Spare Me the Truth: An explosive, high octane thriller (The Dan Forrester series)

by CJ Carver

  He ducked down, beginning to track around the yard.

  He heard her say fuck, but he didn’t pause. Keeping low, he continued his progress towards the men and the container. When he’d positioned himself to his satisfaction, he rose. Straightened his shoulders and walked into sight.

  All four men – Tim Atherton, Besnik, Joe and Jacks – stared at him.

  He said, ‘Hi guys. How’s it going?’

  He kept walking.

  Besnik’s nose had started to bloat. His face was bruised and he was splattered with blood. He made a growling noise at the back of his throat when he saw Dan. The dogs looked up at him.

  ‘Here, doggy doggy,’ called Dan.

  The dogs looked at him, tongues lolling. Their tails tick-tocked from side to side at the sound of his voice. A slow wag. They remembered him as they’d remembered Joe. The bumps they’d made with their snouts hadn’t been a precursor to an attack. They had been friendly nudges. A dog’s way of saying hello, remember me?

  ‘Fucksake.’ Joe’s face turned white with fury. He swung his pistol round. Trained it on him. But Dan didn’t stop walking.

  ‘I thought you should know that the police have been called,’ Dan said. ‘So before you do anything rash, I’d put your weapons down. You have approximately three minutes before they arrive. I’d use the time wisely. Say, get your affairs in order, or make a run for it.’

  Jacks stared. He said, ‘Are you messing with us?’

  ‘No.’

  In the distance, he heard the faint sound of a siren.

  Jacks heard it too. He shook his head, saying, ‘Hell, man. You’re nothing but trouble.’

  ‘Tim,’ said Dan. ‘Walk away. Now.’

  The man was trembling and shaking. He started to walk unsteadily towards Dan.

  Joe turned his pistol to aim at Tim’s back.

  ‘You shoot him, you go to jail for life,’ Dan warned. He extended his pace. ‘You shoot me, you can make up any story you like. They might even believe you.’

  ‘You fuck,’ said Joe. He swung his gun back. Aimed it straight between Dan’s eyes.

  Dan was closing in. Besnik moved towards the container. The dogs moved with him. Joe was ten yards away. Jacks five.

  Tim walked past him. Out of sight.

  Now, Lucy, he thought.

  Jacks was shifting from foot to foot and bringing up his gun.

  Now! he yelled in his mind.

  He saw Joe’s grip tighten on the pistol.

  Dan’s gut tightened.

  Joe was going to shoot him.

  ‘POLICE!’ yelled Lucy. ‘PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS OR WE WILL SHOOT!’

  At that, everything went crazy.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  The second Lucy shouted, Dan exploded into a sprint for Jacks.

  Crack!

  Joe had been caught by surprise. He’d missed.

  Dan was aware of Tim Atherton breaking into a run, disappearing; Besnik taking shelter behind the container door; the dogs vanishing.

  Knowing Joe would be aiming for him again, Dan jinked.

  Crack!

  Joe had missed again.

  Jacks tried to turn away but Dan was upon him in a flash. He punched him in the chest, going for his gun. Jacks didn’t seem to have the stomach for a fight and virtually gave Dan his weapon.

  When Jacks made to run away Dan grabbed him, spun him round, using him as a shield.

  Crack!

  Joe fired at Dan again. Jacks gave a groan and doubled over. Dan pushed him aside, bringing up his gun. ‘Drop it, Joe!’

  Jacks staggered away, clutching his stomach.

  The two men faced each other.

  Besnik stepped from behind the container door. He said to Joe, ‘Shoot him.’

  Dan shifted his weight and swung his gun in one easy movement. It was so fast that by the time Besnik realised what was happening it was too late.

  The bullet hit Besnik in the forehead, just above his right eye. His head snapped back, blood spraying. He toppled backwards, crashed to the ground.

  ‘JOE TALBOT! IF YOU MOVE I WILL SHOOT YOU!’

  Joe flinched as Lucy shouted. Hearing his name had distracted him. His attention on Dan wavered.

  Lucy’s timing was immaculate.

