Bloody Reckoning Read online

  “How much do you weigh?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Eight stone, maybe?”

  I was glad she couldn’t see my face. Just over half my weight. I couldn’t remember what she’d weighed when we’d been together, but I thought she could do with at least another stone and a half.

  “It’s the coke. It took away my appetite and it never came back.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll sort that out too. You know what I’m like when it comes to food. Go on, what do you fancy for tonight – anything, just name it.” I glanced at my watch. It was gone four, and the supermarkets would already be shut, so I hoped she didn’t choose anything too exotic.

  She smiled and I moved away from her now that she’d stopped crying. “It’s stupid, really, but I’ve had a craving for Carte D’Or ice cream since last night. The Greek yoghurt and honey flavour. I don’t know why, but it’s the first thing I’ve felt like eating for…a long time.”

  I thought I could probably rustle that up at a corner shop. “Greek yoghurt and honey flavour it is.”

  “You want me to go and get it?” asked Maikel.

  “No, you don’t know where the shops are. I’ll go shortly.” I turned back to Siân. “You’re going to have to tell me a bit more about Mick so I can make sure he leaves you and Calum alone.”

  She fidgeted, scratching the dark skin under her left eye. “I’m so scared – not just for me, but you too. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t desperate. Craig told me things about Mick after…after he hurt Calum. He told me what he’d done to people who’d crossed him before.”

  Her eyes began to water again, and my hackles rose. “Yeah, I bet Craig loved helping his boss keep you in virtual slavery. Forget about Mick’s reaction, that’s my problem. Just tell me about him.”

  She sniffed and scratched some more, and swallowed noisily. “His name is Mick Bell and he has money. I mean big money, not comfortable like my parents. He’s mad about football and bought himself a non-executive directorship at Leeds United. Their eighty million pound debt didn’t bother him. I think he had – or maybe has – something to do with the Service Crew. You know, the football hooligans? I thought he made all his money in the building trade, and from his developments in Salford and Spain, but I reckon most of it comes from drugs. Christ, I can’t believe I sank so low.”

  “Where does he live?” I asked.

  “In Linton, with all the footballers. Don’t even think about going there, he really will have you killed. He keeps an office in Park Square, in Leeds, but I’m not sure it’s even safe to see him there. He usually has at least one of his boys with him, either Mark or Victor. They’re both…dangerous.”

  As much as I despised men like Bell, there wouldn’t be any point in charging in where angels feared to tread. Gangsters, and all their ilk who prey on the weak and foolish, crave respect and recognition. They demand to be treated as if they matter – probably because not too deep down, they know they don’t. Turning up at Bell’s home or office wasn’t likely to improve the situation, so I was prepared to start somewhere lower down the chain of command. “What can you tell me about Craig?”

  “His name is Craig Collier, but everyone calls him Doc. He’s still in Adel, where I lived with him. He travels all over the Golden Triangle mostly, but he’ll go wherever the money is. He has about two hundred and fifty clients and he sees a lot of them every week. He’s got a friend named Ben, a big bloke. I think he uses him for protection. What else do you want to know?”

  “What hours does he keep?”

  She started rubbing her left bicep, rumpling her sleeve. “He usually goes out in the afternoon and comes back around four in the morning, except for Sundays and Mondays, which he takes off.”

  “What does he do on his nights off?”

  “When I was with him, he always stayed in. I don’t know about now, but probably the same, because he’s out all the others.”

  “He kept you in coke when things went bad with Bell?”

  “Yeah. He gave it to me for free.”

  I clenched my jaw tight and concentrated on my plan of action. Siân had told me all I needed for now. “Right, I’m off to get that ice cream. Do you mind if I have a quick word with Maikel?”

  “No, I’m sorry if –”

  “Enough.” I stood. “You did the right thing coming here. You’ll never see Bell or Collier again. Okay?”

  She nodded slowly and I jerked my head for Maikel to follow me. I opened the front door and turned back to him, speaking softly. “I’m sorry about this. I had no idea.”

  “Is no problem. What you gonna do?”

  “Can you stay with Siân if I go and see Collier tonight?”

