Brigands M.C.

by Robert Muchamore

  But as Dante rushed into his room he bumped into Ross’ daughter Tina. She was nineteen, quite short, with a curvy figure under her nightshirt and stripy socks over small feet. Dante realised that she’d wiped his rubber sheet, put a fresh cotton sheet on top of it and brought one of the spare duvets out of the cupboard in the hallway.

  Dante gasped, stretching his pyjama top down over his penis and bum.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Tina laughed and threw him a pair of blue bottoms.

  They didn’t match the top half and Dante didn’t like this because it made it obvious to everyone that he’d had an accident, but he was too embarrassed to complain and he stepped back out into the hallway to pull them on.

  ‘I didn’t wake you up did I?’ Dante asked, stepping back into the bedroom as Tina smoothed out the fresh duvet.

  ‘Nah,’ she smiled. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ Dante said nervously. ‘I could have done the sheets. You didn’t have to get up.’

  ‘Come here,’ Tina said, as she sat on Dante’s clean bed. ‘You look sad, give us a cuddle.’

  Dante smiled as Tina wrapped her arms around his back and squished him. Tears welled up as he sniffed her deodorant. The smooth skin and shoulder-length hair reminded him of his dead sister.

  ‘I always wanted a little brother,’ Tina said. ‘I wanted him to be called Barnaby.’

  Dante smirked. ‘That’s such a toff’s name! He would have got battered at school.’

  ‘I always saw him dressed in a little sailor suit and patent leather shoes. It wasn’t a terribly realistic fantasy to be honest.’

  ‘I wish I could stay here forever sometimes,’ Dante said. ‘Especially if Holly could come.’

  Tina ruffled his hair and pulled back a triangle of the duvet. ‘You’d better get in. You’ve got to be up early for the drive to Devon.’

  ‘If I was dead I wouldn’t have to sleep,’ Dante replied. ‘Or worry about getting bombed. Or wake up drowning in piss.’

  Tina rubbed his back and gave him a kiss. ‘You are so strong and clever, Dante Scott. I’d bet you my entire overdraft that your mum and dad wouldn’t want you dead. They’d want you to grow up and become an amazing happy person, and that’s exactly what you’ll be.’

  Dante smiled and took another breath tinged with hair and deodorant.

  ‘Now try getting some sleep and I’m only next door if you need me, OK?’

  Dante nodded before skimming across his bed and diving under the sheets. Tina flicked out his light and he went to sleep thinking about Tina and imagining having someone like her as a girlfriend or wife when he was older. Sleep came easier when he looked forward instead of back.

  9. LIES

  Ross made Dante dress in chinos and a smart shirt for the trip to Devon. It was a five-hour drive in an unmarked police car, with Ross at the wheel and Dante’s armed guard Steve in the passenger seat. Dante had the back seats to himself and spent most of the trip on his Gameboy and reading every word of two wrestling magazines that Ross had bought for the trip.

  It was eleven when they stopped off at Bridgwater services to piss and eat Burger King. Dante was pleased that Ross bought him a Whopper. His mum always said it was too expensive because he’d waste half of it.

  ‘That big enough for you, boy?’ the police bodyguard asked, before blowing on his coffee.

  Dante smiled. He’d been delighted when Steve had turned up for the morning trip. Out of all the police guards, he was the one most likely to join him on the Playstation and the previous Saturday he’d even shown up with a packet of cake mix and they’d made a sponge with orange-flavoured icing.

  ‘We stopped here once on a Brigands run,’ Dante said. ‘A full-patch called Pigeon got knocked off his bike after a run up in Scotland. I was in the run truck …’

  ‘What’s that?’ Steve asked.

  ‘You can’t carry much luggage on a Harley,’ Dante explained. ‘So when the Brigands go on a run, there’s usually a truck or van that carries baggage, spare parts and stuff. When I was little I used to think it was cooler to ride in the truck than in the coach with all the mums and kids.

  ‘So anyway, this other truck knocked Pigeon off the road. We followed the truck until it pulled in. They were all set to beat up the truck driver, but the man realised he was being followed and called the cops on his mobile. So we arrived to find all these pigs – sorry, I mean police officers – waiting. But when they asked what we were doing they just said that I’d been whining that I needed to use the toilet.’

