Wolf: Freezing Hill Lane, page 2
‘All dead now though.’ Malloy chirped up as he turned to face Punt. ‘Don’t get men like that anymore son. Pure bloody role models, how real men should be.’
Punt said nothing as he slid out of the refuse truck. With a deep sigh he looked skywards. The yearning for Australia and a new start had never been so great.
‘Here.’ The thin man, his roll up cigarette now burning away handed Punt a crowbar.
Standing by the front door of fifty seven Freezing Hill Lane, Roland held it in his gloved hand, it was heavy.
‘That’s not for prising anything open mind.’ The thin man went inside. ‘It’s to twat any rats that come our way.
Punt shivered at the thought. Bloody rats! He hated the filthy vermin.
Following the ember of the cigarette glowing in the gloominess of the deserted house, Punt went upstairs.
Standing on the landing he could see two other figures.
‘You take that bedroom with Malloy.’ Jacobs ordered the thinner man. ‘Me and the young un will take this one.’
Before Punt could ask any questions his boss had disappeared into the back bedroom.
Jacobs was already at work. Opening the bedroom window he shoved all the bedding through the small gap and watched as the heavily stained duvet hit the patio.
‘That’s the easy part.’ He smiled at Punt. ‘Now let’s work up a thirst.’ He pointed to the large oak wardrobe sat in the alcove.
‘Maybe I will order a Bowella if I work hard enough.’ He wasn’t sure if Jacobs would detect his hint of sarcasm.
‘Don’t try and be funny sonny. You’ll never be man enough to drink a Bowella. Stick to your girly Alcopops. it just about sums up your generation. ’
Punt smirked as his boss turned away from him. He was just glad he would never turn out like him. Working class sentiment was fine but making heroes out of men who spent their lives in the pub whilst their families suffered, that was just misguided and sad. He actually pitied him.
‘Don’t just stand there, give me a fucking hand!’ Jacobs growled as he attempted to drag the wardrobe from the alcove.
Punt moved forward but could see the bottom of the oak panel was caught on the threadbare carpet. Before he could warn Jacobs the wardrobe started to twist.
‘What the fuck?’ The big man lost his grip and the heavy wooden wardrobe crashed to floor landing on its side.
Punt jumped backwards as the dust caught his throat and he started to cough. Then the smell hit him. ‘What is that?’ He spluttered.
Jacobs started screaming, not a low bellow but a high pitched screech. Lying across his work boots was a naked arm and at the end was a bloodied stump.
Punt was more shocked at the noise emanating from his burly bosses mouth. ‘Have you broken your foot?’ He asked.
Roland still hadn’t seen the dead body.
Jacobs stumbled towards the window trying to kick off the lifeless limb. Still screaming he just pointed at the floor.
Punt edged around the old oak wardrobe to see what was causing the commotion.
He wished he hadn’t. There on the carpet was a corpse of a man. Both his head and hands were missing. He looked up at Jacobs who was still flapping about.
‘We better call the police!’ Punt then turned his head. The grizzly sight was starting to turn his stomach.
Jacobs was still too scared to talk. Whimpering like a child he just nodded rapidly in agreement.
Chapter Two
Detective Chief Inspector Harry Fullerton massaged his temples. Too much scotch and too little sleep, he was now paying the price.
He glanced down as he sat behind his desk. His stomach looked as if it would burst through his tightly buttoned shirt. Too many take aways.
The overflowing ashtray next to the No Smoking sign was yet another reminder of his unhealthy lifestyle. Harry knew he only had about three or four years left in him, at fifty eight he was on borrowed time.
Gazing out of his office window he clapped eyes on someone who instantly made him suck in his stomach.
Walking towards his door was Detective Sergeant Easter Perfect. Her long brown legs glided across the room as she neared the office. Standing at five feet ten, the twenty five year old slender body moved with poise and elegance. Of Welsh and Somali parentage she wouldn’t have looked out of place at any catwalk in Paris of Milan.
If only he was fifteen years younger.
DS Perfect tapped the glass door.
