LOOT & I'M WITH THE BAND: The DCS Palmer and the Serial Murder Squad series by B.L.Faulkner. Cases 5 & 6 (DCS Palmer and the Serial Murder Squad cases Book 3)

by Barry Faulkner

  ‘Jesus, Margaret! What are you doing with him?’

  It was a male voice with a high degree of panic in it. Palmer hadn’t noticed the figure come quietly out of the shop’s back door; as it moved into the cloud-reflected light of Brighton he recognised Mr Stanley Leyton, MP – an extremely worried Mr Stanley Leyton, MP.

  ‘It was the only way I could get away, Stanley. The police arrived at the Manor about five minutes after you called, I didn’t have any time; had to use him as a hostage to get away.’

  ‘I rang as soon as I was released. Oh my God, what do we do now? What do we do with him?’

  Palmer could hear the trepidation in Stanley Leyton’s voice and sense his utter confusion at the situation.

  ‘We stick to the plan, Stanley. The boat’s ready to go.’

  Palmer raised his eyebrows.

  ‘The boat? What boat?’

  Margaret Leyton smiled a knowing smile.

  ‘Oh yes Chief Superintendent, we have a motor boat; thirty foot and very powerful. Be across the Channel and landing somewhere in Europe before they can put a trace on us.’

  Stanley Leyton clearly was not as confident as his wife.

  ‘I don’t know, dear. Now the gold’s gone, perhaps we should have another think about this. It’s all getting a bit heavy, a bit serious.’

  ‘The gold hasn’t gone Stanley, I got it back. That’s what I’ve been doing this last week while you’ve had your head stuck up the PM’s arse. It’s in the car – well, most of it is; enough to set us up for good anyway. God, Stanley! You are such a bloody wimp. If Charles was still alive he’d be champing at the bit to get going.’

  Stanley Leyton regained his composure.

  ‘Well Charles Plant is not alive, is he? And we are heading for a lot of trouble I can tell you – the police have got you and your car tied into murder, Margaret! And what’s more, bloody Charles bloody Plant started it all!’

  Stanley Leyton was getting very worried about his lofty position in life, and a jail sentence would finish his political aspirations for good. Palmer saw a chance to open a rift between them. He raised his eyebrows in a ‘now I know the situation’ way and spoke to Margaret Leyton.

  ‘So, you were the lady seen socialising around with Plant then, were you? We got reports about her, but I never thought it was you. The reports had the two of you as an item.’

  Stanley Leyton looked a little numbed by that. He swivelled his gaze between Palmer and his wife; the wig was clinging on as best it could, what with the swivelling and the rain.

  ‘An item? What do you mean by that, Superintendent?’

  Margaret Leyton spoke out.

  ‘An item, Stanley. Charles and I were an item. Did you think I’d sit by the fire and knit with the WI, while you were fawning around your political hierarchy in London?’

  Stanley Leyton looked like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. He stood perfectly still, the rain running off from his flattened wig down his face and dripping from his nose and chin.

  ‘I… I… I don’t understand.’

  ‘We were lovers, Stanley. Charles was full of life and wonderful to be with.’

  She dismissed that track of conversation with a flip of her hand.

  ‘Anyway, that’s all gone now – water under the bridge. So we are where we are, and we’d better get going. Come on, move! The police will be here soon.’

  Palmer nodded like an old sage dispensing wisdom.

  ‘And when they get here you’ll both be off to jail. Not a very nice place is jail, Mr Leyton; full of thieves and cheats and liars. Just like the House of Commons, eh?’

  He couldn’t resist it.

  ‘People who will stab you in the back – only these people use real knives; especially if they think you’ve got a pot of gold stashed away somewhere. Some of them will want to beat you up until you tell them where it is, and others will want to protect you from the beatings for a big share of it; and when their mates on the outside don’t find that share, they’ll beat you up too. Not exactly a win win situation, is it?’

  ‘Shut up!’

  Margaret Leyton brought the shotgun stock round hard into Palmer’s back so hard that it sent him sprawling in the muddy wet ground of the yard. His already grazed and stinging hands took another hit as they softened his fall.

