Jack Howarth felt naked and afraid. He had spent years living as Patrick Lloyd, and now that his cover was blown, he felt like a close friend had died. He had become so deeply wrapped up in being Patrick that he had forgotten where Jack was. He felt that he had woken from a deep sleep and the lights were blinding him. Patrick had been a force field around him, a suit of armour and a cloaking device all in one. Now that he had gone, he felt vulnerable. Jack Howarth was back, and he wasn’t happy. In fact, he was furious.
“What was that fucking idiot thinking?” Jack whispered. He was incredulous. “How could he have been so fucking careless?”
“What are you talking about, Paedophile? Don’t you blame me, you sick fuck.”
“Don’t call me that, you fucking imbecile. There are half a dozen bodies behind you, you stupid cunt!” The words spat from his mouth. Spittle sprayed from his mouth as he hissed the words.
“Paedophile, paedophile, paedophile!”
“Stop calling me that! How dare you?” Jack snarled.
“That is what you are, you sicko.”
“Careless! Useless! Fucking idiot!” He punched the cold brick wall in front of him. “How could you be so stupid?”
“You loved every minute of it!”
“I always did enjoy it, fuckwit!” Jack snarled. “But I tidied up after myself and never got caught, fucking idiot.”
“I could have got rid of them sooner but you wanted me to go back so that you could have some more fun, didn’t you, Jack. It was you that wanted me to go back every time.”
“I never left bodies everywhere. Fuckwit!”
“You made me go back to them, Jack! You could not let me stop. It was you and your perverted mind that made the mistakes. You have no one to blame but yourself.”
“You went too far, you made too many mistakes because you couldn’t control yourself,” Jack hissed. “I never left clues. You fucking imbecile!”
“You can’t talk, you fucking Paedophile,” Jack answered himself. “I couldn’t control you, Jack. It was you that I couldn’t control, you are the sick one. It was your idea to be me, remember?”
“I remember, I slit your throat and watched you bleed to death. I should have left you dead, fucking idiot.”
“Exactly, you took my life and my money and I hope you rot in hell,” a part of his brain echoed with the voice of Patrick Lloyd. “Rot in hell, Jack Howarth. Can you hear me, Jack? I hope you rot in hell.”
“Fuck you!” Jack shouted. He sat up and looked around him. His body was soaked with sweat. It was dark and his eyes took a while to adjust. The sun had gone down hours ago, but Jack couldn’t sleep. They made sure he couldn’t sleep. Stomp, stomp, stomp, for hours. How long could it take to search a house? One hour? Two hours? Oh no, six hours the bastards had been there already. Stomping up the stairs and down the stairs and up again and down again. At one point, he had nearly given himself up, but that had been Patrick talking. He was dead and gone, the spineless, careless little shit. How could he ever have trusted him? The noises went on and on for hours and hours and the light faded to pitch darkness. Now he could hear them digging in the cellar and pulling up floorboards in the house. They would rip the place apart looking for the evidence that Patrick Lloyd had left behind. The fucking idiot had left evidence everywhere.
The woman had woken up once, but he had put her back out with chloroform and she had stayed quiet. He had tied her up next to the kid. He could only take one of them. One of them would have to stay. The boy was lighter, but the woman would be more fun. She was stronger than the boy and would last longer. Eventually, he had drifted into a troubled sleep but that bastard Patrick Lloyd was waiting there for him, goading him. The fool had caused the police to find him. It was his fault. He needed to move and escape from the house, but he had to wait for the cover of darkness. They would be thinning out now. Not so many of them around, and the armed officers safely tucked up in bed by now. He would chill for a while and then move. The cordons would be closer to the house now, and that would leave the ends of the terrace unwatched.
Jack listened for any noise on his side of the wall, but it was silent. The house next door was empty for a while, but they came back and he could hear them tearing up floorboards and knocking through walls. It wasn’t long before they came down into the cellar. He could hear them talking; they were planning to dig. He reached out into the blackness and touched a plastic bottle. He picked up the water and twisted the top off. The liquid felt cold and refreshing as he swallowed it. It made his senses tingle, and as sleep faded away, he felt very alive, more alive than he had for years, and it felt good. It was like he had been in a dream, and now he was awake with a bang. He had to think things through properly. Patrick Lloyd had left him in deep shit. He would escape this rattrap and then begin again. It was time to reinvent Jack Howarth again. This time, he would make all the decisions, and there would be no mistakes. Jack Howarth needed to get out of the cellar and away from Shankly Way. The police were swarming all over the house, but he was safe for now.
