Kickback Read online

  ‘Leave your arm in the sling and put the jumper over the top,’ said Jane.

  She helped Dixon put the pullover on and then helped him into his coat.

  ‘C’mon, let’s get going. You stay here, matey,’ said Dixon, leaving Monty sitting on the sofa.

  They got into the back of the panda car.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘His name’s Jon Woodman, Sir.’

  ‘Who the hell is Jon Woodman?’ asked Jane.

  ‘He’s a soldier home from Afghanistan who thinks his brother’s been murdered,’ said Dixon.

  PC Cole turned the panda car around and sped out of Brent Knoll towards the A38.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, turn the bloody siren off, constable,’ said Dixon.

  Once out on the A38 Cole accelerated hard. They crossed the motorway roundabout without noticeably slowing and accelerated again towards Highbridge. It was a bright moonlit night. Dixon could see the stars in the night sky but spent most the short journey watching the speedometer over PC Cole’s shoulder.

  ‘Take it slow over the bridge, will you?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  Jane shook her head and smiled.

  They slowed to forty miles an hour over Bristol Bridge and then accelerated through the town. Dixon watched the blue lights flashing in the shop windows, recognising the fishing tackle shop as they raced past. They crossed the small roundabout on the wrong side of the road and accelerated hard on the long straight to West Huntspill, reaching ninety miles an hour as they crossed the Huntspill River.

  They reached Pawlett in less than five minutes. PC Cole slowed on the approach to the village and forked right into Manor Road. A police car blocked the entrance to Manor Park on the right but it pulled forward, allowing them through.

  ‘Isn’t this where the old nightclub was?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ said Cole, ‘the Manor. It had quite a reputation.’

  ‘Before my time,’ said Jane.

  ‘And mine,’ said Dixon.

  ‘It closed in the late nineties, I think it was, and then this lot was built.’

  Cole stopped the car and wound the window down to speak to a police officer who was standing on the pavement.

  ‘I’ve got Inspector Dixon...’

  ‘Park there and walk the rest of the way. Follow the road around to the left. Number 37 is in the far corner. Chief Inspector Bateman is Bronze Commander. He’s in the house opposite.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  PC Cole turned round to speak to Dixon and Jane.

  ‘It’s alright, constable, we heard,’ said Dixon, taking off his seatbelt.

  They got out of the panda car. Dixon surveyed the scene. He counted five marked and two unmarked police cars parked along Manor Park. There was also a dog van and a black minibus with tinted windows. Two ambulances were waiting in the driveway of a house near the entrance to Manor Park and the helicopter was hovering over the fields at the back.

  The houses themselves were detached, each standing on a good sized plot with a garage and large front and rear gardens. They were constructed of red brick and appeared, at least from the outside, to be of different designs. Some thought had clearly gone into the development of what seemed to be an affluent area.

  Dixon and Jane walked along Manor Park to the bend. There was a cul-de-sac to the right containing the even numbered houses. He could see two more marked police cars blocking off the road to the left. Behind them crouched firearms officers, each pointing an automatic weapon at a house in the far corner. Dixon could see more armed officers in the upstairs windows of the houses opposite.

  An officer met them on the bend opposite the junction. He was carrying an automatic weapon. He was dressed in black and wore a helmet and goggles.

  ‘Detective Inspector Dixon?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This way, Sir. And keep your head down.’

  They ran along the front of the houses, crouching as low as they could, and turned down the side of the third house along. Once through the garden gate the firearms officer stood up and opened the conservatory door for Dixon and Jane. They ran in to be greeted by WPC Louise Willmott.

  ‘Hello, Sir. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Terrible. But thank you for asking, Louise.’

  ‘Painkillers and alcohol,’ said Jane, ‘not to mention a Tandoori last night.’

  ‘I thought you were in hospital?’

  ‘I was. And I’m beginning to wish I’d stayed there,’ replied Dixon. ‘Where’s Mr Bateman?’

  ‘Along the hall, the living room’s on the left.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Dixon walked through the kitchen and along the corridor towards the front of the house.

  ‘Ah, you’ll be Dixon?’

  He turned to see an officer in full dress uniform standing in the doorway to the lounge. Dixon’s face gave away what he was thinking.

  ‘Don’t ask. I was at a dinner in Taunton,’ said Chief Inspector Bateman. ‘I’m glad to see you’re up and about.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  ‘Come in,’ said Bateman, standing to one side to allow Dixon and Jane into the lounge.

  ‘You’ll be Constable Winter, no doubt?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘This is Inspector Watts, Firearms, and you know Sergeant Ruth Marsden, Family Liaison, I think?’

  ‘I do,’ replied Dixon.

  There were several other officers in the room who Chief Inspector Bateman did not introduce.

  ‘Well, it’s difficult to know with any degree of certainty what’s gone on in there, to be frank,’ he continued. ‘All we know for sure is that they got home at about 11.00pm. The babysitter left shortly after that and then the neighbour heard a single gun shot just before midnight.’

  ‘Is that it?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘Lots of shouting and screaming, of course.’

  ‘And the house...?’

