by Lee Stevens
Sandra smiled down at Wendy.
“You tired, Sweety?”
Wendy nodded.
“You can have a nap soon.” Sandra kissed Wendy’s forehead head. “Then everything will be okay.”
Yes, it would be. She was going to leave Nash, she reminded herself as the car pulled up outside the front door. Of that she was sure.
Suddenly, Sandra found herself yearning for Purvis. She thought she could get through today of all days without thinking about him. But no, not anymore. Nash didn’t want her – he’d made that much obvious. If Purvis called right now and asked her to leave with him right this minute, she would. She wouldn’t even pack a bag for herself or Wendy. She’d just go to him and together they’d start a new life as a family somewhere and leave this stinking, dirty city and all the bad things it contained far behind them.
She looked up at the mansion. It was a prison more than a luxury home.
She wouldn’t miss the money. She wouldn’t miss the big cars and nice clothes. She wouldn’t miss anything. She wasn’t the same person she had been when she’d met Mike Nash four years before, and when she thought about it now, she realised just how childish she’d been to rush into a relationship with him after being flattered by his advances.
She’d never really found him all that attractive at first. It had been who he was that had attracted her to him. Sandra Wade, lowly waitress, living in a one bedroom flat and moving from dead-end job to dead-end job since she’d left home at nineteen, being chased by man like Mike Nash. Things like this just didn’t happen to her. She’d had a hard life; bullied at school for being both pretty and poor, and un-happy at home with a single mother who cared more about who to choose for her next boyfriend than her only child.
After a few months of going out (maybe with a little help from the holidays and clothes and spending money) she felt she could love this man. Nash was kind and generous. He protected her. He seemed to care for her.
But then Sandra soon became aware of his other side. His anger. His jealousy, and she soon became aware that one woman would never be enough for him, no matter how much she submitted herself to him whenever the mood took him. He cheated regularly and never seemed bothered to hide the evidence, be it a receipt for a hotel room or a packet of condoms in his wallet.
Yet Sandra could never find the strength to leave him. Where would she go? She hadn’t spoken to her mother in years. She had no real friends. No job. Nothing. She was trapped and so she stayed with him. Then she grew close to Purvis and finally realised what she needed in a man. She didn’t need power, or money, or excitement. She needed love and companionship. A month after they became lovers they talked about leaving together. Someday, yes, always someday, but no date was ever set. No real plan was put in place, as if both of them realised their dream of being together was exactly that – a dream.
And then, exactly one month after she’d been ill with stomach flu, exactly one month after her contraceptive pill must have failed thanks to the vomiting, and three weeks after she’d last slept with Purvis, she found out she was pregnant.
Purvis, being the kind and thoughtful man he was, said she had no choice but to stay with Nash for a while. They couldn’t go on the run when she was pregnant. There were midwife and doctors appointments for one thing. She could take bad and need a hospital at short notice. Plus, the added stress. No, when the child was born they could go.
Surprisingly, Nash softened after the pregnancy revelation. Despite the arguments and the fact that they were growing apart day by day, their sex-life had continued (sex whenever he wanted – despite any hostility - was expected of her, after all) and so Nash had never queried being the father. Sandra worried she’d be stuck forever with the new improved Mike Nash despite her feeling having moved on; the doting father and the caring partner paying for private clinics.
But she needn’t have worried. All of that stopped when Wendy was born.
Maybe a girl wasn’t what Nash had planned. He was a man’s man. No doubt another boy would’ve been better. Then again, maybe when the birth came he realised what came with it – sleepless nights, worry, responsibility - and simply didn’t want to know.
Soon the arguments started again and soon Sandra and Purvis talked about leaving again. But there were more appointments with nurses and doctors as Wendy – darling, precious Wendy - had been delivered by section and Sandra had to recover from the surgery. And was it wise to run when Wendy was so young and helpless? So fragile? Plus, she needed her vaccinations and things. She needed stability for the first several months of her life. Best wait a while. It’ll be safer. Safer for Wendy, not them. They were willing to take a chance and have Nash come after them. No, all the caution was for their precious daughter and the torment of their situation would be worth it in the end.
Finally, after two long years, the time had come.
Sandra flashed Wendy a confidence-boosting smile as the limo stopped in one of the parking bays across from the front door. The driver stepped out and hurried to the back door to let the three of them out.
Nash slowly climbed out first and didn’t look at Sandra or Wendy as he did so. It was like he’d been travelling alone. The driver continued to hold the door open for the mother and daughter but Sandra shook her head.
“It’s alright,” she told him. “Just go and open the front door. I’ll see to Wendy.”
The driver nodded before walking up to the house, overtaking Nash as he went.
Sandra reached over to unbuckle Wendy’s seatbelt. Heard her phone ringing inside her handbag. It almost startled her. She must have forgotten to switch it off for the service. But, saying that, who would have called her? Everyone she knew would be at the service.
When she pulled it from her handbag her stomach flipped. It was Purvis.
Was this telepathy? she thought, stupidly. Had he been thinking the same as me? Are we leaving right now?
She double checked Nash and the driver were out of hearing range before answer.