Jinx stepped back from the blood-spattered car, his face frozen in shock. One minute David Lorimar had been talking to him, the next his head had disappeared in a red cloud, his eyes and teeth dribbling down the window. Jinx wiped his face and looked at his hands. There was grey matter clinging to his fingertips. He tried to fathom what had happened. A chunk of the driver’s window had been blown away and the visceral matter had been blown out at him in an explosion of sticky spray. The passenger door opened and the shooter climbed out of the car. He broke the sawn off and spilled the spent cartridges onto the floor. He pushed two new shells into the empty barrels and pointed the weapon at Jinx over the roof.
“Are you a hero?” Griff asked. He was smiling, but sweat was running down his forehead.
“I‘m no hero.” Jinx had no idea who Griff Collins was. They made eye contact and stared at each other for a few long seconds.
“Good answer. I like your style,” Griff repeated his favourite saying. The shooter took a clear plastic bottle from inside his overalls and removed the top. He sprinkled the contents over the remains of David Lorimar and the passenger seat and then he smiled at Jinx as he lit a match and threw it into the car. There was a whooshing sound as the petrol ignited and the interior of the car turned into a raging inferno.
“Got to go, that’s my lift.” A motorbike roared up to the pavement and Griff Collins ran to it. The rider handed him a full-face helmet and he pulled it on as he climbed onto the pillion seat. He took one last look into Jinx’s eyes as the bike sped away into the distance.
Tank sat in his Shogun, watching the crowds from a distance. There were fifty or so onlookers at the cordon nearest to him. The armed units were packing up their gear and the forensic teams and detectives were moving into the building. He dialled the major and waited for the call to connect.
“John,” the major answered. “How is the holiday?”
“Interesting so far,” he replied. “I’ve uploaded a familiar face to our system. I need to know who he is.”
“Let me pull it up.” The major looked at his e-mail and opened the attachment. “I’ve saved the photograph and sent it to the Biometrics Identifications Unit. Who do you think it is?”
“I know his face, Major,” Tank explained. “I can’t place where I know him from, but I’m sure he was one of us.”
“Counter Terrorists Unit?”
“Not an agent, Major, but one of us.” Tank just couldn’t place him. He banged the steering wheel with his fist.
“Where did you see him?”
“In the crowd at the address Howarth was using. It’s a shithole near the edge of town. Most of the houses are empty and waiting to be demolished.”
“Have you got any idea who he is?”
“I know he was on our side once, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Did the police have any joy at the address?”
“Nothing so far.” Tank scanned the crowd again but the familiar face was gone. The man had disappeared. “The armed units have done their foray into the property and come out empty handed. Howarth is a ghost.”
“I’ve got a name,” the major said as the results came back to his computer. “Nate Bradley, he was intelligence core, codenamed Gecko.”
“I know him.” Tank looked up and down the road but he was nowhere to be seen. “He was an interrogator, right?”
“Right,” the major confirmed. “His codename was Gecko. He has quite an illustrious career file here.”
“I remember him from some of the rendition flights from the Gulf.”
“That’s him. It fits with his record.”
“What is he doing on a derelict housing estate in Anfield? Why would he be interested in a raid on Jack Howarth’s home?” Tank rubbed his shaven head with his palm. “Is he still working for the government?”
“No, definitely not,” the major replied. “He was debriefed and pensioned off with a medium security risk marker against
his name.”
“That makes sense,” Tank said. “If he had started writing his memoirs, he would have had to be silenced.”
“His file has stayed clear since he left. There has been no cause for concern. Do you think he’s connected to Howarth?” The major sounded uncertain.
“I don’t know,” Tank said thoughtfully. “It just seemed strange that he was there. Maybe he wasn’t connected to Howarth. Maybe he was connected to Patrick Lloyd.”
“Do you want me to do some digging?” the major asked.
“I’m on it, Major,” Tank answered. “I have his civilian file up here on my laptop. It looks like the police have had an issue with him. Leave it with me and I’ll keep you posted.”
“What does his civilian file read like?”
When the information loaded onto the screen, Tank read over the headlines. “It makes for interesting reading, Major.”
“Really?”
Tank wondered how to handle the situation. The news clippings and police reports painted a dark picture of Nate Bradley’s civilian life. “There seems to be one family tragedy followed by another. His wife died from a heroin overdose and then his teenage son took an ecstasy tablet on the day of her funeral. He ended up dying in intensive care.”