  ‘So nothing happened?’ Ross said, disappointed at the flat ending.

  Dante smiled. ‘I said I remembered coming here. I didn’t say it was a great story.’

  ‘You seem happier today,’ Ross noted.

  ‘Because something’s happening with the murder case at last, even if I don’t exactly understand what.’

  ‘I thought I explained,’ Ross said.

  Dante shrugged. ‘I still don’t get this whole CPS thing.’

  ‘OK,’ Ross said. ‘It’s called the Crown Prosecution Service. You know when you watch a court thing on TV they have lawyers who ask people questions?’

  Dante nodded.

  ‘OK, well in each court the person who’s on trial has a defence lawyer who tries to prove that he’s innocent. And the government has a lawyer called a prosecutor who tries to prove that they’re guilty. The government lawyers work for the CPS.

  ‘With a complex case like the murder of your family, the police and the CPS work together and decide when there’s enough evidence to charge someone with a crime. The CPS lawyers tell the police what kind of evidence they need to get a conviction and they speak with witnesses because it’s very important to know how well their evidence will stand up in court.’

  ‘So that’s why I’m going,’ Dante nodded.

  As Dante said this, a frail looking woman who was well into her sixties entered the restaurant. Her soft leather briefcase and lavender coat with gold buttons looked out of place in the sparsely populated Burger King, but she cracked a big smile when she recognised Ross.

  ‘Hello, darling!’ the woman said brightly, as she headed towards the table and kissed Ross on both cheeks. ‘When did I last see you? It must have been the child development conference in Leeds two years ago.’

  Ross shrugged. ‘Three years, I think. I haven’t been to the last two.’

  Dante was curious because the meeting didn’t seem coincidental.

  ‘Would you like me to get you something to eat?’ Steve asked.

  The woman gave a look like she’d rather eat her own shoe. ‘Just a tea. Two sugars, no milk, thank you.’

  As Steve stood up to join the short queue at the counter, the woman slipped into the seat next to Dante and loosened the belt on her coat.

  ‘Dante, I want you to meet Jennifer Mitchum,’ Ross explained.

  ‘Good to see you,’ Jennifer smiled, as she gently tapped Dante’s wrist before stealing one of Steve’s fries. ‘Ross and I have been swapping e-mails, but it’s wonderful to finally meet you.’

  Dante didn’t know what to say, but he hated it when people stole his chips. ‘I’m sure Steve will get you some chips,’ he said. ‘So you knew we’d be here?’

  Ross nodded. ‘Jennifer is a trained psychologist and counsellor. She specialises in dealing with children like you who need to make a fresh start.’

  Sometimes Dante felt like a stray dog that got passed from one reluctant owner to the next. ‘I thought you were doing that,’ he said, trying not to sound as bitter as he felt.

  ‘I’m not abandoning you,’ Ross assured him. ‘But I’m a police officer. I have to travel all over the country interviewing children after crimes. There’s no way I can look after you once Tina goes back to university.’

  *

  The Devon branch of the CPS was headquartered on a business estate near Exeter, fifty miles from where Dante’s family had been murdered. Dante was photographed and given a nam
e badge before following Jennifer and Ross through a full-height turnstile.

  A lawyer called Vanessa shook Dante’s hand and led him down a hallway with frosted glass doors branching off each side. She had big eyes and a bust that reminded him of the strippers the Brigands hired for their parties.

  The office was small, but functional. Dante sat on a long sofa with Jennifer and Ross on either side. Vanessa rested on the edge of her desk and grabbed a folder full of notes.

  ‘Has Ross explained who I am?’ Vanessa asked.

  ‘Sort of,’ Dante nodded. ‘You’re like the legal person in charge of the murder case. You look at all the police stuff, and decide when there’s enough evidence to charge the Führer.’

  ‘That’s it exactly,’ Vanessa smiled. ‘Our problem is that when your house was burned a lot of forensic evidence like fingerprints and things disappeared. We’ve not found a weapon or a piece of clothing that matches anything found at the scene.’

