Kickback (11 page)

Silence.

Dixon looked up and stepped back. The second man ran forward, his right arm raised above his head. Dixon could see the blade of a machete glinting in the moonlight that was streaming in through the kitchen windows. The man jumped the lifeless body lying on the floor and swung the machete at Dixon’s head. Dixon raised his left arm to deflect the blow. A searing pain tore through his left shoulder. He felt the blade bite deep into the rubber handle of his ice axe before hitting the steel underneath.

The man was off balance. Dixon took his chance. He swung the shotgun again as hard as he could, another forearm smash that would have been the envy of any tennis player. He connected with the left side of the man’s head. He heard a crack. Was it the shotgun butt or the man’s skull splitting? He hoped, prayed it was skull.

Silence.

The man fell backwards, almost in slow motion, landing in a crumpled heap behind the front door of the cottage. He pulled the door curtain off the wall as he fell and it came down on top of him.

Dixon could hear sirens in the distance. Monty was still barking.

Dixon ran outside, still in his underpants, just in time to see a red estate car speeding away. It raced to the end of Brent Street and turned right. He didn’t get the number plate.

The sirens were getting louder. Dixon ran back into the cottage. Neither intruder was stirring.

‘It’s alright, Jane, you can come out now.’

The bedroom door flew open and Jane ran down the stairs behind Monty. She threw her arms around Dixon while Monty sniffed the bodies lying on the floor.

‘There was a third one in a car but he hooked it,’ said Dixon. He was still holding the shotgun in his right hand and the ice axe in his left. The trench cosh was dangling from his right wrist on the loop.

‘Are they dead?’ asked Jane.

‘Who gives a...?’

There was a knock at the front door.

‘Are you alright in there?’

‘Who is it?’ shouted Dixon.

‘Rob from the Red Cow.’

‘Fine, thanks, Rob. You’d better go home. Keep your doors locked and don’t open them for anyone.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘I’ll tell you tomorrow.’

‘Ok. As long as you’re alright.’

‘Fine, thanks, really.’

The sirens were getting louder. Dixon could hear the helicopter overhead.

He handed the shotgun to Jane.

‘I’m going to put some clothes on. If they move, hit ‘em again.’

‘You’re going to need an ambulance,’ said Jane. ‘Look.’

Dixon looked at his left shoulder. Blood had soaked through the dressing and was running down the left side of his chest.

‘I’m more concerned about my bloody telly. Look at that,’ he said, pointing at it with the trench cosh. ‘It was practically brand new.’

The television had taken the full force of both barrels. The screen had shattered and bits of glass were lying everywhere.

‘My DVDs have gone too...’

‘Every cloud...,’ said Jane.

They started to laugh. A nervous laugh at first then they held each other in their arms. Jane began to sob.

‘It’s the relief, I think,’ said Jane.

‘It is.’

Suddenly, blue lights were all around them, reflecting on the walls and ceiling of the cottage.

‘Trousers,’ said Dixon, running up the stairs. He reappeared a few seconds later pulling on a pair of jeans at the top of the stairs.

‘Armed police.’ The shout came from outside.

‘Safe. 3275 Inspector Dixon. I have the gun. We need an ambulance. Two intruders on the ground.’

Dixon put Monty on his lead just as an armed police officer appeared at the back door. Jane held up the shotgun, still holding it by the barrels.

‘This is Detective Constable Jane Winter,’ said Dixon.

‘Safe,’ shouted the officer. ‘An ambulance is on its way, Sir. It’ll be here in five minutes.’

Six

‘A red estate car heading towards East Brent. Get the helicopter after it, will you?’

‘Yes, Sir. Chief Inspector Bateman’s on his way.’

‘Oh, joy,’ said Dixon.

He was standing in the living room of his cottage surveying what was left of his television. A paramedic was peeling the dressing off his left shoulder.

‘You’ll need to go hospital for this, I’m afraid. You’ve torn the stitches.’

‘Can’t you just patch me up for the time being? Jane can drive me over when we’ve sorted this mess out.’

‘Be sure that you do, though.’

‘I will,’ said Jane. She was sitting on the sofa watching four other paramedics working on the two intruders, both men still lying unconscious on the floor of Dixon’s cottage. The man who had been armed with the shotgun was being moved onto a stretcher, his neck in a brace and his right forearm in a splint.

‘Are they...?’

‘They’re both alive. We’ll take them to Weston for further examination.’

‘Right,’ said Jane.

PC Cole appeared in the kitchen doorway.

‘You alright, Sir?’

‘We’re ok, thank you, Cole.’

‘I’ve bagged up the gun, machete and crow bar. I just need your ice axe and cosh, if you don’t mind, Sir,’ said Cole.

Dixon looked down. He was still holding the trench cosh in his right hand and the ice axe in his left. He slipped his hand out of the loop on the cosh and then handed both to Cole.