  “Yes, mate, but if you need help, you tell me.”

  I knew the offer was coming, just as I knew I couldn’t accept it. “Thanks, but I’d much rather you looked after Siân for me.”

  “No dramas. Go and find us some ice cream.” As I closed the door, I heard him say to Siân: “Can I make us some tea?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  I returned to Emperor’s Wharf half an hour later, my first mission accomplished, with five tubs of Greek yoghurt and honey flavoured Carte D’Or. I found Maikel entertaining Siân with anecdotes of our misadventures in Basra’s Old Quarter. I felt a pang of loneliness at seeing Siân in the flat. I had met her nine months after my fiancée, Linn Taylor, left me. Linn was also a captain in the SIB, and the reason I’d left the Parachute Regiment and taken a commission as a Redcap. In truth, I’d never stopped loving her, which was probably the reason I’d stayed in Afghanistan so long, three years and eight months without a break – unless you count the odd week in Kabul. The fortnight I’d spent in the flat had reminded me exactly how much I missed her. Then Siân turned around and said hello. It was like watching footage from the liberation of the Nazi concentration camps. I smiled back, realised there was work to be done, and left the loneliness for later.

  I was pleased to see she’d drunk some of the tea. I gave Maikel grief about telling a tale at my expense as I took the shopping bags into the kitchen, keeping the mood light. He was a great storyteller, even though his command of English wasn’t perfect, full of enthusiasm and very dry. Siân’s arrival hadn’t fazed him at all, but I felt sorry for him. He was meant to be taking it easy after being shot, not counselling a recovering cokehead. The plan was for him to stay with me for two more nights before driving up to Edinburgh to visit his cousin, who was in the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers. Then he was driving back down to London to spend the rest of his leave with his uncle, an ex-serviceman who lived in Gunnersby.

  I started making some chicken and mayonnaise sandwiches for supper, and Siân asked if she could use the shower. I said to treat the flat as her own. I made an extra sandwich for her, though I didn’t expect she’d eat it. When she returned to the lounge she was looking a little better, which I put down to her feeling safer, even if only slightly. She’d brushed some of the knots from her hair, but she was painfully thin, black and blue, and jumpy. I poured her another glass of water and took a bowl of ice cream over. I was delighted when she finished it. Maikel and I made short work of the sandwiches, washing them down with Dr Pepper, and I scooped out another, smaller bowl of ice cream for Siân.

  Maikel did most of the talking, speaking about Afghanistan – the people and the country – and carried the conversation much better than I could have. I did my best to hide the sorrow I felt at seeing the new, broken Siân. At quarter to seven, I told her I was going to see Collier, and she wrote down his address. The tension in her face was dreadful. I told her not to worry and explained that I had to go tonight. That way I had a night’s grace if I missed him, and Maikel to stay with Siân for both. I left them in the lounge and dressed in a black polo shirt, beige chinos, and leather trainers. Then I removed a sweatshirt from a cupboard and carefully folded it around my Asp extendable baton. I was hoping I wouldn’t need it, but it was better to have it with me just in case. I waved a
cheerful goodbye, leaving an agitated Siân and a stoic Maikel.

  I set off for Leeds in my black BMW 1 Series at seven o’clock exactly. I didn’t know the city very well, but Siân had given me directions. Adel is a prosperous suburb on the northern edge of the city, typical of the upmarket residential areas in the Golden Triangle of Leeds, Harrogate, and York. The contrast with the image I’d had of the north of England when I was growing up in Aldershot was stark. I’d associated depression, unemployment, and miners’ strikes with Yorkshire; now Leeds was regarded as the London of the north. My visits had been few, but I had a rough idea where I was going. The same could not be said of what I intended to do on arrival.

  Half an hour later, I turned right onto the ring road and followed the signs for Otley.

  My goal was simple: to secure an interview with Bell. I had no idea how Collier would react to me, however, nor what approach would work best. I don’t like drug dealers at the best of times. When I considered his part in Siân’s addiction, I was tempted to break something first and talk later, but if he didn’t scare easily, violence would be counter-productive. I went through several scenarios in my mind before deciding how best to gain entry to the house. Thereafter, I’d just have to play it by ear. I was glad I’d packed the Asp.

