END GAME a gripping crime thriller full of breathtaking twists Read online

  ‘Have you spoken to the other crew? See if they’ve got the same idea?’

  Mick shook his head. ‘I’ll call, but the word from the Alcanis was pretty clear. This job happens tonight, whatever.’

  Chapter 11

  George stood, hesitant, at the door of a bungalow in Temple Ewell, a village just outside the port town of Dover. George checked his scrap of paper one last time to ensure he had the right door for Paul Baern’s house. It matched with the image he had in his mind. Certainly George could see why Paul used to enthuse so much about walking his Labrador in the valley to the rear. George wasn’t sure how Paul would react to him. He needn’t have worried. He received a one-armed hug.

  ‘George! Fuck, it’s good to see you.’

  ‘Paul!’ A shrill voice called from inside the house.

  Paul grimaced. ‘Got the grandkid today, forgot my language.’

  George laughed.

  ‘It isn’t easy, you know. Come in!’

  George followed Paul inside. The house had large windows in the lounge and kitchen so the light flooded into every inch.

  ‘Tea?’

  ‘Obviously.’ A woman stood a little further in. She wasn’t smiling. ‘Hello, George.’

  ‘Karen!’ George pecked her on the cheek. She didn’t move.

  ‘You want tea, love?’ asked Paul.

  ‘I’ll have a coffee,’ she said, still looking at George. ‘You got out then?’

  ‘Yup. Legally. I mean, there’s no need to call the police or anything.’

  ‘A lot of good that would do. They don’t seem to know their arses from their elbows, that lot.’ Karen snorted. ‘They’d be sure to bang up the wrong bloke right?’

  George nodded, feeling awkward. ‘This is true.’

  ‘You want to sit in the garden?’ Paul asked.

  There was the sound of something breaking in the living room, and Karen turned away. George and Paul went out onto a patio, and the famous dog-walking valley opened up in front of them.

  George sat facing the view. ‘Where’s the Lab?’ He regretted the question as soon as he’d asked. There could only be one answer.

  ‘We lost him, mate. Cancer.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘Yeah, so were we. He was one of the best.’

  George changed the subject. ‘Grandkids though!’

  ‘Yeah. Harry’s three now.’

  ‘Jesus. I remember you conning me for time off when he was born.’

  ‘I know. Seems like only yesterday, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I dunno about that. Seems like a fucking lifetime to me, mate.’ George turned his face to the sun and closed his eyes.

  Paul stood up. ‘I’ll just go finish the tea.’

  A whispered conversation took place inside the house that George did his best to ignore. He could guess what it was about. He was suddenly aware that he’d outstayed his welcome, but his tea arrived piping hot.

  ‘Listen, Paul. I didn’t just come round for a catch-up, you know. I was hoping to talk shop.’

  Paul grinned like he missed shop. ‘What do you need?’

  ‘What’s your status there now, Paul? I’ve been hearing all sorts of things. One person even said you were dead! I mean is there any truth in it? Are you dead, first of all?’

  ‘They could be right there. I do like a lie-in.’

  ‘You are retired then?’ George asked.

  ‘I wish! There was an incident with our friend Helen Webb. I found out some stuff around her — you know the details, I’m sure. I hadn’t been happy about her for a while, and sure enough I was right, like I always am. Anyways, she got the hump and decided to pick on the disabled.’

  ‘I hear she knocked you out clean with one punch.’

  ‘That woman can hit!’ The two men chuckled. ‘After that, the senior bods realised they needed to do something with me, and none of it involved police work. I’ve been surplus to requirements for some time, but at least they’re doing something about it now. I’m on gardening leave. They’re finalising a deal to get me out on medical grounds. I should get my full pension, though I think the lump sum might take a hit. I can still find work. I’m not completely fucking useless.’

  ‘Not completely. How is the arm?’ George pointed at the place where he had fired a bullet into his best friend. It was his final act before their careers and their lives took a nosedive. George had been terrified, backed into a corner and reacted to what he perceived to be a threat to his own life. But it had been Paul coming through that bedsit door, his expression of concern immediately distorting to pain. It was a moment neither of them would ever forget.

