Face Book: A disturbing novel full of shocking twists

by Paul Johnson-Jovanovic

  ‘I know I meant it as a joke,’ Derek said, ‘but they really might be disposing of a body.’

  ‘And it could just be one of Byron’s men taking some nice wheels out for a late spin,’ Chris reasoned. ‘Could be one of ‘em knocking off for the night, or out to terrorise a granny. Who knows? Let’s go back to the mansion and stick with Plan A. Searching for that Warrior is stupid. Needle in a haystack job.’

  ‘If you were getting rid of a body,’ Jack said, ‘where would you dump it?’

  ‘Ah, come on!’ Chris said. ‘Why waste our time?’

  ‘When we got done over, I talked to the Asian guy that owns the corner shop on our street,’ Derek said. ‘He told me there’s a lot of bridges and fly-overs and buildings that have got bodies underneath ‘em. He also reckons the river is full of bodies, too.’

  ‘Oh well, that narrows things down,’ Chris said. ‘Now all we have to do is check every construction area in the vicinity and miles of river bank. Piece of piss! What are we waiting for?’

  ‘Will you keep quiet,’ Derek said. ‘You’re really not helping, bro.’

  ‘I’ll ask the question again,’ Jack said. ‘If you were getting rid of a body, where would you dump it?’

  ‘There’s a hotel being built on the A523,’ Derek said. ‘It’s in the early stages. They’re digging out the footings, so it’s ideal. I doubt our man in the Warrior will be there, but …’ he shrugged, ‘that’s where I’d go.’

  Jack put the Astra in gear, then sped off.

  ####

  Even with Henderson lifeless on the floor and police on the way, Sarah didn't feel safe. She was sure Collins would come back. That any second now she'd hear footsteps in the corridor and he'd burst into her apartment, gun in hand. Ready to finish the job.

  Other residents were comforting Sarah whilst trying to establish what had happened. They'd seated her on the settee. Put a blanket around her. The lady from 6 was on her knees in front of Sarah, dabbing her cheek with a wet cloth she'd got from the kitchen. Sarah wanted to push her away. She wanted to take a shower, because she felt dirty. She knew, however, that washing the evidence down the plughole would not have been wise.

  Sarah's apartment was trashed. Her body ached. She was a bloody mess. But she was alive. Which was more than could be said for Mr. Broderick. She stared at his prone body and an icicle of guilt stabbed at her heart. He was dead and she couldn't help but think that it was her fault. If only she hadn't invited Henderson to her apartment. If only she hadn't agreed to sleep with him. If only she hadn't changed her mind ...

  The police arrived, along with paramedics. Sarah felt relieved. That relief oozed away, however, when she remembered who Henderson worked for. Charles Byron would not be pleased that one of his men was dead. She was certain Collins would go scurrying back to him. No one could ice one of Byron's men and get away with it. Especially not a woman. Sarah was sure Collins would blame it on her. Say that she was the one who pushed Henderson. The one who killed him.

  She wondered what would happen to her. Would Byron order a hit? Or would they just give her a beating, like they had to the guy at the Fox and Faucet? Sarah regretted not helping the old man who'd been serving at the bar. She regretted running away like a coward. Regretted not letting him use her mobile phone.

  ####

  Still in the bush, relaxing back with his eyes shut, Ward snapped to as he heard a car door shut. Blurry eyed, with rain dripping down his face, he peeked through the branches and saw two men getting out of a green Toyota Rav4. They made their way towards the bitch’s house. Down the driveway. Both were armed with pistols. Ward wondered who they could be. Cops that’d received a tip-off that something was going down? Perhaps a neighbour had spotted him. Raised the alarm. But if that were the case, why weren’t the men advancing on him. Ward concluded that he wasn’t the only one with retribution to dish out. The bitch had obviously pissed someone else off. Now they’d come to make her pay. They were about to do Ward a favour and he was going to have the luxury of watching. Sweet.

  The house was in darkness, the occupants clearly asleep.

  The men briefly consulted each other outside the front door, then disappeared around the back.

  Gripping his knife’s handle tight, Ward followed them.

