Stone cold series boxset.., p.17
Stone Cold Series Boxset Book 2, page 17
part #4 of Stone Cold Series
"Where’re we going, Harv?" said John, rising up from his ducked position in the car.
"For a drive. Keep your head down."
"They're my guys, Harvey. I can't leave them."
Harvey didn't reply.
"Harv, they're my blokes."
"Not anymore they're not, John," said Harvey coldly. "They weren't prepared. Most of them will be dead by now."
"So much fucking death, Harvey," said John. "I thought the eighties were bad."
Harvey dropped the speed down to fifty to avoid attention from the police then settled into cruise control.
"It's a shame," said John. Harvey glanced across at him. "I liked that club."
"I would've thought you'd prefer something a little more classical?"
"Well, something a little more classy, for sure. But the birds there were always good and willing."
Harvey didn't reply.
"Plus, it used to be Thomson's, which somehow sweetened it for me. Know what I mean, Harv?" John paused. "Where we going anyway?"
"For a walk."
"A walk?" replied John. "It's the middle of the night, and it's November."
"So we'll walk fast."
"The house?"
Harvey didn't reply.
"You've been back, haven't you?"
"A few times."
"I knew you'd bring me here."
"It's nostalgic, John."
"So many happy memories, eh?"
"Just memories, John."
"You know I still own it?"
"I heard you couldn't sell it."
"Yeah, lawyers manage the estate now. Keeps me under the radar. But they do checks on all the assets every six months."
Harvey didn't reply.
"It's funny," began John, "they keep finding bodies there in the basement, where, you know?"
"Sergio, John."
"Yeah, the basement. Must be something that draws people there to off someone."
"Is that right?"
"Cross my heart, Harv. Apparently, last time they found some rag-head down there. No wonder no-one wants to buy it."
Harvey didn't reply. He turned the Bentley's steering wheel and manoeuvred the car through the gates of the old house. The tyres crunched on the gravel, and the headlights cut a bleak path through the gloomy fog that rose from the unkempt, overgrown lawns. The large house stood like a forgotten friend and emerged from the mist as they neared. Two front windows halfway up the two curved staircases inside stared like black eyes in the night. The large wooden double doors hung open like a gaping mouth. Horror, frozen in time.
"Look at the state of the bloody place," said John. "Hard to imagine all the good times we had here, eh?"
Harvey didn't reply.
John climbed out the car and pulled his coat around him. Harvey turned the engine off and followed suit. He stood with his leather biker’s jacket flapping in the wind and his white t-shirt glowing in the faint light.
"Shall we have a look around?" asked John, and he began to walk off.
Harvey walked with him to one side, but close enough that they only had to talk quietly. It was like the fog enclosed them in a tiny space, where only they could hear or see each other.
"You were always quiet," said John. "As a kid, you were great fun, but you were always reserved. It was nice. You weren't noisy, not like Donny when he was that age. But I always thought you'd grow out of it."
Harvey glanced across.
John returned the glance and held Harvey's stare. "You never did." He smiled the smile of an old man who'd seen it all and knew that life held few surprises for him anymore.
"They called me, you know," said John, "when they pulled Donny out. I heard mixed stories, none of them pleasant. But I knew you were involved. I'm not sure how, but I just knew."
"What did you hear?"
"He'd killed some young girls, or sold them or something. Something bad."
"Did you know about him and Sergio?"
John paused then said softly, "No. No, I didn't. I was his father, Harvey, but when I heard, I didn't disbelieve it. Not for one second. I knew he was guilty as soon as they told me. I'm so sorry."
"You watched me struggle for all those years?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"I do now. I've had what you might call a moment of clarity, John." Harvey took a lungful of the moist air. "You watched me struggle to find Hannah's killer for all those years, and never helped because deep down you always knew, didn't you?"
John looked at Harvey, pleading with his eyes. "I couldn't change it. The lies had gone too far."
"Tell me where Leo and Olivia are buried."
John stopped in his tracks.
"You see, John, what amazes me is how inhibiting you were. Not only did you fail to tell me who killed Hannah, who killed my parents and why, but you stopped me from finding out, didn't you?"
"No, Harvey, I-"
"Save it, John. I've been away for two years now, and not only have I found the men that killed Hannah, but I also found the man that really killed my parents." They walked on a few steps in silence. "It was there for me all along, John."
"Donny?" said John.
"I watched him die."
"Adeo?"
"He confessed before I killed him."
"So that's you done then, Harvey. You must be happy. That list of yours is all ticked off, and you can go sit on that beach of yours, eh?"
"Not yet, John. I still have a few loose ends to tie up."
"Yeah, I'd like to disappear somewhere hot," said John. "Sit by the pool and fade into old age in style. But..."
"But what?"
"I never could sit still. I'm surprised you can, to be honest."
"I like to read."
"What do you read?"
Harvey gave him a look to ask if they were really now talking about what books they read. "Books. Whatever. Anything that distracts me from reality."
They had completed a slow full circle of the house and stood at the bottom of the few steps that led to the front door.
"So you reckon you're going back to France, do you?" asked John.