‘Enter.’ Harry waved her in as he spoke.
‘You wanted to see me sir?’ Easter sat down on the chair opposite her boss.
‘Two bodies have been found.’ He paused as he sifted through some scrap bits of paper that littered his desk. ‘Ah, here we are. Two white male bodies have been found on Freezing Hill Lane, Whitchurch.’
‘Together?’ She enquired eyebrows raised.
‘No, different locations. I don’t have the exact details.’ He shuffled some larger sheets of paper around slightly embarrassed he didn’t have all the relevant information.
‘Shall I ask Max?’ Easter knew the score. She was use to her boss and the muddled way he worked. If you didn’t know him you would think he was incompetent but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He was one of the best detectives South Wales had known. Granted at this present time he was weighed down with bureaucracy, plus the last few years had seen massive changes to the force. Still, if you needed any advice he was the first person and young officer would seek out.
DCI Fullerton was now stuck behind a desk eating and drinking himself to death. It was sad but a sign of the times. He was too useful to be on the frontline.
‘Yes, yes. Max will have all the details.’ DCI Fullerton fumbled for his cigarettes.
Easter Perfect looked around to see DC Max Sterling banging away on his keyboard. If you needed to know anything about any on-going case then the young detective constable was your go-to guy.
‘Can I take anyone?’ She asked.
Harry Fullerton sighed. ‘You know that’s like asking for rocking horse shit.’
‘I can’t investigate a double murder on my own, can I?’DS Perfect was fed up of having to beg for anything that would actually help. ‘I should have a Detective Inspector leading the case, I’m just a fucking Sergeant.’
‘My hands are tied.’ Harry placed the cigarette between his lips, the touch of the filter paper made his heart race. ‘The Civil Guard will be there no doubt. You can use one of them.’
Easter folded her arms unimpressed with his answer. ‘I don’t need any part time Bobbies poking their untrained fingers all over my corpses.’
‘Now, now, without them we wouldn’t have a force.’ He smiled as he picked up his disposable lighter. He knew that the regular officers, what little of them there were left despised the Civil Guard.
‘We would be more efficient without them.’ The DS rolled her eyes. ‘If you actually went through the correct procedures then I might actually have a chance of making a DI. Then we wouldn’t have this problem.’
‘Look, it’s not my fault the country has gone into melt down. Budgets have been slashed; crime has gone through the roof.’ Harry passed the lighter from hand to hand. ‘Most of the fucking city is under siege, we even have a god damn curfew. Would you have believed that five years ago?’
‘No.’ Easter knew her boss had a point. Outside in the real world it was grim. Still, she was ambitious and was already leading most of the cases that fell her way.
Ever since the first coalition government fell apart at the end of their first term the UK had gone to pot. Most of the planet was now in some sort of disarray and the promised end to the worldwide recession never came.
The streets of Cardiff were now awash with crime and organised gangs. If any commodity was worth anything, then someone was selling it from the street. From drugs to apples, guns to clothes.
The shelves of the main superstores were half empty but the lock ups of the criminal consortiums were bulging with the fruits of the black market.
The Civil Guard were formed only a few years ago and consisted of volunteers who wanted to help the police clean up the streets.
At first the constabulary resisted all attempts to work alongside the Civil Guard but after the third government collapse, plus the nationwide riots that ensued they had no choice but to join forces.
Most of the Civil Guard were pretty useless, busy bodies that got in the way. A few could actually be helpful, they were mainly part time coppers left over from the old system.
Many of the police that remained in employment resented working with the part time force. Most of them were used as security guards, bodies on the street to try and regain some law and order. The few that did work directly with the police found they weren’t really wanted.
It was a shit state of affairs and DS Perfect knew it.
‘Can I take Sterling with me?’ She put on her best smile to try and soften her old boss.
Harry Fullerton smirked back. ‘Being flirtatious will get you everywhere.’
‘Thanks boss.’ She stood up
‘He looks a bit pale anyhow, like one of those little slugs you find under a rock. You know.’ DCI Fullerton started to chuckle to himself. ‘You know the ones that never see the light of day. He’s always in this bloody office anyhow, staring at that damn computer screen.’ He slammed his fist onto his desk and shouted. ‘Save his scrawny arse, get him out into the sunlight!’
