Unforgiving

by Nick Oldham

  ‘You tosser,’ he admonished himself, then, continuing under his breath said: ‘You will never, ever be so stupid again.’

  He continued up the front steps to the door, which, he was pleased to see, was open, on the latch. They were ready and waiting for his arrival.

  He smiled, emotion welling up inside him.

  ‘Be a strong daddy,’ he told himself and pushed open the door.

  It swung open with a creak that showed it needed oiling, revealing the hallway beyond, the stairs on the right, the entrance to the lounge/dining room to the left and, directly facing him, the kitchen at the far end of the hallway.

  He was about to shout, ‘Daddy’s home,’ and had opened his mouth to say the words, but the first syllable stuck in his throat when he noticed the splattered blood on the white-painted stair banister and the smear all the way down the hall carpet that disappeared under the living room door, as if someone had been dragged, bleeding.

  His mouth snapped shut, his eyes widened, and he became instantly alert.

  The living room door opened slowly.

  Anna stood there with Arlow Worthington behind her – although at that moment Jake did not know or recognise who the man was – his left arm hooked around her neck, obviously squeezing her throat in the crook of his arm. In his right hand he held a Glock pistol with a titanium silencer up to the right side of her head. Duct tape had been wound around the lower part of her face and jaw, and Jake could see her face had been smashed almost flat, her nose distorted, cheekbones and eyes black and swollen. Blood had flowed from her nostrils and covered her blouse and matted her hair.

  Sheer terror was in her eyes, but at the same time Jake saw she was having problems keeping them open because of the swellings.

  Her hands were behind her back and, Jake assumed, taped there.

  ‘What the …?’ Jake started to demand, making a move and only really for the first time focusing on the man holding his wife.

  ‘Don’t do it, Jake,’ Arlow warned him. ‘Just close the door and step inside.’ His voice was soft, controlled.

  Jake hesitated, weighing up everything: angles, distances, speed.

  ‘Just do it, Jake,’ the man said with a grin, ‘or I’ll kill your wife.’

  Anna’s eyes pleaded with him.

  Jake stepped inside on to the welcome mat. His mouth was now dry, his heart pounding remorselessly, but his senses were acute. He closed the door, but saw it was still on the latch, giving the appearance of being closed properly.

  Arlow gestured with the pistol and the almost clumsy looking noise suppressor screwed into the end of the barrel. ‘Come in. Don’t do anything silly,’ he ordered, then edged backwards into the lounge with Anna still hostage. ‘Come on.’

  Jake’s initial shock had morphed into fury now.

  Arlow retained his half-smile, as if he was reading Jake’s mind. ‘Just do what I say and your family won’t be hurt any further, Jake … Can’t promise the same for you.’ He then wrenched Anna back and flung her away from him, like in some violent ballroom dance. She spun across the room, hit the wall by the fireplace and slithered to her knees.

  Jake started to lunge.

  ‘Oh, no.’ Arlow was ready, keeping his distance. He gestured with the weapon again.

  Jake stopped himself. With his eyes boring into Arlow’s face, he stepped into the living room and was horrified by what he saw.

  Anna was kneeling, doubled over like the intended victim of a death squad assassination. Danny was splayed out on the carpet in front of the fireplace, lying on his left-hand side in the recovery position, with his right leg brought up. There was a deep gash just over his ear, and his head was in a pool of blood on the carpet. His breathing sounded ragged and difficult. His hands had been taped in front of him. Emma knelt by his head, stroking his arm.

  She was the only one not duct taped.

  ‘You bastard,’ Jake uttered chillingly. ‘What the fuck’s going on here? What have you done?’

  ‘Get down on your knees, Jake – now, or I’ll kill you where you stand. Put your hands on your head. Do it, Jake … I don’t want to kill you in front of your family, but I will if necessary. Knees!’

  Jake slowly interlinked his fingers across the crown of his head and sank to his knees, with his eyes burning malevolently at the man. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough, Jake. You—’ The man pointed his gun at Emma. ‘Pick up the tape and tie your dad’s hands behind his back, my love.’

  Emma, still dressed in the rags that were the remains of her school uniform, stared at him, as if she didn’t understand what he’d said.

