Rough Justice (3 page)

Simpson reached for the doorknob. Grimshaw looked over his shoulder at Maloney, held up his hand and made a fist. ‘Go,’ he whispered to Simpson.

Simpson twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. They padded across the plush bedroom carpet, Simpson heading for Rawstorne’s side of the bed, Grimshaw covering the sleeping woman with his automatic.

Simpson placed his gloved hand across Rawstorne’s mouth. He woke almost immediately and tried to sit up, but Simpson pressed the barrel of the shotgun against his forehead. ‘Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t do a damn thing,’ he whispered. ‘Do exactly as we say and no one needs to get hurt.’

Rawstorne glared at Simpson but he stopped struggling. Grimshaw tapped the barrel of his gun against the wife’s cheek. ‘Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,’ he said.

She opened her eyes. There was just enough light for her to make out Grimshaw standing over her and she opened her mouth to scream. Grimshaw clamped his hand over it. ‘Sssh!’ he hissed. ‘We’ve got your daughter. Just lie still and everything will be all right. Nod if you understand.’

She nodded slowly, her eyes wide and fearful.

‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘Now, I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth. If you make a sound, I’ll smash your pretty little teeth with this gun. Okay?’ She nodded again. Grimshaw slowly removed his hand. She was panting, close to hyperventilating. She looked across at her husband but Grimshaw grabbed her face and squeezed. ‘Don’t look at him,’ he said. ‘He can’t help you.’ He released his grip and told her to lie still. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pushed it into her mouth, then placed the gun on the bedside table and took a roll of duct tape. ‘Put your wrists together,’ he said. She did as she was told and he used plastic ties to fasten her wrists, then wound tape around her mouth. He went over to the door, flicked on the lights and took off his night-vision goggles. Simpson did the same, keeping the gun trained on Rawstorne with his right hand.

‘You can take whatever you want – just don’t hurt us,’ said Rawstorne.

‘That’s very kind of you, Squire,’ said Grimshaw. ‘But forgive me if I don’t tug my forelock, us having the guns and all.’ He took out his mobile phone, hit redial, and held it to his ear while he waited for Burrowes to answer. ‘Yeah,’ he said eventually. ‘The eagle has bloody landed. Get your arses in here.’ As he put the phone away, the bedroom door opened wide and Maloney pushed the girl in. She had been bound and gagged like her mother.

Rawstorne tried to sit up but Simpson prodded him in the chest with the barrel of the shotgun. ‘Stay put,’ he snarled.

The girl struggled to get away from Maloney. He laughed and pushed her towards the bed. She stumbled and fell against it, but managed to scramble up to lie next to her mother.

‘What do you want?’ asked Rawstorne.

‘Sit up,’ said Simpson. ‘That’ll do for a start.’

Rawstorne sat up. Grimshaw walked around the bed and bound his wrists with two plastic ties. Then he put a hand around the man’s throat. ‘You do exactly as we say and give us what we want, and nobody will get hurt,’ he said.

Rawstorne nodded.

‘But you screw us around and . . .’ He left the sentence unfinished, but slowly released his grip on Rawstorne’s throat.

Rawstorne coughed and cleared his throat. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said. ‘Whatever you want.’

Grimshaw nodded at Maloney. ‘Go down and let the boys in,’ he said. ‘Get them started on the downstairs rooms.’ The
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spread had featured several works of art on the walls of the library and sitting rooms, paintings that Rawstorne had spent hundreds of thousands of pounds on. And in several of the photographs there were valuable antiques that Grimshaw had already priced with a fence in London.

Maloney headed downstairs. Grimshaw pointed his gun at Rawstorne. ‘Right. Now here’s the thing, Squire,’ he said. ‘We’re taking the paintings and we’re taking the antiques, and I need you to tell me where the safe is.’

Rawstorne frowned. ‘We don’t have a safe.’

Grimshaw looked at Rawstorne’s wife. ‘Is that right, Angela? He doesn’t keep all your jewellery in a safe? What about all the watches you’ve got? You collect old watches, don’t you? That’s what you told
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. Where do you keep them?’

The woman stared at Grimshaw, the tape over her mouth pulsing in and out as she fought to breathe.

Grimshaw used his left hand to take a Stanley knife out of his pocket and flicked open the blade with his thumb. ‘Are you going to tell me, Squire, or shall I cut your lovely wife’s face? And your daughter’s? How would you like that? Every day for the rest of your life you’ll look at the scars and remember that they’re there because you put money before your family’s safety. Is that what you want, Squire? Because I’ve cut women before and I’m happy to do it again.’

