Force Of Habit v5

by Robert Bartlett

  ‘You didn’t have time, not even for next day delivery,’ said James with a disapproving look. ‘You’ll be hung out to dry one day.’

  ‘We don’t have to mention the Enforcer in any official capacity.’

  ‘Can you believe him?’ James asked Deacon. Deacon avoided eye contact. James studied her. ‘You know all about him and his friends, don’t you?’ Deacon squirmed. James circled North to get a clearer view of his face.

  ‘But Jed Harris is dead,’ Deacon tried to divert the line of conversation. Won’t the van just be back in the pool with anyone using it?’

  ‘I don’t think so. This is bigger than Awayday Harris and Matt Mason. Those above them had them killed to cover their own arses. They are clever and ruthless. That van is one of several registered to the charity. They would always have to use the same one on drug related matters. They would need anyone looking for it to be able to identify it from the others in case one happened into the wrong place at the wrong time and some do-gooder gets handed a bag full of readies and asked for a kilo of heroin in return. There is a very good chance that it is used to pick up incoming shipments, ferry smaller amounts from a central store, that kind of thing. With all the shit that’s been going on their focus has been on the people involved not some van. It might have escaped their attention. They could still be using it – especially if they are trying to keep the network running. They could have existing obligations to keep. Any incoming shipments wouldn’t be so easy to postpone. They could have paid big money up front and it must take a lot of work - it’s not like this stuff is growing as local produce. They will have to cut themselves off from the charity but a wholesale change of the entire operation couldn’t take place at the push of a button. It would take a bunch more time than a text. And they have had a lot on their minds as we have already witnessed. With their plate so full a van could have been overlooked. It could be a necessity. It’s our only hope.’

  ‘Why can’t we see the van? Could the transmitter have fallen off? Roads like that can be bumpy. The van could have been there on legit charity business and it fell off. The van could be miles away by now.’

  ‘It has a fifty k pull, it’s still on the van. The log shows it was still moving up to an hour ago. It’s parked up there somewhere, in a garage, under trees. Somewhere.’

  ‘Where is that, anyway?’

  The map coordinates were up on the screen. North stuck them into Google maps and zoomed in on the satellite image. It looked like Wayne Manor. They made a note of the site geography and then he zoomed out. Switched to a standard map view.

  Castlebridge Hall was the moniker.

  ‘Oh, just great,’ said Deacon.

  North and James looked at each other. It meant nothing to them. He clicked on the search engine. There was plenty of information on the current residence of Sir Edward Charles George.

  FORTY-ONE

  ‘They've stopped.’

  Ray had a laptop open. The screen was split in two with almost identical windows open, side by side. One showed the image from North's Enforcer and the other tracked North's own car.

  ‘Both of them?’ Girl was driving the old Land Rover.

  ‘Yeah.’

  Girl pulled over. ‘I wish this rain would stop. I can’t see or hear dick.’

  The rain thundered into the chassis.

  ‘It’s good cover and it could be worse, you could be Tonto.’

  Girl smiled. ‘Has the van arrived someplace?’

  ‘Maybe. I can’t see anything on here that would hold it up, like junctions, railway crossings, any shit like that.’

  ‘Do you think they could have clocked him?’

  ‘No way, not in this. You couldn’t see him at fifty yards in a full beam and he’s hanging well back, relying on the software.’

  Ray gave the SP into a two-way. A mile away Tonto pulled up.

  ‘Did you see anyplace the van could be aiming for?’ Ray said to the radio.

  ‘Nothing,’ Tonto's voice crackled back. ‘The road is flanked by steep embankments all the way here and they couldn’t have hit any oncoming because nothing has passed me by, coming your way. Have they stopped at the bridge?’

  ‘What bridge?’ Ray took another look at the screen. There was no bridge.

  ‘He could be in the shit, should we go down there?’ said Girl.

  ‘We could blow everything.’

  ‘They could be blowing North’s brains out.’

  ‘Wait - they’re moving again.’

  ‘Maybe the driver had to take leak,’ said Girl. ‘All this freezing water is making me want to go.’

