Souls At Zero (A Dark Psychological Thriller)

by Neal Martin

  There was a silence on the other end of the line for a moment, during which Edger listened hard for any background noise that might give the kidnapper's location away, but there was none. Only dead silence.

  Then he heard Kaitlin's voice. "Harry?" She was crying, obviously terrified. She also sounded drugged still. "Is that you, Harry?"

  Edger did his best to beat down the surge of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him if he let it. He continued to focus on his breathing and tried to stay as detached as possible from the situation, just as his training dictated. Stay professional, he told himself. For Kaitlin. "Kaitlin, sweetheart, are you okay?"

  "What's happening, Harry? I'm scared—"

  Silence cut her off.

  "Kaitlin? Kaitlin?"

  "Satisfied?" The kidnapper was back on the line.

  Edger could barely resist the anger that was building in him. "If you hurt her, I swear to fuck—"

  "Enough," the kidnapper commanded. "You're in no position to make threats. I give the orders here, soldier, not you."

  Edger closed his eyes for a second while he took a deep breath to calm himself. "Alright. You're in charge. Tell me what you want. Why was there a photograph in the envelope?" A bad feeling came over Edger as he stared at the man's face in the photograph, and he suddenly realised who the man was. It was the Lord Mayor of Belfast, though Edger couldn't think of the balding, jug-eared mayor's name. He only recognised him because he saw the man standing outside city hall one day a few months ago, giving a speech to a crowd of journalists about something Edger didn't care enough about at the time to remember.

  "The man in the photograph is Brian McGinty, the Lord Mayor of Belfast," the kidnapper said, confirming what Edger now knew.

  Confusion set in. "What does he have to do with me? I don't even know him."

  Before the kidnapper could answer, the bad feeling that Edger had became a bad thought, a thought that was crazy, but which made some kind of sense at the same time. There could only be one reason why someone would kidnap his daughter and then give him a picture of the Lord Mayor. Edger prayed he was wrong as he waited for the kidnapper to answer.

  "You're going to kill him."

  Edger gripped the phone tighter. Gritted his teeth as he lapsed into silence.

  "You there, Harry?"

  Barely able to bring himself to speak, Edger said, "Yes."

  "Good. You need to listen carefully. You're going to kill the beloved mayor of this city, Harry, and you are going to get it done within the next twenty-four hours. It doesn't matter how you kill him, as long as you do. If you fail to kill him within the twenty-four hour time period, I will start cutting pieces from your daughter and send them to you. I can get a lot of pieces from one person before they die, believe me. I will keep sending you pieces of your daughter until McGinty is dead. Do you understand?"

  Edger swallowed hard, fighting down the nausea that was rising in him. "Why me?" he asked. "What does any of this have to do with me or my daughter?"

  "Your daughter is just leverage to ensure you do as I ask," the kidnapper said. "But rest assured, this has everything to do with you, Harry."

  "I don't even fucking know you!"

  "You will. Soon. And Harry?"

  "What?"

  "No police."

  "It's a bit late for that. They arrived at the cafe when you took my daughter."

  "That's your problem. If I suspect you've involved them, I'll cut off little Kaitlin's fingers, and I'm sure you don't want that."

  "You'll never get away with this, you know," Edger said, although he knew the person on the other end of the phone had already gotten away with it. He had Edger's daughter. That put him in the driver's seat, and Edger in the back, forced to go along for the ride.

  "Twenty-four hours, Harry. Your time starts now. Call me on this phone when you're done."

  The line went dead and Edger stared at the phone in his hand. Then his eyes drifted to the picture on the coffee table, of the smiling Lord Mayor, his gold livery hanging around his neck like some sort of magic talisman that was supposed to protect him from danger. "Why you?" Edger said to the photograph. "Why me?"

  He looked at his watch: 1:55 p.m.

  The Lord Mayor of Belfast had to be dead by this time tomorrow, or else Kaitlin was going to suffer the consequences. Edger had no doubt the kidnapper was serious about his threat to cut off Kaitlin's fingers, which twisted Edger up inside.

