Last Man Alive

By John Morritt

Private investigator Ed Case believes that if you are looking for someone, the first place to look is where you least expect to find them. This reverse logic works to his advantage when hired by his friend Chris Stevens to find her missing fiancé, Lionel. Finding Lionel is the easy part. Keeping him alive is anything but, as Lionel’s colourful past has caught up with him.
Reece Greenfield, a powerful and ambitious man, is trying to erase his past, systematically killing anyone who could derail his political ambitions. Lionel is the last man on that list, and it’s now up to Ed and former DCI, Bob Brown, to ensure he remains the last man alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Morritt
• Release date: Feb 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005338152

John Morritt

English by birth but after 30 years of daily grind, earning money for fat cats that don't really need any more money, John relocated to Thailand to teach English. His first novel, Black Cockles was published in 2010 but was only available in paperback until now. The sequel, Nine Lives, was published in 2012. His third novel, Vengeance was published in January 2014 and the sequel to Nine Lives in due for release in the summer of 2014.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Yorkshire

It wasn’t like the old days when you could get away with not wearing a crash helmet, and feel the wind blowing through your hair, pushing your mirrored sunglasses, splattered with dead flies, back against you face. These days you had to wear a crash helmet as the world was hell bent on health and safety. In the case of helmets, Lee Treator, reluctantly agreed that the change in the law was for the better. Many of his friend’s lives had been saved due to wearing a crash helmet, and sadly a few had died, thinking the law didn’t apply to them.

Lee was wearing denim jeans that had seen better days, but were comfortable, and until his arse started to show through the threadbare material, he would keep them, along with the many other pairs of jeans he classed, almost as old friends. On his top half he wore a custom made sleeveless denim jacket over a black T-shirt emblazoned with the cover of Iron Maiden’s, Number of the Beast, album; this in spite of the inclement weather. On his head he wore an old-fashioned black crash helmet sporting a skull and crossbones emblem. It had a plastic peak that stayed in place with a chin strap rather than the full-face crash helmets most sensible bikers wore these days. It was just within the legal requirements and it suited his image. Lee was Hell’s Angel through and through, from the top of his helmet to the rubber on the wheels of his 1969 Harley Davidson Panhead chopper.

Once in a while, Lee got bored with life in Cornwall and hit the road, returning home once his wanderlust had been sated or he ran out of cash. Some trips would last a couple of months, others just a couple of weeks.

Things had changed a lot over the years. The guys he hung out with were, like him, getting older and in the case of Bulldog, who was their leader on account of his immense size and matching personality, was now settled and engaged. Gone were Bulldog’s many facial piercings and his Hell’s Angel attire, not dissimilar to his own, replaced by more conservative clothing. He couldn’t blame him; his fiancée was well worth giving up the biker lifestyle for. Mike just hung out at the Travellers Friend pub, and Steve was happy to sit at home, occasionally smoking weed and going to Plymouth to watch Plymouth Argyle football club, when they were playing at home.

For Lee, he needed a little bit more out of life. When the mood took him, he would jump on his bike and travel around the country, enjoying the long rides on the largely deserted back roads, staying in pubs when he could, and doing a bit of casual labour. This trip he’d worked a few days on a farm, a couple in a car repair shop and even flipped a few burgers in a greasy spoon. It subsidised his trip and gave him a break from the saddle when he needed it. Lee was a free spirit and he just liked to go with the flow.

Lee was now heading along a back road from Ripon to a village called Wath; from there he would continue to Bedale and stop for a bite to eat and a pint before continuing north. Where he would stop for the night he didn’t know, and that’s why he loved his road trips. No timelines and no agenda, free to travel wherever and whenever he chose.

What a great life, Lee said to himself as he tore along the narrow Yorkshire backroads as fast as the road conditions and his nerves allowed him. A black Land Rover Discovery hurtled past him. The driver, Lee thought, must have nerves of steel to be so reckless on these narrow roads. He assumed he must be a local and have excellent knowledge of the area and road conditions.

A few miles later he slowed for a precariously sharp bend and was glad he did, as the same black Land Rover Discovery was parked up a few yards after the precarious bend. Only Lee’s quick reactions stopped him running into the back of it. Four men were milling around on the other side of the road effectively blocking his path.

