The Judas Sheep

by Stuart Pawson

  ‘It’s too tight. I’ve got cramp in my foot,’ he moaned.

  ‘Just be grateful it wouldn’t go round your neck,’ I wheezed.

  The gun had vanished from my pocket. I thought I’d felt it go when I was running. It was cold in the shade of the bridge, and a shiver shook my body. I grabbed Darren’s collar and dragged him out into the sunlight. He said ‘Ooh! Aah! Ooh! Aah!’ as the end of his spine bumped over the outcrops of carboniferous limestone that recorded the origins of the region. I gave him a final spin and left him facing down the length of the viaduct.

  I walked away from it, to obtain a better view. The chopper was about two hundred yards away, on the ground, its rotors idling. The spotters had regrouped and were clicking away like a convention of flamenco dancers.

  Two figures appeared on the viaduct, running away from the train and peeling off their jackets to reveal the climbing harnesses they were already wearing. They paused for a few moments, clipping their figure-of-eight abseiling devices on to the two ropes they found, then stepped over the parapet.

  I watched them as they leant out at forty-five degrees, as if supported by only the breeze. The one on the right lowered himself a few feet and produced something from a pocket. His right hand moved up and down several times and then horizontally. He was holding an aerosol of white paint, and the letter T appeared on the stonework of the bridge, followed by S and C. When he’d finished he tossed the can over his shoulder, nodded to his companion and kicked away from the wall.

  They were above one of the arches, so soon had no wall in front of them. They dropped alternately, about ten feet at a time, leapfrogging past each other.

  Until they reached the loop in the rope. It was Shawn Parrott who reached it first, but I didn’t know that at the time. A second later Frank Bell – the Skipper – landed on top of him, his crotch pressed hard into Parrott’s face.

  ‘What the fuck’s happening?’ one of them shouted.

  ‘The fucking ropes are tangled!’

  ‘Well, pull an end up!’

  ‘I can’t find it.’

  Bell leant sideways and looked down at the ground, fifty feet below. ‘We’re on the same fucking rope!’ he screamed.

  I’m not sure if Darren heard the rest of it, but it wasn’t complimentary and contained a good number of threats. His credibility in the gang was lower than a penguin’s bottom.

  I wandered back to him. ‘I take it that’s Bell and Parrott.’

  Darren nodded. He’d wiped the blood away from around his mouth, but missed quite a bit and it had dried on his chin and cheeks. He looked miserable; ill, almost. He was having a bad day.

  ‘Let’s have a talk,’ I said, but before we could start the helicopter engine sped up and it took off. I dialled Heckley control and told them its registration letters and the direction it was headed.

  ‘Who’s in the chopper?’ I asked Darren.

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘C’mon, Darren. You’ll have to do better than that.’

  ‘No, it’s true, Charlie. It’s a pal of the Skip’s.’

  ‘Bell’s?’

  ‘Yeah. Army pal. I’ve never met ‘im. My foot’s killing me.’

  ‘Sorry, I haven’t the key. I’ll get it in a minute. Is it hijacked?’

  ‘Well, half-an’-half. Hired proper to start with – that’s what we needed the cash for – then hijacked. The pilot thought he was going to Ascot.’

  ‘I see. OK, Darren, listen to this. Parrott is going away for a long time. He’ll be eating his meals off a tin plate for the next thirty years; maybe even the rest of his natural. Bell will probably get something similar. Now we have a simple rule in the police. We believe whoever tells us a story first. So you can tell us yours, or we can wait until someone else tells us. Understand?’

  ‘I was just the driver, Charlie. Honest.’

  ‘I believe you, Darren. But will a jury? ’Specially if the other two say you were an equal partner.’ He looked scared. ‘Then there’s Norris. We’ll be picking him up later today, and I can’t imagine him taking the rap for any of you lot, can you?’

  ‘It was his idea. Norris’s.’

  ‘I’m sure it was.’

  The local bobby suddenly appeared beside me and I noticed that a ring of spectators had gathered around us, video cameras recording the action and a few of them telephoning their agents to get the best deal. ‘I thought you might need some assistance,’ he panted.

  ‘Yes, I do, thanks.’ I asked him his name and we shook hands for the cameras. This young man wants to make a statement. I put the cuffs on a bit tight, so do you think you could take the one off his ankle and place it round his other wrist, then take him in? He’s an old friend of mine, so treat him properly.’

  ‘Yes, surr. Charlie. Will do.’ He fished a bunch of keys from his tunic pocket and bent over Darren. ‘Let’s ’ave a look at you, then.’

  As we were walking up to the road I glanced back at Bell and Parrott, swinging gently from side to side. The breeze would be cutting, up there. I wondered if I ought to shout something clever at them, like: ‘Hang around,’ or: ‘Sorry to leave you dangling,’ but I couldn’t think of anything worthy enough.

  Traffic cars could be heard coming up the lane. Before the local bobby drove away with Darren he asked me what Darren was charged with.