  He now had a choice: do as the kidnapper asked, or don't do as he asked and allow Kaitlin to suffer the consequences.

  Not much of a choice.

  Kaitlin was innocent in all this. She didn't deserve to pay for his past mistakes, whatever the hell they might be. The kidnapper was convinced that Edger was getting what was coming to him. There was no doubt of that, otherwise why go to all this trouble? There was a chance that the kidnapper's actions where politically motivated, given that he wanted the Lord Mayor of Belfast assassinated, but what would anyone have to gain by doing that? It was the Lord Mayor, a figurehead. He wasn't a major player. If this was political, why not target the First Minister instead? Surely that would make more of a statement? Unless this was a personal vendetta against Brian McGinty himself, and not the figure of the Lord Mayor. And why chose Edger to do this assassination? Sure, he had military training, extensive experience as a soldier. But he wasn't the only military man in Belfast. He was sure there were others, probably better qualified than him to carry out this madness.

  It looked like the kidnapper was telling the truth. This did have everything to do with Edger. This was all personal.

  But why get him to kill someone? Especially someone as high profile as the Lord Mayor of Belfast?

  It didn't make sense.

  Edger couldn't help looking at his watch again. He was acutely aware of each passing second that ticked by.

  He thought about Kaitlin, how scared she sounded on the phone. Then he thought about Gemma, about how terrified she must be, thinking that she may never see her daughter again.

  He was the cause of all that pain. He was responsible for turning all their lives upside down.

  Which meant it was his responsibility to fix it.

  And fix it he would.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Detective Inspector Paul Black and Detective Sergeant Rosalind McKee stood outside the door of Harrison Edger's apartment. Detective Black, a stout, barrel chested man in his forties, dressed in a dark suit, wrapped on the door three times with his knuckles. It was the second time he had done so and there was still no response.

  "Maybe he's out trying to get his daughter back," Detective McKee said, one hand in the pocket of her grey pant suit, a black notebook in the other. Rosalind McKee was tall and athletically built, her dirty blond hair tied back in a bun, revealing the angular features of her face, which along with her piercing blue eyes, made her look more like a model than a cop sometimes. Detective Black liked her though. She only made detective a year ago, but she since proved herself to be hard working and dedicated, if a little too ambitious.

  "Maybe," Detective Black said, before banging on the door again, harder this time. "Mr. Edger, it's the police. If you're in there, we need to talk to you about what happened this morning with your daughter." He paused for a moment and listened. When he got no response, he added, "You're going have to talk to us at some stage, Mr. Edger. If you don't, we'll arrest you as a possible suspect."

  A few seconds later, there was the sound of heavy footsteps coming towards the door from inside the apartment. Black and McKee exchanged glances and then the door opened. They were greeted by an unusually tall and well-built man who looked to be somewhere around forty. The man wore dark jeans and a black jacket like he was just about to go out. "Mr. Edger?" Black asked, showing the man his ID.

  "Yes," Edger said, seemingly unaffected by the fact that the police were at his door. He appeared to Black to be a man used to dealing with authority figures, and wasn't easily intimidated by them. In fact, E
dger seemed used to being one of those authority figures himself. "I'm Detective Inspector Paul Black, and this is Detective Sergeant Rosalind McKee from CID. Can we come in?"

  Edger looked at them both in turn for a second, his face blank. For a man whose daughter had just been abducted, he seemed unusually calm. He nodded once and stood to the side to let them both into the apartment.

  Black went in first, with McKee following behind him. "Nice place you have here," he said, walking over to the black leather sofa and sitting down. "You have a good view of the Lagan from here, no doubt?"

  Edger said nothing as he closed the door behind McKee, who came and sat down beside Black on the sofa. "Where you about to go out?" McKee asked Edger.

  Again, Edger said nothing. He sat down on a single leather armchair facing them, his thick forearms resting on either side of it, then he gave them the same blank look without saying anything.

