4. Gray Retribution

by Alan McDermott

  Wallace rubbed his forehead. ‘Why don’t you let me do some more checking first? If it isn’t Gray, you could be digging us an even bigger hole.’

  Hart slammed the lid of the toolbox. ‘Do you want this done or not?’

  ‘Just give me a few days,’ Wallace said, handing over one of the phones. ‘Use that when you need to talk to me. He shouldn’t be able to get anything more on us, and what he has is flaky at best. Let me look into this and make sure we’re on the right track.’

  Wallace knew that if Gray wasn’t behind the phone calls, having him killed would put Hart and himself squarely in the frame. For the umpteenth time, he cursed his situation. He was also pissed at Gray for not reacting as expected to his letter. He’d been convinced Gray would take Hart out, but something must have held him back.

  More’s the pity, Wallace thought. If Gray had dealt with Hart, none of this would be happening. He’d be staring at a comfortable retirement rather than a prison cell, and the thug would have brought it all upon himself.

  Perhaps it was time to use the German passport after all.

  Tom Gray was on his third beer, but it was doing nothing to dull the pain he felt inside. After making his excuses to Vick’s family, he’d taken Sonny and Len up on their offer and found himself at Sonny’s bachelor pad. Conversation had been steered towards better times, the men swapping war stories they’d all heard a dozen times before.

  When his mobile rang, Gray checked the screen before answering.

  ‘Hi, Andrew. What’s up?’

  ‘It looks like Wallace was working with Hart all along,’ Harvey told him, going on to explain the evidence they’d gathered earlier in the day.

  Gray put the phone on speaker so that his friends could listen in. ‘When are you going to bring them in?’

  ‘Not so fast, I’m afraid. All we’ve got so far is a brief conversation. We need to build on that if we’re going to make a case against them.’

  That seemed reasonable to Gray, but he wasn’t thrilled with the answer when he asked about timeframe.

  ‘It could be months,’ Harvey said. ‘Wallace seemed spooked by the calls, and if he’s smart, he’s got new phones and is working on damage limitation as we speak.’

  The combination of beer and bad news was too much for Gray. ‘Well that’s tremendous,’ he said. ‘So you’re telling me you can’t do a thing until they trip themselves up?’

  ‘I know it doesn’t sound good, but—’

  ‘Damn right, it doesn’t. It sounds like bullshit to me.’

  ‘And what would you do, Tom? Pop round for a quick chat? Just you, Hart and a meat cleaver?’

  ‘Don’t tempt me.’

  Len Smart took the phone off Gray in an effort to defuse the situation.

  ‘Tom, pull your neck in,’ he said, looking at Gray. Then he spoke into the speakerphone: ‘And Andrew, stop giving him ideas. Sonny and I will make sure he doesn’t go after Hart or Wallace, but I suggest you shift your arse and get something on these guys, sharpish.’

  Smart hung up the phone and tossed it to Gray. ‘So now what?’

  ‘You heard him,’ Gray said. ‘I sit here with my thumb up my arse while Hart and Wallace live it up.’

  ‘Will the real Tom Gray please step forward?’ Sonny smiled, popping another beer. ‘Who is this imposter?’

  Smart took a pull from his bottle. ‘What our young friend means is, what do you want to do now, Tom?’

  Gray wondered if it was the alcohol he’d consumed that left him so confused. ‘Are you saying we go after Hart? Because you told Harvey—’

  ‘Exactly what he wanted to hear,’ Sonny finished, putting an arm around Gray’s shoulder. ‘We loved Vick, too, and we know what you’re going through. Len here promised that you won’t go after Hart, and you won’t.’

  Gray shook his head. ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘You don’t have to go after him,’ Smart said, ‘but that doesn’t mean we can’t.’

  ‘No,’ Gray said. ‘I can’t ask you to do that. I won’t ask you.’

  ‘You don’t need to,’ Sonny said. ‘We’re already in. We just need a plan.’

