I felt her hand on mine. A light touch. The touch of a friend. But electric all the same. “It’s okay, Mike. It was a long time ago. I won’t deny that you hurt me. It was hard to take, but life moves on. We all move on.”
I nodded my agreement. “It’s easy to forget that. When you leave behind a life that had been in your blood for years, leave people you care for behind, somehow you still think about them as they were, not how they may be now. You still look terrific, though. I’ve read your columns and you’re writing better than ever, too.”
“I’m happy enough,” she told me. “Professionally and personally. But we’ll have time for that later. Right now, I think we ought to concentrate on getting you out of this mess you find yourself in.”
I cleared my throat. It took two attempts. “Easier said than done, I’m afraid. Is there anything new since we spoke last?”
“Not really. Because of who and what Dawson was, plus the fact that an abduction cannot be ruled out, the investigation has gone up through the gears. I’m not aware of them chasing any fresh leads, though. Not since discovering the car.”
“How about Chris Dawson?” I asked. “Has anyone put his name in the frame for it?”
Sue nodded. “It’s been suggested. But only by a few sections of the media. The police and NCA investigation is firmly focussed on you.”
“I really need you to find out more if you can, Sue. I’m sorry I have to ask, but I could do with you being there at the next press conference if at all possible, to get close to the team investigating this. Hendricks can’t be controlling everything. For one thing, it’s not the NCA’s place to take a lead. Plus, there’s only so much evidence he could have planted before the police rolled up on the scene. Only so much he can do now, especially as he’s not running the case.”
Sue patted my hand again. “Mike, take it easy.”
“Sorry. Was I getting heated?”
“Just a little. Your voice was going up a notch or two, and I could see a big vein in your neck start to throb.”
I hadn’t realised. “I got a bit carried away. I think the pressure finally got to me, and I vented the moment I had a friendly ear who would listen.”
“I remember that vein well, Mike.”
I nodded. “If anyone would, you would. I was… combustible in those days.”
“Look, it’s all right. You can relax now. I’ll do it. I don’t need any more convincing. You were right, the official story as it stands is enough to warrant some serious interest. The twist I can put on it makes it front page headlines for days.” Susan broke off, looked into my eyes and grinned. “To be honest, Mike, even if it weren’t, now that I’ve seen you again I would still be getting involved. You’re in a jam. You’re my friend, and you need my help.”
I put my head back, released a sigh. Tension that I had been carrying around for hours ebbed away. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have in my corner than you, Sue.”
She squeezed my hand this time, our fingers intertwined. “Okay, I’ll drive you back to the hotel and then as soon as we’ve discussed a strategy with Melissa I will call the investigation team. I’ll start on this as soon as I can.” She reached inside her jacket pocket, took out a bundle of notes and handed them to me. “Meanwhile, here’s some money to tide you over. There’s a burner phone in the glove box for you, too. I charged it up on the drive down, put the SIM card in for you. It has my mobile number punched into it, and I have its number in mine. When we’re not together I will call you as soon as I have anything for you.”
I grabbed up the mobile from the small compartment and pocketed the cash. “Thank you so much, Sue. Seriously. You have no idea how desperate we’ve become.”
“I think I do. You called me, after all.”
I managed a small chuckle. “The sad thing is, even after what I did to you, even after all the time that has come and gone since, you were still the first one I thought of. Still the person I knew I could rely on.”
“That is sad,” she agreed. Her wide smile flashed again in the gloom. “But also nice to hear in an odd sort of way. To be honest with you, Mike, it’s good to be ”
Susan Healey’s smile disappeared in a fine maroon vapour before I heard both the back window and windscreen shatter. I felt the warm slickness of her blood and tissue splash across my face, as hers became a jagged, flapping maw. My eyes barely registered the horror before a scream erupted from deep inside my core and filled the vehicle with my pain. Hands scrambling frantically, I hooked something from my eye, and as my fingertips scraped against the hard nub, I knew immediately it was a fragment of bone.
I acted by instinct.
I ducked low into the footwell of the car, then in one fluid movement I pushed open the door, threw myself out and scuttled around to the front of the Mini, seeking protection provided by the engine-block. When no further shots followed, I raised my head a little, trying to see beyond the vehicle. Other than a couple of parked cars I saw nothing in the vague amber light.
Curious.
Not right at all.
After the kill shot I had expected more to follow. That or the sound of the gunman rushing towards me.
But there was nothing to see and only silence out there to dampen down the screaming inside my head.
Run, my mind insisted.
But I couldn’t.
Instead I waited. Looked and listened.
Still there was no movement. No further shooting.
Something that felt like acid squirted in my stomach. Blood pounded in my temples. My legs felt like I was wearing diving boots, but I knew I had to move. Impulse once more insisted I run, just as it had back in the lay-by, but this time I couldn’t. Not yet. Not until my brain knew for certain what my heart already believed.
Keeping low, I edged my way back around to the door from which I had so swiftly exited only minutes earlier. My eyes scoured the car park, but I understood that I would almost certainly never see the shot that would kill me. I would be dead even before the flash of gas igniting in the weapon’s muzzle lit up the dark recesses of the structure.
