Force Of Habit v5 (7 page)

It was all over in minutes.

The building was penetrated and secured and North had to push his way through the gathering crowd to find Mason and James. They were sat back to back either side of a vertical steel girder. It looked like they had their hands tied behind their backs. Their feet were tied too. They both had blood on their hair and faces. James wasn’t moving nor responding to a paramedic. It didn’t look good. A stretcher appeared. Mason was semi-conscious and incoherent. He spat and blood sprayed down his front.

North tried to get Mason’s attention but found himself being pushed further and further back until a firm grip attached to his arm and he was steered outside. He stood in the bright, artificial light, neon bouncing off the brickwork as he watched the unmoving James, an oxygen mask strapped to her face, being wheeled out to a waiting ambulance.

Then came Mason.

He didn’t even seem to recognise North as he was rolled past. A small piece of chain dangled from a metal ring attached to each wrist. They had been restrained with their own handcuffs. One of the response team must have cut them free for the medics. Someone appeared with keys and removed them in the ambulances. The doors closed and they were whisked away.

‘And just what, exactly, do we think is going on here, North?’

North turned to face Chief Superintendant Gerald Harrington, Commander of CID. He was also in a tux. North was glad he’d missed him at the do. He gave him the gist.

‘So, let me get this straight. During the course of this evening you have managed to insult almost anyone who is anyone in this city, you persisted in meddling in someone else’s case resulting in the mobilisation of the entire force, the abduction and subsequent hospitalisation of two fellow officers - whose case it actually was - and you lost your prime suspect. Would you say that that would be an accurate reflection of this evenings events, Detective Inspector?’

The Chief wasn’t one to use one word where you could squeeze a dozen in instead. And North wasn’t sure what the hell had happened. If in doubt say nowt.

‘Nice work, Detective.’ Sarcy fucker. ‘I want you in my office at six a.m. sharp with a full, up to the minute report and you had better be making progress and have a very good explanation for all this.’

The Chief disappeared.

It started raining again.

Up in the scrub on the hill Terry Rawlins watched the scene diminish as vehicles departed. He planned on doing likewise at the earliest opportunity. He watched the helicopter fade into the blackness overhead and breathed a little easier, but not much. He’d seen enough cop reality shows to know that they had cameras that could pick up body heat no matter how fucking freezing you were. He’d wait until he was sure it wasn’t coming back this time before making his move.

He’d been bricking it since it had first showed. It had kept its distance and then moved away but Rawlins wasn’t fooled. Neither were the others. They had scarpered. They had wheels and would have tried to melt into the urban landscape before the chopper came back into view or any sirens kicked in. When they did it wasn’t long before the helicopter was right on top of Rawlins with a search beam that could cut you in half.

He’d legged it down the embankment, away from the motorway now busy with sirens, clambered over a fence and almost cracked his skull open falling headlong into a pile of concrete. It saved him. He had slithered over the slabs and fallen into a gap where he managed to wedge himself underneath it all, safe from the electronic surveillance above and concealed from sight no matter how much they lit it up out there. The helicopter had initially done a quick sweep over the units then the barren scrub beyond. Bright white passed over him, unseeing, then it was probing the embankment he had just run from. Then the filth had come piling in on the ground too.

The day was ending as it had started.

Shit.

His brief, the lousy state appointed fuck, had told him to prepare for the worst, that he’d be getting at least another year inside and then he had to sit through an hour of bullshit in the courtroom as he waited to be sent back down only to be told that he was free to go after a lecture from the judge that went right over his head. Why didn’t these poncy fuckers speak like the rest of us? Self-important wankers.

He’d done a double-take and had to ask the brief if he was hearing right. He was, so even after holding in the urge to smack the fucker, and then having to take three buses and a train, he’d gotten back home in pretty high spirits. He’d spent the journey planning what was to be done. He was going to drain a bottle of whatever was going while he got Denise to drain him then he was going to give the silly bitch a slap for getting him banged up for twelve months, then bang her before popping down the pub to celebrate with the boys. And she had better be flush because he was planning on getting right proper fuck-faced. And as for that interfering old bag next door...

