Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1) (35 page)

As his aunt and her solicitor listened in
astounded silence, Kevin explained that Arthur Jarvis, the original owner of
the caravan site, had contacted him. Apparently Jarvis hadn’t known that
Kevin’s father had died until the police had gone knocking on his door. After
the police had left, Jarvis had phoned Kevin to express his condolences.

Preston and his client remained silent. Though
neither could see where the young lad was going, both of them were anticipating
some sort of earth shattering pronouncement. Joan couldn’t think what that
might be but alarm bells were ringing in her head. Preston couldn’t imagine
what might be revealed either, but hoped that the bells of a cash register
might accompany it.

Kevin continued by outlining how years
previously the two properties had been created from one farm and the temporary
loan of the fields to what had become Joan’s father’s smallholding, while title
and ownership had always been with the caravan site.

‘That’s a bit far fetched lad,’ commented the
solicitor. ‘This Jarvis bloke can say anything he wants but it doesn’t make it
fact – or legal. You have two choices - either accept the boundary as
being where we all know it to be or the surveyors will have to be called in.
Can you afford that lad?’

‘I don’t think that you have been listening Mr
Preston,’ he responded. ‘With all due respects, with your intransigence I can
see why our family has been feuding for so long. I bet you have made a packet
out of my aunt and uncle by keeping this going.’

Preston started to sweat as the colour rose
slowly up his neck and into his cheeks. ‘Now then lad, that’s a bit strong,
just calm down a bit.’

‘No Mr Preston, I am going,’ standing up and
pushing his chair back. ‘But before I do, let me tell you that I have
everything on paper and it is all legal. I have documents from the time the
farm was divided that describe in detail where the boundary lies and who owns
what, accompanied by copies of the Land Registry plans. The fields and the
boundary are all detailed. And it is all very clear Mr Preston. Before you ask,
the documents are all signed by Mr Jarvis, Mr Jarvis’ father who was splitting
the farm up and my Granddad. And those signatures are witnessed by the
solicitor for the Jarvis family and also the solicitor my Granddad used.’
Placing his hands on the chair back he locked eyes with Preston, ‘It is all
quite clear – and legal.’

‘I very much doubt it. I think you had better
give me the documents so I can check them out young man.’

‘I don’t think so Mr Preston. Like I said, this
has split our family and I don’t want that to continue. The one good thing to
come out of my dad’s death and uncle Mike’s attacks is that the two sides of
the family are again talking to each other. You are getting nothing from me
because I am not prepared to let the originals out of my sight but I am quite
happy to give copies to Aunt Joan. I am now going ahead with expanding Green
Fields onto those fields and creating my restaurant.’ Then, as an aside,
looking at his aunt he added, ‘If she wants to pass anything over to you then
that’s up to her.’

Standing ready to leave he said, ‘Aunt Joan,
why don’t you come down to Green Fields? I can show you the documents –
make you copies if you want – and we can talk about what I hope to do and
how I intend doing it. It was all one farm if you go way back, so your land and
mine fits together nicely. Surely it would be better to go forward together,
but if you are not interested I can forget that option. I prefer to talk than
be at loggerheads.’

Preston frowned as he saw his next pay check
walking out of the door.

……….

Having briefed his team, Detective Inspector
Radcliffe was confident that everyone knew his or her part and that the wheels
of the operation would turn like a well oiled machine. They would rendezvous a
mile from the former Catholic College before putting the plan into action. He
knew that they were up against the clock. Although Wilson had been arrested, everything
they had on him was circumstantial. But with the time he could be held without
being formally charged rapidly running out, delaying until they had something
more concrete would kill their advantage and allow him to warn his accomplices
or distance himself entirely. Either option could stop their enquiry in its
tracks.

