Numb: A Dark Thriller

by Lee Stevens

  “And they say crime doesn’t pay,” Burns said as he stopped the car. “This place must cost at least two million.”

  “Speaking of crime,” Davison said, “it looks like our Mr Dainton is careful to prevent it.” She pointed up to the security cameras either side of the gate.

  Burn’s stooped. Looked up through the windscreen. “Are we meant to say cheese?”

  Davison didn’t laugh at her colleague’s attempt at humour. She climbed from the car and approached the intercom system on the gates, ignoring the camera lenses bearing down on her.

  When she pressed the ‘CALL’ button there was no noise, but a flashing green light told her that it had worked.

  A second later, a woman’s voice filtered through the speakers.

  “Hello, can I help you?”

  Davison knew by the polite tone that this woman was obviously hired help; a housekeeper, or a maid, or a cook, or something.

  “Hello, my name is Stephanie Davison, I’m a detective with the Thirnbridge police force.”

  “Police?” The woman sounded shocked.

  Davison held her badge up to one of the cameras. “Here’s my ID.”

  “Are you holding it up to the cameras?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wouldn’t bother, my dear. All they do is record. The monitors are in Mr Dainton’s study. I can’t see you from where I am.”

  “I see.” Davison put her ID away and leant closer to the intercom. “I’m here with my partner detective Burns. We’d like to speak with Mr Dainton, if it’s possible.”

  “Detectives, you say?” the woman said. “Has there been an accident?”

  “We would just like to speak to Mr Dainton regarding a current investigation,” Davison said. Dainton was obviously home. If he wasn’t, the woman would have said so by now. Instead, she was asking questions, trying to get an idea why the police were visiting so she could inform her employer who could work on his alibis and excuses in the few minutes it would take them to reach the front door. “Can you please tell him we’re here?”

  There was brief moment of silence. Then: “Yes. I... I’ll go and tell him. Would you be so kind as to wait there a moment?”

  “I would appreciate it if you could open the gates so we could make our way up to the house,” Davison replied.

  Another pause. Then: “Of course.” The lock on the gates beeped as they clicked open. “I’ll go and inform Mr Dainton that you are on your way.”

  Davison climbed back in the car and Burns drove slowly up the driveway towards the house. Once there, they noticed that the front door was already open, and standing on the marble steps was a thin man in his late sixties. He had short greying hair and a goatee beard. His skin was tanned. He was dressed in a white shirt, the top two buttons left undone to reveal the gold chain around his neck. His sleeves were rolled up too, as if to show off the expensive looking watch on his left wrist and the gold bracelet on his right. His trousers were jet-black and looked made to measure and his leather shoes were immaculately polished so that they reflected the cream of the marble steps. He was wearing dark glasses, even though the sun had disappeared behind the heavy clouds over an hour ago.

  “Mr Dainton,” Davison said as a formal greeting as she stepped from the car.

  “Nice to see you again, detective,” Dainton replied.

  Despite the fact that they’d met on several previous occasions, Davison introduced herself and Burns.

  “Yes, I remember your name, detective,” Dainton told her. “I never forget a face or a name.” He turned to Burns. “You’re new though. You weren’t part of the last squad who tried to put me away.”

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you wouldn’t mind,” Burns said, professionally.

  “Not at all. Come in.”

  They followed him through to the living room and Davison quickly took in her surroundings; cream walls; hardwood floor; three piece suite; drinks cabinet. There was no television, only a house phone on the wall. Above them, as expected, a chandelier hung perilously from the ceiling, its droplets catching the light and reflecting off the walls and floor in dabs of shimmering white. Soft music came from small, round speakers on the far wall. Something with violins and piano. Something classical. Nothing you’d hear on MTV.

  “Drink?” Dainton asked as he ambled over to the drinks cabinet.

  “No thank you,” Davison replied. “We’d rather just ask you the questions.”