“Dylan, hi.”
“Sandra, where are you?” It wasn’t Purvis.
“Who...? Riley, is that you?” She sensed something was wrong. “Riley, where’s Purvis? Has something happened?”
“He’s okay. Where are you?”
“At home,” Sandra said, confused by the urgency in Riley’s voice.
“Inside?”
“What?”
“Are you in the house?”
“Not yet, we’re just getting out of the car-”
“Where’s Nash?” Riley interrupted. In the background, Sandra was sure she could hear shouting... and was that a police siren?
“He’s just about to go inside,” she said, glancing through the rain-spattered windscreen. Nash was about twenty yards from the front porch, the driver a few yards closer, hunting for the key within the bundle he carried. “What’s wrong?”
“Get away. Don’t follow him.”
“What?”
“There’s been an accident at the club. Don’t go inside!”
“An accident?”
“A bomb! Get the hell away!”
The words stunned her. Her skin puckered into gooseflesh as if the temperature had plummeted below freezing.
“Jesus, no!” she said.
“Grab Wendy and get away from the house!” Riley shouted down the line.
Sandra stared at Nash. Tendrils of fear suddenly coiled around her guts, squeezing tightly.
“Mike’s almost inside,” she said. “I have to stop him.”
“Just get Wendy and-”
But Sandra had lowered the phone. Had opened the car door.
“Stay here, Sweety,” she told Wendy and then jumped from the car with speed that surprised her. “Mike!”
Nash ignored her and kept walking. The driver was at least ten yards in front of him now. Only a few feet from the steps leading up to the door.
“Mike, don’t! Sandra ran a little closer, and then stopped. Somewhere deep within her, she
considered climbing back in the car and letting Nash continue on. A bomb? It would solve a lot of problems for her. Get him out of the way. But of course she couldn’t allow herself to do that. Cheating on him and having a child to another man was bad enough. Letting him die was simply outrageous. “Mike, stop! Don’t go inside!”
Nash finally stopped. Turned around and took off his shades. His eyes were red and puffy. His cheeks were still damp with tears that stood out despite the rain. He appeared to be looking through her, as if he had just woken and his brain was still trying to kick into gear. The driver had stopped also. He looked back, confusion spreading across his face.
Then he shrugged and carried on, as if whatever it was between them was none of his business.
In the second before it happened, Sandra thought she saw a glimmering strand of something stretched across the top step that disappeared behind the plant pots either side of the door. The strand glimmered in the wet, like a delicately spun spider’s web.
Like a wire.
“No!” she screamed.
“Riley said there’s been a-”
Riley had the phone gripped to his ear. Purvis was beside him, blood still running from the shrapnel injury to his head and he stood on unsteady feet, looking at Riley with urgency in his eyes, desperately waiting to hear that Sandra and Wendy were both alright, both safe and well as chaos continued around them. The police had arrived, as had the fire department. So had a crowd of on-lookers.
“Mike don’t!” Riley heard Sandra say. Then a few seconds pause. Footsteps pounding gravel. “Mike, stop! Don’t go inside. Riley said there’s been an-”
Then Sandra’s voice was replaced with the loud and unmistakable rumble of an explosion.
“Sandra!” Riley shouted into the phone. “Sandra!”
Then there was the even more chilling sound of a dead line.
Oh, Christ!
“Sandra!” Riley yelled. “Sandra!”
Nothing.
He lowered the phone and looked at Purvis.
And when Purvis saw the look in Riley’s eyes he sank to his knees, put his hands up to his bloodstained face and let out the most gut-wrenching scream Riley had ever heard in his life.
33
“Sit down please, sergeant.”
Detective sergeant Davison nodded and did as asked. The chair was low down and uncomfortable and in direct contrast to the one on the other side of the desk where Superintendent Ian Nelson was seated in comfort and authority.
Davison smoothed the creases from her dress and crossed her legs as her superior flicked through the manila file in front of him.
Nelson was tall and broad and for a man in his fifties he was still quite attractive. His hair was dark and cut short, his eyes were small and bright blue and his features were chiselled and strong with no hint of sagging jowls or a double chin. He always wore expensive aftershave that lingered in his office and his dark blue uniform was always immaculate. And he would already read her report, she knew. This was just an act, a way to control the situation and get the words right in his head before speaking. No doubt when he wanted the meeting to end he’d say he was expecting an important call and that would be all, you’ll have to excuse me, sergeant.
“There’s a lot of work in here, sergeant,” Nelson said after he’d finished reading.
“Thank you, sir,” Davison replied. He’d noticed how much time she’d put into this investigation. All the extra hours. That was one thing, at least. “As you know, we investigated Leonard Dainton several years ago in connection with drug smuggling-”
“You headed that investigation, am I right?” Nelson interrupted. “At the time DI Thornton was on another case and he let you take the reigns on that one.”
The superintendent knew that she had been in charge. What’s more, he knew the investigation eventually went nowhere. So why the hell was he highlighting the fact that she’d been in charge other than to be a complete dick?
