Nemesis

by Roger A Price

  He finished his tea and paid the Gents a visit before heading back to the car park. He was about to cross over one of the internal roads to where his car was parked when some disrespectful idiot nearly ran over his foot in a grey Vauxhall. He shouted at the driver, who didn’t look, just gave him a one-fingered gesture. The glimpse of the driver had only been a passing one, but one he would never forget. It was Scum. He was sure of it. He only saw the guy’s face from the side, but he had only been a foot away as he’d driven past him, on his own, heading towards the exit. It was Scum all right. He hadn’t changed much, though his hair was mixed with grey now, almost looked as if he’d had streaks put in it. He was sure of something else as well; Scum hadn’t seen him.

  Moxley ran to his car, which was only opposite, and jumped in as he watched Scum’s Vauxhall disappear off the car park on to the main exit road from the services. Moxley’s car engine fired up straight away, but his path was blocked by some idiot crawling past, who stopped to reverse into a space next to his. He drove around the front of the reversing car as soon as he could, ignoring the horn blasts and undoubted attention he was drawing to himself.

  Moments seemed like an age, but he was soon accelerating hard down the exit road. Traffic ahead looked light, but he could see no sign of Scum’s car. He was torn between driving so fast as to stand out or too slow to catch Scum up. Then he realised in his haste he’d failed to check the petrol pumps, which were always situated near the exits. After a further three or four minutes, he suspected he should have caught Scum up by now. He must have been at the pumps. He pulled over on to the hard shoulder, put his hazard lights on and waited. It was a risk, he knew. It would just be his luck if some helpful copper happened past, but if he was correct, he shouldn’t have to wait long.

  Each moment seemed stretched out as he kept his eyes strained on the approaching traffic. After ten long minutes had passed, he realised he must have given up the chase too soon. No matter, he’d head back to Preston and wait.

  On his way back there, he considered whether or not he’d made a mistake. But he was sure it was that lying Scum. He’d waited a long time to see his face again and, apart from his hair, and the fact he was now in his forties, he looked just as he remembered. This was one reunion he was looking forward to; this would have to be a very special payback.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Vinnie rang Delany to inform him of the situation and he said he’d sent a uniform officer to guard the flat and await the arrival of Susan Hall, the CSI manager. She and her team were still at Rob’s address and would be for some time, but she would break away and take a look at the flat. Delany said she’d made some comment about not being sure exactly what he and Vinnie were doing, but would they please stop, as she was running out of white suits.

  Vinnie had to smile at Susan’s wit, though it was only a moment’s respite in what was turning out to be a crazy couple of days that he knew were far from over.

  Arriving back in Delany’s office, Vinnie explained what he had seen at the flat in more detail.

  “So there had definitely been a struggle of some kind?

  “No doubt, things knocked over in the lounge, and worryingly a cushion on the floor with its stuffing sticking through a tear in its centre.”

  “A knife?”

  “I’d say so, probably a defensive thing, but no blood anywhere.”

  “Let’s be grateful for that,” said Delany. “Anything else?”

  “I only had a quick look; didn’t want to contaminate what is now a crime scene, but I saw bits of a broken bottle in the lounge doorway.”

  “He’s been taken all right,” Delany stated.

  “Looks that way.”

  “But how the hell did Moxley know where Johnson was?”

  “It can only be from Rob. I hate to suggest this but no one else knew of the address,” said Vinnie.

  “Though to be fair to him, Moxley may have forced that little gem out of him before he killed him,” said Delany.

  Vinnie felt a small twinge of guilt. Harry was spot on as usual. He’d automatically suspected Rob of corruption – which could still be the case – but Harry could equally be correct. He hoped he was. They further discussed the probabilities and decided they had to keep an open mind. Vinnie said he would pay Rob’s flat a visit after the CSI team had finished and a have a look around for anything that might help establish the facts. Implicate or exonerate.

  “But if Rob was bent, how would he get access to something as sensitive as Piper’s details? He’d been a protected witness for years, and had a new identity after all,” said Delany.

