Remorseless: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate #1)

by Will Patching

  He almost admired the handiwork. The bouncer had given him a pasting, but had been professional enough not to break any bones, not rupture anything, not maim him. Leech reckoned he could never do that. That job was beyond him.

  After his shower he felt better, but when he went to put on his clothes, his jeans and tee shirt, they stank of vomit and were streaked with stains. He hammered his fists on the dining table, blows thundering down on the glass top. For a minute it held against the onslaught before disintegrating into thousands of tiny fragments like a shattered car windscreen.

  As it exploded he heard himself wailing.

  He was losing it. He knew it. He had to get his act together...

  He went back to the shower, dressed while standing under it, allowing the stream of water to cleanse the stench. When he emerged he shrugged the clothes off again, wrung them out, letting the water pool on the lounge floor, and then put them back on.

  That’s better.

  He picked up his jacket – at least that was pretty much unspoilt – and opened his front door.

  His neighbour was standing there, as if about to knock. Leech suspected this was the source of the constant hammering he’d suffered for the last few days.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I could hear you were home.’ The supercilious twat was complaining about the noise again. The man was scrutinising Leech’s face, clearly pleased that someone had the balls to do what he could not. His voice seeped with glee as he said, ‘The police have been looking for you. In fact they were here again this morning. I’m sure they’ll be back soon...’ He smirked as he added, ‘I think you’ll find someone has called them to let them know you’re here.’

  Someone?

  ‘You cunt!’

  The words were mushy, Leech’s lack of teeth and swollen lips slurring the consonants, but the meaning and rage contained in the outburst were quite clear to his neighbour. The smug expression vanished as he realised he might just have put himself in harm’s way. He was too late.

  An iron fist slammed into the man’s larynx, bursting the fragile cartilage, bone and tissue at the front of his neck. He was felled by the single blow.

  Leech observed, intrigued, as his victim dropped to his knees, suffocating already, clawing at his throat, his windpipe swollen shut in an instant, eyes wide, bulging at death’s approach.

  Leech left him gasping for air, kneeling in the doorway, and went to his desk. He pocketed his passport, chequebooks, cards and his few papers, returned to the man, now lying face down, grabbed his collar with one hand and heaved him into the apartment.

  ‘Snakebite!’ He booted the corpse, said, ‘Goodbye wanker,’ slammed the door and left his new home for the last time.

  ***

  It was Monday lunchtime, another bright sunny day, the streets crowded with office workers, shopping or heading out for a much needed break, maybe some food, a breath of exhaust filled London air.

  Leech felt the sun trying to scorch through his skull, hated the crowds barging into him, the noise and grime of the streets. He would move. The Caribbean. He’d been there before with his parents. Loved it when he was a kid. He would settle there... But he had some things he needed to settle here first.

  He eventually managed to flag down a black cab, had to give the address three times through his swollen mouth before the driver understood. His face ached, so he took a handful of aspirin and swallowed them dry.

  He asked the driver to wait while he completed his task.

  ‘Peter? What on earth happened to you?’

  Gruber was tucking into a sandwich at his desk, nonplussed at the sight of this snorting bull standing in his office doorway. His secretary was at lunch and so he had no warning of his client’s arrival. Not that this one needed an appointment. ‘Sit down. Sit down.’

  Leech sat. ‘Why are the police after me?’ Leech could see Gruber struggling to understand him. ‘You heard from them, right?’ The confusion in his solicitor’s face reminded him of the unfairness of his situation, his self-pity a short fuse inside him, burning, burning, inexorably towards his explosive rage.

  ‘Ah! The police? Yes. I’m afraid that two things have happened. Firstly, and the more minor of the two, you failed to contact your probation officer within the first twenty-four hours of your release. That, I think we could contend with if it were not for the second matter.’

  ‘What you on about?’ Leech watched Gruber toy with his sandwich, could see he was hungry, but also keen to rid himself of the problem that had barged into his office.

