The Rubicon

by Andrew Heasman

  Eventually, having struggled to manoeuvre the overloaded trolley through the queues at the till area, he was finally finished. He headed for the shop’s main doorway, the volume of people increasing as he reached the bottleneck and merged with those entering. There were people everywhere - some coming, some going, and others just stopped, having a chat with their neighbours, causing a blockage. Somebody in a black jacket, his back turned towards Adam, cut across the front of his trolley. He stopped momentarily and Adam bumped into him.

  Heaving a sigh of annoyance, he called, “Do you mind?”

  The man scowled back, but did not reply.

  People began to jostle Adam from behind, people who had also been stopped in their tracks by the person in front. Suddenly, he felt a shove in the small of his back. As he turned to see who it was, a low husky voice whispered in his ear.

  “Have you dropped the case yet? You better do it soon or you’re gonna regret it!”

  He was then pushed forward onto his trolley as the unknown man barged past him and joined his accomplice as they fled from the shop. Adam recovered quickly and gave chase, but both men knew what they were doing, cutting across the car park in two different directions.

  “Bollocks!” Adam said, as he came to a standstill, watching as both men disappeared into the distance. He returned to his trolley, loaded the shopping into his van, and then drove straight to Bury Street Police Station.

  ...

  The police station was as busy as ever, people queuing three deep at the front desk.

  Eventually, Adam reached the front of the queue and asked for DS Carmichael.

  “She’s busy!” came the curt reply. “I’ll call one of the constables to speak with you.”

  As luck would have it, the designated officer turned out to be Lloyd Grant. They went through to an interview room and Adam recounted the incident in Asda. While he waited with a vending machine cup of coffee, Lloyd went to the supermarket and recovered the in-store CCTV footage. Returning straight afterwards, he and Adam relocated to an office with playback facilities, and while Lloyd spooled through the film, Adam waited patiently, casually glancing around the room.

  “I hear you were looking for me. You’ve had some more witness intimidation, I believe?” said Beverly Carmichael as she stepped into the room. “Ah, PC Grant, I see you’ve already seized the camera footage. Good, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  All three watched the CCTV monitor. The film showed footage from camera number 9, just above the main entrance, looking down on those entering and leaving the store.

  “That’s me, there,” said Adam, pointing at his trolley in the crowd. It showed an image of him, looking down on the back of his head.

  As the scene progressed, they spotted the man who had blocked Adam’s trolley, but his face was obscured. Another man was observed to bump into him from behind. He leaned in, presumably to speak without being overheard, and then both suspects ran away. The screen changed to show camera number 17 and number 21, both of which showed the men fleeing across the car park, one towards the precinct, and the other towards the seafront.

  “Is that all we’ve got?” asked DS Carmichael.

  “Afraid so, Sarge,” replied Lloyd.

  “It’s not much, is it?” Turning to face Adam, she continued, “And they told you to drop the case against Turner?”

  “Yep.”

  “But there’re no other witnesses? Nobody heard what was said?”

  Adam shook his head.

  “The facial shots on camera are useless. We can’t ID anyone from that.”

  Lloyd suddenly spoke up, “Sarge, I might be wrong, but the way that they moved, the way that they ran, I reckon that’s Smith and Danson. They work with the Turners, don’t they?”

  Bev was not happy. In a stern voice, she said, “Constable, NO names in front of the witness!”

  “But it’s only Adam, he’s ex-job.”

  “And you’ve just compromised any chance of identification on an ID parade. Think before you speak.”

  Lloyd’s face began to redden.

  “So you know these messenger boys then?” asked Adam.

  There was no reply, but Bev tutted and stared at the back of Lloyd’s head as he made himself busy ejecting the CCTV disc.

  “We’ll have a word, warn ‘em off, BUT it’s just the same as with your wife - there are no witnesses as to what was said. I can’t arrest them without independent evidence.”

  “But they work for Turner’s brother?”

  No reply.

  “Where can I find him? I’ll sort it out myself.”

