Dead Pretty: The 5th DS McAvoy Novel (DS Aector McAvoy)

by David Mark

  Pharaoh isn’t paying attention. She’s pushing McAvoy out of the van; all but slapping his back in her haste to get back in the fresh air. She slams the door shut behind herself. Turns to McAvoy and gives him her most penetrating glare.

  ‘Somebody has to be with his daughter,’ she says, chewing her lip. ‘Somebody she knows. She’ll be scared. She’ll need to talk.’

  McAvoy considers her. Feels shabby even as he asks the question. ‘You think she knows what he’s been doing? That she’ll give a statement?’

  Pharaoh looks away. ‘She’s a good girl. She’s already been through hell. And she’s all alone in that place.’ She looks up at McAvoy, her eyes intense and ferocious. ‘You don’t have to do any of this. You don’t have any sins to atone for. But if you save him, you’ll help me atone for mine.’

  McAvoy stays silent for a minute, then, ‘I’ll find him,’ he says. ‘We can atone together.’

  Watching him run to his car, Pharaoh realises she has never had a better offer.

  PART FOUR

  Chapter 28

  Teddy pulls the paper towels away from his temple and looks at the ugly blot of blood. It resembles Australia. There’s a patch of skin somewhere near Brisbane.

  He scowls. Spits. There is a jagged white line of pain down his vision, as though the scene before him is a photograph, ripped in two and then placed back together. He feels as though there is a creature inside his skull, kicking at the bone as if it were a stubborn door. He tries to ignore it. Teddy has always been known as a hard case. He can take this. Can do what must be done, even with a suspected skull fracture and an overwhelming urge to lie down and fall asleep for a very long time.

  He screws up his eyes. Focuses on the man who lies on the cold floor of the big empty barn, which is patterned with straw and dried shit, like an uncooked joint marinated in too many herbs. His wrists and ankles are bound behind him with tie-wraps. He’s lying half on his side, staring up with blue eyes that put Teddy in mind of a Siberian husky. Despite the blood crusted in his hairline, he is smiling a little, staring up at Teddy as if this is all part of the plan.

  ‘Comfy, you fuck?’ Teddy kicks him in the ribs. ‘Don’t you dare smile at me.’

  Hollow grunts with the impact. Presses his lips together and folds the smile into a tight, thin line.

  It doesn’t smell as bad in the barn as Teddy had anticipated. He doesn’t know how regularly it is used but the cow shit has long since dried and the overwhelming aroma is of damp straw. Occasionally, the stench of the nearby pig farm assails Teddy’s nostrils but he is too far gone on adrenaline and temper to pay it much attention. He doubts they will be interrupted. The building lies down a pitted track, half a mile to the rear of Humberside Airport. The planes have all been grounded due to the fog, which has rolled across the Humber and into this patch of Northern Lincolnshire. Teddy struggled to find the turn-off from the country road. Had to double-back and risk collision with an oncoming 4x4 before he swung the car onto the narrow track and began jolting, painfully, towards the building that Foley had identified soon after their arrival in the area. They had planned to teach Trish Pharaoh about respect within its confines. Had planned to have themselves quite the time. Instead, he needs to get his hands dirty with the stranger who made him and his partner look like fools, and who left Foley dying on the ground.

  As he stands above Reuben Hollow, Teddy feels sadness bloom inside his chest. He had cared for Foley. Cared for him more than he allowed himself to acknowledge. Teddy has several children by different women but has never been a part of their lives. He realises, too late, that he had come to think of Foley as a son. Enjoyed his company. Liked the way he talked. Sure, he’d fucked the young lad more times than he could count while they were cellmates, but that had been more about comfort than control. It was different on the outside. They were more than friends. They shared something. Trusted one another. And Teddy had been forced to watch him die.

  He boots Hollow in the ribs again. Enjoys his grimace.

  He walks back to the car. The doors are open and the headlights are on, throwing a sodium glow into the mist and darkness. Shadows play upon the rear wall of the barn. Each time Hollow moves his bound legs, his knees cast the silhouette of a mountain range onto the corrugated iron and brick of the curving roof.

