Heartless Reaction: The Persford Series, #6

By Dawn Marsanne

The promising treatment for glioblastoma brain cancer continues to make good progress albeit with some slight hitches along the way. Meanwhile, the University is facing its own funding crisis. The illegal drug scene moves to a new level with violent and cruel consequences for several sections of Persford. The police face new challenges if this wave of criminality is to be halted. One character caught up in the violence refuses to be intimidated and decides to wreak revenge.

Ron and Maureen's relationship faces some challenges when his domineering personality becomes even more apparent and each character attempts to maintain their self-respect and position.

A fast-moving story about a struggle for control on various levels where rules and laws are flouted in order to gain supremacy. As ever the story is set against a background of science and medicine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dawn Marsanne
• Release date: Oct 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386660477

Dawn Marsanne

Having worked in the pharmaceutical industry for almost twenty-five years I wanted to write a novel which explored some of the serious issues in the field. The reproducibility of scientific data is a common problem which has recently been highlighted in the news and this forms the basis of my first book Adverse Reaction. I particularly enjoy reading thrillers and suspense novels and I have tried to create a fast paced story which holds the reader's attention. Many of the themes of the book occur in everyday life and I have used the backdrop of research to illustrate them. There are relatively few novels which are set in the laboratory environment so I saw this as an undeveloped area but at the same time scientific details are kept to a minimum to allow the work to be accessible to readers of a non-technical background. As I finished the novel I became sufficiently interested in the characters I had created to develop them further and the six book Persford Reaction Series was born. Since then I have written to standalone novels, A Form of Justice and Relative Error. Waves of Guilt is the first in a new series and is now joined by a sequel, Layers of Deceit.  Follow me on twitter @dawn_marsanne

Book preview

Prologue

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The knife was poised over the man’s hand which was held down in a vice-like grip over the tabletop.

‘Tell me! Who’s supplying your fucking gear?’

‘Nobody, you’ve got it all wrong!’

‘So why ain’t you getting as much from us? Eh?’

‘Business is a bit quiet, that’s all.’

‘This is your final chance. Ready Tyler?’

‘Oh, yes, ready as always.’

‘Look, I’ll get some more gear off you as well, just give me a bit of time.’

‘You ain’t got time. Last chance. Tyler has sharpened his knife real good. He’s doing you a favour. You wouldn’t want him to spit on it first would you?’

Tyler laughed cruelly. Gathered some spit in his mouth then ejected it onto the floor.

‘See, he likes you!’

‘OK, OK, I’ll tell you. Tomorrow night. Outside Persford. It’s on my phone. Now let me go, please!’

‘What’s the code?’

‘Ten twelve.’

The man opened up the text messages. ‘Which one?’

‘The last thread, under SB.’

‘Well, that’s very interesting.’ He showed the message to Tyler.

‘Got it,’ he said.

The man nodded at Tyler who raised his knife and brought it down quickly. The screams were blood-curdling. The tortured man writhed in agony. Tears poured from his eyes and he collapsed on the floor. Next to him lay the tip of his left little finger.

‘See you around. They might be able to fix that if you hurry up and get to hospital,’ said Tyler. He wiped his knife on the man’s T-shirt. ‘Wrap it in a packet of peas. That should help.’

‘Good job, Ty,’ said his master as they left their victim unconscious and bleeding.

Chapter 1

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Kenny Salveson felt dreadful. He had clearly picked up the vomiting bug from his children and now he was on his way home early from the night-shift at a courier distribution centre. As he drove along the quiet roads, he remembered with embarrassment the incident which had brought his work to an abrupt end. The illness had started without warning. One minute he was scanning the barcodes on a batch of parcels and the next he was sprinting towards the toilets feeling violently sick. He had successfully dodged fellow employees but seconds away from the sanctuary of a toilet cubicle, he projectile vomited his stomach contents down the entrance door.

Ignoring his mishap, he had barrelled through the door and just managed to get his trousers down before a stream of foul-smelling diarrhoea cascaded into the toilet. He had been so keen to flush away the noxious material that he had stood up too quickly, rendering him dizzy. As he hid in the cubicle waiting to regain his balance, he listened to muffled voices outside in the corridor and wondered which of his unfortunate colleagues had discovered his offensive discharge.