  ‘Just shut up! Not another word from you. Stanley, open the shed door.’

  She gave him a padlock key. Leyton stood fixed to the spot, his mind gone totally blank.

  ‘Now, Stanley. Now!’

  He stumbled to the shed and opened the padlock that clattered to the ground. Palmer could guess what she had in mind for him and played for time.

  ‘You’ve set my sciatica off.’

  He winced as the pain shot down his right leg as he slowly heaved himself up from the quagmire that the yard was fast becoming as the rain intensified.

  ‘What?’

  Margaret Leyton was confused by the remark.

  ‘My bloody sciatica, you stupid woman, I’ve got a couple of dodgy discs, and that thump in the back hasn’t done them any good at all.’

  ‘Then shut up, or you’ll get another one.’

  ‘Assaulting a police officer was just added to your list of offences.’

  Flashing blue lights permeated through the night rain, from the main street up along the alleyway outside the backyard. Stanley Leyton was shaking.

  ‘The police are here.’

  Margaret Leyton stopped short.

  ‘How the hell did they know where we were?’

  She peeped slowly around the corner of the yard down the alleyway. At the end of it, the road was lit up by police car headlamps. Blue lights flashed and figures cut shadows in the light as they moved to and fro.

  ‘Shit!’

  She turned to Palmer.

  ‘Take off your coat.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Now! Take off your coat. Stanley, swap coats with him.’

  As they did so, she leant into the Jaguar and retrieved Palmer’s trilby and gave it to her husband.

  ‘Put this on. And now you can go into the shed, Chief Superintendent.’

  She motioned with the shotgun towards the shed door. Palmer moved slowly to it; he’d guessed this was her plan.

  ‘Your husband doesn’t look anything like me, it won’t work. Best if I drive the pair of you.’

  Margaret Leyton wasn’t in the mood to be argued with. She prodded him sharply in the stomach and he fell backwards over a raised step into the shed. She slammed the door and hooked the padlock into place.

  ‘Stanley, you’re driving. Get in.’

  Margaret Leyton got into the back seat behind her husband.

  ‘Right, let’s go.’

  She pulled Palmer’s trilby down as far as she could on her husband’s head and placed the shotgun barrels against his neck.

  ‘Drive out slowly and keep looking forward. Don’t show your face. They don’t know you’re here, so they’ll think it’s still the Superintendent driving. Come on, let’s go; we’re in too deep to give up now.’

  Leyton executed a shaky three-point turn in the yard, and very slowly brought the car into the alleyway and towards the bright light of the road.

  Chapter 52

  DS Singh stood beside Handly and DS Jones as the Jaguar approached them down the alley.

  ‘I can get a clear shot at her when they turn from the alleyway into the road.’

  ‘No, no way,’ DS Singh was adamant. ‘Let them go.’

  She wasn’t going to take a chance that something might go wrong and end with the back of Palmer’s head receiving two barrels of shotgun pellets; and anyway, decisions like that were way above her pay grade. She really needed a local DSI to arrive and take command, but that wasn’t going to happen; and she knew Palmer had full confidence in her being able to handle the situation.

  ‘Let them pass and then follow at a discreet distance; not too close but near enough to make them aware of us being there. Keep t
he blues on too.’

  The Jaguar was given clear passage through the cordon of police vehicles and accelerated off again, with Singh and Handly’s squad car in pursuit and the other pandas led by Jones following.

  Half a mile on and Gheeta realised a swap had been made.

  ‘Pull over!’ she said, patting the driver’s shoulder quite hard. ‘Pull over! Palmer’s back at the shop. Wave the other cars on and then turn back.’

  ‘What?’

  Handly did the waving as they pulled up and the pandas sped past. ‘He’s driving that Jag.’

  ‘No, he’s not. Look.’

  She showed him her laptop. The flashing tracker dot was still flashing at Charles Plant’s old premises.

  ‘He’s still there.’

  ‘So who’s driving the Jag then?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I have a good idea. Come on, we need to get back in case the guv is injured. Fast as you can please, driver.’

