Bring a Spring Upon Her Cable

By Steven J. Corner

A mysterious double murder in a quiet, affluent North East suburb is the culmination of excessive greed, lust and links to extreme IS and Al Qaeda terrorist organisations. ‘Bring a Spring Upon Her Cable’ is a gripping psychological thriller that will keep you in suspense with every chapter.

“Double-dealing, betrayal, murder and intrigue on the high seas and land: a fast-flowing thriller which never fails to keep the reader on edge. The final chapter is especially good, nicely rounding off the action and suspense. Involving British ex-servicemen on contract, Somali pirates, MI6 and MI5, IS & Al Qaeda gun runners - it's a great plot with believable characters. Definitely recommended...”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9780244621902

Book preview

Bring a Spring Upon Her Cable

Bring a Spring Upon Her Cable

Meaning: To come around in a different direction, oftentimes as a surprise manoeuvre.

Beware!

By

Steven J. Corner

www.stevenjcornerauthor.co.uk

Copyright

Copyright © Steven J. Corner 2017

eBook Design by Rossendale Books: www.rossendalebooks.co.uk

eBook ISBN: 978-0-244-62190-2

All rights reserved, Copyright under Berne Copyright Convention and Pan American Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author. The author’s moral rights have been asserted.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organisations, events or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1 - April 2017... The forgotten night

It was a dark, grey morning and the rain hammered down on the busy street. The early morning traffic tussled with each other as their drivers peered through rain soaked windscreens, furiously being cleared by rubber wiper blades.

The slim built, dark haired man scanned the scene to his front then glanced quickly over his shoulder. His heart pounded as he took shelter under the canopy of a restaurant that looked as if it had been venue to a busy evening before. Empty bottles of red and white wine were discarded into large, green plastic boxes.

Earlier, an hour or so ago, he’d hurriedly checked out of the hotel which had provided a few hours of respite for his bruised and weary body. He pulled out his battered box of cigarettes and slid out a smoke that had seen better days.

The cigarette lit hesitantly, helped by his trusty Zippo lighter, before he inhaled deeply the nicotine therapy... the long draw gave him a temporary warm, relaxed feeling.

His thoughts of last night were still vague and obscure; like a jig saw puzzle with a thousand pieces that would take time to complete. With the smoking cigarette firmly gripped between his lips he returned the battered box to his coat pocket. It also contained his Glock 17 pistol which he pushed aside to make more room for the box.

Immediately, his heart started to pound again and he could feel his face flush. Anxiously, he scoured the street for danger and could see only pedestrians making their way hurriedly through the rain. It continued to thunder down and cold droplets dripped onto his cheeks from the restaurant canopy above; a reminder of the gloomy day to which he had awoken.

Nervously, he checked the zip of the sports holdall which he shouldered. It was fastened tight but he observed that on the exterior of the bag some blood stains were clearly visible… then he remembered the gash to his head and felt it to check if it had stopped bleeding. He checked the wound and found it to be encrusted with hard, dried blood surrounded by matted hair... that was a good sign, he thought... even better a morning shower would have cleaned him up.

Suddenly a flashback occurred to him of being pushed out of a fast moving car and then hitting the road... heavily on his shoulder first, then hitting his head a number of times as he rolled to a halt in the middle of the road.

His shoulder was still in pain, and probably would be for the next few weeks. That’s if he could stay alive that long? Looking across the street he could see a pharmacy store. Might be a good idea to stock up on pain killers he thought to himself, as he threw away his half-smoked cigarette and looked for a gap in the traffic.

For a few minutes the road became quiet and he made his way to the store, avoiding a few rain-soaked shoppers before reaching the shop entrance. There, it was warm from doorway heaters blasting hot air downwards, and it gave him some temporary cover from the pouring rain.

He went inside and snaked his way down each aisle looking for the shelves that stocked the branded names of painkillers. The decision on which brand to choose was made by estimating the current level of pain in his shoulder. He decided it was seven out of ten on the pain scale, as he collected two boxes from the top shelf and headed towards the check-out.

