For the Love of Ann

By Bob Looker

In Bob Looker’s third book connected with the British Resistance in WWII he looks back at what was left behind when the Auxiliary Units were disbanded in 1945. It is public record that some arms dumps were not decommissioned at the end of the war because no one knew where they were.
As a boy, Jay Maxwell’s father had pointed out where one of these arms dumps was located. At the time he took no notice but later it all came flooding back to him.
It was to this secret arms dump that Jay Maxwell turned to when his beloved wife of 35 years died needlessly because the local NHS hospital failed to provide her with the medicine that would have saved her.
Jay decided he would take his revenge on the CEO of the NHS Trust but first he needed weapons. Jay would see if the old Resistance arms dump still existed and were the weapons still hidden there?
He was in luck when he found the secret rear entrance to this hidden arms dump and in it were enough weapons to start a small war. The killings didn’t stop with the CEO. It escalated to an unprecedented level to such an extent that the SAS were called in to find the perpetrator of this carnage but even they couldn’t stop his final act. You see Jay Maxwell wasn’t a normal civilian, he was an ex soldier with over twenty years service around the world.
The story is told by Julian Knight, a Fleet Street reporter who manages to gain access to Jay Maxwell in HMP Winchester.
If you don’t shed a tier when you read this book you have never loved anyone as much as Jay loved Ann.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bob Looker
• Release date: Sep 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370068647

Bob Looker

I was born in Winchester and went to various schools until I reached 16 yrs old. With a desire to travel I joined the Army and over the next 23 years I went to over a dozen countries ranging from the Artic circle, the desert and the jungles of Asia. These experiences fed me for my later movement into writing. I write what I call grown up books under my own name but for a series of children's science fiction adventures I use the pen-name of J.J. Maxwell

Book preview

Julian, get in here, the Features Editor called.

Desmond Simpson had just come out of the Friday morning editorial meeting and was not at all happy. He had been hauled over the coals for not getting any good features for some months, ones the paper could hold up as world exclusives.

Julian Dowling had been with the paper for five years. He considered himself a good journalist. Here he specialised in political features and had spent much of his time listening in on the gossip around the Palace of Westminster and Downing Street. This allowed him to write a column on the comings and goings of the various political parties.

He was forty-three, starting to go grey and was a few stones overweight for his five foot 11 inches. His wife had given up getting him to lose these extra pounds and his two teenage children were more interested in music and going out at night than worry about their father’s excess weight.

What’s up Desmond? Didn’t you like the feature on the infighting in the Conservative’s cabinet?

That was all right, Desmond said dismissively.

What do you know about Jay Maxwell? Desmond asked.

Julian racked his brain for a few moments. His first thought was to go through all his political contacts but then it struck him; this was the man who tried to wipe out the government, last year.

I know as much as anyone else. I read the articles of the trial and those written about him afterwards but I don’t think I know anything more, Julian said.

Well now’s your chance; you’re going to get yourself close to him and get an in-depth interview, Desmond instructed.

More about Jay Maxwell started to come back to Julian.

But he’s due to complete his sentence next Wednesday, isn’t he? How am I going to get an interview this close?

Now is the best time. No one else has been able to get to him. We could get a world exclusive here and your article will go around the world.

He let that sink in for a moment.

Well, what are you doing here, get to Winchester, I want this story for the Thursday morning’s edition, Desmond demanded.

Julian returned to his desk. He didn’t know where to start; he had done a little crime reporting when he worked for the Bulverhythe Observer as a trainee journalist.

He hadn’t covered any really large cases or carried out any form of criminal investigative journalism.

Although he had three stories in the pipeline, due for publication next week, he would have to hand them over to Sally, his assistant. She would welcome the chance to deal with first rate political stories for a change, instead of just reporting on minor items of little interest to anyone.

His problem would be getting in contact with Jay Maxwell and persuading him to agree to an interview. From what he could remember from the trial, Jay had pleaded guilty and as such very little detail came into the public domain.

It was rumoured that he didn’t want a full trial as he had committed the crimes and saw little point in letting the papers write corrupted stories about what and why he had done these things for their reader’s enjoyment, however far from the truth the stories were.

Sally, Julian called over to his assistant in the next booth.

Come in here will you. I’ve some work for you.

Sally had heard this so many times before. All Julian had ever given her were details of meetings certain MPs were attending or garden parties that may allow her to get some stories about who was seen with whom.

I’m still working on the ones you gave me Monday, she called.

Sally if you want I’ll give these to John but he’s not nearly good enough to deal with them, Julian replied.

