Murphy's Heist Read online

  Nolan eyed the street plans, Birkenhead, Liverpool, Manchester, and finally Chester. He pulled it out, grimaced at the price, and paid for it.

  The girl took his money. “If this is too expensive, you might get a free one at the Tourist information in Chester.

  “I’d probably need a map to find it,” smiled Nolan. “I’ll have this one.”

  Out in his car, he looked up the central area, and spotted the Magistrates Court, and, nearby a multi storey car park attached to a shopping centre. He plotted a route, writing on a notepad directions for himself.

  He was amazed to see that it was lunchtime already, and once en route, kept his eye out for somewhere to eat. He had forgotten, or couldn’t face the food when he was fragile. Now he was rapidly recovering, and hunger pangs were niggling.

  He pulled into the forecourt of a large pub that advertised ‘food all day’. As he entered the bar, which was quiet in this pre-lunchtime period, he saw a rack of newspapers, and pulled one out for himself, as he approached the bar. There was a sandwich menu, and he looked at it as he ordered a coffee. When the barmaid came back with his coffee, he ordered a round of sandwiches. Whilst he waited for these, he unfolded the newspaper, but it was printed too early for news of Murphy’s arrest. He glanced round the bar for a suitable table, and noticed a television attached to the wall at the far end of the room. It was on, but with the sound turned down. It was tuned to Sky News, with ‘breaking news’ scrolling across the bottom of the screen

  Danny Nolan sat at a table near the television set, and when the barmaid brought him the sandwich he’d ordered. He asked if she could turn up the sound and sat eating his sandwich, and catching up with the news, most of which didn’t interest him in the slightest.

  The news about Murphy’s capture came round again, but nothing extra was given. It was just a rehash of the news item he had seen in the hotel. In fact it was now abbreviated, because they no longer broadcast the live clip outside the Isle of Man airport. Danny wasn’t disappointed. There could be very little to say before Murphy had attended the magistrate court hearing, and then the media would have a field day, if Danny did the job right.

  What a mistake Murphy made when he decided to murder Danny Nolan’s young brother. Danny Nolan, maybe the only sniper in Europe. That was asking for trouble.

  Nolan daydreamed through his lunch. Would he use the car to shoot from? He had done that a few times during the troubles in Belfast. That was okay then, in a city he knew like the back of his hand. If there was trouble, he could vanish quickly. Not so easy in Chester, a city he didn’t know at all. The idea of operating as a sniper from a car hadn’t been his idea, it had been his superior in the provos. And it had worked very well. They had adapted cars, so that the rifle could be hidden in the roof lining. Even if the car had been stopped, they were in the clear. That had gone on for a couple of years, and then the British Army had raided one of their hideouts, and found a car they had used. They stripped it down, and discovered the sniper rifle, and its hiding place. Danny had also shot from trees, and the upper rooms of houses.

  In this case of dealing with Murphy, he had no time to rent a room overlooking the court, so that was out. Which method he would ultimately use would be decided tonight.

  One thing for certain was that this method of murder in peacetime had never been used, as far as he was aware, in England. It had been in the USA a few times, certainly; and during times of war, yes.

  It was strange that this method of murder wasn’t used. It was detached, for the murderer. Unlike knife work, or close up shooting. One shot at a range of three hundred yards, and sometimes more, and, in the distance, a body fell to the ground. It was certainly detached. Nolan looked at his watch as he came out of the pub. It was not even one o’clock. Coming into Chester, traffic was very slow on Hoole Road. Nolan didn’t know it, but traffic was always slow on Hoole Road. Eventually he was over the railway bridge, and then left, he remembered, and eventually came to what he had called the very large roundabout. In fact, it was a large rectangular one way route, encircling a block of buildings. He thought that he should be off at the fifth exit, but in confusion, he took the fourth exit. And it became obvious it was the wrong road he was on very quickly. Now he had to find somewhere to turn round, and it was a very busy route. Eventually, he came to a wide stretch, where he was able to do a U-turn, in a gap in the traffic, although it earned him a fair bit of horn-blowing.

