

### A Questionable Hero

A Novel

By

### Stephen Gane

~~~

Smashwords Edition

#  About The Author

**I'm Stephen Gane** and I was born in Bath, Somerset, in 1948. I left school with no qualifications. I then found employment as an apprentice chef. I joined P&O and worked on cruise liners for a while. Then I moved to London where I ended my cooking career as head chef of a London Club. Liston's love of cookery is something he shares with me. My second career was selling antiques which I did until I retired.

Suffering from dyslexia I've always had problems with reading and spelling so writing a novel never entered my head. But,Christmas 2013, I had a dream and had to write the story. Seven weeks and three days later "A Questionable Hero" was finished. I hope you have enjoyed reading my novel as much as I enjoyed writing it.

A Questionable Hero

by

Stephen Gane

A Questionable Hero by Stephen Gane

Copyright © Stephen Gane 2014

The right of Stephen Gane to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright Acts. All rights reserved.

Cover by fiverrcreator at fiverr

Editing by Edit-My-Book

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be given away, reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission from the author. You may, however, quote short passages without such prior permission in any review of this book you may write.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

If you have a copy of this book that you did not purchase or was not purchased specifically for you, please go to your favourite online bookseller and purchase a copy for yourself. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This novel is dedicated to

My wife Christine, my daughter Zoe,

my good friends Dave Clarke, Angela Carter and Chrissie Michaels.

Thanks for all your help and support.

# CONTENTS

About The Author

Prologue

1 The Attack

2 Trying To Get It Together

3 A Friend In Need

4 Press Conference

5 The Family Pulls Together

6 The Police Raid

7 Floyd Goes To The Pub

8 On The Run

9 Sol Gets Arrested

10 A Meeting In The Park

11 Trouble At The Bella Vista

12 Encounter With Tracy

13 Give Myself Up

14 Sol Disappears

15 The Operation

16 The Interview

17 A Near Riot At The Café

18 Guilty Plea

19 The Inquest

20 Rose

21 Meeting With Leon

22 Crown Prosecution Service

23 Leon's Ultimatum

24 Visiting Day

25 Sands, Sands, Sands.

26 Special Branch

27 Mortuary Visit

28 Orchard Visits Wendy

29 Kitchen Work

30 Tom Gets A Visit

31 The Trial: Day One

32 The Trial: Day Two

33 The Trial: Day Three

34 Home For Christmas

35 Christmas Eve

36 Christmas Day

37 Visit From Wendy

38 Two Years Later

PART TWO

39 Last Day In Prison

40 Free

41 The Bad Penny Returns

42 Pastor Michael

43 Date With Wendy

44 Confrontation

45 Captured

46 The Opening

#  Prologue

**Liston Pearce** was a yardie, a ruthless gangster, a drug-dealing gang boss, who never did much good in his life, except maybe once.

He was born in Kingston, Jamaica, in a poor working-class area. His father was a keen boxer, which was how Liston got his name. He was named after the World Heavyweight Champion Charles L "Sonny" Liston. He came to Britain when he was two years old with his mother and father. He had two younger sisters: Inez and Agnes.

He was now twenty-nine, six feet three inches tall, very slim, with short-cropped hair and dark skin covered with pockmarks from when he'd had chicken pox as a child. He had not had to do much hard work in his life, so his large hands were still quite soft.

When the family first moved to Britain in 1962, they lived in a small terraced house in the St Paul's area of Bristol. This was still his father's home. Bristol had been heavily bombed during World War II but none of the rebuilding and investment was ever seen in the deprived area of St Paul's.

His mother was a big influence on Liston's life but she died when he was only fourteen. He still remembered the food she cooked, though: salt fish and ackee, gungo peas and rice. He remembered her reading Bible stories to him and taking him to City Road Baptist Church on Sundays. After she died, he drifted apart from his father and now they rarely saw eye to eye.

His father was a good man. Born in 1936, he walked with a slight limp that resulted from an injury he got while playing football as a young lad and which meant an end to his boxing hopes. He married his childhood sweetheart, Mary, when he was twenty-one, and after she died of cancer he was devastated. It was a very hard road for him, trying to bring up three young children on his own. He eventually found work on the railways, sweeping platforms and cleaning toilets.

The events of April 2nd, 1980, were a big influence on Liston's life. That was the night of the Bristol Riots. They started at The Black and White Café in Grosvenor Road, and a large number of rioters and policemen were badly hurt. The aftermath of the riot looked like a bomb had just exploded with burned and smashed police cars, and several buildings and a branch of Lloyd's bank badly damaged. It was the first time Liston had been arrested but he was released without being charged. From that time on, he had no respect for the police, which made his actions nine years later hard to understand.

#  CHAPTER ONE

### The Attack

**On** a normal day in late October 1989, in a normal road not far from St Paul's, Liston had been to visit his youngest sister, Inez. She was the one he felt closest to of all his family. He was her big brother and had always felt protective of her ever since she was a child.

Inez opened the door of her ground floor flat and welcomed Liston with, "Hiya brov, how you doin?"

"OK sis, you? I brought you some Wagon Wheels."

"Yummy, come in, coffee?"

They squeezed along a narrow passage with a faded carpet littered with shoes and boots, brushing past coats hanging from pegs fixed to the wall, into the tiny kitchen diner at the back of the flat.

Liston sat at the small fold-out table. They ate the chocolate snacks and drank coffee. Inez had loved Wagon Wheels from as far back as she could remember.

"They were much bigger when I was a kid," she said.

They talked about Inez's new boyfriend, whom Liston was not too keen on. He knew one or two things about him that Inez didn't, but he kept them to himself. The two chatted about their father whom Inez loved dearly. Inez thought he had been looking a little pale recently, and she worried about his health.

Inez was a girl who liked her chocolate and creamy, stodgy foods too much. Some of her friends called her chubby, but her Mum always used to say she was well covered when she was young. She was much smaller than Liston, just reaching up to his shoulder. She wore black-rimmed glasses and dressed a bit old fashioned for a young girl. She had a bubbly personality and was always smiling. She loved life and was rarely down.

Liston left her flat on a bright, late October afternoon. A breeze had got up and a slight shiver went through his bones so he pulled the black hood of his jacket over the black bandanna he had tied around his head. Liston liked wearing black: it made him feel and look like the hard man, which in fact he was.

The trees had lost their leaves; they were blowing about and drifting into the gutters at the sides of the road. With just a short walk to get back to his car, he set off in a good mood.

He had walked a few hundred yards down the road from Inez's flat when he heard shouting and screams. Immediately he hurried toward the cries.

A young white man was attacking a policewoman. He had stabbed her in the back with what looked like a large kitchen knife and was bending over her, about to strike again at her motionless, blood-spattered body. The young man looked up with a blank expression on his face to see a tall black man standing in front of him. He raised the knife again, ready to thrust it deep into the back of the policewoman. Without a moment''s hesitation, Liston pulled his German WWII Walther P38 pistol from his coat pocket. Two shots shattered the silence of the cool, otherwise peaceful afternoon. One bullet hit the attacker in the chest, the other in the stomach. The man seemed to fall in slow motion on top of the policewoman's body. In blind panic, Liston ran, his heart pounding. It felt like it was about to burst out of his chest.

This started a series of events that he could never have foreseen, even in his wildest imagination.

Liston made it back to his car, a silver BMW M3. Fumbling with the keys, he opened the door. He clambered into the driver's seat, trying to catch his breath and act normal, but after what had just happened, it was impossible.

Sweat was pouring from his body. His mind was in turmoil. Questions! Questions! What should I do? Where should I go? Who can I talk to?

Liston had been carrying the gun for a few months. It had become part of his daily dressing routine. He liked the feel of the cold metal when he touched it; he liked the weight of it in his pocket. The pistol made him feel powerful and safe. It made him a person not to fuck about with. It was a symbol of his strength. He had stolen it when he'd broken into an old man's house. It must have been a souvenir he'd brought back after the war. Liston nicked some other stuff, but there was little else of value there.

With a shaky hand he put the keys into the ignition and the BMW thundered into life. He drove off, weaving his way through the narrow back streets of Bristol to his flat.

Meanwhile, back at the scene of the attack, the police and ambulance service had arrived. WPC Wendy Parker was still breathing but her attacker was not doing so well. The paramedics had given Wendy first aid and stabilized her as best they could on the cold hard road. They placed her on a gurney and loaded her into the waiting ambulance which took her to Bristol Royal Infirmary, with lights flashing and sirens screaming. When they arrived they rushed her into intensive care.

Her attacker was pronounced dead at the scene. The two shots had killed him outright. He was lying on his back now, the knife close by his hand. Later, a black coroner's van drove him away.

As the incident unfolded at the scene of the attack and killing, the police investigation began in earnest. The forensics team had arrived in force, and were starting to get themselves organised for the job in hand.

Detective Chief Inspector John Orchard was in charge of the investigation. He was a man in his late fifties. He had fought in the Korean War with The Gloucestershire Regiment, so he had first-hand experience of the evil men can do to each other.

After he left the armed forces he joined the police force, and had worked his way up to become a Detective Chief Inspector.

John Orchard was a smart man, quite tall, with short grey hair and a square face with steely blue eyes that could see straight through you. He was never seen at his job without wearing a suit and always wore the Gloucestershire Regimental tie. He was a proud man and didn't suffer fools gladly.

Orchard started to take control of the crime scene. The forensics team had found the shell casings from the 9mm pistol. They photographed the area in great detail. The kitchen knife was bagged and tagged.

Uniformed police officers started to search the surrounding area for any other evidence and were talking to witnesses.

Working with DCI Orchard was Detective Sergeant Nick Floyd. Floyd had worked with Orchard for just over three years and had great respect for his boss. He was thirty-three years old, with an academic background. He had gone to Bristol University and studied Ancient History, but after a year he dropped out and joined the police force. He was a stocky man with untidy black, wavy hair. Five o'clock shadow made it look as if he needed a shave. He and Orchard worked as a team and had been involved in many strange cases over the years, but had not come across anything like this before.

DCI John Orchard and DS Floyd were on their way to interview the person who'd called the police. She lived in a block of flats overlooking the scene of the attack. They climbed the concrete stairs to the first floor landing and knocked on the door. A petite old lady answered. She reminded Orchard of his Auntie May, with her silver grey hair covered with a hairnet.

Floyd flashed his warrant card. "This is DCI Orchard," he said.

"Come in, my dears, have you come about the murders?"

They entered the flat. It was warm, and the front room was tidy and neat. There was a colourful crocheted woollen blanket covering the armchair in front of the television. The old lady asked the officers if they wanted a cup of tea.

"Yes please, two sugars for me," DCI Orchard said. "No sugar for Floyd – his wife has put him on a diet," he said with a chuckle.

While Mrs Stokes was in the small kitchen, making the tea, DCI Orchard checked the window. There was a good view of the area where the attack took place, he noted.

After drinking his tea, DCI Orchard asked the old lady if she had crocheted the blanket covering the chair.

"No, I haven't got the patience for that, I bought it in a charity shop in town."

"So, can you tell us what you saw?" Mrs Stokes."

"Well, I was sat listening to the radio when I heard two loud bangs. I thought it was kids letting off fireworks. They are always letting them off before bonfire night, you know. Anyway I put my glasses on, got up and looked out of the window."

"And then what happened?"

"There were two people lying in the road just the other side of the railings." She was at the window pointing to the spot. "One looked like he was on top of the other, you know."

"Did you hear anything before the bangs?"

"There was some shouting and screams, I think."

"Then what?"

"Well, I could see there was something up, so I called 999. I spoke to a nice young girl. She was so helpful and calmed me down, I think she was a police officer as well, you know. It's the first time I've ever had to call the police, you know."

"Was that all you saw?" Orchard asked, getting a little irritated by all the "you knows".

"I did see a tall black man running up the road, and getting into a silver car, but he was too far away to see him well. My eyes aren't as good as they used to be, you know. Anyway, I'm not sure if he was anything to do with what had happened.""

Orchard thanked the old lady, and told her she had been most helpful.

"Come back if you need anything else, my dears."

Orchard thought, _Poor lonely old lady. I hope I don't end up like that, put out to grass and forgotten._

By the time the two police officers returned to the crime scene, it was dark. The road was cordoned off now with blue and white POLICE DO NOT CROSS tape. A large white tent was erected over the area where the body had been lying, and strong arc lights were blazing down on the scene. It gave the whole area a surreal and eerie atmosphere. A light illuminated the inside of the tent and the dark shadows of the forensics team could be seen against the canvas walls.

Some large moths caught DS Floyd's eye, banging and crashing into the glass in front of the lights.

"Not much more we can do here at the moment. Let's get back to the station, it's getting late," Orchard snapped at Floyd.

#  CHAPTER TWO

### Trying To Get It Together

**Liston Pearce** was back home. He lived in a small flat not far from his father's house.

There was a faint smell of weed scenting the air as he opened the door and went in. Liston was not into cleaning. His last girlfriend had left him a month before, and he had not done much to the flat since she had gone. Old newspapers and empty beer bottles littered the room. _Mayfair_ and _Penthouse_ magazines with curled edges were piled up on the seat of a faded old armchair.

He put _Uprising_ , his favourite Bob Marley album, on his ancient turntable. The beat of the reggae music echoed around the small living room. He found some cigarette papers lying on the arm of the chair and rolled himself a joint, opened a bottle of Red Stripe Beer and sat down on his beat up old sofa. This relaxed him a little, but he could not get what had just happened out of his head. Thoughts were spinning around like clothes in a tumble dryer. _I need to tell someone. I can't keep this to myself._ He was closest to Inez but he didn't want to involve her.

The two tone brown and cream Trimphone warbled its high-pitched note and startled him. It was Inez.

"Did you see the murder in the street when you left my flat this afternoon?"

"No." Liston replied. "What murder?"

"There's been a murder. A guy stabbed a policewoman and then someone shot him dead. Just up the road from me. I'm surprised you didn't see anything."

"It must have happened after I got back to my car."

"The police have been asking questions, and doing house to house inquiries. It's been like an episode from _The Bill_."

Liston asked his sister, "Did you tell them I was there?"

"No," she replied. "Do you think I should have?"

"No, I didn't see anything, so not much point. Look, there's someone at the door. I'll call you later, bye Sis," and he put the phone down.

There was no one at the door: Liston just wanted to collect his thoughts. He wondered, _What am I going to do now?_ His sister knew he was around at the time of the killing, so perhaps someone else had seen him as well.

The only other person he could talk to was his Dad. He had not seen him for six months, and the last time they'd met they had argued. But there was no one else he felt he could trust enough to tell, and he was going out of his mind with worry.

He decided to take the short walk to his father's house. He was expecting him to be angry and disappointed, and go on about all the mistakes and wrong turns he had made in his life, but he had no one else to turn to. His mates would think he had gone crazy helping a policewoman, so he couldn''t tell them.

When he arrived at the house all the lights were off. _Shit! Where is he when I need him?_ Just then a figure appeared walking down the street, and he knew by the slight limp it was his father. His heart started pounding with a mixture of fear and relief.

"What are you doing here, son? It's been a long time since I saw you, I suppose you want something."

"Hi Pop!" Liston tried to break the ice, and lighten the mood a little.

"Do you want to come in for a beer?"

"Thanks, I will," Liston replied.

"Wipe your feet. I don't want muck traipsing through the house."

Tom Pearce was mid-fifties, tall and thin. He had a round face which had a shine to it, short black hair, dark eyes that always looked bloodshot in the corners, and deep lines on his forehead which gave him a worried look.

Tom unlocked the door, turned the light on, and they went inside. He turned on the two-bar electric heater, and got a couple of beers from the fridge. Liston could smell the fish and chips his father had just bought from the chippy.

"I suppose you want some?" Tom grumbled.

"Just a few."

Tom sighed, got two plates from the kitchen, and split the fish and chips in two. He passed one of the plates to Liston.

"Well, what is it you want?" he asked, picking one of his chips up with his fingers, and blowing on it.

"I'm in trouble Pop. I killed someone."

His father slumped back in the chair, almost dropping the plate of chips in his lap.

"What do you mean, you killed someone. Was it a car accident?"

"No! I shot him!" Liston blurted out.

"How in God's name did you shoot someone?"

Liston explained the whole story, in every detail.

His father was almost unable to speak.

"Was Inez involved?"

"No, she wasn't there. What do you think I should do, Dad?"

"Give yourself up to the police. After your mother died, I thought we would be a close knit family, all pulling together, but you decided to go your own way, and now see where you have ended up: killing someone."

"Christ, I wish I'd never told you. You've never been much help to me."

"No need to blaspheme, Liston."

"Sorry Dad, but I need help. What should I do?"

"You will have to give yourself up. The police are bound to catch you."

Liston did not see it quite this way. _It might be better if I lie low for a while, and see what happens._

"I can't, Dad. If I do, I'll go down for years. Is that what you want?

"No, of course not, don't be bloody silly."

Liston was not used to hearing his Dad swear.

"Why did you kill the man anyway?"

"I didn't have any choice. He would have killed the policewoman if I hadn't shot him."

"But did you have to kill him? Couldn't you have just wounded him?"

"It was all over in a second – I don't even remember shooting him twice. The gun sort of had a mind of its own""

"That's a good defence, the gun went off on its own," snorted Tom. "Well, what are you going to do then? Go on the run and ruin the rest of your life, like you have done since your mother died, God rest her soul?"

"You always bring Mum into it. It's always been the same: when I need help you aren't there for me.""

This was a bit of a reality check for Tom. He loved his son but he had difficulty showing it – the words came out of his mouth were a little different from the ones he had in his head.

Liston left his dad's house with an uneasy farewell, but Tom promised he would not say anything to anyone until at least the next day.

#  CHAPTER THREE

### A Friend In Need

**Liston** woke early. He had not slept well. It was just beginning to come daybreak. A shaft of light peeped through the dusty curtains of his bedroom window and illuminated the ceiling. He could make out the shapes of old familiar friends in the patchy paintwork: the rabbit with one ear longer than the other in the corner, and the kind-looking old lady with a wart on her cheek. Then there were the evil faces; demons, devils and deformed dwarfs. Were the happenings of the day before a dream? No! It hit him like a thunderbolt. It was all too real.

He began to panic. _Perhaps it was a mistake telling my Dad_. It was too late to think of that now. _He did give me some support I suppose_. Sitting bolt upright, the blood rushing to his head, he had a thought. _If I don't meet any of my other mates, it might look a bit suspicious, as I see them almost every day._ Dressing in a lazy, uninterested way and still bleary-eyed, he made his way to the living room. Picking up the phone he punched out the numbers on the keypad and called his best friend, Sol. They arranged to meet in a couple of hours, at a pub just off City Road.

Opening a packet of pink Rizla he saw five papers left. _Must buy some more_. He rolled a joint, sat down and tried to think of the good times in his life. Making lots of money drug dealing, robbing, hustling and thieving with his crew, having the pick of the women he knew whenever he wanted. Then more sobering thoughts arrived at the train station in his mind. Being with his Mum and his two sisters when he was young, playing football in the park with his Dad, going to the Saturday morning cinema with his school mates.

Liston had hated school. When he'd started in the late 1960s, black kids were in the minority and he was the only one there. Even when he was young he was a big lad so he didn't get much hassle from the other kids. He was good at fighting and had quite a few scraps after school. The school teachers were the bastards. They picked on him just for being the odd one out. Also, he was slow at reading and spelling and had problems knowing his left hand from his right. Dyslexia was not on the radar when he was young and his teachers passed him over as stupid and thick so he left without any qualifications.

He disliked authority and didn't like anyone telling him what to do.

He drifted away for a while, watching the clouds of smoke swirling into the air and spiralling around. He wished he could drift off somewhere like the smoke and forget about yesterday. But then he came back to reality with a bump. It was time to go and meet Sol.

When he arrived at the pub, Sol was already there. He was the same age as Liston, a short stocky man with a little goatee beard. He liked to wear brightly-coloured clothes, beads around his neck and wrists, and a big knitted black, green, yellow and red hat sat on top of his long dreadlocks. Sol stood out in a crowd! He thought of himself as a Rastafarian, but that was far from the truth. For Sol it was just a good excuse to smoke ganja.

Solomon Cassells had known Liston a long time. They'd met at a youth club in their early teens. When they were young, they used to go shoplifting together in the shops around Bristol. They terrorized their teenage friends into giving them money, broke into cars and nicked stuff: not nice kids at all. They were in the Bristol Riots together, but Sol was never arrested. When they grew into men they were no better. They did plenty of bad things together but had some great times with the drugs, booze and women.

"Yow man!" Sol shouted across room.

The bar was dingy and smelled of stale smoke and beer. Two old men were playing dominoes on a corner table, slapping the counters on the table with loud clicks. They looked like they hadn't moved for years.

"Wat yah havin to drink?" Sol asked,

"A coke," Liston answered.

"You want sometin stronger than that, man, that's a woman's drink."

"OK, rum and coke."

They sat down away from the bar.

"What's up?" Sol asked.

He could see Liston was rattled over something.

In a hushed voice Liston said, "I killed someone yesterday!"

Sol looked surprised.

"Not the guy who was attacking that policewoman?"

"How the fuck did you know?"

"It's all over the newspapers and TV. They is callin you a hero, a vigilante."

Liston couldn't believe his ears.

"Have you told anyone else?" asked Sol.

"Only me Dad, and he is not going to say anything – I hope."

Sol got up, and wandered over to the bar.

"A rum and coke and have you got today's newspaper, boss man?" he asked the barman.

"Yep, I'll get it for you."

Sol picked up the paper and the drink, and sat down next to Liston.

"Read that yah dumb-ass!"

The headline read, 'HERO SAVES POLICEWOMAN'S LIFE'. It went on: 'An unknown stranger fatally wounded the attacker of a defenceless policewoman yesterday, in the St Paul's area of Bristol.' _It seems as though the press is taking my side,_ Liston thought. He carried on reading: 'WPC Wendy Parker was rushed to Bristol Royal Infirmary. Her condition is described by the doctors as serious, but stable.'

Somewhere deep in Liston's soul, he felt good about the fact he had saved someone's life. Even if it was a policewoman.

Sol said, "Do you wanna stay at my place till things cool down?"

Liston took him up on the offer.

They finished their drinks, and left the pub. On the way to Sol's flat they called at Liston's place, and picked up some things. Then they walked on to Sol's. He lived over a café, just off Argyle Road.

Sol unlocked the door, and they went upstairs. It was a nice flat, quite, light and airy. There were posters of Bob Marley, The Jackson 5, and some local bands pinned to the walls.

The flat had two bedrooms, a bathroom, a toilet and a small kitchen. The walls were decorated with faded orange and brown 1960s wallpaper. The biggest problem with the flat was the smell from the café downstairs. Old chip oil and burgers were not the nicest things to smell, when you were trying to relax and watch the telly. Liston did feel a lot safer here, and it was a good feeling to know that his best friend knew about his big problem.

"Can you hide me car somewhere?" Liston asked Sol.

"Of course, man. What you done with the gun?"

Liston still had the same coat on. He was so used to carrying the pistol he had forgotten it was still in his pocket. He pulled it out and held it in front of Sol.

"You fucking idiot, get rid of it!" Sol shouted. "Give it to me and I'll chuck it in the Avon."

Liston handed him his car keys, and the pistol.

Sol said, "Stay here! I won't be long!" He grabbed a coat and left the flat.

Liston was alone again with his thoughts. _I am fucking glad the papers are on my side, and that I have such a good friend as Sol_. But the anxiety he felt was overwhelming and dragging him down.

Sol returned to the flat about two hours later.

"I've put your car in me lockup, and the gun is in the river near Clifton Suspension Bridge. No one will ever find it in that mud."

"Thanks, you're a real pal, Sol."

Liston gave him a hug and patted him on the back.

"Do you want sumtin to eat, Sol? I'll nip down to the café and get some food."

"I'll go," Sol answered. "I have an arrangement with them, I get stuff a bit cheaper. What do you want?"

"A couple of Jamaican patties and a beer."

"I'll have the same."

Sol was soon back with the grub. He took two cold beers from the fridge and handed one to Liston. He pulled the ring on the can top and it fizzed open. The patties were nice and spicy, just as Liston liked them. They drank the beer, smoked a joint, and listened to some Reggae music. The last thought Liston had before he drifted off into a warm, comfortable sleep, was: _What the fuck is going to happen to me now_...?

#  CHAPTER FOUR

### Press Conference

**DCI** Orchard and the parents of WPC Wendy Parker were preparing to make a TV appeal. They were desperate to find the person who had saved their only child's life.

DCI Orchard was never at ease in front of the TV cameras. He felt self-conscious and intimidated, and it was because he was not in control.

They all sat at a long table covered with a blue cloth. There was a sort of awning behind them with 'Somerset and Avon Constabulary' printed on it and also a representation of the police badge. The TV director gave Orchard the sign to talk holding up three fingers, then two, then one, then the thumbs up.

Orchard started by asking the person responsible for the shooting to come forward and help the police with their inquiries. He gave a brief description of the events, and then passed the microphone to Mrs Parker.

Wendy's mum was a lot more gushing. With eyes full of tears, she said, "Please! Please! Whoever you are, come forward to help the police with their inquiries. Then we can thank you in person for saving our daughter's life."

Orchard then asked the public for help. "We will treat any information in the strictest of confidence." He finished by giving phone numbers for people to call.

***

Liston was in Sol's flat. They watched the broadcast together, but Liston found it hard to believe they were talking about him on the telly. He was not sure what he was hearing. Were they saying he was not in as much trouble as he first thought? Or were they trying to get him to give himself up to make their jobs easier.

After the appeal Sol said, "What a load of bullshit! They just wanna put you in chains, man."

***

The police investigation was stumbling forward. Few clues had come to light. DS Floyd collected the ballistics report, and handed it to DCI Orchard. He read that the two bullets, recovered from the body of the dead man were from the same gun, which had been used to rob a betting shop two months earlier.

Two men had burst into a bookies in the Bedminster area of Bristol. They fired one shot into the ceiling of the shop to scare the customers. They then terrorized the cashier into handing over money from the small safe at the back of the shop. Both men were wearing balaclavas, one described as being a tall, slim, black man, the other a stocky man. The raid only lasted a couple of minutes, and the pair of robbers got away with over three thousand pounds.

Orchard thought, _Could this be the same man that Mrs Stokes had seen running away from the crime scene? A bit of a coincidence, both descriptions being of a tall black man._

Floyd started going through the records. There were a few incidents which came to light of a tall black man being involved in various crimes. A fight in a pub, in which someone was beaten up and needed hospitalization. Two other robberies, and quite a few drug-related incidents.

DCI Orchard, called together the team involved in the investigation for a briefing.

"Let's get down to it," he bellowed at the assembled officers. "We now have the name of the person who was killed. His name was Steven Bishop. Twenty-three years old, unemployed white male. A long-term heroin addict, with some mental problems: a bit of a madman from all accounts. He''d been arrested in the past for minor drug-offences and causing an affray. At this moment in time there is no rational explanation as to why he attacked the young policewoman. The report from the hospital is not looking too good either. WPC Parker is still in a coma. There's a WPC stationed outside her room and as soon as Wendy Parker regains consciousness she will let us know."

Orchard looked at Floyd.

"Find out as much as you can about Mr Steven Bishop. I want the rest of you to check all the records again. See if you can find out anything about this tall black man. Re-interview all the witnesses. Uniformed officers, are doing house to house enquiries and searching the area. We need a break in this case, and, as you all know the longer it goes on, the harder it is to crack. Now let''s all get going."

***

Without Liston's knowledge, Sol had arranged to meet the other members of the gang. They meet at a coffee bar near the centre of Bristol. Sol was there first. He ordered a coffee, and sat at a table near a large plate-glass window at the front of the café, overlooking the street. Cars were racing by in the road. A black Mercedes 450 SL cruised past driven by some prick of a Yuppie, his elbow resting on the open car window. _I suppose he thinks he's Richard Gere in American Gigolo_ , Sol thought.

Sol watched as two of his mates walked down the road. Luton and Samuel came into the café together. They went to the counter, ordered a coffee, and sat down at the table next to Sol. Luton was in his thirties, a fat man as strong as a gorilla. A big round smiling face sat on top of his big shoulders. He'd been born in Bristol and worked on the docks. In and out of trouble as a kid, he turned to a life of serious crime after he'd been made redundant. Luton loved Jamaican food which was the reason he was so fat. Luton told everyone he was big boned and had an eating disorder; anyway, that was his excuse.

Samuel was a bit slimmer but not much. He was not a local man, having arrived in Bristol six years earlier from Manchester. In his late twenties, he was much more of a sinister character. He didn't speak much, always sucking his teeth and sneering.

"What's dis all about then?" Samuel said.

Just then, the last member of the gang arrived. Roy was a good-looking man, in his mid-twenties, always smiling, and joking about. This got on Sam's nerves quite a lot, but they were all hardened criminals, and being members of a tough yardie gang meant they had a bond. They trusted each other without question over most things.

"What's all dis about then?" Sam asked again, in a more frustrated way.

Roy asked, "Where's Liston?"

Sol started to explain that Liston had come to him for help. He then told them the story about killing the man to save the policewoman's life.

"What the fuck did he think he was doin? Should have let the bitch die," Sam snarled in a low, agitated voice.

Roy asked, "Where is he now?"

"He's at my flat," Sol told him.

"Get him out quick, man, or you will get us all in the shit," Sam said.

Luton had not said a word up to now. He'd felt stunned by the story Sol had just told them.

"I think we should try and help him."

"Not me!" Sam said. "It's fuck all to do with us, and we all agreed in the past, if one of us gets caught, not to grass the others up."

"Yes! But..."

"Yes but nothing," Sam sneered.

They were there talking over the situation for the next half an hour. What to do? What not to do? By the time they all left the café, nothing had been decided and they were no further forward in knowing what to do.

Sol went back to his flat where Liston was going stir crazy. He was not used to being inside all day, and didn't know what was going on.

On the way back to the flat, Sol bought all the papers he could find. The story was still headline news in the local papers, but it had been relegated to page two in the nationals. Most reports were still portraying him as a good guy who had done the right thing.

It was late, and Liston was thinking about his dad. He was probably worrying himself silly. Perhaps he should try and call him, even though Sol advised had against it.

#  CHAPTER FIVE

### The Family Pulls Together

**Liston's** father was getting concerned about his son. He had had no word from him for over twenty-four hours now. _I don't know why I worry about him so much, he has been nothing but trouble since his Mother died. But he is my flesh and blood._

He decided to call Inez.

"It's me, Dad, I need to talk to you. Are you doing anything?"

"Not much, what's up?" she said.

"I'll tell you when I see you. I'll catch the bus over to your place, see you in an hour."

Tom then called his other daughter, Agnes, and arranged to meet her later at her house with Inez.

It was a short bus trip, and one he had taken many times before, but never on such a serious matter.

When he got to the top of Inez's road, it was blocked off by a police barrier. _My God!_ he realised. _This is where Liston killed the young man._ He imagined he could still see bloodstains on the road but it might have been something else.

He had to make a small detour, past the blue and white police tape. There were still a few uniformed police in the area asking questions, but the main forensics team had left some time earlier.

He arrived at Inez's door, and rang the bell. Inez answered almost immediately.

"Are you OK, Dad? You look dreadful! Come in."

Tom went into the flat, which was cluttered but cosy. Inez had just made a sandwich, and a coffee for herself and was watching an episode of _Dallas_ on the TV. She asked her Dad if he wanted anything.

"No thanks, love, I'm not hungry. We have a big problem with your brother," he sighed. "He has killed someone."

"Not the man up the road!"

"Yes!" he replied.

"But I called him just after it happened, and he said he knew nothing about it. The lying little shit!"

Her Dad told her how Liston had come to see him, and explained what had happened. He then told Inez the whole sad story.

"I have arranged for us to go and see your sister."

Agnes lived on the other side of Bristol, near Arno's Vale cemetery. It was a nice area, a lot more up-market than St Paul's.

Agnes had been a bright child, with a talent for art. She did her O-levels, and then A-levels. When she left school, she found a job in a graphic design studio near the university. That was where she met her husband, Philip. He was also a graphic designer, and a junior partner in a firm in the city centre. They had been married a couple of years now, and had a little girl called Lucy.

"Let's get going," Tom said to his daughter.

Inez had a small, pale blue Vespa with a black leather-look seat. Tom was not keen on being a passenger, but it would otherwise have meant two bus-rides, and a good walk to get to Agnes' house. The scooter sprang into life with the first kick. They climbed on and they were off down the road. It seemed to Tom that she was going too fast.

"Slow Down," he shouted but Inez was oblivious to his cries.

He was just not used to riding pillion. It was dark now, and cold, especially on the back of a scooter. Tom held his daughter around the waist, and tried to peer over her shoulder to see where they were going. The tiny headlight from the scooter danced on the road in front of them. It took about twenty minutes to get to Agnes' house. She lived in a cul-de-sac off a main road.

Inez pulled up outside her sister's house, a tiny bungalow with a small garden. Tom climbed off slowly; his legs had gone numb trying to keep steady on the scooter as it weaved its way from side to side through the streets of Bristol. Inez chained her scooter up outside the house.

Agnes must have heard them arrive, because the door was open when they walked up the path. Agnes was waiting for them. She was a plain woman and her permed shoulder-length hair looked greasy. She had a clear skin and wore red lipstick which made her perfect white teeth stand out. She was wearing a black roll-neck sweater, a russet-coloured fitted jacket and matching skirt.

"Hi," she said "this is a surprise. There must be something up."

She kissed her Dad, and gave her sister a big hug.

"Come in, let me take your coats and crash helmets. I can't remember seeing you on the back of that death trap before, Dad!"

"What do you mean, death trap?" Inez retorted with some annoyance in her voice. "It's as safe as houses."

"Not with you riding, sis," Agnes laughed. "Do you want tea, or something stronger?'

"Tea will be fine," they both replied.

Inez asked, "Where's Philip?"

"He's not home yet, but shouldn't be long."

Agnes went to fetch Lucy, who was twenty-two months old. _The most beautiful baby in the world,_ Tom thought.

Agnes gave Lucy to Inez. She talked baby talk to her niece, and Lucy reacted to the "goo goos" and tickling with giggles and chuckles.

"Well, what's this all about?" Agnes said.

Her Dad replied, "Your brother is in big trouble. He's killed someone."

"The guy in all the papers, near my flat," Inez piped up.

"Oh no!" Agnes exclaimed, and crossed herself.

Once again, Tom explained what had happened.

"Where is he now?" Agnes asked.

"No one knows. He's gone to ground, but we must find him soon, before he gets himself in more trouble," Inez said.

Just then Agnes' husband, opened the door.

"I thought you were here, Inez," smiled Philip. "I saw the scooter chained up outside, but I didn't expect to see you, Tom."

Agnes told him what had happened and how Liston had disappeared.

"Just let me know if I can do anything, or if you need any help," Philip said. "I know a few people that might be able to do something."

Tom and Inez finished their tea.

"We'd better go. There might be some news when we get back."

They put their coats and helmets on, and ventured out into the cold night air. The scooter ride was even colder and scarier for Tom on the return journey.

Inez dropped her Dad off outside his house, kissed him goodnight and went off down the road. They had arranged to all call each other the next morning. Someone might have an idea what the next step should be by then.

#  CHAPTER SIX

### The Police Raid

**Wendy** Parker was starting to regain consciousness. DCI Orchard was waiting for news from the WPC posted outside her hospital room. The WPC's orders were to let him know the second she became lucid enough to be interviewed and make a statement. Wendy's mum and dad were taking it in turns to be by her bedside. One of them was always watching over her, praying to her guardian angel to keep her safe.

A few days had passed since the incident, and everyone involved with the case was getting frustrated. They needed a break. It came that afternoon when an anonymous caller accused Liston Pearce of being the killer. DS Floyd checked Pearce's record. The physical description matched. He bounded into DCI Orchard's office.

"I think we've got a good clue who he is, sir," he said in an almost squeaky voice.

"Slow down," Orchard said.

Floyd relayed the information about Pearce's record.

"We need to get an armed response team together and raid his dwelling as soon as we can. Get his description and photograph, if we have one, circulated to all branches. I want the press officer in here now."

Floyd left, and moments later the press officer arrived. She was a pretty young police officer with long blonde hair tied up in a bun.

"Yes sir."

"I need a press release as soon as possible," Orchard barked at the girl. "We are looking for Liston Pearce, a tall black man. He is armed and dangerous. Warn the public not to approach him under any circumstances. If they see him, call 999 immediately."

"Yes sir, I will get on it straight away."

Floyd came back into the office.

"The armed response unit will be ready in an hour. The canine unit is on standby as well, sir."

Orchard told Floyd, "Find out who his friends and associates are and get his family in for questioning as well."

The hour or so soon passed and the operation commenced. Orchard and Floyd arrived at Liston Pearce's flat mid-afternoon. It was drizzling so there were few passers-by to keep under control. Orchard found the officer in charge of the operation.

"What's happening? Any movement?"

"We've been watching the flat for the past forty minutes, and no one has entered or left. We prefer to do these raids early in the morning when people are asleep but I understand the urgency of the situation. We will go in in ten minutes." He radioed to the other officers in his team.

The ten minutes seemed to go on forever. There was tension amongst the officers and Orchard could feel it as well.

Then they were off, running up the stairs. One of the officers had an Enforcer a large metal tube, which he smashed the door down with. The door cracked open, wood splinters flew everywhere, and the flimsy lock shot across the floor like a cannon ball. Everyone was shouting and yelling.

Police officers with bulletproof vests and matt-black crash helmets charged into the flat. Pistols seemed to be pointing in all directions at the same time.

"Armed police! Everyone on the ground!"

It seemed to Orchard like organized chaos and confusion reigned for a few moments. Then it was quiet. Pearce was not there.

"Bugger!" Orchard exclaimed. "Get the forensics in here as quick as you can, Floyd."

"They are on standby, boss."

The armed response team returned to base after making sure everything was safe and secure. The forensics team soon arrived and took over, sifting the scene for evidence. DCI Orchard and DS Floyd went into the flat and looked around, trying not to interfere.

The flat was quite drab with a beat-up old sofa and an old red Dansette record player with a clear plastic lid on a small table near the TV. Piles of records were strewn around, some in their record sleeves but most not. Reggae, some Beatles, also Michael Jackson and Rolling Stones albums.

Floyd thought, _This is not the sort of place I would have expected Pearce to live. Dreary._

"It doesn't look like he has been here for a day or so, sir," Floyd muttered.

"No," agreed Orchard "Let's get back to the station."

There was a news bulletin being broadcast on local TV and radio at 9pm. _Let's hope something will come of that,_ Orchard thought.

***

It was early evening. Wendy's mum had been waiting by her daughter's bedside all day. Wendy gave a few twitches and slowly opened her eyes, but her mum did not notice straight away. Then an almost imperceptible groan came from Wendy's lips, and she was there in a heartbeat.

"My love, my darling little girl, can you hear me?"

Mrs Parker could feel the warm tears start to well up in her eyes and then overflow, trickling down her cheeks. She tasted salt at the corner of her mouth.

Wendy tried to say she could hear but what came from her lips was another groan. Mrs Parker pressed the button by the side of her the bed to call the duty nurse. When the nurse arrived, Wendy had slipped back into a deep sleep. The nurse explained to Wendy's Mum that it often takes a long time to come round from a coma. Mrs Parker was only half listening: she was only focused on her injured child lying in front of her.

The nurse put her arm around her shoulder and reassured her. "All the signs are looking good, Mrs Parker."

The nurse checked Wendy to make sure everything was OK then turned and went.

The police officer stationed in the hallway outside Wendy's room noticed the commotion and asked the nurse about the patient's condition.

"Wendy is coming round from the coma."

"Can she talk? It's vital we interview her as soon as possible"

"You will have to speak to her doctor about that."

The officer immediately called in the information to the station.

When Orchard and Floyd arrived back at the station, Liston Pearce's father Tom Pearce had been brought in for questioning, placed in an interview room and given a cup of tea.

Orchard asked Floyd, "What do we know about Pearce's father?"

"Not much. He has no police record, works for the railway, has always stayed out of trouble – not like his son."

"OK, let's get in there and see if we can find out anything."

DCI Orchard and DS Floyd stepped into the interview room. Tom Pearce sat at the table in the middle of the room.

"Thank you for coming in, Mr Pearce, just a few questions." They sat down on the chairs in front of Tom.

"Have you seen you son Liston recently?" Orchard asked.

"The night before last, he came around to see me," Tom answered.

"Monday night?"

"No, Sunday night. Sorry, time is playing tricks on me at the moment."

"And what did you talk about?"

"This and that."

Tom had never been interviewed by the police before, and he felt uneasy. Should he tell the truth or lie for his son? In his bones he trusted the police but this conflict in his heart was tearing him apart.

After a few more difficult questions from John Orchard, Tom blurted out the whole story, about his son coming to see him, about the killing, everything.

"Do you know where he is now?"

"No, I wish I did. I haven't spoken to him since Sunday night."

Just then a uniformed police officer entered the interview room and handed the DCI a piece of paper. He opened the note, read it, then slid it to Floyd. It stated that WPC Wendy Parker was regaining consciousness.

"I think that will do for the time being, Mr Pearce. Thank you for coming in. We may need to speak to you again, and we also need you to give the uniformed officer a written statement. Then you can go home. We may also need to speak to your two daughters."

Tom was glad to get out of the police station. He made it to the nearest pub and ordered a small whiskey. There was a pay phone at the end of the bar. He paid for his drink and asked the barman for some change to use the phone.

He took a sip of the whiskey, which felt warm and burned a little as it slipped down his throat.

He called both his daughters to tell them what had happened. He warned them they could expect a visit from the police.

Tom finished his drink. He felt exhausted and drained of life. Leaving the warm pub he went out into the night and the darkness engulfed him. He trudged home with his head sunk low. _Have I done my boy an injustice by telling the police what I know?_

When he got home he turned the electric fire and the TV on, poured himself another whiskey and sat down.

The nine o'clock news was on. The shock of seeing his son's photograph on the TV and hearing the words "armed and Dangerous" made his heart beat at such a rate he was having difficulty breathing.

He was hyperventilating; losing control of his body. Panic set in. _Am I dying?_ He staggered out of the door and collapsed on the path in front of his house. His next-door neighbour had just returned from taking his dog for a walk. He saw Tom lying on the ground, so he pushed open the gate and rushed in.

"Tom! Tom, what's up?"

He shouted for his wife. She came out of their house mumbling something under her breath. "Quick, call 999. Tom has collapsed."

She hurried back inside.

"It will be all right, Tom, help will be here soon."

The ambulance arrived a few minutes later. The paramedics came to the conclusion it was either a heart or panic attack.