  “I can’t give you that sort of information. Don’t do anything stupid. Being ex-job won’t save you from getting nicked.”

  “I wouldn’t expect it to, but if you can’t help me...” With that, Adam turned to leave the room.

  ...

  Later that afternoon...

  DS Carmichael knew exactly where to find Archie Smith and Mark Danson.

  According to their extensive police records, one of their most popular haunts was “King’s Arcade,” one of the many penny arcades that filled Barrington’s seafront promenade.

  Being mid-afternoon on a cold autumn day, the arcade was not particularly busy, but its layout, the arrangement of its games machines, meant that they were not visible at first glance. Bev and her colleague, DC Donovan, split up in search of their suspects. Moments later, they spotted them huddled over the screen of an antiquated racing car computer game. As they closed in, Smith and Danson glanced nervously over their shoulders, aware that they were cornered with no means of escape.

  “DS Carmichael – DC Donovan – Police.” Bev flashed her warrant card.

  “You don’t say? We could smell you a mile off,” Smith replied, smugly. His mate laughed. Both turned to face the detectives.

  “Where were you both at about ten twenty this morning?”

  Danson shrugged his shoulders while Smith looked at the floor, chewing on a piece of gum.

  “We’ve got some CCTV footage of you both in Asda, in the precinct.”

  “Whoopie Doo! Is that illegal now?” Mark Danson had a distinctly cocky, arrogant attitude.

  “Were you following Adam Greenwood?”

  “Who? Don’t know any Adam,” said Mark. “Do you know an Adam?” he asked Archie.

  “Nah, don’t think so.”

  “You know full well who I mean. Don’t be such an idiot. You warned him to drop the case against Josh Turner.”

  “Who, us? You got the wrong people, mate. Who said we did that, anyway?”

  “He did.”

  “Ah, the mysterious Adam, eh? If you had anything on us, we’d be down the nick by now.” Both lads smiled and stared at the police officers, taunting them.

  Bev returned their stares, inwardly embarrassed, knowing that they were correct.

  “Look, cut the bullshit. We know that you’re Aaron Turner’s messenger boys. Keep away from Adam Greenwood and his family. Tell Turner to back off too. His brother is going down for the assault and burglary and there’s nothing he can do to change that.” Pointing a finger at Smith and Danson, she continued, “We’re watching all of you.”

  Archie raised his hands in mock horror, and with a grin on his face, replied, “Woo, I’m really scared.” He laughed. “I dunno what you’re on about officer, but we’ll keep an eye out for your boys; I’m sure they won’t be too hard to spot.”

  Beverly was becoming increasingly frustrated. She knew that without hard evidence, there was no legal action that could be taken. All that she could do was to warn them to stop intimidating the Greenwoods, and she had already done that. Continuing to argue with Smith and Danson would serve no purpose; she was losing face in front of them both. Cutting her losses, she turned and walked slowly out of the arcade. She would, no doubt, be speaking to them both again, very soon.

  Chapter 16

  15:00 – Friday 23rd November.

  Friday afternoons were always hectic.


  Having knocked off early from her part-time shift at the Travel Agent’s office, Sarah had raced across town to arrive at Hollywell Primary Academy before the three O’clock deadline. The main gates had opened at five to three – not a minute earlier, not a minute later – and she had joined the throng of parents as they solemnly strolled towards their respective children’s classrooms. As they waited outside the class door, each chatted about the weather, how difficult their child’s homework had been that particular week, or any number of other mundane topics. Sarah peeked through the glass door panel hoping to catch a glimpse of Jenny as she stood in line preparing to leave. Peering between posters that advertised the forthcoming Christmas Fayre and notices praising Year One for coming top in the school’s attendance competition, she saw Jenny at the head of the queue, the teacher’s back against the door, partially obscuring her from view. But instead of her usual bubbly personality, she looked upset. It was almost as if she had been crying. Something was wrong.

