TARRANT
Brixham, Devon 1994
A middle aged couple wandered hand in hand along a golden stretch of beach and in front of them skipped a little girl.
It had been another beautiful sunny day on the south Devon coast and as the sun started its inevitable descent, the tide also had decided once again and probably for the billionth time to reclaim the beach.
The man called George shouted though firm, gently almost lovingly toward the little girl in front of them. “Jessica that’s far enough.” However little Jessica had other ideas and edged yet further away down the beach.
It was the female’s turn to shout now, the female being the wife of the afore mentioned George. “Jessica, do as your father tells you will you,” Rose cried?
Jessica, about a 100 yards away now and wearing a pink dress with yellow sunflowers momentarily paused and turned to wave at her parents.
Both George and Rose beckoned as one for little Jessica to stay where she was but Jessica still decided to press on, she’d seen something she loved and wasn’t being denied.
About twenty yards in front of Jessica and heading toward her was another couple, but it’s what was ambling alongside them that was catching Jessica’s attention.
“Stubborn little sod that one,” said a smiling George, “wonder where she gets it from?”
He turned to look at Rose as he said those words, Rose stopped and playfully slapping George on his left shoulder, replied by crying, “and what's that supposed to mean George Tarrant?”
“Nothing,” said an apologetic George, raising both arms up in the surrender position as if to substantiate that very fact.
Rose was just about to land another, though more telling blow to her husband when on hearing a high pitched squeal she froze in her tracks.
“Jessica.”
Instinctively both George and Rose raced toward their little daughter.
On seeing the little Daschshund puppy being walked on a leash beside the young couple, Jessica, who even though she was only six years old, loved animals and had already informed Santa that top of her list this Christmas was a puppy dog.
Unfortunately, this is exactly what the young couple had in mind and as soon as Jessica got within touching distance, as well as the distraction of petting the cute little hound and the fact both parents seemed to be preoccupied with each other, they pounced.
Grabbing hold of Jessica the male barked at the female to grab the dog and run!!
Swiftly veering right they headed toward a shingle track that ran parallel with the beach, waiting there was another man who was holding open the door of a dark coloured van in readiness.
Rose screamed, even though she was out of breath.
George ran for all he was he was worth because his copper’s instinct told him immediately who these people were and he had to stop that van no matter what.
Just as the couple reached the van, Jessica somehow managed to wriggle free.
Throwing the puppy toward the waiting man, the female swiftly grabbed a hold of Jessica’s left hand, instinctively Jessica knowing these people were bad people sank her teeth into the woman’s hand.
Screaming, the female instantly let go and little Jessica attempted to run back to her onrushing parents.
But all to no avail, the first male had somehow anticipated this move and as such had already started to head after the six year old, scooping her up he also screamed at the waiting man to "get the fuck away from here now."
Throwing themselves into the rear of the van, the driver leapt into the front just as George Tarrant arrived, throwing the van into gear the driver put his foot down and spinning wheels sent up a shower of stinging shingle into the desperate father’s face.
However George had a hold of the door handle and he wasn’t letting go. Gripping on with both hands, George cantered after the speeding vehicle.
But George knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on for long and just before the stricken parent finally let go, he saw his little daughter’s face through the rear window and she was screaming. “Daddy Daddy help me please Daddy,” then a hand appeared over her mouth and exactly at that point a desperate George finally let go.
Falling in a heap, face stinging and cut by the shingle, George immediately jumped back up.. He carried on running, but George knew it was all in vain. Eventually stopping and raising both hands in the air he threw back his head and screamed, “Bastards” …….
*****
Fifteen years later
*KNOCK KNOCK*
The voice behind the door, still unsure said, “I haven’t ordered any fucking TV.”
“Are you Charles Robert Hanky, 323 vale court Hammersmith W6?”
“Errr yea that’s me, replied the voice.”
“Well that’s the name and address on this package addressed to you sir,” replied the somewhat persistent postie.
“That’s correct,” replied the two postmen together, doing their level best to stifle any sighs.
However, the occupant must have been either ultra security conscious or pathologically paranoid, because even though the door was slightly open, it was still secured by what appeared to be a one inch thick steel chain.
“Charles Robert Hanky, I am arresting you for the robbery of the Post Office at Islington Park Green on the 23rd of October 2008, you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you may later rely on in court, anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
A telephone rang on a large desk and a hand swiftly picked it up, “ Tarrant,” the owner of the hand snapped”
“It’s the Chief Super George,” said a woman’s voice “and he‘s in a furious mood, have you been a naughty boy again?”
There was a little chuckle from the other end and all George could say was, “bollocks.”
“Please take a seat,” the tall , immaculately uniformed Chief Superintendent motioned George toward a chair round the other side of his desk.
Picking up several sheaves of A4 paper he casually tossed them in front of George Tarrant, George stared at them as if they were utterly meaningless, to him they were.
“I bet you can guess what they are Detective Inspector?”
The tall Chief Super had now assumed the position of leaning toward George, both hands spread each end of his desk.
George just continued to stare at the first page, in fact he wasn’t even listening, it was the anniversary tomorrow and he had drifted back fifteen years, back to that fateful day he last saw his daughter screaming through the van window.
“Daddy Daddy Daddy.”
“Detective Inspector, are you actually paying any attention at all?”
George suddenly pulled himself out of his reverie and glancing up to look at his boss said, “the Islington Green job sir, yes we have a man in custody, Hanky Panky.”
“No,” not that man, "this,” interrupted the Chief Super and he stabbed a forefinger into the bundle of notes deposited in front of George.
“Oh right sir” and George picking the sheaves of paper up then put them down again, without even glancing at them.
Walking away from George now, his boss began to berate him on a catalogue of complaints from suspects, witnesses and more importantly the solicitors of said aggrieved.
“It has to stop George, when will you ever learn, I mean you just can’t go around beating people up willy nilly, those days are long gone, fortunately.” Wheeling round to face George again the Chief Super pointed toward the reports that had been completely ignored on the desk in front of Tarrant and said, “that incident at the Hanky residence, was there any real need to attack a man with pliers?”
George momentarily closed his eyes and it was all he could do not to sigh, he hated these fast track uniformed numpties who thought they knew everything. They’d have Mummy and Daddy to pay for a private education then Mummy and Daddy would pay the University fees and Bingo, a few phone calls after graduation, a few favours called in and whadya know, another brand spanking shiny new brass hat and about as genuine as Tartan paint.
George had sweat blood (literally) to get where he was and had clocked the necessary beat mileage up that all good coppers had to, to know an area, to feel the vibe, it’s people, is to walk the beat and listen, watch.
These fast tracks hadn’t a bleeding clue and when push came to shove George didn’t trust any of them either, because even if they weren’t capable and sympathetic Police officers, one thing you could guarantee they did have were fast hands, as in passing the bleeding buck if things went tits up.
In all George’s and it has it to be said, distinguished career, he had never once seen any of these fast track or as George liked to call them [Plastic Coppers] take the fall for any of the ranks, not once in thirty two years.
“He was hiding behind a two inch thick steel door sir, they don’t shake in their boots like they used to when you shout Police open up.”
The Chief Super, having seated himself in front of George and picking up a pen, now tossed said pen and stood up again, pointing a finger at George he cried. “Now you listen here Detective Inspector Tarrant, Since I’ve taken over here at divisional HQ I’ve heard nothing but complaints, Tarrant this Tarrant that. You may have an exemplary record in solving cases Inspector, but as a modern day serving officer in the Metropolitan Police, your methods aren’t only questionable, they're unacceptable.”
“Complaints from whom?” Countered George, the Chief Super having seated himself again glanced back at Tarrant and George could have sworn he’d narrowed his eyes.
“From no end of suspects and witnesses, solicitors etc etc,” the Chief Super actually smiled after he’d said those words.
“So none from rank and file Police officers then?”
This time it was George Tarrant’s turn to smile and the smile that had been on the Chief Super’s face suddenly evaporated, though he responded almost immediately.
“A piece of advice Detective Inspector.” Chief Superintendent Timothy Dalrymple had by this time leaned forward in his chair and looking intently at Tarrant said. “You are a dinosaur Tarrant, a relic from the past, you belong in a museum along with all the other bygone coppers and I’m the museum curator who will put you there, do you understand Detective Inspector Tarrant?”
“If you mean where you’re coming from, yes, absolutely sir, will there be anything else sir?”
Chief Superintendent Dalrymple shook his head and almost in an arrogant fashion dismissed George with a wave of a hand.
Just before George exited the Chief Super’s office, he paused and proceeded to sniff the air exaggeratedly.
“Something wrong Tarrant?” Snapped Dalrymple.
“No sir,” answered George, “it’s just I think you need to change the air freshener in here, there’s a distinct smell of,”
“That will be all Detective Inspector,” but George had already gone.
Walking back to his own office George's mobile rang and the message that the DI was needed immediately in the London borough of Kensington.
Tarrant knew something particularly bad had happened even before he had entered the house, a sign of that was uniformed bobbies puking their guts up all over the front garden.
Here we go again thought George, another fucking open the box mystery to explore and I wonder what collection of delights hides behind that particular door?
George slammed the Rover door shut and trotted up several stone steps toward where three bobbies where finishing off emptying their breakfast’s all over the small front garden.
“Who’s inside,” snapped George as he flourished his warrant card?
Wiping saliva and whatever else it was that had just been deposited over the Geraniums a uniformed PC uttered the words SOCO as well as DS Clarke.”
Tarrant smiled, no matter how long you’d been in the force, no matter how tough you thought you were, if you didn’t have the stomach for it, you didn’t have the stomach for it, simple as that.
“That bad eh?” Quipped George.
The unfortunate PC nodded and was just about to explain what was in there when she again bolted for the Geraniums crying out for the elusive *HUGHIE* as she did so.
Whipping out and then putting the obligatory latex gloves on, George entered the large Victorian terraced house at Weston park Mews SW8.
