Justice: A British Crime Thriller, page 1
JUSTICE
‘SUMMARY JUSTICE’ SERIES - BOOK 6
THEO HARRIS
Justice
Book 6 of the ‘Summary Justice’ series
Copyright © 2023 by Theo Harris
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 979-8-865525-20-2 paperback
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, places of learning, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Linda Nagle
Cover art by Keith Johnston (Keith Draws Cover Art)
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Theo Harris
PROLOGUE
Thirty years ago, London
‘Goodnight, princess.’ Amy March leaned down into the cot and kissed her baby on the cheek.
She stroked Kendra’s warm face and pulled the woollen blanket over her, leaving just her chubby face exposed. The baby yawned and smiled, struggling to keep her eyes open as her mother looked down at her.
‘I can’t believe you’re already nine months old, you’ll be running around in no time,’ Amy said, imagining her daughter as a tiny toddler, running around at full speed and wreaking havoc.
Talking to the baby always made her settle faster, and tonight was no exception.
Amy smiled as the baby finally stopped resisting and closed her eyes, continuing to smile ever so slightly as she slept. Amy stroked her little face once more and then left the small room, turning the light off on the way out and keeping the door slightly ajar.
Thank God for giving me a baby who loves to sleep through the night, she thought as she went downstairs.
In the kitchen, she made herself a cup of chamomile tea, a nightly ritual that helped her rest well during the night, before relaxing on the sofa in the lounge. The three-bedroomed end-terrace was less than ten years old and had been theirs for just twelve months. The minute she and Trevor had stepped foot inside to view it, Amy had smiled and turned to her beloved husband, nodding enthusiastically.
‘This is the one, love,’ she had whispered.
‘Then this one it shall be,’ he had replied, kissing her gently on the lips and holding her hands against her slightly swollen tummy.
Their offer had been accepted and they’d moved in ten weeks later. Trevor, a soldier in the British Army, worked tirelessly during the few occasions he was on leave, making sure that all the work was done in time for the baby’s arrival. The house was ready with a week to spare, so when they arrived back from the hospital with baby Kendra it was a fresh new home for them, one to enjoy and cherish for many years to come.
Amy smiled at the memory, taking a sip of her tea as she thought fondly of her husband. Their attraction had been instantaneous; they’d met at an outdoor concert. He was with a group of squaddie friends and she with her cousin Tracey. They’d started dating and had known within weeks that they wanted to be together. It was a whirlwind, intensely romantic courtship, leading to disapproval from her father, and suggested restraint from Trevor’s parents. They neither listened nor cared.
Only one thing bothered her, and that was the amount of time Trevor was spending away from home, and the worrying effect it had been having on him. He rarely spoke about his work, and she knew better than to ask too many questions. The last few times they had spoken had been a little strange; tense, almost, as if something were playing on his mind. Amy hoped that whatever it was that was distracting him so much would pass and they could go away for a much-needed holiday. She closed her eyes and dozed off, dreaming of a sandy beach and imagining the sound of waves.
Her dream then changed from the sandy beach to a darker moment from a week earlier when she had heard someone trying to get into the house. She had quietly taken the baby and hidden in the loft, but only after calling the police and a nearby friend. She wanted someone, whoever it may be, to come quickly. The police sirens had alerted the supposed intruders and they had fled in a car. Luckily, the friend, Charlie, had arrived in time to see the car speeding away. He had taken the registration number down and given it to the police. Unfortunately, the number had either been written down incorrectly or was a fake plate, so it wasn’t traceable. The police did not investigate further, and as there was no sign of attempted or forced entry, the matter was quickly closed. The police told Amy and Charlie that they suspected a group of local teenagers whose MO was to post fireworks through people’s letterboxes or play other pranks they found amusing.
It was the sound of the squeaky back door opening, the door from the kitchen to the garden, that woke her with a start. As she sat up and turned towards the sound, her dreams of the perfect holiday were shattered by the appearance of two intruders, one male and one female, who rushed her before she could do anything. The former, a tall but stockily built black man dressed in jeans and an unusually bright orange t-shirt, grabbed her by one of the arms. The latter, a tall, athletic white woman with dark-brown wavy hair and striking blue eyes, wearing a blue vest and brown shorts, grabbed the other.
‘Let go!’ Amy shouted, trying to wrestle free. Her immediate concern was for her sleeping baby; she prayed Kendra would do her usual thing and sleep through everything.
‘She’s a feisty one,’ the woman said with a laugh.
