The only other person - apart from Aaron, himself - was the Video Boy. He had been present at many of the incidents – the initial detention of Josh Turner, the anti-social behaviour, and at the hoax job at Nicholson House on the Glebe. From his recollection of the investigation board, he went by the surname, Brown.
Adam looked at his notes and added a couple of details here and there:
-
Aaron Turner – 17 Carlton Road
Brother – Josh Turner – HMP Manston Grange
Smith + Danson – From investigation board = Archie Smith + Mark Danson
No addresses
Vid Boy = Brown (No first name)
No address
Cliff + Barr = Arsonists – No details
-
Adam’s notes looked pretty sparse. The only person that he had an address for was Aaron. Many of the others were merely surnames. How was he supposed to track them down without more information? He needed help and the only person in a position to do so was his friend, Lloyd. He had already put him in an awkward position by asking for help once before, but now that things had escalated, maybe he would be more inclined to assist. There was only one way to find out - he gave him a call.
“Lloyd, mate, how’s it going?”
“Adam?” Lloyd was instantly on the defensive, half-expecting Adam to ask for information again.
“Have you heard what’s happened? Sarah and Jenny are in hospital – hit-and-run! And our house was torched!”
“Yeah, it’s the talk of the station. I’m really sorry, mate. How are they doing?”
Adam explained about their injuries.
“Look, I’ll not beat around the bush, I need your help. What have the police discovered during the hit-and-run investigation?”
There was a hesitation before Lloyd answered. “Sorry, I can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Look, I’m already in the shit after mentioning Archie Smith and Mark Danson in front of you.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” But thanks for confirming their first names, he thought. “What about the hit-and-run? Did your lot get any DNA, forensics, or witnesses from the scene?”
“Like I said, I’m not allowed to say.” Lloyd was silent as he struggled with his conscience. “Look, seeing how serious it’s getting, I can’t see any harm in letting you know that there was no DNA or forensic evidence in the car, it had been wiped clean. The four offenders did a ‘bomb-burst’ and the dog unit couldn’t track ‘em.” Thanks for confirming that there were four people in the car at the time of the crash, Adam thought.
“So, are the police paying any of Turner’s associates a visit, applying pressure to any of ‘em?”
“No, not since they spoke to Smith and Danson, and young Jared Brown.”
“Who?”
“You know; the one who was filming you as you detained Josh Turner.” Adam’s silence was deafening. “Bollocks! You didn’t know who he was, did you?” Adam could hear Lloyd cursing under his breath. “You didn’t get that name from me, OK?”
“Of course not.” Adam could not help but smile at his friend’s slip of the tongue – again. Thanks for adding that detail to my list. He jotted the Christian name next to ‘Brown’ on his notebook page.
“Anyway, I’d better go before I say anything else that I shouldn’t.”
They exchanged a few pleasantries and Adam reassured Lloyd that nothing that he had divulged would go any further. He terminated the call.
Adam perused his notes again. The name, Jared Brown, leapt out at him. He wondered what he could discover about him, so he flashed up his laptop, connecting it to the internet.
The internet, social media and search engines were a godsend to investigators, fraudsters and stalkers, alike (provided that you had the knowledge and ability to use them correctly). You could discover anything about anybody if you searched in the correct places and were able to link information from one source with that from another. Adam considered himself an amateur, but a talented, computer-savvy amateur.
First task was to Google his name. There were literally thousands of Jared Browns! He filtered the results by limiting it only to the UK, then to the county, and finally to the Barrington-on-Sea area. The number of results suddenly became more manageable. Opening separate pages, he began conducting similar searches on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. It was a bit of a trawl, but he waded through the results until he noticed that certain hits were reoccurring time after time. The search was narrowing, but it took time and patience - Adam had plenty of both. Selecting facial images only, he ordered his results into a list, scrolling from one picture to the next, at speed. Boredom set in quickly, but Adam had an added incentive to keep going; if successful, he would have all of the information that he needed to pursue the first of his targets.