There was already a hive of activity inside and what was once an elegant domicile in an exclusive area of south west London had now become a crime scene and as such white suited latex gloved figures were busy spraying, dusting and tweezing anything they could get their hands on.
Detective Sergeant Tony Clarke, Tarrant’s partner and right hand man headed immediately over to George the minute he saw him. “Watcha Guv,” unlike his boss who hailed from the North West of England, DS Tony Clarke was a full on born within the sound of Bow bells Cockney.
“Well Tony,” said Tarrant, “what’s the SP?”
Tony Clarke grimaced and then said, “I think it’s better if you take a look for yourself Guvner.”
“One of them is it,” sighed George, Tony Clarke momentarily stepped in front of his boss and placing a hand on Tarrant’s left shoulder said, “trust me Guv, it’s a lot bleeding more then one of them.”
Tony Clarke was right and as soon as George Tarrant had stepped into the main dining room area of the house he saw for himself what had caused several Police officers to part company with the contents of their stomachs.
“Well fuck me sideways this is different” said George calmly, even though the sight in front of him was a ten plus on the “what the fuck is that scale,” George Tarrant always expected the unexpected, it’s what had kept him alive during 20 years of battling seriously hardened criminals.
Positioned on top of a polished dining room table were five long spikes, possibly about two foot in length and very similar to the ones used in restaurants for placing customer orders on.
On top of each spike was a single human head………
Tarrant moved closer toward the five spiked heads which incidentally were in a perfect spirit level line and exactly the same distance from each other, but it’s who the heads belonged to that sparked George’s interest.
“Right you lot,” bellowed George, immediately everyone froze, people tended to do that when George Tarrant was around, not only was he a big man in a physical sense, 6ft plus and 250 pounds he also had a presence about him that was extremely hard to ignore plus the fact he was a DI of course.
“Just all stop for a minute, I need a word with these five,” even as serious as the situation was, sometimes humour was the only thing to help get you through it and George Tarrant knew that.
After everyone had stopped laughing, George proceeded to identify the five spiked heads, George pointed at the first head and said.
“Head number 1, Daniel McKenzie AKA Canny Danny, started off as a fence in the sixties then decided he’d like to muscle into more of the real action. Consequently shopping most of his customers then taking over their operations, very elusive very hard to pin anything on, hence the name Canny Danny.” At that point Tarrant glancing back at the grotesque head said, “well it’s looks like Daniel finally got pinned.
“Head number 2, Barry Knight, "the" Barry Knight, one of London’s top villains, probably responsible for most if not all the biggest armed blags in the 80s and early 90s. Mr Knight along with his wonderful brood decided that London wasn’t really the ideal place to settle and raise a family after all. So suddenly headed off to Rio de Janeiro, that and the fact the Sweeney were one day away from arresting him with enough evidence to put him away for ever.”
Still staring at head number two George wondered what it was that must have been big enough to lure the ex pat villain back to the smoke?
George Tarrant carried on the same commentary with the remaining three heads and again, all five heads had one thing in common, they were all gangland figures, each head had once belonged to a major London Gangster, but why?
Everyone carried on with the necessary forensics and just as George was discussing with DS Clarke as to the whereabouts of the remainder of the unfortunate quintet a uniformed officer approached and he was carrying a bouquet of roses.
Stopping just in front of the DI, the uniformed officer proffered the sweet smelling bouquet toward Tarrant saying, “these have just been delivered at the front door sir.”
Tarrant stared not so much at the uniformed PC but through him.
“And what the hell would I want with a bunch of bleeding flowers PC 8534?” Tarrant was just about to turn away when the Rose carrying Police Constable informed the DI that they were addressed to him.
Tarrant tuned round and staring at both the Bobby and the bouquet he was carrying reached out to take them, though not without hearing a few titters and spotting a few snide smirks.
“Maybe it‘s a villain’s wife thanking you for locking their old man up,” piped up an unidentified source “Piss off you lot,” barked Tarrant in response.
“Who delivered these,” enquired George tentatively looking at the collection of fresh Roses?
“They didn’t say sir,” replied PC 8534.
“They,” queried George whilst trying to extricate a little note that was attached to the stems inside the clear plastic wrapping.
“Well I couldn’t tell if it was a female or male sir, you see it was a motorcycle courier and she or he was wearing a full face helmet.”
“But you did get the bike reg,” asked George who by this time and being watched closely by Sergeant Clarke had managed to unravel the attached note, “Errr, unfortunately no sir,” replied the somewhat sheepish PC.
George Tarrant suddenly froze and then seemed to lose all the colour in his face, staggering slightly he suddenly leapt toward the Rose bearing PC, grabbing the terrified Bobby by the lapels Tarrant screamed. “What fucking make of bike was it and you better well fucking know or I'll have your balls for cufflinks? ”
Everyone jumped in to restrain the enraged Detective Inspector and there followed a rather unsightly melee, eventually George managed to calm himself and then barked orders at the offending but still terrified PC.
“Find that bike, get a city wide alert out for that courier, "do it,” the young PC scampered off as quick as lightning and George having composed himself a little further screamed to everyone else in the room that even if they found the slightest something, it was to be brought to his attention Immediately!!
Tony Clarke patiently waited and then pointing at the note said, “what is it Guv, what’s in the note?”
George still looked shaken and was annoyed he’d reacted the way he had, particularly with another copper, one of George’s unwritten rules was you never abused one of your own, unless they were bent or crazy.
Tarrant passed the note over to his DS. Now Tony Clarke understood why George had reacted the way he had, the note read as follows.
Dear George
Hope you like my little gift and I’m not talking about the Roses?
You see, fifteen years ago, I took something from you and as such thought it only right and proper I return the favour, albeit a tad late, but you know what they say, better late than never.
Those five idiots were becoming a nuisance and not part of what I have in mind. You see like little Jessica, I’ve grown up too and now I want to step out of the playroom and enter the yard where all the big boys play , do you want to play George? I do hope so, because there are lots more surprises to come and I hope you don’t disappoint me George, I don’t like to be disappointed just ask the five heads, because they did and look what happened to them.
Best regards P
****
“Who the bleedin hell’s P?” Said Tony as he handed the note back to his boss, George stopped the DS and said, “No Tony, get that over to the lab, though I doubt they’ll find anything it might be worth a shout .
I’ll let The pimple know what’s going on too,” Tony Clarke momentarily smirked at George’s reference to his boss, Chief Superintendent Dalrymple.
“Oh and Tony,” said Tarrant, DS Clarke paused as he was about to depart the house, “I want the usual suspects pulling in, all of em,”
“All" of em Guv?”
“All" of em,” reiterated George, “from the main men down to the *snouts, I want the bleeding lot turned over and ready for questioning by teatime.”
The Pimple ain’t gonna like this Guv,” said DS Clarke with a smile on his face, George returned the smile and said, “I know, but do it anyway.”
As soon as DS Clarke had left the house George meandered over to a nearby chair and sat down. Amidst all the kafuffle of what was going on around him George tried to come to terms of what that note implied.
Throughout the fifteen years of their daughters abduction both George and his now ex wife Rose, had always kept the notion that their beautiful young daughter was still alive, because once they ceased to believe in "that", then something in both of them would probably die too.
George also had a dilemma, it was the anniversary of the kidnapping tomorrow and the meetings with Rose were harrowing enough without having to inform her of the strange note delivered along with the roses.
Rose had refused to accept that this wasn’t George’s fault and two years after Jessica’s abduction they separated, though George still loved his ex wife more than life itself, it was becoming intolerable to live with Rose.
Mood swing followed mood swing, accusations were flung at George that he’d upset some villain and this was their way of getting back at him and as much as George tried to reason and explain that he had nothing to do with provoking any form of retaliation from known or unknown villains. It would always fall on deaf ears and divorce seemed to be the inevitable and only conclusion.
George came to a decision, he would tell Rose, one thing he always promised his ex wife was that no matter what differences they might have, if any new information came to light regarding the whereabouts of Jessica, then she would be the first to know.
The problem with this though was the prickly issue of disclosing information pertaining to what was now a major murder investigation and if the pimple should get to know he’d been talking to members of the public and even if it were Rose, well, he’d be in that fucking museum faster than a wet fart.
Suddenly a idea popped into George’s head and looking back at the grisly formation on spikes, Detective Inspector Tarrant decided to pay someone a visit, someone he hadn’t seen for ten years and the reason for that?
Billy Duggan or better known to all and sundry as Billy the Band Saw Duggan, Billy was in the scrubs doing a 20 stretch, George knew this because it was him that put Billy there.
HER MAJESTY’S PRISON WORMWOOD SCRUBS.... Situated in the North East corner of Hammersmith (The Scrubs) as is it most commonly known, is one of only two prisons in the entire world ever to be have been built by actual serving convicts, the other being Sing Sing Prison in the United States.
Now used as a remand prison as well as a category B Jail for cons who were deemed safe enough to transfer from a category A jail (high security) Which meant they were usually halfway or into the latter part of their original sentence but still considered too high risk to place into a category C or D, which were usually open prisons, or often deemed by the general public as holiday camps.
William Henry Duggan AKA Billy the Band Saw and with good reason, for years Billy had owned a flourishing lumber yard business, providing timber to the building trade as well as the general public.
The problem was, Billy liked to gamble and won quite a bit of money at first, but like millions of chancers before him he eventually started to lose and big time, frittering away most of the company's profits in a futile attempt to win back what he’d lost.
Attending various casinos and seedy poker joints Billy soon attracted the attention of the local villainy and after borrowing copious amounts of cash and using the timber yard as collateral, Billy fell into a debt hole he wouldn’t possibly be able to climb out of.
That’s when Billy became a valuable tool for a multitude of local Gangsters, or should I say Billy’s timber yard became valuable, particularly the various saws and cutting machinery that Billy owned.
It wasn’t long before and though against vehement protestations, Billy Duggan along with all his cutting tools was used as a convenient location for disposing of shall we say persons no longer in favour with certain gangsters and who were deemed too serious a risk, as in meaning possible long prison sentences if said persons decided to get all gabby with the fuzz.