  I found the Otley road, turned right, and then right twice more, which brought me into Adel Lane. Collier’s house was a hundred metres or so from the intersection, on the right. I drove past slowly, without making my interest obvious. Like all of the houses I’d seen here so far, it was large and detached; white walls under a grey slate roof, all behind a hedge and gate. There was a small balcony at the front, and two dormer windows revealed a third storey. There was no visible garage, but the car parked behind the gate was a Fiat Punto. Collier wasn’t stupid. He used a small, unassuming vehicle which was unlikely to bring him attention from the police or nosy neighbours when he was doing his rounds.

  I did a three-point turn further down the lane, drove back to Collier’s house, and parked in the driveway. There were two sets of gates, one on each side of the house, so that visitors didn’t have to turn their cars around. I left the Asp on the floor next to the driver’s seat, and the car unlocked, as a kind of forward operating base and emergency rendezvous combined. The iron gates were electric, but yielded at a gentle push. I closed them behind me and walked past the Punto to the PVC double doors. I ignored the buzzer and knocked loudly. If Collier wasn’t in, I’d switch to Plan B.

  Fifteen seconds after my knock, the door was opened by a tall man with very broad shoulders and a big upper body which tapered down to a tiny waist and skinny legs. He looked about the same age as me, thirty, and had short hair and designer stubble on his square jaw – all of which matched Siân’s description. He was wearing a long-sleeve denim shirt, olive chinos, and tan boat shoes.

  I didn’t give him time to talk. “I know where Siân Matthews is.”

  “You what?”

  “Mick Bell is looking for her. I know where she is.”

  His accent was Estuary English and I could already tell he had an irritating habit of not looking people in the eye when he spoke to them.

  “He might be. Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m the man who knows where Siân Matthews is.”

  “Alright, where is she?”

  “We’ll talk inside.”

  He hesitated for a second, then opened the door wide.

  I stepped in immediately. The interior confirmed the wealth the exterior boasted – no surprise, given Collier’s employment. There were two framed paintings in the entrance hall, both modern originals, on either side of a large staircase. Siân’s touch wasn’t evident anywhere and I wondered if Collier had changed the décor when she left, or prevented her from making any alterations in the first place.

  “Through there.” He pointed to my left and I entered the lounge. It was even bigger than I’d expected, with a huge fireplace, built-in entertainment centre, and a dark leather suite arranged around an Indian cube drawer table. A tray with an empty plate, cutlery, and a tall glass of what was probably a white spirit mix sat on the table. The TV was on, sound off. The room smelled of cannabis. I stood with my hands hanging loose, attempting aggression-free confidence. “Well,” he said, “where is she?”

  “I didn’t say I was going to tell you, did I?”

  He smiled, pulling his thin lips back, and placed his hands on his hips. “Let me guess; you’ll only tell Mick, right?”

  “No, I’m not going to tell you or Bell, because it’s none of your business. Siân is with me now and I want to let Bell know to his face, so everything’s clear. Get on the phone and set up a meeting. My name’s Hutt.”

  Confusion contorted his face, then he smiled again. “Do you know who I am? Do you know who Mick Bell is? Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” I nodded. “Who the fuck do you think you are – coming to my house –”

  “Just make the call. We both know you’re going to.”

  He stuck his jaw out, inches from my face, a tempting target. “I asked you a question.”

  “I’ve already answered. My name’s Hutt.”

  “What kind of a cunt do you take me for to come here, to my house, and tell me what to do?”

  “The drug-peddling, preying-on-the-weak, criminal kind, seeing as you asked.”

  Another crease of confusion flashed across his face. He was a big feller, used to intimidating people, and comfortable on his home turf. He was wondering why I wasn’t scared of him. In truth, the sight of him had reduced me to such a state of cold fury, I was silently begging him to attack. I wanted him to hurt me, so I could return the favour with interest.

  He moved back a little, unnerved. “Siân belongs to you now. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No, because Siân isn’t a piece of property. She is with me, which means she comes and goes as she pleases, and she pleases not to ever see or hear from Bell again.”

