I: Loose Ends
His knees creaked as he knelt to grab the weed that had sprouted in his flower bed. It was unseasonably warm; warm enough to justify the white shorts he wore to potter around in the garden. It had been the best part of a decade since he had retired but he still didn't feel comfortable in his civvies. He thought of his uniform hanging in the wardrobe and felt a pang of regret as he remembered he would never wear it again. Too old now. The world had moved on and left him behind. He leaned back and let out a deep sigh. How long would he have to endure the boredom of a normal life? His mind flashed back to his meeting with the doctor yesterday and he knew it wouldn't be too long. Soon he would be able to rest.
He continued to dig through his flower beds though he had little reason to. He lived alone, and he didn't care what his neighbours thought of the state of his garden. He was just killing time until the inevitable. His doctor had recommended gardening to him when he was still with the force, back when high blood pressure was his biggest worry. He had never got any enjoyment from it but what else was he going to fill the long and lonely days? He thought back to those days at Sun Hill. Days that felt too long ago now. They had been good times, hadn't they? Certainly, long enough had passed for him to remember them as such. He had retired at the top of his profession. He had been a good copper he knew that and the streets were a much safer place because of him. But there was still that doubt in the back of his mind. What if…?
A shadow fell across the flower bed and he held his hand up to block the sun from his eyes. He could just make out a figure stood just beyond the line of his property.
"Can I help you?" he called.
"Superintendent Meadows?" asked a woman's voice "Jack Meadows?"
"I've not been superintendent for a long time," he replied, trying to keep the bitterness out of his laugh as he struggled to stand up.
He walked towards the young woman and was hit by a flash of recognition.
"Do I know you, love?" he asked, confused.
She couldn't have been more than seventeen with long, red hair and eyes he was sure he had seen before.
"My name is Lucy Stanton, you knew my moth.. you knew my parents," she replied her eyes filling with tears.
"John?" he whispered in realisation.
She nodded in reply as a tear trickled down her face.
"You better come in then," he said gesturing for her to follow him into the house.
She sat in the uncomfortable chair, the one that had come as part of a pair that no one else had ever sat in, as he made them tea. He watched her scanning the living room. She looked at the pictures on the mantlepiece of the kids that never came to see him and the grandkids he had never met. She glanced over his commendations, his medals and the pictures of him shaking hands with his superiors. The pictures were fading ghosts of the man he had once been. He found himself smiling at one taken a quarter of a century ago. Had his hair really been as long as that? He placed the tray with two cups of tea and half a packet of stale digestives on the table between their chairs and sat down.
"I'm sorry I didn't have much in, I don't get many visitors," he said sadly.
She dismissed this politely and took a sip of tea.
"So, you're John Boulton's kid?" he asked still struggling to wrap his head around the revelation.
"Yeah though I never met him obviously," she replied bitterly "mum found out she was pregnant not long after he died. She didn't want me growing up knowing what happened, so she kept me secret from anyone that knew him. Not sure she would have ever told me the truth…if it wasn't for him."
Meadows didn't know how to respond. Her anger was palpable. Anger for who though? Her mother? The man who had killed her father? Or maybe it was him. He had to take some of the responsibility? What happened nearly two decades ago had come very close to destroying his career. It had destroyed the careers of many of his colleagues. And John Boulton had lost much more. He had thought of John often over the years. A bit of guilt that never went away.
"I'm sorry…" he began but she interrupted him much to his relief as he had no idea what to say to her.
"Did you know he was back in Sun Hill?" she asked, anger flushing her face.
"What? Who?" he asked in confusion.
"The bastard that murdered my dad," she spat viciously "Don fucking Beech."
His fists clenched in fury. Nearly fifteen years ago the disgraced Beech had escaped from custody and as far as Meadows had known hadn't been heard from again. He considered Beech the only loose end he left behind when he left Sun Hill.
