by Conrad Jones
When they arrived at his street, he asked the driver to drop him off at the top of his road, paid him with soggy twenty pound notes and jogged across the road without collecting his change. He stayed away from oncoming vehicles and the edge of the pavements. Each car was a potential weapon, every van a mobile torture chamber. His thoughts focused on Ray again. He was convinced that as long as he remained beyond their grasp, he could bargain with them. The Karpovs didn’t want him to talk to the police and they didn’t want him to talk to Tucker either. He could offer their silence in return for Ray. If he could do it right, they would have to let him go. He looked up and down the street and checked for unfamiliar vehicles. The Karpovs would find out where he lived and he didn’t think it would take the Tuckers too long to work things out either. Tucker was an arrogant psycho who wouldn’t think twice about knocking on his front door and putting a gun in his face. Liam couldn’t risk that happening in front of his stepson. As he scoured the parked vehicles, he spotted a dark van a hundred yards down the road on his right hand side, almost opposite his house, two men sat inside. He could see their cigarettes glowing in the dark. The van didn’t belong to any of his neighbours, he was sure of that. Going home was always going to be a gamble. He had taken too long to recover on the barge and someone had beaten him to it. Time was ticking away for Ray and he needed to get to his family. He needed a mobile phone and some money and to get his family out of the house. He looked around and then crossed the road to a phone box, relieved that it was in full working order. Memorising the registration plate, he picked up the handset and dialled nine-nine-nine.
“Hello emergency, which service do you require?”
“Police.” The connection was made with a clicking sound.
“Police emergency, how can we help?”
“I’ve just seen a woman dragged into a black Mercedes van by two men, the registration plate is, EX56 JK3,” he said watching the van. “She was kicking and screaming.”
“Can you confirm where this took place?”
“I’m not from this area,” he lied, “it was just down the street from this call box,” he added knowing that they would trace it. “Oh, they’re looking straight at me. I’ll have to go... one of them has got a gun.” Liam hung up and stepped out of the phone box knowing that armed police would be all over the street in minutes and evacuating the houses in the vicinity would be the first thing that they would do .
Yuri and Mikel Karpov dropped into the crystal clear waters, a forty-minute sail from Kho Lanta. As they floated in the water next to the boat, their Thai pilot, Rut, handed them their masks and snorkels and then broke up a banana and threw the pieces into the water above the coral reef, which was ten metres below the surface. He handed the Russians two more bananas each and then gave them their Sports Cams. They spat in their masks, cleared the lenses and set off to explore the reefs. Rut couldn’t stand the Russians; they were rude and arrogant and tipped badly but Yuri and Mikel were especially unlikeable. They took arrogance to a whole new level. He was introduced to them after taking Eddie Farrell on boat trips whenever he visited the island. Eddie had been a regular visitor for over ten years and whatever Eddie needed while he was there, Rut supplied it.
Rut watched as the Russians swam leisurely along the reef line, occasionally diving beneath the surface to photograph something or other, flippers splashing noisily. Beyond the turquoise sea above the coral, the water was dark blue where the sea floor plummeted to a series of submarine valleys at a depth of 4000 metres. Rut had convinced them that it was worth the long sail out to this particular reef because it was visited by the much bigger fish from the depths beyond. He waited patiently until they were a hundred metres away from the long tail boat and then climbed from the bow to the stern along the bulwark to the engine block. From beneath it he pulled out a five gallon petrol canister and unscrewed the lid, recoiling from the stench of fish guts, heads and blood. He lifted the canister and lowered it into the water on the blind side of the boat. Tilting it, he allowed the sea water to run over and then let it sink slowly beneath the boat, its bloody contents spewing out as it drifted to the bottom. Dozens of small fish began to nibble at the chum. It only took a few minutes for the first shark fins to appear. The Russians were enjoying the multicoloured sea life completely unaware as the sharks began to arrive in numbers. When he spotted some larger fins circling, he started the engine, pulled up the anchor and headed away towards Phi Phi Don, an hour in the opposite direction.
