Nothing but Meat: A dark, heart-stopping British crime thriller Page 12

  The station was tired and the officers had been working around the clock chasing dead ends, morale was down and Jackson’s outburst had startled them - but in a good way. West watched the room of uniforms shuffle in their seats and sit more upright. They were suddenly more alert. It was like a slap in the face or a mouthful of good espresso.

  Prior to the meeting Jackson and West had spent time breaking the case into prioritised leads and dividing up the workforce. Jackson now assigned his people according to their previous discussion. He barked names and shouted orders, creating new units to follow predetermined leads. West watched as notes were taken and questions asked, ideas and suggestions were thrown around, he was pleased, Jackson had fired them up, he had them working for each other; all pursuing a common goal and the room had begun to buzz with a new found determination and lust for capture. Things were moving again.

  Simone had been assigned to a unit that had been tasked with following up the Stevens attack. West explained that he needed to spend some time with his father and she would be of better use to the case if she teamed up with one of the units. She made sure she kept a professional attitude towards his suggestion and agreed willingly but she felt quite saddened to find out she would no longer be spending her days with him. She thought she had managed to disguise it well enough and didn’t think he had noticed her disappointment but she wanted to spend as much time with him as she could. Days spent with him just weren’t long enough.

  Walk Through Fire:

  Part 1

  Love Burns - 1990

  To overcome an addiction one must first learn to control it. Nathan West understood this and had control of his demons but in times of intense pressure or stress they reared up and he succumbed to the weakness that had plagued his life for as long as he could remember. The scars on his hands bore the evidence of his addiction - starting fires and watching things burn was the vice that gripped him more than anything else ever could. It was his first infatuation; his first slutty girlfriend – it was nothing less than his own favourite shot of filthy, yet glorious heroin.

  It started with the fireplace at his grandparent’s house where as a child he would sit and watch the flames for as long as he was allowed. He would feed the fire with anything that would burn and watch with quiet fascination as the edges curled black and then like magic, the material burst into life and floated, reduced to ash, into the chimney, like a soft grey spectre.

  He soon graduated to matches but was too young to buy them and so he would steel them whenever he saw them lying around or reluctantly use his pocket money to pay older kids to go into the nearby newsagent and get as many boxes as he could afford. He went to the woods alone and built campfires in secluded spots but was always careful not to let the flames spread or get out of control. He made a perimeter of damp earth to cage the flames and kept a pile of dirt close by in case he had to smother them. The precautions he took went against the deep seated urge he felt to burn the woods to the ground but even at such a young age he could see beyond mindless destruction and suppressed it, knowing that if he did something so extreme and got caught, not only would the punishment be severe he would be exposed and shamed.

  After matches came fireworks – not the big impersonal displays that people cooed over at the beginning of November, but explosives of his own invention. As Bonfire Night drew near he would spend every penny he had on fireworks, take them home and dismantle them in his bedroom so he could make his own explosives by packing the gunpowder, the fuses and the chemicals into cans and bottles and sealing them with Duct tape.

  Once built, he could only hope that the explosives would actually work and when the fuse was lit there was nothing he could do about it but wait for it to go off and see what happened.

  Although hungry for destruction Nathan was content to set his fireworks off in a controlled and safe way, happy to watch the outcome of his labour at a safe distance but Martin encouraged him to put his inventions into increasingly dangerous places. They put them into hedges and bins, and under cars too, and then once, most dangerously of all, through the letterbox of a school rival.

  He built the bomb in his bedroom with his usual degree of care and precision but he didn’t commit the crime. He didn’t light the fuse and shove it into the letterbox of a family home - Nathan West was too restrained, too sensible for that. It was Martin Stewart who snatched it from his hand and lit it as he ran up the driveway and shoved it through the front door.

  As soon as he did it Nathan ran. He heard the firework pop inside the house and then later the shrill sound of sirens as the fire brigade tore through the village.

  Nathan was as furious with himself for allowing such a reckless thing to happen as he was with Martin for actually doing it, but they were lucky, they were never caught and heard through the school grapevine that the firework didn’t really go off, and after its initial pop only managed to fizzle and smoulder on the doormat.

  As teenagers Nathan West and Martin Stewart spent a lot of time together but they weren’t really friends and they didn’t really get along but there was a common factor that meant they had to tolerate one another when they spent time in each other’s company. Thanks to Martin’s twin sister, Laura, Martin and Nathan had a mutual friend.

  Simone Connelly.

  The four of them got together most evenings after school. They hung-out on their bikes, drank cider and smoked, scrawled graffiti on walls and howled like lunatics until they had to go home.

  It was difficult to find entertainment in a small village in the middle of nowhere but better things awaited them and it would only be a matter of time before at least one of them began driving lessons, passed their test, and got a car. Nathan was a couple of months older than the others and soon the pressure would be on him to pass his test and get their ticket into town. But he no longer knew them when the time came.

  Martin was trying to be funny, he was showing off in front of Simone and Nathan knew it. He only hoped that Simone knew it too and wouldn’t fall for his bullshit. They were walking through the fields of wheat that spread out from their village in an undulating sea of yellow and green and every time Simone laughed at one of Martin’s stupid, obvious jokes a small piece of Nathan died inside.

