Having returned home, Adam found that he could not rest, his mind was too active. He re-watched the CCTV footage of the arson, thinking to himself that he ought to pass a copy of it to the police. They had been leaving repeated messages and voicemails in an attempt to get him to hand it over. But what was the point? Things had moved on. He could not seek police help now, he was on his own. He would just have to deal with it himself, as he had done thus far.
He froze the screen on the blurred facial images of the two culprits. He knew that their surnames were Cliff and Barr, but he knew nothing more. You two tried to burn my house down. You tried to kill me and my family. I’ve got a special form of revenge planned for you. He fished out Jared Brown’s mobile phone - which was fast becoming his font of all knowledge – and began scanning through the contact details. He switched to his computer, checking Google, Facebook, and every other source that he could find, and within minutes he had located the full names, phone numbers, and addresses for both arsonists. He copied the details into his notebook.
-
Callum Cliff – 249 Fox Grove, Barrington
Mobile No – 07442122367
Samuel Barr – 78 Burtoft Street, Barrington
Mobile No – 07773131599
-
Over the next couple of days, Adam used every spare moment to watch the two addresses. He made himself familiar with his targets’ surroundings, their routines, what vehicles they used, and their regular haunts. He followed them, observed them from afar, and effectively became their stalker. The more knowledge that he could obtain about them, the better his chances of successfully completing his planned retribution.
...
Having spent the remainder of the night in the police cells, Archie Smith and Mark Danson were feeling pretty sorry for themselves.
They had been having a good night out – how had it ended with them both being arrested and Mark having been tasered? They were confused, and their thumping headaches were not helping matters.
Having finally been deemed sober enough for interview, and each having chosen to have the duty solicitor present, they had faced an interrogation by the day-shift CID officers. To Smith and Danson, it had certainly felt like an interrogation – mainly due to the hangover that they were both suffering with – but in reality, it was nothing more than a simple Q+A session with a lot of Qs and very little As. Both were bemused by the evidence laid before them.
“Where did these drugs come from?”
“No idea, officer, I’ve never seen them before.”
“What were you intending to do with the drugs?”
“Eh? They’re not mine.”
“How did they end up in your car then?”
“Err...Dunno. Magic?”
It became abundantly clear that the detectives were not going to get any confessions from their detainees. That being said, did they really care? Both had been caught red-handed in possession of a quantity of drugs that was greater than that acceptable for personal use and so must have been for selling to others. The fact that enquiries with revellers from Studio 94 had not managed to locate anybody who had actually witnessed them selling their wares, was irrelevant. Same with the knife – there was no doubting the fact that it had been located in their car, they had no reasonable excuse for its presence, and therefore the offence had been proven. It was not a mitigating factor that they claimed no knowledge of either the knife or the drugs.
Both were duly charged with possession-with-intent-to-supply and offensive weapons offences, and were remanded in custody awaiting a court hearing.
Although it had been the CID department that dealt with this particular investigation, no connection had been made between this incident and Adam Greenwood’s intimidation or hit-and-run cases. DS Carmichael had not even been informed that Smith and Danson were in custody.
...
21:00 – Sunday 16th December.
Adam had heard about ‘The Farm’ from a fellow locksmith who had been contracted to ensure that it was secure after the bailiffs had seized it as part of bankruptcy proceedings against its owner. He had never visited before, never seen it for himself – until now.
He had been driving north, out of Barrington, for the past ten minutes. Gone were the streetlights and hubbub of the town, replaced by the gently rolling hills and forests of the moors – not that he could see any of its natural splendour – it was late, and everything was cloaked in a blanket of darkness.
As the single-laned ‘B’ road stretched ahead into the gloom, Adam braked gently and steered his van onto a narrow asphalt track to the right. Passing between two rotting wooden gate posts, the smooth strip gradually deteriorated into loose gravel and eventually into a rutted and overgrown farm track. The turning had been unmarked and inconspicuous. Thank God for SatNavs, he thought, smiling to himself. Staying in second gear, his headlights searched the darkness in front. Puddles in the furrowed trail cracked and splintered as the van tyres passed over their frozen surfaces, and a light mist began rising from the ploughed fields to either side. Snow had been forecast for the early hours.
After five minutes of sedately following the unfamiliar twists and turns of the track, the gradient began to increase as it circumnavigated a wooded hill on the left. Forest enveloped the trail, blocking what little light was available from the moon as it hid behind banks of angry-looking clouds.
Finally emerging from the tree canopy, Adam had his first glimpse of Harwood Farm, the track leading directly to the farmyard’s entrance. He parked to the side of the dilapidated five-bar-gate and stepped from the cosy warmth of his van into the bitter chill of the night air. He shuddered despite being dressed for the cold. With torch in hand, he stood still, taking in his surroundings, watching and listening. It was deserted, silent, save for the rustling of leaves blown by the breeze and the intermittent squeaking of an unseen door or gate as it swung on its hinges.