  “Of course.” Dainton sat down on the sofa. Leant back. Stretched out his feet. “How can I help?”

  “There was an attempt on Mike Nash’s life last night,” Davison said. “I take it you’ve probably already heard.”

  “Yes, I did hear something on the radio earlier,” Dainton said.

  “I bet you hear more than what’s on the news,” Davison said. “You know a lot of people. That’s why we’re here. We were wondering if you knew who was behind it.”

  Dainton smiled, showing two rows of straight, white teeth. Dentures or caps, Davison couldn’t decide.

  “You think I had something to do with it, don’t you?” Dainton said.

  Davison shrugged, as if to say, “You tell me.”

  “Why would I waste my time shooting at someone like Mike Nash?”

  “Who said he was shot at?” Burns said.

  “The news.” Dainton never flickered as he answered. He wasn’t going to be caught out by cheap tricks like that. “If you think I was involved then why aren’t you here to arrest me?”

  “This is just an enquiry, sir,” Davison said. “We aren’t accusing you of anything just yet.”

  “I see,” said Dainton. “Not yet?”

  “Where were you last night?” She knew it didn’t matter where he’d been. It was just an opener.

  “I was here at home, as usual.”

  “We never asked you what time.”

  “It doesn’t matter what time. I was here all night. Mrs Wilkinson can vouch for me. She’s my housekeeper and resides in the guest house. Used to share it with her husband who was my gardener. He died last year, poor man. A stroke. But she would know if I’d left or not as I would have to pass her window.”

  “Do the names Brian Wilcox and Marlon Tennant mean anything to you?” Davison watched Dainton’s face for any hint of recognition; a little twitch of the nose or flick of the eyes. Maybe he’d lick his lips or scratch his chin as he lied and said he’d never heard of them.

  “No,” he said. “Should they?”

  “Yes,” replied Davison. “They were part of a group dealing in Ecstasy who were arrested by Thirnbridge police a few years ago, remember? Of course you remember, because you were suspected of paying for the merchandise to be transported over from the Netherlands for less than a penny per pill. The dealers who were caught worked for you. But you got off due to lack of evidence. No one would give any against you.”

  “That’s because there was none,” Dainton said. “And you were part of that investigation, weren’t you, detective Davison? I bet it didn’t look good on your record when I wasn’t charged with anything.”

  No, it didn’t, she thought. I should be inspector by now.

  “Just answer the question, please,” Davison asked. “Have you heard of them?”

  “No, I don’t recall a Brian Wilcox or a Marlon Tennant,” Dainton said. “Next question.”

  “Wold you say that you and Mr Nash are business rivals?” Burns asked.

  Dainton laughed. “Everyone is a business rival.”

  “But you have had - how can I put it? - conflict with him before,” Davison said. “Several years ago there were rumours of a gang war between you and him.”

  “Do I look like I involve myself with gang wars?” Dainton said, snobbishly. “I’m a businessman, and a semi-retired one at that. I have no reason to harm Mr Nash. Why would I?”

  “Because he’s earning a lot of money. Money that you could be making if he was out of the way.”

  “I’m not inter
ested in making more money. Like I told you, I’m semi-retired.”

  “And what is semi-retirement, if you don’t mind me asking?” Davison queried.

  “Exactly how it sounds. I own several small businesses, all of which are managed on a day to day basis by employees. I pay wages and make profits but very rarely am I needed to attend meetings or deal with staff.” Dainton shuffled in his seat. He was getting uncomfortable with the questions. “Before you pry anymore into my personal life can I ask why you chose to come here and question me if you have no evidence to link me with this crime? Is that even allowed?”

  “We’re just exploring every avenue,” Burns said. “Plus, we know that you and Nash haven’t exactly seen eye to eye over the years and so-”

  “So you put two and two together and made five.” Dainton got up from his seat. Crossed to the drinks cabinet. Poured himself a gin and tonic. Sipping it, he said, “Look, I’m being honest with you. I heard about the shooting on the news this morning and assumed Nash had made recent enemies that were willing to go as far as killing him to get what they want – whatever that may be. I, however, have no problem with the man. He runs his little empire and I run mine.”