  Vinnie had no idea and shook his head. He wasn’t sure that was Rob. They could still have a further rotten cop out there, if Johnson was to be believed. The day was heating up, and even though Delany kept the blinds closed permanently, it was a small office and fast becoming stuffy. “If we are done I’ll open the door to let some air in,” he said.

  “I guess. What next?”

  “I’ll get myself up to Preston, to try and find out where Piper is,” Vinnie said. “I’ll call at Rob’s en route, see if I can’t have a quiet snoop around without getting in the way. The CSI will be concentrating on the hallway and where the body was found.”

  Delany agreed and said he would crack on with the firearms authorities and the application for a line on Jimmy’s phone. He’d obviously fully changed his mind about chaperoning Vinnie.

  On the short journey to Rob’s flat, Vinnie pushed a blues CD into his car entertainment system. He rarely played any music when he was working, always seemed the wrong thing to do, but felt he needed a few minutes to relax. He hadn’t realised which CD was in the machine when he pressed play and half-wished he hadn’t bothered. As much as he loved the blues, there was a good reason he only played them in his motor. Lesley hated it, and banned him from playing ‘any of that dirgey crap’ in the house. It was another of her controlling ways he wouldn’t have to bother about again, though perversely he wished it was otherwise. He ejected the disc and drove the remainder of the journey in silence.

  He met Susan Hall as she was walking towards her van. She said she was going to have a look at the other flat and he was clear to enter Rob’s place as her staff had nearly finished, but could he use the back door. He thanked her and made his way around to the rear and put on a pair of white paper overshoes and thin latex gloves before he entered.

  Vinnie wasn’t really sure what he was looking for, but started in the lounge. He knew Susan had already had all Rob’s computer equipment and mobile phone taken away, but those items would take time to examine properly. He’d limit his quick peek to paperwork; he didn’t have too long and could always come back later. Nothing jumped out in the front room so Vinnie checked out the bedroom, again nothing. When he moved to the kitchen he found a wedge of opened letters stuck behind a tea caddy. He thumbed through the letters, most were bills or spam. The last one was Rob’s mobile phone bill. He stopped before pulling the pages out of the envelope; remembering all those texts Rob used to receive from his ‘girlfriend’. He recalled even letting Rob finish work early, once, because he’d had a hot date.

  He shook off his disdain, took a deep breath and opened the pages. It was the last month’s bill and had a post date of only a few days ago. In all of three pages Vinnie saw only a handful of calls or texts to Lesley’s mobile, however he noticed a large number of calls and texts to one other number in particular. This would take a while to properly research. They would have to apply for authority to obtain subscriber details and the actual narrative used in the texts. This would all take time. Then the timings of the calls would have to be looked at against the timings of actual events; it would keep a researcher busy for days.

  Vinnie suspected who was on the other end of that number and decided to give it a call. He could withhold his own number and not speak. He might get lucky. And if he was correct, he’d recognise the voice at the other end.

  Using his own phone he dialled the
number and waited. After a short silence it started to ring. Then rang and rang until the call was automatically ended, no answer machine. He noted the time and pocketed the phone bill. It had been worth a try; perhaps he’d try again later. He put a quick call into Delany to brief him, omitting the attempted call. Delany confirmed it would take time to obtain full access to the billing, but they should get a subscriber for the mystery number back later that day.

  Vinnie got back in his car and headed towards Preston. He caught the end of the hourly news bulletin on the car radio and heard mention of an armed robbery on a cash-in-transit van earlier that morning outside a bank in Preston. Shots had been fired and one security guard taken to hospital with serious injuries. As yet, no arrests had been made. A busy Saturday morning for the local CID. Keeping Piper’s address warm would be the last thing they would be bothered about right know.