Inside his breast coat pocket was the usual place for his wallet. Unfortunately, a tap of his hand to the left side of his chest, and further inspection of the pocket, revealed that his leather wallet was missing. Not a good sign.

His wallet contained bank and identity cards, as well as some twenty pound notes that he had withdrawn from a cash point several weeks before. A flash of panic jolted through his body.

He swung the holdall swiftly around to his front and unzipped it half way before peering inside. The zip was tight to move as the holdall was crammed full with bundles of fifty pound notes bound together with blue banker’s bands. Carefully, he eased out a note from its band taking care not to rip it and pushed the bundles further into the holdall. With a struggle he returned the zip to its original position.

Now it was his turn to face the cashier. Hello there! The pretty, dark haired young woman opened the exchange. She peered into his face and noticed the graze and bruise on his forehead. ‘Susie’, as her name badge suggested continued. Must have a sore head then….?

He touched the right side of his head again, and felt the graze and the tenderness of the lump that was present. Yes… walked into the door last night… so accident prone. He replied. ‘Susie’ giggled, …that will be two pounds fifty, she said in her South London accent. He handed her the fifty pound note. In his coat pocket he could feel his mobile phone vibrating… He resisted the urge to retrieve the device.

There you go. Hope they help your head. ‘Susie’ handed him his change and wished him a good day. He smiled as he picked up the boxes of painkillers from the small counter and headed towards the store entrance.

Rain still soaked the pavement outside, as he popped two painkilling tablets from their plastic sliver and slipped them into his mouth. His nagging shoulder would soon be tussling with pain relieving ingredients of the pills. It would be twenty minutes before the tablets would work their magic.

Tablets administered, he slipped into a side street preferring the comfort of the shadows than the openness of the street. Suddenly, he came face to face with him. Thought you would get away did you! The voice sounded menacing. Drop the bag and get on your knees you bastard! Get on your fucking knees now!

The sinister figure pointed his pistol straight at the man, who was now kneeling with his hands behind his head. The gunman collected the black holdall. You wanted it all, didn’t you? Didn’t you!? Look at me you fucker! The gunman had tears running down his face. You wanted her, him, the money, the fear, the control… the whole fucking lot!

He took out a bundle of fifty pound notes from the bag.  Here, swallow these! That’s all you’re taking to hell with you! The gunman ordered as he stuffed the bundle into the kneeling man’s mouth, who showed no emotions of remorse, fear, regret, arrogance... he just looked into space resigning himself to his fate. His deeds had caught up with him and now it was his turn to pay the price.

At the end of the street a passer-by was watching the whole scene unfold. He did not lend a hand, or run for help, but just watched in silence to witness the next scene; a kneeling man was stood over by another with a gun pointed at his head. Act 1, scene 1, ... lights…  camera… action!

Next a shot echoed along the walls of the narrow street, and the kneeling man was on the floor. The gun man put his weapon in the bag, looked around and waved at his witness.

He took out his mobile, activated the camera and snapped a macabre photograph for his killing album. Stowing the camera safely into his pocket, the gunman casually exited the scene as if walking off stage in a theatre play. There would be no fleeing the scene of the crime in a blind panic. Calm, measured control was required.

They say that evil deeds should be met with evil deeds in equal measure; it appeared to be the case in this situation. The dead man’s brains were now spread over the street pavement in a pool of blood. It was, perhaps, a fitting end to the life of this particular individual?

Chapter 2 - One week later... The discovery

The neighbours noticed the milk bottles gathering on the doorstep and daily newspapers half protruding through the letter box. Normally, he would let her know that he was going away to work again, or going on holiday.

Sandra, from number eight, his new found love interest, rang his home phone a number of times but there was no answer. She decided to pop over and see if he was there.

There seemed to be no sign of his wife anymore, and no other women in his life. To her he was free and single and she fancied the pants off him! It was game on she thought to herself.

Their relationship started when he popped around to fix her washing machine. Of course, she had arranged for it to be broken and asked if he could fix it when she saw him in the street one day.

