The Death of Me

by Natalie Hames

  He continued to scan through his binoculars, moving away from the main house towards the buildings situated at the back and he noticed a dome with a crucifix over the top of the roofs. It looked like some kind of small chapel set within the grounds.

  Maybe it’s a mausoleum? Aristocracy used to have family tombs on their estates.

  Suddenly, headlights appeared. He lowered his binoculars and leant forward, making sure he was concealed from view on the branch. The drying early autumn leaves still provided a descent cover and he positioned himself so he had a clear view of the vehicle as it rolled into an open area and parked. He recognised it instantly. It was the same van which had hit him on his first visit and as the driver’s door opened Yasin Baranski got out. He watched through his binoculars as Yasin trudged over to a large, solid oak, arched doorway and banged on it with the side of his fist and Phil’s first thoughts were that he may be making a delivery of food. He checked his watch, quickly pushing the button on the side to light up its digital display.

  “10.30pm, it’s a bit late to be making deliveries,” he whispered.

  The anomaly peaked his interest and he fixed his binoculars back onto Yasin as the door opened and a woman appeared wearing a uniform similar to one a nurse would wear. They exchanged a few words, their voices barely audible from where Phil was positioned, then she went back inside and closed the door. Yasin strolled back to the van leant against the back doors and lit a cigarette, and after a few minutes Phil heard a distant rumble.

  Yasin flicked his cigarette onto the ground and walked around to the side of the van, disappearing out of Phil’s view. The rumble got louder and he aimed the binoculars in the direction it was approaching. The sound of the van’s sliding door being slammed shut drew his attention back to Yasin and he reappeared from the side of the van with two large Rottweilers pulling on leads. Phil lowered his binoculars and frowned. This was by far the strangest scene he had ever witnessed and he wracked his brain for an innocent explanation. The rumbling got louder and the dogs started to become excited, pulling at their leads and growling.

  “Enough!” Yasin shouted, yanking them back and ordering them to sit.

  A loud hiss of brakes accompanied the increasing volume of the rumble and Phil identified it as a lorry. Soon, another set of headlights appeared and extra security lighting flicked on, flooding the area in bright white light as the huge container lorry crawled into the open area. A final loud hiss from its air brakes and it eventually stopped beside the van and Yasin walked round to the back of its container. The dogs barked and reared up onto their hind legs, excited at whatever was inside, and Yasin battled against their strength as he commanded them to settle down.

  Two men jumped down from the lorry’s cab and made their way to the back, each greeting Yasin with a handshake and brief embrace. They chatted for a while and smoked cigarettes until a few moments later a third set of headlights appeared and a black, chauffeur driven armoured car with privacy glass windows, arrived.

  “This is no food delivery,” Phil whispered to himself, recognising the car as one belonging to a diplomat. “What the hell’s in that container?”

  Yasin and the other two men respectfully stepped back as the chauffeur opened the rear passenger door and a distinguished looking middle aged man stepped out. Conversation between them was brief and he waited at the back of the lorry as the drivers scrambled to unlock the back doors. Phil could hear the clank of metal echoing through the night air as they slid back heavy duty bolts and the doors opened wide.

  No one uttered a word, even the dogs stopped barking as an eerie silence fell. Then, the driver broke the silence. Speaking in a foreign language, he called into the container and although Phil couldn’t understand what he was saying his tone and manner indicated he was giving out instructions. Then, a movement from the lorry caught his eye and a terrified young woman slowly descended the metal-drop down steps.

  “What the…?”

  Phil’s eyes widened as a young girl, no older than ten years old, followed. His hands shook as he delved into his rucksack to find his mobile phone and in his panic he almost dropped it. Taking care to shield the light from its screen, he punched in his PIN code and started to video as people poured from the container. Children and babies cried as mothers held them close to shield them from the dogs as they lunged and snapped. Phil felt sick. He knew trafficking had become a real problem but he had never seen it first hand and witnessing the fear and vulnerability of these people filled him with horror. He tried to keep his emotions under control and made sure to carry on filming, focusing on the scene and making sure to zoom in and capture the images of everyone involved.

  “There must be nearly a hundred people,” he murmured as the last of the passengers filtered out of the container and were herded by Yasin and the dogs towards a large outbuilding.

  Phil knew he had to do something. It was obvious the trafficking ring was part of a professional crime syndicate not just some two bit outfit, and he made sure to take plenty of photographs of the diplomat’s car and license plate. His teeth clenched hard with frustration. Even if the police traced him, he would only have to plead diplomatic immunity and no charges would be brought against him.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  The moon rose high in the midnight sky as Phil continued to balance on the bough as he contemplated his options. What had started out as a half-hearted investigation into Jason in an attempt to clear his name had now exploded into stumbling upon a professional, highly organised crime syndicate. He was out of his depth especially as a diplomat was clearly involved in the operation. Part of him felt the urge to leave, go back home, forget what he had witnessed and carry on his mundane existence as a failed detective constable. A decision had to be made. He ran the beads on his rosary through his fingers to help him think as he weighed up his options. He knew Jason was somehow linked to Baranski. The tracker he had placed on his car had confirmed him visiting the wholesale unit and St Jude’s. The additional information from Ian Headland, positively identifying Baranski at Anthony Fletcher’s house made the link with Jason too strong for him to ignore.

