Judas Horse Read online

  Lee and Oaks left, Bevan entered, and the next half an hour was spent calmly talking her through what would be expected of her, if she agreed to go undercover with Mason.

  CHAPTER 23

  The charity buffet was a lavish affair which was to take place partly indoors and partly beneath a marquee. The aroma of hog-roast and barbecues filled the outdoor air whilst, indoors, the air was kept as ‘uncontaminated’ as possible for the vegetarians and vegans.

  And everywhere, indoors and out, was wheelchair accessible. Barrowman might have been an arrogant man in his business life, but in his private life he was acutely sensitive to people’s diverse needs – his son had taught him that much.

  Oaks, out of uniform, stood on a raised stage just outside the marquee, watching the relatively small crowd of around a hundred early-comers milling about the beer tent.

  The stage was made up of sixteen blocks, normally arranged in an eight-by-two pattern in the church hall. Today they were in a two-layered four-by-two pattern, with stairs up the back, so that when Barrowman officially opened the charity buffet, he’d be visible above the three children selected from a local riding school entering on horseback.

  Oaks had been relieved and disappointed in equal measure when Mason had taken the undercover job away from him. So Jack had put him front and centre at Barrowman’s event. In truth, Jack didn’t know if their gang would use this crowd as cover at all, but if there was a possibility, then they had to monitor it to keep the community safe.

  If any one of the gang slipped through their hands, they could vanish into these crowds, never to be seen again. Thousands of strangers, gangs made up of people with no criminal record . . . one change of clothes and they’d disappear.

  Beyond the hog-roasts and barbecues, dozens more marquees had been erected to act as shade for the horses. Several animals were already there, practising their jumps and getting used to the various noises they’d experience over the coming days: car horns, tannoy announcements, children screaming inside the fenced-off playground, and four local bands all revelling in their half hour of fame, twice a day, for four days.

  In the main arena, Charlotte and Judas were cantering across the sawdust floor, kicking up a fine yellow spray as they went. To Jack, they looked wonderful. Judas was impressively tall and broad, with a powerful musculature that rippled beneath his immaculately groomed coat. For Charlotte to be in control of such a beast was deeply impressive, knowing that he’d come to trust her and surrender his independence. Their bond was clear to see. Jack watched, transfixed by Charlotte’s power and authority: how could this amazing woman control a beast such as Judas, but fall foul of a low-life such as Michael De Voe? Jack concluded that it had something to do with the fact that animals were incapable of treacherous, deceitful cruelty; whereas human beings were capable of that and more. Jack quickly left before Charlotte noticed him.

  Beyond the marquees for the horses, the church hall had been temporarily converted into a police and ambulance base. This was what always happened during large-scale local events, so seeing numerous police officers, paramedics and first aiders coming and going wasn’t unusual. To all intents and purposes, this event had been organised like any other – and it had to be, because if this gang had been working the area, on and off, for the past three years, they could well have been around the annual equestrian event before. They would know what to expect, and would notice anything out of place.

  The final area that Jack walked round was a field at the far end of the extensive site, away from the horses, that had been converted into a helicopter pad. This was something a little bit unusual: a helicopter from a flying school just south of Swindon had been privately hired at the last minute. Gifford had been able to discover that the client who booked the helicopter was a celebrity who wanted to treat their friends to an aerial view of the area. But Gifford didn’t know who the celebrity was, nor where they were staying whilst in the Cotswolds. This was a perfect example of the problem with policing this area: privacy. People paid handsomely for it and therefore felt they were entitled to it. But there was an upside: the field was also going to be used by the police helicopter once it arrived.

  Jack headed past the church hall, and out of the event space through one of the numerous fields that had been converted into car parks. Barrowman’s charity buffet was due to open officially in thirty minutes, the crowds were building, and there was an atmosphere of excited anticipation.