It was by pure chance Billy got found out, on one particular occasion he’d been involved in a slice and dice operation, a hand became separated and dropped into a open bag of wood shavings. Being in a rush and hyperventilating as Billy always did when cutting bodies up with the four foot Band Saw, he didn’t even bother to make sure the dismembered pieces were all together when he dropped them into a black plastic bag destined for a pig farm in Essex.
Two weeks later, old Jack Partridge who was a regular customer of Billy’s, prepared to line the bottom of his Pigeon coop. Jack was proud of his Pigeons and as such used to race them as often as possible, sometimes as far away as North Africa.
On scooping handfuls of wood shavings all over the coop floor, Jack scooped up something else that day and nearly had a heart attack when he suddenly realised he was holding a dead mans hand and which by this time was well into the decomposition stage.
A swift chain of events followed, after old Jack notifying the Police, the Metropolitan Police’s murder squad, lead by a Detective Sergeant Tarrant who were already investigating a series of strange disappearances around that particular part of London, set up a covert operation in and around Billy’s timber yard.
Sure enough, it wasn’t long before various well known villains and their associates were spotted and photographed entering and leaving the timber yard and it was always with a rolled up carpet going "in" and small black plastic bags going "out."
Word came from the top and George’s team swooped, forensics didn’t really have to find anything, Billy sang like the proverbial canary and as well as fessing up to all the slice and dice jobs, he also fingered which meant implicated several well known villains who were also soon convicted as instigators or accessories to multiple counts of murder.
Indeed, mused George as he swung the big black Rover 75 TDI into the courtyard reception area of HMP Wormwood Scrubs, because of the enormity of what had happened and the media coverage that had followed it, under normal circumstances he would have been promoted to Detective Chief inspector or maybe even Detective Chief Superintendent.
But George knew realistically that would never happen, not while there were people in charge who not only perceived George Tarrant as a nuisance but as a real threat to "their" credentials and abilities as competent senior Police officers.
George underwent the usual routine of checks, questions, double checks and then after being escorted through a series of gates and steel doors waited patiently for Billy the Band Saw Duggan.
****
An attractive middle aged woman stared at the reflection looking back at her in the mirror, tracing an index finger gently under her left eye she expertly dabbed away a freshly squeezed tear.
Rose Tarrant sighed, she refused to cry, in fact Rose was surprised there were any tears left at all.
The first few months were the worst, jumping every time the phone rang, waiting for that dreaded moment when there would be some news as to Jessica’s whereabouts, every time there was a knock at the door, every time George rang her to see if she was OK, Rose would die a thousand deaths.
Well and Rose almost smiled, possibly for the first time in fifteen years, no more crying no more fights with her ex husband George every time the anniversary came around, you see Rose Tarrant was a new woman now, reborn and the reason for this new mindset?
A new man, “yes,” whispered Rose at her reflection, “my new man,” it had taken all this time but Rose knew it was the right step to take and would probably help in the healing process too.
Rose had been seeing James for about three months now, they met in the same local bank where Rose worked, Rose having been recently assigned to James as a personal advisor instantly warmed to James. James Carrington was his full name and James had his own import and export business and quite a flourishing little business it was too.
First off it was a coffee in the local Starbucks, then a drink in the pub, a meal and so forth and each and every time she met James, Rose would open up that little bit more until one day, whilst just after having their first sexual encounter he completely startled her by saying.
“What is it Rose, why can I feel so much grief, why are you hurting so much?”
Rose at that point still lying naked in his arms broke down and told James everything.
From the moment Jessica was snatched to the moment herself and George separated then divorced. James listened attentively whilst gently stroking Rose’ long blond hair and though barely noticeable, every time Rose mentioned the name of her ex husband, James Carrington’s hands would ever so slightly stiffen. Indeed, if Rose had been able to see the expression on her lovers face, she would have seen one of cold unforgiving soulless hatred, one of pure loathing, then as a quick as a blink it would be gone.
Rose still staring at the mirror in front of her smiled again and talking to her reflection as though it was her ex husband George she said aloud.
“George I want you to meet someone” and turning her head she spoke to an imaginary figure and said, “George, this is James and James is the new man in my life.”
Still smiling Rose felt really good and even though tomorrow was "always" a trying day for obvious reasons. She honestly felt for the first time in her life that she was getting somewhere and though Rose would never ever forget Jessica, she also realised that by forming a new relationship meant that she was finally transitioning back to some kind of normality, even if it had taken fifteen years and a divorce to do so.
Rose finished her make up and shortly after that left for work. As soon as the front door closed, a tiny camera that had been surreptitiously placed inside an overhead light socket moved first to the right and then to left, finally it repositioned itself back to pointing directly at Rose’s front door.
*****
Detective Sergeant Anthony Clarke was born in Bow Central London 5th April 1978. Tony’s mother always used to regale him when he was a small child with stories that the moment Tony was born someone rang the bells at Bow church. So in effect Tony really was literally and not just figuratively born within the sound of Bow Bells, making Tony Clarke a true cockney in every sense of the word.
Both Tony’s Mum & Dad worked at the Dagenham car plant and I suppose it would be inevitable that when the moment came for Tony to leave school he would inexorably follow in his parents footsteps. It might not be what he wanted but his parents knew that work at the plant was guaranteed and given the current political boom & bust climate, well maybe that was the best way forward?
However, young Anthony had other ideas, even as a small child, Tony would religiously sit in front of the TV every Monday evening and watch his favourite program (THE BILL)
THE BILL, was a weekly Police drama series depicting life in the make believe world of a Police Station called SUN HILL.
Tony loved it and even as a seven year old at the time he swore that one day he also would become a member of the Old Bill so that he could nick villains in the same way his heroes did.
Much to his parents chagrin, young Tony declared at sixteen years old and in his last year at school he was taking the preliminary entrance exam to become a Police Cadet. Tony passed with flying colours and it wasn’t long after passing out as a full time Constable that he attracted the eye of a certain Detective Sergeant currently assigned to the serious crimes squad.
Three armed robberies and two solved murders as well as a child kidnapping later, Tony Clarke made Detective Sergeant and became permanently assigned to the serious crimes unit.
Tony not only regarded George Tarrant as his mentor but as a close friend and even though George’s tactics where somewhat questionable, Tony not only trusted his boss but believed in him too, which of course made him fiercely loyal and as in almost anything, you can’t put a price on loyalty.
******
DS Clarke exited the forensics lab at the nick and proceeded to as his boss had requested, round up all the local crime bigwigs as well as all the snouts, though these people weren’t in the same high echelon of underworld activity, they were often invaluable in obtaining certain information the Police couldn’t get from anyone else.
Five large white tactical aid vans, along with a squad of Tactical Aid Unit officers were waiting in the car park as Tony strode over, a TAU Sergeant met him and said. “Can I just ask who’s responsible for this little party because I take it we’ve all got the necessary clearance for all this lot, he gestured to all the waiting troops?”
All Tony needed to say was "DI Tarrant" and that was enough. The vans departed and about a half hour after that, doors went in and against the background of “fucking Nazis, you’ve no right to do this without a warrant and get your hands off me I’ll sue you.” Twenty five known heads of the London criminal fraternity were rounded up along with ten and it has to be said rather nervous looking Police informants or better known as snouts.
***
George Tarrant watched the prison officer leave the interview room and then turning to his waiting subject he began to speak.
“I won’t engage with pleasantries Billy, don’t like villains, never did so don’t feel the need to get all cosy like, you understand?”
“Suit your fucking self Tarrant, though you must want something or you wouldn’t be here,” at that point Billy smiled an evil smile and said slyly. “Someone giving your missus one, so you feel the need to come and talk to another human being who also got screwed, sort of compare notes, that’s it isn’t it copper?”
George Tarrant just shrugged his big shoulders and letting out a sigh said, “you screwed yourself Billy, I mean it’s not like you’re in here for mugging someone is it?
Ten persons, who’s names escape me now, but there "is" something I can remember from the trial transcripts, from one of the forensics guys. Oh yes that’s it, 'I don’t think in all my career as a forensic scientist have I seen so many individual pieces of a single human being at one time.'
Remember what "you" did Billy, you sliced the poor bastards up that much they looked like a fucking jigsaw.”
“Yes,” cried Billy, “I admit, I did get sort of wrapped up in it, but you still fucking screwed me over Tarrant, I mean why did you have to involve all the rest of the boys, have you any fucking idea what my life’s been like while I’ve been banged up?”
Tarrant raised both his hands up in the air and said, “don’t be showing me any scars I’m not the remotest bit fucking interested and anyway, I’ve got something to show "you.”
Billy, stopped in midstream, he was just about to reveal an anthology of lacerations and scars that were peppered all over his body of which were the results of frequent attacks and possible attempts on his life.
Again after placing latex gloves on both hands, George Tarrant reached into a black plastic bag marked POLICE EVIDENCE.
Billy Duggan screamed and then jumped backwards off his chair, a screw popped his head up at the window but Tarrant just gave him the thumbs up and he smiled and went away.
“Wha, what the fuck is that?” Cried a terrified Billy.
White faced he pointed at what George had removed from the evidence bag. “What’s wrong Billy I mean it’s not like you’ve not seen body parts before, why all the squeamish act?”
“Get it away from me,” said Billy, who did genuinely seem terrified of the grisly object George had now placed on the table in front of him.
“Not before you tell me how it was done,” barked Tarrant, “I ain’t going fucking nowhere and neither are you until you tell me how that head got separated from the rest of it’s body and if I have to, I’ll have it known to all the nick you’ve also been implicated in a kiddie fiddling ring prior to being your friendly neighbourhood body cutter.”
Billy glared at Tarrant and cried, “you evil bastard Tarrant, you fucking would as well,” Tarrant just nodded then pointing at the human head on the table said, “go on.”
