False Witness (John Steel series Book 3) (2 page)

“Hi there, Megan,” Officer Morgan said kindly. “You can call me Claire.”

The child took Officer Morgan’s hand and Doyle watched them walk slowly towards the old woman who was standing waiting nearby. He smiled at the sight, realising that Megan wouldn’t understand why these men were taking her daddy away. Doyle was also anxious that she wouldn’t have to remember her father being manhandled into a police car.

The explosion of noise made Detective Jack Doyle look back round at the Armstrong’s’ house. There was the victorious-looking Carter accompanied by a scared-looking Brian Armstrong.

Brian Armstrong was your average-looking forty-year-old man-next-door. He wore a grey cotton sweat suit and a black T-shirt, and his short brown hair was uncombed and full of sweat, as a result of his earlier jogging. Carter couldn’t have hoped for a better picture of the man if he had dressed him himself.

As the cameras flashed, Brian took no notice—all he could think of was his daughter. He didn’t care what the world thought of him, he was only concerned for her. His eyes scanned the crowd to see her, but he was glad when she wasn’t in sight.

Carter held their position long enough for the press to get their money’s worth before dragging the confused man down towards the car. Carter moved him slowly with a deliberate pace, and as they neared, Doyle opened the back door of the Ford so that Armstrong could get in. The arrested man was, however, still looking anxiously around to try to see his little girl. Doyle stopped him when he reached the car

“Don’t worry about your daughter. I sent her to the neighbour’s house, they will look after her until your sister gets here.”

Armstrong smiled his thanks and nodded once in appreciation and ducked down, feeling Carter’s hand on the back of his neck shoving him into the car.

Carter slid onto the seat beside him, aware that Armstrong’s look of concern had gone now he knew his daughter was safe.

“Wait until the uniforms are back at their vehicles until we take off,” Carter instructed from the back seat to Doyle, who was at the wheel.

The driver looked into the rear-view mirror to see Carter adjusting his tie and combing his fingers through his hair. Then his eyes caught the bright tail lights of the squad car in front of them and he smiled to himself.

Sorry, photo shoot is over, asshole
, Doyle said to himself as he put the car into drive and trod on the gas pedal. The car sped away.

Armstrong closed his eyes. He knew that this would be the last time he would see his house, and the last time he would see his daughter. He closed his eyes tight as if to burn the images into his mind, for they were something to cling on to. Something to hope for .

Brian Armstrong opened his eyes
to the sound of approaching work boots on the steel grated floor that sounded like a hammer on an anvil. His cell was dark apart from the light from the small window and the glow from the small television set that sat on a makeshift shelf in the corner.

He lived alone apart from his many books that he had collected over the ten long years he’d spent in jail, and he’d also earned the respect of the other inmates, who had named him,
Teacher
.

The sound of the night made him think back to that first evening in Riker’s. He had arrived straight from the courthouse, it was late in the day and the night shift was just about to start their handover/takeover.

Armstrong had been slapped in a cell with a small cockroach of a man named Gomez—some petty two-time loser who liked to rape old women, which pretty much put him on everyone’s shit list.

Brian got up on to the top bunk but made sure he was facing the door and his back was to the wall with the window.

He had closed his eyes only for a moment before the cell door opened and there stood three large black guys with sunglasses and sleeveless shirts. They were not particularly tall men—Armstrong would dwarf them at six foot one—but they had spent all their free time in the gym and it showed in the massive size of their muscles. The centre man was larger than the others. He was obviously the ‘Alfa’ of the group.

“Now then what have we gotten here, boys,” the middle guy jeered. “Fresh ass, I do believe.” The others laughed but Armstrong didn’t, he just stayed on his bunk until he was called. Below him the rapist scurried across the room to the corner next to the stainless steel toilet and curled up like a frightened kitten.

“Don’t worry, Cockroach, we will get to you, but first we have to introduce ourselves to our new guest.” The insect in the corner giggled with excitement as Armstrong got off his bunk and stood with his back near the wall.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Brian Armstrong appealed to them, raising his hands with the palms flat upwards in a stop gesture, but the three men just laughed.

“It’s okay, you do what we tell you and there won’t be any problems. Now get your ass down and get on your knees, bitch.”

Brian shook his head and moved his right leg backwards slightly. “Sorry that’s not going to happen,” he told them.

The man to the boss’s left just sucked his teeth and walked forwards quickly. He went to grab Armstrong, but before he knew it the goon was thrown to the ground and Armstrong held the man in an armlock while his foot was on the back of the man’s neck.

“Okay, back off or this guy has to find someone else to cut his food,” Brian yelled at them.

The second goon rushed forwards to try and catch Armstrong off balance and save his friend.

Through the steel corridors screams of pain echoed through the many floors of the blockhouse, but the guards didn’t care if these men took each other apart, they were there to stop riots, and if the inmates wanted to take each other out that was fine by them. Hell, they were doing society and the taxpayers a favour by letting nature take its course.

The sound of metal springs screeching was the only noise to break the silence as Armstrong got back on to his bunk. Gomez, the cockroach-like man, had left, had scurried away to find another hole to hide in.

“You must be the schoolteacher?” Armstrong looked over at the doorway where the voice came from to see a huge form blocking the entrance, but his face was covered by shadow.

“It seems you are good at your teachings,” the newcomer continued. “Maybe you could spread some education in here.”

Armstrong sat up as some other men came in and dragged away the unconscious bodies of the three men he’d dealt with.

“What did you have in mind?” Armstrong asked curiously.

“Maths, English, those sorts of things. This place has lost purpose, I was hoping you could restore that.”

Armstrong nodded silently.

“Welcome, Teacher. And I wouldn’t be worried about any more visits, you have definitely laid out the ground rules and taught the guys a lesson.” The man’s booming belly laugh echoed through the block, accompanied by the sound of the doors closing.