  Once on the motorway, Vinnie knew he should be at Piper’s place in forty-five minutes or so, and settled into the journey. He turned the radio off and pushed play on the CD player.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Vinnie drove down New Hall Lane in Preston, which seemed even busier than last time. He soon found the stretch of road where Piper’s green door was located. It was on the other side of the road. There was a side street at the end of the block of terrace houses where Vinnie had parked before when he’d gone ‘on the knocker’. He pulled into the centre of the road to prepare to make a right turn into the side street when he realised he’d be there all day looking at the oncoming traffic. He’d drive on and turn around where conditions eased.

  Up ahead was a filling station on the same side as Piper’s address; it was easier to get to, and a few minutes later he was heading back towards Piper’s, away from the city. As he turned left into the side street, a silver Rover came to the junction from the side road. It was held at the junction with New Hall Lane because of the traffic. Looked like it was about to do a left turn and continue on the main road in the same direction as Vinnie had been travelling. He used this impasse to make his turn.

  As he manoeuvred into the side road, he passed the stationary Rover, driver’s side to driver’s side. He glanced up, intending to nod a courtesy. His eyes met the other driver’s and he saw recognition on his face, as he too realised who he was looking at. Moxley.

  Immediately, the Rover screeched across New Hall Lane, changing its suggested direction. It slew across the road amid a cacophony of horns and sped off towards the city centre.

  Vinnie did a frantic three point turn while cursing the Volvo’s poor turning circle. He raced back to the T junction and looked right. No sign of the Rover. He hadn’t even had time to take the registration number. He made his own risky turn in front of oncoming traffic to a second fanfare of car horns and narrowly missing a single decker bus in the process. He was half hoping someone took his number and called the local police.

  Up ahead, about three hundred metres away, Vinnie saw lines of traffic queued up behind a red traffic signal. He was hoping the Rover was among them.

  Checking the side streets and the petrol station forecourt as he accelerated towards the T junction, he saw no sign of the Rover.

  The lights ahead were changing to green and three lines of traffic were edging forward. One turned left, which gave Vinnie a broadside view of the vehicles going that way – no silver cars at all.

  He’d stay in the two lanes moving straight on, both of which made a right turn. He could only see the outside of the two lanes, no silver cars. Maybe Moxley had managed a turn off into a side street. If he had, it was already too late, Vinnie realised.

  He braked hard as he made his right turn and caught a glimpse of a silver Rover two hundred metres ahead of him in the nearside lane. It was going to be in pole position as traffic slowed to a further red light. The Rover didn’t slow; it accelerated straight through on red. This was his man all right.

  Vinnie pulled out on to the opposite side of the road and went for it. The road was a major one heading towards the city so provided plenty of room in its centre. He lost sight of the Rover as he approached the traffic lights, and had to wait what seemed like an eon for the cross-flowing traffic to break.

  Once clear, he raced across the vast crossroad junction on to a two-lane urban dual carriageway. Three hundred metres ahead the road bent to the left. No sign of the Rover.

  Vinnie redlined his Volvo in second gear and as he threw it around the left-hand bend, he saw the tail lights of the Rover up ahead as it sped up the entry ramp to a multi-storey car park on his left-hand side. Sparks flew off the concrete walls as the Rover bounced up the incline like an uncontrolled pinball, and was then lost from view as it entered the car park.

  Vinnie rushed up the ramp, a little slower, and came to a halt on the first level. A quick scan revealed nothing moving. Next level. Same again. He wound down his window and listened. He could hear tyres screeching above him. Off again.

  As he entered each level, the number of parked cars became fewer, which improved his view across the level. He had all his windows down to help him locate the exact location of the screeching tyres. He soon lost count of how many floors he driven up but thought he must be nearing the top.

  As he entered the next level, he caught a glimpse of the Rover’s back end as it raced up the ramp. More sparks flew as it corralled itself. Each collision, slowing it slightly. Vinnie noticed that this floor had more natural light, which was coming from the up-ramp Moxley had taken. Showtime.

