Go Out With A Bang!

by Gary Weston

  They had pinned their hopes on the bodies being recovered from the collapsed building, but they now knew that wasn't about to happen. There were a hundred ways that dead men could have told them who they were. Fingerprints, dental records, even an appeal to the public with pictures of their faces. Just good solid detective work. No bodies, no leads. That done, the case was put to one side and new crimes were dealt with.

  * * *

  'I suppose a dog could have walked off with it,' said Crowe.

  Morris stared at the headless body on the railway track. What was it with him and heads? He remembered one poking up from hardened concrete, his body completely submerged. Now here he was looking at a body, the head missing.

  'A dog took the hands, too? That's one big hungry dog. Judging by the amount of blood sprayed all over the place from the severed parts, John Doe here was alive at the time the freight train went over him.'

  'So somebody was waiting close by, then collected the head and hands when the train had gone by.'

  Morris agreed with that observation. 'We have time of death almost to the minute. The driver reported a bump on the line about here at nine thirty seven this evening. He had no idea he had hit a body.'

  'The train company can by-pass this stretch of line?'

  Morris nodded. 'Not easy, but doable with the twin tracks. They'll all slow down here until we've finished. Andy? How's it going?'

  'Got half a boot print,' said Carter. 'Clear. Just waiting for the cast to set. Seeing as this poor headless guy is completely naked, run with me on this, detectives, but my gut feeling is it doesn't come from the dead guy.'

  'Is it me,' whispered Morris, 'But is Carter becoming more of toss-pot than normal?'

  'I didn't think that was even possible,' said Crowe. 'Hey. Carter. You're just on rubbish collection. Leave thinking to people used to it.'

  'Sure thing. When do they get here?'

  'Don't encourage him,' said Morris. 'Andy. Are you stretching the overtime or can we come down there now?'

  'That depends. What time is it?'

  'Eleven fifty four.'

  'Perfect. That covers the tickets for the big game.'

  Crowe said, 'You're going to the game?'

  'Yeah? So?'

  'Eighty thousand in the crowd; we can't be that unlucky to be sitting next to you.'

  'I'd be the unlucky one. You two muppets can come over here now.'

  Morris and Crowe made their way down the bank to the tracks. The lights made the scene surreal. The air was full of the smell of ancient oil and diesel fuel. The sleepers were black with oil from decades of heavy loco traffic.

  The scene was less than a mile from where a devastating crash had occurred a few years before. The pickup had made it across the track-crossing as the train thundered down, but the caravan on the back didn't quite make it. Twenty seven people in the train had died, forty two had been seriously injured.

  Morris now did the Morris trick, closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Violent death left a residue behind. That was his theory and he stuck to it. He opened his mind, soaked in the oil, the diesel and the blood. The ghosts of the dead were close by, and all he had to do was to reach out to them. The naked man on the tracks couldn't say much, especially without his head, but his remains might speak volumes. He opened his eyes to ask it.

  'Toned body. Worked out. Appendix scar. Bullet scar, right shoulder. Nine millimetre?'

  Crowe agreed. 'Looks like it could have been.'

  'Thirty to mid thirties. Tattoo of a military regiment, left shoulder. Wore a wedding ring until recently. Very recently. Ear stud, so no longer in the army. Got that when he left the service. Bruises to his body and on his arms. Fresh. This bloke's been tortured. Missing ring off his wedding finger. Been out in the sun before he took it off. That suggests some kind of hanky panky going on.' The feet had been sliced off below the knees by the train wheels and were still bound with the rope. 'My dad taught me everything there is to know about knots. He was in the merchant navy all his life. The man who tied this didn't think about it, he just did it. Possibly a navy man. The heels are cut from being dragged along. See the way the gravel's kicked about? Dragged along, literally kicking and screaming. Probably not the screaming part. He'd have been gagged. Coming from that direction. Andy. Tyre tracks up there?'

  'Nice and clear,' called Carter from the road up the embankment. 'From a van. Right front tyre bald as an egg. Engine badly leaking oil. A total nail.'