  Back at the entrance to the alley Singh and Handly jumped out of the squad car and ran into the shop’s backyard. A loud thumping was coming from the smelting shed door as Palmer back-heeled it from within. Handly tried the padlock but it was shut, and the key not with it or on the ground around the door. He called out loudly to Palmer.

  ‘It’s Handly here, sir. Get well back, as I’m going to shoot the padlock off.’

  ‘Okay,’ Palmer’s muffled voice came from inside. ‘Hang on… Right, off you go.’

  A staccato burst of gunfire from the semi-automatic transformed the padlock into a jagged misshapen lump of metal, and sent it whirling through the air until it hit the back wall and jangled to the ground.

  ‘All clear, sir. You can come out now.’

  Palmer emerged, shielding his eyes from DS Singh’s torch light.

  ‘You okay, sir?’

  ‘I’m fine, Sergeant. She’s got Stanley Leyton with her.’

  He was brushing off the dirt and dust from his trousers that had stuck to him when he squashed himself in the shed’s far corner before Handly shot the padlock off.

  ‘I guessed that when your tracker stayed here, sir. He fooled us for a while with your coat and hat.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘Don’t know, but I can call in and find out. We’ve got cars on their tail.’

  ‘Good. She said they have a motor boat and she’d got it all ready to get across the channel with the gold.’

  ‘I hate to tell you this sir, but we haven’t got any cars on their tail.’

  Handly had called in for an update.

  ‘What?’

  Palmer stopped brushing the floor dust from the shed off his trousers.

  ‘They lost them in the estates. We’ve a helicopter up looking now.’

  Palmer thought for a moment and then asked Handly: ‘If she’s heading for a boat – a decent size boat – where would she keep it? Is there a marina around here?’

  Handly pursed his lips in thought.

  ‘Probably the Brighton Marina; it’s about the only place for that size vessel, and it’s open twenty-four hours. I’ll get our duty people to contact the harbourmaster and see if Leyton’s got a berth there.’

  He used his radio as they made their way back to the squad car. They were well on the way to Brighton when the call came back to Handly. He took it, thanked the caller and turned to Palmer.

  ‘The Leytons have got a berth at the Brighton Marina, and Mrs Leyton was there all day yesterday filling the tank and taking on provisions, plus two extra barrels of fuel. She told the harbourmaster they were going up the Channel and across the North Sea to Holland, and up the Rhine for the Beer Festivals.’

  ‘Right then, step on it driver. Brighton Marina, as quick as you can. Sergeant, radio DS Jones and tell him to keep well back; not to go anywhere near the marina and ground that chopper. I don’t want the Leytons to think we are onto them and to get going faster than they have to. I want them thinking they’re a jump ahead of us and have got away.’

  He ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘And I want my hat and coat back, or I’m in trouble when I get home.’

  Gheeta laughed.

  ‘Could have been worse, sir. He could have swapped your trilby for his syrup.’

  Chapter 53

  The rain had ceased as Palmer, Singh, Handly and the firearms officers moved quietly and stealthily along the quayside of the Brighton Marina. The wet concrete reflected the flickering night lights of the boats moored alongside, as they jostled each other on the lapping waves hitting against the harbour wall like a wet flannel hitting tiles. Upfront with Palmer, the harbourmaster moved slowly along in a crouched position; being of a similar age to Palmer, their stooped walking position was not doing either of their sciaticas any good.

  ‘That’s her on the end of this row.’

  The harbourmaster pointed forward along the line of moored boats stretching in front of them.

  ‘The one with the Jag parked on the quay.’

  Palmer patted his back.

  ‘Thank you, and sorry to have disturbed your evening. You’d better go back and let us handle it from now on.’

  ‘Didn’t disturb my evening Chief Superintendent, good Lord, no. Never did like that chap Leyton – bit of a know-all about everything, he is. They call him Captain Snooty round here. What’s he done then, what’s he up to?’

  Palmer put his finger to his lips.

  ‘National Security, can’t tell you –sorry. But now you’d better get back to your gatehouse; keep anybody else well away would you, that would be very helpful – don’t want any boat owners walking in on us. I’ll make sure those at the top know how helpful you’ve been.’

  ‘Oh yes, you can rely on me, sir. Bloody spy, eh?’

