by Neil White
‘It was to give you both too much to lose,’ Carson said. ‘By taking David along, Don’s got him forever, and nothing will be too illegal, because Don will always have something over him. And once he has that hold, you’ll stay quiet too. Being a career criminal is just about stopping the whispers, nothing more.’
‘I’m not like them,’ Angel said softly.
‘Yes, I know, and that’s why you wouldn’t have held out. It would have split you and David up.’
Carson made a sharp turn, and Laura had to grip the door handle herself, thinking that only good luck was keeping them from a crash.
They were racing round the edge of the town centre, on whatever counted as the inner ring road in Blackley – really just a succession of traffic lights – and so Carson was stop-start all the way down, edging his way through the red lights. They had an address.
‘How far now?’ he shouted.
‘Turn left here,’ Laura said. ‘It’s somewhere around here.’
Carson screeched his tyres as he turned into a road that took them towards the viaduct, a large shadow at the end of the street. Laura was trying to see along the side streets, looking for signs of Don’s business, the signs and hoardings lit up by blue flashes. Then the headlights caught something else. A Triumph Stag.
‘Pull over!’ Laura screamed.
The car hadn’t fully stopped before Laura opened the door and started to run.
Chapter Seventy
Jack waited for the swing, for the drop, his nails digging into his clenched fists, his chest rising and falling fast, his heart like a drum roll, but nothing came. He opened his eyes. Don was staring at Shane, his jaw set, Mike just behind him. Shane laughed, but it came out with a wince as the beating took effect again.
‘What are you laughing at?’ Don said.
‘You,’ Shane said, his voice muffled through the swelling. He spat blood onto the floor. ‘What do you want, for me to feel fear? Or is it that you’re too scared to do it?’
‘Don’t, Shane!’ Jack shouted.
‘Oh, fuck off,’ Shane snarled at Jack. ‘Stop playing the hero. I’d have had your girl too if that other car hadn’t come along. So go on, kick away my chair, like the big man wants you to.’
Don stepped forward and raised his foot. It rested on the edge of Shane’s chair. ‘I want you to feel the terror that my daughter felt, in the last moments before she died.’
‘Those weren’t moments,’ Shane said. ‘They were minutes.’
Don went pale.
‘It’s not like the movies,’ Shane continued, his voice gloating. ‘There’s no quick squeeze and then it’s over. No, they can hold on for fucking ages. Can you imagine how long someone can hold their breath for? It’s like that, big man.’ He laughed again, and then he was wracked by coughs. ‘I had to take a break, my hands were cramping up.’
An unhealthy flush was colouring Don’s cheeks.
‘He’s trying to make you angry,’ David Hoyle said to Don. ‘Don’t do it. Stick to what you said.’
Shane nodded, and tried to peer at David Hoyle through swollen eyes. ‘He’s fucking sharp, that one. I remember when I was creeping around his house, but I fucked that one up, because it was all a bit off the cuff.’
‘Why me?’ Hoyle said, his voice hardening.
Shane spat out some more blood, and Don and Mike had to move quickly to avoid being hit. ‘Because you’re as guilty as everyone else for making her life miserable. I saw you, at the police station, on the day you released Don’s pets into the wild. Those little shits have made Emma’s life a misery, and all you could do was grin as they laughed at how they’d got off again.’
‘That was the lack of evidence, not me,’ Hoyle said.
‘Oh spare me your fucking morality,’ Shane snapped, drawing deep breaths as he battled his injuries. ‘It’s just a big game to you. I was there, I saw you. I was wheeling some files through, and you looked so fucking pleased with yourself. So I improvised, and it didn’t pay off.’ He tried to hold his head up so he could stare at Hoyle, but he just grimaced with pain. ‘Now you want to do it, Hoyle, I can tell. Go on then, you do it, although you’re already as guilty as everyone else, because you’re all wanting the same thing to happen. Tell them, Hoyle, that it won’t get you off, it doesn’t matter who kicks away my chair.’