  'Right. Thanks, Andy,' said Morris. 'Gut feeling, Vince. Navy man. Out at sea a lot. Soldier boy here decides to keep sailors wife company. She didn't know soldier was married. Navy man finds out. Gets a bit annoyed. Tortures soldier boy to get the truth out of him. Decides to kill the joker. Wants to cover his tracks. Drives his old van here, drags him down to the rails, maybe knocks him out, the train chops off his head and hands, so sailor boy can get away with the bits that would identify the victim.'

  Crowe said, 'By tracing the tattoo we should be well on the way to finding soldier boy. The appendix scar will help. Blood group and bullet wound, too. His pubic hair will give us a hair colour. I'll let the autopsy people determine that if you don't mind. I'd be surprised if we didn't have him identified by this time tomorrow.'

  Morris said, 'Andy? Done here, mate. Bag him and tag him.'

  'Oh, wow gee. Big of you. I get all the fun jobs.'

  Chapter 24

  After another long but rewarding night, Morris and Crowe joined Andersen in his office the following morning. With the evidence they had acquired, many people had been working through the night putting the pieces together.

  Andersen said, 'We've identified the regiment from the tattoo. They are going through their records with the info we've given them. With a Tattoo, bullet wound, blood type, appendix scar and marital status, it shouldn't be too hard. Shouldn't take too long before we get a reply. From that, it's just a matter of asking a few questions and finding the woman he was having an affair with. Follow procedure to the killer. Nice job, guys.'

  'Basic stuff,' said Morris, stifling a yawn.

  'Anything new in the meantime?' asked Crowe.

  'Armed robbery at a liquor store. Go take a look.'

  'On our way,' said Morris, keen to get out of the office, grabbing his coat. 'Keep me posted on soldier boy.'

  'Will do,' said Andersen. 'Have fun.'

  * * *

  It took two days to find the soldier boy killer. He was on a ship to China when the captain had received the call. The killer had been banged up in the brig for the rest of the trip. Morris and Crowe were chasing their tails with the armed robbery, getting nowhere fast. Other cases came in, as diverse as the results they got. Even without the Ferret, they were batting above average.

  Andersen had two other teams of detectives under his command, so Morris and Crowe chipped away at all things wicked, unsavory and downright unpleasant under their own steam. The end of another rough week was coming to an end. All Morris and Crowe were thinking of was the big game.

  'Blues got it in the bag,' said Morris.

  'With Holder and Briggs out of it?' said Crowe. 'This'll be a close one.'

  'Carter's a Red fan. Can you imagine life with him if Red's win?'

  'Red's win, I'm booking a holiday. Carter's snide comments I can live without.'

  Morris laughed. 'Come on. Red's are punching above their weight. They're out classed, even without Briggs and Holder in our team. It'll shut Carter up for months when we win. Well. A week or two.' He slipped his jacket on. 'That's it, mate. See you Saturday.'

  Chapter 25

  Bernie asked, 'Dare I ask?'

  Poppy said, 'I'll kill him. I swear to God I'll kill him.'

  Bernie looked over at Debbie. She gave him a “tread carefully” look. He trod carefully.

  'Poppy. We know he's okay. That's the main thing.'

  Poppy got up from her laptop. The one she had checked fifteen times that day in the hope of an email from her husband. She was carry
ing his baby, but where the hell was he? Her expression wasn't a happy one. 'No. No, Uncle Bernie. This. Here in my belly. This is the main thing. His baby. Our baby. How dare he go off for weeks on end, not a word for the mother of his baby to be, leaving me here on my own. I'll bloody kill him.'

  'Poppy. Fred doesn't know you're pregnant.'

  'Oh. Oh. That's okay, then. I'm his wife. I wasn't enough for him to stay where he belonged? Is that what you're saying? I'm not enough for him?'

  Bernie hugged his niece. 'It isn't like that and you know that. He worships the ground you walk on. If this is down to anyone, it's your mother.'

  'Oh, don't worry, I'll kill her as well.'

  'I doubt if you could even if you wanted to. Look. Poppy. Easy for me to say...well, actually, not easy. Not easy at all. I see you breaking your heart; with child. I know my sister and Fred are into something ...God knows what. And I can't do a damn thing about it. But I do know this. I lie awake all night, thinking of my sister, your mother.'

