HE WILL KILL YOU an absolutely gripping crime thriller with a massive twist

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘Come in!’

  Jane Long stepped in. She was the uniform inspector covering the response teams for the division, a tall, slim woman who seemed to hang awkwardly on her frame. Her cheeks were flushed. She had a reputation for flapping at the littlest thing. Today was not the littlest thing.

  ‘Julian! What’s all this about then?’ She perched on the chair opposite. ‘I’m like a blue-arse fly out there!’

  ‘We all are. We have everyone either at the scene or directed towards it. I’ve put the word out. We’ve declared a major incident so we’ll get all the resources we need, including the Counter Terrorism response.’

  ‘Are CT going to run with it?’ She rocked forward, seemingly enthused by the idea. That would mean someone other than her making decisions. CT was funded separately from local policing and had its own leadership team who would certainly trump them both in a situation such as this.

  ‘It looks that way. I think they’ll have to. They’re on their way here.’

  ‘Nothing’s confirmed, though.’ Jane’s tone was a little desperate. ’It’s just an explosion in a tunnel on the surface of it.’

  ‘I think it’s a little more than that. One of the victims reckons she saw someone put something under a car just before it exploded.’

  ‘I’ve got everyone who is wearing a uniform tucked up with this job somehow . . . scene preservation . . . out at the hospitals . . . witness statements — you name it.’

  ‘There’s nothing more you can do, then. You’ve responded, as is your role, and now you need to let those with the resources take up the slack.’

  ‘You’re right.’ She stood up. She seemed to have a little more spring as she did so. ‘I assume your people are all involved too?’ While Jane managed the patrol teams, Julian was responsible for the investigatory side of the business.

  ‘We’ve released everyone who is available.’

  Jane made it to the door. She seemed like she had ticked off whatever reason she had for coming in there in the first place. ‘Oh, I do still have one officer working elsewhere . . . Vince Arnold. He was out doing some work with one of your CID lot. I could call him back in?’

  Julian considered this for a second. ‘I know about that. They’re working a specific operation. I think we’re covered. We need to start taking people away rather than pushing more at this job. You know what it’s like . . . the CT lot will just turn up and start using whoever is there. It might make sense to hold back what we can. I’d leave that job running.’

  Jane nodded. ‘Okay, that makes sense. I’ll do as you said.’ She stepped out.

  ‘Of course you will,’ he said to the closed door. He looked down at his phone. It had barely stopped ringing the whole time. He sighed. It was time to start talking to people again.

  * * *

  The bell above his shop door thumped rather than rang these days. It had been a ring once — a cheerful noise, announcing an opportunity walking in off the street. Barry would stand to greet it, his hand proffered to shake or his arms open wide to the wares of his store, his voice practically singing: How can I help you?

  Now he was a larger man and standing for any reason was an effort. His waistband had increased as his enthusiasm and ambitions had shrunk. There had seemed such an opportunity at the beginning. He had seen the seaside town of Langthorne as a place to set up a growing business: second-hand goods, antiques, collectables. There was money coming into the town, movement in from London. The people were changing and he thought he could, too.

  It was three years since he had opened his door for the first time, but he hadn’t been the only one to recognise the growth potential in the town. The movers from London hadn’t just moved their homes; they had also moved their businesses. Barry couldn’t compete with their eclectic displays, their big-city reputations and their blasé attitude towards the business rates that were squeezing him tighter and tighter, choking his profit margin until it was all but gone. He should fix that bell, but it was the least of his worries.

  He brushed the crumbs from his lap and wrapped up what was left of his takeaway meatball-and-tomato-sauce roll with extra cheese. He moved his cookie so it was out of sight and out of reach. The sort of clientele he was attracting these days wouldn’t think twice. He clambered to his feet, pushing down with his arms as well as his legs. Far from proffering his hand to the figure that strutted towards him, he took one look and damn near slumped straight back into his seat.