  Dan dropped to the ground, rolling to his left at the same time as Joe pulled his trigger.

  A sound like a whiplash by Dan’s ear as the bullet just missed him.

  Still rolling, Dan held Jacks’s gun in both hands. In control. As though he’d been doing it all his life. He brought the bead to rest perfectly in the V. He squeezed off his second shot.

  The bullet hit Joe in the chest. He staggered to the side. There was a hole above his ribcage, and blood gushed out in waves, flooding his shirt.

  His right arm dangled. His fingers opened. He dropped his gun. Slowly he fell to his knees.

  Dan walked over. Lifted his gun and pressed it against the side of Joe’s head.

  ‘Please,’ said Joe. ‘No.’

  ‘You killed my son.’

  ‘That was Besnik,’ Joe said. He coughed. Blood coated his lips.

  ‘But it was you who betrayed me.’

  ‘Dan!’ shouted Lucy.

  Gently, he pressured the trigger.

  ‘DAN!’ she yelled. ‘NO!’

  The world seemed to tilt. A flash of blond hair flew at the corner of his vision, followed by a little boy’s laughter. Aimee ran after Luke, beaming. Jenny was laughing and crying. Tears of happiness, of loss.

  He felt Lucy’s hand on his arm.

  ‘Enough, Dan,’ she said. Her tone was gentle.

  He maintained the pressure on the trigger. He could still hear Luke’s laughter.

  ‘Enough,’ she repeated.

  His son’s voice faded.

  Silence.

  Finally, he nodded. Retracted the pistol.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Enough.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  Lucy sat on the pavement while police swarmed through the scrapyard. She was shivering. Her skin felt cold.

  Grace came and sat next to her.

  ‘You OK?’

  Lucy gave a nod. ‘Thanks for calling the cavalry.’

  ‘I wish it had been sooner.’

  ‘Me too.’

  After Lucy had stopped Dan from shooting Joe Talbot, she’d gone to find Tim Atherton. She’d found him cowering behind the mountain of mashed cars, clutching a crowbar. He’d been so scared, so strung out that it had taken her a good minute to talk him into dropping his weapon and another two to calm him into some semblance of normality. Whatever that was.

  When she returned to the scene of the shooting, Dan came over.

  He looked at her. He said, ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You were going to kill him.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Dan stared at her for a long time.

  ‘I’m glad I didn’t,’ he said.

  ‘Me too,’ she agreed. He would have put her in the impossible position of having to decide whether to cover up for him or not. Even though it wouldn’t have been her job to investigate the crime scene – which would be undertaken by the local division – she wouldn’t have wanted to carry that sort of judgement with her for the rest of her life.

  One dead and three seriously wounded. The MI5 officer Savannah Connors was on her way to hospital, along with Joe Talbot and Jacks, who’d been shot in the stomach.

  The goon that Dan had knocked unconscious came round to find he was already handcuffed and in police custody. The second goon never materialised. Nobody knew where he’d gone but Lucy guessed he’d legged it the second he’d heard the sirens closing in.

  Both dogs had had to be tranquillised before the RSPCA transported them to their animal welfare centre. What would happen to two attack dogs with a dodgy past was anyone’s guess. Lucy couldn’t imagine who might be brave enough to rehome them.

  And Sirius? When Grace told her he’d given her their handbags back, she hadn’t known wha
t to make of it. What a peculiar and frightening man. Had he known they were following him? If so, why hadn’t he shaken them off? She couldn’t work it out. She wondered what made him tick but didn’t spend too much time on the subject. Even a professional psychiatrist would have trouble comprehending a professional ‘cleaner’.

  She’d already checked his sedan’s number plate to find the car had been rented from Heathrow Airport to a Mr Robson, on business in the UK from Washington DC. He’d provided a passport and driver’s licence but Lucy bet that his ID as well as the address he’d given didn’t exist. He’d paid cash, of course.

  She watched SOCOs come and go. They wouldn’t send in the forensic team until their boss was happy they had everything from the crime scene. Then the pathologist would arrive and finally Besnik Kolcei’s remains would be heaved into a body bag and shovelled inside a coroner’s van.

