Next to Die

by Neil White

  ‘Oh, fuck,’ Joe said. ‘Call the cops. Do what you have to do.’

  Sam pulled out his phone, but as he did so, it started to ring. He clicked to answer. Joe watched as he listened, Sam’s eyes growing wider.

  ‘Who are you?’ Sam said, anger in his voice.

  Joe watched as Sam listened, sweat prickling his forehead, until he moved his phone from his ear and stared at it, disbelief in his eyes.

  ‘What is it?’ Joe said.

  Sam looked up. There were tears brimming over his eyelids, but they were of anger, real rage, not sadness.

  ‘They’ve got her,’ he said.

  Sixty-Five

  Ruby was dragged up some stairs. She’d heard the conversation on the phone, knew that the woman had called Sam, because she’d said his name. So she pulled back, crying now, desperate, but she was hit again, a punch this time, hard on her arm. She wailed out loud. It was an adult punch, harder than she had ever felt, and she began to succumb to the pain.

  She couldn’t see where she was going. It was dark ahead, lit only by the flash of a torch, the beam bouncing off dirty white tiles, ferns and moss growing through the cracks. Her feet tripped, but her movement was upwards, and she was carried forward by the two people who held her.

  They emerged from the stairs into a huge open space broken by pillars, like a large empty factory, except that there was a large gash in the centre of the concrete floor, filled by undergrowth. She looked up. The roof was smashed and broken, the stars visible. There was a flap of wings and something swooped from one rafter to another.

  ‘Where are we?’ she said.

  ‘Would it make a difference if I told you?’ the woman said.

  Ruby didn’t answer that.

  She was pushed against a metal pillar and her hands were pulled behind her back and tied together with a scarf produced from the woman’s pocket.

  ‘Don’t think about running,’ the woman said. ‘I’ll run faster than you and kill you when I catch you.’

  Ruby nodded, sobbing softly, and then slid slowly downwards so that she was sitting on the floor. She put her head back, the iron cold and hard. As she looked along the length of the building, she saw lights beyond, one end of the building completely open. She listened. She could hear trains, as the steady roll of passenger carriages and the screech of wheels echoed along the vast empty space.

  She tried to stay calm. She had to get a sense of her surroundings, because if she was going to get away, she needed to know where to go. The woman was pacing, her hood down, doing something with her phone, as if she was sending a message. Her hair was in a short dark bob, and she looked skinny, her jeans hanging slack on her legs.

  The man turned to the woman and said, ‘So, this is it. What happens afterwards?’

  The woman paused. ‘I go to Ben, to tell him.’

  ‘But what about us? Ben will find out anyway. What about our future?’

  ‘We’re not doing it for us, you know that.’

  ‘You promised that this would be it, no more.’

  She stopped in front of him, her hands on her hips. ‘You never quite got it, did you? This was never about you and me.’

  ‘It was for me,’ he said.

  She shook her head. ‘You’re being pathetic.’

  ‘You talked about deep love. Perhaps I have that, because it is why I do this. I don’t do it for her.’ He waved his hand towards Ruby. ‘It’s for us. This has got to be the end.’

  The woman turned away and walked towards Ruby. She knelt down in front of her. She reached out and stroked the side of Ruby’s cheek. Ruby flinched and pulled her head away.

  ‘You know this is the end,’ the woman said softly.

  ‘No,’ Ruby said, shaking her head. ‘My brothers will hunt you down if you harm me.’

  The woman smiled, pity in her eyes. ‘They won’t find me. And they might not find you.’ She leaned forward and kissed Ruby on the forehead, like a sad goodbye. Then she reached in her pocket for a black cloth.

  Ruby thrashed her head around as the woman applied the blindfold, but then her vision went dark as the cloth was pulled tight around her head. The woman’s perfume filled her nostrils as she whispered in Ruby’s ear, ‘Darkness thrills, don’t you think? You won’t know where we will be, but we will be watching you. If you try to get away, it will mean the end of your life. Quick, painless, but you don’t want that, do you? You choose life.’