  ‘Wait - only the van is moving. North’s car is staying put.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Girl engaging first and pushing the accelerator into the floor, moving rapidly up through the gears.

  ‘I’ll do a reccy this side,’ said Tonto.

  Tonto steered the dirt bike up a grass embankment and cut the engine. He’d been riding with the lights off so they couldn’t catch sight of him from the Luton as he rode ahead of it. North was behind the van and Ray and Girl were behind North, all keeping their distance, relying on satnav, tracking software and radios. Tonto lay next to the bike in the long grass peering out through his night goggles.

  The Luton went by a few minutes later.

  Another few and nothing had followed.

  ‘The van's long gone but there's still no sign of North,’ Tonto updated.

  ‘He still hasn’t moved on the tracker,’ said Ray.

  ‘They could have been taken and put into the back of the van,’ said Girl.

  ‘How?’ said Tonto. ‘Did someone crawl out of the grass, looking all injured like and flag him down or something? Or lie in the road forcing him to stop? I can't see North falling for anything like that. Have you seen anything that could have headed them off?’

  ‘Nothing has passed us either. Hold on,’ said Ray, ‘we're just coming up to the spot where North's car is held up.’ The Land Rover went under a small bridge and stopped. There was no sign of the car.

  ‘This bridge isn't on the satnav, nor the road above us,’ Ray clicked a torch and looked at an ordnance survey map. ‘They’re not on here either.’

  They got out.

  ‘There's glass over here,’ Girl had to shout to be heard as he swept his torch beam over the ground just inside the bridge. ‘Bits of metal,’ he bent low, searching, ‘and some blood.’ He went all the way through then came back. ‘Only in that spot, just inside the bridge but I found this,’ he held up the Enforcer.

  ‘Shit.’

  Things looked bad.

  Just outside the bridge the road was covered in thick mud that was fast being washed away. Ray shone his light on the embankment. The ground was all churned up. They clambered up it.

  ‘The maps were right,’ shouted Ray. There was no road on the bridge. It was a dirt track between two fields. ‘Bennies must use this for moving equipment and livestock across their farm.’ Tractor tracks ran to and from it. The water was far less deep in some than others. Some tracks had only recently been made.

  ‘Guys?’

  ‘We need you back here,’ Ray answered Tonto's call. ‘We'll go after the van. There's no sign of North's car and it didn't come back our way. It looks like they used a tractor to block the road, or maybe they used one to push a trailer or something down onto the road, as North was approaching, then they pulled him from the crash. He wouldn't have stood a chance. They must have dragged his car up onto a trailer and carted it away with the aim of burying both it and him somewhere out here by sun up. See what you can track down. We'll go pull the van over.’

  ‘But North said to follow them. He wants to catch this guy red handed.’

  ‘Yeah, well the tracker from his car is lying back here on the road and his car is missing so I reckon they are plenty red-handed with North and the two cops with him and we probably don’t have much time before the only way to find them will be with a shovel and a metal detector – if they leave
any filled teeth in his mouth.’

  If he is not already dead, they all thought but didn’t dare say.

  ‘They have to have left the tracker here on purpose. Maybe they expect us to think that it fell off as the car hit a pothole or something, and that we’ll keep on following the van, thinking the car is still behind it. If they found North’s tracker you can be sure it’s because they found the one on the van first. I tried ringing but they've either disabled North's mobile or the crash did it for them. Maybe they think that we’ll figure there’s no reception out here. Whatever their thinking the end results the same for us - they are leading us into a trap.’

  ‘They knew North was following and that we are following North?’

  ‘Looks like. Maybe they know who we are, maybe not, but they seem to know that they have two tails.’

  ‘But not a third. They don’t know about me?’

  ‘It doesn’t look like it. They have to be thinking that we will keep following, which means they don’t know you were up ahead to see North’s car has gone west. But they have to realise that we will try and get a visual, just to be sure, so they must be making for somewhere nearby before we realise what they are up to. Somewhere they have arranged for another crash to take place, maybe.’

