The Edge of Sanity

by Sheryl Browne

  DI Short studied her, puzzled for a second, then sat bolt upright. Ferreting a greasy hand through his pocket, he fished out the earring, glanced from it to her, then handed it over.

  Hannah examined it. It could be. Then again, it could be any number of similar earrings. But throw Strobes into the pot, and Kayla and parents suddenly eerily on holiday. ‘It’s Kayla’s,’ she said eventually, opting for safe rather than sorry. ‘Well, her mum’s, actually, but Kayla was wearing it.’

  Hannah sat on her hands and shuffled her feet.

  ‘Oh?’ DI Short’s eyes shot wide. He screwed up his chip paper, the contents only half-consumed, and gave her his absolute undivided attention. ‘And when, exactly, was she wearing it, Hannah?’ he asked cautiously.

  Hannah glanced from her knees to him and back. ‘Last night. At Strobes.’

  ‘And did you meet anyone there, Hannah? At the club?’ DI Short asked casually, laced his fingers, crossed his feet—and prayed.

  ‘Steve,’ Hannah confirmed, after a moment. ‘Steve Simmons. And Charlie.’ She shuddered, visibly, a hand going to her face.

  Where the vicious little sod had slapped her, DI Short would be willing to bet. Observant in all things relating to charming Charlie, DI Short had noticed the finger-marks, almost concealed with foundation. Oh, yes, Hannah had made the evil runt’s acquaintance all right.

  ‘Don’t know his second name,’ Hannah went on, with a scowl, ‘but he lives at 33 Elgar Towers.’

  ‘And where is Kayla now, Hannah?’ he probed carefully, concern for the girl escalating fast.

  ‘I don’t know, do I!?’ Hannah blurted. ‘They’re not there!’

  ‘They’re not where, Hannah?’ DI Short asked, trying to hide his frustration. ‘Let’s start with Kayla’s address and surname, shall we?’

  Thirty seconds later, DI Short was hooking his arm into his jacket. ‘Make sure Hannah gets home safely,’ he instructed a WPC. ‘And get me some back-up.’

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ Hannah informed him, suddenly super-glued to his side. ‘I know a way into the house.’ She persisted as DI Short marched through reception.

  ‘Breaking and entering is against the law, Hannah.’ DI Short sighed. Would someone not take the child home? ‘I’ll gain entry the legal way, if it’s all the same to you.’

  ‘What, with a warrant?’ Hannah dogged him to his car. ‘That’ll take time.’ She quoted a line from the telly, serious-faced. ‘You’ll have to break the door down.’

  ‘Then that’s what we’ll do, Hannah.’ DI Short threw himself behind the steering wheel. ‘Now, please, go home.’

  ‘But I know what she’d take.’ Hannah looked desperate. ‘Kayla, I mean, if she were going away, CDs, make-up and stuff. I even know where they keep the suitcases. You need me.’

  ‘Hannah, I don’t. You’re wasting time. Go home.’ DI Short made to close his car door.

  ‘I know things about them. Their history.’ Hannah dug her heels in. ‘Stuff that might help.’

  DI Short hesitated. He knew their history, too. As soon as Hannah had given him the address, he’d realised it was the same couple who’d lost their youngest daughter, six or so months back. He couldn’t see how, just now, but it might be significant.

  ‘There’s other stuff. Things you should know.’

  DI Short stuffed the key in the ignition. ‘What things?’

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way.’ Hannah nipped deftly around to the passenger side.

  DI Short started the car. ‘Start talking.’

  ‘Drugs …’ Hannah’s eyes flickered sideways. ‘Charlie, he gave Kayla—’

  ‘Fasten your belt.’ DI Short skidded out of the car park.

  ****

  Daniel was struggling on three fronts: To stay calm—the closed-in hull of the boat seeming to creep ever closer. To breathe normally, which was more to do with the pain gnawing away at his chest than the claustrophobia. And, finally, to work out what was going on in the psycho’s fetid little mind.

  Charlie was acting as near normal as it was probably possible for him to be. He’d complimented Jo on the meal. And now he was making conversation. He’d checked out the route, for his own purposes, obviously, but it was conversation, nevertheless.

  He’d asked about water. Would they have enough? Satisfied that he wouldn’t die of thirst, he’d gone on to ask whether they could always get a good reception on the TV, for Christ’s sake. As if it mattered. And how much would one of these tubs cost to hire, he now wanted to know.

  ‘Oh, man.’ Charlie whistled incredulously when Daniel told him. ‘No wonder you’re rolling in it.’