  “You fucking her now?” I said nothing. “You know I fucked her in every room in this house, in every which way, while she begged for more?”

  I didn’t rise to the bait. “If you don’t make the call, Bell isn’t going to be very happy when he finds out you could’ve helped him and chose not to.”

  “Make the call, yeah! Do what you tell me in my own house, yeah!” He started spraying saliva and I stepped back. “I’ll make the call, motherfucker!” He marched across to the table, picked up a mobile phone I hadn’t noticed, and dialled. “Ben, I’m at home, get over here now.” He dropped the phone, walked back, and snarled: “Get the fuck out my house! You’ve got five minutes before you’re in a world of pain.”

  “That’s more than enough.”

  I shot my left fist out at that magnificent jaw as I raised my right to protect myself and load the next punch. I connected Collier midway between chin and ear, snapping his head back. Before he had time to react, I moved forward and drove my right fist into the same spot. He staggered, flailing a weak backhander which caught me on the side of the head. I barely felt it.

  I grabbed his throat with my right hand, kicked my right leg out behind him, and swept both of his from under him. He landed heavily on his back. I knelt, punched him in the nose, and gave him space to twist away to his left. As soon as he was on his side, I dug my left knee into his neck, and trapped his arms and torso with my right thigh. He screamed. I slid my left thumb around his right temple, found his eye socket, and pressed.

  “Enough.”

  He froze, wheezing instead of breathing.

  I kept my thumb in his eye, but eased the pressure.

  “You can thank Siân for your life. If it wasn’t for her, I’d scoop your brains out and leave you to rot. But I do want to see Bell, and I want to see him ASAP. Tomorrow would be acceptable, Tuesday not quite, and if I haven’t seen him by Wednesday, I’ll be coming back here. Grunt if you understand.”

  He did.

  “Wednesday, same time, same place, and I won’t be as
gentle.” I reached into my trouser pocket and took out a piece of folded paper. I put it on the floor in front of his face. “My number’s on that. Make sure you use it. I suggest you stay where you are unless you intend claiming disability benefits.”

  I put a little more pressure on his eyeball as I rose, then waited a few seconds. He stayed put and I took a couple of backward steps to the door. Still nothing. I turned and left, closed the front door behind me, and walked back to my car. I glanced back to check he wasn’t following, climbed in, and reversed out into the road. Still no sign of any movement from within, or new arrivals in the form of Ben.

  I retraced my route and made it back to the ring road without incident.

  Although I’d spent six years as an RMP officer, and worked with the civilian police on several cases, I knew very little about organised crime. The better part of four of my six years had been spent hunting down Afghan police officers wanted for green on blue murders with Shabs, my Anglo-Afghan partner. 63 Section SIB, based at NATO headquarters in Kabul, was really just me, with Shabs, a contract agent detached from the Afghan National Police. Before the RMP, I’d spent six years in the paras, which had taught me nothing about gangland protocol, but everything about staying alive when the going gets tough. I had a feeling the going had just got tough.

  Perhaps that was why, all things considered, I was pleased with the way things had gone. I could’ve said that I’d tell Bell where Siân was, but I thought that making my position clear from the beginning was likely to be less dangerous in the long run. I can’t deny I enjoyed knocking Collier down. A lot. I wouldn’t have touched him if he hadn’t called Ben to the rescue, but hurting him was probably more effective. He was a bully, and like many bullies he didn’t fancy even odds. If he’d had any guts he would’ve grabbed a weapon and come at me as I was leaving. With any luck, he’d do as he was told to prevent me paying him a second visit.

  It was still light when I left Leeds and there wasn’t much traffic on the A64. I was crossing the A1 when my phone rang. I checked the caller recognition: Lawson. Detective Sergeant Alex Lawson had been my contact in the local CID, based at the Central Area Command Unit in Fulford Road, next door to 33 Section at Imphal Barracks. I didn’t like him, and hadn’t heard from him since I’d left for Afghanistan. But like all cops, military or other, I was curious. I accepted the call, and tucked the phone under my chin. “Hutt here.”