  ‘It’s better. I don’t wear the strap so much anymore, and the involuntary salute has all but stopped. Now it just hangs there limp and useless. The wife says it suits me.’

  The bullet had struck Paul in the shoulder. According to the movies, a person can take it in the shoulder in the morning and be stitched up and back to saving the world by afternoon. This is far from the truth. Paul never fully recovered. The bullet hit bone, which splintered. Part of it collapsed his lung and almost killed him. Another piece tore through the nerves controlling his arm. Paul would never be able to use it again.

  They were silent for a while, and then George brought up the reason for his visit. ‘So you’re ready for the quiet life then, are you? Away from the job, I mean. What do you see yourself doing?’

  ‘Well, she ain’t gonna let me retire!’ Paul jabbed his thumb back towards the house.

  ‘I don’t see that suiting you anyway.’

  Paul shrugged. ‘True. But I like a bit of fishing. I intend on getting another dog, I think. You know, once I move on a bit from my old Lab.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘And you? Lennockshire Police’s worst nightmare come back to haunt them.’ Paul grinned.

  ‘Like a bad smell, you mean? Well, get this. I walked out of prison straight into a meeting with Darren Lewis.’ Paul looked blank. ‘The assistant chief constable?’

  ‘Oh, right. Never heard of the man. I’m not very good with ranks. I assume he was trying to talk you out of suing his ass?’

  ‘Not exactly. I actually don’t think he would be too bothered if I did, just as long as I helped them out a bit first.’

  ‘They want your help?’

  ‘They’ve got it, Paul. I’m back at Langthorne House, leading the search for the fucker who took Sam out, and all those others. And I’m after Helen Webb too. She’s going to answer for what she did.’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  ‘Paul!’ Karen’s voice shrilled from the lounge, but Paul ignored it this time.

  ‘I swear. I went back to Langthorne House yesterday morning, messed around a little, found the kettle. I’ve even considered hooking out the old tea Frisbee. You remember that? If you catch it, you make it.’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  ‘Paul! Jesus!’ This time there was real anger in Karen’s voice.

  ‘Let’s not use the Lord’s name in vain, honey!’ Paul called out.

  George shook his head. ‘Don’t, please. She’s already upset at seeing me.’

  Paul smiled. ‘Yeah, you’re not her favourite person. But if you tried to get her to say why, I think she would struggle. She’s just pissed at the situation.’

  ‘Well, that and the fact that I shot you.’

  ‘That’s the situation I’m talking about. By now we all understand what happened and why. It was a fucker, and now look at us. Me a registered cripple and you the returning hero, sitting in my back garden and begging me to come back and save the day. Just like it ought to be!’

  ‘Who said anything about begging?’ A smile crept over George’s face.

  ‘Well, asking then.’

  ‘I was getting to it.’

  ‘You want me in tomorrow?’

  ‘Hell no! Tomorrow’s Sunday. You can start Monday.’

  Paul narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you in tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course
. But then, what else have I got to do? You’ve got your family, mate. You’ve also got a pretty difficult conversation to have with the good lady in there.’

  Paul leant back and turned his face to the sun. ‘She is good too. We bicker, you know, but it’s because we care about each other.’

  ‘Of course it is. How will she take it, do you think? Will she be keen for you to get back to work?’

  ‘I haven’t said yes yet, have I?’

  ‘Alright then. Say no.’

  Paul grinned. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Without checking with the boss? Brave man.’ George smiled back.

  Paul’s eyes were closed. ‘I remember when I was in the hospital with the head injury, courtesy of that witch, Helen Webb. It really wasn’t serious. Well, the wife stormed into my room and said I was never going back. The people I worked with couldn’t be trusted, and it was going to get me killed. She was so upset.’

  ‘I can imagine. She might have been right too, Paul. It’s not exactly been good to you, mate.’