  ‘What about the mud?’ Dante asked. ‘The Führer walked in the field. He must have left boot prints.’

  ‘Yes,’ Vanessa admitted. ‘We have boot prints that match the Führer’s size and the tread matches a pair of Dr Martens boots. But lots of bikers wear the same boots, and the Führer’s a size eight, which is the most common male foot size.’

  ‘So it’s useless?’ Dante asked.

  ‘Not useless,’ Vanessa explained. ‘Just not enough. A jury has to be convinced beyond reasonable doubt, which means they need more than a couple of boot prints to prove a murder. Right now, the only thing that’s likely to put the Führer behind bars are the statements you gave to the police on the night of the murders and anything you say in court.’

  Dante nodded. ‘Have you charged the Führer yet?’

  ‘No,’ Vanessa said. ‘We’re reviewing all the evidence and we’ll make a decision on whether to arrest and charge the Führer within the next day or so. I asked Ross to bring you down here because I needed to meet you and ask very important questions about your statement.’

  ‘Well, I’m here, ask away,’ Dante said brightly.

  Vanessa smiled. ‘Some of my questions might be quite upsetting, Dante. What you have to understand is that the Brigands Motorcycle Club has a legal fund into which every member pays several hundred pounds a year. That means they can afford good lawyers, the best forensic tests, the best expert witnesses. The whole case depends upon a jury believing what you say. All the Führer’s lawyers will have to do is put a tiny doubt into the minds of one or two jurors and he won’t go to prison.’

  Dante understood this better than most nine-year-olds would have done: members of the South Devon Brigands were often in some kind of legal trouble and some of the wildest parties in the clubhouse happened when a member scored a not-guilty verdict in court.

  ‘There are two problems,’ Vanessa continued. ‘The first is that you’re not going to be the only witness. I guarantee that other people will take the stand, prepared to swear that the Führer was with them at the time of the murder.’

  Dante nodded. ‘My dad covered for a couple of London Brigands one time. He said they were at a bar in Salcombe with him when they were up in London robbing some woman’s jewellery.’

  ‘There’s not much we can do about witnesses who lie,’ Vanessa explained. ‘But the really important thing is that you are a good, honest witness. I think we have one problem with that.’

  ‘What?’ Dante asked.

  Vanessa produced a photograph of the T-shirt he’d worn at the clubhouse on the night his parents died, complete with the blood stains across the front. Then she read an excerpt from Dante’s witness statement aloud.

  ‘I was playing with my friend Joe in the clubhouse and he got a nosebleed. He gets nosebleeds all the time and some of it got on my shirt. The thing is Dante, forensics took one look at the blood. Do you see the way it’s spattered across the shirt?’

  Dante nodded.

  ‘It wasn’t really a nosebleed, was it?’

  ‘No,’ Dante said sheepishly.

  ‘We also tested the blood and it doesn’t match Joe’s blood group,’ Vanessa said. ‘So whose blood is it?’

  Dante looked guiltily at Ross and shrugged. ‘It’s Martin Donnington’s blood. That’s the Führer’s other son.’

  ‘So what really happened?’ Vanessa asked.

  ‘More importantly, why didn’t you tell the truth?’ Ross interrupted.

  Dante shrank down into his chair. ‘I didn’t want to get into trouble for fighting. So I said it was a nosebleed.’

  Vanessa sighed and looked at Ross.

  ‘But all the other stuff I said was true,’ Dante said. ‘It’s before the murders anyway, so why does that bit even matter?’

  Vanessa looked cross, but Dante was only a kid so she took a deep breath and tried to explain in the friendliest way possible. ‘Do you know what corroborated means?’

  Dante shook his head.

  ‘Corroborated means that you can check something out. For instance, you can corroborate the fact that David Beckham scored a goal for England because everyone in the stadium saw it and it was filmed for TV. If you go into your bedroom and score a billion points on your Playstation, but turn the machine off before anyone sees the high score, there’s no way to corroborate what you said because you’re the only one that saw it.’

  ‘I get it,’ Dante nodded.

  ‘The thing is, out of all the evidence you gave, what you said about the bloody T-shirt is one of the few things that can be easily corroborated. And if you didn’t tell the truth about that, it makes it much harder for people to believe other things you said that can’t be corroborated.’

