Force Of Habit v5 (25 page)

North had told them about tomorrow’s meet and sent them home. Then it had been more of the same for him. He’d taken an initial gander, just to make sure Harris’ car
was
still there and then he’d waited. By ten he’d had enough. His time at the front of this case was fast running out. He’d come over on foot to take a closer look. All was quiet. Still. Outside the arc cast by the glow from the building it was pitch black. All the other buildings between the river and Park Road were hidden in the darkness, all the car parks empty. This part of town had shut down for the rest of the weekend. What was Harris doing in there?

North wondered if Harris had done a bunk, left the lights on with no one home. Had he cottoned on to them? He could be down the pub, right now, taking the piss out of them, laughing with his mates. The ones who had killed Mason and set fire to the church. North hoped that they had killed Matt first and not put him in there alive. Had they secured him like they had back at the old industrial unit and then struck a match? It was one autopsy he
would
pass on. North mulled over the possibilities. It did nothing to calm the storm that had been building inside him since the charred remains had been found and they couldn’t find Mason. They knew that they
had
found him, of course, but they had to be sure, and rolling back a sheet for a close relative to take a butcher’s at the burnt offerings just wasn’t going to cut it so they had pulled out all the stops.

Bee had provided the dentist’s details and the practice manager had opened up for them. The records checked out. Forensics had cut and swabbed. Material had been processed and the results put into the system. The Police Database that held the details of all current officers to eliminate any force contamination from crime scenes threw out a match. The DNA was DCI Matthew Mason. An autopsy could add to the pain. It could show evidence of Mason being bound, no evidence of bullet or knife wounds - that he was probably burned alive. North could see it all coming down the line and it had him seething. He tried to focus on catching the fuckers.

Should he go check on Harris? He didn’t fancy going in there only to find himself waking up, choking, tied and bound, flames crackling all around him like Mason could have done. He peered into the blackness behind him. Listened.

Nothing.

He decided to check the perimeter. He moved inside the tree line and felt his way around. It was pitch black in here. Every ten feet or so he stopped and listened. Looked over at the building. When he got round the back he heard a twig snap and he froze, holding his breath. A shadow moved through the trees up ahead, slipped into the open and on out of his view. He stepped out. There was nothing. No one. Maybe he was jumping at shadows. These fuckers didn’t fuck about and he didn’t want to end the evening well done.

He took cover again and continued his way round. At one point it sounded as though there was music playing inside but he saw nothing more. Harris could have run home. He could be throwing stuff into a bag, packing for more than just one day away. He started to think about checking
inside
. If this place really was operating as a charity, which he doubted, and he ran into anyone else – there were no cars but maybe some volunteers had walked or got the bus and taken a short cut that avoided the main road - North could easily blag his way in, give them some schpeel, flash some teeth, thank them very much and ask to borrow their bog before leaving, so he could take a nose around. He could use a dump anyway. His guts were growling and his cheeks were clenching. Sweating. The red bull and coffee diet was taking its toll. He really had to go get some proper food in him and a bit of shut eye.

Fuck it, debate over. Harris might see him but it was a risk worth taking. He didn’t know North from Adam anyway. If he saw enough to call in the cavalry then all well and good. If not, if he could at least confirm that Harris was still around then he could go home to bed and they could start covering him twenty-four seven from tomorrow until he slipped up. A dead cop pushed all the right buttons to open all the right doors. Everyone at the station would be a little calmer tomorrow. Everyone but the Chief. Hopefully the Super could make him see sense where North was concerned. Right now North needed some rest. Another all-nighter and the Chief would take one look at him and have him on the first train out of here.

He’d take a peek and if the place was clean and Harris had scarpered he’d get the details out to the shift on the street and off to all stations and ports and hope they caught up with him that way. Then they would bring him in, hit him with what they had and hope he showed a positive inclination to help them with their enquiries. If someone had loaned him a car and a syrup and he’d already left the county for the back of beyond then North was in a bigger mess than his boxers were about to be in.

