Nemesis

by Roger A Price

  There was a note for him on the kitchen table; she’d ‘gone out with mates’ and would be crashing at one of their houses. She seemed to do a lot of this nowadays; though he was really relieved, he was dead beat and in no mood for more grief.

  It felt like he had only just closed his eyes when the alarm went off at 6 am. By seven-thirty he was at Rochdale police station, where the incident room had been set up. Five minutes later he was in the uniform chief inspector’s office, which had been taken over as the SIO’s office.

  The senior investigating officer was detective super Harry Delany, a stout man in his mid-fifties. A dour Scotsman who Vinnie knew fairly well, though he’d never actually served under him. He was sat at his desk and invited Vinnie to take a seat. He passed over one of two cups of vending machine coffee as he did so.

  “Thanks Vinnie, I’m ready for this.”

  “Me too, boss, I’ve got a mouth like an Egyptian mummy’s breath.”

  Delany grinned as he took the cup, and asked Vinnie to bring him up to date. Ten minutes later Vinnie had finished and took a sip of his brew.

  “I’m guessing it’s too soon for anything from forensics?”

  “Yeah, and anyway Susan Hall isn’t hopeful. She says they found nothing obvious at the abattoir, flat or on the cat, though it’ll take the scientists a lot longer to confirm this.”

  “I’m guessing the tongue belongs to the deceased Knowles?”

  “Well, his head is missing one, so I’m guessing so,” Vinnie said, trying not to smirk. He hadn’t intended his remark to sound funny. He noticed Delany stifling a grin before he spoke next.

  “I’ve got a team doing a profile breakdown on Moxley, and that of all his known associates; cons and screws.”

  “What was he in for, boss? I’ve had no time to do any background on him.”

  “He was ten years into a twenty stretch, for raping and murdering a young teenage lad in Preston,” Delany started.

  “Oh that bastard, I knew the name was familiar. I remember that job now,” Vinnie said, before Delany continued.

  “Well, he was recently indicted for a second attack on a fellow con, almost a carbon copy of the job he’d been originally convicted for. This time the trial judge ordered a full physiological and mental assessment before he’d accept a plea from him.”

  “And that’s why he was being moved. Though, doesn’t that mean he’d not stand trial until deemed sane again?”

  “That’s true.”

  “Sounds like a defence driven ploy. You’d have thought he’d have been pleased with that.”

  “It may well have been, but the assessing doctors reckoned he was as bad as they come. Said he should have been assessed long ago, was probably a nutter at the original conviction. Though, I disagree on the last point.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I worked on that job. I was one of the interviewing officers – as a DS – and he seemed lucid enough to me at the time.”

  Vinnie realised it could only help having a SIO with prior knowledge of Moxley. “Who was the original SIO?” he asked.

  “A Lancashire super called Bob Dawson. He’s retired now, living in Spain, but I’ve actioned someone to speak to him later.”

  “If you need anyone to go to …” Vinnie started to say.

  “… Spain?” Delany interrupted, adding, “it won’t be you. I want you to concentrate on catching Moxley.”

  Worth a try, Vinnie thought, but he knew Delany was right. They then discussed investigative strategies and Vinnie said he would have some local informants tasked straight away. Apparently Moxley had always lived around the Rochdale area, though travelled to Preston when he committed his original heinous crime. Hopefully, some local snout might pick something up. “How much can we offer for his arrest?”

  Not wanting to stereotype Delany, Palmer was nevertheless pleasantly surprised with his answer.

  “Five grand. We need to catch this bastard quickly.”

  They were about to finish when a thought occurred to Vinnie. “Not wanting to spoil your morning even further, boss, but …”

  “What?”

  “When you get that list of Moxley’s associates, cons and screws. They’ll all need to be risk assessed. If the mad monster is on a revenge kick, then anyone who’s spilt his tea could be on his list.”

  “Oh bollocks. Aye, I suppose you’re right Vinnie. In that case we’d better double the snout reward to ten grand.”