Billy slowly re seated himself and tentatively reached out toward the still staring white eyed head and as if it had a live electrical current running through it, Billy Duggan gently picked up the grisly noggin, staring at it in morbid fascination.
“Well Billy, how’s it been cut off, with a saw or what?” Snapped Tarrant.
Billy Duggan seemed to have overcome his initial fear of the head now and turning it this way and the other, continued to peer through the clear plastic bag murmuring as he did so.
“Here,” shouted Tarrant and he flung another pair of latex gloves at Billy, “take it out and have a proper look?”
“Fuck that,” answered Billy, “I think I know anyway, but you’re not gonna believe me.”
“Try me,” said Tarrant, placing the head back into the black evidence bag.
“It ain’t a saw,” said Billy, “there would have been tell tale serrations at the neck area, or where it got separated, even a Band Saw would leave tell tale serration marks.”
Pausing, Billy still staring at the head in the evidence bag continued on.
Its been clean cut.”
“Clean cut?” Said Tarrant.
“Yea replied Billy I’m no expert, but I’d know if a Saw was used” and grimacing he said, “I should know, I did enough cutting with the BS.”
So what’s a clean cut mean?” Asked George again.
“Well,” said Billy, “there are only three methods of clean cut I can think of, one’s a fucking big Axe and it would have to be big and the person doing it would have to be big as well.
The second one is a guillotine, but who in the fuck would have one of those?”
“And the third?” said George, thinking hard as he did so.
“Again,” said Billy, “it’s unlikely that someone would have one and if they did they’d have to fucking know how to use it to get a clean cut like that,” Billy pointed at the black bag as he said that last comment.
“Well I'm waiting,” snapped George.
“A sword,” said Billy.
“A sword,” cried Tarrant?
“Yep but not just any old sword, there’s only one that could cut a head clean off like that,”
“don’t tell me,” interrupted George. “A fucking samurai sword!!
“Got it in one,” said Billy and this time Billy was actually smiling, not because he’d possibly determined what it was that had removed that unfortunate person’s head and in such deadly fashion, but at the prospect of this killer still being at large long enough to do the very same to Tarrant.
Oh yes, Billy would relish that one and made an instant wish there and then that if the last thing he ever saw on this planet was George Tarrant’s decapitated head in a fucking bag then he would indeed die a very happy man.
****
One hour later George Tarrant returned to base and the first thing he saw was the last thing he wanted to see, "the pimple" and it looked like the Pimple was on the warpath.
Swiftly grabbing a uniformed bobby, Tarrant told the startled copper to inform the Chief Super that he’d just seen Detective Inspector Tarrant in the Police canteen and that he was just about to tuck into a meal.
99 per cent of the nick loved Tarrant and as such would do anything for him, even lie to the Pimple.
As soon as Tarrant was satisfied The Chief Super had been suitably diverted, he rolled his shirt sleeves up and headed off to interview room 1.
Tony Clarke met George just before he was about to enter the interview room and Tony had a grin on his face. “They’re not happy bunnies Guv,” quipped DS Clarke “and whatever it is we’re gonna do we better do it soon because not only have we got an army of briefs on the way down here but the Pimple’s going bleedin Bat shit and guess which name he keeps screaming?”
“I’ll deal with him don’t you worry about that, have you made the arrangements?”
Tony sort of grimaced and smiled at the same time then said, “are you sure this’ll work Guv, I mean it’s a bit bleedin radical even by your standards?”
“It’ll work, trust me” and at that, Tarrant entered the super charged atmosphere of interview room 1 whilst his Sergeant took off in the other direction.
As soon as Tarrant entered the room there followed a calamitous uproar from the twenty five detainees.
“What’s your fucking game Tarrant,” cried Eugene Baker (clip joint owner and pimp) “You’ve stepped over the fucking line this time fella,” shouted Norris Kenyon (casino and night club owner) and the best one. “I’ll have you in court for this Tyrant, you’ve just breached every fucking human right known to man and my lawyers will be so far up your arsehole, every time you look in the mirror and yawn you’ll see their fucking faces.”
That particular choice remark came from Harry Lang, well known bookie and a nasty piece of work, George had tried several times to feel Harry’s collar and been unsuccessful on each occasion, the reason?
Harry had access to some very good Barristers, in fact, the best in the business plus most of em were as bent as he was, but all that did was make him even more dangerous, Harry had also been known to have been involved in narcotics and illegal arms smuggling, which meant Harry was becoming Premier League.
The noise increased in volume and the atmosphere crackled as Tarrant suddenly put something to his lips, the sound was deafening and instantly all 25 suspects planted hands over both ears.
“Sorry about the that,” smiled Tarrant as he handed the Air Horn back to one of several attendant PC’s, “just needed to get your attention.”
There were still grumbles and murmurings until George said, “I’m not holding you and you’re not being charged for anything,” there was a startled silence from the 25 plus puzzled expressions adorning each face.
It was Harry who spoke first, “then what the fuck are we all sat here for,” he stood up and pointed a large fat finger at George. “I’m warning you Tarrant, if this is another one of your fucking mind games I’ll have your warrant card.”
“Sit down Harry,” George pointed back to Lang’s chair and said, “the floor’s just been mopped and you ever know, accidents do happen!!”
“Hear that?” Cried Harry Lang, “fucking Tyrant’s just threatened me and not for the first time I’ll have you know, fucking man’s a menace and people wonder why the cops have such a bad name.”
That last remark brought hoots of approval and applause from all twenty five of Tarrant’s guests.
As Lang reluctantly re seated himself Eugene decided upon himself to be spokesman and quietly said, “come on Detective Inspector, get to the point, why "are" we all here?”
Tarrant paused for a few seconds and then wandered around to the front of where all twenty five suspected heads of crime were gathered, then he spoke.
“Earlier today we attended a house in Kensington, the house belongs to an Arab Gentleman currently working overseas and as far as we know doesn’t seem to be connected to what we found there.”
“What the fuck has this to do with us,” shouted Harry Lang?
“If you care to just listen Harry instead of shooting your big mouth off every two minutes I might get round to telling you.”
The last bit of that reply from George had him leaning over and down right into Harry’s face, which judging off Lang’s expression wasn’t an enjoyable experience.
“I’ll carry on,” said Tarrant, “inside the building we found five human heads, they had each been impaled onto two foot metal spikes.”
“Bollocks,” shouted Harry again, he just didn’t know when to shut the hell up.
“No not bollocks and I do believe all of "you" happen to know these particular gentlemen, Tarrant pointed toward the 25 as he said those words and then motioned to an attendant PC.
George waited as the interview room door opened and in came Tony Clarke carrying what looked like a shopping basket, inside the basket were the five though now unspiked heads and George took great satisfaction at seeing the looks and expressions on the so called hardened villains faces.
Tarrant nodded at his DS and Tony along with a four volunteer Police Constables each grabbed a bagged head and proceeded to show them to all 25 detainees and it has to be said, in an exaggerated full on close up fashion.
It amused George how the twenty five suspects would react and sure enough apart from one, all of them reacted accordingly, as in shouts of “!!!Arrrgh!!! what the fuck is that?” and “get that fucking thing away from me, as well as “fuck me sideways that's Barry Knight, but the one that amused both George and Tony the most was the comment from Eugene Baker.
Taking the bag from the Bobby and getting a permissible nod from Tarrant, Eugene stared at the bag carrying Daniel McKenzie’s head and said. “Well well well, if it isn't canny fucking Danny, glancing to all the others and then staring to look back at Daniel, Eugene said. “Little fucker did me for ten large on a dodgy Rolex, proper fucked me over didn't you Danny?”
Bringing the bagged head a little closer to his face now so it was only inches away, Eugene then cried, well look who's fucked now Danny boy, as soon as he’d said those words Eugene tossed the head back to the waiting copper, just as if it were a basket ball.
The one member of the 25 that didn’t seem to react as much as the others and though he seemed a little spooked. Harry Lang wasn’t jumping around like a scalded cat every time a head got pushed into his face and Tarrant for that reason alone would zone in on Lang that little bit more, later though, not just yet.
George waited until all five heads had delivered the necessary impact he required and then clicking his fingers, the heads were returned to the basket and removed back to the Police Pathology lab.
“Right,” said George, “there’s the proof you needed and the reason I called all you lot in was to try and ascertain "why" this was done, who’s psycho enough to go around slicing fucking heads off with a Samurai sword?”
“How the fuck do you know it was a Samurai sword?” Said Billy Jenkins, another one of the 25 seated bigwigs.
“Went to see another acquaintance of you lot today,” said George, “currently residing in The Scrubs and according to Billy, he’s pretty certain it "was" a Samurai sword. Which means we not only have a new villain on our manor gentleman but one that likes to slice off peoples heads,” at this juncture
Tarrant pointed not just at the 25 in general but mainly at Harry Lang.
“Particularly, known criminal gang leaders,” continued Tarrant, still fixing his gaze on Lang, it worked, Lang wasn’t so cocky now, something had unsettled him. Indeed, George didn’t think so much it was what had happened to those five decapitated villains that was bothering Lang, it was something else, like maybe Lang knew more about this than he was cracking on?
“Whoever this individual is he needs catching immediately and given the nature of the targets he’s already hit I’m asking you all to keep alert, I would say "heads up," but that would be in poor taste.” Though George smiled at this witty remark along with DS Clarke and the accompanying uniformed Bobbies, none of the seated 25 detainees did, in fact all of them including Harry Lang looked bleeding terrified.
*****
Steven Jones parked the silver Peugeot 206 in his driveway and then jumping out, still in uniform, helmet tucked under his arm he preceded to head in, he’d had a shitter of a day and needed a drink, preferably an alcoholic one.
Just as PC 8534 approached his front door he froze, the front door was open!! PC Jones was still single and lived alone and as far as he knew, no one else had a key apart from his sister, but she was away on holiday.
Cautiously approaching the front door, the training kicked in and PC Steven Jones examined the way the door had been opened. It appeared not to have been forced, so there must have been an entry from somewhere else in the house and the whom ever it was had then had opened his front door using conventional methods.
