Peter Turnbull - Deep Cover

Rusher and Henry lifted up the body of the youth and placed it face down in the bath — immersing him so that just his calves and feet showed.

‘That’ll sort him if the kicking didn’t,’ Gail Bowling commented.

‘Oh, the kicking did it alright.’ Yates smiled. ‘They’re good boys but you can never be too sure. .’

‘Is he going to the building site?’ Bowling asked. ‘The old concrete coffin?’

‘No. . he’s staying here. . I’m going to have him planted out the back. I’ve got the hole dug.’ Yates advanced on Yewdall and, taking a length of chain from his coat pocket, he wrapped it tightly round one of her wrists and secured it with a small brass padlock, and then speedily and efficiently wound the other end of the chain equally tightly round her other wrist, and similarly secured it with a brass padlock, thus holding her wrists together, six inches apart. ‘I want to show you something, blossom,’ he said smiling. ‘Come with me.’ He put his arm in hers and led her gently out of the barn. Walking with discomfort Yewdall was led from the barn to the meadow behind the barn wherein stood a line of short trees. Close to where Yates and Yewdall stood were three large holes about five feet long, three feet wide and three feet deep. Beside each hole was a sapling wrapped in newspaper.

‘Flowering cherry,’ Yates announced with pride, ‘my favourite tree. . the blossom in spring time. . exquisite. They don’t bear fruit, so it will never be a cherry orchard, but it is a lovely old tree.’

‘So why bring me up here?’

‘Rare old treat, darlin’.’ Yates smiled. ‘You’re sort of a special customer. .’

‘Cust. .’ Yewdall stammered.

‘Yeah. . for want of a better way of putting it, here you go, girl, choose your hole.’

Yewdall pulled away from Yates but he held her close. ‘What’s the rush, darlin’? One for the youth we just chilled, one for Billy Kemp. . he’s getting to know what’s in store for him right now. .’ Just at that moment a high-pitched cry was heard from the barn. ‘Ah, reckon he’s just been told. No one will hear. We let dogs out at night, keeps the poachers off the land. You can scream your lungs out tonight. So, what do you think. . the middle one?’

‘Why?’

‘Why you? What have you done? Is that what you’re asking?’

‘Yes. .’

‘It’s because you’re the filth, ain’t you?’

Yewdall went cold, and a chill shot down her spine; she felt a hollowness in her stomach.

‘You came from nowhere, and you came right in the middle of the filth asking questions. Just a little grubby but not grubby enough. . it takes weeks. . not a day or two. . and you’re taller, fitter, more healthy looking than most street dwellers. . and you were careful not to ask questions.’

Yewdall looked around her, the winter landscape, the trees, the low sky, the cawing rooks all seemed so much more real, so much more immediate somehow.

‘And your old man in Stoke,’ Yates continued. ‘We paid him a visit. . cor blimey. . he had everything but “Police” stamped on his forehead. Full of confidence when two strange geezers knocked on his door. . no fear. . no concern for his safety, just full of anger towards you like he was reading from a script.’

Yates took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and took two, lit them with a gold lighter, and pushed one between Yewdall’s lips. Yewdall surprised herself by accepting it, and inhaled the smoke.

‘It’s paranoia, darling,’ Yates explained as he turned Yewdall around and began walking her back to the barn, ‘paranoia. . that keeps us alive. Suspect everyone. . trust no one. . you need to believe that everyone is out to get you because they are. . cops, blaggers. . dog eat dog.’

Yewdall’s head sank, her feet were numb with cold.

‘Well, I got to say thanks for not claiming you’re not a cop — that would be really naughty of you, darling. I have more than two brain cells despite all that vodka I have thrown down my neck. Been doing that like there’s no tomorrow, but that’s my look out. I’ll be outliving you. How old are you darlin’?’

‘Twenty-five.’ Yewdall looked around her at the winter landscape.

‘Twenty-five,’ Yates repeated. ‘I could do with being that young, but with this loaf — ’ he tapped the side of his head — ‘cor. . I mean, cor blimey, just think of that. . all this know-how and a twenty-five-year-old body, I’d be the King of London, never mind Kilburn. Well, it comes to us all sooner or later, for you it’ll be sooner. It was Sonya who put us on to you. . you were just too clean and well-preserved.’

‘Sonya?’

‘Yeah, the big girl at the house. She’s a good girl. . put us on to Billy too, she did. She’s doing alright for herself she is, she’s set to climb.’

‘What about Billy? He’s just a boy.’

‘He’s just a boy with a loud mouth. . too much rabbit; he just can’t keep his old north and south shut. He’s a liability we can do without.’

‘I feel sick. .’ Yewdall stumbled on the rough surface of the meadow.

‘It’s the smoke, it’s not good for you,’ Yates laughed, then he paused and said, ‘All. . all because of that idiot Dalkeith. I told him to bury a body here, in this meadow, but what does he do? Buries her on Hampstead Heath. Yes, he digs a hole here and plants a tree, knowing I would not dig it up and check. Rosie Halkier, she should have been down there at the bottom end.’ He turned to look at the meadow. ‘Down there with that meddling cook, Tessie O’Shea. They were plotting against me and Gail, but we got to them first, and if Dalkeith had done the job like I told him, none of this would have come out. He left me with a right old mess to clean up, and you. . you’ll never see twenty-six. . you’ve got Irish Mickey Dalkeith to thank for that. Well, let’s get back to the barn, it’s cold out here.’

Upon re-entering the barn, Yewdall saw that Billy Kemp lay curled up on the floor clutching his stomach, breathing with difficulty.

‘He tried to do a runner,’ Gail Bowling explained, ‘so Rusher tapped him.’

‘Nice one, Rusher.’ Yates smiled approvingly. ‘Better fasten him, Henry.’

‘Yes, boss.’ Henry took a length of chain and padlocked one end to a large item of machinery, and the other end he padlocked round Billy Kemp’s ankle.

Yates pushed Penny Yewdall over towards Billy Kemp and, taking a small key, unlocked the chain round her left wrist, and then padlocked the end to the chain which held Billy Kemp captive.

‘That’s a nice sight.’ Gail Bowling gazed approvingly on the captive forms of Penny Yewdall and Billy Kemp. ‘That really is a very nice sight.’

‘When do we do them?’ Yates turned to Bowling.

‘Tomorrow. Tomorrow afternoon late, early evening, when dusk is falling. . give them time to think about things. Bet you never thought your last twenty-four hours in this life would be spent in a barn in Hertfordshire, did you, Constable?’ Bowling asked with a smile. ‘And such a pretty girl. . what a waste.’

Yewdall did not reply.

‘Thank you for not telling us that we won’t get away with it. . because we will. We have been getting away with it for years. . but you’ve seen the cherry trees. . no one knows what they mean. No one knows what’s underneath them. If you scream. . well, you can scream, because no one will hear you, but if you do, Henry will come and tap you, won’t you, Henry?’

‘Damn right, I will.’

‘Packer will be in the house keeping warm but awake all night, won’t you, Henry? Just one mighty blow from his fist to your stomach will keep you quiet. I mean, look at him — ’ Gail Bowling pointed to the curled-up figure of Billy Kemp — ‘he won’t be saying anything for a while. . and shouting. . well, forget it.