They placed him in the ambulance with an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. The doors closed and the ambulance sped off down the road, the flashing blue lights reflecting in everybody's windows as it passed.

His neighbour went into Tom's house, turned the TV and fire off, locked the front door and took the key with him.

By the time Tom arrived at the hospital he had calmed down a little. The paramedics took him to Accident and Emergency, and after a few tests he was diagnosed as having had a panic attack. The doctor gave him a sedative and told him to rest. The nurse drew the blue and white checked curtain around the bed and left him.

He lay on the bed feeling that his world had shattered into a thousand pieces. Soon the sedative started working and he fell into a light sleep.

Tom was there for a couple of hours. The hospital receptionist called Agnes and she arrived with her husband and daughter. Lucy was fast asleep in her mum's arms. Agnes found her dad resting in one of the recovery rooms.

"Are you all right, Dad?"

"Not too bad now, love, but I thought I was going to die."

They waited for an hour or so, then the nurse told them they could take Tom home but he would need someone to stay with him for a few hours.

Phillip and Agnes drove Tom back to their home and put him to bed in the spare bedroom.

There was a message on the answer phone from Inez, but it was too late to call her back.

_I will do it in the morning,_ Agnes thought.

#  CHAPTER SEVEN

### Floyd Goes To The Pub

Agnes took Tom back home in the morning. Tom called round to see his next-door neighbour and thanked him for helping him the night before. He needed to pick up his key anyway. Agnes left the two men chatting.

Later, Tom called Inez. She had already spoken to her sister so she was up to speed with most of what had occurred the night before. She told her father that she hadn't been contacted by the police yet, but was expecting a knock on the door at any moment.

***

Liston didn't get much sleep after watching the TV appeal. He and Sol had watched it together, and he could feel Sol was getting tense.

"Do you wanna drink?" Sol asked.

"I'll just have some milk, not sure if I can keep much else down."

"We need to talk, brotha," Sol said.

Liston had a feeling in his gut what was coming. Sol explained that he couldn't stay with him any longer. He was all over the TV and in the newspapers, so someone was bound to recognize him sooner or later if he stayed around here.

"You need to get away and lie low, man."

"I understand, mate. I'll push off later when it gets a bit quieter," Liston replied.

There was still some support for Liston Pearce in the local papers, but it seemed to be ebbing away after the TV appeal.

***

DCI Orchard was in the office early; he didn't want to let the grass grow under his feet. He felt, from the preceding day's events, that at last they were getting somewhere.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come," he said in a gruff voice.

DS Floyd came into the office.

"I have been checking some of the evidence removed during the search of Pearce's flat, and amongst it there is this newspaper."

He handed Orchard the evidence bag.

"Has it been fingerprinted?"

"Yes," Floyd said, "there are loads of fingerprints on it. However, the most interesting thing is the address in pencil at the top of the front page. It's a local pub called The Queen's Head, not far from Pearce's flat."

Orchard scanned the newspaper.

"Call round to the pub and see if it is of importance," he told Floyd. "I'll meet you at the hospital at about eleven. We''ll see if Wendy is well enough to give us a statement."

"OK boss," nodded Floyd and off he went.

Floyd arrived at the pub just as they were having a delivery of beer. The place was even more bleak and dismal with no one in it.

Floyd asked one of the drayman if the landlord was about. The drayman gave a shout and shortly afterwards a man came into the bar wearing a pair of red slippers and a dressing gown. Floyd thought, _What a sight first thing in the morning_. He showed him his warrant card.

"What's up now?" the landlord asked "You lot are always hassling me over something or other."

"Have you seen this newspaper before?" Floyd asked.

Floyd placed the evidence bag on the bar. The landlord peered at it.

"Where are my specs?" he grumbled, then shouted, presumably to his wife, "Jill where are my specs?""

"By the cash register I expect, where you left them last night." The reply seemed to come from the room above the bar, a little like someone trying to contact the dead at a séance.

The landlord walked over, shuffled some papers by the side of the cash register and mumbled something about not leaving them there before walking back to Floyd.

"Can I take it out?" He gestured to the paper in the bag.

"Yes you can."

He looked at the paper. It was hard to say it wasn't his, seeing as the name of the pub was written on the top of the front page.

"Yes, it's one of mine. I get three newspapers delivered every day."

"Do you know how it came to be in Liston Pearce's flat?"

There was a pause: the landlord had seen the TV appeal the night before, and didn't want to get in any more bother than necessary.

"He was in the pub a couple of days ago with his buddy, Sol. I guess he must have taken it then."

"Sol who?" Floyd asked.

"Not sure of his other name. Solomon with the dreadlocks, I've always called him."

"Are you sure they took the paper?"

"No, not sure, but they asked me for one when they were here."

Floyd said, "We might need you to come to the station and make a statement."

"No probs," the landlord shrugged.

Floyd turned and went. The landlord thought, _Glad to see the back of him._

DS Floyd met DCI Orchard outside the hospital at eleven. Floyd was sitting in his car waiting as Orchard walked over to him and tapped on the window.

"What happened at the pub?" he asked.

Floyd told him all the details of the interview.

"Interesting. Do we know this Solomon with the dreadlocks?"

"It's the first thing on my list when I get back to the station, sir."

"Right, now let's see if the WPC can shed any light on this case."

They caught the lift to the second floor. The policeman on duty outside of Wendy's door saluted Orchard.

"Any developments officer?"

"WPC Parker has had a good night and regained consciousness. They'll be moving her out of intensive care to a high dependency ward later today, sir."

A doctor emerged from Wendy's room.

"Who are you?" he frowned, looking at Orchard with a quizzical gaze.

Orchard showed him his warrant card.

"Can I speak to Wendy please?" he asked.

The doctor said, "I suppose so, but please do not tire her. She is weak and not up to being interrogated, so five minutes tops."

The room was filled with all sorts of medical equipment and monitors. There seemed to be tubes and drips coming from every part of the young woman's body.

Wendy's mother was there, looking tired and drawn.

"How is she, Mrs Parker?" Orchard whispered.

"A slight improvement. It's not much but at least she is out of danger."

The tears welled up in her eyes as she tried to fight back emotions.

"Have you found the man who saved my daughter's life yet?"

This question took DCI Orchard aback but he did not show it. Years on the force made him good at hiding his feelings.

"No, not yet, but we will soon, I am sure of that."

"Can you thank him from me when you do find him," she asked.

Orchard tried to evade the question: there was no way he could thank a known criminal for killing someone.

"Can I speak to your daughter now?" he asked instead.

Mrs Parker nodded.

"Good morning, Wendy," Orchard said in a low, friendly voice.

"Good morning, sir."

Wendy had seen him lots of times at the station but had never spoken to him before.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I can't remember much. I was walking my beat us usual. A young man came up to me and asked the way to The Canal pub. As I turned around and pointed, I felt a sharp thump on my back and, well, that's it, no real pain. The next thing I remember is waking up here. Sorry sir, it''s not much help is it?"

"You are doing fine, Wendy. Anything else?"

"No, it all goes a bit fuzzy after that."

Orchard said, "That will do. You just take care of yourself; that is the most important thing now. If you do remember anything else, tell your mum and she can let the officer outside know, who'll pass the information on to me."

The two officers said their goodbyes to Wendy and Mrs Parker and left the hospital room.

Floyd said to the officer, "Any developments, let us know straight away."

"Yes sir."

They took the lift down to the ground floor.

"Not much help, eh Floyd?"

"No boss."

Back at the station, they went straight to Orchard's office.

"I think we're missing something," Orchard said to Floyd.

"What do you think it is, sir?"

"If I knew that I wouldn't be asking, would I?" he snapped back.

Floyd wondered why he'd asked such a dumb question. Then, to redeem himself, he asked, "Do you want me to try and trace Solomon with the dreadlocks?"

"Yes, you do that!" Orchard replied. "We need to find Liston Pearce as soon as possible."

#  CHAPTER EIGHT

### On The Run

**Liston** had packed the few things he had at Sol's flat. They all fitted into a small plastic Tesco's bag.

He was not short of cash – he had about seven hundred quid on him from drug deals and other shady business. The gang had a few thousand pounds stashed in different places, so money was not a problem. His biggest concern was what to do?

He said goodbye to Sol. They punched each other's knuckles lightly, then Liston's arm went around Sol's neck and they hugged.

"Bye Sol," he said with a warm deep voice. And picking up the plastic bag he left.

Sol was on the phone in seconds, arranging to meet the other gang members that night. He had big ideas of taking over the running of the gang, now Liston was out of the way. They arranged to meet at the Coconut Club at 10pm.

Liston decided to catch a train to Weston-Super-Mare. He had been there with his mum and dad when he was young, and he could only remember the good times. Building sand castles on the beach, eating ice cream, the bright lights, the fair at the end of the pier. He hoped that perhaps the sea air would clear his head. It might help him think of a way out of this fucking mess.

It was a short walk to Temple Meads train station. On the way he bought a couple of newspapers. He was wearing a hooded black jacket and a knitted woollen hat, which he'd pulled down over his face as much as he could without making himself look too stupid. He liked wearing a black bandanna but he thought it would make him look more noticeable and a little sinister. He hoped no one would recognize him. If someone did, God knows what would happen.

He bought a single ticket to Weston-Super-Mare and waited at the far end of the platform. He had forty-five minutes until the train arrived. He would have loved to have bought a cup of coffee at the station café but dared not risk being seen.

Liston liked railway stations – the hustle and bustle of people walking to and fro. He thought he could still smell the aroma from the old steam trains that used the station years before, but it was probably a romantic notion conjured up in his mind. Watery sun shone through the line of windows which ran the full length of the arched, Victorian wrought-iron dome. Pigeons were scuttling everywhere, the males trying to impress the females by cooing and dragging their tail feathers along the ground.

He started to read the newspapers, as much to cover his identity as anything else. The story about him was still being reported in the local papers but there was nothing in the nationals. He perceived how the mood had shifted a little after the TV broadcast, but there still was some support for the guy who shot the policewoman's attacker.

There were a few references to arming the police, and how some people thought this would help stop such vicious, unprovoked attacks, but they were in the minority.

The train arrived on time. Liston found a seat as far away from anyone as he could. Just as the train was pulling out of the station, he noticed his father at the far end of the platform. He had his head down, sweeping paper cups, cigarette ends and other discarded items which passengers had thrown down without a thought. The man seemed to be in a world of his own, _Worrying about me,_ Liston thought.

Liston felt alone and discarded like the litter his Dad was sweeping away.

The journey was short, about twenty minutes. He left the station and wandered the streets for a while, looking for a place to stay. He found somewhere behind The Playhouse Theatre. It looked a bit seedy from the outside and not too busy. It was early November so few people staying there, or so he hoped. But when he thought about it, maybe if it was a bit busier he would be less noticeable? He was getting tired and fed up now so he decided to stop dithering and to go for it.

There was a small wooden reception desk in front of him as he entered the hall. The smell of boiled fish lingered in the air. He went over to the desk and rang the small brass bell on the counter. He waited, but nothing happened, so he rang again a bit louder. Still nothing. He turned to leave.

"Can I help you?" a small timid voice came from behind him.

He turned back and there was a frail looking old man wearing a bright red hand-knitted jumper.

"Sorry sir, just been feeding the cats. Do you want a room?" the old man said.

"Yes please," Liston replied.

"How many nights?"

"Just two or three I think, no more than that."

"It's eleven pounds a night. Do you want to see the room?"

"No, I'm sure it will be OK."

"Do you have any luggage, sir?"

"I have some in the left luggage at the train station," Liston fibbed. He suddenly realised it probably looked odd that he hadn't got any with him. "I'll go and get it later."

"Can you pay for the room now as we need payment in advance?"

"Sure." Liston reached into his pocket and brought out a silver money clip with about a hundred pounds folded into it. He pulled three tens from the clip and then found three one pound coins in his pocket, he gave them to the old man.

He stuffed the notes in his back pocket.

"Thank you. I'll show you to your room."

He followed the old man along the corridor.

"Here we are, number seven." The old man unlocked the door.

They went into the room, which was chilly. There was a single bed covered with a green eiderdown near the window. Next to the bed was a small table with a lamp, and on the opposite wall was a wardrobe. There were two Victorian prints on the wall above the bed, of sweet little girls with rosy cheeks advertising Pears soap.

"There is an electric heater but you need to put some money in the meter at the back before it works," the old man explained. "By the way, do you want dinner tonight? Three pounds fifty including tea, bread and butter."

"Dinner sounds good," Liston said.

"You can pay for it at reception later."

"Sure thing," Liston replied. "Are there many other guests here?"

"No, you're the only one. It's off-season, and we only stay open because we live here. Are you here for a holiday?"

"No, just here for a few days to visit friends. They moved down a couple of years ago."

The old man turned and left the room. Almost immediately there was a knock on the door that he'd closed behind him. Liston's heart missed a beat. Had he been seen already? Was it the police?

He opened the door just enough to peep through the gap.

"I forgot to say, the toilet is down the passage on the left," said the old man.

"Thanks," Liston said, comforted by the fact his fears had been allayed.

He found some coins and pushed them into the meter at the back of the electric fire, and then switched it on. The two bars warmed up with a bright red glow. He took his jacket and hat off and laid on the bed. What did life have in store for him now?

An hour or so passed. Liston drifted in and out of an agitated sleep. He got up, turned the electric fire off, locked the room and went downstairs.

The old man was in the hall.

"I'm off to get my case from the left luggage, won't be long," Liston found himself saying to him.

It was starting to get dark when Liston left the guest house. He felt safer in the dark. _But what should I do about the case? It will look suspicious if I go back without one_.

He was walking back towards the station, when he saw a Heart Foundation charity shop still open so he went inside.

"Do you have a small case for sale?" he asked the young girl assistant.

"I think so. Yes, there, it's on the top shelf. I'll go and get a ladder."

But Liston, being six foot three inches tall, reached it without a problem.

"That's one advantage of being tall, I suppose," the assistant smiled. "That will be two pounds for the case, sir."

He bought a few other things as well, including two jumpers, another woollen hat.

"Four pounds altogether then," the young girl said.

Liston paid, put the clothes in the case and started walking back to the guest house. He passed a Boots the Chemist, went in and bought some toothpaste, a toothbrush, soap and deodorant. There was a CCTV camera at the checkout so he tried to hide his face from it.

He walked back to The Bella Vista Guest House with what seemed like all the cares of the world on his shoulders.

The guest house's owner was still in the hallway when he got back.

"Here is the three fifty I owe you," said Liston, handing it over.

"Dinner is at seven thirty," the man told him.

Liston climbed the stairs to his room, unlocked the door and went in, turned the electric fire on and sat down on the bed.

The old man, Mr Thomas, went into the kitchen.

"He wants dinner tonight," he said to his wife.

Mrs Thomas was a chubby lady who always wore a flowered pinafore and brown checked slippers with bobbles on the front.

"What have we got to give him?" Mr Thomas said.

"How about sausage and mash, with peas and onion gravy, and there is some of that apple pie I made yesterday left over. He can have that for pudding with some custard."

"That'll do nicely."

It was soon seven-thirty and Liston came down to dinner. Mrs Thomas showed him into the small dining room. Liston could hear someone talking on the radio as the sound echoed from the kitchen.

Mrs Thomas brought a bowl of tomato soup and placed it on the table in front of him.

"Sorry dear, it's only Heinz tinned tomato soup."

Liston wondered, _What other kind is there? Campbell's I suppose she means._

When he'd finished it, Mrs Thomas cleared the soup plate. The dining room was cold as there was no heating but the soup had warmed him up a little. Mrs Thomas came back with the sausage and mash, the steam rising from the plate and swirling in the air.

"Eat that up, it will put hairs on your chest, young man."

"If I get one more I'll be able to plait 'em," Liston joked. Mrs Thomas smiled and went back into the kitchen

Liston hadn't realized how hungry he was until he'd finished his apple pie and custard and drunk his tea.

"That was great, man," he said to Mrs Thomas.

"Thank you, sir," she said in a slightly condescending way, wondering why he had called her 'man''.

He got up from the table and went back to his room.

Mrs Thomas went back into the kitchen.

"He's a bit of a funny one, that man," she observed to her husband.

"Is he? I hadn't noticed," he shrugged, and went back to reading what was on TV later that night.

Liston was alone again. He was beginning to think his Dad was right. Perhaps he should give himself up since he could not see a way out of this fucking mess.

#  CHAPTER NINE

### Sol Gets Arrested

**The** Coconut Club was a lively place where loud reggae music played constantly. You could hear the music long before you went into the club. The entrance was on ground floor and then stairs led to the basement. The music pounded loudly in the bar area. The small bar had a straw canopy over it on wooden posts. The idea was to make it look like a Caribbean beach bar, and it did look good five years ago but now it just looked tired and shabby, but nobody cared. The crowds were there for the booze, drugs and, of course, the girls. The police raided the club almost every weekend for drugs and underage drinking. It was always packed with colourful people wearing garish beach shirts, enjoying themselves dancing on the small dance floor at the back of the room. Young black guys trying to impress the girls with their gyrating hips.

Sol arrived first out of the gang, as usual. He had been to the Coconut Club many times and felt quite at home. It was only ever used by the black community from the local St Paul's area. Sol knew almost everyone there. He went to the bar and ordered a large rum and coke.

He started chatting to one of the girls he knew. But he was thinking, _I wonder how the other gang members will react to me taking over as the boss?_ He felt safe there, but of course he did not know the police were out looking for Solomon with the dreadlocks. The others arrived one by one, and none of them seemed at all interested in what was going on with Liston to start with.

Sol gave them the heads up, and told them Liston had done a runner.

"Bloody idiot, should have left well alone," Sam said.

Roy and Luton were a bit more sympathetic.

"What we gonna do about the business?" Roy asked.

"I'll take over. I know most of Liston's contacts – where he buys stuff, the shops we get money from and the hookers," Sol replied.

"Until Liston gets back, you mean?" Luton queried.

"He ain't coming back," Sam sneered, sucking his teeth and chewing a wooden toothpick.

There was a stunned realization that what Sam had just said was the truth.

Roy had just gone to the bar to buy another round of drinks, when all hell let loose. It was a police raid, but since there had been so many raids before no one seemed worried.

"Here we go again," Luton said in a low voice.

Some of the people there rushed to the toilets to try and flush away their weed and other drugs before they were caught in possession.

The main light had been turned on, and the music turned off. Now it was bright, the room seemed flat, dull and uninteresting. Only seconds before it was noisy and full of atmosphere – people dancing, drinking and enjoying themselves.

DS Floyd was there and he saw straight away that Solomon with the dreadlocks was there. After all, he did stand out like a sore thumb.

"We would like you to come to the station with us," Floyd said to Sol.

"Why? I ain't done nuttin. I ain't carrying."

"It's about another matter," Floyd said.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

"You pigs just picking on me cos I'm black," Sol protested.

"Are you coming? Or do I need to arrest you and use the handcuffs."

Sol hung his head and shuffled out of the club, escorted by two uniformed police officers. They placed him in the back of a squad car and drove him to Trinity Road Police Station.

He was taken to an interview room where he waited, pacing the floor and wondering what the hell was going on.

DCI Orchard and DS Floyd came into the room.

"You bastard's tryin to stitch me up again?"

"What makes you think that?" Floyd answered.

"It's what you do."

"Can you tell us your full name, please?"

"Solomon Cassells."

"Well, Solomon Cassells, we want to know about Liston Pearce."

There was a long silence.

"Not seen him for weeks," Sol said.

"That's funny, we have a witness who said you were in The Queen's Head pub three days ago."

Another long silence.

"Oh yes, I forgot."

"Look Sol," DCI Orchard said, "You're involved in this murder up to your neck."

Shivers went down the back of Sol's spine: he didn't like that word, murder.

"We know you have been in contact with Pearce. We know you have worked together in other ways apart from the murder, so why don't you come clean and tell us the truth. Perhaps we can help you, if you help us."

Sol stayed quiet.

Orchard said, "It's getting late. That will do for tonight."

"Can I go home?" Sol asked.

Floyd chuckled under his breath. "No chance, you are spending the night in a cell."

"On what charge?"

"Suspicion of aiding and abetting a crime."

Orchard and Floyd left the interview room, and a uniformed police officer took Sol down to the cell.

"Want a cup of tea, mate?" the officer asked in a cheery voice.

"No, man," Sol answered.

Not long after he was placed in the cell, the lights went out. Sol lay on the hard bed. The night terrors were with him now: no one knew he was the one who'd called the police and given up Liston Pearce's name. _It would have been a good plan, if I could have taken over the running of the gang, and made myself a bit of extra money. That plan is backfiring now. How can I get out of this shit I am in?_

He didn't sleep much that night as different plans kept coming and going through his mind. He must think of something by the morning otherwise he would be in the shit good and proper. He felt he had no option but to tell the police all he knew and hope they would take a lenient view of his situation. _Some fucking hope of that,_ he thought.

#  CHAPTER TEN

### A Meeting In The Park

**Liston** decided to stay another day in Weston-Super-Mare. He had thought about giving himself up, but then decided he would take a breather and not rush into anything. He would call his mates.

He walked out of the guest house and found a call box. First he tried Sol but no answer, so then he rang Roy.

"Hi Roy, it's me, Liston."

There was a long pause. "Liston, why are you calling?"

"I'm in the shit, mate."

"Yeah I know, it's all over the news."

"I'm in Weston-Super-Mare, can you come down?"

"Fuck! I don't wanna get involved."

"I've helped you out of a few scrapes in the past, man. Remember the time I saved your ass, when we went up against those fuckers who tried to muscle in on our patch? I almost had to kill that guy who was tryin to knife you.""

"OK, OK, I'll come see you. Do you want me to round up the others?"

"Where's Sol? I tried callin him."

"He got arrested last night at The Coconut Club."

"How come?"

"Not sure, think it might be sometin to do with you."

"Try and find out for me, will ya?"

"Where we gonna meet?"

"There's a pub near the railway station called The Railway Inn. Meet there at about 1 o'clock? See ya later."

"See ya, Liston."

Roy put the phone down. "Fuck," he shouted.

Liston didn't know what to do for the next few hours, so he thought he would try and find somewhere quiet and away from people. He started to walk through the chill air. He had walked for about fifteen minutes when he found himself in front of some park gates. He was not much into countryside and grass (well, not this green sort of grass, only the stuff you could smoke) but he had time to kill. He went into the park. The trees were swaying as a strong breeze seemed to come from nowhere. He walked for a while then sat on a bench. Leaning back with his arms stretched out over the back of the seat, he looked at the sky through the bare bones of the trees. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed there was an old man walking along the path towards him. He had a slight limp which reminded him of his dad. The man was wearing a long brown coat with frayed sleeves, dirty grey trousers held up with brown and white striped braces and a brown leather belt over a blue and white checked shirt. His face was dark with deep lines running across his forehead. Grey whiskers covered his chin, and he wore a dirty greasy flat cap with a broken peak. He sat down beside Liston. The guy hadn't had a wash for a long time as he smelled of sweat and stale beer.

The old man took his hat off, wiped the inside of the sweat band with his hand and put it back on his head. Liston noticed his hands with long finger nails with thick black dirt under the ends.

"Got a few bob for an old soldier?" the man asked.

Liston didn't know quite what to do. He was not used to talking to strangers. He reached into his jeans pocket and found a pound coin which he handed to the old man. He looked surprised and said, "Thank you. Do you know, you're the first blackie who has ever given me money."

Liston found another pound coin and gave it to the man.

"You look like you are in a bit of trouble, my boy."

"Yeah, I got a thing or two on my mind."

"Do you want to tell me? You know what they say: a trouble shared is a trouble halved. I don't suppose we will ever meet up again after today."

Liston felt quite warm towards the old man and started to tell him about the trouble he was in, although he gave him the edited version.

The old man listened and nodded and grunted in the right places. Liston could sense the guy was getting agitated. He guessed he wanted to go and spend the two quid he had just given him on cider or fags.

Time was passing and the old man said he had to go.

"Are you staying here? I am off to get some baccy. I'll be back if you want to wait."

"OK, I'll wait here."

The old man pushed himself up off the park bench and limped down the path.

_What the fuck did I tell him all that for?_ Liston thought. He got up and started walking away from the park bench. He was on the other side of the park when he noticed the old man come back through the gates with a uniformed policeman. Liston's heart started racing. _The fucking old bastard! He''s shopped me._

Liston turned a corner and hid behind a big oak tree. He could see the man and the policeman were talking: the old man's arms were waving around and pointing this way and that. The policeman looked as though he was getting tired of the old boy, and then he turned and walked away. The old man returned to the bench and sat down, lighting a cigarette stub, inhaling the smoke and blowing it out through his nose. Coughing and wheezing he spat a big gob on the grass by the bench.

Liston was raging with anger that he had been taken in by the old man. He'd believed him when he said about never seeing him again. Liston watched and waited. The man sat and smoked his roll up looking like he didn't have a care in the world. Finally, he got up and started walking. Liston started walking as well, and soon realized he was following the old man. There were some public toilets on one side of the park and the old man went in. Liston looked around the park, which was as quiet as the grave, so he went into the toilet. The old man was standing at the urinal having a pee. Liston came up behind him and pushed him hard into the white-tiled wall. The old man's head hit the wall with a thud, his legs buckled beneath him, and next thing he was lying in the trough which was full of his own piss and used cigarette ends. The old man turned around with a look of horror on his face.

"This is how you treat me for giving you money, you fucking shit?"

Liston booted the man on his bony thigh. He raised his fist and was about to punch the man in the face, when he noticed he had a nasty gash on his head and blood was trickling down his forehead. Liston looked into his eyes and he could see the fear and terror in them. He felt suddenly sorry for the old git. He turned and went out of the toilet. He'd just gone out of the park gates when he heard the old man shouting and screaming.

"HELP! HELP! I have been attacked by some big black bastard, HELP! He's robbed me of my pension money."

Liston started to run. He was fit and kept going for a while. When he stopped he was well away from the park and was pretty sure he was safe.

_That will teach you not to trust anyone ever again,_ he thought.

Someone had heard the old man's cries from a house opposite the park and come out to help him. They called the emergency services. When the ambulance arrived the old man was sat up against the park railings. The gash on his face looked worse than it actually was. A paramedic dressed the wound.

"We had better take you to A&E and get an X-ray done, just in case," he said.

They stretchered him into the ambulance and drove away. The X-ray came back clear. There was a police officer at the hospital and he took the old man's statement of the attack. The officer knew old Jack from previous encounters and thought he was making the story up, but he got Jack to sign the statement and logged it when he got back to the station anyway.

***

Liston wandered the streets for a while until it was time to meet Roy, Sam and Luton at The Railway Inn. Roy had rounded the others up to come with him.

They all got into Luton's car and he drove them to Weston-Super-Mare. Roy was in the front and Sam soon fell asleep on the back seat. It took them just under an hour. Roy and Luton were apprehensive about meeting Liston. They had done quite a few jobs together over the past few years and had come close to killing someone before, but this was the first time one of the gang had done it.

When they arrived at the pub, Luton poked his head around the door.

"He ain't here yet, what we gonna do?"

Sam gave him a shove and Luton stumbled into the main bar, Roy followed behind them.

"What did you do that for?" Luton said.

"You can't block doorways like that, you fat sod."

Roy bought a round of drinks and they sat down.

"Where do you think he is?" Luton said.

Sam said, "Been arrested I guess."

They sat and talked for a few minutes. Then Liston came in through another entrance, he saw them and joined them. He sat down with his back towards the bar.

"Go get me a drink someone."

Roy asked him what he wanted, went to the bar and brought his drink back.

"Thanks, mate."

"What's this about Sol? Liston asked.

"The police arrested him at The Coconut Club last night. The place was raided again, and they seemed to just pick him out so we all think it's because of you."

"I can't understand why they did that? How did they connect him to me?"

"Someone must have seen you two together, I suppose," Sam shrugged. "Anyway, what do you want us to do? We ain''t come all this way to talk about Sol."

"I don't know. I thought you might have some ideas to help me get away somewhere."

"Why don't you nip over to France or Spain?"

"Don't have a passport."

"Fucking hell, you're not helping, Liston," Sam snapped.

"If I haven't got one, I haven't got one. Prick."

They all talked some more, but didn't come to any conclusions. _I don't know why I asked them, this was a waste of time_ , Liston realised.

Luton asked if he was OK for money and that was the only positive thing that came out of the whole discussion.

They all left the pub together. Liston walked back to his B and B, feeling depressed and abandoned by his friends. The others returned to Luton's car and drove back to Bristol.

On the drive back the three tried to work out what Liston had wanted from them. None of them had much idea so they started to discuss how they were going to organize their business. Now that Sol had been nicked and Liston was on the run, they needed more than three gang members to run the operation. Otherwise, it wouldn't take long for a rival gang to exploit their weakness.

***

Liston said hello to Mr Thomas as he went up to his room. He unlocked the door, threw his woolly hat and his coat on the chair and laid on the bed.

I am going to have to think of something myself. That lot are a load of useless fucks. I can't talk to Dad because he will just tell me to give myself up. I must have a plan. There must be a way out of this. So, what are my options? Go on the run, sure, but how long can I do that for? Give myself up? Not keen on that. Lie low, but for how long? I could end up like that fucking old man in the park if I can't sort myself out. What can I do? What?

#  CHAPTER ELEVEN

### Trouble At The Bella Vista

**The** desk sergeant was filing the day's reports. He'd had dealings with old Jack before; _What's the silly old bugger been up to this time?_ he wondered. He read the report again. _Doesn't seem like the normal stuff we get from him. It's usually drunk and disorderly. Never known him to get in this sort of scrape before. Perhaps I should check into it a bit deeper._

He found the officer who took the statement and together they tracked down the officer who had gone with Jack to the park. He was on his break in the canteen.

"Come and see me at the desk when you have finished your tea," the desk sergeant said to the officer.

"Yes sir."

The sergeant went back to the desk, and the officer joined him a little later.

"You wanted to see me, Sarge?"

"What's all this with old Jack and the park?"

"He was going on about some tall black bloke who he met on a park bench. Apparently he told Jack he had killed someone in Bristol and was on the run. I thought it was the booze talking, Sarge."

"Did this guy say anything else?"

"Something about a policewoman, Jack said. He was agitated and not talking much sense."

"Go round to the Salvation Army and see if Jack's sleeping there. If he is, take a proper statement. There may be more to his story than meets the eye. Then report back to me."

"Yes Sarge."

The young officer left the station. He thought it was going to be a complete waste of time, but he had to do what he was told. He found old Jack drinking a mug of tea in the rest room at the Salvation Army Hostel. They went through what had happened at the park and in the toilet, and Jack signed the statement. Then the officer went back to the nick. He passed the statement to the desk sergeant who read it carefully.

"Thanks very much. OK, back on your beat."

The desk sergeant put the report in DCI Murray's pigeon hole. He was not sure when he would be in next, but he just had a feeling in his water there was something that needed to be checked out.

Later that day Murray picked up the report and read it. He went to see the desk sergeant.

"I think you're right, Terry, it does seem out of character for Jack. Check the bulletins – something might come up.""

"I'll be in my office if you need me."

Terry Lovell was one of the old school bobbies. He had found his level in the force and was content being the desk sergeant at Weston-Super-Mare nick. In his mid-fifties, chubby, thin brown hair greased back and a pointed nose, he was often compared to Dixon of Dock Green. Terry Lovell checked all the recent bulletins from other Avon and Somerset Constabulary areas. There were a lot so it took him almost two hours to go through them, what with coffee breaks and annoying people coming in and asking questions.

He then came across the report from Bristol about Liston Pearce which fitted the profile. He knocked on DCI Murray's office, went in and placed the information on his desk. A little later Murray read the report and thought, _We had better get this information out to the public in the area. Someone might know something._

He sent reports to _The Weston Mercury_ , _The Western Daily Press_ and the free local give-aways, and also BBC South West and ITV South West.

_I hope something comes of this_ , he thought.

***

Mr Thomas heard the newspaper plop through the letterbox. He walked to the door, bent over and picked it up. As he did so, a sharp pain shot across the middle of his back. He gasped and straightened up. _Old age never comes alone_ , he thought grimly.

Back in the warm kitchen he sat down by the side of the oil-fired Aga. Mrs Thomas was sat opposite with her eyes closed, dozing. Mr Thomas started reading the paper, the TV pages first. _Not much on tonight, there never is these days._ He then looked at the sports pages, but nothing exciting there either. He turned to the front page and started reading about Liston Pearce wanted by the police in connection with a killing in Bristol. The description was a lot like the person who was staying in the room upstairs. He read it again. Yes, it had to be the black guest who was staying with them. He kicked Mrs Thomas's foot. She awoke with a shudder, and a snort.

"What! What is it? Don't kick me like that."

"Read that," Mr Thomas said passing the folded newspaper to Mrs Thomas.

"Where are my reading glasses?"

She found her glasses on the shelf above the Aga and read the piece Mr Thomas had prepared for her. He waited with frustrated anticipation. Mrs Thomas was a slow reader so Mr Thomas was getting agitated.

"What do you think?" he said.

"Let me finish reading, will you. Oh my goodness! Call the police. Now, is he in or out?"

Mr Thomas was pretty sure he went out a couple of hours ago. "Should I go and check?"

"Don't be so bloody stupid! He'll knife you or worse. Go and call the police."

"Why me? Why not you?"

"You're much better at that sort of thing than me."

"What sort of thing?"

"Just do it," Mrs Thomas snapped.

Mr Thomas went out in the hall. He tried to hear if there was any noise coming from upstairs, but there was no sound. All he could here was the tick-tock of the grandfather clock.

He dialled 999.

"What service do you require?"

"Police."

The girl on the other end of the phone took some particulars and put him through to the police station. Mr Thomas explained about their guest and the newspaper report. The officer told Mr Thomas to keep calm and said there would be someone there in five minutes. The officer asked if Pearce was in his room.

"No, he's out, I don't know where."

He replaced the receiver. By this time Mrs Thomas was by his side trying to listen.

"What's happening?" she said.

"They're sending someone over straight away," he answered.

At that moment, Liston walked through the front door. Mrs Thomas looked at him in horror.

"Don't kill us!" she cried.

Liston realized what was going on.

"Fuck!" he shouted.

He turned around and ran back out of the hall and kept going, the fastest he had ever run in his life. He had no idea which way or where to go, so he started zigzagging through streets and alleys, his heart pounding.

#  CHAPTER TWELVE

### Encounter With Tracy

**The** police arrived at The Bella Vista Guest House, about twenty officers altogether. There had been no time to call the armed response unit so everyone was on tenterhooks, waiting for trouble.

Mr Thomas was standing outside. "He's just run off," he shouted to the officers.

"Which way did he go?" Murray shouted back.

"Not sure, we were both still inside."

Officers were running this way and that. Police cars were parked across the streets with flashing blue lights. People from the nearby houses were coming out into the road, trying to see what was going on. Uniformed officers were attempting to take control.

Mrs Thomas had come over faint so someone called an ambulance.

After a while things started to calm down. Liston Pearce was nowhere to be found so some of the officers returned to the station.

DCI Murray and DS Flowers started taking statements. A forensics team going over Pearce's room, but no real clues to where he might be came to light.

Murray headed back to the police station. He asked Sergeant Lovell if he could get the officer in charge of the investigation in Bristol on the phone.

"Will do, sir," Lovell replied.

The phone rang in Murray's office a few minutes later.

"Bristol nick, DCI Orchard here, you wanted to speak to me?"

Murray explained to Orchard what had happened.

Orchard finished the conversation with DCI Murray and thanked him. Floyd was sitting at his desk writing up a report.

"Pearce has been sighted in Weston-Super-Mare," Orchard told Floyd.

"Not caught then?"

"No, but they're searching for him. He is all over the local media so he'll either have to run or someone will see him again. It will be hard for him to blend in a crowd."

"Are we going down to see if we can help find him, sir?"

"No, not much point at the moment. DCI Murray will let us know of any developments."

***

Liston Pearce was alone, cold and tired. He had escaped by the skin of his teeth this time. He had some immediate issues to decide; they were going to be looking for him at the train and bus stations and he had nowhere to sleep. _I'm in the shit good and proper now_.

He walked the streets of Weston and found himself on the sea front. It was misty and damp. The street lights seemed to have a halo around them and he could see the fog swirling. He walked on, not knowing what to do. Finding himself in some seedy back street, the light from a chippy flooded out into the street. He was hungry, but should he risk buying some fish and chips?

Pushing the glass door open, the smell of frying assaulted his nostrils. God, it smelled good. There was a tarty looking women in front of him, red high heeled shoes, black tights, tiny black leather shirt and a black leather jacket. He could tell by the way she was acting that she had been drinking or was on something. Liston waited his turn. She got her purse out to pay and dropped the change all over the floor. Liston bent down and helped her pick up the coins which had rolled everywhere. She looked at him and smiled.

"Thanks, my love," she said in a loud piercing voice. "You're a kind man helping a damsel in distress."

Liston thought, _Distress, yeah right_.

"No problem love."

She picked up her fish and chips and headed towards the door, but stumbled into Liston who caught her by the arm.

"You're a big strong man," she smiled, eating her chips with a tiny fluorescent pink fork.

Liston ordered a burger and chips, paid and started to squeeze past the woman. He opened the door for her and she half walked, half staggered out into the street. He caught her arm and steadied her once again.

"You're my knight in shining armour."

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"Are you trying to pick me up, young man?"

"No, I was just going to help you get home."

"Well, nip into the offy and buy a bottle of gin and some lemonade and we'll see what happens."

They walked arm in arm up the road eating their food. Liston propped her up outside the off license, bought some gin and lemonade as instructed and walked her back to where she lived. This was the arse end of Weston.

She handed Liston the keys and told him to open the door. He walked into a drab hall and up some stairs to the second floor behind her. Liston still had the keys so he opened the flat door, and they went in. The small bed-sitting room was as drab as the hallway.

"What's your name, big man?" she asked.

"Liston," he said, without thinking.

"My name is Tracy. Open the gin, and there are some glasses in the sink."

Liston went to the sink and washed out a couple of glasses, poured two gin and lemonades, Tracy's had a lot more gin in it than his. He passed the glass to her.

"Cheers." Tracy sat on the bed and kicked off her high heeled shoes. "They are fucking killing my feet."" She took a big gulp of the gin. "That's strong. Hey, you're not trying to get me pissed and take advantage of me, are you? What's your name again?"

He didn't answer but just mumbled something.

They drank the rest of the bottle over the next hour or so. Tracy collapsed on the bed and started snoring. Liston lifted her legs onto the bed and noticed the tiny red G-string she was wearing over her tights.

Thank God, she's passed out! I thought I was going to have to shag her. I might have ended up with the pox to add to my troubles.

He looked around the flat, but there was nothing he could use. Then he noticed a bunch of car keys so he picked them up and shoved them in his coat pocket.

He sat on the sofa, covered himself with his coat and dozed off for an hour. When he woke up, Tracy was still flaked out on the bed. Christ, she looked rough: some of her makeup had wiped off on the pillow. She must have been fifty at least. He looked around again. Her purse was on the floor, so he went through it but there was just a few pounds. He felt sorry for her. This was getting to be a habit, feeling sorry for people.

_What a life. I wonder how she ended up like this, poor cow._ He put a twenty quid note in her purse and left.

It was still dark as he walked out of the entrance hall to the flats. He looked up and down the street, and putting his hands in his pocket he felt the metal of the car keys. Liston looked at them and saw that one had the registration number written on a small piece of card inside a green plastic key holder: YEL 727B. He walked up the road looking for the car, and there it was – a yellow Ford Escort. Opening the door he got in. He felt a cross between excitement and nervousness, which was making him want to pee. Liston started the car and drove off. He had no idea where he was off to but at least he was on the move.

He had driven for about fifteen minutes when he pulled over and stopped. Leaning his head back in the seat he wondered what he should do. His dad's plan to give himself up kept popping in and out of his head, but then he thought of the consequences and tried to come up with another plan. He imagined that if he could get to London, he might get lost in the hustle and bustle of city life. He did have some contacts there, guys he bought drugs from. They were not close friends, just business acquaintances, but he was pretty sure they would help him.

"OK, that's the plan," he said in a loud voice to himself.

He started the car. It was getting light now. The sky was revealing itself to become a bright morning. He was not far from the M4 so he drove through the streets and got on the motorway.

After driving for about forty minutes he was getting hungry, needed a pee and also the petrol gauge was looking low. He decided to stop at the next service station. He was about halfway between Bristol and London when he pulled into some services. It was still quite early so there were mainly lorry drivers and delivery vans. He parked a good way away from the entrance to the service station. Sitting in the car, he pondered his situation again. He yawned, laced his hands together and stretched, then got out of the car.

It was bright daylight now. Walking to the entrance, the doors glided apart. He noticed the toilets first. After relieving himself and splashing cold water on his face, he walked back into the main shopping area. Should he just buy some chocolate and crisps and a drink or go to the café area and eat a good breakfast? He decided on option one. He felt vulnerable and he had the feeling he was being watched and that everyone knew who he was and what he had done.

He returned to the car with chicken sandwiches, some Cadbury's Flakes and a few cans of Tango. He sat in the car park and ate his breakfast. His eyes were getting heavy and they closed without him realizing. He drifted off into a cat nap. He woke up and for a second wondered where he was before it all came back to him. He turned the keys to start the car. _Clunk_ , nothing, He tried again – still nothing. He tried the lights to see if they worked. Nothing worked at all. He was desperate now to get the car started but nothing worked.

"Fuck! Fuck!" He banged his hands on the steering wheel, "What the fuck am I going to do now? I should have stayed in bloody Weston. I can''t go for help – someone might recognize me. Fuck!"

***

Tracy woke up with a terrible thirst. She staggered to the kitchen and swilled out a glass tumbler. Filling it with water she gulped it down, then another. After she had come around a little, she made a cup of coffee and lit a cigarette. She had one enormous hangover; it felt like her head was splitting in two, so she sat on the bed and sipped at the coffee.

She was starting to remember the tall black guy from the night before. She wondered if they'd had sex. Maybe not, as she still had all her clothes on. It didn't bother her one way or the other.

Tracy went to the small bathroom where she washed and cleaned her teeth. She went to make another cup of coffee.

"Shit!" she said. "Out of milk."

Putting on the black leather coat from the night before, she looked around for her car keys. She spent about fifteen minutes going through the same drawers and bags but she couldn't find them. _I wonder if I have left them in the car?_ She had done that lots of times before.

Walking along the street outside the bedsit, she looked for her yellow Ford Escort. _I am sure I left it in this street._ But after wandering around nearby streets for half an hour, she came to the conclusion that someone had nicked it. She thought she must have left the keys in the car by accident and somebody saw them and drove it away.