  ‘Apparently a young lady of the night has accused you of rape. Although she admits receiving money, thereby undermining her case somewhat, she insists she was, er... anally penetrated.’

  Leech read disgust in the solicitor’s face, just a wisp, a hint, but there all the same. The fuse was running out.

  ‘That could be just a... a slip up, perhaps? A misunderstanding on the part of a, shall we say, over-eager client after some years without female company.’

  Leech did not like how that sounded.

  ‘Quite possibly I could get the charges dropped on that basis. However, the broken jaw is something of an immutable fact. Witnesses agree that when she left with you she was in rude health. Some forty minutes later, she was seriously in need of hospital treatment.’ Gruber finally succumbed and stuffed the sandwich into his mouth.

  Burning. Burning.

  She’d told the police, the stinking filthy cunt!

  He would find her. Yet another thing to do before he jetted off.

  And this useless fart was sitting ramming food into his fat face while he was being hunted by the police!

  The fuse was close to the end now. He barely kept control, waiting while his solicitor swallowed and then sucked air through his teeth to clear some edible debris.

  Sated, Gruber turned his full attention back to Leech, absently cleaning his fingers on a tissue as he said, ‘You have two choices Peter. You can go to them voluntarily and we can front it out. It is only her word against yours. We could contend it was merely horseplay perhaps? Some over-enthusiastic horseplay, admittedly. And in her particular profession I understand that money is the... how shall we say, lubricant? We could consider a disbursement to allow her to have a more accurate recollection of events. That might work.’

  Gruber waited for a response. Got none.

  ‘Or you can run. Hide. And they will catch up with you, unless you manage to skip the country, and stay away. I think the first option is preferable, although with your passport and altered looks,’ Gruber’s eyes scurried over Leech’s face, ‘we could get you on a plane this afternoon. It’s your decision.’

  ‘False passport.’ Gruber narrowed his eyes as he tried to understand Leech’s mangled speech. ‘Only you know it’s me?’

  The fuse was almost there now, so close.

  ‘Of course.’ Gruber was relieved, relaxed back in his seat as if a difficult problem had been finally resolved. ‘So, you want to fly today?’ He checked his watch. ‘My secretary will be back from lunch in about forty minutes. I’ll have her book for you... Nigel. I had wanted to contact you this morning to warn you, but I still have no number. Did you buy a mobile telephone as I suggested?’

  It was on the floor of his apartment, still in its box. But Leech’s mind was not there. It was exploding in the here and now.

  He launched himself across the desk as the fuse finally ran out.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later Leech emerged. The cabbie was tapping his fingers on the wheel, impatient but not anxious. It was not unusual to wait an hour or more with the meter running, and it was a lot less stressful than navigating through London’s clogged arteries.

  As Leech jumped in the back the cabbie asked, ‘Where to now?’

  This time Leech just showed him the note. The driver sucked in his cheeks and told Leech it was way outside his area, though he could take him if the price was right. Leech just waved a fistful of notes at him, and settled
in the back, his clothes almost dry now.

  He could disappear at any time. He had money, he had an identity, and now there was no one to blab about Nigel Grove or his offshore funds.

  It was a good feeling. Things had gone wrong for him, but they were looking up now. Gruber was no longer a threat to his well-being.

  And there was still Judy Finch. He was on his way now, would soon be seeing his Birdy.

  The taxi threaded through London’s suburbs then entered green belt country. It took some time to find the property and the gates were shut when they arrived. The road, a typical English country lane, was deserted. No traffic.

  ‘Sorry mate. If your visitin, I don’t fink anyone’s home.’ The driver had leaned out and pressed the intercom at the gate, then tried again. ‘Unless you’ve got the code?’ There was a keypad below the loudspeaker, ready to swing open the gates for the right combination of digits.

  Leech replied, ‘Hang on.’

  The cabbie had been staring at Leech in the rear view mirror all the way, and continued to scrutinise his passenger as he got out. Then he poked his head through his window again as Leech came level, still watching him as he stepped up to the intercom.

