The Child Taker Is Criminally Insane Box Set

by Conrad Jones

  “I need you to come into the station and make a statement about the robbery and the last time you saw Salim. Then you need to report your wife’s kidnap. Once that is done, we can start looking for her. Are we clear?” Alec stopped the car at the side of the road and looked into Jessie’s eyes. The Welshman nodded silently and slumped in the seat. He was resigned to his fate. If he made a formal complaint against the Turkish cartel, he would spend the rest of his life in hiding. Things would never be the same again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Paul Grebe: The Past

  The tablet that had killed Nate had come from an older boy at college and within seconds of returning to the car, using his laptop, Gecko knew his full name and address. When he returned home, it didn’t take long to find the dealer, Grebby. Facebook is a useful tool for finding people and finding out about them, pictures included. Paul Grebe was a geeky looking kid with long greasy hair and blackheads. Gecko was surprised because he looked like a nerd, someone whom bullies would target at school. He watched him from his car as he sold two bags of weed to a group of teenagers wearing school uniforms. He focused the binoculars on the group and checked his watch. Grebby met the boys in the same spot at the same time every day. They shook hands and Grebby walked across the playing fields toward the car park where Gecko was waiting. The kid took this route home every day after school, meeting up with some of his young customers on the way. The car park was quiet and the other vehicles were empty. Gecko decided to move now rather than wait. There was no one around to witness him talking to Paul Grebe, and if it remained that way, he could take him as easily as he had taken Carl Lewis. The boy was on his mobile as he walked by the car. He didn’t notice Nate Bradley’s father as he got out of his vehicle.

  “Excuse me, have you got a light?”

  “What, oh yes, here.” Grebby turned when he heard the voice, reaching into his pocket for his clipper.

  “Thanks, Grebby,” Gecko said, lighting his cigarette.

  The teenage boy looked confused. “Do I know you?”

  “You knew my son.” Gecko looked around the car park to check there were no witnesses about.

  “Who is your son?” Grebby shrugged nonchalantly. He hadn’t noticed that the man had used the past tense. You knew my son.

  “Here he is right now.” Nate pointed to the playing fields and the young dealer looked over his shoulder. Gecko chopped him hard in the larynx and as his knees buckled, he scooped him up and bundled him into the boot. He was tied up and gagged in seconds and the journey north to the quarry began again. It was dark when they arrived and Gecko had to put the teenager over his shoulder to carry him through the woods, using a flashlight to light the way. Paul Grebe hadn’t struggled as much as he thought he would, until he dumped him down on the damp moss at the edge of the quarry. He was scared of the dark and scared of the man who had abducted him. His eyes bulged from his face.

  “Do you know who I am?” Gecko asked, shining the torch into Grebby’s eyes. The teenager shook his head vigorously from side to side. “I am Nate Bradley senior,” he said slowly as he removed the duct tape from the dealer’s mouth.

  “Nate Bradley?” Grebby was confused and frightened. The name registered in his brain and alarm bells began to ring. His friend, Carl, had introduced him to a geeky kid called Nate, and he remembered walking with him to the chip shop when the kid had freaked out and run off. The next thing he knew was the kid’s mother had croaked and her death was a big mystery. Carl had bought some pills from him to liven up the night out after the wake, and then all hell had broken loose when the Bradley kid had ended up in intensive care. Grebby couldn’t see why Carl had made such a drama out of the kid’s death. Shit happened.

  “Yes, you recognise the name?”

  “Yes, you’re Nate’s father.” Grebby tried to swallow but his throat was like sandpaper. Whatever this man wanted, he wasn’t messing about. “Is this about Nate dying, man?”

  “Correct,” Nate Bradley senior smiled. “You sold the ecstasy tablet which killed my son to Carl Lewis.”

  “No way, Mr. Bradley!” Grebby looked shocked and shook his head. “I don’t touch any of that shit,” he lied. He could sense that the man meant business. He didn’t know where he was but he knew he was too far away from help to scream. There was something missing from the man’s eyes. He looked focused, almost robotic. There was no emotion in them, no anger, no hatred, just ice-cold focus.