PC Jones by rights should have gotten on his Police radio and informed control, by rights that is, but sometimes when faced with an unusual situation, as in the case your own house being possibly broken into you tend to do things a little bit differently, not to mention the stick he’d receive when news of this broke to his colleagues.
No, PC Jones decided to take the bull by its balls and deal with this by himself and slowly releasing his baton with one hand and helmet now placed back on top of his head, he cautiously entered through the front door and into the two up two down semi detached house.
PC Jones couldn’t understand it, it was evident someone had entered his house, by the front door being open, but there didn’t appear to have been anything taken and everything seemed to be in it’s place.
“Strange,” muttered the puzzled beat copper, he closed the front door and then undertook a piece by piece investigation of his house, first the downstairs area, hallway, kitchen lounge etc and then proceeded to investigate upstairs, bedroom bathroom and the like.
Again not noticing anything out of the ordinary PC Jones continued his inspection, “nothing” and what was really bothering Steven was the fact the alarm hadn’t even gone off. Though on having a closer look at the alarm panel when he was still downstairs he’d noticed that it wasn’t even armed. “Idiot,” he cursed, “must have forgotten in the rush to get to work this morning.”
It was toward the end of this scrupulous inspection when PC Jones noticed something on his bedside table!
Striding toward the table, Jones now realised someone "had" actually broken into his house, because sat there, on his bedroom table was what looked like a bouquet of red roses and they appeared to be exactly like the same ones delivered to the crime house in Kensington earlier.
On nearing the sweet smelling bouquet PC Jones noticed there was a small note attached to the clear wrapping and again it also appeared to be addressed to Detective Inspector Tarrant.
As PC Jones lifted the note out of the wrapping he of course hadn’t noticed the black clad figure silently descending out of an attic trapdoor behind him and whilst examining the note, PC Jones was just about to reach for his communications radio when he sort of felt rather than knew there was a presence behind him.
Swiftly turning and bringing his metal baton to bear, PC Jones prepared to defend himself. However it was all to no avail and the last thing PC Steven Jones would ever see on this planet was a glint of steel and in lightning movement, as well as a horrible swishing sound, followed by the thud of something hitting the bedroom floor, PC Steven Jones had now also joined the ranks of the previous five decapitated villains.
****
Seventeen hours later
“For heavens sake Tarrant, what were you thinking of man?"
Chief Superintendent Timothy Dalrymple, face the colour of a beetroot, looked like he was about to have an embolism and this time he was even shaking his fist at George Tarrant who again just sat impassively whilst his enraged boss went through the motions.
“I’ve got complaints from everyone about this bloody and it has to be said unlawful detainment of not one, or two or even four or five but "twenty five" members of the public and that’s not including the other ten, who incidentally are all citing Police brutality.”
“Why,” replied Tarrant?
“Why what,” snapped the Chief Super, he was in a filthy mood.
“Why are these and I say the following loosely, members of public alleging Police brutality?” Said Tarrant.
Sitting down now but still evidently seething with rage, Dalrymple pointed out to George that forcibly incarcerating people and without using due process, meaning no warrant would be enough just for starters.
“And again Inspector, we arrive at the oh so familiar question of shall we say, "why" are we "still" using "unconventional" Policing methods as in not only removing evidence from the forensic laboratories, but displaying said evidence to members of the public who and I again state were being "illegally held.”
“They weren’t being held,” said a now smiling Tarrant, “in fact if you check with every officer that was engaged in that operation and those present in interview room 1 you’ll find that on not one occasion was any "member of the public" cautioned, they were all simply assisting in our enquiries as all good law abiding members of the public should do.”
The look on The Chief Super’s face was now bordering on a cross between an angry Punch and Judy puppet and someone about to have a breakdown.
Now standing again but this time pointing a very stiff forefinger at Tarrant’s forehead the chief cried, “keep pushing inspector, keep pushing and see what happens," the finger still pointed at Tarrant like a loaded gun as well as it shaking and a visibly shaken Dalrymple again re seated himself in an attempt to regain some kind of composure.
Tarrant’s mobile phone rang and George, not even waiting for permission from his boss answered it, a look of real alarm spread across George’s face and snapping the phone shut he jumped up.
“Well,” snapped Dalrymple, “just feel free to inform me at any time what was so important to disturb our conversation Inspector.”
“There’s been another head found Boss,” grimacing this time Tarrant seemed to be a little bit shaken, “another villain,” said an incredulous Dalrymple?
“No, said George who really was taken aback with this new news and showed it, “one of ours this time,”
“What,” screamed the Chief Super, like Tarrant he was also beginning to turn white faced, “do we know who?”
“Yea,” said Tarrant and as he prepared to head through the door he added, “a Bobby called Jones, same MO as the other five apparently, head sliced off like the top of a fucking Carrot.”
And as George Tarrant headed off to the scene of this latest crime, Chief Superintendent Timothy Dalrymple slowly reached toward his throat and grimacing, very gingerly stroked it.
***
Again like the house in Kensington, uniformed Coppers were throwing up outside PC Jones’s house. A neighbour had apparently discovered him, or what was left of him and was at this moment babbling like a deranged lunatic to a nearby paramedic.
George as ever was soon joined by his DS and together they entered the recently deceased’s house. The unfortunate PC’s head [helmet still attached] lay on a kitchen dining room table and just like the Kensington five, poor PC Jones’s had also been placed on top of a two foot spike.
Another officer approached both Tarrant and Clarke, this officer was in charge of forensics and a good friend of George’s. In his hand he was carrying the roses and the attached note, as he handed both over George and Tony glanced at each other.
“Another fucking love letter from our sword wielding psycho no doubt,” uttered Tony Clarke, “well Tony,” said George, “lets have a look shall we.”
****
Dear George
Hello, its me again and like I told you in our previous correspondence George, I’m all grown up and as stated before have now entered the big playground.
By the way, apologies for PC 8534, he wasn’t supposed to be until later, but Hey what the Hell, what’s done is done, now allow me to get to the point.
I’d like "you" and "me" George to play a game and the name of this game is called [ANSWER THE QUESTION]
It’s rather simple really, I ask a question, "you" answer the question, get the question right and I deliver a villains head, get the question wrong I deliver a coppers head, easy peasy lemon squeezy.
As you well know I’m already one in front, so I’m going to do the decent thing and deliver another naughty man to you, but no more after that, the new game starts for real after the next head.
Oh one last thing, give my regards to Rose, I understand and totally sympathise that this kind of anniversary doesn’t get any easier, but if it means anything, "never ever" give up because if you wish for something really hard enough you just never know!!!
Regards
Your friend P
****
Tarrant slowly handed the note to Tony, after he had read it he instructed his DS to again consult the lab to see if any clue ad been left on it, though George doubted this would be the case.
Even though they were dealing with a raving psychopath, they were also dealing with someone very smart and up until now been one step ahead of the game. Talking of games, thought George and he wondered who it was that the person calling themselves P had next in mind?
****
Rose had just finished preparing some nibbles along with a small selection of wine when the doorbell rang.
Standing in the doorway was the "new" love of her life, “hello darling,” said Rose and before James Carrington had even stepped over the threshold or had the chance to reply she’d wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the lips.
“Wow,” cried James, “now that’s what I call a hello,” smiling he entered the house together with Rose.
“Here,” said James and revealing something he had been hiding behind his back, James Carrington handed Rose a beautiful bouquet of flowers. “Ummm, Roses, these are my favourites, how did you know?” Cooed a delighted Rose Tarrant.
“Oh it was just a Lucky guess, I take it you like red Roses then?”
“Like? I adore Roses, George used to buy them me all the time.” Rose paused as she said the word George and said, “talking of which, he should be here soon, don’t worry, he comes across as a bit gruff, but he’s a pussy-cat really.”
“No problem,” smiled James, I’ll just keep a low profile, this is after all a very personal occasion, remembering someone’s memory especially little Jessica’s is also very sweet, I mean look, this is amazing.”
James gestured with a hand at all the photographs that adorned most if not all the walls of the house. There were also other pieces of Jessica’s memory, like her favourite toys she used to play with, these were all scattered around as if little Jessica was still there and somewhere in a another part of the house playing contentedly.
Though this would look a trifle weird to some people and give the impression the house resembled a bizarre shrine, Rose would only ever go to these lengths on the exact day that Jessica was taken from them, after that everything would return back to normal.
There was another celebration on Jessica’s birthday but not as poignant as this one, to both George and Rose, it was important that they never forgot the last day they saw their beautiful little girl.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to disappear for a little while,” said James as sauntered up close to Rose and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder?
“No, absolutely not and anyway it’s too late, he’s here.”
A large black Rover had just pulled up outside and George Tarrant strode up the driveway and pressed the doorbell.
George hardly reacted at all when Rose informed him that she was seeing another man. She was free to do so, they were both divorcees and being consenting adults fully entitled to move on and find another soul mate, though secretly George still loved his ex wife and try as he might, actually seeing another man kiss Rose as well as canoodling with her was starting to get on his nerves a bit.
George and Rose discussed Jessica at great length and didn’t seem at all bothered that there was another presence along side them and for the first time in fifteen years.
It was only toward the end of this annual get-together that George’s heckles went up. On stopping by the kitchen and after washing his hands he noticed something sat on the kitchen table, it was a bottle of Sake.
Tarrant paused and stared at the bottle of rice wine, he knew for a fact Rose wouldn’t drink anything like that so why was it there in her kitchen?
He wandered over to it and picking it up had a closer look, it had been imported and the label at the bottom had the name Carrington importers, purveyors of fine wines and spirits from all over the world.
“Do you like Japanese Sake Mr Tarrant?” George glanced up and noticed James Carrington standing in the doorway watching him.
“No not really, I just thought it odd it should be in Rose’s kitchen, as far as I know she never used to drink this stuff.”
“I still don’t” said Rose, she ducked under James’s arm and walking over to George gently extracted it from him.
