“Understood.” Adam tutted his annoyance.
“So, why are you still hanging around here?”
“I’m just waiting to meet the SIO. I think it’s a DS Carmichael.”
“Ah, Bev, yeah, you’ll like her, she knows her stuff.”
“Hey, did you see that news report the other day?” Lloyd nodded. “How biased was the reporting, eh? Do you know who leaked my details to ‘em? They were waiting to ambush me when I left the station.”
Lloyd shook his head. “No idea, mate, could’ve been anyone. Most likely came from those lads that threatened you, or Josh Turner’s brother. The reporters might even have been monitoring police radios. I know they reckon technology nowadays prevents it, but I’m not so sure.” He gave a conspiratorial wink. “Typical press though; can’t trust any of ‘em.”
Just then, Lloyd’s radio broke into excited chatter. He listened carefully, gave a few words of acknowledgement, and then added, “Gotta go, mate, something’s come up. Meet up for a drink or two sometime?”
“Love to. I’ll give you a call. You still on the same number?”
“Yes, yes.” And with that, he began running down the corridor in the direction of the front office.
Feeling bored once again, Adam began to wander along the passageway to see if he could locate the female police officer who was taking her time finding the SIO. He passed an open office door, the room filled with personnel tapping away at computer consoles. He passed a second door, this one closed. Then he reached a third door, an open door, the office inside empty, as far as he could see. Curiosity got the better of him. He entered and gave the room a quick once-over. He recognised the distinctive layout as that of a CID office, home to the detectives. He knew that he shouldn’t, but nobody was home, so he took a quick look around. It felt good, a reminder of how things had once been when this had been his domain a few years earlier.
As he turned to leave, he spotted a photograph of PC Johnston in her hospital bed swathed in bandages. It was pinned to a whiteboard adjacent to the door, and beneath it were a series of graphic close-ups of her injuries. He winced at the thought of the pain that she must have been in. Dotted around the board were custody photos of young men with arrows pointing to handwritten notes; reference numbers, addresses, names, associates. Clearly, somebody has been looking into these people in connection to the assault, he thought. He recognised the two that he had identified on the VIPER machine. Good. At least they’re looking at the right people and making the right connections. He felt pleased that the investigation was progressing well, thus far.
Realising that these were restricted documents, information that he ought not to be looking at as a civilian, Adam turned his back on the investigation board and returned to the VIPER suite to await the SIO’s arrival. The details of what he had seen were instantly forgotten, or as forgotten as they could be by someone who had an Eidetic Memory. The specialists called it a natural phenomenon, a freak of nature, but most people simply referred to it as a photographic memory. It was a trait that had served him well over the years, the ability to remember even the tiniest of details, but it was something that he preferred not to be common knowledge. In his particular case, it manifested itself as an ability to recall a perfect visual image of anything that he had seen. He did not need to remember anything specifically, he had no need to file the information in a certain area of his mind; it just happened naturally. But, at the moment, the details that he had just observed were not required and so were locked away for future reference, should they ever be needed.
A few minutes later, DS Carmichael entered the VIPER suite.
“Ah, there you are Mr Greenwood.” She was holding a cardboard file containing his ID parade paperwork and statement.
“Call me Adam, Sarge.”
Bev Carmichael, Beverly to give her full name, was 37 years old. She was a little shorter than Adam and had a pale English Rose complexion. She wore a formal grey suit which did little to disguise her slim athletic build. Her long dark hair was pulled into a ponytail and she wore her police identity on a lanyard draped around her neck.
“It’s nice to finally meet you Adam. Call me Bev. Well done in helping Carol Johnston the other night. You know you probably saved her life?”
“I dunno about that. I was just in the right place...”
“But you got stuck in. Most people would’ve looked the other way. You didn’t. It makes a big difference.”
“If you say so.” Adam did not take praise very well. “It’s just a shame the press didn’t look on it like that.”
“Oh, you mean that news report?”
“Yeah, they weren’t exactly supportive. It made me out to be the villain. They could’ve actually mentioned the damage Turner did to PC Johnston, plus the fact he was wanted for kicking the shit out of an old boy during a burglary. Then the public might have had a better understanding of the sort of personalities that you deal with all of the time.”
DS Carmichael nodded. “I feel your pain, Adam. We’ll get it sorted, though. I’ll draft a statement putting things right and give it to the Press Office. Of course, it’ll have to be passed by Chief Inspector Bream, which might be a bit of a problem.” She had clearly done her homework on Adam and knew of the circumstances surrounding his departure from the police force.
“Thanks for that. We can but try, eh? Any idea how they came to know my details?”
“No, but I’d guess it was from the lads who confronted you afterwards. Anyway, the media are pretty fickle. I’m sure they’ll forget all about it in a day or two.”
“Let’s hope so.” Adam paused. “So, what happens next?”
“Well, we’ve got your witness ID of two of the other suspects so we’ll be having a word with them, but that is a separate issue really. As regards Turner, you know how slow the system operates; it could go to court anywhere from three or four month’s time, to over a year. Either way, he’ll be staying on remand in prison until then; his other offences are too serious to risk letting him out on bail. A lot will depend on what he says when interviewed. As for yourself, the court will give you a heads-up a few weeks before you’re needed, so it’s just a waiting game, I’m afraid.”