  Black felt McKee shifting beside him uncomfortably. There was no doubt there was something intimidating about Edger, which probably had to do with the fact that he had been a soldier for the last two decades, operating in some of the world's worst war zones. Black had dealt with many men of Edger's ilk over the years, so-called hard men who supposedly feared nothing and no one. In most cases, it was just a front. In Edger's case however, Black sensed he was the real deal.

  But so was Black.

  "So, Mr. Edger," Black began, taking out his notebook and flicking through it for a second. "According to the two officers on the scene at the cafe on Botanic Avenue this morning, you were drugged by a man who then abducted your daughter. Is that correct?"

  Edger's jaw muscles tensed. "No."

  Black couldn't hide his surprise and he exchanged a shocked glance with McKee.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Edger," McKee said. "Are you trying to say your daughter wasn't abducted?"

  "That's exactly what I'm saying." His blank stare was unwavering. "There's been a misunderstanding."

  "A misunderstanding?" Black shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing.

  "Yes," Edger said. "I accidentally overdosed on my PTSD medication this morning. I knew I was going to end up in a bad way so I called my ex-wife's brother to come and pick my daughter up from the cafe, which he did. My daughter is now with her mother, probably in Dublin where I was supposed to take her today."

  Black stared at Edger for a long moment, then he looked at McKee, who sat beside him with a look of disbelief on her face that was bordering on anger. She obviously hadn't picked up yet on what was happening here. But he had.

  "Okay," he said to Edger. "That story is bollocks and we all know it. We have CCTV footage showing a man bundling your unconscious daughter into the back of a blue Ford Mondeo right after he left the cafe, a car which, by the way, was reported stolen yesterday. It's only a matter of time before the car turns up somewhere, and when it does, we will do a full forensics sweep on it.

  "We also have eye witness testimony from the cafe owner himself, and from two people who entered the cafe just as the abductor was leaving. The cafe owner has stated that he saw the abductor inject your daughter in the neck to render her unconscious before he took her."

  He stopped talking for a second to see if anything was registering on Edger's face. The man was clearly tense, but he was hiding it well behind a mask of forced calm, the way any trained soldier would under interrogation.

  "There is no question that your daughter was kidnapped this morning," Black continued. "If you are denying that happened, then that could only mean two things. Number one, the kidnapper has made contact and stipulated no police involvement or he will hurt your daughter. Or number two, you have taken it upon yourself to try and sort this situation out alone. In any case, you can't leave us out of the equation."

  "Like it or not, Mr. Edger," McKee said. "We are involved now, and we will continue to investigate. By not co-operating, you are going to force us to consider you a suspect in your own daughter's kidnapping, which I don't think any of us want."

  "I understand you might be scared," Black said, genuinely sympathetic towards Edger, as he had two teenage daughters of his own. "You don't want anything to happen to your daughter. We get that. But you must know, we have the experience and the resources to help you get her back safely."

  Emotion flashed across Edger's face for the first time since they started talking. "Really?" he said. "You can guarantee my daughter's safety, is that what you're saying?"

  "There are never any guarantees in these situations, Mr. Edger," Black said. "You should know that better than anyone, given what you used to do for a living. But I guarantee you, you'll have a better chance of getting Kaitlin back safely with our help. I think you owe it to Kaitlin to let us help you."

  Edger glanced at his watch, then back to Black. "It's like I told you. This was all a big misunderstanding. My daughter is safe and well."

  Black sighed, as did McKee. He could feel her anger and frustration as she sat tensely beside him.

  "So what's your plan, Mr. Edger?" she asked. "Are you just going to go all Jack Reacher and save your daughter yourself?"

  Edger frowned slightly. "What?"

  McKee made a snorting sound and shook her head.

  "Mr. Edger," Black said. "A serious crime has been committed here, and like it or not, we have to investigate. Once we try unsuccessfully to locate your daughter we will be back to arrest you, either as a suspect in her kidnapping or on charges of obstruction. That much we can guarantee."