  Jack watched streams of cars being guided into makeshift parking spaces by teenagers in high-vis jackets. Hundreds of people, all in blissful ignorance, not suspecting that a coordinated series of simultaneous burglaries was about to occur.

  *

  Three rows from the front, seven cars from the left, Betina’s white Mercedes blended in with the other vehicles. The aerial was up, and a red ribbon fluttered in the breeze. When the time came, Betina would be able to find her Merc and be gone before the police even knew what had happened.

  *

  There was one ‘suite’ in The Fox Hunters B&B. It was a bedroom twice the size of any other, with a sofa and chairs added to create a TV area. It was also south-facing and had patio doors leading into a private, walled area of manicured flowerbeds, an elegant fountain water feature and a netted trampoline, where four-year-old Anthony Yardley had spent every waking minute ever since the family had been installed there. He was having a whale of a time, whilst bedbound Jessica was kept entertained with computer games and room service. Only the parents were not treating this as a holiday: David and Anne Yardley silently worried about their house being turned upside down by strangers, even though they knew it would be keenly protected by police officers inside and out. In the end they trusted DI Gifford, and so relinquished their home to him, confident that it was in good hands.

  David Yardley owned a chain of builders’ merchants near Croydon. He left the day-to-day running of the business in the very capable hands of his two sons, both now in their mid-20s. Anne was David’s second wife and he’d moved to the Cotswolds because it was where she needed to be for her career as a riding instructor. David was Jack in reverse: a man who’d followed his wife’s career east to west, rather than west to east as Jack had done. But neither man regretted for a second their decision to follow their women across the country. They were both happily settled in their new homes with the people they loved most in the world. Jack had quickly come to know David and genuinely liked him; he was a smart, level-headed man who weighed up the risk and reward of every decision. He didn’t, as with men like Barrowman, demand success at all times. David was a man who’d failed his way to the top, by learning from every knock-down and by getting up stronger.

  David appreciated Jack popping in, even if it was just to reiterate his instructions. ‘With police inside and out, your home will be safe. Please don’t call anyone and please don’t let slip what’s going on. One of my officers will come and take you home as soon as possible.’

  *

  Mason and Bevan sat at the breakfast bar in the Yardleys’ kitchen drinking from water bottles and eating shop-bought sandwiches. They were trying to leave no trace of themselves so that when all of this was over the Yardleys could have their home back seemingly untouched. Bevan had been full of questions about this assignment when Gifford and Mason first talked to her about it; not because she was frightened, but because she was a stickler for details and liked to know exactly what was expected of her. She’d openly asked Gifford if he thought she was ‘good enough to not let them down’ and he’d assured her that she was one of the most capable officers he’d ever served with, while he was privately convinced she was young and too inexperienced.

  Mason and Bevan had settled into the kitchen because there were three exits from the room. An internal door led into the hallway, a double patio door led into the large enclosed back garden and a solid wood side door opened onto the side-alley – the most likely entry point for the gang as they’d be shielded from prying eyes. The most import
ant door in this kitchen, however, was the glass patio door which provided clear lines of sight for the team of officers currently hiding in the back garden. It was already unlocked and slightly open, allowing for quick entry. Mason and Bevan’s positions at the breakfast bar were also part of the plan: the second everything kicked off, they had been instructed to put this large, tiled kitchen island between themselves and the gang. They were not there to challenge, or arrest anyone. They were the decoys. Because whilst the gang were focused on frightening ‘Mr and Mrs Yardley’ into complying, the police would be entering via the patio doors behind them.

  But for now, Mason and Bevan sipped water and ate sandwiches. ‘So, what happened between you and DS Warr?’ Bevan’s question came out of the blue and Mason instinctively adopted a quizzical expression, as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. ‘You were different when you came back from Oxford,’ Bevan continued. ‘He’d got you on-side. With me, it was the fact that he spoke to me like I was working with him, not for him. He saw what I brought to the table and said that “you’re great at the details, Bevan”. No bullshit. That’s what I like about him. There’s no bullshit.’ Bevan stuffed the last quarter of her sandwich into her mouth, indicating that she had now stopped talking and it was Mason’s turn to speak.