He thought he heard panicked shouting on the breeze but he didn’t look back for a long time. An image of the Russians thrashing about waving their arms in the air as the sharks circled appeared, but he chased it away. When he did look, the wake spoiled his view of the reef. There was no sign of the Russians but the water appeared to be tinged red, although it might have been a trick of the light. Rut took out his mobile and typed in a text message to Eddie Farrell.
‘It’s done’
17
Jacob Graff looked in the mirror and grimaced at his reflection. A three inch gash on his nose and a smaller one on his right cheek had been stitched neatly. The ibuprofen had taken the edge off the pain but the throbbing in his face hadn’t subsided much. He filled the sink with warm water and cupped his hands, splashing his hair to remove the blood. It was a pointless task, his blood dried and congealed. Without a hot shower and a bottle of shampoo, it wasn’t going anywhere. His blood stained white shirt was open at the collar now, his tie rolled up in his jacket pocket. He dried his face and hands and walked out of the toilets onto the ward. Simon Evans was waiting for him, still in his dark work suit, leaning against the wall, his trench coat folded over his right arm.
“Hello Simon, I’m glad you are here,” Jacob said extending his arm. “What an interesting afternoon I’ve had representing your brother.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. I believe there’s been some bother.”
“A little, which my bill to you will reflect, no doubt,” Jacob smiled.
“Bloody hell, Jacob,” Simon said shaking his hand. He gripped his wrist, a gesture of the respect that they had for each other. “You look awful.”
“Thank you so much,” Jacob quipped. “Have you seen your brother yet?”
“No,” Simon said in a hushed voice. “I wanted to speak to you first. What do you think the CPS will do?”
“It’s hard to say at this stage although young Bryn is very credible. He’ll be remanded at some stage of course until they decide what action to take.”
“That’s what I’m most worried about. He’s just a kid. Prison is no place for him,” Simon said with a sigh. “I’ve just found out who Anthony Farrell is. Bryn will be a sitting duck on remand.”
“Not necessarily. I will insist that he’s put into a vulnerable juvenile unit, probably HMP Altcourse. He will be safe there until we can get him out.”
“What are the odds on getting him out?”
“Fair to slim, I would say. He has admitted killing Farrell but it is clearly a case of self-defence. If we can convince the CPS of that then he may be released sooner rather than later. I am more worried about further reprisals against the family than I am of the judicial system.”
“Me too,” Simon agreed looking at the ugly scar on Jacob’s nose. “What do you think we should do?”
“You must trust that Bryn will be protected by the state and concentrate on keeping the rest of your family safe. Get them out of the city if you can.”
“I will,” Simon nodded and loosened his tie. “I’m going to go and speak to them now.”
“I’ll join you.”
“Are you sure?” Simon asked surprised. “You’re going to be sore in the morning. Shouldn’t you go home and get some rest?”
“I’m well enough to put your family at ease if I can. They need to believe that I’ll be doing everything that I can to secure Bryn his freedom,” he smiled touching his nose with a finger, “and then I will go home and have a very large bra
ndy or two. I have the feeling that sleep will evade me tonight. Shall we go and see them?” he asked, pointing towards the ward exit. “Your brother is in a room along the corridor.” They walked through the doors into a corridor where a cleaning crew were buffing the floor. The lights were subdued so that patients could sleep, giving the hospital an eerie feel, casting shadows where danger could lurk. “You need to get them out of the city. Do you have somewhere to take them?”
“Not really,” Simon said shaking his head. He pushed his sandy hair back off his forehead, the fringe a month overdue for a cut. “I’m thinking a hotel in North Wales somewhere for now just to get them out of the city. What do you think?”