  He peered over the wall and noticed a small coal store a few metres down from where he perched on the bough. Confident he would be able to use the store to get himself back over the wall, he allowed himself to drop over into the grounds of St Jude’s. The bright security lights had gone out once everyone had left the area and the only lighting which remained was from the wall lights. Phil had noted the point at which the sensors would trigger the security lights and he made sure to keep a safe distance as he swiftly moved towards the building where the women and children had been taken.

  He stood well back as he reached the rear of the building, taking cover behind a bush while he assessed the situation. His eyes scanned the walls and he noticed a blind spot in their security where the sensors wouldn’t pick up his movement and trigger the lights. He moved quickly, not stopping until he reached the building and he carefully peeped through the window into a large hall. The women and children were inside, frightened and huddling together as guards separated them one by one into different groups. The children were separated into their own group and guards prevented the frightened mothers from access, threatening them with their guns. Phil observed as everyone was sorted into individual groups each separating the children, young women and older women.

  “There’s no men,” Phil whispered, taking out his mobile phone and continuing to film the exercise.

  Then, he let out a gasp. The door where the people had entered the hall opened and in walked Jason. Phil continued to film as he greeted the diplomat with a smile and firm handshake. They chatted like old friends as they observed the groups of people with a look of satisfaction for a few minutes then left the room. A door clicked and Phil stepped back as Jason and the diplomat walked into the open air and made their way over to the building he had assumed to be a mausoleum, the security lights triggering and lighting their way. The guards were al
l preoccupied with their prisoners so he followed, keeping a safe distance behind and watched them as they opened the doors and went inside.

  His heart pounded hard as he reached the chapel-like building and gingerly approached the door which had been left slightly open. The floor was covered in black and white tiles and images lined the chapel walls. Phil instantly recognised one used by Masonic Lodges. His father had been a Mason and Guy had also followed the tradition and whilst they had never discussed any details in their family homes, he had seen the same images whenever his father had left the door to his office, open. Hearing Jason’s voice helped him gauge he was a safe distance into the chapel and so he moved closer to get a clearer view of the inside of the chapel. His eyes ran up the tiled floor leading to an altar and the image of Baphomet, the horned God, above it where the image of Christ would normally be found appeared in his line of vision.

  “My God, they’re Satanists.”

  He reeled back in shock forgetting about the sensors and in a second the whole area burst with light. Panic swept over him. Unable to find any cover to hide, he sprinted back towards the building where the prisoners were still being held in groups, passing it on his way back to the wall.

  “Oi!”

  A guard, alerted by the lights rushed out and began his pursuit. Phil didn’t respond. He needed to get out and he paused for a second as he located the small coal store he had planned to use as a platform to get himself back over the wall.

  “Stop, or I’ll shoot.”

  Phil had no intention of stopping. He knew if they captured him the consequences would be severe and there would be a good chance he wouldn’t see Katherine or his family ever again. He instinctively started to swerve from side to side as he ran knowing it would reduce the odds of being hit by a bullet if the guard were to carry out his threat. The coal store came into view and he ran for his life towards it as the sound of the gun firing at him echoed through the night air.

  “Shit!”

  He launched himself in the air and landed on top of the coal store. Scrambling to his feet he quickly grabbed the top of the wall and hoisted himself up, just managing to swing one leg over when the guard opened fire for a third time. Phil felt a tug on the top of his leg and a slight stinging sensation as he dropped down to the other side but it didn’t register what it was through the terror. Now in dense woodland, he continued running, not stopping to see if the guard had followed and soon he found himself alone, deep in the wood surrounded by pitch darkness.

  He squatted down, leaning against a tree as he panted for air, his senses sharp as he waited to see if the guards were looking for him with torches and guns. The sound of the dogs barking carried through the air and he knew they would be able to track him down in a matter of minutes and tear him to pierces if they caught his scent. The urgency to get back to the car and out of there fast, interrupted his brief rest. He stood up and winced. The adrenaline had masked the pain in his leg but now it was wearing off he realised he’d been shot. The sound of the dogs was getting louder, giving Phil another spike of adrenaline and softening the pain enough for him to continue. If his bearings were correct and he carried on in the same direction, he would eventually come to the quiet main road which he had walked along earlier.

  His heart thumped as he ploughed through ferns and stumbled on brambles as angry voices and dogs barking filtered through the sound of his heavy panting. He paused for a second and cast a glance back over his shoulder. Beams of light from the guard’s torches were in the distance and he knew the dogs had picked up his scent and were hot on his trail. The wood seemed to be never ending and he was just beginning to feel doubt he would make it out alive when car headlights appeared through a gap in a hedge not far away.