  ‘All right, mate, yeah? How you doin’?’ It was a slim woman, her long, dark hair unkempt, her fringe pushed across her forehead and held in place by a coating of grease. She wore baggy grey tracksuit bottoms that hung low enough to show the tops of yellowed underwear. Her top half was a white vest top with a hooded jacket unzipped and open. She wore fingerless gloves, allowing her to drum on the counter with dirty nails. She sniffed. She raised her hood then trapped it tightly against her head by pushing her soiled hands firmly into her jacket pockets. Her eyes flicked around the shop to the shelves beyond where Barry stood, then down to see what was stacked on the floor. She finished by looking up into the corners. Her eyes rested for a second on the CCTV camera. It was fake. She might have realised it but gave no reaction.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Barry dropped the how, giving the question a totally different meaning. The people in the town were changing, but his shop seemed immune. He hadn’t seen this woman’s face in here before, but he had seen a thousand just like her. While the eclectic shops took the real money and attracted the well-heeled collectors, he was left to deal in second-hand mobile phones on tick to those clinging to the town’s underbelly.

  ‘Yeah, I’m looking for some medals, yeah? On ribbons they are.’ She sniffed again. She shuffled from one foot to the other. Her eyes darted around at the items behind him.

  ‘I don’t have any medals in,’ he said.

  ‘Not any?’

  ‘Not any.’

  ‘I heard you did.’

  Barry ran his hand over his lips. More crumbs tumbled down his front. ‘I can’t say what you heard, or why. I haven’t got any medals.’

  ‘I heard they came in with some other stuff. Maybe some gold coins.’

  Barry expelled air in a sort of laugh through his nostrils. ‘What do you think this is, a pirate ship? I got phones, games consoles, used games, satnavs. I got some watches and bits of jewellery, but you need to make an appointment to see them and I would need to see the colour of your money. I don’t have gold coins.’

  ‘Krugerrand,’ she persisted.

  ‘Very good, yeah. Krugerrand is a gold coin. Probably the most famous. Anybody with Google on their phone could come in here and talk to me about Krugerrand. Doesn’t mean I have any. I wish I did!’

  The woman licked her lips. She turned towards the door. Barry looked over at it too. His attention had been on the girl. Now he could see someone stood outside with his back to the door. It was definitely a man, in a black jacket pulled tight over broad shoulders. A youth tried to walk around him to get to the door and the man moved to block him. The youth took one look and left without arguing.

  ‘If you came in here to rob me, do what you like. The CCTV stores straight to a cloud. You can’t delete it. You’d be wasting your time anyway. I don’t have cash and there’s nothing here worth your time. There definitely ain’t no gold coins. I suggest you and your mate fuck off now.’ Barry’s eyes dropped to the stubby bat that leant against the desk beside his feet. He hadn’t dreamed he might need a weapon when he first opened the store. But since he had needed to move into second-hand electronics provided by more dubious suppliers, he had realised that he might need something.

  The woman’s eyes met with his, having also risen from the floor. She smiled. It was a knowing smile, as if she was reading his mind, as if she knew he had glanced to where his weapon was.

  ‘The way I see it, you got a choice. We ain’t here to rob you. I’m here to buy, yeah? I got cash. I want to buy some medals. You show me what you
got or I get him in to start looking for them. And he ain’t in the mood to pay, know what I mean?’

  Barry leant forward. The palms of his hands took his weight on the counter. ‘I told you. I don’t have any medals.’

  She leaned forward too, stopping barely six inches from his face. Her smile was a tainted yellow. ‘Those medals don’t belong to you. They didn’t belong to the sticky fingered little runt who brought them in here either. They belong to his granddad.’ She jabbed her thumb towards the door for the second time. ‘I managed to convince him I should come in here first. I can’t have him going back to jail. I told him I would come in and get the medals. I told him you mustn’t know who he is and you didn’t know they belonged to him. Because if you did, you woulda turned them away in the first place, maybe with words of advice on taking them back. Them gold coins got robbed too.’ She pushed off the counter and stepped back. She made a show of looking around. Her expression remained a sneer. ‘But I believe you. I know you ain’t got them in here. I bet he offered ’em to you though, didn’t he? And I know you woulda wanted them. But they were too rich for ya right? What did he want? A grand a coin? Maybe he was in a hurry to get shot, maybe he said you could have two for a grand? I’m close, right? But you didn’t have nothing to give him ’cause you’re a sad old fat fucker with no pot to piss in.’