‘I don’t have a safe,’ said Rawstorne, flatly. ‘If I did have a safe I’d tell you. We keep our valuables in the bank.’

‘Of course you do,’ sighed Grimshaw. He walked around the bed, shaking his head as he put his gun back into his shoulder holster. ‘I’m sorry, Angela, sorry, Amy, but he obviously doesn’t give a shit about either of you.’ Amy and her mother huddled together, their cries muffled by the duct-tape gags. Grimshaw glared at Rawstorne. ‘I know for a fact that there’s a safe in this bedroom,’ he said. ‘The one thing I don’t know is where it is. Now, I could tear the place down looking for it but it’d save me a lot of time and effort if you’d just bloody well tell me where it is.’ Grimshaw grabbed Angela’s hair and yanked it hard, exposing her throat. Tears were streaming down her face. He placed the blade against her cheek.

‘Tell him, you bastard!’ hissed Simpson. ‘He’ll do it – he’ll cut her.’

Angela Rawstorne was crying hysterically. She kicked out with her legs but Grimshaw put his knee on her chest to hold her down.

‘You’re insured, you bastard – why are you putting your family through this?’ said Simpson. ‘Just tell us.’

Rawstorne stared in horror as the blade pierced his wife’s flesh and a trickle of blood ran down her cheek. ‘Okay, okay!’ he shouted. ‘Behind the painting over there, by the dressing-table.’

‘Thank you,’ said Grimshaw. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ He stood up, retracted the blade of the Stanley knife, and put it back in his pocket.

The painting was a family portrait with Rawstorne standing next to his wife, his hand on his son’s shoulder while his wife rested her head against her daughter’s. Rawstorne hadn’t changed much since the portrait had been painted, but the girl was clearly five or six years older. In the picture she was just a child, but now, tied up on the bed, she was almost a woman.

Grimshaw grabbed the frame and pulled. It was hinged and swung to the side to reveal a grey metal wall safe. ‘Combination, Squire,’ said Grimshaw.

Downstairs they heard the front door open, footsteps and muffled talking. The door closed.

‘Combination, Squire,’ Grimshaw repeated. ‘Don’t make me get my knife out again.’

Rawstorne gave him the combination. Grimshaw tapped out the four digits, and scowled. ‘Don’t screw me around,’ he growled. ‘Give me the right number now or I’ll cut your bitch of a wife.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ said Rawstorne. He shook his head. He repeated the combination, this time reversing the last two digits.

Grimshaw tapped it in and smiled as he pulled open the door. There were bundles of cash, new notes still in their wrappers. Grimshaw pulled out one of the bundles and flicked through it. A thousand pounds in fifties. There were twenty bundles in all. He piled them on the dressing-table. ‘Bet this won’t be covered by insurance,’ said Grimshaw. ‘Keeping a little something from the taxman, are we?’

‘Just take it and go,’ said Rawstorne.

‘I’ll be setting the schedule, thank you very much,’ said Grimshaw. ‘Just keep your trap shut or my mate there will shut it for you.’ Simpson gestured with the shotgun to reinforce the message.

There were a dozen watch boxes in the safe. Grimshaw took them out and put them next to the money. He opened one. It was an antique gold Rolex, studded with diamonds. ‘Nice,’ he said. ‘Your missus has got taste, all right.’

He reached back into the safe and brought out several jewellery boxes. He opened a heart-shaped red velvet box and whistled when he saw the diamond necklace it contained.

They heard footsteps on the stairs and a few seconds later Maloney appeared at the bedroom door. ‘All present and accounted for,’ he said, throwing Grimshaw a fake salute. He tossed him a nylon holdall.

Grimshaw caught it and filled it with the money, watches and jewellery boxes. Maloney went over to the bed. ‘Come here, darling,’ he said, and grabbed the girl by the back of her nightdress. He pulled her to her feet. ‘You and me can have some fun.’

‘Leave it out,’ said Simpson.

‘You can have her after me,’ said Maloney. ‘Sloppy seconds.’ He pushed the girl towards the door.

Simpson looked across at Grimshaw. ‘Are you going to let him do this?’

Grimshaw shrugged. ‘The boy’s got urges, what can I say?’ He zipped up the holdall.

‘Nobody said nothing to me about rape.’

‘He’s just gonna have some fun,’ said Grimshaw.

‘You’re supposed to be pros,’ said Simpson. ‘Art thieves, the Scarlet bloody Pimpernels, you said.’

‘If it upsets you that much, you can have the wife,’ said Maloney. The struggling girl tried to get back to the bed but Maloney dragged her away. ‘Feisty little thing, isn’t she? Bet she’s a virgin – they always fight harder, virgins.’