"When I'm ready."
"Who are you looking for? What's the holdup?"
"Julios."
"Oh, I see," said John. "He was more of a father to you than I ever was, wasn't he?"
"You both played different roles."
"You mean I paid for everything, and he taught you everything."
"I'm happy, aren't I?"
"I don't know, Harvey. Are you? You've had a face like a slapped arse for as long as I can remember." John smiled. "I'm sorry it came to this, Harv. I really am."
John raised his handgun and pointed it at Harvey.
Park further down the lane, Jackson," said Melody. "We can walk back up. When was your last firearms refresher?"
"It's due again anytime."
"You feel comfortable with a weapon? It's your choice."
"Yeah, sure."
"Good. Denver tied a polycarbonate holster to the underside of your seat. You've been armed all along."
Jackson reached down, found the Sig P226 and pulled it out, smiling. "My choice, eh?"
"Nearly your choice."
Melody pushed the Diemaco's magazine home and chambered a round. She was satisfied with the smooth, well-oiled action and flicked the safety on. Pulling down her night-vision goggles, she stepped from the van, closing the doors quietly.
The grounds of the house spread out all around her. She'd always been impressed by the property, but in the mist and gloom, it had an eerie feeling about it. It held the memories of too much death.
Harvey had told her once how, as a child, he remembered the house being warm and full of the small things that made a home, vases, flowers, pictures, children, parties and the rest. But after Harvey's foster mother, Barb, had left, the house had grown cold. The cook resigned and the house lady began to fade away. Sadness enveloped the old wooden beams. Thick dust lay on the rugs and the window sills. John's office was clean and the bedrooms were clean, but the rest of the house began to fall into disrepair.
Melody and Jackson stepped quietly through the long grass, moving slowly and listening for the deep grumble of men's voices. They heard nothing. It was as if the mist retained the sound within. Melody used her night-vision goggles and found the two men stood at the front of the house. She remained motionless; she was two hundred feet from the big grand entrance. In the green, animated view of the NV goggles, Melody could easily see John's confident but smaller frame against Harvey's rigid and athletic posture. Though she couldn't hear them, the scene didn't look heated. They seemed to be having a normal, calm conversation.
Maybe Harvey had changed his mind. Maybe he couldn't go through with it. There was no shouting. No flailing arms releasing frustration. Just two calm men in control of their emotions. Father and son, almost.
And then John raised his gun.
20
End of an Era
John Cartwright held the shiny Glock tight with both hands.
"It didn't have to come to this," said Harvey.
"So why bring me here?"
"I changed my mind. I owe you more than that. You did raise me."
"I thought that we agreed that it was Julios who raised you?"
"Whoever it was, you're the one who fostered me."
John pulled the hammer back on the weapon. "You took away my only son."
Harvey was surprised at the statement. "He raped my sister, your daughter." He spoke the words with a distaste in his mouth.
"He was sick. There was always something wrong with him, only child stuff, I guess. But he was still my son, and you took him away."
"He was a monster. He was bringing girls in from Europe and selling their deaths with sex. It's one of the sickest things I've ever come across, John."
"No Harvey, you're sick. How many sons or fathers or brothers have you taken away?"
Harvey didn't reply.
"Tell me who the monster is now?"
"Tell me where they're buried."
"Who? Leo and Olivia?" asked John. He laughed. "They're buried right here, Harvey."
"Here? Under my nose all this time?" said Harvey, stepping towards John. "You gave the order, didn't you? You bloody killed them. All those times I asked you about my parents, and you told me that same old cock and bull story about-"
"Finding the pair of you in a booth in my bar in East Ham. We did everything ourselves back then, you know, even served drinks when the bar staff were busy."
"That's the one," said Harvey. "I was in a hamper."
"It was for your own good, Harvey."
"I was going to let you walk away."
"Then you're dumber than I give you credit for."
"Where?"
"In the orchard."
"Where we used to play?"
"They're not the only ones, Harvey," said John. "You'll be surprised at the secrets this place holds. Plus there's always room for one more in there."
"You're really going to kill me?" Harvey was incredulous. "Of all the people in the world, it boils down to this, does it? Killed by my own foster father."
"You killed Donny. I can't let it go."
"You killed my parents."
"Touché," said John. "You're a cop."
Harvey was stunned. He hadn't been ready for John to know the truth.
"That's right, I know all about it. How you left Donny here for the women to tear him to bits. How you brought Stimson down, and I know all about the terrorist. What was his name, Al Sayan?"
"Who told you about all of this?"
"It doesn't matter, Harvey. The fact is that you turned. You have to understand that, as uncomfortable as it makes me to say this, I can't have a foster son as a copper. Think of the damage it would do. One of us has to go and, as I'm the one with the gun, well..."
Harvey inhaled deeply through his nose and stared down at his foster father.
"I do love you, Son."
Harvey didn't reply.
"I love you enough to complete you before, you know."
"Complete me?"
"Julios, Harvey," said John, "or Edgar Parrish as he was known before he took the rap for his little brother. See Harvey, that's what brothers do for each other, help them, stick up for them. Not leave them in a basement to be torn to pieces."