  “Carl Lewis was right here where you are yesterday. To be fair to him, when I asked him who he bought the drugs from, he didn’t give the game away straight away. He lied too.”

  “What do you mean?” Grebby stuttered. “What did he tell you? He’s lying.”

  “Do you know what I did for a living, Grebby, in the army, that is?”

  “No, I didn’t know you were in the army, why would I?” Grebby was sharp and he tried to sound convincing. “I hardly know Carl Lewis and I only met Nate once. I heard about him dying and I was gutted, Carl will tell you that.”

  “I was an interrogator.” Nate ignored his rambling and shined the torch into his eyes. “Sifting lies from the truth is my profession, and you are lying to me.”

  “Look, man.” Grebby tried to sound calm although inside he was far from it. He was a clever lad and academically he was doing well at college. His situation was precarious, but he didn’t believe that Mr. Bradley was going to hurt him. Rational people didn’t kidnap teenagers and took them to the woods to kill them. He wanted to know about the drugs, and that wasn’t the end of the world. Grebby’s mother had been dealing weed for as long as he could remember. That’s how he had gotten into it. She made a good living out of supplying her friends and as Grebby had grown older, he had decided he could, too. She had been banging a dealer off the estate for years and Grebby had gotten to know him reasonably well. They had smoked weed together and soon, Grebby had been selling for him at school. When he got back home, he was going to call in some favours and have Mr. Bradley sorted out. Okay, he had lost his son, but this was going too far. “This is over the top, Mr. Bradley. I don’t know anything about any drugs.”

  Nate stood up and turned around. He disappeared into the trees and Grebby watched as the torchlight faded into the dark. He looked around, but the torchlight had been shined into his eyes and they wouldn’t adjust to the darkness. There was nothing but black and darker black to be seen. He hated the dark. It had always scared him. He thought about trying to wriggle away to hide, but getting lost in the woods or falling into the quarry weren’t options he wanted to chance. As he debated his options, Mr. Bradley appeared from nowhere and the beam blinded him. He hadn’t heard him approach despite the silence around him. Gecko kneeled down next to the young dealer and placed his college bag next to him.

  “Who do you get your drugs from?”

  “I don’t get them from anyone,” Grebby replied quietly. He was scared, but his mind was processing his position and trying to think of a way out of it.

  Nate Bradley roughly turned the boy over and he pushed his face into the rotting leaves carpeting the floor. The dealer wriggled and kicked as he fought for air but Nate was too strong. He could feel strong hands searching through his pockets. The game was up. He was carrying drugs and money.

  “A quick search of your pockets and schoolbag turned up a roll of twenty-pound notes, a bag of ecstasy tablets and a block of cannabis resin,” Nate said calmly. “All of which are pretty consistent with being a lowlife drug pusher.” He released the pressure on the dealer’s neck and allowed him to breathe.

  “Okay, okay,” the boy gasped. “Look, I deal a bit for my mum’s boyfriend. He is a complete arsehole and he beats the shit out of me and my mum if we don’t sell his gear.”

  Nate grabbed a handful of greasy hair and dragged the dealer toward the edge of the quarry. Grebby squealed like a girl and twisted his body but he couldn’t break free. “Please! He makes me sell it, honestly he does!”

  Nate placed the chloroform so
aked rag over his nose and mouth to shut him up while he prepared to talk to him. It was obvious that Grebby was not taking any responsibility for his part in his son’s death. Not yet anyway, but he would before he died.

  When the geek awoke, he was strapped to a concrete block at the edge of the quarry. His feet were over the edge. Nate asked him, “Who sold you the drugs?”

  “I feel sick,” Grebby moaned. He looked around and realised his feet were dangling over the cliff. Fear gripped him and he turned his face to look at his captor. “What do you want to know? I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  “Who sold you the drugs?” Nate grabbed his face between his forefinger and thumb and shined the torch into his eyes. Tears spilled over and ran down the boy’s face. “You refused to talk at first, which means that you are not sorry about my son’s death, nor are you worried about killing another teenager with the same batch of tablets.” Nate pushed the block closer to the edge; the dealer’s legs dangled.