This was unusual! He had never hinted that she was any good. All she ever got were the crap jobs and then he criticised whatever she wrote.

Sally got up from her desk and walked around the partition between their booths.

What have you for me today then?

Sit down. I have three stories that need to be ready for next week, Julian said, as he pushed three folders towards Sally.

She looked at the folders and noticed the titles on them.

Why are you giving me these? These are your stories. I don’t know what they are about.

Then you had better get started, Julian said.

The dates they are due for publication are on the top right hand corner, don’t miss the deadlines or they’ll be useless.

Why aren’t you doing these? she insisted this time.

I have a special to do for Desmond by Thursday and so can’t do these. Now here is your chance to prove to Desmond that you are as good as I have been telling him you are.

Before Sally could reply, Julian picked up the phone and dialled an internal number. He looked up at Sally and smiled, but before either of them could say anything, his call was being answered.

Terry, can I come over and have a quick word? … OK on the fire escape, in five minutes then.

Sally had left by now and returned to her booth to get on with the stories Julian had given her. This was her opportunity, the break she had been looking for. If she made a good job of these then Desmond may take her more seriously and give her the column she had been pestering him for.

Julian had five minutes to get his mind together before he went off to see Terry.

Terry was the chief crime reporter and had covered the Jay Maxwell case from the early killings. The first one was the NHS chief executive in Sussex, through to his arrest some time later.

Julian had to be careful how he approached Terry as he saw this case as his personal property. He may not like the idea of someone else asking to take it over at such a critical time.

Orders are orders thought Julian. He would have to get Terry to understand and if necessary a share of the by-line.

He looked at his watch while still making his list of what he would have to do in the next hour. Four minutes had elapsed since he rang Terry. He picked up his pad, put his pen in his shirt pocket and headed off to the meeting on the fire escape.

Terry was already standing waiting, a cigarette in his mouth and looking out over the Thames.

What’s this all about then Julian? Terry asked, as he heard Julian open the door behind him.

Why all this cloak and dagger stuff? We’re not around the Palace of Westminster now you know, he said with a smile.

Julian closed the door and looked around to see if any of the windows were open or if anyone else was out there having a crafty smoke. He was acting more like the criminals that Terry was used to dealing with than a colleague.

Terry I’ve a big favour to ask. I need some help to get in contact with someone. I must get in contact with them today, can you help?

Terry was confused, here was a friend asking him for a favour without actually saying what he wanted. Julian had been working too long with politicians, who could talk for hours and say nothing.

Julian I owe you several favours, so ask away.

I don’t think you’ll be too happy with what I’m going to ask, especially if I tell you what I need the information for, Julian said.

Look Julian, you asked for two minutes of my time. So far we have been out here for four. Now get to the point or I’ll leave you to enjoy the view.

Julian took a deep breath, I need to talk to Jay Maxwell.

Terry hadn’t seen this one coming. Everyone knew that this case was Terry’s exclusive territory.

He looked at Julian, who found if difficult to look him in the eyes.

And why? he asked.

Desmond has told me to get an interview with Jay and write up his side of the story, for publication on Thursday, Julian said.

And why was I not asked to do this? I already have all the data on the case, dates, times etc so why has he asked you, a political reporter, to take this on? Terry asked.

He was hurt and annoyed, not just at Julian, they had been friends for many years and neither had ever gone behind the back of the other for a story. In fact they had often collaborated with stories or past on ideas for stories they had come across during their own research.

I think it’s because Jay didn’t like the way the press covered the story and made up so much that wasn’t true. He is reported as saying that he would never talk to any crime reporter.

How could we write his side, he’d never talk to us, Terry snapped.

That is just the point, Desmond wants me to try and get his side of it, what made him do such things, an exclusive for the paper.

Terry thought for a moment, he could see that he could also get the drop on his competitors from this. If he could get a look of Julian’s story before it was published he could put together all the facts he had and pull it into a full account of the case.

Look Julian I’ll help you all I can but I need something from you.

Julian had thought there may well be a price for this help.

What do you want then?

I need a look before it’s published, Terry said.

That may not be possible, I have such a short time to get to see Jay and write up his story. I doubt if I’ll meet the deadline let alone be able to give you time to read it, Julian said.

Look, all I need is your promise that I get first look, before it’s published, OK.

OK Terry I can do that.

Right what can I do for you? Terry asked.

Well I need to get in contact with Jay, not his solicitor; I must speak to him, in person.

Hum, I know a couple of screws at the prison, they may be able to get him a message but there’s no promise he’ll speak to you, Terry said.

Can you get a letter to him? Julian asked. Will one of your men deliver it to him, today?

