Michael Fowler - Cold Death

DC Mike Sampson half raised his arm. “What about bringing Mohammed Hassan back in now that we know about Ari’s number being on his mobile?”

“Not yet. I don’t want him to know just how much we’ve got from the technicians until we have Ari and his brother Pervez in custody.” The Detective Superintendent reached behind him tapping the incident board. “All our efforts now are focussed on these two. Good hunting everyone.”

* * * * *

Prompted by an early finish from work; they still hadn’t discovered the Arshad’s address, Hunter had made a last minute decision to make a detour on his way home and call into his father’s gym for a quick training session to unwind.

Might even get some time with dad!

Removing his training bag from the boot he took a casual look around the grit surfaced car park. He noticed there were a good dozen cars at least — more than usual at this time of day.

Must be a few in. It occurred to him that he might be able to get in a bit of sparring for a change.

As he set his bag down to close his boot, out of the corner of one eye, he spotted movement in one of the parked cars. A grey Mondeo, with its engine revving, was parked at the end of the row. It looked out of place here; not the type of car he normally saw in the car park — most of the trainees who used his dad’s gym were young men using age old ‘bangers’ — the best of them done up with body kits, which shouted ‘boy racer.’

After everything which had gone off he had a sense of anguish about this; something didn’t appear to be quite right. And weren’t they looking for a grey Mondeo, in relation to the attack on PC Marcus Hill.

He slammed the boot shut and slipped down the side of his car to get a better look at the parked Mondeo and especially to view the driver and passenger. From where he was, his initial impression was that the two men in it seemed to be concentrating their stare upon the entrance doors to his father’s gym.

He dropped his stance and shifted for a better angle. The passenger was the nearest. He appeared to be a middle-aged man with long straggly greying hair and a salt and pepper neatly trimmed beard. Unfortunately he was too far away to pick out any other features. The driver, also middle-aged, had thinning crew-cut sandy hair. He had his head pushed back against the headrest, and there was something about him he recognised, though he couldn’t put his finger on it.

As Hunter took another step towards the front of his car he saw the passenger sit bolt upright and stare in his direction — he had been eyeballed.

He was given no time to react as the Mondeo roared into life, its front wheels whipping up gravel as it jolted forward, fish-tailing for a split second before straightening up and shooting out of the exit onto the side-street.

He had just enough time to log its number in his head.

As he listened to the squeal of tyres disappear into the distant estate he felt his hackles raise. It had been the look the passenger had thrown him — a cold-bloodied granite stare — an animal-like expression he had seen only a few times in his career — usually when someone had expressed their wish to kill him.

He knew those two meant business and he had disturbed them.

DAY THIRTY ONE: 23rd September.

Barnwell:

Billy Wallace looked up to the heavens to see if there was a break in the clouds as more drizzle floated from a murky blue, cloudy sky, adding to the shiny black wetness of the tarmac surface around him. He gave off an involuntary shudder as he felt the droplets run down his neck and trickle onto his back.

It had been raining on and off most of the day, but that had not been a bad thing he had told himself as he had sloshed amongst the puddles earlier that afternoon. It had enabled him and Rab to do what they had needed to do and not draw suspicion to themselves as they had scoured the streets with their collars up and chins tucked firmly into their topcoats whilst they had searched out their target address.

He wiped drips of rain from his hair as he stepped inside the entranceway of the smoking shelter at the rear of The Station public house, his slate grey eyes scanning the car park before resting his gaze upon the modern railway building that housed the ticket office and waiting room that was only fifty yards away. He strained his ears, waiting for the sounds of the engine clonking over the tracks and checked his watch; the connection train from Edinburgh was due in any time.

He stroked his recently grown beard that covered his craggy features and hid most of the hideous scar, which normally made him stand out, whilst once again mulling over the decision he’d been forced to make. He knew that they needed some extra muscle to finish the job and he’d had to call in some favours with old contacts during his flying visit back to his hometown two days previously. He had been uncomfortable with that; he always liked to know who he was working with — needed that level of control and trust — but on this occasion it was out of his hands. It had cost him a few grand as well, but he knew it would be worth it.

“Get that down your neck.”

The appearance of Rab Geddes made him jump. He was edgy.

He took the pint of lager from his partner in crime and stepped to one side to allow him into the shelter.

Neither of them smoked but they were using it so as not to draw attention to themselves; two strangers with Scottish accents would make them stand out — he had told Rab.

“Not arrived yet?” said Rab sweeping one hand over his newly grown hair before slurping the top off his bitter.

It had been a long time since Billy had seen Rab with hair. It was still sandy in colour but it was now thin and wispy and he realised why he had taken to shaving his head on a regular basis over the past ten years.

Nevertheless despite their appearance he knew this was necessary. They needed to disguise their features for a few more days.

“Nope. It’s a couple of minutes late,” Billy replied, sliding the cuff back of his coat, looking at his watch again. He glanced back towards the station. The hazy sun was dipping below the rain clouds towards the horizon, another half an hour and then darkness would cover them.

His thoughts drifted back to their recce earlier in the day. After they had finally found the house, Billy had done another circuit of the streets surrounding the semi as he guessed somewhere close there would be cops keeping watch; and he’d been proven right.

Although he hadn’t spotted anyone who stood out as a cop he had found the unmarked police car on the second sweep. He had to smile conceitedly to himself as he checked the Peugeot over. Despite all these years in prison, though the make and models had changed, the police radio in the centre console was still a dead giveaway. He mentally noted its number and position; it would have to be taken care of so they could make their getaway after the job.

He guessed the detectives would be in a house somewhere nearby keeping observation, though he dare not stand around to check as that would make him vulnerable to capture, and so he and Rab had driven back to the railway station finalising their plans. Billy had made sure the car had been parked well away from view. They still had the Mondeo and he knew that yesterday afternoon it had been clocked by that nosy bastard at Jock’s gym, so they had to keep it low profile for a few more hours. After that it could be dumped.

In the distance he heard the rumble of the train and it brought him back from his thoughts. “Come on Rab they’re here,” he said nudging his partner and swallowed the remnants of his glass in one gulp. He swiped the residue from his mouth with the back of a gloved hand, then removing his handkerchief from his trousers pocket he wiped it around the edge of the glass several times; no room for error he told himself as he held it up to the light before setting it down on a bench.