  “Stop, please!” Grebby cried. “What did Carl tell you?”

  “That doesn’t matter to you. Who sold you the drugs?” “His name is Jacky Benjamin. I know his address on the Bluebell housing estate,” Grebby babbled. “Check my mobile, his numbers are in there.”

  Nate picked up the mobile and scrolled to the contacts file. He entered it and searched for the name. “What is it stored under?”

  “Benny and Jacky, he has two phones that he deals from.”

  Nate checked the numbers were there. “What is his address?”

  “Sixty five Huyton Lane, it’s the corner house opposite the Bluebell pub.”

  “Who does he live with?” Nate asked.

  “No one, he lives alone, but there are always people coming and going. He has a lot of friends, you know what I mean?”

  “Does he keep weapons in the house?” Nate wanted to know as much information as he could about his next target.

  “How the fuck would I know?” Grebby shouted. He was terrified and he wanted out of here right now. He had parted with the information and now he wanted to go home.

  “Have you been to his house?” Nate stayed calm.

  “Yes, a few times, to hang out.”

  “To take drugs you mean?”

  “We smoked a bit of weed, that’s all, now let me go.” Grebby struggled to get his words out.

  “Did you see any guns?”

  “No, let me go.”

  “Dogs?”

  “What?” Grebby asked incredulously.

  “Does he have any dogs?”

  “Yes, he has three. Now let me fucking go!” Grebby rocked his body but only succeeded in cracking the back of his head on the block.

  “What type of dogs are they?” Nate pressed on.

  “Bull Terriers, now please let me go. I promise not to go to the police if you let me go now,” Grebby replied angrily.

  With the information gathered, Nate decided to explain briefly why he was going to kill the boy. “You killed my son, Grebby, and you have shown no remorse for doing that, so tell me why I should let you go?”

  “I didn’t kill him. How could I know which tablet Nate would take or how it would affect him? How could I know? He took the tablet on his own back, no one forced him.”

  “No they didn’t, but if you hadn’t sold them to Carl, then Nate would be alive.”

  Gecko decided he had enough information from the young dealer to progress to the next level. He heaved on the concrete and pushed it toward the edge. Grebby was hysterical as Nate pushed the block over the edge and the boy plummeted into the freezing cold depths of the quarry. His body settled just yards away from his younger friend Carl. Mission number two was accomplished. It was time to move up the chain.

  When he arrived home that night, he charged up his wife’s mobile phone and pressed in the numbers he had acquired. Both numbers were stored in the memory, one under Benny, the second under Benjy. Jacky Benjamin was responsible for murdering his son and his wife. Nate planned to take Benjamin out of circulation, but a reconnaissance of his home revealed that it was like a fortress. The dealer protected his doors and windows with bars. There were cameras fitted to the front and back and he could hear at least two dogs barking. It would not be simple to break in, and when Benjamin left his house, several youngsters dressed in black shellsuits escorted him. There was a pub across the road called the Bluebell where Gecko could sit and watch the house through the window. It was there that he met Patrick Lloyd.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jackson

  Jackson Walker was rooted to the spot as his front door shattered into splinters. His brain was telling him to sprint across the room to pick up the gun he had cleaned minutes ago, but his muscles refused to respond to the messages. A man dressed as a construction worker stepped through the splintered frame and walked calmly towards him. He had a yellow hardhat and a navy blue jumpsuit on. Around his waist was a utility belt with an assortment of tools attached. A grey respirator covered his face. David Lorimar, Dava as his associates knew him, often used this disguise to enter buildings without attracting anyone’s attention but that of the most observant members of the public. He aimed a silenced Glock at Jackson’s chest area and waved the weapon, indicating he should get down onto the floor. A similarly dressed man was covering the doorway with a black plastic membrane. A yellow warning triangle stood on guard in the hallway, telling any nosey neighbours that chemical vermin control was underway.

  “Get your hands up, Jackson,” Dava said calmly. “Make a sound and you are dead, understand?”