Don jabbed Shane in the groin again. Shane went to double up, but the noose stopped him.
‘It’s not about us,’ Don said. ‘It’s about stopping him talking,’ and he gave Jack a jab on his leg.
‘But you want to make me scared,’ Shane said. ‘But I don’t get scared, and that’s what makes me different to you.’
Hoyle stepped forward. ‘He’s trying to make you do it, Don, that’s all. He wants you to end it.’
Shane cackled. ‘Frightened, are we, Mr Hoyle?’
Don stared at Jack, and then back at Shane. He raised his foot onto Jack’s chair and tensed.
‘You’ve got ten seconds to push that bastard’s chair over, and if you don’t, your chair goes first.’
Jack tried to delay it. He turned to Shane. ‘Why Rachel Mason? What was she to you?’
Shane coughed out some more blood. ‘Just for fun,’ he said. ‘Snooty little cow had it coming.’
‘So that was it? You just didn’t like her?’
Shane paused, and then he grinned, blood gathering where his teeth used to be. ‘Oh, I liked her all right. I had been looking forward to her most of all.’
‘You’re wasting your own time, not mine,’ Don said. ‘Do it.’
Jack looked down and saw Don’s foot tense against his chair. He expected Don to count the seconds out, but instead he let the time hover, the room silent. Jack looked up again, closed his eyes, refused to take part, made a silent prayer that it was an empty threat. But he knew it made sense, that he was a witness, and people like Don Roberts don’t like witnesses. He could feel Don’s foot push against the chair, making it rock onto the back legs, and Jack’s leg was struggling to support him now. He was shaking. He said goodbye to Laura, to Bobby. He was angry that he was acting like a coward, except that it didn’t feel like cowardice, because he was doing what was right: he was refusing to kill a man. But even if it felt like the right thing to do, whatever Shane had done, it would be a short-lived victory, because his conscience would die with him.
Jack knew the ten seconds had passed, and he opened his eyes to the view of the skylight. Then he saw them.
Jack had been looking at the stars, silver dots in the dark blue, but then the light seemed to change. It acquired a flicker, like a strobe effect, and as he watched, the flickers got brighter. Blue flickers.
Jack looked down. Don was tense and still. Hoyle was turning towards the front of the office. So was Mike Corley.
Then Jack heard them. A distant wail. The soundtrack for the flickers. Sirens, far off, but getting closer.
‘Cut us down,’ Jack shouted, his pulse racing now, adrenaline making his cheeks flush, his fingers trembling. ‘All you will have is some beatings. Go on, do it, Don, while you still have the chance.’ His tongue flicked across his lips as his mouth went dry.
The sirens sounded like they were close now. Don looked at Jack, then at Hoyle, and then at Shane. He looked angry, and he looked scared, like an animal caught in the headlights, not sure which way to turn.
‘We need to go, Don,’ Hoyle said, panic in his voice.
Corley headed for the front door, but Don shouted, ‘No, out the back.’
Mike turned, but then his attention was dragged back to the front by the sound of sirens in the street outside. ‘We need to go, Don, now.’
Don looked towards the rear of the building, and then at Jack again, before he started to move. ‘Let’s go,’ Don said. He pulled out a knife from his pocket and started to look around for a way to get level with the rope, but then there was a screech of tyres outside and the sound of shouting.
They ran towards the back of the room, all in a rush
to get away. There was a hammering at the front door, and then the sound of someone trying to kick their way in. Jack felt relief course through him, sweat breaking across his forehead, the pain in his knee coming into focus.
Jack looked at Shane, and realised that he knew what was going on.
‘It’s over,’ Jack said to him.
Shane looked at the door as it sounded like the wood was splintering, the banging incessant. Then he turned to Jack and shook his head.
Shane kicked at Jack’s chair and it wobbled. Jack shouted for him to stop, pressed his feet down to try and apply some weight. He felt the rope go tight against his neck as he tottered on the chair, the knot digging into his skin. Shane took another go at kicking the chair, and this time he caught it with more force.