That had been thirty minutes ago and now he was driving home, praying that he could get back before he had another bout of sickness and or diarrhoea. On the passenger seat was a plastic bag containing more vomit which he’d produced about ten minutes after setting off. He had his window open against the disgusting smell and the fresh evening air was helping slightly.

Kenny lived in Breckton, about ten miles from Persford, the two towns being separated by farmland and countryside. The roads were quiet at this time of night which helped what had turned into a race against time or a race against bodily functions. Worryingly, his stomach was starting to churn again and he could feel movement down his lower digestive tract.

‘Oh, fuck,’ he cursed to himself. ‘Please, please not again.’

He knew that his bowels were getting ready to expel their contents and it was hard to clench his rectum against the inevitable whilst driving. If the latest threatened issuance was as bad as the last, he would end up completely soiling the upholstery on the driver’s seat and it would be a devil to clean.

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ he shouted appropriately. He pulled on to the grass verge, left his lights on and pressed the hazard warning button. He frantically unbuttoned his seatbelt and without locking the car, ran across the verge towards some trees. If possible, he could gain some seclusion and escape the indignity of being spotted by traffic which would doubtless increase in volume at the precise moment his trousers were down.

About ten paces towards the deeper vegetation he realised that he could go no further. He pushed down his trousers which he had been undoing as he ran, tugged down his boxer shorts and squatted as the diarrhoea flowed noisily accompanied by loud bouts of wind. He remained crouched for a few minutes as another wave of fluid poured out. He was amazed at how much was contained in his colon, surely now it must be completely empty? At least empty enough to reach the sanctity of his house and a comfortable toilet. He had no tissues to clean himself but he didn’t care, he could shower when he got home.

Kenny used the torch on his mobile to avoid treading in his faeces which were liberally coating the greenery. Recoiling from the disgusting matter he pulled up his lower garments and started to walk back to his car, scanning with his torch for any holes or obstacles. Fortunately, the recent dry spell meant that the verge wasn’t muddy which was the only positive aspect of the evening from Kenny’s point of view. As he neared his car, the edge of his torch beam illuminated something in a slight hollow in the grass verge about fifty feet away. It appeared, to Kenny, to be some discarded clothes or bedding.

‘Typical,’ he muttered. Fly-tipping had been on the local news recently and it was costing the council thousands each year to collect it. He got back into his car and prepared to pull away when something attracted his attention. The window was still open and he could hear the sounds of the countryside but this didn’t sound like a call from the animal kingdom. He was momentarily distracted as a lone fox scurried across the road in search of a meal.

He listened again. It was definitely a cry and the more he focused on it, the more it sounded like a person in distress. He wondered whether his mind was playing tricks on him, after all, he wasn’t exactly feeling on top form. He got out of the car and strained his ears. As he wandered in the approximate direction of the sound it became louder. Though only faint, he was sure he could hear the words, help, help.

Once again he switched on his torch and swept the beam across the lane from side to side, now he could see the outline of a person. Suddenly he was gripped with fear. Had someone been attacked? Was it safe to investigate?

‘Ahhhh,’ came another moan. Someone was definitely injured.

Kenny decided it would be a strange place to lure a passer-by into a trap, after all, how likely was it for anyone to stop at this time of night. He walked quickly towards the source of the cries and discovered the victim. The young male wore dark clothing and had clearly been the subject of a vicious attack. His face was bleeding and a dark pool was spreading out from underneath him, soaking into the muddy track.

Kenny leant down towards the man. ‘I’ve found you, mate. Hang on in there. I’ll phone for an ambulance.’

He stood and made the emergency call hoping that he would have reception out here in the countryside.

‘Which service do you require?’

‘Ambulance, police. I’ve found someone seriously injured. He’s in a bad way.’

‘Your location, sir.’

‘I’m about halfway along the road from Persford to Breckton. I’ve just been past the sign for Standham Village. I’m by a track to a farmer’s field.’

‘OK, sir, the ambulance is on its way. Can you give any other details of your location?’

‘Wait a minute,’ he jogged back towards the beginning of the track, ‘it’s Foal Lane. Also!’ he shouted, ‘my car is on the verge, I stopped to take a ..’ he paused, ‘I stopped as I needed to relieve myself.’

‘What is the make and number of your car sir?’

