Chapter 3

The next morning, Marilyn sat in the rear while Hannah drove them to work, finding a space in the area for DCI parking. They went in and spent all morning in the range, with the armourer, firstly getting upgraded with their handgun use.

Although Marilyn had trained with a handgun, this was the first time she had been given the full training as a likely AFO. After that, they were shown how to use the Heckler and Koch MP5 carbine, which was a lot scarier than she had expected.

They went into the canteen for lunch. Hannah was serious.

“This morning was a revelation. If we do get to need those weapons, it will be a case of life or death. I’ve never felt that the job may kill me before.”

“With most of the cases, injury is only to ones’ pride when we get verballed by irate people. This case has the chance to go pear-shaped, and we all have to be ready. Just as we get first-aid training, it’s only a few who save lives or deliver babies.”

That afternoon, they went to the Acomb station, where they spent the rest of their day with one of the intelligence officers, going through what was known, or guessed, about ‘Boars Hogs’ that wasn’t part of the official records. No inkling of a rival gang was on the records, with most of the other gangs in the area being too small, or too scared to consider poking the boar. O’Gradys’ gang were in the process of reorganising, with his main lieutenants taking on the mantle of being the boss. The intelligence officer suggested that it would be about a week before they start fighting among themselves.

That set Marilyn thinking. If all of the other gangs were too weak to have considered the hit, and with the Hogs jockeying to take control of the reins, there wasn’t a single person that stood out as being big, or brutal, enough to be behind the Coppergate Carnage. There hadn’t been any messages from the team, so they went back to Old Village to relax.

Next morning, they went into the gym, seeing that most of the desks had someone peering at a computer screen. Ginger saw them and beckoned them to his office. When they had sat down, he had a file open in front of him.

“The Bradford idea has given us some information, Marilyn. The lads tracked the truck from Tower Street, along Clifford and then over the bridge. It was picked up on The Mount and then on the A64 heading for Leeds. They couldn’t pick it up after the M1 intersection, so looked at those cameras. It was going north at a rate of knots. Oddly, there was a bit of lost time between two cameras. The off ramp between them is Wattle Syke.”

“Change of driver?”

“It must have been. From that road, you can come down to Bradford airport from the north. The extra driver, from then, may have been the driver that took it further north on the M1. We had a sighting at Hopperton and then nothing. Ian had the bright idea of calling the Knaresborough fire station, and they had been called out to a vehicle fire, about two miles from the intersection. He was referred to the Knaresborough police, and they gave us the rest of the story”

“This would have happened on the day of the crime?”

“It did. They didn’t know that we were looking for the truck at that time. They recovered the truck and it’s in their yard at the moment. The interior was burnt out, the firemen thought that it could have been an incendiary device. I’ve contacted Thirsk and they’re going to pick it up. There may be prints or something in the tray.”

“What about the airport?”

“Joe was looking at those cameras, with a better print of the bag, which wasn’t in the truck when found. He sighted the bag being carried into the main entrance at eleven forty. We now have a good look at the driver.”

He passed over a security camera picture of the person carrying the bag.

“That’s a woman!”

“It is. She flew out on a Ryanair flight to Wroclaw, Poland, at ten past one. Internal cameras have shown her totally relaxed and enjoying lunch in one of the fast-food joints. We’ve run the name she was using through immigration and Interpol, with no matches. Her build doesn’t match the one that showed in that truck picture from the scene, so the truck was set up for UK roads. That’s confirmed by Knaresborough.”

“Do we have a list of right-hand drive versions sold in 2026?”

“We don’t. All Ram trucks are imported, in both left and right-hand drive, with the right-hand ones built to order. When we get the engine and ID numbers, we should be able to talk to the original owner. We’re talking sales, at that time, of less than a hundred units, across the whole range, with most of the buyers after something with a big towing capacity. At that time, they were selling for better than a hundred and twenty thousand.”

“That’s crazy. Why use something so obviously rare to create the mayhem. With the doctored bollards, they could have used something more common, like a Land Cruiser or Land Rover. Thanks, Ginger. Can I have some of the best pictures of the driver, as well as any fingerprints from the truck when Jacob’s had a go with it, please.”

“Will do, Marilyn.”

“I’ll also need something for a presentation. The two videos of the attack and the records of the three hit victims. I’ll also need the names and hometowns of all the tourists. The top brass are probably getting it in the neck to hold a press conference.”

“Aye, someone has to stand up and tell them where we’re at. Which is just getting information. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“I’ve been speaking to Acomb. There doesn’t seem to be any big rivals on the horizon. The underlings are sorting out their places, and there hasn’t been a move from anyone outside the area. Hog didn’t kill anyone or muscle in on another patch recently. This seems to have happened in a vacuum. A very expensive operation when you import a killer and don’t worry about other victims. Hell, a shotgun cartridge is a few pence and does the job just as well.”