‘Don’t worry boss, I will look after him.’ DS Perfect laughed as she went to leave the office.
‘Hang on, don’t be so hasty.’ Her boss held out a scrap piece of paper with a phone number scribbled on it.
Easter took it off him. ‘What’s this?’
‘Call the Wolf.’
Easter’s eyes widened. ‘The Wolf?’
‘Yes.’ Fullerton nodded. ‘We might need him on this one.’
‘I though he was working with Gwent police?’
‘He was.’ Fullerton clicked on his lighter. ‘He’s back, and he’s a DI.’
DS Perfect knew it must have been an important case. Fullerton only called the Wolf in emergencies. She looked down at the scribbled number that was next to his name and his Civil Guard number, 808. ‘I’ll call him right away sir.’
Chapter Three
Chris Wells opened the door that led into the Goat Major public house. The warmth of his favourite pub made him feel safe; it was like a home from home.
He looked over to the far corner of the bar. There underneath the wall mounted television was his best mate Ben Thatcher. He was sat in one of the large green leather armchairs, pint of Brains Dark in his hand watching the news channel. A second pint of dark was resting on the table next to him, waiting for its owner.
Chris bounded over and nudged the chair. ‘What’s happening mate?’
Ben swung around with a smile. ‘If it isn’t the stag in waiting.’ He them motioned with his hand to the pint that he had bought his best friend.
‘Thank you very much.’ Chris picked up the chilled glass and looked at it for a few seconds. ‘Black gold.’ He then brought the glass up to his lips and took two mighty gulps. He licked his lips. ‘Christ that’s good.’
‘It is a tasty pint my friend, you don’t have to call me Christ though.’ Ben grinned.
Chris sat down careful not to spill a drop. 'Okay then messiah.’ He winked. ‘What’s with all the secrecy?’
‘Secrecy?’ Ben pretended he didn’t understand.
‘The cloak and dagger message I had off you earlier.’ Chris pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. He started to read the text. ‘Meet me in the Goat, on your own, midday.’ He looked back to his friend with raised eyebrows.
Ben smirked. ‘That’s not cloak and dagger.’
‘I’m supposed to be picking favours. Kelly is not impressed I have sloped out for an hour.’
‘What the fuck are favours?’ Ben looked bemused. ‘The ones you give sailors down the docks?’
Chris nearly chocked mid gulp. ‘No you idiot! Favours for the tables, the wedding reception.’
‘Whoa, now matey boy.’ Ben raised his right hand so his palm faced his friend. ‘I thought the ‘W’ word was banned from all ale houses in and around the Cardiff area.’
Chris laughed. ‘Yes, sorry. That was the agreement.’
Ben wagged his finger. ‘I will let you off this time, only because I gave you short notice though, but no more wedding talk.’
Chris took another big swig. ‘So what’s it about?’
His mate smiled with mischief.’ The secret stag my friend, the secret stag.’ He then drained his pint and slid the empty pint glass it over to his pal. ‘Get the pints in first though, be a good boy.’
Chris stood at the bar. He caressed the polished oak surface and picked up a beer mat. His life was about to change. He was soon to be married; he would have to settle down a bit.
His bride to be, Kelly was a catch. All his mates fancied her; he could tell that by the way they acted around her. She was beautiful on the outside but more importantly she was more beautiful on the inside.
He wasn’t nervous about the big day. He couldn’t wait. Chris felt warm inside, he knew he was doing the right thing.
Two pints appeared in front of him. Chris handed over a ten pound note. He glanced over to Ben. He needed to find him a girl like Kelly. It would make things easier. Maybe then he wouldn’t nag about going out so much.
That was all in the future though, now it was all about the impending stag weekend.
With quiet trepidation Chris sat back down next to his mate. ‘Come on then, spill the beans.’
Ben picked up his pint and winked. ‘All in good time.’
