Текст книги "Stay Alive"

Автор книги: Simon Kernick

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Fifty-five

DURING HIS DAYS in The Flying Squad, the Metropolitan Police’s specialist Armed Robbery Unit, Mike Bolt had been taught that, when ambushing armed robbers, sudden overwhelming force, delivered without any warning whatsoever – be it with fists, guns, or even planks of wood – was by far the most effective means of bringing down men with guns, and could often be achieved without fatalities.

Bolt hadn’t wanted to arrest Amanda Rowan or Thom Folkestone before the reinforcements he’d called in from Tayleigh had arrived. With just him and Mo on the scene, there was too much risk of one or both of them escaping. He’d already had a good meal and a couple of drinks that night, and Mo, who was short and stout and preferred detective work to chasing suspects, wasn’t the most athletic of coppers, so it would have been far easier to have kept an eye on them from their position behind the shed.

However, as soon as he’d heard them talking about some girl Amanda had apparently brought with her, he’d known they were going to have to do something. As Amanda and Thom had leaned into the back of the Land Rover and he’d heard the muffled cries of someone inside, Bolt had crept out from behind the shed, motioning for Mo to follow, and approached them from behind.

Thom had heard them at the last second, but he’d been too late. Bolt raced forward and punched him in the side of the head, putting all his weight behind it. Thom’s head hit the edge of the roof, bounced back, and Bolt grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, swung him round, and drove a knee into his balls, lifting him off his feet.

At the same time, Mo grabbed Amanda round the middle, pinning her arms, while she screamed and struggled violently, almost knocking them both over. Bolt could see she was holding a Stanley knife, with the blade about an inch exposed, and he knew he had to act fast before she broke free. As Thom fell back against the car, his face contorted with pain, Bolt rained blows down on his face, one after another, literally beating him to the ground.

Only when he was lying on his side, coughing up blood and teeth, did Bolt turn round to deal with Amanda.

Mo still had hold of her, but only just. She was stamping on his foot, and trying to drive her head back into his, fighting like a bucking bronco, while he stumbled about, desperately trying to keep his grip.

And then, as Bolt leaned his arm back to throw a punch at her, she broke free and, with a scream of rage, went for him with the Stanley knife.

He moved to one side, dodging her easily, his fist connecting perfectly with her jaw as she turned towards him, sending her flying backwards. She tripped over Mo and landed sprawling on her side on the scuffed grass, the Stanley knife clattering out of sight behind her.

As Mo went over to comfort the terrified girl (a pretty, mixed-raced teenager of around seventeen, who’d been tied and gagged), Bolt walked over to Amanda, who was trying to crawl away. He slammed a foot down into the centre of her back, driving the wind right out of her.

‘I don’t normally hit women,’ he said, ignoring the burning in his knuckles. ‘But in your case, I’m happy to make an exception.’ He leaned down so his face was close to her ear, feeling the satisfaction of a job well done. ‘Amanda Rowan. I’m arresting you for the murders of George Rowan and Ivana Hanzha.’

Fifty-six

Three days later

SCOPE SAT ON the edge of the hospital bed, a small bag containing his belongings at his feet, waiting to find out if they were going to let him go.

Two armed officers with Heckler & Kochs had been stationed outside his room the whole time he’d been getting treatment for the gunshot wound he’d received in the farmhouse, and they were still there now. He’d also been interviewed twice under caution by detectives from Scotland’s Specialist Crime Division, who’d been very interested to find out the extent of his involvement that night. Luckily, Scope had had time to work on his story. He’d admitted to the killing of the gunman at Jock’s house and taking his gun, but claimed that it was self-defence. When pressed as to why he’d not called the police then, he’d claimed that he’d panicked and gone looking for the family who’d hired the canoes, worried for their safety. He’d denied killing the Russian guy who’d shot at Casey because there was nothing tying him to the scene, but had admitted shooting the two men and the old lady at the farmhouse. Again, though, he’d claimed self-defence, and whether the detectives had believed him or not, they hadn’t actually arrested him which, right now, he was taking as a positive sign.

There was a knock on the door and a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a suit came in. He had the demeanour of authority, coupled with an underlying hardness you sometimes get with certain big city cops who have spent time dealing with the more serious criminals, a look that was accentuated by his short, military-style haircut and the three vicious little scars bunched together on one cheek. Scope liked him immediately.

‘Mr Scopeland, I’m DCS Mike Bolt from the Met’s Homicide and Serious Crime Command.’ He smiled and put out a hand.

‘You’re a long way from home,’ said Scope, getting up to shake it, while trying not to wince from the movement.

