Huntington lifted the uniform out of the wardrobe. He put his arms into the sleeves and pulled the jacket closed. It still fitted him well. Janice had let the trousers out a couple of times but his chest and shoulders were about the same, although he couldn’t hope to do up the oversized brass buttons with the force’s crown symbol on them. His force number was pinned proudly to the chest. He pulled open the blinds and once again used a window as a mirror, this time seeing a younger, healthier version of himself. The very man who had first stood in this jacket twenty-four years ago, with his entire career ahead of him.
He sat back in his chair and began to compose an email message. It was addressed to Chief Constable Alan Cottage, cc George Elms and bcc Craig Jacobs. He wanted Jacobs to know that there would be no playing along and nowhere to hide. He paused. Where to start? His cursor flickered in the subject box and he finally wrote: I’ve been a fool.
Soon the words came pouring out. First, Inspector Jacobs’s role, then Ed Kavski and his team and how they were set up in Epping Hill, the violence he had sanctioned and how this had been acted upon. It ended with the disappearance of Elliot Tinsow and the attack on George Elms and his family. He started to explain how this had happened, how he had been duped and how very sorry he was, but deleted it. He ended with the sentence:
I have created this. I have brought this on us all and tonight I will take responsibility.
He clicked send and waited for confirmation. He switched off his computer and sat back in his chair. He let out a breath and flexed his chest and shoulders against the stiff material of his dress jacket. He rose to his feet and went to the wardrobe whose doors were still open. He lowered his head and began to cry. Abruptly, he turned round and took up a pad of yellow post-it notes. He scribbled on the top one, pulled it off and stuck it to his desk. He ran his finger along the words on the note and turned round a picture of the smiling face of Janice, holding him round the waist. He went back to the wardrobe, lifted his dress suit jacket above his waist and removed his belt. Pushing aside his spare work shirts and trousers, he looped the belt round the wardrobe’s rail and curled it back on itself, fixing it on the first notch.
Clumsy in his number ones, Huntington stepped into the wardrobe, and turned to face outwards. He took hold of the looped belt and pulled it to test its strength. Satisfied, he stopped still. His eyes scrunched tightly shut and then he opened them to look at the picture of him and his wife. It had been taken years ago on a beach in Mali. They were drenched in sunlight, their smiles genuine and bright.
He closed his eyes, his knees gave out and he rocked forward into his makeshift noose, which sunk into his neck and cut off his air supply.
His eyes bulged and secreted a single tear as he uttered a moan, a forced expulsion of his last breath.
Chapter 42
George had been watching his daughter sleep. Now he was sitting in bed in his own room. The shrill alert of an incoming email message to his work phone made him jump to his feet. He had left it turned on, it was the only means of contact since his own phone had been destroyed in the blast. The sudden movement worsened the ringing in his ears and sent a searing pain across the back of his eyes. He scrabbled in his inside jacket pocket and squinted as the phone lit up and announced the arrival of a new message.
He had to read the email from Graham Huntington twice. He read one particular passage several times in order to make sure he’d understood it correctly:
. . . And, George, Ed Kavski had the idea that you would be a far better target. He set the explosive under your car at your home and he told me to make all the evidence point towards the Skinner brothers. I couldn’t do it. It was never my intention for decent people to get hurt and when I heard you and your daughter had been injured, that was when I knew for sure that this whole thing had gone too far. Please believe me when I say that I didn’t know this was going to happen. If I had, I would have stopped it.
George paced the room with the phone in his hand. The armed guards outside would certainly not let him pass. He knew that he should just tell them what he’d found out, but he wanted to deal with this himself. And he didn’t want the police anywhere around when he finally got hold of Ed Kavski.
But how to get out of the hospital? It would need to be tonight before the contents became known to everyone. He would call the only person who could arrange for it to happen. George checked his watch. It was nearing 11.30 p.m. He lifted his phone to his ear, opting to call his personal number first.
* * *
Alan Cottage was at a charity auction. The three-course meal and auction were over, and the DJ was now demonstrating his poor taste and even poorer hearing at the disco. Cottage received an apologetic shrug from his wife, who knew just how little he liked these things. She nodded as he pulled out his mobile phone and slipped through the mostly drunken throng into an empty, brightly lit corridor.
‘Hello?’
‘Sir, it’s George Elms.’
It sounded urgent. ‘George? You okay?’
‘You haven’t read the email?’
‘What email?’
‘Huntington sent us both an email, just a few minutes ago. A man called Ed Kavski tried to kill me and my family. Huntington set it all up in Epping Hill with Craig Jacobs. They need stopping, and you have to get me out of this hospital, now!’
‘George, I’m sorry, you’ve lost me, mate. Have they had to sedate you this evening? How about I pop back in the morning and you can—’
‘It has to be now! We have to go to Epping Hill right now, don’t you see? He didn’t get me and we have no idea what that means. He might come back for my family. You need to get me out of here, now, make a call and—’
‘George, George! Slow down. I don’t know what you’re talking about, or who you’ve spoken to but we can deal with this. You’re safe there in the hospital, your family are there too, so let’s deal with this tomorrow morning. First thing, I’ll bring you a bacon sandwich.’ The door to the main hall opened and his wife walked out. She fired a questioning gaze at him and he waved.