  Jake said, ‘Do as he says.’

  ‘Dad, he’s really hurt Danny,’ Emma said.

  ‘Why did you have to do that?’ Jake demanded.

  ‘He had a go at me,’ Arlow sneered. ‘Shouldn’t have. This isn’t a game.’

  Emma crawled away from Danny and picked up a roll of duct tape that was on the settee. She got unsteadily to her feet and came over to Jake.

  ‘Put your hands behind your back very slowly, Jake.’

  He complied, crossing his wrists.

  ‘Dad, I don’t understand,’ Emma said.

  ‘It’ll be OK, sweetheart, just do what he says.’

  She edged around him and started to wind the tape around his wrists, the man watching carefully, ready to react.

  ‘I don’t mean any harm to your family, Jake … just you,’ he said conversationally, but Jake knew this to be a lie. Whatever happened, they had all seen his face, and that meant they were witnesses. They would all have to die.

  ‘What have I done?’ Jake asked.

  ‘Soon, Jake, soon … Let’s have a look-see,’ the man said when Emma stood back. Her father’s hands were now tied. ‘Good. Now you back away, love. Kneel next to your brother.’

  Emma went down on her knees next to Danny. His breathing was laboured and worrying.

  ‘You’ve hurt my son.’

  ‘He’ll be fine.’

  The man came up to Jake, testing the binding at his wrists, finding it adequate, then stepped back and flat-footed Jake in the back, smashing the sole of his boot somewhere between Jake’s shoulder blades, sending him sprawling, face down into the floor.

  Emma screamed.

  Almost nonchalantly, but with extreme force, Arlow sideswiped Emma across the face with the barrel of the Glock, knocking her across Danny.

  ‘Shut it.’

  ‘You bastard,’ Jake roared.

  Arlow’s rage erupted. He came over to Jake and stomped his foot repeatedly down on to his head, pounding him, distorting Jake’s face with each blow until he lay almost senseless with his jaw broken and several teeth loosened. He spat blood on to the carpet.

  Arlow withdrew a couple of steps, panting heavily with his chest rising and falling with the exertion of the assault. Emma and Anna watched in silent horror, and when he turned to them, they cowered away like beaten puppies.

  ‘Stand up, girl,’ he ordered Emma.

  Somehow, she rose. Her whole body shook; having been released from one hell, she’d been thrown into another almost immediately.

  ‘Stick your hands out together.’ He tucked the Glock into the waistband of his jeans, grabbed the tape and quickly bound her wrists. He ripped off another strip, which he stuck across her mouth, and pushed her roughly down next to Danny. He then wound the tape around her ankles, trussing her up. ‘OK, Jake boy,’ he said, ‘up you get.’

  He grabbed the waistband of Jake’s trousers and hauled him up to his knees, then stepped back with the gun again in his hand. ‘Up,’ he ordered Jake, waving the weapon at him.

  Jake’s head lolled loosely from the assault, but he managed to respond slowly and get to his feet, one motion at a time, then stood swaying unsteadily like a drunk. The gunman spun him around and shoved him towards the door. He steered Jake into the kitchen, then out through the back door and on to the outside path. He pushed him
through the rear garage door, which was open already.

  With his hand gripping Jake’s collar, he piloted him to the centre of the garage floor and forced him back down on to his knees.

  Here, he began to circle Jake, who, though his brain now had the consistency of treacle, knew he was a dead man.

  ‘My name is Arlow Worthington, Constable Niven,’ the man said, prowling around Jake. The Glock hung down at his side. ‘Or should I call you Constable X?’

  Jake blinked. A wave of brain nausea enshrouded him for a moment, then cleared.

  ‘Ah, you recognize the surname … Worthington, a name to conjure with.’

  Jake shook his head. He was certain that his brain was loose and was slurping around in his cranium like porridge. He could hardly keep his head up.

  ‘I recognize your name … Arlow,’ Jake slurred. And he did. He recalled Henry Christie mentioning Fraser Worthington’s brother at a briefing, which seemed so long ago now. Arlow was the brother suspected of handling the jewels his brother stole in robberies.