  Then it was back to the huge one way rectangle, and this time he was very careful to take the correct exit. Nolan saw the multi-storey car park as he approached, and signalled a right turn into the entrance. But there was a sign forbidding what he was about to do. Swearing under his breath, he cancelled his signal and drove straight on. He assumed that sooner or later he would be able to turn and backtrack. Eventually he arrived at a roundabout, and he was able to do just that. When he approached the car park again, he was able to turn up a short street that terminated at the car park slope. The ticket barrier was on the first level, but still on the cusp of the slope, so that stopping to extract a ticket was not easy. Once through into the car park, he read the tariff board. Twenty-four hour parking was allowed at a charge of £15. That would suit him He reckoned that he would be leaving the car park by ten or so the next morning. If not, he would be leaving Chester in a big white 4GS van.

  He left his gear in the trunk of the car, and wandered down to street level, with his map of Chester. Standing on the street, he checked direction, and then made his way purposefully to Chester Crown Court. He walked past the front of the impressive modern building, and then turned into St Nicholas Street. The frontage had no car parking, but was a public entrance, and indeed, he imagined, the way in if you had attended without police escort. Walking along St Nicholas Street took him past the side of the court building, until he came to the car park. In fact there was the main car park, and then beyond, an overflow car park.

  This is bordered by a street running at ninety degrees to St Nicholas Street. It is called Weaver Street, and the back of the Magistrates Court is Cuppin Street.

  It was a cinch of a location for snipers. There were large trees all over the site. Danny entered the car park purposefully, as though he had parked there, and walked towards the far side of the park, then looked towards the back of the court. As he had expected, a couple of 4GS prisoner carrier vans were parked up in one corner. He dawdled, acting as though he was a member of staff, and had just come out for a smoke, reaching in his pocket, putting a pencil in his mouth, and pretending to light it. He took the pencil out of his mouth, cupped it in his hand, walking around in small circles. He didn’t have to wait long. The double doors at the back of the building opened, and a man accompanied by two hulky guards, came through on to the terrace, which had railings round the perimeter, except where a flight of steps, wide enough for three people to descend abreast, came down to the car park.

  Indeed, the three people did descend abreast, and at the bottom wheeled left to the waiting vans.

  Nolan was very happy. It just got better and better. He looked around the car park, the furthest, and the biggest trees were about three hundred yards away, There was a nearer group, about one hundred and fifty yards away, a bit close perhaps, if police, instead of attending to the victim, ran straight to where they might have thought the shot had come from. That was unlikely, and, thought Nolan, could be discounted. The first thought would be that the shooter was in a car, or on foot. By the time that happened, if indeed it did, he would be on the ground, no weapon in his possession, because it would still be in the tree, and he would be just an onlooker. In fact, he wouldn’t be running away, but just another of the people who would be coming to see what had happened. The ambulance and police cars would arrive quickly, as well as police from the court building, where he imagined, business would be suspended. He would stick around in the crowd, until the ambulance turned off its blue lights, an indication that Murphy was dead, and nobody needed to rush.

 
The stairs down from the terrace were another bonus. The guards and Murphy would pause at the top of the steps, looking down to tread on the first stair. Nolan would focus his sight on the top step, and then wait. It would be like shooting birds in a cage.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Nolan wandered idly out of the car park and into Cuppin Street. He walked down on the right hand side of the street, so that he was on the pavement running adjacent to the Court car park. As he walked down, he glanced at the trees. The group he had decided would be suitable to shoot from, he needed to check out. As he came up to them, he examined the branches, the third one of the group, and therefore the one nearest to the target, looked ideal. The trunk was three feet in diameter, and the limbs started at about fourteen feet from the ground. He thought it was a sycamore. It was a very limby sort of tree, and would be ideal for him. But it was early afternoon, and he didn’t need to be up in position until late tonight. Or rather, in the early hours of tomorrow, before it got light.