Suddenly he saw it, the smiling face that he had seen numerous times over the last few weeks – Jared Brown. Clicking onto his Facebook page, Adam flicked through his ‘Timeline,’ scanning the comments and pictures. And there it was, a still image taken from a YouTube video, showing himself pinning Josh Turner to the ground. A quick glance at the bottom corner revealed hundreds of views. Seems I’m a bloody social media star now, he thought. The purpose of searching the accounts had not been to check on his own fame (or notoriety), but to obtain useable information on Jared, so he clicked on the ‘Details’ page. Brown was clearly not very online-security conscious because he had his settings configured such that anybody could access his personal data. In black and white, for all to see, were his date of birth, age, and (lack of) occupation. Adam noted them in his book.
As he clicked on the ‘Friends’ tab, Adam’s screen was instantly filled with hundreds of thumbnail facial images. He scrolled through them quickly; the grinning faces of Archie Smith and Mark Danson being conspicuous near the top of the list. Further down were faces that he vaguely recognised attached to the names Cliff and Barr – Callum Cliff and Samuel Barr. Now he had their first names to add to his notes, as well as access to their social media accounts. Although he had located images of Aaron and Josh Turner in amongst Jared’s friends, he was not inclined to delve deeper into their details just at that moment; he would get around to them later.
The next thing that Adam needed was an address for Jared. He remembered seeing a link in one of the Google search results that related to a local newspaper: The Barrington Gazette. He brought it up and clicked through to the online version of the paper, specifically, the local Magistrates Court page. There he found a report relating to the conviction of a Jared Brown (with the same date of birth), of Sandringham House on the Glebe Estate, for the possession of class ‘A’ drugs. Assuming that he had not moved in the intervening years, Adam now had Jared’s partial address. To narrow it down still further, he needed to find the apartment number, so he returned to Jared’s Facebook account and clicked on the ‘Photos’ tab. Many of the pictures showed selfies of him at various locations and with various friends, some of which Adam recognised. In amongst these was a photo of Jared and a woman who was tagged as, ‘Mum.’ He enlarged the photo and focused on the background. It was taken in the corridor of a block of flats, presumably his own, and on a door behind him was the number 1710. So, he finally had it, the address of Jared Brown – 1710 Sandringham House, on the Glebe Estate.
It never failed to amaze Adam just how naïve the general public had become. The majority of them had no idea how much personal information was readily available online. It was just a matter of collating everything together, and their whole life story was visible to anyone who cared to look. I should’ve been a Private Detective, Adam thought to himself.
He glanced at his watch. It read 23:45. He had been so engrossed in his research that he had lost track of time. He looked at his notebook again. He had filled in quite a few gaps. The remaining details for Smith, Danson, Cliff and Barr could be checked at a later date. At least now he knew where, exactly, to look for them. For now, he was satisfie
d with what he had discovered about Brown. All that he needed was to conjure up some sort of plan, some notion of what to do with this information. At the back of his mind, the seed of an idea was beginning to germinate. Slowly, it developed into a plan of action, but would Adam have the courage to follow it through?
Chapter 25
19:00 – Wednesday 12th December.
Sandringham House was nothing like its Royal namesake.
Situated in the heart of the Glebe, it was a gigantic concrete monstrosity of 1960’s design and home to hundreds of impoverished families. It had an identical twin, Balmoral House, and both tower blocks were set around a communal, dilapidated, playground.
Adam watched from the shadows, staring up at the twin towers as they illuminated the night sky. It seemed as if every flat, every corridor, had its lights switched on. At the highest point, a solitary red flashing beacon blinked against the snow-laden clouds. From his vantage point, invisible in the darkness of the grassy playing fields to the south of the towers, he studied the end facade of Sandringham House. From a deserted foyer at ground level, his eyes followed the floodlit flights of stairs and landings as they zigzagged up the side of the building. In his head, he counted each floor until he reached the seventeenth – that was where Jared Brown lived. He stood and watched. As he breathed, clouds of white condensation escaped from his mouth, dispersing into the icy air. He still felt the cold breeze, despite having wrapped up against the elements. He wore a dark woolly hat which was pulled down low over his ears. The scarf around his neck smothered his lower face such that only his eyes and mouth were exposed to the bitter chill, and a thick padded jacket, black cargo trousers, and warm ski gloves completed his ensemble. He waited, stamping his heavy boots as he attempted to keep his extremities from freezing.