‘It’s a white Ford Focus, GF59 JMP.’

‘Thank you. Your name sir?’

‘Kenny Salveson. Oh, God, the guy is moaning.’

‘Can you make sure that his airways are clear, sir? Sir, sir? Can you hear me?’

He leant down and felt the injured man’s neck. He could feel a weak pulse. He realised he’d knelt in the blood as his knee felt wet. He suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous.

‘Oh, no,’ he murmured as once more he felt bile and vomit rising up his gullet. He quickly turned away and vomited again. He felt cold and clammy as he sat on the grass, the operator’s voice in the background as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He put his head between his knees and willed the ambulance to arrive. Kenny’s dreadful evening had just got worse and worse.

**

Ron Radford was unable to sleep due to a pain in his chest which had started as a slight discomfort and was persisting despite taking some antacid tablets. He couldn’t get comfortable and decided to get up and go downstairs. As he carefully climbed out of bed, his fiancée next to him, Maureen Welch, stirred.

‘Ron? Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘What time is it?’

‘Two thirty, I think.’

‘Have you had any sleep? ‘I’ve sensed you being restless for a while.’

‘It’s this blasted indigestion. Can’t shift it. I think I’ll go downstairs, perhaps some tea will help.’

‘Oh, no, again? It’s happening more often.’

‘I’ll have to get some better indigestion medicine. Those chalk tablets are no good.’

‘I’ll go and make you a drink, you stay in bed,’ said Maureen. ‘Do you want me to rub your chest gently, perhaps it’s some trapped wind, I might be able to release it?’

‘It’s too painful,’ replied Ron, ‘but I’ll try some tea.’

Maureen was heading down to the kitchen when she heard Ron cry out, ‘Ahh, shit!’

She rushed back into the bedroom. ‘Ron? What was that?’

‘I’m OK, just a bit worse. God, I don’t know what’s caused this. I’ve never had it so bad before.’

‘Lie back, let me arrange those pillows for you,’ she said. ‘That’s better. I won’t be long.’

Ron closed his eyes. His face looked pained. She ran down to the kitchen and boiled the kettle. She was becoming increasingly worried about his indigestion. It wasn’t as if they’d had a heavy meal and they had eaten at 7 p.m. so it should have passed through his system now. He’d not even had a whisky nightcap for a few nights. In the interests of speed, she just put a teabag in the cup and poured in the boiling water. It only needed to be left for ten seconds or so and after adding a dash of milk she headed back upstairs.

‘Here you are, it’s a bit hot but sip it slowly.’

‘Thanks, love. It’s feeling a bit better actually.’

‘Well, we are off to the doctor tomorrow morning.’

‘Oh, no,’ groaned Ron. ‘It’s not that bad. Besides, it’s so difficult to get an appointment.’

‘Didn’t you say you used to see a doctor privately?’

‘Yes, I did. It was worth paying and I could see him anytime but he’s retired now. I go to the ordinary medical centre now, the one near the tennis club. The next nearest private doctor was twenty miles away and I couldn’t be bothered.’

‘You mean River View? That one?’

‘Yes, that’s it.’

‘Well, I’ve always found them very good there. Dr Evans is very nice.’

‘Hmmh,’ was all Ron could be bothered to reply.

Maureen wasn’t going to let Ron dodge an appointment. The recent episodes could be the start of something more sinister and they needed investigating.

Chapter 2

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After about fifteen minutes, an ambulance accompanied by two police patrol cars approached at speed and came to an abrupt halt. Upon hearing the sirens, Kenny Salveson had gone to the main road to stand by his car. He directed the emergency services to the injured man. Whilst he’d been waiting he had wandered around the grassy area and had once again stumbled upon the bundle of discarded clothing which to his horror he discovered was another male. The victim was face down in a slight hollow but by the light of his torch, Kenny could the back of his head. Kenny had bravely felt for a pulse but found none.

‘There’s a guy over there,’ he said to the uniformed officer. ‘He’s dead. I hadn’t seen him when I made the emergency call. I thought someone had dumped some clothing.’

‘OK, sir, stand back. We’ll take it from here. Please go and sit in the first patrol car. A detective will be here soon and will want to speak to you.’