“Yes, sir, I headed the investigation,” Davison said. “We were successful in convicting one of his employees – a Mr Shaun Rodgers – of a lesser charge of possessing narcotics with intent to supply when we raided his own property but Dainton got off. There was nothing to link him with any crime. Anyway, nothing has turned up since then for us to get close to Dainton. That is, until the shooting at Twilight Nightclub.”
“It says in your report that DNA evidence suggests the two men who died in the fire were the shooters.” He looked back in the manila file. “A Mr Wilcox and a Mr Tennant. There’s nothing to say Dainton was involved at all.”
“We think Dainton paid them to do the shooting. They had links to him. They were known dealers. They were suspected to be working under Shaun Rodgers - who works for Dainton - before he was convicted.”
“Being dealers doesn’t link them to Dainton, though. He is only rumoured to be in control of the drugs on the north side of the river. He wasn’t proven to be involved. Shaun Rodgers took the rap for that bust. Just because he works for Dainton doesn’t automatically mean Dainton’s involved. I can’t give you permission to go after him because of a crime one of his employees was charged with.” Nelson licked his fingers and leafed through the pages in the file. Then he shook his head and looked back to the DS. “There is nothing solid in your report to suggest Dainton was involved in this at all. You see, the main thing that bothers me is that if this is Dainton, then why now? Things have been peaceful for years, every gang and criminal sticking to their own patch. What has Nash done recently that would make Dainton want rid of him?”
“That’s what I want to find out, sir,” Davison said. “That’s why I need time to investigate this.”
“What it seems to me, sergeant, is a classic case of a police officer trying to get the one that got away. You nearly had Dainton once and you’ll do anything to get him again.”
Davison held the superintendent’s gaze. Why don’t you want to get Dainton? she wondered. She knew there were rumours that some of the force were either bribed or blackmailed by certain criminals, although she didn’t know who. People in that situation keep things like that to themselves and didn’t tell even their most trusted colleagues. She’d worked with inspector Thornton for several years and he’d never divulged that he’d had links with Nash’s firm, even though since his untimely death rumours abounded. Was Nelson in Dainton’s pocket?
“Is trying to get the one that got away such bad thing?” she asked, rhetorically. “He’s a criminal and doesn’t deserve the life of luxury that he has.”
“Even so,” Nelson said, “I have to delegate work and can’t put you on something that isn’t priority.”
“I think finding out who tried to kill Nash is a priority, sir.”
“We know who tried to kill him, and they’re both dead themselves. DNA evidence links Wilcox and Tennant to the car the shooters were driving. It’s open and shut. Until the fire report and their full post mortem reports come back and tells us that the fire was deliberately started by a third party then we have to assume that they were solely responsible for the attack. And as for the fire, well, maybe they were both drunk or on drugs and were clumsy with a cigarette. Probably both passed out before one of them had finished a joint or something.”
“So the two of them dying in suspicious circumstances the night of the shooting is just a coincidence?” Davison asked. She knew what Nelson was like. He was a statistic man. Solve the crime as quickly as possible and make the force look good – regardless if the right people were found guilty or not.
“Until we know otherwise – yes,” Nelson replied, matter-of-factly.
“And as for who paid them to do the job? Do we just let them get away with it?”
“Who said anyone paid them?” Nelson looked back in the file. “Some of the witnesses in your reports told of their past violent behaviour. That one of them was particularly trigger happy. Had a temper. They’d been known to frequent the city centre on the south side of the river, probably been to the clu
b on several occasions before. It looks to me like a typical case of personal revenge.” He closed the file and looked at Davison. “Come on, sergeant, we see this all the time. People get shot, stabbed and beaten all the time for the silliest little reason these days. People on drugs or people with a short fuse will kill someone for looking the wrong way at them.”
Davison didn’t know what to say. She’d come in here with the hope of being given time and man power to try and link the shooting at the club with Dainton. Within five minutes, her hopes had been dashed.
“So that’s it? No case?” she said.
Nelson handed her the file and then sat back in his seat. Crossed his hands across his stomach.
“We have the people who did the shooting,” he said. “Case closed.”
“And what about Dainton?”
“He’s too powerful to go snooping around with absolutely no evidence. It’ll look bad on the force - and you know how much the media likes to give the police bad press given the chance. So, for now, Dainton’s to be left alone.”
Davison shook her head and stood up.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
It didn’t work.
“Anytime, sergeant,” Nelson replied, politely. “And if there’s anything else I-”
Nelson stopped as his office door burst open and DC Burns fell into the room, wide-eyed and out of breath.
“Sorry, sir,” he said.
“Jesus, constable. Can’t you knock?”
“Yes, sir,” Burns said. “Sorry, sir. This is very important, though.” He looked at Davison. “Two bombs have just gone off within minutes of each other.”
“What?” Nelson asked, shocked. “Terrorists?”
Davison knew that wasn’t it.
“No, sir, not terrorists,” Burns said. “At least it doesn’t look like it. There’s been an explosion at a private club owned by one of Nash’s men and another at Nash’s mansion. There’re reports of fatalities at both areas.”
Davison spun round to face Nelson.
The superintendent suddenly looked like he was getting a headache.