I’ll have to call one of them and see. It may cost. Jay Maxwell is a VIP and not every prison officer can get that close to him.

Give me ten minutes and if it’s on you’ll have a couple of hours to get the letter into my man’s hands, Terry said, as he flicked his cigarette stub out over the stairs and returned to the office.

Julian looked out at the Thames and realised that this may be the last time, for the next few days, when he would have the chance to watch the river flow down to the sea. After two minutes he returned to his desk and got on with the task at hand.

He was going to have to be very careful in what he wrote. Jay was known not to trust or like the press and as such Julian’s chance of getting a reply would very much depend on what he wrote.

In the meantime Terry was busy on the telephone trying to reach one of his contacts at HMP Winchester. The first one he tried was not at work today and when he tried his home number, there was no answer. He couldn’t wait for him to return as Julian’s time scale was far too short to be able to wait.

Gilbert Terry said, as he made contact with his second insider.

I need your help.

Terry I’m very busy today, I can’t get out to see you until I finish at ten, Gilbert replied.

I don’t need to see you but I’ve a colleague that needs to get a letter to someone in your prison, can you help?

That shouldn’t be a problem, get the letter to me, at home, by noon and I’ll see whoever it is gets it, Gilbert said.

It must be today, it can’t wait, Terry insisted.

Why is it so important, who’s the letter for? Gilbert asked.

Jay Maxwell, he replied. This caused a long pause, not a sound came from the other end of the telephone.

Gilbert. Gilbert, are you still there?

After a short time Gilbert came back on the line,

You must be joking? I can’t get a letter to him. He doesn’t talk to anyone, only one officer sees him, Gilbert said.

OK but can you get that officer to deliver the letter, it’s very important for my friend, Terry pleaded.

What’s in the letter, it’s not an escape plan is it? Gilbert asked.

No, he wants to come and talk to him before Wednesday and get his side of what he did.

Terry realised that he shouldn’t have said that but in the circumstances he had little choice, if he was to get help in delivering Julian’s letter.

I don’t know. It’ll be difficult. John is very protective of Jay but he may do it at a price, Gilbert said.

How much? Terry asked, bluntly.

£1,000

That’s a bit steep Gilbert! Surely you can do it for less than that, Terry said.

We are talking about Jay Maxwell not the Cray twins, you know.

OK, I’ll get the letter to your house by noon. You be there. The money will be with the letter, Terry said, as he put the phone down.

Terry picked up the phone and spoke to Julian,

I can get the letter to Jay if you have it ready in the next twenty minutes, together with one thousand pounds.

I haven’t got that sort of money. Does it have to be that much? Julian asked.

Yes one thousand pounds. If Desmond wants the story he’ll get you the money. If not, I’ll go for it myself, Terry said.

Julian had finished the letter to Jay and sent out the messenger to get him a £10 phone card. How he would get the thousand pounds out of Desmond he didn’t know, but he would have to try.

Desmond was in his office when Julian arrived to ask for the money. He was not used to paying out money for information in this way.

I’ll see what I can do, Desmond said.

You had better do better than that if you want this story, Julian said. I’ve fifteen minutes to get the money and letter to a courier or no story.

This focused Desmond's mind. He leaped to his feet and pushed his way past Julian and the incoming secretary. He knew he needed this story far more than Julian. Julian and this story was his ticket to a move up the corporate ladder, so if need be he would cash his own cheque.

Julian went back to his office to wait for the money. He read the letter again and couldn’t think of anything else to say that would guarantee Jay Maxwell calling him.

Five minutes after leaving his office, Desmond rushed in holding a fist full of twenty pound notes.

"Here’s your money, he said as he placed the notes on the desk.

Julian looked up and thanked him, scooped up the money and thrust it into the large envelope he had ready for the dispatch rider.

Without another word Julian stood up and went off to see Terry, who was going to give him the name and address it was to be delivered to.

The dispatch rider was already waiting at the main reception desk in the foyer when Julian arrived. He handed the envelope to him and made him certain of the importance of getting the package to the address no later than 12 noon.

Chapter 2 - Will you see me?

It was getting very close now. Jay was not actually counting the days he had left, he was still counting the days since Ann died. His life had meant nothing since then. Each day was worse than the day before, the loneliness got greater each day. He couldn’t wait until Wednesday at 10 am when he would join Ann again.

Jay had eaten his lunch and was back in his cell. His next excursion would be at 2pm, when he was going to the Hospital wing to be examined by the doctor to see if he was fit.