  Daniel had to look away. Absolutely, no way, could he keep contempt from his eyes this time.

  ‘So what do you do when you run out of food and stuff, without a car?’ Charlie asked, continuing the banal small talk.

  ‘Towns,’ Daniel supplied. ‘Shops en route,’ he went on, playing the game, waiting to see where it was leading. ‘Pub meals sometimes.’ He shrugged.

  Charlie nodded thoughtfully and drew on his spliff. ‘And do we pass a shop soon?’

  ‘A town, yes.’ Daniel’s eyes trailed after Kayla, who went to help Jo clear up in the galley. ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Good,’ Charlie said, seemingly pleased. ‘Steve can nip off and get some bacon and eggs—and a new mobile for you, Daniel. All right, Steve?’

  Steve dragged an eye from the TV, shook his head disbelievingly, and then turned his attention back to The Simpsons.

  ‘Nothing like a traditional British breakfast when you’re on holiday, is there?’ Charlie winked at Daniel. ‘And you can get me some cigarette papers, while you’re at it,’ he said to a disinterested Steve. ‘I’m running a bit low.

  ‘And when he comes back, you, Danny,’ Charlie paused to grind out his spliff, ‘can ring the bank again.’ He plucked a piece of stray tobacco from his lip and eyed Daniel levelly. ‘And this time, you can do it properly. On speaker.’

  Steve glanced at him. ‘Leave it out, Charlie. He’s already done it.’

  ‘Right.’ Charlie nodded thoughtfully, stretched languidly, picked up his gun and got to his feet. ‘And they rang back.’

  ‘S’right.’ Steve shrugged, his eyes fixed on the TV.

  ‘Course they did.’ Charlie walked slowly past Daniel, who looked a bit agitated, he thought, sitting there massaging his temples. No prizes for guessing why. Really did think Charlie was stupid, didn’t they? Pity they weren’t too stupid to check the soddin’ battery was in the phone, before spouting cobblers. Needed a bit of a wake-up call, they did, all of them.

  Danny Boy should smoke some dope, Charlie reckoned. That’d chill him out a bit. Nah, he glanced back at him, something that would hit the spot quicker would be better. And Charlie was just the one to supply it.

  He strolled casually to the galley where the wife was up to her elbows in washing up water and whatsername was dutifully drying up. Happy little domestic scene it was. Tugged at his heartstrings.

  ‘What’s for afters?’ he asked, smirking as the daughter looked past her mother, her eyes shooting daggers at him.

  Charlie tried not to mind. She’d learn to behave before too long. The remainder of this pleasant little voyage would be played his way. Her and her mother would realise there was simply no other way when he’d finished with Danny Boy, who’d been bullshitting him from outset.

  ‘I, er …’ Jo wiped a hand over her forehead and kept her eyes fixed on the sink ‘ … don’t have anything.’

  She waited.

  Charlie smiled. ‘Actually, I think you do.’ He trailed a finger the length of her spine. ‘Something real sweet. And I think I’m just about ready for it.’

  Jo froze.

  ‘I bet you are as well, aren’t you, darlin’? Him being queer?’

  Charlie glanced sideways at Daniel, who was on his feet, hurtling toward him, and almost falling over Steve’s arm, who was quick to intervene.

  ‘Sit! If you know what’s g
ood for you, Danny Boy.’ Charlie raised the gun to the side of Jo’s neck. That stopped the bugger dead in his tracks. ‘And stay, until I tell you to do otherwise.’

  Steve scrambled to his feet, placing himself bodily between Charlie and Daniel. ‘Pack it up Charlie,’ he growled over his shoulder, and then glanced back to Daniel.

  Who was looking a bit pale, Charlie noted. And his eyes … Man, they were like thunder. Wound him up good and proper this time. ‘Whatsamatter, Danny?’ he taunted. ‘You getting all jealous?’

  ‘Charlie!’ Steve shouted, watching Daniel steadily. ‘Bloody well leave it out! It ain’t funny.’

  ‘I ain’t laughing,’ Charlie assured him, looking past Steve to Daniel, who’d taken absolutely no notice of his instruction to sit. Charlie hadn’t thought he would. Didn’t matter much. He’d get to him in good time.

  Meanwhile … Charlie turned his attention back to the woman, tugged the knot from her hair and let if fall. Sexy, that.

  ‘What do you fancy then, darlin’?’ he asked, hooking her hair over her ear to tickle her lobe with his tongue. ‘Something hot, hmm?’

