BODILY HARM a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘Like I said, there are things that don’t add up. Such as the physical ability, or rather inability, of—’

  ‘Let me tell you right now, George, you are not to be interviewing suspects outside this police station. That man has been interviewed formally under a police caution, and he has said that he was responsible for the armed robbery in which a teenage girl was callously disfigured. Now I suggest that whatever evidence you think you have is forgotten and disposed of before you fuck this up completely. Do you understand?’

  ‘Not really, sir. This was a nasty incident, I agree, so are we not interested in making sure the person responsible is locked away? Not some poor sap that’s had his mum threatened?’

  Huntington sneered. ‘Oh, spare me your moral code, George. The world is a better place with that man behind bars, irrespective of whether he’s guilty of this job or not — and he is, I can assure you. I know there are still plenty of jobs out there that do need the attention of you and your team, and I don’t expect to hear that you are wasting your time on cases that are cut, dried and closed. Do you understand?’

  George considered arguing, but decided this was not a battle that could be won right now. ‘Yes.’ He deliberately omitted the sir.

  ‘Good. Now, I remain in charge of the Tinsow investigation and I do not expect you to have anything more to do with it unless I personally request it, is that clear?’

  ‘Yes.’ George stood up to leave.

  ‘Any questions?’

  ‘Can I go now?’

  ‘You may.’ Huntington crossed his arms.

  * * *

  Detective Constable Paul Baern knew better than to ask how George’s meeting had gone. It was written all over his face. George answered a call on his mobile phone and looked over at Paul.

  ‘Paul, you wanna grab your jacket? We’re heading off.’

  Paul looked up from the case file he was reading. ‘Can do, Sarge. What’s up?’

  ‘Suspicious death. Uniform’s got a suspected overdose at Peto Court. They want me to go down and cast an eye over it.’

  Paul scoffed. ‘Suspicious? Most likely another junkie with a bad batch.’

  ‘Probably. I don’t want to go on my own. You’re on hand-holding duties.’ George threw his car keys at Paul. ‘And you’re the driver.’

  * * *

  The old Ford Escort with four flat tyres was still in the car park in front of Peto Court, but it had now been joined by a marked police car, an ambulance and a stained mattress. George pulled up the collar on his overcoat as a stiff wind whipped off the sea. Paul was already at the door and held it open for his sergeant.

  George shook his head. ‘I’d rather wait outside.’ He had his phone to his ear. ‘Ah yes, hello, PC Waghorn. This is DS Elms, George Elms. I’ve been told to come down to Peto Court and call this number. Seems you have something here you want me to poke with a stick . . . righto. No problem. Oh, and PC Waghorn, when you can, you might want to pop down here and move your car. Yeah, past experience. Okay, see you in a sec.’ George hung up and met Paul’s expectant look. ‘They’re not coming out to us — seems they’re not keen to split up, which is probably wise. We’re to go up to the second floor and look out for the two men in uniform.’ The men mounted the concrete stairs.

  As in the past, whenever there was a death in this building the entire place was deserted. George and Paul were met at the end of the second floor corridor by PC Waghorn, a squat, balding officer with a booming voice. ‘Right, it’s not been here long, apparently. The woman from the flat opposite raised the alarm — said she hadn’t seen her in a while, looked through the letterbox. The needle’s still in situ. It was in the right thigh when the ambulance got here.’ PC Waghorn turned and started to walk down the corridor. Paul smiled at George but got nothing back. George was rooted to the spot. Finally, his legs began to move, as if by themselves. They walked the corridor, past number 18, past number 20 with the “0” missing. Waghorn stopped at number 22. Lizzie’s flat.

  George stepped inside. The flat was the same tidy, yet functional bedsit. Katie and her buggy were missing, with her nan, George assumed. The body lay on her back on the bed, her eyes almost shut, mouth slightly open, head tilted back where the paramedic had tried and failed to breathe life back into her.

  PC Waghorn opened his notebook. ‘PNC shows Elizabeth Wallis. She’s a twenty—’

  ‘It’s Lizzie,’ George said. Waghorn looked at him in surprise. George could feel his stomach tighten, his heart grow heavy. He had to leave the room. He stopped when he was back out in the corridor and put his hand on the wall for support. His other hand covered his eyes.

