Ambush

Contents

Cover

Recent Titles by Nick Oldham from Severn House

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Steve Flynn Series

ONSLAUGHT

AMBUSH

The Henry Christie Series

BACKLASH

SUBSTANTIAL THREAT

DEAD HEAT

BIG CITY JACKS

PSYCHO ALLEY

CRITICAL THREAT SCREEN OF DECEIT

CRUNCH TIME

THE NOTHING JOB

SEIZURE

HIDDEN WITNESS

FACING JUSTICE

INSTINCT

FIGHTING FOR THE DEAD

BAD TIDINGS JUDGEMENT CALL

LOW PROFILE

EDGE

UNFORGIVING

 

 

 

 

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

First published in Great Britain and the USA 2016 by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.

This eBook edition first published in 2016 by Severn House Digital

an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

Trade paperback edition first published

in Great Britain and the USA 2016 by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD

Copyright © 2016 by Nick Oldham.

The right of Nick Oldham to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8634-7 (cased)

ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-739-5 (trade paper)

ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-803-2 (e-book)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by

Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

To the memory of my brother, Peter. A true gent.

‘O
h, yeah, I'm a murderer, a mad axeman, actually. A double murderer at that. I killed two – my partner and his lover after I'd found out about their, y'know, affair.' The man called Felix Loveday tweaked his fingers in invisible air speech marks around the word ‘affair'. He paused and frowned at the thought, the memory. ‘I didn't know I had such rage in me,' he continued. His voice was at a conversational level and as he spoke he pulled up his right shirtsleeve to display his forearm just above the wrist and the simple, home-inflicted tattoo that said the name ‘Trevor'. Loveday swallowed as he gazed at the name. ‘I found them both in bed, actually. Suspected something and there he was.' He tapped the name on his forearm. ‘Up to his nuts, the maker's name, in that utter whore who I thought was my friend, Jon Dunson. I can still see 'em,' he recalled wistfully. ‘Obviously they didn't expect me to turn up. I watched 'em through a crack in the bedroom door. I mean, even now' – he splayed his right hand over his chest – ‘I can feel how my heart was pounding at the sight, how I couldn't get my breath … and then' – his eyes became evil, his voice dramatic – ‘that sudden, all-consuming rage that kinda poured over me like molten metal.'

‘Very descriptive,' the man sitting opposite him said. The two were playing cards – pontoon – with two others, and they were listening attentively to the opening up and sudden honesty of Loveday.

Loveday picked up the two cards he had just been dealt and added up their value.

There was a pile of matches in the centre of the small card table and each man had a small stack next to him, the stakes for what appeared to be a fairly innocent game.

The man directly opposite Loveday, the one who had made the dry comment, was called Brian Tasker. At first Tasker had not been too interested in the confession and was just listening because he had nowhere else to go, no one else to play with.

And because all four men were in prison.

But as Loveday revealed all, Tasker frowned and became a little more interested. ‘What happened next?' he asked.

Loveday inspected his cards. ‘Twist,' he said to the dealer on his right, who flipped over a card. ‘Twist again,' Loveday said. Another card was revealed and Loveday scraped both into his hand and pushed four matches confidently into the central pile. Each match represented a debt of some sort and the overall winner that night would be able to choose to call them in whenever he felt like it.

So far, the largest pile of winnings was next to Tasker.

‘What happened next?' Loveday echoed, raising his eye line across the top rim of his cards. ‘I closed the door quietly, then I snuck downstairs and went into the shed and found the axe. In those days we had a wood-burning stove, so we were always chopping wood. Never once did I dream I'd use an axe for anything other than that. I remember picking it up and running my finger over the blade and thinking, “Not sharp enough” … so I sharpened it on one of those sharpener things.' He looked at the other men. ‘What're they called?'

‘An axe-stone?' one suggested.

Loveday shrugged. ‘Something like that. Anyway, I sharpened it, then snuck back upstairs, and they were still at it.' He shivered with revulsion at the memory. ‘Anyway, Trevor's back was to the door … I can still see his naked arse … and I snuck in and went for it – his head, by the way, not his arse. I remember that first blow as if it was only yesterday. Right into the back of his skull. And it was one of those, y'know, like when you slam an axe into a log, then you can't get it out because it's stuck, and you have to rive it free?'

