by Neil White
Joe’s look darkened, and he glanced into the house. ‘She wouldn’t do that. She’s a cop, she knows the rules.’
‘She’s also hurting,’ Laura said softly. ‘Let me speak to her, just to check.’
Joe looked like he was going to object, but Laura saw in his eyes an acceptance that what she had said made some sense. He gave the door a push and then stepped to one side.
The house was in darkness when Laura went in. The curtains were drawn, and whatever light there was came from the flicker of a small candle on a table in the corner of the room.
Rachel was sleeping on the sofa, or so it seemed. She was wrapped up in a blanket, her blonde hair fanning out over the edge of the cushion.
‘Rachel? Hi, it’s me. How are you?’
Rachel turned over so that she could see Laura, and then began to sit up.
‘No, please don’t get up,’ Laura said, her voice soft and low. As Rachel’s face caught the glow of the candle, Laura thought her eyes looked swollen and puffy from crying.
Rachel settled back down and then turned to look at Laura.
‘I’m not ill or anything,’ she said. ‘I’ve just taken a shock, that’s all.’
‘It’s not a sign of weakness,’ Laura said.
‘That’s how some will see it.’
‘Not the ones that matter,’ Laura said. ‘Take some time, make yourself right.’ When Rachel didn’t respond, Laura said, ‘We know who it is.’
Rachel stayed still for a moment, and then she looked at Laura. ‘Who is it?’
‘A police driver called Peter Williams,’ Laura replied, watching Rachel carefully. There was no look of surprise, and Laura thought she saw something else. Relief? ‘But you know that already, don’t you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We think Don Roberts has taken him. We don’t know where, but we need to find him before he kills him.’
Rachel took a deep breath, and then said, ‘I hope you fail.’
‘You told Don, didn’t you?’ Laura said.
Rachel stared at her, but Laura didn’t blink, didn’t waver, and then Rachel looked away, drawing the blanket around her shoulders.
Laura reached out and put her hand on Rachel, but it was shrugged off.
Joe appeared in the doorway, just a silhouette against the light shining in from outside. Laura nodded at him, by way of confirmation of what she had found out, before she headed for the car. Joe didn’t look at her as she went past.
Carson followed Laura outside, and when they were in the car, Laura nodded and then looked away.
Carson banged the steering wheel in anger and then simmered for a few seconds, before he snapped, ‘We need to find Roberts.’
Laura thought she saw Joe looking out of the window as Carson sped off.
Chapter Sixty-Five
It was dark, almost pitch black, as Jack approached the DR Security building. The street lights further along were broken, the glass pitted by holes, and the one right outside fizzed off and on, as if someone was trying to hotwire it. It was as if he was getting his impression of the building under a strobe light.
He could make out that it was squat and square, with a large roller shutter at the front, next to a more conventional office door and a small reinforced window. There was nothing preventing access to the front, but the flashes of light caught the gleam of barbed wire that topped high metal fencing. It ran down each side and along the back, so that access to the sides of the building was through two metal security gates.
He should call Laura to tell her, but he wanted to be sure. All he had was the word of a drunk and some guesswork.
His footsteps echoed as loud crunches as he walked slowly towards the roller shutter. He pressed his ear against the cold metal. He guessed that there was nothing behind it, just access into the building, like a garage entrance. There was no sound.
He moved slowly towards the office door, listening out for movement, expecting to be confronted. He didn’t breathe as he tried the handle, but the door was locked. He went to the small window, criss-crossed by wire, reinforced glass, and peered in, but he couldn’t see anything, the white office blind blocking his view. He stepped back to look for an outline of light, some sign that someone was inside, but there was nothing, just his own shadow against the glass.
He stepped back. The building looked empty. No noise. No lights. But there was another car there, not just Hoyle’s. As Jack peered into the patch of darkness behind the building, he saw the outline of a black car, an urban cruiser, barely visible, except for a glint from the windscreen. Jack’s mind flashed back to the cars outside Don’s house. It was the same type.
The security gates at each side of the building were six feet high, heavy metal, with sturdy struts going their length. He went to the one to his left and gave it a shake. It felt solid. He looked for a foothold to clamber over, but there was only a lock chamber. It would have to do.
He lifted his foot onto the lock and then gripped the struts, before hauling himself up. The gate clanged against its frame, the noise bouncing back from the brick wall at the end of the street. He paused to listen out for any doors opening, someone reacting to the noise. If he kept on going, he would be trapped. Still nothing. He let out a breath and his tongue flicked at his lips. His mouth was dry and his stomach was rolling with nerves. He decided to keep going. He knew he should call Laura, to tell her where he was, but he wanted to find out what was going on first.
He leaned back and threw his leg up, making more noise, the muscles in his thighs taut from the stretch. Then he forced his leg over and dropped to the ground on the other side. As he got his breath back, he became aware of the silence, and how much he had broken it.
Jack looked along the building. There was a window further along, to match the one on the other side, and his view was towards the cars parked behind. He tried to see through the darkness, to check for obstacles that might cause a noisy trip. The fence created some space for rubbish bins and so he knew he had to tread carefully. There were piles of cardboard, along with discarded pieces of metal that looked like broken car clamps.