‘OK. Let’s get the show on the road shall we?’
he said. ‘I want us to be absolutely clear on what we are doing before we
leave. Our primary target today is car theft. But I am sure that somewhere
there is a link to the murders that have taken up so much of our time.’ Looking
around the team crammed into the office he wound down the briefing by adding,
‘It is down to the sterling work that Louise and Debbie have done that we got
the break that identified today’s target and enabled us to bring Steven Wilson
in,’ then, pausing while he looked at each in turn, ‘thank you ladies. But what
we have at the moment remains tenuous. Don’t screw up today or we will lose the
lot. OK. That’s about it. If there are no questions – we will meet at
Martin Mere in one hour.’

A hand shot up before anyone could leave.

‘Are we sure that this is the place boss?’

In a word, no,’ replied Radcliffe. ‘We do know
that the building figures somewhere in the thefts because a Bentley we are sure
has been stolen arrived on Sunday. The links to Mr Wilson are several cars he
legally owns that are stored there. We think that they are his cover. He’s got
a car repair business and he is a partner in an auto electrics business so
there’s the expertise to disable the tracker units and workshops in which to do
it. It’s an MOT station so he has the computer links into the system and all
the inside knowledge too. Oh, and he regularly exports cars to Poland and other
Eastern European countries so he has the whole process neatly contained.’

The same hand shot up again. ‘You said the
links to Wilson are legally owned cars but that the Bentley is believed stolen.
Surely, when a high value car is nicked it would be reported straight away. Why
don’t we know whether it has been stolen?’

‘Good point Sean,’ responded Radcliffe. ‘Thanks
to Debbie we were able to follow the Bentley for several miles. It was on false
cloned plates and we know it hasn’t been moved since. But it hasn’t been
reported stolen yet so that is a bit of a mystery.’

‘So where’s the link to the murders boss?’

Radcliffe pondered the question for which he
had no answer. If the evidence against Wilson for the car thefts was
circumstantial then for murder it was little more than a hunch. ‘That’s what we
desperately need to find,’ he replied. ‘The body behind the Bold – the
Pole – was one of his employees. The body in the faked car accident was
also a Polish national so there could be a connection. More than that I can’t
say. Gentlemen, we need today’s operation to dot the i’s for us.’

Twenty-Four

With gravel crunching under its tyres, a police
Ford drove into the car park. Slotting between a similar liveried car and a
yellow surveillance van with its windscreen riot protection locked up, both
driver and passenger strolled over to where a group were chatting. A young
officer then left the group and walked to the entrance of the wildlife
sanctuary, where DI Don Radcliffe and DS Kyle Fraser stood holding Styrofoam
cups of coffee.

The video lads have just turned up so that’s
everyone accounted for,’ said the officer.

‘OK lad, thanks’ responded Radcliffe. ‘Get
everyone together for me and I will come and check they all know the plan.
We’ll only get one stab at this so it has to go like clockwork. We’ve half an
hour before we move off so there’s no rush.’

Back in the sixteenth century, where they were
standing had been just a small part of a vast area of lakes and wetlands
stretching several miles inland from the coast at Southport – then known
as North
Meols
–the largest of which had been
Martin Mere, a lake some two miles long. After the creation of an intricate web
of ditches and
gulleys
to drain the land for
agriculture and residential development however, the twenty-first century
Martin Mere Wetlands and Wildlife sanctuary was but a shadow of the mere’s
former size, having at its heart a lake only a few hundred metres long. But
hidden as it was in the countryside just a few minutes away from the day’s
target, its straggling car parks were an ideal rendezvous point for Radcliffe’s
mission.

Dropping their cups into a litter bin,
Radcliffe and Fraser followed the young officer back to the assembled group.
Surveying his troops as he walked, Radcliffe felt the familiar pangs of anticipation.
It had become a ritual. After the build-up, the fitting together of pieces in
the jigsaw, and the repetitive checking and rechecking to make sure that all
bases had been covered, came a distinct apprehension in the minutes before the
operation began. Once they were on the move it would be replaced by a positive
action packed attack fuelled by adrenaline and backed up by a search warrant,
but with its enforced waiting where minutes seemed to drag like hours, the
immediate pre-operation assembly was the time when he always went through a
series of negatives. Was his hunch correct? Did the evidence add up? Would they
apprehend suspects or would the operation turn out to be a waste of time?