“That’s enough to tip a man over the edge.”
“Maybe, but what is the connection?”
“Didn’t you say that Patrick Lloyd was linked to the murder of a drug dealer?” The major thought back to their earlier conversation.
“Yes, a man called Benjamin, but there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him.” Tank dragged up the files. “The dealer was tortured to death.”
“That sounds like something Howarth would enjoy.”
“It does.” Tank was thinking at warp speed. “Bradley would definitely have an axe to grind against a drug dealer.”
“There is our connection,” the major agreed. “Do the police have Bradley linked to the investigation?” He wondered if the detectives in charge of the Howarth investigation were aware of Nate Bradley.
“There’s nothing in the files.” Tank considered if the Gecko could be connected to Jack Howarth. “If you ask me, then I think so.”
“I think we should throw him their way, John,” the major said after a moment of thought. “I’m more interested in taking Howarth out of circulation. If Nate Bradley has lost the plot and turned vigilante, then we should throw him to the wolves.”
“I have no problem with him knocking over a few drug dealers, but there seems to be more to it than that.” Tank seemed to be mulling over something.
“What do you mean?”
“Looking at the uniformed police reports, when Bradley’s son died two of his college friends disappeared. One of them was the same age and allegedly supplied the tablets at the funeral, and the other kid was a year older and had a caution for possession.”
“Surely, two missing teenagers flagged up Bradley’s name to the police?”
“According to the files CID spoke to him, but he had a cast iron alibi. Both teenagers were active on Facebook after their disappearance.”
“So they’re missing?”
“Yes, but it stinks, Major.” Tank could see through it. “An ex-intelligence operative could make a teenager vanish and make it look like he was alive, no problem.”
“Do you think Gecko turned his talents on the dealers?”
“Yes, I do. I don’t know how he became involved with Howarth, but the fact that he was linked to the death of a dealer tells me they’re connected.”
“I agree, but it’s not our problem. Give your thoughts to the police and let them tackle Bradley.”
“I can do that, major, but they won’t be happy about us sniffing around their investigation.”
“I think giving them the link to Bradley might act as a sweetener. If they get hold of Jack Howarth in the mean time, then it’s all good. If they don’t, we’ll deal with it.”
“I understand,” Tank smiled. “I’ll speak to one of the detectives in charge when they leave here. I’ll be in touch.”
Alec Ramsay was tired. It had been a long few days and the lack of proper sleep was catching up with him. He had looked at every room in the house, but it appeared that Patrick Lloyd or Jack Howarth had gone. There were blood spots in the hallway. “This is fresh,” Alec commented to Will.
“It looks fresh to me.”
“Do you think it’s Kisha’s?”
Will didn’t answer the question directly, but the expression on his face confirmed his fears. “There are a few more droplets on the cellar stairs. Looks more like a nose bleed than anything life-threatening, guv.”
“Have they found anything downstairs yet?”
“No, guv.”
“I want to take another look around.”
The cellar door was beneath the staircase. As Alec walked down the steps, he could hear the forensic officers chattering as they worked. Large paving stones covered the cellar floor. Two centuries of wear had left the limestone slabs worn smooth and shiny. They had already lifted some of them to expose the clay beneath.
“They look heavy,” Alec said as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Have you found anything so far?”
“No, guv, but it’s early days yet. There’s no sign of any recent activity down here apart from a few blood spots on the stairs, which is good news as far as finding Kisha is concerned.”
“I’m not sure finding any blood is good news,” Alec mumbled.
“I meant we haven’t found any bodies, guv, no offence.”
“I suppose so.” Alec looked around the cellar. There was a damp smell to it and something else lingered in the air. He walked toward the front of the house, avoiding the areas where the scientists were working. Thick render, cracked and eroded by time, covered the far wall. Time had left the bare bricks exposed, and he studied them, looking for any sign of interference from a human hand. Above him was a skylight, barred with a metal grid. It would have allowed deliveries to drop directly into the cellar in years gone by. Moss and dirt clung to the thick glass, making it impossible for light to penetrate. There were lumps of coal and black dust beneath the skylight, and the dampness made them glisten like new. Alec looked around for a bunker. “Have you found a coal bunker?”
“On the far wall, guv.” One of the officers pointed to the back of the cellar. Alec stepped over a raised flagstone and hugged the wall as he moved through the cellar. Beneath the staircase was a tumble dryer, and next to that was a deep chest freezer. He noticed a double electric plug socket on the wall. Both plugs powered liquid air fresheners. He didn’t want to insult the forensic team by asking if they had checked them, but you could not be careful enough in Alec’s opinion. He opened the tumble dryer and peered inside. It was empty and smelled damp. Rust crusted the metal drum and mould spotted the rubber seal. No one had used it in years. He closed the door and moved his hair from his face. He rubbed his tired eyes and smiled at Will.