Having had a restless few hours sleep, Adam had spent the majority of the day at the hospital. Sarah was due to be discharged later that evening. Her surgery had gone well and she now sported a heavy plaster-of-paris cast on her leg. Her other injuries had been concealed beneath layers of bandages, and she had been dosed up with painkillers. However, due to her mild concussion, she required constant home care so he had arranged for her parents to collect her once the doctors had confirmed that she was fit to leave.
Jenny was still in an induced coma. In an attempt to pave the way for future potential bad news, the medical experts had broached the subject of possible brain damage and paralysis. Adam had been devastated at the thought, and the doctor’s final comment, “We’ll need to see how she is once she wakes up,” had done little to ease his concerns. He vowed to pop back later to have a more meaningful discussion, once the initial shock had worn off.
Having left the hospital, Adam had been in no fit state to return to work. His initial fears and sorrow over his daughter’s prognosis had turned to anger, and following his targeted research the previous evening, he directed it towards Jared Brown. He had driven to the Glebe Estate, parked in a side street until darkness fell, and then he had made his way, on foot, to the parkland adjacent to Sandringham House. What he intended to do if he did happen upon Brown, not even Adam could decide. Regardless, he watched and waited. If the opportunity presented itself, he would just have to wing it.
It was a little after eight thirty when Adam noticed a small group of young men enter the seventeenth floor landing. They appeared to be chatting as they patiently waited with their backs turned towards the windows. They moved forward and disappeared from view. Had they found a working lift in which to make their transit to ground level? Moments later, they emerged from the foyer. There were three of them; two that Adam had never seen before, and in their midst, the now familiar features of Jared Brown. All were dressed in winter attire, which was fortunate, because as they stepped out into the night air, a light sprinkling of snow began to descend from the Heavens. As their voices drifted across the open parkland, Adam could tell that they were in good spirits. Banter was exchanged, and they joked and larked about outside the building’s entrance. But as the icy air began to bite, they turned and followed the footpath towards the High Street in the centre of town. They were moving with speed, moving with a purpose, trying to stay warm.
Adam faced a quandary. Should he let them go, come back another day, and then tackle Brown? Or should he follow them - now - and see where they were headed? He had no intention of confronting Brown whilst he was in the presence of others, and despite not having prepared for this eventuality, he decided to follow his gut feeling and trail along behind them, out of sight, to see what they were up to. Maybe an opportunity would present itself later?
Initially, tracking the trio’s movements was straightforward. They were totally oblivious to Adam’s presence. As he skirted the shadows, following an avenue of mature oak trees, he was able to maintain visual contact from a distance. However, as they neared the centre of Barrington, the group took to the main roads. These were illuminated by streetlamps, and many of the shops that lined them had window displays that flooded the pavements in light. There was nowhere to hide. He dropped back, crossed to the opposite side of the road, and attempted to blend into the background. Appearing to be Christmas-window-shopping seemed a good ploy as he could follow their reflections in the glass windows without having to look directly at them.
Doubts began to enter Adam’s mind. Having followed them for a while, he had achieved very little. He had discovered nothing new about his target’s movements or habits, nothing that would help him to get revenge for his family’s misery. Was he wasting his time?
All of a sudden, the group of three stopped, looked through a shop’s plate glass window, and then entered the premises. The name above the door proclaimed it to be, ‘Tate’s Chippy.’ Adam ducked into a doorway opposite and watched. The chip shop looked warm and welcoming. It was festooned with shiny Christmas decorations, and the aroma of fried cod and chips swimming in lashings of salt and vinegar, wafted on the night breeze causing his stomach to rumble. The lads queued patiently, waiting to be served. They were laughing, chatting, and enjoying each other’s company. In contrast, Adam was cold, tired, and bored – he felt a pang of jealousy (not to mention, hunger).