“If you must know it was a present, all the way from Japan,” said Rose, “so don’t worry George, nothing more sinister than that,” at that point Rose gave George the evil eye.
George wasn’t finished. “Import a lot of things from Japan do you James?” Said Tarrant and picking the Sake bottle back up again, he showed it James as if to clarify that he meant things from Japan.
James didn’t bat an eyelid and replied, “depends what’s in demand, it can be almost anything, you’d be surprised what folks want for Christmas.”
“I can imagine,” said George, “ever had a call for Samurai Swords, they’re Japanese aren’t they?”
As George asked that question he noticed the slightest change of expression in James’s face, it wasn’t much, but it was there and Tarrant’s cop radar was flashing.
Carrington smiled and said, “yes I believe they are but haven’t personally imported any, there really isn’t a call for something like that in this country, America perhaps but not here.”
George wasn’t convinced and also noticing the bouquet of red Roses on the kitchen table began to get concerned.
Was it just coincidence that George had found an imported bottle of Sake from Japan in his ex wife’s kitchen, was it coincidence there just happened to be a bouquet of Roses there also?
Roses seemed to be popping up a lot lately and the fact that this guy was in the import export business and that Samurai swords came from Japan were causing all kinds of permutations to form in George’s head.
Of course there was a chance that George was completely over reacting, due to the pressure from the case and the fact it was also Jessica’s abduction anniversary, however, natural instinct was very hard to ignore.
George asked if he could speak to his wife privately a moment, James said, “yes absolutely no problem” and informed George and Rose he was just popping out to the shops for some cigars, as soon as he’d gone Rose Tarrant tore into her ex husband.
“What the hell do you think you're bleeding well playing at George Tarrant?"
Rose was furious and didn’t hold back in telling George so. “Always the bloody Policeman George aren’t you, I mean do you ever let go and switch off not for just one single moment and on a day like this of all days?”
George waited until Rose had finished and said, “calm down Rose I was only making conversation for heavens sake, I mean its not like I had him pinned against the bleeding wall.”
“Oh that would have been the next step believe me,” snapped Rose, rather unfairly it has to be said.
George just dismissed that last dig at him and really rather preferred things to simmer down a little, so he let Rose carry on for a bit more without replying and then dropped the bomb.
Rose just stared as if she’d been hit over the head with a rolling pin, sitting herself down she stayed absolutely silent for a few more minutes whilst George poured her a whisky. “Here get that down ya,” said George and he proffered the glass toward Rose, she gratefully took it and gulped a mouthful down.
“What does this mean George,” said Rose looking up into Tarrant’s eyes, “does this mean that Jessica,”
“stop right there,” shouted George, “I didn’t disclose this information to let you get your hopes up only to see them being dashed again, it wouldn’t do either "me" or "you" any good now would it?”
Rose didn’t say anything for a moment and then her face seemed to go a funny colour, rising up out of the chair she suddenly and without warning, hurled the whisky glass at her ex husband. George effortlessly ducked and the heavy tumbler sailed over his right shoulder exploding into a million pieces against the wall.
“You bastard George Tarrant," I knew this was all down to "you," it was "you" that provoked some nutter to snatch my daughter, it was "you" who was the cause of all my suffering and despair over the years and "now," just as I finally try to get my head around things and move on, "you" come in and with those fucking size ten coppers boots go stomping around, just like "you" always did George Tarrant.”
Rose, now in full tear mode pointed toward the door, “get out.”
George attempted to pacify Rose but it was all to no avail. “I said get get the fuck out George, "now."
At this point Rose was hysterical and again picked up something else to fling at George, it was the bouquet of Roses James had brought for her and snatching them up she again hurled them at Tarrant, screaming as she did so.
George this time caught the flying Roses and just as he was about to put them down on a nearby table, Rose headed for the Sake bottle.
There are times when you just have to concede defeat and George Tarrant flew out the door as if his arse was on fire.
Tossing the bouquet into the passenger seat George for some reason kept staring at them as he headed for home, all nicely packaged up in their crinkly clear wrapping, then it hit him. “No fucking way!!!" He cried and nearly crashed the car as he made an emergency stop.
George reached into the glove compartment and placed a portable blue flashing light on the Rover’s roof, grabbing a handkerchief out of his pocket George nimbly extracted each Rose stem and when he’d lined them all up on the passenger seat he counted them.
“Well would you fucking Adam and Eve it,” exclaimed George as soon as he’d finished counting.
George had counted "fifteen" Red Roses! Now George understood Carrington might have picked fifteen knowing it was the fifteenth anniversary of Jessica’s abduction, but the thing that was scaring George to death was the fact that the two previous bouquets placed at both murder scenes had also "fifteen" Roses in the bouquets too and the wrapping was almost identical, coincidence?
The training kicked in again and George gently whilst still using his handkerchief, wrapped the Roses back into its original wrapper, “let forensics have a look at you,” said George as he pulled out his mobile phone.
“Tony its me George, don’t ask why but get an area car, unmarked, round at my ex wife’s house, do it right now Tony and don’t take no for an answer, those fuckers owe me big time,”
Right oh Guv, doing it now.” replied DS Clarke.
“And when you’ve done that find out where Harry Lang lives, as soon as you know, bell me and I’ll meet you there, need a word with that twat, got a bit cheeky with me in the interview room before and we can’t have the local scum getting above their station now can we Tony?”
Tony agreed and as soon as he’d hung up George Tarrant and much to the disdain of other members of the public weaving round the diagonally parked Rover headed off to the nick.
***
*SLAP*
“You silly cow, what did you go and do that for?”
Rose screamed and tried to raise her hands up to protect herself, a leather gloved hand slapped Rose again, this time a lot harder.
“You had to go and spoil things didn’t you Rose, you had to go and fuck things up before I even had a chance to have some real fun, so now your fucking pig of an ex husband is suspicious and well fucking done for handing him the Roses darling, they’ll only have all my fingerprints over them, *SLAP* Rose was now in a state and sobbing uncontrollably.
“Well I suppose I’ll just have to speed things up now won’t I?”
Reaching back with a left fist, James Carrington popped Rose square on the jaw and making sure no one was watching, pulled his car round to the rear of the house and rather unceremoniously bundled an unconscious Rose Tarrant into the boot of his car.
*****
Both Detective Inspector Tarrant and Detective Sergeant Clarke stood outside a large detached farm house in a place called South Ockenden.
South Ockenden is approximately 25 miles east of London and deep into rural Essex, plus the M25 was only a stones throw away so conveniently making this area not only ideal for being far away enough from the smoke, it was perfectly located for commuting too.
George gestured to his DS to follow him and both headed for the front door of the farm house..
“Shouldn’t we just make sure there’s some local backup guv, ya know just in case Harry tries to get all brave on, us, it is a bit out in the sticks ere,” Tony Clarke glanced around a tad nervously as he said that.
George Tarrant either hadn’t heard Tony Clarke or had other things on his mind or just wasn’t interested and walking straight up to the front door banged on it, "loudly."
No answer, George thumped on the big wooden door again and again no response, George then turned around as though he was looking for something, suddenly lurching forward Tarrant stooped down and picked up what looked like a half fire brick.
Before Tony Clarke even had time to realise what his Boss was up to the brick had already left Georges right hand and was now sailing through the air and straight through a downstairs window.
Tony Clarke had seen George do some pretty bizarre things over the years but this capped the lot.
Tarrant smiled like only he could and said, “well if he is in we’ll soon know?”
Amazingly enough there was still no reply from inside the farm house, “right,” said Tarrant, “find us a couple of bricks Tony and if you’ve got gloves, put em on we’re going in.”
A few minutes later and after Tarrant and Tony Clarke had managed to smash any remaining glass out of the window they entered into Harry Lang’s house.
“Notice the alarm never went off Tony?”
“yea,” answered DS Clarke, “that means he’s either still in here or,” Tarrant grabbed Clarke’s arm and then said, “oh he’s still here alright look.”
They had got in through what appeared to be a lounge window and with there being small lamps still switched on inside the house could see where they were going, as they entered the dining room area they then saw what was becoming a familiar sight.
Tarrant walked over to a drinks cupboard and picking up a bottle of Scotch opened it and took a shot straight from the bottle, he then offered it to Tony who whilst still gaping at the sight in front of him accepted it almost mechanically.
“Well we know why Harry didn’t answer the door and we also know he must have had some dealings with Eugene, didn’t know they played chess though,” the last bit of that sentence Tarrant was referring to was the utterly bizarre scene in front of them.
Again as you can imagine think of spike think of heads, in this case it was two, Harry Lang and Eugene Baker, but its how they were that held Tony in such morbid fascination. Both decapitated heads had been placed on spikes and where facing each other, in between was a chess board, all the pieces still intact, both heads staring at each other as if waiting for the next move, which would never come of course.
“Got a bleeding sick sense of humour this geezer ain’t he guv?” Tony had finally snapped out of it, with a little help from the whisky most likely.
Tarrant was already on his phone and it wasn’t long before the remote farmhouse in South Ockenden was swarming with coppers.
****
About twenty miles east of the Lang residence lies a place called Thamesmead, Thamesmead in the borough of Bexley is on the south side of the river Thames and given the fact its proximity to the London docks and the river itself, is well populated by a number of large warehouses storing goods and provisions from all over the world.
It was into one of these large warehouses a dark coloured Nissan crept and after its lights and engine had been extinguished a tall man got out and proceeded to undo the boot.
Opening it he shone a torch onto a very frightened Rose Tarrant, Rose had been bound and gagged, that’s if you can call a strip of duct tape a gag and had now regained consciousness.
Grabbing and then pulling Rose roughly out of the boot James Carrington then undid the bit where Rose’s legs were tied so allowing her to walk, Carrington hissed instructions to the terrified woman.
“Follow me and if for one second I think you’re going to be a problem bitch,” at that point Carrington stopped and facing Rose he smiled an evil smile making a neck snapping motion with both hands, “like a fuckin chicken darlin, ya understand me?”
