Rough Justice (38 page)

The younger man had also produced a gun. It was a Glock and it was pointed at Sean’s chest.

‘What the hell is this?’ demanded Padraig.

‘Drop the shotgun,’ said the man. ‘Drop it or so help me, God, I’ll pull the trigger.’

Padraig let the shotgun fall from his fingers and it thumped into the grass.

‘Are we going to leave their car where it is?’ asked the Major, checking the plastic ties that were binding Padraig Fox’s wrists.

‘No need to hide it,’ said Shepherd. ‘We’ll be miles away before anyone knows that they’re missing.’

He used a short length of rope to tie Sean Fox’s ankles. Both men were lying face down and sacks had been pulled over their heads. They had sworn and protested as they had been led to the van and bound, but they had gone quiet once the sacks had been put on.

The Major sat down between the two bound and hooded men, holding his Glock. ‘Let’s be off, then,’ he said.

Shepherd slammed the rear doors and climbed into the driver’s seat. He started the engine and drove slowly across the grass to the road. He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Okay?’ he asked. The Major nodded. ‘Any problems, just put a bullet in their heads,’ he added, for the benefit of their two prisoners. He turned onto the road and headed west. He kept a careful eye on the road ahead and kept checking the rear-view mirror. He had already memorised the route, which avoided any traffic-lights or stop signs so that he could keep moving. There were no windows in the side or back of the van but someone could look through the windscreen, and there was a small chance that they might see what was going on, so he wanted to keep the vehicle moving. There were few cars on the road, but for several minutes he was forced to follow a mud-splattered tractor driven by an overweight farmer in a flat cap, who waved cheerily when he turned off into a field. A helicopter flew low overhead but it was a Robinson two-seater, not police or army. Judging from its erratic flight path there was a beginner at the controls.

The road ahead was clear and Shepherd accelerated up to sixty for a few minutes, then slowed, still watching his rear-view mirror, but there was no one following him. He patted the side pocket of his jacket and felt the reassuring hardness of the Glock.

He slowed the van as he got nearer the turn-off, but just as he was about to leave the road a saloon car towing a caravan came up behind him. Shepherd cursed under his breath. The car made no attempt to overtake him and he knew that if he slowed to make the turn, the car and caravan would almost certainly have to stop. If that happened there’d be an outside chance that the occupants would remember the van.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked the Major.

‘Bloody caravan behind us,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m going to go on and do a U-turn.’ He accelerated and left the car and caravan behind. After a couple of miles he reached a crossroads. He turned left, did a quick three-point turn, then headed back the way he’d come. He passed the car and caravan. The car was being driven by an elderly man with thick-lensed glasses – he seemed to be more worried about the GPS unit on his dashboard than about the road ahead. The second time that Shepherd approached the turn-off the road was clear ahead and behind him. He turned off and drove slowly through the woodland, following the route he’d driven that morning.

He brought the van to a halt in the same place he’d parked the first time. There were deep tyre tracks in the mud. There was nothing they could do about them, but Shepherd wasn’t concerned as they were going to torch the van anyway once they’d got it back to the Republic. He brought the van to a stop and switched off the engine. He climbed out and pulled open the rear door. The Major jumped out. He looked around the wooded area and cocked his head as he listened, but the only sound was the clicking of the engine as it cooled.

Shepherd untied Padraig Fox’s legs while the Major freed his brother. Shepherd pulled out his Glock and tapped it against Padraig Fox’s knee. ‘We’re gonna help you out of the van and we’re going to take a walk,’ he said. ‘You try anything, anything at all, and I’ll put a bullet in your leg and we’ll still make you walk.’

‘So it’s the easy way or the hard way, is it?’ said Padraig, his voice muffled by the sack. ‘Where’d you learn to do this? Watching old gangster movies, you thick Brit bastard?’

Shepherd slammed the butt of the Glock down on the man’s knee. Fox grunted but didn’t cry out. He was a hard man, all right, and Shepherd knew that hard men had to be dominated from the outset or things could go very badly wrong. ‘Next time it’ll be a bullet,’ he said. ‘And we’re miles from anywhere so there’s no cavalry going to be riding to your rescue.’

He grabbed the belt of the man’s trousers and pulled him out of the van, then kept a tight grip on the collar of his jacket, keeping the muzzle of the gun pressed against the back of his neck. He manoeuvred him away from the van while the Major pulled Sean Fox out and steadied him.