  Gray stood and faced the seated pair. ‘Enough!’ he shouted. ‘You have no idea how much I want to look into Hart’s eyes as I stick a knife through his heart, but Melissa needs me. If you touch Hart, it’ll come back on me, and I can’t afford that now.’

  He grabbed his coat from the back of a chair and threw it on, leaving them with a final warning.

  ‘Forget about Hart.’

  Gray walked out into a crisp evening, the first sign of rain splattering the pavement. He was tempted to walk the four miles home, despite the onset of a heavy downpour, but he couldn’t afford to catch cold and miss Melissa’s reawakening the following day, so he waited at a taxi rank until a battered Nissan pulled up.

  On the journey home, he tried to focus on the things Melissa would need once she left the hospital, but all he saw was his daughter lying in the Perspex sarcophagus, helpless and alone.

  To the taxi driver looking in his rear-view mirror, the sight of a grown man crying in the back seat of his cab was all part of a day’s work.

  Chapter Thirty

  Monday 21 October 2013

  Tom Gray was halfway through the new nursery rhyme book he’d bought for Melissa when Dr Duckitt arrived, closely followed by a couple of nurses, one blonde, the other a brunette who was pushing a trolley loaded with sharps and a selection of phials.

  ‘Hello, Mr Gray,’ the doctor said, taking Gray to one side so that the nurses could get on with their preparations. ‘In a few moments we’re going to turn off the Propofol feed that’s keeping her under. It will be a few hours before she’s fully awake, but at this point Melissa’s particularly vulnerable to infection. We’ll need to get you into some scrubs before you can hold her.’

  Gray nodded, glad that the moment he’d been waiting for would soon arrive.

  From where he stood, he couldn’t see any movement in the crib, though the cardiac monitor was indicating a very slight increase in activity. Duckitt, scanning two other machines for vital signs, gave Gray a smile to indicate that everything was going well.

  The doctor gave the nurses some instructions before leaving Melissa in their hands, and Gray went for a coffee while they monitored and recorded her vitals.

  As he sat stirring the drink, he said a silent prayer in the hope that someone was listening. No child should have to go through this nightmare, much less any parent. Unfortunately, this line of thinking once again reminded him of Hart.

  The man was living the high life, and only his own stupidity would see him come to justice, but Gray wasn’t holding his breath. Anyone who had managed to build an empire based on fear and violence would almost certainly be clever enough to keep his head down for a while. No prosecution would take place without concrete evidence, and lots of it. Hart was sure to know this, and would no doubt have a solicitor capable of explaining away anything untoward.

  His coffee cup shuddered as a mother carrying her child bumped into his table. After assuring her no damage was done, he turned his thoughts back to his own daughter.

  Would she ever get to dance like a normal child? To chase butterflies in the park, or scale the climbing frame in the school yard? He knew he’d have to wait and see, but whatever the outcome, Melissa was going to get all the love he could give.

  Gray finished his drink and returned to the room, where the blonde nurse intercepted him and led him to a changing room.

  ‘You’ll find a gown, hat and gloves in there,’ she said. ‘Strip down to your underwear and put your own clothes in one of the lockers. You can keep your socks on, but put the baggies on your feet.’

  Gray changed quickly and hurried back to Melissa’s room, where the plastic cover had been removed from the crib. His daughter was now swaddled in a blanket, though the wires monitoring her condition remained in place.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Doing fine,’
the brunette said, as she straightened his paper hat. ‘Go over and see her.’

  Gray walked to the cot and gently stroked his daughter’s forehead, careful not to dislodge any of the sensors.

  ‘Daddy’s here, darling.’

  He stood there for twenty minutes, whispering to Melissa and waiting for a response. When it came, he was shocked by its ferocity. Melissa began shaking, convulsing, and the cardiac monitor increased in tone and frequency as her heart began pumping harder.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Gray asked the nurses.

  ‘It’s perfectly normal,’ the brunette replied. ‘Her pulse is at 135, which is well within the range for a girl of her age. As she comes around, brain activity picks up, which is why you saw her trembling. Limbs that haven’t been used for a while are suddenly getting signals again.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  While one nurse convinced Gray that everything was going as planned, the other called for the doctor. Duckitt arrived a couple of minutes later, and after being brought up to speed he removed the tube feeding oxygen to Melissa’s lungs.