She went into her office and closed the door. Picking up her phone, she called Keith in Leeds.

“DCI Russell.”

“Keith, it’s Marilyn Houseman in York, how are you?”

“Better than you, Marilyn, from the scuttlebutt that I’m hearing. Have you figured out why someone went amok in Coppergate?”

“That’s why I’m calling you. Do you have a contact number for that Carruthers guy?”

“I have a number to leave a message to call back. You know how it is with these spooks, want to remain mysterious.”

“Can you get him to give me a call. I’d like his input.”

“Sounds more than a madman. What gives?”

“The driver was only after three victims, which were Hog, the gang leader, and his minders. It seems mindless and without any meaning, but the driver was imported and on a plane to Poland that afternoon, with the truck burnt out on the M1.”

“That will get you Carruthers on your doorstep. Sounds like part of something bigger, but, for the life of me, I can’t imagine what the rest of it is. I’ll give him a call.”

“Thanks, Keith.”

She then called DCI Wilkins at Acomb.

“Wilkins.”

“It’s Marilyn at York. I’m wondering what’s happening to Hogs’ properties. Did he have a next of kin?”

“There is a wife and three little piglets in a nice house. She swears that he was a regular businessman and can’t understand why anyone wanted him dead. The odd thing is that I believe that he kept her in the dark. We’ve had a couple of teams going through the farm and the rest of the property. We needed to get an expert in to remove the pigs.”

“Where is the farm?”

“The main buildings are on the corner of Mill Lane and Atterwith Lane, opposite the Funtime Complex. The sties were along a tree line, a long way from any roads. The rest of the acreage is just used to run cattle and sheep, which are owned by a local farmer. There isn’t a house, just a few sheds. We’ve found a couple of cars in one that relate to a few older crimes, so the site may well be taken over as assets from criminal activities and sold off. Do you want to have a look?”

“That would be good.”

“I’ll let the guys know that you’re coming around. You would know most of them from your time here. Just turn up.”

“Thank you, Chief Inspector.”

She went out to speak to Hannah.

“We’ll get a quick lunch and then we’re going out to Hogs’ farm to have a look around. I can’t think of anything else we haven’t been checking.”

“Right, ma-am. Just wave when you’re ready to go to the canteen.”

John Richards was listening in.

“I was brought up in a farming family, ma-am. Do you mind if I come along? There’s not that much for me here at the moment.”

“All right, John. The farm is out near the Funtime Complex.”

“I know it. We lived in Long Marston for a while.”

They were in the canteen when her phone buzzed.

“DCI Houseman.”

“Brenda from upstairs, Marilyn. The boss wants you to front up a media scrum this afternoon. He said for you to bring along a couple of nicer-looking ones to stand behind you and nod, sagely. Drill hall next door in an hour.”

“Right, Brenda. I have a couple of likely heads sitting with me right now.”

She smiled as she put her phone away.

“We have another task before we can go out to the country. You are going to see what responsibility brings, which may curb your ambitions. In an hour, we’re going to be standing in front of the media. We have an hour to collect up enough to keep them happy, but not enough to get them attacking us for not knowing anything. The bunfight is in the drill hall of the Royal Yorkshire Regiment, next door. There must be a lot coming.”

They went down to the gym and gathered up the information that Marilyn was prepared to give, which wasn’t a lot. Later on, they were in the drill hall, facing a large contingent of the media, from reporters from the local papers to cameras from national TV. The Chief Superintendent welcomed the members of the press, telling them that it was still early in the investigations, then introduced Marilyn, as the DCI in charge. She stood on the temporary stage and looked out at the flashes from phones and into the lights from the TV stations.

“Ladies and gentlemen. We are still only a few days into this investigation, but we have made a few, significant, discoveries. The media, the next day, called the event the ‘Coppergate Carnage’. At first, it looked as if some madman took a truck and emulated similar events in other countries. I, and my team, were deployed to gather evidence and take statements while the injured were being treated and the bodies lay where they had fallen. It wasn’t a good place to be, that morning.”

She paused and looked at the faces in front of her. Her audience now knew that this wasn’t just some talking head from the police publicity office, but one who had been there, on the day.

“During the course of my six hours at the scene, I spoke to a lot of people. One, in particular, told me something which has allowed us to make some great strides in the case. Unfortunately, the more strides we’ve made, the further away from the truth we get. Let me give you the facts, as we now know them.”

She could see notepads and recorders being readied.