The other three card players visualized it, seemingly horrified.

‘Anyway, to cut a long story short, I got it out, then really started whacking him with it. Went bananas.' He snorted a laugh. ‘Jon managed to do a runner – naked and shrieking like a woman down the stairs, running like a right pansy. Started off with a hard-on, too. Anyway, I went after him but he'd got to the front door and I was still on the stairs, so I had to chuck the axe at him. I suppose it could have gone either way, but I got lucky. If it'd missed him or hit him and bounced off, he would've got out on to the street. But God was on my side and I struck lucky.' He chortled at his own wit. ‘It was almost the perfect throw. Like in a cowboy film, a Cherokee throwing an axe that whizzes through the air like a cartwheel. The point didn't stick in him, but the blunt end embedded itself in the back of his head and he went down on his knees before he could get the door open. I just pulled it out, stood over him and started hacking like a lumberjack chopping wood. Blood fucking everywhere.' He looked at his cards and said, ‘Twist.'

Tasker said, ‘Then what?'

Loveday gave a cheeky grin. ‘By the time the cops landed I'd dismembered and disembowelled both of them. I was sitting there with Trevor's severed head in my lap, stroking his hair, covered in blood and guts, whimpering like a puppy with body parts all over the house. Bit of a mess,' he admitted with huge understatement.

‘Shit,' one of the other card players said, blanching and rubbing his neck.

‘I admitted it, got life – twice, concurrently. Judge threw away the key, called me a deranged individual,' Loveday said.

Tasker's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘How long ago was that?' he asked, thinking Loveday would say ten or twelve years maybe.

‘Uh … 1985 … thirty years ago.'

‘You've been in clink for thirty years?' one of the others said in disbelief.

Loveday nodded philosophically. ‘Yes. The judge said minimum thirty, which I thought was a bit harsh, but I don't regret what I did. Both of the sneaky, cheating bastards got what was coming to them and I got what was coming to me. Yin, yang.'

‘So how old were you when you did it?'

‘Nineteen.'

‘Nineteen eighty-five, eh?' Tasker said. He would have been fourteen years old that year. ‘Did they have DNA back then?' he asked. ‘You know, cops sampling, like they do now?'

‘Nah. Fingerprints was about it. They took my blood, they could do that, but that was about it.'

‘And they never took your DNA then, swabbed your mouth?'

‘Nope.'

‘'Bout you, guys?' Tasker asked the other two.

Both had had their DNA taken.

‘Yeah, me too,' Tasker said.

‘After my time, DNA,' Loveday said. ‘I'm a pre-DNA guy.'

Tasker's bottom lip jutted out as he nodded and digested the information, realizing that big things often come from chance conversations. ‘But you're up for parole now, I hear? After all these years.'

‘Yeah.'

‘And are you going for it?' Tasker asked. ‘I mean, aren't you institutionalized after thirty frickin' years?'

‘Probably I am, but I'm going for it. Did the crime, done the time, now I need to find out how the world has changed while I've still got some breath in me. I reckon I've got a lot of years left—'

‘To shag some arse,' one of the others quipped.

‘Oh, yes, baby … my final hearing's next week. No reason why I shouldn't walk,' he said confidently. ‘I've been a good boy.'

‘No reason whatsoever,' Tasker agreed. ‘Stick, by the way.'

In his hand he had an ace and a king. Pontoon.

Ten days later Tasker invited Loveday into his cell. Both men were smiling broadly.

‘Good news, I hear,' Tasker said.

‘Yeah, yeah … all that good behaviour has paid off … just got to cross the “t”s and dot the “i”s, but it looks like I'll be walking out through those doors this time next week.'

‘That,' Tasker said, ‘is the best news I've heard in years. Congratulations.'

‘Thank you.' Loveday was becoming quite emotional.

Tasker turned around and picked up two plastic mugs from his bedside cabinet, handing one to his fellow inmate.

‘Illicit hooch, but good stuff,' Tasker said. ‘To freedom.'

They touched mugs, a dull ‘thuck' rather than a ‘dink', and drank the bitter-tasting spirit.

‘Your family will be pleased,' Tasker said, wiping his mouth.

‘No family. Parents dead, no brothers or sisters, no aunts, uncles.'

‘Oh, sad … so no one to greet you?'