The Rubicon

by Andrew Heasman

  “Think about it. Do the right thing, for you, and your family.” The group turned and began walking out of the exit.

  “Which one of you lot is Turner’s brother? Is it you?” Adam nodded at the self-appointed leader.

  “No, man.”

  “You tell him that if he hurts my family, I’ll fucking kill him! Is that clear enough for you? TELL HIM...”

  The gang made no response, but casually wandered into the darkness giggling at their victim’s outburst.

  Chapter 19

  22:00 – Saturday 1st December.

  The blood had started to congeal on the back of his head as Adam sat in his van, staring into space.

  He had not moved in nearly twenty minutes, silently gazing at the illuminated facade of Nicholson House as it loomed over him, thinking of every possible way forward, every option to stop this Turner affair from escalating any further.

  The silence was broken by the melodious sound of his ringtone. Without looking at the Caller ID, he answered.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi love, where are you?” It was Sarah. “I thought you said that job wasn’t gonna take very long?” She sounded tired, probably from trying to stay awake until he arrived home.

  “Err, yeah...” He hesitated. “I’m still here. It’s taken a bit longer than I expected.” He considered telling her what had just happened, but immediately dismissed the idea – she would only panic or worry unnecessarily – besides, once he had a plan, an idea of how to deal with Turner, then he would tell her – maybe. “Look, you’d better get off to bed. I’m not sure how long I’ll be – hopefully not too long – I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “If you’re sure? See you later. Love you.” She hung up, leaving him alone with his thoughts once again.

  Adam’s instinct told him to report this latest incident to the police. It was the logical, most sensible option and every fibre of his body screamed at him to do it. But what was the point? They had shown no interest thus far, and even with this new attempt to intimidate him, what actual evidence did he have? It was still his word against theirs. He did have an injury, but they would claim that he fell (which effectively he had). He had the hoax job recorded on his mobile, but if they had any sense, they would have used an unregistered phone number. And what could the police do anyway? Talk to them? That would probably only make matters worse, not better. No, the police option was a waste of time – his and theirs.

  Of course, he could just do what they wanted, withdraw his statement and not show up at court, thus sabotaging the prosecution’s case. It was a concept that went against everything that he stood for. It was incompatible with his former training as a police officer and it went completely against his morals and ideals, but, that having been said, he still needed to weigh it against the viable threats to his family. Was it worth it to finally be free of those risks? It was no loss to Adam if the court case fell through. However, Chief Inspector Bream had made it crystal clear that if he failed to attend court, it would be Adam facing prosecution, not the Turners. He had a dilemma – which direction should he choose?

  And then the Eureka Moment struck.

  The solution had been staring him in the face all along. From what Carmichael and Bream had intimated, it was Josh Turner’s brother who had been orchestrating the harassment against his family. If he was willing to go to such lengths in order to protect his sibling, then he clearly must be loyal and family-oriented. What if Adam could talk to this ringleader – family man to family man – explain his side of things, appeal to his better nature? Maybe he would see similarities in the way that Adam was willing to do anything to protect his own family. They were essentially the same as each other, just on opposing sides of the law. That was what he needed to do - it all made sense, in a strange kind of way.

  But there was a problem. Who was Turner’s brother? What was his name? Where did he live? How could Adam talk to him if he did not know how to contact him? He had reached an impasse. His head injury pulsed as he tried to devise a solution.

  Who did he know with access to that kind of information? The answer was glaringly obvious: Lloyd Grant. He flicked through the contact list on his mobile phone and, completely oblivious to the time of night, gave him a call.

  “Lloyd? It’s Adam, how you doing?”

  “Yeah, good thanks. What’s up? It’s a bit late for a chat, isn’t it?”

  Adam looked at his watch. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise the time.” He began explaining some of the intimidation that he and Sarah had been subjected to and then asked, “Look, mate, I need a favour.”

  “Go on.” Lloyd had half-expected this to happen.

  “I need to know about Josh Turner’s brother. What’s his name? Do you know his address? I need to contact him, to try and talk some sense into him, to stop his vendetta against us from going any further.”

  Lloyd was silent for a moment, considering the request. “Do you realise what you’re asking? If I’m caught accessing the PNC (Police National Computer) on your behalf, I’ll lose my job. Just telling you that sort of information from memory would mean a disciplinary procedure. I want to help, I really do, Adam, but I’ve already had my knuckles rapped the other day for leaving you alone in the Parade Room, as well as for mentioning the names Smith and Danson from the Asda CCTV footage. I can’t be caught passing you any more information.”

  Adam knew that he was right; it was too much to ask. But something that Lloyd had just said struck a bell – he had been left alone in the Parade Room. He had also been left to wander the corridors when he had finished his VIPER identification and had found the investigation board for the assault on PC Johnston. All of the information that he needed was probably on that board. All that he needed to do was remember, but that was easier said than done.

  “Hey, Lloyd, I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have asked. I’m desperate. Forget I called, OK? We’ll speak again soon.”

  “No worries mate. Take care.” They ended the call.