  ‘Oh, trespassing on railway property,’ I replied.

  Large policemen with serious faces were approaching me. Later, when I saw myself in a mirror, I was surprised I hadn’t been charged with vagrancy. They melted a little when I showed them my ID, but didn’t smile. We’ll, if they did it was hidden beneath their moustaches. A uniformed Inspector arrived just after the helicopter carrying the Yorkshire Television film crew, but well before the BBC. I suppose the BBC did have further to come.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ he asked me.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ I began. I told him the brief details and a bit about Bell and Parrott. ‘The plan was to shoot Andrew Fallon on the train and escape in the helicopter. I think Fallon wasn’t on it, but I’d check. Those two might look ridiculous at the moment,’ I warned him, ‘but they’re armed to the teeth. Personally, I’d starve the bastards out before I let them down.’ From this distance they looked like one big spider, dangling on two strands of silk. The front pair of the spider’s eight legs were flailing about, as if it were trying to knock its own head off, and shouted obscenities drifted on the breeze.

  Crowd control looked like being the Inspector’s biggest problem. I told him about the gun I’d dropped in the viaduct, and while he was organising his troops I rang Shenandoah Incorporated, domain of Mr Norris, and spoke to his secretary.

  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, Mr Norris isn’t here,’ she said.

  ‘Could you tell me where I can find him?’

  ‘Yes. He’s on his way back from the States. He’s just spoken to me from the plane and asked me to have the car meet him at Manchester Airport. He will be available tomorrow, first thing. Shall I make you an appointment?’

  ‘No, it’s important. What time does his flight land?’

  He’d conveniently arranged it so he would be airborne at the time of the planned killing. If he saw a television set in the near future he’d be on the next flight back to the good ol’ U.S. of A., and we’d never get our hands on him. I needed him straight off that plane.

  ‘He lands at seventeen-twenty,’ the secretary told me.

  Twenty past five. I could do it. I could dash to Manchester Airport and stand at Arrivals with a board that said Norris and wait for him to come to me.

  ‘Hi, Inspector,’ he’d drawl. ‘Are you waiting for me?’

  ‘You bet, asshole,’ I’d tell him. ‘You’re cotton-pickin’ nicked.’ And I’d grab him by the scruff of his silk suit and drag him through the crowds of travellers like the murdering little scumbag that he was.

  That’s what I wanted to do. But I was supposed to be seeing Annabelle at eight, and I wanted to see her more.
I didn’t have Manchester Airport in my book of numbers, so I rang Trevor Peacock. Might as well kill another two birds with one stone.

  ‘Oh, so it’s the ladykiller. What do you want this time?’ he said, with no attempt to hide the sarcasm.

  ‘A favour.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I’m not in my office. Could you please arrange for someone to meet the seventeen-twenty flight from New York to Manchester for me, and arrest Bradley Norris as soon as he sets foot on British soil?’

  ‘Are you joking, Charlie?’

  ‘No. I already have Frank Bell and Shawn Parrott.’

  ‘Parrott? And Bell? Where?’ Suddenly he was interested.

  ‘Have you a TV handy?’

  ‘No, not in the office. There’s one in the canteen.’

  ‘Switch it on and you might see them.’

  ‘Why, where are they?’

  ‘Right where you wanted them, Trevor – turning in the wind. Turning in the wind.’

  The good weather held, and when I peeked through the curtains on the morning of the picnic it looked as if it was going to be hot enough to crack the flagstones. I was freshly showered, crisply attired and had just put the workaday car out in the road when I heard the scrunch of tyres on the gravel. It should have been Annabelle’s little flyer, but it was a shiny black Rover.

  ‘Sugar!’ I cursed. ‘What does he want?’

  Commander Fearnside climbed out and came towards me, beaming like the Fastnet Lighthouse. ‘Morning, Charlie. What a beautiful day, eh?’ he hollered, shaking my hand and patting my elbow.

  ‘I’m going out,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t worry, old boy, wouldn’t dream of detaining you. I’m just going to see this Norris fellow to ask him a few questions. When politics are involved I get to do some interviewing. Of course, if you want to sit in you’d be more than welcome. Matter of fact, can’t think of anyone I’d rather have there …’

  ‘No thanks, Mr Fearnside. I’ve arranged to go for a picnic with my girlfriend. We haven’t seen much of each other lately. Has the one from the helicopter been caught yet?’

  ‘No, ‘fraid not. As you know, he was dropped off somewhere in the Kielder Forest. He didn’t get to their car, but he’s on the loose, living rough. He’s ex-SAS, so should be at home in there. We’ll get him.’

  ‘Good. Would you like a coffee?’

  ‘No thanks, Charlie, I don’t want to take up your time. Just thought I’d pop round to mention a couple of things, while I was in the area. Nothing like the personal approach, eh?’

  I decided it would look rude if I glanced at my watch, and waited for him to continue.

