Truth or Dare

by Tania Carver

‘Shit, d’you think I let him get away?’

  ‘You couldn’t have known, Nadish. We’d have all done the same thing. But thanks for letting me know.’

  ‘What d’you want me to do?’

  Phil thought. ‘Well, we don’t want to go tearing over there with a full armed response unit, not just yet. We’ve got no evidence. No probable cause. Just your gut instinct, which may well be right. However, if you’re wrong the media’ll crucify us. Especially after last night’s cock-up. We’ll all be moved to Traffic. So let’s tread lightly. Take Imani with you. Go and interview him again. If your suspicions are still intact, bring him in for questioning. I’ll get Elli to look into his background while you’re on your way. Call me if you think you need back-up. I’ll sort it.’

  Phil stood up, grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.

  ‘Where you going, boss? D’you not want to come as well?’

  ‘Can’t. That was the hospital on the phone. Ian’s awake. And he wants to talk to me. Urgently.’

  78

  M

  oses and Letisha sat opposite each other in her living room. Moses on the couch, Letisha in the armchair. A henchman stood each side of them. Moses knew them. Would have called them friends, even, until yesterday. Today, even. Knew their names, had shared jokes, good times. But not now. Something seemed to have happened to their faces. All traces of warmth had been removed, just blankness instead. A dangerous – murderous – blankness.

  Tiny seemed to be enjoying his moment, Moses thought. It was like something in him that had been long-suppressed had been given free reign once more. Like he had reverted to what he believed was his natural state of being. Or at least the one he enjoyed the most. He strode around the flat, picking up items, examining them, making judgements. None of the judgements, Moses could see, were complimentary.

  He found Letisha’s bag, upended it, spilling out clothes and toiletries. He left them in a small heap on the floor, threw the bag in the corner. Looked at her.

  ‘Goin’ somewhere, were you?’

  She just stared at him, didn’t answer.

  Good girl, thought Moses. He could see she was terrified but she wasn’t going to give in to him. She knew as well as he did that if they engaged him in conversation, it wouldn’t be long before the whole story came out. One way or another. It was best to wait, thought Moses. Let Tiny talk first, see how much he knew. Then take it from there.

  If they could. If Tiny was going to be reasonable. Two big ifs.

  ‘Asked you a question, girl.’ Tiny stood in front of her. He wasn’t tall but his lack of height didn’t stop him being intimidating. Letisha swallowed hard. Didn’t look at him.

  He reached down, grabbed her face in his hand. She gasped, squirmed. Moses saw the look of immediate pain on her face, the skin whiten where he grabbed her, where his fingers dug in.

  ‘Asked you a question…’

  Gasping, she tried to pull away. Tiny just tightened his grip.

  ‘Were you planning on going somewhere?’

  ‘Leave her alone, Tiny.’ Moses could see how this was going to go. He didn’t want to see Letisha hurt.

  Tiny dropped her, turned. ‘What? You don’t get to make the rules here. You just answer the questions. Yeah?’

  Moses raised his hands in a shrug. ‘Yeah, Tiny. What you say.’

  Tiny nodded. ‘That’s better. Show some respect.’ He crossed the room, kicking Letisha’s few clothes as he went. ‘Now. What’s goin’ on? What should I know about?’

  Moses hoped his face was hard, stone. Like it used to be back in his gangster days. Back when he was a different person. But that person, he remembered, had been stone on the front, terrified underneath. Looking up at Tiny, he didn’t feel like that much had changed.

  ‘I told her to go away for a while. Was helping her to get started.’ Still stone. Or so he hoped.

  Tiny gave an exaggerated frown. ‘Why would that be? Got somethin’ to hide? To run from? Or someone?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Moses. ‘The police.’

  ‘The police.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Moses, hopefully warming to his theme. ‘Darren Richards’ girlfriend and kid got killed. Letisha was seeing Darren. They thought she might have had something to do with it.’

  ‘Did they now?’ Clear from Tiny’s voice that he didn’t believe what he was hearing.

  ‘Yeah. You know that. They came to question me. Dragged me out of the studio. Remember?’

  ‘I remember. I was there.’ Tiny’s face stone now.