One evening, he came round had a cuppa and fixed her washer. While he was there, she showered him with her womanly charm, gave him the massive ‘come on’ and one thing led to another.

Eventually, he asked her out on a proper date after a few steamy sex sessions. They soon went for regular meals, visits to the cinema, nightclubs. It was all exciting but most of all he was really good in bed, she thought.

Despite their intimacy he would not talk about his estranged wife; instead he preferred to change the subject. It was a mystery to her why she had disappeared.

Sandra was hoping to move their budding love onto the next level, by asking if she could move in with him. It would mean that she could rent out her place. He had hinted as much himself and was going to ask her when he returned on leave from his maritime security work. It was all good.

Every week, she had noticed that a man used to visit his house, at the same time, carrying a large brown envelope. Not that she was stalking him of course, but she took particular notice as he was a good looking bloke. Again, her broken washing machine excuse could be used to lure the tall, dark haired man around to her house.

Worryingly, it had been a while since her ‘male friend’ had telephoned. She was getting a little agitated, ‘has he dumped me?’ she thought. He wasn’t answering any of her calls, returning her texts. Finally, she decided to go over to his house and see if he had returned home.

Outside, it was raining. She slipped on her shiny pink raincoat. Pulling up the coat hood she ventured out into the damp street, and headed towards his house at the end. She breathed in the fresh damp air and it smelt good.

When she arrived at the large detached house there appeared to be no sign of life. The front gate had been left wide open and one of the garage doors was slightly ajar. ‘Unusual’, she thought to herself.

Normally, Sandra would go around the back of the house and knock on the kitchen door. However, she decided to try the front door first. After several minutes of knocking and ringing the doorbell there was still no answer.

Through the frosted glass of the front door, she noticed letters and newspapers forming a nice pile on the floor; left untouched after they had been delivered. She decided to try the front door... surprisingly it opened... it hadn’t been locked! Shocked and out of politeness, she didn’t enter and closed the door instead.

‘Very strange?’ Sandra thought to herself as she walked around to the back of the house. Just then, as she turned into the garden area and saw the door to the kitchen, Sandra noticed broken glass strewn on the path. Suddenly, her heart started to race as adrenaline coursed round her body. She was a little jumpy at the best of times. Now she was at the door to the kitchen. It was half wood, and half panelled glass. She noticed that a small pane of glass, nearest the door handle, was missing and that there were small jagged edges of glass protruding from the frame. ‘Had there been a break-in?’ Sandra nervously thought to herself ?’

Her hands started to noticeably shake as she slowly reached for the door handle. Beneath her feet she could feel broken glass crunching, as she pushed her weight forward. Cautiously, she nudged it open. Unnervingly, the opening of the door was accompanied by ominous creaking noises produced by the un-oiled brass hinges.

On the kitchen floor many pieces of broken glass lay. Probably from the smashed window pane. Sandra’s heart was beating uncontrollably.

She noticed a mug of tea lay, un-drunk, near a shiny black kettle, near to an uneaten sandwich. Its dried, curled up ends indicated that it had been there for some days. Something dreadful has happened here, she fearfully thought to herself.

Sandra was now feeling more than petrified; her nervous disposition further exaggerating the fear that was filling her heart. Cautiously, and with some personal courage, she crept into the living room.

Silence... there was no sound, nor sign of anything...Hello. Hello. Anybody at home? She called in a sheepish voice. Eerily, there was no reply to her call. Then, suddenly, her eyes fixated on the blood splattered wall.

To her absolute horror, she looked down to see the body of a woman. It was slumped in an arm chair with two bullet wounds to the head. Sandra screamed like she had never screamed before.

She held her head with her trembling hands and fled. Sandra ran out into the street shaking with fear before grabbing a passer-by.

She’s dead…..she’s dead…..inside……call the police!……call the police!….. she cried, over and over again.

Soon residents were emerging from their houses to investigate the disturbance. What’s up, Sandra? A neighbour asked. Quickly, a neighbour brought out a blanket to keep her warm from the shock, then she was taken inside a neighbour’s house to be