“The events at Coppergate were not a random madman with a big truck. It was a woman, in a big truck, there to murder one man, in a way to send a message to others.”

There was a flurry of voices and a few shouted questions. She held her hand up for silence.

“Please. I’m here to tell you what we know, so far. It’s up to you to print conjecture and wild guesses. That day was carefully planned. The security bollards at both ends of the walk had been tampered with to allow the truck to access the walk. There was a spotter, in the crowd, who called the driver when the target was outside a shop, and in a suitable place to be killed. At the right time, the truck was driven into the walk, killing four innocent people before veering to one side to murder the target, then just driving over whoever got in the way as it left, killing another four people out for a walk at the shops.”

There were another babble of voices, only quietening as she put her hands up again.

“I’m telling all I can. I will not be answering questions. It will be up to my superiors to select any pictures from the video we have that are suitable for publication. Now, of the eleven killed, three were local businessmen and known to the police. They were the targets. The truck was a Dodge Ram, right-hand drive, and a model that was sold in limited numbers in 2026. It was probably one of only a dozen sold that year. After Coppergate, it was driven out of the city, towards Leeds, and then north on the M1. Somewhere along there, the driver was let out, probably picked up with another car, and the truck driven further north until it was parked by the motorway and torched, just north of Knaresborough. It is now at the CSI being examined. Our condolences go out to the families of the eight innocent victims from that fateful day.”

There were more questions shouted, including one asking about the driver.

“I’m just getting on to the driver. In the tray of the truck there was a carry-on bag that you use when you fly. My team have searched all the CCTV vision we can find. That bag was carried through the main doors of Leeds-Bradford a little over an hour after the event. The person carrying it left the country on a flight to Poland, that afternoon. The carnage was due to something carefully planned, carried out with all the skills of a dedicated assassin, and has left no reasons why it happened. We are monitoring all the criminal activities linked to the targets, with no results, so far. This operation cost a lot of money, carried out with the bravado of someone who doesn’t think we’ll find them, and, so far, you now know what we know. Our efforts are now aimed at finding the tiny bits of evidence that will put us on the right path. Thank you.”

There was a barrage of shouted questions and the Chief Superintendent stepped forward.

“I have to admit that DCI Houseman has given you more than I would. The police publicity office will supply you with selected photos from the scene to add to your story. As you were told, the killers made one mistake with the carry-on bag. The next day or so should see if they made any others that will give us a strong lead. Thank you all for coming. No more questions.”

The reporters grumbled but started to make their phone calls to editors. The police left as a group and walked back to the station, joined by Colonel Carruthers, who walked alongside Marilyn.

“I’ve never been to a media scrum where so much had been given out. Are you sure that it was a good idea?”

“That was the facts as we know it, Colonel. Anything less would have them telling the world that we know nothing. If you come back to our control room in the gym, I can give you a look at the hard evidence.”

“That would be good. You’ve already told the world that this could have been organised by an overseas organisation, so my contacts are interested.”

In the gym, he was shown the vision that they had of the event, as well as the CCTV vision from the airport.

“What else do you know about this woman?”

“Thirsk has had a look and estimated her height at just under six feet, with a weight of around a hundred and fifty pounds. She was travelling on a Hungarian passport in the name of Feketerigo, Anna Feketerigo.”

“Did you get anything from that?”

“No. There’s no Interpol information under that name. The surname translates to ‘blackbird’.”

“OK. I’ll take this to the services and see if they have anything to add. The Hungarian passport is probably genuine, and issued as a favour to citizens of other countries where the ruler is an autocrat or a dictator. It depends on when it was issued. She may have others with a similar name from other countries. Belarus, for instance, if this was a Russian operation.”

After he left, Marilyn gathered her two companions and Hannah drove them to the farm, with John able to give easy directions. They made themselves known to the team sifting through the debris and looked around for themselves. When they had looked inside all the buildings, they stood by the car and looked out over the fields. Marilyn sighed.

“This doesn’t look as if it has any link to the case, it’s another dead end.”

John was looking around.

“This is just a dumping ground. I’m sure that there’ll be plenty here that links to other crimes.”

They heard a car pull into the property and turned to watch a well-dressed man get out. He walked over to them and held out his hand.

“Mrs. O’Grady, I’m Derrick Taylor. I was negotiating with your husband to buy this property, before that madman killed him.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m not Mrs. O’Grady. I’m DCI Houseman and these are DC Brightman and Richards. We’re part of the team investigating the death of Mister O’Grady.”

“Surely it won’t be long before the property is cleared for sale. After all, he was just a businessman with a hobby farm.”

“If you give me your card, Mister Taylor, I’ll pass it on to his widow to get in touch with you. Here’s my card should you want to check on the progress.”