  ‘Yeah. Well, that’s it. They kept going, kept harassing her. She came to me. Desperate. I told her she should go away for a while. I was helping her sort it.’

  ‘Right.’ Tiny smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. ‘I remember the police coming to call. They wanted to know whether you’d done the murders yourself.’

  ‘Yeah, but —’

  ‘Or arranged them yourself. That’s more your style, innit? Gettin’ someone else to do it for you?’

  ‘Tiny, I don’t know what —’

  Tiny got right down in Moses’s face. The henchman behind him grabbed him by the shoulders. It was like being stuck in a tightening vice.

  ‘Do a lot of that, do you? Arrangin’ people’s deaths for them? For friends?’

  ‘Tiny, I —’

  ‘Lovers?’

  Moses said nothing.

  Tiny straightened up. Smiled like he had just won his argument.

  ‘No,’ said Moses. ‘I don’t do that. Wouldn’t do that. Never.’

  Tiny smiled again. Again, it wasn’t pleasant. ‘Liar,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not lying —’

  ‘I don’t believe you. And I want to hear the truth.’

  He turned, gestured to the other henchman. At the signal he came forward, grabbed Letisha, hard. She screamed. He clamped his hand round her mouth. Tiny turned back to Moses.

  ‘I want the truth, Moses. The truth. So far, all you’ve given me is bullshit. I’ve had my doubts about you for years, my suspicions. You’ve always managed to talk your way out of them, make me see somethin’ else.’

  ‘I haven’t given you bullshit, Tiny. I’ve just —’

  ‘Shut it. Now I was prepared to let it all go. Sake of peace, an’ all that. We were gettin’ on well together. I was even startin’ to believe you. But then she comes back. An’ the way she looked at you, an’ the way you looked at her… I didn’t need to be told. I knew as soon as I saw that. An’ it all became clear.’

  He stood in the centre of the room, looked between the two of them.

  ‘Now. There’s no point hurtin’ you, Moses. You’re a soldier. Or you used to be. Might still have some of that about you. And you might try to bullshit your way out of it.’ He turned to face Letisha. ‘But her…’

  ‘No, Tiny…’

  Letisha began to struggle. The henchman increased his grip on her.

  Tiny turned back to face Moses. Smiling. ‘Bet you don’t want to see her hurt…’

  Moses tried to get up. The henchman kept him pinned down. ‘Please Tiny, no…’

  He turned back to the man holding Letisha.

  ‘Hurt her,’ he said.

  79

  M

  arina heard a scream, then a sob. She dropped the teabag back in the mug and ran to the bedroom. Anni was awake.

  ‘Anni?’

  Her friend looked up, disorientated, struggling to focus. She saw Marina, her shoulders slumped.

  ‘I dreamed he was still here, still with me… I dreamed… then I, I woke up…’ Anni started to sob once more.

  Marina knelt down beside her, put her arms round her shoulders, pulled her close. Said nothing just gave her closeness, let her ride the tears out.

  ‘Oh God… Oh God…’

  Marina nodded, said nothing.

  ‘I wished I hadn’t woken up. I wished I could have just… stayed asleep until the pain went away. If it ever does…’

  ‘I know,’ Marina said, stroking her h
air, ‘I know.’

  Anni pulled back, looked at her. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes, Anni, I do.’ Marina’s voice was polite, unobtrusive.

  Anni frowned. ‘How?’

  ‘Tony. The man I was with when I met Phil, remember?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Anni. ‘Yeah. Sorry.’

  ‘I know it was a bit different, not anything like this, in fact…’

  ‘Yeah, I remember,’ said Anni. ‘He was killed. By someone we were hunting.’

  Marina nodded. It was the first time she had thought about Tony in years. Really thought about him. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘But he was still alive. Or some of him was. It was up to me to turn off the machine. One of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make.’

  ‘Do you regret it?’ Anni’s voice shivering and small.

  Marina thought before answering. ‘No. It was the right thing to do. On reflection. But it hurt. So, so much. I… couldn’t cope for a while. I was just glad I had Phil to help me through.’

  Marina stopped talking, realising what she had just said.

