Douglas will already know that she is my solicitor and regardless if Darren talks between now and Tuesday morning, it’s a no brainer to come after her. I don’t have any other options, though. The contents of the bag are everything I could have hoped for and so much more.
With one final inspection, I stuff one of the items into my pocket, then I put everything back into the bag with the mobile phone and scribble down a note for Jean.
Dear Jean,
The contents of this bag are enough to prove corruption on a massive scale. I also have evidence to clear me of the murder of Paul Donovan. I need you to get yourself to a safe place immediately. Come to the prison on Tuesday as early as you can. Don’t come on Monday! I don’t have time to explain, but please trust me one more time. Check the phone for video. The passcode is 5689.
Sean McMillan
The note doesn’t say much, but the contents of the bag will speak volumes. With morning rapidly approaching, I fold up the note and zip up the bag with the note sticking out. The town is deserted, and I know that Jean is an early starter, so I leave the bag in the doorway and head back to the car.
I need to get going, but my escape plan is already firmly set in my mind. Stealing the guy’s phone was a necessity earlier, but the car was an unexpected and welcome surprise. As it turned out, it wasn’t the only welcome surprise. The guy doesn’t just enjoy diving, he also enjoys spear fishing.
It’s an awkward maneuver due to the length of the spear gun, but with the tip of the spear in my mouth, I stretch to pull the trigger and the compressed energy of the taut rubber band sends the barbed spear slamming upwards through my brain.
Present Day – Tuesday, 20th February 2018
For the second morning in a row, I wake up with wet clothes and a muddy bed. Today, though, I don’t waste my time trying to rinse anything out.
One way or the other, I’m not expecting to be in this cell by the end of the day. Options for my near future include complete freedom, a move to isolation for my safety, a trip to the infirmary or a trip to the morgue, and at the moment the odds on any of these options are about even.
Last night went well, but Douglas will be doing everything he possibly can to track down the items taken from Maurice Butterfield’s house. The Network have been untouchable for more than thirty years, but the contents of the sports bag holds the key to tearing it apart.
There is nothing that Douglas will not do to protect himself and I am worried about Jean, about Maria and Ben and anyone else that Douglas might perceive as a threat.
Until I can get the items in front of Morgan and a judge, there is nothing I can do to help them, so I am taking nothing for granted and have brought back one item that I am confident will improve my chances of surviving the day. I just need to play my hand at the right time.
By the time Billy wakes up, I have dressed in my spare clothes and dumped my wet clothes and bedding in the sink. He jumps down from his bunk and, after his usual routine of a stretch, a yawn, and a good scratch of his balls, he spots the mess and gets that mischievous look on his face again. I stop him before he can open his mouth.
“Billy! Don’t even go there, I’m not in the mood today.”
His face changes to one of pure innocence. “Alright, I wasn’t gonna say anything, what you do during the night is your business.” And then after a short pause, “But if I was you, I would get myself checked out — is that shit on your sheets?”
His cheeky humor is actually exactly what I needed to break the tension and I can’t help but smile. Today is going to be a long one and by the end it, I am probably going to be in need of something light-hearted.
“Thanks, Billy.”
“Thanks for what, Sean?
“Nothing in particular, Billy. I just wanted to say thank you for everything you have done for me.”
He obviously has no idea what I am talking about and asks me to explain. “You sound like you are going somewhere, Sean. You don’t need to thank me for anything. Like I said yesterday, we’re cellies; that’s the way it works in here. We look out for each other.”
“That’s what I mean, Billy. You’ve looked out for me and I won’t forget it. Anyway, enough of this gay shit, come on, let’s get cleaned up before breakfast. You go first and remember, Billy, you don’t know me.”
It may be the paranoia kicking in again, but as I walk into the canteen this morning the atmosphere is heavy with aggression and I am convinced that all eyes are on me. Cartwright and Taylor look me up and down with pure contempt but don’t say anything as I join the queue at the hotplate, but the taunting from the other cons is back with a vengeance.