‘There are people that want to meet you,’ she mouthed. He gave her a thumbs-up.
George groaned. ‘Look, can you access your work email from your phone?’
Cottage stopped to think, puffing his cheeks out. ‘Er, no.’
‘What about personal email? You must have that on your phone?’
‘I think there is, but it’s a bit fiddly and I’m an old man.’
‘Tell me the address. I’ll forward you Huntington’s email. He sent it from the office in the last few minutes. He’s at work right now — what does that tell you about the seriousness?’
The chief stayed silent.
‘Look, I’ll send the email. Call me back when you receive it and if you still tell me to wait till the morning, then that’s what I’ll do.’
‘Fine, George. Look, I’ll text my email address through. I have to type the damned thing out to remember it. Give me a second.’
The chief ended the call and made apologetic eyes at his wife.
‘Let me guess. Work?’ she said.
‘Nothing urgent I’m sure,’ he said, his fingers tapping at his phone.
‘Are you coming back in?’
‘Two secs.’ His wife rolled her eyes and disappeared back into the darkened, noisy disco room. Cottage squinted at his phone’s screen. He selected his email and it immediately demanded a username and password. He failed with the first two attempts and swore as he tried to remember what it was. ‘Everything has a ruddy password,’ he said, then clicked his fingers as it suddenly came to him.
The email took just a few seconds to open and he saw the message from George Elms. It took a few pushes for it to open, and his frustration increased when his wife reappeared at the door.
‘I just need to read this, Rose.’ She stood with her hands on her hips, but Cottage had forgotten she was there. He leaned back against the wall.
She nudged him in the arm. ‘Alan, what’s w
rong?’
‘Rose, can you get a lift home?’
‘A lift home? Why would I need to—’
‘Something’s happened. Can you get a lift home?’
‘Well, I can probably sort something. Why can’t you take me home?’
‘I’m sorry. I have to go.’
‘Go? Now?’
Cottage shook his head and felt for his car keys.
‘Now,’ he said, and ran to the exit.
* * *
Cottage gripped the wheel of the Volkswagen and glanced at George. ‘You look like shit.’
‘If you recall, I got blown up recently,’ George said quietly, facing forward.
‘So you did.’
Cottage paused, the car idling. ‘I’m fine,’ George said. ‘My ears are ringing a bit and I’ve got a headache that gets worse when I’m stressed, which is now, so if we could get going, I would really appreciate it.’
‘What are we doing? Just so I know we’re on the same page.’
‘We need to put a stop to this. I say we go to the address on Roman Way. We have the advantage of surprise, so we should be able to get to this Ed without too much trouble.’
‘And once we do?’ George turned to the chief but said nothing. ‘Only you haven’t unclenched your fists since you got in the car.’
‘He tried to kill me! Not only me, my daughter too! He chose to bring it right to my door and make it personal. There was no reason, no justification, no nothing . . .’ George stopped and inhaled deeply.
‘We have to do this my way, George, you know that. I can’t go outside the law. Once this Ed knows he’s been rumbled he’ll fold and I can get it dealt with properly.’
‘Fold? What, because you’re the chief constable?’
‘Yes.’
‘From what I understand, he’s not a copper anymore so he doesn’t have to answer to you. The very fact that you’ll be there in person, and not some uniform tactical team sent on your behalf, tells a story.’
‘What story?’
‘The story of Ed’s strength. In his email, Huntington described the power this guy has. It’s all about Lennokshire Police hiding the fact that they’ve been had. Ed’s playing the media game — he knows that’s what policing is all about these days. You turning up on your own just confirms it — you want to keep this all quiet, brush it under the carpet.’
Cottage turned to face George. ‘I can’t have it known, the things a senior member of my team has sanctioned on this of all estates. The media has already torn us a new one over Epping Hill. If it gets out, then I’m out of a job and Lennokshire is a laughing stock. All the work that we’ve done in there — that you’ve done — will be for nothing.’
‘That’s going to happen whatever we do. Just promise me one thing. I reckon I know the best way out of this for you, and I want you to promise me that you won't take it.’ The chief looked at him expectantly. ‘Promise me that you won’t make a deal with this man.’
Cottage looked out to where a light rain had activated the windscreen wipers. Eventually he said, ‘Let’s just get there and see what we’ve got. Hopefully that old fool Huntington hasn’t gone himself and made it worse!’
The chief drove away from the hospital grounds. George’s fists were still tightly clenched.
* * *
By the time Craig Jacobs’s phone alerted him to the arrival of Huntington’s email, he was in no position to read it. He was lying on his side, tied to a chair. His arms were trussed up behind his back, fastened to the chair’s wooden slats with rope. The right side of his forehead leaked blood.
