‘So what happened?’
‘To this day I still don’t know, Inspector. We were making money. I was and Janice certainly was. Janice was very much a silent partner — it suited us both. This was my business and my passion and I have youth and ability on my side. Janice was happy for her cut on the stable rent and a smaller cut on the other elements and for my rent on the land. It was regular and it was on the up. Then she suddenly announced that the land couldn’t be used anymore for the business. She held all the cards you see. I was more than a little naïve in the creation of the contract between us. She purchased the land and I paid for the facilities. So of course she had the ability to determine its use. Or at least to determine what it was not to be used for. Out of the blue, I received a letter from a solicitor informing me that the land could no longer be used for any equestrian activity. I was effectively out of business overnight.’
‘Why would she do that?’
Andrea shrugged. ‘A fair question, Inspector, and one I still haven’t had a reasonable answer to. Around eighteen months ago they suddenly didn’t want any equestrian activity on that land. Reading between the lines, I don’t think they wanted anyone on the land at all. Initially they tried to chuck me off but they realised that we had registered a business together and thankfully that gave me some protection. Then I received an offer to buy me out, which was worth more than the money I had put into the plot, but my argument remained that they should buy me out of the business I had built up, not the land. I suspected they were trying to force me out so they could start up the same thing again and claim the profits for themselves. All the hard work was done after all. Had they bought the business, the figure would have been much higher.’
‘So you turned them down.’
‘Of course I did. I worked bloody hard to get that business up and running. The stables were full with a two-year waiting list no less and the sales and services I was offering were increasing month by month. I had a staff of four. We were all suddenly out of a job. All my money was sunk into that plot so it wasn’t like I could just go somewhere else and set up again. I’m afraid they put me in a terrible situation and for the last eighteen months I have hardly moved away from it.’
‘I imagine that made you very angry.’
‘Frustrated, Inspector. Like I said, I want answers, really. But if they would have just let me start back up again I would have done it. My partner has a job in the city. He works long hours and stays up there most of the week. That business was our key to an easier life and a retirement plan. And I should be well on the way to it by now.’
‘Have you been there since?’
‘For the first few months I went up there a lot. I was trying to get something going and I just kept ending up there. I think I was in shock. I just couldn’t understand why they would just suddenly stop something so good. They wouldn’t even talk to me, save a few letters of correspondence from their solicitor. I had another silly offer for the land, then I had warning of a compulsory clearance order — they can’t do anything with the land while the business is in dispute, you see. I knew that was a bluff, as any court process would find that I had done nothing wrong. Eventually I stopped going up there and I stopped trying to talk to them. I have a solicitor — who fortunately is a friend of ours — otherwise I wouldn’t be able to afford her. She is trying to get some movement. I’m not sure what this all means for us now.’
‘Were you here Sunday evening?’
‘Yes. You’re not suggesting I would drive up there and shoot the woman, are you? I’m very upset with it all — damned frustrated — but I do draw the line at murder, Inspector! My partner and I were both here. We were alone. I think we ordered takeout, though, so there might be some sort of record of someone else having seen me here.’
‘I have to ask!’
‘I’m sure you do.’
‘Was the land still being used? After you closed down and while the dispute was going on? Any suggestion of the Wingmores using it for something else?’
‘Well, at first I was trying to make a point. There were vehicle tracks so I knew it was being used. Some things were moving about. I saw one of the horse transporters being towed there one day and I ran over with my phone and started taking pictures. They had made a fuss about how the land couldn’t be used for anything equestrian and of course I was hoping to trip them up. But the box was empty. The driver was some rough-looking lad. My solicitor said it wasn’t proof enough. I went up there a few times after that, and then I had this single moment of realisation. It came on a beautiful summer’s evening when the sun was just setting — so it would have been around 9 p.m. and I was sat in my car, tucked behind a bush close to the entrance to the site. The transporter wasn’t there and I was waiting for it to come back with a horse in it. I suddenly thought what am I doing? I had wasted a beautiful summer’s evening. It wouldn’t have solved anything either. I realised at that very moment that I’d become obsessed and it wasn’t helping. I don’t think I’ve been back since.’
‘Are you aware of anyone else who has a dispute or a grievance with any of the family up there?’
‘I’m afraid not. I don’t really know who else would have anything to do with them, Inspector. I hope that doesn’t make me suspect number one!’
‘I don’t think so, Miss Jeffries. Just don’t leave the country! Thank you so much for taking the time this evening. I know where you are if I need to come and ask any more questions.’
‘So it seems. Do you think that land has anything to do with what happened? Is there anything I need to be aware of?’
‘We can’t rule anything out right now, Miss Jeffries. I’m sure you’ll hear all about it over a game of golf.’
George waited until he got back into his car to make a phone call to Emily. She sounded even grumpier than she’d been before. She did confirm that the technical team had been able to install the tracker as he had requested. They had found a horsebox on the plot. The tracker was concealed under a wheel arch. The tracker linked with a computer programme via a mapping application. The map had defined points that formed a virtual ring around the horsebox — a ‘geo-fence.’ If the tracker was moved outside of that fence it would immediately send a text message to three defined phones and could then be tracked via a laptop. The tactical team sergeant had the laptop and one of the phones, Emily had the second and George pulled out the third from the armrest pocket in his car and switched it on. He sent Emily home. The tactical team were to remain at a police office within reasonable distance of the stables. George himself was heading home too. There was nothing more he could do now. And he had no idea how long things might take.