‘Look after them, will you? I want them back.’

‘Yes, Sir. I’ve got orders to go with these two to the hospital,’ said Cole, gesturing towards to the two men on the floor. ‘Mr Bateman’s here and DCI Lewis is on his way, as well, apparently.’

‘We are privileged, Jane,’ said Dixon.

The paramedics carried the first of the two stretchers out through the back door.

‘You insured, Sir?’ asked Cole.

‘Yes,’ replied Dixon.

‘A nice new telly then...’

‘Let me through will you, constable,’ said Bateman.

Cole moved to one side allowing Chief Inspector Bateman to step into the room.

‘What is it with you, Dixon? You seem to attract trouble like flies round a turd.’

‘I’d prefer moths round a light, Sir, if you don’t mind.’

Bateman smiled.

‘And you don’t think you used excessive force?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Neither do I. Well done.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’

‘The CPS and Independent Complaints may want to look at it though, you know what they’re like.’

‘Two men break into my house in the dead of night armed with a shotgun and a machete. If I’d had a gun I’d have shot ‘em, Sir, and it still wouldn’t have been excessive force.’

‘Quite.’

‘He should get a medal, Sir,’ said Jane.

‘Monty should get that. God alone knows what would’ve happened if he hadn’t woken me up.’

The remaining paramedics stood up ready to carry the other stretcher out through the back door. They had removed the man’s balaclava and paused briefly so Dixon could see his face. The man had a three inch gash above his left eye that looked through to the bone. He was dressed from head to toe in black. His mouth and nose were covered by an oxygen mask.

‘What do you think, Jane? Thirtyish?’

‘About that.’

‘Eastern European?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Alright, take him away,’ said Bateman.

Dixon could hear the helicopter overhead again.

‘They lost the car, I suppose?’

‘Never picked it up,’ said Bateman.

Dixon shook his head. He walked over and looked at what was left of his DVD collection. He picked up a box and opened it. Shards of broken DVD fell to the floor.

‘Goodbye, Mr Chips,’ he muttered.

‘Nothing that can’t be replaced,’ said Jane.

‘You alright?’ The voice came from the kitchen. Dixon looked over. It was DCI Lewis.

‘Fine, Sir, thank you.’

‘You’ve rattled the wrong cage, this time.’

‘Or the right one?’

‘SOCO will be here in a minute so get some clothes on and let’s get you out of here.’

‘Where...?’

‘Hospital would be a good starting point by the looks of things,’ said Lewis.

Blood had started to drip down the left side of Dixon’s chest again.

‘I’ll take Monty to my parents and meet you there,’ said Jane.

‘SOCO can secure the back door when they’ve finished, if you’re not back by then.’

Dixon heard the back doors of the ambulance being slammed shut in the road outside and looked through the front window to see it leaving, with PC Cole following in a patrol car. Then he went upstairs, got dressed and followed DCI Lewis and Jane out into the road.

Brent Street had been sealed off at both ends and blue lights were still flashing all around, lighting up the cottages and the pub. Most had lights on in the windows and uniformed officers were going from house to house telling residents to stay indoors.

Dixon was not going to be popular with his neighbours.

It was just after 6.00am by the time Jane arrived at Weston Hospital. Dixon was in a private room, sitting sideways on the bed with his legs dangling over the side.

‘What’s happening?’

‘They want the surgeon who operated on it to have a look so I’m stuck here until he gets his arse out of bed.’

‘And Lewis?’

‘He left ages ago,’ replied Dixon. ‘How’s Monty?’

‘Fine. My parents’ cat wasn’t too chuffed about it though. Fancy a cup of tea?’

‘They told me not to have anything in case they have to operate again.’

‘What about your blood sugar?’

‘They took it an hour or so ago and it was fine.’

‘Any news on our house guests?’

‘No.’

There was a knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ shouted Dixon.

‘I’m looking for Detective Inspector Dixon.’

‘That’ll be me.’

‘I’m DCS Collyer, Head of Operations, Bristol Zephyr team.’

They shook hands and Dixon introduced Jane. DCS Collyer looked the part in a smart grey suit, white shirt and red tie. He had short dark hair, a moustache and wore spectacles.

‘Zephyr means organised crime and a Detective Chief Superintendent too, Sir. What’ve we done to deserve that?’ asked Dixon.

‘You’ve had quite a night of it, I gather,’ said Collyer.

‘You could say that,’ replied Jane.

‘It’s a good thing they were only trying to scare you...’

‘Scare us?’

‘Yes, if they’d wanted you dead, you’d be at the bottom of the Bristol Channel by now.’

‘Who is this ‘they’ then, Sir?’ asked Dixon.

‘Your two visitors are Besim Raslan and Ardita Besmir.’

‘What...?’

‘Albanian.’

‘Albanian?’