‘This is a bloody liability,’ Simpson said to Grimshaw. ‘I’m not working with a rapist. Thieving’s one thing, raping young girls is something else.’

‘You’re just here to rob. Don’t begrudge him his fun. It’s one of the perks.’

‘He’s done this before? No one told me that.’

‘Look, it’s cool,’ said Grimshaw. ‘He always gives them a little speech afterwards, along the lines of “We know where you live and if you tell anyone what I did I’ll come back and kill your whole family,” and that seems to do the trick.’ Grimshaw pointed the Stanley knife at Rawstorne. ‘You’ll do as you’re told, won’t you, Toby boy? You won’t tell the cops what happened to your little girl, will you? No, of course you won’t. Besides, what will the neighbours think? They might think that little Amy here enjoyed it.’

‘Don’t hurt her – please, don’t hurt her,’ begged Rawstorne. ‘I’ll get you more money. Anything you want.’

‘Have you got more money in the house, Toby boy? Something you’re keeping for a rainy day? Because, believe me, it’s about to pour down on your life.’

‘I’ve money in the bank. Just please don’t hurt my family.’

‘The banks are shut, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ said Grimshaw. ‘It’s Friday night and I’m buggered if I’m going to wait here all weekend.’ He waved the knife at Maloney. ‘Do what you have to do and then give the guys a hand loading the vans,’ he said.

‘Please, don’t do this,’ begged Rawstorne. ‘She’s only fifteen.’

Grimshaw walked over to Rawstorne, pulling the gun from his holster. He slammed the butt against the side of his head and Rawstorne screamed in pain. Grimshaw dragged him off the bed and kicked him in the stomach, hard. Rawstorne curled into a ball, his knees against his chest as he moaned in pain. ‘I told you, shut the hell up!’ shouted Grimshaw.

‘Hey, leave it out!’ roared Simpson.

Grimshaw ignored him. He kicked Rawstorne in the back, then stamped on him, grunting with the exertion. He was about to kick the man again when Simpson’s shotgun went off, blowing chunks of plaster from the ceiling. Simpson pointed it at Grimshaw’s groin. ‘This stops right now!’ he yelled.

‘Are you bloody crazy?’ Grimshaw pointed his gun at Simpson’s face. ‘What the hell are you playing at?’

‘I’m not playing at anything! This isn’t a bloody game, Lex!’ shouted Simpson. ‘I didn’t sign up to start raping kids.’

They heard running footsteps on the stairs, then muttering in the hallway. ‘What’s going on in there?’ called a man. It was a Scottish accent. Carrick Thompson.

‘First one through that door gets shot in the balls!’ bellowed Simpson.

‘Boss, are you okay?’ asked Thompson.

‘It’s all under control,’ replied Grimshaw. ‘Go back to loading the vans – we’ve got to be out of here in five minutes.’

Maloney threw the girl to the floor and pointed his gun at Simpson ‘Just remember you’ve only got one cartridge left in that thing,’ said Maloney.

Simpson pumped another shell into the breech. ‘It’s a Remington 870 Marine Magnum pump action with a magazine that holds seven shells, you stupid prick,’ he said, not taking his eyes off Grimshaw. ‘And seven minus one is six. And even if you were a good enough shot to put a bullet in my head from there, which I doubt, the reflex would still be enough to blow Lex’s private parts to kingdom come. Might not kill him outright, but he won’t be having sex ever again.’

‘Will you stop using my sodding name?’ said Grimshaw.

‘Why? Are you ashamed of being Lex Grimshaw of forty-seven Cleveland Gardens, Exeter? Explain that to me. Not ashamed of aiding and abetting rape, are you?’

‘I’ll bloody well do you!’ yelled Maloney, taking a step closer to Simpson. The girl rolled over to a corner and lay there, sobbing.

‘You do and I’ll blow Lex’s balls off,’ said Simpson. ‘And if there’s any life left in me I’ll let you have the next one in your groin, too. Look at the ceiling, Maloney, and imagine what your prick’s going to look like.’

‘No one’s going to shoot anyone,’ said Grimshaw.

‘Yeah, well, that’s down to me, not you,’ said Simpson. ‘I’m the one with the shotgun.’

‘Let’s just calm down,’ said Grimshaw. ‘We’re in the middle of something here and we don’t want it all to go tits up.’

‘As far as I’m concerned, the tits are already up,’ said Simpson. ‘I didn’t sign up for rape. And I sure as hell didn’t know that Maloney here had form for it.’