With A Vengeance Read online

  ‘Maybe they weren’t trying to kill him,’ Wendy offered. ‘Maybe they just wanted to burn his house down and cause him some damage. A warning, perhaps.’

  ‘Some fucking warning,’ Culverhouse remarked, looking up at the charred remains of the once-impressive building.

  ‘Yeah, well, maybe things just got out of hand. Can’t always predict what fire’s going to do.’

  ‘Either way, it’s irrelevant at the moment. What we do know is that someone deliberately set fire to this house and that Freddie Galloway died as a result. We’re looking at aggravated arson and manslaughter. Minimum.’

  ‘Do you want to see the body?’ Janet Grey asked.

  ‘No thanks. Not had my breakfast yet. Email me the photos later. Should perk my afternoon right up.’

  10

  ‘That’s it, my son! Left hook, quick in with an uppercut on the right — yes! Come on, feel that burn!’

  Tyrone Golds grunted as the beads of sweat cascaded over his eyebrows and splashed gently to the floor, the salty sting getting in his eyes as he felt the lactic acid build up in his arms. It was a feeling he loved — something that made him feel free and liberated. He’d been boxing since he was six, and he adored every second of it.

  A couple of hours with the punchbag in his local boxing club was his idea of a morning well spent. And having someone like Kai here to spot him and spur him on was an added bonus. Friends and trainers had always said he could have performed competitively — perhaps even professionally — but that had never interested him. He liked the spit-and-sawdust backstreet boxing clubs like this one. He liked being his own man. If he was completely honest with himself, he didn’t have that competitive edge that he’d need in order to win. He just loved boxing, loved feeling the burn, loved pummelling the shit out of dangling bags.

  Sure, his technique was impressive. It would be if you’d spent as many years as he had, boxing almost every single day without fail. But he’d had no desire to compete or get involved with boxing on any professional level. After all, he knew far too many people who’d combined their loves with their jobs and had ultimately become disappointed. As soon as you start receiving money for something you love doing, it becomes a burden. And he never wanted boxing to become a burden. He never wanted to fall out of love with it.

  After all, it had kept him out of trouble — largely. There’d been the odd occasions where he’d been tempted across the line, but that was completely unavoidable. Growing up on the estate he’d lived on as a child, he could no more have avoided criminality than he could breathing oxygen. It was there, all around him. For many of his peers, it was a way of life. It was about survival. And Tyrone’d had plenty of surviving to do.

  After his dad had walked out on him, his mother and his older sister Shanice, things had changed almost overnight. His mum had to go from being the stay-at-home mother to the working mother, grinding her fingers to the bone on twelve-hour shifts, leaving Shanice to bring up both Tyrone and herself. His mother never really recovered from the heartbreak, and Tyrone credited that alongside long hours working in a pharmaceuticals factory for the cancer that caused her early death at the age of thirty-five. It was barely a week after Shanice’s sixteenth birthday, which at least meant they weren’t taken into care but were instead allowed to take on the council flat as tenants in their own right. Boxing had been his way of channelling his anger and frustration, and he credited it with saving him on more than one occasion.

  Life on the estate hadn’t been easy. It wasn’t exactly a cakewalk for anyone, but a recently bereaved sixteen-year-old is never going to be able to give you the best upbringing. It wasn’t through lack of effort or dedication, by any means. Although Shanice had shown great academic promise and was planning to go on to do A levels, she’d left school that summer and gone straight into work, choosing instead to provide for herself and her brother. That was something that had made Tyrone feel both grateful and guilty.

  ‘Bruv, I’m done,’ he said, dropping into a crouched position as he felt the burn in his biceps and triceps.

  ‘You getting old!’ Kai quipped as he slapped Tyrone on the back playfully and helped him back to his feet.

  ‘Three rounds, bruv. Three rounds. You and me. I’m tellin’ you, I wouldn’t even need the last two.’