  “Oh, thank God,” he gasped as a small sense of relief flushed over him.

  Hearing the voices behind gaining on him, he forged ahead. The car had passed and he memorised whereabouts he had seen a small gap. Another flush of relief swept over him when his memory had guided him to the exact spot and he threw himself through the hedge dropping into the ditch below which separated the road.

  “Surely they won’t follow me out into the open and shoot?”

  He stumbled out onto the open road. The moonlight lit up his surroundings and he allowed himself a few seconds to inspect the damage to his leg. A tear in the side of his jeans marked where the bullet had skimmed and from what he could tell it looked like he had gotten away with just a flesh wound. The sound of barking interrupted the inspection and a vulnerable feeling gripped him as he realised he was in clear view with no woodland for cover. He gritted his teeth and refused to acknowledge the pain in his leg muscle every time his foot made contact with the ground, continuing to run without stopping until he eventually reached where he had parked his car.

  It wasn’t until he left Broxbourne and was well into the journey back home that he allowed himself to feel a little safer, but it didn’t last long. As his mind worked over the events a sense of worry worked its way into his thoughts.

  What if the guard recognised me? Did Jason see me? Would Katherine be safe?

  It was nearly 2am by the time he pulled up on his driveway. The house was in darkness and he looked up to their bedroom window and saw the curtains were closed. He sneaked into the house, making sure the lock didn’t click when he secured the door and made his way down the hallway to the kitchen to retrieve the first aid kit from one of the cupboards. The blood from his leg had started to dry and form a crust and his jeans stuck to his skin as he rolled them down. He soaked a wedge of cotton wool in disinfectant and pressed it against the wound, gritting his teeth as he battled the sting when it made contact with the deep gash. He had been lucky. The bullet had skimmed the outer side of his leg and managed to tear the top layer of flesh. It was a mess and would certainly leave him with an indentation and scar but it could have been a lot worse. An inch to the right and he would be at hospital now having a bullet removed instead of patching himself up at home.

  Although the house was warm he shivered and shook with cold, and he recognised the symptoms of mild shock. Hobbling through to the living room, he opened up the drinks cabinet, poured himself a large whiskey and slugged it back in one. He wanted to sleep. His mind wanted to shut down and give in to the shock after seeing the images earlier on but he knew he had work to do. He poured himself another large whiskey, limped through to his office and booted up his computer. The footage on his phone replayed and he forced himself to watch as the events repeated themselves, then he transferred it onto a disc. He recognised a few of the guards as being police although he didn’t know their names, just faces he had encountered when he had visited crime scenes and gone about his duties. If anyone at St Jude’s had recognised him then his life would be in danger so he decided to gather the evidence so far and store it away to use an insurance policy for Katherine in the event he met with a freak accident.

  It was obvious the organisation was professional, and with police and a diplomat involved the line separating whom he could trust was blurred. As he labelled the disc with a marker pen and inserted it into a protective sleeve, he tried to decide who he should hand it over to. Anticorruption was the first choice, but would he be able to trust them? Did the organisation have people on the inside? He decided the best option would be to store the sealed envelope in a locker at Kings Cross station and leave Katherine and his solicitor a letter instructing them where it was in the event of his death.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  The clock had worked its way round to nearly 4am and the increasing frustration of insomnia and the pain from his leg prompted him to get up and prowl the house. The back of his eyes ached as he watched the Pyrex jug rotating around the microwave, sending him into a light trance until the timer bleeped. Snatching the handle of the microwave, he opened the door to stop the noise and hoped it hadn’t woken Katherine.

  “What am I going to do?” he muttered as he stirred the chocolate powder into the hot milk.
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  He continued to mutter his conversation with himself as he sat at the kitchen table, throwing up excuses as to why Jason would be involved with trafficking and Satanism. His thoughts drew him back to his office and he limped down the hallway and went back inside. By now, his leg had stiffened and he winced as he sat down and opened up the notebook where he had scribbled down the details of Yasin’s van.

  “Last Supper Wholesale Limited.”

  He typed the name of the company into the search engine and ran his eyes down the results. There was nothing unusual, merely descriptions of the foods they sold and their prices along with a healthy number of customer reviews. He scanned a few. Retailers all praising the quality and freshness of the food and he noted one from Gino Moretti, owner of the prestigious Primo Amore Italian restaurant. There was nothing unusual about the review, just the same bog standard words of praise but it triggered Phil’s memory to one of the first locations the tracker had located Jason.

  More pieces of information entered his head serving to create even more confusion. He needed to get to the bottom of this network and find out who was involved. He ran down the list of results again and noticed an entry from Companies House detailing the ownership of the company and some scant information about its accounts. He clicked on the link and basic information displayed. He scrolled down to the section where the registrant’s name and address had been input.

  “Damn, he’s used an address hosting service.”

  He dug deeper, clicking on the area which revealed the full list of shareholders and the document appeared. Yasin’s name was there but to Phil’s surprise, he wasn’t the director.