  Paul rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘You okay?’

  George nodded. The door to number 23 squeaked open and both men turned to see a woman. Her greasy hair was scraped back and pulled at the skin on her haggard face. She wore tracksuit bottoms and a baggy Rolling Stones T-shirt.

  ‘It’s that cunt at thirty-three. He wouldn’t fucking leave her alone. He likes the young ones, see. Gets ’em on it so he can have them.’

  ‘Number thirty-three?’ Paul said.

  ‘Yeah. You ain’t heard it from me though, I ain’t no grass. I seen it before, though, and she was a nice girl, one of the good uns.’

  ‘Thirty-three? Jamie Harper?’ George asked. He knew the name. He’d known Jamie for a long time. He had plenty of previous for drugs. Dealing wasn’t really his thing but he was a known addict and he had sex offences on his rap sheet, always teenage girls and the vulnerable, impressionable sort — runaways, truants and undoubtedly recently bereaved single mothers. George felt the knot in his stomach tighten.

  Number 33 was along the same corridor as number 22, and George was there in seconds. He thumped on the door, following it up with a kick, and then stepped back to give it another. The door swung inwards, crashing against the wall. Jamie Harper was standing wide-eyed against the window, holding a baseball bat. When he saw who it was, he put it down.

  ‘What the fuck? You can’t just kick my fucking door in! What you got? Show me the fucking warrant!’

  For answer, George smashed his fist into Jamie’s nose. He felt it give, and Jamie stumbled back hard against the window, where a crack formed in the single glazing. For a second it looked as if Jamie was going to go through.

  Then Paul shouted from close behind him. ‘George! George! Jesus. We’ll get him, mate, but not like this.’

  George ignored him. His hand went forward into Jamie’s face, again and again until his knuckles were covered in blood. Paul tried to grab his arm as he pulled it back for another hit. Jamie had fallen to the floor and George stood over him. The bat had landed against the wall, and George started to reach for it, but an arm held him tight around his middle. Paul hauled him backwards and pushed him towards Waghorn and his colleague, who had been attracted by the noise.

  ‘Hold him!’ At Paul’s furious shout the two PCs took hold of an arm each. They wrenched George’s arms up behind him and pushed his head forward.

  They met no resistance. George was done. He allowed himself to be hauled out of the flat and held against the wall in the corridor. The woman who had given them the name stood watching from her open door.

  Waghorn sounded both puzzled and concerned. ‘You all right, Sarge?’

  George caught his breath. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine.’

  ‘Right, we’re gonna let you go, Sarge, all right?’

  ‘You can let me go.’ George’s voice was almost calm. The two men released him, and George inspected his knuckles. They had already started to swell.

  * * *

  Still in the flat, Paul picked up the baseball bat and pushed it into Jamie’s neck as he lay slumped against a filthy radiator. Jamie smiled, showing bloody teeth, and spat out of the side of his mouth. ‘I’m gonna have him for this. He’s lost it. That was well out of order.’

  Paul pushed the bat harder into Jamie’s neck. ‘You fucking listen to me. If you want to make a formal
complaint about what’s happened today, then you go right ahead. But you should know that if you do, we’re both gonna come back and we’re not gonna stop until we’ve done the world a favour, you hear me? Do you hear me?’ He rammed the bat harder into Jamie’s neck, and Jamie managed a nod.

  Paul threw the bat at Jamie and turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him. The two officers were standing in the hallway, and George was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where’d he go?’ Paul asked

  Waghorn nodded at the doors at the far end of the corridor. ‘Gone to get some air, I think.’

  Paul turned to the two men. ‘Listen, gents, about Detective Sergeant Elms—’

  ‘We didn’t see what happened,’ Waghorn cut in quickly. ‘You guys turned up, then left for a short time, then came back.’

  Paul nodded. ‘We will be back, just give us a few minutes. He’s had a tough time.’ He turned and strode away.

  * * *

  Paul Bearn found his sergeant sitting at the bottom of the stairwell. Paul swept away foil, cut-up plastic bottles and an empty bottle of citric acid before taking his place next to him. There was a short silence. ‘Maybe you’re not ready yet, George. No shame in that, you know.’