Shepherd and the Major frogmarched the brothers through the undergrowth, issuing terse warnings when there was something in their way, roughly helping them over fallen branches and around bushes.

‘Where are you taking us?’ said Padraig Fox, limping from his injured knee.

‘It’s a mystery tour,’ said Shepherd. ‘And keep your mouth shut or I’ll cripple your other leg.’

‘If you tell me what this is about, we can sort it out,’ said Padraig Fox.

Shepherd jerked the man’s collar. ‘I told you already, keep it shut,’ he said.

They reached the clearing where they had dug the hole. A dozen starlings scattered from a tree, cawing as they flapped away. They settled in another tree further away and went silent.

‘Kneel down,’ said the Major, pressing the barrel of his Glock against the back of Sean Fox’s neck. He used his left hand to grip the shoulder of Fox’s coat to keep him steady as he went down onto his knees.

‘What’s this about?’ asked Padraig Fox. ‘What do you want?’

Shepherd tapped him on the side of the head with his gun. ‘We want you on your knees,’ he said.

‘Please don’t do this,’ said Sean Fox, his voice trembling.

‘We just want to ask you some questions,’ said Shepherd.

‘Whatever you want, whatever you need to know, we’ll tell you, won’t we, Padraig?’

‘Be a man, Sean,’ said his brother. ‘Don’t let the bastards hear you grovel.’

‘Just do as you’re told and everything’ll be all right,’ said Shepherd. He pushed Padraig Fox down onto his knees, keeping a tight grip on the collar of his jacket.

The Fox brothers were kneeling just inches from the hole. Shepherd looked over at the Major, waiting to see what he would do next. Off in the distance, a fox barked.

The Major took a deep breath. Then he slowly aimed his Glock at the back of Sean Fox’s head. Shepherd thought he was going to say something but he just pressed his lips together and pulled the trigger, firing one shot, then stepping quickly to the side and putting a second bullet into Padraig Fox’s head before his brother had even toppled forward into the grave.

The Major fired two more shots into Sean Fox’s back and shot Padraig again.

The brothers twitched for a few seconds, and then were still, lying together in the pit.

The Major tossed his gun into the hole. Shepherd did the same. Then they picked up the spades and began shovelling earth on top of the bodies.

‘There he is,’ said the Major, pointing at O’Brien’s Mercedes. He had parked at an entrance to an abandoned limestone quarry some thirty miles outside Dublin. He already had the gate open for them and he flashed his lights to let them know to drive through. Then he followed them along the rutted track, past an abandoned prefabricated office, its windows smashed and graffiti spray-painted across the walls.

Shepherd parked the van in the middle of the quarry. The sky was starting to darken and stars to wink overhead. ‘Nice choice,’ said Shepherd.

‘Can’t be seen from the road and the nearest cops are ten miles away,’ said O’Brien. ‘We’ll be well away before anyone knows what’s going on.’

Shepherd went around to the back of the van and took out a black garbage bag containing the two holdalls they had brought with them. He took them out and carried them over to O’Brien’s Mercedes.

‘How did it go?’ asked O’Brien.

‘Smooth as silk,’ said the Major.

O’Brien looked at Shepherd, who nodded. ‘Let’s burn the van and get the hell out of Dodge,’ he said.

The Major and Shepherd stripped off their clothing and handed it to O’Brien. He threw everything into the back of the van, on top of the waders and fishing equipment. When they had stripped down to their underwear and socks, they walked over to the holdalls and changed into clean clothes and training shoes. O’Brien took a screwdriver and removed the registration plates from the vehicle, then pulled the tax disc off the window.

Shepherd quickly checked the Major, making sure that there was nothing on him that could transfer evidence. ‘That’s the lot,’ he said to O’Brien.

O’Brien dropped the registration plates into the boot of his Mercedes and took out a red plastic can. He whistled to himself as he splashed petrol around the inside of the van.

Shepherd and the Major climbed into the Mercedes as O’Brien walked around the van, pouring petrol over the side and through the open windows. When he had finished, he tossed the can onto the front seat and stood back. He took a box of matches from his pocket, lit one and tossed it inside. There was a loud ‘whoosh’ as the petrol ignited. He tossed in the box of matches, then took off his leather gloves and threw them into the flames too. He walked over to the Mercedes, got in and drove off. They were a good hundred yards away when the van’s petrol tank exploded and it erupted into a ball of flame. ‘Just time for a coffee before you catch the ferry,’ said O’Brien. ‘And maybe a sandwich. I could murder a bacon sandwich.’