Then she twigged: that black bastard from the night before had swiped it. She was fuming as she stomped along the road to the police station in her high-heeled shoes.

Tracy filled out a statement saying her car had been stolen and explained, as best as she could remember, what had happened with the black man. She couldn't recall his name, but she gave a good description of Liston Pearce.

The officer who took the statement had been involved in the search the day before at the guest house so he soon put two and two together. He passed the statement to DCI Murray. He told his second-in-command to send out a bulletin to Traffic to keep an eye open for the stolen Ford.

A few hours later the police found the car parked in the service station where Liston had left it. By this time he was long gone.

#  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

### Give Myself Up

**DCI** Orchard had been kept up to date with the events from Weston-Super-Mare and about the car found on the service station between Bristol and London. He was aware that Pearce had slipped away once again. He knew Pearce could not hide for ever and soon someone would catch sight of him and he would be caught.

Liston Pearce had almost the same thoughts: he knew he couldn't go on the run for the rest of his life, and was becoming convinced that the only way out was to give himself up to the police.

After leaving the service station where he'd abandoned the car he got a lift with a lorry driver back towards the West Country. The lorry driver dropped him off on the outskirts of Bath. He thought the posh people who lived around here wouldn't be interested in a drug dealing gangsters like him. Liston was now tired, cold and fed up, but still he could not decide what to do. Perhaps his dad was right: giving himself up was the only clear option.

***

Tom had struggled through the night in a sort of dream. It was now morning and he was going out of his mind with worry about his son.

The phone rang: it was Liston.

"Hi Pop," he said in a happy voice.

"Hello son," Tom replied warily. "Where are you?"

"I'm in Bath."

"What are you doing there?"

Liston said, "I've been thinking it over and I can't see my way out of this one, Dad, so I've decided to give meself up. Can you get over to Bath and come to the police station with me?"

"I will be on the next train," Tom said. "Just tell me where to meet you."

"There's a pub quite close to the station called The Crown and Anchor. I'll meet you there in a couple of hours?"

"Think positive, son. You have saved someone's life, and we are not all blessed with that gift."

"Bye Pop, see ya later."

***

Liston walked the streets for a couple of hours. His spirits were as low as they could be, and he hoped that he was doing the right thing.

He strolled down towards the railway station, and found The Crown and Anchor. He had been there, before meeting local contacts. Opening the door he saw the smiling face of his father. He threw his arms around him and held him tight.

"Thanks for coming, Dad, you bin waiting long?" he asked in a croaky voice.

"No, not long, son. What do you want to drink?"

Liston asked for coke.

Tom went to the bar and bought Liston a drink.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I can't see any other way out of this, Dad. The police are bound to catch up with me sooner or later, and it must be better for me if I hand myself over to them before they catch me."

"OK!" Tom said. "No point in wasting time, you might change your mind."

They both finished their drinks and left the pub. It had started raining. Liston and his dad linked arms and tried to get under Tom's umbrella.

"Do you know where the police station is?" Tom asked his son.

"No, I suppose we had better ask someone."

Tom went back into the pub, asked the barman where the police station was, got the directions and returned to Liston.

"It's not far, just down this way."

It took them about ten minutes to get to the station. They didn't say much to each other on the way. It was difficult holding the umbrella, keeping their heads down from the wind and rain and talking at the same time.

Liston and Tom did not hesitate at the door to the station. They rang the bell and went in. It was warm inside. There was a uniformed policeman behind the desk.

"Filthy weather," he said to Liston and Tom. "How can I help you?"

A big lump that felt the size of a tennis ball came into Liston's mouth.

"I'm Liston Pearce and I wanna give myself up," stuttered from his dry tongue.

The policeman was a little taken aback. _Don't hear that often_ , he thought.

"Just come through here."

A buzzer sounded and they were shown through a half-paned glass door. Liston noticed the chequered pieces of wire running through the glass.

_I'm not going to get out of here now_ , he thought.

"This way, interview room 2. Please take a seat I will get a detective to talk you. Do you want a cup of tea?"

Tom said, "A glass of water would be nice."

Liston said, "Nothing thanks."

Two minutes later a tall slim detective came into the room, holding a plastic cup three quarters full of water. He gave it to Liston, who passed it to Tom.

"It's not for me," Liston explained.

"Well, what's this all about?"

There was a knock. The policeman who was working on the desk came into the room and handed the detective a piece of paper. Written on it was, 'Liston Pearce wanted in connection with a killing in Bristol'.

The detective remembered all the details of the case. They had received daily bulletins from the nick at Bristol about the inquiry.

"Well, Mr Pearce, you are in a bit of trouble, aren't you?" the detective said. "I'll arrange transport back to Bristol for you, and they will question you there.""

"This is me dad," Liston said. "Can he come with me?"

"No, sorry, but I might be able to get him a lift back?" the detective said in a friendly way. Then he added, "I know I shouldn't be saying this but it was a good thing you did saving that policewoman's life. However, I doubt if the courts will see it that way. I am sorry, but I do need to put you in a cell until I can arrange transportation."

Liston gripped his dad's hand.

"Thanks Pop, I know I've messed up in the past but I do love you and I wish I had listened to you before."

They said goodbye.

Tom left the interview room trying to fight back the tears. That was the first time he could remember Liston saying he loved him since he was a child.

Liston was taken down to the cells. It was not a friendly place. Cold-looking grey-green tiles lined the walls. There was a stainless steel toilet in one corner, a low bench bed along one wall and that was it.

"Cup of tea lad?" the officer asked. "It might make you feel a bit better."

"OK!" Liston replied.

Tom was taken back to Bristol in a police dog handler's van. It was an uneventful trip with not much conversation. The dog kept sniffing him through the wire grille at the back of the seats, its cold wet nose touching Tom's ear from time to time. Tom talked to the policeman about his son on the journey. He felt the driver had a bit of sympathy for Liston but didn't go too far with the praise.

#  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

### Sol Disappears

**Sol** woke with a start to find a policeman was opening the cell door. He felt like he had done ten rounds with Cassius Clay.

"Breakfast?"

Two slices of white buttered toast and a cup of tea.

"Hope you take sugar," the officer said, "I've put three teaspoons in."

"Don't take sugar," Sol replied.

This didn't even register with the officer. He went out and locked the heavy cell door.

Sol ate the toast and tasted the tea. It was horribly sweet, so he only had a few sips, then the door was being unlocked again.

"Come with me," the officer said.

"I need a pee first."

The officer waited while Sol went over to the toilet. The policeman stood outside watching, He was shown into an interview room.

"Sit down please." The officer stood at the door with his arms behind his back.

Sol looked at him and thought, _Fucking pig, standing there like a tin soldier._

It felt like ages but was only ten minutes or so before DCI Orchard and DS Floyd came into the room. Floyd told Sol he was being arrested and charged with aiding and abetting, and he was then cautioned.

"You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Well, Solomon," DCI Orchard said in a commanding voice. "You are in a spot of bother."

Sol hung his head.

"Do you know Liston Pearce?"

"Yeh."

"Did you meet him in The Queen's Head pub a few days ago?"

"Yeh."

"And what did you talk about?"

"Liston told me he was in trouble."

"And what was this trouble?" Floyd said.

"He said he had shot someone. I knew straight away who it was, it was all over the papers and TV."

"And what happened then?"

"I said he could stay at my place for a while."

"You didn't think of reporting it?"

"No man, we is mates. We've known each other for a long time, what could I do?"

The questioning went on, then Orchard asked, "What happened to the gun?"

Sol knew this was the turning point of the interview. He knew they would find the pistol and he had not thought to wipe it clean. His fingerprints were all over it. He took a long time to answer.

"Well!" Orchard stared at him.

"He gave it to me to get rid of."

"And where did you do that?

"I didn't," Sol said. "I still have it, and it was me who called and gave you Liston Pearce's name."

Orchard and Floyd looked at each other: this came as a revelation to both of them.

"No honour among thieves, then. You shopped your best friend," Orchard said with a slight smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Look, I is tryin to help you," Sol said.

Orchard and Floyd knew they had the upper hand now. Sol had admitted he was involved in the aftermath of the attack, and he had come clean about his involvement and helping Pearce to go on the run.

"Floyd, take a full statement from Mr Solomon Cassells, get him to sign it and put him back in the cell."

"Yes boss."

Orchard left the room. An officer hurried over to him.

"There is a telephone call for you, sir, from the Bath police station."

"What do they want?" he muttered under his breath.

He picked up the phone.

"DCI Orchard?" came a voice. "This is DCI Spencer from Bath. Liston Pearce has just walked in here and given himself up."

An elated warm feeling came over Orchard.

Spencer said, "We're arranging for him to be brought back to Bristol ASAP."

"Do you want me to send a car?"

"No, he should be with you in an hour or so."

"Have you questioned him?" asked Orchard.

"Only briefly, thought I would leave it to you."

"Thanks very much," Orchard said and replaced the receiver.

Floyd had finished taking the statement from Solomon Cassells and returned to Orchard's office.

"Pearce has just given himself up in Bath."

"Blimey, that's a turn up for the books! It's been a good day today, sir," Floyd said.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Now, did Cassells tell you where the gun is?"

"Yes, and the car as well. Shall I go and retrieve them?"

"Yes, take a forensics team with you."

Floyd went off feeling good. He collected the team and went to Sol's lock-up. With a pair of bolt cutters they soon had the lock off and the doors open.

"Do your work, boys," Floyd said to his team.

Floyd went off to find a café. He had a cup of coffee and returned to the lockup.

The forensics team had recovered the gun from Liston's silver BMW. They had dusted everything for fingerprints and taken photographs.

"Almost done," one of the forensic bods told him. "We've arranged to have the car removed, so a low loader will be here in about five-minutes."

One of the officers handed him an evidence bag with the gun inside.

"Can you sign for the gun please, we have already fingerprinted it."

Floyd did so, got into his car and drove back to the station.

He arrived almost at the same time as the police van turned up from Bath. Liston was taken to a holding cell below the police station.

Floyd returned to Orchard's office.

"I see Pearce has arrived," Floyd said. "When do you want to interview him?"

"No hurry. Let him calm down a bit first," said Orchard. That was another way of saying "We'll let him stew for a while."

Floyd showed Orchard the gun.

"Take it to the evidence locker and get it tagged."

"Yes, boss. What are we going to do about Cassells?"

"He has been charged, so release him on police bail until he has to appear in court. Impress upon him it is part of the bail conditions that he must report to this police station every morning at ten o'clock. "Go to the cell and make sure he understand the bail conditions, then let him go.""

"Yes boss."

It was late afternoon now. Orchard wanted to collect his thoughts and not rush into anything. He did feel some warmth towards Liston Pearce; after all, he had saved a police colleague's life. Orchard had seen WPC Wendy Parker around the station but had not taken a lot of notice of her.

Floyd returned to the office after carrying out DCI Orchard's orders. He had explained the bail conditions to Cassells and let him go.

"What do you want to do now, boss?"

"It's been a good day. I'm all in. Do you fancy finishing early and going for a curry?"

"Can't tonight boss," Floyd answered. "Bristol Rovers are playing at home and I have tickets for me and the boys. Maybe another night. I'm glad we're finishing early, though."

Floyd and Orchard left the station together. Both went their separate ways. Orchard went home to his house in Clifton. Clifton was one of the oldest and poshest areas of the city, much of it having been built with profits from the tobacco and slave trades.

As he unlocked the door, his cat jumped over the wall and ran between his legs.

"Feeding time, Molly," he smiled at the cat.

Orchard lived alone. He had been married for a long time, but with the pressure of work and without the binding of children, he and his wife had drifted apart and they'd divorced seven years ago. He had kept the cat but she was getting old now.

He opened a tin of cat food for Molly, then went into the sitting room and poured a large whiskey, turned the TV on and watched the news.

They were still reporting the killing but there was no mention of Pearce having given himself up. He was getting hungry now. He was not a bad cook and quite enjoyed cooking sometimes, but he was knackered and decided to go out for a curry.

Floyd watched Bristol Rovers win 2-1 at Twerton Park.

***

Liston Pearce was in a police cell, again.

***

After leaving the police station, Sol went back to his flat and packed some clothes. He went to his stash and took most of his money out, leaving a few hundred pounds there, just in case. When he was settled he would phone his girlfriend and tell her to get the key from the café and she could take the money for her and his son, Prince.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he realized all his plans had backfired. There was no way he could stay around St Paul's now and be the boss man. If he did he would end up in jail and the rest of his gang would find out he had grassed Liston up. He thought about his boy and Prince''s mother: he had no option but to try and disappear. _I have fucked up big time._

He left his flat and walked to the train station. On the way he passed his lock-up. It had been sealed by the police with bright yellow police tape with big black letters reading CRIME SCENE.

_God knows what this will do to my reputation,_ he thought. _Ah well I am off anyway, I doubt if I will see this place again for a long time._

When he arrived at the station, there was only one train and that was to London. He bought a ticket, boarded the train and he was off into the night, not knowing what life had in store for him now.

#  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

### The Operation

**WPC** Wendy Parker had been improving a little every day. Her parents were still taking it in turns to stay by her bedside.

Her surgeon opened the door and came into the room.

"Good morning Wendy, how do you feel?"

"I have felt better," she admitted.

He studied her notes at the foot of her bed.

"We have had the results back from your tests and X-rays. You are going to need an operation to remove a small piece of the knife blade which broke off in the attack and is stuck in your spine. This may be the cause of you losing the feeling in your legs and feet."

"Oh no!" Wendy's mum said, "Is it dangerous?"

"Any operation has its risks but we will have to wait to see what the outcome is."

"Will I get the feeling back in my legs?" Wendy asked.

Again the surgeon wouldn't commit himself.

"When do you want to operate on me?"

"This evening. I have organized a team of medical experts to help me, but one is away and cannot get here until later. The nurses will get you ready for the trip to the operating theatre when it's time. Are there any questions you would like to ask me?'

"What are my chances of a full recovery, and being able to walk again?" Wendy asked.

"With all honesty, I cannot say. We will have to assess your progress after the operation."

Wendy felt the surgeon was holding something back but she wasn't going to get much more out of him. He replaced the notes at the bottom of her bed, said goodbye, turned and left the room.

"My poor girl." Mrs Parker gave a big sigh and held her daughter's hand tightly.

Later on that day, Wendy Parker was being prepared for surgery. The surgeon and anaesthetist had visited her and explained the procedure in detail. She had been given her pre-med and was waiting in her room ready to be taken into the operating theatre.

Two nurses came in and transferred her to a bed that could be wheeled into the theatre. Her mum and dad were at her bedside.

"Everything will be OK!" she said to her Mum.

"I will pray for you, my love," her Mum replied.

She was wheeled into the operating theatre.

The long agonizing wait for her parents began. Time ticked by so slowly. They went to the vending machine and bought coffee and Picnic bars, which they consumed without tasting them.

Gerald Parker paced the floor up and down, up and down.

"Can't you sit down, love? You will make a grove in the floor carrying on like this." remarked Jane

"Sorry!! I'm just so worried about Wendy. When do you think we are going to get any news?"

"How do I know, I am not a clairvoyant?" Jane snapped, uncharacteristically.

Gerald sat down beside his wife. She put her arms around him and held him close. In some ways she was a lot stronger than him. _He still thinks I'm six years old and wants to wrap me in cotton wool,_ she thought.

Gerald kept looking at his watch. "I'm sure this watch is broken – the hands are hardly moving. Perhaps it needs a new battery. Jesus! I could do with a cigarette."

"Don't be so stupid, Gerald! You gave up seven years ago."

"Sorry dear, but what will happen if she dies? I'm not sure if I could carry on without her."

"And what about me!! She was part of my body for nine months. How do you think I will cope if anything happens to her?"

Gerald felt ashamed, and wished he could have kept his feeling a little more under control, but he was not good on his own and needed his wife. She was like an anchor to him: someone he could cling on to for dear life and tell her all his woes.

Four hours went past when the surgeon Dr Tony Morris came through the theatre door. He approached Wendy's parents with a sort of smile on his face.

"Well," he said, "that went a little quicker than I thought. I have removed the knife point from Wendy's spine and repaired as much as I dared. It will be weeks or even months before we find out how well she will recover.

Wendy's father asked, "But her life is not in danger?"

"No," the surgeon replied.

"Thank God for that. We can cope with anything else life throws at us."

"She is a lucky young girl though, a few more millimetres and it could have been much worse. It's a good job the attack ended when it did."

Wendy's parents vowed at that moment to do whatever they could for the person who had saved their daughter's life, no matter what kind of criminal he was.

"When can we see her, Doctor?"

"She has been taken into a recovery room until she comes around from the anaesthetic. Then she'll go into a HDU, and after that she will be taken back to her room. You can see her then. It would be best to wait until tomorrow morning, but I am sure you don''t want to wait that long. Is there anything else I can tell you?"

"No. Thank you so much, Doctor. Please thank your medical team as well."

"Yes, I will."

Jane and Gerald sat on the wooden-framed seats in the bleak hospital waiting area. They were the only ones there as it was late. Nurses kept wheeling beds and wheelchairs up and down the long cold-looking corridor, some with patients on them, some without.

Gerald looked at his wife. Streams of tears were running down her face, but she was not making a sound. Just brimming over with emotion and relief.

#  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

### The Interview

**DCI** Orchard arrived at his desk early and Floyd was not far behind him. They had a chat about how they saw the day going, and what there was to do.

"Why is it so cold in here this morning?" Orchard asked Floyd.

"There must be a problem with the central heating, sir."

"That thing is always breaking down, I think it's about time we had a new system fitted."

Floyd agreed.

"I'm not sure how to play it with Pearce," Orchard admitted. "I think a softly-softly approach. Get him taken to an interview room, Floyd."

"Yes boss."

Floyd left the office a bit unsettled; he had never known Orchard to be in any way indecisive. Always focused on the job in hand, and at all times appearing in complete command of the situation.

Liston Pearce was taken into an interview room. There were iron bars at the window and the room painted in battleship grey. He was sitting at a steel-tube-framed table with a green shiny top when both officers came in.

"Good morning, Liston," Orchard said in a friendly way. "Floyd, do you know how to work this new taping system?"

"Yes sir, I have been on a course."

Floyd started the tape. "The time is nine forty six am 4th November 1989. In the room are DCI Orchard, DS Floyd, Mr Liston Pearce and uniformed officer PC Strong."

"So where shall we start?" Orchard said. "Tell us why you gave yourself up yesterday."

Liston took a small intake of breath. "I didn't know what else to do. I was confused and needed to get my head straight. I thought it would be easier on me and my family if I handed myself in."

"Can you tell us your version of events then?"

Floyd's question rang in his ears.

Liston tried to explain the events of a few days ago. _How can I explain? I have no idea why I did what I did. I wish I knew myself. If only I had left Inez's flat five minutes earlier none of this would have happened._

He was trying to be calm and collected but it sounded like he was reading a badly written crime novel and he was the main character.

"Why did you shoot the man who was attacking the policewoman?"

"I don't know why, I just did it. I think I was trying to help the police officer." This was a lie as he had no real idea why he shot the man. But it sounded better to him. "What would you have done in my position?"

Orchard thought, _The same thing I guess_ , but he did not voice it.

"Where did you get the gun?"

"I bought it from a man in a pub."

"What is the name of this man in a pub?"

"I don't know, I never met him before."

"So you bought it in a pub from a man you never met before? That sounds hard to believe."

The police officer's manner had changed. He was getting much more belligerent. Liston knew at this point be was digging a hole for himself.

"OK! I got it from a house I broke into in the summer."

"That's better." Orchard's body language relaxed. "Where is it now?"

"I got rid of it."

"Where?"

"In the Avon."

"For the record, DS Floyd is leaving the room."

A few moments later, DS Floyd came back with an evidence bag

"For the record, DS Floyd has entered the room with an evidence bag."

He placed it on the table. Inside was the red-Bakelite-handled Walther P38. Liston recognized it immediately as the one he had stolen from the old man's house in the summer.

"For the tape I am showing Pearce the contents of the bag."

The realization that Sol had betrayed him hit him like a wave crashing against rocks.

"The fucking rasclat!" he shouted, banging his fists on the table. "I will fucking kill him if I ever see him again."

"Not a good thing to say in a taped interview with three police officers present, Mr Pearce," Orchard quipped.

Liston was fuming: his long-time friend had dumped him in it good and proper. It felt like the blood in his veins was rushing to his head, making him feel lightheaded and dizzy.

"Is this the gun?" Floyd said.

"Yeh!" Liston admitted reluctantly.

"I think we will leave it there for a while," Orchard said.

"Interview suspended at 10.17 am," Floyd stated for the tape and turned it off.

Orchard stood up and looked at Liston. "Think over your options carefully, Pearce," he said, and he left the room. Floyd followed.

The uniformed officer took Pearce back to the cell.

"I will bring you some food and something to drink in a half an hour or so."

As Liston waited in the police cell, his thoughts ranged from one extreme to the other. He had to face facts: he was in big trouble. He was going to end up in prison one way or the other. Maybe the courts might be lenient given the fact he had saved someone's life and had given himself up. _No chance_ , the other voice in his head said, _they are going to screw you, because you are a black villain in their eyes_.

The last newspaper he had seen still had a sympathetic leaning towards him, and his family were also behind him. _What does that matter_? he thought. _I am going down for a long time_. He couldn't believe Sol had shopped him after all they had been through together. Sol had stuck by him through thick and thin. Perhaps the police were trying to trick him, but how would they have got hold of the pistol? _Sol must have ratted on me, the bastard_. Liston's mind wandered over onto how the policewoman was doing.

He heard a key snap in the lock, and a police officer opened the heavy cell door.

"DCI Orchard wants you in the interview room again."

He went with the officer and was placed in the same room as last time. Not long passed before Orchard and Floyd came in. They went through the whole tape thing again. It seemed like a bit of a novelty to Liston.

"How is the policewoman?" Liston asked in a clear voice.

"We have just had news from the hospital. She has had a fragment of the knife blade removed from her back, she is out of surgery and is as well as can be expected."

This was a good card to play for Liston. It made Orchard feel a little empathy towards him.

"The robbery of the gun interests us. When did you say you stole it from the old man?"

"Sometime in the summer."

"Where from?"

"Not sure of the address. There was this old man, and we had a bit of a run in over me parking my car outside his door, so I thought I would teach him a lesson and rob the silly old bugger. There was not much – a little bit of cash, some medals and the gun. It was under the bed, and the clip had five rounds in it.""

"There was only one round left in the clip when we retrieved it. Two rounds were in the body of the victim, one was recovered from the ceiling of a betting shop, but what happened to the other?"

"I needed to test it so I went into the wood and shot one off. It made a hell of a noise so I ran like stink."

"Tell us about the raid on the betting shop."

"Not much to tell." Liston felt no love for Sol anymore after he had set him up. "Me and Solomon Cassells did it, we robbed the place and got away with a few grand."

"No one else was involved? You didn't have a getaway driver?"

"No, I drove."

"Did you know the person who was attacking the policewoman?"

"What, the guy I shot?"

"Yes, him."

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeh, why?"

"We have reason to believe you had dealings with him before."

Liston's blood ran cold. If they thought he had known the person he shot, that would change everything.

"I didn't know him. I never met him, I swear, on my little sister's life."

Liston would not have said this if it were not true as he loved Inez.

"We believe you did know Steven Bishop."

"Is that his name? Never met him."

"We believe you had dealings with him over some drugs."

Liston thought back.

"If I did, I don't remember."

"We have a witness who said you threatened him after you sold him some cannabis, and he said you gave him a short measure."

"I don't remember him," Liston pleaded.

Orchard was trying to rattle Pearce. He didn't have a witness that put them together, but Bishop's girlfriend had been interviewed and said she saw Bishop arguing with a tall black man a few weeks earlier.

"OK, let's go over the afternoon you killed Steven Bishop."

"I told you everything I know."

"Never mind, let's go over it again."

Orchard and Floyd went over the same ground as before, but only minor details changed in his account. Orchard was inclined to think he was telling the truth.

The interview was suspended again. Liston Pearce was taken back to the cell. Orchard and Floyd returned to the office and went over their notes.

"I don't think we are going to get much more out of him. What do you think, Floyd? Maybe try again once more tomorrow after another night in the cells."

"Yes boss."

#  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

### A Near Riot At The Café

**Liston** had spent a sleepless night on a hard bed. The on-duty policeman brought him some breakfast early but he didn't eat much as he was feeling sick.

"What the fuck will happen today?" he said to himself in a loud voice. "Am I going crazy? I've started talking to myself now. How did I get into this shithole?

He was starting to regret some of the things he'd done in his past.

"If only I'd listened to my Dad a bit more," he groaned.

He sat down and put his head in his hands.

Half an hour passed. He heard the police officer unlock the cell door. It sounded a long way away. _I must have drifted off into a daydream_.

"This way," the officer said, "interview room two."

This was a different room from the last time, but it still the same type of table and chairs. DCI Orchard and DS Floyd came in.

"Morning, Liston, how did you sleep?"

"Not well," Liston replied.

"Can you go over the events of the other day again?"

Liston was fed up with this question but did not have any option. He recounted the day's events, about leaving his sister's, walking back to his car, hearing the scream, shooting the attacker and running off.

"OK," Orchard said. "Let's talk about your other activities – your drug dealing and the money, for a start."

Liston had decided to come clean as much as he could, but he was not going to drop any of his mates in the cart, apart from Sol.

"It was only me and Sol who were into the dealing. Sol had a mate who lived in London, so he drove down and we used to buy cannabis and other stuff off him."

"What was his name?"

Liston had to think fast.

"Not sure. I think it was Phil something."

"You didn't know his name?"

"He was a mate of Sol's, not mine, and people don't give up real names easily."

This was a lie: it was Liston's mate, but he was not going to betray anyone.

"You were arrested with a large sum of money on you. Was that from drug dealing?"

"Yeh, most of it was," Liston replied.

"Is there any more money hidden anywhere?"

"No, we always split the money and drugs between the two of us after each job. You must have gone over my place with a fine-toothed comb."

"We found some cannabis at your flat. Is there any more stashed away?"

"No, that's it."

This was another lie.

Floyd made a note in his book and handed it to Orchard. It read 'We have not searched Sol's flat yet'.

"Plenty of time for that," Orchard said to Floyd.

"So, there were no others involved in your activities?"

"No, just me and Sol."

"There must have been more than two of you. I mean, how did you deal with rival gangs?'

"We just used to put the frighteners on them. Me and Sol were always beating some poor bastard up."

"What about Roy King and Luton Campbell?"

"They're just mates. We used to hang out together."

"Samuel Jones?"

"He's just somebody I know."

Orchard did not quite believe him, but without more evidence it would be hard to prove and he had enough on his plate at the moment without trying to catch more thieves. He would put that on the back burner for a while.

"That will be enough for now. You will be charged later."

Liston was taken back to his cell. Orchard and Floyd returned to the office.

Orchard barked at Floyd, "Get a search warrant and go over Cassells' flat. Organize it, Floyd."

"Straight away, boss."

***

As part of Sol's bail conditions he had to report every day to Trinity Road police station at ten in the morning. It was now eleven fifteen and no Sol, so the desk officer reported it to Orchard. DCI Orchard, DS Floyd and two uniformed officers got into a police car, a small Ford Escort, not the most comfortable of cars but it was only a short journey.

They arrived at Sol's flat a short time later. Orchard said to one of the officers, "Is there a back exit to the flat?"

"I don't think so, sir."

"Check it out then."

The officer went off looking for a way around the back, while Floyd banged on the door.

"Open up, Sol, it's the police."

No answer. He knocked louder and shouted again. By this time there was a small crowd across the street wondering what was happening.

"Ain't you got nothin better to do than pick on poor black folk?" someone shouted.

Jeers came from the crowd as the officer returned.

"No back way," he said to Orchard.

"Go across the road and keep that lot quiet."

"Yes sir."

He crossed the road.

"Come on move away," he said to the people standing on the pavement.

"We ain't doing nothin," they said.

"Come on, move back, move back," he said in a firmer voice.

The crowd moved back, but not far. Orchard saw what was happening. If more people came this might get ugly, but if he called for backup too soon it might provoke even more trouble. Just then the café owner came out to see what was happening.

"What you doing?" Floyd said. "Do you own the flat above the shop?"

"Yes man, what of it?" the café owner replied.

"Do you have a key?"

"Might have."

"Do you want to be arrested for obstruction?"

"No."

"Get the key then."

The owner went back into the café and returned a couple of minutes later. He handed a key to Floyd, who unlocked the door and went up the wooden stairs. He noticed a creak as he walked up.

The door to Cassells' flat was open.

"Are you there, Cassells?"

No answer.

"Don't think he's here, sir. Maybe he's done a runner."

They went into the flat and had a look around, but there was not much to see. Orchard looked out of the window. More people had joined the crowd outside now and the two uniformed officers were having trouble controlling them.

"Let's go," Orchard's said. "We will get a team in here later to go over the flat."

"Right sir."

They went downstairs locked the door and started getting into the car.

The café owner said, "What about me key?"

"We will be keeping it for a while. I will return it to you after I have finished with it."

"I want a receipt then."

"Write the man a receipt, Floyd," Orchard said.

He was getting a bit restless now and wanted to get away without starting a riot.

"Thanks a bunch," the café owner shouted as the four men got into the car and drove off. Someone picked up a stone and threw it at the police car as it drove off. It landed on the boot with a bang.

"Bastards!" the driver cursed.

"Drive on," Orchard ordered.

"But sir!" the driver objected.

"Did you not hear me, driver?"

"Yes sir."

They drove back to the station. When Floyd got out of the car he noticed there was a small dent in the boot.

"There is something funny going on here," Orchard said to Floyd. "I don't like it when people go missing."

"I think he's done a runner," Floyd said.

"Why would he do that? He was not in that much trouble, was he?"

"I suppose he thought there was more for us to find out about him."

"Get a team of officers to check out the flat, but wait an hour or so. Let the crowd calm down."

"OK boss."

"And get an arrest warrant issued for Solomon Cassells. He must have skipped bail."

A while later Orchard was in his office. Floyd knocked and went in.

"Can I knock off, sir? My next-door neighbour is having a bonfire and BBQ and my wife and kids want to go."

"Sure, you go. I just want to charge Pearce with possession of an illegal firearm and the two robberies, then we can take him to court and get him put on remand."

"OK sir, see you tomorrow."

"Have a good time," Orchard said.

Orchard had Liston Pearce taken into an interview room where he was cautioned and charged with the carrying a firearm in a public place, armed robbery and burglary.

"You will appear at Bristol Magistrates' Court tomorrow morning at ten o'clock, do you understand?"

"Yes," Liston replied.

Liston was led back to his cell. The door closed behind him. He could hear fireworks and rockets going off in the background and imagined kids enjoying themselves dancing around with sparklers. He thought about the court appearance the next day. Should he plead guilty or not guilty?

***

Floyd jumped into his car and drove off. He lived not far away, near Lawrence Weston. When he arrived home, the BBQ had already started. He was a bit knackered, but he knew he would have to go because his wife would be upset if he didn't. He went around to his neighbour's back gate and went in.

"Dad!" one of his two boys shouted.

"Hi! Nick," his neighbour said. "You're late."

"Work, it seems nonstop at the moment."

His wife and other son came over.

"I thought you were finishing early today."

"I tried, but it's hard to get away with this Pearce case at the moment.

"It's always some case or another."

"Well, I'm here now so let's enjoy ourselves."

His neighbour shoved a cold beer into his hand.

"Get that down you," he said.

"Will do sir," Nick replied with a grin.

"Let's light the bonfire," the cry came from the kids.

The adults lit the bonfire. It was not too big but it caught fast.

"Can I let my fireworks off, Dad?" Nick's son shouted.

"No need to shout, son," Nick grinned.

They got all the kids away from the fireworks and started to let them off one by one. The kids had sparklers. Nick's wife gave him a burger and she squeezed his arm.

"I do try and understand it's your job, but me and the boys miss you."

This made Nick feel bad, but his job was important to him and he felt it was a worthwhile sacrifice to keep criminals off the streets.

The bonfire was burning down. There was a red warm glow from the cinders and the smell of wood smoke filled the air. Everyone seemed to be staring into the fire.

"Inherited memory, that's what it is, you know," his neighbour said.

Nick said, "Well, we lived in caves a lot longer than we have lived in houses."

As there were no more fireworks left, Nick's wife, Jane, said, "I think we should go, the kids have school tomorrow."

"OK," Nick said.

They said their goodbyes and went next door.

"Come on boys, it's bedtime."

Nick and Jane had been married for nine years, and had two boys aged eight and seven. Nick wanted a girl but it didn't happen and they thought two was enough, so Nick had the snip a few years earlier. Jane was a slim, elegant woman with a short blonde bob hairstyle. Nick often wondered what she saw in him, but they got on most of the time. She was getting a little fed up with his job, though. She had a morning job at a local library just a few hours a week, she liked books a lot and read most of the time.

They put the boys to bed and watched TV for an hour. Nick fell asleep in front of the TV.

#  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

### Guilty Plea

**Floyd** arrived first for work which was a bit unusual as Orchard was invariably in the office first. There was a note on his desk. The autopsy and toxicology reports from Steven Bishop were at the front desk for him to collect.

He started off down the hall when DCI Orchard came around the corner.

"I'm off to get the post-mortem reports," he said to Orchard.

"I have them," said his boss. "I picked them up from the desk sergeant on the way in. Pearce is appearing at the Magistrates' Court at ten this morning," his voice was gruff.

"You OK sir?" Floyd asked.

"No, I'm coming down with a cold. Can you get me a coffee and a bacon butty from the canteen?"

"I'm on it, sir."

Orchard went into his office, hung his coat on the back of the door, sat at his desk and started to read the reports.

His office was not big. There was a large metal-framed window behind him with an opening to one side. It had a cream Venetian blind which was hard to clean so the cleaner didn't bother much, which annoyed Orchard. There was a large wooden desk which Orchard used and a smaller one for Floyd. Orchard kept his desk immaculate with never a pencil out of place. Floyd's desk was often in a muddle; he was so enthusiastic he got carried away with the job and didn't notice the jumble. Orchard noticed. He tried to keep his irritation under control but sometimes it was just too much to bear and "For God's sake, tidy your desk, Floyd!"" would leap from his mouth.

The autopsy didn't reveal much more than they knew already. It was the second bullet that killed Bishop. There were two small unexplained bruises to the side of his neck and his last meal had been a sausage sandwich, with tea.

The toxicology report was also much as expected: he had low levels of different drugs in his body – alcohol, heroin, cannabis and some prescription drugs. _This boy was messed up_ , Orchard said to himself.

Floyd came into the office with a steaming hot cup of coffee and a large bacon butty.

"I brought you some paracetamols as well, boss."

"Thanks, Floyd. Read these two reports, then get a couple of plain-clothes officers and a photographer and take an unmarked car over to Sol's flat. Go through it with a fine-toothed comb, and try not to cause a riot while you are over there. I'm off to court."

"Will do, boss."

Floyd read the reports, then did what his boss had told him.

***

They arrived at Sol's flat mid-morning. There was still the smell of bonfires in the air from the night before and a few burnt-out rockets littered the street. Floyd unlocked the door and went up the stairs, and as he did he noticed the creak again. They went through the flat with great care but there didn't seem to be much missing. There were some empty coat hangers on the bed and it looked like there were some spaces in the wardrobe but it was difficult to tell if Cassells had done a runner for certain. There was still some milk in the fridge. They also found some porn videos, and a few screwed-up papers in the waste bin. Floyd went through them but they didn't seem important.

"Strange," he said to one of the officers.

The photographer was snapping away.

_I don't understand it, where has he gone?_ Floyd thought to himself.

There were a few leftover joints in an ashtray but not much else incriminating.

The boss is not going to be pleased. He is bound to think we have missed something but what?

After an hour's searching, he said, "Might as well pack up and go, boys."

Floyd was the last to leave the flat. The other officers went down the stairs before him, and there was that squeak again. Floyd got to the step that made a noise and saw that there were rub marks on the sides where the paint had come off the wood. Floyd slid the top of the stair back and there it was: Sol's stash. A few hundred pounds, cannabis, pills and a knife.

_This will earn me some Brownie points,_ he thought.

"Photograph, bag it and tag it," he said to one of the officers. "Think we have finished here now, let's get back to the nick."

***

A police van picked Liston Pearce up from the back of Trinity Road Police Station and drove him to the court, where he was taken to a cell. While he was there he gave more thought about what he should plead. He didn't have long to wait before he was taken up some wooden steps and into the body of the court. The stairs led straight to the dock.

He looked into the public gallery and saw his dad and his two sisters. They waved to him, but Tom seemed to have aged since Liston saw him a couple of days earlier.

"All rise," the clerk of the court said.

The three magistrate came in and sat down. The clerk of the court read out the charges.

"Do you plead Guilty or Not Guilty?"

Liston said," Guilty," in a trembling voice.

"You will be taken into custody until sentencing at the Crown Court. Do you have anything to say?"

"No sir," Liston replied.

"Take him down."

The two officers took Liston back to the cell.

"You will have to wait in the cell until the transport gets here to take you to Horfield Prison, where you will be kept until your sentencing date," the guard said.

Orchard left the court wondering about what he had just seen and heard. It wasn't too much of a surprise that Pearce had pleaded guilty, _but I suppose it makes my job a bit easier._

Tom and his two daughters left the court building and found a quiet café nearby. They ordered teas and sat down.

"Do you think he has come to his senses?" Tom said.

"Looks like it, Dad," Agnes said.

"They didn't say anything about the killing, did they?" Inez remarked to her sister.

"I suppose they will leave that till later."

Tom said, "Do you think we can see him in prison now?"

"Don't see why not," Inez shrugged.

"I'll find out," said Agnes.

They chatted a bit more then left. Agnes dropped them both off and then went home.

***

Liston had been waiting in the cell below the court for a long while before he was transported to Horfield Prison. He was definitely coming round to the idea that he had made a few wrong turns and some bad decisions in his life. _Perhaps when I get free I could start afresh._ He missed his sisters Inez and Agnes, and he missed his Dad more now than he had done since his Mum died when he was fourteen years old.

***

Wendy Parker had been having lots of tests. The consultant in charge of her case had come to see her.

"Good afternoon," he said.

"Hello Doctor."

"How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad in myself but I still have no sensation in my legs."

"Well Wendy, we have had the results of the tests and there is severe damage to your spinal cord. I want to transfer you to Stoke Mandeville Hospital. It has one of the best specialist spinal units in the world."

"Where is it?" Wendy asked.

"It's in Buckinghamshire, near Aylesbury.

"That's a long way away, isn't it? It will be difficult for my parents to come and see me. Can't you look after me here?""

"It is for the best. They can care for you there better than anywhere else in the country, so my advice is to go."

"When will I have to go?"

"In a day or two; the quicker they get to work, the quicker you will be on the mend. Think about it, talk it over with your mum and dad, but in my opinion it is for the best. Let me know your thoughts when I see you again tomorrow."

"Thanks."

Wendy didn't like this news. _I'll be glad when Mum and Dad get here so I can discuss it with them._

***

Roy and Luton had arranged to meet Sam at a bar in town, far away from their usual haunts.

"Right, what are we going to do now that Liston and Sol have both gone?"

"Let's split the money and anything else we have and go our own ways," Sam suggested.

"What other options do we have?" Roy said.

"None as far as I can see," Sam answered.

They all agreed with that.

"When shall we go to the stash and split up the goods?"

"Now is as good as ever," Sam said.

They caught the bus back to St Paul's and walked around to a small garage workshop owned by a friend of theirs.

"Hi man," they said to the oil-covered garage owner.

His name was Joe. He had taken some stolen cars off them in the past so he knew the score.

"Joe, we need to get our stuff."

"OK, no problem."

Joe walked over to a corner of the garage and pulled a small wooden cabinet away from the wall. There were some loose wooden planks which he slid aside. Behind the planks was a brown leather case. It had a thick chain around it and was sealed with a padlock.

"It's been a couple of weeks since you've been here, boys. I heard Liston has been arrested, but where's Sol? Not seen him for a couple of days."

"Not sure. He was arrested but we've not seen him since then."

Joe gave Roy the case.

"Here's a oner for looking after it, Joe."

"Thanks guys," Joe said. "Bring it back and I'll stash it when you've finished with it."

The three men walked away into the dimly-lit cobbled lane. The light was fading.

"Let's go back to your place, Luton," Roy said.

"We can't. Celina's there and I don't want her knowing about this."

"We'll have to go to my place, then," Roy reluctantly suggested.

"OK, but let's get a move on. I wanna get away from here as fast as I can," Sam said.

They walked the short distance to Roy's house. He let them in, and they put the case on the kitchen table. They all had a key to the padlock but Sam was the first one to get his out. The chain fell away and they opened the case. There was a load of money, a small block of hash and some weed. They counted the money: eighteen thousand, three hundred pounds.

"Christ, I didn't know we had that much!" Luton said.

They worked it out at six thousand one hundred pounds each. They divided the drugs up and the job was complete.

"What you gonna do with your cut, Sam?" Roy asked.

"I'm off to Manchester, I have contacts there? What about you two?"

"Don't know, it's all happened so quick."

Roy said, "I have an idea."

"It had better be good or I'm off," Sam replied.

"Why don't we go and see Leon Brown?"

"You must be fucking joking! He's a bigger bastard than Liston we've been fighting him over turf for years.""

"Exactly. We could join forces and make a few bob. It's better the devil you know than the devil you don't.""

"But how are we gonna do it? He will know about Liston and Sol so we would be on a hiding to nothing."

"Well, if Liston and Sol are banged up and you are off to Manchester, that only leaves me and Luton and there is no way we can keep our patch. But, if the three of us try to do a deal, it might work out."

"I ain't sure," Sam frowned.

"What you got to lose? If it don't work out, you can still bugger off to Manchester."

"Jesus, let's go for a drink and talk about it," Sam said.

They left Roy's flat and walked to the pub. They sat and chewed over the bones of the deal and after a lot of drink decided to give Leon Brown a go.

_This could be the biggest mistake I have ever made,_ Sam thought.

They left the pub in a happy mood, all a bit the worse for wear.

"Do you want me to take you lot and Celina out for a curry tonight?" Roy suggested. "We might find a club open and go dancing as well. Does Celina have a friend she could fix me up with?"

"I'm sure she has lots of friends."

"What about me?"