  He tapped his finger on his nose and gave Palmer a knowing wink before making his way back at a stoop.

  ‘Sir,’ Sergeant Singh said as she moved up beside Palmer.

  ‘Yes, Sergeant?’

  ‘Will you make sure those at the top know how helpful I’ve been too, sir?’

  She and Handly couldn’t control their smiles.

  ‘Of course I will, Sergeant. I’ll highlight it in my daily report to Bateman.’

  Handly’s radio, which he’d put onto silent mode, vibrated; he took the call and listened.

  ‘Okay, good work,’ he whispered before hooking it back onto his belt and turning to Palmer. ‘The Border Control chaps have their cutter Valiant waiting out of sight a mile off shore. If the Leytons get out of the harbour they’ll pick them up and arrest them before they get into the main Channel.’

  Palmer was impressed with the way Sussex Constabulary was handling the situation.

  ‘Well done, lad. Let’s hope we can get them here; high speed chases up the English Channel are alright in Bond films, but I’d prefer a nice easy arrest and home to bed with a cup of cocoa.’

  Gheeta gave him a disbelieving look.

  ‘As if.’

  They edged forward until the tall hull of the boat next to the Leyton’s motor boat was the only cover left. They were about twenty feet away from the pair; Margaret Leyton was sitting in the driving seat, head turned and watching as Stanley Leyton loaded the last of the three bags of gold onto the boat whose engine was chugging quietly.

  ‘Okay?’ Palmer whispered to his people.

  All gave affirmative nods, and the Firearms Officers took off the safety catches.

  ‘No firing until I give the order.’

  He stepped into the light and walked openly towards the boat with the officers behind him, their weapons pointing at the boat.

  ‘Cut the engine Mrs Leyton and just step off the boat this way please,’ Palmer shouted loudly. ‘I have four armed officers with me as you can see, so don’t be stupid enough to even pick up your shotgun.’

  He indicated the Firearms Officers, each with their automatics held up and now pointing at her. Four laser dots speckled her chest.

  Time seemed to stand still. Margaret Le
yton froze as her mind evaluated the situation. Stanley Leyton froze, as his privileged world crumbled before his eyes.

  ‘Stanley, cast off. Now, Stanley!’ she shrieked at him. ‘Now!’

  As if in a daze, and on auto-pilot himself, Stanley Leyton unhooked the shank of rope from the boat and it slid over the edge, splashing into the harbour.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Mrs Leyton,’ Palmer was shouting as she hit the accelerator and the boat moved off at speed. ‘There’s a Border Patrol ship waiting outside the harbour. You won’t get far!’

  They saw her lift the shotgun from the floor and swivel it towards them. The blast echoed around the harbour, bouncing off the walls, and the shot tore into the hull of the boat tied up to the harbour wall next to them; she couldn’t get still enough in the swaying motor boat for a good aim as the waves tossed it up and down.

  Handly shouted to Palmer as he and Sergeant Singh scurried back for cover behind the large hull for protection.

  ‘Shall we take her out or the boat, sir?’

  His men knelt waiting for an instruction as Palmer thought quickly.

  ‘The boat – don’t hit her or Leyton, just stop the boat. Sink the bloody thing.’

  He thought it far better to pull a wet member of Her Majesty’s Government and his wife from the water than two bodies riddled with police bullets. Less paperwork involved.

  ‘Fire at the outboards!’

  Handly had hardly given out the instruction when four repetitive bursts of gunfire followed their laser red guide dots towards the rear of the boat. The noise of the gunfire was tremendous. Tactical Firearms don’t use silencers; their job is to frighten the enemy and overwhelm them, and noise helps.

  But the noise they made was nothing to that made by the first barrel of extra fuel that went up like a barrel bomb with a terrific whoomp and sent a wall of fire spiralling into the sky.

  Gheeta thought she saw Stanley Leyton through the fireball either dive off the boat or be blown off it by the blast; the next blast as the second barrel went off blew the boat to smithereens. The petrol whooshed upwards in another white fireball, the dazzling light reflected from the sea. The heat could be felt by Palmer and Singh a good fifty yards away.