There had been a few of those over the years:
information that had been totally incorrect or villains who had fled following
a tip-off. Failures didn’t do much for confidence or look good on a CV.

‘We’ll move off at half past,’ he said, ‘which
gives you twenty five minutes to grab a coffee from the shop, but get the vehicles
in their correct order first. Surprise will be important today, so we assemble
here and arrive in correct order to peel off to our allocated positions.
Sergeant Fraser and I will lead and I want the marked vehicles and uniforms at
the back, followed by Inspector Davies and the CSI’s,’ adding, ‘they should be
with us shortly.’ Continuing with his instructions to the group; who was to
follow him to the college, who was to be stationed at the other exits to the
building and who was to stop and be lookout at the gate, he concluded with, ‘I
want you all here in fifteen, and from now on, radio silence and switch your Blackberry’s
to silent please.’

Within minutes the little convoy was ready. As
wound up as their leader and willing the operation to begin, everyone remained
with their cars, nobody having any desire to walk over to the wetlands foyer.
Radcliffe and Fraser stood off to one side. As they watched the team, obviously
tensed up and waiting for the signal to go, one of their number detached
herself from the group and walked over to Radcliffe clutching a mobile phone.

Speaking in hushed tones so that their exchange
could not be overheard, Debbie
Lescott
apologised for
disturbing him when they were on countdown, then passing him her Blackberry,
told him that Simon Charlton needed to talk to him urgently. The group looked
on anxiously.

Taking her mobile, Radcliffe listened, his
expression a clear annoyance that such a civilian intrusion should be allowed
to interrupt their preparations, swiftly changing to surprise and then to
obvious concern. Turning, he walked slowly away from the group and threw
questions at his caller. Some of the answers confirmed his suspicions but
others had the potential to cast doubt on the success of the mission about to
commence. Jotting a few notes on the back of a business card, Radcliffe thanked
his caller for his initiative and closed the call. The decision he would have
to take in the next few seconds could either end in success or bring the whole
case crashing down.

After making a call on his own phone he turned
back and beckoned to the two sergeants. The rest of the group watched intently
as Fraser and
Lescott
joined Radcliffe, the trio
hunched together in animated discussion as the unexpected scenario played out.
This was not planned. Nobody spoke, the only sound being the quacking of ducks
on the mere. What had gone wrong? Were they about to be stood down? Was the
operation being aborted?

Radcliffe returned the phone to
Lescott
. ‘Your man’s quite a bright spark,’ he said.
‘Apparently he was returning from Preston and took a short cut off the A59 at
Burscough
where he saw a number of cars nose to tail and in
a hurry.’

‘Probably young lads tearing up the countryside
Don,’ observed Fraser.

Ignoring the comment, Radcliffe continued, ‘At
least your bloke is observant Debbie. They caught his interest because they
were expensive cars, but more importantly he clocked that only the one at the
front and the one at the back had
reg
plates. The
front one had passed before he noticed that the ones following didn’t have any
plates but he did manage to get the registration of the one at the tail end. I
recognised the number but I’ve just asked for a DVLA trace to confirm. I’m not
sure about the one leading but from Simon’s observation of the makes and models
it’s my bet that the ones without plates were three of our nicked cars. It
looks like our friends have just removed some evidence,’

The trio had almost reached the assembled
group. ‘Debbie, get on to control and advise them that the timing has changed,’
Radcliffe commanded. “Tell them to get the CSI’s to go direct to the location,
we are not going to wait.’ Then as an afterthought added, ‘Oh, and your boss DI
Davies will need to go direct as well.’ Turning to Fraser he continued, ‘Kyle, get
the chopper up. We might be closing the stable door after the horse has bolted
but let’s see if they can pick that little convoy up and tell us where they
have gone.’

As the two sergeants ran to their cars to make
the calls, Radcliffe raised his voice so that all could hear, ‘Right,’ he
bellowed, ‘there’s a change of plan. We are going NOW!’

……….