The chair started to lean to one side. Jack tried to balance on it, to bring it back. He heard Shane cackle behind him, and the sound of shouting from outside. Jack lashed out with his foot but his leg gave way, just for a second, and as he struggled to control it, he felt himself lose balance.
Jack’s chair hit the floor with a clatter and he felt his legs swing into the air. He tried to shout out but the rope clamped tightly around his neck, and all he could hear for a couple of seconds was the creak of the rope. Then there was another noise, another clatter of a chair going over, followed by a short scream and then the sound of a crack.
Shane was swinging too.
The knot dug hard into Jack’s neck. He tried to take a breath but couldn’t. Panic surged through him and he felt his chest strain when he couldn’t fill his lungs with air. He struggled and thrashed, but it was a reflex, and the rope just seemed to get tighter. The view of the room moved around as he swayed. He caught a glance downwards, saw his feet floating in the air, a couple of feet above the concrete floor. They banged against Shane’s feet, who was swinging next to him. His vision started to blur, the room began to vanish into white, the sounds outside fading, until the only sound he could hear was the creaking of the rope.
As the room went faint, he realised that he hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye to the people he loved.
Chapter Seventy-One
Laura ran for the front door. Carson and a uniformed officer were right behind her.
‘Jack!’ she shouted, and pushed on the door handle, her shoulder slamming into it at the same time. It was locked, wouldn’t budge. She kicked at the door. It was solid. There was shouting coming from inside. She turned around to the uniforms spilling out of the cars. There was another car coming along the road. ‘Two of you go round the back!’
She tried to give the door another kick, but it wouldn’t move.
Carson appeared on her shoulder and pushed her out of the way. He kicked at the lock. Still nothing.
Then there was a scream from inside.
‘Give me your baton!’ Laura shouted to the uniform stood next to her. He reached to his belt quickly and handed it over. She hit the window hard, not caring about flying glass, but the baton just bounced back. It was toughened glass, reinforced by a metal mesh. She hit it again. Still nothing. She looked around for something to throw through the window. There was some rubble by the wall, she could make it out in the glare from the headlights. She ran over and found a half-brick, some mortar still attached to it. As she ran back, she raised her arm and then launched it at the window when she got close.
It bounced off and back onto the floor, but this time Laura saw that there was a crack. She picked up the brick and threw it again. It bounced off the window once more, except this time the glass didn’t look as clear. The skin had been broken, and so she grabbed the baton once more and began to hit the window.
A hole appeared on the third strike. She was breathless but didn’t stop. A few more baton strikes and there was a hole big enough for her to get her shoulders through.
Laura threw the baton onto the floor and started to haul herself through the window. Shards of glass dug into her stomach, and she winced as her hands took her weight. She could see the shimmer of sharp fragments of glass scattered on a desk in front of the window. With a final effort she got herself through, sliding across the desk and onto the floor. She could feel something damp on her stomach, and she knew it was blood from the way her shirt stuck to it, but she didn’t have time to check herself. She rushed out of the small office and to the front door, expecting someone to shout from inside, but no one bothered her as she unlocked the bolts, top and bottom, the rest of the door just held with a Yale lock.
The uniforms ran through, shouting that they were the police, and Laura followed them, panting with exertion, scared of what she would find.
The building opened up into a large open space, and she saw that it was filled by two white vans. But it was what was in front of the vehicles that made her gasp and shout.
There were two people, their heads in nooses, swinging. One face was covered in blood and bunched against his noose, his hands behind his back, a chair behind him, toppled over.
But it was the other person that made her heart stop.
‘Jack!’
She ran forward, covering the ground fast even though every step seemed to be in slow motion. She grabbed him by the legs to take his weight, but she saw that the rope was tight against his neck.
‘Get a knife someone!’ she shouted.