  ####

  Unable to sleep, Dawn lay on her back, staring into darkness. It wasn’t Philip’s snoring that was keeping her awake; she was used to that. The slow, steady inhale. Followed by the raspy, snort-like exhale. It was almost hypnotic. Until he upped the revs and the mattress started vibrating. Then she would have to pinch his nose or elbow him in the side. For now, however, he was only in first gear. She elbowed him anyway.

  ‘You do that again and I’ll kip on the settee,’ he mumbled, turning onto his side, away from her.

  ‘I think I heard something,’ Dawn said. She sat up, listening. ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘It’s probably nothing. Shut up and go to sleep.’

  If Dawn hadn’t been so concerned, she would have punched Philip in the ear.

  ‘I heard a noise downstairs,’ she whispered. ‘Someone could be breaking in.’

  ‘It’s most likely a cat foraging near the bin or …’

  A loud bang made him spring up like he’d been plugged into the National Grid.

  ‘What the heck was that?’ he said.

  ‘Not a cat,’ Dawn replied, switching on the bed-side lamp. She reached down, under the bed, feeling around for the reassuring cold steel of her gun. Her fingertips found nothing. For a moment she thought it wasn’t there. Her breath caught in her throat. Then her hand closed around the gun’s handle and she exhaled in relief.

  ‘We should call the police,’ Philip said, pulling his dressing gown on as he edged around the bed.

  Dawn said, ‘I am the police.’ She moved towards the door in her red nightie, her bare feet soundless on the carpet. ‘You go in with Abbie, make sure she’s okay. Keep her quiet. Keep her safe. Protect her with your life. No matter what you hear, don’t come downstairs, all right. Promise me you won’t interfere.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘Do you think it’s a burglar?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘How can you know?’

  ‘I just do.’

  Realising he’d left his mobile below the pillow, Philip threw himself across the bed and retrieved it. His hands trembled as he thumbed the keys.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Dawn asked.

  ‘Calling for back-up.’

  ‘This’ll be over long before anyone gets here. Just go in with Abbie. Please, Philip, there’s no time to waste!’ She opened the door. Beckoned him through.

  He sprang up off the bed. Made his way across the landing. Pausing, he sneaked a glance down the stairs, into the blackness below.

  ‘Move!’ Dawn hissed. And he did.

  He disappeared into Abbie’s room just as another bang reverberated throughout the house. This one followed by the jingle of shattering glass. The patio door, Dawn thought. She walked onto the landing, her legs feeling wobbly and strange, like they didn’t belong to her.

  Abbie began to cry and Dawn heard Philip comforting her.

  Had it been burglars, she would have switched the light on. Made as much noise as possible to scare them away. But that tactic wasn’t going to work with the men now making their way through the living room. Cover of darkness was best. Stealth. The advantage of surprise. She just hoped there wasn’t too many. One or two, she could handle. Anymore than two and … well, she didn’t want to think about that.

  Positioning herself at the top of the stairs, Dawn knelt down, keeping her body to the side so she was protected by the banister. She flipped the gun’s safety off. Sighting along the barrel, she waited. She heard Abbie talking to Philip and him telling her to be quiet. She heard and felt her heart beating, blood pulsing in her temples. She heard movement below.

  Getting closer …

  Somebody clattered into something and muttered, ‘
Shit!’

  Glass smashed on the hallway floor, making Dawn Jump. And cringe. The vase had been a gift from her late mother. One of that last things she’d bought for her. For that alone, Dawn felt like killing the intruders.

  A silhouetted figure came into view.

  Aiming for the head, Dawn pulled the trigger.

  ####

  If the Warrior was at the building site, Jack didn’t want to advertise he was coming. So he killed the Astra’s lights while they were still a safe distance away.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re bothering,’ Chris said, shaking his head. ‘Needle in a haystack, man. Needle in a haystack.’

  ‘I think the odds are a lot better than that,’ Derek said.

  ‘Wanna bet on that?’ Chris replied. ‘A hundred quid says you’re wrong.’

  Derek said, ‘You ain’t got a hundred quid.’

  ‘Don’t need it,’ Chris remarked, ‘’cause I know I’m right.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Derek said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Chris said. ‘We will.’

  Jack pulled over. Turned the engine off.

  ‘We walk from here,’ he said.