  The pair laughed and joked as they made their way towards the showers. The banter and camaraderie was one of the upsides of coming here, as far as Tyrone was concerned. There had, at times, been a similar sort of brotherhood and solidarity on the estate, but there was always that sinister edge — the chance that things could very quickly turn nasty. And they often did. He’d seen friends shot and killed in gang attacks, flats torched by rival groups. But at the boxing club, things never threatened to turn violent — despite the fact that they were all here specifically to fight. Boxing, though, was different. There was no malice involved. It was pure sport.

  He’d known fairly quickly how boxing had changed him, had made him see things in a different light. That was why he’d decided to earn some money by training others on the estate to box. He didn’t have as much of the anger, didn’t feel the need to rail back against the system that had treated him so badly. He knew a number of boys on the estate who could benefit from that, but precious few had ever shown a serious interest. Once they were stuck in their ruts, they were happy to stay there, chasing the next batch of notes, constantly looking over their shoulders for guns or knives.

  He’d earned the nickname Bruno for a while — a nod to the success of British boxer Frank Bruno at the time. But that was a nickname he’d left behind. Too many people associated it with one or two of the times he’d been tempted the wrong way, had succumbed to the offer of a quick buck in exchange for bending the law ever so slightly. After the last time, he decided he was going back to being good old Tyrone Golds. A man with a proper name and nothing to hide.

  But deep down he knew that was just another cover in itself. Because, where he came from, everyone had something to hide.

  11

  By the time Jack and Wendy were back in the office, Steve Wing had already pulled out all the information he could find on Freddie Galloway’s history with the police. Culverhouse knew most of it, but he still listened intently as Steve updated the team on what he had.

  ‘There’s no immediate family or next of kin that we know about. His parents are long gone, and he was an only child.’

  ‘What about a wife or girlfriend?’ Wendy asked.

  Steve shuffled awkwardly as Culverhouse let out a small laugh before speaking. ‘Let’s just say he was a confirmed bachelor.’

  ‘He was gay?’

  ‘You’d be a braver person than me to want to tell him that. Freddie Galloway was old school. He did things his own way. He never married or had a girlfriend that anyone knew about. You’d be surprised how many of those old-time gangsters had their own special... predilictions.’

  Steve cleared his throat and began talking again. ‘Basically, he was a career criminal who somehow always managed to squirm out of our hands. He’s been arrested, questioned, even charged on one occasion for harassment and intimidation of a witness, but it was thrown out of court when the victim decided to retract their claim. Because he was being intimidated, I presume. He’s got a rap sheet as long as my arm. All of it either unproven, or not followed up because of retracted statements or lost evidence. Looks as if he knew how to play the system perfectly.’

  ‘Yet the silly fucker couldn’t outwit some bloke with a jerry can,’ Culverhouse quipped.

  ‘I imagine he will have made a lot of enemies. Particularly after the Trenton-Lowe job.’

  The three older male officers shared a knowing look, having all been serving police officers at the time of the robbery, before Culverhouse explained for the benefit of Wendy, Debbie and Ryan.

  ‘Trenton-Lowe was a roofing supplier about thirty miles away. Mainly tiles. This was probably a good ten or so years ago now.’

  ‘Eleven,’ F
rank corrected. ‘I’d just had my gallstone op.’

  ‘Lovely. Cheers, Frank. Good to know we can all set our clocks by your failing body. So, eleven years ago, they were starting to build the new pikey camp on the outskirts of town.’

  ‘Do you mean travellers’ site, Detective Chief Inspector?’ Ryan asked.

  Culverhouse stared at her for a moment. ‘Whatever you bloody well want to call it, eleven years ago they were starting to build it, alright? Any more interruptions?’ The team remained silent. ‘Right. Now, they’re all permanent brick structures up there, so they needed a lot of roofing materials. These guys do everything in cash, and the bloke who ran Trenton-Lowe did them a deal for a massive number of roof tiles and other stuff. We’re talking about tiles, membranes and gear for nearly a hundred buildings. Almost half a million quid. In cash.