‘Still hurting?’ asked Bolt, sitting down on a chair next to the bed.

Scope didn’t sit back down. ‘It’s on the mend,’ he said. ‘The bullet passed through without hitting anything too serious, but it did manage to break two ribs, and they’re going to take a while to heal.’

‘I’ve had cracked ribs. They hurt. Are you sure you’re ready to leave?’

‘There’s not much more they can do for me so yeah, I’d like to. The question is, am I allowed?’

‘Why don’t you sit back down for a minute? I don’t like having conversations when I’m craning my neck.’

Reluctantly, Scope did as suggested.

‘I’ve been looking at your record, Mr Scopeland.’

‘Are you allowed to call me Scope? No one’s called me Mr Scopeland for so many years that sometimes I forget it’s me.’

‘Okay, Scope it is. I read about your role in the Stanhope Siege.’

‘What can I say? Trouble seems to have a habit of sniffing me out.’

‘I’ve heard a lot of people say that. Most of them were criminals.’

‘I’m no criminal, Mr Bolt,’ said Scope. ‘I didn’t ask to get involved in the Stanhope Siege. And I didn’t ask to get involved in this.’

‘You killed three men and a woman, Scope. That’s a lot of dead bodies.’

‘It was self-defence. Every one of them was pointing a gun at me when I shot them.’

Bolt nodded slowly. ‘I’m willing to go along with that. More importantly, so are the Scottish police. Mainly because of the special circumstances of this case. But I ought to tell you that if trouble sniffs you out again, and you end up being discovered surrounded by bodies with another gun in your hand, I don’t think any of us are going to be quite as charitable.’ He leaned forward in his seat, fixing Scope with his piercing blue eyes. ‘Do you hear what I’m saying?’

Scope smiled. He couldn’t help himself. ‘I hear exactly what you’re saying. I’ll learn to turn the other cheek.’

‘Do that. I’d appreciate it.’

‘How are Jess and Casey? No one seems to want to talk to me too much about them.’

‘They’re both recovering extremely well, but you know what they say about kids and resilience. To be honest, it’s the main reason you haven’t been charged. Your actions almost certainly saved those kids’ lives, and I reckon there would have been a public outcry if you’d been put away for killing the people you did. Suffice to say, and this is off the record, they weren’t very nice people.’

‘No, I gathered that. Who did they work for?’

Bolt laughed, getting to his feet. ‘I can’t tell you that, Scope, but both the Met and the Scottish police are building criminal cases against a lot of people. Everyone involved is going to be brought to justice, I promise you that, even though it may take some time.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Scope, getting up as well. ‘I’ll check the papers.’

‘There are a couple of people who want to see you before you go,’ said Bolt. ‘They’re waiting outside.’

As Scope followed him out of the door, he saw Jess and Casey in the corridor next to a small, slightly overweight Asian guy who also looked like a cop.

Bolt stepped aside as Casey came dashing forward, holding a piece of paper in her hands. She was wearing jeans, a flowery top, and a very big smile. ‘Thank you for saving us,’ she said. ‘I made you a thank-you card.’ She thrust it into his hands.

Scope was overcome with a wave of emotion, and for a second he thought he was going to lose it and burst into tears. The picture on the front of the card was of a big stick figure and two smaller figures that were obviously Casey and Jess on either side. ‘That’s lovely,’ he told her. ‘Thank you. And I’m glad I had the chance to help you.’

She put her arms round his waist and gave him a big hug, and he felt her warmth against him, bringing back long-ago memories of fatherhood.

‘Come on, Case, leave the poor guy alone,’ said Jess, prising her sister off him before putting out a hand. ‘Thanks from me, too. We wouldn’t have made it without you.’

He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘You look very well, considering what you’ve been through.’

And she did. Her right arm was bandaged where the dog had bitten her, and she was on crutches, courtesy of the gunshot wound she’d received, but otherwise she looked largely unscathed. Scope knew from his military experience that the worst of an individual’s suffering was on the inside, but something about the positive expression on Jess’s face suggested she was going to recover from this.

‘I’m going to be okay,’ she said. ‘We both are.’

Scope smiled. ‘I know you are.’

And that was it, really. They said their goodbyes and Bolt escorted Scope to the hospital entrance. Outside it was raining hard, and Scope took a deep breath, suddenly feeling a huge sense of relief. He’d risked everything to do the right thing, and it had worked. And now, finally, he was free again.

‘Where are you heading now?’ Bolt asked him.