  Adam’s mind drifted back to the investigation board that he had seen about a month and a half earlier. It was a bit of a long shot, but could he manage to recall anything that was on it? He had always had the ability to remember details, in particular images and faces, but how about written information? His photographic memory was good for recalling certain things, but it had its flaws too.

  He knew that the information was locked away somewhere inside his mind, but accessing it was the issue. As he thought about it more, a hazy image of the investigation board formed in his subconscious. It was blurred, indistinct, but the layout was there, the relative position of photos, notes, scribbles and arrows. It was similar to looking at a page of a book – focus on the entire page and all you would see was a wall of words, but focus on the finer details, one line, or a sentence, and it would suddenly became much more distinct. That was what he needed to do; focus on specific areas of the image in order to discern written details.

  With a new-found energy, Adam pulled a sheet of plain paper from the mess on his dashboard. He found a pencil, and then he shut his eyes trying to visualise the investigation board, to drag it into focus. As each section of the image became clear, he sketched its layout onto the paper.

  Top left - there was a large photo of PC Johnston in her hospital bed, swathed in bandages. This he remembered clearly, because it was what had drawn his attention to the board in the first place. Beneath it were four graphic close-up pictures of her injuries, and beneath these, a small police-issue photo of himself with his details next to it.

  Taking pride of place in the centre of the board was a mugshot of Josh Turner. His custody number and PNC reference were handwritten above it, but they were not details that Adam required. Clipped underneath, there was a computer printout, a multipage transcript of what Adam could only assume were his PreCons, his previous convictions.

  Above, and to the left, was another photo of a male. The facial image was clear and there was a distinct similarity t
o that of Josh’s. It must have been his brother. Scribbled above it was the name, Aaron, and to the side, more indistinct writing.

  To the right was another photo that Adam recognised. It was that of the Vid Boy. From his recalled memory, Adam could just about discern the surname, Brown. His details were attached to a pink post-it note, but they were not clear enough to read.

  Down the far right edge of the board were four more facial images, all male, all associates of Josh. Adam assumed them to be part of the Turner gang. The first two had names written in bold black ink – Archie Smith and Mark Danson – the same two that Lloyd had inadvertently let slip as being on the Asda CCTV footage. The two below these were new – they went by the names of Cliff and Barr. All four were surrounded with writing that suggested that they all had extensive police records.

  The final two images were positioned below, and to the left, of Josh’s picture. One was a white female, the other a male. Neither was familiar to Adam. There were arrows linking them to the others and writing next to each picture.

  Adam paused, shaking his head to clear his mind. He looked down at his sketch. Not bad for a first attempt, he thought. I’ve got a good few details there already. Primarily, he was interested in recalling Josh’s brother’s details. He could visualise what his photo looked like, and he could see that his name was Aaron Turner, but where was his address? There was writing to the side of the picture, so he concentrated his attention on just that tiny section of the image. Slowly, the writing took form, blurs became shapes, and shapes gained structure. There was his date of birth and his PNC reference, and something else. It looked like a 17 followed by letters – Carl...? - No, Cars...? – Carson Road? – No, Carlton Road – that was it, 17 Carlton Road.

  His head was thumping - that was enough for now. He had what he needed, but what should he do next?

  Typing the address into his SatNav, Adam was pleasantly surprised to discover that Carlton Road was just around the corner from his current location, in the heart of the Glebe.

  Carpe Diem – Seize the Day.

  As he was already on the doorstep, he decided that he might as well have a drive-by, get a feel for the lie of the land, and see if he could spot Aaron Turner.

  ...

  23:15 Hrs - Adam had been parked on Carlton Road for almost ten minutes.

  It was a long straight road with open parkland and a playground on one side, and council housing on the other. Most of the dwellings were terraced or semi-detached, but being on the Glebe, they were rundown, uncared for and decaying. Many of the properties were boarded-up with grey metal grills placed over windows and doorways to prevent squatters and drug-users from entering. Those that were occupied had smashed door panels and window panes, testimony to the juvenile gang culture that existed. And on the junctions with side roads, there were ominous-looking globes of perspex sat atop tall poles - the CCTV cameras that kept a constant watch on the estate’s comings and goings. The road itself was littered with vehicles, some parked, others abandoned. There was rubble strewn across the carriageway, and sofas and discarded fridges dumped in people’s gardens. It was not the most salubrious of places to live.

  From his vantage point on the opposite side of the road, Adam could see number 17 approximately 100m ahead of him. There was a battered silver Ford Focus parked on the driveway - he scribbled its registration number onto a piece of paper for future reference - and there were lights lit inside the house, the downstairs front room. Was Aaron inside? He could not see anyone at the moment.

  As he watched and waited, it occurred to him that he had not thought things through very well. It had been a spur of the moment decision to stakeout Aaron’s address. He was parked under a streetlamp in his own van with his name plastered along its side. It was too obvious. He could be spotted a mile off. What was he planning to do, anyway? If he had, by chance, come across Aaron, would he have confronted him, there and then? He knew from his days working on the estate as a police officer that the residents were tribal, clan-like. If he did confront him, he would end up dealing with a pack, not just Aaron on his own. No, he needed to think this through a bit more. He needed to locate him, follow him, and then confront him when he was alone somewhere. He would have a far greater chance of success by doing that. And if it did not work out, if Aaron rejected his appeal to end the vendetta, then he could always inform Carmichael and let her deal with it.

