The Badge & the Pen Thrillers

by Roger A Price

  The pub was clearly open as several low-lives trudged into the bar, none of whom were Dempster. He didn’t want to put his face too much on offer, so after ten minutes decided to give him a ring. It might spook him, but he couldn’t hang around here all day. He obtained the number from his private phone and rang it from his pay-as-you-go. Dempster answered quickly.

  ‘It’s Mr Quintel here, Dempster, I’m in Preston and I need to see you.’

  ‘Oh, er ok Boss, I’m not at home at the mo, but can be there in five.’

  ‘I know, I just called. Place looks empty, you’ve not moved since the other day, have you?

  ‘Er yeah, I got evicted but I’m squatting further down the same street. Is everything ok? Is the car ok?’

  ‘Yeah, now it’s clean. Look, I was a bit sharp the other day, especially after what had happened, and I need to keep good people like you on-board, so as I was passing I thought I’d call and give you a bonus.’

  Quintel thought he could hear the greed in Dempster’s reply as he trotted out the house number; 101. Though Quintel did note a pause before he said the actual number, ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah Boss, I’m outside there now.’

  Quintel told him to wait there and ended the call. He then put the address into the sat nav, and it was as he thought; the numbers only went up to eighty-nine in odds and eighty-eight in evens. Lying bastard. But the street would no doubt be correct, if indeed he had moved at all. He fired up the car engine, ‘If they were quick’ he thought.

  But before Quintel could pull away, the front door of the club swung open and Dempster came out at full pelt. ‘That’s the bastard,’ he said, pointing him out to McKnowle.

  ‘Ten feet past,’ Mcknowle ordered.

  Quintel did so as stealthily as he could, though he doubted Dempster would have heard them above the pounding of his own feet on the pavement. He drew past him and before he’d fully stopped McKnowle was out and Dempster ran into his right fist before he had chance to stop himself. Quintel reached across and opened the back door, and McKnowle had Dempster in, with himself next to him before he had any time to react. Quintel accelerated hard away from the kerb, the force of which caused the front passenger door to slam shut. He glanced in the mirror and could see the look of fear in Dempster’s eyes as McKnowle aimed his gun at him.

  ‘Who the fuck are you? Dempster eventually managed.

  ‘I’m the new Jason, and you’d be as well to mind your fookin mouth,’ McKnowle said before he pistol-whipped him across the side of the head.

  Quintel saw a look of pure joy in McKnowle’s face as he struck the terrified Dempster. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad working with McKnowle after all.

  ‘Sorry sir,’ Dempster said, adding, ‘where are you taking me?’

  ‘Just for a little ride into the country, I just want to ask you about a news reporter called Christine Jones before I pay you your bonus,’ Quintel said as he watched Dempster’s expression via his driving mirror. It had turned from fear to dread. He’d touched a nerve.

  *

  ‘Are you sure?’ Vinnie said as he approached the roundabout leading to the M6 motorway at Fulwood, north Preston.

  ‘Look, I’m really fine now and it’ll save you a lot of time toing and froing from Manchester later. Plus, I’m looking forward to having a drink with you afterwards. I reckon I owe you one,’ Christine said.

  Vinnie didn’t argue with her as he drove all the way around the roundabout and headed back towards central Preston. He’d head straight to Dempster’s house and hope he was home. If not, he’d probably be at the local club at this time of the afternoon. The address wasn’t far from the motorway junction and although traffic would be heavy on the A6 road back into Preston, he knew a quicker route.

  He was glad that Christine hadn’t suffered any real physical problems, but for her head being a bit sore. She was certainly made of stern stuff; unless she was hiding it? But if she was, she was covering it well. He looked forward to spending the evening with her, and his call on Dempster wouldn’t take long. He either knew something, or he didn’t. But a personal visit would hopefully keep the relationship going if nothing else.

  He drove around the north-eastern end of Preston’s outer ring road and soon neared Dempster’s estate when his phone announced the arrival of a text. His phone was lodged in the Volvo’s centre console and as he was driving he was going to leave it. Then he decided just to have a peep to see who the message was from, in case it was Harry. When he saw the caller’s ID he slammed on the brakes.