  Edger stood up. "Sorry to have wasted your time. Now, if you don't mind, I have things to do."

  Black stared at him a moment then shook his head. "We'll see ourselves out."

  Black and McKee left Edger's apartment and went back to their car in the private car park outside. "I can't believe what we just heard," McKee said as she sat in the driver's seat.

  "I can," Black said. "It's obvious whoever took Edger's daughter told him not involve the police or they would hurt the girl. Maybe even kill her."

  "What do you think this is about?" McKee started the car and drove to the security gates, then waited on the concierge to open them so they could drive through. "You never asked him in there."

  "Not much point, was there? Do you think he'd have told us anything?"

  "No, not really." McKee drove through the gates and out onto the road. She turned left and started driving back towards the Lisburn Road. "So what now? We should have arrested him in there."

  "We don't have enough evidence yet. Whatever we have, it's circumstantial." He lit a cigarette, causing McKee to shake her head at him, though she said nothing and wound her window down. "We need to talk to the mother, determine the daughter is actually missing."

  "If she even talks to us," McKee said, wrinkling her nose at the acrid smell of smoke in the car. She knew better than to ask him to put the cigarette out. He never listened.

  "She'll talk," Black said, blowing smoke out the window. "Once she does, then we arrest Edger."

  No sooner did Black have the words out when he fell into a long fit of uncontrollable coughing. When he'd finished, he hawked and spat out the window.

  McKee looked at him in disgust. "Jesus Christ, Paul. You need to quit those fucking things."

  Black wiped a hand across his mouth. "So I'm told."

  CHAPTER TEN

  Once the two cops had left his apartment, Edger let out a long, uneasy breath. He had been hoping to avoid the cops for as long as possible, but they had obviously wasted no time in getting involved. Barefaced lying to them wasn't something he relished, as he knew they were only doing their jobs and were probably genuine about helping him. But at the same time, there was no way he was risking Kaitlin's safety by allowing the cops to get involved. Detective Black didn't look like a man who would just let things go. He seemed to Edger to be the bulldog type, sinking his teeth into a case until it was solved or until he was forced to drop it for some reason. Edger had no doubt Black would keep at it until he uncovered what was goi
ng on, which was bad news for Edger as the cop would only hamper his attempt to get his daughter back in one piece. And given what Kaitlin's kidnapper was asking Edger to do, the last thing Edger needed was a cop on his back.

  Edger sat on the sofa and rolled himself a much needed cigarette, which he lit with the zippo lighter from his jacket pocket. As he returned the lighter to his pocket, he felt the Glock 17 in its holster under his jacket. That was one thing he was glad off, to have a gun in his possession. He had spent the greater part of the last two decades carrying a gun of some sort and doing so always gave him a sense of security that he didn't have when he wasn't armed. This was the first time since arriving back in Ireland that he felt he truly needed a gun. Unlike with the close protection jobs he had done over the last year, the gun wasn't just for show. As far as Edger was concerned, he was back at war again. He was a soldier once more.

  He took his own phone out of his jacket pocket—the burner phone the kidnapper had provided still in his other pocket—and called Gemma.

  She picked up on the first ring. "Harry?" she said, sounding breathless. "Have you heard anything yet? I'm going crazy here…" She broke down and started crying.

  "Gemma, listen to me," Edger said in a gentle but firm voice. "Kaitlin's kidnapper contacted me."

  "Oh my God…what did he say…what does he want? Is Kaitlin alright? Tell me she's okay, Harry…"

  "I think she's okay—"

  "You think? Is she or isn't she?"

  "She's scared, Gemma, but she's unhurt."

  "Oh God…"

  It was killing him, hearing her in so much pain and mental anguish, but he couldn't let it get to him, as hard as that was. He needed to remain strong for both of them. For Kaitlin most of all.

  "Who took her?" she asked when she could speak properly again.

  "I don't know," he told her. "He wouldn't tell me who he was."

  "You didn't recognise his voice?"