  Arlow stopped directly in front of Jake. ‘You killed my brother in cold blood.’ He placed the muzzle of the silencer under the ‘v’ of Jake’s jaw and tilted up his bloodied face, looking directly into his bleeding eyes.

  More blood dribbled out of Jake’s mouth. He could feel his jaw expanding as it swelled. Could feel the loose teeth in his gums and agonizing pain throughout his head.

  ‘No, I didn’t … Nothing cold about it,’ Jake said to the accompaniment of blood and saliva bubbling out of his mouth.

  Arlow’s expression remained intact, but he moved with great speed and slammed the pistol across Jake’s face, knocking him sideways on to the cold, concrete floor.

  Arlow stood back, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘I loved my brother … He didn’t deserve to die that way.’

  ‘Only way he was going to die,’ Jake said. Although disorientated from the blows, his mind was still just about functioning, and he knew that somehow he had to find time, to delay the inevitable. The more time he spent arguing, winding him up, the more time his family had to survive, get free, call for help. ‘I should’ve blown his fucking face off,’ Jake added, although the swear word in that sentence came out more like ‘frushting’, as his pronunciation suffered because of the injuries to his mouth.

  It bought him a few more valuable seconds.

  Arlow could not resist kicking Jake in the ribs again and again, like they were in some grubby street fight. Jake tried to brace himself, but Arlow was wearing light, but steel toe-capped boots, and they hurt a lot. After the first impact Jake did not have the capability to steel himself for the next half-dozen frenzied kicks.

  Eventually, Arlow stopped, gasping for breath. A sustained attack also takes it out of the aggressor, too. He doubled up, with his hands on his knees. ‘Now what you got to say?’ Arlow challenged Jake.

  ‘Up yours,’ Jake mumbled.

  Arlow crouched down. ‘You know what happened to the guy who left my brother to his fate? You know, the getaway driver who you wankers never found?’

  ‘I guess you’re going to tell me.’

  ‘I fed him to my dogs. They tore him to pieces.’

  ‘Good for them.’

  ‘I’d love to put them on to you and watch that,’ Arlow said dreamily.

  ‘Take heart,’ Jake said, still managing to chide him. ‘They’ll meet the same fate as Fraser when you get put away for this … They’ll get put down, like dogs should.’

  Arlow reared back, roaring with laughter, which stopped instantly as he assaulted Jake again, kicking him hard.

  After this, Jake had no voice, and his world came and went. He knew ribs had been broken, and the pain where his liver was situated was terrifying. He was certain that organ had burst open and he was now bleeding internally.

  Arlow stood over Jake, controlling his breathing, getting his strength back again before bouncing back down on to his haunches by Jake’s head and poking the gun into his face.

  ‘This is what is called revenge.’

  ‘How … how did you know where to find me?’

  ‘You were pointed out to me outside the court, remember?’

  Jake’s mind wasn’t really fit to recall anything, but then he did: Fraser Worthington’s barrister trying to shake hands with him on the concourse outside Blackpool Magistrates’ Court after the inquest. Pointing at him when Jake refused to shake hands.

  ‘Then all I had to do was follow, but you have been so busy catching baddies today ever since that I thought I would just hang back and wait.’

  ‘Nice of you,’ Jake mumbled.

  ‘Well, probably time to call this quits,’ Arlow said. He brought Jake back up on to his knees again and balanced him.

  ‘You’re going to kill my family, aren’t you?’

  ‘Course I am, Jake … but I promise I’ll make it quick for each of them … Be over in seconds.’

  ‘They’ve done you no harm.’

  Worthington shrugged. ‘Your point being?’

  Jake’s chin drooped on to his chest.

  Henry sauntered up the road, no special hurry. He had been indecisive about whether he needed to make the journey at all, but in the end he thought it was probably for the best, just in case.

  The night was chilly and cloudless; a good night in Kendleton, he thought, but ducked, cringing, as a bat zipped by his head. There were a lot of these ugly little creatures in the village, and he had no great affection for them, called them ‘pissed up bird-mice’, for some reason he could not fathom, but he accepted they were part of the rich tapestry of his new life in the country. To be honest, as recent as it was, his life in the cops was starting to recede, become just a memory.