  A few minutes later, Melissa briefly opened her eyes and immediately began crying.

  ‘She’s photophobic,’ Duckitt explained. ‘She hasn’t used her eyes for some time, and it’ll take time to adjust to the light.’

  One of the nurses used a dimmer to reduce the intensity, but Melissa continued to cry.

  ‘I think she wants her daddy,’ Duckitt said with a smile, and Gray scooped her into his arms, mindful of the electrodes still attached to her. He made soothing noises and his daughter gradually settled down, her reserves of strength yet to be replenished. For once Gray didn’t mind the noise: it meant his daughter was alive, and that was all that mattered.

  The brunette held out her hands and Gray handed his daughter over. Melissa was placed back into the cot and Duckitt began performing neuromuscular tests, ensuring her limbs worked normally.

  ‘Physically, Melissa’s fine,’ the doctor said, but Gray could feel he was holding something back.

  ‘But . . . ?’

  ‘The area we’ve always been most concerned about is her brain. At this point, there’s no telling what damage has been done. She may well recover fully, but we won’t know until Melissa’s ready to start talking. There were signs of swelling to the Broca’s area of the brain, which can affect speech and language, so communication may be a problem as she grows.’

  His joy of a few moments earlier fizzled out, but Gray was determined not to become too disconsolate. He still had his daughter, and whatever problems she faced, he would be there to help her.

  ‘When can I take her home?’ he asked.

  ‘It will be a couple of days, at least. We need to monitor her for a while, but as things stand, Melissa should be ready to leave on Wednesday.’

  Duckitt left to continue his rounds, and the brunette disappeared for a few minutes, returning with some baby formula.

  ‘All yours, Daddy,’ she said, handing Gray the bottle. He pulled a chair over to the side of the cot and lifted his daughter out, caressing her cheek with his finger while he gave Melissa her first proper meal in over a week.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Tuesday 22 October 2013

  When his burner phone rang, Frank Wallace knew there could only be one person on the other end of the line. Still, after recent events, he wasn’t taking anything for granted.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘What’s the latest?’ Hart’s unmistakeable voice boomed.

  ‘It looks like I was right,’ Wallace told him. ‘This has Gray written all over it.’

  ‘That little cocksucker. He’s a dead man. Him and that fucking girl of his.’

  ‘Don’t be hasty,’ Wallace warned. ‘We need to get him isolated, otherwise you may not have enough time for what you need to do. I’ll meet you in a couple of days, after I’ve come up with some options.’

  Hart mumbled something unintelligible before hanging up, and Wallace afforded himself a little smile.

  Whoever was behind the phone calls, it certainly wasn’t Tom Gray. One simple check had confirmed that he’d been visiting his daughter at the hospital when the calls had come in, and he was unlikely to have mounted a surveillance from the intensive care unit.

  That meant it was either the IPCC or MI5.

  The Independent Police Complaints Commission was unlikely to go to such lengths, he knew, which meant the security services were most likely on his case. That revelation had hastened his decision, and he was in the final stages of his preparations.

  He would still send Hart after Gray, despite the ex-soldier not being involved. The hope was that Gray would take Hart down permanently, his odds shortened by the letter Wallace had posted earlier that morning. Gray would receive it sometime the following day and would be prepared for an attack, and history told him that Tom Gray prepared very well indeed.

  With Hart out of the way, the possibility of building a case against Wallace shrank immeasurably, but he knew there was still the chance of Hart’s original blackmail recording turning up.

  That was why Frank Wallace had to die.

  He’d already scoped out the spot on the beach where he’d park his car with the suicide note on the dashboard and walk into the water. Footprints would lead in, but not out again, as he would traverse the beach until he came to a rocky outcrop. From there it was a short stroll to the other car he’d recently purchased in the name of Herman Ulrich, and then off to sunnier climes.