  ‘What’s up?’ Christine asked.

  ‘Dempster,’ Vinnie said as he pulled the car to a stop and picked up the phone.

  ‘That’s a coincidence,’ Christine said, adding, ‘and before you say it, I know you don’t believe in them or fairies.’

  Vinnie read the message and said, ‘Well, here’s another one for you; Quintel’s just rang him and is heading to a joey house number on his street. Come on.’

  Vinnie pulled away from the kerb and headed straight for Dempster’s road, hoping to find a lost Quintel looking for a house number which did not exist. Christine sat up in her seat as she gripped the grab rail above the passenger window. ‘Is it far?’ she asked.

  ‘Just around the corner,’ Vinnie said as he pulled off the main road onto the leading entry road into the estate. He knew Dempster’s street was off to his left and started concentrating on the road signs. He mulled over Dempster’s text as he drove, “I’m in club. Quintel on way to see me. I gave him wrong house number – 101 – said I’d flit. Thought I’d got shut of him, should have told you before, sorry. Need your help”.

  ‘What did you reply?’ Christine asked, breaking Vinnie’s thoughts.

  ‘He said he was in his club, so I just texted “Leg it”. If I know about the club, you can assume Quintel does.’ But it was the “before” bit that troubled him. For right or wrong reasons, Dempster had been holding back.

  Vinnie was halfway down the road and knew the club was in a cul-de-sac at the end. He half expected to see Dempster come legging it past them, when he saw the road they were after twenty metres up ahead on their left. He started to brake hard, when Christine’s shout made him flinch.

  ‘Vinnie, Vinnie stop, turn around, I’m sure it’s them.’

  Vinnie had already pulled into the street and on checking his mirrors saw a blue saloon flash past the back of them going in the opposite direction, exiting the estate. He asked Christine what she had seen and she said she was sure she saw someone bundling a man into the rear of a blue car, and that someone looked very much like Dempster. ‘Sure?’ he asked her.

  ‘As sure as I can be.’

  Vinnie had learnt a long time ago not to disrespect one’s first thoughts, and threw the car into a violent three-point turn. As much as he loved his Volvo, the one fault with it was its poor turning circle and his three-point turn became a five-point one on the narrow street. Once going forward again he turned right into the road they’d just left without stopping. Two-hundred metres ahead he could see the road’s T junction with Ribbleton Lane – a major thoroughfare in and out of the city.

  At the T junction he looked left and right but all he could see was traffic, and no blue cars with three on board. He was minded to turn right towards the city centre for no particular reason other than he knew he had to make a snap decision if he was to have any chance. Then he thought, where would he take Dempster? He turned left and headed towards the small town of Longridge. Industrial estates and countryside were aplenty on the eastern side of the city. He passed his personal radio to Christine and asked her to hold the transmit button down as he shouted into it as he drove like an idiot. He forced a third lane in between the on-coming and apposing traffic. He just hoped they were going the right way.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Quintel disregarded the garage unit, as handy as it would have been, too hot now. So he turned left after that industrial estate and headed towards junction 31A of the M6. He
wanted somewhere rural for their little chat with Dumpster as he liked to call him, but also somewhere handy for the motorway. The only hassle with this junction was that it didn’t allow traffic to head north, and Blackpool was north. He’d have to go south and do an about turn at the next junction. Still, safer than hanging around local roads, as sure as he was no one had seen them lift Dumpster, you could never be a hundred percent.

  ‘You’ve had a few minutes to think since I dropped that nosy slut’s name on you, so give, Dumpster,’ Quintel said as he drove off the main road down a narrow lane which led to a dead end.

  ‘I just know she came around on the knocker, after the fire, that’s all. Honest. I told her shit as I knew shit.’