  Having missed the side walls, Vinnie accelerated as he left the ramp and flew across the open top floor. The only other car there was the Rover which skidded to a halt at the other side of the roof near to a stairwell. Vinnie realised there would be no lift access on this floor as his Volvo engine screamed to a halt. He had to stop Moxley before he lost him on foot in this warren of levels and stairways.

  Vinnie was out of his car about twenty metres away from the Rover. Moxley was already out and running towards the staircase. Vinnie remembered his gun. He’d never catch Moxley before he reached the stairs, but he also knew he had no grounds to fire at the back of a fleeing man, even if Moxley was armed, which Vinnie doubted. In the law, a fleeing man is no immediate threat; it’s different in the States, but this was the UK. He may have a knife on him, but that would only come into the equation if Vinnie cornered Moxley who then threatened him with it.

  He’d try a warning shot. Not really in the rule book, but a non-lethal option. He fired one shot high into the air as he ran. No effect, the arrogant swine didn’t even glance back. He was almost at the staircase.

  Vinnie’s legs were starting to hurt as he powered forward, but he was still fifteen metres behind Moxley. Then in a fleeting moment he thought of all the hurt and suffering Moxley had caused so many people. He skidded to a halt, prematurely. Lowered his gun arm, aimed and fired.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Vinnie saw sparks and dust fly out of the grey concrete wall about the same time as he saw Moxley disappear down the stairs. He must have missed. He wasn’t sure whether he was glad or sorry that he’d missed, but he knew he’d just torn a page from the rule book.

  The stairs to the next level down were split into two flights. No sign of Moxley as he ran down the first, but he could hear noises below. The sound of feet skidding.

  Vinnie landed at the bottom of the second flight and glanced down the start of the next flight, nothing. He stood and looked around the mainly empty level and movement caught his eye. Over towards the opposing flight of stairs. Vinnie set off after him, but had lost some ground. By the time he reached the other stairwell, he knew he was slowing. He stopped and listened. Nothing, apart from his own laboured breathing.

  He couldn’t tell whether Moxley had made his way down or gone back up. Surely, it made sense to go down. Then it hit him; the Rover. He wished he’d used his warning shot on the motor’s tyres now. If Moxley had continued on down he now had no chance of catching him, so he leapt up the staircase, partia
lly recovered thanks to short respite. He strained his hearing for the sound of a car engine. Then remembered he’d left his own car keys in the Volvo.

  Seconds later he arrived back on the top level and saw both cars were where he’d last seen them, but no Moxley. Game over, for now.

  He came to a halt as he slowly caught more of his breath and ambled towards the other stairwell. He pulled his mobile out as he walked across the empty car park and rang three nines, it would be quicker. He gave the Lancashire radio operator Moxley’s description, which he was glad didn’t involve a wig this time, and the fact the he was now wearing a grey coloured jogging outfit complete with hood, like some middle-aged hoodie.

  He’d ring Delany next, but first he’d try to find his illegally fired bullet cases. He didn’t want some kid finding them and ringing the police.

  He couldn’t see them anywhere, so went over to the entrance to the stairwell in case a shell had somehow gone down the stairs. It hadn’t, but as he passed the area where he’d hit the wall, he saw something much more interesting.

  Blood: and it was fresh and wet. Not much, but enough. Splattered against the wall near to where the round had hit and chipped the concrete. He’d obviously not done too much damage as he couldn’t see any blood down the stairs, but it must have clipped him. The fact that the splattering was near the chipped wall suggested either a clipped flesh wound, or a through and through wound. Vinnie reckoned there would more blood evident with the latter, though he was no expert, but it added up.

  At least if he had clipped him, it might slow him down a bit. He was about to ring Delany when his phone rang, it was the radio operator. A patrol was on its way to him and several more were converging into the city centre. A dog unit was also on its way to him to hopefully pick up the trail. He ended the call and went back to the wall. There wasn’t much blood, just splashes but he didn’t want the locals seeing it. He started to use the sole of his shoe to rub at the marks when it started to rain. Perfect. It was only a summer shower, but that would do nicely.