Killing Pretties

by Rob Ashman

  Malice patted the man’s pockets and found a knife. He dropped down from the van and hurried to the fat guy lying half-under the back wheel and came away with a handgun.

  That will do nicely.

  He returned to the driver’s seat and turned the key. The sound of the diesel engine filled the warehouse. He buzzed down the window and altered the position of the side mirror. In the reflection he could see the lights from office windows and a person crossing in front of them. The lanky guy was still upended with his head buried under the dashboard and his knees on the passenger seat.

  Malice slammed the van into reverse and gunned the engine. He picked his spot and let out the clutch.

  The van hurtled backwards.

  He kept his eyes glued to his side mirror.

  A bit to the left, a little to the right.

  The mezzanine floor got bigger in the mirror as he sped towards it. He could see a figure staring out of the window. It looked like Mitchell.

  The back of the van crashed into one of the front stanchions holding up the structure. There was an almighty bang as the fixing bolts were torn from the concrete floor. Malice kept his right foot hard down and smashed into a second stanchion located directly behind, knocking it out of position. There was a squeal of sheering metal.

  He selected first gear and rammed into the front steps, sending the structure flying from its fixings and onto the floor. The van spun around and Malice picked his next target. Two more support legs lay to his left, directly underneath the office. He revved the engine and reversed towards them.

  Malice was aware of voices, screaming and shouting overhead. One in English, the other in Slovak.

  The van thudded into the first girder and there was a moment when it looked like it was too strong. But the impact disintegrated the concrete and the metal buckled.

  Malice shot the van forward, then came to a juddering stop, flinging him against the steering wheel. The back wheels spun on the concrete, sending smoke into the air. The metalwork was embedded in the back of the van, holding it firm.

  There was a loud grating noise. Malice glanced across to see the remaining supports start to cave. He jumped from the cab and ran.

  The groaning sound got louder as the mezzanine floor fell forwards. He could see Mitchell standing with both hands pressed against the window and Vasco was silhouetted in the doorway to the office.

  Then everything went into slow motion.

  The two remaining stanchions at the front crumpled under the weight and the back supports were torn from their mountings. The leading edge of the mezzanine tipped forward and crunched into the concrete.

  This catapulted the office over the handrails, sending it crashing to the ground on its side. There was a cacophony of breaking glass and the walls of the office collapsed. Vasco was thrown clear, landing in a heap. Mitchell was still inside.

  Malice ran over and clambered through the shattered wall panels.

  Where is the bastard?

  Mitchell was lying face down, the top half of his body framed by the window. The glass on which he was lying had splintered into a thousand pieces, most of which was imbedded in his flesh. The conference table was pinning him to the floor. A rapidly expanding pool of blood filled the recess of the frame.

  The freezer had burst open and Wrigley was thawing out in a corner. Malice looked around for his gun and knife.

  Where the hell are they?

  He patted Mitchell’s pockets and removed his mobile phone and wallet. Next to him was the briefcase and the folder containing the police intelligence. Malice snapped open the catches and lifted the lid.

  There they are.

  He put the file in the case and negotiated his way through the wreckage into the warehouse to where Vasco was lying; twitching and moaning.

  Malice put two fingers to his neck. The pulse was strong. He patted Vasco’s pockets and came away with another phone and wallet.

  ‘You fucking shit,’ Vasco croaked, his face a bloody mess.

  ‘You should never have listened to Mitchell. Always trust your instincts. Galloping paranoia is your friend.’

  ‘I will make you watch as I torture your family.’

  Vasco coughed blood onto the floor.

  ‘You were right all along,’ Malice said, getting down to floor level to look directly into Vasco’s face. ‘You and me, we’re the same. Except…’ Malice removed the third razor blade stuck to his body. ‘I’m alive. And you’re dead.’

  He slashed the blade across Vasco’s neck and walked away.

  There’s one more thing to do.

  Chapter 46

  P ietersen was curled up on her sofa in her pyjamas watching back-to-back episodes of Friends. It was her go-to remedy whenever she’d had a shit day. And boy was she in need of Ross & Co. tonight. She absentmindedly dipped into a bag of popcorn and came up empty-handed.

  Oh, yeah. I’ve eaten them.

  She knew every episode off by heart, but despite her mouthing along to the words, half her head was still in work. The Garrett case was bugging her, Malice was bugging her. Martin bloody Edwards was bugging her. The popcorn running out wasn’t helping.

  She downed what was left of her drink and went to the fridge for a top-up. The wine swirled around in the oversized glass. She took a slug and returned to the sofa.

  Oh, and Ryan sodding Anderson was bugging her as well.

  Why the hell he insisted on meeting in an outdoor toilet was beyond her. When she’d got back home she’d stripped off in front of the washing machine and piled her clothes into it. She didn’t want to wash them with anything else. The stink of stale piss was still lodged in her nose despite half a bottle of shower gel and a handful of scented moisturiser.

  There was a bang at the door.

  ‘Who the hell…’ she checked her phone. 20:10. She padded into the hallway,

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Kelly, it’s me.’

  She sighed silently, held her eyes closed for a long second, then shouted through the door. ‘What do you want, Martin?’

