'Blackmail' - Sample Text
‘This isn’t a robbery,’ said the voice. ‘Just do as we say and no-one will get hurt.’ He indicated to Campion that he should get out of bed. As he was doing so, the second person unplugged the telephone. Campion put on his dressing gown then told his wife to stay where she was. ‘Your wife and son are going for a little ride,’ said the voice. ‘They’re not going anywhere,’ replied Campion, firmly ‘They won’t be away long – providing you do as we say.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Later,’ replied the voice. ‘Let’s deal with Celia and the boy first, shall we?’ So, this was planned? The gunman knew the name of Campion’s wife. It was also obvious they were familiar with the layout of the house. ‘And if I refuse to let you take them?’ The man laughed. ‘And how do you think you’re going to stop us? You’re not in court now, your honour. You’ll do as I say or live with the consequences.’ The judge moved towards the gunman who responded by pushing the shortened barrels in to his chest. ‘Do you really want to find out what those consequences will be?’ Campion turned to his wife and then faced the gunman again. ‘I cannot permit you to take them. You need to think of the consequences for yourselves - when you’re caught, it will be life imprisonment all round!’ The gunman laughed again. ‘Will it, indeed? But we’re not going to be caught because you’re going to be sensible and do as we say.’ Campion made a further move towards the gun. At that, the gunman struck him across the forehead with stock of the gun, knocking him back on to the bed. Celia Campion screamed. The child was now crying for his father. ‘Now that wasn’t very sensible, was it?’
A Private & Convenient Place - Sample Text
You are presently a serving prisoner at HMP Long Lartin?’ ‘I am.’ ‘And your total sentence?’ Duffy’s voice dropped. ‘Twenty years.’ ‘Do speak up,’ said the judge, wearily. ‘Twenty years,’ repeated the witness more distinctly. ‘You pleaded guilty to a number of offences I think?’ ‘Yes. Conspiracy to kidnap, conspiracy to blackmail and conspiracy to rob.’ ‘And?’ ‘Oh, yes. Possession of a firearm. I’d forgotten about that. I received a concurrent sentence for that. ’Your name when you were younger was Maguire?’ ‘Yes. It was my mother’s surname. I never knew my father. It turned out that his name was Duffy. I changed my name after my mother died. It was only after her death that I found out about him.’ Duffy was beginning to sound a little more confident, his nervousness subsiding as he described his family circumstances. ‘He’s dead vow, I think?’ ‘Yes,’ replied Duffy without emotion. ‘He died in Parkhurst.’ ‘The prison on the Isle of Wight?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You have other convictions which preceded your latest offences?’ ‘A bit of shoplifting when I was younger – and there were the armed robberies, of course. I got ten for those, reduced to eight on appeal.’ ‘And when you came out of prison for those offences you changed your name again?’ ‘I did.’ ‘To Patrick Lafferty?’ ‘That’s right.’ ‘Why?’ ‘To get a fresh start. Patrick Lafferty was the name of someone who died in a speedboat accident in Corfu. We were about the same age and apparently he looked a bit like me, not that I ever met him. He didn’t need it any more, so I took it over.’ ‘Took it over?’ interjected the judge. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘It’s a long story, your honour.’ ‘I thought it might be. Do go on Mr Cronshaw.’ ‘Did you have any assistance in “taking over” this identity?’ ‘Yes, from Gus Grayling.’ ‘Who is or was Gus Grayling?’ ‘A businessman who lived in Hastings. He’s dead now. Died last year.’ ‘A businessman? I think he was a bit more than that Mr Duffy?’ ‘He dabbled a bit in crime, but he never got done for anything. He was always too smart for that. Never laid a glove on him the police, not that they didn’t try.’ Duffy now sounded more self-assured as he glanced occasionally at the jury. Linking himself with Grayling seemed to enhance his standing, a least in his own eyes. ‘The man who died in Corfu, he was a distant relative of Grayling?’ ‘Yes. And my Kelly’s mother was a niece of his. So I was almost family.’’ ‘Whose idea was it that you should use his identity?’ ‘It was a joint decision.’ Obviously, but whose idea was it?’