  “What the fuck is this all about?” Jackson asked. He knew it was a hit, but he didn’t know for sure who wanted him dead. It could be any of a dozen people that he had crossed recently, or a hundred others he could have thought of if he had had the time to go back further into his past. Not that it mattered, he was living his last few minutes on this planet, unless he could escape. “Who is paying you?” Jackson knelt down and raised his hands above his head.

  “Shut up or you will die slowly,” Dava hissed.

  “So this is a hit, right?” Jackson smiled nervously. The hit man had not squeezed the trigger yet, which meant either he didn’t want to make a mess and leave evidence or he didn’t want to carry a body out of the building. If they tried to take him out alive at gunpoint, he had a chance to escape or call for help. His mind was screaming at him to do something or say something, but he was still in shock.

  “Well done there, you should have been on Mastermind.”

  “At least let me know who is having me wiped!” Jackson smiled again although his guts were churning. He was supposed to be executing a man today, but the tables were turned. There was a sick feeling of panic in his stomach. A dreadful feeling of complete hopelessness seeped through him. There was nothing he could do. He remembered Delamere Forest, where he had watched a man digging his own grave and begging for his life. Tears and snot had mingled on the dealer’s face as he dug his resting place in the dark damp soil. It had been Leon’s idea to bury him alive while his associate had watched in horror, but it had been Jackson who had kicked him into the hole screaming. It had been Jackson who had stood on his chest and covered the poor man in soil. He remembered stamping on the rotting forest floor as he had compacted it around the man until the muffled screams stopped and the undulating soil became still. Somewhere the dead man’s soul would be pointing at him and smiling. What goes around comes around. ‘This is karma,’ he thought. Jackson swallowed hard and waited for his fate.

  “Let’s just say someone is hitting you before you hit them, shall we?” David Lorimar looked toward his associate. “Put your hands in front of you.”

  He waited for his colleague to cut another length of plastic membrane. He placed it on the floor while Dava fastened plasticuffs around Jackson’s wrists. Jackson was shaking with fear as a thin plastic noose slipped out of the utility belt and his attacker tried to slip it over his head. He realised why he had not shot him already. The hit
man was opting for a quieter method of execution. Jackson knew he was about to be garrotted and he threw himself backwards across the floor. His hands were tied but his legs were free and he ran desperately for his life. There was nowhere to run. The doorway was blocked. Jackson stumbled toward the window and he hurled himself headlong at the glass. David Lorimar kicked out as he ran and he caught his ankle, knocking it violently from under his fleeing target. Jackson crashed into the window frame full force and the skin on his skull split like an egg. Blood poured from the wound and blinding white lights shot through his brain. Before he could recover and bolt again, he felt the plastic zip tie sliding over his head and tightening around his throat. It was a murder weapon frequently used by David Lorimar. There was no sound except a thick guttural gurgling sound as the noose tightened and crushed Jackson’s larynx. He felt the blood vessels in his brain swelling before they burst. His eyes protruded and looked like they would pop out and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. As the darkness closed in, the third vertebrae in his spine snapped.

  David Lorimar felt Jackson’s body go limp and he let it fall onto the plastic sheet. They moved silently and with a practiced purpose about them. They wrapped Jackson Walker in his own carpet and carried him out of the flat into a battered old Renault Traffic van. No one saw the hit men enter and no one saw them leave. Two hours later, they forced his dismembered body through a mincemeat processer and mixed him with a new batch of pigswill. Jackson Walker was nothing more than a memory, just another gangster who had disappeared in the dangerous quicksand of the underworld.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Patrick Lloyd: The Past

  Patrick Lloyd was in the Bluebell, leaning against the bar reading the sport pages when Nate caught his eye. Patrick watched him closely. He could tell that Nate was watching the property opposite. He lived locally and knew that a well-known drug dealer occupied it. He was curious why this stranger was interested in the property. Patrick figured that he must be a police officer, and he was wary of police officers, although it was obvious that this man was not looking for anyone else except the occupant of the property across the road. After an hour, he approached Nate and began a conversation.