There was banging from a nearby storeroom, someone looking for tools, and then she heard footsteps, someone moving towards her. Jack’s body bucked as the other person hacked at the rope with something. A hacksaw or a blade, she couldn’t tell, but too many seconds passed before the rope went slack and she went to the floor, Jack on top of her.
Her hands went straight to the knot at the back of his neck but it was too tight, too embedded into the skin. She heard someone next to her. She looked. It was Carson. There was the glint of a silver blade in his hand, the edge jagged. He was cutting into the rope around the neck, sawing madly, the blade turning red, but Laura didn’t care about that. And then Carson gave a shout as he was able to throw the rope to one side.
Jack flopped forward, and there were tears running down her face as she put her hands on his cheeks, willing some life into him.
And then he seemed to take a deep breath and cough, blood and spittle flicking on to her cheek. But that didn’t matter, and she held onto him, still underneath, as his chest began to rise and fall and his eyelids started to flicker.
She could hear the exertions of someone cutting at the rope that held Shane Grix, and then there was the sound of a body falling to the floor, the smack of dead flesh on concrete, like a pig carcass thrown onto a cold butcher’s slab.
Laura didn’t look over. Instead, she stroked Jack’s hair, held his head in her arms, tears rolling down her face. It was over, she kept on saying. It was over.
Chapter Seventy-Two
The next few days seemed to pass in a blur – from Jack’s time in hospital to the police statements and constant press attention.
Jack had been saved by Don’s impatience. Don had fashioned a proper fixed knot for Shane, spent time making sure that the knot was strong and wouldn’t come loose when he started to swing. Once Shane kicked his chair away, the rope had jammed under his jaw, the sudden jolt breaking his neck. He was dead before the police broke in. When it came to Jack, Don was getting angry, was working off-plan, and so he just threaded a slipknot, so that when Shane kicked away Jack’s chair, it throttled him, tight and hard.
Laura had just about got there in time and the knot slackened a touch when he was cut down, but they had to cut away the whole thing to get Jack breathing again.
Jack looked down at his hands. They were shaking, his palms slick with sweat. He tried not to think back to that time. He had recovered from the physical threat. It had been other things that came back to him more often, like the thoughts he’d had when on the chair. It had been the jolt he’d needed, as frightening as it was, the realisation that if he’d died, there wouldn’t have been too many people to scatter petals on
his grave. He had friends, but they were casual, just good for a drink or a phone call. The circle of people who loved Jack was too small. The only people he’d had to say goodbye to were Laura and Bobby. He vowed to change that, to meet more people, to make his life a little less about writing articles not many people read.
His finger ran around his neck, and he felt the rough skin that still marked out the loop of the rope. He pulled his shirt collar away. It felt too tight.
Shane’s funeral had attracted more photographers than mourners. There were just two people who shed tears, Ida and Emma, on opposite sides of the grave, each in black, one crying because she blamed herself for what he had done, the other because she hadn’t been there to stop him. They left separately, each partly blaming the other. Bad upbringing. Bad genes. Maybe just a combination of the two.
Rachel had no choice but to resign. The force had allowed her to do that – fall or be pushed. It was the only way to keep the small pension she had built up. Jack had seen her once, coming out of the college, dressed in old jeans and a T-shirt, holding papers in her hand. It looked like she was trying to get on a course, approaching the resignation as an opportunity, not a punishment. Jack smiled when he saw her, pleased that she was doing something with her life.
The future of Don and his men, and Mike Corley and David Hoyle, was not quite so bright. They had been charged with conspiring to murder Shane, all of them in custody awaiting their trial. Jack was the star witness, the only person who was in that room who wasn’t in a cell, and he felt no nerves at the thought of sending men to prison for many years.
Jack knew that David Hoyle would suffer the most in prison. Mike Corley would get some protection because he was an ex-copper. His own cell, with a television, provided that he didn’t mind sharing a wing with rapists and child molesters. David Hoyle would have to mix with the general population, and he wasn’t tough enough for that.