He topped up on Sudafed while chewing a fistful of painkillers as he walked purposefully across the lot in direct view of the building. It wasn’t curing his cold but it was help masking the effects until it was gone. He aimed for the Luton and scanned the vehicle, looking underneath and in through windows, frisking it as he moved, then he headed for the entrance. The door swung inwards when pushed.

If this was the reception they couldn’t expect many visitors. North could extend his arms and touch the walls. His bog was bigger than this. There was a door in front and another to his right. Ahead was locked. The one on the right deposited him in another tiny cube, this one the kind you were squashed into when you went down the sorting office with a card left by the postman. There was a room that mirrored this one on the other side of a glass panel at the tiny counter. There was no one around. North elected to ignore the ring-for-service button in favour of letting himself in. He returned to the locked door in reception and teased the keyhole a little with something he took from his pocket.

The door travelled six inches before hitting something and someone swore on the other side. The vice that was already clamped to North’s barnet tightened up another twist. The door was pulled open. A bloke was giving him his best hard look. It wasn’t Awayday Harris. He was over six feet tall, a hoody pulled up over a baseball cap, peak protruding from underneath. Choirboy colours. Just like the kids who jumped him in the Pond House.

Just great.

North faced him from inside his own hoody.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ North took the ‘attack is the best form of defence’ approach.

‘What you swearing at me for, man? You just come barging in here, nearly knock me flying, then you are swearing at me. Who the fuck are you, anyhow? What are you doing in here?’

What to say?

What to do?

He could lay him out before anyone else happened by.

Keep him talking.

‘I'm sorry kid, I’ve got business with -’

‘You will be.’

‘What?’

‘You will be.’

‘Will be what?’

Was this kid on something?

‘You will be sorry,’ he says, real slow. ‘You wouldn’t want to be knocked out by a little boy now, would you, old man?’

The kid spoke funny no matter what pace he yakked at. Was he trying to sound street cool or something? He sounded like a retard. North still couldn’t see anyone else around. He could hear the music clearer now. Coming from a room in back. Harris and anyone with him must be in there. The racket would cover their conversation but he didn’t like being exposed like this.

And he’d had enough of Choirboys.

‘What the fuck are you on about you lanky streak of piss? Are you a special case or something? I can’t make out a word you're saying. Did you get a bang on the head when I came in?’

‘You needs to be learning yourself some proper manners, man, so I’ll be taxing you now,’ he reached inside his top and pulled out a knife. ‘Gives me your wallet.’

‘Fuck you.’ His own voice sounded distant. It came out low and harsh. All of a sudden he felt so hot. Like a volcano.

‘You better watch it, man. You don’t knows me.’

‘Of course I fucking know you.’ He'd had playing silly buggers. ‘You’re just another piece of low-life shit you fucking scumbag.’

The confident glint went out of lanky streak's eyes as they registered something in North’s. North’s head protested as he nutted the lanky streak as hard as he could. The kid’s nose bust and the shock stunned him, but he stayed on his feet. North smacked his right palm into the bloodied nose, aiming about a foot beyond his head. Pain filled that hand and wrist as he rammed it home, again and again, until the fucker started to go down. North shoved him, hard, to help him on his way and when he hit the ground he kicked him, over and over, anywhere and everywhere to make sure he stayed down. Knackered, North leant forward and rested his hands on bent knees. He was soaked with sweat and out of breath. He stayed that way for a minute and then kicked the bastard again. Hard.

‘What is wrong with people?’ he said.

‘Hey, what’s eating you?’ a voice made him start and turn. A twenty something in Choirboy colours was standing twenty feet away, in a doorway, smiling. ‘Has your boyfriend left you or something?’ The way he said it North knew he was referring to Mason. Laughter came from the room behind him but all North could see back there were rows of shelving stacked with boxes. It sounded like a whole bunch of Choirboys were back there. He should run. Get the hell out. Instead he walked towards the man in the door. The man disappeared behind it.