Chapter 31
3 a.m. One phone ringing, the other making a shrill alarm sound. The geo-fence had been breached. The ringing was Emily Ryker.
‘I got it, the box is moving.’ George shifted across his living room. ‘How long for?’ He was still groggy; he had drifted off on his sofa. He was still fully clothed, including his shoes. His car keys were still in his pocket. He was out of the flat in less than thirty seconds. The cool air of the early hours of morning hit him all at once.
‘It’s stopped just outside the perimeter from what we can see,’ Ryker said. ‘I’m on the air with the tactical team. Are you monitoring the radio? We’re running on a talk-through.’
‘I will. Standby.’ George turned the handset on. It took a few seconds to connect to the network. He had left it monitoring the right channel. It was dedicated to his operation and no one else should be monitoring so they could talk to one another easily. The screen lit up immediately, and he heard the distinctive tones of the tactical team’s sergeant, Harry Robson.
‘Did you get my last, Emily?’
‘Sorry, I was updating the guvnor. He should be monitoring. Can you repeat, please?’
‘Yes, yes, the asset is on the move. We are making ground. Inspector Elms, confirm you are monitoring?’
‘It’s George. Let’s keep this informal. I am monitoring.’
‘What do you want from us, sir? Sorry, George.’
George was in his car. His headlights raked across the beach as he turned round and accelerated.
‘What I want is to put a stop on the asset. I’ll leave the tactics up to you, Harry. If you’re not happy to stop it then I just need to know where it ends up and we will get a perimeter on it until I can get you more resources. Assume they are armed and assume they will use extreme violence.’
‘Received that. We are in two unmarked vehicles. I will make ground and try and get a visual. Yankee Two, stay close, but out of sight. We’ll have to play this one by ear.’
George heard a confirmation from the other call sign. He could hear the excitement in their voices — this was what they lived for. He had concerns though: four officers and two cars was a lot less than would usually be sent to do an armed stop on a moving vehicle. He didn’t think Harry and his men would attempt it. He couldn’t blame them really.
‘Ryker, you still there?’ George had abandoned the phone in the passenger seat. It had connected to the car and the timer ticked up on the screen.
‘Yeah, George. You sure you want to leave Harry in charge of the tactics? They’re not the most subtle.’
‘I’m not looking for subtle, to be honest. If they choose to stop that car with just four officers they will need to be anything but subtle. Are you turning out?’
‘I can if you want me to. Or I can head back into the nick and run the intel cell. Once you get them nicked I can make a start on a report for the morning.’
‘Yeah, okay. Makes sense.’
‘Are you coming into the nick? There’s nothing you can do now the armed team are on their arse. Apart from get in the way and get yourself shot. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Don’t be silly, Ryker, I can drink tea any time. It’s not every day you can go and get shot at.’
‘There’s me thinking you might have had enough of that?’
George chuckled as he pressed for the call to end. He could feel his own excitement growing. He was in the one-way system that took him to the top of the town. He needed an update. He picked his radio back up.
‘George to the team . . . do we have a last location? I am in Langthorne heading out towards Canterbury.’
‘Yes, yes. The asset is in North Elham. They are on the Elham Valley Road, headed in the general direction of the A2.’
The A2. It was a major road that provided a link from the port of Dover to London and eventually became the M2. It would make sense for a gang based out of the county to make for it. It was the closest main road — the best option if they were looking to flee the county. George could only assume that was their intention. He didn’t like knowing so little about them. ‘Understood. I’ll take the A260 and join the A2. Have you caught up with it yet?’
‘No, no. We’re five minutes out. It’s not travelling fast, but we might not get to it before we get to the A2.’
‘Dammit!’ George spoke out loud but not into his radio. The team’s start point must have been too far away. Somewhere that did good coffee, he guessed. This time he did speak into the radio: ‘Received. Consideration for calling up on the main channel and getting a rolling road on the A2? You could get a sterile area to work in.’
‘Yes, sir. Doing it now. The A2 isn’t ideal though, George. You can’t cover the slips.’
A ‘rolling road’ was a police term for a marked unit blocking all lanes of a major road or a motorway and bringing it down to a crawling pace or even a stop. It worked better on motorways where the options for cars to join it were limited. Harry had a point: cars could join the A2 from too many points to make it truly sterile. George focussed on his driving. He was making good progress, the flashing blue lights in the grille were vivid in the darkness, so he didn’t even need the sirens. He passed through the village of Hawkinge and powered towards the A2. He wasn’t too far behind.
The next update seemed to take an age to come through. ‘All patrols, the asset is approaching the slip for the A2. Local patrols and traffic are a long way out. They are making their way, but we are unlikely to get a sterile area. We are still making ground . . . we should have a visual in under a minute.’