Directly ahead, on the far side of the yard, stood the two-storey stone-built farmhouse. Its thick walls had protected its occupants from the harsh winter weather for over 70 years, but now it rested in darkness; deserted, abandoned, and decaying, a shadow of its former self. Adam walked around its perimeter, checking its doors, rattling its wooden framed windows, ensuring that it was still unoccupied and secure. It seemed remarkable that it was so intact, untouched by the graffiti and gratuitous vandalism that plagued the derelict buildings within Barrington’s boundaries. Clearly, the town’s youths had not ventured this far out into the wilderness – yet!
Adam explored further.
There were a few small brick-built outbuildings, nothing more than unlocked storage rooms. There was a massive open-sided shed; probably a place to park tractors or to store hay when the farm had been fully operational. There were tall cylindrical towers which he assumed were old silage containers (although, not coming from a farming background, he could have been wrong). And to the right, there stood a huge slatted-wood barn with double swing doors that dwarfed him. One was partially ajar so he shone his torch beam inside to see what, if anything, it contained. His senses were instantly assaulted by a strong pungent aroma, a very distinctive aroma – cows! It must have been a dairy farm in its heyday.
He entered the cavernous interior of the cattle shed, shining his torchlight from side to side as it illuminated every nook and cranny. It was vast, with a mezzanine floor towards the rear wall and piles of discarded, rusty farm machinery cluttering the lower level. But it was exactly what Adam had hoped for. It was perfect for his planned revenge on Messieurs Cliff and Barr.
Returning to the muddy farmyard, he stopped to take one final look at his location. The whole purpose of his night-time visit had been one of a reconnaissance mission, to scope out the farm, to assess its suitability for what he had planned for his next two victims. It was remote, hidden from view, and ideal for dealing with Callum Cliff and Samuel Barr. Nobody would know that they were there. Nobody would hear their screams.
Now all that he needed to d
o was to devise a means of getting them to the farm without raising their suspicions.
Chapter 29
22:00 – Monday 17th December.
Today was the day, and now was the chosen time.
Adam parked his van near to the pubs on the High Street that he had seen Cliff and Barr frequent on a number of occasions over the last few days. He planned to confront one, or both, of them tonight, but first, he needed to locate their whereabouts. He had already tried their home addresses, but to no avail, so that left him with the unenviable task of driving around all of their known haunts, hoping that he might come across them at some point. So far, he had been unsuccessful. Maybe tonight was not going to be his night after all.
Leaving the engine running and the hot air blowers switched on, he decided to wait another fifteen minutes. If he had not spotted them by then, he would move on to one of the other locations on his list; maybe the nightclub, one of the many fast-food restaurants, or the gym. For now, it was a case of being patient and watching all of those entering and leaving the public houses.
It was a tedious task, but eventually he recognised a familiar face emerge from The Crown. Samuel Barr, Sam to his mates, had been for a quick pint before heading back to his home on the Glebe. Adam watched him walk casually along the High Street, his eyes glued to his mobile phone’s screen as his thumbs worked at breakneck speed to send a text message. Staring at him from behind, Adam had the distinct feeling that he recognised his rear profile from somewhere. It niggled him. Why would he remember the back of someone’s head? With no answers forthcoming, he discarded the thought. Maybe he would remember later.
It immediately became apparent that Sam was alone. Adam’s eyes followed him along the street, watching as he jogged across the road and entered a deserted car park on the right. Adam knew it well, and he also knew that the only other exit came out onto Brunt Lane. He put his van into gear and drove around the block until he was positioned across the car park’s exit road. With his route now blocked, Sam’s only other option would be to retrace his steps back onto the High Street.
Adam could see him wandering across the dark concrete expanse, his head down, completely oblivious to his surroundings. Everything was going according to plan, so far. Putting his hand into a holdall on the van’s spare seat, Adam pulled out a couple of long black cable-ties. His plan was to confront Barr, threaten him with the arson footage, and get him to enter his van without any fuss or bother. However, should he decide to kick-off, he was quite willing to use force to subdue him, to cable-tie his hands and feet, and to then throw him into the van before taking him to Harwood Farm to continue with his planned punishment. The aim was to scare him badly, rough him up a little, warn him off, and to then make him walk back to Barrington across the icy moors. That, in itself, would be a suitable punishment for his part in the arson and intimidation. However, he would also blackmail him - should the video footage of the arson fall into the hands of the police, Sam would be facing a decade of prison time, minimum. Everything was set. Adam was prepared. He climbed out of the van and stood at the car park’s exit barrier waiting for Samuel Barr to reach him.
“Oi, you...!” called Adam.
Sam slowly glanced up from his phone, a look of frustration on his face as if to say, I’m in the middle of something, don’t disturb me. Then his expression changed as it dawned on him who had spoken. You could almost see him mouthing the words, “Oh, shit!” Adam stared into his eyes. He appraised Sam’s body language, and his police instinct told him that he was about to run.
Adam’s instinct had been partly correct. To his surprise, instead of running away in a bid to escape, Sam ran towards him, building up speed and momentum – he was about to attack! This time it was Adam who mouthed the word, “Shit!” He had not expected this sort of reaction.