  With something akin to a plan beginning to form, Adam could see no point in enflaming the situation further by being caught spying on Aaron’s house. He started the van’s engine and headed home.

  Over the next few days, between jobs, he made a point of passing along Carlton Road whenever possible. He drove past at different times of day and night, hoping to catch a glimpse of Aaron or his mates. Sometimes the house lights were on, other times his car was missing, but never were the circumstances ideal for following him and having a quiet chat.

  ...

  21:30 – Sunday 2nd December.

  Aaron was lounging in his armchair, the TV blaring away in the corner of the living room, his dog, Bruno, dozing on the rug at his feet.

  He took a sip of beer from the bottle cradled in his right hand. Suddenly his phone exploded into life, its ringtone annoyingly loud, vibrating in his trouser pocket. He put the beer on the floor and fished out the mobile. Caller ID indicated that it was his friend, Mark Danson.

  “Hey, what’s up?” he asked, lethargically.

  “Just checking to see if you’ve got any plans for Greenwood, tonight.”

  “Nah, nothing specific, just the usual.” He paused. “So, what’s he been up to since you lot gave him a scare on that hoax job yesterday? Any chance he’s been to the police to withdraw from the court case?”

  “Afraid not, Aaron. We’ve been watching him, off and on. He looks like he’s just carrying on with work as normal. Nothing’s changed as far as I can see. He’s definitely not been to the cops to report the hoax call though – none of us have had a visit from ‘em – not yet, anyway. Mrs G doesn’t seem concerned either. They’re both just sticking to their normal routines.”

  “I see.” Aaron was a little disappointed. “Right, keep an eye on things. If nothing changes in a few days, we’ll have to try a more forceful approach.” He was being particularly vague because at that precise moment, he had no idea what that forceful approach might be.

  Chapter 20

  14:00 – Thursday 6th December.

  His van slowly turned left and entered Carlton Road.

  Adam was running late for his lunch break. He had just finished a lock change on a newly renovated property and was on his way to the local drive-through McDonald’s when he had a sudden urge to check whether Aaron was at home. It was not too much of a detour, and so he had driven onto the Glebe with the intention of conducting a quick drive-past of his home address.

  As he pulled onto the far end of the street, his eyes scanned ahead to where he knew the house was located. He could see the silver Focus on the driveway, but there was also movement - somebody was walking from the front door to the car. Adam located a parking space and quickly pulled in. Partially concealed by the vehicle in front, far enough away that he would not attract unwanted attention, and yet close enough to observe what was going on, he waited and watched.

  The person by the car was definitely Aaron - and he was alone. Adam saw him place a holdall on the car’s front passenger seat and then he climbed behind the wheel, revving the engine loudly. A cloud of black smoke spewed from the exhaust pipe.

  This was what he had been waiting for. His perseverance had finally paid off. It was the perfect opportunity to follow him.

  Lunch would have to wait.

  As the Ford Focus pulled onto the road, it turned left. Adam waited until it had gained a suitable head start before firing up his van’s engine and following it from a distance of a few hundred meters. Too close, and Aaron might spot the signage on his van. Too far away, and he might lose sight of his quarry altoget
her. He wondered where Aaron might lead him on this magical mystery tour.

  Initially, they followed a circular route around town and then headed out towards the seafront. From there, Aaron drove north, up the coast, before cutting inland across the moors, towards Churston. As they entered the county town’s suburbs, so the traffic density increased. With more vehicles around, keeping track of the Ford Focus became increasingly more difficult, but the constant plume of noxious exhaust fumes was its giveaway. As Adam followed at a safe distance, he wondered where Aaron was heading, and then he saw it - the road sign indicating HMP Manston Grange – he was going to visit his brother.

  Adam could see the ominous facade of the prison in the distance, but instead of driving into its visitor car park, Aaron turned off down a narrow side street and left his car in a resident’s only parking bay. Adam parked on the main road in such a position that he could see the main gate of the prison at the far end of the street, whilst also keeping an eye on Aaron’s car. He hunkered down in his seat as Aaron nonchalantly strolled out of the side street and wandered towards the prison. He was otherwise occupied and did not notice Adam’s van in amongst the other parked vehicles. Now all that he needed to do was wait; wait until the prison visit was over, and wait for the opportunity to catch Aaron alone and unawares.

  As a police officer, Adam had often been required to keep obs on people-of-interest. He remembered spending long cold nights hiding in bushes watching suspects’ houses, crawling through vegetation to spy on deserted factory compounds, and standing on street corners, blending in with the crowds. Today, he was grateful that he had the luxury of a warm van to sit in and the distraction of the local music channel to while away the hours. Even so, waiting was a tiring process. His eye lids felt leaden and his mind began to switch off as fatigue got the better of him.

  By four forty, the roads were in total darkness - apart from the glow of the intermittent streetlights - and Adam was on the verge of falling asleep.