  ‘True. So anyway, we both agreed that I should call it quits. My work was kinda done by that time. I had played my part, I’d exposed what I needed to and the witch had made a run for it. It was game on, but it was up to the younger, fitter officers to chase her shadow. I couldn’t help with that bit. So, me and the wife lived on top of each other for a week, and then she couldn’t wait to get me out of the house and into some kind of job. She’ll object at first, but it won’t be such a hard sell.’

  ‘You’re up for chasing shadows again, then?’ George looked at him.

  ‘I always was, mate, so long as I’ve got the right people next to me.’

  ‘Excellent. Well, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get the hell out of here before your wife starts objecting.’

  Paul shook his hand. His left arm flapped at his side.

  ‘Good shout.’

  Chapter 12

  The atmosphere in the van was thick with tension. Mick was in his usual place at the front, with the Irishman driving and the other two seated in the back. Mick was in charge of two crews tonight. They had met in in the car park of a deserted garden centre just outside Langthorne, and then gone their separate ways.

  Mick’s crew was headed for a cluster of garages near the railway line, about three hundred metres from Langthorne West train station. The garages were rented out to anyone who could afford them. Mick had decided that it was the perfect place to start from. Their van bore plates ‘borrowed’ from a Network Rail vehicle. Mick reckoned this would fool any police patrol on night duty in the vicinity as long as they didn’t go beyond cursory checks.

  The other crew was in a saloon car. By now they should have dropped the woman off at the prearranged spot.

  It was two in the morning and the crew was growing restless.

  Mick had been staring at the signal scanner for a full ten minutes and the lights still hadn’t flickered. It was a simple device, a small black box with lights that came on when the receiver detected a police radio broadcast in the area. It was available on the internet, entirely legal and invaluable to a crew of crooks waiting for the best time to get to work.

  That time was now.

  Mick tapped at his phone. ‘You all set up?’

  ‘Yeah, we’re good.’ The other crew was ready on the opposite side of town.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Nah, the air’s dead, we had a flicker a few minutes ago. I reckon they’re all a-fucking-sleep, lazy cunts. You want me to wake them up?’

  ‘Yeah. Let’s get this done.’

  * * *

  The man dropped the cheap Nokia phone back under the armrest and opened the car door. They were on a one-way street with a large expanse of parkland to one side and a defunct hospital on the other. A group of kids had gathered in the park, waiting. The lead boy was sitting on his bike, smoking a cigarette. The man went over to him.

  ‘We’re good,’ said the boy, and the man handed him a bundle of tenners. He returned to the car and watched the stream of kids — about twenty of them — cross the road and make their way towards a row of terraced houses.

  The kids followed their instructions to the letter. From a nearby building site, they gathered bricks and rocks and began throwing them at the parked cars and then the houses. The road was under siege. Soon the sound of alarms tore through the night air. When it reached a crescendo, the kids ran back through the park into an alleyway, where they could starburst in different directions and make good their escape.

  The box lit up in a frenzy of flashing lights, and the two men monitoring it shared a chuckle. Every available police resource in the area would be woken up, and turned out of their sleeping holes. Diverted.

  Time to move.

  * * *

  She was almost invisible in the long shadows cast by four enormous excavators. The machines had been shifting thousands of tonnes of pebbles along Sandgate’s beach to reinforce the sea defences. She answered her vibrating phone, gave a one-word confirmation and walked out into the harsh floodlights. She picked out her favourite excavator and climbed up into the cab. In less than half a minute the row of spotlights mounted in front turned towards the surrounding fence, and the beast burst out of its enclosure. She turned right and headed into Langthorne. She checked her watch. Her ETA was eight minutes.

  * * *

  ‘Eight minutes, men. Time to move.’