  ‘Now, the bloke who owned Trenton-Lowe wasn’t going to say no to that, and he was greedy enough that he didn’t fancy accounting for all the tax on it either. So he stuck it in a safe for the time being and hired a security guard to watch the premises overnight. Somehow, word gets to Freddie Galloway that this cash is sitting there in this safe. Whether it was an employee at the warehouse or what, we don’t know. But one night Freddie and his chums waltzed in, coshed the security guard and went for the safe. But someone tipped off the local police. Before they could get anything they’d scarpered, but not before one of Freddie’s men shot a police officer in the head. Somehow he survived, but never worked again.’

  ‘Jesus Christ. And he wasn’t sent down for this?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘Nope. Slippery as an eel. Couldn’t prove he was involved, even though word on the street is he was in there with them. The guy who pulled the trigger, John Lucas, was caught. The officer he shot recognised him. Lucas must’ve thought he’d killed him and got rid of the witness, but he survived. When he was arrested, he blabbed everything he knew, which wasn’t much. He claimed Freddie Galloway was the brains behind the operation. Shortly after they arrested Galloway, Lucas retracted his statement. Mentioned something about not wanting his mum to get hurt. He wouldn’t say any more than that. General consensus is that Galloway made some sort of threat towards Lucas’s family, causing him to retract what he’d said.’

  ‘Wow. Sounds like a nice guy.’

  ‘Yeah, he probably wasn’t the only one who wanted him dead, either. See, the story from John Lucas and Benjamin Newell — the two blokes who went down for it — was that the safe was never opened. They both told identical stories. But when the Trenton-Lowe bosses opened the safe with the police there, the money was gone.’

  ‘So who took it?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘No idea. No-one knows. Theory is it was either taken by Galloway after the others escaped and before the police turned up, or that it wasn’t even in the safe and had been emptied out by Galloway’s inside man before the robbery even took place.’

  ‘Christ. I’m starting to see why someone would want to pop him off myself.’

  ‘I was there that day in court. Lots of officers were, even though it wasn’t our patch. When a fellow officer takes a bullet in the line of duty, you feel obliged to stand together.’ Culverhouse paused for a moment. The rest of the team knew he was also referring to the death of Luke Baxter, an officer on their team who’d been killed two years earlier. ‘Lucas seemed angry more than anything. Not at the police, but at Galloway. Even though he’d retracted his statement, you could still see it in him. He despised Galloway. When the judge asked him if he had any last words Lucas wanted him to take into account, he said “I hope Freddie Galloway rots in hell”. The judge asked him what he meant and he stayed silent. Eighteen years, I think his sentence was. Word from those on his side of the fence is that when he was inside he made all sorts of comments about getting vengeance for what Galloway did to him.’

  Wendy raised her hand as she stared at her computer screen.

  ‘Erm, this John Lucas. How old would you say he is now?’

  ‘Dunno. Must be in his fifties. Why?’ Culverhouse asked.

  ‘Does he look like this?’ Wendy showed him the picture on her computer screen, which she’d found on the Police National Computer.

  ‘Yeah. That’s the bastard. Recognise him anywhere.’

  ‘In that case, we might have a lead. John Lucas was released from Belmarsh yesterday morning.’

  12

  While the others were left trying to find out John Lucas’s parole address, Culverhouse went back into his office. Wendy followed him, keen to catch him as quickly as possible before things really kicked off.

  ‘I know this is a bad time,’ she said, closing the door behind her, ‘but I need to get it sorted before this case starts to take over.’

  ‘What is it?’ Culverhouse barked, putting a pile of papers down on his desk with more force than was necessary.

  ‘My inspectors’ exams. The next opening is coming up in a few weeks and I think I’d like to go for it this year. Problem is, the first exam is on a date I’m scheduled on shift.’

  ‘A few weeks? You’d need longer than that to revise, surely?’ Culverhouse asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

  ‘I reckon I could cram. It’s either that or wait another year for the exams to come round again. I might as well go for it.’

  Culverhouse thought for a moment before shaking his head. ‘No. The only way you’re going to manage that is if you sit at home reading Blackstone’s back to back, over and over. I can’t have your head stuck in that mode while I need you active on the team. There’s a good chance you’ll have to do overtime, too.’