His hands edged slowly along the wall, his feet feeling their way forward, trying to avoid a clang or a stumble. His clothes rustled against the bricks. The window crept into view, a faint glow of light getting closer. It wasn’t blocked out.
He dropped to his knees and shuffled to get under the window. He wanted to listen out for noise before he lifted himself up, to check that whoever was inside wasn’t right by the glass. There were voices, just bass rumbles. It was impossible to make out what was being said. He raised himself slowly. The glass came into view, and he wondered whether there was someone on the other side watching him.
The window was dirty, covered in dust and cobwebs, and so there was no clear view. He pressed his face to the glass and rubbed away a small circle in the dirt. The interior was visible, but if he could see in, then they could see him. His breath misted up the glass, but as it melted away, Jack saw a large open space, with two vans against the back wall. And there were people stood around, focussed on something in the middle of the room, cast in the light of a simple bulb. He rubbed some more dirt away from the window, used the mist from his breath to clean a neat circle.
And then Jack saw what they were standing around. Or rather who. It was a man on a small metal chair, his head pulled back.
Jack reached for his phone, about to call Laura, but he jumped when a scream came through the glass, a shriek of pure agony.
Shit. He stepped back and dropped his phone, stumbled against an old clamp bracket. He reached out with his hand but there was nothing there to stop him. He clattered against one of the large metal rubbish bins, the noise cutting through the night.
He cursed and went to his knees, scouring the ground for his phone, fingers scrambling around in the grit and debris. When his fingers bounced against it, he clicked it on to check that it was still working, and then eased himself back up to the window, to che
ck whether anyone had heard him.
His heartbeat sounded loud as he peered into the glass. He dropped down again quickly, cursing, because everyone in there was looking towards the window.
Jack tried to stay still so that he could listen out, and then he heard the shouts. They were coming for him.
He ran for the locked gate, kicking rusted pieces of metal out of the way. He had to get back to his car, to phone for help. He took a jump at the gate, ready to go over the same way, his hands gripping the top, but then a large black shape appeared on the other side, his hands around the struts like a jailbird. Except that Jack was the one who was imprisoned.
‘You’ve made a big mistake,’ said a deep voice, and then there was the clink of the key as it went into the lock on the gate. As it swung slowly open with a creak, large hands went for him.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Carson banged on Don’s door.
‘If he’s got Williams, he’s not going to be here,’ Laura said.
‘I know that, but someone here must be able to talk,’ Carson snapped back, before banging again on the door.
There was a click as the door opened. It was Helen, Don’s wife.
‘Where is he?’ demanded Carson.
‘Who?’
‘Don’t piss me about. Your husband. Is he in?’
She stared at Laura, and then at Carson, and then shook her head. ‘He’s busy,’ she said and went to close the door.
Carson banged his hand on the door with such force that Helen was thrown back a few steps into the hall. He went inside, Laura right behind him.
They went into the living room. It was empty, but then Laura noticed the open bottle of vodka on the desk, next to a large bottle of cola.
‘It’s dangerous to drink on your own,’ Laura said, turning to Helen.
Before she could answer, there was a noise from the kitchen, and Angel, David Hoyle’s girlfriend, appeared.
‘She isn’t alone,’ Angel said.
Laura was surprised to see her, and she detected a slur to Angel’s voice. ‘What are you doing here?’ Laura said. ‘I didn’t know you were friends.’
Angel didn’t answer. She looked at Helen instead.
‘I get it,’ Laura said. ‘You’re here so that Helen can keep an eye on you, so that you don’t call me to tell me what David is doing, because you don’t look like the sort of person who hangs around with crooks and their families.’ When Helen folded her arms at that, Laura added, ‘And don’t you look so offended. We both know that more than hard work has given you all this.’
‘Cut the small talk,’ Carson said. ‘Sit down, both of you.’ Both women stayed on their feet, and so Carson pushed them, his fingers jabbing into their chests.
‘That’s assault,’ Angel shouted.
‘And I’m talking about murder, so leave your middle-class neurosis behind, and sit down,’ Carson snapped back.
Angel looked at Helen, and then went to sit next to her, her face set in a scowl.
‘What do you want?’ Helen said.
‘Your husband,’ Carson said.
‘I don’t know where he is.’
‘You’re lying,’ Carson said, before he looked towards Angel, stepping closer, making her cross her legs, protective, nervous. ‘You’d be popular in prison.’
‘Prison?’
‘Is there an echo in here?’ he said, tapping his knuckles on Angel’s head. ‘Yes, prison, and you’re a sweet middle-class girl, nice skin, nice figure. A step up from the usual druggies and angry dykes they get in there, so you’ll never get lonely, because it can be a killer in there, loneliness, when you’ve so much time to get through.’
‘Why would I go to prison?’
‘Assisting an offender,’ Carson said. ‘Maybe even conspiracy to murder, if we can sweet talk the prosecution into dragging everyone in. And you’re really fucked, because you promised to help us, but when it came down to it, you didn’t.’
‘You promised to help?’ Helen said.