  Ruby swallowed and then nodded that she understood. The woman stepped away, her footsteps just light sweeps on the concrete floor. Ruby tried to hold back the fear. She wasn’t going to be weak.

  There were words spoken, just whispers that Ruby didn’t catch, but then she recognised the skip of the woman’s shoes down the stairs. They were lighter, more nimble, and the echo was familiar, enclosed, so that the noises bounced. Then there was the metallic scrape as the woman left the building.

  She was alone with the man. This was her best chance to get away.

  ‘What do you mean, they’ve got her?’ Joe said.

  Sam looked at his phone. ‘Ruby. They’ve taken her.’

  Joe couldn’t speak.

  ‘Does the name Monica mean anything?’

  ‘Yes. She’s the trainee I talked about, the one Ronnie hinted at.’ Then Joe closed his eyes. ‘We thought she was ill at first and just hadn’t phoned in.’

  ‘And now you think she’s missing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sam closed his eyes and took some deep breaths. ‘They said Ruby will go the same way as Monica.’

  Sam’s phone beeped. He looked down. It was a message. A picture message. When he opened it, he swayed, lightheaded, scared.

  It was a picture of Ruby, being held, fear on her face. He showed it to Joe.

  ‘Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Joe whispered. There were too many facts coming at him, swirling, making his head swim, sweat dampening his forehead. Images of Monica, a young professional starting out, merged with Ruby, all long legs and teenage nuisance. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘It was a woman on the phone,’ Sam said. ‘It was a woman at Terry’s house, who did this.’ He nodded at his arm. ‘She mentioned it, said that it had been good to meet at Terry’s house, except that it wasn’t supposed to end like that, because this was the way. It’s supposed to end with Ruby.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s revenge for Ben Grant. Whoever she is, she must be working with Ronnie.’

  ‘Call the police now,’ Joe demanded. When Sam stalled, Joe pulled out his own phone. ‘I’ll call them if you won’t.’

  Sam held out his hand. ‘No, you can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because of the usual shit these types come out with, that if I do, they’ll kill Ruby.’

  Those words hit Joe like a punch in the stomach. He felt nauseous. ‘So what do they want?’

  Sam looked up, and there was something in his eyes that Joe couldn’t fathom, some depth of emotion he hadn’t reached since Ellie had died. Confusion, loyalty, determination, fear, all crammed into the small creases of tension at the corners of his eyes.

  ‘They want me,’ Sam said.

  ‘You? What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve got to go to Piccadilly Gardens. If I do what they say, they’ll let Ruby go. If I don’t, they will kill her.’

  ‘And what do they want you to do?’

  Sam put his head down and ran his hands over it.

  ‘Sam?’

  When he looked up again, there were tears in his eyes.

  ‘What do you have to do, Sam?’

  ‘They want me to kill myself.’

  Sixty-Six

  Joe drove quickly to Gina’s house, his jaw aching from constant clenching. He had dropped Sam off at a cab-rank, because a taxi would be able to use the bus lanes and cut through the city centre. Once the taxi had pulled away, he had called Gina to tell her that he was on the way. He hadn’t told her anything, although he knew that the tone of his voice g
ave away the urgency. Every traffic light seemed to be against him, and the traffic queued.

  His fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel. He looked along the line, and then behind, looking for a blue light or the bright battenburg markings of a police car. He couldn’t see any. The drum of his fingers got faster and the clench in his stomach got tighter. The lights weren’t letting many through. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  He swung out of the line, grimacing against the flash of lights as oncoming cars swerved to the side of the road to avoid him. The lights were on red as he approached them. He rushed through, ignoring the blare of a horn and the squeal of brakes. He had just one focus: get Ruby.

  The traffic thinned as he got to Gina’s house. He sounded the horn, two loud bursts. Gina left her house and ran down to the car. Joe set off before she had buckled herself in.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she said, out of breath, still buttoning her coat.

  ‘It’s Ronnie. He’s snatched Ruby.’

