David Jack Smith
Need To Die
3
The fire had been set as the men exited the Limehouse property. It had been a lucrative job. They had collected everything they came for, plus some added fun bonuses. They hurried to the transit van at a parking meter on Narrow Street, Limehouse: anxious to be far, far away from the scene of their crime.
They were a tight crew who had rolled together since they met up on their first incarcerations as teens. They found power and control was easier to exercise as a triumvirate of likeminded individuals. It didn’t take them long to go from minor league bullying to running the institution, picking off the weak, employing the dimmer, dominating the stronger.
On the outside it made sense to continue to gang together. The triumvirate had a feral loyalty making them far greater than the sum of their parts. The pact made, they began with petty street muggings. It didn’t take long to graduate to serious stuff. Not the drug trade though. That product line had a built-in routine which the cops would always suss.
They decided to specialize in one-off random jobs offering big payouts in cash and easily disposed of luxury items. High end jewellery, cars, and watches were particular favourites.
But tonight was definitely a step up, even for them. A real take what you want thrill ride. Two changed from their work overalls in the back of the van as Driver Billy cut right into Butch Row; then right again, heading east along the East India Dock Road. The plan was to pick up the M11 as far as the M25, then swing back home down to North London through Barnet.
Zipping through South Bromley, Billy could have easily slowed down and stopped like the good citizen he wasn’t. He saw the light turn red a good two seconds prior, but Billy was on a thrill high—
’Ah, fuck it.’
He floored it. Even pulling slowly away from the lights in first gear, the kinetic energy generated by a forty-eight tonne Tesco delivery truck is huge. Especially if it smashes straight into the side of your van.
—CRUNCH—
The 40 mph forward momentum of the van was transferred instantly sideways. Spinning around twice, the van double flipping on to its roof. Finally skidding to a stop when it slammed into the boarded-up, former Chinese takeaway.
The gang bounced violently and painfully around like a farmhouse in a Kansas tornado. If that wasn’t bad enough, the police car following behind the truck sealed it.
Melody had been expected to die. But she was limpet-like in clinging on. The drama of the crime that destroyed her family played out while she lay unconcerned in the neurology ward of St. Michael’s hospital.
The trial was a formality. All the evidence was in the crashed van with the alleged perpetrators. Detective Superintendent Bill Hickman, from the Met’s Homicide and Serious Crime Command, had done a stellar job in assembling the case and establishing the forensic trail that led back from Bromley to Limehouse.
It did not matter that the only eye-witness could not be called. The jury took two hours to find the three men guilty of all charges. Judge Young blathered for over an hour while he let the monsters smirk and mug to the gallery. Then he sent them down to serve a mandatory life sentence, with a thirty-five year minimum tariff.
When Melody resurfaced, the medical staff had been deliberately vague. It had fallen on Melody’s sister Ruth to go though the tear-choked agony of confirming that Charity and Paul were gone.
Detective Superintendent Hickman came to the hospital a week later. He had taken it upon himself to lead Melody Fox officially through the painful events that had destroyed her life. He wanted to fudge over the exact details, to spare this poor woman. But she was relentless in demanding every last gruesome fact. He could hardly bear to say the words out loud of what wickedness had befallen her beautiful daughter.
Melody’s voice was raspy and barely audible. During the three hours he’d been with her, she sipped regularly via the straw in the bottle of ice cold water.
‘Appeals. What about appeals?’
‘That’s a reality. Par for the course, I’m afraid. I won’t deny that. It could go all the way to Europe. But I—we have high, high confidence the convictions will hold.’
‘Oh.’
‘The uh—physical evi—the forensics, were amongst the strongest I’ve ever seen. All our skills were directed at bringing justice to these bastards.’
‘Thirty-five years? Bringing justice? Ah, right. But they’re still alive. Still in their twenties right—
Her voice was straining badly as she struggled to pour out her pain.
—out before they’re sixty. What’s it like in prison for monsters like them? Cushy I bet. They need to die. Don’t you think? They deserve to die. Somebody should kill them. Kill them all. I’d pay.’
He let that slide. No doubt he would have thought the same in the same situation. He had a daughter for God’s sake. ‘Look, Melody, I know, I know, easy for me to pontificate, but please don’t torture yourself any more than you already are. We have to believe in the system, because that’s all we have. The rest is jungle.’
‘Sure. So, where are they?’
Thinking back, reflecting when it was all over, Melody realized that this was the exact point where her actions were irrevocably set.
Hickman had tried to steer her away from that reality, but she had a right to know.
‘Her Majesty’s Prison. Ringland. They’re in Ringland prison.’