  ‘Sorry.’ A whisper.

  ‘No,’ said Anni. ‘You… don’t be.’ She sighed.

  Marina nodded. ‘I still think of Tony. He still comes into my head from time to time. And that’s how it should be. I shouldn’t forget him, no matter what happens I’ll never forget him.’

  Anni said nothing.

  They stayed like that for a while. Neither moving, neither speaking. A still-life tableau of grief.

  Eventually, Anni spoke. ‘I’ve done this loads of times. And you never know, never think…’

  Marina said nothing, her silence a prompt for Anni to keep going.

  ‘What they must be going through. The victims. The ones we deal with. I mean, really what they must be going through. You walk up to someone’s house, knock on the door. You’ve rehearsed it in the car beforehand, but even that rehearsal can’t prepare you for actually doing it. And no matter how many times you’ve done it, it never gets any easier. But you can still walk away at the end of it. Still go home. You might feel shit, you will feel shit, but you’re not sitting there, in that house you’ve just been to, dealing with what’s been lost.’ She gave a sigh that threatened tears again. ‘And now I’m in that house, I’ve had that call. And I can’t just get up and go home, I am home…’

  The tears started again. Marina kept hugging her.

  Eventually they subsided. ‘Shall I make you a cup of tea?’ asked Marina.

  Anni gave a sad little laugh. ‘That’s what we always say. When we’ve done the death knock. Have some tea, make it strong, sweet, even if you don’t like sugar, it’ll be good for you…’ She sighed. ‘Load of shit.’

  ‘Sometimes it’s better to just keep talking. To just say something.’

  Another sigh from Anni. ‘Yeah. Talking. Keeps the light on. Stops the dark from getting in.’

  ‘So is that a yes or a no, then?’

  Anni smiled. ‘A yes. But no sugar. Bloody hate it.’

  Marina made two mugs of tea, came back into the bedroom. Anni was sitting up. She had been to the bathroom, wiped her tears away. She gave a small, indebted smile as Marina entered, handed her the tea.

  ‘Thanks.’

  She put it at the side of the bed. Marina was sure she would just leave it there. She held hers in her hands.

  ‘Look,’ said Marina, ‘I’ll stay with you. As long as you need me. As long as necessary.’

  Anni shook her head. ‘No. I can’t have you doing that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You’ve got your own family in Birmingham to look after. They need you.’

  ‘Anni,’ said Marina, putting her mug down and taking her hand, ‘you need me.’

  Anni nodded. ‘Yeah. But so does Phil. So does Josephina.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll call my sister. Get her to come down.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I’ll do it today.’

  ‘I’m not leaving you on your own, Anni. Give me the number, I’ll do it now.’

  ‘In a while.’

  Anni settled back in her bed. She closed her eyes, looked suddenly tired again. Marina could imagine what horror shows were unspooling behind her eyelids.

  Marina sat by her until she was asleep once more.

  80

  ‘M

  y father was a modelmaker,’ said the Lawgiver. ‘A craftsman.’

  Looker tried to listen but found it more difficult to focus on the words when there was another human face in front of him rather than just a mask. He knew what he was about to hear was important, so important that his reaction to the words would determine whether he lived or died. Since the Lawgiver was now unmasked, he guessed that his chances weren’t good.

  ‘Your father?’ said Looker, playing for time while he adjusted to the new situation.

  ‘Yes,’ said the Lawgiver, ‘my father. I’ll tell you about Diana but first you have to understand. My father. The family. Philosophy.’

  There was near pleading in his eyes as he spoke, thought Looker. Near pleading to be understood, or near madness. He wasn’t sure which.

  ‘Right. Okay. I’m listening.’

  ‘Good. My father. The craftsman.’ Pride in his voice as he spoke. ‘And an Objectivist.’ More pride.

  ‘A what?’

  The Lawgiver looked at his prisoner as if he had committed a disgusting social faux pas. ‘Typical. Typical…’

  Looker sensed he was about to lose him, tried to bring him back. ‘What is it? I’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘It’s a philosophy,’ said the Lawgiver, as if explaining to an inferior. ‘An honest day’s pay for an honest day’s work. Ayn Rand. The Fountainhead. The opposite of liberalism.’ He sneered round the word. ‘Freedom through work. Strength through work. You work or you don’t exist. There is no such thing as society.’