  He decided to window shop, followed by an evening meal. Then perhaps he would go to the cinema, if there was one. He bought a copy of the local paper in the shopping centre, and sat in a coffee house, reading it. There was indeed a cinema ‘easily reached on foot from the city centre’, it advertised. But when Nolan looked on his map, it looked quite a long walk. But he had nothing else to do this evening.

  At 6pm, window shopping finished, he found a chain restaurant in Eastgate, with Italian style menu, and went in and ordered. At least in a chain restaurant, people were unlikely to remember you. That might not be the case in a more up-market establishment. The food was quite good, and Nolan lingered over sweet and coffee, reading his newspaper. To avoid drawing attention to himself he made sure that he did not outstay his welcome, and left for the lengthy walk to the cinema. When he arrived he found that it was a multiplex, and that there was no less than a choice of six films. He made a choice that would finish in time to see another film later in the evening, and that he would be out at midnight. The first film he saw, he enjoyed. When he went in to see the second film, he fell asleep, and didn’t wake up until the lights came up, and the sound of people departing woke him.

  He walked slowly back to the city centre. When he arrived at the multi storey car park, it was gone one o’clock, and there were very few people about. This seemed to him a good omen.

  When he got to his car, he appeared to be the only person on that floor. He looked round for CCTV cameras, on the way up, but they were few and far between, obviously

  installed in the early days of camera security. He reckoned he could get out of the car park without being caught by a single camera, if he was careful and avoided using the pedestrian staircase.

  He went to the boot of his car, and pulled out an old golf bag. There were three clubs sticking out through the top. What was also in there, but not visible was a Lee Enfield .303 calibre British Army Sniper’s rifle, chosen at the factory for its consistent accuracy, because in the manufacture of hundreds of thousands of these rifles, quality varied. It was then fitted with a wooden cheekpiece, and with a telescopic sight, a number 32 3.5X. Not a very powerful sight, but good enough up to about 600 yards. The Lee Enfield was the staple rifle used by the British Army from 1895 to 1957 officially, but it had lingered on in use until the 1970s.

  Nolan had heard that snipers could kill with it at 1200 yards, but that was an unlikely boast, in his opinion. Certainly before World War one, the rifle was fired in competitions called “mad minute,” when the aim was to hit a target at 450 yards, with the largest number of hits. A sergeant who scored thirty-eight hits in that time held the record. Each time the rifle was fired, the bolt action had to be slid back to eject the spent cartridge, and then returned to load the next bullet. The Lee Enfield had a clip-on magazine that held ten bullets, eleven including a bullet in the breech. The sergeant who held that record had to attach four magazines in that minute, never mind fire the rifle, and hit the target! Nolan had a magazine with only three bullets in it. If he couldn’t hit the target in one, he wasn’t going to hang around. The deadliest shot is a bullet in the head, but snipers play safe and aim for the mass of the victim’s chest, and the bullet kills by hydrostatic shock.

  Nolan took out a length of rope, and wound it round his waist beneath his jacket. Fortunately, he was a thin man, and the result was only to make him look slightly overweight.

  This was all the equipment he needed, and his next task was to get out of the car park unseen, and, of course, arrive at the Magistrate’s Court seen by very few, if any people. The give-away would be the golf bag. Before he left his car, he had changed his mind. He could actually get the rifle down his trouser leg, but he would have to wear a loose coat. The barrel went down the trouser leg, and the stock was retained by his belt although it reached his chest, hence he needed the coat disguise. Fortunately he was going to walk the streets in the dark, so he should get away with it. He had done it before. In the car boot, he had a walking cane, which he had to use, because he couldn’t bend one of his legs, with the rifle in place.

  Behind the car, he partially undressed, hiding the rifle, and looked down, with his coat on. He then used the walking stick in his other hand, and he could swing his stiff leg along in a convincing disabled way. He locked the car, checked he had the rifle’s magazine, and left to walk carefully down the vehicle ramps, which were not equipped with cameras, except at the exit. When he reached that point, he found the pedestrian exit at the back of the park, and slipped through the door.