Jacob shook his head, his hands pushed deep into his jacket pockets. “I think that with persistence, someone could easily find you in a hotel. A few hours of phone calls and they could get lucky.” He stopped and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Listen, I have a cottage on Anglesey, in Trearddur Bay, which an aunt left to me. I haven’t been there for a few months. It’s up for sale but you’re welcome to use it for as long as you need to. It will be breezy there this time of year but it’s a safe place.” They skirted the woman who was controlling the buffing machine. She smiled and nodded as they went by. “I have the door keys in my briefcase. Take them and make your family safe for the next few days, Simon. I’ll do what I can from here.”
“That is very kind of you, Jacob,” Simon said touching his arm. “I think we can cope with the wind if it means mum and dad are safe.”
“And Mark.”
“He’s big enough to look after himself. I’m glad he’s on our side though,” he joked. “Thanks again for the offer.”
“You’re welcome. It will take you two hours from here,” Jacob lowered his voice. “They know Bryn is here and they may be watching who comes and goes. Make sure you’re not followed, Simon and if you think you are, call the police and drive to the nearest police station.” Simon nodded thoughtfully. “In the meantime, I will make some calls and try to put a stop to this nonsense. Some of my clients are familiar with the Farrell family.”
“I appreciate it, Jacob but I can’t see Eddie Farrell listening to reason can you?” Simon grimaced, the name synonymous with violence. “Bryn is a kid but he’s killed Eddie’s son...” his voice trailed off, enough said. As they walked down the corridor, uniformed police officers stopped them and asked for ID. An armed police officer further along gave away which room Bryn was in.
“I’m afraid that you’re right,” Jacob said matter of factly. “I cannot see a happy ending, no matter which way I look at it.” They paused outside the door, Jacob nodding hello to the armed officer. “But I suggest that we keep our concerns between ourselves. Your parents will be worried enough.”
They opened the door and stepped inside. Bryn’s swollen face lit up, a smile from ear to ear. “Si,” he said excitedly. “I didn’t think that you were going to get here.”
Simon walked over to the bed, shaking Bryn’s hand with one hand and hugging him with the other. “Alright, Squirt. You look like you’ve been hit by a bus,” he said turning his face towards Mark. “Hiya, bruv,” he said hugging Mark.
“Thanks for coming,” Mark said squeezing him. “I could do with your help. The police were very good but I wasn’t sure what to do next.”
“We’ll sort it out, don’t worry,” Simon said. He turned back to Bryn. “What have the doctors said?”
“They think that I might need an operation on my cheekbone.”
“Well that’s the modelling career out of the window then, eh?” Simon turned to his parents, hugging his father and kissing his mother on the cheek. “Definitely no modelling career with a mug like that, what do you think, dad?”
“Modelling career? He’s always been an ugly bugger,” Robert joked. “I blame your mother, she dropped him on his head when I wasn’t looking.”
“Bloody cheek,” Barbara growled, half joking, half not. “Our Bryn isn’t an ugly bugger, are you, love,” she looked at Bryn, a concerned smile on her face. “He’s a handsome lad aren’t you?”
“You have to say that,” Robert said seriously. “You’re his mother but my job is to tell the lad the truth and he’s an ugly bugger.”
“Well he gets it from your side of the family if he is.”
“Thanks, mum,” Bryn grinned. As he was laughing, he noticed Jacob Graff had entered the room behind Simon. “Oh, Mr Graff, how are you?” Bryn asked concerned. The laughing died down and they focused on the ageing solicitor.
“I’ll live thank you.” He pointed to the gash on his nose, dark circles starting to spread beneath his eyes. “It would appear the chance of my modelling career taking off has been ruined too. We’re quite a team aren’t we?” Jacob smiled. “How is everyone holding up?”
“As well as can be expected,” Mark answered first. “The police have told me to take mum and dad to my house tonight but I’m not sure we’ll be safe there.”