  ‘The sneaky fuckers.’

  ***

  North’s eyes opened. It was pitch black. His head hurt worse than usual. A hundred points of pain flashed hot in his hands, arms and chest. He took stock. He was on his knees on something hard. Cold. His arms were outstretched to either side of him. He tried to move them and the flashes of pain intensified. Something was holding his arms fast. And it felt as though small spikes were piercing his skin in many places. The image of Lumsden’s syringe punctured body came to him. His eyes still couldn’t make out anything in the dark so he listened. Rain clattered the structure he was being held in. He recalled the last sounds he had heard. The sensations. The crunch of metal. The smash of glass. The screams. The airbag.

  A car crash.

  The side window had gone. An arm had come through it. His whole body had jarred with pain. He’d gone limp. Semi-conscious.

  He had been tazered!

  Then a knife. The seatbelt. It was cut and he was being dragged from the car, through the rain. It had stung his face but he couldn't make his body move. He couldn't fight. Then his lights must have gone out. Or been put out. Now they were back on but he was still in the dark.

  ***

  Girl pulled up. Killed the lights.

  ‘What do we do now?’

  Ray stared at the screen. Moved the image so he could see the terrain around the van’s position. He examined the OS map. He put his night goggles on and had Girl do the same.

  ‘Slow ahead.’ Ray scanned the bank. It was levelling with the road. ‘Stop.’ He lifted a bag and got out. Pulled a pair of cutters and removed a section of wire in the fence that flanked the road. Girl steered through. Ray got back in and guided him across the field, skirting the van’s position out on the road. A few hundred yards from it the Land Rover went silent. They checked their pistols, got out and approached on foot.

  There was no time for pissing about.

  They used any natural cover they could find but just had to leg it the final hundred yards or so across open field, vaulted the fence and pulled open the doors. The cabin was as empty as the road. The rear doors were locked. Girl pulled a jemmy and forced it into the gap, working it back and forth, the sound lost in the torrent. Ray searched back and forth, expecting to be attacked from any direction at any moment. It seemed to take forever before the lock popped. Ray held his breath as he pointed the gun and swept the insides of the Luton with his torch.

  It was empty.

  ***

  Tonto’s heart was pounding like a porn star. Up ahead someone was pushing swathes of wet earth about with a caterpillar truck. The rain and the engine allowed him to ride right up to the thing unannounced. He had the driver lying sparko in the hole on top of North’s car without knowing a thing about it. Tonto was surprised to see a woman’s face when he pulled back the hood. She was no spring chicken either. It was Mrs Eddie George.

  Tonto shone his maglite through the sunroof in North’s car.. It was empty but he could see broken glass and blood. Both airbags had deployed. He slithered about, clearing the rear end already buried in mud and then forced the boot.

  Nothing.

  The old bird was coming round so he gave her another slap then called Ray.

  Ray and Girl had found a couple of Choirboys hiding back down the road. They’d parked a tractor on a blind bend and were waiting to pull bodies from the wreckage when the Land Rover smashed into it. Ray and Girl smashing into them instead.

  ‘They didn’t know where North is,’ said Ray. Tonto took it as gospel. They would have talked if they knew. ‘But they have to have taken him your way.’

  Tonto told them about the car.

  None of them was ready to accept the worst but there was now ten miles between them, several across churned up countryside. It would take Ray and Girl some time to catch up.

  ‘You’re going to have to find him alone. We can’t risk you waiting for us. We don’t have the time.’

  Tonto tied the woman up real good, took a bearing and spent several minutes figuring out how to control the caterpillar. North and the women could have been buried away from the car, in a separate grave. He started searching in the pitch black in the pissing rain for any other recently disturbed areas. He couldn’t see anything on a grave scale. He thought that maybe they had been buried in the hole before the car went in but dismissed it. He could always check later, right now he had to focus on finding North alive. On finding them all alive. They couldn’t have been buried elsewhere, before the car was, as the tracks had lead straight here and there had been no other major signs of disturbance on the ground.