  ‘It’s still raining,’ Chris noted. ‘We’ll get wet. I’m only just dry from the last soaking.’

  ‘Stay in the car then,’ Derek said.

  He got out.

  Jack grabbed his bag and knife. Followed him.

  ‘Wait up!’ Chris said, chasing after them. Nearing the building site, he added: ‘It’s all very black over there. No signs of life.’ Metal mesh fencing ringed the area. Putting his fingers through the holes, he stood on tiptoes, trying to get a better look. ‘Yup, I was right; we’ve wasted our time.’

  Jack and Derek stopped for a look, too. For a moment, Jack thought Chris was right. All he could see was an open expanse dotted with dark outlines of JCB’s, diggers and other equipment. Then a light appeared from behind a porta-cabin. The unmistakable bluish glow of a mobile phone. Someone was using it as a torch.

  ‘What were just saying?’ Jack asked Chris.

  ‘That could be anybody,’ he responded. ‘Where’s the Warrior?’

  Because it was so dark, they found it hard to spot. But spot it they did.

  ‘Over there, look,’ Jack said, pointing. ‘By that digger.’

  ‘I see it,’ Derek said.

  ‘I don’t,’ Chris mumbled.

  Derek said, ‘About that hundred quid bet …’

  ‘I can’t afford it,’ Chris said. ‘Remember?’

  Jack said, ‘It’s pretty clear that Mr. Warrior and his friends – if he’s got friends with him – are up to no good.’

  Vaulting over the fence in one fluid movement, Derek pulled his gun out. Beckoned the others to follow.

  ####

  Breaking cover, Dawn leased another shot off. Down into the darkness. The bullet hit the window by the front door. Glass shattered. Dawn took cover again. When no return fire was forthcoming, she risked a glimpse around the banister. Saw only the outline of a body at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Officers are on their way,’ she said, ‘so you better get out of here.’

  He’s probably hiding, she thought. Waiting for me to break cover.

  ‘They’ll be here any minute,’ she added. ‘I’d go now if I were you!’

  No reply. No movement.

  Maybe I got both of them …

  Abbie’s door opened slightly. Philip stuck his head out.

  ‘Have they gone?’ he asked, peeking through the gap, looking petrified. ‘Are you okay, Dawn? Are you hurt?’

  ‘No, I’m not hurt. Stay in there until I say otherwise.’

  ‘Mummy!’ Abbie cried from behind Philip. ‘I want my mummy!’

  He closed the door.

  Dawn risked another glance around the banister. As she did, a car started up outside. Drove away. Worried it could be a trap, she edged slowly down the stairs. She listened intently. Ready to put a hole in anything that moved. Reaching the bottom, she stepped over the body. Began checking the rest of the house. When she was satisfied it was safe, she called up to Philip. Holding Abbie, he switched the light on at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Your friends are on their way,’ he said. ‘Should be here any minute.’ Abbie whimpered and sniffled, held him tight. ‘It’s all right, little precious,’ he soothed. ‘You’re safe. The bad people have gone; Mummy’s scared them away.’ He focused his attention on Dawn. 'They were burglars, yes?'

  'No,' she said with no hesitation or doubt. Simply stating a fact. 'They're Armstrong's men.'

  ‘How can you be so sure?' Philip said, looking pale. Shaken. 'Perhaps it’s best not to jump to conclusions.’

  ‘Those “burglars” broke in and walked past a forty-inch plasma TV, plus other goodies in the living room,’ Dawn said. ‘They made straight for the stairs, armed with weapons like that.’ She motioned towards the man on the floor, the gun in his loosened grip. ‘That’s an M16, a serious piece of kit. Hardly the sort of thing your average burglar would have.’

  They heard the distant warble of sirens.

  She went into the living room, surveying the damage to the patio door, which had been put through with a rock. There was now a gaping man-sized hole in one of the panes. Jagged chunks of glass on the carpet.

  ‘Keep Abbie away from here,’ Dawn advised. ‘She’ll cut her feet otherwise. And try not to touch anything. This is a crime scene and SOC will want everything as it is.’

  ‘I’ve been married to you long enough to know what’s what,’ Philip said.