  ‘We had a difference of opinion.’ Mason swigged from his water bottle to give himself time to choose his words carefully. ‘He was right, I was wrong.’ Then Mason laughed. ‘I know that, because he told me.’ When Mason laughed, deep crow’s feet appeared around his eyes and his pure, unabashed smile turned him from a temporary colleague into a person Bevan felt herself wanting to know so much more about.

  *

  Barrowman’s mic screeched into life, drawing everyone’s attention in the marquee. From the church hall, Gifford could hear the reverberating echo of his opening words: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I won’t bore you for long. As most of you will know, the annual charity auction held at the golf club two weeks ago was cut short when Sally and I had to leave unexpectedly. That event raises money for St Barnabas’s special school which Mathew used to attend in Gloucester. But today’s event is not meant as a fundraiser; today is a thank you for always being there for us when we needed you . . . though of course if you choose to pay £20 for a pint of beer, St Barnabas’s will be most grateful. Most importantly, have fun. We’ve had some dark moments of late, so we all deserve a good day.’

  *

  All five target homes sat within a seven-kilometre radius of Ascott-under-Wychwood train station. And all five homes were under surveillance by teams of covert officers. Jack was part of the team based outside the Yardley house.

  At the bottom of their back garden, the Yardleys had two hen houses. These were low, grey buildings, around three metres wide and seven metres long. They had no windows and two doors that led into a fenced-off area of grass, roughly the same size as the building itself; and one half-sized door at the back of the hut, used for egg collection whilst the hens were outside. Each building was home to a couple of dozen hens who were given the freedom to roam during the day and locked in at night to protect them from foxes and other carnivorous wildlife.

  At this precise moment, the hens were all inside one of the huts, leaving plenty of room for Jack’s team inside the other one. Although there were no windows, David Yardley had given them permission to make holes in the wooden side panels.

  From his position inside the hen house, Jack could see Mason and Bevan chatting and laughing in the brightly lit kitchen. He noticed that they each looked genuinely interested in what the other had to say and were happily talking over each other, showing an easiness that normally only came with time. Jack couldn’t help but think that they might make a nice couple, if Mason could ever live up to Bevan’s fastidiously high standards.

  At the front of this house, a single police officer watched the feed from the Yardleys’ three external CCTV cameras that sat just beneath the guttering, rotating to cover the whole of the outside of the property.

  It was another two hours before Jack, along with the other four covert teams, got the call they had been waiting for.

  CCTV at Wychwood train station, and the hidden CCTV cameras mounted in the trees along the B4437 to monitor the unauthorised temporary traffic lights, had all picked up an intriguing sequence of images. Around 1 p.m., a silver Mercedes A-class collected three people, all wearing baseball caps, from the Oxford train. By the time this Mercedes passed the hidden cameras on the B4437, it was accompanied by two riders on a red Ducati Streetfighter V4 with custom-made saddle bags. This was noted, but not flagged as relevant until exactly the same thing happened around 2 p.m. A silver Mercedes A-class collected three people, all wearing baseball caps, off the Worcester train. Again, by the time this Mercedes passed the hidden cameras on the B4437, it was accompanied by two riders, on a red Ducati Streetfighter V4 with custom-made saddle bags. The rider of this second Ducati was very clearly wearing Adidas NMDs with red soles.

  It was now 2.37 p.m., and twelve outsiders, sharing four getaway vehicles, were now somewhere inside the monitored zone around all five target homes. Jack suspected that neither Betina nor Alberto would have arrived with the hired hands, they’d more than likely been here for a couple of days already, so they would make the numbers up to fourteen. Jack sent out one final message before ordering radio silence: ‘Assume other gang members are already here. Assume other vehicles will also be used. Take nothing as read. Stay in your teams. Don’t get separated. Good luck.’