A terrified Rose nodded that she did and followed her captor up a set of stairs and into what looked like some sort of office.
Again roughly shoving Rose down into a chair Carrington proceeded to light up a cigarette he’d fished out of a pocket, slowly exhaling a plume of smoke he also seated himself down on a chair watching his captive whilst smoking contentedly, it was only until James Carrington had finished the cigarette that he spoke.
“Suppose you’re wondering why you’re here doll face?” He smiled as he said those words, although it was a cold menacing smile, Rose didn’t say anything, not that she could whilst still wearing the duct tape.
Sort of realising this Carrington suddenly and in a lightning move darted towards Rose, Rose was already terrified out of her mind and feared the worst, just as Carrington’s face was only an inch away from Rose’s he smiled again and in a flash a hand appeared.
Whipping off the duct tape Rose gasped at the pain as well as the shock, “there,” laughed Carrington, “now you can ask me all the questions you want, that is until I get tired of you and decide to,” he paused and mimed that terrifying wringing a chicken’s neck again.
Rose began to sob and she didn’t care whether her attacker approved or not, she was absolutely desperate and wished that somehow somewhere someone knew where she was and effect a rescue.
A few more minutes of sobbing and then Rose finally found the courage to ask “WHY?”
Carrington lit up another cigarette and pausing for a moment said, “do you like stories Rose, not the fairy tale type, this one’s a real life story about a bloke called Patrick James Sullivan?”
Settling himself down Carrington proceeded to regale Rose about the tale of one Patrick James Sullivan.
Rose listened with morbid fascination especially when the story reached the part about Patrick joining the Metropolitan Police Force.
“Young Patrick was a good copper,” said Carrington, “one of the best in fact and though he were destined for great things, in those days you had to make do with what you had and a coppers salary wasn’t much, but then you’d know that wouldn’t you Rose, with your ex being a copper too?” He carried on.
“There were a series of little perks that only certain members of the force knew about, a nice little number it was too and made Patrick and his shall we say, fellow entrepreneurs extremely well off, that was until a certain fucking someone came along and fucked everything up.”
Rose instantly knew what this was about now, she remembered once, back in the late eighty’s George telling her about some bright young PC who had gone rogue and had managed somehow to extort monies out of nearly half the clip joints in London.
George who was working as a DC in the internal affairs department then was on the team assigned to find out and then arrest the perpetrators, in fact it was down to George’s brilliant detection work and bloody mindedness that eventually caught all five members who were all serving police officers, one of them was a DI.
“I can tell by looking at your face that you already know about young Patrick,” sneered Carrington, standing up now he seemed to pace around in a sort of agitated manner, ranting profanity as he did so.
“That bastard, that fucking Tarrant, he just did not know how much fucking grief that caused young Patrick, lost his job, got sent to prison as well,” Carrington was pointing an accusing finger at Rose now and carrying on said, “have you any idea what they do to fucking coppers inside, "have you?”
Rose again fearing for her life nodded that she didn’t, “well I’ll tell ya,” said Carrington, “they jump you when you’re least expecting it, but that’s nothing, every fucking day having to inspect your food because you don’t know if someone’s pissed on it, spit on it or even shit in it, "every fucking day" for five years that happened .”
Rose waited until the rants had subsided and then dared to ask the fundamental question which had been on her mind as soon as the story started really.
“Can I ask what this has to do with me James, I’m not the one that’s hurt you?”
James Carrington turned around and stared directly at Rose and suddenly burst out laughing, “You stupid cow, you haven’t sussed it out yet have you?”
Rose looked appalled and said, “sussed what out, I don’t know what you’re talking about and just want to go home,” she was crying her eyes out now, but no sympathy came from Carrington.
“Stop the fucking blubbering ya mardy bitch,” Carrington this time pulled his chair right up to where Rose’s was now and said, “there’s more to this little tale, because ya see Rose Tarrant I have a little confession to make,” Rose momentarily ceased crying and looking up at her captors face said, “what's that.?”
Carrington smiled and then said, “my name isn’t James Carrington darling, my name is as Irish as they come and then some.
This time Rose really was afraid and things seemed to have taken a serious turn for the worst.
“Your not,”
“oh yes I am” then Patrick James Sullivan stood up and did a little dance, a bit like a cartoon leprechaun would and said, “the very same my little gob smacked looking Rose and do you know what, the best is yet to come?”
****
A black Rover streaked along the M25 when Tarrant’s mobile phone rang, listening to what the caller was saying George rang off and turning to his DS said, “take the next exit Tony, change of plan, we need to get across the river, when you’ve done that head for Thamesmead.
Oh and another thing, is your firearms licence still in date?”
DS Tony Clarke glanced at Tarrant and then straight ahead, glancing again at his boss Tony said, “do what?”
Tarrant had already unlocked the Rover’s glove compartment and producing two standard police issue pistols said, “I said have you still got your gun card, you’re gonna be carrying, I think its about to kick off Tony, oh by the way, Rose’s has disappeared.”
“Jesus Christ guv, do you think it’s the same maniac that’s chopping all these bleedin heads off?”
“Not sure,” replied Tarrant, “but I think I know who has her and I bleeding well knew that Carrington were a wrong un, gut feeling and I nearly got bottled for it too,” Tony Clarke stared quizzically at his boss and Tarrant just said, “The ex Missus didn’t approve of my appraisal on her new fella, so I had to do one quick.”
Nodding his head in abject amazement Tony Clarke thought he’s got the gist of all that and then suddenly Tarrant’s phone rang again.
This time after hanging up Tarrant and for the first time Tony believed in over the ten years he’d worked with his DI had a really worried look on his face.
“You alright guv?” Asked a concerned Tony,
“Everything seems to be making sense now Tony,” replied Tarrant,
“oh why’s that then guv,” asked Tony?
Do you remember that young copper back in the 80s, got kicked out for extortion and five years in the Scrubs for his trouble?”
“Who the bleedin hell doesn’t,” quipped Tony Clarke, “Paddy Sullivan was the one copper, er bent copper, that the instructors at Hendon always used as an example of how you shouldn’t behave and what can happen if you do, Christ he was a piece of work, what of him guv?”
“The boys back at the nick have just found his dabs all over those bleeding Roses which means Mr Carrington isn’t Mr Carrington and never has been and for all we know doesn’t even exist,” Tarrant had a rueful look on his face as he said that.
Tony quickly made a left turn and then proceeded to head for the Dartford tunnel, “So why has Paddy suddenly surfaced again and why’s he taken Rose, ere,” Tony stared at Tarrant a bit longer this time and said, “you don’t thing this Patrick geezer’s the one with the bleeding Jap sword do you guv?”
Tarrant stared back at Tony Clarke and then said, “I hope not Tony, I sincerely hope not, for Rose’s sake I bleedin hope not.”
*****
Patrick, still staring at Rose, who to be honest had gone beyond fear then spoke again, “while we’re on the subject of the past Rose, lets go on another trip down nostalgia lane shall we, only this time,” he pointed a finger at Rose’s face, “only this time ma darlin, its about a family called the Tarrant’s.”
Rose’s face went an even whiter shade of pale and almost knew what was coming, “fifteen years ago to be exact Rose, remember a little place called Brixham?”
Standing and pacing in that same agitated manner, Sullivan carried on with the though this time a milder sort of rant.
“ Five fuckin years in the slammer Rose, a man can think up some pretty dark thoughts whilst banged up with all the rest of those fucking animals, in fact, what was it Sigmund Freud said, ah yes that was it, “the human mind has no limitation,” well Rose Tarrant, from day fucking one I were thinking how I could fuck up Tarrant’s life the same way he fucked up mine.”
Sitting back down again he leaned closer to Rose, “still miss little Jessica do ya Rose,?” Rose immediately responded and then wished she hadn’t, screaming at Sullivan she cried, “you evil bastard” and spat a gob of phlegm straight into Sullivan’s face.
Recoiling back Sullivan and much to Rose’s dismay smiled, picking up a tissue out of a box he wiped the sticky goo from his face.
“That wasn’t very becoming for a lady was it Rose”
Rose, crying again now said, “you’re bleeding mad, did you take my baby girl, what did you do with her, you’ll pay for this you sad nutcase.”
Sullivan snapped and screaming back at Rose he cried, “pay," "pay?" I've already fucking paid you stupid bitch," calming a little, but only a little Sullivan continued on, “five years and the loss of everything I loved, they took everything, "he,” Sullivan was pointing at Rose again this time, “took everything, so I planned and waited patiently for the day I knew would come,” he moved right up towards Rose’s face again, this time almost whispering, but still as menacing,.
“I waited and waited then it was "my" time to take something from "him," something I knew would fuck him up,” it was Rose’s turn to speak up now.
“But it didn’t, can’t you see it wasn’t George that suffered, well not like me, have you any idea what that’s like, too lose someone you love more than life itself, my poor baby girl, you fucking monster Sullivan how could you do such a thing and all in the name of revenge?”
“That’s enough,” Sullivan snapped, “I’m starting to get tired of this shit and anyway I think its time for you to know your fate, I’m sending you back to your husband Rose,”
Rose just stared in disbelief at Sullivan and then as if repeating what he’d just said to her said herself, “you’re sending me home?”
Sullivan picked up a telephone receiver and after saying a few short words he turned back to his captive and said, “I didn’t say home Rose, I said back to your husband and talking of the word Rose, Rose,” Sullivan smiled a twisted sick smile as he realised those last few words had a rhyming slant to them.
He carried on, “Talking of, well Rose as in the plural really,” he reached into a draw and produced a large bouquet of Red Roses, “believe these are you’re favourites Rose,”
Rose Tarrant was confused now and suddenly became aware of another presence in the room, almost silently ghosting in and Rose only becoming conscious of this when the door clicked shut.
This new presence sent a chill down Rose’s spine which caused Sullivan to smile even more.