“Could be a bloody long wait by the sounds of it!”
“Could be – Sorry.” Bev looked embarrassed by the inadequacies of the justice system, not that it was her fault; that was down to the courts. “I dunno if anyone has told you, but the plan is to try and charge Turner under the new Assault on Emergency Workers law. You may have heard about it on the news?” Adam nodded. “It’s never been done before, so we’ll see how it pans out, but your evidence as a witness will be crucial.”
“I guess so - Carol wasn’t really in a position to see much herself. Why not just go for the usual assault police charge? We’ve used it for years.”
“True, but when was the last time you heard of anyone getting a custodial sentence for hitting a copper? This new law should solve that problem.”
“Maybe. We’ll see.” Adam was sceptical. “Surely he’ll be done for GBH anyway?
“Yeah, but the more we get on him, the better. Besides, a first conviction under the new law will bring the force a lot of prestige, it’ll be good all round.”
Adam thought about it and put two and two together. “Let me guess – Bream wasn’t a driving force behind the decision, was he?” You could almost see Bev’s defences rise. “Don’t answer that, I know the answer already.” He smiled at her. “Anyway, I’d better be on my way.”
“I’ll escort you to the front door. Thanks again for your time, Adam. We’ll be in touch soon.”
“Bye for now.”
Chapter 6
14:45 – Thursday 18th October.
HMP Manston Grange was a medium security prison.
Located 15 miles north of Barrington, in the county town of Churston, it was a sinister place that exuded menace and gloom. It was also home to Josh Turner, at least temporarily, until his court case commenced.
&nb
sp; The approach to the prison enhanced its reputation as a tough place to be incarcerated. It was surrounded by narrow desolate streets lined with dark terraced back-to-back houses. In olden days, the area would have been classed as a slum, and in the modern era, it still retained a similar atmosphere, becoming home to the impoverished, the poor and the needy. The prison, itself, resembled a medieval castle or an early Victorian workhouse. Externally, there was a vast perimeter wall swathed in razor wire and floodlights, and behind its impenetrable stone facade, visitors entered a series of airlocks, sealed gated holding bays, before finally arriving at the inner keep of this massive fortress. This was the route that Aaron Turner had just followed in order to visit his brother, Josh.
-
Aaron Turner was the older of the two brothers. He was 35 years old, had a pale complexion with pockmarked skin, and had a muscular 5ft 11 frame with the beginnings of a beer belly starting to form. With his dark military hairstyle (shaved back and sides), a scar on his neck, and his tattooed forearms, it was difficult to distinguish between him and any one of the prison’s inmates. Dressed in jeans and T-shirt with a padded jacket over the top, he blended in well despite him only being there as a visitor.
Aaron was the self-appointed head of the Turner family and with that role came the responsibility of looking after his younger sibling. It was the way it had always been; Aaron leading and Josh following-on behind. From an early age, Aaron had been forced to take charge. His father had disappeared the moment that he had discovered he was to become a parent for the second time – he was never a factor in either of the boy’s lives. Their mother had been a junkie, barely able to look after herself, let alone a couple of mischievous kids. She struggled to provide food most days - opting to spend what little cash she could muster on feeding her addiction - and their schooling became a low priority; they were often left to run truant. Being raised in the hostile environment of a council estate in a dead-end seaside town tended to do one of two things - it either hardened you, or broke you. Aaron adapted quickly to his surroundings. After the first few beatings, he began to fight back. As he grew physically stronger, and as he learned the ways of the estate, he rapidly gained a reputation as a hard-man, someone that the other estate urchins were wary of. It was a matter of survival. Either you rose to the top of the pile or you became a victim. And Aaron had no intention of being a victim. He had ambition. He looked to escape the clutches of the estate and use his considerable intelligence to his own advantage.
In contrast, Josh had neither the intellect nor the physical attributes to survive life on the estate. But what he did have was a big brother who was highly regarded amongst his peers and who was prepared to do anything to protect him.
At the tender age of 17, Aaron had had enough of life in Barrington. He sought to travel, to explore the world, and so he escaped to the British Army. It did not last long. Having had no role models in his life, having had no discipline, he found it difficult to follow orders. He rebelled against those telling him what to do, and with his short temper getting the better of him, he embarked upon a series of disciplinary proceedings which ultimately resulted in his dismissal as being unsuitable for military training.
With nowhere else to go, he returned to the familiarity of the estate. It was then that things went seriously downhill. He despised his new life. He hated his surroundings. And he detested everyone around him (apart from Josh), who he blamed for dragging him back. It was all their fault, never his own. And it was then that he decided to make them all pay, to use them to his advantage. He took over what crime rackets already existed. Drugs, violence, protection; nothing was off limits. If anybody objected, he used his boxing skills and violent aggression to subdue them. His brother became the perfect gofer. He did as he was told without questioning and he did not have the intelligence to realise that he was being used. The rest of the estate youths soon fell into line, becoming his gang members and doing his bidding. He had control over the entire estate - or so he thought.
