Bad Blood (43 page)

‘Stuey gets a bit carried away sometimes.’ Budgeon shook his head as he fiddled with some orange rubber tubing which had brass connections at either end. ‘I told him to take it easy, but then again, you didn’t give him what he wanted, did you?’

‘I …’ Stuey had been screaming, frothing at the mouth, ranting something about Fallon’s drugs. ‘I told him I didn’t know. I don’t know.’

‘Strange, that. Up in London you always seemed to know a great deal more information than me. I was hoping the same applied down here.’ Budgeon stopped what he was doing and lowered his voice. ‘Seems I was wrong though. Never mind. Least it means you don’t need to worry about Stuey hitting you any more. It’s just me now.’

‘I …’ Riley tried to think fast, to find something he could use to bargain with. ‘I can help you locate the drugs. They’ll be ashore somewhere. A lock-up or in one of his properties. I don’t know where, but I can find out for you.’

‘I’ll just untie you then shall I? Give you a phone? Maybe let you go?’

‘I can get the info, Ricky. Honestly.’

‘But you don’t know
now
, Darius, and that my friend is a real shame.’ Budgeon reached down, screwing the connections on to two gas bottles which sat on a trolley beneath the bench. He dropped the rest of the tubing and came across to Riley, bending over and putting his face up close. ‘You’re a fucking joker. I’d laugh except that you cost me a whole lot of money and all that time on remand. There’s the opportunity cost too. Know what that is? I do, because I did a fucking A level in economics when I was inside the first time. I’ll explain in terms you’ll appreciate: it means while I was lying on the bunk in my cell tossing myself off I was missing fucking a whole lot of cute pussy on the outside. Understand?’

‘Girls are in short supply in prison, so your right arm’s going to be getting a lot more exercise.’

‘Well, yours isn’t, mate, thieving bastard.’ Budgeon went back to the bench and pulled up the tubing again, attaching the free ends to something Riley couldn’t see. He turned and showed Riley. ‘Oxy torch. Do you know, I learnt how to use one in the nick the first time I was inside? How stupid is that? Talk about university of crime. Anyway, this is a lovely bit of kit. Produces a flame which burns at several thousand degrees. Cuts through metal like butter.’ Budgeon put his hand in a pocket and pulled out a lighter.

‘Now, Ricky. Come on.’ Riley began to breathe harder. ‘We can work something out. There must be something—’

‘NO THERE FUCKING ISN’T!’ Budgeon flicked the lighter and pulled the trigger on the torch. He waved the lighter near the nozzle and the torch whooshed into life, making a sort of roaring, growling sound, the yellow flame turning blue as Budgeon adjusted something on the handle. ‘Well, now it’s payback.’

‘Like I said before, Ricky, I was only—’

‘SHUT UP!’ Budgeon took a pair of pliers from the workbench and used them to pick up a short length of iron rod. He held the torch in front of the rod and the iron began to glow a dull red, brightening within seconds to a vivid orange colour. He smiled and dropped the rod in a bucket of water to one side of the bench. Riley heard a hiss and a cloud of steam exploded from the bucket and rose into the air, dissipating as it reached the overhead lights.

‘Ricky, please. You don’t want to do this.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ Budgeon sneered and raised the torch. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this for days.’

Riley tried to roll sideways to put leverage on the chain binding his wrists to the table, but it was hopeless. Budgeon came towards him, a grin on his face. Riley worked up a globule of phlegm and spat in Budgeon’s direction. Budgeon merely moved to one side.

‘Now, this will hurt,’ Budgeon said, grinning and adjusting something on the torch. ‘Quite a bit. Although I doubt you’ll be conscious for long.’

Riley opened his mouth to shout, but nothing came out but a rasp. He screwed his eyes shut, the fuzzy grey and white squares floating in front of him resolving into an image of his grandfather, a soft Caribbean lilt telling him he’d messed up big time.

You ain’t got shit under that cup, Darius. Nothing, I reckon, but a bag of bones.

The roar of the torch increased in intensity, sounding something like a jet plane on take-off. Riley opened his eyes. Budgeon was moving closer, scanning Riley’s body before he settled on his right hand. His tongue lolled out, hanging over his bottom lip, and his face screwed up in concentration as he made a final adjustment to the flame.

Then he lowered the torch.