‘OK, mate,’ said Kenny. He had texted his wife but she hadn’t replied. No doubt she was asleep. Fortunately, his bowels seemed to be settling down now and he’d not been sick for about half an hour. He realised he would need to tell the police that the vomit and diarrhoea belonged to him.

The ambulance crew quickly loaded the injured man on to a stretcher and very soon the victim would be on his way to hospital. Kenny could see headlights from another car and the dark coloured Ford Mondeo parked up just in front of the row of vehicles. The detective strode purposely over to the uniformed officers securing the site with blue and white police tape and one pointed at the patrol car which was Kenny’s temporary refuge.

Kenny climbed out of the car and found himself looking up to the newcomer who was at least six inches taller with a lean physique, characteristic of a basketball player.

‘Evening sir, I’m Detective Sergeant Andy Walters. Can you tell me briefly what happened and what you found?’

Kenny began to relay the events of the evening including the embarrassing details of his illness. He could see that the uniformed police had by now approached the dead body and were erecting a cover over him to preserve the scene. He’d watched enough violent crime dramas on TV but never believed he would ever be caught up in one himself.

Another car arrived and Andy Walters turned around to see his colleague, Inspector Mike Harris who walked over and introduced himself to Kenny.

Andy briefly explained the circumstances to his colleague who nodded his agreement.

‘Mr Salveson,’ said Mike, ‘we will need you to come down to the station at some point to make a formal statement. As you were driving along the road can you remember if you saw any other cars driving particularly fast in either direction?’

‘No, nothing, the road was very quiet. I hardly saw any traffic. I saw a couple of lorries but that was about it, sorry.’

‘You’ve been very helpful sir. Are you OK?’ He’d seen Kenny grab hold of the car door handle as if to steady himself. Mike automatically reached out a hand towards the witness but realised that if he fainted they would have to let him slide down the side of the car to the floor. Kenny appeared to weigh at least eighteen stones, several stones too many for his average height.

A wave of nausea swept over Kenny again and before he could answer, he felt the vomit rising up his gullet once more. He rushed past the detective to the other side of the road and retched. ‘Jesus, fuck, not again,’ he said to himself. This was the most awful illness. His stomach muscles were starting to ache from the action of heaving his guts up. He squatted down for a few moments as he felt dizzy again.

‘Oh dear,’ said Mike, ‘he’s in a bad way.’

DS Walters wandered across the road. ‘Look, I think you need to get off home. We have your details. Do you think you can drive safely? I can always get someone to take you back?’

‘I should be OK now, it’s not far. I can’t have much more to bring up.’

‘You have quite a lot of blood on you from the victim. The forensic guys can give you some emergency clothing, we’d like to keep your trousers and jacket.’

‘OK, no problem.’

‘I’ll take you over to them and they will sort you out. Here’s my card, you can phone me and arrange a time to come to the station. We will also need to take your fingerprints for elimination purposes.’

‘Oh, well, OK.’

‘It’s just a formality, sir, no need to worry.’

‘Yes, OK, I understand.’

‘You’ve been most helpful.’

‘The guy looked seriously injured, I hope he’s going to be OK,’ said Kenny.

‘The medics will do their best,’ said Andy.

After removing his outer clothing for the forensic staff, Kenny went to retrieve his own car and was about to pull away when he felt a creeping sensation on his scalp. This caused him to shiver and he furiously rubbed his hand over his bald head, dislodging a moth which fluttered past him and out of the open window. He closed his eyes to regain his composure. How he wished he could be transported like a time-traveller and in an instant find himself at home. Instead, he would have to endure the smell of the vomit next to him until he could spot a rubbish bin and deposit the offending package. He could hardly believe so many awful things had happened that night and just wanted to get home, take a shower and go to bed.

Andy and Mike went over to the dead body. Forensic investigators had arrived along with a police pathologist who was in the process of certifying death. The two detectives donned some disposable gloves and plastic overshoes as they approached the tent. Photographs were being taken before the victim was turned over. Andy squatted down to get a better look, his superior remained standing as his portly frame made him less agile.

‘Evening, Alistair,’ said Andy.

‘Yes, evening to you. Lovely night isn’t it?’

‘Looks like this poor chap didn’t have a very pleasant stroll in the countryside?’