“What are you looking for?” Will smiled back weakly. Their detectives had been through the house in detail. Alec was clutching at straws.
“He has made mistakes all the way along, Will,” Alec nodded. “I guess I’m looking for a mistake. Look, you go back to the station and see what the team have come up with, and while I remember, did you get in touch with Salim Oguzhan’s grandfather?”
“Yes, guv.” Will pulled out his Blackberry. “I have his number here and when I spoke to him, he was driving north on the M1. He is on the way here.”
“Good, as soon as he gets here, I want him in the cells.”
“What, arrested?” Will frowned.
“Yes, bring him in.” Alec didn’t hesitate. “Tell him we need to speak to him about the disappearance of Rose James, and if he gives you any shit, arrest him for possession of drugs with intent to supply. Jessie gave us enough to implicate him.”
“Are we jumping the gun, guv?” Will wasn’t sure about the arrest. “All we have is Jessie’s statement.”
“That’s all we need for now. I have no doubt in my mind that the Oguzhan’s have her, do you?”
“No, not really,” Will shrugged. “I guess I’m seeing it as a distraction. It’s easy to prioritise finding Kisha.”
“It is, but we can’t. They don’t mess about, Will.” Alec creased his forehead in thought. “If they find out that Jessie has turned informer, she’s as good as dead.”
“I agree, best to get him in and grill him. If nothing else, we can rattle his cage a bit and see what falls out.”
“Yes, arrest him for possession and we can quiz him about the kidnap of Rose James.” Alec had decided to meet the gangsters head on. He was tired of their antics surrounding the nightclub. “It will give us twenty-four hours to speak to him.”
“He will lawyer up straight away, guv.”
“Good.” Alec smiled. “I’m in the mood for a good row.”
“Okay. I’ll get on it.”
“Keep me updated, Will.” Alec patted his arm as he headed up
the stairs. “I am going to have another scan around and then I’ll follow you.”
“No problem,” Will said as he left. “Catch you later.”
“Yes, later,” Alec muttered.
Will Naylor took a last look around. He was convinced that there was nothing more to be done until the forensic teams had finished. He took the wooden steps two at a time on his way out of the basement.
“Is he still trying to shag the world?” One of the forensic officers asked sarcastically as Will disappeared up the stairs.
“I will ignore that remark.” Alec turned and glared at him. “Have you got nothing more important to do than ask stupid questions about my detective inspector?”
“Sorry, guv,” the red-faced officer said sheepishly. “It was just a joke.”
“Ha fucking ha,” Alec snapped. “If that’s the best you can do, then I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”
“Yes, guv.”
“We have a job to do here, let’s get it done, please.” Alec took a deep breath. “Are we clear?”
“Yes, guv.”
“Good, get on with it!” Alec turned his attention back to the appliances in the cellar. “Have you checked all this stuff?”
“Yes.” One of the scientists walked over to him. “The chest freezer interested us at first. It could easily contain a human body.”
He lifted the lid and a musty smell hit him. “There’s no ice, no frozen food and no body.” Alec reached for the cable and tugged it. It came away easily. There was no plug fitted to it. He closed the lid and moved on. “Why would you keep air fresheners down here?”
“Beats me, it does whiff a bit of damp though, guv.”
“I can smell something else too, like sewage,” Alec wrinkled his nose.
“Maybe there are drains down here somewhere, hence the air fresheners?”
“Maybe, carry on,” Alec said. “What else have we got down here?”
“The ceiling slopes down at the rear of the cellar to accommodate a large airspace beneath the kitchen floorboards, guv,” the officer continued to explain their findings to Alec. “The space was utilised to cool perishable foods in Victorian times, a bit like a larder or cold space. Our officers are ripping up the floorboards in the kitchen to ensure there’s no one hiding there and no victims stashed in it.”
“There is a twin-tub washing machine crammed next to the freezer, and a quick inspection showed us that it too is an unused relic, guv. It’s all scrap metal. The bunker is at the back here.”