All that had gone out the window when he had walked in and found her. He must have gone into shock or something because he had just stood there and pissed himself. Her face and body had been unrecognisable. He’d given her a fair few slaps in their time but he’d never seen anything like this - and all those needles. What was that all about? He’d known it was her by the tattoo. It was Denise alright. As soon as his brain could control enough of the rest of him he’d turned and ran.

He only had one place to run to.

He only had one number to call.

It was only ever to be used in an emergency and if this wasn’t a fucking emergency he didn’t know what was and it wasn’t like he had any other options to mull over.

The lad who had brought him here had dropped him at the entrance to the decaying industrial park and told him to stay put while he sorted the feds who had been following them. Then the feds had cruised up real slow and parked in between the gate posts, blocking the entrance. A man and a woman had got out and split up, flanking the buildings. He had thought they must see him for sure as he tried to become part of a solid brick wall, but it was pretty dark out there and they were concentrating on the buildings further back. Then they disappeared. Then there was a bit of a commotion - he hadn’t liked that one bit. His driver had come back, moved the cops’ car and told him to stay put. Shit, had he gone and done? It was deathly quiet. He had liked that even less.

He couldn’t take it, not knowing what had happened or what was happening. Being left there alone. In the dark. He’d gone after them. There was a light on in one of the buildings. The metal door had been rolled up and both cars were inside. He still couldn’t see anyone. Rawlins had moved closer. He could hear voices before he reached the doorway. He was stopped dead by one voice.
The
voice. The voice on the phone. And it had been talking about him.

He had eased his head out into the open until his left eye could see in. They were all on the other side of the run-down unit, gathered round one of the rusting girders that helped support the roof. The cops were on the floor. Rawlins had stood rooted to the ground while his brain did the rumba. It took in the scene. The words. They all tripped over one another. They seemed to blaming him. But he hadn’t done nothing!

‘His usefulness is over. He’s nothing but a liability now. Make sure the cops can’t get to him. Ever.’

His blood had run cold. Fear held him for some time before he managed to put his feet in reverse and he backed outside and out of view.

Then he’d ran.

It was pitch black and something went clattering as pain shot through his right shin, but he’d stayed on his feet. He’d heard a shout from behind and the sound of fast moving feet. His body had felt weak and it had taken every effort to keep going. Fear had consumed him.

They were going to kill him.

He’d run between buildings across an uneven surface that was being reclaimed by nature, weeds pushing up through bulging tarmac in an attempt to bring him down. He’d made out the outline of a fence up ahead and managed to scramble up the side of it enough to grasp the top. Barbed wire had cut into his fingers and he cried out as the barbs sank deeper into his flesh as he pulled himself up.

He’d gone over and a new pain hammered into his ankles as he landed. He ran into the bushes and trees. Thorn filled branches clawed him and he raised his arms to protect his face. He heard his pursuers crash into the chain link as he broke free of the branches. He pulled at the undergrowth, hauling himself up a steep bank. At the top he could hear a car as it sped past, unseen, somewhere down to his left. He was on an overgrown embankment. He’d ran along it as far as he dared, estimating their progress up the hill after him, then he’d dropped into the scrub, worming his way into it, willing himself down into the cold, wet earth where he stayed, stock still, not even daring to look up for them.

One had come close, but with almost no light they would have had to literally stumble onto him to find him. Rawlins was crying into the sod when the chopper had appeared. His pursuers had legged it back over the fence as soon as it drifted out of sight. It had kept its distance, like it was on some other pursuit, but they weren’t taking chances. They had been right not too. Rawlins was crawling out of the scrub when the sirens started converging on him. Within minutes it was bedlam out there and the helicopter was hanging right over him, Rawlins under his rock. He’d stayed there until the focus had returned to the buildings and he was back in the black.