  ‘You done?’ Barry said. But his eyes flickered past her. They were drawn to the man stood at the door. He was facing in now. He had a beany hat pulled low over his eyes and was blowing into his hands. It was well below freezing outside. He stared in and needed to stoop to manage it.

  ‘I want to buy them medals. I’ve got a twenty-pound note. Trust me yeah? That’s a good deal.’ Barry didn’t see where the money came from but she slapped it firmly on the table and leaned forward. The note was trapped under her right hand. She stared straight at him. He looked back at her and then beyond to the man at the door. He didn’t need this. He couldn’t get rid of medals anyway. He’d known they were nicked from the start. He was going to shift them to a collector overseas, but that meant putting them on eBay. It meant the hassle of using an account that he hoped couldn’t be traced to possibly, eventually, getting sixty quid a medal. He could get shot of the damned things for twenty quid in his hand. And this way his shop didn’t get smashed up or worse.

  ‘I need shot of the things anyway. I took them as a favour. That’s all. In good faith. I didn’t send no one out to get them. They came to me.’

  ‘Spare me, yeah? I’ve already been in here too long. You’re lucky the big man ain’t come in here seeing what the holdup is. Take your money.’ She stepped back. The money stayed on the counter. He snatched it up and pushed it into his back pocket. The medals were in a drawer down to his right. He kept his eyes on her as he pulled it open. They were still in their display box, pressed into felt with a plaque underneath. He slid the box across the counter. It stopped near the edge. She didn’t take her eyes off him. She was leaning on her palms again.

  ‘You got what you wanted,’ he said.

  Her head dipped, her bottom lip flinched. ‘Who brought them in?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Who robbed ’em?’

  ‘I didn’t know they were stolen.’

  She smiled. ‘I’m sure you didn’t. Now, who brought them in?’

  ‘I thought you knew. You were talking like you knew who brought them in. It’s got nothing to do with me. I don’t ask the questions. I’m a business man.’

  ‘You’re no better than a thief. How old was he, eh? Did he look the sort that might have got World War medals? Like he might keep them in a presentation box? You tell me that.’

  ‘I don’t ask no questions.’

  ‘Tell me a name and I go. I know this thief comes in here a bit. So you know who he is. Or I’ll get my mate in here from where he’s cold outside. He does ask questions.’

  ‘You know who brought them in. Now you have them back.’

  ‘Say his name. I WANT YOU . . . to say his name.’ The sudden volume and power in her voice caught him out. She had little flecks of spit in the corners of her mouth. He didn’t need this shit.

  ‘Toby. I know him as Toby.’

  ‘Second name.’

  ‘Toby. That’s all I know!’

  She spun and gestured. The door pushed open immediately. It banged off the wall. He took one step in.

  ‘Routledge!’ Barry flapped. ‘I think that’s it. It’s something like that.’ The big man stopped in the doorway.

  ‘We cool?’ he said. Even in two words his voice carried menace as it boomed among the dusty consoles and trinkets.

  She looked Barry up and down and then sniffed again. ‘Yeah. We’re cool.’ She scooped up the medals, turned and moved to the door. The man in the beanie hat had to turn sideways to let her past. He stared over at Barry the whole time. The woman turned left and moved away. The man held his gaze for another second. He seemed to be considering his next move. It turned out to be back out through the door, which he slammed shut. The bell crashed to the floor.

  * * *

  Detective Sergeant Maddie Ives strode along the pavement in the High Street, then took a right into a cul-de-sac with double yellows all along it and a churchyard at the end. Just one car was pulled over with its hazard lights flashing: a battered-looking hatchback with a trim missing from one of the back wheels. Maddie yanked open the grimy passenger door and Detective Constable Rhiannon Davies nodded at her from the driver’s seat.

  ‘You took your time!’ Rhiannon said.

