JM04 - Deadly Justice

by DS Butler

  Charlotte shook her head. “I’m sorry, Vinnie, they were killed in separate attacks. And whoever is targeting you just tried to gas Robbie again. I want to help you. You need to trust me.”

  Vinnie turned away. Beads of sweat shone on his forehead. “Go away. I don’t feel well.”

  “Please, Vinnie. Be sensible. Talk to me.”

  After another twenty minutes of silence, with Vinnie studiously ignoring her, Charlotte finally gave up. She pulled out her card and put it on the bedside table.

  “Call me when you change your mind, Vinnie.”

  49

  VINNIE PEARSON SHIFTED IN his hospital bed. It felt like he’d been lying flat on his back forever. Even though the mattress was soft, it felt like it was pressing into his spine.

  He couldn’t wait to get out of here, to get away from their crappy food, the falsely cheerful nurses and the doctors who kept asking him how he felt.

  Right now it was only mid-afternoon yet the two oldies at the end of the ward were snoring their heads off. Vinnie couldn’t blame them. There was sod else to do except sleep.

  Two other people had been discharged, and the beds had been changed this morning. That had been the most exciting part of Vinnie’s day. How sad was that?

  His eyelids fluttered as he drifted back into sleep, but he never seemed to sleep properly. There were always noises, people clattering about, nurses prodding and poking him, trying to take readings or samples of his blood. He couldn’t get any peace around here.

  The other thing that stopped Vinnie sleeping properly was his dreams. They featured the Brewerton brothers torturing Vinnie in various ways. Before the dreams had started, Vinnie hadn’t realised he was so imaginative. The dreams were terrifyingly graphic. During the last dream, Vinnie woke just before Mike Brewerton was about to rip his toenails out with a pair of pliers.

  He needed to get out of this bloody hospital. He was having these dreams because he was a sitting duck in here. That lady copper must have been lying about Joanne and Craig, trying to pressure him into spilling his guts. Well, it wouldn’t work.

  He’d never admit it to anyone, but Vinnie was glad they’d put a police officer on the door. Hopefully the Brewertons wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything with the Old Bill sitting right outside.

  Vinnie could just see a small segment of blue sky through the window at the end of the ward. It was uncomfortably hot in the hospital, but it looked like a gorgeous day outside. A day that would be perfect for taking a six-pack down to Vicky Park and getting bladdered.

  Vinnie thought about Joanne James. Maybe when he felt better, he’d check and see how she was doing. She was probably well pissed off with him. Vinnie grinned. That made more sense. That’s why he hadn’t heard from her. She was holed up in her dad’s plush gaff in Essex, moaning about Vinnie to her girlfriends.

  That stupid lady copper had been trying to play him. She must have thought he was a bloody idiot.

  Vinnie had closed his eyes again, preparing to drift off to sleep, when a nurse appeared by his bed.

  He tried to slap her hands away as she fastened a clear mask over his mouth and nose.

  “Stop that, Vincent,” the nurse said. “Dr. Sorensen is concerned with the results of your blood gases, so we’re putting you on oxygen again.”

  The annoying elastic strap felt tight against his cheeks. He hated the mask. It kept fogging up and feeling all slimy.

  But Vinnie was too tired to remove it. He began to drift.

  50

  AFTER HIS LAST ATTEMPT was foiled so dramatically, the police had probably expected the killer to keep a low profile for a while.

  They were in for a surprise.

  The police had shown their hand too early. Now he knew they were on to him, he could show them exactly who they were dealing with: The Arbiter of Justice.

  He was more powerful than the police. What could they do these days with all that red tape holding them back?

  Murder didn’t even mean life imprisonment anymore. The police were pathetic puppets, operating with one hand tied behind their backs. No wonder the country was overrun with scum.

  He wasn’t stupid. He knew that getting rid of a few of these criminal low-lives wouldn’t be able to change the big picture straightaway.

