Paul Stretton-Stephens [Stretton-Stephens - Shades of Loyalty

A Jack Jago Novel

By

Paul Stretton-Stephens

Advisory Notices:

1. This publication is intended for persons over the age of eighteen due to the nature of the themes within.
2. The author is British and writes in British English.

I will occasionally send out a newsletter, but only if I have something meaningful to say about a new release, giveaway or some other news that I think my readers will be interested in. So, why not subscribe to my mailing list today, to ensure that youre always in the know.

Oh, and by signing up, youll also receive the bonus of two welcome gifts.

You can find details of how to sign up at the end of this book.

Published by Pen of Paul Media

Copyright Notice

Copyright , Paul Stretton-Stephens (2018), All right reserved

For information about permission to reproduce selections for this book, contact Paul Stretton-Stephens via

The moral right of Paul Stretton-Stephens to be identified as the Author of Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (CDPA)

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior permission in writing of the author and or publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any other form than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 978-0-9955129-9-3 (eBook)

ISBN 978-0-9955129-6-2 (Paperback)

Author Paul Stretton-Stephens Shades of Loyalty

Thursday 24th December, 2015

Willows Nursing and Residential Home, Upper Fronton, Northern England.

It was a cold Christmas Eve morning. A sharp frost had coated the ground, the grass, the pavement and the road, so the decapitated head of a white-haired old man didnt look out of place as it came to rest against the wheel of a parked car.

A few minutes earlier, the elderly residents of the Willows Nursing Home had been enjoying the warmth of their modern, purpose-built home in the sleepy suburb of Upper Fronton in the north-east of England. The homes open plan gardens bore all the hallmarks of winter and Christmas; the interior was adorned with a multitude of festive decorations, while outside in the garden a tree was illuminated by Christmas lights. A set of fibreglass reindeer, complete with sleigh, had parked themselves on the lawn of the front garden. Outside, Bernard was placing food on the bird table in front of the window. Inside, Albert exited his room and prepared, walking frame in hand, for the arduous journey along the corridor. He walked slowly and deliberately. In the vast, well-lit day room, a tall, traditionally-decorated Christmas tree occupied pride of place beside the entrance. Some of the residents were reading, some talking, some laughing and joking, while three female nursing assistants cared for them. One was helping a woman named Joan to rest, another was handing out cups of tea, and the other was helping a lady with a jigsaw at a table.

Come on, my love. Ill help you. How many pieces is it? Five hundred or one hundred?

Margaret, the purple-haired lady, replied, I think it has five hundred. My daughter brought it for me. I think its a Constable painting.

I dont know the artist, but its a nice scene. Right, lets find those corners, shall we?

As the nurse uttered those words, an explosion rang out. Debris flew through the air as if in slow motion, searing its way through the building and scattering the garden and open plan lawns of adjoining houses. Momentarily, everything came to a halt the only movement and noise being debris hanging from the structure and the piercing sound of the fire alarm. A few neighbours started to appear in the street, running to the scene in disbelief. Screams came from within the home. Nurses began to exit from a side door with bloodstained elderly residents, and the neighbours closed in to help, passing the decapitated body. As the survivors emerged, they could hear sirens approaching, intermingled with a symphony of alarms from the home and nearby cars. Two people had died, seven were seriously injured and twenty-three suffered minor injuries.

***

A short while later, a small, well-placed camera fixed high up on a lamppost recorded images of the uniformed police officers arriving with their plain-clothed colleagues. A pair of hands expertly worked across a keyboard in front of three monitors. The view changed rapidly from screen to screen. Fingers controlled keys, a hand controlled the mouse and zoomed in on faces, taking snapshots of those of the plain-clothed police. The facial images were placed on a screen and a search initiated. The screens showed a scan of the facial profiles of the investigating officers, stopping occasionally when a match was made. The results were saved.

Monday 25th January, 2016

Little Coxford Hospital, Hampshire

Sharon, a medical secretary, was going about her work when a porter arrived at her desk with his trolley full of mail. He handed her a bunch of letters and a small parcel, then departed, leaving Sharon to deal with the mail for the day. Sharon began opening the small package addressed to Dr Deans clinic, and just as she did so, it exploded. Her screams echoed throughout the hospital and staff ran to her aid. Her left hand was severely mutilated and her body suffered multiple wounds from fish hooks and razor blades.

Wednesday 24th February, 2016

St Marks Steam Train Centre, Devon

Well-wrapped and excited school children boarded a steam train with their three female teachers. Once aboard, the man on the platform blew his whistle and the driver replied with the trains piercing response. The railway man waved his flag and the train slowly left the pristine platform, gradually picking up speed.

On board, the thrilled children listened to their teacher. Some were staring out of the windows onto the moistened meadows and fields; some were playing clapping games; some were singing. After about thirty minutes, they settled down. The train was now at speed, bellowing steam as it passed through an area of woodland with tall spruce pines either side of the track. It slowed as the line started to incline gently. Suddenly, there was a loud explosion, mostly unheard inside the train carriages due to the thunderous noise of the engine and the childrens excitement. Two large trees toppled and struck the end of the rearmost carriage. The train jolted but continued at a slower speed for a short while. Passengers were thrown around the carriage like ragdolls, screaming and shouting. The train ground to a halt. A young female teacher got to her feet and headed for the door.

Come on, slowly now, we have to get off. The kids rose to their feet, some crying, others shouting to their friends. Slowly. In a line, now. Go and stand over by that fence. She turned to a dazed colleague. Trudy, you stay with them, and Ill go back inside.

Trudy comforted some crying children as the young teacher boarded the train again. There were no significant injuries, and most of the ones suffered were nothing more than bumps and bruises. It could have been a lot worse.

Friday 25th March, 2016