Davies caught up with the police convoy as the lead vehicle pulled over at the entrance to a farm and let the van drive past. Savage recognised the farm as the one she had visited the week before, the one where Owers had stayed in the caravan and killed Simza Ellis. A little farther on and they arrived at the luxury house. The van smacked into the fancy gates, crashing through and taking down one of the brick pillars to the side, then careered down the drive, slewing round by the steps leading to the front door. The rear doors opened as it stopped, half-a-dozen armed officers leaping down, two of them carrying a battering ram. Within seconds the door of the house lay flattened and the response team ran in.

Davies pulled their car on to an expanse of mud to the side of the lane and they both jumped out. One of the patrol cars blocked the drive entrance, two armed officers standing alongside, weapons pointing towards the house where a rectangle of yellow cast a glow out into the yard. Even from the top of the drive Savage could hear the shouts from inside, the tearful screams of a child too. The officer nearest to them wheeled round, sighting down the barrel of her weapon and shouting out a warning. Savage already had her warrant card out, held high.

‘DI Savage and DI Davies, Plymouth,’ she said, moving forwards as the officer lowered the gun.

‘Serious Crime Directive,’ the young woman said.

‘What’s up?’ Savage asked, thinking the girl didn’t appear old enough to hold a driving licence, let alone a Heckler and Koch sub-machine gun.

‘We’ve been waiting to move on this place for days, but one of your lot phoned in on a triple nine so we had to go now.’ The girl nodded down the driveway. ‘My Governor – DCI Bryant – he’s in there. He’ll want a word when this is over. As you can imagine, he’s not best pleased.’

Savage spotted movement from over near one of the barns as a figure walked out of the shadows into the beam of a halogen security light. He stood silhouetted, the light from behind him casting a tall, thin shadow across the yard.

Stuart Chaffe.

‘Down!’ the girl yelled as Chaffe raised his pump-action shotgun and pointed the weapon in their direction. Savage dived behind the car alongside the girl, hearing the bang and the sound of the pellets spattering into the side of the vehicle as she fell to the floor. Davies was sprawled on the ground in the open, face down in the dirt, hands over his head.

Clikclak. Chaffe cycled the gun and fired again, the retort combining with the sound of shattering glass as he took out one of the police van’s windows.

Clikclak.

‘Fucking dead, the lot of you!’ Chaffe yelled, his footsteps padding out a rhythm as he ran into the yard.

Beside Savage the two armed officers crouched with their backs against the car. The male officer made a signal to the girl. Spoke in a whisper.

‘Take him, Chrissy. No need for a warning.’

The girl moved faster than Savage would have believed possible, swinging round and up, two shots echoing in the night. Bang-bang. Double tap. Something out in the yard fell and brushed the gravel.

‘He’s down,’ the girl said. ‘Not moving.’

Savage pulled herself up and peeked over the top of the car. Chaffe lay prone on his side, steam from his final breath floating up in the glare of the light. The girl moved from behind the car and ran forward. The male officer followed, covering Chaffe as the girl approached, knelt and put her fingers to the man’s neck.

She made a quick shake of her head and then stood. Her colleague walked up and patted her on the back.

A man with a flak jacket over a suit came out of the house and jogged up towards the cars.

‘Tom Bryant,’ Davies said, pulling himself up from the mud. ‘Well I never.’

‘You fucking sheepheads,’ Bryant said, raising his hand as he approached, thumb and forefinger held together. ‘We were this close to the South Americans and now that little bitch of yours has blown it.’

‘You’ve got Budgeon?’ Savage said.

‘No. There’s only his wife and kid in the house. Looks like he’s flown along with the spics.’

‘But Chaffe …?’

Savage looked across at the two armed officers standing over the dead man and then swivelled her head towards a shiplap barn. One of a pair of full-height doors, high and wide enough to take a tractor, stood a few feet ajar. Harsh white light flooded out.

And then came the high-pitched whine of a machine tool.

‘Riley!’ Savage began to move across the gravel, but Chrissy and the other armed officer moved faster, arriving at the barn door just before her.

This time the male officer went first, rotating in through the entrance, Chrissy behind. Savage looked round the edge of the door.

Inside, fluorescent tubes floated high overhead, suspended from the ceiling by wire. They illuminated some sort of workshop: a bench with a heavy vice and an array of tools hanging on the wall behind to one side and, in the centre, a table, DS Riley lying tied to the thing with a mess of rope and chain. A short, stocky man in a sleeveless t-shirt stood to one side, some sort of electrical tool in his hand, a spinning disc whirling in a blur, the noise deafening.