One of the men held his hand up in a friendly gesture and walked towards him. Lee left the bike idling and flicked out the kickstand. He removed his helmet, hung it on the handle bars and walked towards the man.

‘Not a great place to stop,’ Lee said trying to keep his anger under control.

Lee was always up for a scrap, but not when the odds were so heavily stacked against him; four to one and they were all well-built and looked capable.

The man coming toward him smiled and held out his hands apologetically.

‘Sorry. I didn’t think. Usually, you don’t get too much traffic on these back roads,’ the man said.

Lee was immediately suspicious, as the man had what he would call a Cockney accent, not a Yorkshire accent, which he would’ve expected of someone who claimed they knew the roads round here well.

‘You’ve got a lovely bike. Always wanted a Harley but too expensive for me,’ he said.

‘You can pick one up for less than what that Discovery cost, if you’re not too fussy.’

‘Really? I never knew that, but this is his motor, not mine,’ the man with the short ponytail said, pointing to a second man walking towards his friend. ‘You hear that Rick? One of these costs less than your Chelsea tractor,’ the man said.

Rick walked over and appraised the Harley, running a hand over the seat and fuel tank. Lee hated anyone touching his bike but kept his mouth shut. Something wasn’t right and he mentally readied himself for a fight.

The man called Rick pulled out a gun and told him to get in the car. Lee was stunned and stood rooted to the spot. The man called Rick waved the gun towards the Discovery by way of encouragement. When Lee turned, Rick smashed the back of his head with the butt of his gun. Lee fell unconscious to the tarmac.

‘Right lads, we don’t have much time. This is a quiet road, but even so, we need to make it quick and we need to make it look like an accident.’

Rick lifted Lee to his knees and in the blink of an eye twisted his neck, breaking it with an audible snap. None of the men flinched. Lee was dragged to the bend in the road and manhandled across the ditch to a sturdy oak tree. Two men held Lee’s head and on a count of three, smashed his face into the tree trunk with all their combined might. Blood exploded from his ruined face and splintered skull.

One of the men got on the Harley and drove it back up the road and then hurtled towards the bend, slamming on the brakes, laying down a huge trail of rubber, which ended at the ditch. The man riding got off and a second man went to help him. The bike was put in gear and revved hard, while the second man held the clutch in. On a three count, the two men jumped sideways and the Harley smashed into the ditch.

The leader of the four men looked at the damage and decided it was good enough to fool the police into thinking Lee, driving too fast, was taken by surprise by the sharpness of the bend, lost control and drove into the ditch, where he was flung over the handlebars, face first into the oak tree.

‘Right lads, a job well done. I think it looks convincing enough, but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter that much. Let’s get the hell out of here and get back to London. We’ve still got two more assignments before we get paid so let’s get going. The sooner we get the job done the sooner we can start celebrating.’

The four men jogged back to the Discovery and drove off to their penultimate assignment.

CHAPTER TWO

Cornwall

The music stopped playing and Chief Superintendent Clatworthy stepped up onto the stage to give what everyone hoped would be a short speech. Sometimes in meetings the man would ramble on and on. Some joked, he could talk and bore for England, and win gold, if it was an Olympic sport.

Ed didn’t know the man well, but their paths had crossed and he knew Clatworthy didn’t like him. The feeling was mutual. Ed hoped tonight his speech would be a short one, like most of the others in the function room, he thought, looking at the forced smiles on their faces. Ed was in the mood for a good drink, not listening to some old fool, giving an insincere speech about how DCI Bob Brown was a great copper and would be sadly missed. Ed knew from conversations with Bob that Clatworthy was a pen-pushing yes-man, biding his time until retirement and a big fat pension, and who in fact, actually despised Bob. The reason for this being, Bob did things his own way, with little or no respect for protocol and for that Clatworthy would be happy to see the back of Brown. Ed could see that in his eyes and smiled to himself.

Bob stood next to Clatworthy looking uneasy, nodding and smiling politely when he needed to. Ed knew Bob hated these events, even more so when he himself was the centre of attention.