  Eventually he found a set of tracks heading in a new direction. Tracks that hadn’t yet filled with water. Hope was kept alive.

  FORTY-TWO

  It couldn’t be.

  White hot pokers seared his eyeballs as the light came on. North screwed his eyes tight shut until the white faded.

  The dead walked.

  The dead.

  What had they given him? He opened his eyes slowly, head down, away from the main glare. He turned his head and looked along his left arm. Barbed wire was wrapped tightly around it and stretched off to a vertical beam rising up to support the roof. The wire was wrapped around his neck and off along his other arm and on to another beam. His navy hoody concealed the blood oozing from the barbs embedded in his skin but bright red was pooling on the concrete floor. At least one must have hit a pretty decent vein. Deacon was bound to the beam on his left, James to the right. He looked to the front again. North watched Matthew Mason come towards him but still couldn’t believe his own eyes.

  ‘It's usually the ladies whose breath I take away,’ said Mason, grinning.

  Jesus. Confirmation from the sick fuck himself.

  ‘The body,’ Mason thought out loud. ‘How? The data, the files - they all matched.’

  ‘Jennifer Yates.’

  The name rang a bell with North but he couldn't place it under current circumstances. ‘No,’ he was confused. Seeing dead Mason walk had twisted his own melon. ‘The body was definitely male.’

  ‘Public sector worker: quiet, mousey, went missing on her way home from an office party, ruined a lot of people’s Christmases and earned some other people a shitload of overtime, had the nation glued to the telly until they all got bored when she never turned up and everyone moved on. Poor little Jenny was soon forgotten. She never was found.’

  North remembered. Another unsolved. James had mentioned it when looking for previous MOs with similarities to the Lumsden case. Mason saw the dawning realisation in North and went on.

  ‘My Oscar winning performance.’ He looked and sounded proud. ‘Her parents had done some work on that one, had her scared of her own shadow
, never mind men. But everyone has a hungry heart, right North? She was bursting for the right kind of attention, I just had to approach it in the right way. ‘Remember your father’, her mother would always say in warning. A right scumbag by all accounts.’

  Pot and kettle or what?

  ‘It took time, a whole lot of patience and time, as the song goes, but she was the key to the ultimate insurance policy. I was in a delicate, but necessary, position in the force. I needed to take out some cover. So I persevered and let me tell you it was no mean feat, I had to build a relationship and ensure that there would be no connection from her back to me when the time came. I told her to make sure that she didn't keep anything that ‘mummy’ could find that might upset her, that we would tell her when the time was right and ready, baby. She still hid shit of course, they all do, the stupid sentimental tarts. Once I was rid of her I had to go over her place with a microscope and replace a load of shit. Thank fuck for laptops. These days you can just have the computer disappear with them, everyone assumes she had it with her, taking her work home’. You can’t easily doctor them.’ He took a couple of side steps, chest out, proud as a peacock. ‘Though I even managed to get her to have a crack at showing me how!’ He laughed.

  ‘She worked at the data centre. She changed your records,’ said North.

  ‘I was brilliant. I had her so shit scared of losing me that she would have done anything for me. She ran that place, had full access to all areas and was as sharp as a tack.’

  Not sharp enough as it turned out, but Mason was ego tripping enough without adding to it.

  ‘She changed all your records over.’

  ‘There wasn't that much, but what there was could lead to a hell of a lot of bad days in Matt Mason's future, like those DNA records the force like to keep on us all for ‘elimination’ purposes.’

  ‘What did you do, have her thinking you were James Bloody Bond and you needed saving from some stitch up by foreign agents. That she was doing her country a service?’

  ‘People believe what they want to believe, but earning her trust, her devotion took time and effort. The dental issue was a piece of piss in comparison. A body can be totalled pretty good, I had the DNA sorted, all I had to do was make sure it had my teeth in it, but I’m pretty attached to them,’ he laughed. He was enjoying himself. ‘So I had to switch the victim’s records with my own. I manufactured an arrangement with the practice manageress – something pretty similar to the one you had with my wife.’