognised the watch on the end of the arm he had hold of.

  ‘Oh God no,’ he exhaled as he pulled hard on the arm.

  ‘Again,’ Harry shouted as they both tugged in unison.

  This time the loose sand gave up its hold and the top half of Christine’s body broke free from the grit. Her head lolled forward, lifeless, as both he and Harry got a firmer purchase under each armpit and each heaved a further time in unity.

  Vinnie rose from his knees as he pulled Christine’s body from the pit, her head rolling from side-to-side as he and Harry managed to pry her entire body clear of the grave. They hauled her forward as her shoeless feet dragged loose ground behind; it was as if some demonic tentacles were trying to reattach their grip.

  Over onto clear grass, they gently lay Christine’s avatar down. Neither man had spoken. Then Vinnie realised his right hand was wet with sweat, but not warm like in his left palm; it was cold but definitely moist. It had been his right hand which he’d used to grab Christine’s wrist. What this realisation actually meant he wasn’t sure. Then he got his answer.

  Christine coughed, and then spat out some sand.

  ‘My God, she’s still alive,’ he screamed, as he watched Harry feel for a pulse. A touch arbitrary he thought, but probably instinctive.

  ‘Weak, but definitely there,’ Harry said.

  Vinnie quickly put Christine into the recovery position and checked that her airway was clear. It was, bar some residue sand and grit which he scooped o
ut with his finger. He put his cheek to her face and could feel her breath on it, gentle and slow, but regular, like a sleeping child might expel onto a caring parent’s ear.

  He could hear Harry on his radio calling for an ambulance. Vinnie still couldn’t quite believe that Christine was alive. She’d seemed so dead when they’d dragged her from the earth, not a moment too soon, he was sure of that.

  She coughed again, more forceful this time, and then inhaled sharply. Vinnie watched as she slowly exhaled and inhaled sharply again. Several respirations later, and Christine slowly opened her eyes, her gaze looked befuddled at first, but then clarity came.

  ‘No,’ she shouted, before seeming to take in her surroundings, as if waking with a nightmare still active. Then she seemed to focus on Vinnie’ face before smiling and calming. She started to sit up and Vinnie helped her.

  Once steadied, she looked around before returning her stare to Vinnie, ‘You took your bloody time didn’t you?’

  Vinnie laughed and then threw his arms around her and kissed her gently on the cheek.

  ‘Hey steady on,’ Christine said, before coughing and then continuing, ‘help me to my feet before this sand-musk drives you crazy.’

  Vinnie couldn’t believe it. Thank God they hadn’t given up. He didn’t know how much longer Christine would have lasted down there, and didn’t want to contemplate it. Once her gyros had stopped spinning he and Harry helped her to Harry’s car. She had come around remarkably quickly considering, though complained of a searing headache, and Vinnie could see that her hair was matted with blood at the back of her head; accentuated by a large swelling. Jason had knocked her out and probably thought he’d killed her, or that she’d die in her sleep soon enough once buried.

  The medic arrived and said she would have to spend the night in hospital in case she’d suffered concussion. A normal precaution Vinnie knew with any head injury, but the paramedic was as sure as he could be that her skull hadn’t suffered a fracture. He also added that the rain probably saved her, cloying the sand together as it did, and providing small pockets of air for her to breathe. She probably wouldn’t have lasted much longer though, he said, in fact from what she’d described, she must have been very close to death.

  An icy blast pierced Vinnie on hearing him say this. He was just so relieved he’d got to her in time, with not much harm done, physically, anyway. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it had been like for Christine when she had awakened; he just hoped that the memory of it didn’t trouble her for too long. But only time would tell.

  ‘How’s Lesley?’ Christine asked as she was being helped into the back of the ambulance.

  ‘Don’t worry, she’s safe and well,’ Vinnie replied, adding, ‘do you want me to tell her you’re ok?’

  ‘Please, but don’t mention what’s happened. She’ll have enough going round in her head after today. She’d only worry. Tell her I’m busy at the police station and I’ll ring her later. I’ll ring from the ward.’

  ‘OK,’ Vinnie said, adding, ‘I’ll be up to see you after. I’ve got a back-up pay-as-you phone in the boot of my car. I’ll charge it up and bring it later.’

  ‘Thanks and thanks. You’re my hero, Vinnie. I’ll never forget what you’ve done tonight.’

  Vinnie could see her eyes welling up as she disappeared from view into the rear of the ambulance. The emotion of what she had been through was obviously starting to hit home. Seeing her become upset hit him too and he had to steel himself, so as not to join her. Then Harry’s arm appeared around his shoulder.

  ‘Come on, Vinnie, we’ve got a lot of writing to do now, and please ignore my earlier bollocking. We both know what would have happened if you’d waited. Not that you knew that of course,’ Harry said, finishing his sentence with a smile on his face.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Thirty minutes later and Quintel was banging on Dempster’s front door. No reply. He stood back but could see no lights on, even though he was sure there had been some illumination edging from behind the closed upstairs curtains as he’d approached. Twat was hiding. He couldn’t be arsed buggering about while he half-shivered to death, so he took a step back and booted the door in. It flew open on the first kick and as Quintel entered he heard movement upstairs. He closed the door behind him and immediately started to feel the warmth of the house start to de-chill him. It would take a while until his bones felt warm again; and probably much longer to get used to the smell.