  “I thought you were retired?” Burns interjected.

  “Semi-retired. In the past Mr Nash and I have competed for businesses opportunities but that’s the way of the world. I have no reason to harm him. Now, if that’s all...?”

  Davison knew that was it. If Dainton was some two-bit druggie or a common thief then she could haul him down to the station for more thorough questioning. But seeing as he could afford the best lawyers who were probably in the same Masonic lodge as the prosecuting judge, then without real evidence there was nothing she could do. But she’d gotten what she’d come here for. She’d unsettled his cosy little world at the very least.

  “Thank you, Mr Dainton,” she said. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

  “Not at all,” he replied and smiled his fake teeth smile again. “What kind of host would I be if I didn’t see you to the door?”

  Outside, approaching the car, Davison looked back over her shoulder and said, “We may be back to see you. If it’s convenient?”

  “If I can help,” Dainton said, “I’ll be glad to.”

  Davison and Burns climbed in the vehicle. Seconds later they were heading down the driveway towards the gates.

  “You still think he’s behind this?” Burns asked.

  Davison stared back at the house as Dainton disappeared back inside.

  “Absolutely,” she said. “We just have to prove it.”

  From the bay window in the living room, Dainton watched the car pass through the gates and out of sight behind the trees at the bottom of his garden. Then he walked to the phone on the wall. Lifted the receiver from the cradle and dialled.

  It rang only once before a man answered.

  “Yeah, boss.”

  “I’ve just had the police here about that shooting last night,” Dainton said. He was pissed off. He didn’t need the heat with what he had planned. “I want you to find out what’s going on.”

  “No problem,” Shaun Rodgers said. “I’ll get onto it right away.”

  24

  After the meeting with Nash and the others, Riley ran a few errands like he usually did on a Saturday, buying things like bread and milk and other basic rations for the week like a normal person would. Then, at four, he called on Dr Carter as promised. He even took a bottle of single malt along and Carter smiled and said he’d only been joking but took it anyway as he invited Riley inside.

  Before any chit-chat, the bullet wound was checked (it was healing - good) and the dressing was changed. Carter then handed Riley the box of antibiotics. Told him to finish the one week course and if he was concerned about anything to give him a call or go to the hospital. Riley promised he would (not the hospital bit of course) and popped two pills in his mouth for starters.

  After an hour of friendly conversation, Riley said he had to leave.

  “Work?” Carter had asked.

  “What else?”

  They shook hands and Riley left.

  Back home he changed into his outfit for tonight; black T-shirt; black jacket; black jogging pants; black trainers. Then he phoned Danny Atkins, head doorman for Gideon’s nightclub and told him that he wouldn’t be available tonight and that Atkins would have to run things in his absence.

  “You ill?” Atkins had asked.

  “No, just busy.”

  “Got you,” Atkins replied. He was just outside the inner circle and knew what was what and didn’t ask any questions.

  Then, as night set in, Riley tucked the black balaclava into his jacket pocket (he often thought that anyone buying a balaclava should be immediately reported to the police) and drove back to the flat above the vacant butcher’s shop where he met up with the others. Everyone one but Purvis was there. He wasn’t needed for this kind of work and Riley was glad of that.

  With Nash overseeing the meeting like a chairman of the board (one that was high on coke and half cut on brandy) they went over the plan that McCabe had come up with. Tonight’s endeavour was his speciality and it had been left to him plot things and as Riley listened, he still couldn’t make up his mind about his colleague. His actions outside the club last night had been suspicious enough to put him in the frame as a traitor, yet now he seemed overly keen to get revenge on the very people he was suspected of siding with.