Viewed from above, the convoy looked like a
multi-coloured snake as it wound its way along the country lanes. As if
surveying the terrain to ensure its body and tail had a clear passage, At its
head, driven by DS Fraser, DI Radcliffe’s red Vauxhall twitched from side to
side as it negotiated the twists and turns. Behind it, unmarked cars in varying
colours were followed by distinctive Battenberg liveried patrol cars with their
white roofs and black numbers prominent. At its tail, the big surveillance van
was followed by the two small white vans of the CSI team and the black Jaguar
of DI Fraser that had finally caught up with the operation.

But it wasn’t viewed from above. As the
mechanical snake approached the college, several miles away on the coast the
police helicopter was only just lifting off from
Woodvale
airfield. Its mission would be useless. The cars it had been sent up to follow
had already dispersed and its time spent searching would be futile.

Approaching the former college, Fraser slowed
and pulled onto the grass verge. The rest of the cavalcade continued past, each
knowing his or her allotted task, the whole operation moving like a well oiled
machine. Except for the three vans and the Jaguar of DI Davies, which pulled
onto the verge behind Radcliffe and Fraser, each vehicle turned and passed
between the huge stone gateposts to disappear into the college estate. Beyond
their view, using one of the many access roads on the estate, the convoy took a
right turn off the driveway to run past the impressive frontage of the main
building. The further they drove, the shorter the convoy became, as each
vehicle stopped at its predetermined point, until all access points from the
estate were covered.

With all the vehicles out of sight, Fraser
re-started the ignition in anticipation of their own move forward. Waiting
wasn’t easy for either of them, both he and his inspector eager to move on to
the next phase of the operation. Seconds ticked away far too slowly for
Radcliffe, who felt the responsibility for the mission as he waited for the
signal that all his officers had taken up their allotted positions
successfully.

The silence in the car seemed to slow the
passage of time. Neither man could do anything until the signal came, but with
no traffic on the isolated road and all his men hidden from view, Radcliffe
felt that his powers of sight and sound had been severed.

A sudden tap on his side window surprised him
and he jerked in response, as his door was pulled open.

‘What’s the problem?’ asked DI Davies, bending
down to face his colleague. ‘Why did you rush off from the mere? I was on my
way there when I got a message from
Lescott
to meet
here instead and I had to about turn.’

Before he could answer, a brief rush of static
on the car radio had Radcliffe and Fraser craning forward to listen and Davies
leaning in through the open door. The announcement, ‘C-Two in place,’ was
crystal clear. The operation was at last ramping up.

Now wasn’t the time to engage in chitchat.
‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Radcliffe as Davies pulled back out of the car.
‘Best get back to your car Frank, we are about to go in,’ adding, ‘when the
vans tuck in, jump ahead and keep with us, we’ll do this together.’

Davies sprinted back to his car as Fraser
inched the car off the verge. Checking his mirrors he saw the three vans and
the Jaguar following suit, the little group quickly covering the short distance
to the entrance gates. Once on the driveway the vans pulled off once again,
Davies’ Jaguar falling in behind the Vauxhall.

Passing the right turn, Radcliffe glanced along
the front of the building. His men were in-place and waiting. So far so good.
Driving slowly to keep their arrival as quiet as possible, the two cars
continued along the side wing of the building to where the driveway narrowed as
it passed the little chapel close to which, on his earlier visit, Simon
Charlton had parked his car. An ideal place to block the final exit point, they
left their cars across the narrow access and made their way stealthily on foot
to the far end of the chapel wall.

Looking cautiously around the gable, Radcliffe
could see the building Charlton had described as the car store. Charlton’s
groundwork had been impressive and Radcliffe wished that some of his own
officers, though competent, had similar powers of observation and used their
initiative to the same extent. As well as the list of registration numbers, the
investigator had also passed over digital photographs and identified individual
buildings on Google satellite imagery. Overall, Radcliffe had been able to plan
the operation without additional covert observation and what he was now looking
at seemed already familiar, so well had Charlton’s work helped him prepare.