  Mick and two of his companions jumped out of the van. They wore high visibility jackets with Network Rail written across the back. The Irishman stayed in the van. They scrambled up a muddy incline to the fence that stood along the railway line. They made short work of the wire mesh and returned to the van, where they picked up their kit for the next part of the operation. Each of them pulled a balaclava over his face and Mick led them in a jog back up the slippery slope and onto the rail track. Mick carried an axe and a wrecking bar, and the other two hauled the steel rope and grappling hook.

  Five minutes had passed. The platform of Langthorne West train station was dimly lit. The giant clock above it marked the seconds with a clack. There was no other sound. The trains and their passengers were all in bed.

  Mick scrambled onto the platform and readied his axe. The brick building housing a small café and the public toilets also offered a grey metal cash machine sunk into its wall. The screen flickered a warning in neon green. Be aware of your surroundings, criminals may be operating in this area. Mick struck the first blow. The axe dug into the brick wall by the top left corner of the machine, where the metal lip met the brick. He pulled it back to take another swing.

  * * *

  The excavator roared past the darkened van and the Irishman within. The wall of lights at its front jerked upwards as its tracks hit the bank. The diesel engine bellowed and the beast broke through the steel fence posts as if they were drinking-straws. It came to a stop at the top of the bank and Mick watched the woman emerge and slide down the bank to where the Irishman had the van facing forward. A chain trailed from the excavator, and the Irishman hooked this to the front bumper of the van. The woman ran back up the bank, revved the metal beast and the van jolted forward. The excavator dragged the van up to the railway line, where Mick and the others were waiting.

  * * *

  Four of the excavator’s grappling hooks bit into the partially exposed ATM machine. The brick wall surrounding the ATM shuddered, and then crumbled away. The adverts still rolled across the screen as the digger ripped the machine from its housing and the ATM slammed onto the platform, sparking and smoking from its exposed wires.

  The bucket rose, dangling the ATM high above them. The woman skilfully lowered it over the van and spun it to face the rear doors. Mick jumped into the back and fastened the ATM with ropes as the digger lowered it towards the van’s flat bed.

  It was done. The van reversed back down the track, leaving the excavator where it stood, halfway across a track that would be busy with commuters in just a few hours’ time. The crew and the woman operator pi
led into the front of the van and they made good their escape.

  * * *

  Mick waited for the woman to disappear into the night before he made the call to the gatehouse at Alcani’s yard. The warehouse behind the steel gate would provide the perfect location for the next stage — what was known in the business as the ’kill site’.

  * * *

  Just as the police filed the final report of criminal damage to vehicles and houses in the area of Radnor Park, Langthorne, the distinctive noise of a diamond-edged disc cutter against toughened steel filled the interior of the Alcanis’ largest warehouse.

  Chapter 13

  Sipping a takeaway coffee, George Elms walked up to the second floor, where he had been allocated a space to work from.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

  Emily Ryker looked tense. ‘There’s been a shooting.’

  George looked at her, waiting for more. It didn’t come. ‘That all you know?’

  ‘Top end of Hythe. Some fella and his wife shot dead in their home. Looks like a pro hit.’

  ‘You think it’s linked to our thing?’

  She shrugged. ‘No idea.’

  ‘Okay. You’re stressed about it though. Who’s the victim?’

  ‘According to Major Crime it’s some bloke that might have links to the Alcanis.’

  ‘Oh. For a minute I thought it was something important. It’ll be some drug debt or internal feud then. Is the kettle on yet? Only I’ve nearly finished this.’ George raised his cup and started towards the kitchen.

  ‘George!’ George heard the urgency in Emily’s voice, and stopped. ‘Can I talk to you?’ she asked.

  George gestured towards a vacant office and they went in. ‘What’s going on, Ryker?’

  ‘This shooting last night.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘He used to be a source.’

  ‘For us?’

  ‘Yes, for us.’ Emily sounded impatient. George still wasn’t following.

  ‘Okay . . . But we still don’t think this is linked to our thing?’

  ‘No. Not to our thing, but it might be linked to my thing.’ Emily stared at him.

  ‘You have a thing?’ George was really puzzled now.