  Quintel didn’t say anything. He stopped the car and McKnowle pulled Dumpster from the back seat, out and around to the front of the car. There were open fields spanning all around with no one in sight. He could see the motorway in the near-distance and hear its traffic noise, which was remarkably loud. He wasn’t really bothered about Dumpster’s relationship with the news reporter, after all she was dead; it was just something to say to engage the idiot in conversation.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ Dempster asked, his words trailing off.

  ‘Giving you your bonus, like the man said, and making sure we can trust you in the future,’ McKnowle cut in.

  Quintel could see a half-look of relief dance across Dumpster’s face, as he rushed to spit his words out. ‘Count on me, Mister, Mr Quintel knows he can trust me. I’ll be of proper use, and you know I’ll never grass.’

  Quintel didn’t know why, but doubt suddenly entered his head. True, having scared the crap out of Dumpster – more than once – he would probably prove to be a safe asset. It also crossed his mind that by giving the filth another murder to look at might not just tie up the cops as McKnowle had suggested, but actually bring a whole lot more on-board. Was it added grief he didn’t need? McKnowle must have read the indecision on his face as he said, ‘Your call, Jackie-boy, but you know my feelings.’

  Fuck it; he’d give him a chance. ‘I want you to turn and face the other way, and count to a hundred while we do one. And consider this a warning should you ever stray onto the straight and narrow,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir, enough said,’ Dempster said as he turned around.

  Then Quintel thought about how that undercover bastard – Charlie – had nearly been his undoing. He pulled his gun out and shot Dempster through the back of his head at point blank range.

  He felt an inherent thrill rush through him as he watched Dempster’s face explode away from his head and land on the grass four feet in front of him with a thud, before his body had even hit the deck. He hadn’t been sure where the fault lay that led to Charlie, and irrespective of what Jason had thought, he had to blame someone.

  ‘Change of plan?’ McKnowle said, as they climbed back into the motor.

  ‘Toss of a coin, but I never liked the arrogant shit. Thought too much of himself,’ Quintel replied.

  ‘Time to fuck off then, wees got ourselves a busy day the morrow, so we have,’ McKnowle said, as Quintel reversed back towards the pleasantly name Bluebell Way and its route to the M6.

  *

  At least fifteen minutes passed before Vinnie pulled over to think. They had seen several police cars going in both directions, all with their “Blues and Twos” on, but there had been no sign of the blue car with Dempster, Quintel and A.N-other on-board. There’d been a couple of possibles, but they had turned out negative. He tried the garage, just in case, but the scene was still closed with a bored looking PC stood outside.

  ‘After causing all this fuss, I do hope I’m right,’ Christine said.

  ‘Stick with your first impressions, they are usually correct.’

  ‘What about his house, would he go back there?’

  ‘Probably not, but I heard Harry on the radio before sending a car there just in case.’

  ‘I’ll be honest with you, since we pressed the launch button; I’ve hardly been able to decipher much of the chatter coming from your radio. It all sounds like gibberish.’

  ‘You get an ear for it,’ Vinnie said, just before his phone rang. It was Harry.

  They gave each other a quick update and then Harry cut in with something else. ‘You’ll not believe it, but there’s been another murder.’

  ‘Never,’ Vinnie said.

  ‘A day or two ago over in Blackpool. I’ve only just heard about it chatting to Darlington,’ Harry said.

  ‘Who’s got it?’

  ‘Not our unit, that’s why I’ve only just heard about it.’

  Vinnie knew that the whole point of creating the Regional Homicide Unit was to extend resources from the five forces in the region into one pool. But the last few days had been unprecedented, with the killings of Charlie, Carstair, the milkman Devers, and not to mention the attempts on Reedly and Christine. Plus there had been a couple of normal day-to-day jobs in Salford and Liverpool. One was a domestic which had been solved pretty quickly – jealous boyfriend - but the other looked like a turf-war job which could prove a lot harder to resolve. ‘Who is doing it then?’ Vinnie asked.

  ‘Darlington has asked for mutual aid and a team from West Yorkshire are in Blackpool as we speak.’

  ‘Who is the deceased?’

  ‘That’s the bit that worries me.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘A local backstreet gun dealer. Shot at point blank range probably by his one of his own weapons.’