The back wall was featureless apart from the metal coalbunker, bolted to the bricks by the builders. The bolts were rusted solid and the hinges squealed loudly as Alec lifted the lid. “This could hold enough coal to keep the fires burning in every room for at least a week,” Alec thought aloud. “There is coal in the bunker.” It bothered him. “Have you checked this bunker?” Alec shouted to the forensic officers who had pointed it out to him. The two men looked at each other and raised their eyes skywards at the question.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean have you checked this bunker?” Alec raised his eyebrows too. “It’s a simple question.”
“It’s empty, guv, and fixed to the wall.”
“It is not empty. There is at least nine inches of coal in
that bunker, and unless I’m mistaken, the house is heated by gas central heating.”
“Do you think someone is hiding under the coal?”
“Are you taking the piss?” Alec was furious at the flippant remark. It was the same officer he had confronted earlier. “I am looking for one of my officers who is missing. The suspect is connected to at least six murders that we know of so far, and you are taking the piss.”
“Sorry, guv, but I’m not sure what you want us to do.”
“I want you to stop being an arsehole and look for evidence. Asking me if I think the suspect is hiding under the coal is close to being insubordinate, Sunshine. Now I don’t want to fall out with you, but I suggest you dismantle this bunker and look under the coal before you lift anymore slabs. Whatever is under there can wait.”
“Okay, guv. You’re in charge,” the officer coughed into his hand nervously. He picked up his toolbox and headed to where the superintendent was standing. “Are you bothered if we keep it intact?” the officer asked as he looked inside the bunker. “It would be easier to take the sledgehammer to it, if you don’t mind.”
“Do whatever it takes.” Alec calmed down a little. “I don’t think that coal should be there.”
“Sorry, guv.” The officer sounded genuine. “It really didn’t stand out to me if I’m honest. Stand back.”
“Is there a shovel down here?” Alec turned to the second officer. “I want this coal moved when he takes the front of it.”
“I have one here, guv.” The officer reached down and picked up a shovel. They had been using it to move soil from beneath the paving stones. There was a resounding clang as the sledgehammer hit the bunker. The sides were spot-welded and a long rent appeared down one of the seams.
“It’s rotten.” The officer swung the hammer again and the metal burst apart beneath the force of the blow. He flattened the front of the bunker against the limestone slabs. “There we go, guv!” he said cheerfully. “Let’s have a look under this bloody coal!” The officer seemed oblivious to how irritating his attitude was. “Pass me the shovel. May I, guv?”
“Be my guest,” Alec nodded. The officer was keen enough. He was just clumsy with his words. The shovel cut through the coal and then scraped loudly across the stone floor. The clang of metal on metal reverberated through the cellar.
“There’s something under here, guv.”
“Scrape the coal away and let’s have a look, then.”
“Here, look.” The shovel screeched across the floor. “It’s some kind of drain cover.”
“Can we get hold of a manhole key from somewhere,” Alec asked. “The fire brigade should have some. Is there still a tender outside?”
“I’ll take a look, guv,” one of them said and bounded up the stairs.
“No one could have got out through there, guv.”
“I know that nobody escaped through the coal bunker,” Alec smiled. “I want to know why it’s covered in coal, don’t you?”
“I suppose so,” the scientist shrugged.
“This guy is a lunatic, but we know he’s clever and has killed before.” Alec’s face wrinkled up as he thought. “There is a reason why we haven’t found any more bodies, you see?”
“You think he has hidden victims here in the house?”
“Yes, I do,” Alec nodded. “His house is spotless, yet he stores junk in the cellar and has new coal in the bunker.”
“By junk you mean the machines, guv?”
“Well, there are new appliances in the kitchen, yes?” Alec frowned.
“Yes, guv,” the officer agreed. “They may just be broken and stored down here.” He pointed toward the rusty appliances.
“Why struggle to carry them down the stairs to put them down here?”
“They’re out of the way.”
“No, they are in the way and that is the point.”
“Got a manhole key here!” The sound of heavy boots on the staircase accompanied the voice. Two firemen clomped down the stairs into the cellar. One of them chirped, “What do you need opening, boys?”
“This cover here, please, mate,” the SOCO replied. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problems,” the fireman answered. “We’ve been bored stupid sat on the engine. Let’s get a good look at the lid.” The firemen forced the metal T-bar into the hole and turned it until it caught. “There’s usually crap stuck in the edges of these covers. This one is clear.” The two firemen heaved on the metal key. The lid came away immediately. “This has been opened recently.” He continued. The cover clanged on the basement floor as they moved it. One of the fire officers recoiled and fell backwards onto the floor. “Jesus Christ!” he retched as the stench of decomposing human flesh hit them.