Ignoring the sense of exposure, I leaned through the passenger doorway and reached out a hand. Like the coward I truly was, I could not bring myself to look. Instead I put a finger to my friend’s wrist, feeling for a pulse. There was no way Sue could have survived such a massive impact from a head shot. My mind was aware of that. But I owed her the time it would take to be certain.
Still expecting that second shot or the appearance of the killer by my door, I tried the limp wrist in my hand one more time.
Nothing.
Susan was gone.
And this time it would be for good.
I backed out of the Mini. The urge to run was now almost overwhelming. I turned to look at the exit that would take me to the stairs. It was close, but far enough away that I knew I could not escape unless the shooter allowed me to. Instead of heading towards the exit, I turned to look back once more at where the shot must have come from. One level up, either side of the ramps.
Still no movement.
Still only silence.
“You bastard!” I cried, rage spilling out unchecked. Tears now streaming down my cheeks, dripping from my chin and falling to the car park floor. Emotion erupted from deep within my chest. “Why her and not me you fucker? Why her and not me?”
I rose up, and this time I did run. But away from the stairs, directly towards the ramps. There was no conscious thought. Only raw anger and outrage. It didn’t matter that I was presenting an even bigger target of myself with every movement. My friend had been murdered and grief threatened to engulf me. At that moment, I did not care if I lived or died.
My fight or flight response was screwed. Perhaps terminally so.
I stopped out in the open, listening keenly.
Nothing.
“Where are you?” I called out. “Show yourself. Is that you, Hendricks? Come on, you fucker. I’m right here. This is what you want, isn’t it?”
>
Nothing.
Then a sound to my right. I whirled, fists balling, spittle flying from my mouth. The door of a narrow lift juddered open and an elderly couple stepped out. I stood no more than ten yards from them, caught directly beneath one of the caged ceiling lights. The three of us looked at each other.
I turned on my heels and ran, this time for the stairway.
Something drove me. It could not have been either my head or my heart, for the former insisted I slowed and took a breath, whilst the latter wanted to head back and take the car park to pieces, car by car. Thankfully, it was instinct that took over. One floor below I switched direction, sped across the parking area and changed stairwells. The exit door was closed, and I had no idea what was waiting for me out there. Nature won the day there, too, as I flung myself through the door without hesitation.
The man I slammed into was wearing a black zipped jacket with a hood raised up and drawstrings pulled tight, black combat trousers and black ankle boots. On one shoulder hung a black backpack. The door had crashed open hard, striking the man a glancing blow from shoulder to face, sending him tumbling to the floor. He turned to look at whoever was responsible. What I saw in his eyes, more than anger, more than any surprise, was recognition.
This is one of them, I told myself. No obvious weapon on view. A man tasked to trace and delay if necessary. Perhaps to apprehend, but not to kill. There was a narrow advantage, one that was closing with every split second that passed. Once again I did not hesitate. I slammed my shoulder into the man in black, just as he raised himself onto one knee. This time the man rolled backwards and sprawled wide on the hard surface. Narrow advantage or not, I used it well.
No point in trying to tackle him physically. He would be combat-ready. I was not.
I aimed one swipe at his head with my right foot, felt a satisfying crunch beneath it. His head jerked backwards, and I saw his eyes roll back. Then I ran.
I cut through a short, narrow alleyway, heading into the rear of a Marks & Spencer store. I flitted between aisles of female attire and footwear, finally emerging on the far side of the building by the underwear and lingerie. The main doors led me directly onto a wide and busy road, where I was quickly able to get my bearings.
When I turned to glance over my shoulder, the man I had struck with the door was nowhere in sight. As for Susan Healey, I did not think she would ever stray too far from my nightmares.
20
Rhino had known he’d backed the wrong horse after less than a couple of minutes on the road. Their two cars moved away from the station, took a right back out onto the main road, then on to the one-way street on the left where Tyre City stood on the corner. He followed at a discreet distance, but having rounded a bend he came out onto a wider stretch of road to find that they were gone from view. He stopped the Merc. It rocked a couple of times. As it did so, Rhino checked the rear-view, and only then did he see the entrance to the local police station, which stood on the banks of the river. He watched as the cars he had been following crawled their way around to find parking spaces in the shadow of the large building.
It was time for decisions. One of the two cops he’d thought might be part of a pairing had driven off before this crowd. He was long gone. So, it was either sit here and wait for them to emerge from the nick, or return to the railway station and Haystacks. When he ran that option through, his mind drifted to the second of the supposed pairing. He had remained at the station. He had his own vehicle. There had to be a reason why he had stayed. Rhino tapped the fingers of his right hand on the steering wheel. Nodded to himself, and removed his foot from the brake. You didn’t always play the hand you were dealt, especially if you dealt it yourself.
Two hours later, still sitting in the station car park, Rhino realised the beauty of this sort of work was that while it was happening you never knew whether your decision was right or not. It was only afterwards, in retrospect, that you found out one way or another. Unfortunately, the downside was that also happened to be how you were judged. He carried some weight with Chris, and had stockpiled plenty of markers in his favour for all the things he had done with, and on behalf of his boss. Screw this up, however, and there was a chance those chitties would count for nothing.