‘Yes, she is. Her man is gonna be happy that we found her safe and well, eh?’ The man’s gruff West Indian accent was a stark contrast to the woman’s American tones. For a split second, Amy thought them an odd couple to be here in northeast London.
‘Please… take whatever you want, just leave me alone,’ she pleaded.
‘Now why would we do that, pretty lady? We want to take you to your man, make sure he knows you’re safe and well with us,’ the man replied.
‘My man? What are you talking about?’ she said, ‘my husband is away working.’
‘You mean Tony? No, missy, he’s been with us all this time. He’s been a bad boy, you know, lots and lots of lies, so we found out who he really is and where he really lives and now, here we are!’ He laughed.
‘Tony? No, no, my partner’s name isn’t Tony, it’s Trevor,’ she pleaded again, praying they’d made a mistake.
‘We know, dear, we know,’ the woman said, smiling malevolently.
‘Time to go,’ the man said, pulling her towards the door.
‘No!’ Amy cried, wrenching her arm free from the woman. She lashed out and caught the man across the face with her fingernails, slashing the skin and drawing blood.
He held onto her arm with a vice-like grip and used his free hand to wipe the blood from his cheek. His eyes turned cold and angry, and as swift as a snake striking its victim, he backhanded her across the cheek.
Amy barely held onto consciousness as the vicious blow forced her back into the arms of the woman, who grabbed her again, this time holding on tighter.
‘Do that again, bitch, and he’ll rip your head off,’ she hissed.
They dragged her from the lounge to the adjoining kitchen and dining area and out of the back door that led to the garden. The man covered her mouth as they made their way down the garden path running along the side of the house and towards the front, rivulets of blood running down his cheek. Amy could see the gate had been left ajar and her heart sank when she saw a white van parked on her drive, blocking any view her neighbours may have had of her abduction. As they approached, the side door slid open and she was jostled into the back of the van where another man grabbed her and pinned her down while the woman taped her wrists behind her and stuffed a tea towel into her mouth, almost choking her.
‘There you go, that wasn’t too bad, was it?’ the first man said, now let’s go and find Trevor, shall we?’
‘Boss, haven’t you heard?’ the other, younger man said.
‘Heard what?’
‘He had a fight earlier with Banjo and ran off. I thought you knew. They can’t find him now and Banjo thinks he’s the police.’
‘Shit, that bastard. We need to phone the club and see if they’ve found him yet, let’s go.’
The younger man jumped into the driver’s seat while Amy’s captors stayed with her. The van moved off and was soon heading towards Hackney. They stopped by a telephone box soon after leaving the estate and the leader went to make a phone call. He was gone for a few minutes and returned angrier than ever.
‘That bastard boyfriend of yours is a policeman, a damned fifth-columnist, isn’t he?’ he shouted. ‘They just raided my club and took three of my men away!’ He lashed out with a foot, kicking Amy viciously in the side.
She screamed in pain, confused about what Trevor had gotten himself involved in.
‘Go screw yourself,’ she yelled. ‘He’s not a policeman but he is a real man—one who doesn’t beat women up.’
‘Is he, now? Well, let’s see how much of a man he’ll be when he finds out we have his woman, shall we?’ The man laughed.
The van drove off again and the boss whispered instructions to the driver. After just a couple of minutes they stopped, and the engine was switched off. It was dark outside and there was no passing traffic. When they opened the sliding door, Amy could see they were in a remote area with no housing and very little street lighting. When they yanked her out of the back of the van, she realised they were on a bridge that had recently been opened and which was part of a large construction project close to the M11.
‘I’m gonna ask you one more time,’ the man said, glaring into her eyes, ‘is your man a policeman?’
Amy knew she was in deep trouble and looked around for an escape. There was none. Her only option was to tell the man what she knew and hope that she’d be spared.
‘No,’ she whispered, ‘he’s not a policeman. He’s a soldier.’
The man looked at her and knew she was telling the truth.
‘A soldier, eh? Then what is he doing working for me in my club?’
‘I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me about his work, I thought he was posted up north somewhere,’ she replied truthfully. ‘ I think you’ve made a mistake. Please, just let me go. My man hasn’t done anything to you, I’m sure.’
The man nodded and his expression softened. He took out a penknife and for a moment Amy thought she was done for. She stepped back instinctively but the man grabbed her hands and cut through the tape tying them together, peeling it away from her wrists. She rubbed the skin to help the circulation.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
The man glared at her with his deep, cold eyes.
‘I don’t make mistakes,’ he said.