  Gina turned towards him, confused. ‘Ronnie Bagley? I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m not sure I do, fully, but I’m starting to work it out.’

  ‘You’ll need to explain.’

  So he did. About Ruby being followed the day before. About Sam’s belief in an accomplice. About the attack on Sam’s colleague when they followed up the information from Joe.

  Gina shook her head. ‘But if that was after school, Ronnie was with us yesterday, when someone tried to snatch her.’

  ‘He’s got someone with him, a woman,’ Joe said.

  ‘Hang on, the accomplice has got a new accomplice?’ Gina said.

  ‘It looks that way.’

  Gina was silent for a moment, and then she said, ‘So where are we going? And why do you need me?’

  ‘They wanted Sam to go to Piccadilly Gardens. We have to go into the centre, so that we’re nearby.’

  ‘But you don’t need me for that.’

  Joe took a deep breath and fought back the prickle of tears. Stay in control, he told himself. ‘I need you here in case Ruby, well, in case…’ He trailed off.

  He felt Gina’s hand go on his. ‘I know,’ she said, her voice softer. ‘I’ll always be here for you, Joe.’ She raised his hand to her mouth and gave it a gentle kiss, supportive, friendly. It made him break out a small smile.

  ‘I need you to call DI Evans,’ Joe said, breathing out, blinking out the well of tears. He didn’t cry, hadn’t done since Ellie’s murder, but he was struggling. The car lights in front of him blurred into red smears.

  Gina took out her phone. ‘Why, doesn’t she know?’

  ‘The caller told Sam not to tell her, and he’s scared that he’ll do the wrong thing and cause her to be killed. You’ll know how to get through to the right people.’

  Joe drove as Gina called the police, listened as she dredged up old contacts to make sure the case was given proper priority. When she hung up, he held out his hand for her phone.

  She passed it over and said, ‘Be careful, you’re driving.’

  He ignored her and dialled Sam’s home number. Alice answered.

  ‘It’s Joe. You need to call Sam.’

  ‘Why? What’s wrong?’

  ‘I just think he needs to hear your voice.’

  Alice started to cry.

  ‘Talk to him, Alice,’ he said, and then hung up.

  ‘What’s he going to do, Joe?’ Gina said.

  ‘They said that they’ll let Ruby go if Sam kills himself.’

  Gina put her hand over her mouth. ‘He’s not going to, is he? I mean, that call, to his wife. You’re worried.’

  ‘Yes I am.’

  As Gina took that in, Joe said, ‘There is something else too. It’s about Monica.’

  Gina’s hand dropped and her eyes widened.

  ‘They say they’ve killed her.’

  Gina let out a moan.

  They both fell into silence as they got closer to the city centre. As Joe looked across at Gina, he saw the same resolve harden in her that had settled in him. They were going to do this.

  Sam kept on looking at his watch as the taxi trundled into Manchester. It was too slow.

  Sam closed his eyes and put his head back against the seat. The day was spinning out of control. He recalled his dash through the woods near Ruby’s school, and then Charlotte. And now this, all because of an arrest he made eight years earlier, some chance discovery in a park. It should have ended then, but all of this because he missed something, the suspicion of an accomplice always haunting him. His secret, the one he refused to voice.

  Why was it happening to him, after Ellie all those years before? It was so unjust. He clenched his hands around his knees. Was it because of the way he did things? Had he got something wrong, was it some kind of penance?

  No, it wasn’t that, because that was ridiculous, he knew it, the logical part of his brain knowing that things didn’t happen for a reason, that they just happened. Except that it was a small voice that was always there, just whispers that told him that things would always go wrong for him.

  Sam tried not to think of that. He had to stay focused instead on what lay ahead, to work out how he could get Ruby back. He put his hand over his face, and for a moment the greater blackness, the smothering feel of his palm, was comforting. But he knew it was just snatched respite, because as soon as he relaxed, an image of Ruby flashed into his mind. She was terrified, he knew that, and so all he could do was listen to what they had to say. Whatever Joe did, he would follow their direction. Until then, he was stuck with the deep rattle of the diesel engine as the taxi chugged into the city centre, the journey a constant stop and start through traffic lights.