  He hardly met a soul on his way to the court. The streets in this area contained no nightclubs or other forms of night entertainment, for which Nolan was thankful. He skirted the court’s perimeter, until he arrived in the deserted Cuppin Street. When he was opposite the tree he had chosen as his attack station, he stepped quietly into the shadows. In the deepest of these, he stopped and gazed upwards. The bough he needed to reach, fourteen feet up the tree, was itself more than a foot in diameter. He unwound the rope from his waist. It was knotted at intervals into loops that would accommodate his feet, and had a largish steel ring on the end. He swung the end of the rope, and let it go to loop upwards and over the bough. Years ago, when he was working with the provos, he had practised this move and many others, until he was perfect. The rope snaked back down again, and he snatched the ring and threaded the other end through it. He pulled until the rope was secured. He grabbed at the rope and pulled his flexible leg in a loop four feet up and straightened it using both hands to pull himself up. Then he changed feet in the loop, and repeated the exercise. A third time, and he could sit on the bough, and pull up the rope, and drape it round the branch. In the dark, anyone looking up in to the tree would not see him.

  He took some time, deciding where he would position himself. With some difficulty, he extracted the rifle from his trousers, and reaching into his pocket pulled out the magazine, and clipped it to the rifle, with a small click, as it went smoothly into position. Nolan rested the rifle across two stout branches, parallel to the ground, whilst he was now free to manoeuvre through the tree’s canopy, selecting his position. He must be back in the shade that would come with sun-up, and yet have a good view of his target, and a comfortable position for himself, because he must spend some hours without moving. He needed a branch large enough not to be disturbed by wind, that he would support the barrel of the rifle on.

  It took him three quarters of an hour to select and move to a favoured position, and then he had his rifle within easy reach. Resting back in a large crook in the tree, where three boughs joined, he dozed, and eventually slept, only to be awakened by the morning traffic passing a few hundred yards away on the main road. He looked at his watch: it was seven o’clock.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  At eight forty-five, a large white van drew up next to the back door of the court, facing Nolan. Two men got out, one of them handcuffed to Murphy, and quickly mounted the steps to enter. Cars now started to fill the public area of the
park, some of the cars were between Nolan and the door to the court, but he was not concerned. He was now eighteen feet from the ground, and the door into the court must be about six feet above street level.

  Nolan expected that the Murphy hearing, if it came up first, and he thought it might, would only take, maybe fifteen minutes. All Murphy would be required to do was confirm his name and bail would scarcely be asked for or granted in such a serious crime. So Nolan had to be ready to shoot in about fifteen minutes on. And he had to be sure not to shoot the wrong person, if somebody else exited the building first.

  He lay along one of the branches with his cheek against the stock, looking through the sight showing an enlarged set of steps. He aimed at the centre of the steps, and about five feet above. He watched, relaxing himself so that his arm and hands would not be tense, and thereby tremble. It was as well that he prepared himself early, because before he thought it possible the double doors were opening, and two guards, with Murphy between them, emerged. As Nolan had predicted, the group hesitated on the edge of the terrace, looking down to put their feet on the first stair.

  Nolan had the sight in the centre of Murphy’s chest, and slowly squeezed the trigger. The rifle recoiled against his shoulder, but experience had prepared him to ride it. He heard the shot, a loud crack, reverberate off the court building and echo away. He saw Murphy pushed back slightly with the impact, and then he was crumpling, held up by confused guards.

  Nolan, placed the rifle safely in the branches, then scrambled quietly down to the large branch that still held the rope. Nolan didn’t let it down, he could hit the ground by hanging by his arms from the branch, and then dropping the remaining four feet, and bouncing quickly upright, and nonchalantly walking on to the street, looking round as though he had heard the babble of voices in the car park. As indeed he had. He entered through a space between the shrubbery. There were three people looking towards the court house, an elderly man and two women, one perhaps his wife, the other his middle aged daughter.