  Not the most original idea, he conceded, but with only a few days to plan his escape, it would have to do. By the time anyone became suspicious, he’d be in Brazil, and from there the world would be his oyster. A little plastic surgery, a change of hair, perhaps a beard, and he’d be able to enjoy the money Hart had been throwing at him over the years.

  ‘Andrew, we’ve got incoming.’

  Harvey took the phone off Hamad Farsi and listened to the report from the field team camped near Frank Wallace’s flat. He gave instructions for the men to send the recording to his station and remain in place.

  ‘Told you we’d get something within a week,’ Harvey said, holding out his hand.

  Farsi dutifully handed over a five-pound note. ‘You got lucky this time.’

  Harvey’s computer beeped to signal the incoming message and he played the audio file it contained.

  ‘I think we should warn Gray,’ Farsi said, once the recording had finished.

  ‘Definitely,’ Harvey agreed, ‘but we might be able to turn this to our advantage.’

  ‘What do you have in mind?’

  Harvey outlined his idea, and they batted it back and forth until they were happy that they had something workable.

  ‘All we need to do now,’ said Farsi, ‘is convince Gray to go along with it.’

  Gray was just finishing the washing-up when his phone rang, and he quickly dried his hands before answering.

  ‘Hi, Tom.’

  ‘Andrew. Have you got any good news for me?’

  ‘I think we have. We overheard a conversation between Wallace and Hart. It looks like they’re coming for you.’

  ‘And that’s good news?’ Gray said.

  ‘Hear me out, Tom. It won’t be for a couple of days, and we’ll be ready for them. The plan is for us to have armed officers surrounding the area. As soon as Hart and his men show up, we take them down. Game over.’

  ‘That’s it? Doesn’t sound like much of a plan to me. Why don’t you just go and arrest them now?’

  ‘At the moment, all we have is a conversation. That can be explained away by any half-competent lawyer. We need to catch them in the act.’

  ‘What did they say?’ Gray asked.

  ‘Just that they were going to pay a visit in the next few days.’

  Gray detected a hint of hesitance in Harvey’s voice. ‘I want to hear the recording.’

  The line went silent for a while, and Gray used that time to hit the ‘Record’ button on his phone. Up until n
ow, the free app he’d downloaded had been used mainly to record conversations with clients, but Gray felt this was something he’d want to hear again.

  ‘Okay, here it goes.’

  Harvey played the brief discussion, and Gray gripped the phone with white knuckles when he heard that Melissa was also on Hart’s agenda. He tried to control his breathing, but Hart’s words had ignited something deep inside, and his heart rate hit the one-fifties. His mind swirled as he tried to comprehend how someone, even a thug like Hart, could target his little girl.

  Not once, but twice.

  ‘Tell me what you want me to do,’ Gray said, his voice betraying his anger.

  ‘We want you to meet with Wallace and tell him you’re going away for a few weeks. Give him the address of a safe-house we’ve got lined up, and then we just wait for Hart to show up.’

  Gray considered the proposal, but there was one thing troubling him.

  ‘I want Melissa out of the way before we do this,’ he said. ‘She can’t be there.’

  ‘Of course, Tom. There’s no way we’d involve your daughter in this.’

  It was Gray’s turn to go silent, his mind working overtime as he considered the plan. Less than a minute later, he agreed to go ahead with it, though he threw in a few caveats.

  ‘I want Ken and Mina rehoused while this is going on, just in case Hart decides to hit me at home.’

  ‘No problem,’ Harvey said.

  ‘Also, I can’t bear to be separated from Melissa. Do I actually have to be in the safe-house? Can’t you get someone with a similar build to parade in front of the curtains?’

  ‘I guess that would work,’ Harvey conceded.

  ‘Then that’s settled,’ Gray said. ‘I’ll give Wallace the address, then take off with Melissa until it’s all over.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll arrange for somewhere safe for you and—’

  ‘No. I’ll arrange it myself. Hart’s got a senior police officer in his pocket, which means he could have others. At the moment I don’t really feel like trusting too many people with my daughter’s life.’

  ‘Fair enough. I understand.’