Before the con behind the hotplate hands me back my tray, he spits a huge gob of sticky green phlegm onto my breakfast and the Chinaman stands up and loudly declares, “Dead man walking, dead man fucking walking!”
Cartwright and Taylor remain completely unmoved, but Butler stands up and calls for silence. The other officers on duty make themselves scarce but Cartwright and Taylor remain where they are as Butler points at me and delivers his message to the crowd.
“This fucking cowardly pig maggot murdered my cousin in cold blood and unless he is a miracle worker, today at 5 pm, I’m gonna be slicing his fucking face off.”
To emphasize his point, he reaches into his pocket and takes out the same razor blade mounted into a toothbrush that he threatened me with on my first night in here. “When I’m done, it’s open season and, just to make it more interesting, I will personally put up a case of whisky for the man that kills him.”
Butler is happy to carve me up, but he’s not an idiot. It suits him better for somebody else to kill me and, judging by the cheers at the announcement of a whisky bounty, there won’t be any shortage of takers for the job.
A few of the more enthusiastic ones, shout out suggestions for ways to kill me and Butler stands there lapping up the response and encouraging more suggestions, until eventually Cartwright brings it to an end.
“Alright, that’s enough. All of you shut the fuck up now and get back to your breakfast.”
Butler sits back down, but the weapon remains on the table as a sinister reminder throughout the rest of the breakfast service until eventually he heads back to his cell.
When most of the other cons have left, Cartwright walks over to me and points to the uneaten breakfast on my tray.
“Aww, what’s up, McMillan, no appetite today? That’s a shame when it looks so delicious. I really can’t abide food going to waste, can you, Officer Taylor?”
“No, boss, it’s disgusting when there are all those starving kids in Africa.”
I don’t rise to it, but it doesn’t take a genius to know what is coming next from Cartwright.
“I couldn’t agree more, Officer Taylor. Let’s hope that Prisoner McMillan has got his appetite back by lunchtime. Wrap his tray up and put it back in the kitchen with his name on. It should be nice and ripe by then. Is that okay for you, McMillan?”
I don’t answer, and Taylor slaps me around the back of my head. “You were asked a fucking question, McMillan.”
I can’t afford to rock the boat, so I reply with a look of defeat on my face, “Sorry, no objection at all, sir.”
Happy to have humiliated me, Cartwright smiles and sends me on my way. “Good, now fuck off out of my canteen, you’re giving it a bad smell.”
For the next two hours, I pace back and forth in my cell and even Billy’s attempts at humor do nothing to cheer me up or lighten the mood. As the morning gets later and later, I torment myself with all the possible scenarios for failure. What if Douglas has found Jean? What if Jean took the evidence to Catherine and she has betrayed me again? What if Jean took the evidence to DCI Morgan, but he is also working with Douglas? What if, what if, what if? Then at just after eleven, the cell door is barged open and Officer Taylor orders me to my feet.
“Get the fuck up, McMillan and follow me!”
I have no intention of following him blindly and I rem
ain seated defiantly on my bunk. “Where are we going?”
Cartwright has been waiting outside, but noting that I am not going to come without an explanation, he joins Taylor inside the cell. “Just stop fucking around, McMillan. You have visitors.”
If this was Bayliss, I would already be on the way, but these two could be taking me absolutely anywhere and I need more convincing.
“What visitors? I’m not expecting anyone.”
Cartwright nods towards Taylor and he reads from a visitation order attached to a clip board. “Umm, Detective Chief Inspector Kevin Morgan, Detective Constable Catherine Swain, and Ms. Jean Monroe.”
As soon as I hear Morgan’s name, the sense of relief is overwhelming and I am on my feet before Taylor finishes the other names. Cartwright takes me by the arm and says, “Happy now, McMillan?”
“Yes, sir, very happy.”
We take the now familiar route down past the visiting area and towards the interview rooms where I see Morgan and Cath are waiting for me outside one of the rooms with huge smiles on their faces.
