Jim's Revenge, page 15
“What d’you think I’m going to do?” Mick replied. Glancing at the plate, he added, “Seems too good to waste. Where’s this car park anyway?”
“A hundred yards away,” Ian said. “I’ll find the keys and come with you.”
Gerry glanced up, “Don’t get caught.”
Ian when into the hall and glanced into the lounge; his Grandpa had fallen asleep, mouth open and the Tipham Star still in hand but threatening to fall onto the floor.
Jim had a small key-rack in the hall where he kept all his keys, so it was easy to find the set neatly labelled Slobend, Fleecem & Skinem car park.
Mick said, “I don’t suppose you’ve got a screwdriver, have you?”
Ian nodded. Jim kept a load of old tools in one of the kitchen drawers. Ian extracted a few screwdrivers of various sizes and handed them to Mick.
Mick grinned, “See you shortly.”
“No, you won’t!” Ian objected. “I said, I was coming with you.”
“Okay,” Mick agreed, “If you really want to.”
“I want to.”
They let themselves out and quietly shut the front door behind them. Striding towards the car park, Ian glanced around. Other than a few window shoppers, the centre of Tipham was virtually deserted but it wasn’t surprising. Four superstores had opened on nearby retail parks so most of the available trade had been siphoned off. It had left the centre of Tipham a virtual ghost town; the only parts of the old town fighting back were pubs and restaurants inhabiting the so-called cultural centre which had mainly been pedestrianised.
Tupal’s car was the only one in the car park and the sign on the wall said, P Tupal; there could be little doubt about ownership.
Mick grinned. As the car wasn’t parked hard against the wall, there was some access to the front but when he attempted to squeeze into the gap, he couldn’t. He was too big.
Being slimmer, Ian managed to get in. Stooping down, Ian unscrewed the front number plate and handed it to Mick who put it in his duffle bag. Mick handed over the fake number plate and Ian screwed it home.
Job done, they left the car park and locked the gate behind them.
They’d just crossed the road when a car screeched to a halt alongside the gate they’d just locked.
Fearing the worst, Ian was about to take to his heels, but Mick grabbed him by the shoulder and checked him, “Don’t run. It looks suspicious.”
He nodded towards a recessed doorway and casually moved towards it. Ian followed him and they looked towards the car. There were two men inside and they appeared to be having a heated debate.
~*~
Rheingold turned the engine off and looked at Tupal. “I don’t think this is a good idea, mate. Taking the car is bad enough, but if you do a bunk, Flechley will go ballistic.”
Tupal’s response was obstinate as usual, “I’m off on holiday. I’m going away. I need my car.”
“You’ll really wind up Morgan Flechley if you do a disappearing act,” Rheingold snapped. “Have you forgotten that Big Al nearly killed you this morning?”
“Bugger Flechley,” Tupal growled defiantly. “He doesn’t scare me.”
Rheingold tried another tack, “You’re probably still drunk. You’re in no fit state to drive.”
Tupal gave him a glazed look, which confirmed Rheingold’s worst fears.
“Be sensible!” Rheingold tried again. “You’re in no fit state to drive and Flinnett will throw the book at you if you take the car.”
Tupal shook his head, “He knows if he does, I’ll let his wife know about his little love nest and his world will come crashing down around him. I’ve got him by the short and curlies.”
Rheingold shook his head disbelievingly. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”
“Now you understand,” Tupal said. “I’ve made my mind up and I’m not listening!” Clicking his fingers, he added, “Give me the key so I can get in.”
“What’s the point?” Rheingold quibbled. “Even if you get in, you can’t drive your car. You said Flinnett took your keys.”
Tupal felt in his pocket and waggled a set of keys in mid-air. “There’s a spare set and I’ve got ‘em.”
Still concerned, Rheingold said, “D’you want me to hang around in case there’s a problem.”
“I only dented the front of the car,” Tupal replied. “It’ll start like a dream. It always does. You may as well head off, there won’t be a problem.”