  Instead of jabbing the keypad, Leech pivoted round, the forefingers of his right hand held in a rigid vee, and stabbed them into the driver’s eyes. He felt the satisfying squelch of the man’s sight being extinguished, let the screech of anguish wash over him as he whispered, ‘Thnakebide’.

  Did the cabbie understand that? Snakebite. Leech didn’t care.

  The driver was scrabbling at his eye sockets, a keening noise streaming from his mouth. Leech grasped the man’s head with both hands and spun it hard, the sound of the neck vertebrae snapping like the pop of a Xmas cracker.

  He opened the door and dragged his latest victim into the back of the cab, leapt into the front seat and drove off. He thumped the wheel with his fist, the car careening as he drove. Although he had learnt to drive in his early teens – his father hoping go-karting, stock car racing and riding trail bikes might keep him out of trouble – and he had passed his test soon after his seventeenth birthday, he’d not been behind a wheel for eighteen years.

  He was blinded by rage, frustrated yet again in his quest to find Judy Finch, and he was struggling to control the cumbersome taxi. He was in the middle of the road on a bend, unaware that a lorry was bearing down on him.

  The sound of its klaxon brought him back to reality. He swerved, avoiding collision, but the cab left the road and rammed a tree instead.

  The impact threw him forward, smashing his face on the wheel. The pain from the bouncer’s boot, that had delivered him to unconsciousness on Friday, surged through him yet again, a thundering shockwave this time, magnified by the latest impact.

  He threw back his head and blasted his agony and frustration at the roof.

  ‘BIRDY! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?’

  ***

  ‘Judy! Thank God you answered.’

  Doc sounded frantic. ‘Are you okay, you sound as if you’re having a bad day. Is it the visions?’

  ‘No, no. Nothing like that my love.’

  Despite herself Judy felt a thrill at the sound of his voice. My love. It sounded so good when he said it. She let him continue.

  ‘We have a... a situation. I need to see you at a police station.’

  Police station? ‘I’m busy. I’m about to assist in a parole hearing. You should know. You scheduled it!’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. Please listen sweetheart.’ Again, her heart skipped at the term of endearment. He sounded concerned though, taking the shine off the moment. Then he ruined her mood completely. ‘It’s about Leech.’

  It was as if iced water was washing through her veins, flushing her good humour away.

  ‘What about him?’

  Doc hesitated. ‘...It would be better if you come to the station. I’m on my way there. Jack Carver is the man to ask for. Believe me. It’s important.’

  ‘Is he up for recall already?’ Judy’s mind scrambled to understand why it was so important to meet Doc to discuss Leech now.

  ‘It’s worse than that. I’ll explain everything. I promise.’ He was panicky, not at all like Doc, and that broke through any hint of complacency she may have felt.

  ‘Okay, okay.’ She took the directions, made a note of Carver’s name.

  ‘One other thing. That recording. I never did listen to it. Do you still have it?’

  ‘The interview with Leech?’ Now her confusion peaked. What the hell could he need that for? ‘I don’t have it here... It’s at home. I can go there first.’

  ‘NO!’ His vehemence startled her. ‘Call Betty. Tell her where it is. I’ll have a squad car pick it up. Is Josh at school?’

  ‘Yes of course. What’s going on?’ Her heart was racing now, his panic contagious. ‘You’re scaring me Colin.’

  She heard a deep intake of breath and then, ‘I’m so sorry sweetheart. Please don’t be alarmed. Just come. Eh?’

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I get a cab. You can explain to the Judge why I’m playing truant, okay?’

  ‘No problem.’ Relief now, his panic subsided.

  After finishing the call she ordered a cab, and then apologised to her colleagues, leaving them baffled and their hearings cancelled.

  What could possibly have spooked Doc so much?

  Her mind fumbled at the edges of the possibility that some half-remembered words from the end of her meeting with Leech might just be important. But her consciousness refused to consider it, to acknowledge the connection.

  Later, she would regret that.