  ‘The results of the DNA tests have come through,’ he said. ‘Parrott murdered the girl and the woman, no doubt about it. Perfect match.’

  I folded my arms and looked at him. ‘I’m glad about that,’ I said. ‘Thanks for telling me. Now let’s hope he gets what he deserves – stuck in a cell for the rest of his life, and not playing the system in some psychiatric hospital.’

  ‘Out of our hands, old boy. Out of our hands. At least now we know he did it the Civil Liberties people should get off our backs.’

  ‘Hrumph!’ I snorted and chuckled at the same time.

  ‘It was a big naughty of you, Charlie, leaving them hanging there all night.’

  ‘I missed my date. And it was for their own protection – the train spotters were growing ugly. And it wasn’t really all night.’

  ‘Ha ha!’ he guffawed. ‘God, I wish I’d been there. Bloody good show, I say.’

  It was as good a moment as any. ‘You said two things,’ I reminded him.

  He blew his nose on a huge white hanky. ‘Yes, I did, didn’t I? It’s just that …’ For once he was almost lost for words. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, I wondered if you might be interested in coming to work for me. I know I’ve asked you before, but maybe you’ve changed your mind. You’ve what, three years to go? You could come on promotion, which would nicely enhance your pension. Might even make superintendent. It’s worth considering.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ I said, smiling at him in a way that meant no.

  ‘If the pension won’t attract you, how about the lifestyle? Just the ticket for a bachelor like you: all those fast cars and glamorous women.’

  ‘I have a fast car,’ I told him, turning the lock of the garage door and pulling at the handle.

  ‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘The famous three-point-eight Jaguar that inflated your expenses.’ The door folded upwards, revealing the predatory nose of the E-type, gleaming like a bullet in the sunshine. ‘Holy smoke!’ he hissed through his teeth, screwing his eyes against the glare. ‘I expected an old banger, not a bloody E-type.’

  A movement in the road caught my eye as Annabelle drew up in her little car, and we both turned to watch her uncoil herself from the driving seat. She was dressed in a semi-safari style, to humour me, with a pair of her famous culottes showing off those long, tanned legs. She gave me a little wave as she unlocked her boot.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said to Fearnside and went to meet her. As I lifted the picnic basket out I whispered: ‘Don’t worry, he’s going.’

  I put the basket on the wall near my garage and introduced them. ‘Annabelle Wilberforce, this is Superintendent Fearnside,’ I said, hoping I’d done it the right way round.

  ‘Please, Roland,’ Fearnside insisted, pumping her hand. ‘Wonderful to meet you, Annabelle. Charlie tells me you’re going for a picnic’

  ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘We’re going to Chatsworth House.’

  ‘Chatsworth, eh? Should I know where that is?’

  ‘Derbyshire. It’s the Duke of Devonshire’s place.’

  I opened my mouth to speak, then shut it again.

  ‘Of course it is. Super. Well, I won’t delay you any longer. Have a think about what I said, Charlie, but …’ his eyes flicked from Annabelle to the Jag and back to Annabelle, ‘… I can see I’m wasting my time. Ring me Monday for an update, eh? Goodbye, Annabelle, enjoy your picnic. Bye, Charlie.’

  ‘Goodbye, Roland. Lovely to meet you.’

  ‘S’long, boss.’

  We sat on the wall close together, and watched him shuffle into the driving seat and head off down the street.

  ‘Please, call me Roland,’ I mimicked. Then, in a higher voice: ‘It’s the Duke of Devonshire’s place.’

  As the Rover negotiated the corner at the end of the road we both gave him an involuntary wave. Annabelle turned to me, her smile eclipsing the sun, and said: ‘Well, I think he’s a very nice man.’

  I grinned back and nodded my agreement. ‘Of course he is. He’s a policeman – what did you expect?’

  If you enjoyed The Judas Sheep look out for the other books in the Charlie Priest series.

  To discover more great crime novels and to place an order visit our website at

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  About the Author

  STUART PAWSON had a career as a mining engineer, followed by a spell working for the probation service, before he became a full-time writer. He lives in Fairburn, Yorkshire, and when not hunched over the word processor likes nothing more than tramping across the moors which often feature in his stories. He is a member of the Murder Squad and the Crime Writers’ Association.

  www.stuartpawson.com

  By Stuart Pawson

  IN THE DI CHARLIE PRIEST SERIES

  The Picasso Scam

  The Mushroom Man

  The Judas Sheep

  Last Reminder

  Deadly Friends

  Some by Fire

  Chill Factor

  Laughing Boy

  Limestone Cowboy

  Over the Edge

  Shooting Elvis

  Grief Encounters

  A Very Private Murder

  Copyright

  Allison & Busby Limited

  13 Charlotte Mews

  London
W1T 4EJ

  www.allisonandbusby.com

  Copyright © 1996 by STUART PAWSON

  First published in paperback by Allison & Busby Ltd in 2005. This ebook edition first published in 2011.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978–0–7490–1044–7