  The door opened and the teacher, Mrs Wilkinson, scanned the faces of those standing in the cold. Spotting Sarah, she smiled and beckoned her over. Jenny was just in front of her, her head bowed, as Mrs Wilkinson placed her hands on her shoulders. Her smile vanished, only to be replaced with a more serious, concerned expression.

  “Now, there’s nothing to worry about, but...”

  Sarah’s heart sank. If somebody started a conversation with, there’s nothing to worry about, it meant there was definitely something to worry about.

  “Jenny was involved in a bit of an incident at lunchtime.”

  Sarah looked at her daughter. There were no visible injuries. What could have happened?

  “She was involved in a bit of pushing and shoving in the playground and unfortunately she came off worst. A lunchtime supervisor split it up, but she’s got a bit of a graze on her knee.” Mrs Wilkinson smiled in an attempt to reassure Sarah.

  “What happened?” she asked. “Are you OK, Jen? Who were you fighting with?”

  Jenny looked upset, attempted a half-smile, and then stared at her shoes.

  “It was something and nothing really,” Mrs Wilkinson added. “Jenny’s not saying what it was about, but it’s not like her to be involved in this kind of thing. I’d assume that the other party was the instigator.”

  “Well, who was it? Have you spoken to their parents?” Sarah’s concern was slowly giving way to anger.

  “Yes, don’t worry; I’ve spoken to the boy’s carer. He has been advised about his behaviour.”

  “I should hope so too.”

  “I’m sure it’ll blow over, Mrs Greenwood. We’ll keep them apart for a while and monitor their behaviour. Here - this is a Bump Chit - we needed to clean up Jenny’s leg injury.” She handed over a small red form that indicated the treatment administered. “And, as I said, don’t worry about this. Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for this other person to be involved in this type of behaviour. Your Jenny’s a good girl - she’ll be fine.”

  Sarah was not convinced. She resolved to find out what had really happened from her daughter during the walk home, but Jenny remained silent for most of the journey. It was most unlike her, totally out of character, there was definitely more to this incident than a bit of pushing. Arriving home, Jenny headed straight to her bedroom and settled down to watch You Tube on her tablet. She was in no mood for a discussion just at that moment - which made Sarah even more concerned.

  ...

  By the time that Adam returned home at 6pm, Jenny had still not resurfaced from beneath her duvet. Sarah explained what had happened and he went upstairs, knocking gently on Jenny’s bedroom door before entering.

  Jenny Greenwood was something of a Daddy’s Girl. Putting down her tablet, she took one look at Adam and burst into tears. As he hugged her tightly, it was as if a dam wall had breached. Between sobs and sniffs, she told her father everything that had gone on earlier – about the two Year Six boys who had interrupted her playing with her friends – about how one of them had pushed her over – and how the second boy had said, “He told us to hurt her bad. Kick her while she’s on the ground.” Thankfully, before he had a chance to escalate the incident, an adult had intervened and prevented any further injury.

  Sarah had arrived in the doorway and listened silently to her daughter’s outpouring of emotion. She hesitated to interrupt her flow of words.

  “Then the lunchtime supervisor asked them what it was all about and one of the boys said to ask my Dad about it.” Jenny looked confused as she spoke.

  “Why would he say that?” asked Adam. She shrugged her shoulders. “Who were the boys, anyway?”

  “I don’t really know, Daddy. They’re Year Sixes. I’m not sure of their names. Maybe one was called Kayden, Kayden Sharpe?”

  Adam looked over his shoulder at Sarah and noticed a spark of recognition in her eye.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of him, well, his reputation. He’s a right troublemaker, always being expelled. Lives on the Glebe Estate, I think.”

  For a moment, Jenny’s presence in the room was forgotten. You could almost see Adam’s brain churning away, connecting the events of the past few weeks. “You don’t suppose it’s to do with this Turner business?” he asked Sarah. She nodded, a look of dread coming over her face. “I mean, you heard what Jen said, that those boys had been told to hurt her, on purpose. But, WHO told them to do it? My guess is that it was Turner’s brother, or one of his cronies.”