Suddenly Brian Armstrong opened his eyes and looked over to the small television set that sat in the corner, then sighed deeply. The images of the past were now a distant memory, but one he would ever forget.

The television had a news report on the prison. At first, his sleepy eyes couldn’t make out too much, and he rubbed them a couple of times to let the eyes’ natural lubrication get to work before opening them again.

In fact coincidentally, the news report was about him going to the review board at the County Court along with nine other men, but it was his face that was making the news, as it had done all those years ago. The press had labelled him all those years ago and they were doing it again now: to them he would always be guilty, to them he had stabbed his wife in that alleyway and left her to die slowly.

*

The journey from the prison to the city would take a good hour. Outside the rain came down in thick sheets, making driving almost impossible. Bursts of light illuminated the sky as the thunderclouds above crackled and flashed with the build-up of electricity.

The streets outside the long white armoured prison bus were covered with inch-high water that reflected the lights of the stores and the headlights of the passing vehicles that waded through the ocean on the road, water spewing from their wheel arches as they flew past each other.

Brian looked out across the half-empty streets; people were either where they should be or smart enough not to leave the comfort of where they already were.

Armstrong closed his eyes as he felt the coldness of the window glass on his face and the feel of the rain pounding on the thick grating as the deluge appeared to come down sideways against the side of the bus, the noise like a storm of hailstones. Brian watched the world as it blurred past through water-streaked windows. This was not a world he knew, just merely one he had passed through several times.

His world had gone, ripped away from him in conspiracy and lies ten years previously, however, he had reinvented himself and established himself as a big part of the prison. The large man who had visited him in his cell on his first night had said something to him once that he had never forgotten, which was:

“You can let this place consume you or you can make yourself become so important that you are hard to be swallowed.”

At the time Armstrong hadn’t understood this logic, but as time went on and he saw the beatings and the stabbings he came to understand. Be someone they respected. Respected not out of fear, no, that was someone else’s domain. His strategy was to become something so different that they couldn’t do without him, he’d become an influence of a different kind...
a teacher
.

Brian was suddenly awoken from his daydream by an argument between the head guard and the driver. He couldn’t make out what it was about, as they held their tone down, so as not to alarm the prisoners. However, he paid it no heed, just went back to listening to the music of the raindrops on the metal.

“Okay, ten minutes, people,” yelled the guard who stood next to the driver. Brian opened his eyes and smiled, calculating that even if the board never granted him early release he had still gotten outside the jail for a little while.

Brian casually looked around the bus, at the other inmates and three guards who were along for the ride. His slight glance suddenly turned to an interested glare, and as he took note at the way everyone was set out, almost confused at the seating arrangements, the ‘old soldier’ in him kicked in. He hadn’t noticed it before, he hadn’t really had time as they were carted on to the bus like cattle for the slaughter house.

He found it curious the way they were set out into two groups and his group was at the back of the bus and seated against the right-hand wall, while the others were seated against the left-hand side near the front. He shook the suspicion off as just his soldier paranoia began to kick in, and he went back to looking out of the window.

The rain had gotten heavier, making it almost impossible to see out of the glass, which was beginning to mist up. The glazing had been strengthened but was still breakable, however, the steel caging on the outside of the windows prevented any idea of escape. In addition, each of the men was clamped down by a securing grip that held the leg cuffs in place on the floor.

Brian stared out of the window as best he could, shapes of buildings blurred past and he realised in horror that the bus was getting faster. Brian turned towards the long gantry to see if there was a problem and everything seemed to go into slow motion as the bus skidded out of control when they turned a sharp bend. Those at the rear were thrown to the ground as the men at the front were almost pinned to the windows of the bus because of the sudden velocity of the skid.

Armstrong heard screams and then what seemed to be a loud explosion behind them. Small glass fragments fell from shattered windows, covering the men as they sought shelter on the floor, then there was another massive shudder and their bodies were thrown upwards as the bus was hurled onto its side.

Prisoners on the left side of the bus screamed in pain and fear as they suddenly found themselves hung upside down from their leg restraints. Brian Armstrong looked up at the men as they struggled to grab hold of something to support themselves. Fountains of water sprayed inside through the broken windows. Filling the interior with rainwater as the bus skidded across the flood-covered road.

The sound of yelling and the screaming of metal against concrete was deafening. Brian covered his ears as best he could and closed his eyes.

Brian knew it would only be a matter of time until it stopped, the only question was how long. He didn’t have long to wait for the answer as he felt himself smash against the seats, there was another loud explosion and the bus came to a halt.

Half dazed, he felt himself being carried along, and then the sensation of wet and cold against his skin, before he was outside. He looked up through half-closed eyes and saw the two large black men that he had shared the back row with. His body felt heavy and he could feel himself losing consciousness.

He felt himself become light, as though he was leaving his body, then slowly he closed his eyes once more and fell into the darkness.

Detective McCall peered curiously
past the shower curtain and listened hard to the faint sound of her house phone ringing beyond the closed door of the bathroom.

“You have got to be kidding me!” she moaned at the inconvenient timing. Getting quickly out of the shower she rushed naked through the apartment to the sitting room, leaving small puddles on the dull wooden floor as she went. McCall held a towel which she was quickly attempted to wrap around her athletic form as she rushed for the telephone.

“What’s up, Tooms?” She had recognized the caller ID as that of her colleague, Joshua Tooms.

“Captain wants all hands in on this one, there was an accident with a bus from Rikers. I’ll fill you in when you get here.” McCall looked over at the clock that hung over a 32-inch flat-screen television and saw that it was almost six in the evening. She grunted to herself as her plans of a quiet evening at home were shattered by the news of the crash of a bus from Rikers Island, New York city’s major jail complex.