Shepherd and the Major walked out of Holyhead ferry terminal and strolled through the town. It was as deserted as the last time they’d passed through, though once again the roads were busy with cars and trucks pouring off the ferry. Shepherd’s BMW was where he’d left it, and they were soon driving across the bridge from Anglesey to the Welsh mainland. ‘I was waiting for you to try to talk me out of it,’ said the Major, as they drove along the A5 through the Snowdonia National Park, the Cambrian Mountains to their right.

‘Did you want me to?’ asked Shepherd. The Major shook his head. ‘So what would have been the point?’

‘I just thought, you know . . . you being in law enforcement.’

‘That I might have a view? I already told you, boss, I know why you did what you did. I would probably have done the same myself if I was in your place. If things had worked out differently and I’d stayed in the Regiment, I could well have found myself up against the Fox boys with an MP5 in my hands. They were terrorists, they deserved what they got and I won’t lose a wink of sleep over what I did today.’

‘Thanks, Spider.’

‘No thanks necessary, boss.’ It was one o’clock in the morning and there was little traffic on the A5 but Shepherd kept to just below the speed limit. ‘I did wonder why you didn’t say anything to them,’ he said. ‘Before you . . .’ He left the sentence unfinished.

‘I was going to,’ said the Major. ‘I had it all planned out. I was going to tell them that I was Tommy’s uncle, that he was a better man than they’d ever be, that they were murdering scum who deserved to die like dogs, but when they were kneeling there with the sacks over their heads I realised I didn’t need to say anything. They didn’t deserve to know who I was or why they were dying. I just wanted them dead. I know why I did it and Tommy’s father will know, and if Tommy’s up there looking down at us, he’ll know, but so far as the Fox brothers are concerned, screw ’em. They’re dead and that’s all that matters. It’s all the closure that I need.’

Shepherd understood. ‘Just one thing,’ he said quietly.

‘Sure. Anything.’

‘We don’t mention it, ever again. Not ever.’

‘Like it never happened?’

Shepherd smiled ruefully. ‘No, it happened. We’ll never forget what we did, but we don’t talk about it. No one saw us, there’s no forensics. Providing we never, ever talk about it, it’ll never come back to haunt us.’

‘Deal,’ said the Major.

As they approached the outskirts of Hereford the Major used his throwaway Nokia to phone Jack Bradford and arranged to meet him in the car park at the Swan. Shepherd and he got there first and waited for five minutes until Jack pulled up behind them in his silver grey Audi. They climbed out of the BMW. Shepherd handed the Major his holdall and they walked together to the Audi. ‘Everything okay?’ asked Jack.

‘Couldn’t have gone better,’ said the Major. He opened the rear door on the driver’s side and tossed his holdall into the back.

‘Give me the Nokias and I’ll get rid of them,’ said Shepherd.

The Major took his from his jacket and handed it to him. Jack retrieved his from the unit on his dashboard and passed it through the window.

‘Tell Billy to destroy the phone and the Sim card when you get back to London,’ Shepherd said to Jack.

‘And I’ll watch whatever he’s recorded off the TV,’ said the Major. He stuck out his hand. ‘Job well done, Spider, thanks.’

‘No sweat, boss.’

Shepherd flashed Jack a thumbs-up as the Major climbed into the front passenger seat, and he waved as the two men drove off towards London. He looked at his watch. If they made good time the Major would be home soon after dawn.

He climbed into his car and drove slowly back to his house. All the lights were off and he let himself in through the back door. Lady was in her basket and wagged her tail. ‘It’s okay, Lady, go back to sleep,’ he whispered. He crept upstairs. Liam’s bedroom door was closed so he decided not to disturb him and went to his own bedroom. He shaved and then showered, washing his hair thoroughly and using a nailbrush methodically, then towelled himself dry. He changed into clean clothes and went back downstairs. He made himself a cup of black coffee, sat down at the kitchen table and wrote a note to his son. ‘Liam – Sorry I got back too late to say goodnight. Have gone back to London. See you next weekend. I’ll phone you. Love Dad. PS Here’s your pocket money!’ He left the note and ten pounds underneath the salt cellar.