  ***

  Doc and a police officer she did not know were waiting in an interview room. It was pleasant and light, venetian shutters over the transparent internal walls to allow privacy, one side a picture window overlooking the street.

  At least she wasn’t about to be grilled.

  Doc was pale, his complexion greasy with sweat. She wondered again if he had been visiting his own private purgatory this morning. Was Leech becoming an obsession again? Floating in and out of his vision, disrupting Doc’s life? Whatever it was she knew her man was suffering.

  It turned out that the policeman was DI Carver and he started by describing the ordeal Sade had suffered at Leech’s hands.

  ‘The poor girl. But I don’t see how I can help?’ She really did not. ‘Or that recording from my interview with him?’ She turned from Carver to Doc but neither man would look her in the eye. Doc was leaning against the door, left arm folded across his chest, the hand supporting an elbow, his other fingers fondling his chin. He seemed miles away.

  ‘Colin?’ He glanced up, his face haunted. ‘Are you okay?’ She noticed Carver giving her a strange look, but she didn’t give a damn.

  ‘I’m okay. We’re worried about you.’

  ‘Me? Why?’ She felt her heart icing over as she started to realise this really was about her. ‘What is it? You think he wants to do the same to me? Oh come on! Get real. He met me for less than two hours. I doubt he even remembers me. I’m not some street-walker.’ Still they avoided her eyes. She did not expect this from Doc and their attitude was starting to piss her off. She slammed her palm on the desk. ‘If you’ve got something more to tell me, then spit it out.’ She aimed the comment at Carver but hoped Colin would answer. He did.

  ‘Jack, please give us a minute.’ Carver left, promising to return with coffee in five minutes. ‘We think... I think, Peter Leech may have developed a dangerous fixation. On you.’ Doc sat on the desk and took her hand. ‘Sade told me he went on and on about a girlfriend.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. He can’t think I – ’

  ‘He called her his birdy... Birdy. As in Finch.’

  There was a roaring in her ears. Was it blood rushing? God knows, she thought. She tried to breathe away the panic rising in her chest.

  ‘That may not be me. It could be his nickname for any girl.’ She was clutching at straws and kn
ew it.

  Doc was relentless. ‘Birdy is intelligent. Beautiful... And she works for the government.’ His voice from a distance now, the roaring unabated. The thought of that beast wanting her! Coming for her! Her panic escalated, almost engulfed her, Colin’s hand a lifeline.

  She panted, desperate, ‘There’s nobody else?’

  ‘He’s seen no other women, except warders, for several years. Only one female has visited him recently. Had any meaningful conversation with him. Connected with him... Judy, that’s why I need to listen to that interview.’

  She wanted to vomit, but forced some words out instead. ‘What will that tell you?’

  She watched as he kissed her fingers, held on to that hand, trying to be there for her, then focussed on his lips as he explained, though barely grasping the meaning.

  ‘I hope it will prove me wrong. The clues should be there. If he was developing an obsession with you.’ He then made a feeble joke and she wished he hadn’t. ‘Looks like I might not be the only one who has fallen under your spell!’

  Comparing himself to Leech was no help. And then her emotions hit fever pitch.

  ‘Josh! And mum. What about them? Are they in danger?’

  Doc patted her hand, puncturing her panic with his reassurance. ‘Jack organised cars to collect them. They’re on their way. Don’t worry. And we’ll make sure Josh is entertained when he gets here.’ Doc’s watery smile appeased her, and then she started to think again.

  ‘But we can’t stay here! And how could Leech know where I live? Please Colin, don’t panic my mother and Josh. Don’t tell them about this!’

  Before Doc could answer Carver burst in.

  ‘Doc. I think you need to see this. Looks like our man has murdered his brief.’

  ***

  ‘Holborn called. They knew we were after Leech, I’d spoken to my opposite number there this morning on an unrelated matter. Otherwise we might have been several hours behind the curve on this one.’ Doc and Carver were being driven at speed through London traffic, the siren blasting vehicles aside.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The ME reckons he was stabbed to death... and raped. He’s not sure yet in which order.’