  They pulled away. Rhiannon spun the car around and they drove along the back of a row of shops before turning left at a roundabout and down a steep hill. The sea was visible between the trees on their right. It was the long way back to Langthorne police station. Rhiannon would take a few more deviations. There was no suggestion they were being followed, but Maddie had taught her to get into the habit. And she was a fast learner.

  Maddie lifted a phone to her ear. PC Vince Arnold picked up on the first ring and Maddie could hear traffic noises in the background.

  ‘You get away clean?’ she said.

  ‘Of course I did! You ain’t working with no amateur, Maddie. I keep telling you that.’

  ‘So you do. Thanks for your help.’

  ‘I didn’t do nothing really. Just stood there in a beanie hat looking good! I reckon you should have let me smash the place up a bit till he gave you your twenty back.’

  ‘Like I said at the briefing, Vince . . . we needed to fly a little more under the radar. He thinks we let him off so we didn’t attract police attention, not because we are the police attention. It’s job done.’

  ‘He wouldn’t think the police would slap him around the face a bit until he gave it back either!’ He roared with laughter.

  Maddie couldn’t help but smile. He was nothing if not infectious. ‘That is true. But we have rules to play by.’

  ‘And I reckon you just broke every one of them!’ Vince scoffed. ‘You’re my kind of bird, Maddie Ives. You know you’re gonna give in one day. It might as well be tonight. Come on, let’s go out and celebrate.’

  ‘Wow! Thanks for the offer, Vince. I mean I am very flattered, but it seems I need to be out nicking me a little Burglar Bill tonight. But if I get that done in time, I can assure you I’ll be washing my hair.’

  ‘I bet you will. Right little prick tease ain’t ya, Maddie!’

  ‘Only in your world, Vince. Thanks for your help.’

  ‘Ain’t no need to thank me, love. All that was foreplay. You know that, right?’

  ‘I didn’t even notice. Which doesn’t bode well, now, does it?’

  Maddie cut the call. The views of the sea were gone. The town of Langthorne was now a blur of grey out of every window. She looked down at the medals in her lap.

  ‘So you got a name?’ Rhiannon said.

  ‘Yeah. Toby Routledge. The same one we already had.’

  ‘Well, at least we know for sure.’

&
nbsp; ‘We do.’

  ‘The CCTV still fake in there?’

  ‘I’d put my mortgage on it. The last thing he needs is a record of what goes on in there.’

  ‘How are you going to explain that we have stolen property back but no one in custody for handling?’

  ‘I wasn’t going to. If anyone asks I’ll tell them someone got a sudden urge to do the right thing on the back of the media appeal and they were left on the steps back there.’ It was plausible and Maddie knew it. She’d made sure their real victim, the war veteran pensioner, was front and centre of the local paper. Time was when even the most hardened thief wouldn’t have even dreamed of touching something like that. But then there really was no honour left among thieves.

  ‘We know Barry Lyle is taking all the stolen goods from the local burglars. Why don’t we target him? Get him in for handling and shut him down?’

  ‘Now you’re starting to sound like management! It’s short-sighted, Rhiannon. He’s an easy collar. Right now we know where all the stolen stuff ends up. And with our friend opposite in the chemist’s telling us who’s coming and going we’re getting a good idea who’s out committing the break-ins in the first place. The burglars are the ones we want. We shut Barry down and they still need to take their stuff somewhere. We just won’t know where and we won’t know who.’

  ‘So you reckon we go get Toby Routledge in now?’

  ‘Yeah. Why not? We show him the medals. We tell him someone told us he nicked them and see if we can shake him down a bit. See what falls out.’

  ‘He knows the game. He also has a solicitor. He always swaggers around like he owns the block, then says nothing in interview and walks. We’ve got no one actually naming him that we can mention, no forensics, no nothing. When are we going to get a job that sticks?’

  ‘It’s a long game, Rhiannon. We get to upset him. We’ll do what we can to make sure he stays in for the full twenty-four hours and the residents of Langthorne can sleep easier in their beds for one night at least. He gets a reminder that we know what he’s up to and maybe it forces him into a mistake, or someone around him bubbles him up. It’s about disruption. We just need to keep the pressure up until he messes up. And he will. He’s a seventeen-year-old kid. He only thinks he knows the game.’