He settled down to contemplate his thoughts. There was no possibility of a reprieve. No one was going to let off the man who did what he had done.

No sooner had he reached the part of his thoughts that took him back to his wife when a key was pushed into the cell lock and turned.

‘What do they want? Can’t they leave me alone?’ Jay thought.

There were only three warders that were allowed to visit Jay’s cell and today it was John Metcalf who was on duty.

Mr Maxwell, I have a letter for you, John said.

Jay looked up

Who on earth would write to me? I thought the Governor was keeping any letters addressed to me, from me?

This one’s special. It’s from someone who wants to talk to you, John said.

What does anyone want with me, they only have to read the papers, that’ll tell them all they want to know, Jay said.

I understand that this person wants to hear what you have to say. Not what the papers have written about you.

Jay sat up and reached out for the envelope.

Thank you John, I’ll read it later, he said, as he returned to lying on his bed.

John left the cell and locked the door behind him. This was the longest conversation he had had with Jay for some weeks now. He felt that Jay was going deeper and deeper into himself. He had reported this to the governor but nothing had been done to change his environment and ease his state of mind.

The main problem was that as no one, in England, had received this sentence for over 50 years, they had no experience in how to deal with the prisoners awaiting execution. The Governor had spoken to the Home Office Medical experts but they could provide no advice, so he had decided to leave things as they were.

After half an hour Jay looked at the envelope. On the face was his name, in bold writing, on the other side was written ‘Julian Dowling’.

He placed his right index finger under the corner of the flap and ran it along the top of the envelope. Having opened it Jay pulled out the single sheet of paper. From inside the folded page fell a phone card. It dropped onto the floor and slid under his bed. Jay didn’t bother to pick it up, it wasn’t going anywhere anyway.

On opening the sheet of paper he looked at the address. This was an address in North London. He didn’t know either the person or the address. The letter read –

Dear Mr Maxwell

All I have read about you and the crimes you admitted to have come from the tabloid newspapers.

I have tried to find out about you and your family but no one could or would tell me anything. It is as if before you were arrested you didn’t exist.

I can’t believe that you did what you did for no reason at all.

You appear to have deliberately tried to hide your side of the story, as if it was not important.

I would very much like to be able to tell your side, not my version but just what you say, what you need to say, so that people can understand you. Why you are the first person, for over fifty years, to receive this sentence.

I have enclosed a phone card and my number is on the back of the card.

Please call me if you will let me tell your story.

Yours

Julian Dowling

Jay put down the letter and lay back again. Why should he talk to anyone? No one would listen to him when he was asking for help to save Ann’s life. Now with just a few days of his life left, someone wanted to listen to what he had to say.

Tell my side of the story, what did he mean? There was only one side to his and Ann’s story. Who wanted to listen to that? Everyone was more interested in the killings and the death of the man who did it, rather than the reasons behind all these deaths.

He went back into his thoughts for quite a while. What could be gained by him telling his story? No one really wanted to listen to what drove him to do what he did.

They would only want to listen to how he did it and how he was able to keep out of the police’s hands for so long. Others wanted to use it as a tool to blame someone, not themselves of course.

If he did talk to Julian, what guarantee did he have that the real story would be told?

It took him a further hour of tossing and turning before he made up his mind, he would talk to this Julian Dowling and see what type of man he was. Would he really keep to his word? It was at times like these he really missed Ann. She had a knack of weighing people up. Were they to be trusted or not. Her judgement on people had always proved right. Now, when he really needed it she wasn’t here for him.

Jay reached down to the floor and fumbled around until he found the phone card. He brought it up to his face, looked at it, turned it over and there was the number he needed to call.

Just then he heard the key going into his cell’s lock. It must be time for his 2pm appointment with the Doctor. The timing was just right. On his way to the Hospital wing he would use the phone card.

I need to use a phone, Jay said.

You can’t, you know that, John replied.

In that case I want to see the Governor, he said.

He won’t see you.

You’re wrong there. I am entitled to see the Governor at any time, in my last week, Jay said. And I want to see him now.

It was a demand, this time, not a request. Jay had read up all the rules and regulations. That was one thing he was good at, reading, understanding and recalling rules and regulations. His whole life had revolved around him knowing such things.

I’ll see if he’ll see you.

Just before he closed the door as he escorted Jay out of the cell, Jay said,

If I had a phone I wouldn’t need to see the Governor.

John thought for a moment, all the other inmates in this wing had left for the outside exercise area or work within the prison. No one would know if he took Jay over to the prisoners’ phone.

OK Mr Maxwell, you had better be quick or I’ll be in big trouble.