  Riley kept quiet and agreed with the plan. Tonight he was going against other criminals and so it was easier for him. Only people who deserved it would be hurt tonight, he promised himself. No innocents. Not like before.

  After a few hours, and once everyone knew what was required of them, they left to get into position. Nash and Turner drove off in one direction. Howden headed the opposite way to pick a couple of things up from a couple of trusted friends of the firm’s. Riley drove McCabe to a small unit on a nearby industrial estate and they switched the Mercedes for McCabe’s black transit van that would be used for the job. Then they headed back to the city centre and crossed the bridge onto the North side of the river.

  Before they knew it, it was approaching midnight and Riley and McCabe were parked across the road from Roller’s Casino, a real dive of a place that looked frozen in time in the seventies. Not only was this side of the river Dainton’s territory, but he also owned the casino. It had been his first major venture nearly thirty years ago and, although Dainton rarely stepped foot inside the place anymore, it still brought in a steady income from its many members who were serious gamblers with serious problems. One of which was a man in his early thirties, someone who they’d watched head inside almost two hours before; Mark Dainton – Lenny Dainton’s nephew.

  Although the line about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer has gone down in cinematic history, it was very true in real life too. Knowing their routines and favourite haunts was a must because you never knew when that information might come in handy. Nash knew most of the main men on Dainton’s payroll (just like Dainton probably knew about Riley and Howden and McCabe), and even though Mark Dainton wasn’t a high up member of Dainton’s firm, he’d been tagged long ago. His uncle Lenny had taken him under his wing many years before as a favour to his only sister and had tried his best to help the lad become a success in life by employing him in numerous different roles as manger of this bar or supervisor in that club. But Mark Dainton was what could only be termed a ‘fuck up’. He had little brains and no business sense. He drank and gambled and slept around, living a playboy lifestyle, and after more than one little mistake had found himself in trouble with the law. Dainton didn’t need the heat and fired his nephew from all of his duties. But blood was blood and Dainton couldn’t simply turn the boy away. Instead, he let him live in a plush apartment rent free and paid him a decent monthly salary for doing as little as possible and that seemed to suit Mark Dainton fine. He slept by day and partied at night and each Saturday, after a few drinks, he
’d head here to the casino to place a couple of bets on the roulette to see if he could recoup some of his money he’d wasted during the week. He never won and was usually out by one in the morning and tonight wouldn’t be any different, Riley thought as he and McCabe sat awaiting his reappearance.

  And a few minutes later, there he was.

  “We’re on,” McCabe said.

  Riley looked across the road. Watched Mark Dainton and two women leave the casino and head around the back to the car park. Dainton looked unsteady on his feet as he walked between the two blondes, an arm around each of their waists. Riley hadn’t expected him to be alone. Playboys never went home alone.

  “He’s going for his car,” Riley said.

  “Just as we thought,” replied McCabe. “He always takes it out. It helps him get the birds.”

  “He can hardly walk straight let alone drive.”

  “Maybe he’ll crash and do us a favour then.”

  A few seconds later, the Black Audi pulled out onto the road and headed west.

  “Let’s go,” McCabe said.

  Riley started the van and followed at a safe distance, both vehicles joining the mild traffic out of the city centre, Dainton driving better than he could walk.

  McCabe phoned Howden and said, “We’re following him now. I’ll call you again when we’re closer.”

  They followed for almost two miles before the Audi turned off the duel carriageway and headed onto a quieter road, one flanked on both sides by trees and fields and one that Riley and McCabe hoped would be deserted at this time. Very few people used this road, especially at this hour, but it was the quickest route to Dainton’s apartment and he had no reason not to use it. There were also no speed cameras or CCTV around here, which meant that this was the prime location. And so far everything was going to plan – apart from the two women being with him. Riley would have to make sure that they weren’t hurt. They’d be scared, obviously, but they’d live through this, he’d make sure of that. When it all went down in a few seconds from now, he’d make them his priority.