Being in the clubhouse made Ed a little uneasy. The last police function he attended at this very venue was not a happy occasion, as it was the night one of his oldest and dearest friends, Jacqui, was shot dead by a nasty piece of work by the name of Mac. The bullet was meant for Ed, but the gun that fired the bullet was a relic from World War II and in all likelihood had never been cleaned by the old man it was stolen from; as a result of that neglect it was highly inaccurate. The club had since been refurbished and the stage moved to the rear of the room, but the painful memory of how he dodged a bullet at the expense of an innocent friend, still lingered, as it probably did for many of the people in the room who were present that night, but none more so than Ed. Even after the passing of time, he still felt responsible for her death. Everyone told him it was an accident and out of his control, but deep down, Ed knew, it had been his what: stupidity, naivety, or irresponsibility? Whatever it was, it still hurt to think about it. He screwed his eyes shut to block out the unwelcome intrusion of the past into the present.

Chris, who had known Jacqui since junior school sat across from Ed, with her fiancé Lionel Ramsbottom, a former Hell’s Angel, known as Bulldog. Chris met Lionel through Ed, when one day he brought him to her shop so that Emma, who lived with Chris, and was a great artist, could make an artist’s impression of a man Ed wanted to find. To his surprise, Chris and Bulldog fell in love at first sight.

Bulldog was a huge man and at that time his massive head was shaved, and as expected of a Hell’s Angel, he was festooned with piercings and tattoos. Chris, on the other hand, was the complete opposite; long blonde hair, a couple of inches over five feet tall and had a beautiful figure to match her beautiful face. Despite Bulldog’s appearance, when he spoke he was the complete opposite of what you would expect, due to his public school upbringing, which he rebelled against to antagonise his parents and assumed a rough accent to fit in with his rough lifestyle. Love was blind, Ed decided, but was just happy that Chris had finally found true love; the two of them were inseparable.

Tracey-Jane, who preferred to be called TJ, on account of hating her full names, was Ed’s wife of a couple of months and sat to his left. They’d been together a couple of years and loved each other with a passion. Both had pasts they wanted to put behind them and were thrown together in unusual circumstances, which culminated in an orgy of violence and death. Perhaps it was this experience that created such a strong bond between them.

Since that time, they both knew that a wedding was on the cards. However, since moving to Cornwall to try and forget their pasts, life hadn’t worked out as they’d hoped for. Their neighbour, Felicity Trevithick, had poisoned the minds of the village residents, spreading lies that Ed was a murderer and thief and she’d done her best to kill them; in Ed’s case almost succeeding.

Once Ed came out of hospital after being in a coma, the result of a final run in with Trevithick, he decided to become a private investigator. His first case put him up against a ruthless London gang involved in people trafficking. Little did Ed know the operation he brought down was one belonging to a certain Kristina Kovac, who was the head of all the London criminal networks. Unfortunately for Ed, he was soon on the top of her most wanted list. He thwarted an attempt on his life but knew the only way to save himself and his family was to kill Kovac. With the help, as always, of DCI Bob Brown, Kovac was finally laid to rest and Ed was able to get back to what he hoped would be an ordinary and danger-free life.

The wedding was a small affair, attended by close friends. Neither he nor TJ had any family. Ed, an only child, lost his parents when he was in his twenties when they were both killed in a tragic bus crash on their return to the airport whilst on holiday. TJ’s mother was murdered when she was just a young girl and her gangster father died of heart failure, when he saved Ed’s life by killing the corrupt police officer who had murdered TJ’s mother.

The ceremony at St. Michael’s church, was presided over by Matthew Dawkins, a good friend of TJ’s on account of her working at the church to catalogue decades of church and parish records. DCI Bob Brown had given TJ away. Ed would’ve liked to have had Bob as his best man, but there was no other person to give TJ away. Matt, Ed’s oldest friend was his best man, even though they’d drifted apart somewhat since his move to Cornwall. Their only bridesmaid was their adopted daughter Anna, and one of the primary reasons for the wedding being brought forward. Ed and TJ, well mostly Ed, had an uncanny knack of finding themselves in dangerous situations, so they wanted to ensure, should anything happen to them, there’d be no problems with her inheriting the house and their not so inconsiderable wealth.

Anna was now fifteen years old. At the age of fourteen she was abducted from her native Russia and was to be sold in auction at an old stately home in Hertfordshire. The owner, Agron Kastrati decided some of his clients appreciated young girls and rather than being sold, she was kept at the house and used and abused by his wealthy and depraved clients. That is, until Ed rescued her and burnt the house to the ground.