"If you know where he is go to the police. I've still got a few contacts at the nick if you want me to put you in touch," he said pulling out his aging mobile and scrolling through the list of contacts trying to find someone still in the job.
"Don't waste your time, Mr Meadows," she said angrily "they already know he's back, but they won't touch him. Not now."
He reeled in shock. How could they ignore Don Beech? The man had murdered a fellow copper. No one with any decency who protect a cop killer especially not one that had been on the force themselves. He felt the bile rising in his throat. But what could he do now?
"I'm sorry love but I'm not sure how I can help you. Like I said I've been out of the job for six years now and they won't listen to me anymore than they'll listen to you now."
She pulled out a thick brown envelope and threw it on the table between them in disgust. He picked it up and read her name on the front and saw a wad of fifty-pound notes sticking out of the back. He opened the envelope and leafed through countless grubby, blood-stained bank notes.
"There's ten grand in there. I've been getting them monthly since I turned sixteen," she explained in disgust "had no idea where they were coming from at first. Didn't really care to be honest. Ten gees a month at sixteen who really cares where it comes from eh? But then I met him. He came to the house and told me he knew my dad. He was creepy. I didn't like the way he made me feel. Too touchy feely, I'm sure you remember what he was like. Mum came home and found him getting a bit too close for comfort and she flipped out. Screaming at him and she went for him. Scratched him real good and all. But he just laughed and pushed her down. Walked out of there without a care in the world. Mum cried and cried and then she called the police. She jacked it in a few years back but she still knows people on the force. I guess none of you really walk away do you? Anyway, a couple of plods came out to the house and told us to stop wasting police time. After they left she told me everything; she told me who he was and what he had done. She told me about my dad. Told me everything."
Her eyes had filled with tears again, but she was determined to get it all out now and he respected her for it.
"She wanted me to throw that money out, but I didn't. I've kept it every month. His fucking blood money. The price of a man's life I guess. I've got a hundred and fifty grand and I want you to take it."
He looked at her in shock.
"What?" he asked no longer following what she was talking about.
"I want to hire you Mr Meadows. One hundred and fifty thousand pounds to bring a killer to justice. The police won't touch him and I can't stand the thought of him out there free to live his life whilst the dad I never knew rots."
"Miss Stanton, I can't… I'm not a vigilante."
"Please Mr Meadows. You owe it to my father. They tell me you were a good copper in your time. Prove it. Get justice for my dad. Get justice for John Boulton. And anyone else Don Beech has hurt over the years. It's the least you can do."
He was going to protest. Tell her couldn't. He had been a good copper, he had been the best. Like all good coppers he could bend the rules, but he rarely broke them. He never went too far. Could he really risk that legacy now? He looked at the pictures of his kids. The kids that never came to see him. What did his legacy mean to them? At best he had six months left and what his reputation as a good copper bring them any comfort? A hundred and fifty thousand pounds could make a real difference to their lives and he would be able to look himself in the mirror again. And Don Beech would finally face justice.
"I'll do it," he said firmly.
She gave him a grim smile and handed him the rest of the money.
"Thank you," she said, and he showed her out.
She gave him her mobile number and asked him to keep her up to date on what was happening. He promised her he would, and he watched her walk away looking like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Lifted from hers but piled straight on to his and he wasn't sure he was strong enough to lift that weight anymore. But he had to. For that poor girl who had grown up without her dad. For every innocent person that ever came in to contact with that bastard Don Beech. For John Boulton the man who paid with his life for being an honest cop. And most importantly for himself. No loose ends he thought. I'll leave this world with no regrets hanging over me. He pulled out his mobile phone once again and scrolled through the list of contacts until he reached W. He pushed the button with the fading green phone and the screen lit up as it began to ring.
"Mickey? It's Jack Meadows. Been a long time. Don't suppose you'd be free to meet today would you?"
Meadows's resolve toughened. Don Beech was going down and he would be the one to make it happen.