by Jay Nadal
Although derelict, the smashed windows, crumbling silos and rusted metalwork told a story about West Sussex’s industrial past. Now it was abandoned to rats, mice, graffiti and the environment. Amongst the grey blandness, a corner was awash with colour from an array of abandoned red buses, cars and vans. Scott noticed a solitary white BMW that sat perched on top of a metal container like a random abstract work of art.
Scott paused as the sound of loud piercing screams echoed around them, bouncing from building to building. It was primal, unforgiving and violent. He waved at the firearms officer to make his way to the stairwell of the block where the screams originated.
As they made their way up, the wind blew right in, swirling around them in mini dusty vortexes, whistling and howling. Remnants of shattered glass and rotting wooden frames littered the stairs, crunching under each footstep. If Scott had hoped for a silent approach, he’d failed. Dawson would know they were moments away.
Mortar and stone crumbled as invasive vegetation crept up the walls. Scott passed black and empty doorways, each one marked with graffiti, rubbish, used syringes and stale urine, despite the strong security.
The haunting sound of pain had all but faded by the time they reached the top floor. Officers stormed through the door, the element of violent and distracting noise deliberate to confuse the suspect.
The floor was empty aside from a solitary chair in the middle of a dusty, cold floor. A body sat slumped in it.
As more officers converged on the floor, they raced off in different directions in search of Dawson. The sound of heavy, booted footsteps vibrated through the floor.
Scott walked up to the bloody mess that had once been McCormick. He looked grotesque. A mix of blood and tissue marked his empty eye sockets. His face bore the signs of a savage beating. An iron bar littered the floor, the tool of choice. Scott spotted several teeth scattered close by.
McCormick’s white shirt, dirty and torn, grew a red stain across the abdomen as his blood oozed out and soaked his trousers. The once untouchable man had met a violent and savage end.
“He had no chance,” said Mike. “I’ve seen prisoners captured by the Taliban end up like that. Rather than a bullet to the head, they prefer a long-drawn-out death. He was given a fucking hiding.”
Abby and Helen circled McCormick’s body assessing the full extent of his injuries. To one corner, officers found a makeshift camp, with a few supplies. A sleeping bag, camp stove, food sachets and maps. It gave an insight into the simple life that Dawson had lived whilst he carried out his revenge. What caught Scott’s eye was camera equipment, and what appeared to be a scanner of some sorts, the type used to listen into police communications.
Scott called in Cara and Matt’s forensic team. They would wait by the entrance to the site until the all-clear was given.
A series of gunshots startled the officers, forcing them to hit the floor. Scott looked in all directions to identify the source. Armed officers converged on a secondary stairwell to the rear. Scott grabbed his radio saying, “I want him alive,” his voice drowned out by small arms fire, and shouts of “armed officers, put the gun down!” Chaos ensued around them as the whining din of the helicopter screamed through the broken windows.
Scott and his team were hemmed in by a protective arc of armed officers as the intermittent gunfire faded.
Leaving the protection of the armed officers, and before his team could say anything, Scott raced over towards the stairwell. He had only reached the doorway when his radio crackled into life. “Officer down, officer down!” Confusion and panic gripped Scott’s throat like a vice. Further news came through that the armed officers had reached a stand-off with Dawson, who held an injured officer at gunpoint, using him as a shield on the floor below.
Scott was just about to head down the stairs when he heard heavy footsteps thundering back up. His eyes widened in uncertainty. He let out a sigh as an armed officer charged towards him.
“Sir, we have the suspect contained in a small area. He’s asking for you.”
More than a dozen armed officers had their sights trained on a man obscured by a terrified-looking police officer.
“Son, you okay?” Scott asked the young officer. He could see the look of fear in his eyes as the officer’s arms trembled. He gave Scott small, unconvincing nod.
“Inspector, I’m glad you could join us for the party.”
53
Dawson was about the same height as Scott but broader. He had one arm looped around the young officer’s neck, with another pointing a gun at the man’s head. His dark, menacing eyes peered from beneath the rim of his black baseball cap. He looked older than Scott had imagined. Scott put it down to the fact that Dawson sported grey stubble, which looked at odds with his dark hair that poked out from the edges of his cap.
“I know who you are, Adam. You might call yourself Adam Marshall now, but you’re Adam Dawson. I know why you’ve been doing this, but it can all end now. It’s finished. No one else has to get hurt.”
Dawson’s voice was cold, hard and tinged with unresolved rage. “It ended years ago, Inspector. I’ve been tying up loose ends.”
“And McCormick was a loose end?”
Dawson nodded.
“There’s no need for anyone else to get hurt. You’ve made your point to all those who hurt you, Sarah and the other children at the care home.”
Dawson locked his cold steely eyes on Scott. “You don’t get it, do you? I’ve spent all my life working towards this. I took my time; I learnt my skills. McCormick needed to die. I needed to make him pay. No one listened to us. No one helped Sarah.”
His voice softened at the mention of Sarah’s name. His eyes became lost in the depths of despair as his mind dragged him back to that dark period in his life.