“Thank you, ma-am.”

He took the card, went back to his car and left. Marilyn stood still for a moment.

“Big mistake number two!”

Hannah giggled.

“Exactly. How does he know that Hog was killed at Coppergate when we haven’t given out the names yet.”

Marilyn gave the card to John.

“Tomorrow, you and Hannah follow this up. I want to know where his office is, what other dealings he has had, and, importantly, where he was born. That wasn’t an accent I can easily place. John, go and talk to your contacts in the area and ask if any have been approached by Mister Taylor recently. He didn’t say that he was working on behalf of a client, which could mean that he’s a developer. Look this DJT Realty up on the companies list and check with the council to see if there’s any planning proposals for this area.”

“Will do, ma-am. We’ll get on to it. If you drop me at the station, I’ll get my car and come back to talk to my relatives this evening.”

Hannah drove them back to Fulford Road and John got out. She then drove them back to Old Village, where Anton was already home. The three of them put the baby in her pram and they went to the pub for a meal. Marilyn got several looks when she was shown on the news giving the press statement, but they all knew that she was in the police, so didn’t bother her.

Next morning, she went to her office in the gym while John and Hannah went to ask questions. John had photocopied the business card, so she spent some of her morning checking out the details on her computer. There was no office, just a private house. Checking with company records showed that the name had been registered as a ‘sole trader’, just two years before. Using a search question to immigration, she found that Derrick Jackson Taylor had arrived through Heathrow, a month before the company registration, from Boston, on a US passport.

After lunch, John and Hannah came back and she spoke to them in her office. John was excited.

“I spoke to my relatives in the area last night. I was told that Taylor has been letter-boxing the area with fliers, asking anyone who wants to sell to get in touch. It started about a year and a half ago. Those that did follow it up were offered a fair price. I was told that a few of the older ones have taken the opportunity to get rid of their land and move away, selling him their houses as well. The neighbours have said that the houses are now home to groups of men with no real jobs other than keeping the acreage mown. All animals that used to be there have been sold off, including the ones that used to run on the O’Grady’ land.”

“That fits in with him only arriving two years ago. Is there any particular land that he’s after?”

“It appears to be bounded by Mill Lane, Atterwith Road, Tockwith Road and York Road, with Long Marston being the only residential properties looked at. On the other side of York Road, on Angram Road, nobody has been contacted.”

“How big is that area, just an estimate?”

“Around about a few hundred acres, or more.”

“That’s big enough for a small town!”

Hannah spoke up.

“I was talking to some of the women in Long Marston. They told me that it had been suggested that there would be work for maids, cleaners and gardeners in five or six years. It sounds as if Taylor is working towards building a housing development.”

“All right. You two, get into the council and check what plans have been submitted. That would have to mean a change of land use from rural to residential. If he’s serious, he would have already spoken to them. If O’Grady was a hold-out, there’s enough money in a development that big to fund the assassination, with a message to others to sell, or else. Taylor is American, which accounts for the accent. He is trying to speak English, but some words didn’t follow our usual pronunciation.”

“He did call you ma-am, not usual in normal speech in this country.”

They went off to speak to the council. Marilyn was talking to the two inspectors about developments when Colonel Carruthers came into the gym and walked up to them.

“I have news. Can we talk in your office?”

“Can my inspectors listen in. I have something to tell you, as well.”

They had to grab one of the spare seats and were quite cosy in the temporary office. Marilyn sat at her desk.

“Now, Colonel. You have something to tell us?”

“I have information on your driver. She is an ex-marine in America. She is a darling of what’s left of the MAGA organisation. That is now centred in the ultra-right, super-Christian groups. They have been setting up closed enclaves in the countryside, where they can live with like-minded neighbours and pray together. My contacts know her under her operating name, which is Raven, after the Superhero.”

“That fits in with what we’ve discovered since I last saw you. There’s an American, in a private house in Rufforth, who has set up as an estate agent. He’s been buying up land between Long Marston and O’Gradys’ land. He arrived in the country two years ago. The area is big enough for a decent village, if you allow for a hundred-yard border around it. From what we’ve learned, access will be from Long Marston.”

“That will be something big enough to fund the Carnage.”

“Jacob was talking about sending a message on that afternoon. I think it was to others who are still holding out. Here’s a copy of the mans’ business card. We’ll be looking at the development plans, if you can see what your contacts can tell us about Derrick Taylor.”

“Will do, Marilyn. This now has a definite political angle. I’ll need to ask for email and phone records between this guy and the current opposition. Their leader was in deep with Trump some years ago. If this is linked to them, the Carnage could be dynamite, politically.

Marianne Gregory © 2026