‘God knows,’ answered Scope, and without another word he walked out through the doors and into the future, a little scared but also excited to find out what it held in store for him.

Mike Bolt watched Scope walk away before heading back into the hospital.

They were still trying to piece together the events of that night and, though it was unlikely they’d ever get the full story, they had a pretty good idea of what had happened.

Vladimir Hanzha, in a bid to avenge his daughter’s murder, had arranged the abduction and murder of Leonard Hope, the man known as The Disciple. Bolt was still unsure exactly how they’d managed this, but the most likely scenario was that Hanzha’s police contacts had told him that Hope was a suspect and under surveillance, and that Hanzha had sent a team, probably led by Frank Keogh, to abduct him. It seemed that one of the gang had phoned Hope, told him he was under surveillance, and offered to help him escape. Desperate, and realizing he was hunted, Hope had taken the bait and gone with them but, rather than letting him go, Keogh and his men had tortured him on Vladimir Hanzha’s orders. Under torture, however, Hope had claimed that he wasn’t responsible for Ivana’s death and, believing him, Hanzha had worked out that the most likely culprit was the one with the most motive: Amanda Rowan. Having located her in Scotland, barely thirty miles from his country estate, he’d sent his men to abduct her so she could be brought back and forced to tell him who her accomplice was. Unfortunately, the abduction had gone wrong. Amanda had escaped and, by sad coincidence, run into Jess, Casey and their aunt and uncle.

The police strategy now was to try to prove the case against Hanzha, which was not going to be easy. Frank Keogh, the only surviving gunman, was not saying anything, and Hanzha had got himself lawyered up, but there was evidence linking one of the dead gunman, serving police officer Rory MacLean, and his mother Rose, who was also killed at the farmhouse, to Hanzha. Rose was Hanzha’s housekeeper (although quite what she was doing armed with a gun was anyone’s guess), and MacLean had told colleagues on more than one occasion that he did the occasional bit of security work for Hanzha. It wasn’t enough for an arrest or a search warrant, but it did mean that Hanzha was now under active investigation.

Meanwhile, Amanda Rowan and Thom Folkestone had been jointly charged with the murders of George Rowan and Ivana Hanzha, and Folkestone had been additionally charged with the murder of French student, Beatrice Magret, in 1998. So far, no charges over Beatrice had been laid against Amanda, but they could very well follow. Since neither of them was talking, their motive for Beatrice’s murder was still unclear. They’d also come perilously close to escaping justice and, even though they were now both in custody, Bolt had a horrible feeling that Amanda in particular might get away with her crimes.

Still, he thought as he wandered back through the hospital, he’d done everything he could and, mercifully, The Disciple case was now closed, which suited him just fine.

Jess held Casey’s hand tightly as they sat waiting in the hospital reception area, along with the friendly detective from home, DS Khan, who’d helped rescue Jess from Amanda. She’d been in a state of shock after everything that had happened to her, and on that first night in hospital, she’d had some terrible nightmares. But each day was getting just that little bit easier than the last, and already the whole experience was taking on an almost dreamlike quality, as if it was some kind of movie she’d taken part in.

Casey too seemed to be recovering well, although Jess was worried because she was still trying to find out what was going to happen to them now. She could go back to live with her foster family, but the situation was more complicated with Casey. She’d asked the other London detective, Mike Bolt, whether or not she and Casey could stay together, and he’d said he would do what he could, but that it was in the hands of social services. Then, yesterday, he’d come back and told her that he’d looked into things and because Jess stood to inherit half her adoptive parents’ money on her eighteenth birthday, which was only three months away, it was possible that she could buy her own place and they could live together. Jess was hoping they could be together straight away, and she knew Casey thought they were going to be, but if they had to wait three months, then so be it. At least they’d be travelling back to London together, accompanied by the two detectives. It was sad but, after all that had happened, Jess couldn’t wait to get out of Scotland.

She leaned forward and kissed Casey on the top of her head. ‘Are you looking forward to seeing all your friends again?’

Casey looked up and grinned, her eyes bright and mischievous. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing everyone and everything.’

‘Yeah,’ said Jess, with a smile of her own. ‘I know exactly how you feel.’

At that moment the door opened and DCS Mike Bolt walked into the room. A big, imposing figure who immediately made Jess feel safe, he was a reminder that there were still plenty of good people in the world.

‘Come on you two,’ he said. ‘It’s time to go home.’

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Epub ISBN: 9781448136704

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Published by Century, 2014

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Copyright © Simon Kernick, 2014

Simon Kernick has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

First published in Great Britain in 2014 by

Century

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ISBN 9781780890753