“They had to feel the same fucking isolation that Sarah felt, that I felt, when I lost everything. And everyone responsible had to pay the price. I wanted them to feel that sense of loneliness.”
Scott kept his voice calm and soothing. “I get that, Dawson. I know what it’s like to lose everything and feel so alone. Sarah meant a lot to you. Ashman, Golding and Amy let you down.”
Dawson protested. “They saw our pain. They saw it with their own eyes and ignored it, choosing to turn a blind eye.”
Another piece of the jigsaw fell into place. The eyes carried a poignant message. Dawson’s life had been tarnished by what happened to his best friend, and those around him. His recent exposure to the brutalities of life in war-torn countries appeared to have done nothing more than antagonise him further.
“You’re lucky, Inspector. You’ve had the opportunity to start again. You’d lost everything like me. That’s why we were alike. But now you have the chance of a new life.”
“Is that why you reached out to me? Because you thought I would understand?”
“I don’t think you understand at all. Tell me, Inspector, how did you feel when people said they understood your loss? Do you think they understood? Or were they going through the motions?”
Scott grimaced, understanding the truth in his words. “I guess not.”
“No, I didn’t think so. You felt pissed that the case wasn’t investigated thoroughly, that no one was brought to justice. Right?”
Dawson didn’t let Scott answer. “Sarah was my only family. The only person I loved. Sarah loved and cared about me.” His words were precise and measured as he kept his emotions in check.
“Killing those people wouldn’t have brought Sarah back.”
“True, but they deserved it.”
“I don’t doubt that. They let you down.”
Dawson offered a single nod. His eyes darted from one armed officer to another. Their fingers poised ready to unleash a volley of bullets.
Scott had the smallest of wry smiles. “You planned all this didn’t you?” He asked waving his arm around the warehouse floor. “You wanted us to come and find you because you had done everything you had set out to do. You wanted to mee
t me face-to-face.”
Dawson didn’t speak but waved his gun wildly. Tension stiffened the shoulders of the armed officers as Scott held up a hand to hold fire.
“So is this how it ends?” Scott asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You die in a hail of bullets. The lovely memories you have of Sarah extinguished with your final breath?”
“Sarah will always live; she’ll always be alive in my mind,” he said tapping the side of his head with his handgun.
“That’s if you’re alive to remember them. Let’s call it a day, Dawson. I’m sick of the bodies, and the last thing I need is scraping your body off the floor. Is this how Sarah would have wanted it to end for you? You slumped on the floor in a dusty, derelict warehouse? Used as target practice by these boys? The second you move, you’ll go down. That would have broken her heart further. It’s over.”
Scott let the thought hang in a risky manoeuvre. Trained negotiators should have been called in, but Scott knew time wasn’t on their side.
Dawson’s eyes dropped their cloak of anonymity, revealing pain and resignation. He could go out in a hail of bullets. It’s something he’d spent most of his life being surrounded by, but the odds were less than favourable.
His grip around the young officer’s neck loosened, and he dropped his weapon, before dropping to his knees and locking his fingers behind his head.
Armed officers swarmed around Dawson, manhandling him to the ground, as other officers unceremoniously dragged the injured officer away.
The sigh that came was a signal, not of his resolve escaping but of the level his tension had reached. It was a release of breath that Scott didn’t know he’d been holding. With it, his shoulders relaxed and his body hung limp and exhausted.
He watched Dawson being led away, the man’s head bowed in deep contemplation and grief. Scott shook his head mumbling, “I’m getting too fucking old for this shit. My heart can’t take it.”
The look in Meadows’s eyes said it all, even though a word hadn’t passed his lips for a few moments. Scott braced himself. “Scott, a good result, but a bloody foolish stunt on your part. We have trained negotiators for situations like that. More to the point, the place was surrounded, he had nowhere to go.”
“I know, Sir. We didn’t have time on our side. Dawson had planned a final showdown, so he wanted me there. Face-to-face. I wanted a peaceful outcome and talking to him was my best chance of achieving that. I had to find out his motive, his thinking. I wouldn’t have had that opportunity if he’d been shot. I know you don’t agree with my methods, Sir, but I get the result.”
“I don’t agree with them simply because I hate having to justify why one of my officers behaves this way. One of these days I won’t be able to protect you.”
Meadows had breezed out of Scott’s office with the same arrogance as when he’d strolled in. Alone, he thought about Dawson and the difficult journey he’d had in life, filled with nothing more than grief, sorrow and emptiness. Every child deserved to be protected, loved and cared for. Those raw essentials had been left out of Dawson’s life.
As a young boy, Dawson couldn’t stand by and watch those he cared for suffer. The same people who should have been there to listen, had chosen to ignore his plight, and paid with their lives.
54
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Abby leant in the doorway, waving an empty mug in her hand.
“You would be a rich woman by now. Besides, I thought you’d gone home. It’s been a long day.”
“Soon. I thought I’d just make another cuppa, and go through some paperwork.”