  Realising that he was expressing his thoughts and fears in front of his daughter, he tried to comfort her, to reassure her that everything was going to be OK and that she need not worry. Then he ushered his wife out of the bedroom and joined her in the kitchen, downstairs.

  With his daughter out of earshot, Adam exploded.

  “This whole fucking thing is getting out of control. I’m arranging a case conference with Carmichael. She needs to pull her finger out and get a grip on this situation, get it sorted once and for all.”

  Adam spent the remainder of the evening dwelling on the various incidents that had occurred since his involvement in detaining Josh Turner: the anti-social behaviour, the nuisance phone calls, damage to his van, and his wife being obstructed near the school. Although none of these particular acts could be attributed to any specific person, nor could they be linked directly to the Turner incident, the most recent occurrences were definitely connected: his wife being intimidated whilst out running, him receiving a warning at Asda, and now his daughter being assaulted at school. Individually, there were very few actual crimes committed. There were no witnesses - especially to what had been said - no identification of specific suspects, and no corroborating evidence. It was, perhaps, no surprise that the police seemed reluctant to pursue the matter further. Back in the day, if he had been presented with these same circumstances, he would have found it difficult to find the motivation as a police officer to delve too deeply into these events either.

  But things were about to change.

  Taken as a whole, to Adam, there was clear evidence of a sequence of escalating events. To him, it was obvious that they were trying to intimidate him, to interfere with witnesses and court proceedings. The main evidence was only verbal, spoken to him and Sarah, but who would they believe most, the word of a former police officer or that of a known criminal?

  In Adam’s mind, the way forward was clear. All that he needed to do was to present the facts to the detectives in a logical, concise manner when he saw them at the case conference. They would have to act. They could not deny the connections. It was their job to protect him and his family.

  Chapter 17

  10:00 – Monday 26th November.

  The Conference Room at Bury Street Police Station was not somewhere that Adam was overly familiar with.

  He had been there once or twice as a police officer for training courses, but its primary roles were for meetings of the force’s hierarchy, budget planning, and strategy discussions between the heads of departments. It was a pl
ace for formality. Running the length of the room was a highly polished light-oak table with pairs of high-backed chairs positioned at set intervals along its expanse. At its head hung a portrait of Her Majesty the Queen, and along the right-hand wall were a series of plate glass windows giving a panoramic view over Barrington’s rooftops. With plush beige carpet and dark wooden panelling below a dado rail, the room resembled something akin to a courthouse. It had an imposing ambience.

  Adam was led to the room’s door by a female civilian member of staff who knocked twice before holding it open for him to enter. He was immediately taken aback. He had arranged the meeting with DS Carmichael and, as such, had expected her to be present along with one or two members of her team. Instead, he faced a long empty table with Chief Inspector Bream presiding at its head and Beverly Carmichael sat at his right hand. A water jug was positioned at the furthest point with three glasses placed strategically before each of the participants’ seating positions.

  “Ah, Adam, come in. Take a seat.” Chief Inspector Bream smiled and formally indicated the vacant chair to his left.

  Adam was not happy. He had planned on speaking to Beverly, the SIO in his case, alone. Having his former boss present made him feel uneasy, on edge. He had no idea why Bream had decided that his presence was necessary, but due to their history, Adam felt a wave of distrust. The fact that on day one, there had been a leak of information to the local press – a leak that may well have emanated from Bream’s office – causing him to face the wrath of the paparazzi before then becoming the focus of one of the Chief Inspector’s infamous press conferences, had done nothing to alleviate his distrust of the man.

  Adam sat down and took a sip of water. He could feel anxiety building inside. He needed to control his temper, to think before speaking. He took a deep calming breath.

  The case conference started well. Adam began detailing the events of the past few weeks, exactly as he had rehearsed a hundred times before. Bream and Carmichael listened, but remained silent. Bev even jotted a few notes on the pad in front of her. Finally, Adam summarised, adding his suspicions as to who was responsible and the reasons why his family was being subjected to this harassment. He sat back, relieved to have unburdened his soul, satisfied that he had covered everything during his monologue.