The Harman Brief - (Chapter 1 - extract)
Joseph Harman was fast asleep when the front door of Cleveland House was forced open. He didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs or the door to his friend’s room bursting open. He only started to come round as the detective sergeant grabbed his arm and shook him vigorously. ‘Come on, wakey, wakey.’ Joseph groaned and tried to turn over. He was lying on a leather chesterfield couch dressed in only his boxer shorts and socks, a blanket half covering him. His black chinos and fashionable dark blue shirt were strewn over the floor and his upturned shoes partly hidden under a glass-topped coffee table. An empty vodka bottle stood by the side of the sofa and a mobile phone lay on top of the table. The police officer continued to shake him. Joseph opened his eyes slowly. ‘Who are you?’ he asked, drowsily. ‘What are you doing here?’ He glimpsed a uniformed constable standing by the door. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Hickman. I’m arresting you on suspicion of rape and sexual assault. You don’t have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’ Joseph sat bolt upright. He was now wide awake. ‘What? Rape? I haven’t raped anybody. Who says I have?’ The detective sergeant ignored him. ‘That’ll all be explained down the station. What’s your full name? ‘Joseph Francis Harman.’ ‘Date of birth?’ ‘Sixteenth of February nineteen ninety-eight.’ ‘Are these the clothes you were wearing last night?’ He indicated the shirt on the floor. ‘Yes, why? ‘Do you have something else you can put on?’ ‘No. I don’t live here. This is my mate’s room.’ ‘Where’s your mate?’ ‘I don’t know. At his girlfriend’s place I would think.’ He rubbed his eyes, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders, revealing his muscular physique. ‘Where do you live then?’ asked the officer, eying Joseph’s build. Hickman was in reasonable condition but he realised he was no match for his suspect if anything kicked off. He instinctively felt in his coat pocket for his handcuffs and glanced towards the constable by the door. ‘At home with my parents.’ ‘Where’s that?’ ‘I’d rather not say. I don’t want you bothering them.’ ‘Please yourself. But you’ll need to tell us later. No chance of bail without an address, you know.’ ‘Bail?’ ‘Yes. I presume you’ll want to go home after you’ve been interviewed? We’ll have to check you out of course. Ever been in trouble before?’ Joseph shook his head but did not speak. Was this really happening to him? He was now leaning forward with his head in his hands. The officer walked to a wardrobe against the far wall and opened it. He rummaged through the clothing hanging there while the uniformed constable opened the window in an effort to rid the room of its somewhat stale odour. ‘Will your mate mind if you put on some of these clothes?’ asked Hickman. ‘I don’t know, do I? And I’m much taller than he is. Anyway, why can’t I put on my own clothes?’ ‘We need them for forensic examination. Standard practice. You can keep the boxers on until we get to the station. If you won’t put any of these on, you’ll have to come with us as you are. Get that blanket round you. I’m going to have to cuff you as well.’ ‘There’s no need for that.’ The officer frowned. ‘Rules is rules.’ He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket. ‘Front or back?’ ‘Do I have a choice?’ ‘Of course.’ Joseph offered up his hands and the detective sergeant placed the handcuffs over his wrists and clicked them into place. There was a look of resignation on Joseph’s face. ‘Is this something to do with that girl who picked me up in the nightclub? He spoke softly and without rancour. ‘You remember her then?’ ‘Yeah, of course I do. She was with me here. Is she the one who says I raped her?’ ‘We’ll discuss all that down the station.’ Joseph sighed and shook his head. He remained calm but expressed himself more strongly. ‘This is bollocks. Absolute bollocks! I never raped her. She was well up for it.’ The detective sergeant pointed to the clothing and shoes on the floor and addressed the uniformed officer who started to walk towards him. ‘Get them bagged up, individually, and bring them with you. And don’t forget that vodka bottle. Steve Fox will be here in a minute or two. He’ll give you hand[PN1] and a lift back.’ The uniformed officer stepped back as Joseph got to his feet, pulling the blanket around himself in an attempt to preserve a modicum of decency. It was then clearly apparent that he was well over six feet in height and built like the powerful athlete he was. He leant down to pick up his mobile phone from the coffee table. ‘Leave that,’ said Hickman. ‘We’ll deal with it.’ Joseph did as he was told. ‘That is your phone, is it? Not your mate’s?’ Joseph nodded and withdrew his hand. ‘Will you be OK with him on your own, sarge?’ asked the constable, still backing away from the couch. ‘Perhaps we should wait for Steve to get here?’ Just as he spoke, the door opened and Detective Constable Steven Fox appeared, looking rather dishevelled. He was unshaven and his eyes seemed red from lack of sleep. He was in his late twenties with a rugged countenance and matched Joseph in height and build. Hickman felt more comfortable now that he had arrived. ‘Ah, Steven, about time. Where’ve you been?’ Fox sighed. ‘Stakeout. I shouldn’t really be on duty, but you know how it is?’ Hickman nodded. ‘I’ve arrested Joseph here and I’m taking him to the station. I’ll leave you to check this place out. Those things on the floor are what he says he was wearing last night.’ He glanced towards the uniformed constable. ‘You can come with me.’ The uniformed officer let out a sigh of relief as he handed the exhibit bags to Fox. ‘Will CSI be attending?’ asked Fox, surveying the room blearily. A typical student room, a couple of posters on the wall, a bookcase with a few books, a built-in wardrobe with a full-length mirror inside the door and an unmade single bed. The leather Chesterfield couch somehow seemed out of place. It took up almost the whole of the centre of the room. Hickman answered him. ‘Depends. I don’t think Joe here is going to deny they had sex.’ Hickman looked at Fox and smiled as he pointed to a used condom peeping out from under the couch. ‘Joseph, not Joe. Everybody calls me Joseph.’ ‘She doesn’t. She’s referred to you as Joe throughout her chat with me.’ ‘Well she hardly knows me.’ ‘Not as well as he knows her, eh, sarge,’ quipped Fox, using a pencil to pick up the prophylactic and placing it into a transparent exhibit bag. ‘That’ll do. See you back at the station.’