  Teddy reaches inside the car. Pulls out the nailgun and blowtorch. The two items had cost him more than £300. He’d made a mental note at the time to add the expense to his tab for the job. Wonders, for a second, how much more he is now going to make given that he won’t need to pay Foley.

  ‘You ready for this?’ asks Teddy. As he walks into the patch of light cast by the headlamps, he feels as though he is walking onto a stage. Feels as though black velvet curtains are parting for him. He’s tempted to take a bow.

  Hollow isn’t gagged. Teddy wants to hear him scream. He’ll only shove the paper towels down his throat if the noise makes his headache any worse.

  ‘We doing a spot of DIY?’ asks Hollow, from the floor. ‘It’s not really my speciality. Can’t even change a bulb, though I could sculpt you a beautiful replica.’

  Teddy gives a slight shake of his head. He has stood over plenty of hardened criminals who have tried bravado in the face of pain. Their eyes always give them away. By the end, they are invariably snivelling and begging for mercy in a pool of their own piss. He sees none of that in Hollow’s face. Sees absolutely nothing in those cold, blue eyes.

  ‘I’ve never tried this before,’ says Teddy, giving the nailgun a theatrical flourish. ‘I’ve kicked people’s kneecaps off before. Once had a job where I had to break an amateur boxer’s hands and unhinge his jaw. That was a bit unpleasant. I think he’d won a fight he wasn’t meant to. Can’t really remember. They all blend in and you shouldn’t really ask too many questions. This nailgun stuff turns my stomach, if I’m honest. Can’t think of it without wincing. But these are changing times and old buggers like me have to evolve. Adapt or perish, that’s what they say, isn’t it? So I’ve just got to go through with it.’

  ‘You don’t,’ says Hollow, raising his head. ‘You could leave well alone. You could get yourself back down south and disappear for a while. I promise you, this isn’t going to end well for you. You don’t seem a terrible person. Your partner, he struck me as a bully. You just seem like a pragmatist. And the pragmatic thing to do is get in your car and drive away.’

  Teddy chews his lip. Realises he’s doing it. Stops and shakes his head.

  ‘You’ve got balls, mate. You do intrigue me. I’ve done my reading up on you and there’s no doubt you’re an interesting man. I don’t blame you for smashing the shit out of those lads who messed with your daughter. I don’t know how any of that could be considered a crime. But you got in the way. Foley and me were only here to do a job. That copper. Her husband owed a lot of money to a very important man. We were here to get it back. I’m told that you’re quite the rich man, so you’ve got a golden opportunity here. You can save her life by giving me your account details, or telling me where it’s stashed. That was all we wanted. But right now, I think I want to hurt you more than I want to rob you. So I’m going to do some horrible shit to you and any time you feel like telling me where you keep your money, we’ll have a little break, yeah? And if you’re telling the truth, I’ll stop hurting you. I’ll still kill you, but the pain will be over.’

  Hollow keeps his eyes on Teddy’s. From the floor, he gives a little nod, as if they have reached an understanding.

  Teddy moves forward. Reaches down to grab Hollow’s shirt and drag him into a seating position. Gets a smell of him. Sawdust and soil. Varnish and metal. Takes his switchblade from the pocket of his trousers and cuts the tie-wraps that hold Hollow’s wrists behind his back. Places the blade to his neck and speaks, slowly and deliberately.

  ‘Put your hands on your knees. Palms down. You move, I’m going to open your throat and deal with the consequences later.’

  Hollow licks his lips. The
blade is already pricking at his skin.

  ‘You’re going to kill me anyway,’ he says. ‘Why put myself through it?’

  Teddy digs the knife in. The tip slides a few millimetres into his throat. Warm blood runs down his neck and over Teddy’s hand.

  ‘Where there’s life, there’s hope. You’ve got a daughter. Your only job is to stay alive as long as you can. And to do that, you’ve got to put up with what’s about to happen.’

  Slowly, Hollow brings his hands forward. Places his palms over his kneecaps. Teddy readjusts his position. Keeps the blade against Hollow’s throat and flicks the safety on the nailgun. Brings it around and places the point on the back of Hollow’s hand. Winces as he pulls the trigger.