  No one replied, as per protocol, but, inside the hen house, Jack’s second-in-command, Sergeant McDermott, whispered a repeat of his final words – ‘good luck’ – triggering all other officers to whisper it back. Jack knew that every other team on this operation would have just done the same thing.

  Then silence.

  The officer watching the feed from the Yardleys’ CCTV cameras reported that all was quiet at the front of the house, and down either side . . . and Jack had visual on the back.

  But if the officer been watching the CCTV from the house next door, he’d have seen four shadows moving slowly forwards, using the extensive foliage as cover. They took their time. They climbed the side fence, under overhanging tree branches, and then slid along the fence, behind the trees, until they reached the side alley of the Yardley house. They were, to all intents and purposes, invisible. The swaying shadows from the branches concealed a set of heavy boots . . . an arm . . . a crowbar . . .

  To the left of the kitchen door was a small opaque window twelve inches tall and half as wide. A light came on in this room and the distinctive sound of someone urinating could just be heard. Mason was using the toilet.

  Inside the kitchen, Bevan was seated at the breakfast bar neatly folding her empty crisp packet and stuffing it inside the sandwich box. The door to the small toilet opened and Mason emerged, drying his hands on his trousers. In the same split second, the side door burst open and a tall, lean masked man brought a crowbar heavily down on the back of Mason’s head, knocking him out cold. The masked man then raced over to Bevan before she could work out what had happened, grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the door of the fridge freezer with such force that it rocked back in its alcove.

  Bevan’s eyes were focussed on the man immediately in front of her, but in her peripheral vision, she could see a further three masked men dragging Mason’s body out of the way so that they could close the side door – and then she saw Jack leading the charge across the lawn towards the unlocked patio doors, his radio transmitting the frantic voice of the officer watching the CCTV: ‘They’re in! Oh God, they’re in! Four inside. I repeat, four inside.’

  All of this seemed to happen in slow motion and, by the time Bevan’s brain could assess the situation in full, she was standing with her back to the masked man, who had his forearm pushed into her throat and the crowbar pushed so hard into her side, it felt like it had pierced her skin and was now nestling between two of he
r ribs.

  Three of the masked men ran back out of the side door, followed by all of Jack’s team, bar one. Sergeant McDermott went straight to Mason, established signs of life, rolled him into the recovery position and then applied pressure to the gaping wound at the back of his skull. The growing pool of blood on the kitchen floor around Mason’s head contained tiny white flecks that Bevan assumed to be skull fragments, and the look on her face told Jack that Mason was in dire trouble and needed to go to hospital . . . Now!

  Jack stood in front of the open side door and spoke directly to the man in the mask behind Bevan. ‘This is up to me and you now – because you’re the one who can make this go completely tits-up, and I’m the one who can let you escape. We’ve got the other four gangs, so I’m happy. But if you want to be the one that got away, you’re running out of time because backup will be here in seconds.’ Although Jack exuded an air of total confidence, he was fully aware that the man now standing with his arm pushed hard onto Bevan’s throat could well be the same man who snapped a colleague’s hyoid bone just eight months ago.

  The masked man took a step towards the side door and Jack moved with him, blocking his exit. ‘If you go, you go alone,’ Jack said. ‘There’s no way you’re leaving with her.’

  Jack’s dark, threatening eyes never blinked, while the eyes behind the mask flicked between Jack and the open door. Jack knew that this masked man had trapped himself in a corner, but he also knew that that was a dangerous place for any scared animal to be. If a mistake was going to be made, it would be now. Again, the masked man stepped towards the open side door, holding Bevan so tightly around the throat that she was on tiptoes as they moved as one. Bevan turned her head slightly, creating a tiny space between her windpipe and the crook of the man’s elbow, so she could gulp a desperate mouthful of air.