Sam had made one vital mistake - he had started his charge from too great a distance. Adam had time to assess the situation and react. From approximately two meters away, Sam launched a leaping two-footed kick at Adam - it was like a scene from a martial arts film - did he think he was some sort of Ninja? Whether he had any formal training, Adam had no idea, but with a pair of legs flying directly towards his face, he had no time to worry about it. If it had been happening to anybody else, it would have been quite comical, but in this situation, Adam had no choice but to react instinctively. He stepped to one side, and as Sam’s legs flew past the end of his nose, he swung his elbow at his face. There was no way to avoid the contact. Adam’s arm caught him beneath the chin, smashing into his neck - bone against windpipe - stopping his momentum mid-flight and dropping him like a stone to the hard ground below. His legs spun upwards, pivoting about his throat, whilst his head hit the ground hard with the full force of his weight behind it. There was a sickening crunch and Sam lay there, unmoving, as a pool of blood seeped from beneath his hairline. For the second time, Adam cried, “Shit!”
He immediately crouched down and checked for a pulse. He found one and was mightily relieved. He had not intended this to happen, but what was done was done. In a moment of self-preservation, he glanced around, checking that nobody had seen him drop his assailant. He breathed a deep sigh; there were NO witnesses. A touch of panic entered his mind. Should he leave Sam where he was, as he had done with Jared Brown? Should he call an ambulance? Or should he continue with his plan? Whatever he chose, he needed to decide quickly. If he was caught standing over a semi-conscious victim of an assault, it would be him getting locked up.
He checked Barr’s injuries again. He was more alert now, rolling around, attempting to stand up. His head wound looked worse than it actually was (albeit there was an egg growing out of his skull), but he would be fine, despite being somewhat battered and bruised - things could go ahead as planned.
Adam helped Sam to his feet, and supporting his weight, guided him towards the side door of his van. Although still feeling the effects of his collision with the concrete surface, Sam sensed that he was in deep trouble. As the side door slid open, he resisted, pushing back against his captor, but Adam was stronger and threw his weakened foe into the rear compartment, climbing on top of him to restrict his movements. He deftly applied a cable-tie around his wrists and another around his ankles.
“Do yourself a favour and stop resisting, Barr. You’re coming on a little journey with me. If you do what you’re told, you won’t get hurt...well...not as much, anyway. Got it?”
Sam nodded, suddenly realising the seriousness of his predicament. Adam pocketed Sam’s phone for later analysis and then climbed into the front of the van and drove towards the moorlands, north of Barrington. As he did so, as he calmed down, he began thinking logically about what had just happened. Had he overreacted? Had he made a mistake by kidnapping Barr? Had he made things worse for himself? The more he thought about it, the more he realised that everything was still running according to schedule. He had been forced into a physical confrontation in order to defend himself, and he had injured Barr more seriously than expected, but the original plan had allowed for roughing him up – it was no different. He could adapt his strategy and turn the current circumstances to his advantage.
...
DS Carmichael was searching for Beth Hems, one of the civilian admin personnel.
As she wandered along the first floor corridor of the police station, she passed Chief Inspector Bream. She nodded towards him, but had no intention of starting a conversation.
“It’s good news about PC Johnston, isn’t it?” he said.
“What is, sir?” She had not heard any updates and she suspected that nobody else had either. It would be just like Bream to mention it, him being the only person with this information, to make it look as if he had his finger on the pulse of things.
“Oh, she was released from hospital today. Hadn’t you heard?” He had a twinkle in his eye.
“No, that’s news to me, sir.” She tried to move past his bulky frame as he stood blocking the corridor.
“I hear that Smith
and Danson were arrested for possession-with-intent-to-supply and weapons offences. They run with Aaron Turner, don’t they?”
“I believe so, sir.” Bev tried to disguise the fact that she had not been notified about their arrests.
“Any links to him? Any way of tying him into those offences? It would be a good scalp if we could get Turner locked away too.”
“I don’t believe so, sir.” She had no idea, but seeing as the matter had not been brought to her attention, she could only assume that there was no connection.
“Oh well, they’re not talking, other than to deny everything. They claimed that they’d been set-up, would you believe it?” He laughed. “It’s a good result, nonetheless, DS Carmichael. They’ll be remanded to court, I take it?”
Bev nodded, despite not knowing one way or the other. Without realising it, she expressed her thoughts out loud, “Seems strange, though. Neither has any previous for drugs supply.”
“Maybe they’re branching out, doing a bit of freelancing?” suggested Bream. Bev was not so sure, it just did not feel right.
“Maybe...but Aaron won’t be happy if they’re going solo.” She would need to brace herself for future gangland reprisals if this was the case. She suspected that there was a lot more to it. It was a feeling that she often had, a feeling that was almost always correct. She just did not know in which direction it might be leading her.
“Oh yeah, was there any update on that arson at Greenwood’s house?” Chief Inspector Bream referred to it as an afterthought. “Did you identify any suspects, or any links to the Turner gang?”
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