He had crawled back up onto the embankment where he could see what was going down. He’d watched the paramedics wheel out a couple of people on stretchers. It was all fucked up. The nightmare was never going to end. The filth would be even more pissed at him than they were already.

Now he watched as the ambulances left and some of the cars started to follow. He got ready to do likewise with no thought as to where he was going to go. His only thought was to get away from here. The filth would be going over the whole place with a fine toothcomb come first light but
they
would be back after him before then. He was slap bang in the middle of whatever shit was going down out there. Running was his only option.

He backed away to the other side of the embankment and scrambled down to the road. It was an unlit section of dual carriageway and headlights were coming at him. Without thinking he ran onto the blacktop and stood waving his arms above his head. He had to get out of there
now.

A car was almost on him and swerved. The pull on the steering wheel was hard and the car was travelling fast. It slammed into the central reservation, the barrier stopping it dead, the momentum lifting the back of the car and propelling it up and over causing it to somersault along the road, the sound of crunching, breaking metal filling the air. Then it was silent again.

Another set of headlights appeared and Rawlins ran to the wreckage, waving at the new car. When it pulled up a man got out.

‘Help,’ said Rawlins. The man ran towards him and bent down to look into the upturned vehicle.

‘Jesus,’ was all he managed before throwing up.

Rawlins ran for the idling car. It should have been easy: door open, keys in the ignition, engine already running, but he hadn’t driven a car since his teens. He’d never had a lesson, never passed a test, never owned a car. He’d only driven what his mates had stolen. He stuck it in first, let the clutch out - and it stalled. He glanced up to see matey looking at him. He was kneeling in the road drooling sick with a look of disbelief on his mush at this new turn of events. Then the whole road came alight and the blokes clothes started flapping about. The grass embankment came alive. A deafening roar penetrated the car. Rawlins instinctively looked up, towards the noise but quickly turned away, wincing at the effect of the nitesun searchlight beaming down from the helicopter above. It was back.

How long could those fuckers stay up there?

A metallic voice barked orders at him. They were shouting at him from the sky. Rawlins didn’t have to hear them. He got the general idea. He turned the key and floored it.

He kangarooed his way through the gears, the revs bouncing the needle in and out of red, the car constantly in the spotlight. The gears crunched as he fought to find fifth, then his foot stamped the pedal back down and he was pushed back into his seat as the car roared through the hundred mark.

Most cars ahead had seen the glare in their mirrors and moved aside. He sped past them and weaved between the other dozy fuckers still pootling along in the middle lane. The chopper didn’t budge. It was right up his arse. The road came at him like a Playstation game. He started crying.

This was supposed to be his day. Freedom he’d waited a year for and dreamt of every single night and every single day. He was supposed to be down the pub, shitfaced, after getting a bunk-up and teaching that bitch a lesson for getting him sent down in the first place. Now he had the police and some right nasty bastards after him.

It was all that bitches fault.

If she wasn’t already dead he would have killed her. He thought of her body. Of the needles stuck in it.

‘That stupid bitch!’

What had she got him in to? Now he was next on their list and he couldn’t even go to the cops.

The cops.

They could appear on the ground, after him, any second. He took the next exit and put some distance between him and the motorway, turning this way and that, no clue where he was headed. He was well out in the sticks before he realised that the only light was directly in front of him. His own beams. There were no streetlights – and no helicopter light.

He nearly went into a tree on a bend trying to search the skies. He ducked into a side road and pulled into a bridle path. Prised his fingers from the wheel. Outside the air bit into his face and lungs. There was no sight or sound of the helicopter.
Result.
He had been beginning to think that it could stay up there all week.

He got back in the car and stared into the northern night. He remembered that guy on the run that had got cornered out in the sticks. It hadn’t ended well. About how the chopper was gone but every cop on the streets would be looking for him and this car. He could see the city lights in the distance.