Chris shook his head. ‘I haven’t got much time.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I have to go and..’ He stopped himself.
‘Yeah, yeah I know. Giving favours for sailors.’ Ben placed his pint back onto the paper beer mat. ‘You and Kelly do really lead a kinky love life.’
Chris wasn’t going to take the bait. ‘Just tell me what’s happening dick head.’
Ben laughed. ‘Okay, okay. Lee Spicer is organising a paint balling weekend with a difference.’
Chris sighed. ‘Spicer, why?’
‘I know.’ Ben knew his mate wouldn’t be best pleased Lee Spicer was organising the stag. They weren’t the best of mates. Clash of personalities, Lee could be brash and loud and that wasn’t really Chris’s bag. ‘He has the contacts though mate.’
‘Fuck the contacts. Why is he even coming?
‘Because he’s alright really. He does organise a good party. Come on mate it’s going to be epic.’ Ben patted his mate on the arm.
Chris took a sip of his pint. Ben was right. Spicer does know how to throw a good stag weekend. ‘I’m not rooming with him though.’
‘No, of course not mate. That will be us two. It’s a given, I’m your best man, your best mate. We are used to each others smells and things.’
‘And no stripping me off and parading me about like some fucking freak show.’
‘Of course not.’ Ben could see his mate was getting on board. ‘ We are a bit too classy for that. We’re not schoolboys.’
‘You’re in charge.’ Chris pointed at his best man. ‘Spicer can organise the entertainment but you’re in charge. Okay?’
‘Okay.’ Ben grinned and gave his best pal another wink. ‘I won’t let anyone harm a hair on your pretty little head.’
‘Where is this paint balling place? London? Manchester?’ Chris could now feel the first stirrings of excitement.
‘The Vale.’ Ben took a swig.
‘The vale!’ Chris shouted. ‘Of Glamorgan?’
‘Yes.’
‘As in twenty minutes away?’
‘Yes.’ Ben added sheepishly.
‘For fucks sake. We might as well walk there. What’s the point in that?’
Ben leant forward. ‘Look, it’s supposed to be all hush, hush but apparently this little expedition is by appointment only. All the elite go there. A huge country manor house, a retreat. Spicer said it will blow our minds.’
Chris was a little crestfallen. The Vale of Glamorgan wasn’t what he had in mind. It wasn’t Amsterdam. ‘It better be good?’
‘Spicer says it’s going to be the best stag weekend ever. And you love paint balling.’
Chris looked at his mate. Fucking Spicer, he always had to get in the act. ‘I do love paint balling.’ Chris took another sip of his pint. ‘Okay, I trust you. Not Spicer, you. This better be the stag to end all stags.’
‘You know it will matey, it’s going down in history.’ Ben held up his pint glass.
Chris touched his pint glass with his best pals. ‘I’ll drink to that.’
As they drunk their Brains Dark their minds were taken to all the sirens whizzing past the pub.
‘Must be another riot.’ Chris stood up to see the police cars screeching around Cardiff Castle and heading for Manor Way.
‘This country is going to the dogs.’ Ben tutted.
‘The whole planet is going to the dogs mate.’ Chris added. ‘This is what happened when greed takes a hold on society. Greed and gluttony. It’s only what humanity deserves, a full melt down. Then with any hope, a chance to wipe the slate clean.’
Ben looked at his mate. That was a bit deep, even for him.
Chapter Four
DS Easter Perfect pulled up the police tape and crossed under the line into the incident zone.
Two men in white paper boiler suits and dust masks were stood near the skip of 122 Freezing Hill Lane.
Perfect nodded as she showed them her police ID card and badge. She then made her way to the police officer who was peering into the skip and looking at the body.
‘Alright Sarg.’ She said in her deep Cardiff accent as she stood next to him.
‘Ah, DS Perfect. Your lovely smile has brightened up my day.’ Sergeant Wilson knew Easter well.
‘Cut your crap Sarg, I haven’t got time to play silly bollocks. What do you think to all this, cock or cash?’ DS Perfect looked into the skip and then waved DC Max Sterling over.