  ‘The property is registered in the name of one Thomas Woodman. He lives there with his daughter, Natalie, and her baby daughter. The son, Jonathan, is home on leave for his brother’s funeral this coming Friday. We’ve spoken to Jonathan on the phone and all he would say is that he wants to speak to you. It’s been quiet since then.’

  ‘What about the son who died?’

  ‘Is it relevant?’ asked Bateman.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you...?’

  ‘I met the family in the Zalshah this evening or last night or whenever it was. Anyway, there is clearly a difference of opinion between father and son about how the brother died. Jonathan believes his brother was murdered. He was very drunk though.’

  Bateman turned to one of the officers sitting on the sofa.

  ‘Find out who is investigating the death of the brother and get them here now, preferably with the file.’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ replied the officer. ‘What’s the brother’s name?’

  ‘Noel,’ replied Dixon. ‘He died at a horse racing stables near Spaxton so a Bridgwater officer will have it.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  The officer got up and left the room. Dixon sat down in the vacant seat on the sofa.

  ‘I think I’d better sit down before I fall down.’

  ‘Are you alright?’ asked Bateman.

  ‘Yes, Sir, thank you. It’s just the painkillers, I think.’

  ‘Get him a glass of water someone,’ said Bateman.

  ‘What weapon does he have, do we know?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘No,’ replied Watts, ‘we’ve not got a look at it yet and he wouldn’t be drawn on the phone. My guess would be a handgun of some sort.’

  ‘Only, it’d be nice to know before I go in there.’

  ‘You’re not going in there,’ said Bateman. ‘And that’s final. You can speak to him on the telephone.’

  ‘Sir, with respect, he’s asked to speak to me, almost certainly about the death of his brother, and it’s not as if I pose much of a threat to him is it?’ Dixon raised his left
arm and then immediately winced with the pain.

  ‘No. We are not handing him another hostage on a plate. And that’s an order.’

  Ruth Marsden handed Dixon a glass of water. He took a large swig. She then handed Dixon the telephone.

  ‘Just hit the redial button, Sir. Jon will answer. He was quite agitated when we spoke to him at 2.30am.’

  ‘And you’ve not spoken to him since then?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘And there’s been no movement in the house either,’ said Bateman.

  Dixon pressed the last number redial button and waited.

  ‘Is it on speakerphone?’ asked Bateman.

  ‘No, Sir, he’ll be able to t…’ Dixon stopped mid sentence. He shook his head to silence those in the room.

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘It’s Nick Dixon, Jon. We met earlier.’

  ‘You took your time.’

  ‘How is everyone in there?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘They tell me you’ve got a gun…’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’ve used it?’

  ‘Subtitles. I can’t stand films with fucking subtitles.’

  ‘Try changing the channel next time,’ said Dixon.

  ‘Nats had the gizmo.’

  ‘I’m guessing you want to talk about your brother, Jon?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What makes you think he was murdered?’

  ‘Not on the phone.’

  ‘Well, I can’t come in so you’ll have to come out.’

  Jon Woodman rang off.

  ‘That went well,’ said Bateman.

  ‘It’s a start, Sir.’ said Dixon. ‘If he doesn’t ring me back I’ll try him again in five minutes.’

  Dixon waited. Two minutes ticked by. Then the phone rang.

  ‘Nick Dixon.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I’m waiting for the investigation file on Noel’s death to arrive, Jon. Then I’m going to read it and we’ll speak again.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Is everyone alright?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who have you got in there?’

  ‘My father, Nats and the baby.’

  ‘Let me speak to your father.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Natalie then.’

  ‘She’s here.’

  Dixon heard Jon speaking in the background. ‘He wants to speak to you.’

  Natalie came on the line.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Are you alright, Natalie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And your daughter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Leanne.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘We’re on the sofa in the living room. Leanne’s asleep.’

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘He’s on the floor in the hall. Jon hit him wi...’

  The phone was snatched from her grasp. Silence.

  ‘Jon?’

  Dixon waited.

  ‘Look, Jon, my only concern is to get everyone out safely. Including you. Have you looked out of the window recently?’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘Good. Now, what’s happened to your father?’

  ‘Fuck him. It’s all his fault anyway.’

  ‘Is he dead, Jon?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is he conscious?’

  ‘No.’

  Ruth Marsden passed Dixon a scribbled note.

  ‘Hold on, Jon,’ said Dixon, ‘someone’s passing me a note. I’ll have to put the phone down for a second.’

  He placed the phone on his knee and read the note.

  ‘The file will be here in two minutes. I’m going to read it and then call you back. In the meantime, you check on your father. Ok?’

  Silence.

  ‘I need to know he’s still breathing.’

  ‘Alright.’

  Dixon rang off and turned to Chief Inspector Bateman.

  ‘He’s hit his father, I’m guessing with the gun, and left him unconscious on the floor in the hall. Natalie and the baby are on the sofa in the living room.’

  ‘We need to get the father out,’ said Bateman.

  ‘We do,’ replied Dixon. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Jane.