  Seconds later, the person responsible for the foul emissions came racing down the stairs, but slowed to a halt near the bottom when he saw it was Quintel.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not the filth. You will still need a new front door; but I guess you are used to that.’

  ‘Mr Quintel, what’s happened to you?’

  ‘Shut up and find me some dry clothes, and they better be clean ones.’

  Five minutes later, Quintel was wearing what he assumed was Dempster’s Sunday best – a clean silver shell suit. He felt like an oven ready meal, but it would do. The trainers were a size too small, but would have to do until he could buy some fresh kit tomorrow. Now he needed a gun, but before that he needed a car. He told Dempster to go and borrow a motor from one of his pond life friends, but told him not to nick one, he needed clean wheels. He’d pay Dempster for it via the usual on-line account to include a heathy bonus. Or so he told him.

  As Dempster was about to set off, he made him leave his mobile phone behind and asked where the nearest phone box was? Dempster looked confused.

  ‘I need to make a secure call, and I don’t want you to make any calls,’ he explained, though the confused look on Dempster’s face didn’t alter. He then grabbed Dempster by the throat and pushed him up against the wall in the hall. ‘If it had been up to me, I’d have been tempted to “off you” in that garage in Leyland. But Jay vouched for you, so don’t let him down; or I will. Got it?’

  Dempster nodded frantically and then asked, ‘Where is Jay?’

  ‘Just go,’ he said, and he did. Quintel hadn’t quite decided what to do with Dempster. Initially, he’d thought he’d take what he needed and then kill him, but he might still have his uses, for a while anyway. Once he brought the motor back Quintel would pay the shithead in Blackpool a revisit to re-arm. He considered asking Dempster to set up a meet with a local supplier, but he didn’t really trust Dempster not to fuck it up. Knowing his history he’d probably introduce him to another undercover cop. No, Blackpool would do, it was only twenty odd miles away and would probably prove a safer place to hole down in the short term, rather than be right under the local plod’s nose. It was certainly a more cosmopolitan town with its transient population. Though why anyone would want to holiday there was beyond him. It seemed full of gays, stags and hens to him.

  As soon as Dempster had gone, Quintel found the phone box at the end of the street and texted the client the details as per his annoying security protocols. When the phone eventually rang, he answered it and spoke first, before rent-a-rant could get started. ‘There’s been a slight hitch.’

  ‘What the fook does that mean?’

  A redundant question Quintel thought as he hadn’t yet given him a chance to explain, so he ignored it and carried on saying all that happened. When he had finished there was a surprising pause before the client responded.

  ‘What a total fuck up.’

  ‘Well, it was doing your little stocking-filler that brought it all on top.’

  ‘So it’s my fault is it? You cheeky twat.’

  Anger was raging through Quintel now, but he knew he had to reign himself in; too much money was at stake. He paused, breathed and then spoke. ‘Sorry, it’s just been a trying day. But there are now no problems; I’m in the process of re-equipping myself through my embedded infrastructure,’ he started, thinking it put Dempster and the Blackpool shithead on a grander scale than they deserved. Adding, ‘And once I’m sorted out, which should be by tomorrow, I’ll be ready for your main target, whoever that is?’<
br />
  ‘I’m not paying you for removing the nosy reporter.’

  ‘She is dead. Mission accomplished. But when the full contract is completed and there have been no further problems, I’ll invite you to reconsider, but I won’t hold you to it if you still feel the same,’ Quintel said. After all, what was an extra ten grand when he was going to be getting a hundred grand now Jason’s half was his.

  ‘Too fooking true you won’t. Look, the main man won’t be easy to get at, are you sure you can complete it alone?’

  Quintel knew it would be harder, but how hard could it be? Unless the target was some VIP, which he was sure it wasn’t. He told the client not to worry. The line then remained open for what seemed like an age before the client spoke again.

  ‘Look, sort yourself out but do nothing for the next twenty-four hours or until you hear from me again.’

  As Quintel still didn’t know the identity of the main target, he could hardly do anything else, but resisted the temptation for sarcasm, and just said, ‘Ok.’

  ‘Where will you be when I want you?’ the client asked.

  ‘Blackpool, probably, unless I have to leave for an unexpected reason, apart from a quick trip to Manchester.’

  ‘What’s in Manchester?’

  ‘We hid the spare grenade when we left with the reporter; operational security, so I’ll need to retrieve it.’

  ‘Excellent,’ the client said before ending the call.

  Quintel wondered about the delay while he walked back to Dempster’s house. He just hoped it was to do with the availability of the target or other logistics. But one thought troubled him; he hoped the client wasn’t thinking of sending him a replacement for Jason. That could potentially cost him fifty large ones.

  *

  Two hours later, Quintel was driving a shitty Nissan Primera that looked like some of Dempster’s relatives had been sleeping in it, but it would do, though he might have to get it valeted by one of those Kurdish run car washes that seemed to be everywhere nowadays.