Climbing out, he shouted out, “See you and the gang later on at the Red Lion.”
Once Rheingold’s car had disappeared from view, Tupal walked towards the car park gates but he made no attempt to open up because he caught a glimpse of his bête noire; Moira Buckle was only ten feet away, walking towards him with her eyes down, deep in thought. It was apparent she hadn’t seen him.
Swiftly unlocking the car park gate, Tupal let it swing open and lunged at Moira as she passed, dragging her into the car park.
Kicking the gate shut with one foot, he gave her an evil grin. “Well, well, well. Isn’t this a nice surprise?”
“Leave me alone,” Moira squealed.
“You’ll be pleased to know I’ve got my phone back,” Tupal growled. “But as you posted it back to me, you know that, don’t you?”
“I didn’t take your phone,” Moira said. “And I didn’t post it back to you.”
“Yes, you did,” Tupal contradicted. “And we both know you did. We also know why you did it, don’t we? You wanted to destroy my pictures of you in the buff.”
He grinned again, “I hope you realise I can’t let your crime go unpunished, now can I?”
Moira reacted by struggling, but her attempts to escape were futile. She felt Tupal attempting to undo the belt on her jeans. Fearing the worst, she fought harder, but her efforts were rewarded by a punch to the side of her head.
Tupal said, “If you don’t co-operate, I’ll thrash the living daylights out of you. Understand?”
Tears leaked from Moira’s eyes. She felt dizzy and sick from the blow and from fear. “Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t take your phone. I’ve not done anything wrong.”
Ignoring her pleas, Tupal tugged at her belt again. When it came loose, he pushed at her jeans until they were around her thighs. Forcing her against the wall, he began pulling at her underwear.
Knowing what was about to happen, Moira squealed and began struggling again, oblivious of the rough edges of the wall scraping into her back.
“No, please don’t, please don’t, please don’t,” she whimpered.
Annoyed by her resistance, Tupal grabbed her throat and balled his other fist but before he made contact with Moira’s face, something caught his hand.
Swivelling round, still holding Moira by the throat, Tupal saw Mick towering over him.
Instead of releasing his hold on Moira, he shouted, “Who the fuck are you and what d’you want?”
Mick let his huge fist reply.
Tupal hit the wall and slid to the ground. Moira, sobbing, swiftly pulled her jeans up, never taking her eyes off Tupal. She realised he wasn’t moving.
“He’s not dead, is he?”
Ian moved towards the fallen man and took a closer look.
Moira repeated, “He’s not dead, is he?”
When Tupal groaned, Ian said, “He’s not dead. D’you think we should call the police? He was trying to rape you.”
Moira shook her head, “No police. I don’t trust them.”
“Are you sure?
“Yes.”
Mick said, “Come on. Let’s get out of here before he recovers.”
Glancing back at Tupal, Mick decided to close the gate, but he didn’t lock it. He looked at his hand, it was bleeding.
Showing his injuries to Ian, he said, “I think I hit Tupal in the teeth.”
~*~
Jim woke when the Tipham Star finally slid to the floor. Noticing that Moira had disappeared, he glanced around but there was no sign of her. Although her absence concerned him, Jim still bent to pick up his paper. Hearing strange noises coming from the spare room, he changed his mind and went to investigate. He was surprised to find Gerry on his own.
“Where are the others?”
“They went out about a quarter of an hour ago and I haven’t seen them since,” Gerry replied, eyes glued to the screen. “But I don’t mind because I work faster on my own.”
Jim’s old fears returned, “What exactly are you doing, Gerry?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m doing if you level with me,” Gerry said. He placed Tim Pearson’s card on the dressing table.
“Where did you get that?”
“It was on the floor,” Gerry said. “I found it on Monday, the first time I came here. You must have dropped it.”
“Yes,” Jim agreed. “I must have dropped it.”
“It says he’s a detective inspector. So, what’s going on?”