  Dante looked angry. ‘So you’re saying I’m a liar?’

  ‘No,’ Vanessa said. ‘I’m saying that because you lied about one thing, people are much less likely to believe the other things that you said. And when people are being asked to convict a man of murder based solely upon your word it could make their decision difficult.’

  Dante looked down between his legs and sulked. ‘So I ballsed everything up.’

  Ross put an arm on his shoulder. ‘You made a small mistake when you were tired and upset. It’s not your fault.’

  Vanessa nodded. ‘Can you tell me what really happened to the T-shirt?’

  Dante spent two minutes explaining how the Führer got angry after his son Martin spat on Teeth’s Brigands patch, and how he’d then been asked to beat Martin up to save the club’s honour and to save Martin from a much more severe beating at the hands of the Führer.

  Vanessa looked increasingly surprised as the story unravelled. It seemed too convoluted for Dante to be making it up, but it wasn’t every day you heard about a bunch of grown men encouraging a no-holds-barred fight between two boys.

  There was an awkward silence in the room when Dante finished speaking. ‘I swear that’s the truth,’ he said. ‘But none of the Brigands will corroborate it. They’ll say I beat Martin up to make me look bad.’

  Vanessa combed her hands through her long hair. ‘OK,’ she sighed. ‘I think the best thing is for us to find an interview room where you can record an amendment to your statement.’

  ‘How would the Führer’s lawyers find out about this, anyway?’ Dante asked. ‘I mean, we don’t have to tell them do we?’

  Vanessa laughed. ‘Unfortunately we do. Everyone has a right to defend themselves in court and see all the evidence against them. Once the Führer is charged, his defence lawyers will have the right to see all the evidence we’ve collected, including your original witness statement.’

  ‘Just my luck,’ Dante said, banging his heel against the sofa.

  Vanessa gave Dante a serious look. ‘I want you to read through your statement again, and if there’s anywhere else where you didn’t tell the absolute truth you need to tell me. OK?’

  Dante nodded. The comment about the nosebleed had seemed like such a harmless lie that he’d forgotten it before the interview with Ross even ended.


  ‘I’m sorry I’m so useless,’ he said sourly.

  Ross put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s probably not that bad,’ he said, as he looked up at Vanessa. ‘The Brigands aren’t the only ones who have smart lawyers.’

  Vanessa walked across and opened her office door. ‘Thank you for coming in, Dante. I’d like to have a private word with Ross now. Would you mind waiting outside with Jennifer for a few moments?’

  10. LODGE

  Once Vanessa’s office door closed she crashed into her chair and buried her head in her hands. Ross stared at her, frustrated.

  ‘How bad is it on a scale of one to ten?’ he asked, keeping his voice down because Dante was outside.

  ‘Seven or eight,’ Vanessa said. ‘I’d hoped Dante’s explanation for the lie about the T-shirt would be something other than the fact that he got into a bloody fight with the son of the man he accused of murdering his parents a few hours later. And Dante’s school record isn’t great. He’s been in fights and he’s been accused of bullying.’

  ‘He’s hardly a violent hoodlum,’ Ross said.

  ‘I know, but the Führer’s lawyers will try to portray Dante as a violent and disturbed kid who was severely traumatised by what he saw. He was young and tired and to top it all off they’ll have proof that he’s a liar.’

  ‘What about the attempted bombing? Does that help us?’

  ‘The judge would throw any mention of the bomb threat out of court unless we had clear evidence linking it to the Führer.’

  ‘He’s a smart kid though,’ Ross said. ‘He’ll look good on a witness stand and there’s a lot of incidental evidence tying Dante’s description of what happened to the bullet holes and the position of the bodies in the house.’

  ‘I know,’ Vanessa nodded. ‘Nobody will deny that he saw what happened. But there will be other witnesses including the Führer’s own sons and other Brigands who’ll swear him an alibi. They’ll drag up some expert witness who’ll explain how an eight-year-old who sees his whole family getting their brains blown out can be so traumatised that he’ll leap to conclusions and see things that he really didn’t.’