Anna had saved his life that night and she refused to be taken into care. Ed struck a bargain with the authorities and brought her to his home in Cornwall. In the aftermath of his triumph over Kristina Kovac, he was visited by a senior member of the Secret Service by the name of Anthony Brown-Smith. After Ed had told him everything he knew about Kristina Kovac and her partner Nikki Miles who was a very senior member of MI5, he asked for certain assurances from Brown-Smith in regards to Anna and he was true to his word. Anna was provided with citizenship and a passport. He also provided a bank account with a very healthy opening deposit by way of compensation. So Ed and TJ Case were now a proper family, with their now legally adopted daughter, Anna.

Next to Anna was Raechael, Bob’s fiancée and soon to be wife. Bob, like Ed, wanted to make an honest woman of Raechael just in case anything happened to him. Whenever Ed ran into trouble, Bob was always there at his side. Bob had decided enough was enough and that married life would be much better for both of them, if Bob retired from the police force. Bob was still a good few years the right side of sixty, but had been in the force since he left school. He knew that DCI was as far as his career was going to progress, and his pension after so many years of service would give him more than enough to retire on. He had money put by and Raechael had money too, from the sale of her house in St. Albans. Life would be comfortable for them both and he was looking forward to his retirement, once Clatworthy had finished his bloody speech.

A round of applause broke Ed’s thoughts. Emma, his friend who he brought to Cornwall some years ago to escape her abusive drug addict boyfriend smiled at him, knowing he’d been lost in his own thoughts. Ed smiled back and gave a shrug. Bob took hold of his retirement gift, an engraved whisky decanter and a bottle of very expensive Glenfarclas twenty-five year old, single malt whisky, and stepped up to the microphone. Ed could almost feel Bob’s embarrassment as he shuffled his feet, in the now silent room.

‘I’m not quite sure where to start. I suppose I should thank everyone for the lovely parting gift. I didn’t realise I was so popular, or perhaps you were just glad to see the back of me.’ Bob paused to let the jeers and heckles subside.

‘It seems like a long time ago, when I was a DI in the Met and I was called in by my boss and given an ultimatum, which was along the lines of the Met doesn’t want you. Your record is very impressive, but you’re a throwback to a bygone age and you’ll never change; so you don’t fit in, and will never fit in. Either get out of London and take a remote post or take early retirement. Being the belligerent bloke that I am, I took the remote post and a few weeks later rocked up in Padstow, after negotiating a promotion to DCI with my old boss and sparring partner, Jack Griggs, who the last I heard was a Deputy Chief Constable of some sneaky-beaky organization.’

Ed’s jaw dropped. He’d met Griggs a couple of times and despite Ed’s indifference to authority, Griggs had done him a big favour, although it was mutually beneficial to all that Ed’s slight indiscretion was brushed under the carpet and reduced to manslaughter in self-defence. Bob sought out Ed and gave him a smile on seeing the surprise on his face.

‘The Met, at that the time, was facing serious credibility issues and the powers that be, wanted a complete overhaul to make it a more politically correct, law enforcement agency, one that could be respected and trusted. Any hint of corruption, racism, sexism and old school policing was ousted. Alas, as you all know, I probably fitted into most of those categories, but being a DI I was too expensive to pension off; so here I am!’

Most of the assembled police officers assumed this was a joke and laughed heartily. Ed smirked because he knew better; this was a truthful admission of guilt on Bob’s behalf.

‘I was worried about taking the post at first. I was leaving behind a world of fraud, murder and corruption; and that was just in my department…’

Everyone laughed and even Ed was surprised at how good Bob was at public speaking. Bob held up his hand to quieten his now captive audience

‘…and coming to a world where I thought the biggest crime would be catching the odd sheep-shagger.’

Again there was more laughter.

‘How wrong could I be? Although in my time, we’ve had the odd pervert, who likes to creep up on an unsuspecting sheep and have his wicked way.’

Laughter again and Ed noticed Chief Superintendent Clatworthy bow his head and rub his temple.

‘Farmer Edwards was one I recall, caught red handed in a field with his trousers down, pleasuring what I assume was a very attractive ewe, whose name was withheld for privacy reasons. I always wondered why anyone would do such a thing, until I met his wife that is. Rather a sheep than a cow, I thought to myself.’

When the laughter died down, Brown looked across to Clatworthy, who was shaking his head so Bob decided to wind it up.