"I am sure she can find some old lady for you as well, Sam."

"Thanks a bunch, pal!"

#  CHAPTER NINETEEN

### The Inquest

**Orchard** and Floyd had arranged to meet in a café near the station.

"How you feeling today?' Floyd asked, as the inspector came in.

"Rough," Orchard replied.

"Coffee sir?"

"Thanks, and a sausage butty. You know what they say – feed a cold and starve a fever."

They sat down with their coffees.

"What do you think we should do today, sir?" Floyd asked.

"I don't know."

Just then the sausage sandwich and a banana yogurt were placed on the table.

What's that?" Orchard said, with a grin on his face.

"The wife said I have to lose weight."

"Is she here?" Orchard said.

"No, but she questions me and I can't lie to her: she sees right through me."

Orchard opened the sausage sandwich and covered it with Daddies brown sauce, closed it up and took a bite. Floyd could almost taste it. He opened his banana yogurt and started to eat it.

"Not quite the same," he mumbled under his breath. Orchard was so involved in enjoying his butty he didn't even hear Floyd's comment.

Orchard finished his butty and drank his coffee.

"You go back to the station. Get on the phone and try and trace Solomon Cassells. See if he has any other contacts. I think I will go to Steven Bishop's inquest, so see you later."

Orchard got into his car and drove off. It was a few miles to the Coroners' Court so he turned the radio on. After a short while the local news came on air. They reported the flu epidemic was getting worse and was spreading. People had been taken to hospital and one lady had died from complications.

Orchard turned the radio off: he didn't need to hear that.

He arrived at the Coroner's Court and went in. The inquest had just started, and the policeman who first attended the scene was giving evidence. Then the medical officer talked about the cause of death. The coroner didn't want to speak to Orchard as he couldn't add anything to the facts of the case.

The coroner summed up the evidence and recorded an open verdict as there was insufficient evidence to record anything else. This took Orchard aback a little: he was expecting a verdict of unlawful killing. He needed to get back to the station and find out more. The drive back was uneventful and slow.

Floyd was in the office trying to trace Cassells.

"How did the inquest go, boss?"

"Not quite as expected."

"Why not?"

"I was expecting an unlawful killing verdict but is was an open verdict. I need to see the superintendent. Can you give his secretary a call and book me in?"

"Yes boss," Floyd nodded. He made the call. A few minutes later he told his boss, "He can see you now."

"OK, tell him I am on the way."

Orchard went along the corridor feeling rough. He went onto the secretary's office.

"Go straight in, he is expecting you."

"Morning sir," Orchard said.

"Morning John," the Superintendent replied, "how can I help?"

"I've just returned from the Steven Bishop inquest, and the coroner recorded an open verdict. I was expecting it to be unlawful killing."

"I had a call from the Crown Prosecution Service and they say there might be a case of self-defence for Pearce."

"How can that be he was not in danger himself?"

"It seems it also applies if you save someone else's life which is in danger, and WPC Wendy Parkers life was certainly in danger.

"But he is a hardened criminal."

"I know, but it might still apply in law. I will have to talk to the CPS and get the low down. You look ill, John, do you need some time off?"

"No sir, it's just a cold."

He turned and left the office, confused. He walked back to his office and sat in his chair. The room felt hot and stuffy as he leant back on his chair and opened the window.

"I think I need to go home, Floyd."

"Do you want me to drive you, sir?"

"No... actually, on second thoughts that might be a good idea. I'll take the rest of the day off, get some rest and then with luck I'll be back in fighting form tomorrow. Tell you what, I''ll get a uniformed officer to take me home. We need one of us here to keep an eye on things."

"OK boss, I'll organize a driver."

"Call me tonight and give me an update. I'll need a lift into work tomorrow as well."

"No problem."

As soon as Orchard left, Floyd went over and closed the window.

Orchard went home. He felt awful. He turned the central heating on, fed the cat and laid down on the couch, dropping off to sleep almost at once.

***

Floyd needed to pay another visit to the hospital to see WPC Wendy Parker. He went up to her room, and knocked. Wendy was dozing but the sound woke her.

"Come in," she said sleepily.

Floyd went in.

"How are you doing, Wendy?" he asked.

"Not bad. I've been having tests done every day, but they still don't know how bad the damage to my spine is. I am in some sort of straitjacket thing so my movement is restricted."

"I just came by to see if you remembered anything else?"

"Not much. I keep going over it in my head, and I don't know why he attacked me."

"Had you met him before? Did you recognize him from somewhere?"

"No, I don't recall seeing him before."

Just then Wendy's father came in.

"Hi baby," he said.

She seemed a bit embarrassed at him calling her 'baby'.

"Hi Dad," she replied.

"Good evening, Mr Parker," Floyd said.

"Good evening to you, Sergeant."

"I just popped in to see if Wendy remembered any more of the incident, but we're finished now so I will be off."

He turned to go when he remembered Liston Pearce asking him to send his good wishes to her.

"Oh, by the way, Pearce send his regards, and hopes you make a full recovery."

Wendy's eyes filled with tears.

"Thank him for saving my life when you see him next."

Floyd went out and closed the door.

He went back to the station. He called his wife and told her he could get off work early tonight and he would buy a bottle of wine on the way home. Maybe they could have dinner a bit earlier.

He remembered he had to call DCI Orchard, so he said bye to his wife and put the phone down. He tried to call Orchard. The phone rang for quite a while but there was no answer, so he got all his things together and then tried again without success. _I hope he's all right,_ he thought, _I'll call in to see him on the way home – it's not far out of my way._

He said goodnight to the desk sergeant and went out into the night. He called in to a nearby off license and bought a nice bottle of red wine, then he drove to Clifton. He knocked on the door. The lights went on and DCI Orchard opened the door.

"Come in, Floyd," Orchard croaked. "Do you want a drink?"

"No thanks, sir. I tried to call but you didn't answer."

"Sorry Floyd, I must have dropped off."

Floyd gave Orchard a full update of the day's events, but Orchard didn't take it all in as he felt rough.

"Thanks for calling by. I think I'll get myself off to bed now. If I don't get into the office tomorrow, you know what to do, don't you?"

Floyd said, "Yes sir."

He got into his car and drove home.

#  CHAPTER TWENTY

### Rose

**Floyd** got to his desk early. There was no sign of DCI Orchard. The phone rang: it was the superintendent's secretary.

"Can you come to his office now please?"

"On my way."

Floyd hurried to the secretary's office.

The secretary said, "Go on through," gesturing to the superintendent's office.

He knocked and went in.

"Good morning, sir."

"DCI Orchard has just called to say he can't make it in today. Can you cope, Floyd?"

"Yes sir," he replied.

"Don't say you can if you can't."

"I can sir, I am sure."

"Right, get on with it then."

He returned to his office and sat at his desk, wondering what to do next. There was a call from the front desk.

"Someone here called Mrs Cassells wants to see you, DS Floyd."

There was no record of a Mrs Cassells that he knew about. Was it Sol's mother or wife? He asked the desk officer to take her into an interview room and get her a cup of tea or coffee. He called a DC who was helping him with the case.

"Sweet, do we know anything about a Mrs Cassells?"

"No sir, not to my knowledge," he answered.

DC Winston Sweet was of mixed race. A few others of similar mixed race origins had joined the police force over the past couple of years, but they were in the minority. He was from the local area so knew it well. He was a conscientious officer who worked hard and wanted to get ahead in the force.

"I could do with knowing before I go down to see her."

"Give me a mo, sir."

A few minutes later he called back and said, "Nothing on record as far as I can see, sir."

"OK Sweet, thanks."

Floyd went down to the desk and asked the desk officer what she looked like.

"Late twenties, nice looking with a child."

"A child?"

"Yes, looks about five years old."

_Here we go then,_ he thought.

He entered the interview room. Sitting at the table was a woman, late twenties and pretty as the desk officer had suggested, and sitting on her knee was a young child.

"Mrs Cassells?" he said in a tentative voice.

"Yes," she said.

"My name is DS Floyd, and who is this?" he asked, looking at the child.

"This is Prince."

"That's an unusual name," he smiled. "How can I help you?"

"I am looking for my husband, Solomon Cassells."

_So are we_ , Floyd thought.

"When did you last see him?"

"It was a week ago. He sees Prince every week and never misses, but he has not turned up this week. He gives me money for Prince and I'm getting a bit short."

"Did you know he was arrested last week?"

"No," she replied. "Is he in prison?"

"No, he was released on bail."

"Where is he now?"

"I'm not sure. He has not reported to the station, and he should have come to see us every day as part of his bail conditions. May I ask, are you married?"

"Well no, but I use his name so that people don't ask questions as much. Do you think he has run off?"

"We don't know," Floyd answered. "He hasn't been in contact with you by phone?"

"No. He's a good dad. He's always been involved with bringing up Prince. He's just not a good husband, if you know what I mean. Other women, drugs and stuff."

"Do you have any idea where he might have gone? Who he might be staying with?"

"His best friend is Liston Pearce, but I guess he's not with him."

"No. If you think of anything else, do let me know," he urged and he gave her his card. "Give your details to the officer at the desk and if I get any news, I'll contact you."

"OK," she said, lifting Prince off her lap.

The woman police officer who was in the interview room with them opened the door and she went out.

Floyd went back to the office. He was a bit stuck what to do next. _Perhaps I am not up to this job on my own_. He tried to work out different ways of looking at the case.

Floyd spent a frustrating few hours pondering his options. He did not see a quick way forward but he didn't not want to lose the momentum.

_I think I had better phone DCI Orchard and see how he is_.

He picked up the phone and dialled the number. It rang a few times then Orchard answered.

"It's Floyd sir, how are you doing?"

"I feel a bit better, I think I'll come in tomorrow."

"That's good, boss." Floyd felt relieved.

"How is it going, Floyd?"

"No real progress, sir."

He gave Orchard a progress report of the day so far.

"Any suggestions, sir?

"No, you seem to have all the bases covered."

Floyd felt a little better now that he had the confidence of his boss.

"Hope to see you tomorrow, sir."

Floyd put the phone down. He sat at his desk, thinking. _Perhaps I will re-interview Steven Bishop's girlfriend_. _It was only a short interview last time._

He had to drive to Southmead, a seedy part of Bristol. After some time driving around he found the address. It was a dingy house in a road of other rundown red-brick houses. The front garden was overgrown, and the bins didn't look like they had been emptied for weeks.

He knocked on the door. It opened and there was a young, curly-haired girl with rosy cheeks.

"Is your mummy in?" he asked.

"Mum, Mum!" The girl turned and ran inside.

A few seconds later, Bishop's girlfriend opened the door. Floyd showed her his warrant card.

She said, "No need, I remember you. Come in. Sorry about the mess but it's the cleaning lady's day off," she sniggered.

It didn't look like the place had been cleaned for a long time.

"Do you want a drink," she asked.

"No thanks," Floyd replied, a little worried he might catch something. "Can I say I am sorry for your loss. I just need to ask you a few more questions.""

Floyd had checked her record before he left the station. Her name was Rachel Elms and she was twenty years old. She had been arrested three times for drug related offences and twice for soliciting and had been on probation for the last seven months. She had one child.

"What do you want to know?"

"How long had you known Steven?"

"Not long, about five months. It was only casual."

"So when did you last see Steven?"

"On the morning he was killed."

"Did he live with you?"

"Yes."

"What time did you last see him?"

"He left the house at about half past ten in the morning. He needed a fix so he went into town. I never saw him again."

"What was your relationship to Steven?'

"We had been shacked up together for a while."

"Tell me about the argument with the tall black guy."

"It was about three or four weeks ago. Steve needed some smack. We were in a pub in St Paul's, and Steve knew the guy but I didn't. Steve got a bit pissed off because he thought the black guy had ripped him off. Nothing much happened though; you can't go kicking up a fuss when you are buying drugs in a pub."

Floyd shrugged his shoulders.

"Do you know Liston Pearce?"

"Only what I've seen on the telly."

"What sort of person was Steven Bishop?"

"He was quiet sometimes, and other times shouting and bawling, typical Irish I suppose."

Floyd said, "I think that's it for now."

He was on his way out. The little girl was hanging on to her mum's leg.

"What's your little girl's name?"

"Rose."

Floyd felt sorry for the girl, but she was clean and looked well cared for.

"Thanks Rachel."

He got back in the car and drove off. The night was drawing in now, so by the time he got back to the station it was time to knock off. He checked to see if there was anything that needed to be done before he left, said goodnight to the officer on the front desk and went home.

When he arrived home his wife was waiting.

"Nice to see you home early again," she smiled.

His two boys were watching TV. He looked at them and thought of the little girl he had seen not long before. _I wonder what she has to look forward to in her life?_ He gave his boys a hug.

"Dad! We're watching this," they protested.

He made a mental note to call social services the next day just to see if Rose was on their radar.

#  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

### Meeting With Leon

**Tom** was at home having a sandwich when the phone rang.

"Hi Dad, it's me."

"Liston my boy, how are you?"

"Not too bad."

"Are they treating you well?"

"Yes. I saw you in court, do you think I've done the right thing, Dad?"

"Yes son, I'm sure it will work out better for you in the long run."

"I'm sorry I've let you down, Dad."

"Let's not worry about that now. Can I come and see you?"

"Yeh, I asked the prison officer. You can visit me on Saturday or Sunday, between 2pm and 4pm in the afternoon. You need to book an appointment, so call this number."

"Wait, I'll get a pen."

Liston told him the number and Tom wrote it down.

"Can I bring anyone else?"

"Only two people at a time."

"Fine. I will call and try and see you this weekend."

"I'm on the prison phone and I only have a short time to talk."

"I understand son, God bless you."

"Thanks Dad, you too."

He could hear Liston put the phone down. This cheered Tom up a lot. He called Inez and then Agnes and they both wanted to come to see their brother.

Tom said, "I'll call the prison and make an appointment.

He rang the number and arranged for himself and Inez to visit on Sunday at 2pm.

The woman then went through what he was allowed to take into the prison, and what he could not take.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No you have been most helpful, thank you," and he put the phone down.

He rang Inez and told her the good news, and then he rang Agnes and told her she would have to come with him next time.

"No problem. I'll pick you and Inez up and take you to the prison, and you can both come back and eat here afterwards.

"Thanks love," Tom said.

***

Liston Pearce was in a cell with two other prisoners. One was on remand, like he was. His name was Charlie and he was waiting to go to court for sentencing. He had been arrested for VAT fraud. The other man, Norman, had been sentenced to two years for car theft. They were both likable guys. Norman had been in and out of prison most of his life so he knew the score.

Liston said to Norman "We're a bit overcrowded in here."

"The prisons are out of control. There aren't enough prisons cells to keep us all banged up."

Liston told them what he was in for. Norman and Charlie had both seen the reports in the papers.

"Why did you save the policewoman's life?" Norman asked.

"I don't know, it just happened. I didn't think about it"

Charlie knew a bit about the law and told Liston he should get a good brief as there was a chance he could get off without being charged.

"What do ya mean?" Liston and Norman were fascinated.

"I think if you kill someone who is threatening someone else's life it counts the same as self-defence."

"No fucking way," Norman said.

"It's manslaughter at the least, or even murder."

"You sure, Charlie?" Liston asked.

Well I think so, but I'm no expert. You have nothing to lose trying to find out."

"You're right, can't hurt."

"Will I get legal aid?"

"Not sure, I would guess so."

Liston lay on his bunk bed. The conversation had given him a glimmer of hope. _Otherwise_ , he thought, _I am going to spend a long time in prison._

***

Roy, Luton and Sam had called Leon Brown to arrange a meeting. It was to be on neutral territory at a hotel on the outskirts of Bristol. The three men got into Luton's car and drove out of Bristol towards the Knowle Golf Club. They found The Country Park Hotel after some detours and backtracking. There was a long drive up to the hotel entrance through an avenue of tall trees.

"You sure this is the right place?" Luton asked, "It's fucking posh."

"This is where he told us to meet him," Roy replied.

"He's just winding us up, man, it's a fucking joke," Sam answered.

The car drove into the parking area in front of the hotel, the wheels crunching on the gravel. Roy, Sam and Luton got out of the car, feeling intimidated by the surroundings.

"I bet they don't do goat curry here," Sam said.

The three men walked up the wide stone steps and pushed the heavy plate glass door open. Roy walked up to the reception desk. An attractive receptionist wearing a white shirt with a dark blue blazer jacket said "Can I help you sir."

"Yes, I'm supposed to meet someone here but I'm not sure if this is the right place."

"Who have you arranged to meet, sir?"

"Leon Brown."

He was expecting the girl to say she didn't know him.

"Mr Brown is in the garden room. I will get the porter to show you the way."

A young lad wearing a similar blazer to the receptionist's showed them the way to the garden room. Leon Brown sat in a large wicker chair. He was not what you would expect to see when thinking of a Yardie gangster. Brown was a suave, elegant and sophisticated black man, about six feet tall with short cropped hair and a thin moustache. He wore a pale blue open-necked shirt and a darker blue two-piece suit, a black leather belt with a polished brass buckle and black leather shoes. The only thing about his appearance that was a little unexpected was that he had one gold tooth and wore a thick solid gold rope chain around his neck. He had a three-inch scar above his right eye. Roy, Luton and Sam trailed behind the porter feeling like the poor relations. In no way did they fit in here.

Leon Brown put his _Country Life_ magazine down on the glass-topped wicker table, stood up and in a soft but clear voice said, "Welcome boys please sit down."

He asked the porter, "Can we have a pot of coffee please?"

"At once, Mr Brown."

"Now boys, what can I do for you?"

The gang sat down around the wicker table. Luton felt like he was in the dentist's chair, waiting to have a tooth pulled.

Roy stuttered into action, "You must know about Liston Pearce being arrested for shooting the bloke who was attacking the policewoman."

Leon ran his finger unconsciously over the scar above his right eye. "A foolish man."

"Why do you say that, Leon?" Roy asked.

"You should never get involved in things that do not concern you. Anyway boys, that's not why you're here.""

The porter arrived with a large silver tray. He placed the cups, saucers, spoons, brown sugar and white sugar on the table. "Do you want me to pour the coffee Mr Brown?'

"No that will be fine, Trevor."

Trevor turned and went.

"Do they know you here?" Sam said, wishing a split second later that he hadn't.

"Yes, I am a frequent visitor." Leon arranged the cups and saucers and poured the coffee. "Now, down to business."

Roy noticed Leon Brown put two lumps of brown sugar in his coffee but no milk. Roy took his lead from Leon and did the same. Luton and Sam had coffee with milk and lots of white sugar.

"We were wondering if we can come to some arrangement over our business ventures," Roy said.

"Of course we can. I am happy for you to come and work for me."

"We were thinking more of a partnership."

"Partnership?" Leon echoes, with a slight smile to the corner of his mouth. "To be honest, I don''t see much you can offer me. If I want to take over your ventures, I will."

Sam growled, "Who the fuck do you think you are? We ain't gonna let you walk all over us."

"Without Liston Pearce to guide you, you are small fish in a big pond and I will eat you all alive. Think it over, boys, I pay well for good soldiers. I am a busy man, so please let me know your decision soon."

Leon picked up his magazine and started reading.

Sam said, "Is that it?"

Leon looked at him with disdain and his gaze returned to the magazine.

Roy, Sam and Luton got up and turned towards the large entrance hall.

The last words they heard from Leon Brown were, "Don't think too long, boys." He didn''t lift his eyes from the magazine.

Roy, Luton and Sam drove back to St Paul's.

#  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

### Crown Prosecution Service

**DCI** Orchard woke up feeling a lot better. He made it into work only a little later than usual. Floyd was already at his desk.

"Morning boss, good to see you back. Did you see in the newspapers this morning about the Berlin Wall?"

"No, but I caught a bit about it on the news last night."

"It's all over the papers. They say it's coming down."

"Hard to believe after all this time. It must be dreadful living under an oppressive system like that."

"The superintendent left a message to say if you come in, can you go and see him."

"Right Floyd, let's go and see him."

The superintendent's secretary waved them straight in.

"Morning John, how do you feel?"

"A lot better, sir."

"Good news about the Wall."

"It sure is, sir."

"Are you well enough to resume your duties?"

"Yes sir."

"Just take it easy. I kept an eye on Floyd yesterday, he did a good job."

"Thanks sir, he's a good officer."

Orchard returned to the office still feeling a little under the weather but determined to get on with the job.

"I will read the reports in full. Now Floyd, a cup of coffee and a bun would go down well."

"Do you want me to rustle one up, sir?"

"No, let's go to the station canteen and eat at a proper table."

They walked to the canteen together in silence.

"What are you going to have Floyd?" Orchard asked. "Don't say a yogurt."

"Um, I'll have a sausage bun."

"Two sausage butties and two teas," Orchard asked the woman serving.

"If you take your teas I will bring the butties over."

"Thanks," he said.

Floyd and Orchard picked up their teas and went over to an empty table. Someone had left a newspaper on the chair. Orchard picked it up and glanced at it then sat down. Floyd suggested he should keep it because it could be worth money someday as a souvenir of the collapse of the Berlin Wall.

"What do you think we should do today then, Floyd?"

"I went to see Steven Bishop's girlfriend yesterday, but I didn't get much more out of her than we already know."

The two butties arrived and the waitress placed them on the table.

"This is the first thing I've eaten since yesterday morning," Orchard said.

They both ate the butties and drank the tea. Orchard was struggling towards the end of his bun.

"I think my stomach must have shrunk, Floyd." He pulled a face.

"Now what, sir?"

Orchard said he had been surprised at the Coroner's Court. "I was expecting unlawful killing not an open verdict. I think I will talk to the CPS and find out if we can charge Pearce with anything else.""

***

Orchard had made an appointment to see the chief crown prosecutor at the CPS at two o'clock that afternoon. It was not a long walk from Trinity Road Police Station to the CPS offices at Temple Quay house, so he left early and had a sandwich and a drink at a pub on the way.

He arrived and was checked in. He went to chief prosecutor's office and waited. His secretary was sitting at her desk typing.

"DCI Orchard, if you just wait I'll tell him you are here." She knocked and went into the office.

The CPS offices were much grander than the offices back at the station with proper wooden doors, carpets and nice chairs. And it was warm. It was often chilly back at the nick; the central heating was always on the blink.

The secretary came out and said, "Go straight in."

They shook hands. "Sit down John."

Derrick Burgess, the chief crown prosecutor, had an important job. He was the one who decided which cases should be taken to court and which ones should not. Burgess was in his mid-fifties, a slim, good-looking man. Orchard thought, _A dark chalk line Chester Barrie suit? I bet he didn't get much change out of five hundred quid for that._

They had met on many occasions before and knew each other well.

"How can I help you, John? I've read the report about Liston Pearce you sent me. This is a tough one. Now, how do you see the case?"

"Well, I thought it would be manslaughter or unlawful killing, but after the coroner gave an open verdict I am not so sure."

"There is a good case for self-defence here, you know. The law can see the killing of a person to save the life of another party as a legitimate legal defence. It always comes down to reasonable force."

"But he shot him with an illegal gun."

"As I said, John, complicated. Do you know if it was the first bullet or the second that killed him? If it was the second bullet, we would have to prove Pearce knew the first bullet did not kill him, so that comes down to intent. In a way the illegal gun is irrelevant."

"Do you have a copy of the post-mortem report, Derrick?"

"I believe we do."

"He buzzed his secretary.

"Do we have a copy of Bishop's PM report?"

"Yes sir, I will get it," came the reply.

A few moments later, the secretary handed the report to her boss. Derrick read through the report.

"It was the second bullet that killed him. Are you sure you want to try and convict this man, John? After all, he did save one of your officers from being killed."

"He's a hardened criminal and needs to be put away."

"But he has pleaded guilty to the firearms offence and he'll get a hefty prison sentence for that."

"I know, but if we have evidence of a crime should we not prosecute?"

Derrick answered, "Yes, but it's not clear cut. If you have the evidence I will put him in the dock, but at the moment I think he would be found not guilty.""

"What evidence do you need, Derrick?"

"Proof that he knew Bishop was not dead after the first shot, or a motive for the killing, or if they knew each other before the shooting... something more than you have at the moment."

Orchard left the office and walked back to the station. His thoughts were mixed up as he had never been in this predicament before. He knew that Pearce was a drug dealing thug and wanted to put him away for a long time. He knew there was not quite enough evidence to convict him on a manslaughter charge, and he was also thankful that Pearce had saved PC Wendy Parker's life. Orchard had never been in such a dilemma and was experiencing a complicated mixture of emotions.

Orchard walked back to his office.

"Floyd, I've had enough for today. I still feel weak, so I'm off."

"Righto, boss. Maybe after a good night's sleep you'll be able to look at the case with fresh eyes.""

Orchard put his coat on and said "Goodnight."

Orchard arrived home tired and weary. He was glad he'd made it to work but he would have benefited from another day in bed.

#  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

### Leon's Ultimatum

**Roy** had called Sam and Luton to discuss Leon Brown's offer. They met at The Queen's Head just after opening time.

"Well, what the fuck are we gonna do?" Sam said in an agitated way.

"We have three options as far as I can see," Roy answered. "Either run away, join forces with Leon or get some more troops and fight him.""

"I ain't runnin away," Luton announced.

"Nor me," Roy added.

"I'm for runnin, I got nothin here to hold me," Sam said. "I got loads of good mates up north."

"So why the fuck did you come down here if it so good up there?" Luton demanded.

Sam hesitated before answering, "I got into a bit of trouble with one of my mate's wives."

Luton and Roy were surprised as it was unusual for Sam to say anything about his past.

"So, if you go back what will happen?"

"He will stick me or sometin worse."

"So you can't go back."

"Well, I can go to another area I suppose."

Roy said, "I think we should join forces with Leon. It's a load of strife otherwise. We know what he is like – he's the hardest man in this area, with loads of contacts."

"Suppose you're right man," Sam shrugged. "But I ain't gonna just roll over like a dog and give in."

They arranged a meeting with Leon Brown at his place in Bristol city centre. Roy, Luton and Sam arrived at the address.

It was called No.49, a swanky place with big smoked glass double doors with a gold embossed number 49 on it.

"It is the right address," Roy said.

Roy rang the bell, and one of the biggest black men they had ever seen unlocked the door. He looked like a cross between Jaws from the James Bond film and Lurch from The Addams Family. He must have been six foot six tall. He was wearing a white shirt which showcased his muscles, his head looked like a sack full of spanners and he had small piggy eyes. Around the collar of his shirt he wore a black bow tie which seemed to frame his features.

"Mr Brown is expecting you. Come in, this way."

He showed them through the bar area into the office at the back of the restaurant. Leon Brown was on the phone. He indicated to Roy, Luton and Sam to sit down with a long pointing finger. The boys grabbed some chairs and dragged them in front of the stainless steel desk. Leon was talking to somebody about kitchen equipment. Sam was getting frustrated just sitting there, and he started fidgeting. He thought, _I ain't puttin up with this much longer_.

Leon put the phone down.

"I am sorry about that, boys, suppliers are a pain in the butt. Now you wanted to see me. Have you thought over my offer?"

Lurch came into the office with a tray of Red Stripe beers and placed them on the desk.

"We don't sell Red Stripe in the restaurant, I just keep it for special guests," explained Leon.

Roy started the conversation. "What is your deal, Leon?"

But Leon had a different opening gambit. "What can you offer me that I can't take from you?"

Roy said, "It would be much easier if we combined our operations and worked together, don't you think?"

"I'm all for an easy life."

"We have lots of contacts. We make money from drugs and hookers."

Leon interjected, "Boys, the only real asset you had was Liston Pearce. I had a certain respect for him, now he is out of the way I can crush you like flies under my shoe.

"What the fuck are you offerin then?" Sam said.

Leon stood up, walked around and half sat, half leaned on the desk in front of Sam.

"I am offering you good work, lots of money, and respect from people because they know you work for me. Oh, and of course I will let you and your families live in peace. The restaurant will be open in half an hour, so why don't you go to the bar and enjoy yourselves, then have lunch, talk over my offer and let me know your decision."

Sam said, "I'm off. I ain't puttin up with this bullshit.""

He got up to go but Lurch was blocking the doorway.

"I need an answer before you go, Sam," said Leon quietly.

Sam stopped in his tracks. He knew he was dealing with a force he had not come across before. Sam had a stubborn, wilful character but he was not completely stupid. He turned around and said, "What we havin to eat then?"

Leon knew he had the boys in the palm of his hand now.

"Show the boys to my table in the restaurant, Karl, and give them what they want, on the house. Remember, I need your answer before you leave or the deal is off."

Roy, Luton and Sam got up and were shown to a table in the restaurant. They had Champagne cocktails and more food than they could eat. They discussed the deal while they were eating.

Sam said, "It seems to me we ain't got much choice. It's work for Leon, fuck off, or end up in some back alley with our brains all over the road."

"I think that about sums it up," Luton agreed.

"I can't leave here. All my family are from around here, so I haven't any other way but to work for Leon,"" Roy said.

"I wonder why he went on about Liston," Luton remarked.

"They must have history," Sam said.

At the end of the meal, Leon came over to the table. He pulled up a chair and said, "You are still here so you must have all agreed to join my operation. Well done boys, I'm sure we can work well together.""

Roy, Luton and Sam didn't even have to say they agreed: it was just taken as a given. Leon placed a one-inch pile of cash on the table.

"Share that out. Karl here will be in touch to tell you your duties. Don't let me down. No hurry to leave, boys. I have things to see to, but I will catch you later."

Leon shook hands with the three men. His hand was cold and soft, and Sam felt he had just shaken hands with Satan.

***

It was the day Wendy Parker was going to be transferred to Stoke Mandeville Hospital. She had talked it over with her parents and decided to go. They were upset because it was a lot further away, but if it was the best place for her it was no contest. Wendy's mum was going with her and her dad was following the ambulance, so he could drive his wife back to Bristol.

The surgeon came into Wendy's room. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes doctor," Wendy replied.

"Will we see you again?" Wendy's mum asked him.

"I do go to Stoke Mandeville sometimes, and when I do I'll call in to see your daughter so maybe see you there."

"I hope so, you have been so kind."

"It's just what I do," the doctor said.

He said goodbye, wished Wendy bon voyage and left.

Wendy was a bit nervous. Her parents tried to reassure her but they were just as worried as she was.

"Can I get you anything before we go, love?" her Dad said.

"Some water would be nice."

He poured some water and gave it to her. They waited anxiously for about an hour, then two male nurses came into the room.

"Have you packed all your things up, Wendy?" one said.

"Yes, I think so."

"Then let's go."

They transferred Wendy to another bed and wheeled her out of the door, down the corridor and into the lift. Mr and Mrs Parker followed behind, carrying her belongings. At the ground floor the lift door opened and the people waiting to go up cleared the way. Along another corridor and out into the cold morning air. It made Wendy shiver, not because of the cold but because she was going back outside for the first time in a long while.

They loaded her into the ambulance. Wendy's mum got in and sat beside her daughter, and one of the nurses got in and sat on the other side.

"I will meet you there" called Wendy's dad.

The door was closed and they were off. It took over an hour to reach Stoke Mandeville but the ambulance was comfortable and warm. Wendy and her mum chatted most of the time. When they arrived, the driver opened the door of the ambulance, lifted her bed out and rolled her into the hospital. Her father was there waiting for the two of them to arrive.

One of the nurses checked where Wendy was going and they wheeled her through the corridors. When they got to the room, Wendy was quite surprised. It was a nice bright room with a large window looking over a grassed area. Dad arrived with the suitcase and the two nurses transferred her to the bed and left with the gurney.

The Parkers were unpacking Wendy's things when a nurse came into the room.

"Do you need anything, Wendy?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

The nurse took her temperature and blood pressure, recording them on the chart at the bottom of the bed.

She said, "The doctor will be in to see you soon."

"Nice room," Wendy's dad observed.

"It is, Dad."

***

Liston was in his cell looking forward to seeing his father and sister the next day. He had been chatting to the other two cell mates about his case and was hopeful that there would be no more charges brought against him. It seemed to him that the prisoners knew as much about the law as the solicitors and barristers did.

A prison officer spoke to him. "Your sentencing date has been set for next Wednesday, 15th November at eleven am."

Liston said, "Thanks."

He had chatted to Charlie and he thought he would get about six or seven years: five for the gun offence and two for the robberies. He didn't know how he would cope with a long stretch in prison or even if he could.

"We must arrange to interview Liston Pearce later today," Orchard said to Floyd

"I will ring the prison and ask them to get him ready for our visit."

"Let's make it as soon as we can."

Floyd rang. "We can go over right away, they said."

"You drive."

They soon arrived at the prison. Liston Pearce was already in the interview room.

"Good afternoon, Pearce," Orchard said.

"Hi," Liston replied.

"We need to ask you a few more questions."

"Go ahead, no problem."

"We need to know more about your relationship with Solomon Cassells."

"I've told you all I know. We've known each other for a long time. We were good friends until I found he''d shopped me. We did some bad things together but we had a lot of good times as well. That's why I can't understand why he grassed on me."

Liston thought they were going to say he was being arrested for murder or manslaughter.

"Tell us about the shooting."

"What do you want to know?"

"Why did you shoot Bishop?"

"Because he was killing the policewomen. I had no choice: that policewoman would be dead now if I hadn't shot him."

"Why didn't you just wound him?"

"Who do you think I am, James Bond? I just reacted and fired the gun."

"Had you met Bishop before?"

"Not that I remember."

"How many times did you shoot him?"

"Twice. You know all this."

"Why twice? Wouldn't once have been enough to stop him killing the WPC?"

"I suppose so, but I just shot him without thinking, It all happened in less than a second."

"Did you know he was dead after the first shot?"

"How would I know that? I didn't go over and check and then shoot him again for fun."

"So you didn't know?"

"I just told you. Do you think I am a doctor?"

The two detectives went through the whole story again, then they decided to call it a day.

"Is there any news about the policewoman?"

"She's been transferred to a hospital in Buckinghamshire. I also hear that your sentencing date has been set."

"Yes, it's Wednesday morning."

"See you in court then."

Orchard and Floyd arrived back at the police station.

"I need to make a quick call to social services, sir," said Floyd.

"Carry on," Orchard said.

Floyd called social services and asked about Rachel Elms and Rose, her daughter. Social services were aware of Rose's situation and were keeping it under review. The man on the phone assured Floyd that the young girl was being well cared for by her mum and she was not at any great risk.

"Call it a day, Floyd. See you tomorrow."

"I'm not here tomorrow, sir. Day off. I'm off out with the wife and kids."

"Are you going anywhere nice?"

"The boys like Bristol Zoo so we might go there, or a trip to the seaside. I know it's cold but it will blow the cobwebs away."

"Sure will," Orchard smiled.

"See you Monday."

"Goodnight sir."

#  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

### Visiting Day

**Tom** was quite excited about going to see his son in prison. Agnes was picking Inez up on the way over to him and then they were all going to the prison. Agnes said she would get there about half past twelve.

They had to be at the prison by two o'clock. That gave them plenty of time. Tom had sorted out a few things the day before to take to Liston including a photograph of all the family when they were young. He thought it might give Liston some comfort.

Tom had his breakfast, went for a short walk to the shop and bought the morning papers. There was not much else written about the case. The press were off on other more important things, the toppling of the Berlin Wall being uppermost.

Tom was glad his son's name wasn't all over the papers any more.

It didn't seem a long wait until Agnes and Inez arrived at his front door.

"Do you want a cup of tea before we go?"

"That would be nice, Dad."

They had tea and ginger biscuits and then it was time to set off. They arrived at the prison early as it was a bit of a rigmarole to get in, with lots of questions and forms to sign. Tom and Inez were shown into a large room where there were about seven or eight prison officers walking around. They were escorted to a small rectangular table with hard aluminium fold-up chairs.

"I will go and get Pearce," the officer said.

Tom said, "Thanks."

There were already some other people sitting down at the other tables. The room was quite long and narrow, and at the far end there was a door with bars. There were windows all along one side of the room high up, covered with steel mesh.

The prison officer walked towards the door. He had a long chain hanging from underneath his jacket. When he reached the door with the bars he removed a large bunch of keys from his pocket and put one in the lock, and turned it. Tom and Inez were in the middle of the room and even from where they were sitting they heard the lock crack open, and then the door slamming behind the officer.

Tom looked around the room. There was one prisoner in his forties with a bald head talking to a meek-looking woman in whispers just opposite him. The man had both forearms stretched out in front of him and closed fists flat on the table. Tom could feel the tension between the two of them. He felt sorry for the woman and wondered what the problem was.

"It's a bit creepy in here," Inez said to her dad in a hushed voice.

Tom was about to answer when Liston came into the room accompanied by a prison officer. He guided him over towards them. Liston hugged his sister and dad, but then the officer looked at them as if to say that was enough,

They all sat down.

"How you doing, son?"

"Not too bad, Dad, under the circumstances."

"I thought you would be wearing a suit with arrows on," Inez joked,

"I can wear my own stuff while I'm on remand."

"What's the food like?" Inez asked, trying to change the subject.

"It's good. A bit bland but OK. My court appearance for sentencing is Wednesday morning at eleven am."

"That's soon," Inez said.

"Yes, I thought it would take longer than that."

Inez replied, "Yes so did I. Not sure if it's a good sign or not."

"One of the blokes in here who knows a bit about the law said he thinks I'll get five to seven years."

Inez and Tom didn't say a word.

"That long?" Inez finally broke the silence.

"Looks like it."

"He also said he doesn't think they will press charges about the shooting."

"Why not?" Tom asked.

"He thinks it will be classed as self-defence."

"How can it be self-defence if you were not the person being attacked?"

"It's counted as the same thing," Liston said.

"Good news then." Tom looked a bit happier now."

"He said get a good solicitor."

"How do we do that, son?"

"Not sure, Dad. I think the court will get me one if I get charged."

They talked about what had happened since the trial. Tom told Liston all the family news.

"Five minutes to go!" one of the guards shouted.

"That went quick," Liston said.

"We'll come and see you next week."

"I don't think the same rules apply if I'm not on remand," Liston told them.

"I'll call the prison service and find out. We'll be in court on Wednesday, son, the whole family is behind you.""

He gave his son a hug. Inez started to cry.

"Don't cry, sis, you'll make me feel even worse than I do now."

She tried to hold back the tears but without much success. She gave her brother a big hug and kissed him, Liston could feel her warm tears on his cheek. His eyes started to fill up as they walked away.

He was escorted back to his cell. He felt he had let himself and his family down and made a promise to himself to go straight and do something good with his life when he got out of the nick.

Tom and Inez walked back to the car.

Agnes was waiting. "Tell me everything." She could see her sister was upset and had been crying.

Tom explained what had happened on the way back to Agnes's house. When they arrived, Agnes's husband was waiting with Lucy. They had a nice meal and chatted endlessly about what was happening.

***

Orchard arrived in the office mid-morning. He did not intend to do much, just go through a few reports and statements. Floyd was a good DS but sometimes it was nice to be on your own and take it easy.

He read the reports from the pathologist and the forensics team, and also some of the witness statements. There were a few things he picked up on and jotted down but on the whole he didn't find much new.

Orchard thought he had done enough for today so decided to go home. There was rugby on the TV that afternoon and he was looking forward to sitting down and watching it and having a couple of beers. He had arranged to have lunch with his sister on Sunday and was looking forward to a quiet uneventful weekend.

#  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

### Sands, Sands, Sands.

**Liston** Pearce was told to be ready for court in an hour. He was worried and paced his cell.

The other two inmates told him to calm down and accept that he was going to get a long stretch one way or another."

"I suppose you're right." This brought him down to earth a little.

"Pearce," the prison warder said, "this way."

"Good luck," Charlie and Norman said as he walked out.

"Thanks a lot."

The prison officer escorted him to a large white van with blacked-out windows. He stepped into the back. Two prison guards climbed in after him and locked the door. It was about a fifteen-minute drive to the court house and was a smooth trip apart from when the van went round a sharp corner, then Liston swayed from side to side. It was like being on a boat.

They arrived in good time and Liston was taken to a holding cell. The clerk of the court talked to the prison officers for a while.

Liston sat in the cell feeling downhearted. He know his family would be upstairs waiting for him and wondered what must be going through their minds.

Orchard arrived and sat at the back of the court. He noticed Tom and Pearce's two sisters sitting in the public gallery.

The clerk of the court called, "Bring up the prisoner."

Liston was brought into the dock accompanied by two officers of the court. This was a much grander court than the last one. The smell of polished wood and old books pervaded the air.

"All stand," the clerk of the court said.

The circuit judge came in and sat down. He was wearing a violet robe with lilac facings and a red sash over his shoulder and a white wig. Liston noticed his father and sisters in the public gallery looking down on him. He felt everyone's eyes staring at him. He also noticed DCI Orchard sitting at the back of the court.

The judge started to speak. "Liston Pearce you are a vicious and ruthless career criminal. You committed these crimes without a thought for the people you might hurt and the distress you were causing. I cannot comment on how you used the illegal firearm as it might prejudice another case, but carrying a firearm in a public place, armed robbery and burglary are serious offences to which the court must respond with force.

"I have read the police reports and the other reports passed to my chambers. I have taken into consideration the fact that you gave yourself up voluntarily to the police, and that you pleaded guilty. I have read your statement saying you are sorry and regret your actions. I have considered the sentence with care and I sentence you to five years in prison. You will be able to make a parole request after serving half your sentence. Take him down."

As Liston was led out of the dock his legs turned to jelly. He missed a step going down the stairs and had to be steadied by one of the guards holding him. Liston was led to the cell below the court again.

The officer said, "It might be a while before I can get transport back to prison."

Liston was in shock. He was half expecting a longer sentence but five years was still a long time.

He was transported back to prison in the same white prison van that brought him. He was not on remand anymore so a lot of the rules had changed for him since he was here a few hours earlier. The officer gave him prison clothes and informed him about the new regulations before he was taken back to his cell.

Charlie and Norman said, "What did you get?" almost as one voice.

"Five years."

"You got off light," Charlie said.

"I ain't so sure about that."

He sat on his bunk with a thump. _I must think positive, I will keep my head down and do the best I can._

Tom and his two daughters were trying to get out of the court room. Inez and Agnes grabbed hold of their dad's arms and made their way out of the public gallery.

"Let's get away from this place," Agnes said.

They were soon in the street walking back to the car.

Inez said, "If he's out in two and a half years, that's not too bad is it?"