Not forgetting protocol completely, I shake Kevin Morgan’s hand, but when I try to hug Catherine, Cartwright tries to stop us until Morgan intervenes and he backs away, but still tries to assert his authority.
“Sorry, sir, but inside the prison, I have the final authority and freedom to implement the rules and regulations, including limitation of physical contact between inmates and visitors.”
Morgan doesn’t even dignify this with a reply and instead he ushers me inside the room and orders Cartwright and Taylor to wait further down the corridor.
Once he is sure that they have moved out of eavesdropping range, he joins us at the table and shakes my hand again. The mood in the room is utterly surreal, Catherine looks like she is about to burst into tears, Jean Monroe looks both confused and excited, and for the first time since I have known him, Kevin Morgan looks completely lost for words.
In the end, with everybody feeling distinctly uncomfortable, it is me that breaks the silence.
“I don’t suppose somebody brought tea or coffee?”
My words are a welcome distraction for Cath and her face brightens as she wipes her eyes with a tissue.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Sean. I almost forgot with everything that is happening, I brought you a gift.” She reaches under the table and hands me a McDonald’s breakfast in a brown paper bag and a cup of coffee.
“Sorry, it might be a bit cold. I bought it over an hour ago.”
Cold or not, it is the best thing I have eaten in over a week and because none of them want to interrupt me or get to the point while I eat, I wolf it down, while we make some awkward small talk about how my week has been.
The suspense is too much for Morgan, though, and as soon as the food is finished, he lifts the sports bag onto the table.
“Sean, before we start going through this little lot, I just wanted to say how sorry I am, well what I mean to say is, how sorry we all are. Not just me, the whole team, we should have done mo …”
I interrupt him in mid-flow, “Sir, it’s really not necessary, there was no way anyone could have known what was going on.”
“No, that’s not true, Sean. As your senior officer, I could have done more to protect you. Deep down, I knew something was going on with DS Douglas, but following the death of Paul Donovan, the weight of evidence against you was just so compelling that I put aside any doubts I had about DS Douglas. Police work is as much about instinct as it is about evidence and on this occasion, I let you down and for that I am sincerely sorry.”
I am embarrassed at the apology, but to save any further embarrassment I accept it and thank him for being here, then I turn to Jean.
“Sorry, if I put you to any trouble, Jean. I’m sure you must have a million and one questions for me.”
Her characteristic reserve was showing signs of wavering the last time we had met, but with Morgan and Cath in the room, she is once more the consummate professional.
“As I told you before, Detective Constable McMillan, this is certainly one of the most interesting cases I have ever been involved in, and I wouldn’t change that for the world. I must admit, though, when I found the bag on my doorstep yesterday morning with your warning, I was a little alarmed and the contents only made it worse. Detective Chief Inspector Morgan was kind enough to offer me sanctuary in his home yesterday. As for questions, I have more than a few, but knowing what I know about you already, I doubt very much whether you are going to answer them.”
The last statement was more a question and my smile confirms her assumption as she unzips the bag and places each of the items on the table.
Although Morgan will have seen all of the items already, he still looks astonished. There are three large black leather-bound ledgers, two envelopes full of photographs, the mobile phone that I stole from toilet guy, an envelope full of memory sticks, a portable hard drive and numerous check books and other items of banking paraphernalia.
Morgan asks Jean if that is everything and she nods to confirm, but before he can speak, I touch his arm.
“That’s not quite everything, sir, there is one more particularly important item.” Morgan looks incredulous that there could be anything else.
“Really, Sean, there is enough evidence on this table to bring down parliament. What else could there be?”
I nod my agreement.
“You’re right, sir, there is more than enough there to bring down Douglas and the rest of his network, but it won’t clear me of killing Paul Donovan. This will.”