  But he believed he could be the spark to ignite the fire throughout the country. He wanted people to realise that if they wanted justice, they had to claim it for themselves.

  He’d been so hopeful after the riots, so sure that the righteous would rise up and suppress the evil.

  They rose up all right, but rather than use weapons to exact their revenge, they carried mops and brooms ready to clear up the mess the rioters had left behind.

  What message did that send out?

  Smash our businesses, steal our property and we’ll … We will clean up after you!

  The killer left the men’s toilets, feeling at home in his new outfit. He wore white trousers and a blue polycotton top that made up the hospital porter’s uniform. It had an elasticated waist, and the legs were a little short, but no one would notice.

  He’d picked up the uniform yesterday, knowing it paid to be prepared.

  His collar length black wig didn’t feel particularly secure, but he only needed to keep it on for a few moments. He wore thick, black-rimmed glasses, too. Despite the disguise, he lowered his head as he approached the cameras.

  He strode along the corridor confidently, wheeling his bucket and cleaning trolley, smiling at two nurses that rushed past him and a porter who was heading in the opposite direction.

  He approached the entrance to Vinnie’s ward, noticed the policeman sitting on a plastic chair outside and ignored him as if it were the most normal thing in the world to see a policeman sitting next to the entrance.

  He spotted his accomplice at the end of the corridor and gave him the signal. The killer preferred to work alone, but on this occasion a helper was invaluable.

  The accomplice sprang into action. He was a homeless man of around forty, a dirty, smelly drunk. Perfect for his task.

  The accomplice began to holler. He crashed into a trolley then overturned a chair. A passing nurse moved quickly to the phone, no doubt to call security, but the accomplice did well. He grabbed the woman by the waist and twirled her around. He sang and swayed as if he were dancing.

  The nurse let out a piercing scream. The officer sitting outside Vinnie Pearson’s ward looked up.

  The killer smiled. It was all going to plan.

  The tramp twirled the woman around and around as she struggled to get free.

  The officer got to his feet. He glanced at the ward behind him, then ran towards the dancing couple. “Hey, you! Stop that. Let her go.”

  The killer wheeled his trolley inside. He didn’t have long. There were six beds, four of them occupied. The two old men at the end of the ward were too far away to see anything. But the old lady nearest the door had eyes like a hawk.

  Yes. She would definitely notice something. Something would have to be done with her.

  The killer walked up to her bedside, smiling. “Hello, my love. It’s nearly time for your injection.”

  The old lady blinked at him. She must have been at least eighty, and her false teeth were in a sterilising container on the bedside cabinet. Without them, her mouth had a sunken appearance.

  But she was from a generation who respected medical staff. So she didn’t question him.

  The killer gave her his most winning smile. This was going to be easy.

  He made a show of checking the little upside down watch he’d pinned to the breast pocket of his uniform. He’d bought it from Argos. The perfect finishing touch.

  “The doctor will be along shortly,” he said. “I’ll just close your curtains to give you some privacy.”

  “Thank you, dear,” the old lady said as he grabbed the floral print curtains and pulled them along the rung, closing her bed off from the rest of the ward.

  Perfect, the killer
thought, and turned back to Vinnie Pearson’s bed.

  A machine stood next to Vinnie’s bed, monitoring his vital signs. The killer pressed a large green button with ‘Mute’ printed on it. So nice of them to make it user friendly! That should give him at least thirty seconds to work undisturbed.

  He allowed himself only a moment to study Vinnie. He didn’t have long.

  This was always the most difficult part. The seconds just before he killed were the worst. When niggling doubts plagued him.

  The killer squared his shoulders. It was time.

  51

  SOMETHING BRUSHED AGAINST VINNIE’S arm. He groaned. Not another bloody test. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?

  Vinnie blinked. It was someone Vinnie recognised but couldn’t quite place. He looked familiar … but he didn’t remember being treated by this male nurse before.