  George sighed. ‘No, that’s not it, you’re wrong.’

  Paul nodded towards the stairs. ‘That up there, that wasn’t anything like you. You don’t react like that.’

  ‘I knew her,’ George said quietly.

  ‘I guessed that. Did you know her well?’

  ‘Not at all really, she’s just some girlfriend of a loser who killed himself in a nicked car. But she didn’t belong here. There was hope in her, you know? She had a chance to change her life. If she’d just listened to the right people, she could have been in a better place. She could have really been something.’

  ‘But she chose not to, George. It’s sad, very sad, but she had choices and she made the wrong ones. Life’s shit. In our job we see it time and time again, and mostly we shake it off.’

  ‘But I let it get to me because I just lost a daughter, right?’

  Paul spoke softly. ‘Well, maybe that is what happened. Doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re human just like the rest of us . . . and just like the rest of us, sometimes your personal life spills over into what you do for a living.’

  ‘You have no idea what it did to us.’

  Paul was silent for a while. ‘The seventh of March 1990, me and Karen lost our baby girl, Anna. She was our first born and she was everything to us.’

  George stared at him in amazement.

  ‘We’d struggled to get a house and to get it right in time, done it all by ourselves. Bit of a shithole it was, tiny little terraced place right up against a fish and chip shop. But it would have been just fine. It was a start at least. After we lost Anna we never went back. My mum cleared the place for us and we moved back in with her till it was sold. When she was born they needed to work on her quick, so she was snatched away from us the second she arrived. That was the only time I actually saw her alive.’ Paul’s voice shook. ‘We had a funeral for her. Didn’t invite anyone else, just me and Karen stood by her tiny grave. Neither of us could find any words, you know, we just stood there. That two-foot tall piece of granite is the only evidence that she ever existed — but she did, George, and we loved her.’

  George hung his head. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘How could you, mate? We don’t mention it, me and the missus, but every year we always book it off work, seventh of March, and we head back down that way. Next door is still a fish and chip shop. We go in there and get some chips and then walk to the beach, the same place we used to go when Karen was pregnant and we were talking about all the things we were going to do with Anna. The first few years it was hard. We nearly packed it in, but now we actually look forward to it. We take the mickey out of each other, and what Anna would have become with both our genes combined. I’m a fat lad and the missus is a bit ditsy. But we’ve also had two beautiful daughters since, and we talk about them, and what they’re up to and how we can help them out. It does get easier, George. It probably doesn’t feel like it now, but it does, and trust me, you’ll be a better dad to young Charley, too. You’ll move heaven and earth to make sure she never goes without.’

  ‘It’s not me I’m worried about.’

  ‘Sarah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Thing is, she’s probably thinking the exact same thing. You’ve got to look after yourself before you can look after anyone else. That, back there, it wasn’t you, and the last thing you want to do is get yourself in trouble at work. You’re too good at your job.’

  ‘Thanks. And I’m sorry. It must have been painful for you too, hearing about what happened with us.’

  ‘Yeah, it does bring it all back to you, but I know what you’re going through. And there are enough DSs on today to cover this, there’s no need for you to go back.’ Paul stood up and made for the door.

  ‘No, no, I want to go back. Make sure she’s treated with a bit of respect. We all know how overdoses are treated down here.’

  ‘I’ll give you a minute. And, George? You know now, so if you need a chat or to vent, I’ve been there.’

  ‘I might just take you up on that.’

  * * *

  George remained seated on the stairs. He waited until Paul was out of sight, and then he opened up his left hand which had been tightly closed. Lying face up was a tiny plastic wristband bearing the handwritten name, ‘Macie Elms.’ He made a fist, brought it up to his mouth and kissed it.

  Chapter 32

  Ed Kavski stared out from the Range Rover at the village of Acrise. It was situated in the leafy part of the county of Lennokshire, where cities and towns gave way to acre after acre of farmland, narrow country lanes and woodland. It was rich land, and housed the wealthy. Acrise was hardly a village, more a smattering of generous country manors, most of which were secluded behind high walls and sturdy electronic gates.