  Nothing happens. Teddy tries again. Curses as he raises the weapon to his face. Blows on the muzzle, as if trying to dislodge fluff. Looks at the safety catch and realises it’s stuck between two settings. Pushes it all the way across. Looks down the barrel again and sees the nail, long and deadly, waiting to be fired through skin and bone.

  Realises, despite his headache and his churning guts, that he’s rather looking forward to this.

  Chapter 29

  McAvoy holds the mobile phone in his left hand and swings the Volvo through the gap in the hedge with his right. He shouldn’t be driving. The world is dirty glass and cobwebs. He can barely see more than a car length in front of him and he keeps losing the signal from his sat-nav.

  The front tyre hits a pothole and he lurches to his left. Drops the phone in the footwell and swears. He feels sick. Adrenaline is making his hands shake. He’s making fists with his toes inside his boots. Sweat is running into his eyes and making his shirt stick to his skin. He knows these feelings too well. Has been here, in this world of fear and duty, too many damn times.

  From the footwell comes the beep of a new message. Probably Pharaoh again. Another plea to be careful. Another demand for an update. He takes a moment’s glee in making her wait and knowing she’s worrying about him, then feels wretched for the cruel impulse. He has every right to feel less than generous towards Pharaoh. She has played on his emotions. Played on what she knows about him. Played on his feelings for her and the fact that if he ignored her plea for help, he would never sleep well again.

  He tells himself to relax. Hollow’s phone is somewhere up ahead. Whether it is still on Hollow’s person is anybody’s guess. If the men who have him are true professionals they will have dumped his phone the second they took him. But as far as McAvoy knows, this track is not a through-road. He can see no good reason why Hollow’s captors would drive down this muddy strip at the back of Humberside Airport just to dispose of his phone.

  Through the fog, he sees the shape of a large, abandoned farm building emerge from the mist like an iceberg. He slows down. Drifts forward and sees a patch of light and a nondescript vehicle with its doors open.

  McAvoy stops the car. He wishes he had a plan. He has read every guideline and textbook on the importance of waiting for backup. He doesn’t even know how many people he is facing, or whether they are armed. A gun was found at the scene of Hollow’s abduction. A whole armed response unit should have been mobilised. But Aberlour is trying to limit the damage and refusing to make a move until he has worked out every possible angle. Hollow could be dead before then. Could be dead already. He doesn’t know how he feels about that. If Hollow killed Hannah and Ava on top of all the men he is suspected of bludgeoning to death, McAvoy needs to see him in the witness box, being sent down for life in front of the families of his victims. He cannot bring himself to wish death upon him.

  He forces himself to move. To do what he must.

  Instinctively, McAvoy flicks the headlights of the car to full beam as he opens the door. Steps onto a patch of uneven ground and stumbles a little. Looks up just as a nine-inch nail whistles past his ear and smashes the glass in the door.

  He throws himself to the ground. Looks at the scene illuminated by both sets of headlights.

  A figure, crouching behind another. He has a blade in one hand and a large, fat-barrelled nailgun in the other. Dangerous, but not necessarily deadly.

  He ducks back behind the car door. Wonders what the hell to do. Thinks about reaching down for a stone and throwing it at the gunman and finds himself laughing at his own hopelessness.

  From the barn, there is a sudden, angry shout. McAvoy ducks his head out from behind the car.

  Hollow has smashed his head back into the jaw of the man behind him. The blade has gone skittering away into the dark.

  McAvoy runs through the blinding light and launches himself at the two men scuffling on the floor.

  The trio go down in a tangle of limbs. McAvoy feels his head bang against a kneecap. Feels damp clothes and cold skin. Scrabbles to his feet just as Reuben Hollow grabs the nailgun and swivels away.

  Teddy’s scream is a raw, animal thing that rips through the fog and the darkness and causes the pigs in the neighbouring field to screech in accompaniment. He looks down. Blood is already seeping through his shoes to puddle on the dirty floor. It comes as a relief when Hollow hits him in the face and unconsciousness takes him. He collapses to the ground, nailed to the floor.

  Hollow turns to McAvoy. Smiles, as if they are standing at a bar.

  ‘You’re that copper. Her friend.’

  McAvoy feels as though he is going to collapse. There’s warm blood on his face where his wound has reopened.