  Nathan was supposed to be with Martin’s sister – that was how the group dynamic should have been: Nathan and Laura, Martin and Simone. But Nathan didn’t want to be with Laura. Not because she wasn’t attractive, she most definitely was; she had a great figure and long strawberry-blonde hair that looked as equally good when it was tied up as it did when she let it fall past her shoulders and frame her delicate face. She also had a slightly wonky right eye, which instead of spoiling her looks, somehow added to them by giving her more sex appeal. Laura was easy too, and while a girl as easy as she was beautiful was every teenage boy’s fantasy she just didn’t do it for Nathan. He only had eyes for one girl but he wasn’t sure Simone felt the same way. It churned him up inside but he just didn’t know how to tell her how he felt.

  They arrived at the farm on the far side of the field and ducked down so they wouldn’t be seen. It was early Sunday evening and the sun was still beating down but the farm was quiet. They scooted into one of the hay barns and threw themselves down. They had no plans to go there and they didn’t intend to cause trouble, the farm was just somewhere they ended up. It was somewhere different, a change from the playing fields, the bus shelter, or the breaker’s yard where they fired catapult shots into the windows of scrapped cars and stole VW badges to sell at school to the Beastie Boys fans too shit scared to steal one for themselves.

  They sat in the hay and it felt good to get out of the sun, they had been smoking and drinking whiskey for the best part of the afternoon but their alcoholic buzz had begun to wear off. The farmhouse was a long way up a dusty track and they were in more danger of being seen than heard but they still tried to keep their voices down as much as they could.

  Laura climbed to the top of the stack and skinned up while
Martin paced around and pretended to be bored – he wasn’t getting as much attention from Simone as he would have liked.

  ‘Let’s do something,’ he said.

  Nathan sipped from what was left of the whiskey and passed it to Simone. He began to skin up his own joint and told Martin to relax and sit down but Martin ignored him.

  ‘Come on you boring fuckers,’ he said. ‘Let’s do something.’

  Simone said, ‘What do you want to do?’ and Nathan wondered if she knew she was encouraging him. He hoped she was just humouring him, but Martin would do anything she asked, and if she had told him to sit down, he would have.

  ‘I’m going to look round.’

  ‘Don’t get seen,’ said Laura from the haystack with a voice croaky from lungs full of smoke and pot.

  ‘Anyone coming with me?’ said Martin, throwing an open hint to Simone even to Nathan, hoping that if one of them said yes the others would follow and he may be able to manipulate a scenario that found him on his own with Simone while Laura took care of Nathan. No one spoke, Simone just reached up and took the joint from Laura and lay back into the hay. She was sitting next to Nathan, and Martin didn’t like it, he had tried to get them away from each other but now he was stuck, he would look a fool if he just sat back down; he had no choice other than to leave them alone together and go for a look around the farm on his own.

  He left the cool shade of the barn and squinted into the sun as he checked the house for signs of life - still nothing. He kicked dust as he walked. If only his fucking sister would try harder with Nathan, he was always dropping hints to her in an attempt to get her to pull him but she wasn’t having any of it. He knew what she was like, he had heard the stories about her; she screwed everyone else at school why the hell wouldn’t she screw Nathan?

  He imagined Simone and Nathan whispering to each other while his stoner sister sat on her own and stared at the roof. There wasn’t jack shit to do in this farmyard and he knew it. Lots of big hay barns and bugger all else. He climbed into the driving seat of a tractor and considered starting it up but then he spotted something by one of the barns that would be more than enough to take Nathan’s attention from Simone.

  When he went back to the barn it looked like they were kissing – they were close and broke away quickly when he entered.

  He’s pulled her! He thought. That fucking hippy bastard!

  Nathan cleared his throat and asked Martin if he’d found anything as he tilted his head to relight his joint with his Zippo. Martin noticed a glance and a coy smile pass between the two of them and tried to read it; was it guilt, embarrassment, the need to employ new found discretion so they didn’t get caught by him again?

  What a cunt he is! He thought. He’s pulled her, just then while I was outside. That’s pissed me right off. Right fucking off! His mind whirled with rage and he was chewed up inside but what could he do about it? Fuck all. He pretended not to notice. ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Did you find anything?’ said Nathan.

  ‘Something you might like.’

  ‘Really?’

  Martin could tell Nathan wanted to be alone with her again but Simone spoiled his plans; she stood up and said, ‘What is it?’

  She was proving herself to be a right little tart, he thought. What was she up to; was she trying to play them off against each other? It didn’t matter, she could play all the games she liked; he’d get Nathan away from her eventually. ‘Come on I’ll show you,’ he said and made sure she was following him before he left the barn again. Nathan followed too like a good little doggy and Martin was sure he saw him lick his lips when he showed them what he’d found: Nathan’s drug of choice on a plate.

  Ah yes, the sparks were going to fly.

  By the side of one of the barn walls sat a large metal drip tray. It had been empty when Martin first found it but he’d filled it with fuel from a jerry can he found near the tractor.