"I suppose not."

They got back to the car. Tom sat in the front and Inez sat in the back.

"I feel so guilty," Tom said.

"Why Dad?"

"I wish I had done more for him when he was younger. When your Mum died we drifted apart, I should have tried harder."

"Liston made his own choices, Dad, and now he is paying for them."

"I know but..."

"But nothing, let's get home."

Orchard left the court and drove back to the station.

Floyd asked Orchard, "How long did he get sir?"

"Five years."

"Umm, thought it would have been longer."

"The judge took into account the guilty plea and the fact he gave himself up."

The phone rang. Orchard answered it and he chatted for a while Floyd was occupied with a report.

"That was an odd call, Floyd."

Floyd looked up. "Why boss?"

"It was from Special Branch in London. They're coming down to see us tomorrow."

"What about, sir?"

"They didn't go into any detail but it's about Steven Bishop."

"I wonder what that is all about, boss?"

***

Wendy Parker woke with a start.

"It's all right, you've just been dreaming, my darling."

Wendy had settled into the routine at Stoke Mandeville well. Her mother came over to see her most days.

"I had a funny dream. It was a sort of flashback to the day I was stabbed. I don't remember much, but there was a bright light and..." The dream was slipping away from her now. She tried to hold on to it but it was fading into the distance.

"Don't worry love." Mrs Parker leaned over the bed and stroked her daughter's cheek. "You were talking in your sleep, you know.""

"What was I saying?"

"Sands! Sands! Sands!"

"How strange."

"I wouldn't take much notice, it was only a dream."

"It's a funny thing to say though, Mum. Sands. What sort of sands? Seaside sands? Sands of time? Strange."

Just then the nurse came in.

"I need to take your temperature and blood pressure and give you your medication Wendy."

"OK, nurse."

Her mum told the nurse about Wendy's dream.

"You can dream funny things when you are on certain drugs. I think she was callings sands yesterday when she was asleep too."

The nurse wrote on Wendy's chart that was hanging on the end of the bed and then left the room.

"Do you think we should tell the police about your dream? It might mean something, Wendy?"

"No Mum, I'm sure it's nothing."

Wendy's consultant arrived not long after that.

"We have had some of your test results back. It's still too early to say exactly but there is significant damage to your spinal column. I feel that after a prolonged series of treatments you may get some of the use back in your legs, but a full recovery seems unlikely. There are some good signs but it is going to be a long road to travel. I'm sorry that it's not better news, but you need to prepare yourself for some time in a wheelchair."

"How long will I be in here?" Wendy asked.

"For some time yet, it's hard to say exactly. You will need physiotherapy and exercise and then we can make another assessment."

"Thanks Doctor, I would rather know the truth."

The doctor said, "Goodbye," and left the room.

Mrs Parker sighed and said, "I suppose we were expecting it to take a long time, but me and your Dad will be with you every step of the way." She then realized what she had said, ""Sorry love, slip of the tongue."

"Don't worry, Mum.

#  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

### Special Branch

**The** two detectives from Special Branch were shown into Orchard's office. Sweet got them an extra chair and offered them some coffee. He was just coming out of the office as Orchard came down the corridor.

"I'm just getting the Special Branch officers a coffee, do you want something sir?"

"Yes please, a coffee as well."

Orchard walked into his office.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, we have a couple of guys in the interview room. Not a good trip down for you, I hear."

"No, not good at all. There was an accident on the M5 just before you get to the Bath turnoff."

They introduced themselves as DCI Wade and DS Payne.

Wade was a tall thin man in his late forties, with a long face and piercing grey-blue eyes and thick eyebrows, which seemed to accentuate his thinning hairline. A sharp dresser, he gave the impression he could snap your head off without any trouble at all. He wore a silver-grey suit, pale pink shirt and thin, grey silk tie. Payne was younger and looked more like a bodybuilder than a policeman,

Orchard shook hands with them and walked around the desk and sat down.

"What can I do for you?" Orchard asked.

"It's more what we can do for you," Wade said in a broad cockney accent.

Sweet came in with the coffees and packet of chocolate biscuits.

"Biscuits! Your honoured," Orchard smiled.

"We have had a report of a killing in your area. A Steven Bishop?"

"Yes, that's right."

"That might not be his real name. We think it's Liam Kelly. We get reports from all over the country and key names crop up from time to time. That's how we came to know about the killing in your area."

"What do you know about this Kelly or Bishop, or whatever his name is?" Orchard asked.

DCI Wade started to tell the story. "Kelly was born in 1966. He came to Britain from Belfast with his parents when he was nine years old. They lived in Kilburn where Kelly was introduced to the large Irish community who live there. His dad was a member of Sinn Féin. He campaigned for a free Ireland in the pubs and clubs around Kilburn and was well known by the police in that area as a troublemaker and loudmouth.

"Liam was influenced by his father, and when he was seventeen he returned to Ireland for a short while. It was there he joined the provisional IRA and was introduced to their terrorist activities, bomb making, use of weapons, propaganda and the like. Kelly returned to Britain some time afterwards and started to collect money for the Provos from the pubs and clubs in Kilburn. He was arrested at several demonstrations and was linked to various crimes in and around London. In December 1983 he was involved in the Harrods bombing. You probably remember, a car bomb exploded outside Harrods department store in central London. Members of the Provisional IRA planted the time bomb, and sent a warning thirty-seven minutes before it exploded, but the area was not evacuated. The blast killed three police officers and three civilians, injured ninety people, and caused terrible damage in that area. He then disappeared and was never questioned. He had used the name Steven Bishop before, after being arrested at a demonstration. We have no trace of him between 1983 and when he arrived in Bristol. He may have returned to Ireland or just laid low somewhere.

"Well, I wasn't expecting that," Orchard exclaimed, "You never know where a case is going to end up.""

Wade passed Kelly's file to Orchard. "There's much more detail in there, you can read it at your leisure. No hurry, because we are here for the rest of today and tomorrow, so it will give you time to digest it and see if it is the same person. Can you get one of your men to book us into a B and B somewhere?"

"Sweet," Orchard called. "Can you arrange somewhere for these two officers to stay in Bristol tonight?""

"Yes sir."

"Is there anywhere nice to eat around here?"

"Loads of places. What sort of food? Indian? Chinese?"

Wade said, "I like Chinese."

"There are some good Chinese restaurants near where I live. We could meet up tonight and go for a beer and a meal."

"Great," said Wade.

Sweet looked into the office. "I've booked you into a nice B and B just around the corner, and here is the address."

Orchard added, "We can meet in the pub across the road. I need to go home and feed the cat, then we can eat."

"At what time?"

"I should be finished by seven thirty, so let's meet in the pub just after."

Wade and Payne went off to find their accommodation.

"Where's Floyd?" Orchard asked Sweet.

"I'll try and find him for you sir."

He found him in the canteen.

"The boss wants you."

Floyd drank his tea down and followed Sweet back to the office.

"Any news, sir?"

"Yes, a lot." Orchard explained what the Special Branch officers had told him.

"Doesn't explain why he attacked Parker, though, apart from the fact he didn't like the British."

"I suppose it might not be him."

"I'll read the file and check the photos."

"Organize a team briefing for this afternoon, Floyd. You can chair it."

Floyd nodded. "OK, I'll tell everyone what is going on sir."

"We'd better call the superintendent as well, although I would guess Special Branch has already told him what is going on."

"Will do, sir."

Orchard read the file from Special Branch and then passed it to Floyd to read.

"What do you think, Floyd?"

"I think it is our man. The photos look like him but it is hard to tell."

Sweet came into the office.

"The team are ready, sir."

Orchard, Floyd and Sweet went into the operations room. There were another five officers there who were working on the case from one aspect or another. The superintendent came in the room at the same time they did.

"Well everyone, there have been significant developments in the Pearce case," Floyd began, then he went on to tell them what had happened.

"Any questions?"

Peterson said, "Is there any reason why he attacked WPC Parker?"

"Just the connection with the IRA and that he hated authority of any kind."

After some more discussion, everyone went back to work.

Orchard went over to the superintendent.

"This is a rum one indeed, Orchard."

"It is, sir."

"I'm not sure if it makes too much difference to the case against, Pearce, but it will serve to get him even more public support. Anyway, do your best."

"Yes sir."

The rest of the afternoon and early evening drifted by without any significant advances in the case.

Wade called and asked if he could see the body of Kelly/Bishop to confirm the body was Kelly. Sweet arranged to take them to the morgue the next day at eleven o'clock.

"I hear you are going out with the Special Branch officers tonight," Floyd said to his boss.

"Thought I would show them around Clifton, You never know, I might learn something else useful about our case."

It was now coming up to seven o'clock.

"Let's knock off, Floyd. I'm meeting the officers across the road for a swift half before I go home if you fancy it, Floyd?""

"Thanks sir, I'll meet you over there."

Floyd briefly tidied his desk and left. He went out with Orchard into the cold night. Floyd wrapped his woolly scarf tight around his neck and pulled his leather gloves on. They walked over to the pub and went in. Wade and Payne were already there standing at the bar. It was early so it wasn't busy. Orchard and Floyd joined them.

"Evening chaps."

"What can I get you?" Wade asked.

"I'll get them," replied Orchard.

"No, it's on expenses."

"Thanks. Just a half for me."

"Me too," Floyd added.

"If I drive us back to my place and feed the cat, we can get a taxi into town from there."

They all finished their drinks, and Floyd said his goodbyes. He was about to leave the pub when Orchard said, "Damn it, I forgot to call WPC Parker to see how she is getting along. Remind me first thing tomorrow please, Floyd."

"OK boss."

#  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

### Mortuary Visit

" **Good morning sir** , did you have a good night out with the Special Branch officers?" Floyd asked.

"I think I drank a bit too much. I have a headache and my stomach's upset. Anyway, let's crack on. And I must phone WPC Parker.""

He shouted for DC Sweet. "Can you call the hospital and see if I can speak to Wendy Parker?"

"Will do, sir."

Moments later the phone rang.

"Staff Nurse Benson, can I help you?"

"Is it possible to speak to WPC Wendy Parker?"

"Are you family?"

"No this is DCI Orchard from Avon and Somerset Constabulary."

"She is having some tests done at the moment. I'll take the trolley phone to her room when she gets back and get her to call you. Does she have your number?"

Orchard gave the nurse the direct number to his office and ended the call.

"Floyd, can you arrange for the Special Branch officers to view Bishop's body at the morgue later? You go with them just to make sure we are talking about the same man."

"Sweet arranged it yesterday, sir."

"Ah yes, I remember now. Anyway you go with them."

"Yes boss."

Floyd, Wade and Payne were leaving the station when they saw DC Sweet having a sneaky cigarette outside the main entrance.

"We're off to the morgue, Sweet, are you ready to drive?"

"Yes boss."

The four officers climbed into Floyd's car.

Floyd passed the car keys to Sweet.

It was a little way out of Bristol so it took a while to get there, and on the way Wade talked about the night out they'd had with DCI Orchard. He told Floyd they went to a nice Chinese restaurant in the town centre then went on a bit of a pub crawl.

"I think John Orchard might have had a bit too much to drink," Wade said

Floyd couldn't imagine his boss on a pub crawl. He was often a little aloof but they all had a good time, it seemed.

They arrived at the mortuary mid-morning and parked in the car park near the small chapel.

"You stay here Sweet, we won't be long."

Sweet watched as some sombre looking people filed out of the chapel door dressed in black, some with white hankies pushed to their eyes. A funeral had just finished. People were stopping and looking at the flowers and wreaths lined up against the wall. Not long after a black hearse arrived with another crowd of people dressed in black. The coffin was lifted from the back of the hearse and carried into the chapel. DC Sweet watched fascinated and thought it was a conveyor belt of death.

Floyd, Payne and Wade went into the entrance at the side of the building. A short plump man wearing a dark suit greeted them. Floyd showed him his warrant card and introduced the other two officers.

"We are here to see the body of Steven Bishop. We have an appointment."

"If you wait here a moment I will prepare the body."

He had been gone about five minutes when a door at the side of the room opened.

"This way please."

They went into a small room with a glass window. On the other side of the window there was a woman dressed in a white coat, the sort doctors wear. In front of her, under a white cloth, they could see the outline of a body. She nodded to them.

"Are you ready, gentlemen?"

"Yes," Floyd answered.

"He nodded back to the woman. She uncovered the face and neck of the deceased man, and the three officers peered at the body.

Wade said, in a loud voice that shattered the silence, "That's him all right."

The man nodded to the woman behind the glass and she covered the body again.

"This way, gentlemen," and he showed them out.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, thanks for your help."

They walked back to the car. Sweet stubbed a cigarette out on the ground.

"You should give that filthy habit up, Sweet," Floyd said.

"I am trying but it's not easy, sir."

The four men got back into the car. By the time they returned to the station Sweet was sick of the conversation. On the drive back all the three of them talked about was smoking and how they had all given it up, and how they felt much better for it. How you must persevere, and that you can't do it for someone else but you have to give up for yourself. Sweet got out of the car and all he wanted to do was light up, but he felt under pressure not to. Floyd and the two Special Branch officers walked back to Orchard's office.

"Was it him?" Orchard asked.

"Yes, it was," Wade replied. "We're off back to the city now. I hope there aren't any hold-ups on the way back. It's been nice to meet you all, and if you ever come up to town give us a call and we can have a few beers."

They shook hands and said goodbye.

"They were all right sir, not what you expect from Special Branch. You usually think of them as a hard lot."

"I think they are, Floyd. I've had a strange call from WPC Parker while you were out."

"Why strange, sir?"

"Well, I asked her how she was doing, and, to cut a long story short, she is making slow progress. Anyway, she said she has been having flashbacks of the attack. She keeps dreaming of Bishop shouting from behind her after she pointed the way to the pub."

"What's he shouting?"

"She is not sure but 'sands' keeps popping into her head,"

"That is strange. Does she know what it means?"

"No, she has no idea."

The afternoon passed by quickly. Orchard got up from his desk and closed the window of the office as he heard a loud clap of thunder. The rain beat against the window for five minutes or so and then stopped.

It was getting late now so Floyd went into Orchard's office to see if there was anything more to do before he knocked off.

"That will do for today, Floyd, see you tomorrow. I'll be going home in a short while."

"Goodnight sir."

Orchard arrived home in a downpour; no thunder now, just driving rain. It was a hell of a journey back as there was so much traffic driving through Clifton. _I suppose everyone is driving because of the weather._

He fed Molly, then made himself a bowl of chilli and rice. He still couldn't get what WPC Parker had said to him out of his head so he settled down with a glass of Glenfiddich and turned the telly on. _Baywatch_ had just started. _God, she's a big girl that Pamela Anderson._ He soon got tired and missed the last bit of the programme because he nodded off.

"Time for bed, Molly."

Molly was oblivious to what he had just said as she sprawled in front of the log-effect gas fire that was flickering in the fireplace. He went over and turned it off and the cat looked at him with disdain.

It was not long before he was fast asleep in bed. He woke up with a start. _Bad dream_ , he thought. He turned the bedside light on and picked up his watch which was lying on the small table by the bed. The watch had belonged to his father and it was one of his most treasured items. The time was 4.05am. He lay back on the pillow, knowing from previous experience it would be hard to get back to sleep now.

He was about to pick up a book from the table when a name came to him. _Bobby Sands_. _Bobby Sands, that's it! That has to be the name Wendy Parker was remembering_.

He got out of bed, put his dressing gown on and went downstairs. Molly was still lying in front of the gas fire even though it was dark and cold. John Orchard was interested in history especially local history. He went to the bookcase. He was looking for a book he had on the IRA, and there it was: _Ten Men Dead_ by David Beresford. It was about the hunger strike at the Maze prison. There was a lot about Bobby Sands. Orchard had read it before and started to flick through it again. The cat was meowing at the conservatory door wanting to go out.

"Wait Molly," he said.

She didn't listen, just kept on meowing, he got up and opened the door. Molly poked her head out, sniffed the air, and then felt a spot of rain on her nose. She quickly retreated back into the house. _Bloody cat._

He read some more about Sands, his connection to the IRA and the link with Kelly. He was starting to get a little sleepy again. Molly was wanting to go out again, but he ignored her and went back to bed.

#  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

### Orchard Visits Wendy

**Liston** Pearce was trying to get his head around having to spend at least the next two and a half years in prison. He needed a plan to get him through it. He tried to put out of his mind the fact that there might be more charges brought against him and that he might not get parole anyway. He was determined that he was not going to do anything in prison to hinder his parole application. He was going to be a model prisoner.

He needed something to occupy his mind and body so he talked to some of the other prisoners and prison officers about going to the gym. He had never thought of taking up any educational courses, but that might be a path to take. Not being a great reader, as he had always had a problem with words, he thought about a visit to the library. One of the warders told him he would be given a job to do in the prison but he needed to settle in a little longer before that would happen.

The first time he went to the library it was all a bit confusing. There were so many books and he had no idea what he wanted to read. He found a World War II novel, _The Eagle Has Landed_ by Jack Higgins. He remembered seeing the film on TV one Christmas and had enjoyed it. He started visiting the gym, played dominoes with a guy from Jamaica called Pitchy. That was his nickname. He was in for four years for GBH with intent.

***

Tom called the prison to make an appointment for him and Agnes to see Liston.

"He's only allowed one two-hour visit each month now," the woman told him.

"What date can we see him again?" Tom asked.

"I will just check. OK, Saturday 9th or Sunday 10th December."

"Well, that will have to do."

Tom booked himself and Agnes in on the 9th at 2pm for two hours. He called Agnes to tell her.

"I suppose at least we will see him before Christmas, Dad. Have you heard if he is going to be charged with manslaughter?"

"No, nothing."

"I spoke to Inez the other day. She seemed a bit depressed, poor love, but not much we can do. Grin and bear it I suppose," Agnes said.

***

Liston Pearce was not getting used to prison. Some days he seemed to be getting a handle on it, but other days he was in the depths of despair.

There was a prison officer at his cell door.

"Pearce, the assistant governor wants to see you now. Follow me."

Liston followed the man along the metal walkways past the open doors of other cells. Liston guessed the officer was ex-military by his stride. They entered a part of the prison he had not been before.

The officer knocked on a door with a faded gold embossed sign that said 'Assistant Governor'.

"Come in."

"Good morning, sir. You wanted to see Pearce?"

"Thank you, officer."

Liston thought he had better stand to attention.

The assistant governor said, "Pearce, you have been assigned to a work party. You will join the kitchen at eight am tomorrow morning. This is a privileged job so don't abuse it or you will find yourself in trouble."

"Thank you, sir," Liston said.

"Take him back, officer."

As they returned to his cell, the prison officer said, "You've landed a cushy job there, Pearce, I expect it's because you saved that copper's life."

Liston told his cellmates when they returned from the exercise yard.

"You lucky bastard," one said with a big smile on his face. "Perhaps you can smuggle us some extra food out."

Liston didn't know if he was joking or not so he laughed to cover his confusion.

***

DCI Orchard was telling Floyd about his early morning brainwave.

Floyd said, "I've heard the name Bobby Sands but I don't know much about him."

"Bobby Sands was a member of the Provisional IRA. He died on hunger strike at the Maze prison in 1981. When he died, Republicans considered him a hero. It seems Liam Kelly lived near the same block of flats that Sands did in West Belfast. They might even have met. It seems Sands was his hero and he worshiped the ground he walked on. It''s all in the report that Wade left."

"It still doesn't explain why he attacked WPC Parker, sir."

"No, but it could have been a fanatic's misguided attempt at revenge. I'm going to see WPC Parker later and see if I can find any more."

"OK boss."

It was about a two-hour drive from Bristol to Stoke Mandeville hospital. The Bristol traffic was not too bad mid-morning and it was not long before he was on the M4 heading towards London. He turned the radio on: he liked listening to Radio Four. His thoughts wandered in and out of the Pearce case. It was an easy run so far but as he was looking for the turn off towards Oxford, the road needed more concentration. He presently arrived at Stoke Mandeville Hospital.

He parked his car in the public car park and headed toward the main entrance. He walked into the hospital and the first thing that caught his attention was the sign for the toilets. Back in the corridor he followed the signs for the café where he ordered a coffee and a Bath bun. Once he'd finished his snack he headed to the information desk.

"Can you tell me where WPC Wendy Parker's room is, please?"

"It's not visiting time, sir," the lady at the desk said.

Orchard said, "I am here on official business."

He showed his warrant card.

"Oh I see, it's on the first floor, out of the lift, turn right, then it's the second door on the right."

Orchard found the room and knocked the door.

"Come in."

Wendy was in a room all on her own. All the high dependency equipment was gone, and there were just a few monitors left.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning, sir," Wendy replied. "This is an unexpected visit."

"How are you doing?"

"Still not much news, but I am all right I suppose. What are you doing here, sir?"

"Just one or two points I want to clear up. Have you had any more flashbacks?"

"Yes and they are all similar. I always keep remembering this 'Sands' thing."

"I might be able to help you with that, Wendy."

Wendy looked puzzled. _How can he help me with my flashbacks_.

"Does the name Bobby Sands mean anything to you?"

Wendy thought for a moment then the floodgates opened. Her heart started pounding and she started sobbing.

"Are you OK, Wendy?"

Orchard pressed the call button by Wendy's bed, and the nurse was there in a few moments.

"Out," she ordered.

He retreated to the corridor outside Wendy's room where he could still hear her crying through the door.

He felt dreadful. _What have I said? Should I have broken the news more gently?_

The nurse left the room and looked at him with daggers flying from her eyes. She said nothing.

Orchard cautiously opened the door.

"Come in, I'm OK now. I'm sorry about that – something just came over me."

"I'm so sorry if I upset you, Wendy, that was the last thing I intended."

"It was such a shock hearing that name. That's what I have been trying to remember from the flashbacks. He shouted, 'You bitch, this is for Bobby Sands' and that was it."

"I am so sorry to have put you through this Wendy but it explains the motive of your attacker."

Wendy said, "So who is Bobby Sands?"

He explained the background of Sands to her, also about the IRA and a little about Kelly. He didn't want to go into too much detail as it was grim listening.

She said, "Thanks very much, sir. I think this will help me get over it all much quicker now."

Orchard asked her if there was anything else he could do for her. As there was not, he made his farewells and left.

Walking back to the car, he thought, _I wish I had remembered to take her something_. He passed a small flower stall which some enterprising young guy had set up with a couple of small tables and umbrella. There were buckets of flowers arranged on the tables and floor.

"Make me up a nice bunch please," he said to the young man.

"How much do you want to spend?"

"Two or three quid."

"OK sir."

He made up a nice bunch of mixed flowers and handed them to Orchard. He also gave him a small card with a picture of some flowers and a space for a message.

"Do you want a pen?"

"Yes please."

He paid the man and wrote on the card 'From all the coppers at Trinity Road nick XXX'.

He walked back to the hospital entrance and was about to give the flowers to the receptionist when he heard a voice behind him.

"Chief Inspector Orchard, isn't it?"

He turned round. It was Wendy's mum.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I have just been to visit your daughter. I'm afraid I upset her a little but she is fine now."

"How did you upset her?" Mrs Parker frowned.

"I'm sure she will explain when you see her. Can you give her these flowers please?"

He thrust the flowers into her hand.

"Must rush, nice to meet you again," and he went.

The drive back to Bristol was uneventful but slow. It took over three hours so he decided to call it a day and go home.

#  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

### Kitchen Work

**Liston** Pearce woke up early. He had difficulty sleeping with two other blokes in the cell, Charlie snored a lot. Norman was fine apart from the occasional shout in the night.

Charlie was being sentenced today so he was up and about early, trying to make himself look as angelic as possible.

"I wish you two fuckers would keep quiet, I'm trying to get some shut eye here," Norman said grumpily.

Charlie and Liston took no notice at all.

Charlie said to Liston, "The screws will be here soon to take you to the work house."

"Why do you call them screws?"

"It goes back to Victorian times. Prisoners on hard labour were given pointless tasks to do, and one was to turn a big crank handle connected to a drum filled with gravel. The prison officers could tighten the screw to make it harder to turn, so that is how they got the name screw."

"My God," Liston exclaimed, "you are such a smartass."

The screw came for Liston just before eight am.

"Follow me, Pearce."

"Liston said, "Good luck Charlie, see you later."

Liston followed the screw down to the kitchen changing rooms.

"There are some whites over there hanging up. Find some that fit and get changed."

Liston did as he was told. He found a coat that fitted fine, but because he was so tall the trousers only went down to his ankles.

The prison officer laughed.

"Trousers at half-mast?"

Liston saw the funny side of it as well and a sly smile crept across his face.

The officer opened the door into the kitchen; the heat slapped Liston in the face. It was like being back in the Caribbean from what he could remember as a child.

He was introduced to the head cook.

"Start on the pot wash," he was told.

Liston was shown to a large deep stainless steel sink. There were six of them on one wall, and either side were the large racks for keeping the cleaned pots. There were two banks of kitchen ranges down the middle of the large kitchen, with big extractor fans sucking the hot air out through the canopy above the stoves. All around the walls there were food mixers and other equipment, and large stainless steel tables. People were everywhere –– it was chaos.

By the side of Liston's sink, dirty pots and pans were piled high.

"Get stuck in to that lot," the cook told him.

In front of him were big plastic containers of washing up liquid. There were also some mucky looking wire scourers on the draining board by the side of the sink.

He filled the sink with hot water, poured some washing up liquid in, grabbed his first pot and plunged it into the water. He started to wash the pot but the water was so hot he pulled his hands out and waved them in the air to cool off.

"Are there any rubber gloves?" he asked the prisoner next to him, who was also on the pot wash."

He looked at Liston with astonishment.

The inmate shouted at the top of his voice, "Half-mast wants some rubber gloves!"

Everyone who was in hearing distance looked over towards Liston and started roaring with laughter. They could all see this tall black man with his trousers half way up his legs, sink full of bubbles, wanting rubber gloves for his big soft hands. Even the screws were laughing.

The prison guards and the proper cooks soon got things back to normal.

"Sorry mate, no rubber gloves here. Just put some cold water in the sink. By the way, my name is Jim."

Jim was an oldish man in his late fifties. He was short and wiry, and spoke with a broad Glasgow accent. He had tattoos all the way up his arms of naked ladies and hearts with daggers. He was almost bald and didn't have too many teeth left in his mouth. His round, smallish head was dripping with sweat: not a pretty sight.

Liston started washing the pots. It was hard work but he got into the swing of it. He chatted to Jim as much as he could, but with all the banging and clattering of pots and pans and the roar of the extractor fans it was hard to hear.

At eleven they had a ten-minute break. The break was taken in turns so there was always some people in the kitchen watching the stoves.

Liston followed Jim into a room just off the kitchen with a few tables and chairs. Jim and Liston sat down at the same table just as a trustee came around with a gigantic brown enamel teapot that you needed two hands to hold. He gave everyone a slurp of tea. There was milk already mixed in with the tea, whether you liked it or not.

"What are you in for?" Jim asked.

"Carrying a gun and robbery."

"How long did you get?"

"Five years," Liston said. "How about you, Jim?"

"I am a lifer, in for murder."

"How long have you been here?"

"Two and a half years."

"Break over," the screw shouted.

Liston and Jim gulped their tea down and it was back to the pots. They had bits of conversation between the clanking of pots and pans. Liston found out there were about six hundred prisoners altogether. There were some real nutters and there were quite a few to keep your distance from, according to Jim.

The next break was for lunch. He had it with Jim, and two other prisoners who didn't talk much. Jim told him to try and get some Vaseline to rub on his hands before he started to wash up again as it would help keep his hands from getting too sore.

After lunch, Liston and Jim finished the pots and pans, cleaned the surfaces down and mopped the floor. Finally they got changed.

Jim said, "See you tomorrow, Half-Mast."

He was taken back to his cell. He was expecting to see Charlie but he was not there, only Norman.

"Good day in the kitchen?" he asked.

"It's fucking hard work."

Norman smiled. "You try working in the laundry – it's slave labour."

"I thought Charlie would be back by now."

"He's not coming back. Been transferred to another prison for low risk offenders. The word is he got three years for fraud."

Liston was sorry not to see Charlie anymore but the cells were only designed for two, so they did have a bit more room to spread themselves out.

#  CHAPTER THIRTY

### Tom Gets A Visit

**Liston** was taken down and put into a small room. A prison officer was standing by the door. Orchard and Floyd came into the room and sat down.

They cautioned him and charged him with manslaughter of Liam Kelly.

"Who is Liam Kelly?" Liston said.

"The man you shot and killed."

"I'd like a solicitor please."

"There are a few questions first."

"I'd like a solicitor please," Liston repeated.

"OK, we will arrange to get you a lawyer. But just one question."

"I'd like a solicitor please."

Liston remembered Charlie telling him they could not ask him any questions after he had been charged without a solicitor being present, and to keep asking for a one.

Orchard said, "OK we will interview you when you have your solicitor present." Both officers then got up and left the room, Liston was taken back to his cell.

He sat in the cell. _Well I was half expecting to be charged_. He wished Charlie had not been transferred to another prison. He would have been a great help to him now.

He was in the cell alone. He had missed his work shift in the kitchens, so he tried to read his book. His mind wandered and he thought about working in the kitchen. It was enjoyable once you got used to the noise and heat. He had a good craic with Jim, and he was learning what to do and what not to do. He read some more of his book, then drifted off again. _What if I get convicted of manslaughter, how long will I get?_ He didn't want to think about that.

***

Wendy Parker was getting stronger. She had been having tests almost every day but there was not much progress with her recovery. She now realized she could be in a wheelchair for the foreseeable future, if not for the rest of her life.

Her parents visited her as much as they could but it was a long journey from Bristol.

The flowers DCI Orchard had sent with her mother were still looking good. She read the card a few times and wondered if her career with the police force was over. _Perhaps they will give me a desk job?_ She had a large window in her room, and she could see the tops of the trees blowing in the wind. A small flock of starlings took off as one, swooping and reeling in the air. She looked at them and hoped that one day she would be able to move again as free as the birds.

***

Orchard had spent Sunday with his sister at her house. He got on well with her husband. He was a GP and, like himself, he saw the good and bad side of life.

Monday morning he was quite early into work. DC Sweet was already there. Orchard thought, _This lad is keen, he is going to go far_.

Floyd arrived.

"Morning sir, cup of tea?"

"Morning Floyd, coffee please."

Floyd brought the coffees in.

"What is the form today, sir?"

Orchard looked at his list:

'See if Pearce has seen his brief. Re-interview Pearce. Check the rota to see if I'm working over Christmas.'

"Floyd, find out if Pearce has seen his lawyer"

"Right away, sir."

***

"Pearce, you have a visitor. Your solicitor is here".

He followed the guard to an interview room and sat down at the small table. A few seconds later his lawyer came into the room. This was the only time he had been left in a room without a guard.

"Good morning, my name is Lewis and I have been appointed by the court to represent you."

The two men shook hands and they both sat down, Lewis was in his late thirties, about five feet nine inches tall. He wore rimless glasses and the thin wire arms pressed against his temples, leaving a mark. He had short cropped hair, which was because he was going bald and he didn't want it too show too much. He was wearing a dark suit which looked like it had seen better days and carried a beat-up brown leather briefcase.

He peered into the briefcase, shuffled some files and selected a small green-grey folder. Reading through it, he said, "I think we should go with self-defence of another person. I have a close contact at the CPS and she tells me it was 50-50 whether they proceeded with your case or not. If that is agreeable to you?"

Liston agreed as he thought that Mr Lewis knew more about the ins and outs of the case than he did.

"What's self-defence of another person?"

"Well, if you are defending the life of someone else – in your case defending the life of the policewoman – and you do not use excessive force it is classed as self-defence."

"Even if you kill 'em?"

"Yes, even then. What did you tell the police when they charged you?

"I can't remember, it's all a bit of a blur."

"Well, I have read your statement and it seems you didn't give much away."

"Is that good or bad?" Liston asked.

"Good. When they interview you again, I will be there. Answer their questions as simply as possible, and don't volunteer any information."

"OK, can I ask you what I should say and what not to say?"

"I will tell you when to answer, not what to say."

Lewis went over the relevant points of the case with Liston. He listened, but some of the things went over his head so Lewis tried to explain them in a different way.

"Is there anything else you need to know?"

Liston answered, "I don't think so."

"OK, I'll be off. The police will inform me when they want to see you again."

"Bye old chap, keep your pecker up."

They shook hands and Lewis left. Liston was taken back to his cell.

It was too late for him to go to work in the kitchens so he read for a while.

***

"Pearce has seen his lawyer and there has been a sighting of Solomon Cassells in Blackpool. He was involved in a bar fight, but by the time the local police realized who he was he had done a runner," Floyd said.

"Get on to them straight away and chase it up."

"Yes sir."

***

Tom was sitting at his kitchen table. The cupboards were well stocked with all sorts of herbs and spices. He had started cooking when his wife died, and after some mishaps to start with had become a good cook.

There was a green and white checked plastic tablecloth covering the kitchen table. A green and white 1970s cupboard had two small, patterned glass doors at the top. It also had a pull down front panel, behind which were some shelves and more small cubbyholes. The fold-down door was covered on the inside with a white enamel top which he used for food preparation and rolling pastry out. There was a big cupboard door at the bottom. Tom loved it: it was one of the first things he bought after he and his wife moved to Britain.

The blue and green patterned lino on the floor had seen better days. Tom had been meaning to replace it but just hadn't got round to it.

He had a mug of tea in front of him and was reading the paper when he heard a knock on the door. _Who is that?_

He got up slowly. He had a twinge of pain at the base of his spine. _Old age_.

He opened the door to see two people standing in front of him who he half recognized: a man in his forties in a long black woollen coat with a black cap, and an elegant woman a bit younger, with blonde hair which might have been coloured.

"Mr Pearce?" the man asked.

"Yes."

"My name Gerald. I am Wendy Parker's father and this is my wife, Jane."

Tom remembered them from the TV appeal.

"Oh! Um, pleased to meet you," he shook Gerald's hand. "How can I help you? Sorry please come in."

They all went into the front room. Tom always kept it tidy and neat – his wife had trained him well when she was alive. He turned on the electric fire.

"Please, let me take your coats."

Mr and Mrs Parker took their coats off and gave them to Tom, who went out of the room and hung them up in the small passage. He came back into the room.

"Can I make you a cup of tea or coffee?"

"Coffee for me, please," Mr Parker said.

"And for me too, if it's not too much trouble Mr Pearce," Mrs Parker said in a posh voice.

"Please call me Tom."

He went into the kitchen and made the coffees. _I wonder what they are doing here? I hope there is nothing wrong._

Tom brought the coffees in on a tray with a doily on it two cups of coffee, a sugar bowl and teaspoon and a plate of digestive biscuits.

"Help yourselves to sugar. How did you find where I live?"

"We just asked around. You are quite famous around here, everyone knew where you lived."

"I suppose so," Tom said, looking a little dejected. "What can I do for you?"

"We just wanted to meet you. We have all been through some terrible times and we felt there must be a bond between us," Gerald said.

"You are sure right these are terrible times. How is your daughter?"

"It's slow progress but at least she is not getting any worse."

"Tom, we would like to ask you a delicate question. But first, please can you thank your son for saving our daughter's life when you see him next." Gerald made a small pause and then said, "Our daughter would like to meet Liston someday, when she is stronger."

"What, in prison?" Tom said with a gasp.

"Well yes. He is going to be in there for a while."

"Are you sure she wants to see him in there?"

"Yes. That's what she asked us to ask you."

"I can only ask him on my next visit."

"If you would be so kind, Tom," Jane said in a warm buttery voice.

They chatted for a while longer. Tom discovered that Gerald was a chartered surveyor, who worked with his partner at an office in Bristol city centre. Jane was a full-time housewife. She did some charity work for the Citizen's Advice Service so she had contacts if they needed them.

Gerald decided it was time to go. They exchanged telephone numbers and agreed to meet up again. Tom told them he would talk to Liston about Wendy wanting to visit him and let them know the outcome.

Tom saw them out of the house. He watched as Gerald and Jane walked up the road a little and got into a dark green Jaguar. There were some kids looking at the car – it was unusual to see a swanky car parked in their street. The Parkers got in and the car roared into life. As they passed, Mrs Parker waved. Tom thought, _She looks like the queen!_

***

Orchard and Floyd were off to interview Pearce. They went into the interview room where Pearce and his lawyer were already sitting at the table.

Pearce's lawyer introduce himself to Orchard. They had met once before when he was defending another client, and Orchard remembered him as a shrewd customer.

They asked Liston Pearce lots of questions. Every time, Liston looked at his lawyer who either nodded or shook his head. When he nodded Liston answered the question, telling the truth, and when he shook his head he refused to answer.

Orchard realized he was getting nowhere. _It's going to be difficult to prove manslaughter._

"That will do for now, Mr Pearce. We may want to question you again."

Orchard and Floyd left the room.

Lewis said to Pearce, "If that is all they have, it's looking good but we mustn't take things for granted. I will call and see you in a day or two when we have a clearer idea of what is happening."

They said goodbye and Pearce was taken back to his cell.

***

The next day Liston started work in the kitchen as usual. He was quite enjoying it. His hands were sore due to them being in hot water all day but Jim had given him a tiny amount of Vaseline which he rubbed on his hands each day.

Jim had become a big help and advised him a lot about prison life. They had a lot of funny conversations in the breaks. Jim was a bit of a practical joker so it was a light-hearted time working in the kitchen.

Liston noticed there seemed to be three different areas to the kitchen, the biggest of which was for the main meals for the prisoners. There was another which was for the prison guards and a smaller section for the management and governors. This area did more specialist meals with better quality food. There were only three prisoners and one professional cook in this part of the kitchen.

Liston asked Jim about it, and Jim told him that you needed to be a trustee to work in this area of the kitchen, but if you could manage to get in there it was a cushy number.

"How do you get to be a trustee?" Liston asked Jim.

"Keep your nose clean. They must like you a lot already. It took me over a year to get a job in the kitchen and it only took you two bloody weeks."

The order was given to start serving lunch to the prisoners.

"It's Tuesday so cottage pie, peas and carrots today," Jim said, "I like Tuesdays."

They grabbed their trays and started to line up at the serving counter. The smell of the food reminded Liston of when he was at school. He didn't get on well at school and the highlight of the day for him had been school dinners.

Liston, Jim, Pitchy and another guy collected their food and sat down together.

Jim said, "One thing that I have often wondered about is what's the difference between cottage pie and shepherd's pie?"

Everyone at the table looked puzzled and started to laugh.

"You're a funny bugger, Jim, you come out with some strange things."

Jim didn't think it was funny at all, but he was much more interested in finishing his cottage pie.

Liston and Jim went back to the kitchen. He was back washing pots when one of the screws told him to get changed as his brief was here to see him. The prison officer showed him to an interview room.

"Good afternoon, Liston."

"Good afternoon, Mr Lewis."

"Call me Terry, please. I have a date for your court appearance. It's next Thursday, November 30th at ten am, Bristol Crown Court."

"That's quick, I thought it would take longer than that."

"Me too. I think somebody must have changed their plea to guilty and that has moved the court lists forward."

"Are you prepared for it, Terry?"

"I will be by next Thursday. I have instructed a barrister. He will want to see you sometime and go through everything with you."

"I ain't goin anywhere."

"If there is nothing else, I'll be off. I have a load of work piled up on my desk back at the office."

He closed his old briefcase said goodbye.

Liston was taken back to his cell. His shift had almost finished in the kitchen so no point going back there. He read his book for a while and pondered about what was going to happen to him.

#  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

### The Trial: Day One

**Liston** Pearce was taken from his cell at the prison to Bristol Crown Court and placed in the cell below the court. He remembered it well from the last time he was here. He waited in anticipation and dread of the up and coming court case. His barrister and solicitor had assured him it would go in his favour, but he still had grave doubts in his mind.

At ten o'clock he was taken from the cell below and brought straight into the dock. There were two police guards, one on either side of him.

The clerk of the court said, "All stand."

The judge came in, arranged his robes and sat down in the large ornately-carved wooden chair.

"Be seated."

The clerk of the court read the charge. "Liston Pearce you are charged with the manslaughter of Mr Liam Kelly on or around October 29th of this year."

"How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?" asked the judge.

"Not guilty, Your Honour."

The judge directed the jury on their responsibilities. "As you have undertaken to do by your oaths and affirmation, you must decide this case only on the evidence and the arguments that you hear in court. Not on anything you may have seen, or heard, or read, or may see, hear, or read outside the court. You must not talk to anyone about the case, save to the other members of the jury, and then only when all twelve of you are deliberating in the jury room. You should not discuss the case amongst yourselves as the trial proceeds because you will not hear all of the evidence, and what counsel and I say to you about it and the relevant law, until you retire to consider your verdict."

There were twelve members of the public on the jury: eight men and four women. Two of the men were black and one was Asian. All the rest of the men were white. Of the women three were black and one was white. Most of the men were middle-aged but one was older nearing retirement age. The women were all in their mid-thirties.

The judge, Mr Michael Smythe QC, told the prosecution to open the case.

The chief prosecutor went through their account of what happened on the day of the shooting. He was at great pains to point out that the first bullet didn't kill Liam Kelly and it was the second bullet that did so. That Liston Pearce knew he was not dead after the first shot and fired the second shot with malice. The prosecutor summed up saying Pearce was a vicious criminal who fired the second shot into Liam Kelly's body to kill him.

Liston stood in the dock feeling numb and sick. He was thinking, _That was not the way it happened at all, nothing like_.

He looked around the court. It was warm, maybe too warm, but that might have been because he was worried and stressed. There was a smell of wood polish. People in front of the dock, some of them wearing black gowns, were shuffling papers and talking in hushed whispers to each other. He was not quite sure what was going on. He could see his dad and sisters, Mr and Mrs Parker, Orchard and Floyd.

The clerk of the court called the first witness.

"Call Mrs Harriot Stokes."

Liston guessed this must be the old lady who rang the police. She looked like she was going out for a day at the races, with a new hat, pretty blue scarf and black leather gloves. She had rosy cheeks and looked like she had a happy personality.

She stood in the witness box. The court usher gave her the Bible. She took her glove off and placed her hand on it and swore the oath.

The crown prosecutor, Mr Eric Samuels QC, stood up.

"Mrs Stokes, please describe to the court what happened on the afternoon of 29th October 1989."

"Well, I was sitting down in front of the fire, listening to the radio, when I heard what I thought were two fireworks going off outside in the road. I thought to myself, 'Damn kids, letting off bangers before bonfire night.'' I got out of my chair and went to the window. There was what looked like two people lying in the road, you know."