  She and Grace sat quietly. Lucy wondered who would interview them and hoped they’d be top-tier. She didn’t fancy repeating herself ad infinitum – and she didn’t hold out much hope since the team had already stuffed up by not keeping her and Grace separate – but who was she to point this out? She was just a PC.

  A black Jaguar with darkened windows was stopped by an officer and directed to park further down the street. Two men climbed out. The older one wore a suit, the other running shoes, jeans and a fleece. As they approached, Dan appeared, went over and greeted them. Shook hands. Together they approached the DI in charge of the investigation. Lots of talking. Gesticulating. Finally, the DI flung up his hands and turned away, looking disgusted. The three men started to walk to the Jaguar. Then Dan looked her way. Came over.

  He said, ‘Nice working with you.’

  She gave a nod.

  ‘If you ever need a job, I can have a word with the Director General.’ He indicated the older guy climbing into the driver’s seat.

  Lucy laughed. She hadn’t laughed for so long it felt odd, but wildly satisfying.

  Her, a spook?

  He had to be joking.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  Lucy returned to Stockton late that night. She staggered off the train exhausted, her mind spinning after a six-hour debrief with the Metropolitan police. She’d thought about staying with her mother overnight but she knew she’d be unbearable, pacing her house trying to pull together the last threads of the case, so she’d caught the Tube straight to Kings Cross Station. She wanted to get back to Stockton – she still had questions that needed answering.

  ‘But what about your car?’ Grace said.

  ‘I’ll collect it at the weekend.’

  ‘Stay the night,’ Grace offered. ‘We can share a bottle of wine.’

  To Lucy’s surprise the GP had embraced her and kissed both her cheeks. ‘You’re one hell of a woman,’ she said.

  ‘You are too.’

  On the train, Lucy texted Mac to tell him she’d be at work in the morning. He texted straight back, saying he’d pick her up from the station, what train was she on?

  She didn’t respond.

  When she arrived outside her flat, it was pouring with rain and she was drenched in the eight steps it took to get from the taxi to her front door. She fumbled with her key, cursing when she missed the lock.

  ‘Lucy,’ he called.

  Her stomach thrilled to hear his voice. Her heart beat faster.

  ‘Lucy,’ he called again, urgently.

  His footsteps splashed through the rain. He was running.

  She turned round. When she saw him, a rush of blood flowed from her heart and through every vein, sending a shiver down her legs.

  ‘God, Lucy. When I heard . . .’ He came and stood before her. Rain ran from his hair, down his face. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Fine, thanks.’

  ‘I’ve been worried sick.’

  She moved her attention to unlocking her front door. Stepping inside, she turned and began closing it behind her.

  ‘Hey.’ Mac put out a hand. ‘Can’t I come in for a moment?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What if I told you that Joe Talbot had a sister? Eileen Price? And that her husband is on the board of Recycling For Charity?’

  She studied him for a moment. And then she made a fatal mistake.

  It must have been because she was tired. Because she’d faced a serial killer. Because she’d seen a man die, his head blown apart. She still had rust marks on her clothes from climbing the junkyard fence, specks of blood on her shoes. Her defences were down.

  She looked at his mouth.

  Remembered what it was like kissing him. Being held by him.

  His eyes darkened. He made a low groaning sound. ‘Christ,’ he said.

  In two quick steps he was in the hall. His hands were on her waist. His breathing was ragged.

  She was staring at his lips. She thought she would never breathe again unless she kissed him right here, right now.

  He bent his head to hers, hesitating for a second as though asking her permission.

  No thought. No hesitation.

  Her mind was a smooth clear lake.

  She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Opened her mouth and touched her tongue to his.

  He groaned again, deep in his throat.

  Then he slammed the front door shut with his foot. In one movement he swept her off her feet and into his arms.

  ‘Which way?’ he panted.

  She pointed.

  He carried her up the stairs. Held her against his chest while she opened her bedroom door. The second they were inside, they began undressing each other, fingers fumbling in their haste and urgency.

  The shock of his naked skin against hers made her gasp.

  She’d forgotten how good he felt. How they fitted so well together.