‘Indeed. I’ll just turn him over so we can see his face. He’s been stabbed, shot as well, by the looks of things but I’ll know more once I get him on the table. Ready?’

The victim was turned over.

‘Well, well, a familiar face,’ said Andy Walters, ‘although he looked better when I interviewed him in the past. I won’t be questioning him this time. ‘

‘Friend of yours then?’

‘Sean Bailey. Criminal record as long as your arm. Mainly minor offences. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Looks like someone had a sharp knife though.’

‘Right I’ll schedule the necessary investigations, and let you know,’ said Alistair. ‘See you again soon, no doubt.’

‘Night, Alistair,’ said Andy.

The two detectives went over to the uniformed officers.

‘Evening lads. Identity of the other man?’ said Mike.

‘Nothing, so far, sir.

‘I’ll get someone to check traffic cameras.’ Andy yawned and stretched as his lack of sleep began to take its toll.

‘OK, well hopefully our man will survive and we’ll see what he has to say for himself,’ added Mike. ‘Right, I’ll go and have a word with our white-suited friends and then I might be able to get some shut eye for a few hours.’ He turned towards the uniformed officers, ‘One of you get over to the hospital and make sure you stay with the victim, let me know if he reveals his identity.’

‘I’ll go, sir,’ said the constable who then jogged back to his car and sped away.

Their investigations were at an early stage but Mike felt this bore all the hallmarks of a drug deal gone wrong. Sean Bailey had been arrested and charged with drug offences before. He was a minor player but perhaps he’d recently become involved in something bigger than he could cope with. He would contact one of his colleagues tomorrow on the Drug Squad, they might need to pool their resources on this case.

Dawn was just breaking and the sky towards the east looked beautiful with faint pink streaks signalling a fine day ahead. However, Mike knew from experience that for him and his team the day ahead would be long and there would doubtless be many unpleasant revelations in the course of the investigation to distract them from appreciating the clement weather.

**

A black BMW 3 Series was being driven erratically towards Breckton. The driver was struggling to concentrate as the searing pain in his leg was making him feel faint. A bullet had also glanced his head and he could feel blood trickling down past his eyebrow. The evening had descended into chaos, someone had betrayed them and he was determined to find out the truth. It should have been an easy transaction, something he’d done many times before without difficulty. This time they had been ambushed and despite being armed they had been outnumbered and outgunned.

Having put some distance between himself and the crime scene, he stopped in a deserted lay-by to assess the damage to his leg. Switching on the interior light he gasped at the sight. His trousers were completely soaked with blood and it was leaking down onto the driver’s seat. Luckily his right leg had taken the bullet, otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to operate the clutch.

‘Shit, shit,’ he cursed and slapped the steering wheel. The evening had ended in disaster and now he was entering a damage limitation phase. He had no idea how long his body could last out with the injuries he’d sustained so he couldn’t afford to be caught in possession of a gun. He took out his mobile and scrolled through his contacts. ‘Please, please answer,’ he moaned to himself. He closed his eyes for a few minutes then tried again, no response. ‘Fuck, fuck!’ he cried.

He dragged himself from the car, took out a plastic bag from the boot and wrapped the gun in it. Then he walked a few yards into the undergrowth and using the torch on his phone looked for some soft earth. Using his uninjured leg, his hands and elbows he managed to hollow out some ground and bury the gun. With luck, he could return and retrieve it. Firearms were expensive and he was loath to just discard it. His gloves went into the bin in the lay-by, tomorrow they should be on their way to landfill.

He climbed back into the car, already weary with that small exertion and realised that medical treatment, though unwelcome was an unavoidable consequence of tonight’s exploit. Despite the agonising pain which was causing him to breathe heavily his brain needed to come up with a plausible plan, quickly.

Chapter 3

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The ambulance, with lights flashing, was heading towards Persford Hospital, through the town centre which was conveniently quiet due to the lateness of the hour. The driver went through several lights on red and was unimpeded by inconsiderate motorists who often failed to move over. Due to the seriousness of the injury, the control room had radioed for assistance and there were now two paramedics in the back of the ambulance trying to keep the victim alive until he could receive emergency surgery. They had applied pressure to the abdomen to try to stem the bleeding and the man was hooked up to an ECG machine.

The patient was mumbling and semi-conscious with an oxygen mask affixed to his face.