  ‘Give me the gun,’ says McAvoy, and there is no disguising the tremble in his voice.

  Hollow looks at the weapon as if seeing it for the first time. Then he hands it over, obediently.

  McAvoy wonders what to say next. Wonders if he should arrest him or tell him that it’s all okay and he’s going to be safe.

  Hollow makes his mind up for him. Drops his head and his shoulders begin to heave. His legs give out and he falls to the ground.

  ‘Thank you,’ he says, snuffling into his hand. ‘I thought I was going to die.’

  McAvoy stands still for a moment. Then he surreptitiously finds the knife with his boot and stands upon it. He crouches down and pockets the blade.

  He feels the adrenaline begin to leave his system. Feels the familiar sickness and weakness. Feels the same damn need to fall on his belly and let Roisin stroke his hair.

  He moves forward and puts an arm around Hollow’s shoulders.

  Doesn’t notice the lack of tears as the smaller man weeps against his chest.

  Chapter 30

  9.06 p.m.

  A strip of road with no real name, somewhere grim off the A18.

  An abandoned outbuilding between an old dairy farm and Humberside Airport, its metal roof rising above the trees like a bald scalp.

  Three men, in a dying circle of light. Two lean against the bonnet of a sensible family car, staring at one another like chess masters. The third is a little way behind them, in the open doorway of the barn. He’s sitting up, clutching at his foot, threatening bloody murder and shielding his eyes from the glare of the headlamps.

  Helen Tremberg climbs out of her Citroën. Takes in the scene before her and decides she will leave the most intense of her questions until later. Penelope is with Helen’s dad, who was good enough not to sigh when Helen called him and told him she needed another favour.

  ‘Sarge,’ says Helen, raising her torch and flicking it on to illuminate the broad back of her superior officer. She flicks the light upwards. Takes in the familiar face of a bleeding man. ‘Mr Hollow.’

  Helen turns towards the dark opening of the barn.

  ‘He won’t give us his name,’ says McAvoy, gesturing at the man, who is baring his teeth like a cornered fox. ‘His wallet belongs to an Edward Tracy. South London. He’s not poor. Belongs to a couple of private members’ clubs with names that rang a bell. I thought you might like to make the arrest.’

  Helen holds her sergeant’s gaze. He’s fuzzy and indistinct in the fog. There’s blood on his eyebrow. Blood on the neck of the man to
his left.

  Another scar, she thinks. Another bleeding medal.

  ‘This is the gentleman who abducted you?’ asks Helen, looking at Hollow. He’s good-looking, up close. Dazzling eyes. But she’d expected more swagger. More style. He looks humbled and broken. His eyes are red-seamed and his lower lip seems to tremble as he nods.

  ‘And he isn’t running away because . . . ?’

  McAvoy looks momentarily awkward. ‘He’s nailed to the floor.’

  Helen sucks her teeth. Looks impressed. ‘DIY can be fraught with danger – my dad told me that. He’s a clever guy. He’s the one who told me never to cut the grass in flip-flops.’

  McAvoy pushes himself off the car bonnet. He looks tired, dirty and sad.

  ‘The boss?’ asks Tremberg.

  ‘Following a lead,’ says McAvoy, looking away. ‘Going to tell Mr Hollow’s daughter that he’s quite well.’

  ‘Going to be fun for the press,’ says Helen, looking around. ‘I’m picturing a zeppelin full of shit and a desk fan the size of Scunthorpe.’

  ‘It doesn’t need to be,’ says Hollow quietly. He’s taken his box of tobacco from his back pocket and is trying to roll a cigarette with shaking fingers. ‘There are ways to play this right. I need to speak to Delphine. There are things that need to be sorted out . . .’

  McAvoy turns fierce eyes on Hollow. Shakes his head. ‘You received help because that’s the way things have to be. But don’t go thinking you’re the victim here. You have a lot of questions to answer.’

  Hollow looks puzzled. He hasn’t spoken much, just sat and stared. A little while ago he remembered his mobile phone was still in his pocket. Took it out and looked at a smashed, dead screen.

  ‘Questions?’

  ‘Hannah Kelly,’ says McAvoy. ‘Ava Delaney. So many more.’