Jacobs’s phone was lying on a nearby table. Ed Kavski and three of his colleagues were waiting for Jacobs to regain consciousness so that they could continue to make him see that helping them was in his best interests. When the email alert sounded, Ed picked up the phone. He narrowed his eyes against the smoke of his cigarette as he studied a message also addressed to the chief constable and Detective Sergeant Elms. He finished reading and put the phone back on the table. He looked down at the stricken inspector, and then turned to the three men who waited with him.
‘Change of plan.’ He got to his feet and strode out of the room, ran up the stairs and grabbed a sports holdall from the bottom of a wardrobe. Downstairs again, he put it on the table and unzipped it.
The men exchanged confused glances. ‘Change of plan?’ one of them asked.
‘Change of plan. We should expect a visit — tonight.’
‘Visit? Who from?’
‘The chief super, possibly Sergeant Elms, if he’s up to it, and who knows, maybe even the big chief himself.’ He smiled at this. ‘But whoever knocks on that door,’ Ed pulled a matt-black pistol from the holdall, peered down the raised metal sights and slid out the clip, checking it was full before pushing it back into the handle, ‘We need to be sure we’re ready.’
Chapter 43
‘Bear left here.’ George raised his right arm to point and winced. The medical team had been able to slot his dislocated shoulder back in place, but he had been warned that it would be tender for a few weeks, and then a further month before it would be back to full strength. His arm had been riddled with shrapnel, and glass shards had penetrated the skin. The bandages were stained with blood. The wounds had opened during his escape from the hospital.
‘You going to be okay?’ The chief sounded concerned.
‘Fine,’ George replied. Adrenalin was keeping the pain at bay for now, but it also had the effect of increasing the ringing in both his ears.
‘How close are we?’
‘The turning for Roman Way is at the end of this road. If you drive past and take the next right you can get round to the back. It’s not a proper road so it should be quiet and there’ll be places to stash the car.’
‘Sounds good.’
George had looked at the address using the chief’s smartphone, and they knew the target property was three houses in on the left-hand side. They could also see the unmade road that ran behind it, with garages for the residents. The road was as dark as they had hoped, but rougher than they had expected, and the firms sports suspension bucked and kicked its way through huge potholes. Cottage found a place to pull over. He switched off the engine and the lights went out.
The stones underfoot crunched as George made his way round to the chief’s side. Both men looked back along the road. They had deliberately overshot the rear entrance to the property so as not to be seen. They made their way back through the shadows, using the cover of the tall fences that marked the end of the gardens of Roman Way. The rain began to pelt down. George was first to the gate, which clicked open with ease. George had expected decent security, and the two men exchanged a glance before he slowly pushed the gate inwards, hoping that most of the small backyard would be in shadow. Once through the gate he came to a halt. He pushed the gate open wider, so that Cottage could also see what had been prepared for them.
The sliding patio door that was the rear entrance to the property had been fully opened. Craig Jacobs had been positioned, tied to his chair, just outside it. He was partially lit by a security light fixed to the wall above him, which had been activated by their arrival. Jacobs was struggling against his restraints, apparently oblivious to where he was. His white shirt was ripped open and spattered with blood. One of his trouser legs was torn off up to the knee and his feet were bare, filthy, and stained with dried blood.
As the two men stood, shocked, in the damp garden, the security light went out leaving the patio in darkness. A voice rang out. ‘The chief constable himself! And in his very best suit. Welcome to my home and, of course, I should thank you for picking up the rent.’ The light came on and Ed Kavski emerged. He glanced down at the stricken inspector and smiled at the two men standing out in the rain. ‘And Detective Sergeant George Elms, I believe. You look different to how I imagined, more in one piece.’ George and Cottage could discern figures moving behind him.
‘We’re here to bring this to an end, Ed.
It’s over. Graham’s told us everything,’ Cottage growled.
‘Ah, yes, “Confessions of a Superintendent.” Well, let me make it clear. This is far from over. For the last couple of hours I’ve been trying to convince this man here that he should continue as planned.’ Ed disappeared inside, and then re-emerged with something in his hand. He threw the object at the chief, who instinctively reached out and caught it. He opened his fist to reveal something soft and soaked in blood. George realised that he was holding a big toe. The chief recoiled and dropped it.
‘This has gone far enough! I’m sure you didn’t mean for it to all get so out of control. I can help you stop this before it gets any worse.’
‘And there you are.’ Ed smiled broadly. ‘There you are. Before tonight, I had Graham and the inspector here to do my bidding but they became a little difficult. Now I have the chief of police himself wanting to discuss a deal. This couldn’t have worked out any better!’
George looked sideways at Cottage.
‘Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not discussing any deal.’
‘You will. You see, I’m holding all the trump cards. The fact that you’re here means that no one besides you and the sergeant know anything about our little situation, and if you want that to remain the case, you’re gonna need me on side. I have a job to do in Epping Hill. All you need to do is assist me with it. The people of your Constabulary never get to hear what you, the chief of police, sanctioned, and we all get to keep our jobs.’
BODILY HARM a gripping crime thriller full of twists Page 21