I take the digital voice recorder from where I have hidden it in my sock and place it on the table. “I recorded this on February 14th. May I, sir?” Morgan nods his consent and you could hear a pin drop in the room as I press play and scroll ahead to when Paul Donovan and DS Douglas arrive and discover me in Maria Pinto’s house at just before 4 pm on 14th February.
The first voice we hear is slightly muffled as he calls out, but it is clearly DS Douglas and I explain that he is standing in the hallway.
“Hello, Ben. My name is Detective Chief Superintendent Douglas; I need to speak to you, please.”
Next is the unmistakable voice of Paul Donovan, when he discovers me waiting in the living room.
“What the fuck are you doing here? Clive, get in here, mate.”
Then there is a short pause as Douglas joins us in the living room.
“I take it from your presence here that we would be wasting our time searching the rest of the house for young Benjamin? It appears that I may have underestimated you, that’s okay though; all good things come to those who wait. The question now is what we do with you. I know what Paul would like to do with you, but that would be such a waste of your obvious talents.”
DCI Morgan is shaking his head and goes to ask a question, but I stop him. “Please, sir. Listen to the end and I think most of your questions will be answered.” Although the voices are well known to all in the room, Catherine is making notes, so for accuracy I confirm who it as at the end of each sentence.
“What the fuck are we going to do with him, Clive? The kid’s not here, but if we do this cunt, the case collapses and we get back to normal. There is no fucking way those bitches will testify if we get rid of this fucking piece of shit.” – Paul Donovan referring to Maria Pinto’s and Carol Baker’s statements and to killing me.
The next voice is mine and Morgan smiles when he hears me trying to lead Douglas into revealing why he is looking for Maria’s son, Ben.
“Why don’t you boys tell me what you are doing here? Clive, you said something about searching for Ben. Why exactly are you looking for him — and why are you looking for him with the main suspect in a murder case? If I didn’t know better, I might think that you were intending to hurt him.”
Next, DS Douglas ignores me and asks Donovan a question, “Are they on the way yet?”
Before Morgan can ask, I tell him who Douglas is asking about, “He’s referring to Sergeant Melvi
n Huntley and Sergeant Peter Bellmarsh, both are uniform based at Crompton Road.”
Morgan nods and confirms he knows them, “Yep, both of those bastards’ names are prominent in the ledger’s.”
Next, we hear Donovan again answering the question, “Five minutes away, Clive. What are we going to do to him? He knows too fucking much already.”
Douglas than makes a statement about the innocent reasons for his and Donovan’s presence in the area and asks me why I might think that they were there to harm Ben.
“Oh, I don’t know Clive, what about the gun in your jacket and the hunting knife in Paul’s pocket? Do you normally carry a weapon during routine investigations?”
Morgan smiles again and nods his satisfaction when both Douglas and Donovan confirm my statement.
“You see, Paul, he’s a smart lad. You would do well to pay attention, you might learn something.” – DS Douglas
“How the fuck did he know about my knife?” – Paul Donovan
The sound of boots in the hallway are heard and I confirm that Huntley and Bellmarsh have just arrived and then we hear Douglas asking Paul for his knife. On the recording it is clear that Paul is reluctant to hand it over, but Douglas insists and tells him to be quiet. The recording is then quiet for a few seconds.
“This is where it gets really interesting. Douglas is pointing the knife at me now,” I explain. “He is about to speak again.”
“We seem to have ourselves a bit of a dilemma, Sean. On the one hand, Paul here has been one of my best informants for more than a quarter of a century, but on the other hand, I know that you are not going to let this drop. Killing you would be the easy option, but the paperwork and the investigations into the death of a cop — even of a lowly detective constable — would bog me down for the rest of my career. I could, of course, let you take Paul in, but then I would be running the risk of him spilling his guts in exchange for a lighter sentence. I think we both know that I am not going to let that happen, so that just leaves me with one final option. I kill Paul! Think about it, Sean, the case goes away, the dirt on me disappears with him and you get to reconsider your options for a mutually beneficial partnership.”
The Network Page 17