  Ed and Inspector Craig Jacobs were facing one such gate right now. The driver pushed a button and the gate slid open to reveal a long, straight driveway, flanked by well-kept lawns and woodland. The drive opened out to a large, gravel parking area in front of a new-looking house. An eight-foot-high wood sculpture, resembling a bass clef, stood in the centre.

  The Range Rover crunched over the loose gravel and pulled up outside a chunky wooden front door. The front door swung inwards to reveal Oscar Baurman, wearing a loose, short-sleeved shirt over a plain white T-shirt and baggy, knee-length shorts. His feet were bare. His hair, damp and combed straight back, was black with a hint of grey. The untidy beard appeared to be longer under his chin and on his neck than it was on his face.

  ‘Mr Baurman, how are you?’ Ed Kavski made his way through the front door into the large, open-plan ground floor. A lounge area to their left had a large flat-screen TV fixed to the wall, opposite a sofa in black and silver.

  ‘Well, I must say, gentlemen, this is a first for me,’ Baurman said. ‘I can’t say your kind are usually welcome here — no offence, Inspector.’

  Jacobs appeared to flounder a little. His face flushed red. ‘You have a lovely place. It’s warm in here too.’

  Baurman looked down at his feet. ‘Underfloor heating. I don’t like to wear shoes.’

  The men crossed the heated floor and sat down facing the muted television, which was showing Sky News.

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Sure,’ Ed replied, and Jacobs nodded. Ed stared around the open space and high ceilings. He could see a mezzanine floor, reached by wide stairs to the rear. Beyond, Ed could see a fenced-off field with two horses, with hills and more woodland in the distance.

  Baurman walked into the kitchen area, which was a small step down off the lounge. ‘My wife got me this new coffee-making machine,’ he called back, against the sound of a gurgling noise. He padded back to Ed and Jacobs, who was perched on the edge of the sofa with his legs crossed and his hands clasped tightly together.

&
nbsp; ‘You okay, Inspector?’ Baurman looked amused.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘You seem nervous.’

  ‘I do feel a little exposed here,’ Jacobs said. ‘I mean, coming here, this meeting. We know you’ve had cops watching this house. They take photos of your visitors, and that means me.’

  Baurman sighed. ‘We discussed this. You do know I’m not new to this, don't you? The car I sent is totally blacked out. That car comes in and out of here most days, sometimes several times a day, so I can’t imagine why they would take any notice of it today.’

  ‘I know it’s stupid, but—’

  ‘Yes, it is stupid,’ Baurman cut in, ‘but I am not. Like I said, I’m not new to this and I know how to protect my investments, which at this time happen to be you two.’ A beeping noise issued from the kitchen and Baurman walked through to tend to the coffee.

  ‘Relax,’ Ed whispered to Jacobs.

  Baurman made his way back to them carrying two small coffee cups. Ed looked down at the dark brown liquid. He noticed that Baurman didn’t have one himself.

  ‘Are we all clear on what we’re doing?’ Baurman said.

  Ed nodded. ‘I’m clear on what you need from us, sure. It’s just how you want us to do it.’

  ‘Hence the reason we’re here drinking my nice coffee.’

  Baurman stood looking down at them. ‘Basically, I’m looking to get control of Lennokshire as a whole. I already supply large areas of the county, but Epping Hill is the key and it appears I have some competition.’

  ‘The Skinners?’ Ed suggested.

  ‘Exactly.’ Baurman finally took a seat. ‘Those two thugs seem to have established quite a foothold in Epping Hill, as well as the surrounding area. That’s not something that would normally bother me much, but they are causing me problems with my own supply.’

  ‘They’re a pretty small operation from what I can tell. How are they interfering with you?’

  ‘Yes they are small, but they are ambitious. Recently they made contact with the very supplier that I use. He has a rather novel way of importing large amounts of substances into the country using the passenger ferries at Dover Docks, which they are now taking advantage of. So, our mutual supplier now has to transport larger amounts and as a result, his risks increase too. The Skinners are paying a higher premium for their goods, far higher than I am, and they have been for six months now. Not surprisingly, I’m now being asked to pay the same.’