  A hand clasped his forearm. Vinnie grunted and tried to pull away. He didn’t want to be bothered anymore. He just wanted to sleep.

  The male nurse put a tube beneath Vinnie’s gas mask and pressed down hard. Vinnie reared up. Christ that hurt. What kind of a nurse …

  Vinnie’s heartbeat spiked.

  What was going on?

  This wasn’t right. This person wasn’t helping him …

  Vinnie’s mouth was filled with the foulest air imaginable. It was heavy, putrid and clogged up his lungs. He gasped for more oxygen, but took in more of the sick gas.

  An explosion of pain crushed his chest. Why wasn’t anyone helping him?

  Vinnie tried to scream, but no noise came out of his mouth. He tried again, this time emitting a squeak muffled by the gas mask.

  The man stood above him, eyes blank as he pushed the mask tightly against Vinnie’s face, so Vinnie had no choice but to breathe in more of the foul-smelling gas.

  As Vinnie looked up he realised where he’d seen this man before.

  It was the man who’d told him about the phones. The man who’d set him up.

  Now, Vinnie understood what was happening. He was being murdered.

  As Vinnie slipped into the blackness, he didn’t notice the man lean down close to his ear, and he didn’t hear him whisper the word, “Justice.”

  52

  “HE’S KILLING THEM OFF one-by-one,” Collins said to Charlotte as they left the emergency briefing.

  Charlotte ran a hand through her hair. “Vinnie was no angel, but no one deserves to die like that. And I don’t understand how someone could just walk into the ward. With all those witnesses – why can’t anyone give us a good description?”

  “He’s clever. The officer on the door was only gone for a couple of minutes.”

  “He shouldn’t have left.”

  “A woman was screaming for help. He …”

  “I know why he left, Nick. I’m just saying he shouldn’t have. It was a set-up. The killer paid the homeless guy to make a scene. And we have nothing to go on. No useful witness statements. No CCTV.”

  “I wouldn’t say we have nothing. From the homeless guy’s statement, we know he’s medium height and build and has an East London accent …” Collins faltered under Charlotte’s glare. “Yeah, I suppose when you think about it, it’s not much to go on.”

  Charlotte exhaled heavily. “No, it’s not much at all.”

  She was glad DI Tyler said there would be a minimum of two officers at the safe house.

  She couldn’t believe Vinnie was dead. Maybe she should have tried harder to get him to talk. There had definitely been something bothering him. She could have stayed with him for longer, been more persuasive.

  But she hadn’t.

  Charlotte had been pissed off with his tough guy act. She thought they still had time. She never would have guessed the killer would attempt something like this in the middle of a busy hospital.

  “Are you okay, Charlotte?” Collins said.

  She looked up and nodded. “I’m fine.”

  They strolled along the corridor. Charlotte stopped at the vending machine, punched in the numbers for black coffee. “Have you told Mackinnon?”

  “Not yet,” Collins said. “There isn’t anything he can do. He may as well enjoy his bed rest with the lovely Chloe to attend him.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “He isn’t staying in Oxford with Chloe. He’s at Derek’s, and I bet that isn’t quite the same as having Chloe look after him.”

  “I didn’t have Derek down as the Florence Nightingale type,” Collins chuckled. “I’ll give Mackinnon a ring, let him know what’s going on.” Collins collected his chocolate bar from the vending machine, then said, “If we could work out why someone is targeting these kids, then we would have something to go on.”

  Charlotte picked up her coffee, cursing as some of the hot liquid spilled on her fingers. She leaned back against the smooth surface of the vending machine and listened to the hum of the machine.

  “I don’t know. The owner of the cafe, Mitch Horrocks is a bit weird. He hates that gang of kids.”

  Collins nodded and said, “He’s definitely odd. Maybe we should have another word with him, and I want to have another chat with Pete Morton, the manager of the mobile phone shop. He’s definitely hiding something.”

  They both turned as DC Webb walked towards them with a face like thunder.