  Jo stood stone still, her hands gripping the rim of the sink.

  ‘Later, sweetheart,’ Charlie said, moving his attention to the back of her neck. ‘You see,’ he glanced at Daniel and then sidestepped, ‘I’ve got someone more pressing to attend to, haven’t I, darlin’, hey?’

  Kayla stepped back, but Charlie was faster. Grabbing hold of her wrist, he twisted it cruelly, pushing her hard against the hull the opposite side.

  ‘Mum! Get off me!’ Kayla cried, and struggled.

  ‘Shut it,’ Charlie snarled, his hand tight against her throat, almost forcing her off her feet.

  ‘Stop it!’ Jo screamed. ‘Leave her alone!’

  ‘Stay!’ Charlie waved the gun with his free hand. ‘And you …’ he warned Daniel, who was now held back by Steve ‘ … don’t’ even think about it.’

  ‘Leave her alone, you sick bastard!’ Jo flew at Charlie, careless of the gun. ‘Get your filthy hands off her.’

  Charlie tightened his grip. ‘I’ll break her scrawny neck, if you come one step closer, sweetheart. Now back off!’

  ‘Get away from her! Daniel!’ Jo looked desperately over her shoulder. ‘Do something! For God’s sake …!’

  ‘Don’t, Danny!’ Charlie warned, as Daniel tried again to get past Steve. ‘Or she dies, and you watch. And then you won’t have any kids left to screw up, will you?’

  ‘Sweet fucking Jesus.’ Daniel raked his hands through his hair. He looked back at the sick freak, hiding behind his gun, trailing his disgusting hands over Kayla, to Jo begging him to do something … and he could do nothing?

  ‘Don’t you fucking touch her,’ Daniel warned, his head swimming, his throat so tight, he felt he might choke.

  ‘And who’s gonna stop me?’ Charlie drawled, releasing his grip and dragging Kayla in front of him. ‘You?’ He pointed the gun past her. ‘What you gonna do then, Danny Boy? Go tell your daddy? Oh, man, that’s rich. Danny Boy, macho protector of women, and he can’t even tell his old man to get stuffed.’

  Charlie looked Daniel over, his eyes mocking, goading him on. Daniel knew it. And God help him, he was going to succeed.

  ‘Really are the jealous sort, ain’t you, Danny, hey? Of me giving her one I wonder, or because I ain’t giving you one?’

  Daniel wiped a forearm across his mouth. He stepped forward, his heart thundering.

  Steve blocked him. ‘Don’t,’ he said, locking eyes with Daniel’s. ‘It’s what he wants.’

  ‘What she wants, too, isn’t it, darlin’?’ Charlie said to Kayla, behind them. ‘Go on, tell them, sweetheart. How you was gaggin’ for it. Don’t be shy.’

  ‘Daddy,’ Kayla whimpered.

  ‘You’re right, you know,’ Charlie said, his hand under Kayla’s chin, his cheek pressed close to hers, ‘your old man is a real pain. Still not to worry, he won’t be troubling us now, will you, Danny Boy?’

  ‘Oh, Jesus …’ Daniel ran his hand across his neck as Charlie dragged Kayla backwards and kicked the main bedroom open. ‘No!’ He launched himself forward, but Steve’s huge bulk barred his way.

  ‘Back off, mate,’ Steve warned shakily, has face as pale as Daniel’s. ‘I ain’t letting you do this.’

  ‘Get out of my way,’ Daniel grated, white hot rage coursing through him.

  ‘No!’ Steve gripped Daniel’s shoulders. ‘I told you, this is exactly what he wants. Pack it up, Charlie! That’s enough!’ he shouted, his eyes not leaving Daniel’s. ‘This bloke’s ready to take a bullet, and I want no part of it!’

  ‘Oh, man,’ Charlie sighed, ‘what are you, his bodyguard all of a sudden? He’s not going to take any bullet, not if he wants to see to it they stay alive. And you’re not about to do anything silly either, are you, darlin’?’

  He glanced at Jo, and then slid eyes full of innuendo toward Kayla.

  ‘Shift yourself,’ Charlie instructed. ‘Up there with hubby. And don’t worry. You’ll get your turn.’

  ‘Daniel … please,’ Jo sobbed.

  Steve half-turned, catching Jo’s arm and pulling her past him to where she’d be safe. ‘Don’t do it, Charlie,’ he almost begged.

  ‘Here.’ Charlie tossed Steve the gun and plucked a knife from the drainer. ‘Make sure he stays put. We might be some time,’ he said, winking at Daniel as he backed into the bedroom.