  This wasn’t the response Wendy had expected. She thought he might make some sort of derogatory comment — she’d have been amazed if he didn’t — but the suggestion that Wendy should take her inspectors’ exams had been his, and she wasn’t going to let him forget that.

  ‘But I reckon I could do it. Most of the stuff I’ve been revising is stuff I’ve already got a decent grasp of. And yeah, there’s a good chance I might not pass, but if that’s the case then I’ll still have to wait until next year anyway. What’s the harm in trying this year too, even if I fail spectacularly?’

  ‘Like I said. I need you on the ball, not thinking about exams and revision. Go for it next year instead. Then you’ve got a year and a bit to revise and get yourself ready. That way, the team doesn’t lose out.’ Culverhouse sat down in his chair and made a charade of looking something up on his computer, even though Wendy knew damn well he was just trying to get her to shut up and leave.

  She tried not to rise to the bait. ‘The team won’t lose out. If anything, it’ll gain from my experience and new rank. It’ll take some of the pressure off you, too. It was your idea.’

  Culverhouse steepled his hands and took a deep breath. ‘I’m aware of that, Knight. And I’ve got absolutely nothing against you going for the inspectors’ exams, but all I’m saying is that now’s not the time. Since I mentioned it all that time ago, you’ve said nothing about it. I thought you’d ignored it, weren’t interested. And now months later you come in and tell me you want to take time off in a couple of weeks’ time for it? On the morning a new major investigation kicks off? You’re one for bloody timing, I’ll give you that.’

  ‘I’ve not done it on purpose,’ Wendy said, feeling somewhat affronted at the attitude Culverhouse had taken. ‘I’ve been thinking about it for a while, ever since you mentioned it.’

  ‘But you didn’t think to tell me? Perhaps warn me that you were going to be going for it?’

  ‘It was your idea!’ Wendy said, raising her voice. She knew he was being completely unreasonable, but at the same time he had a knack of making his argument sound perfectly fair.

  ‘Look, we’re just going round in circles here,’ Culverhouse said, standing and walking over to the office door. ‘I’ve said no, and that’s that. Alright?’

  He opened the door and looked at Wendy, who walked out of the office and back into the incident room without looking at him once.<
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  13

  It felt so good to be free, John Lucas thought, as he poured himself a cup of tea. It was these little luxuries that he would come to appreciate in the outside world: making a cup of tea whenever he wanted one, perhaps adding a chocolate biscuit or two, looking out across the town.

  He wouldn’t stay here for long. The house held too many memories for him. It had been his family home once, but after the death of his mother while he was inside, the place didn’t hold the same charm anymore. It held memories — plenty of those. And whilst it had been kept clean and tidy thanks to his mother’s regular cleaner staying on after she’d died — paid for through provision in her will — it was definitely dated.

  He’d need to do a lot of work to get rid of the detailed flowery wallpaper and wood-chip ceilings. The bathroom and kitchen could do with being ripped out and totally re-done too, but there wasn’t much point. The money left in his mother’s will would barely cover a few carpets. He thanked his lucky stars his release date had come up before the money had run out for the cleaner, else the whole place would be suitable only for demolition.

  Valentina was a good worker, it seemed. She’d definitely done a good job of keeping the house neat and tidy. It was a shame she wasn’t a painter and decorator, too.

  Nonetheless, selling this place should bring him in a few quid, he thought. He hadn’t been keeping up to date with house prices recently, but he reckoned it’d probably fetch just shy of three hundred grand, which would all be his seeing as his mum had paid the mortgage off years ago.

  Maybe he’d get an estate agent round later in the week. He had enough to be worrying about in the meantime. He’d get them to handle it, put it up for sale, get him a buyer. He could use some of the cash to buy himself a flat or a small house and keep the rest as a buffer while he tried to move on with his life. He could certainly do with a job — he’d have overheads that the cash buffer wouldn’t maintain. He wouldn’t need much, but it had to be something he’d enjoy. The probation service had paired him up with a shoe repairs company who often took on ex-offenders, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be happy there long-term. And his happiness had to come first. After everything that had happened, he was going to spend his time looking after number one.