Jay knew where the phone was so led the way along the walkway to the stairs and then down to the level below. Once there he headed for the phone.

John came over with him but Jay beckoned him away. This was a private call.

He read off the number written on the back of the phone card, it was a mobile phone, so he expected he wouldn’t have trouble making contact. He tapped in the number and entered the card into the phone system. Up came a credit of £10.00, not the most generous of people this Julian Dowling, he must be a journalist!

The phone rang four times before it was answered.

Julian here, came the voice from the other end.

It was a fairly shrill voice but from the noise he was trying to talk over, he must have thought the person calling him was also in such a noisy environment.

I got your note, what do you want? Jay said.

Other than the noise from the room that Julian was in, a wine bar if Jay didn’t miss his guess, there was a very pregnant pause.

Look, you’re paying for this call and there’s £7.50 left on the card, speak now or I hang up, Jay snapped. He could use the rest of the money on the card to give his son one last call on Wednesday morning.

I didn’t expect you to call so soon, Julian said.

Well now I have, what do you want?

As I said in the letter I’d like to come and talk to you. Get your side of what happened and, with your permission, tell your story to the world, Julian said quickly.

Well you’ve left it late; my sentence will be completed Wednesday morning, Jay said.

That’s why I had to get my letter smuggled in to you. Normal channels would have taken far too long, Julian explained.

It was now time for Jay to stop and think. If he hadn’t wanted to tell his story he wouldn’t have made this call but now was crunch time, did he tell his story or not? If he did, who would gain from it? He didn’t want the press to get anything from it, without paying. After all the lies they had written about him he was very bitter towards them.

Are you doing this for the paper? Jay asked.

Julian realised that the answer he gave now would decide if he got his interview.

For myself, Julian said.

He knew he would now have to clear this with his editor. His boss had expected this to be a short item to fill in one of the ten pages he was planning for the Thursday morning edition.

Okay, I’ll talk to you but we’ll have a contract. You must ensure that what I tell you is copy-righted. Any newspaper that prints anything from what I tell you pays top dollar and that all of the fees go to designated charities that I will list for you, he paused for a moment before continuing.

If you write a book about what I tell you then 50% of the royalties also goes to the charities, the rest of course is yours, Jay concluded.

There was no answer from Julian. The phone card now showed only £4.25 left and Jay needed that for Wednesday.

I’ll be ready to talk to you from three o’clock today, bring a box of Twix with you. The Governor will let you in.

Jay removed the phone card.

He didn’t know if Julian would come but if he read a journalist right they would do anything for an exclusive story. Jay Maxwell would be the hottest story on Wednesday and Thursday’s editions.

Jay turned around and saw John sitting at the table in the centre of the room.

John I need to see the Governor now.

John looked up. He had done what had been asked of him. Surely Jay wasn’t going back on his word about reporting him for smuggling in the note and phone card.

He stood up and looked at Jay, trying to see if he was being double-crossed or was this something else, as the result of the phone call?

I though you said you wouldn’t need the Governor if I let you use the phone?

Don’t worry John; I need to see him about something else now.

Sit over there, John ordered, pointing to the chair he had just left,

I’ll call up and see if he can see you.

John walked over to the small warder’s office, taking his keys out of his pocket he unlocked the door, moved inside the office and relocked the door behind him. Jay watched as John picked up the phone and made the call to the Governor’s office.

After a short time John put down the phone and headed back to where Jay was waiting. Having unlocked and relocked the door.

He’ll see you now, John said.

It always seemed to take an age to walk the few hundred yards to the Governor’s office; it was all the doors and gates that required unlocking and locking again.

Funnily enough, as a result of the crimes he had committed, the Governor gave Jay a level of respect, even from such a pillar of the establishment as the Governor of one of Her Majesty’s prisons. On being ushered into the hallowed sanctuary of the Governor’s office he was beckoned to one of the armchairs to the left-hand side of the office.

Mr McPherson was a strict man, none of those modern theories in his prison, prisoners were there to serve their time and if possible be retrained for the outside world.

Mr McPherson was slightly shorter than Jay, a stocky man but with more muscles than flab. He smiled at Jay; there was no point in being hard on a man who was going to be the first person to receive this sentence for over fifty years.

What is it you want Mr Maxwell? Mr McPherson asked.

Jay had only asked to see him once in the whole time he had been in his care and that was just to see if he would contact his son to tell him the date of the completion of the sentence, before it was announced to the press.

I haven’t asked for much since I’ve been here. I haven’t spoken to many people either, Jay said. Mr McPherson acknowledged.

"I’ve decided to tell my story to a