He suddenly picked Amy up by the waist and threw her over the side of the bridge. The forty-foot drop to the concrete below was fatal but didn’t kill Amy instantly. She struggled for breath and tried to move, to no avail. Her back was broken, and she couldn’t see out of one eye, so severe was the injury to her head. She lived for a few minutes, struggling the entire time to try to get up so she could get back to her sleeping baby daughter. She hoped Trevor would be back home soon to take her away. Away to the sandy beach she’d dreamed of.
A passing motorist found her lifeless body.
The inquest took place six weeks later, and the police investigation found no evidence of foul play. There was no sign of forced entry into the house, no sign of any struggle, just a couple of drops of blood on the carpet that could have been there for some while. The report suggested that the pressures of being a mum whose partner was not present to assist with the baby had brought on a mental breakdown that led to suicide. Trevor and Amy’s parents argued that this was not something she would have even considered; she was a strong-willed woman who wanted nothing more than to bring up their daughter.
What the report didn’t cover was the corrupt pathologist who was paid by the corrupt police detective covering up critical evidence such as the bruising on her side from the kick, which was reported incorrectly as an injury from the fall, and the evidence under Amy’s fingernails that would have linked her directly to the blood on the carpet, a small but significant detail which was omitted completely.
The inquest gave an open verdict, as there was insufficient evidence for any other. The coroner explained that despite the report, there was no evidence that Amy had had any mental health issues, nor were there any previous records of self-harm. He also said that despite Trevor’s insistence that there was foul play involved, there was no evidence to prove him right.
Amy March’s death was reported in the local papers as a suspected suicide, despite the open verdict. Very few people sent sympathy cards or gave support to Trevor or Amy’s parents, such was the stigma attached to mental health issues at that time. Trevor, distraught as he was, took Kendra to his parents, who gladly took her in and raised her. He sold their dream house and moved farther away, initially plunging into his work as an undercover operative in the British Army, which placed him in many dark, dangerous, and uncertain situations, before realising that his life had changed immeasurably, and that the army life was no longer for him. He resigned soon after.
The killers were never brought to justice.
1
It had been some time since Kendra had visited her beloved grandparents. Clive and Martha Giddings had brought her up after the death of her mother, a mother she could not remember. She was just nine months old when her father had turned up at their doorstep, tears streaming down his face, holding Kendra in one arm and a holdall filled with baby clothes in the other.
Kendra had nothing but the deepest love for them, they had been there for every important moment in her life, unlike Trevor. Since reuniting with him and finding out some of the reasons behind his absence, she now understood how much he had sacrificed to keep her safe. Clive and Martha were the best possible option for raising her while he still served as a soldier. Despite his resigning just a few months later, it was an easy decision to keep Kendra with his parents as he sought to make changes to his life. Sadly, his parents weren’t privy to the reasons for his absence from Kendra’s life, resulting in a strained relationship, particularly with Clive.
Martha opened the door and her eyes lit up when she saw her granddaughter.
‘Kendra, what a wonderful surprise! It’s been so long, darling, come in, come in,’ she said, her voice heightened in excitement. ‘Clive, you’ll never guess who’s here,’ she shouted.
‘Is it that damned courier again?’ came the response from the lounge. ‘Dammit, woman, how much more is there for you to order on that tablet of yours? Can’t you leave something for the rest of the country?’
‘Stop cursing, you miserable old man, and come and say hello to your granddaughter,’ Martha said, smiling at Kendra as she let her into the house. The hallway was, as always, spotlessly clean. The pale cream carpet was mostly covered by a Turkish rug, with a large ornate mirror on one wall and several framed pictures of the couple in their youth on the other, including one featuring a much younger, fresher-looking Trevor with Amy, holding their baby.
‘Did I hear correctly?’ Clive said as he came into the hallway still holding his newspaper, ‘did you say granddaughter?’
He swept Kendra up in a bear hug and lifted her off the ground, laughing. Kendra squealed in delight, remembering this having been their thing when she was a child.
‘Put me down, Pops, I’m not a kid anymore. You’ll do yourself some damage!’
‘Oh, sod that, it’d be worth it. How are you, my darling? It’s been way too long.’ Clive stroked her cheek fondly.
‘I know, and I’m sorry to you both. It’s been a very strange year, and I can’t tell you how busy it’s been. I know that’s not much of an excuse, and I’m very sorry. I’ll try and do better, I promise,’ she replied.
‘Never mind that, love, have you recovered fully?’ Martha asked, looking down at her granddaughter’s now-healed legs. Kendra remembered the shock on both their faces when she had been hospitalised with her broken legs, courtesy of the Qupi gang. She had vowed never to put them through such a harrowing experience again, and so had not visited as often whilst the team were engaged with their recent… adventures.