  'It's true,' said Debbie.

  Bernie said, 'Do you know the one thing that keeps me going?'

  'What?'

  'The fact that Sandra is a brilliant agent. Deadly. Resourceful. And Fred. A genius. Gifted. Capable. Do you seriously think those two won't be okay?'

  'That's all you got?'

  'Yes. That's all I got. Want to take that from me?'

  'No, Uncle Bernie. I needed to hear that.' She rubbed her belly. 'Tell me. He's coming back to me. To us.'

  'Poppy. With all my heart. They are coming back to us.'

  Poppy hugged her uncle. 'Thanks. I needed to hear that. I'll still kill him.'

  'I'll help you.'

  Chapter 26

  'You put money on this game?'

  Crowe said, 'Stan. Are you kidding? Holder and Briggs out of action? No bloody way.'

  'You're not backing your team?'

  'You put a bet on?'

  Morris stuffed more popcorn in his mouth. 'Hell, no. But Blue's will win, yeah?'

  'Yeah. Absolutely. No. Maybe. Depends. Hope so.'

  'That's what I thought. Oh. Your phone off?'

  'Too right. Yours?'

  'Accidentally forgot to turn it on. Off duty means off duty, right? We are not cops today.'

  Crowe said, 'Sorry. What is it you do for a job?'

  'I think I'm either a terrible waiter at a very bad restaurant or a taxi driver with halitosis, a bad comb-over and no sense of direction.'

  'Your mom would be so proud.'

  It was three in the afternoon and it was the final. The stadium was full and Morris and Crowe were best pals, not cops. The national anthem played, everyone stood up and the teams wanted to do serious damage to each other. I mean, come on? Blue's versus Red's? A ball was supposed to be involved somewhere, lots of running, points on the board. Skill, agility, sportsmanship, teamwork. None of that counted. To be honest, if the referee forgot the ball, nobody would have noticed. The ref blew his whistle and a twenty stone giant promptly flattened him. The crowd roared their approval and it was game on.

  * * *

  Dale Andersen hated two things most in the world. One, shopping. Two, Shopping with his wife. He was trudging around a supermarket pushing a trolley, trying to tune out his wife.

  'Shall we try this coffee?' his wife asked.

  'What?'

  'Shall I take my clothes off and run down the aisles shouting decaf or not decaf?'

  'Definitely naked.'

  'Dale?'

  'I meant not decaf. I mean, what is the point of that? It's like saying steak or meatless steak.'

  'Aisle three. Next to the tofu. Meatless steak.'

  'This is a sick, sick world.'

  'You don't really want to be here, do you?'

  'Oh. That's a rotten question to ask a husband. I lie through my teeth and say yes, I want to be here, you know I'm lying, I'm in trouble. I say , no, I don't want to be here, I'm still in trouble. Not fair.'

  'So answer your phone.'

  'No. It's my day off.'

  'Decaf or not decaf.'

  Andersen answered his phone. 'Right. On my way. Sorry about this.'

  'Liar. Go.'

  It was a personal best from shopping trolley to car to police headquarters. Andersen changed from domesticated slave with a trolley and a piece of overused plastic, to a seasoned police professional, ready and eager to kick bad guy ass. Then reality hit him. This was big. Very big.

  Detective Senior Sergeant Noah Travis and Detective Sergeant Josh Friar were waiting for him. 'Tactical are on the scene,' said Travis.

  'Hancock?'

  'Tiffin.'

  'The Darlington factory?'

  Friar said, 'I've talked to the owners. They spent millions on new equipment a few months ago and scored several major new customers and export orders. There's a finished order worth seven million packed for despatch. Over three hundred jobs are at risk if the place gets blown up.'

  'The demands?'

  'Fifteen million. They've been given until six this evening to think about it.'

  'Three and a half hours. Better get over there.'

  Senior Sergeant Tim Tiffin looked nothing like Hancock. He was smaller in stature and not so abrasive. Andersen knew that was an illusion. The man was as sharp as a tack and deadly with any weapon including his hands. His men responded to any mildly spoken order; total respect had been earned over many years. Tiffin was not a man to tangle with.

  'Tim. Any gunfire so far?'