‘Yeah, no one’s eating him no more, that’s what’s eating him,’ a voice said as he stood on the threshold and the laughter got louder. He went in there with them. There were six of them in gang colours. None were Harris. And none were Danny Ward. They were all older then Danny Ward. Two were at a pool table. The others were sat either side of a long table. He’d waltzed into gang central. He really should waltz right back out again but he was ready for another kind of dance. He looked at them all, every swagger, every grin, every high five and let it fuel an intense rage. They had killed Matt and were taking the piss like they were untouchable. North kept moving and smacked the first one in the nose so hard he fell back onto the pool table.

The laughing stopped.

They stood and sat as they were, stunned for a moment. Before the guy on the table could recover North gripped the guy’s head and smacked it into the slate bed. The others started for him and he began launching pool balls, letting fly from both hands with equal accuracy, dull thuds and nasty cracks emanating from their targets. Any still up for it were met by the fat end of a pool cue. North’s head was a torrent and rage powered every downswing into heads, arms and bodies, and they fell away before him to lie unconscious or moaning in pain.

‘Maybe you heard I'm ambidextrous and got confused about the meaning. You should have gone to school more often but don’t worry, you’ll all have plenty of time to catch up when I have enough to send you down.’

The door opened and a load more came in. Older. Stronger.

Shit.

North didn't have anything left in him. He didn’t even have enough to leg it.

‘You best be going, now.’

Not quite what he had expected.

‘Your boss will be hearing from a lawyer, real soon’

Really not what he had expected.

The voice moved to the front.

Harris.

North felt some relief, but he still had to get out of here. Maybe they were playing silly buggers prior to playing with matches,

‘The only lawyer you will be needing to call is for your defence, and only then to stand there and hold your hand while you get it in the arse, because I'm going to make a case against you that is indefensible.’

Harris smiled.

‘You will be in jail before any of us. You're finished, Detective Inspector North.’

They all smiled. Even the ones he'd just fucked up. And they new who he was. How did they know who he was? What was their game?

‘Take a look around Inspector – a proper look.’

North tried to while keeping one eye out for any sudden movement from any of them. The tables were lined with flat pack boxes and various stacks of garments, trinkets and sundries. The shelves were lined with similar.

‘These boys have been donating their time to the preparation of Christmas boxes for our boys in uniform serving abroad and you come in here harassing them and inflicting police brutality. This will not look good in the media, Inspector,’ Harris held up an iPhone he had been filming it all with. Every fucker thought they were Steven Spielberg these days. ‘At least not for you. The boys on the other hand should be able to rectify some of the unjust negativity that has been thrown at them of late. Now fuck off before we do something we regret, too.’

He turned away before they had a change of heart. Had he just walked slap bang into a trap? They must have been willing him to take a peak inside this place. But they couldn’t be serious. He clocked them as he edged towards the door. This second group were elders. Awayday must be the go-between, dealing with the main gang members for the boss man. The conduit between whoever was running the show and the Choirboys, who were definitely doing the dirty work.

He gave his car a thorough going over before starting it up, just in case they expected him to be so relieved to get in it that he would start it up as quick as he could and turn himself into a fireball. The car was as he had left it. What was their game? They were clearly messing with the lawyer threat – all those gang members against one cop. It wouldn’t make prosecution. Any jury would vote self defence. Maybe they would stick Harris’ iPhone footage on YouTube and wait for it to go viral - Britain’s own Rodney Kings going global. It would hit the world news never mind the nationals.

Shit.

It would be the end for North. But
he
wouldn’t want that kind of attention on any part of his operation. What was their game? He had to stop thinking before he got carried away. He needed to shutdown. Re-boot in the morning. He was knackered. Couldn’t think straight. He stopped off at a chippy - he couldn’t be arsed heating up whatever Deacon had lined his cupboards with - and then headed home. Several pints of coffee and red bull were muscling up to the sluice gates. He hoped he made it before they opened.