The wait dragged on as the girl behind the counter proceeded to shovel a new batch of chips into the deep fat fryer. Eventually, they emerged from the chip shop cradling their fish suppers. Adam expected a return journey back to Sandringham House, but to his surprise, the two unknown men exchanged a few farewells and walked towards the seafront while Brown headed back along the High Street – on his own. This was what Adam had been waiting for, the opportunity to catch him alone, away from prying eyes. He ducked into the shadows and followed as Jared sauntered along the pavement, head down, eating his chips.
As he neared the pedestrianised precinct, Brown took a left turn. There was a shortcut that led onto the Tesco car park and eventually back to the Glebe Estate. Adam knew it well. Brown entered the alleyway. It was narrow, with high brick walls on both sides giving it the appearance of a long tunnel. During daylight hours, it was a popular route linking the car park to the town centre, but at night, it was ominously dark and scary; not the sort of place to be walking alone.
Brown had a lead of about twenty meters over Adam. By the time that he reached the start of the ginnel, Adam could clearly see Brown’s silhouette highlighted against the floodlit car park at the far end. He increased speed, walking quickly, but silently, as he narrowed the gap. Jared was totally unaware that he was being followed. Why would he be? He had nothing to fear and was completely engrossed in his food. As far as he was concerned, nobody was nearby.
“Jared Brown, stop there, I want a word.”
The command took Jared by surprise. He spun around, searching for its source, fear etched into his face. It had also taken Adam by surprise; he had not planned the sudden outburst. Now that he had his target’s attention, what did he intend to do, or say? Part of him was angry that Brown had been involved in the intimidation against his family. Part of hi
m suspected that he had also been involved in the hit-and-run incident. Part of him just wanted to inflict pain on him, regardless. But looking at him now, he was nothing more than a frightened kid. Would it be right to hurt him, to make him suffer? Adam was confused. He did not know what to do.
Before he had a chance to think through his options any further, Brown dropped his chips and began sprinting towards the light at the far end of the passageway. Whether he recognised who was after him, Adam could not tell, but he gave chase anyway.
“STOP! Wait...” Brown had no intention of stopping.
He was fast, but Adam was quicker, rapidly catching up with him. He grabbed Jared’s shoulder, hauling him backwards and spinning him around. Coming to a halt, he slammed the boy’s back into the wall.
Acting instinctively, Brown’s hand slipped into his jacket pocket. It emerged a fraction of a second later gripping a three inch kitchen knife.
“Whoa!” Adam took a step back, raising his hands in a submissive manner. “Don’t be stupid, I just wanna talk.” In his former career, many criminals had pulled knives on him, but back then he had worn body armour for protection. He had no such luxury on this occasion. Having seen, first-hand, the damage that a bladed weapon could inflict, he knew that Jared needed to be disarmed. Unfortunately, he also knew the risks involved in doing so.
Brown waved the knife from side to side in front of his body, his confidence growing, but as it reached the limit of its arc, it left his torso exposed and unprotected. Adam pounced. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, both hands grabbing Jared’s knife arm. He thrust his shoulder hard into the boy’s upper chest. Police training had always dictated that for your own protection, you should get inside the arc of the weapon and disable that arm. That was exactly what Adam did. Forcing the knife as far away from his own body as possible, he stretched Jared’s arm to its limit, twisting the wrist against the joint. He proceeded to drag the back of his hand across the abrasive surface of the brick wall. With his fingers gripping the hilt of the knife tightly, it was Jared’s knuckles that took the brunt of the damage. Flesh began to tear, a trail of blood and skin being deposited onto the brickwork. There was an ear-piercing scream as the knife was finally released from his grip. Adam kicked it along the alleyway, out of reach. He stepped back, releasing his hold on the boy.
The Rubicon Page 15