  'None. They know we know they've been using remote controlled weapons. There wouldn't be any point.'

  'I agree. I've seen how they set up the explosives. After Hancock kicked in the back door of the last one, I'd expect all the entrances to be booby trapped. They're watching us right now. We go near the place, boom.'

  'Not bluffing?'

  Andersen said, 'If you had seen the Petrolex building, what was left of it, you'd know the answer to that. And at the hotel job, I heard the triggers to set off the explosives being activated. Three seconds earlier, you and I wouldn't be having this conversation.'

  Tiffin looked at the surrounding area. There were several high-rise buildings, and possibly twenty places from where they could be observed. In daylight, it would be sheer suicide to approach the factory.

  Two cars pulled up and an officer got them to move back behind the Tactical vehicles. The officer told Tiffin and Andersen of their arrival and they went over to them.

  'George Maxwell,' said one man. 'General manager. 'This is David and Sean Davenport. The owners.'

  Andersen said, 'This is Tim Tiffin, Tactical Enforcement leader. I'm Detective Inspector Andersen. As you can see, we have the site contained.'

  'So I see,' said Sean Davenport. 'Can you not storm the place and get the sons of bitches out?'

  'They aren't in there,' said Tiffin. 'We have experience of their methods. We are sure they have the explosives triggered to go off by remote control.'

  'They're watching us?' Maxwell asked.

  'Undoubtedly,' said Andersen. He checked his watch. 'Three hours to the deadline. What are you thinking?'

  'We don't have the money,' said David Davenport. 'We sank all we had into the factory. Quite a lot of the bank's money, too.'

  'Hmm. Not much in the way of options,' said Andersen.

  Maxwell asked, 'So. If they are around here somewhere, can't you get men searching for them?'

  Tiffin said, 'We could. But as they are probably watching our every move, if we go looking for them, kiss your factory goodbye.'

  Sean Davenport said, 'Years of building up the business, millions invested, good orders coming in and three hundred top employees. I'll be devastated if we lose it all now.'

  Maxwell asked, 'Is there any possibility it's a bluff?'

  As if in reply, an explosion shook the ground and everyone ducked for cover. As the dust settled, they could see one large window had been blown out. The damage was minimal.

  Tiffin said, 'That was just to let
us know they're deadly serious.'

  Chapter 27

  'A bit tame, so far,' said Morris. 'Two Red's sent off.'

  'Dirty rotten cheats,' said Crowe.

  'One Blue sent off.'

  'Blind referee. Think Billy Knocker will have permanent brain damage?'

  'Who'd notice?' said Morris. 'Probably just concussion. He should never have head-butted that linesman. What's the score?'

  'They score these games?'

  'I always thought so.' The electronic scoreboard told him what he wanted to know. 'Twenty one to nineteen. We might win this one.'

  'Here we go. Second half.'

  Two mud and blood covered teams exchanged punches as they emerged from the tunnel, and the ref let the captains go toe to toe for five minutes before blowing his whistle. The crowd booed as they were enjoying the fight more than the game. Somebody found the ball and after the kick off, the Red's striker was wrestled to the ground by three Blue's. A linesman got stuck in and pulled two Blue's off him. A dazed Red scored but in the wrong goal. The medics ran on with a stretcher and took the unconscious linesman off the pitch.

  Morris and Crowe were all set to enjoy the second half when a worried looking man approached them.

  'Excuse me. Detectives Crowe and Morris?'

  Morris groaned. 'Not for at least thirty five minutes.'

  'I'm Rod Marlow. Stadium manager. Mind if I have a word?'

  'Mr Marlow,' said Morris. 'We are enjoying the game on our day off.'

  'I appreciate that, but I have just had a rather disturbing call.' The rest he whispered into Morris's ear. Morris jabbed Crowe in the ribs and indicated he was to follow him and Marlow. His response was drowned out by the roar as a Blue took his team into the lead by one point. Marlow took the detectives along a corridor under the stands to his office.

  'Tell me it's a hoax.'

  'Sorry, Mr Marlow,' said Morris. 'I don't think so.'

  Marlow closed his eyes and shook his head. 'I was hoping it was somebody just wanting to ruin the game. That would have been bad enough.'