“I met him by chance,” Jim said, “In a pub. He came over while I was talking to Simon Rand, who runs the training centre next to Slobend, Fleecem & Skinnem.”
“Is that it?” Gerry said.
“More or less,” Jim said.
“So a detective inspector you don’t know from Adam just walks up to you and gives you his card. Come on, Jim, d’you think I was born yesterday?” Gerry replied. “Why did he give you his card?”
“If it’s any of your business,” Jim snapped, “he heard me talking about the people I work with. He mentioned that he suspected two of the people working at Slobend, Fleecem & Skinnem might be connected to a local drugs baron. He was hoping I might be able to find some evidence against them; I suppose.”
“What local drugs baron?”
“I don’t remember his name,” Jim said.
“It wasn’t Morgan Flechley by any chance?” Gerry said.
“Yes,” Jim said. “That’s him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You never asked,” Jim said. “And I’d almost forgotten meeting Tim Pearson until you showed me his card.”
When Gerry went silent, Jim repeated his own question, “So, what exactly are you doing, Gerry?”
“I’m going to help you get your revenge Jim,” Gerry said. He tapped Tim Pearson’s card. “In return, you are going to help me get my revenge.”
“What’s your revenge?”
“Getting Morgan Flechley’s son off my back and paying him back with interest,” Gerry replied and told Jim about being forced to deliver drugs for Brian Flechley.
Gerry added, “As you have a police officer who’s hoping you’ll feed him information, Tim Pearson could be very useful to me.”
“What information can you give me to give to him?” Jim said.
In response, Gerry tapped a few keys and images appeared on the screen and a man started talking.
“We’re likely to have visitors tomorrow. So let’s get set up.”
Jim frowned, “What are we watching?”
“This is Morgan Flechley’s house just before a police raid,” Gerry said. “The grey-haired guy with the ponytail is Morgan Flechley. The other guy is called Big Al. Morgan Flechley’s just had a phone call. My guess, he’s got a police informer on his payroll.”
“What are they doing?”
“They are removing all the real computers and installing old ones for the police to take when they raid the house,” Gerry explained.
“How did you get these images?” Jim asked.
Gerry gave him a slight smile, “Probably better you don’t know. Can I continue?”
When Jim nodded, the on-screen image of Flechley said, “Okay. Get a large shopping bag and two dummy computers for upstairs.”
“Now watch this,” Gerry said and began tapping keys again. The images inside Flechley’s house moved forward. Flechley walked over to a storage cupboard and pushed a button. In response, the computer server turned around and disappeared into a fake chimney stack.
Big Al’s eyebrows rose, “Did Billy Hufton make that as well?”
Flechley nodded, “Looks like a chimney, doesn’t it?”
“It sure does,” Big Al admitted.
Flechley said, “Even the police would think twice before smashing a hole in a chimney stack.”
As Gerry froze the images, Jim frowned again, “So what happened then?”
“My guess is, that was Flechley’s server,” Gerry explained. “A special computer designed to take in information from other computers. There’s no doubting that Flechley is big time. His builder, Billy Hufton, has put the server on a turntable and it can disguise where the server is. When it’s turned, the back looks like a chimney.”
“Why has he done all that?” Jim queried.
“To throw the police off the scent if they raid his house,” Gerry said, “Which they appear to have done recently.”
Tapping keys again, he set the images rolling. He pointed to a date on the screen, “It would appear the police raided Morgan Flechley’s house a few weeks ago.”
They watched images of computers being loaded into a police van.
Gerry continued, “The police grabbed his computers but as Flechley called them dummies they were probably second-hand machines he’d bought up as a job lot. There are a lot of companies selling second-hand computers. You can buy them dirt cheap. Flechley probably guessed the police would just grab them because they were on display. It’s unlikely the police will find anything incriminating on them.”
“So, the police raid was a waste of time,” Jim said.
Gerry nodded and began tapping again. This time pornographic images came up. “As you saw, the server is hidden but I managed to gain access to Brian Flechley’s real computer. As you can see, he likes his porn does our Brian.”
