Eddie wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve and slid the album across so they could share it. The contents were as Jack expected: Eddie and Harry as boys, then teens, then adults together with their respective families. Eddie was finding it difficult to talk. He just kept tapping photos; some of them meant nothing to Jack, some meant everything. The protective cover on each page had done its job well over the passing years and the images were still in pristine condition: Eddie’s mum and dad, their old homes, Harry’s parents. There was a photo of Harry on a bicycle with drop handlebars.
‘He gave me that bike. He got a new one every year... so, I did too.’ Page after page of Jack’s history. ‘This is his wedding.’
Harry was wearing a Tommy Nutter suit that he’d had made for him. Beside him, Dolly looked pale-faced, wearing a neat suit and carrying a small bouquet of flowers. There was page after page of Eddie’s wife Jackie, of Liam and Jason. As the boys grew, most of the photos became about Jason; he was usually in leathers on the back of a motorbike, giving a smouldering look to the camera. Eddie closed the album.
‘When I drove Dolly to Harry’s funeral, and I knew she was burying someone else’s charred, broken bones, I remember feeling the same as when I buried Jason. I looked down at both coffins and thought, It’s OK, Eddie, lad. There’s no one in there that you know. My whole life, I’ve been thinking Jason or Harry could walk back in through that door at any moment... and here you are, Jack. A bit of both of ’em. Who’d believe it, eh?’
Jack got up to return the album to the bureau. By the time he’d walked the length of the room, one photo of Harry Rawlins had made its way into his pocket.
‘Harry Rawlins was a man amongst men, Jack,’ Eddie said as he shuffled to the front door to see Jack out. ‘He had the ability to make you not only trust him but want to protect him. He rarely smiled, but when he did, those dark eyes of his would light up. That made me proud to be close to him. I wish you’d known him at his best.’
Back in the street, Jack’s heart was beating out of his chest. Why? Why was he excited his father was a man who walked all over people? Why was he excited he was a man who didn’t seem capable of loving anyone for long? Jack was not callous and cruel. Jack was not in this world to take what he wanted and fuck the consequences. But there was something that he yearned for — a space deep in his very soul that needed to be filled. For the first time in a very long time, Jack felt like he’d stumbled on a world he belonged in. It wasn’t the lawlessness, it was the excitement. Jason had lived a short, vibrant life with no regrets, whereas Liam would live a long, predictable life. Which was best?
Jack looked at his mobile. Shit! There was a voicemail from Laura. He’d been so engrossed in his conversation with Eddie, he hadn’t even felt it vibrate. Barry Cooper was about to be taken down in a synchronised raid from two Armed Response Units and Ridley’s team were all heading there to make the arrest. All except Jack.
Chapter 28
Barry was squatting in the corner of the kitchen, feeding a tiny tortoiseshell cat. His forearm was in a cast and the plaster was covered in penned obscenities, mainly drawings, from various army mates. Four kittens lay in a cut-down crisp box under the workbench and when the mother climbed back into the box, three of the little kittens smelt their way straight to her and fed like there was no tomorrow — but the smallest didn’t stir. Barry picked this little one up, took it out of the back door and, moments later, came back empty-handed. The mother cat didn’t even look up.
This property was a ground floor flat in a four-storey terraced house. From the outside, it looked rather opulent, but this part of Essex had recently been reclaimed by the council to create housing for soldiers. One of Barry’s army buddies, Topper, lived there in between deployments but, today, Topper had gone to Colchester Garrison for a stint at training the Army Reserve. He’d be away for three days and had said that Barry could lie low until whatever shit he was in had passed.
Barry made himself a cuppa and went into the front room. A camp bed stood upright against the wall in the corner of the room and, behind the armchair, were two khaki rucksacks — one small, one large. Barry was trying to take up as little living space as possible. As he settled down to watch a movie from Topper’s extensive horror collection, he was oblivious to the vast number of eyes on him.
Ridley wasn’t part of the Armed Response Unit briefing, but he knew that he’d get the nod when the time was right. He and his team would follow at a distance and, when Barry was disarmed and prone on the ground, they’d move in for the arrest. Intelligence had confirmed that Barry had no army-issue weapons in his possession, but Ridley was taking no chances with someone who had been part of the armed gang from the 1995 train robbery.
Jack raced towards Essex, suffering a bit from the effects of the whisky. Ridley had rallied his team without even asking where Jack was. He’d stopped caring. So, Laura wasn’t exactly going against any orders by guiding Jack to their location via a series of text messages.
The terraced building had a shared stairwell, so the Armed Response Units had to be very careful to cut off all routes to the other properties. If Barry made it into a neighbouring flat, the shit would really hit the fan. So, one ARU would block his route upstairs and out the front, while a second unit headed round the back to block the rear. Barry would have nowhere to run.
What the police didn’t know was that the third floor flat was also occupied by soldiers on leave.
Barry’s mobile buzzed:
Armed cops out front. Back clear for now.
He grabbed the smaller of the two rucksacks and put it securely on his back. He then pulled two handguns from under the cushion on the chair where he sat, tucking the Webley Mk IV .38 calibre into his waistband at the small of his back; this gun had seen his dad safely through World War II and was now Barry’s lucky charm. Holding the street-bought Glock 9 mm, Barry walked quietly through the kitchen. The tortoiseshell cat looked up at him through sleepy eyes, while her three remaining kittens, now with full bellies, slept soundly.
In the backyard, Barry glanced up at the third floor, where a silhouetted figure signalled that five armed officers were approaching from the west. Barry signalled his thanks and headed east, towards the rural stretch of track running between Colchester and Hythe railway stations.
The ARUs entered Barry’s flat on a simultaneous command. They cleared each room they passed through and met in the middle. Nothing. In the lounge, a furious Ridley found the large rucksack down the side of the armchair, with the words ‘Pte Cooper’ sewn into the inner lining. The clothes inside were used as a scent reference for the second wave deployment: the Dog Unit.
Barry was making his way along the trackside, under Brook Street pedestrian bridge and on towards Hythe. Anik and Laura were moving in sync with the ARU up ahead, keeping the designated distance — no more, no less. Ridley, on the other hand, was discovering that his brown patent leather brogues were not cut out for muddy terrain — he’d not actually chased anyone in years, and he hadn’t expected to be doing it today. He’d planned to have Barry Cooper handed to him on a plate, after which he’d give up the names of his crew in exchange for a lighter prison sentence. No such luck.