Scott beckoned Abby to sit. “Overworking is half of the reason you’re so stressed. You don’t know when to stop. The case files will be there in the morning. We’ll have the same enquiries to do, and nothing will have changed. So, I’m ordering you to switch off your PC and go home. Pick up fish and chips and treat the kids.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“I know it is. That’s why I am the boss,” he added, raising a brow.
They sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying each other’s company. Scott knew there was no better time than the present to have the conversation he’d been dreading. “Have you thought about your decision?”
Abby exhaled. She gazed at the bottom of her cup as if reading her fortune in the tea leaves that swirled around. “I don’t know what to do. I really don’t know what to do. Sometimes I think I love the job. Then I sit and think about it. Perhaps I love my team, rather than the job itself.”
Scott grimaced. “I guess we all feel like that at some stage. I went through that same conflict after I lost Becky and Tina. I didn’t want to be here. The fact is I don’t want to lose you as a friend and officer. You’re too valuable. I’ve got a suggestion for you.”
“Oh…yeah?”
Scott sensed the caution in her tone. “It’s nothing bad. I spoke to Cara, and we’ve bought you and the kids a holiday at her friend’s apartment in El Faro, Spain. We will pay for the rent on the apartment and your flights. You need spending money, and you’re good to go.”
Abby opened her mouth to protest, her pride and stubbornness swelling inside, when Scott raised a hand to stop her.
“I don’t want to hear another word on the matter. Take two weeks off. Go and enjoy being a parent, and taking time out for you. There’s a great running trail along the seafront that goes to La Cala and beyond. Sharon and Sean who look after the complex can keep an eye on the kids, and there’s a great pool that’s hardly used. And the best bit is you’ll never have to fight over the sunbeds.”
“Guv, I can’t. I could never accept something like that from anyone.”
“Well, tough. You will have to wind your neck in on this occasion. Go home and break the good news to the kids, and book the flights. I’ll sort out the money tomorrow. I’m doing this because I care about you. Your happiness is important to me. That’s what friends are for, right?”
The offer sat uncomfortably with her.
“Take the time out to think about what you want to do. But just remember, I want you in my team, and when you get back, we’ll sit down and look at your shift patterns. You’re right; you need to be home more often. I’ve spoken to Helen and Raj, and both are happy to take on extra work. In fact, I think Helen’s excited at the prospect. We’ve got the makings of a great officer in Helen. I think it makes sense to put her under your wing and let her get to grips with some of your work. Deal?”
Abby couldn’t explain the mixture of emotions she felt. Her mind and body felt like a cage that trapped her. Scott unlocked her with only words and opened a door she didn’t know existed. Having felt alone and stressed most of her life, Scott had a way about him that took away her pain and made it bearable by giving hope and support. No matter what, he stood firm, reassuring, kind.
“Go! Get your backside out of my office.”
Abby rose and stopped by the doorway. She turned back and smiled once more.
“Thanks, Guv.”
Also by
Jay Nadal & Adam Nicholls
YOU SAW TOO MUCH
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You Saw Too Much
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Prologue
Weighed down with the torture of recent events, Lori unlocked the door of the motel and stumbled inside, hauling her one big bag of spare clothes with her. Before she got a chance to study the small, dusty room, she hurried to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She then unpacked her bathroom gear and brushed her hair in short, violent strokes, fighting the urge to look at herself in the mirror. The image she expected was awful: tired eyes, frizzled hair, and red skin bitten by the fall air.
She glanced around the bedroom and shoo
k her head at the worn and tired feel. If she painted the walls black, the room couldn’t be any darker. The once-frilly net curtains at the window were thick with years of grime. The light hanging from the ceiling struggled to reflect from the formerly beige carpet that was more like a forest floor in both color and texture. The walls could be any shade at all. She couldn’t tell.
Lori grimaced. She’d clearly been given a room that hadn’t been used in a long time. She thought about going to complain but had neither the energy nor inclination. It could wait until tomorrow.
By the time she was done, she climbed into bed and winced as the hard springs poked her skin. It was like fingers pricking and prodding her all over, adamant she shouldn’t sleep. She didn’t need them—she had enough trouble sleeping just from the memories that came back to haunt her. How had this all happened so fast? Only weeks ago she’d been the wife of a loving husband, and now she was being hunted while a nameless man fed her conspiracy stories.
I’ll get to the truth somehow, she thought, stirring. Even if it kills me.
1
Before her life changed forever, there was nothing Lori loved more than living in the small, quiet town of Castleford, Connecticut. With a population of less than seven hundred, there was little room for drama and plenty of space and tranquility to enjoy the view of the lush and leafy forests that surrounded the town. There was no better place.
Castleford, referred to as the town that always slept, was hemmed in by dense woods that were home to ancient beech, cedar, and birch trees. These trees stood as silent bastions, observing folk going about their everyday lives. She never tired of admiring the landscape as it changed through the seasons. From a color palette of greens in the spring and summer, to the rich oranges, yellows, bronzes, and reds that heralded the cool touch of fall in the air.