He gestured towards the tall still silent figure and speaking said, “allow me to introduce you to my accomplice Rose, this by the way is the person who will deposit you back to your husband.
Sullivan paused and then an even more wicked gleam appeared in his eyes, “errr, when I said "you," I actually meant only a part of you, at exactly that point the tall black clad figure incidentally who appeared to be fully masked thus hiding his/her identity reached behind its back and produced the biggest meanest looking sword Rose had ever seen in her life.
Rose Tarrant screamed for all she were worth and tried, though her arms were still bound to distance herself away from that black clad figure with the deadly looking sword, it was all to no avail though and slowly and inexorably with the deadly samurai sword swishing menacingly through the air, the black clad killer advanced on Rose Tarrant.
A black Rover 75 TDI pulled up outside a large warehouse, attached to the warehouse was a large sign saying CARRINGTON IMPORTS & EXPORTS, George again pulled his mobile out and requested an armed response unit to that address.
“Do you think he’s here guv?” Said Tony Clarke,
“well according to area, his car’s a Red Nissan,” George tapped his Sergeant on the arm and gestured across and through the open warehouse door, “plus the fact the door’s still open, so yes Tony, I’d say it was a good bet our bent copper’s still in the building,” Tarrant had drawn the Glock out of his waistband at that point and nodded to Tony to do the same.
“I’m surprised you didn’t clock him straight away guv, ya know when you were at Rose’s for the anniversary?” Whispered Tony as both men set off toward what looked like a large staircase.
“You tend to change a lot over twenty years Tony, plus I never really took much notice of him if I’m being honest, IT was another job, HE was the job, end of, did have a dodgy feeling about him though the minute I met him, you know, when you think you‘ve seen someone before?”
Just as Tarrant said that they heard the sound of a woman screaming, “Rose,” shouted both men and consequently leapt up the stairs guns drawn cocked and ready for business.
With Rose Tarrant now cowering in the corner and the black clad figure about to bring the deadly blade around in a terrible arcing fashion for the final time, the door of the office they were in burst open.
“Drop the fucking sword like yesterday or I'll drop you," bellowed Detective Inspector George Tarrant.
The sword had at this moment stopped only centimetres from Rose’s throat and the masked figure had turned to stare at its antagonist.
That Instant Rose screamed again only this time it was a single word, “George!!!
Sullivan screamed too only his comment wasn’t anything complimentary, “fucking Tarrant, noooo fucking way.”
Tony Clarke moved a little closer to Sullivan and said, “now don’t do anything bleeding stupid Paddy, turn around and stand with your legs apart against that wall,” Tony gestured with his shooter toward the nearby wall.
George Tarrant edged ever so slowly toward the sword wielding figure, when he was only a few feet away the figure moved with lightning ferocity, screaming as it did so, the scream was that of a woman!!!
Whether that was intended to put George off didn’t really matter, the training and thirty odd years experience did though and George Tarrant squeezed one shot off from the Glock.
As quick as the masked figure was she was no match for 9mm ballistics, the bullet entered the trachea area of the throat and along with the impact threw the sword wielding killer back as if a giant invisible hand had suddenly picked her up.
Exactly at the same moment the female sword carrying attacker launched her assault on George, Sullivan also got in on the act and swiftly stooped to lift up a large red fire extinguisher, with both hands he lifted it high in the air and then flung it for all he was worth toward Tony Clarke.
If Tony hadn’t moved when he had he would most certainly have been killed, however, though the big cylinder missed his head only by inches, it then hit the wall of the office rebounding back by rolling along the floor toward Tony.
Just as Tony was screaming at Sullivan to hit the floor, “now,” the red fire extinguisher rolled against his legs thus causing Clarke to fall himself to the floor.
That’s all Sullivan needed, screaming in sheer glee he leapt at Tony Clarke, grabbing at Tony’s gun Sullivan managed somehow to wrest it away from the Detective Sergeant’s grip, jumping back up he pointed the gun at Tony and screamed, “bye bye dickhead.”
*BANG*
Tony Clarke gaped in disbelief, Sullivan standing above Tony had been wearing a sort of twisted smile prior to the gunshot, not now, it was a look of sheer amazement and Tony noticed a trickle of blood oozing out of Sullivan’s mouth.
“Get the bleeding gun Tony,” barked George Tarrant, instantly Tony Clarke gathered his senses and swiftly grabbed the firearm from Sullivan who was now slumped to his knees, there was a blossom on his upper chest area where the bullet from Tarrant’s gun had caught him.
Tarrant turned his attention to the sword carrier now and after shouting at his DS to get an ambulance here pronto he quickly made sure Rose was unharmed and then proceeded to unmask the sword carrier.
As soon as the black full face mask had been removed Tarrant realised it confirmed the fact the samurai killer was indeed a woman, tussles of long blond hair cascaded out as the mask was fully removed unveiling an extremely attractive twenty something female.
Barely conscious George knew that the paramedics had better get here fast, the bullet had not only entered the throat area but had caused a massive chain reaction of internal haemorrhaging, she only had a matter of minutes to stay alive.
Leaning closer, Tarrant gently lifted the woman’s head and said, “who are you, what is your name?”
Blinking open both eyes and hardly able to breath let alone talk, the blond female in a rasping harsh voice said only two words before she died.
“Hello Daddy!!!!!
George was stricken, Rose screamed and Tony Clarke, well Tony didn’t do anything apart from try and get his head round what that young woman had just said.
“Nooooo,” screamed Rose and flung herself over the dead woman’s body, “my baby Jessica my poor baby, nooooo, you can't die, you just can't."
George gently extracted his ex wife away from the dead woman who for all intents and purposes had just informed the Tarrant’s that this black clad masked killer just happened to be their long lost daughter.
After making sure Rose was ok Tarrant swiftly headed toward Sullivan, grabbing him by his hair he slapped him hard across the face, Tony Clarke would normally have interjected, much for Tarrant’s protection than anything else, but not this time, this time DS Clarke just didn’t care.
*SLAP* “Wake up you fucker,” *SLAP* “I said wake up you dirty animal."
Opening his eyes and unbeknownst to both Tarrant and Tony Clarke, Sullivan was also at the brink and just before “he” died he also said some earth shattering final words.
He coughed, then smiled that twisted horrible evil smile and said, “I fucked you Tarrant, I fucked you in every way possible, first I took your baby girl, taught her how to hate you and be the exact opposite of you, then I fucked your wife and finally,” he feebly lifted an arm up and pointed toward the still black clad female.
“I just watched "you" put a fucking bullet through her skull, I didn’t kill your daughter Tarrant, "you" did.”
Just at that moment armed officers burst in and when given the all clear closely followed by paramedics, however it was all too late for Sullivan ,after uttering those final last words of contempt he too along with the prostrate female met his maker.
THE CONCLUSION
It wasn’t long before there was an enquiry and shortly after that a fully vindicated Detective Inspector George Tarrant became Detective Chief Inspector George Tarrant and DS Tony Clarke became DI Clarke.
Rose was inconsolable and went into a complete shell, shutting herself away from everyone, it was bad enough discovering that Jessica was actually at one point still alive and then another knowing that her own daughter was a serial killer and about to murder her own Mother.
George did his best to explain why he did what he did and though Rose knew he had probably saved her life, she just wouldn’t accept it, she just couldn’t no matter how hard she tried.
Chief superintendent Timothy Dalrymple also found it hard to come to terms with the fact Tarrant had even though he’s shot dead two villains had somehow appeared to come out of this smelling of “roses” and as a consequence retired from the Met a very bitter man indeed.
There could be no trial of course, the two antagonists were both dead, so the coroner declared both were lawfully killed hence the vindication and subsequent promotions.
1 week later…
George Tarrant poured himself a very large Scotch and settled himself down on the large leather couch, a man in a tweed jacket approached him and in a rather terse voice said, “Detective Inspector I really rather don’t approve of you drinking during an assessment, apart from anything its just altogether unprofessional.”
“Wind ya neck in Doc, its medicinal and helps me relax and by the way, it’s Detective "chief" Inspector now,” Tarrant smiled and took a hit on the whiskey as he said that.
Eyebrows arched in almost imperious way, the police appointed psychologist proceeded to evaluate Tarrant as was standard procedure after a firearms incident involving a fatality, just as the doc was halfway through his examination Tarrant’s phone rang much to the Docs annoyance.
After the call was finished Tarrant suddenly got up, put the whisky glass down and walked out of the doc’s surgery and however much the Doc remonstrated it didn’t matter, Tarrant was gone.
“Watcha guv,” Detective Inspector Tony Clarke greeted his boss by shaking his hand and on entering the mortuary both men headed for the area where dead people are stored.
A white smocked male advanced toward them and again after the ritual of shaking hands the white smocked man introduced himself as Professor John McKenzie from the Metropolitan Police’s pathology and criminal science laboratory.
“are you sure about this?” A white faced Tarrant nearly keeled over and as a result had to steady himself, “are you alright guv,” asked a concerned Tony?
“Carry on,” said a quite clearly rattled DCI,
“Absolutely Positive Detective Chief Inspector, all DNA tests are conclusive and never lie, in fact I’d stake my reputation on it.”
Lifting a white sheet off one of the corpse’s Tarrant whispered, “So you’re not my daughter after all.”
“Tell him the rest Doc,” prompted DI Clarke.
“The lady on the slab after being linked with exactly the same DNA strain could only “be” one person.”
“which is?” Said Tarrant, looking back onto the slab and the almost serene face of someone who not long ago wanted slice his and his wife’s heads off.
The Doc spoke this time in a professional monotone voice, “Janine Lauren Sullivan and yes, she would be the daughter of the also deceased Patrick James Sullivan.”
Tarrant momentarily closed his eyes and Tony could have sworn he saw his Guvner say a prayer.
Again DI Clarke asked his boss if he was OK?
Tarrant blinked his eyes open and then with a little smile on his face and straightening himself up he slowly turned to his colleague and friend and said, “I am now Tony, I am now."
THE END
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