  “What’s up with you?” Collins asked.

  DC Webb didn’t look at him. He turned to the vending machine and punched in the numbers much harder than necessary.

  Collins and Charlotte exchanged a look.

  DC Webb slapped his palm against the vending machine as if that would help it along. “My prime suspects. The Brewertons. I’ve just had it confirmed that they are currently on holiday in sunny Florida. I’ve been trying to track them down for ages.” DC Webb looked down at his feet and shook his head. “Bloody Florida.”

  “They could have arranged for someone else to do it on their behalf?” Collins suggested. “A holiday in Florida makes a nice alibi.”

  DC Webb shook his head. “It’s another dead end. We’re getting nowhere fast.”

  The three of them stood there in silence. DC Webb blew over the top of his plastic cup.

  Charlotte said, “We have to talk to Tyrell Patterson and Robbie Baxter again. They must have some idea of who is doing this. They are the only two people who were in that newsagent’s who are still alive. Surely they must see the only way out of this mess is to talk to us.”

  “I hope so,” Collins said. “I really do.”

  53

  THE KILLER WALKED SLOWLY from the tube station, weaving in and out of the rush-hour crowds. There were so many people, all of them in their own little worlds, with no idea he was claiming justice on their behalf.

  He walked slowly along the main street, enjoying the warm evening air. He pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and touched the icon on the screen to launch his tracker app.

  He smiled at the red flashing light that appeared on the screen. Perfect.

  At the time, after that fool of a policeman had messed up Robbie Baxter’s justice, the killer had been furious. But now, he saw that things had worked out far better than he’d planned.

  Almost like divine intervention.

  Tyrell Patterson had given his phone to his girlfriend, so he would have been very hard to track. If Robbie Baxter hadn’t been in the safe house, Tyrell Patterson might have been safe right now.

  But he wasn’t safe.

  The killer smiled and shook his head. His mother always said things had a funny way of working out for the best.

  Obviously, Tyrell Patterson giving his girlfriend the phone wasn’t something he’d anticipated. It wasn’t the killer’s fault. Who would have suspected that a selfish lowlife like Tyrell Patterson would be willing to give his fancy new phone to his girlfriend?

  He might have actually believed that Tyrell Patterson had something good in him, buried deep down, until he’d found out about the safe house.

  What kind of man would run off to a poli
ce safe house to save himself, leaving his wife and unborn child to look after themselves?

  Men like Tyrell Patterson deserved the most severe type of justice.

  He crossed the street at the pedestrian lights and passed the Tesco Express, then turned left into a narrow side street.

  That was better. It was quieter here, away from the crowds. It wasn’t the most direct route to the safe house, but it was quieter and there would be less CCTV in the back streets.

  He checked his phone again, noting the position of the flashing red light. Not far now. He turned right, into yet another narrow lane and looked around. A couple of shops and a restaurant backed onto the lane, but they had fences up, so he would be hidden from prying eyes. It was quiet and just about big enough for a car. It was the perfect spot.

  He turned and walked to the end of the lane. A broad building stood on the opposite side of the road. A grey, square box – it didn’t look very impressive. It didn’t look like a fortress.

  He bent down, pretending to tie his shoelaces as he surveyed the long street. There were a few parked cars, but no marked police cars.

  They’d brought Robbie Baxter here so it must be some kind of safe house. There was no obvious police presence. But they were hardly likely to advertise the fact that this was a police safe house.

  The exterior of the building was understated, chosen purposely to blend in. Inside, it was probably set up like Fort Knox.

  The killer smiled. It didn’t matter. There was more than one way to skin a cat.

  54

  ESTELLE FLUNG DOWN THE magazine. It was no good. She couldn’t concentrate. She couldn’t think of anything but Tyrell. How could he do this to her? She really thought the baby would make him grow up.

  It was ten in the morning, but Estelle hadn’t showered or dressed yet. What was the point? She didn’t have anywhere to go.