  ‘I just want to talk.’

  ‘After the stunt you pulled today, you can fuck off.’

  ‘I only want to talk,’ his voice had a childlike quality which Pietersen had heard too many times before.

  ‘Like this afternoon?’ she snapped.

  ‘I’m sorry babe. I wanted to grab your attention, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s all! Trying to cost me my job more like.’

  ‘Open the door, Kell, this is stupid.’

  ‘Okay, I need to put something on.’

  ‘I’ve seen it all before.’

  Pietersen returned to the door and opened it as wide as the security chain would allow.

  ‘You got two minutes,’ she said.

  ‘Can’t I come in?’ he was shuffling from one foot to the other while staring at the floor.

  ‘You’re wasting time, Martin.’

  ‘Oh Christ, Kell, I’m sorry about today. I didn’t know what else to do.’

  ‘How did you know where I was?’

  ‘I was waiting outside the police station, and when I saw you leave I followed.’

  ‘When we spoke in the pub you were drunk. How did you get like that if you were outside?’

  ‘I had a bottle of gin in my pocket.’

  ‘You don’t drink gin.’

  ‘I do since we split up,’ he sidled up to the gap between the door and the frame. Pietersen wedged her foot against the bottom of the door.

  ‘What the hell do you want, Martin?’

  ‘I want you to give me another chance.’

  ‘After what you did?’

  ‘It was a moment of madness. I didn’t mean to …’

  ‘You didn’t mean to fuck my best friend. Well, let me rephrase that, someone I thought was my best friend.’

  ‘It was nothing, Kell. She meant nothing.’

  ‘Oh great, so you screwed up our wedding day over a woman that meant nothing?’ Months of ange
r and tears came bubbling to the surface. She swallowed them back down.

  ‘I can’t say sorry any more than I have done.’

  ‘So you keep saying.’

  ‘Come on, Kell. Let me in.’ He was smiling his best ‘this will win her over smile’.

  ‘No, and stop calling me Kell.’

  ‘What if I drop the charges?’

  ‘I have a witness statement from the officer who was with me. Needless to say, it doesn’t correlate with your version of events.’

  ‘Oh come on Kell, I mean Kelly, it doesn’t have to be like this.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Give me another chance and I’ll drop the complaint. I’m desperate Kelly, I didn’t know what else to do. Let me in.’ The smile made another appearance.

  ‘You didn’t know what else to do?’

  ‘I needed to get your attention, that’s all. I didn’t mean you no harm.’

  ‘So you made a complaint against me to get my attention?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I was desperate.’

  ‘And you’ll drop the charges if I agree to give us another go?’

  ‘Yes, I will. I promise

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Let me in and I’ll show you how sorry I am.’

  ‘Nope, I don’t think that’s necessary.’ Pietersen held up her phone so he could see it through the gap. ‘Say goodbye, Martin.’ She pressed the red button to stop the recording and banged the door shut.

  That was one less thing to bug her.

  Malice was also shuffling from one foot to another on a doorstep. He glanced across the road at his Ford Mustang and thanked his lucky stars he’d ditched the Rover and managed to grab a change of clothes. Back at his flat, the washing machine was already getting rid of the blood stains and another hot-wash when he got back should do the trick.

  He looked at his watch — he was pushing it. A light came on in the hallway and the door opened. It was Hayley.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, giving her a half-smile.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘You look tired.’

  ‘That’s hardly a surprise. It’s been stressful.’ She had one hand on the door and the other on her hip. She leaned into the edge of the door.

  ‘What have you been stressed about?’

  ‘Are you for real? How about wondering whether or not I’ll have a bloody home to come back to.’ Now both hands were on her hips.

  ‘Everything’s sorted.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure, you’re safe.’

  ‘Has someone been in my house while I’ve been away?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  ‘Well it looks like it, I’m going to get the locks changed just in case.’

  That’s fucked it.

  ‘If that makes you feel better....’

  Hayley moved onto the top step and pulled the door behind her, forcing Malice to take half a pace back.

  ‘Will I hear about it on the news?’ she hissed, her stare boring into his face.

  ‘Depends,’ he looked away.

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On what other news is around at the time.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then.’

  ‘Is Amy still up?’

  ‘Yes but she’s tired from the journey.’

  ‘Do you think I could…’

  Hayley cast her eyes to the heavens and stepped back into the house. Malice ambled into the hallway.

  ‘Daddy!’ Amy came running and threw herself at him when he entered the lounge. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  Malice scooped her up in his arms and swung her around. ‘I’ve missed you too, Sweet Pea. How were things with aunty what’s-her-face?’

  ‘It’s Aunty Izzy, you know it is.’

  Malice stroked his chin.

  ‘Umm … Nope, I only know an aunty what’s-her-face. Who’s this Izzy woman?’

  ‘She’s mummy’s sister, silly. We had a great time.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘But I have to go to school tomorrow.’

  ‘Indeed you do young lady, school is important.’ He dropped her onto the sofa and plonked himself next to her.

  ‘I bought you a pressie.’ She scampered down and ran to her bag on the table.