"What did you do then?"

"I dialled 999 and asked for the police and an ambulance."

"And did you see anything else?"

"Yes, I saw a tall black man running up the road. He got into a silver car and drove off."

"Did you recognize the man?"

"No, he was too far away, you know."

"Can you see that man in court?"

She pointed to Liston and said with a quiver in her voice, "It could have been him but I could not swear to it."

"That's all thank you, no further questions."

The defence barrister, Mr Jasper Harrington, got up.

"Good morning, Mrs Stokes. Did you hear anything before the bangs?"

"Yes, I think so. I heard some screams and shouting, you know."

"So it was not only the gun shots that alerted you to what was happening in the road outside."

"No, I heard the yelling first."

"Do you wear glasses, Mrs Stokes?"

"Yes, I do."

"Did you have your glasses on when you looked out of the window?"

"Yes I did. I picked them up after I got up from my chair."

"How long ago did you last have your eyes tested?"

"Oh, quite a few years ago now, my dear."

"Can you positively identify my client as the man you saw running to the car?"

"No. It did look like him but I can't be sure, you know."

"Thank you, no further questions."

The clerk of the court called the next witness. "Call Miss Rachel Elms."

Rachel Elms used the non-religious oath. "I do solemnly, sincerely and truly declare and affirm that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"You are Miss Rachel Elms?"

"Yes sir."

"Can you tell the court your relationship to the deceased Mr Liam Kelly?"

"I didn't know him as Liam Kelly."

"What name did you know him by?"

"Steven Bishop."

"And what was your relationship?"

"We had been living together for about six months."

"How long had you known him altogether?"

"About nine or ten months."

"Can you tell the court about an incident which happened some weeks prior to his death at a public house in the St Paul's district of Bristol?"

"We were in this pub. Steve needed to score... um, get some drugs. He was talking to a tall black guy near the toilets. There was a bit of shoving and pushing and then Steve came back to the table I was sitting at.""

"And what did he say to you?"

"That the black guy had ripped him off and short-measured the amount of weed he gave him."

"Did you know the man he was having the disagreement with?"

"No, never saw him before."

"Would you recognize him if you saw him again?"

Rachel paused and looked at Liston, "Not sure."

"Do you see the man in court?"

"It could be the man in the dock but I'm not sure."

"Thank you Miss Elms, no further questions"

The defence barrister got up.

"Good morning, Miss Elms. You say your relationship with Liam Kelly was quite short."

"Yes, we hadn't been together long."

"Was it a good relationship?"

"It was OK, I suppose."

"And what about his character?"

"He was a bit of a waster. He was into drugs and drink in a big way."

"Was he a violent man?"

"He could be, especially when he had too much to drink or if he was high."

"Was he ever violent towards you?"

"No, he just had a problem with the police and the law and stuff."

"What sort of stuff."

"Well, being Irish he didn't like the British much. He hated the British Government and the Royal family. He was always saying they should have their heads stuck on poles outside the Tower of London."

"So he was anti-establishment?"

"Um, not sure what that means."

"He had a problem with authority?"

"Yes, he didn't like being told what to do."

The crown prosecutor stood up.

"Objection your honour. What has this to do with the killing of Liam Kelly?"

The defence barrister explained he was trying to establish why Kelly attacked the WPC.

"Overruled. Carry on Mr Harrington," said the judge.

"About the disturbance in the public house, did you see the man Liam Kelly was arguing with?"

"Yes I did."

"Did you see him clearly?'

"Well, not that clear."

"Had you been drinking?"

"Yes, I'd had one or two."

"Were you on any drugs at the time?"

"Umm..."

"I must remind you that you are on oath."

"I might have smoked a bit of weed."

"So you had been drinking and you had smoked a bit of weed," he said in a sarcastic manner.

"Umm, yes."

'So can you say for definite who you saw in the pub arguing with Liam Kelly?"

"No, I can't say who it was."

"Thank you Miss Elms, no further questions."

The judge said, "That will do for now, we will adjourn for lunch and resume at two o'clock." He got up, bowed to the court and left through a door at the back.

Liston was taken down into the cells and given something to eat.

After lunch the court was brought to order.

The next witness was the medical officer, a Dr Waldren. He gave evidence to the court in great detail about how Kelly was killed – the injuries he sustained from the first and second bullets. Some of the jurors were a little put off by the graphic detail he went into about which of Kelly's internal organs were blown apart, and about what happened to each bullet as it entered his body and ended up in different parts of Kelly's anatomy. As far as he could tell it was the second bullet that ended Kelly's life.

Again and again the prosecution stressed it was the second bullet that killed Liam Kelly.

The defence barrister rose from his seat and slowly turned some papers in front of him. This was more for effect than anything else. Mr Jasper Harrington was a seasoned inquisitor and knew exactly what he was going to ask the witness.

"Dr Waldren, I do not have many questions but can you tell the court if it was the first or second bullet that killed Liam Kelly."

"It was most likely the second bullet."

"'Most likely' was not what I asked you. Was it the first or second bullet that definitely killed the victim?"

"I cannot say for definite but..."

"No further questions."

The next witness was DCI Orchard. He went through all the evidence against Pearce. He was questioned by the defence but Orchard was an experienced witness in court. He always just told the truth and did not speculate.

And that was it for the day. The clerk of the court brought things to a close.

Everyone left court and Liston was taken back to prison.

#  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

### The Trial: Day Two

**The** clerk of the court opened the proceedings as normal and called the first witness.

The forensic evidence was presented by Patrick McGovern in a clear and concise way. The crown prosecutor asked Mr McGovern questions about the type of pistol that was used, also the age of the ammunition, the range of the pistol and how accurate it was when they test-fired it. The jurors were shown photographs of the scene of the killing and of Liam Kelly's body. Patrick McGovern explained to the court how all the evidence had been retrieved and how it was relevant to the case and the killing of Liam Kelly.

The defence council had no questions but asked the judge for the right to recall the expert witness later. The judge agreed.

Mr Eric Samuels QC pronounced the conclusion of the prosecution's case. The judge said it was approaching lunch time so the court would take an early break as it would be unfair on the next witness and the defendant to start now and break in half an hour.

"All rise," the clerk of the court said.

The judge retired to his chambers Tom and his two daughters left the court and found a café near the courthouse.

"What do you want to eat, Dad?" Ines asked.

"I am not hungry, love, I'll just have a cup of tea."

"You must eat something, Dad."

DCI Orchard walked into the café. He glanced at Tom and his two girls, made eye contact and gave a barely perceptible hint of a nod. He sat at a table on his own. Tom, Agnes and Ines carried on with their conversation.

Liston had a visit from his barrister at lunchtime in the cell below the court.

"You have been briefed by your solicitor about the questioning?"

"Yes sir."

"Just answer the questions with a yes or no if you can. Do not volunteer any information, and keep your answers as simple as possible. We'll have the medical evidence first, then I will read a statement from WPC Parker as she is not well enough to attend court. Then it's you. Do you understand?"

Liston said he did.

After lunch the court was reconvened.

The clerk called the first defence witness, Dr Helen Marsh.

She was sworn in and stated her name, her occupation and her experience for the record. She gave a detailed account of the injuries to Liam Kelly and read some of the autopsy report.

The defence counsel asked, "Is there any way of telling which bullet killed Kelly?"

"With absolute certainty no, but in all probability the second."

"Is there any way of telling how long the interval was between the first and the second bullet?"

"Exactly how long, no, but within a second would be my best estimate."

"Thank you, no further questions."

The prosecution only had a few questions for the doctor, mainly going over the fact that it was probably the second bullet that killed Kelly.

Jasper Harrington asked permission to read the statement from WPC Wendy Parker.

"Proceed."

"It was in the afternoon of October 29th 1989. I was walking my usual beat along Canal Street. There was a young man who came up to me and asked me where the Canal Public House was. I turned and was pointing towards the pub when I felt a sharp thump in the middle of my back. He screamed in my ear, 'This is in revenge for Bobby Sands,' and that is all I can remember of the attack. The next thing I remember was waking up in hospital."

The judge thanked Harrington.

Liston was in the dock. He wondered how the case was going and if the jury members were listening to all the evidence. And if it made any difference which bullet killed Kelly.

"Call Liston Pearce."

Liston jerked up straight at the sound of his name. He steadied himself on the brass rail of the dock, edged past the guard and walked down the four steps onto the floor of the court. He looked around the court. Time seemed to slow down: he felt as if he was in a dream, walking across the silent courtroom listening to the sound of his footfall. He headed towards the witness box feeling the whole world had him under a microscope. He steadied himself again as he climbed the wooden steps into the witness box.

Standing firm he gazed out at the court. He read the oath. His solicitor had given him a copy of it before the hearing and he'd memorized it.

Jasper Harrington rose to his feet. He looked at the twelve jurors and then back to Liston.

"Please state your name for the court."

"Liston Pearce."

"Please tell us in your own words what happened on the afternoon of 29th.October."

Liston went through in detail what had happened, how he left his sister's flat and saw Kelly attacking the WPC.

"Mr Pearce, why did you shoot Kelly?"

"I don't know. I had no choice, and if I hadn't used my gun the WPC would be dead now."

'Why did you not try and restrain the attacker?"

"He had already stabbed the woman once and was about to stab her again. It would only have taken him a fraction of a second to push the knife into her back."

"Did you know Kelly was dead after the first shot?"

"No."

"Or the second shot?"

"No. I only knew he was dead when I read it in the newspaper the next day."

"Did you know Kelly?"

"No, never met him before, not that I remember."

"Did you hear Kelly shouting about Bobby Sands?"

"I heard him shouting but I couldn't hear what he was saying."

"Have you ever heard of Bobby Sands?"

"No."

"Thank you, no further questions."

The prosecution barrister rose to his feet, paused for effect and looked at his notes.

"Mr Pearce, you say you had no other way of restraining Kelly apart from shooting him."

"Yes, that's right."

"Surely a man of your stature would have been able to disarm Kelly."

"I acted without thinking. It was all over in a second."

"You acted without thinking, you say. I believe you acted in a deliberate way."

"No."

"We have heard you testify that you did not know Kelly, but is that true?

"Yes, I didn't know him."

"You say you have never met him before. Is that true?"

"Yes, it is true."

"A previous witness stated that she saw Kelly arguing with a tall black man. Was that you?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Well if it was me, I don't remember meeting him."

"Why did you shoot Kelly?"

"I don't know. To stop him attacking the policewoman."

"Could you not have stopped him in a less violent way?"

"There was no time. He had knifed her once and was just about to do it again. If I had gone over and wrestled with him, I'm sure the policewoman would be dead now."

"So you are saying there was no other way of stopping him apart from killing him?"

"I didn't know I'd killed him until later."

"You didn't go over to the two bodies and check to see if one or both were still alive?"

"No, I panicked and ran."

"Why did you run and not stay to help the police with their inquiries?"

"I'd just shot someone with a stolen gun so I ran."

"I believe that you did know Kelly from a previous meeting and you shot him. Then went over and finished him off with the second shot; that it was not only to save the policewoman's life."

"That's not true! What reason would I have had to do that?"

"Thank you, no further questions."

The defence counsel asked, "Did you know Kelly?"

"No."

"Have you ever met him before?"

"Not that I remember."

"Did you know WPC Wendy Parker before the attack?"

"No."

"Thank you, no further questions."

"Can I recall the prosecution's forensics expert again, Your Honour?"

The clerk recalled the witness and reminded him he was still under oath

"Were both bullets fired from more or less the same distance and direction?"

"Yes, as far as I can tell."

"So it was not possible for Pearce to go over after the first shot and fire a second from closer range?"

"Correct."

"Did you examine the pistol used in the attack?"

"I did."

"And what did you find?"

"The pistol is over forty years old and is in quite a worn state of repair. The action was not in the best of condition."

"Did you fire the gun under test conditions?"

"Yes."

"And what were your conclusions?"

"The gun fired with the slightest pressure on the trigger."

"And what does that mean?"

"It could have easily been fired twice with little effort."

"Thank you, no further questions. That concludes the case for the defence, Your Honour."

The judge closed the proceedings for the day

"We will resume tomorrow at ten."

Liston was transported back to prison. He thought the trial was going his way and he felt good about the day's proceedings.

Tom and his two daughters talked about the trial on the way home in the car. Tom said he kept looking at the jury to see if he could discern any reaction.

"I noticed the women on the jury were not happy looking at the photographs of Liam Kelly's body," he said to Inez.

"The blokes looked a bit sickened as well, Dad," Agnes said.

But, on the whole, they all felt the trial was going Liston's way.

#  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

### The Trial: Day Three

**The** court opened as usual. The clerk of the court set the proceedings off.

The judge said, "I will hear the defence's closing statement."

Jasper Harrington started to speak. His voice was strong but quiet and calm.

"Members of the jury, my client has admitted carrying the gun but he did not use it in a malicious way. He used it in the defence of another person's life. In law this carries the same weight as if Liston Pearce was being physically attacked himself. If he had not shot Liam Kelly, WPC Wendy Parker would be dead. There is no disputing this fact: Liston Pearce saved the life of WPC Wendy Parker.

"The pistol was over forty years old, the mechanism was worn and it would have been easy to fire two shots with the lightest touch on the trigger. We do not dispute that it was the second bullet that killed Kelly, but we do dispute that Liston Pearce knew Kelly was not dead after the first shot. It would be illogical to suggest, as the crown prosecutor has done, that my client just happened on the attack of WPC Parker, shot him once, then went over and shot him again at close range to maliciously kill him. The forensic evidence shows this is not possible: both shots were fired from approximately the same distance away. Furthermore, there was no time for Mr Pearce to help the wounded policewoman by trying to disarm Kelly in any other way than to take the action he did. He regrets running from the scene of the shooting, but fear overcame him. He panicked and ran. Pearce did not have a good relationship with the police and felt, rightly or wrongly, that he would not be treated well. The defence does not have to prove Liston Pearce is innocent. It is for the crown prosecution to prove him guilty beyond reasonable doubt and they have not succeeded in that argument.

"Thank you, Your Honour."

The defence counsel sat down. He thought he had done enough with a short speech and didn't want to bombard the jury with too many facts and speculations.

The judge said he would reconvene the court at two pm to give his summing up.

Liston was taken down to the cell below. His defence counsel went down to see him.

"Well Liston, I think it has all gone well. It's hard to foresee the outcome of any trial but I think we are in with a good chance. A lot will depend on the judge's summing up."

A couple of hours later Liston was back in the courtroom. The judge started his speech. He went through the case in great detail, pointing out all the relevant points. He described the crime, the effects and outcomes.

He said, "First, the burden of proof is upon the prosecution. It is for the prosecution to establish the defendant's guilt. Second, the defence counsel does not have to prove Pearce is innocent. Third, before you can convict, you must be satisfied beyond reasonable doubt of the defendant's guilt.

"Proof beyond reasonable doubt is proof that leaves you firmly convinced of the defendant's guilt. There are very few things in this world that we know with absolute certainty, and in criminal cases the law does not require proof that overcomes every possible doubt. If, based upon your consideration of the evidence, you are firmly convinced that the defendant is guilty of the crime charged, you must find him guilty. If, on the other hand, you think that there is a real possibility that he is not guilty, you must give him the benefit of the doubt and find him not guilty.

"The law of self-defence of another is complicated. However, it is important to ensure that all those acting reasonably and in good faith to defend themselves, their family, their property or in the prevention of crime or the apprehension of offenders are not prosecuted for such action. If they have acted honestly and instinctively and in the heat of the moment, that this will be the strongest evidence for them having acted lawfully and in self-defence. This covers not only actions needed to defend oneself from attack in self-defence, but also actions taken to defend another. In addition, there is a statutory defence of prevention of crime under Section 3-1 of the Criminal Law Act 1967 which states that a person may use such force as is reasonable in the circumstances in the prevention of crime.

"I am not yet prepared to accept a majority verdict."

He then instructed the jury to retire and consider their verdict.

The jury left the court. Liston was taken back to the cell below the court. It was a tense time for him. He thought, _If it's not guilty I still have time to do in prison, but if it's guilty, I don't know how I will cope. I think I'll top myself_.

He sat nervously in the cell. A prison officer brought him a cup of tea.

"You'll be all right, son. Nobody is going to convict you for saving the life of a policewoman, even if you are a naughty boy."

***

The twelve members of the jury were shown into a large room. In the middle of the room there was a beautiful, highly polished rectangular antique mahogany table. Around it were twelve ornately-carved chairs. The table had writing paper, pens, pencils, bottles of Perrier water and crystal drinking glasses on it. There were fine oil paintings of past judges with bright red cloaks and white wigs hanging from the walls.

The usher explained to the members of the jury the procedure. First, they needed to elect a foreman, then he explained the voting procedure. He then clarified how to get more legal advice if they needed it. He asked if there were any questions, and, in the ensuing silence, closed the large double doors.

The twelve jurors sat at the chairs. One of the jurors asked who wanted to be foreman, and everyone looked around at each other.

The elderly man said, "I'll do it if that is all right with everyone."

They all voted and he was elected. He moved around to the head of the table.

"I think the first thing we should do is introduce ourselves. My name is Ron Merriweather. I'm retired, I used to be a carpenter."

Each of the other eleven jurors introduced themselves in turn. There was a discussion about the case, and each person voiced their opinion.

Ron said, "Shall we have the first vote?"

Each jury member wrote their verdict on a piece of paper, folded it and passed it down the table to Ron.

He opened each one and placed in one of two piles. The right hand pile had eleven slips the left only one...

Ron sighed. "We can't return this verdict as it is not unanimous."

They discussed the case some more, and after two more rounds of voting all twelve pieces of paper were heaped in one pile.

Ron rang for the usher.

"Have you come to a unanimous decision," he asked.

"Yes we have."

The all trooped back into court and took their places on the jury bench.

Liston had been waiting with anxious anticipation in the cell. After about an hour the guard said, "The jury is back."

The emotion he felt was a combination of fear and pain. He felt sick, and his heart was pounding which made him feel lightheaded.

"Is that a good sign or bad that they have returned early?"

"A good sign."

He escorted Liston back into the dock. He looked at the jury but no one looked in his direction.

_Fuck,_ he thought.

He glanced at his Dad and sisters in the public gallery. Tom gave him the thumbs up sign.

The clerk of the court addressed the foreman of the jury. "Just answer yes or no: have you reached a unanimous verdict?"

Ron replied, "Yes."

"Do you find the defendant Liston Pearce guilty or not guilty?"

There was absolute silence in the courtroom: you could hear a pin drop. Liston held his breath as did Tom, Inez and Agnes.

"Not guilty."

There were cheers of delight from Liston's family. Liston almost fell to his knees with happiness but managed to keep upright. He was overjoyed with the decision of the jury.

The judge thanked the jury and discharged them.

"Liston Pearce, on the charge of manslaughter you are free to go."

He was taken back to the cell. His barrister and defence counsel came to see him. They shook his hand as he thanked them from the bottom of his heart.

Tom and his daughters left the courtroom with smiles as wide as the Clifton Suspension Bridge. They walked back to the car on a cloud of joy.

Orchard and Floyd left the court a little more depressed.

Orchard said, "I thought he would get off. The CPS should never have brought this case to court and wasted taxpayers' money."

"Can't say I am too upset, sir. There is a WPC who is breathing fresh air because of him and an IRA sympathizer who is dead."

Orchard shrugged his shoulders but inside he felt the same as Floyd.

#  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

### Home For Christmas

**It** was the day of his next prison visit from Tom and Agnes. Not much had happened over the past couple of weeks. Liston was getting on well in the kitchen and Pitchy had eventually won their dominoes tournament by five games to four.

Liston didn't have to work in the kitchen today. He woke up excited at the prospect of seeing his family. Norman was in a bit of a mood because he'd been expecting a visit from his daughter, then three days ago she'd cancelled because her little boy had chicken pox.

Liston was getting into cooking in quite a big way now. He was interested in what was going on when he was working in the kitchen. He asked intelligent questions of the cooks and most were happy to answer him, all except the one cook who was a miserable old bugger so Liston kept away from him.

He even borrowed a couple of recipe books from the library: _An Invitation to Italian Cookery_ by Antonio Carluccio and the famous Mrs Beaton cook book. He liked the Italian cook book but Mrs Beaton's was heavy going.

He went for his lunch break but didn't see Pitchy, which was unusual, then went back to his cell and waited for the call to go and see his dad and sister. Time passed slowly while he was waiting, then the guard called his name.

He was taken to the room where the prisoners met their families. His dad and sister were sat down at a table, and as soon as they saw him Agnes jumped up. His dad pushed himself out of the chair with difficulty. Agnes threw her arms around her brother. It was then his dad's turn and then they all sat down.

"What's up, Dad?"

"Just a bit of rheumatism, son. How are you?"

"I'm doing all right. Tell me what's happening, sis?"

Agnes told him about Phil and Lucy and Tom filled Liston in what Inez had been up to.

"What happens at Christmas?" Agnes asked.

"Don't know. I'm pretty sure I won't get the day off, though."

They chatted about other things that had happened. Liston told them he was working in the kitchens and that he liked it, and he mentioned Jim and Pitchy.

Tom said, "I had a visit from Mr and Mrs Parker, Wendy's mum and dad."

"You didn't tell me," Agnes said.

"Sorry love, I forgot."

"What did they want? Liston asked.

"They asked if Wendy could come and see you when she was well enough."

"In here?"

"Yes that's what she said."

"What did you tell them?"

"I said I would ask you. How do you feel about it?"

"I don't know. I'll have to think about it."

"Well, there's no hurry. She won't be up and about for a long while yet."

They carried on the small talk for a while. There were a few pauses and they were all trying to think of topics to keep the conversation going.

The guard shouted, "Five minutes."

Tom, Liston and Agnes had a group hug, and there were no tears this time.

Tom said, "God bless, son."

Agnes said, "Bye brov. I don't think we will be able to see you again until after Christmas."

They both waved as they went through the door.

It was just as hard for Tom and Agnes to get out of prison as it was getting in. Agnes's bag was searched and Tom was patted down, but at last they were back at the car. It had been Inez's turn to wait this time so on the trip home she wanted to know everything.

"Why didn't you tell us about Mr and Mrs Parker, Dad?" Inez asked.

"I just forgot, love. My rheumatism has been playing up in this cold weather and it wears me down, sorry."

"No problem, Dad, I just wondered."

Agnes dropped Tom off at home and then she dropped Inez off at her flat.

"Meet up for a coffee in the week, Inez?"

"OK sis, look forward to it. Give me a ring."

***

Wendy was making slow progress. She was having physiotherapy every day and traction twice a week. She was in her room with her dad. He'd already told her he and her mum had visited Tom to ask if she could go and see Liston Pearce when she was stronger, and that he was going to ask Liston.

The consultant opened the door and came in.

"Good afternoon all of you. How are you feeling Wendy?"

"Much the same, thanks."

"Well I have some good news. We are arranging for you to go home for Christmas. There are certain things you must and mustn't do, but you can go home,"

"That's great, thank you so much! Will I need to come back here after Christmas?"

"Why, don't you like us?" the doctor joked

"It's not that I don't like you, it is just that it would be easier for Mum and Dad to visit me if I were nearer home."

"We'll have to see how you respond to the treatment, then if we can arrange your treatment and medication nearer to your home, we will."

"Thank you. So when can I go home?"

"In seven to ten days' time, but no gallivanting around the shops doing Christmas shopping though."

"No, I won't."

Gerald said, "Thanks Doctor," and shook his hand.

After he had gone out of the door, Wendy and her dad gave a big sigh of relief.

"Your mum will be so pleased. I'll just pop down to the pay phone and tell her."

"Give her my love, Dad."

"Will do, darling."

Gerald left the room and almost broke into a skip as he walked down to the pay phone.

***

A couple of weeks had passed. The daily grind of prison life moved forward, and it was getting close to Christmas day. There were loads of provisions being delivered to the kitchen stores. Liston was washing pots as usual. He had not put a foot wrong so far; he was getting on with the inmates and no one was hassling him, probably because he was tall and strong.

He started work in the kitchen expecting to do the pots, but one of the chief cooks had a word with him and told him that he could help prepare the sprouts. He went to the vegetable section of the kitchen expecting to see a few bags of sprouts, but there were nets and nets of sprouts, each one weighing fourteen pounds. He was shown how to clean them and that was what he did for the rest of the morning. At break time he chatted to Jim.

"You must have a guardian angel looking down on you, Half Mast. Been here two months and now working in the veg section."

Liston said, "I would rather be working in the pot wash. It's so boring doing sprouts all the time and I fucking hate sprouts!"

They finished their tea. Jim went back to the pots and Liston went back to the sprouts.

***

It was the day before Christmas Eve and most of the inmates and screws seemed to lighten up. There was more of a relaxed atmosphere. The prisoners still couldn't get away with anything but it was a nicer place to be.

Liston thought of his family preparing for Christmas, of his dad and sisters buying presents for Lucy. He thought of the Christmases of his childhood: they'd been happy times, but he was determined he was going to have happy times again when he had done his term in prison. He wondered about Wendy Parker. What was her Christmas going to be like? Not the one she would have chosen, that was for sure. It seemed to him his sentence had a time limit, but from what his father had told him, she could be sentenced to a wheelchair for life.

Lunchtime came and Jim was there as usual, he told them what Christmas was like in the nick.

Liston was back on sprouts for the rest of the day. Between him and another sprout peeler, they had done three and a half nets by the end of the shift. Liston thought, _I hope I never see another sprout in my entire life_.

***

Wendy Parker was getting ready to be taken home. She had spoken to her parents the evening before and told them she didn't need them to come to the hospital just to make the journey home with her as she would be fine making the trip on her own. They were not too pleased but could see the sense in what she was saying.

A male nurse and the nurse who had been looking after her helped her into a wheelchair. She had been in one a couple of times before but it still felt odd.

Wendy's mum had brought some boxes of chocolates and a card the day before for the staff, and Wendy gave them to the nurse.

"There was no need for this – we are just doing our jobs – but thank you. I'll share them out with the rest of the staff."

Wendy had already said goodbye to the consultant so there was nothing more to do. She was all packed and off home for Christmas.

The journey was a lot slower than when she came as there had been heavy snow the night before. It took three and a half hours before they reached the Parkers' house in Keynsham a few miles outside Bristol.

The nurse opened the back of the ambulance, and the cold, fresh air rushed into the back of the van. The brightness shocked Wendy at first; the dazzling, pure white snow freshly laid on the garden she knew so well.

The two nurses had a little difficulty getting her out of the ambulance because it was slippy underfoot. Mum and Dad were there to help, beaming all over their faces. They just couldn't hide their joy. Wendy was placed in the wheelchair again and a nurse pushed her up the path. The other nurse closed the back of the ambulance and carried her case.

"Come in!" Wendy's mum said to the two nurses.

She opened the door into the hall. It was decorated with a huge Christmas tree covered with fairy lights. There was a big banner stretched across the top of the stairs, it read, 'WELCOME HOME WENDY! HAPPY CHRISTMAS!'

"Can I get you boys something to eat or drink?"

"A cup of tea and a sandwich would be great, thanks."

Wendy's dad took over pushing the chair. He showed the two men into the living room.

This also had a Christmas tree. It was not as big as the one in the hall, but still impressive.

"Do sit down."

"Your decorations look fantastic, Mr Parker, my little girl would love to see this lot."

Wendy's Mum was on her way into the kitchen to make the sandwiches.

"Do you want anything, Wendy?"

"I'll have something later when I settle in."

Mrs Parker returned to the lounge with a big wooden tray. There were some tasty looking, neatly trimmed sandwiches on a large plate, some fruit cake and napkins.

"I hope you like smoked salmon," she said.

The two nurses started on the food.

"I'll go and get the tea, it should be brewed now."

She returned with a china teapot and five cups and saucers. She poured the tea.

"Help yourselves to sugar."

The two men finished the sandwiches and tea and made their way to the door. They said goodbye to Wendy and wished her and her family a very happy Christmas.

"Thanks very much for the sandwiches, Mrs Parker."

As they packed all the equipment back into the ambulance, Mr Parker thrust a ten pound note into the driver's hand.

"No, I can't take that."

"Put it in your Christmas fund."

"Thanks Mr Parker, happy Christmas."

"You couldn't have brought me a better Christmas present, boys. Drive carefully, it's getting icy now."

They drove away. Gerald couldn't wait to get back into the house and see his beautiful daughter. But when he got back inside Wendy was crying her heart out her Mum was holding her tightly.

"What's up?" Gerald said, his heart pounding.

"She is just overwhelmed with being here: Christmas, the decorations, the welcome home sign – it's a bit too much, I think.""

"I'm all right Dad, I'm just so happy to be home. I think I'll have a sandwich and then lie down on my bed for a while."

#  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

### Christmas Eve

**It** was time for work again in the kitchen. Liston thought, _Please, no more sprouts._ He made his way to the changing rooms. They had tried to get him some longer trousers but without success, he was still at half-mast but he was getting used to the jibes now.

"Pearce, back on sprouts," one of the cooks shouted.

He grunted and got down to peeling. There was still two nets to go but at least it was not as bad as the day before.

He met Jim at lunch time. Pitchy came over and sat down too.

"Ready to do your party piece tomorrow, Jim?"

"Oh yes, sure am."

"What party piece is that, Jim?" Liston asked.

"You'll see tomorrow," Jim answered with a big grin.

***

Wendy had slept most of the previous day. She woke up, stretched and sat up in bed. It almost felt like she could fling the covers back and leap out of bed, but she knew she would end up face down on the floor. She had a room at the front of the house that looked out over the front garden. She could see the tops of the trees were still covered with snow. _It''s going to be a magical Christmas,_ she thought.

There was a tiny tap on the door.

She said, "Come in."

"Good morning, my love." It was her mum. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, very well, thank you. It was nice in the hospital – the bed was comfy – but it's nothing like sleeping in your own bed."

"Do you want some breakfast?"

"Yes please."

"Do you want it in bed or down stairs?"

"I'll come down. If you can help me to the bathroom, Mum, I'll get ready."

Wendy's mum helped her into the en suite bathroom and sat her on a large sheepskin covered stool. The bathroom was decorated with pink tiles. There was a matching wash hand basin and bath and a separate shower: pink was Wendy's favourite colour.

"Do you want me to bring you a cup of tea?"

"Yes please, Mum."

Wendy was alone in the bathroom. She heaved herself off the stool, lifted the seat cover and sat on the toilet. _God, life is going to be hard._ After she had finished, she dragged herself back onto the stool. She managed to clean her teeth and wash her face before she heard her mum come into the bedroom.

"I'm in here, Mum."

Jane brought the mug of tea and placed it on the marble top, close to the basin.

"I think I need a hand to get dressed, Mum," Wendy sighed.

"OK, my sweet."

Jane helped her daughter back into the bedroom then and helped her dress. _This is going to be a daily occurrence,_ she thought, _so I'd better get used to it_. It was not much fun for Wendy either. She had not been pushed and pulled about so much by her mum since she was a small child.

After a while she was dressed and sat at her dressing table with her mug of not so hot tea by her side.

"Is Dad still here or has he gone to work?"

"He's here. He doesn't need to go back to work until the New Year now."

"Can you get him to help me downstairs in a while?"

"I'll tell him. Look, I've put a bell by the side of the bed, so you can just give him a tinkle.""

Jane moved the bell close to Wendy and left her drinking her tea.

***

Orchard and Floyd were spending their last day at work. They were both off on Christmas Day and Boxing Day.

"I think the only loose end now is Solomon Cassells, Floyd."

"Yes boss, I think we have the rest of it sewn up now."

"Anything new on him?"

"No boss. Are you going to the pub tonight for a Christmas drink with the lads, sir?'

"Yes, I'll pop in for a quick half, I think."

"What are you doing over Christmas, sir?"

"Spending Christmas day with my sister. Boxing Day it's just me and Molly in front of the fire, watching TV and eating."

"Molly?"

"My cat."

"Of course."

"What about you, Floyd?"

"I think I will have my hands full with the boys. I'll see you in the pub, boss. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Floyd."

They shook hands.

"Mines a large scotch, Floyd," smiled Orchard.

"OK boss."

#  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

### Christmas Day

**The** whole prison was in a good mood. It was Christmas Day, and there was not much work for the prisoners to do. The prison guards tried to make it a bit more light-hearted for everyone. There were Christmas carols playing and the inmates were wishing each other Happy Christmas.

Lunch was ready and all the prisoners who were not working went into the canteen. Most of the prison guards were wearing Christmas hats. They all tucked into roast turkey, stuffing, roast potatoes, sprouts and gravy, followed by Christmas pudding and custard. Liston passed on the sprouts.

The governor came in and one of the screws shouted, "Silence." They all had to listen to the governor rabbit on about the prison system, and how it changed the inmates'' lives for the better. When he finished they all clapped, not because it was a good speech but because they were glad to see the back of him.

Jim said, "I could murder a beer."

Pitchy replied, "Are you getting up to do your party piece now, Jim?"

"Why not."

He stood up on a chair. The prison officers would normally have jumped on him but they knew what was coming today.

Jim cleared his throat.

"My monologue," he said in a deep gruff Scottish accent.

"It was Christmas Day in the workhouse

The merriest day of the year

The paupers and the prisoners

Were all assembled there.

In came the Christmas pudding

When a voice that shattered glass

Said, We don't want your Christmas pudding

So stick it up your arse!

The workhouse master then arose

And prepared to carve the duck

He said, Who wants the parson's nose,

And the prisoners shouted, Fuck.

The vicar brought his bible

And read out little bits

Said one old crone at the back,

This man gets on me tits.

The master rose to make a speech

But just before he started

The mistress, who was fifteen stone,

Gave three loud cheers and farted.

And all the paupers then began

To pull their Christmas crackers

One pauper held his too low down

And blew off both his knackers.

Mince pie with custard sauce was next

And each received a bit

One pauper said the mince pie's nice

But the custard tastes like shit.

So then they all began to sing

Which shook the workhouse walls

Merry Christmas, cried the master

And the inmates shouted, Balls."

There was uproar. The canteen exploded into laughter, whistles, cheers and clapping. The prison guards were laughing as much as the prisoners. Order was soon restored. Everyone mucked in and cleared up and then they all went into the recreation area.

Liston went back to his cell for a while and thought about his family. He felt angry with himself for putting his family through this shit.

***

Tom spent Christmas day with Inez at Agnes' house. He had bought Lucy a beautiful doll and some Early Learning games. Agnes told Inez she had spent far too much money on presents for Lucy but Inez didn't take any notice.

They had a lovely Christmas lunch. Everyone tried to be happy but at the back of their minds they thought about their brother spending Christmas in jail.

***

Wendy woke up Christmas morning. The garden had a new covering of snow. With help from her mum, she got ready. Her Dad had to carry her down the stairs. Gerald thought, _We must get a stair lift put in_. She felt as light as a feather so it was not a problem yet. He placed her in the wheelchair and pushed her into the sitting room. The log fire was crackling in the fireplace and the Christmas tree was surrounded with different shaped packages all wrapped with coloured paper. Gerald had put his favourite Christmas CD on. It was a Parker tradition not to open the presents until after breakfast. Dad opened a bottle of Bollinger and they all drank Buck's Fizz and had warm toast and homemade marmalade for breakfast.

Then it was present opening time, which brought hoots of laughter and big smiley faces.

Wendy's grandparents were coming for lunch so there was a lot to get on with.

At the end of the day Wendy said, "Thanks Mum and Dad, it's been a very special Christmas this year."

***

John Orchard spent Christmas with his sister, and Nick Floyd had an action-packed Christmas with his wife and kids.

#  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

### Visit From Wendy

**Christmas** and New Year were just a memory now. It was the end of January. It was almost time for the next visiting day, and Liston had been asked if he would accept a visit from Wendy Parker and her mum. He had spoken to his dad on the phone and Tom was not too put out about missing a visit to his son.

He was doing well in the kitchen working away preparing veg. No more pot washing for him. One time they were a bit short-handed and he was told to man one of the giant steamers. They were cooking mushrooms for lunch. Another prisoner had loaded about twenty boxes of mushrooms into the steam boiler and filled it with salted water. All Liston had to do was watch it and stir the mushrooms with a wooden spoon the size of a canoe paddle. The water was starting to get hot and then began to boil. What Liston didn't know was that you needed to turn the steam down long before things stared to boil too much. It would take a lot longer for the heat to dissipate as it was not like turning off the gas on a stove.

The water started to boil. The mushrooms were floating on the top and started to rise up. One of the cooks noticed there was a bit of a problem and turned the steamer off. He grabbed a big pot and started to scoop the mushrooms out as quickly as he could. The boiling water lapped the rim of the pan but started to cool before it boiled over.

The cook said in a broad Somerset accent, "When the water has cooled down, put the mushrooms back in and turn the steam on again at half. Keep stirring, and when you think it is starting to get too hot turn it down. You need to think ahead with this job."

"Thanks mate," said Liston apologetically.

"Don't worry, we all do it to start with. Funny buggers, them steamers."

Liston did what the cook told him and he learned a good lesson: kitchens are dangerous places and not for mucking around in. You needed to keep your eye on the ball all the time.

It was time to see Wendy Parker. Liston was a bit nervous; he had not seen her since he saved her life the year before. He walked into the reception room with the prison guard by his side. Wendy was in her wheelchair and her mother was sitting at a table. He walked over, not quite knowing how to greet them. Mrs Parker stood up and put her hand out for Liston to shake. He grabbed her hand and shook it. He looked at Wendy but he could not read her face well: it seemed to be a cross between pain and fear. He remembered her being a bit fatter. He thought, _She must have lost weight with all the things that had happened over the past months._ Wendy was a slight-framed young lady, her auburn hair had grown from the last time he saw her. It was now shoulder length, with a slight wave. She had a pointed face with large pale green eyes. She didn't wear a lot of make-up, just eye-liner and a light russet lip-stick. A few freckles framed her nose; it looked like someone had flicked light brown paint at her with the bristles of a brush.

"Hi," Wendy said in a soft and timid voice.

"Hi," Liston answered back.

"This feels strange," Wendy said.

"It is strange."

"I wanted to come and see you, but now I'm here I'm stuck for words."

"Thank you so, so much for saving my daughter's life," said Jane.

"What else could I do? I just reacted, I had no choice." Liston had said this so many times now he was beginning to believe it himself.

"Well, you could have run off and left me to die."

With a shocked and irritated voice, Wendy's mum said, "Don't talk like that, it''s bad luck."

"Don't be silly, Mum, it was a joke."

"You shouldn't joke about things like that," Liston added.

"I don't need both of you ganging up on me." Then Wendy played her trump card, ""Well I nearly did die, didn't I?"

The conversation had reached that awkward stage where nobody knew quite what to say.

"If we all don't relax, it's going to be a long two hours," Wendy joked.

After that they started talking in a more normal easier way. Jane asked how Liston was doing in prison. She said she was glad the jury had found him not guilty of manslaughter.

He asked, "How you getting on with your treatment, Wendy?"

"It could be better. I might be in this wheelchair for a long time."

"I hope not. Do ya know why the man attacked you?"

"It was something to do with the IRA and Bobby Sands. He was just a fanatic and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Liston had heard about the IRA but didn't know much about the organization. Wendy explained some more about the attack, about her life and family. Liston joined in as best he could but Wendy was on a roll now. Whether it was nervous energy or she felt more at ease, she just couldn't stop talking. Liston thought she must be breathing through her bum as she didn't seem to be drawing breath. He wasn't worried though, because it meant he wasn't looking for things to say to keep the conversation going.

The two hours passed quickly after the initial hiccups, and it was soon time to say goodbye. Wendy and Jane said two or three more time how grateful they were for him saving Wendy.

As Jane pushed her daughter out of the room, Liston's mind was awash with all the conversation.

On the drive home, Wendy and her Mum talked about the visit. Gerald had waited outside the prison and was desperate to know what had happened.

"What did you think of him, Mum?"

"He was not what I was expecting. He was quite a quiet man," Jane said. "Mind you, with you being such a chatterbox, he didn't have much option!"

"I am not sure what came over me, my mind went into overload."

"I don't remember you being that chatty except when you were a child."

Gerald was listening intently.

"Can you two slow down and tell me in a calm and ordered way what happened please?"

They arrived back at their house. Gerald unloaded Wendy and he wheeled her into the sitting room.

"I need a drink. Anyone else?"

#  PART TWO

#  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

### Two Years Later

**Liston** had worked in the kitchen all the while and progressed well. After some time working at preparing vegetables, he was made a trustee and told to work in the kitchen area that was used to get the food ready for the prison officers. He was much happier working here because the food was more interesting to prepare. In some ways the work was more demanding, but in others he still wanted to prepare dishes his way. He was shown how to make different dishes and adapted to it well. He found most pleasure in preparing the sweets and puddings, but enjoyed as much as was possible (given his situation) his prison work.

For the past three months he had been working in the governor's kitchen. This was even more challenging than anywhere he had worked before. The food was of a much higher standard and there was a new challenge every day. _This was real cooking,_ he thought.

Being a trustee gave him a certain amount of freedom and responsibility. He was left alone much more to get on with his work. Not checked up on quite as much.

He now had a great hope of opening a small Afro-Caribbean café or restaurant when he got out. He wasn't sure how to raise the money or where it would be, but the dream kept tumbling around in his head.

Norman had been released a few months earlier, so Liston was now sharing a cell with another prisoner called Donald. He was another Scotsman like Jim. He was in the nick for robbery. A strange guy, Donald was tall, well built and with a shaved head. At first they didn't get on. Liston thought he had a problem with him being black but nothing was ever said. He didn't talk much and after a short time they found a way to live with each other in their cramped surroundings.

Jim was same as ever, a bit of a ducker and diver, always on the lookout for a new scam. He was still working in the kitchen but was now on the vegetable section so a step up for him.

Pitchy was just the same. He was winning most of the dominoes games, so Liston changed tack and started playing draughts but Pitchy was just as good at that. Pitchy's dad had died a year earlier which knocked him back a bit. He got into a few scrapes with other inmates but had calmed down again now.

Liston's parole was creeping ever closer. He had hopes of walking free but he was not counting on it, or at least that was what he was trying to tell himself.

***

Tom, Inez and Agnes had been to visit every month, except the two times Wendy Parker had been to see him – once with her mum and once with her dad. He was getting on well with them all, given the fact they came from different walks of life. He looked forward to her visits. It was not that he didn't like his family coming to see him, it was just a little different to see Wendy.