  Vinnie walked into the main incident room, which usually passed off as a gym, though it didn’t look as if it had been used for a while, with dusty equipment packed up into one corner. He spied his DC, Rob Hill, sat to one side looking even more dishevelled than normal. He’d let it pass, the lad had worked hard yesterday. Though he looked more than tired, and Vinnie was certain he had the same clothes on as the previous day. No matter.

  “I thought police gyms were a thing of the past,” Vinnie offered as he approached.

  “I think they were boss, but they are talking about bringing them back now the new fitness regs are coming in,” Rob replied.

  That’ll catch a few out, him included, Vinnie thought. He looked at his watch, it was nearing 8 am, and the canteen should be opening. “Come on, Rob, let’s get some fried food in us, you look like you need it. We’ve got a busy day ahead.

  As they travelled in the lift to the sixth floor, Vinnie wondered whether he should give Lesley a ring or whether it would prove counter-productive. He decided it might spark her displeasure, especially, if she was hung over. He knew it must be difficult being a DI’s wife, particularly as he’d been putting in a lot of long days recently, but she never seemed to appreciate that he’d no choice in the matter. He decided to text her instead; it might be the coward’s way out, but he couldn’t operate with loads of grief in his head, not in the middle of a job like this.

  He sent a pleasant text message as soon as he left the lift. By the time they’d eaten and were leaving, he’d still not received a reply, though Rob’s phone hadn’t stopped.

  “You’re popular this morning,” Vinnie offered, as they waited by the lift doors.

  “It’s the girlfriend, never leaves me alone.”

  One extreme to the other, Vinnie thought as the lift arrived.

  “Where are we off to, boss?”

  “I rang the informant unit while you were taking a dump and asked them to task all their sources, but I thought we’d go and pay a local thief called Jimmy the Jemmy a visit.” Christ knows who comes up with all these ridiculous nicknames, he thought as uttered this one.

  “Who’s he?”

  “One of the last people fortunate enough to share a cell with Daniel Moxley. According to the SIO, he was released yesterday and therefore will be on licence, so should be willing to please. Anyway, how’s Bill Johnson?”

  “I spoke to him while waiting for you in the incident room. He’s still shaken, but bearing up. I’ve told him he is perfectly safe for now until we sort something better out, so long as he doesn’t contact anyone. Only he and I know which hotel he’s in.”

  “And you’ve stressed that, Rob?”

  “No worries, boss. He knows not to ring anyone, or leave the hotel. I’ve even told him to stay in his room and use room service. Said we’d go and see him later on today, if that’s okay?”

  “Of course, good man, you’re doing a good job.”

  Chapter Seven

  Twenty minutes later, Vinnie pulled his Volvo estate up outside a block of 1960s council flats. He looked around before they left the vehicle. They might be in plain clothes, but most villains would make them out as CID, and as he was a DI he was paid to use his own car. He didn’t want to be linked to his motor, at least not until they were leaving.

  He’d always remembered being in a similar situation when he was a DC, ten years ago. Things were made worse in those days, as all the CID were driving around in small hatchbacks. Apart from looking a bit crowded with two suited detectives in them, they may a
s well have had the word ‘police’ painted on them. On the occasion in mind, he and his mate had been to a similar block of flats, only to return to find an old fridge wedged into the car’s now concave roof. Probably, it came from the twelfth floor. Hell of a shot; but a bloody good job they weren’t in it.

  Having satisfied himself, he told Rob he could get out and they made their way to the buzzer entry door, which was wide open, obviously broken. The lift was also broken. Of that he was secretly pleased, the lifts in these places – when working – usually stank of urine, or worse, and in any event Jimmy only lived on the third floor. Even he could manage six flights of stairs.

  It took three or four minutes of constant knocking before the occupant relented and answered the door. A grubby looking man in his forties wearing only his union jack underpants peered through the three-inch gap of opened door, and then spoke.

  “I’ve only been on the out for a day, what the hell do yous want?”

  “Not here to give you grief Jimmy, just a quick chat. After your help actually,” Vinnie said.