  Dixon was reading the file by the time Jane returned with a mug of tea. He turned first to the post mortem report prepared by Dr James Davidson at Musgrove Park Hospital. The report catalogued multiple injuries, all of them consistent with Noel having been kicked by a horse, including a fractured skull, eye socket, jaw and various ribs. The file also contained a bundle of photographs, which showed the imprint of a horse shoe or shoes on the body and a bite mark consistent with Noel having been bitten by a horse.

  Next Dixon flicked through the witness statements. The owner of the stables, Georgina Harcourt, and the race horse trainer, Michael Hesp, had been interviewed, along with the groom who had found Noel’s body, Kevin Tanner. All confirmed that Noel had been found in Westbrook Warrior’s stable at approximately 5.30am, when Kevin Tanner had raised the alarm. He had been found lying in the back corner of the stable, behind Westbrook Warrior.

  The horse was described as a three year old colt that was well known to be aggressive. Strict procedures had been adopted following a risk assessment done after a previous incident and the standing instruction was that Westbrook Warrior was to be fed, watered and offered haylage over the stable door. No one was to go in the stable unless and until Westbrook Warrior had been tied up. Dixon noted Kevin Tanner’s statement that Noel considered himself to have a special relationship with Westbrook Warrior. He had been known to go in the stable with the horse loose, according to Tanner.

  The file had been marked ‘Accidental Death’, the coroner notified accordingly and the body released for cremation. An interim death certificate had also been issued pending the formal inquest.

  ‘Well?’ asked Bateman.

  ‘Accidental death,’ replied Dixon. ‘Maybe Jon Woodman knows something we don’t?’

  ‘Ring him and ask him then.’

  ‘I intend to, Sir. I just need the loo first.’

  ‘There’s one under the stairs,’ said Jane.

  Dixon walked out of the lounge and along the hall to the downstairs lavatory. He switched the light on and closed the door without going in. Then he went into the kitchen and closed the kitchen door behind him.

  ‘Give me your tabard, Louise.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘Just do it. Please.’

  Louise Willmott took off her fluorescent tabard and helped Dixon put it on.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ said Inspector Watts.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Bateman, spinning round to see Watts looking across the road through a gap in the curtains.

  ‘You’d better come and have a look, Sir.’

  Chief Inspector Bateman looked out of the front window. He could see Dixon standing on the doorstep of number 37.

  ‘Stand down,’ said Watts, into his radio.

  ‘I hope he knows what he’s doing,’ said Bateman.

  Jane Winter ran forward and looked out of the window, just in time to see the door open and Dixon go in.

  She took a deep breath and then looked at Bateman.

  ‘He does, Sir,’ she said.

  Dixon took two steps into the hall before he heard the front door close behind him. He turned to face Jon Woodman. He was holding a handgun in his right hand.

  ‘An old 9mm Browning,’ said Dixon. ‘I fired one of those on Salisbury Plain once, with the cadets.’

  ‘What the f...?’

  ‘Where’s your father?’

  ‘I dragged him into kitchen.’

  ‘Ok, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to check on him now and then I’m going to get two officers in here to get him out. Then we’ll talk.’

  ‘I say what’s going to happen now. Not you. I’
m in charge.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ replied Dixon, ‘what makes you think that?’

  ‘I’ve got the fucking gun.’

  ‘And I’ve got twenty more outside. Machine guns too.’

  Jon Woodman shook his head. Dixon continued.

  ‘So, we’ll do this my way or not all. Then everybody might get out of here in one piece. Ok?’

  Jon raised the gun and pointed it at Dixon’s forehead.

  ‘Think about it, Jon. You’re facing firearms offences at the moment, assuming your father lives and neither he nor Natalie press charges. I’m guessing you want me to look into Noel’s death, which I’m happy to do. But we all need to walk out of here for that.’

  Jon hesitated before lowering the gun.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Wait here while I check your father.’

  Dixon walked through into the kitchen. Tom Woodman was lying face down on the floor in front of the sink. Dixon checked his neck for a pulse. He was still alive.

  ‘I’m going to arrange for two officers to come in and get him out, Jon. You wait in the lounge. And for heaven’s sake stay out of sight.’

  Dixon reached into his pocket for his mobile phone and rang Jane.

  ‘Nick, are you alright?’

  ‘Yes, fine. Put it on speakerphone and then pass me to Bateman will you?’

  Jane selected loudspeaker and then passed the phone to Chief Inspector Bateman.

  ‘What the bloody hell do you thi...?’

  ‘Do you mind if we talk about that later, Sir? I’ve got him to agree to let his father out. I’ll need a stretcher and two officers to come in and get him.’

  ‘Two of my lads can go in, Sir,’ said Watts.

  ‘Where will you be?’ asked Bateman.

  ‘We’ll be in the living room with the door closed,’ replied Dixon.

  ‘We could...’

  Dixon cut Watts off in mid sentence.

  ‘There’s no need to try anything. I’m quite confident I can bring him out, Sir. We just need to get his father to a hospital as soon as we can.’

  ‘Ok. Give me a minute.’

  ‘Ring me back when you’re ready to come in,’ said Dixon.

  Dixon went into the lounge and sat on the sofa next to Natalie. Jon Woodman was pacing up and down in front of the fireplace. Dixon noticed a single bullet hole in the middle of the television screen.