Wendy had improved somewhat over the past two years but she was still in a wheelchair, and it looked like there was little hope of her ever walking again. She was coping well with her disability. She did have down days, but most of the time she was in a positive mood. Her physiotherapy was progressing; it had been cut down to once a fortnight. Her parents had had a stair lift and some other improvements made to their house, so she could move around easily. Jane was coping better than Gerald. He sometimes broke down but never when Wendy was around. He tried to keep his feelings from her, but Wendy could read her father like a book.

***

Orchard and Floyd had moved on to other cases, they still had the odd report that Solomon Cassells had been spotted somewhere. However, he was never arrested. They always looked into the sightings but nothing ever came of it.

***

There was six months to go before Liston would be eligible for parole. One morning a prison officer delivered a large brown paper envelope to his cell. It was an official looking envelope with a government seal, and on it was written 'Parole Board'. He opened the packet. Inside were lots of forms and a covering letter from the parole board. It said that in six months he had the right to apply for parole, so he was to fill in the forms and write a letter to the board saying why he should be considered for early release from prison.

He put the letter and forms under his mattress because he had to go to work in the kitchen.

He started work in the governor's kitchen and worked until tea break, and then he sat down with Jim.

"How you doing Half-Mast?"

"I've had a letter from the parole board."

"Great news mate. Get it filled out and hand it in as soon as you can."

"Can ya help me fill the forms in, Jim?"

"Not me, Liston, I'm useless at forms and writing things down. But I have a pal who has filled them in before so he might be able to help. I will let you meet him later this afternoon if you want."

"Can't do any harm."

It was time to get back to work, Liston wondered until his shift finished about the forms and getting parole. Could he dare to think he might be out of here in six months?

After work he went back to his cell, picked the papers up and went down to the recreation area. Jim was sitting at a table with another man.

Pitchy said, "Dominoes?" to Liston.

"Give me a few minutes, Pitchy."

He went over to Jim.

"This is the guy I was telling you about, Liston. His name is Frank. He's in for five years for GBH with intent. He's done about two and a half years and filled the forms in about three months ago."

Liston sat down at the table.

"Hi Frank," Liston said. He got the forms out and placed them on the table.

Frank nodded. "Yes, those are the same forms I had to fill in. The best advice I can offer you is to go to the assistant governor and ask his advice. He helped me a lot. Have you kept your nose clean since you've been in here, Liston?"

"Yeh, I ain't had any trouble."

"Then you should be all right, then. There are so many people in prison now they are looking for ways to let you out if you're no threat to the public."

"I told you my mate would help," nodded Jim.

"Thanks, both of you."

Liston played dominoes with Pitchy and lost again. Then they played draughts and he lost at that as well. He picked the papers up, put them back in the envelope and went back to his cell. He tried to read through them but there were a lot of things he didn't quite understand.

The next morning he asked one of the guards how to get to see the assistant governor. The guard ask him why.

He said, "I need help filling in my parole application."

The guard told him it would be better to ask his solicitor for help, not the assistant governor, but he would try and make an appointment if he wanted.

Liston told him to leave it and he would think about it.

He decided to call his solicitor later and ask his advice. He did his morning's work in the kitchen and at lunchtime he made the call.

"Hi Mr Lewis, this is Liston Pearce."

"Good afternoon Liston, how can I help you?"

"I've had my parole papers and I need a bit of help filling them in. Can you help?"

"I can, but you will have to pay. I can't do it on legal aid."

Liston paused and said, "How much?"

"I could prepare the papers for two hundred and fifty pounds, and that's cheap."

Liston was a bit shocked but he knew solicitors were expensive.

"Can I think about it and call you back?"

"Of course you can."

They said their goodbyes and he replaced the phone.

Liston asked the screw again if he could see the assistant governor.

The next morning the guard said, "Pearce, eleven o'clock, governor's office.""

He thanked the guard and went to work. Tea break came and he was taken to see the assistant governor. The guard knocked on the door.

"Come in."

"Pearce is here to see you sir."

"Thank you, Officer. Now Pearce, what do you want?"

"I've had my parole application through and I need a bit of help filling the form in. I wondered if you would help me?"

"I've just checked your record, and as far as I can see you haven't put a foot wrong. So yes, I will help you. It might take a few days because I have a lot on my plate at the moment."

"Thanks very much, sir."

"Just leave the papers with my secretary on your way out."

Liston turned to go.

"By the way, I see you are working in the top kitchen now."

"Yes sir."

"The food is a little bit spicier since you started. Well done Pearce."

Liston went out of the office and gave the brown envelope to the secretary, then he was back in the kitchen getting lunch ready.

A few days later the envelope was returned to him. All the forms had been filled in. There was a note telling him to write a letter to the parole board saying in his own words why he should be released. The governor had given him some pointers on what to say but it had to be in his own hand writing.

The next day off he went to the library for some peace and quiet and spent most of the morning writing the letter. In the end it sounded all right to him. He gave it to one of the prison officers and asked him to give it to the assistant governor.

The assistant governor read through the letter. It rambled on a bit but it did get the major points across and it was in his own hand. He handed it to his secretary and told her to tell Listen that he could forward his application to the parole board office.

All Liston could do now was wait. _The next six months are going to go by so slow, I just know it_.

#  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

### Last Day In Prison

**T** ime passed by slowly for Liston. Every day was like a week and every week like a month. He was not expecting the letter from the parole board to arrive, but every day he waited just in case. Sometimes the guard threw letters on the bed, sometimes they handed them to him.

Then Tom got a phone call from the parole office. They wanted to know when they could come and check out where Liston was going to live if he did get his parole.

They made an appointment with Tom on his next day off from work.

The two parole officers called on him at ten thirty in the morning. They both showed their identification to Tom.

"Come in. Do you want a cup of tea?"

"No this won't take long. Just a few questions. Liston Pearce will be staying here with you if he gets parole?"

"Yes, that's right."

"And he is your son?"

"Yes, he is my son"

"Can you show us around the house please?"

Tom showed them where Liston's room would be, and then the rest of the house. One of the parole officers was asking question while the other wrote down what was going on.

"I think that's all, Mr Pearce, thank you for your cooperation."

They said goodbye.

***

Finally, one morning a prison officer handed Liston an official letter. His heart started beating like a drum. He wanted to open it but was worried about the contents. The guard and Donald were as interested as he was.

"Oh, well here we go."

He ripped the envelope open and started to read it then he sat down on the bed and shouted, "I got it, I got it!"

He was so excited. Donald and the prison officer shook his hand and congratulated him. There was almost a holiday atmosphere.

He was desperate to tell his Dad but he couldn't use the phone until lunch time. He still needed to start work. He walked into the kitchen. He might be six feet three inches tall but he felt like he was ten feet tall!

He told Jim on the way to his area of the kitchen. He seemed delighted and patted him on the back. In the lunch hour he made a quick call to Inez. He'd tried to call his Dad but he was at work. Inez was over the moon. She told him she would let all the family know. Liston asked Inez if she could get her Dad to call Wendy Parker and tell her as well. Inez said she would, but didn't understand why.

Liston went back to the canteen and shared the news with Pitchy.

"Great news Liston, I'm chuffed for you."

He asked Jim how long before he got a release date. Jim told him two or three weeks. He went back to work, mentally trying to prepare himself for his release. There were no more visiting days to come, so he thought, _The next time I see my family will be on the outside._

The next two weeks went by even slower. He then got another letter with the release date, which was for next Monday at eight o'clock. It was Tuesday now so six days to go. He called his Dad that evening and told him. They chatted a bit and then his Dad said, "See you next Monday."

This was like music to his ears.

"Bye Dad, see you next Monday."

The next few days were filled with goodbyes.

Jim said, "Fuck off, Half-Mast, I'll be glad to see the back of ye."

"Thanks for that, Jim."

Donald didn't seem fussed one way or the other but he generally didn't let anyone see how he felt. Liston wondered who Donald's new cellmate would be.

It was six thirty on the morning he was to leave prison. He hadn't slept at all that night. It was the excitement that was getting to him. He got out of his bunk, washed, shaved and got dressed.

It was now seven fifteen: three quarters of an hour until he would be out in the fresh air.

Seven thirty. Where were the guards? Had they forgotten he was to be let out?

Then, "Pearce, time to go."

He picked up his small bag and followed the prison officer to the checkout area. His probation order had already been explained to him. The officer went through it all again. Liston then had to check and sign for all his personal belongings that were being returned to him.

He was escorted to the gate. Seven fifty-five. He was standing in front of a small entrance in the big gates. The officer looked at his watch.

"I can't let you out until eight o'clock. That is when your sentence is over."

He counted the minutes in his head. The officer looked at his watch again: two minutes to go. An hour went by in Liston's time zone. One minute to go, another hour for Liston. Finally the big key was shoved into the lock; it went crack as the officer turned it. The door opened and he was out. He heard the door slam behind him. _I will never, never hear that sound again because I am not coming back, I have learned my lesson._

#  CHAPTER FORTY

### Free

**Liston** Pearce left prison a free man. He walked away from the big wooden doors into the clean, fresh, wet morning air. There were cars in the street. The sound of the wheels swishing through puddles was like music to his ears. _Sweet, sweet freedom._ It was bucketing down with rain but it didn't matter. He looked across the street. His Dad and sisters were running towards him. They all hugged each other, and everyone was crying. The joy was so electric you could almost see the sparks flying off each of them.

They all piled into Agnes's car.

"You are staying with me for a while, son. The parole people came round and checked the house out."

"OK Pop. It's great to see you all again, outside of those walls. It seems like ages since I was free. FREE!" he squealed with delight."

Agnes said, "I've organized lunch at my place, just the family."

"Good. I can't face meeting too many people first off."

The drive back in the rain was slow but sure. Liston opened the window of the car and said, "Smell that air"

Inez told him to close it as they were all getting wet.

They got back to Agnes's house and went in. Phil had taken the day off work to look after Lucy while Agnes picked Liston up. Liston went in and shook hands with Phil.

"Great to see you, Liston."

Lucy came running out of the living room and stopped immediately. She was not used to seeing a tall man towering over her. She retreated into a shy little girl, trying to pretend no one could see her. She ran back into the sitting room.

Phil said, "Lucy, it's uncle Liston. You remember him, don't you?""

Lucy looked around the sitting room door.

"God, she's grown since I last saw her. And she is so beautiful. I'm sorry I missed her growing up but I'm not going to miss any more. I am going to be the best uncle in the world.

"What can I get you all to drink?" Agnes asked.

Phil said, "I bought a bottle of Champagne to celebrate. It's been in the fridge so it should be cold enough by now."

He opened the Champagne with great care. The cork popped, and Lucy started to cry at the loud bang.

"There, there my darling." Her dad picked her up and comforted her. Her fright was soon forgotten and she was soon running around, getting her toys out and showing them to anyone who was interested.

All the family were bombarding Liston with questions about prison life. What he was going to do? Was he going back to his old ways?

"Leave the poor chap alone. There will be plenty of time for questions. Let's all enjoy ourselves," Phil said.

Liston was glad Phil had said that. He didn't want to upset anyone but he didn't want to talk about the past either.

"I'm going to try and open an Afro-Caribbean café-restaurant, if I can get the money," Liston said. "I did a lot of cooking in the nick and I fancy doing it on the outside now.""

"Brilliant!" Inez exclaimed. "Can I have a job with you?"

"Course you can, sis. There will always be a job washing pots for you and I can teach you how to do it – I got plenty of practice in the nick."

"Gee thanks, brov!"

They all laughed: it was a happy time. Tom thought, _I wish my Mary was here to see this, she would have been so proud_.

Agnes shouted from the kitchen, "Lunch will be ready in five minutes."

"What are we having?" Liston shouted back.

"Goat meat curry with fried plantain and rice."

Liston's mouth watered with the thought of the meal to come. They all sat down at a large round table. The food smelled wonderful you could almost taste the rich spices in the air. Tom said grace and proposed a toast to his son.

"Welcome home."

Everyone said, "Cheers!!" They had a mouthful of Champagne then put their glasses down and clapped. They all tucked into the food. Lucy had her small plastic Winnie the Pooh dish piled high with curry and rice. Agnes had removed all the bones from the goat meat, and Lucy ate into the food with relish.

Liston had seconds, then thirds. "That was the best meal I've eaten for three years."

"Thank you, Liston," smiled Agnes. "You have changed. We didn't used to hear many compliments from you in the past."

After the meal they all relaxed in the front room, where they chatted and chatted.

Liston's eyes started to close. Inez gestured to her dad, and Tom looked at Liston.

"Time to get off, son?"

Liston woke with a start. It took him a few seconds to realize he was not in prison anymore and he let out a sigh of relief.

"OK Pop, let's get going."

Agnes offered to take them back.

"No, it's all right, love. You've been drinking, so we'll get the bus."

Phil said, "I'll order a taxi."

"No need for that," Tom protested.

Phil picked up the phone and dialled for a taxi anyway.

"It will be here in ten minutes."

The taxi arrived and Tom, Liston and Inez got in. The taxi dropped Inez off at her flat and then went on to Tom's house. Tom and Liston stepped onto the pavement. It was still raining. Liston held his arms outstretched, leaned his head back and looked at the dark sky. He closed his eyes and let the rain pitter-patter onto his face. It felt wonderful.

"How much do I owe you?" Tom said to the taxi driver.

"It's been paid for by Mr Tucker."

"Are you sure?"

Tom gave him a pound tip and he drove off.

Tom unlocked the door.

"Get inside, son. What will the neighbours think if they see you standing there looking like a scarecrow?"

Father and son went into the house. Tom said, "Welcome home."

They took their wet coats off and hung them in the hallway.

"Do you mind if I get some shut-eye, Dad? I'm knackered."

"Of course not, son. You know which room it is. I'm going to watch a bit of telly. I'll see you later."

Liston climbed the stairs and went into the first room on the right. This was the room he had had when he was a kid. All sorts of things rushed into his head. His mind was working overtime but he was exhausted, so he laid on the bed and drifted off into a deep sleep.

Liston heard knocking on the door. It was dark. He got out of bed and slowly opened the door. For some reason he felt quite small, standing in the hall. In a shimmering blue light was a multi-coloured parrot. It seemed to glow. He was mesmerized. It was talking to him but it was not actually speaking.

Liston woke with a start. It was a dream, and he knew in his heart that it was his mum who had just visited him. He lay his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. A warm feeling came over him.

He woke early the next morning. He was used to getting up to go to work in the prison kitchens. He had slept all the evening before, and all night. His dad must have come in, taken his trainers off and covered him with a quilt before he went to bed himself.

Remembering his vivid dream, Liston thought, _I don't think I'll tell Dad. I think it will upset him to know I''ve had a visit from Mum. But then again, perhaps I should._

He could hear Tom shuffling about downstairs. Liston went to the bathroom then came back to his bedroom. His dad must have cleared his old flat out, as all his clothes and personal stuff were in the room. His records had been put back into their covers, and his old record player was plugged in over in the corner. He felt ashamed that his dad must have had to go through his porn mags and clean the mess up and dispose of any drugs he''d left behind.

Liston sat on the edge of the bed and went through his records. He found his favourite Bob Marley album, took it out of the cover and placed it on the turntable,

Downstairs in the kitchen Tom heard the thump, thump, thump from the reggae beat. _I had forgotten all this from when he was a kid,_ he mused. _It will take a while getting used to living with somebody else after all these years alone._

After a while Liston went downstairs.

Morning, Pop."

"Morning, son."

That was like music to his ears. It was the little things like that he didn't realize he'd missed during all the years he was a bad'un.

"Breakfast?"

"What have we got?"

"Bacon and eggs, fried bread?"

"Sounds wonderful."

They sat down together, not saying much, just enjoying each other's company.

"I have to report to my probation officer every week, Dad, don't let me forget."

"Which day?"

"Today. Tuesdays at eleven."

***

It was a routine visit to the probation officer. He was told what he could do, and what he could not do. He was told he must attend the probation office each week and he was told the consequences of not doing so. The probation officer asked him if he had any prospects of work and what he wanted to do to get back on track with his life.

Liston told the officer he had taken a real interest in cooking while he was in prison and that one day wanted to open his own restaurant. The probation officer advised him to go to the job centre and see if there was anything there he might want to try. He also gave him the address and telephone number of the local support group for ex-offenders.

Liston walked to the job centre nearest home. It was a fair walk, but after being cooped up for three years if felt good to get exercise.

He pushed the door open and went in. It closed with a bang, and he had a flashback to prison. _I suppose this will happen a lot_.

There were lots of boards with slots and in the slots were typewritten job descriptions with details about the company, the hours and the wages. He went straight to the hotel and catering section.

He scanned the vacancies and spotted a couple of jobs that might be good. One was at a Wimpy Bar in Bristol, and the other was as an assistant breakfast cook in a large hotel.

He picked out the two cards and waited for a desk to become available.

A woman got up from a desk in front of him and the woman sitting at the other side said, "Next." Liston sat down in front of her and passed the two cards to her.

"Any experience?"

Liston explained he had been a cook in prison. He thought that might get some sort of a reaction from the woman, but nothing.

"Name? Address?"

He told her. She read the two cards.

"The hotel won't take ex-cons."

She picked up the phone and dialled.

"Good morning, could I speak to the manager please? This is Sally from the job centre."

She looked at her bright red shiny nails.

"Good morning, this is the job centre. I have a Mr Liston Pearce here. He's interested in the cook's job. Yes, he has worked in kitchens before. He's thirty-three years old. OK, bye."

She put the phone down and wrote something on a slip of paper, which she handed to Liston.

It read: 'Mr Singh, 2.15 p.m. 42 Gloucester Road.'

"Do you need bus fare?" she asked.

"No, but thanks."

She looked at him as if to say, 'Well, what more do you want?'.

"Thanks for your help, Sally."

Liston got up, and as he turned around he heard her shout "Next."

He smiled and went out. It was a good walk to Bristol town centre but he was happy seeing the people in the streets, kids on bikes, the cars, vans, motor bikes and shops.

He had about thirty minutes to wait before the interview so he went into a café and ordered a coffee and a ham sandwich. He thought, _Should I tell Mr Singh I'm an ex-con or lie?_ Liston realised had been down the lying road most of his criminal life and was determined to go straight now.

It was time to go. He walked to the Wimpy Bar and went in. It was busy, and the smell of burgers cooking on the griddle hit him as he opened the door. The restaurant was bright with big signs displaying what was on offer. He went over to the counter, where a young lad with a red and white paper hat, which said 'Wimpy'' on it, asked him, "Can I help you sir?"

"I'm here to see Mr Singh."

"Can you come this way please," the young man said.

Liston followed him into a small office behind the counter. Sitting at the desk was a bearded, middle-aged Indian man wearing a black turban. He was dressed in a smart dark grey suit and a navy tie.

He said, "I'm Mr Singh, can I help you?"

"I'm Liston Pearce. I'm here about the cook's job."

"Please to sit."

Mr Singh told Liston about the duties and what was expected of the cook. He then asked Liston about his experience in kitchens and what sort of food he had prepared in the past.

Liston told him he had just come out of prison, about how it had changed his life, the killing of the IRA man, everything.

Mr Singh said, "Thank you for being so honest and forthright. I have had a few problems in my life as well and I do want to help my fellow travellers on the path, but..."

There was a long silence that seemed to Liston to go on for hours. He thought that he had blown his chance by telling the truth but he was determined not to fall back into his old ways.

"OK, I will give you a chance. There will be a six-week trial period. If that works out, I will take you on permanently."

Liston was elated. He couldn't believe his good luck.

"Thank you. Thank you, Mr Singh," he smiled.

He grasped the man's hand so hard when he shook it that Mr Singh thought he had stopped the blood flowing to his fingers.

"Please don't let me down, Liston."

"I promise I won't."

"Start on Monday. You can do the early shift; it's not quite so busy and it will give you time to get into the routine of the job."

He thanked Mr Singh again. Liston turned and left. He walked out of the Wimpy Bar head held high.

Liston couldn't wait to get back to tell his dad the good news. When he got home Tom was watching TV.

"You've been a long time, son, I expected you back sooner." Tom was thinking, _I hope he has not been to see any of his old friends. They might try to turn his head back to the dark side of life._

Liston recounted the whole day's events in great detail. Tom was delighted and felt ashamed for doubting his son.

"Let's go out to the pub and celebrate. It's on me," Tom said.

They had a couple of drinks at a pub in St Paul's, then went into Bristol city centre. They found a nice Indian restaurant called Bombay Nights where they chatted and laughed and had a great time together.

#  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

### The Bad Penny Returns

**The** next few weeks went by quickly. Liston settled quickly into work and there were no problems with his probation officer. He was seeing his family every day. He had not found anywhere to live as yet and he thought he would have to get permission from his probation officer. Anyway, Tom liked him living at home and he was happy with the arrangement.

Liston had seen a few of his old non-criminal friends, but they didn't seem as friendly as they used to be and he had little in common with them now.

One day, when he got back from work, there was a note from his Dad telling him that Wendy Parker had phoned and asking him to call her back. There was a phone number.

Liston hadn't heard from her since he left prison. He had meant to call her but with work and things it just slipped his mind.

He called now. Wendy answered.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"Much the same. Still in this bloody wheelchair. But how are you?"

Liston said that he had loads of things to tell her.

"Do you want to meet up for a coffee some time, Liston?"

"Sure, that would be great. When and where?"

They arranged to meet a couple of days later, when he was off work. Wendy said her father would drop her off in his car at the top of Park Street at ten o'clock. Gerald had changed his car a while ago, and now had one that would take a wheelchair.

"See you then Wendy, bye."

***

It was the morning he was meeting Wendy so he was out of bed early, in the bath tub and down for breakfast.

"Morning, son. Had a bath already? It must be a date."

"I'm off to see Wendy Parker this morning, I told you."

Liston was out of the house and waiting for the bus. He wondered why Wendy wanted to see him. She had been to visit him in prison a few times and she'd written to him, but he didn't think she would want to keep in contact after he had got out.

The bus dropped him at the bottom of Park Street. It was quite a steep hill but he was fit and healthy. He arrived at top, near the university, and waited. It wasn't long before a car drew up. Wendy was in the back. Liston hadn't noticed before just how pretty she was. Her dad got out and shook Liston's hand.

"Hi Liston," he said.

"Good morning, Mr Parker."

"I've told you before you can call me Gerald. Can you get the wheelchair out of the back please and I'll help Wendy.""

Liston opened the back of the car and lifted the wheelchair out. He worked out how it opened out. He and Gerald helped Wendy into the chair.

"Can you pick me up in a couple of hours, Dad?"

"Sure can, love."

Gerald kissed her on the cheek, got back into the car, and waved as he drove away.

"This feels a bit funny, Liston," Wendy confided. "I'm not used to being out without my parents. Can you push me please?"

Liston grabbed the handles and pushed.

"Where do you want to go?" Liston asked her.

"I don't mind. Let's just go for a walk then have coffee. It's not the easiest thing talking to someone who is behind you.""

Liston pushed the wheelchair along the pavement. Wendy wanted to look in the shops. She was still full of life and interested in everything. She wanted to go into a dress shop at the top of Park Street. It was a little difficult navigating the door but they were soon in. Wendy took over the chair. She looked at some woollen jumpers and picked out a multi-coloured cardigan.

"Can I try this on please," she asked the shop assistant.

"Yes, of course. Can I help you with it?"

"No, I can manage thanks."

Wendy reversed into the changing room. It was big so there was no problem. She came out wearing the cardigan.

"What do you think, Liston?"

"It looks great," he smiled.

"I'll take it."

She paid by credit card and left the shop with the brown carrier bag on her lap.

"It must be coffee time now," she said.

They found a nice café with lots of empty seats and went in.

"What can I get you, Wendy?"

"I'll have a coffee and a slice of carrot cake, please."

He parked her at a table near the window and went to get the drinks.

"Two coffees and two slices of carrot cake, please," he said to the lady at the counter.

"I will bring them over to you."

Liston paid, and went back to the table. As he was walking towards Wendy he noticed that she appeared to be staring out of the window into space.

"Penny for them."

"I was just wondering if my life is always going to be like this."

Liston sat down. "Any news from the doctors?"

"No, it's much the same, I go for a check-up every month at the hospital, and sometimes there is a small improvement. But h about you? What are you up to?"

Liston told her all about his new life, how he worked at the Wimpy Bar, his probation officer, the family.

"Can I ask you a personal question, Liston?"

"Yes."

"Are you going straight now?"

He was not expecting such a blunt question.

"Yeh. All that's happened to me over the last three years has taught me a lesson."

"Well, at least that's one positive result from that awful day."

They chatted and chatted. The two hours flew by.

"I think we'd better go. Dad will be waiting and he gets a bit grumpy if I keep him hanging around. Now, how much do I owe you for the coffee?"

"You can pay next time," Liston said.

"So, there's going to be a next time, is there?" Wendy said with a big grin on her face.

"If you want."

"I want."

Liston pushed the wheelchair back to where they had arranged to meet Wendy's dad. He was already there. Liston and Gerald helped Wendy into the car, then loaded the chair into the back.

Gerald asked Liston if he needed a lift home, but he replied that he needed to buy a few things so it was all right. They said goodbye and Gerald drove away.

Liston walked down the street and caught the bus home. He spent the rest of the day at his dad's house watching TV. He organized tea for when Tom got home from work. He cooked peppered steak with green beans and sauté potatoes.

Tom was interested in Liston's day. They sat at the table and talked as they ate. Tom opened a couple of beers.

"Do you want to go out, son?"

"No, I'm fine having a relaxing evening. We could watch the football on TV later."

***

A couple of weeks passed by.

Liston was settling into his new life. He had a job he liked, and he was working for a nice boss. There was getting on well with his family and friends, and especially Wendy. He was still hoping to get his own place one day but it seemed a long way off.

It was his day off work. His dad had already gone so he had a lie-in. He heard the phone ring while he was in the bathroom but didn't have time to rush downstairs. _They'll ring back if it''s something important_.

He was eating his breakfast when the phone rang again. He picked it up.

"Hi."

"Liston?"

"Who is it?"

"Sol."

A chill went down Liston's spine.

"Sol! What the fuck do you want? How did you get my number?"

"It's the same number your dad has always had. I called a few times before and he answered so I put the phone down."

"What do ya want, Sol? You know I can't speak to you."

"Just a chat."

"Where are you?"

Sol avoided the question.

"Do ya wanna a meet up?" Sol asked.

"No fucking way. I'm on the straight and narrow now, Sol. I don't want any trouble."

"No trouble, just a chat."

"I'll think about it. Give me your number."

"I'll call you again in a day or two. See ya man."

Liston heard the phone click and Sol was gone. He was back in panic mode. He hadn't felt like this for a long time now and he didn't like it. He sat down in the kitchen. _This is all I need now – Sol back on the scene_.

He needed to think what he was going to do. Call the police? Meet Sol? Tell his Dad? _Fuck! Fuck!_ He got up from the table, paced up and down for a while and then sat down again with a bump, _Fuck!_ _No, calm down_ , he told himself. _You might be making this out to be more than it is_.

He went back to his bedroom and got dressed. _I must speak to somebody. I know, I'll call Wendy. She'll give me some good advice._

He picked up the phone and called her number.

"Hi Wendy, it's me, Liston."

"Hi Liston, how are you?"

"I need some help, can we meet?"

"Yes sure, when and where? Do you want to come here for lunch? Mum and Dad are out so we'll be the only ones here."

"Um yeh, OK. What time?

"Come over whenever you like. We can have a chat before we eat. You sound stressed, is there a problem?"

"I'll tell you when I get there. Be about an hour or so."

"You have the address, don't you?"

"Yes, I have it."

Liston got himself ready. He walked through to Temple Meads railway station and waited for the next train to Keynsham. It was only a short trip, ten minutes or so. He left the station and asked for directions, then followed them to Wendy's house. It was an impressive detached house with a large front garden surrounded by an evergreen hedge. There was a tree in the middle of the trimmed lawn. Liston opened the front gate. Feeling a little intimidated, he walked up the path and rang the doorbell. It was a while before Wendy opened the door.

"Sorry, it takes me a bit of time to get organized opening the door. Hi Liston, come in."

He followed her in. Everything was immaculate and the hall was as big as the kitchen and front room combined in his dad's house.

"Hang your coat up over there, Liston."

Liston took his coat off and hung it on the coatstand. He looked around the hall. There was a staircase on the right-hand side, and at the top of the stairs there was a walkway with rooms leading off. It felt grand and a little overwhelming.

Liston walked under the walkway and through the door into the living room, which was even grander. A large gilt-framed mirror hung over the fireplace. There was a small, carved wooden table against one wall, and on it was a silver drinks tray. He saw whiskey, gin and brandy.

"Help yourself to a drink, if you want one."

"No, I'm OK, thanks."

There were two large sofas facing each other with a coffee table between them, and a beautiful antique carpet on the floor. He noticed there was no television and he thought to himself, _This is the sort of place I would have loved to burgle a few years ago._

"Well, how have you been since we last met?" Wendy said.

"All right. Everything's been going good until I had a bit of a shock this morning."

Wendy looked puzzled, "Why, what happened?"

"I had a phone call from Sol. He was one of my old mates from my gang. I haven't heard from him for a long time. He was the one who shopped me to the police and then did a runner."

"That could be a big problem as it would break your parole conditions, wouldn't it?" Wendy said. ""What are you going to do?"

"It sure would give me a problem. I don't know, what do you think?"

"Let's have something to eat and talk about it."

Liston pushed Wendy into the beautiful kitchen. There was a small table set with two places.

"It's just a chicken casserole. Hope that is all right with you?"

"Great, can I help?"

"Yes, if you can get it out of the oven please."

Liston helped Wendy with her chair and then sat down. Wendy had a glass of wine and Liston had a beer. Not much was said over lunch, as they were both a tiny bit unnerved with each other. Wendy wondered, _Is he going back to his old ways? No, he is not that stupid_. They finished their lunch. Liston volunteered to do the washing up but Wendy told him she would put it in the dishwasher later. He helped her back into the lounge and Liston sat on the sofa.

"Well, what do you think Wendy?"

"My advice would be to leave well alone."

"I thought you would say that. I ain't tempted to go back to my old ways."

Wendy sighed with relief.

"I didn't think you would be for a moment."

Liston was glad she had confidence in him because, for some reason, her opinion mattered to him. They heard the key in the front door lock.

"It's Mum. Best not say anything about this for the time being."

Liston nodded.

"Hi Mum, Liston's here."

Jane Parker looked surprised but happy to see him.

"Do you want a glass of wine, Mum?"

"Please, it's been a long morning."

They chatted for a while longer, then Liston told them it was time for him to go.

"Do you want a lift home, Liston?"

"No thanks. I bought a return ticket for the train."

He walked back to the station, not much clearer in his head than when he first got there. _At least Wendy knows I'm not going back to my old ways_.

Wendy's mum asked her about her day.

"Liston called this morning so I invited him for something to eat."

"You seem to be getting quite attached to him, my love. Do you know what you are doing?"

"I like him a lot, Mum, but that is all."

***

Tom arrived home from work. He'd had a few problems with awkward customers at the station, but it was all sorted out by the end of his shift. Liston asked him if he'd had any prank calls lately. Tom told him there had been a few times when he'd picked up the phone and answered, then whoever it was on the other end hung up. Liston made out it had happened to him twice that day so he knew it was Sol calling.

#  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

### Pastor Michael

**A** few days later Liston got another call from Sol.

"What the fuck do you keep calling me for?"

"I thought you might be interested in a job I've got lined up. There could be twenty grand in it for you."

"If I got caught I'd be back in the nick in the blink of an eye. It's part of my parole conditions that I don''t speak to any other criminals, and after what you did to me, I would probably kill ya if I saw ya."

"Let's just meet up and I will explain everything."

"Are you fucking deaf or stupid?"

"Sounds like you've lost your bottle, Liston."

"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't, but I don't need any more shit happening in my life."

"Just think about the twenty grand. I'll call ya."

"Don't fucking bother."

Sol put the phone down. Liston thought about how handy the money would be. _I could get my dreams off the ground, a nice little café, working for myself. Too big a risk though_.

He was working the afternoon shift at the Wimpy Bar, so he grabbed something to eat and was off to catch the bus. It was coming to the end of the shift. Things had slowed down and he had started to clear away. He could see through the big plate glass window out into the street. It was getting dark and he could see the flash of car headlights passing in the road.

The door opened. It was Sol, and he strolled over to the counter looking like he didn't have a care in the world.

"Hi man, long time no see."

Liston grabbed him by the throat with his right hand. Sol grabbed Liston's wrist with both hands, and gasped for air. A gurgle came from deep in his throat.

"What the fuck are you doing here? How did you know I worked here?" Liston hissed in an angry whisper.

He released his grip on Sol. Sol was shaken and rubbed his throat.

"I just happened to see ya the other day." Sol said between gulps of air.

"You're a fucking liar, Sol. You bin followin me."

Sol ignored the reply. He managed to say, between swallows, "I would like a beef burger, fries, baked beans and a cola please."

"Just fuck off."

Mr Singh can out from the back office.

"Everything all right, Liston?"

"Yes, Mr Singh."

Sol sat at a table next to the counter Liston guessed he didn't want to sit close to the window, in case somebody might recognize him. He prepared the order and took it to Sol's table.

"This looks good, man."

"Just eat it up then piss off."

"That's not the way to speak to a customer, is it? I will complain to the boss."

"Yes, I'm sure you will, and the fuzz would be here in a second."

Sol shut up and finished his meal. He came to the counter and paid.

"Drink after work?"

Liston just gave him a withering look. If looks could kill, Sol would have been a pile of ash on the floor. Sol shrugged his shoulders, turned the collar up on his coat, pulled his beanie down over his dreadlocks and went out the door.

Mr Singh could sense something had gone on. They finished up and Mr Singh locked the doors.

"Can I have a word, Liston? Come into the office."

Liston got changed and went in.

"Is everything all right, Liston?"

"Yes Mr Singh, is there a problem?"

"Not with your work, but I sensed there was an atmosphere with that customer earlier."

"He was somebody I knew in the old days."

"I thought it was part of your parole not to mix with some of your old friends."

"It is, but I can't stop them coming into the Wimpy, can I?"

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so, but it's nice of you to ask. I hope I don't see him again."

"If there is, just ask. I don't want to lose you, Liston, and I definitely don't want to see you back in prison."

Liston left the Wimpy. It had started to drizzle. As he waited for the bus he thought he saw Sol watching him from across the road, but it was his imagination.

When he got home, Tom had already gone to bed. There was a note on the kitchen table saying there was steak and kidney pie in the oven if he wanted it.

When he went to bed that night, he pondered his situation. What options did he have?

I could meet Sol but this will violate my parole conditions.

I could tell the police Sol is back in town.

I could kill him.

I could get someone else to kill him.

I could get someone else to tell the police about Sol.

I could go along with Sol and earn some money... and maybe get caught.

***

A couple of days had passed with no word from Sol. Perhaps he had run off again or just given up.

Liston was working the breakfast shift at the Wimpy Bar, so he was home early afternoon. He had just made himself a mushroom omelette when there was a knock on the door. He thought, _I hope it's not Sol_.

He answered the door and there was a man dressed in black and wearing a dog collar.

"Hi, Did you want to see my dad? He's not back from work yet."

"No, I came to see you, Liston."

"Me? Oh, come in."

The pastor explained to Liston that he had spoken to Tom the Sunday before at church and that he had suggested a visit.

"How can I help you?" asked Liston.

"I would like you to come to the church and talk to some of the boys."

The pastor explained there were a couple of young boys who were getting into trouble and that a talk from an ex-con might set them on the right path again.

"I ain't sure what I can tell them."

"Just talk to them. Tell them the truth about your experiences. Don't try and kid them, they need honesty."

"When do ya want me to talk to them?"

"Well, if you can come over tomorrow about six I can show you where everything is."

"I'm on a late shift tomorrow, but I can come earlier if you like."

"Say, about eleven in the morning?"

"I'll see you then, pastor.'

"God bless you, Liston."

They shook hands. The pastor turned and walked away.

Liston wondered why his dad had not said anything to him about it. Perhaps he was a bit nervous about telling him.

Tom finished work at the normal time he came in and sat down.

"Do you want a cup of tea, Dad?"

"Yes please son, it's been another hard day. I think it's because I'm getting old."

"You're not old, Dad. By the way, the pastor came to see me this afternoon."

"Yes, sorry, I should have mentioned it. He asked me if you would talk to some of the lads at the church. I should have told you but it went out of my head. Another sign of old age."

"No worries, Dad."

***

The next morning he got ready to go to the church to see Pastor Michael. It was the first time he had been there for a long time. He pushed open the small door at the side of the building, and the pastor was there to meet him.

"I will just show you around and then we can have a cup of coffee and discuss what to do for the best."

He showed Liston the large recreation room at the side of the church. It was a tall, square room with large windows on two sides. There were frayed pieces of thin rope which you pulled on to open the top part of the window. The bottom of the room was painted green, the top half a creamy yellow. Liston could see where some of the paint had flaked off and been painted over with a slightly different shade. There was a pool table at the bottom of the room, some tables and chairs, a bookcase well populated with books and board games but not much else in the way of entertainment for young kids.

"It's a bit depressing," Liston said.

He felt he had said the wrong thing.

"I mean, a bit dull."

The pastor conceded that it was a dreary hall with little cheer in it.

"Let's go and have a coffee and we can see what we can do."

Liston and the pastor went into the main church, a large building over one hundred years old. It had big arches on either side of the main aisle. They went into a little room behind the altar.

"Sit down Liston, do you want a coffee?"

"Thanks, that would be nice."

Liston looked around. This room looked like it was where the pastor worked most of the time. It had an elaborately carved wooden desk and chair. There were papers and books spread all over the place. The room itself was dingy and looked neglected.

Pastor Michael passed him a mug of black coffee.

"Sorry, run out of milk."

"No problem, Pastor."

"Call me Michael," he said.

Liston noticed there was a print on the far wall of Archangel Michael trampling Satan. He thought he could remember it from his childhood visits but he was not sure.

"So Liston, have you thought further about speaking to the kids?"

"When are they next here?"

"Friday."

"I'll call in if I can. I need to change my shift but I don't think it'll be a problem. If it is, I''ll call you."

They talked a little more and then Liston said, "I need to go to work now, Michael, it's been nice meeting you."

"Hope to see you Friday night. God bless you."

Liston arrived at the Wimpy Bar and asked Mr Singh if he could change his shift for Friday and explained about the kids and what he wanted to do.

"Doing good deeds as well now, Liston? Well done. No problem, I will change the rota."

It was not a busy night so he had a chat to Mr Singh, and they talked about how Mr Singh and his family ended up in Bristol. Liston told him about his problems and troubles when he was a criminal. He mentioned how one day he would like to have his own café-restaurant. Mr Singh was interested in this. He asked Liston how he was going to finance it, and told him about how he got started.

"Working hard: that is how you will get on, my boy."

He finished his shift and cleared down. Walking back to the bus stop he saw Sol again. Liston hadn't seen him so he followed him for a while until Sol went in the back entrance of The Coconut Club.

Liston thought this was strange. He could not follow him in there without breaking his parole conditions, which he was not about to do. He walked home trying to work out what Sol was doing.

***

Liston finished his morning shift at the Wimpy Bar and caught the bus home. On the short walk back to his dad's house, he called in to see Pastor Michael and arranged to be at the church at seven. He felt anxious, but told himself, _It''s only a bunch of kids, what is the worst thing that can happen?_

He went home and got changed. He hadn't done any drugs for over three years but he felt the need now, probably because he was stressed about talking to the kids. _No way. I ain't going back to my bad habits, I just need to sit and sort this out in my mind._

Liston relaxed on his bed and the craving for weed slipped away. There was the bang of a door downstairs. Tom was home from work.

"Hi Pop, good day at work?"

"Same as usual, son. It's tonight you are meeting the kids at the church, isn't it?"

"Yes Pop."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Liston thought for a moment. It would be nice to have his father's support but would it make him seem like a daddy's boy to the lads who he was supposed to impress with turning around his life?

"No, I think it's best I go on my own, at least at first."

"OK, no problem."

"I'm off then, Pop. See you when I get back. Do you want to go for a drink later? I'll meet you at the pub, not sure what time but I would guess about nine."

Liston walked to the church and went in. Pastor Michael was there.

"Come in, Liston, and I'll introduce you to the youngsters."

They walked into the recreation room he had been in before. There were seven boys and two girls there. The girls were playing pool, while the boys were just huddled in two groups. They all looked around as Liston walked in.

One thing you could say about Liston: when he entered a room he dominated it, not only because of his height but he did have a presence.

Pastor Michael introduced him. "This is Liston Pearce. You may know about him. He has not long been released from prison for shooting someone."

Liston was not keen on the introduction but it was the truth. The two girls were impressed, he could tell, the boys looked like they didn't give a shit.

Pastor Michael went on, "He has come here tonight to talk to you about right and wrong."

Again Liston was not impressed.

They all shook his hand, not because they wanted to but because Pastor Michael gave them no way out.

He said to Liston, "How do you want to do this?"

"Just leave me with them for a while," suggested Liston. "I'm sure you have lots to be getting on with."

"I suppose so, but I thought you wanted me to be here?"

"No it's OK, I'll be fine."

Pastor Michael walked out feeling a bit like a cat that had been pushed out into a cold rainy night.

There were two comfy armchairs there so Liston sat on one. He didn't say anything. _It's no good trying to lecture these kids they will just do the opposite of what I tell them_.

The two girls came over and started to talk to him. They asked him what it was like killing someone. He told them it was self-defence but it was all over so fast, all he felt was fear. It was not like watching a movie or TV.

"What are your names?"

"My name is Poppy and this my friend Elizabeth."

"And how old are you two?"

"Fifteen."

"Why do ya come to the church?"

"There is not much else to do around here and the boys are cute." They both started giggling."

Then one of the boys swaggered over.

"Hi dude."

"My name is Liston, not dude." He gave the young lad a look that could kill at twenty paces.

The kid backed off and returned to his mates. He shrugged his shoulders and pushed the young boy next to him. Liston stood up and stretched his hands high above his head. He laced his fingers together and cracked his bones then he walked over to the group.

"Am I wasting my fucking time with you little shits or are you going to listen to my story?"

The boys looked shocked and stunned. They looked at each other and then at Liston.

One boy said, "I'll give it a go."