  It was liquid heroin to Nathan, and Martin knew it. It was mostly petrol but traces of mixed fuel and rainwater had created rainbow swirls on the surface. It shone attractively in the sun and they could smell the fumes in the air.

  Martin said, ‘Light it,’ and he could tell Nathan wanted to.

  ‘No,’ said Nathan, he wasn’t a fool; he knew it was too risky and they could be easily caught.

  Simone turned to leave. ‘C’mon you two. Let’s just leave it alone and go,’ she said, hoping they would listen to her so she could get Nathan clear from temptation.

  ‘Fuck that,’ said Martin. ‘Let’s light it up.’

  Laura had left the barn and now stood next to Simone. ‘What’s going on?’ she said.

  ‘They want to light that tray of petrol.’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘It’s not cool,’ she said loudly. ‘Let’s just go.’

  ‘Go on Nathan light it,’ said Laura and giggled.

  ‘Stop it Laura don’t encourage them to be idiots.’

  ‘I want to see it go up.’

  ‘You’re on your own then,’ she said. ‘All of you.’

  Martin saw Simone turn away and said to Nathan, ‘Give me your lighter. I’ll light the fucker if you won’t.’ Martin could sense how badly Nathan wanted to be the one to light it and to feel the flames lick his face. He just needed that extra push and now Saint Simone had gone, Martin was sure he would be able to talk him into doing it.

  Nathan handed over his brass Zippo; it was a special edition engraved with the Marlboro logo and one that he had ordered from the States after saving up and sending off what seemed like a hundred Marlboro packs. Martin flicked it open and lit it. He held the dancing flame in front of Nathan. ‘Go on,’ he said, ‘you know you want to be the one who does it. We can easily smother it; there’s dirt everywhere.’

  Martin didn’t really think Nathan would cross the line but he underestimated the hunger that consumed him. Simone was out of sight when Nathan took the lighter, he hesitated, mesmerised by the flame just long enough for Martin to consider knocking it out of his hand and into the fuel when Nathan let go of it.

  They watched it tumble towards the fumes; brass and twisting flame flashed in the sun. There was an enormous WHUMP and they threw themselves back to avoid the flash of searing heat that instantly kissed them.

  When Nathan dropped the lighter he knew it could be his downfall but he just couldn’t help himself; he lay on his back, propped up by his elbows and looked at the fire in awe but it was quickly growing out of control. He jumped up and began scrabbling around for dirt to throw onto the flames but handfuls were useless, he needed a shovel. Then, within seconds the drip tray buckled and split and the burning fuel spilled out like lava across the hay-strewn floor.

  Martin grabbed Nathan’s arm and spun him around. He shouted gleefully into his face, ‘You’ve done it now you fucking dickhead!’ and then he turned, grabbed his sister and ran for the hills leaving Nathan to deal with the fire.

  When Nathan grabbed a nearby bucket of water and threw it onto the flames he quickly learned that it was the worst possible thing he could have done - the chemical reaction between the superheated petrol and the water molecules caused the furious drip tray to explode in a violent roar that immediately engulfed the side of the barn.

  Panic-stricken, there was nothing left for him to do but run.

  And run he did. Into the field, thrusting himself through the wheat, feeling the ploughed, arid earth try to take his feet and twist his ankles beneath him. His heart pounded and he gasped for breath with pot-weakened lungs while acidic whiskey reflux burned hotly in his chest and throat.

  Nathan reached the other side of the field and stopped to get his breath; he dropped to the ground for cover and willed his heart rate to return to normal. He looked towards the farm and to the thick column of black smoke that poured into the sky.

  He was alone, the others were long gone and he had to get home too, he had to shower away the stench of smoke and fuel and distance himself from the crime.

  The
following morning Steven West was about to leave for work when his son ambled into the kitchen and started making breakfast seemingly oblivious to his presence.

  ‘Good morning to you too,’ he said sarcastically.

  Nathan turned around with kettle in hand, scruffy haired and wearing a crumpled T-shirt printed with the slogan Metal Up Your Ass. ‘Morning,’ he said.

  ‘Bit early for you isn’t it?’

  ‘Not really, do you want another cup of tea?’

  ‘No thanks, I haven’t finished this one yet and I’ve got to go to work in a minute.’

  Nathan dropped some bread into the toaster and the kitchen fell silent except for the radio, which, until then had been on quietly in the background. It was half past the hour and when the news came on and the volume suddenly seemed louder. Nathan stood with his back to his father, staring at the glowing elements in the toaster as they began to turn the bread and listened to the national news reports. An impassive voice reported news of a fire at a farm in Cambridgeshire that had left four injured and one man critically ill in hospital. An investigation into the cause of the fire was underway but the possibility of arson had not been ruled out. Suddenly the toaster popped and Nathan jumped. His toast was burnt and smoking around the edges.

  His father was by the kitchen door. ‘I’m going now. I’ll see you later on,’ he said. He looked at the smoking toast. ‘Open the window Nathan, or you’ll set the bloody fire alarm off.’

  ‘Yeah, I will,’ he said. ‘See you tonight.’ He was in a daze. He walked to the window and opened it, everything about his being felt unnatural, his mind felt detached from his actions, robotic, as if under remote control.