‘That’s right. Serious people. They’re part of a gang that operates out of a bookmakers shop in Whiteladies Road. It’s just a front, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘They’re into drugs mainly and a bit of gambling on the side. We’ve been watching them for some time.’

‘Are they going to be alright?’

‘Who?’

‘The two...’

‘Oh, yes, fine, I think. One has had an op on a badly broken arm and got away with a bad headache, the other needed surgery for a bleed on the brain. He should be alright though.’

‘Where are they now?’

‘One’s on a ward and the other’s in intensive care. Under guard. They’ll be remanded in custody, do ten to fifteen and then be deported, I expect.’

‘Gits.’

‘You must have trodden on some toes to merit a visit. What are you investigating?’

‘What’ve you been told, Sir?’

‘About a murder at Gidleys Racing Stables near Bridgwater...?’

‘The victim was about to blow the whistle on something big and we’ve been looking into the possibility that this ‘something big’ was a betting scam. The British Horseracing Authority believe that the trainer’s been holding his horses back so that others, presumably this lot from Whiteladies Road, could lay them on the betting exchanges. The trainer denied it, of course, but the other groom at the yard admitted it. Both looked scared shitless when I pressed them on who was behind it. They had a winner on Thursday though.’

‘A winner? That will have lost the Albanians a lot of money.’

‘You sound like you know about this betting scam?’

‘I do.’

‘I’m not convinced it’s the motive for the murder though because the victim was actively skimming on the side.’

‘Involved in it, you mean?’

‘Yes. And using the information to make a few quid extra for himself.’

‘Interesting.’

‘It is, Sir, and given what you’ve just told me, I’m even more convinced that it’s not the motive.’

‘Why?’

‘If it was, our victim would be at the bottom of the Bristol Channel now, wouldn’t he?’

‘He’d have just disappeared?’ asked Jane.

‘He would. Quietly, no fuss. And with Noel, who’d have thought anything odd about that?’

‘True.’

‘You mentioned the gang was into drugs too, Sir?’ asked Dixon.

‘Yes. We think they’ve been bringing it into the country using the horse lorries. Cocaine, primarily. They go backwards and forwards across the Channel on the ferry to Brittany. There’s a farm over there where some of the horses rest, apparently. At least that’s the pretext. They take some horses over and bring others back so it doesn’t look suspicious.’

‘And no one’s found anything?’

‘No, the Border lot have been over the lorries, with dogs too, and found nothing,’ replied Collyer. ‘We’ve tried to get someone on the inside but no luck yet.’

‘So, you’ve been watching the yard?’ asked Dixon.

‘On and off.’

‘Why weren’t we told?’

‘We didn’t think...’

‘Well, I bloody well did need to know...’ Dixon shook his head. ‘I think we can rule that out as the motive anyway.’

‘Why?’ asked Jane.

‘Same reason. If Noel was threatening to blab about it, one telephone call and he’d have just disappeared. I bet he knew it too.’

‘Tanner seemed to,’ replied Jane.

‘That he did. And Hesp,’ said Dixon. ‘I wonder how much Mrs Harcourt knows about all this?’

‘We’ve been working on the basis that she’s a reluctant participant,’ said Collyer. ‘If she does know, she’s not happy about it.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘We listen.’

‘What does that m...?’ asked Jane.

‘Don’t ask,’ said Dixon.

‘What was your victim going to sing about then?’ asked Collyer.

‘Time for a closer look at his private life, I think.’

‘Well, keep me posted if you turn up anything I need to know.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘And look after yourself.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’

‘And if you fancy a change, let me know. We can always make room for good people in the Zephyr Team.’

‘Didn’t think. Didn’t bloody think. People trot that out as if it somehow makes it alright,’ said Dixon.

‘They do.’

‘I’d rather they’d thought about it and decided not to tell me but ‘didn’t bloody think’…’

‘Calm down.’

‘Idiots.’

Jane was driving Dixon’s Land Rover.

‘Can we get Monty first?’

Jane looked at her watch. It was nearly 10.00am.

‘Yes, fine.’

Dixon had been discharged from hospital, having not needed further surgery. The wound had been dressed, his arm was back in a sling and he had been prescribed more Tramadol. He leant against the door pillar on the passenger side of the car and closed his eyes. Seconds later he was asleep.

He woke up when Jane pulled up outside his cottage.

‘Where’s...?’

‘In the back.’

Dixon looked over his shoulder to find Monty sitting on the floor behind him. Then he looked along Brent Street, which was now open. He could see three patrol cars parked at various points and police officers conducting house to house enquiries. The Scientific Services vans had gone so he would be allowed back into his cottage. Jane reversed into the drive at the side and then parked behind the cottage.

The back door had been screwed shut from the inside to secure it.

‘We’ll need to use the front door,’ said Dixon.

They stood in the doorway looking at the wreckage of the television and DVDs.