  ‘Right,’ said Looker. ‘I’ve heard all that before.’ Cobbled together from the Nazis to Thatcher, he thought.

  ‘He was like a god in our house,’ the Lawgiver continued. ‘A god. The strongest man I ever met.’ His eyes misted over, a wistful smile appeared on his face.

  Keep him talking, thought Looker. He’s on a nostalgic track. It might soften him. ‘What about your mother?’

  The smile disappeared. ‘A ghost,’ he said. ‘Nothing. She served our father. That was her role in life. All she had to do.’

  ‘Right. Sounds… like an interesting set-up.’

  ‘It worked. Worked perfectly. The way it should have done. Until…’ He sighed.

  ‘Until what?’

  ‘Until he was no longer required. Times changed. Craftsmanship became a thing not to be prized any more. No longer recognised and praised.’ He stepped back into the shadows, his features darkening too. ‘He… drank.’ The word released from his lips reluctantly, like it was enveloped in shame. ‘A lot. Declined.’

  ‘Couldn’t he have got another job?’

  ‘No.’ Fire in his voice, his eyes once more. ‘He had a code to live by. What is a man if he has no code to live by? No morality? No ethics? Nothing. Nothing.’

  ‘Right. I see.’

  ‘But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t.’ His voice was heavy with grief, reliving it all once more. ‘He… died. Took his own life.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Looker.

  The Lawgiver looked directly at him, as if seeing him properly for the first time, as if he had forgotten he was there. ‘Are you. You never even knew him.’

  Looker fell silent. Knew that anything he said now would be wrong. Dangerously so.

  ‘I grew up with hatred inside me,’ the Lawgiver continued. ‘Hatred at what the world – the system – had done to a proud and gifted man.’

  Looker remained silent. Waited.

  ‘My mother brought us up after that.’

  ‘Us? That would be…’

  ‘Diana and I. My sister.’

  ‘Ah. Right.’ Looker waited again.

  ‘And my mother…’ The Law
giver’s face twisted once more, anger to the fore. ‘My mother was wealthy. Came from a rich family. But my father was too proud to take her money. Too proud. It wasn’t the woman’s role. It was the man’s to provide for his family. To make his way in the world. The way it should be.’ He sighed. ‘But she secretly gave him money for us to live on. And he took it. He had to. It was that or we starved. The shame of doing that contributed to his suicide.’ Another sigh, angrier this time. ‘My mother, and her money, helped to drive him to his death.’

  ‘What happened to your mother?’ asked Looker, wondering when he was going to get to Diana.

  ‘She died. When I was in my late teens. Just… faded away, it seemed. And I inherited everything. We inherited everything. Diana and I. And that’s when the trouble started.’

  Looker said nothing. This was the part he had been waiting for.

  81

  S

  perring opened his eyes. ‘You should see the other fella…’

  Phil smiled weakly at the weak joke. Sperring looked awful. Almost flat on his back, only his head propped up slightly, tubes and wires coming from his body. His already bulky torso was enlarged by the heavy dressing on his side that extended round his stomach and chest. His face looked grey, lined, like he had aged ten years overnight. From the grimaces that twisted his face when he tried to speak or make the most infinitesimal movement, it was clear he was in considerable pain. There would have been a time, Phil thought guiltily, that he might have enjoyed his junior officer’s extreme discomfort. But not any more.

  Sperring was in a private room. Phil didn’t know whether the man liked the seclusion or whether his solitary existence would start to irritate him. He imagined it was the former. Probably.

  Phil sat down on the bedside chair, pulled it close to the bed. ‘How you feeling?’

  ‘Like I’ve just been stabbed by psycho.’

  Phil returned the smile to his face. ‘Well… that’s to be expected, I suppose.’

  ‘Yeah. Occupational hazard, and all that.’ He started to cough and tried to stop himself. Phil could see how much the action hurt him. But Sperring had only prolonged and exacerbated it by trying to stop it. He allowed himself to cough properly. Rode the wave of pain.