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and took his time, feeling the need to restore his equilibrium after the events of the last few hours when he had met Danny outside the Tawny Owl and driven him over to Thornwell. He knew that not long ago, when the scar of leaving the police had been more of an open wound, he would have envied Rik Dean his task ahead. Henry instinctively knew that the long, complex investigation into Bartle and Overwall would uncover many unsavoury secrets, which, he guessed, could have serious repercussions around the villages. What if other people were involved? Or was it just Bartle and the taxi-man, feeding their perversions? One good thing that would come out of it, Henry realized, was that if other girls had been abducted and murdered, then at least some families might get closure, as painful as that might be.

  He reached Jake’s house. The Land Rover was parked on the steep drive next to the family car that Anna mostly drove. All the lights were still on, and Henry guessed that a lot of tears of relief were being shed at that very moment. He did not want to intrude if he could help it, so he peered into the Land Rover, shading his eyes with his hands, and saw what he was looking for – his mobile phone, which had slid out of his pocket, was by the gear stick. He had heard it drop, but thought it was Jake banging his torch on the steering wheel. He tried both doors, frustrated to find them locked. He cursed.

  Maybe he would forget it, after all. He needed his bed and Alison to soothe him now more than his phone. He was very sore, stitched up, but the walk had cleared his head, and things would have to wait. It wasn’t like he was an SIO any more, having to be at everyone’s beck and call.

  He looked at the house, lights on – even, he noticed, in the garage. He could see the slit of light along the bottom of the steel up-and-over door.

  Thing was, maybe there was no harm in knocking. He went up the front steps and saw that the door was actually open, just pushed to, which he thought slightly odd.

  He tapped on it gently, and then slowly pushed it open, about to call a quiet, ‘Hello,’ when he caught sight of the blood on the banister and down the hallway, at which moment the living room door opened and Emma pitched out, rolling and ferociously ripping at the tape which bound her wrists with her teeth.

  Swaying, Jake managed to remain upright on h
is knees as Arlow walked to stand behind him, placing the muzzle of the Glock at the base of his skull where his head balanced on his backbone. Both men faced the front of the garage, looking towards the inside of the door.

  ‘Well, Jake, seems we’ve reached that moment,’ Arlow said, leaning forward to whisper in his left ear. ‘I imagine this will be pretty quick, but don’t worry, because even if it isn’t, I won’t hang around. I’ll put another in your brain straight away.’

  ‘And I’ll look forward to spitting into your brother’s face, cos I’m going to make sure I go to hell and kill him all over again,’ Jake mumbled almost incoherently through his shattered mouth, his words slurred with blood.

  Arlow’s left hand crept up to Jake’s face and took hold of his jaw, squeezing and twisting the broken mandible, sending searing agony through Jake, who screamed terrifyingly as the broken shards of bone grated against each other in his skull. Jake tried to jerk away by instinct, but Worthington held on, his fingers digging in deep and probing and gouging the sheared bone. Jake tried to contort, but Arlow went with him, until at last he let go with a flick, and Jake toppled sideways, at which point Arlow bestrode him and pointed the Glock down.

  Two things occurred simultaneously at that exact moment.

  The old boiler on the back wall came to life with an ear-splitting boom as the gas ignited.

  And Henry Christie kicked open the rear garage door.

  Arlow reared up in surprise, distracted from Jake for a few seconds. He brought the Glock up and fired. Henry dived sideways along the rear path as the bullet splintered the door frame. Acting on instinct alone, Jake kicked upwards with his right foot as hard as he could between Arlow’s splayed legs, hoping to connect with his balls. He missed and kicked him in the backside instead. Although this did not have the same effect, it did cause Arlow to stagger forwards and lose his balance, tumbling on to all fours like a kid in a playground. The gun came out of his grasp, spinning away across the garage floor like a top.

  Jake writhed around, finding a surge of energy, and tried to get to his feet, but Arlow rolled and started to get up at the same time as Henry Christie appeared warily at the door, took in the situation and propelled himself at the rising figure of the gunman.