  ‘For me! A pressie! I love pressies.’ He rubbed his hands together.

  ‘Aunty Izzy gave me pocket money and I spent some of it on you.’

  ‘That’s fab, what is it?’

  ‘Shut your eyes and hold out your hands.’ Malice did as he was told and felt an object drop into his palm. ‘Okay, you can open them now.’

  He opened his eyes to find a half-eaten bar of Toblerone. He held it in the air and inspected the ragged edges of the wrapping.

  ‘Has a little mouse been at this?’

  ‘Me and mummy ate some, but you can have the rest.’

  ‘Half-eaten chocolate is my all-time favourite pressie. I love it.’ He hugged her.

  ‘Go get yourself ready for bed, Amy, and I’ll be up in a second,’ Hayley said appearing from the kitchen. ‘Say goodnight to daddy, he was just leaving.’

  ‘Nite, daddy,’ she squeezed him hard and kissed him on the cheek’

  ‘Nite, Sweet Pea.’

  Amy dashed up the stairs.

  ‘I’m tired too. You need to go,’ Hayley said brushing her hair away from her eyes.

  ‘Okay, I wanted to see you were both okay.’

  ‘We’re fine.’

  Malice made his way to the front door. ‘You ate my present.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘That wasn’t very nice.’

  ‘We need to talk about access. I can’t have you calling round whenever you want to. It’s disruptive to Amy.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘Goodnight Mally,’ she closed the door behind him.

  Malice arrived home having made a detour to the corner shop. He set the briefcase on his coffee table and cracked open a beer. After collapsing onto the sofa, he flipped open the locks and removed the file, both guns, the knifes and the belongings he’d taken from Vasco and his men.

  In the case were two envelopes. The one Mitchell had tossed to him across the desk, plus another. He opened the flap on the second envelope to find an even fatter bundle of notes.

  Malice let out a long, slow, low whistle.

  He stacked them on the table and rooted around inside the case. It was empty. He shoved his fingers deep into the pockets in the divider and could feel something hard. It was a memory stick.

  He retrieved his laptop from the next room and slid the device into the USB port. The red LED flickered and an icon came up on his screen. He double clicked and took a gulp of beer.

  Please enter the six-digit password

  Fuck!

  Malice took another swig and scratched at the label on the bottle. He thought about Vasco and Mitchell, what was it they kept saying? ‘We like to keep things simple.’

  He typed in 0,1,2,3,4,5 and hit return.

  Incorrect password.

  He tried again, this time with 1,2,3,4,5,6.

  A window came up showing a single Excel file. He double clicked and a spreadsheet filled the screen.

  I wonder which one of them created this?

  Along the bottom were a series of tabs, each one labelled with some kind of shorthand. He scanned across and mumbled them under his breath: ‘Humb, Mersey, Av&Som, Met, GMP, Suff, W York, Notts…’ The list went on.

  He opened one of the tabs which brought up a table. Down the left-hand side were three words: Vanilla, Suntan and Rolex. The column to the right had the heading: Date. And the next two columns read: Amount and Total.

  Looks like a payment schedule.

  Malice skipped through the tabs at the bottom.

  What the hell is this?

  Then the penny dropped.

  The tabs are police forces: Humberside, Merseyside, Avon and Somerset, Metropolitan, Greater Manchester …

  Malice scrolled
along until he found the one corresponding to his own force. He clicked on it. On the left-hand side were two words: The first was Komodo with seven payments alongside it totalling fifty-five thousand. The dates went back nine months and the last payment had been made two weeks ago.

  The name below it read: The Jam. Yesterday’s date was in the cell to the right and the figure of five thousand was written next to that. For the second time today, a song played in his head – A Town Called Malice.

  This is my payment schedule.

  His finger hovered over the delete button. Then he did a double take on the Komodo payment dates.

  Shit!

  Chapter 47

  M alice was trying to come down after the events of the previous evening. He’d treated himself to an extra hour in bed along with a shop-bought coffee which was cooling on his desk.

  When he’d arrived for work his first port of call had been to chat with those helpful people in Equipment and Supplies. You would swear the kit they issued was their own personal belongings the way they begrudgingly allocated stuff out. It was like Oliver taking his bowl to Mr Bumble and uttering the words ‘Please sir, I want some more.’ More often than not with the same response.

  That being said, when Malice handed over what was left of his phone in a plastic bag, even he had to admit his explanation sounded a little flaky.

  ‘Can I have a replacement phone, please?’ he’d asked the bloke, sitting at a desk behind the counter.

  ‘What happened to your last one?’ came the bored reply, the man not even bothering to look up from his paperwork.

  ‘It broke.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I darted across the road and it bounced out of my pocket. A car ran over it.’

  The man removed his glasses and ambled over. He took the bag and emptied the pieces onto the worktop.

  ‘That’s in a bit of a mess.’

  ‘As I said, it got run over. I work in CID, I need a phone.’

  The man glared at Malice, then looked at the splintered debris scattered on the counter. He stroked his brow. ‘What the hell were they driving, a tank?’

  ‘Just give me a bloody phone.’

  After much form filling, the man handed over a new device and Malice inserted his SIM card.