‘Ignore her,’ Carson said. ‘Where is Don Roberts?’
Angel looked at Helen, and then back at Carson. ‘I can’t help you.’
‘Yes, you can, but this is your last chance,’ Laura said. ‘Call David. Tell him to call it off. Turn Williams in. David might even get a reward. But don’t kill Williams, or everyone’s life will be ruined. David’s. Don’s. Everyone.’
‘We don’t talk to the police,’ Helen said, her voice filled with a sneer.
‘You don’t, we know that,’ Carson replied. ‘But Angel isn’t like you. David dropped her here to make her stay quiet, and now David has gone with them to get revenge for Angel, but does she really want that?’ He looked at Angel. ‘Don’t side with Don. Let this end properly, and then David can go back to his life, doing what he does to make your life better. He’s crossed the line, but you don’t have to go with him.’
Angel’s chin was trembling, tears forming in her eyes. She looked at Helen.
‘Remember what we told you,’ Helen said, her eyes filled with menace.
Angel looked down and stayed silent. Helen folded her arms. They were going to get nothing else.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Strong hands gripped Jack’s shoulders and pushed him against the wall. His head banged hard against the brickwork. He had to focus to stop his knees from buckling, the night turning into colour-filled speckles of light. The smell of stale cigarettes filled Jack’s nostrils and spittle flecked his cheeks as his captor got up close, a forearm pushed against his throat.
Jack tried to see past the man, but it was too dark, the speckles fading. Shadows moved around him. There were noises, angry hisses, and a hand was in his pocket, searching. His phone was pulled out and Jack’s face was lit up by the screen as it was held in front of him. Jack could see a snarl and a shaved head, and the gleam of a silver ring that pierced an eyebrow. Then it went dark again as the phone was dropped to the floor, and the crunch of glass and plastic told Jack that it had been crushed under someone’s foot.
He was about to protest when he was pulled away from the wall, grabbed by his shirt, and pushed towards the open front door. His arms were pulled up behind him, and his head hit the door frame on the way in. His forehead went numb, and there was the warm trickle of blood in his eye.
Jack tried to struggle against the pain, but he was pushed faster than he could walk, his feet stumbling.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Jack shouted.
There was no response. Jack was thrown forward until he slithered on his knees, smooth across a concrete floor, his hands breaking his fall. He looked up as he landed. Wheel clamps were piled up in a corner, next to a small white van and a stack of clamping warning signs. But it was what was in the middle of the floor that made Jack gasp. It was what he had seen through the window, but it was clearer now, closer.
There was a man tied to a chair, his ankles bound around the chair legs, his hands behind his back. He was skinny, his shirt ripped open, and Jack could see the outline of his ribs. His legs were exposed, and they were red and blistered. It was his face that attracted Jack’s attention though. It was swollen and bloodied. His mouth was just a red shadow, and through his grimace Jack saw gaps where there had been teeth not long before. The man’s eyes were virtually closed by vivid purple swelling around them. Blood ran down both cheeks and pooled around the base of his neck, soaking his shirt.
Don Roberts was in front of him, sitting in a chair, leaning forward, his feet tapping on the floor, making soft clicks as the prisoner moaned.
Jack’s gut churned, fear making sweat prickle onto his face.
Then Jack saw something else that made him close his eyes and wish that he had called the police before poking around.
There was a clothes iron plugged into an extension cord, steam belching out as it reached the top temperature, the orange light still showing. Jack looked again at the figure strapped to the chair, and this time he spotted a triangular blister on his chest, red
and inflamed. Next to the iron was a kettle, wisps of steam just visible from the spout. Jack knew now why his legs were blistered.
Jack looked at Don. ‘You’ve gone far enough,’ he shouted. ‘Call the police. You’ve had some revenge.’
Don’s feet stopped tapping, and someone cleared their throat behind him. Don Roberts got to his feet and walked right up to Jack. His arms were by his side as he looked down. There was blood on his knuckles and some smears across his shirt.
‘There is no such thing as far enough,’ Don answered, his voice deep and angry.
‘Let the police handle it,’ Jack said.
Don shook his head. ‘Would they do this?’ he said, and went back to the steaming iron. He picked it up and held it close to the man’s face, who tried to squirm away. He couldn’t, he was bound too tightly.
‘No!’ Jack shouted, which mixed in with the man’s scream, but the sounds faded as Jack’s head was banged against the concrete. Everything faded. Sounds. Vision. Don’s movements seemed slower, as if there was a time-lag, but then Jack’s vision cleared just in time to see Don press the iron against the man’s chest.
He bucked and screeched with pain. Jack tried to bury his face in the floor, unable to watch.
The screams quietened down into a gasping sob, and Jack looked up to see Don putting the iron down. Hands gripped Jack and pulled him up, and then he was dragged back towards the end of the room. He was thrown onto a chair, and a voice said, ‘If you move, you take his place.’
Jack looked around at his captors. There was Don, with a few of his goons, and then he saw Mike Corley against the wall. He was wearing the same expression as Don: anger mixed with hatred and revenge.
‘Why are you here?’ Jack said to Mike Corley. ‘You’re a policeman for Christ’s sake.’