  ‘And you think maybe Jason and Quintel are connected?’

  ‘Could be them tooling up?’ Harry said, adding, ‘if they are as organised as we suspect, then they’ll change their hardware with every job.’

  Vinnie was glad Harry had chosen the word “organised”. He hated it when villains were described as pros, but that aside he knew Harry had a fair point. It was a bit of a coincidence and Blackpool wasn’t that far away. Then he remembered the “Kiss Me Quick” hats they’d been wearing at the Leyland hotel. With everything that had been going on he forgotten all about them. ‘What have you told the SIO over there?’

  ‘Just enough to keep a dialogue going, but they’ve got no suspects yet,’ Harry said.

  Vinnie said his goodbyes and told Harry that they would stay in the area a while longer before leaving the continuing search to the locals - and in any event he had to get Christine home.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said as soon as he was off the phone. She also asked what Harry had said and Vinnie told her.

  ‘Just a hunch,’ she said, as soon as he’d finished.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why Blackpool?

  ‘I’ve been wondering that. It might just be that that is where Jason knew they could go to get some guns.’

  ‘Why kill him?

  ‘Seen their faces?’

  ‘No honour among thieves then?’

  ‘They’re not thieves.’

  ‘You know what I mean. But if you wanted to re-arm and needed somewhere to hole down, somewhere away from Preston or Manchester, but with easy access to the motorways, where would you go?’ she asked.

  ‘Not too far from where the guns were. You might be onto something?’

  Christine smiled and Vinnie said he’d ask Harry to push through the action – line of enquiry – for checks with Blackpool hoteliers with Quintel and Jason’s mugshots, to be run as a priority. But he warned her about how many hotels and guest houses there would be in a seaside resort like Blackpool.

  ‘All the more reason to hole down there,’ she added.

  As they had chatted Vinnie had driven and drifted generally towards the motorway when a thought hit him. If they had used the motorway to escape then it made sense they would have used Junction 31A. Which would send them the wrong way if they were headed to Blackpool. But if he and Christine cut across local roads, they could pick up the Blackpool motorway – the M55 – at Junction 32 of the M6, which is where he’d been headed before they’d d
ecided to pay Dempster a visit. He just hoped they still had Dempster with them. If they’d dropped him off before they’d left, he’d have no doubt belled him by now.

  Vinnie explained his hypothesis to Christine as he drove like an idiot again. Once on the M55 he screwed the guts out of his car’s 2.4 litre engine, and ten minutes after joining the motorway he parked up by a roundabout at its end. The road carried on after becoming a single carriageway two-way road, and they had a good view of its traffic. It was a long shot but at least they were doing something. Vinnie settled back into his seat to concentrate on the road as the engine tinkled a childlike tune as the motor cooled.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  ‘I think you and me will get along just fine, so I do,’ McKnowle said as Quintel gunned the motor south on the M6.

  ‘Why’d you say that?’ Quintel asked.

  ‘The way you offed Dempster. I looked into your eyes.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘No emotion – you’d have made a good volunteer.’

  Quintel had already guessed that his client McKnowle was an ex-terrorist of one variation or another, but had never wanted to pry, especially over the phone. Now was his chance. ‘Volunteer? I’m guessing you’re not talking about helping out in your local library?’

  McKnowle laughed before he answered, ‘The Provisional wing of the Irish Republican Army. Or PIRA, the Provos or just, the IRA. I used to be one of its senior commanders.’

  Quintel had all but guessed the organisation, but was shocked to hear of McKnowle’s high status. ‘Wow, I’m honoured that you have deemed me a suitable asset to use.’

  ‘No offence Jackie-boy, but I’ve got no idea who the fuck I can trust back home nowadays, the majority have either gone soft, or are too busy sticking their tongues up the Brits’ arses.’

  ‘I’m obviously glad you picked me, but what of your hard-core? There must still be some guys you could have used?’

  ‘I’m fucking hard-core, but the rest, well, most of them were nutters back in the day. I don’t even know them now.’