They sat around. Not much was said; the atmosphere was electric. Nobody wanted to say anything that made them sound stupid, not even Liston.

Liston talked a little bit about how he became a yardie, about taking drugs, a bit about the good side to being a gangster but mostly about the bad things that had happened to him.

Pastor Michael came back into the room after three quarters of an hour. You could have cut the air with a knife.

"I think that will do for tonight, people, same time Monday."

Liston looked at the kids.

"Do you want me to come back or not?"

"Might as well," somebody said.

All the kids trooped out looking at their feet.

Pastor Michael said to Liston, "What happened? I have never seen them like that before."

"I must have charmed them. See you Monday, if I can get the time off work."

He walked to the pub where he was going to meet his dad. He was shivering inside as he was not sure if he had handled the evening well.

Tom was standing at the bar talking to an old friend from work.

"I need a drink, Dad." He grabbed his dad's arm and squeezed it tight.

"How did it go?"

"Tough."

Liston tried each week to go to at least one meeting. After a while the kids got used to him. He seemed to have some influence on some of them but others were difficult to get through to. He told them about his past, the mistakes he made, about his time in prison. There was nothing he didn't tell them. He always told the brutal truth without holding back.

The talks were doing him good as well. It was a bit like therapy talking about his problems.

Pastor Michael was impressed. He told Liston if ever he needed a character reference to call on him.

After a while, he got the kids to repaint the games room. They organized jumble sales and raised money for new equipment and funds for the church.

#  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

### Date With Wendy

**Liston** was working the morning shift at the Wimpy Bar when Mr Singh called him into the office. He said he had been thinking about what Liston had told him the other night about opening up his own café.

"Maybe I can help you, if you want me to, Liston."

"That would be great but how can you help?"

"Well, I can help you raise some money for a start. And if you are keen on the idea, get a business plan drawn up and I will read it."

Liston knew nothing about business plans and starting a business but he went along with Mr Singh and said he would start on it right away when he got home.

He finished up and caught the bus home, not exactly sure what a business plan was or how to get one. He thought, _I'll call Wendy. She might have some idea_.

Once home he picked up the phone and dialled.

"Hi Wendy, this is Liston, how ya doing?"

"Much the same. I am getting bored with being stuck in this chair. Anyway, how are you?"

"I need some more help and I wondered if we could meet for a coffee or something?"

"Yes. I need to find out from my father when he can drop me off. I can't get around without the car."

"There's no hurry, any time will do."

"I'll be glad to get out of the house. I'll call you later. What is it about?"

"I need to write a business plan but I can tell you more about it when I see you."

"Speak later, Liston, bye."

He put the phone down.

An hour or so later the phone rang.

"Hi Liston, it's Wendy. Dad said he can drop me off somewhere after work or you can come here for dinner and chat about it then."

"I think I would rather meet you somewhere."

"When and where?"

"We could meet in town and go for an Indian or a Chinese?"

"Sounds wonderful. I'll see you at the bottom of Park Street by College Green about seven thirty."

"I'll be there, Wendy, see ya later."

He only had about two hours to get ready so he had a nice long soak in the bath, followed by a shave and then got dressed. When his dad returned after work he asked him where he was going.

"I'm meeting Wendy. We're having something to eat in town."

Tom thought, _I hope he doesn't get too involved with her. She's not in our class_.

But what he said was, "Hope you have a nice time, and give her my best wishes."

Liston caught the bus to the city centre and walked to College Green. He waited about five minutes until Gerald's car pulled up next to him.

"How are you Liston?"

"I'm well, Mr –" He stopped himself. "I'm well, Gerald, are you OK?"

"Yes, working hard."

They helped Wendy out of the car and into her wheelchair.

"What time do you want me to pick you up?"

"About ten thirty or eleven?"

"Well, which is it? I don't want to be hanging around waiting for you."

"Grumpy! Eleven then."

"Have a nice meal. Oh, do you need any money?"

"No Dad, I have some."

Gerald got back in the car and drove off up the hill.

"Do you want a drink to start off?" Liston asked.

"Yes please, that would be nice."

Liston pushed her a little way up Park Street. There was a big new pub there that had not been open long, so he guessed it would be wheelchair friendly. They went in. It was quiet, being early in the evening.

"What do you want to drink?" he asked.

"I would like a cocktail, a screaming orgasm."

Liston wasn't used to ordering cocktail.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"A screaming orgasm, please."

Wendy knew she had embarrassed him a little but it was all good fun.

He walked over to the bar, "A screaming orgasm and a bottle of Bud please."

He expected a reaction from the barman but nothing. "I will bring them to your table sir."

He made the cocktail, opened the bottle of beer and brought the drinks over.

"Is the screaming orgasm for the lady, sir?"

"Yes please," Wendy said, with a big smile on her face.

The barman placed the drinks on the table and walked away.

"Cheers." They chinked glasses.

"What is all this about a business plan?"

Liston told Wendy about Mr Singh, and how he might be interested in helping him raise money for a café of his own.

Wendy told him she didn't have any experience of writing business plans but she knew her father had written many in the past and she was sure he would help if he could. Liston went into much more detail about the Afro-Caribbean café-restaurant he had in his mind. Wendy was interested in his plans and contributed a few suggestions of her own. They talked away for a while longer, then Wendy said she was getting hungry so why didn't they find somewhere to eat.

Liston paid the bill for the drinks. It was a bit more expensive than he was used to but what the hell.

They found a nice quiet Chinese restaurant and went in. They had a great time and the food was good. Liston tried to use chopsticks without much success, Wendy had used them before so she tried to explain to Liston what to do with them. They laughed and joked with each other. The time flew by and before long it was eleven and they had to meet Gerald. Wendy said she would ask her father about the business plan and would get back to him.

Liston pushed her back to the meeting point. Gerald was already waiting. They helped her into the car and loaded the wheelchair in the back,

Wendy said, "I enjoyed the evening very much, we must do it again. Goodnight Liston."

"See ya Wendy, bye Gerald."

***

Liston was on an early shift next day. He arrived home from work mid-afternoon, and before long before there was a phone call from Wendy.

"Hi Liston, I've spoken to my father and he is happy to help. Do you want to meet him later today at his office and tell him what you told me last night?"

"Will you be there?"

"No, but he can bring you back here for a bite to eat after, if you like?"

"Yeh, OK thanks. Where is his office?"

Wendy gave him the address.

"What time shall I meet him?"

"Five-thirty."

"I'll be there."

"Are you coming back here with him after?"

"Um, yes, that sounds good. Are you sure?"

"Yes, see you later then, bye."

Liston left a note for his dad telling him what his plans for the evening were. He locked up and left the house. He arrived at Gerald's office. Outside there was a well-polished brass plate which read, 'Parker and Spalding Chartered Surveyors G. J. Parker MRICS S. T. Spalding MRICS''. He pressed the call button.

"Hello, can I help you?"

"It's Liston Pearce."

"Who do you want to see?"

"Mr Parker."

"Wait one moment please."

The door buzzed and he pushed it open. He walked into the hallway which was lined with thick blue carpet. On the right hand side there was a half glazed office door which he tentatively opened.

"Come in, please take a seat. Mr Parker will be with you in a moment."

He sat down on a stainless steel-framed black leather sofa. There was a glass-topped coffee table in front of him with glossy magazines. They all seemed to be about surveyors and building projects.

"Can I get you a drink, Mr Pearce? Tea, coffee?"

"No thanks, I'm good."

Looking around the room there were photographs of the projects the firm had been involved in hanging on the walls.

Gerald opened the door. "Sorry to keep you, Liston, come this way."

He followed Gerald up two flights of stairs. Having long legs he missed every other stair so took one stride to Gerald's two. At the top of the stairs there was a landing.

"This is my office. Come in sit down. Wendy tells me you want to open a restaurant and need help with the business plan."

"Yes, I had the idea when I was in prison but I didn't think it would ever happen."

"What has made you change your mind?"

"My boss, Mr Singh. I told him about my idea and he said he might be able to raise some money for me."

They talked about his plans;

"Have you thought of a location? Who will be your clientele? What equipment will you need? Do you want to lease or buy a property?"

Mr Parker asked loads more questions. he was quickly making notes of what Liston was telling him.

"Do you want me to write the plan or just give you some pointers?"

"I'm not sure. What do you think would be best?"

"I'll do it for you. I've written loads and it won't take me long."

"Are you sure you don't mind, Gerald?"

"For you, Liston, anything. Let's get off home now, I'm getting hungry."

Gerald called in to see his partner for a few minutes on the way out, said goodnight to the receptionist and walked out into the street. It was finishing time in the office area of Bristol and there were a lot of people making their way home.

Gerald had a private car park at the rear of the office. They walked round and jumped in the car.

"It won't take long to warm up," said Gerald.

He was right; with the heated seats and the blower on full blast it was like a sauna. It took them about half an hour to get to Keynsham. Gerald parked the car and they walked up the garden path.

Jane welcomed them in. "Can you get Liston a drink, darling? I can't leave the kitchen."

They walked into the sitting room. Wendy was there. She was wearing a pretty pink silk top with a string of pearls, which looked quite tight around her neck, and a beige skirt. It looked to Liston like she had lost a little weight over the past few weeks.

"Hi Liston, what do you want to drink?"

"What are you having?"

"Gin and tonic, I think."

"Yeh, that sounds good, me too. How did you get on with Dad?"

"He is going to write my business plan."

Jane came in and said, "I hope you like Beef Wellington, Liston."

A year ago he would not have known what that was but after working in the governor's kitchen he said, "Sounds cool."

They sat down to a delicious dinner. The Beef Wellington was fantastic. After dinner they sat and talked. Gerald had had a little too much Beaujolais to drink at dinner as he almost offered to back Liston in his new venture.

Wendy picked up on the idea but did not say anything. She was nothing if not shrewd and kept that piece of ammunition for another day.

It was late. Liston had missed the last train back to Bristol and Gerald was over the limit so they asked Liston if he wanted to stay the night. He told them that he had to be in work early next day so Gerald ordered him a taxi.

Liston arrived home late. Tom had already gone to bed so he made himself a hot drink and turned in. He wondered what to make of the meeting with Gerald and what the outcome might be.

***

Sol was still creeping into Liston's thoughts. _What was he doing at the Coconut Club?_ Liston tried to think who he knew there. But even if he did find out, what could he do about it anyway? He was getting nowhere. The next day he had work and he had a meeting with his probation officer later. Then, if he was back in time, there was a club meeting at the church that evening.

He set off to work. Mr Singh caught him on the way in.

"Any more thoughts on the business plan, Liston?"

"Yes Mr Singh, I'm organizing it. I should have it ready in a couple of days."

"Well done. Let me have it when it is ready."

He worked his shift as normal. It was getting a little boring, just doing burgers and chips and milk shakes, but he didn't want to do anything to upset Mr Singh.

When he got back home there was a note from his dad saying, 'Hi son, Mr Parker called, you can collect the business plan from his office when you are ready. See you tonight, Love Dad.'

Liston thought he might as well take a walk round to Gerald's office and collect it. It was a nice day; a watery sun was shining over the roof tops of the houses opposite. He walked through to town and picked the business plan up from the receptionist. He had about an hour before he had to see his probation officer so he went for a coffee and read the plan. It was very well done with lots of details developed from their conversation. There was nothing in it he didn't understand so he felt confident that when he showed it to Mr Singh, he could answer any questions.

At the probation office, he waited in the outer room until a man came out of the office and told him to go in.

"Hi Liston, how are you doing?"

"No problem, Mr Smith. Work is going fine, no problems at home, all cool."

Mr Smith thought to himself, _I wish all my clients were as easy as this one._

"Anything else you need to tell me?"

"I'm thinking of opening a small café serving Afro-Caribbean food. I have a business plan and my employer Mr Singh may be able to arrange some finance for me."

He passed Mr Smith the file who quickly read through it.

"This is excellent, Liston. Good luck with your venture, and keep me informed of your progress. Well, I think that is all. See you next week."

Liston said goodbye and walked back He called into the church without much enthusiasm, but when he got in there with the kids it was a good night.

He left the church hall about nine o'clock and walked home. Tom was in watching TV.

"Do you want a brew, son?"

Liston sat down with his dad. He showed him the business plan and they talked about his day.

"It says in the plan you will need about twenty to twenty-five thousand pounds, depending on whether you rent or buy. I have just over four thousand saved in the building society. I was saving it for when I popped my clogs, but if it's agreeable with your sisters you can use it."

"Thanks Pop, but maybe I can get it from the bank."

"The less money you borrow, the better."

"I suppose you're right."

They talked a while longer then Tom went to bed.

Liston sat up for a while. _Maybe if I had changed my life around before I could have my business up and running by now._

#  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

### Confrontation

**It** was the last of his morning shifts at the Wimpy Bar. He had the next two days off. Liston was always on time for work, and this was one of the things Mr Singh liked about him.

"Good morning Mr Singh."

He passed him the business plan.

"Thanks, I'll read it later."

Liston got down to work as usual. He prepared the grill plates and chip fryers and was ready to open up the shop. He looked through the front window and wondered if he would ever look through the window of his own café.

The first costumer of the day came in.

"Burger and chips and a coffee to take away, please."

Liston went into action. It was not too busy for the next hour. Mr Singh came around from the back office.

"I have read the plan and it's very good and comprehensive. Did you do it yourself?"

"I had a bit of help from a friend of mine."

"I think I can help you raise money on this project if you want. Have you any money of your own to put into the venture?"

"Dad has about four grand he is willing to put in."

"That's good. Can we talk about it when you finish your shift?"

"Sure."

It was coming up to lunchtime now so the Wimpy was getting much busier. At the end of the shift he handed over to the next cook and knocked on the office door.

"Come in."

Liston went in and sat down.

"I like your plan Liston and I am happy to help if you want me to."

"How do you want to help, Mr Singh?"

"I will invest some of my own money and help you get a bank loan for the rest. I have been dealing with my bank for years now, and with a good business plan and my track record there shouldn't be a problem."

"I'm not sure what to say, Mr Singh."

"Think about it. Talk to your family and friends. You have two clear days now. Just give it some thought, and I'm sure we can work something out."

They talked a while longer, then Liston packed up and went out into the street. He made his way home. _I think I'll call Wendy_.

When she answered the phone he explained what had happened with his boss from the Wimpy Bar. He told her about the meeting with his probation officer and about Tom putting up some money. She listened intently to what he was saying.

"Can we meet up and discuss it face to face?" she asked.

She suddenly sounded very business-like.

"Yeh sure, when and where?"

"Are you at home tomorrow afternoon?"

"Yeh, I think so."

"Will your dad be there? I'd like to speak to him as well."

"OK, what time?"

"Two o'clock? Is it all right if Mum and Dad come as well?"

"Sure."

"Liston, have you had any more contact with Sol?"

"No, I haven't seen him. Perhaps he has given up on me."

"I hope so, you've had enough troubles in your life."

"See you tomorrow, take care."

Liston was not sure why she wanted to have a family get together but he would see tomorrow. He was still thinking about Sol. He wondered if he could risk going to The Coconut Club to try to find out what he was doing there. Though, on reflection, perhaps not. Sol had not been in contact for a while now so it might be best to leave well alone.

***

Gerald arrived home from work a little later than normal.

"How are my two most favourite girls in the world?"

He walked in gave them both a kiss and sat down on the sofa.

"Hard day, darling, do you want a drink?"

"Yes please, gin and tonic."

They all sat down and discussed what sort of day they had. Wendy couldn't wait to tell her father about the next day's meeting with Liston and Tom. She started to tell him about the phone call and the business plan and about Liston's boss offering to help him raise money for the café.

Gerald asked her, "Why are you so keen on what is going on with Liston and his café?"

"I don't know I just am. He did save my life and I feel I owe him some support."

"Nothing else?"

"No."

"Are you interested in helping him with the café?"

"Well, I would like to do what I can. You were interested in helping him the other night and you helped him with his business plan."

She was getting a little defensive now. She had the feeling her father was going off the idea of helping Liston.

"So you are interested in helping him with the café?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good," he said, "because I have been to see my bank manager and if we sell a few shares we can raise the money to finance him ourselves.""

"Are you talking about a partnership between us and Liston?"

"You and Liston would be more accurate. He has to be in agreement, of course."

"I think you are the best dad I have ever had!"

"How many others have you had, then?"

They all laughed and joked and discussed different things to do with the café project.

"I can't wait until tomorrow to talk it over with Liston and Tom," Wendy said.

***

The next day Liston was up and out early. He went into town to see if any estate agents had any interesting properties on their books which he might be able to convert into his café. The first one he came to had a small shop to lease about ten minutes from where he was living. It used to be an old wool shop but the owner had died and it hadn't been used for six months.

The estate agent told him there was a lot of interest in the property, so if he was serious he would have to get in quick. He took the details, went round a few more agents but most were just interested in selling houses. He walked back home and made a detour past the old wool shop. Liston noted it was a corner property with two large windows, one on each side of the corner. The front door cut across the corner at an angle, and the door was half glazed. The shop had been boarded up so he couldn't see much. The outside needed a lot of work. There was peeling brown paint, and the old sign on one side looked like it was only just clinging to the wall. He peered through the letter box. It looked even worse inside – cobwebs, dirt and dust, and broken glass littered the floor –– but it was in an OK position and with a lot of work and a lick of paint it might just work.

It was getting close to the time he had to meet Wendy and her parent. He just had time to call into the café and bought a couple of Jamaican patties and a coke. He looked around. _Not much competition here_ , he thought. _Not much choice and a bit scruffy. I can definitely do better than this._

He finished his patties and went back home. His dad was getting ready as Liston had told him about the meeting before he went out. Tom had been to the shop and bought some cakes and had everything ready in the kitchen.

There was a knock at the door.

"They're here, Dad."

Liston let the Parkers in. It was a real struggle getting Wendy in as the door was not wide enough to get the wheelchair through. So Gerald carried her in and placed her on the sofa. Liston introduced his father to Wendy and they shook hands.

It was a bit cramped in Tom's front room with five people. Liston thanked Gerald for the business plan.

"Do you want some tea now?" Tom asked.

Jane said, "Later would be nice, Tom."

Wendy was keen to get on with the discussion so she started the ball rolling, telling Liston about her dad's plan to invest in his adventure. Liston and Tom kept looking at each other and wondering if this was a fairy tale. At last Wendy stopped talking about money, investments, and partnerships.

"Well, I don't know what to say," Liston managed at last. "This has come as a complete surprise."

He told them about Mr Singh wanting to invest and about the old premises he had seen that morning.

Gerald said, "If you are interested in it, I can find out much more about it through my office. Estate agents always tell you that properties are just about to be sold or leased."

They had tea and Mr Kipling Bakewell tarts. Gerald suggested he and Liston walk down to the old shop and take a look at it.

"Don't feel pressured by Wendy into making a decision you may regret later, Liston," said Gerald on their way back. ""She can be a little pushy at times."

"I won't, Gerald, but it does sort of make sense."

"I would like it if she did get involved because she's getting bored being at home all the time. It would give her a purpose, so it's not only for your sake. I hope we can come to some understanding."

They arrived back at Tom's house and went in.

"I think its time we made a move, Gerald," Jane suggested.

"Yes, my dear."

They made Wendy comfortable in the back seat of the car, said goodbye and drove away. Liston and Tom waved as they disappeared at the end of the road.

Tom was first to say, "Well, that was a turn up for the books."

"Sure was, Dad!"

They went back into the house a bit shell shocked. Tom cleared away the tea things. Liston thought, _Now I have two people who want to back my idea about a café_.

Tom came back and sat down. They discussed the whys and wherefores of both offers and they both came down on Wendy's side.

"Think about it though, son, and don't feel pressured and rush into anything."

"That's exactly what Gerald said."

***

The next day he weighed up all his options and wrote a list for and against and discussed it with his dad. He made the decision to try Wendy's and Gerald's way. He thought she would be a helpful person to have around anyway. All he had to do now was explain to Mr Singh. His boss understood and was very supportive.

Within a matter of weeks, the partnership between Liston and Wendy had been signed. Gerald got a good deal on the empty shop. They had been to see Gerald's bank manager and a loan had been agreed. They set up a joint bank account for the business. Liston picked up the keys for the shop. All there was to do now was get it all up and running.

They organized a celebration dinner at a top Bristol hotel. Tom and Inez were there. Agnes and Philip brought Lucy. Gerald and Jane were there of course, and Liston and Wendy.

They all had a great night with lots of laughs and a few tears. Liston got up and made an emotional speech, thanking everyone for their support. Gerald made a speech and thanked Liston for what he had done a few years earlier.

He then asked, "Have you thought of a name for your restaurant Liston?"

Liston stood up and said, "I am going to call it Bristol Soul Food."

There was a round of applause.

Liston was still working at the Wimpy Bar during the day and when he finished work, he started sorting out his café.

Liston and his dad ordered a skip to clear the place out, and then organized a security system to be installed. He visited some catering suppliers with Wendy and ordered some of the equipment he needed. Mr Singh helped him out with some bits and pieces he no longer needed and told him of an auction house on the outskirts of Bristol that sold used equipment. They brought some builders in to help with the heavy work and the stud walling and plastering.

Wendy looked after the admin and artistic side, deciding the colour scheme and furnishings. They were getting on well together. They laughed a lot and played jokes on each other.

Liston often wondered what he had done to deserve such a break. Everything in his life had changed for the better.

He started decorating the café. Even some of the kids from the church meetings came to help him. They weren't much good but they tried and that was all Liston could ask for.

Liston swapped to the night shift at Wimpy so he was working in his café in the mornings now. He had just started to paint a wall when he heard a tap on the window. He turned around and saw Sol's big face sneering at him. His blood ran cold. He could feel the life draining out of him. He went over to the door and opened it.

"What the fuck do you want?"

His manner had changed. He was back in gangster mode.

Liston grabbed Sol's coat and pulled him through the door. "Come in quick before you're seen.""

"Hi man!" Sol said.

"Don't fucking 'Hi man' me, you piece of shit."

He grabbed Sol by the throat and pinned him against the wall. Sol's face was contorted, as he was finding it hard to catch his breath.

Liston released his grip. "Fuck, what are you doing here?"

Sol brushed himself off. "Can't I drop in to see an old mate?"

"No, you fucking can't drop in. You will get us both banged up."

"Well, what did you expect me to do. I need to talk to you."

"If you keep hanging around me, you'll end up in the Avon with a concrete block around your neck."

"That's more like the old Liston I knew! You look like you're doing all right for yourself.""

"What do you want, Sol?"

"I need a bit of help. I need your contact in London and I'm planning a post office job. Do you want in?"

"Sol, can you get it through your thick head that I ain't interested."

There was a tap on the glass of the door. Liston turned around. It was Gerald and Wendy.

"Fuck," he mumbled under his breath. "You had better go before someone sees you."

Sol did look a bit scared, "Be in touch."

Liston opened the door. As Gerald pushed Wendy in, they felt uneasy. _You could cut the atmosphere with a knife,_ Wendy thought. Sol brushed past them without saying a word and trying to hide his face. This made Gerald even more uneasy.

"Who was that, Liston?"

"He used to be a friend of mine, back in the bad old days."

"Are you in any trouble, Liston?" Gerald asked.

"Not at the moment, but if he keeps hanging around I will be."

"Can I do anything to help?"

"I don't think so."

Liston explained that it was Sol, a friend from his old gang, and that they had done some bad things together before he started on the straight and narrow. He told them that Sol had phoned him at home and that he had turned up at his workplace once. He told them that he followed him one night to The Coconut Club and that Sol went in one of the side doors. He told them how he had just turned up here.

Wendy already knew a lot of what was going on with Sol but she had kept it quiet from her parents, so she played like it was all new to her.

"What are you going to do about him, Liston?" Wendy asked

"I don't know. I thought if I ignored him he would get fed up and disappear."

"What does he want?"

"He wants me to give him some names from when I was a villain, and he wanted to know if I would help him do a job."

"You are not going to, are you?"

"No, of course not, I have too much to lose now. I realize the mistakes I made in the past and I don't want to live like that again."

Gerald said, "Why don't you call the police or your probation officer and tell them."

"I can't. I suppose I still think it's bad to grass your mate up."

"But he is not your mate anymore."

"Perhaps you're right. I'll have to think about it. I'd better start clearing up. I have work this afternoon."

"And I'd better get back to the office," said Gerald. "We only dropped in because Wendy had an appointment with the physiotherapist at the hospital and we were passing."

"Sorry Wendy, I didn't know. How did it go?"

"Same as usual, no change." She looked disappointed.

"We are off then, Liston. Try not to worry about Sol. I'm sure something will turn up," Gerald said.

"I hope I don't get involved, I don't want any more trouble."

"See you at the weekend, Liston. We're having a BBQ on Saturday."

Gerald pushed Wendy back out of the door. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, Liston noticed. _I must make that door more wheelchair friendly._ He finished cleaning, locked up and went home to change.

***

All the time he kept thinking what to do about Sol.

When he arrived for work the next day, Mr Singh could see he was stressed. Liston got changed into his uniform.

"Have you got a second, Liston?"

"Yes, Mr Singh."

"Is there something wrong, or is there a problem with the cafe?""

"No, but I have a big personal problem I need to deal with."

"Is there anything I can do?" Mr Singh offered.

Liston explained about Sol, about the old days when they did jobs together, about the phone calls, about following him to The Coconut Club – everything. Mr Singh remembered Sol coming into the Wimpy a while ago.

Mr Singh tried to reassure him and told him that if he did the right thing, it would work out fine in the end. Liston was not convinced but it was time to start his shift.

#  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

### Captured

**Detective** Inspector Floyd was going through some reports on his desk. He had been made up to DI a few months earlier. DCI Orchard had taken retirement a year or so earlier. Floyd had passed his DI exam and the job at Trinity Road Police Station became vacant. There were a few other applicants but he sailed through, being a local lad. The superintendent put in a good word for him so he got the job without any problem. He saw John Orchard often – they met at the pub opposite the station – and Nick Floyd kept him up to speed with the cases that Orchard had worked on in the past.

Detective Sergeant Sweet also passed his exam and was now Floyd's number two. They worked well together. DS Sweet was a good, intelligent officer and a big help to Floyd.

Sweet came into the office.

'The desk sergeant has just had a phone call with a tip off from an anonymous caller. They said Solomon Cassells is back in Bristol."

It took Floyd a few seconds to recall the Cassells case, then it all flooded back to him.

"Was it a man or a woman who made the call?"

"The sergeant couldn't really tell, it was all over so quick."

"Did they say anything else?"

"A mumble but nothing the officer could recognize."

"No clue to where Cassells might be at the moment?"

"No sir."

"Get the description circulated to all officers and bring me the old files to go through."

DS Sweet did Floyd's bidding and a short while later placed the files on his desk.

"You go through that half, and I will go through this lot, Sweet."

"OK boss."

They sat in silence for half an hour and read through the reports.

"Not much to go on, sir. I just hope we're lucky and someone spots him."

***

It was Saturday and it was Liston's weekend off. All his family had been invited to a BBQ at Wendy's house so at about lunchtime Agnes called at Tom's with her sister, husband and Lucy. Liston and Tom were ready to go so they all climbed into the car: it was a tight fit.

They arrived at Wendy's house.

"It's very posh," Inez said.

Tom wasn't expecting it to be such a fine house.

Gerald welcomed them in and showed them through to the garden at the rear. The sun was covered by light wispy clouds but it was warm. A slight breeze cooled the air. Wendy greeted them and introduced everyone to her mum. There were some other friends and family of the Parkers there and they were introduced to them all. Gerald was cooking and he was getting stressed, which Liston picked up on.

"Can I give you a hand, Gerald?"

"No, I'm fine. You get a drink and enjoy yourself. Go and talk to Wendy."

Liston didn't take any notice and started to turn the burgers and sausages over.

"It's just like being back at work," he joked with Gerald.

Gerald went back into the kitchen to get some more food and left Liston at the BBQ.

Wendy's mum came over. "Has he lumbered you with the cooking, Liston?" She handed him a pinny. ""Put that on – it will keep the splashes off your clothes."

There was one big garden table with a large green canvas umbrella covering it, and a few small ones scattered around the paved patio. Large buddleia bushes surrounded the patio area, and they were covered with red admiral and tortoiseshell butterflies.

Liston felt at home doing the cooking. He would much rather get stuck in than talk small talk to people he didn't know well. Gerald arrived with more food and placed it on a small table besides the BBQ.

"Are you OK, Liston? I need to get the salad out."

"Sure Gerald, you carry on."

Liston glanced across to Wendy. She was sitting in her wheelchair by the drinks table, serving drinks to people and laughing. A warm feeling came over Liston. _Was it emotion or was he too close to the BBQ?_ Tom and Inez had walked over and started talking to her, Wendy looked across towards him with a big smile on her face. Agnes, Phil and Lucy were running around the lawn chasing a small black dog called Daisy. Lucy thought this was great fun. The little dog put its front paws flat on the grass with its bum in the air and it barked. Lucy wasn't frightened at all.

Phil said, "Do you think we ought to get a dog, Agnes?"

Luckily Lucy didn't hear.

Jane came over to him. "Are you all right? Liston, we didn't invite you just because you can cook, you know."

"I know, but I'm happy to help."

"Do you want me to tell people the food is ready?"

"Just give me five minutes and it will be all good to go."

Everyone was having a great time. The food was going down well and the drink was flowing. Agnes didn't drink anything alcoholic so there would be no problem about who was going to drive home.

Wendy caught Liston on his own eating a burger.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Liston?"

"Yeh, I feel a bit better."

"Has anything happened about Sol?"

"I haven't seen him since the other day in the café so maybe he has backed off."

"I hope so."

The dark started to enclose them. There was still a glow from the BBQ. Some of the guests started to drift away. Lucy was getting tired and a bit agitated so the Pearce family decided to go.

Gerald said goodbye to Liston. "I'm sure your problem with Sol will sort itself out soon."

"Me too."

On the drive home Tom asked Liston what problem Gerald was talking about when they left the party. Liston made some excuse about the work at the Wimpy Bar. He didn't want his father to worry about the problem with Sol.

***

Sweet came into the office first thing Monday morning. Floyd was following in his ex-boss's footsteps by getting in early.

"A report came in over the weekend. One of the officers thinks he may have seen Solomon Cassells going into The Coconut Club Saturday night, sir."

Floyd thought, _If it was, would it be best to go around there or get a watch put on the club? It might scare him off if we turn up and he's not there._

"Get a surveillance team set up to keep an eye on the club, Sweet."

"I'm on it, boss."

Over the next couple of days undercover officers watched the club. They took photographs of people entering and exiting the club, but none of the officers were sure if Cassells had been there or not.

The photographs were passed to DI Floyd. He started going through them with Sweet.

"That looks like him to me, sir," Sweet said.

"You could be right. We will need to keep watch a little longer."

The call came the day after just as DI Floyd and DS Sweet were about to go home: Solomon Cassells had gone into The Coconut Club. Floyd wondered if they needed an armed response team, which would take time to organize. He decided it was better to go in now.

"Sweet, organize as many bodies as you can. We need to get round there straight away."

"Right sir, the dog handler is in the canteen. Do you want me to get him?"

"Yes Sweet."

Sweet assembled a team of about twenty officers, plus the dog handler. They parked their cars as close to the club as they could without attracting attention to themselves.

Floyd ordered officers to cover all the exits. When everyone was in place he gave the order to go. The club had not opened so there wouldn't be many people inside.

Floyd banged on the front door of the club and shouted, "Police, open up."

He could hear something going on inside so he shouted again. "Police, open this door."

He heard someone talking behind the door.

"Just getting the key."

He heard the key turning in the lock. They pushed the door open, almost knocking the guy behind the door to the floor. Most of the officers rushed in.

"Everyone stay where they are," shouted Floyd.

He heard DS Sweet call, "He's making a run for it." Back in the street outside the club Solomon Cassells had tried to sneak out of a side door. He ran up from the basement, pushed a police officer off his feet and started running down the road.

"Teddy, attack." The police dog was let off his leash. Teddy chased down the street and was on Sol in seconds. The dog handler was not too far behind him. Teddy leapt at Sol's arm and shook him like a rag doll. Sol was on the floor now with Teddy still gripping and shaking his arm.

"Off, off," the officer shouted and the dog let go. "Good dog, good dog,"

Another officer had Sol's hands behind his back and in handcuffs.

"Fucking dog," he shouted, and tried to kick out at the dog, but Teddy was too smart for that. He was well out of the way before the kick landed. The officer holding Sol twisted his arm back, and Sol winced with pain.

He was placed in a police car and taken away. The police searched the club and arrested two other men they thought had helped Cassells.

"A good night's work," Floyd said to his men.

All the officers then went back to the station. Solomon Cassells was in a cell to cool off.

"We will question him tomorrow, Sweet."

***

The next day Solomon Cassells was questioned and charged with aiding and abetting, skipping police bail, armed robbery, evading arrest and some drug-related crimes. After appearing at Bristol Crown Court he was sent to prison for six years.

In the meantime, Floyd had spoken to Orchard and kept him up to date.

***

A days or two after the BBQ, Liston was working in the café painting the walls, when Gerald knocked on the window.

"Hi Liston, I was just passing and wondered if you have read last night's evening paper?"

"No, is there something interesting?"

"Your ex-friend Solomon Cassells had been arrested."

"No?"

"Yes. He was arrested at a place called The Coconut Club, not far from here."

"I know it well," Liston remarked. "Does it say how the police found him?"

"No, it just said following information received."

"I can't help feeling a tiny bit sorry for him. We did have some good times."

"I wouldn't waste your regrets on him. He let you down when you needed a friend. I may not agree with your life before you changed, but everyone should be able to count on their friends."

"How's Wendy?" Liston asked.

"She is fine. I think that the girls are trying to organize the opening night party."

"What! When? There is still loads to do – we need to get all the kitchen and bar equipment in first."

"She has had the date for the liquor license application as well, so in about two weeks' time if I remember correctly."

"I would guess there is about another three or four weeks' work, then we can open."

"Are you looking forward to it, Liston?"

"Yeh I am, is Wendy?"

"She is so excited about it. This café has brought a new focus in her life. Anyway, I had better go. I had to check a nearby building over and thought I would pop in. Bye for now."

Liston thought about Sol. _I suppose he's got what he deserved_.

The next few weeks were busy for Liston and Wendy. They got all the equipment installed in the cafe. Wendy went to court and was named the licensee of the premises. The outside sign was ordered and delivered. Liston wanted to leave it until the last day to put it up and he wanted to have a grand uncovering on opening night.

He had finished his job with Mr Singh, which was a bit of an emotional affair. Mr Singh was sorry to see him leave but wished him all the luck and good fortune in the world.

The menu had been decided. It was mostly down to Liston but Wendy did have a few good suggestions. They had some trial runs with different dishes. The Parkers had not eaten much West Indian food so Liston tested the food out on them, some a little less spicy.

The opening night was approaching fast. Gerald had some contacts on the local paper so the press were going to be there on the big night.

Liston was getting stressed as the day got closer but Wendy just seemed to breeze through without a care, which helped calm him down.

Finally they felt they were ready. It was the night before the opening. Liston, Wendy, Gerald, Jane and Tom were all in doing the final preparations and cleaning. The sign had been erected and was covered with a cloth, which would be pulled down at the opening party. When they finished up, everyone was tired so they bought five lots of fish and chips and went back to Tom's house. They ate them with bread and butter and tea.

"I was planning a bit of a do tonight, but this is much better," Gerald remarked.

They all slept like babies that night.

#  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

### The Opening

**It** was the morning of the grand opening of Bristol Soul Food. Everyone involved was up early. Liston and Tom were at the cafe by seven o'clock. Some of the food had been delivered the day before but the bulk of it was being delivered today. Liston had set the bar up a couple of days earlier, so apart from making sure everything was clean and looking neat and tidy there was not much to do in that department.

Inez and Agnes were coming in to help, and one of Tom's friends was helping with the food. The morning progressed with only a few minor upsets. Tom's friend was a large West Indian lady in her fifties called Ruth. She dominated the kitchen with her presence and was an excellent cook. Born and brought up in Jamaica, she knew all the best dishes. Fish soup, pepper pot soup, ackee – Jamaica's national fruit – and saltfish. Ackee mixed with onions, chillies and tomatoes and served with rice was one of Ruth's favourite dishes. The ackee dish was top of the menu, and next was goat curry, another West Indian favourite served with rice and peas. For afters there was homemade Jamaican ice-cream made with coconut. The smells wafting around the small kitchen were wonderful. It reminded Tom of when he was a kid in Jamaica.

"You should write a cook book, Ruth," Tom shouted above the din.

"I ain't givin mi recipes wey to no-one, yuh are a bad mon, Tom Pearce," Ruth laughed as she tried to clout Tom around the head with a tea towel.

Liston was quite happy to let her get on with preparing the food as it gave him time to organize other things.

The Parker family were not coming in until later that afternoon. Wendy and her mum had loads of things to organize. What dress to wear? What shoes? Would this top go with those shoes? It took them hours to get ready. Gerald was on the phone reminding all his contacts and the press about the evening do. They grabbed a bite of lunch but none of them were hungry and everyone was eager to get on. Gerald had organized a taxi to get them to the cafe as they all wanted to get in the swing of things and have a few drinks.

It was lunchtime at Bristol Sole Food, and everyone stopped work for a short while and had a sample of Ruth's food.

"That is the best goat curry I've had for ages," Tom smiled.

"The Jamaican patties are excellent as well," Agnes added, waving her hand in front of her mouth, trying to cool them down.

"Thanks girl," Ruth said with a big beaming smile all over her face.

It was mid-afternoon. Gerald, Jane and Wendy had just arrived.

"Is everything under control?" Gerald asked.

"It's all good, man." Liston slipped into Jamaican dialect, probably because of the food and banter.

Inez was going to run the bar with a little help from her big sister. It might be a recipe for disaster, but only the night would tell.

Gerald asked Liston at what time the steel band were arriving.

"About six thirty. What time is the newspaper reporter getting here?"

"Not sure. I spoke to him on the phone, and he said he was going to try and get here for seven, but it might be a bit later."

An hour or so later everything seemed sorted.

"I'm going home to change," Liston said. "Are you coming with me, Dad?"

"Yes son, just a second and I'll be with you."

They both walked up the street.

"Well son, you have done a great job. Your mother would be so proud of you."

"I feel she is looking down on us anyway, Dad."

They went home, got changed and started to walk back towards the café. They could hear the steel band had arrived long before they got there. They turned the corner into the street and there was the café of Liston's dream. It was starting to get dark now. The lights shone out of the large front windows, the door was open and people were standing all around. The steel band were playing Calypso music, the five players swaying to the beat as the drumsticks danced on top of the brightly painted oil drums. Liston thought, _This is paradise on earth_.

Gerald had hired a photographer to mark the occasion in pictures. He was there, snapping away, the flash gun on his camera going off at regular intervals.

Gerald banged on a small brass bell which was on the counter.

"Has everyone got a drink?"

There was a bit of a rush to the bar, and soon everyone was now holding a glass.

"I would like to propose a toast. To Liston and Wendy – may they have great fun, good luck and make lots of money running this restaurant."

A big shout came up from all the people there.

"To Liston and Wendy."

Then it was Liston's turn. "I would like to thank everyone for their help and support especially my dad, Jane and Gerald, and of course my business partner Wendy."

People started to get in the party mood, eating the delicious food, drinking cocktails, and dancing to the steel band. Mr Singh arrived and wished Liston the best of luck. "But I doubt you will need luck as I am sure this will be a big success," he added.

Pastor Michael arrived with some of the kids that Liston had helped at the youth club. Pastor Michael said a short prayer and blessed the new venture. It was a happy atmosphere.

DI Floyd and DS Sweet pushed their way through the door, and walked towards Liston.

"Mr Liston Pearce, we are arresting you."

There was a stunned silence in the café. Everyone looked shocked. DS Sweet got his handcuffs out.

DI Floyd looked at Liston. "You are under arrest for doing the right thing at the right time, and for trying to make a difference to our community."

Everyone looked at each other and erupted into laughter. Floyd grabbed Liston's hand and shook it so hard it was painful.

"Congratulation Liston, you have done well. I wish you both all the luck in the world. If the food tonight is anything to go by, we will be regular visitors"

"Thanks DI Floyd. You had me going there for a second but I knew you were only joking."

"Call me Nick."

Floyd went outside and brought his wife and two boys into the café and introduced them. Orchard came in a while later and shook Liston's hand. The place was busting at the seams now. The man from the local press had arrived with a photographer. The music, eating and drinking went on for a long while longer. Floyd and his family drifted off, and so did Orchard. Liston paid the band and they packed up their steel drums. Soon there was only close family and friends left in the cafe.

Wendy said, "We forgot the unveiling, Liston."

"We'll do it now," he announced.

They all went out into the street and looked up at the cloth which covered the sign.

"You do it Wendy," Liston told her.

"Me! No, it's your dream come true. You do it."

"Please, I would like you to do it," Liston insisted.

Liston pushed Wendy towards the cord which was hanging down from the sign.

"Let's both do it, Liston."

Wendy and Liston both caught hold of the cord and pulled: the cloth drifted down to the ground like a parachute. There it was, a big multi-coloured sign saying 'Bristol Soul Food'.

Everyone clapped.

"It's too late to clear this lot up tonight. We're not opening for another day so we can do it tomorrow,"" Liston said.

The taxi arrived for Gerald and his family. Agnes took Inez, Phil and Lucy home.

Liston and Tom put all the leftover food in the fridge, set the alarm and locked up.

As they were walking home, Liston said, "I almost shit myself when Floyd came in."

Tom said, "I did too!"

They both laughed out loud and walked up the road arm in arm.

Bristol Soul Food had been opened a couple of weeks. It was doing well. They had bookings every night and the take-away was busy too. As far as they could tell, they were making plenty of money. There had been some excellent write-ups in the local papers' food columns and customers were returning, which they knew was a good sign.

Liston had finished clearing down and the café was closed. Wendy and Liston were sitting at a table finishing a cup of coffee.

"Can I ask you a question, Liston?"

"Course you can. What is it?"

"Why did you save my life?"

Liston sat back in his chair for a second or two.

"I've thought about it a lot over the years and I'm not really sure. I'd just been to visit my sister, and I was happy to have seen her. Then the next thing I saw was you being attacked. I reacted. Maybe you reminded me of my sister –– young, full of life with your whole future stretching out in front of you, I don't know."

"Have you ever regretted it?"

"Not for a second," he said as he placed his large hand on top of hers.

THE END