Whilst Rhino turned all this over in his head, Haystacks was of course verbalising pretty much the same thing. He didn’t think it was at all fair that he had been put in this position, insisting that the odds had been stacked against them.
“It’s his fault, man,” Haystacks said. He stroked his long beard, as he often did when he was contemplating. “Chris’s fault. He should have sent more men. That way we could have covered every move.”
“Are you going to tell him that?” Rhino could not fault his friend’s logic, but was sick of hearing about it.
“Yeah. I’m going to tell him exactly that if he starts pointing a finger in our direction.”
Rhino appreciated the ‘our’. He sighed and turned to Haystacks. “You’re one tough fucker, and I wouldn’t put it past you to go one-on-one with the boss. But he’s the boss. You need to shit or get off the pot with him.”
Haystacks was quiet for a few moments. Then he muttered, “I don’t mind being someone’s right-hand man. Don’t mind being told what to do. I respect Chris. But if we missed something here today, all I’m saying is it’s not our fault. I don’t want to pay for something I didn’t do wrong. That’s cool, right?”
Rhino had been watching the entrance to the station, hearing perhaps only every other word. “You notice that cop who was with the other fellah at the lay-by, the one who drove away on his own earlier. He keeps popping out to make calls. Why do you suppose that is?”
Haystacks paused midway through a two-handed beard stroke. “I don’t understand the question.”
“My point, Haystacks, is that his phone will work just as well inside the station. So why does he keep coming outside to use it?”
Haystacks sat more upright. Peered out towards the entrance and the non-stop movement of bodies in and out, all eager to go somewhere it seemed. “You think he could be speaking to Chris? You reckon he’s the bent cop?”
Rhino spread his enormous hands. “All I’m saying is, he looks like a man who doesn’t want these conversations overheard.”
The two of them watched the entrance closely. Sure enough, within ten minutes the cop was out there again. Fidgeting with his phone and yammering on it. Rhino and Haystacks glanced at each other.
“We follow him when he leaves,” Haystacks said.
Rhino smiled. “We do indeed.”
“You were wrong about this last time.”
“I was.”
“So, you won’t want to be wrong again.”
“No, Haystacks. I won’t want to be, and I won’t be. This is our bloke. So, you can stop stroking your damned beard.”
Hendricks sat in his hotel room. He had tossed his jacket across the edge of the bed, and his tie had followed swiftly after. He sat in one of the room’s two chairs, heels resting on the other. He had made several calls, logged into his network and checked numerous databases, but could find no leads on Mike Lynch’s potential whereabouts. Finally, he called his manager and updated Dwyer on developments.
“How are things with local police?” Dwyer asked immediately.
“We came to an amicable arrangement, sir. Downward pressure obviously helped, so thank you for that. I really want to stay with this.”
“Let’s see how it plays out over the next forty-eight hours, David. Ray Dawson is now history, and there’s plenty of work back here to occupy you.”
“I’m sure we will have resolved this inside two days, sir. Mike Lynch is unknown to us, so despite having managed to murder Dawson, he is, nonetheless, inexperienced. Plus, he has a woman and child in tow.”
“Hmm. I wonder, David. You and DCI Randall seem to be of a mind that Lynch and Andrews may now be colluding. The alternative being he stashed the woman and the girl away somewhere whilst he purchased
tickets at the station. I wonder have you considered a third option: that Lynch is no longer with them.”
Hendricks paused long enough for him to raise an eyebrow. The thought had not occurred. There was some confusion in his mind as he juggled the two storylines: one that had Lynch marked as a cold-blooded killer and abductor of two people, and the other the truth. Other than Lynch himself, and perhaps by now Melissa Andrews, he was the only one who knew Mike Lynch was an innocent bystander, a man in the wrong place at a very wrong time. Hendricks had to assume that Lynch would do everything possible to keep Melissa close by, she being the only other witness. Yet at the same time he had to follow the logical conclusions others were drawing.
“I had not considered that, sir,” he admitted. “But if we follow that thought process through, then either he does have them both secured away somewhere, or they are both dead. Any other scenario and the woman and child would by now have been discovered, or handed themselves in to us.”
After a moment, Dwyer said, “Tread carefully, David. You talk about ‘us’ and ‘we’ a lot, when in reality you mean ‘them’. The investigation team are allowing you to tag along. Not the other way around. Don’t forget that.”
“Of course.”
“Has anyone given you a hard time? Asked some complicated questions?”
“Not really, sir. Of course, they have questioned me, but it’s been a box-ticking exercise for the most part. They know the man responsible drove off in that BMW, so they don’t want to waste more time than necessary.”
“Well, that’s excellent news. And it’s a good sign that they have allowed you on the inside, David. They didn’t have to.”
“Agreed. Though I’m not sure it helped matters having a second NCA officer attached. Randall was sniffy enough when it was just me.”
Scream Blue Murder: an action-packed thriller Page 14