  Sam opened his eyes when he felt the rumble of the tramlines under the wheels. He was close. He saw the driver glance at him in his mirror, so he looked out of the window. He didn’t want any conversation. He preferred the high brick walls of the approach to Piccadilly station.

  ‘Stop here, please,’ Sam said, and handed over a note that more than covered the fare. He didn’t hang around for the gratitude.

  As he stepped out, he looked around. The movement of the city was ahead of him, and he paused for a moment, just to take a look, to see if there was anyone who stood out as different, some static presence in the fast flow of commuters and those who preferred to loiter on the edge of everything. It was dark and the area had become menacing. It wasn’t the best part of the city during the day, but at night it seemed to be a stream of people all looking for someone to harm. Young men loitered in bubble jackets and those who were just passing through made their way quickly. He was only a few yards from the bridges under the tracks at Piccadilly, where young woman traded their bodies for a few pounds.

  They had told him to go to Piccadilly Gardens, a mix of new stone and flowerbeds and fountains surrounded by shops and hotels and a small bus station. It had long been the meeting point for drunks and junkies and rent boys, but the gardens had been opened out to take away some of the threat.

  Sam understood the routine. They wanted to make sure that he hadn’t been followed, that he was alone. He didn’t want to arrive there in a taxi, his presence heralded. He wanted to sneak in, to see whether anyone stood out, and so as he walked he looked into the eyes of everyone who passed him, looking for the twitch of recognition. Some people looked away. Some held his stare and turned to watch him walk on. Black cabs streamed through the traffic lights and double decker buses coughed diesel clouds.

  It opened out as he got to the gardens, the name no longer fitting with the blend of new paving, the only greenery left just small patches of grass and flowers squeezed between the pathways to the glass shelters of the bus station, the traffic a constant clamour. He turned around as he got there, looking for someone watching, but it was impossible to know. He was overlooked by hotels and pubs and offices and shops. Whoever it was could be anywhere.

  His phone rang. He snatched it from his pocket.

  Sam looked around,
trying to see who it might be. They must have seen him arrive. He was searching for the glow of a phone, or someone’s hand to an ear. All he could see was the traffic and a stream of people. He pressed his phone to his ear to try to block out the noise.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘You’ve arrived.’ It was the woman’s voice again.

  ‘Where are you?’ He was shouting.

  ‘It doesn’t matter where we are.’

  Sam tried to work something out from her voice. It was almost impossible to hear her, but he wanted a hint about where she might be. He looked around for buses or a taxi, some noise that might appear in the background, just to give him a direction, perhaps shouting from a pub, but there was too much going on.

  Then he heard something down the phone. A squeal, getting louder, and then the ding of a tram followed by the screech of the wheels. He turned, trying to spot it, but there were tramlines from every direction.

  ‘How do I know Ruby is still alive?’ he said.

  He had to wait before she answered, the tram drowning her out. ‘You can take the gamble,’ she said eventually. ‘She’s either alive or she isn’t. Tell me though: which is the win? You dying and Ruby living, or you turning coward and burying another sister?’ A laugh, mocking and harsh. ‘So, are you ready to play?’

  He heard the echo again. ‘Play what?’

  ‘Our little game of chicken.’

  Sam closed his eyes. Adrenalin was coursing through him, making his mouth dry, his forehead damp. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘You know already.’

  ‘Kill myself?’ A passing man in a suit gave Sam a strange glance as he said it so Sam turned away. ‘I can’t do that, you know that.’

  ‘So this is the last thirty minutes of Ruby’s life.’ She sounded like she was running, her words coming in short bursts.

  ‘What do you mean, thirty minutes?’

  ‘That’s always the game. Thirty minutes and then it’s game over.’

  The phone trembled in his hand. He felt the prickle of tears, but they were of anger, almost uncontrollable rage. He had to stay calm.