  ####

  The incompetent fools had failed. One was dead and the other had fled past Ward like he was being chased by an ogre. The old saying was true, it seemed. If you want a job done properly, you have to do it yourself. Ward thought that whoever had sent the men would be pissed when he or she found out what’d happened. The guy who ran away was surely going to end up dead anyway. Folk who order assassinations don’t fuck around where failure is concerned. But Ward didn’t care about that. The only thing that mattered to him now was nailing the detective. And doing it quick.

  The warble of sirens was getting closer.

  Best get to it, then.

  Hiding behind a tree trunk, Ward watched the woman who’d taken his freedom. She was talking to her man, who was holding a child. A little girl: blonde, cute. The bitch’s daughter, no doubt. Ward decided that he’d keep her alive long enough for her mother to watch the life drain from her eyes. As for the man, he didn’t look much. Wouldn’t be a problem. Still holding the girl, he disappeared out of sight, so Ward took his chance. Utterly drenched, knife at the ready, he made for the busted patio door.

  ####

  Hands on hips, Dawn stood in the centre of the room, shaking her head. How had it come to this? Two men had broken into their home and been metres from Abbie’s bedroom. Dawn could have been working nights. What then? That would have left Philip alone to protect their daughter. Unarmed, he’d have been powerless against the intruders. Fear and anger surged through Dawn like electricity. A chilly breeze blew through the patio door. Made her shiver.

  ‘Is the pink one okay?’ Philip called out from the kitchen. ‘Will that do?’ He was looking in the linen cupboard for a sheet to cover the body.

  ‘Yes,’ Dawn replied. ‘Just bring anything.’

  She moved towards the hallway. As she did, she caught a glimpse of movement to her left. Someone coming through the hole in the glass. She just had time to think: they’re back, the bastards are back. And then she was grabbed from the side, the cold sharp edge of what could only be a knife pressed to her throat.

  ‘Told you that you’d be the next one in my book,’ whispered a gruff voice in her ear. ‘I lied; you’ll be the first in my new book.’

  The overpowering smell of B.O. assaulted Dawn’s senses. Made her cringe.

  Her weapon was on the mantelpiece. She considered reaching for it. Decided against it.

  As if reading her mind, Ward said in a purring voi
ce, ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  The sirens were close now. Help was about a mile away. Closing at speed. Which meant he would have to get a move on.

  Philip reappeared in the hallway with Abbie still in his arms and a sheet draped over his shoulder. He went to put her down, then noticed what was happening in the living room. Abbie noticed, too.

  ‘Stay back,’ Dawn said to Philip. ‘Do not try anything silly.’

  ‘What are you doing to my mummy?’ Abbie said, her little face a ball of anger.

  Philip glanced to his left, where the body was. Dawn knew what he was thinking. The man had dropped his weapon when he’d been shot. It was still there. On the floor. Waiting to be picked up. Problem was, Philip had never fired a weapon. Dawn wasn’t even sure he’d have it in him. Even with his family threatened. Catching his eye, she gave him a slight shake of the head. Don’t do it.

  Philip put Abbie down.

  Sirens: only a few streets away now, surely.

  ‘Time to say night night,’ Ward said as he began slicing through Dawn’s throat.

  Just as he did, Abbie charged at him. Began smashing her fists against his leg, yelling, ‘Let go of my mummy! Let go of my MUMMY!’ Ward kicked out at her, the sole of his boot connecting with her chest. She reeled backwards with a yelp, blonde hair fanning out around her as she went sprawling.

  Seizing her chance, Dawn utilized her police training. She scraped the heel of her boot along Ward’s shin. Elbowed him in the gut. He let out an ooomph! as she pushed free of him. Then she grabbed her gun. Turned and pointed it at his head. He surged towards her, rage painting his face. She went to pull the trigger, but, before she could, something whizzed past her ear like an angry insect. A bloody hole appeared in Ward’s chest. He looked down at the wound. Eyes wide, incredulous. Then he fell against the TV, smashing through it and the wooden cabinet it was resting on.

  Getting to her feet, Abbie scurried to Dawn, who sunk to her knees and embraced her. They held each other for a few seconds, then Dawn craned her neck to see what Philip was doing.