  “For Christ’s sake keep your voice down. If anyone hears you saying stuff like that they’ll all think I’m a grass. Quick, get inside before you’re seen,” Jimmy replied, swinging the door open.

  Once in the front room, Vinnie saw the state of the PVC sofa and politely declined the offer of a seat, as did Rob.

  “Can’t offer you a brew as I’ve no milk,” Jimmy said. Which was another relief.

  “Look Jimmy, as I said we are not here to give you grief,” Vinnie repeated, before introducing himself and Rob properly. “Just want to ask you for a bit of background on someone,” he said.

  “On who? I told you I’m no grass.”

  “Don’t want you to be, though if you could help us locate someone, there are ten large ones in it.” Vinnie saw Jimmy’s face change in a moment. Attitude replaced with interest.

  “Who is it yous is interested in?”

  “Danny Moxley,” Rob said, speaking for the first time.

  Vinnie saw Jimmy’s face change again, only this time his expression was replaced with terror.

  “You’ll have to leave, sorry I don’t know nothing,” Jimmy said, his voice full of agitation.

  Vinnie stood his ground. He reassured Jimmy no one knew they were there and no one would know they’d been. Nobody spoke for a minute as Jimmy was clearly, wrestling with himself.

  “Okay, but you’ve got to promise me two things,” Jimmy said.

  “Go on,” Vinnie said.

  “No one will ever know I’ve spoken to you.”

  “That goes without saying, go on.”

  “Secondly, make sure you catch the bastard.”

  “That’s the plan,” Vinnie said.

  “And I’ll get the grand you promised – the ten large ones?”

  Vinnie resisted the temptation to point out, that he’d listed three things, not two, but decided against it. He also realised Jimmy thought the reward was in in hundreds and not thousands, but noted he seemed pleased with this. He didn’t correct him, if he could save the taxpayer, then he would, and anyway, greed could do strange things to the likes of Jimmy.

  “Yes you’ll get the grand, if your info leads to Moxley.”

  “Well, let me tell you, he is one weird cookie,” Jimmy started. He went on to say that he’d only been banged up with Moxley for a few weeks, and initially, couldn’t be happier, when he learned he was being shipped out.

  “You didn’t get on?” Rob asked.

  “You could say that; he raped me on the first night we were padded up together.”

  Vinnie didn’t see that coming, and by the look of shock and Rob’s face, neither did he. After a short pause, Jimmy continued.

  “Then he held a shank to my throat and said if I said anything to the screws, he’d cut me balls off.”

  Vinnie could see the pain in Jimmy’s eyes as he relived these vile memories. “But if you had Jimmy, they’d have shipped him straight out, surely, sane or otherwise,” Vinnie said.

  “You’d think so, but another con got done the week before, and he squealed; and guess what? The screws did nowt. Said everywhere else was full. By the time those animals had finished with him for talking, he could only crawl on the floor. I wasn’t taking the risk.”

  “I’m genuinely sorry to hear this Jimmy. How long were you in the same cell?”

  “Four long weeks, and it happened every night. Things he made me do, I feel so ashamed …”

  “Take your time mate,” Rob said, as Jimmy turned away from them.

  No one spoke for a minute. It was clear to Vinnie that Jimmy was crying, heard him sniff and then wipe his face with the back of his arm. He wanted to put his hand on the man’s shoulder, but feared he might make it worse.

  Having composed himself, Jimmy turned back towards them.

  “So, you see, when they told him he was being shipped out, I couldn’t believe me luck. Even though I was due out; when you are living in that kind of hell, the thought of one day’s reprieve means everything. He was well mad about it, I even got that night off as it turns out, said he was too angry. Then, the following day, he said something weird, something that didn’t mean owt, until half an hour ago.”

  “What was that?” Vinnie asked.

  “Said, we’d be together again, sometime soon.”

  Jimmy explained that he didn’t really take much notice, Moxley was a lifer, now assessed as insane, so would never be getting out and, in any event, Jimmy knew that he was due out any day, so he ignored it. Just wrote it off as bull.