  ‘Dear God, no …’ Jo sank to the floor—and Daniel’s heart exploded inside him.

  ‘No way! Move!’ he seethed as Steve spun back around to face him.

  ‘He won’t hurt her,’ he tried to reassure him. ‘But he’ll bloody hurt you, if you try anything.’

  Daniel looked through him. ‘Move,’ he repeated, his tone dangerously quiet.

  ‘Are you hearing me?’ Steve asked, as Daniel came toward him.

  ‘You’re walking right into … Back off.’ He pointed the gun shakily as Daniel continued to advance. ‘You won’t be any good to her if he—’

  ‘Get out of my way.’ Daniel kept coming.

  Steve stepped back, raised the gun, looked squarely at Daniel, and then lowered it. ‘This is bloody insane.’ He dropped his gaze. ‘I can’t.’

  Daniel was on him in one stride, slamming his fist hard into Steve’s jaw.

  Steve staggered back, but didn’t go down. He righted himself swiftly, then, the gun sideways on and full bodyweight behind it, he charged forward, pinning Daniel hard against the wardrobe.

  Daniel’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. Steve’s was heavy with exertion. ‘He’ll do you permanent damage if you go in there.’ He locked the gun hard across Daniel’s shoulders. ‘Don’t you realise?’

  Steve searched Daniel’s eyes. ‘You don’t care, do you?’ He narrowed his eyes, shook his head after a second, and then stood aside.

  Chapter Eighteen

  One million quid, DI Short mused, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited down the lane out of sight of the boatyard. Mention of that would certainly have got Charlie’s attention.

  All had become abundantly clear, thanks to Hannah. He checked his rear view mirror, half expecting to see her blonde head to bob into view, despite his escorting her personally to her front door. Persistent little bugger, she was, thank God.

  DI Short popped a Nicorette into his mouth, chewed unenthusiastically, and tried to get into Charlie’s mindset. So, Daniel Connor sells the boatyard. Charlie finds out how much for from the girl, and bingo, his eyes flash up pound signs. He’d have gone for it, like a fly to dog faeces, if he got even a whiff of something for nothing. Charlie Roberts wasn’t the sort to sell his granny. Oh, no. He’d put her on the streets to earn him a nice steady income, and drop a few drugs while she was at it. Nigh on a million quid, he would kill for, DI Short was sure of it. Whether or not it was money on paper only probably wouldn’t even occur to him.

  Where was that back-up? He opened the glove compartment, extracte
d his emergency supply of cigarettes, sighed, slipped them wistfully back and reached for another Nicorette. At this rate, he’d definitely die of nicotine poisoning. Agitated, he checked his watch. Fifteen minutes, he’d sat here. Fifteen bloody minutes, contemplating his navel, while Charlie Roberts might well be inside, putting the girl and her parents through what kind of hell?

  The kind of hell Joanne and Daniel Connor had already had a glimpse of, DI Short knew. His loathing for Roberts multiplied tenfold as he recalled the Road Traffic Accident Daniel Connor had been involved in a while back, the circumstances around which had had DI Short questioning why he bothered to get out of bed mornings.

  Connor had been driving, poor sod. His daughter DOA, and the officers at the scene haul him in and try to do him for driving without due care. Hours he’d been kept at the station, his eyes those of a haunted man, until Detective Sergeant Johnson—who’d obviously had a sensitivity bypass—strolled in to say Connor was in luck. Turns out the other driver was over the limit.

  In luck!? DI Short had never felt the urge to clock a colleague, but he had then.

  Got off lightly, if you ask me, the idiot DS imparted, as Daniel Connor had walked from the station, charges dropped, free to go—and a broken man.

  Yes, of course he had, DI Short had thought angrily. A few fractured ribs, cuts and bruises, and condemned to spend the rest of his life with his conscience—and without his daughter. Counting his blessings, Daniel Connor would be.

  DI Short had watched him leave, the look on the man’s face not one he could easily forget. Or rather, he’d watched him not leave. Daniel Connor had sank down on the station steps and sobbed like a baby.

  Gritting his teeth through his chewing gum, DI Short’s desire to nail Charlie Roberts was now all consuming. He glanced toward the boatyard. The scumbag wasn’t likely to be holed up there, of course. Too clever by half was Charlie, to make himself a sitting target. Any leads as to where he might be could well be inside the house, however.

  He couldn’t risk going in without armed backup, though. Any backup would be good. DI Short reached for his radio.