‘Blood pressure, ninety over fifty-five. Oxygen saturation of eighty per cent. Respiratory function seems to be weakening,’ said Lisa.

‘OK, are we managing to stem the blood loss?’asked her colleague, Rick.

‘I’m trying but he’s bleeding profusely. Applying pressure.’ She took more pads and pressed on the victim’s abdomen. The new pads were soon soaked with blood. It was unclear just how many wounds there were. She thought she’d identified the main one, at least she hoped she had.

‘I’ll check his thigh, could be a main wound there judging from the blood on his trousers.’ Rick cut the leg of his jeans and swabbed the thigh. ‘Small gunshot wound here, left thigh,’ he said to Lisa. ‘Not too serious.’ He taped a sterile bandage to the leg.

‘Can you hear me, mate?’ Rick, asked the victim. ‘You’re going to be OK? We’re nearly there now. Hang on in there. Can you tell me your name?’

Rick bent down close to the victim and removed the mask momentarily but it was clear that he would elicit little information from him in his present state.

‘OK, don’t worry,’ he said, patting his patient solicitously.

‘Get two IV lines in if you can, Lisa.’

Lisa applied a tourniquet to the heavily tattooed left arm and selected a promising looking vein. Her first attempt was successful and she taped the cannula port down securely.

‘Never mind about the second one, we’re here now,’ said her colleague as the ambulance drew to a halt. The rear doors were flung open and the patient was lowered carefully out of the ambulance.

‘Right, we’ll take over,’ said the Accident and Emergency consultant. ‘How many gunshot wounds?’

‘Two, one major to the abdomen, small wound on the leg. The patient is still bleeding heavily. Blood pressure is low.’ The paramedic handed over the medical notes he’d made in the ambulance.

‘OK, theatre is ready,’ replied the consultant, scanning the notes as he spoke. The victim was wheeled off to the operating theatre. For the moment the paramedics could relax and clean up the interior of the ambulance. If they were lucky they might get a chance for a cup of tea before their next call.

**

A couple of minutes before 2 a.m., nineteen-year-old Dylan Beggs was cycling back towards his home on the Lensfield Estate. He must have clocked up about ten miles that night which was not atypical and despite living off a diet of junk food, his two-wheeled transport burnt off most of the calories he consumed, rendering him quite emaciated in appearance. His stomach was beginning to feel empty but it would have to wait until tomorrow for any sustenance. There was never anything much in the fridge at home, most of the space was taken up with wine and beer.

Business that evening had been steady enabling him to clear around a hundred pounds profit, not exactly a fortune but better than nothing. Weekends were better and on a good night, he often made double that. He’d been in this particular employ for several years and had a regular client base but recently he was beginning to feel under pressure. His employer was demanding that Dylan generated a bigger turnover and thus a greater profit and it was starting to prey on the teenager’s mind.

As he approached 15 Carlton Road he could hear the muffled beat of music coming from their next door neighbour at number thirteen. Some people were suspicious about living at that particular number but far as he was concerned, every number in this road was bad luck. As usual, his neighbour’s mangy cat was preferring to spend the evening outside away from its feckless owners and it circled Dylan’s legs as he got off his bike. Dylan bent down to stroke the neglected pet which meowed its appreciation.

The row of small modern terraced houses had been built around twenty years ago and most were now looking in need of some refurbishment. Some were council owned, some housing association and the rest rented out by private landlords. He unlocked the front door and dragged his bicycle into the hallway where he carelessly dumped it against the wall adding another scuff mark to the array on the paintwork. The familiar smell of fried food and cigarettes greeted him. He could hear the television in the lounge and he looked in to see his mother slumped on the sofa asleep, an empty wine bottle at her feet. Dylan found the remote control and switched off the TV. He looked with disdain upon his mother and the ashtray full of cigarette butts and wondered how the house had survived so long without her burning it down.

Dylan trod heavily upstairs, past the closed bedroom door of his younger sister Savannah and threw open the door to his squalid bedroom. The stale air from discarded clothes and unwashed bedding assailed his nostrils causing him to grimace. A firm thump with his fist forced the top window open a couple of inches. Immediately he could feel some cooler night-time air sinking down through the thin curtain, held up by a few remaining hooks. He unzipped his loose jacket and low slung jeans, threw them