Unfortunately, the pressures of this new life were excessive. He turned to alcohol to try to alleviate them and this led to unpredictable bouts of violence against everybody, even those that he loved most dearly. He was on the slippery slope and there was nothing that he could do about it.
-
Aaron stood in line, his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor.
“Next,” ordered the prison officer.
He stepped forward and emptied the contents of his pockets into a plastic tray: a few coins, his car keys, a house key, and his wallet. The officer eyed him suspiciously and directed him to walk through the metal detector archway. It buzzed! Shit, he thought, what triggered that? A second officer scanned him with a detector paddle.
“Arms up,” he ordered, brusquely.
Once satisfied, he was directed to join the waiting queue along the far wall and, after a couple of minutes, all of the visitors were ushered into the meet-and-greet room in single file. Aaron hated the bureaucracy of it all, the security, and the prison staff looking down their noses at him. We’re the visitors, not the bloody criminals? With the memories of his short military career still fresh in his mind, he naturally resented the prison officers’ attitude; it was no different to that of his corporals and sergeants at Catterick.
The reception room was huge, with small tables - almost like school desks - positioned in neat regimented rows with metal-framed chairs placed on opposite sides of each one. The prisoners were already seated, distinguishable by their grey sweatshirts, joggers, and bright orange tabards. Aaron scanned the area. There he was, on the far side of the room, two rows from the volunteer-run NEPACS refreshments counter. He was facing away from Aaron and had his elbows on the table, leaning forward, cradling his head in his hands.
Avoiding the strategically placed prison officers, Aaron silently weaved his way between the tables and chairs before taking a seat opposite his brother.
“Bro? How’s it going?” he asked in a hushed tone.
“Yeah, OK,” Josh replied, barely raising his eyes from the Formica tabletop. Aaron could tell that things were not fine at all. Josh might have been putting on a brave face for his big brother, but he knew better. He was struggling with prison life. He was probably being bullied by the other inmates too. He felt sorry for him, or was it a touch of guilt? Josh had been wanted by the police for burgling a house that Aaron had ordered him to break into. It was meant to be a nice simple job; nobody was supposed to be there. How was he to know that the pensioner had been taken ill and had decided to stay at home that evening? As to Josh panicking and attacking him, and then days later, attacking the copper that tried to arrest him; well, that was entirely his own mistake. Even so, Aaron still felt some responsibility.
“Look, I spoke to your lawyer. You’re in deep shit, you fucking idiot!”
Josh sat up sharply, shocked and scared. “Wha...what do you mean? Why?”
“You had to do a bloody runner, didn’t you? If you’d just let ‘em nick you, you’d be out on bail by now. You and your temper fucked that up. Now they want you done under some new law, some sort of test case, and as you ran, you’re a flight risk, so no bail.”
He let his words sink in for a moment. Josh looked as if things could get no worse, he was devastated. Aaron continued with his brotherly advice.
“What did I always tell you, Josh? NEVER take out a copper! Their gang is bigger than ours. It causes so much hassle.”
“S...sorry, Bruv.”
“You will be. You’ll definitely be going down for the warrant - the burglary and assault - you left forensics and a witness. But if you get done for the attack on that copper, you’ll be looking at a much longer stretch inside, not just a few months.” Josh began to well up, tears on the verge of erupting from his eyes. “Don’t fucking cry.” In a slightly quieter voice, his head angled closer to his brother’s, “If they see you crying in here, they’ll think you’re soft. You’ll not survive another day. Toughen up, man.”
> “S...sorry.”
“Stop saying sorry, Josh.”
“Wha...what we gonna do?”
“Well, the way I see it, the only witnesses to you kicking shit outta that copper are her - and she can’t say a lot as she was concussed, by all accounts - and the man that interfered. We can’t do much about the copper, but we can try and get the bloke to withdraw his evidence. Without him, all they’ve got is her word against yours, and all you gotta do is claim self-defence. You were just protecting yourself against a violent, aggressive pig using excessive force, just like they all do, right?” Aaron smiled, trying to give his brother some hope that things would turn out fine in the end. He was not convinced.
“That’s all well and good, but how we gonna do that? He won’t just change his mind, will he?”
Aaron gave a cunning smile and winked at his brother. “You just leave that to me. I’ll have a quiet word with him. I’ll persuade him.”
“I can’t see it...”
“Look, don’t worry. I’ll get my li’l brother outta here one way or another. That bloke will wish he’d never got involved. Trust me.”
Chapter 7
17:40 – Thursday 18th October.
Sarah Greenwood selected a kitchen knife from the block on the worktop counter.
Steam spiralled into the air from the mug of hot chocolate sitting next to the kettle as she carefully corralled the previously peeled carrots onto one corner of the glass chopping board and began slicing them into 2cm batons. Dinner was well underway, just the sausages to put in the oven and the vegetables to boil.
She stared out of the window at the dusky darkness that was rapidly engulfing the back garden of her home. The conifers at the far end were highlighted by the afterglow of the setting sun, but very soon all that would be visible would be her own refection staring back at her from the double glazing, the outside having vanished into the gloom. She took a sip of chocolate, hugging the warm mug tightly in both hands.
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