  “Just rhetoric?” Rob asked.

  “That the same as bullshit?”

  “You could say that,” said Vinnie, stifling a grin.

  “But what happened half an hour ago?” Rob asked.

  “That did,” Jimmy said pointing at the TV set which was on but muted.

  Vinnie instinctively looked at the TV and read the ticker-tape news reel scrolling across the bottom. ‘Dangerous prisoner escapes custody and the decapitated body of an as yet unidentified man found in Rochdale. Christine Jones reporting from outside HMP Manchester’. He could see the backdrop of Strangeways behind her.

  “That’s why I didn’t want to answer the door. Nearly messed mesel’ when you two kept banging on it. But I reckoned, it wouldn’t be Moxley, you were making too much noise.”

  “Who knows you are here?” Vinnie asked.

  “Just the prison, probation, and now yous.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but was it just sex or a love job?” Vinnie asked, instantly regretting his choice of words, and rectifying them before Jimmy kicked off. He explained that if Moxley had formed an actual fondness for Jimmy he might at some stage seek him out. Jimmy calmed before answering and said Moxley didn’t give a damn about him. It was all about sex, power and control. That wasn’t to say that the deviant wouldn’t still come after him at some stage.

  “Bloody quick, to reach the news,” Rob said, before adding, “and it had to be that Christine Jones.”

  As much as a pain in the side Vinnie knew Jones could be, he knew it wasn’t her fault. He explained to Rob it wasn’t as if Moxley didn’t know he was wanted, so she was letting nothing out of the bag by reporting on it. It did though amaze – and worry him – how well informed Christine Jones often seemed to be.

  “We’ve got a duty to protect the public from Moxley,” Vinnie said, “and no doubt the SIO will be arranging a press conference for later this morning in any event. But I’d still like to know how she knew about the body in the abattoir so fast. We need to warn the public, but without terrifying them.

  “Now you are on the out, do you want to give us a complaint against Moxley, for what he did to you?” Vinnie asked.

  “Don’t know yet. Catch him first, and then maybe.”

  “Okay,” Vinnie said, before reaching for his pocket notebook. He passed it to Jimmy open on a blank page, together with a pen. “Write down anywhere, and anyone, Moxley may ha
ve mentioned to you. Doesn’t matter if he’s not at, or with any of them.”

  He turned to Rob, “And can you get on to crime prevention to get a police issue personal attack alarm up here, pronto. And do it with your phone, not over the radio.”

  Chapter Eight

  Daniel Moxley was vexed at the two cops showing up at the screw’s flat. It spoiled his plans. Well, delayed them, not ruined, he told himself. He walked around the corner as quickly as he could, not wanting to attract attention, but needing to get out of the way before other cops arrived.

  He’d parked Tim Knowles’s BMW One series around the corner, for which he was now glad. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could risk using the car, but it’d do for now. He could put ghost plates on it, he thought. After he’d escaped, he had told one of his two hired goons to go and get the car from the prison car park. A bit of a risk he knew, but not one he was taking so it didn’t matter. He’d have to sort things out with those two, and fairly quickly. He owed them five grand each, but he didn’t have enough money, not that they knew this. He could always give them the motor, tell them to ghost it and keep it in lieu of payment; it must be worth more than the ten he owed them.

  First things first, he had to get off the street. It would only take ten minutes to drive to the end-terrace house that his goons were using, and it had a garage next to it on waste ground where he could put the motor, then he’d discuss giving them the car as payment.

  The short journey passed without incident, and after shutting the garage door, he entered the property from the rear. He’d met these two after a series of letters; they used to take turns writing to him. Cons were always attracting nutters as pen pals, especially lifers it always seemed, usually from the opposite sex, but not exclusively, as this case proved. This had progressed to visits, and when he heard he was being shipped out, he’d asked them for help. He couldn’t remember their names, he’d always steered any conversations, either oral or written, towards a context where he wouldn’t have to use them. Nutter One and Two, he thought of them as. And to think that those supposed experts had the audacity to judge him the mad one.