"You know?"
"Who killed Julios? Of course, I know, Harvey. In case you've forgotten, I run the East End. You don't get to sit in my chair at my desk without knowing a few people in the right places. Even if some of those places are a little questionable."
"How did you find out?"
"I know people, Harvey," said John. "You get all sorts of information. Especially when one of your closest friends is shot dead during a gun deal."
"They're not friends, John. They're on your payroll."
"Well this guy is not on my payroll," said John. "But he was close with Terry Thomson before you shot him."
Harvey thought back to the night Julios had been killed. The black Range Rover that had sat in the clearing, watching.
"I wouldn't call him a friend as such, but we've both looked out for you along the way."
"You both?" said Harvey. "Who? Who was it?"
John's face curled into a tight smile. "Frank."
Harvey was winded, dizzied.
"Do you know how much it costs to keep someone like you out of prison, Harvey? Money. Lots of money and lots of friends in high places. So don't make this harder than it already is. You've got your closure. Now turn and look me in the eye."
Harvey turned slowly, still taken back by the shock. Frank. All along, it had been Frank. That's how he'd kept the noose so tight, because he had all the answers. Harvey had been played all this time. The one person left on his list had been stood beside him all along, just as Sergio and Donny had been.
Harvey straightened and turned completely to face John.
"Anything you want to say?"
"No. Just do it." Harvey held his arms out wide.
"Goodbye, Son." John's finger began to squeeze the trigger.
Harvey didn't reply.
Something metallic clicked far off in the mist to John's right. He glanced away momentarily.
Harvey raised his own weapon and aimed it at John's head.
John turned back to Harvey, his own weapon still aimed at his son.
"It's you or me, Harvey," said John.
Harvey squeezed the trigger, but his hand shook.
"You can't do it, can you?"
Harvey breathed through pursed lips, clenched tight against his teeth.
"If you're going to do it, Harvey. Now's the time."
Harvey brought his other hand up to steady the aim, but they both shook visibly. He lowered the gun and stared at John, who strengthened his stance.
"I can't do it," said Harvey.
"Shhh, you hear that?" whispered Melody.
Jackson nodded in the dim light and pointed to Melody's ten o'clock. She pulled the night-vision goggles towards her eyes and tracked a lone man creeping silently across the lawn from where Harvey's little groundsman's house stood derelict and graffitied. The man was trained. He moved well and was patient. He reached within one hundred feet of Harvey and John Cartwright then dropped to the ground. It was then that Melody saw the shape of the rifle. The man quietly folded down a bi-pod and moved into prone position, pulling the rifle into his shoulder. Melody flicked back to John and Harvey. Harvey held his hands up like he was welcoming death. John's silhouette aimed the gun like a man who had been around guns. His stance was strong despite his age.
"Who is it?" whispered Jackson.
"I don't know. But we can't disrupt the state of play now."
"Harvey is going to be shot."
"No," said Melody. "He wouldn't let himself get shot."
"He's looking pretty close."
"No," she said. "No, Harvey would at least try." She pulled the scope back to her eye and found the pair of men in the rifle's night-vision scope. John had straightened up. He was ready to fire.
The shadowed figure to their right slid the rifle bolt home. Melody heard the dull metallic click. She whipped the rifle to her right and saw the man taking aim.
Turning back, she refocused on Cartwright. "Do something, Harvey," she whispered. "Don't just stand there."
Relief washed over Melody as Harvey raised his gun. The two men faced each other, each with pointed weapons.
"Come on, Harvey," she whispered.
Then a sickening feeling clawed her gut as Harvey lowered his gun, and time stood still as John re-aimed his own. Harvey looked defeated. His arms hung limply by his sides. Melody watched like a voyeur. She aimed but begged silently for Harvey to move. Then the silence was shattered by the report of the stranger's rifle.
The green-hued night vision turned bright white as John's hand clenched, pulling the trigger on his handgun. The vision refocused in time for Melody to see John Cartwright drop to the ground. He seemed to fall backwards in slow motion as gravity overcame his body.
Melody snatched at the rifle and aimed at the stranger. She saw as he reloaded and shifted his aim onto Harvey, preparing to shoot once more.
"Harvey, get down!" she screamed.
The man's head popped up and searched the mist for her. Melody saw as his eyes must have found her, and his rifle began to swing around onto her location.
Melody had already aimed. She released the shot. The 7.62mm round rang out clearly in the mist, louder than the other two shots that had fired. The echo seemed to last forever.
She rolled to her feet, bringing the rifle up with her. Jackson followed as she made her way to the stranger she'd just killed.
She stopped and looked at the body of the man who lay on the ground.
"Oh god."
Melody and Jackson stood over the body, a dark shape in the mist that rolled across the wild, un-kept lawns of John Cartwright's old house. The body lay face down and still on the butt of the rifle. Jackson used the toe of his boot to raise the man's hip and roll him onto his back. Melody had the man covered should he pull a weapon from underneath him, but he was clearly dead. The side of his head had been ripped apart with the exit of Melody's round.