They must have picked up speed. George was close to the slip to the A2 himself; they were all converging together.
‘We have a visual. A dark-coloured Land Rover Freelander with a horsebox. The vehicle is stop. Stop. Standby.’
George was just a minute behind. The radio went quiet, it was a sure sign of police activity — everyone caught up in the moment and forgetting to relay what was going on. He got to the slip, the last location he knew them to be in. Immediately he could see the darkness shimmering in blue in the distance. He couldn’t see the source. He slowed up. To his left was H’s Café, a solid building just off the slip that was popular with bikers. George reckoned the blue lights were coming from the other side of that, further up the A2 maybe. They didn’t look to be moving.
George edged forward. The road split in to two forks: left led around the back of the café; right took him onto the A2 where he would be committed. He took the left fork. A yard opened up in front of him. To his right was the shadow of a large, square building. George knew it had been a hotel once. It had been closed down for almost as long as he could remember. The blue lights were still further away. The road turned into a track as he passed along the front of the building. He could just see part of a static caravan in the distance, tucked around the side of the old hotel.
George rounded the building and the blue lights were immediately blinding. Two cars, both flickering their lights, blocked in a Land Rover with a horsebox attached to the rear. Both the doors to the Land Rover were open. George could hear shouted instructions but he couldn’t make out the words. He knew he should hang back; the armed team would be moving in with their guns and body armour. He was dressed in a shirt and trousers with a small torch — hardly ready for anything. He moved a little closer then stopped. He hesitated, unsure as to whether he should continue, not wanting to go back. Suddenly he heard a loud pop — a gunshot — then another two in quick succession. There were more shouted instructions. George couldn’t stand still any longer. He moved forwards.
Sergeant Harry Robson was immediately recognisable, despite his ballistic helmet and partial face covering. George expected to be shouted at; to be sent away while they neutralised any threat. Instead, Harry met him with wide eyes, his gun still levelled.
‘They wouldn’t listen, George,’ he said, the shock clear in his voice.
George strode past him. Two more officers were kneeling on the ground. They were fussing and barking at each other. George could see a pair of legs sticking out from under them. He moved closer. A man was lying on the floor, his front soaked in blood, his eyes wide open and unmoving, his skin already draining of colour. George knew a dead man when he saw one. One of the officers was pushing a clump of gauze into the dead man’s chest; the other was doing his best to carry out CPR. George looked around; he counted three officers. There were four on the team.
‘Harry, who’s missing?’
The sergeant still had his gun covering the scene on the floor. His eyes were fixed on the activity. He seemed rooted to the ground.
‘Harry? HARRY!’
His eyes flicked to George. ‘They wouldn’t listen, George.’
‘You had no choice, Harry, okay? It happens. You did your job. Where’s the fourth man? There were four of you, right?’
Harry seemed to come to his senses. He looked panicked. ‘Goddes. He ran after the other one. They went into the woods.’ He pointed to a path behind George. It ran off parallel to the A2. George shone his torch in the general direction. The path twisted away and it was impossible to see far down it. He could hear shouting from further along the path. George broke into a run.
PC Goddes was just twenty metres into the woods. George lit him up from the back. He could tell from Goddes’s stance that he had his weapon levelled.
It was pointed at the ground and had a torch strapped to the top.
‘Don’t move!’ he was shouting. ‘Hands where I can see them.’
George got to him. A man was on the ground in front of Goddes. He leaked blood from a wound under his right eye — it looked superficial. He was in just a T-shirt and jeans. Both were filthy. The mud under him was damp and reflected George’s torchlight.
‘Don’t shoot! I’ve got nothing, yeah?’ George could see this was just a boy — late teens maybe. He lifted his hands, his palms towards George and PC Goddes.
‘Get on your knees!’ Goddes said. ‘Place your hands on the back of your head. Any sudden movement will be seen as aggression and you will be shot dead, do you understand?’ Goddes stepped closer, the barrel of his gun just a few feet from the boy who moved to his knees. His head jerked in a nod. ‘Do you have any weapons?’ The boy shook his head. ‘Sir, can you pat him down. Stay out of the line of fire. Do his top half first. When you’re happy, step away and I’ll stand him up, okay?’
‘No problem,’ George said. The instructions were clear. PC Goddes’s training had well and truly kicked in. George was careful to walk behind the boy. ‘Keep your hands still and on your head or he will shoot you. Do you understand?’ The boy nodded again. George could see his waistband was clear, his T-shirt had ridden up when he had lifted his arms and George could see a few inches of his back and stomach. George patted the centre of his back and his armpits.
‘Top half done!’ He called out.
Goddes took over the instructions. ‘When I tell you to, you will stand up slowly. Keep your hands on your head at all times. Any movement will be seen as aggression and you will be shot dead. Do you understand?’
The boy nodded once more. George could see that he was physically shaking.
‘Stand up now, slowly.’
The boy did as he was told. George waited for a nod from Goddes. He went through his pockets and down his legs. He patted his ankles and untied his laces.
‘Kick your shoes off,’ George said.
THEN SHE RAN an absolutely gripping crime thriller with a massive twist Page 25