“Who’s Brian Flechley?”
“Morgan Flechley’s son, the arsehole who’s bullying me into delivering his drugs,” Gerry said.
“So, the son’s in this too,” Jim said, “And peddling drugs at school.”
“Sure is,” Gerry confirmed. “Hook ‘em young and keep ‘em hooked is the family motto.”
Tapping a few more keys, Gerry began displaying domestic images. “It would seem that the whole of Morgan Flechley’s house has cameras installed. It would also seem that Brian has found a way to access the camera system and is watching what’s going on.”
“This Brian must be a bright kid then.”
“Correction,” Gerry replied. “He’s far from being bright. He’s just cunning. His father’s probably the same. I’ve no doubt Brian Flechley paid someone to hook him into the home security system and encrypt his files.”
Clicking keys again, Gerry flicked through a series of still photographs. “Tell me if there is anyone you recognise.”
Within a few seconds, Jim said, “That’s Tupal and Rheingold. The guys Tim Pearson think are working for Morgan Flechley.”
Clicking keys again, an image of keys being handed over came up on screen.
Gerry said, “My father has a storage room to keep all his old files in. I recognise the key fob. I think Morgan Flechley is using a local storage facility as a dead drop.”
“Dead drop?”
“Drugs are left by one person and picked up from the storage box by people like Tupal and Rheingold. No doubt the storage box is rented out under a false name.”
“Why is Brian Flechley spying on his own family?”
“Because he can,” Gerry surmised. “And because he’s obviously a voyeur. I’m not going to show you, but I’ve got images of his father in bed with a woman, either his wife or girlfriend.”
Tapping a few more keys, Gerry said, “Watch this. This only happened an hour or so ago.”
As Urquhart Crow came into view, Jim said. “Who’s that?”
Gerry said, “I don’t know for sure, but I think he’s called Urquhart Crow.”
“You think?
Making the image on the screen enlarge and rotate, Gerry homed in on the title block on one of the plans on the table. In large letters, the title block was headed, Urquhart Crow Associates.
Gerry said, “I looked him up. The company does exist. Now watch and listen.”
~*~
Urquhart Crow walked into Morgan Flechley’s Living Room. “One of these days a planning enforcement officer is going to descend on this place and cause you real problems,” he said.
“I really don’t know what you mean,” Flechley replied.
“Your new extension,” Crow said.
“New extension?” Flechley replied. “What new extension?”
Crow let out a sigh. “Why did you want to see me, Morgan?”
When Flechley waved towards the plans he’d laid out on the table, Crow said, “Not this again.”
“We’ve made a lot of progress since your last assessment,” Flechley replied.
“What progress?”
Flechley pointed to the plan on the table and circled the only other house in the vicinity. “This belongs to the guy who refused to sell us the land we needed to open up our site.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I’ve managed to do a deal with his relatives,” Flechley said. He ran a finger down the long thin strip of land in question. “I’m expecting the land to be mine, or should I say an associate’s, in a few weeks. I’ll then have all the access I need. So I need you to get a planning submission into the local council as soon as possible.”
Crow said, “An associate?”
“An overseas buyer who owes me a few favours,” Flechley revealed.
“Why did you get someone to buy it?”
“Mike Ellerby’s relatives know that he never wanted to sell to me,” Flechley said. “Getting someone to buy it for me and then re-sell it was a way around the problem.”
“You said his relatives,” Crow said. “How come his relatives are selling?”
“Surely you know,” Flechley replied.
“Know what?”
“Mike Ellerby committed suicide about a year ago,” Flechley replied. “Since his relatives obtained probate, they’ve been only too keen to do a deal. They’re hungry for the money. Sad though it is, Mike Ellerby’s death was a real stroke of luck for me.”
“Why did he commit suicide?”
“How would I know?”
~*~
As the sequence came to an end, Jim frowned again, indicating he hadn’t understood the significance of what he’d just seen and heard.