“You won’t be,” Simon said, “Jacob has a property on Anglesey. We’ll drive there tonight and settle them in for a few days while we sort things out for Bryn.” He turned to his youngest brother. “I think that you’ll be here for a few days until they’ve fixed your cheekbone. There are armed police outside your room so you don’t need to worry, okay?” Bryn nodded his head slowly. He didn’t like the idea of being left alone in the hospital but he didn’t want his brothers to think he was scared. Inside he was terrified. “Jacob is going to make sure that when you’re remanded, you’ll go to a vulnerable youth unit where you’ll be isolated from the other prisoners. You’ll be safe there.” The family looked at Bryn. He looked scared and fragile. Barbara started sniffling again, her handkerchief held tightly in her right hand, her left hand in Robert’s. “Don’t worry, mum. We’ll get through this.” Everyone nodded but nobody looked convinced. “It probably isn’t as bad as we think it is right now.”
“Quite,” Jacob rescued him. “Rest assured that I will be working on Bryn’s behalf fulltime until we have a satisfactory resolution. Now, I need to track down my briefcase. I will give you the keys to the cottage and I suggest that you make tracks. I’ll leave you to say your goodbyes for now. I will remain here until we know for certain that Bryn will be here overnight.”
“Thanks,” the family mumbled. The thought of leaving Bryn weighed heavily on their conscience. The atmosphere in the room was emotive, desperation pervaded the air.
“Can’t we stay with him until he goes?” Barbara asked.
“The sergeant said that we could stay until Simon arrived,” Mark said. “He said that once they knew that all the family was safe, we would have to go. We shouldn’t be in here at all, mum.”
“I can’t see what the problem is,” Barbara said with a sniffle. “What harm can it do?” As if prompted to, the door opened and the uniformed sergeant stepped in. “Oh. Bloody hell.” Barbara sighed.
“Okay folks,” he said with a serious face. “It’s time to leave. My officers are going to escort you to a service elevator on the far side of this wing. They’ll take you through the kitchens and take you to your vehicle. I assume you’re leaving in a vehicle?”
“Yes,” Simon said. I’m parked at the rear, near the university exit.”
“Ideal, when you’re ready we need to move you.” He looked at Barbara, her distress obvious. “Don’t you worry about Bryn, Mrs Evans. We’ll look after him.”
“How can I not worry about him?”
“Behave yourself, Squirt,” Mark said, shaking Bryn’s hand. He made fists and held them on his chin. “We’ll see you soon, keep on your toes, chin down and hands up.” Bryn nodded, his eyes filled with tears and his bottom lip quivered.
“Jacob will get you out,” Simon said. He shook Bryn’s hand and hugged him. “Just sit tight and do as you’re told until then, okay?”
“Okay,” Bryn nodded his voice a whisper. A tear broke free and ran down his cheek.
“Don’t cry, son,” Barbara said, making
him worse. She leaned over the bed and hugged her youngest child. The pressure of the day peaked and Bryn broke down, sobbing on his mother’s shoulder like a baby. “I’m so sorry, mum! I didn’t mean to kill him...” he repeated over and over until his words became a garbled whine. His brothers looked at each other feeling awkward, as if they were intruding on their sibling’s grief, glad that their mother was there for him. Their father hugged Bryn and his wife from the opposite side of the bed. Simon signalled to Mark that they should leave them to it and they slipped through the door into the corridor.
Jacob walked towards them, hand outstretched; a set of keys dangled from his fingers and a metallic Welsh dragon glinted in the lights. “The address and postcode are written on the tag. Ring me if there are any problems. I’ll stay with Bryn until the doctors make a decision and in the meantime, I’ll make some calls.”
Simon took the keys and slid them into his pocket, “Thanks again, Jacob.”
“Don’t thank me until you’ve seen my bill. Now get your family out of here to safety.”
Mark’s phone buzzed and he checked the screen. “Oh shit,” he gasped.
“What is it?” Simon asked.
“Someone has torched Kelly’s Gym.”
Jacob looked confused. “Mark and Bryn go there for boxing training.” Simon explained.
“I see,” Jacob said, concerned. He knew that it was no accident.
“I’ve got a fight coming up,” Mark said shaking his head. He hadn’t made the connection. “Can today get any worse?”
Simon and Jacob exchanged glances, which said that there was a possibility that it could indeed get worse, much worse.