‘I joke of course. There have been some big cases down here and one of the most unpleasant was the Black Cockle Strangler, who I’m sure most of you’ll remember. A very nasty, sick individual, who thanks to DI Reynolds down there, is now safely behind bars. I guess also a mention to our very own private investigator, Ed Case, for his help in that case is also due.’

Ed raised his glass in acknowledgement.

‘It’s been an enormous pleasure to work here in Padstow. I’ll miss each and every one of you, and I mean that sincerely. I’m sure during my time as a DCI here, I’ve pissed most of you off or offended you in some way. If I haven’t, don’t worry, I’m not moving away and will get round to you some time in the near future. Thanks everyone.’

Bob raised his glass and was greeted with a huge round of applause and a standing ovation, which proved that despite being a throwback to a bygone age, he was a competent and well-loved member of the police force. Ed assumed so; surely, not everyone could be that pleased to see the back of him?

Bob joined Ed at the bar while he was waiting for his change.

‘Champagne, we are privileged,’ Bob said.

‘Chris likes it a lot and it’s a special occasion; you only retire once. I put another five-hundred quid behind the bar too. It should be enough to keep those thirsty coppers busy for a couple of hours.’

‘Thanks Ed, appreciate it. Can’t believe I’m retired. It hasn’t sunk in yet.’

‘Do you think you’ll miss it?’ Ed asked, unsure what Bob’s answer would be. Sometimes Bob gave the impression he hated his job and other times it was the complete opposite.

‘Yes and no. The paperwork, having to kowtow to likes of Clatworthy, the bullshit and the pressure, no. The thrill of making a breakthrough in a big case and getting a result, sure. But to be honest, at my level, and with very little by the way of serious crime, there was a lot more bullshit and kowtowing than results, so on the whole, no, not really.’

‘I’m gonna miss you because I’ll have to find another helpful source.’ Ed told him and smiled.

Bob chuckled.

‘We’ve had a few scrapes together that’s for sure. I’ll have a word with DI Reynolds for you, I’m sure he’ll be amenable to helping you out.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve saved you the bother and already asked; he’s good to help out with a few enquiries as long as it’s not too dodgy, but he said he’s not getting involved like you did. He needs the job and his nerves wouldn’t hold out.’

‘That figures. You never have been one to be shy at coming forward.’

‘So what’s the future hold for you now? Got anything lined up?’

Bob shook his head.

‘Maybe they’ll ask me to come back and look at cold cases,’ Bob offered.

Ed looked at him, unsure if he was serious or not.

‘Not gonna happen is it? Most of the victims have been eaten?’

‘What you on about, Ed?’ Bob looked perplexed.

‘You said yourself that the job was all about catching sheep-shaggers. Most of those victims have ended up as Sunday dinners so no witnesses, the perfect crime.’

Ed laughed at his own joke and gave Bob a punch on the arm.

‘Very droll. But to be honest with you, there really aren’t that many unsolved crimes, well none serious, so no job for me there.’

‘Guess you must’ve been too good at your job and didn’t think ahead to your retirement. You could always come and work for me, or with me?’ Ed said grinning broadly.

‘How will Raechael react to that? Every time we work together, we end up being shot at, our families kidnapped and we walk away lucky to be alive. Raechael would kill me before she lets me work with you.’

‘Never a dull moment, eh? Don’t tell her,’ Ed said and smiled mischievously.

Bob shook his head in dismay.

‘Think about it. I’d give you a daily wage and when we’re on a case I’ll give you double time. I’ll even pay for your life insurance to keep Raechael happy.’

They both laughed. Bob was left wondering if Ed was serious or not. You never quite knew with Ed.

CHAPTER THREE

Ed pushed the paperwork to one side, deciding the accounts could wait. There wasn’t a great deal to do as his business was new and work was coming in in dribs-and-drabs. If Ed was honest that suited him just fine. Since Anna had come into their lives, Ed wanted to spend more time as a family.

His last case was a few weeks ago and was a very easy case; one that he wrapped up in a couple of days. A recently engaged woman had doubts about her fiancé’s integrity; as it turned out rightly so, as he was living a double life with his wife of ten years, in Bodmin, under an assumed name.

It was a case Ed didn’t want to take on, but he had to build a reputation and to do that he needed to get cases under his belt, no matter how small or how heart breaking the end result might be. Giving the woman the