‘Armed police! Put that down!’

Budgeon smiled over at the door and then brought the tool down onto Riley’s arm.

A shower of sparks flew up as Riley wriggled, forcing one of the binding chains into the disc. Then Budgeon was reeling backwards with a gasp, the bang from the gun seeming to come afterwards as he fell to the floor. Chrissy ran forward and covered Budgeon as he lay on his back, breathing hard, winded. The shock on his face turning to a grin as he stared at the angle grinder, where the works had been destroyed by the bullet.

Savage ran in, almost dancing across the space to Riley. She looked down at his arm, which appeared untouched.

‘Are you hurt?’

‘Yes, ma’am, pretty battered, but I’ll live. I’d appreciate if you could untie me.’ As Savage began to remove the rope and chains Riley continued. ‘Nick of time and all that. He was going to use a cutting torch on me, but he forgot to check the gas. He ran out of oxygen for the torch and while he was setting up the grinder you lot arrived.’

The chains were off now and Riley swivelled himself off the bench. He rubbed his wrists and nodded down at Budgeon, face down on the floor now, being patted down, cuffs clicking into place.

‘The odd thing was that he’d heard the shots, knew you were coming. He could have done a runner.’

‘Well thank God you’re OK, Darius.’ Savage moved forward, wrapped her arms around Riley and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You don’t know how worried we were.’

Savage heard a cough from the doorway, turned her head to see Bryant grinning.

‘Glad somebody is happy. Princess rescuing the prince is this? Fairy-tale ending?’

‘Not at all,’ Savage said. ‘I was just telling … I … fuck, I was letting him know how much we missed him, alright?’

‘DI Davies says you’ll want a word with Budgeon before we take him. Would that be right?’

A shadow moved at the doorway and Davies materialised at Bryant’s shoulder, pale face bleached even whiter by the fluorescent light.

‘DI Savage is old-school,’ Davies said in a low voice. ‘Like you and me, Tom. I think she might want to ask Ricky about a little girl.’

‘Huh?’ Bryant cocked his head, raised an eyebrow and nodded. ‘OK, Phil, just for you. Five minutes, Savage, and then you come to me and explain why that DC Calter of yours wouldn’t look a hell of a lot tastier in a uniform.’

Bryant strolled across to his two officers as they hauled Budgeon to his feet. Said a few words. The male officer looked over at Savage and Riley and opened his mouth to say something, but Bryant raised a finger to his lips and made a shush sound before using the same finger to point to the door. The three of them left, the officer who had been starting to protest shouldering Davies aside as he passed. Davies spat on the floor and turned and stared out into the dark.

‘Going to be a nice night with the weather clearing through. I think I’ll take a peek at the stars. Be out here if you need me.’

It was just the three of them now. Budgeon stood impassive, hands cuffed behind his back, breathing slowly.

‘Close, Darius,’ Budgeon said. ‘Very close. Next time there’ll be no margin for error. I’ll double-check the gas. Next time you are going to burn.’

‘There won’t be a next time, Ricky,’ Savage said. ‘You’ll be getting a whole life term for what you’ve done. You’ll be going back to meet your old mates in Full Sutton.’

‘There’s always a next time, always a way. And I’ll make sure you get your share of what’s coming too. Bitch.’

‘You’re lucky we turned up,’ Savage indicated the table and the acetylene bottles. ‘If Fallon had got here first you’d be getting a taste of your own medicine and the only thing burning would be you.’

‘I’d have sorted him. No problem.’

‘Well, you certainly sorted Owers, Redmond, Dowdney and Jackman. Not to mention Simza Ellis.’

‘I never touched her. That was the paedo.’

‘You knew Franklin Owers had Simza. She was alive in the caravan and you did nothing to save her.’

‘It was business, that’s all.’

‘You met Owers years ago up in Full Sutton prison. He’d have been on the numbers, rule forty-five, but somehow you got to him. What did you do? Threaten him? Or maybe you were more canny and offered to protect him. Made sure he didn’t slip in the showers or get a bowl full of Weetabix and razor blades for breakfast.’

‘Me? Associate with the likes of him?’

‘Not usually, no. But you knew Owers from when you were in Plymouth and you were banking something for the future. Owers had cooked the books for you and Fallon all those years ago and you guessed, correctly as it turned out, that Owers would continue to be of use to Fallon after he’d done his time.