  He kept saying her name. Lucy, Lucy, Lucy.

  She didn’t say his until he was asleep. And when she whispered it, it was for her alone to hear.

  Faris.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  Grace attempted to make a lasagne over the weekend. Ross helped by washing up and making helpful comments, like shouldn’t the onion be browned before you add the meat?

  She’d have to do a cookery course, she decided. They couldn’t live on takeaways and deli food for ever. Or could they? She still had her mother’s £30,000 buried in the back garden which could keep them in chicken curries for a couple of decades.

  Ross was more in love with Lone Pine Farm than ever, but Grace was no longer panicking because she knew that no matter where in the world he went, she’d go with him. The relief of knowing this was immense because she didn’t have to worry about losing him any more and she could look forward to a whole new surgery of – hopefully – more vigorous patients.

  She was taking the pasta out of its container – fresh from the supermarket, she wasn’t going to try making that yet – when she heard someone at the door. Dismayed, she glanced at the kitchen clock. Bang on eleven.

  ‘We’ll finish it later.’ Ross looked at her. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll hide in the study. Leave you guys to the sitting room. If you need me, shout.’

  Grace whipped off her kitchen apron and dragged her fingers through her hair as she walked to the door. Opened it.

  ‘Hello, Grace.’

  ‘Hi, Bernard.’

  Despite the fact that she hadn’t met her mother’s old boss before, he seemed remarkably familiar. Then she realised she’d seen him with Dan outside the junkyard. The same black Jaguar now sat next to her hatchback. A young man was in the driver’s seat, looking at them.

  ‘That’s Ellis,’ said Bernard. ‘One of Dan’s old colleagues.’

  She nodded at Ellis, who nodded back.

  ‘Shall I come in?’ asked Bernard.

  ‘Of course.’ She felt oddly flustered. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’

  ‘No, thank you. But it’s kind of you to offer.’

  He followed her into the sittin
g room, where Ross had lit a fire. He took the armchair while Grace took the sofa. Normally she’d tuck her legs beneath her but she was too tense. She leaned forward. ‘You wanted to talk to me about Mum?’

  ‘Yes. She wasn’t just a colleague of mine, you see. She was a very dear friend. She entrusted me with her life not once, but several times.’

  He held her eyes. ‘You received the package I sent you? With your mother’s bank details?’

  Grace blinked. ‘You’re Mr Smith?’

  He smiled.

  ‘About my mother’s money . . .’ she began.

  ‘She didn’t earn it doing anything illicit,’ Bernard said. ‘But we set it up to make it look as though she had. Cedric – as we code-named Joe Talbot before we knew who he was – would never have bought Gabriel from her if he didn’t think she’d crossed the line into criminality.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Stella made a mistake, though. She tried to entrap Cedric without telling me, without telling anyone. I could understand why she chose to do it but I couldn’t condone it. It was risky and hazardous, and it went terribly wrong. A rather brilliant scientist died.’

  Grace continued to watch Bernard carefully but inside something tightened. Her mother’s mistake had caused someone’s death?

  ‘It was Stella, you see, who demonstrated Gabriel at the Wembley concert, along with two scientists, Peter Miller and Suzie Lui. Stella let it be known through dark circles that she was going to demonstrate the machine but not when or where, but that any interested buyer would see evidence of it in the newspapers on Sunday the fourth of November.

  ‘No buyer knew who Gabriel’s seller was, but as Stella hoped, Cedric – Joe – guessed. Joe must have put a tracker on Stella without her knowing. It’s our guess the moment he saw the two scientists at Wembley with Stella, he put two and two together and brought in Besnik and his goons to snatch Gabriel after the demonstration. He paid Stella that very evening. Cunning old Cedric seized Gabriel from beneath everyone’s noses – Syria, Russia and China had all expressed interest – and put it on the market himself but at a much higher price.’

  Inside, Grace was dazed, picking her way through the strands of deceit and seemingly endless machinations. Her mother, the woman she thought she knew, had grown in stature and become flawed as well as heroic, and she found herself suffused with a mixture of astonishment and an immense sense of pride.