No One's Safe: DI Max Byrd & DI Orion Tanzy book 3

by C. J. Grayson

  ‘How’s Orion?’

  ‘He was okay last night. He should have been able to go home but the doctors insisted he stayed in for further monitoring. He’s just texted saying they’re happy for him to come out. His missus is picking him up soon. He’ll be here for the briefing.’

  Fuller nodded his approval. ‘I guess I’ll need to let Barry know. It won’t be long till it makes the rounds.’

  Byrd, after the silence filled the office, knew it was his cue to leave. He stood up, put the chair in slowly, and made his way back to his desk. After turning his computer on, he sighed heavily, his frustration multiplied in the emptiness of the office.

  No Tanzy.

  No Linda Fallows.

  The more he thought of her, the more anger built up inside him. For the next thirty minutes, he compiled a report and PowerPoint presentation for the upcoming meeting, and sent everyone email alerts, letting them know where to be at nine.

  He saved the presentation on a memory stick, pulled it out from the computer, and stood up, then made his way across the office towards the meeting room.

  ‘This should be fun,’ he whispered, walking down the hall, approaching the closed door on the right.

  76

  Tuesday Morning

  Police station

  In the meeting room, there was a dark silence hanging in the air. Byrd closed the door, and as he walked over to the whiteboard in the centre of the nearest wall, he knew most of his colleagues had not only heard about Phil Stockdale being buried in a coffin, but that he’d told Byrd what he’d done, and more importantly, why.

  ‘Morning,’ he said loudly, building himself up for what was coming.

  Everyone was there. On the email he’d sent out less than thirty minutes earlier, Byrd had stated everyone needed to be here, including the forensics team, who were seated to the left next to DCI Fuller.

  Fuller looked sick, Byrd thought, a white complexion mixed with a look of dread and anticipation on how his team would react to the news. What Stockdale had done had been horrific.

  Over to the right, DI Tanzy was sat on the end with a bandage around his head. Byrd turned to him specifically.

  ‘How you doing, Ori?’

  ‘All good, Max,’ he said, with a positive nod and both thumbs up. He’d just arrived minutes earlier and had come straight through. Pip had picked him up from the hospital and dropped him off before taking the kids to school.

  Byrd nodded and looked forward, falling into a moment of silence. He then padded over to his left, opened the laptop, and placed his USB stick in the side of it. It wasn’t long before the screen at the front lit up.

  It told them today’s date and time. In addition to that, it said Urgent Meeting underneath it. The words grabbed the attention of everyone. Byrd grabbed the small black remote, took a few steps away from the laptop, and stood beside the screen.

  Everyone waited.

  ‘Firstly,’ he started, his voice clear and loud, ‘I want to thank everyone for coming in on such short notice. This meeting is not only going to be about what happened yesterday involving DS Phillip Stockdale, but what role he played over the past couple of weeks.’

  His words were met by a few understanding nods but equal stares of confusion. He glanced over to Fuller, who frowned but nodded, agreeing full transparency within his team was for the best.

  ‘Yesterday, Mackenzie Dilton’s fourth video was uploaded online. I’m aware the majority of you will have seen it.’ He turned to the screen, pressing the button, showing a close-up of Stockdale’s scared face. 'This video was inside a coffin. As you can see, it’s Phil. At the end of the video, we heard Dilton say the air supply had run out and he didn’t have long left. We went from the time the video was uploaded and searched for local cemeteries. Luckily, our team acted quickly. By that, I mean all of you. Before I continue, I want to thank you all for your efforts yesterday. Our quick, decisive actions saved his life.’

  He took a breath, pressed the button again. On the screen was an image of the grave he was buried in.

  ‘When we arrived, we saw Mackenzie Dilton standing at a grave then he fled. With the help of the gravedigger, we dug up the earth and lifted the coffin above ground. We saved his life.’

  He pointed around the room. ‘Because of this team.’

  Fuller nodded at him, appreciating his leadership.

  ‘DI Tanzy and Linda Fallows then went in pursuit of Dilton, climbing the wall and giving chase. It wasn’t long before James and Phillip went to help, but they came back with only Tanzy, who’d been attacked over the head.

  A few stared at the bandage wrapped around Tanzy’s head for a moment.

  ‘Where did Linda go?’ Jacob Tallow, the senior forensic officer, asked.

  ‘At the moment, we don’t know,’ admitted Byrd. ‘I’ve tried calling her. She’s not answering.’

  ‘What about the hotel she was staying at?’ DC Cornty said.

  ‘I went there last night. There isn’t a Linda Fallows staying there.’

  Cornty sighed, looking down. ‘What about her phone – can we not track it?’

  ‘Already tried. Mac can’t locate it for some reason.’

  ‘Where was Linda when you were attacked, Ori?’ The question came from Emily Hope, the other senior forensic officer.

  ‘She was behind me.’

  Wide eyes circled the room, putting two and two together.

  ‘We can’t make assumptions,’ Byrd said. ‘But… based on what we know and the fact she’s disappeared, it’s hard not to think there’s something off about this. In addition, I spoke with a Detective Superintendent from Essex Police, the same team she worked for, and was made aware that Linda didn’t retire. She was too mentally unstable to work anymore. There had been theories about her helping criminals and advising them in policing matters to give them a better chance in court. Because of her, some had been freed to walk the streets.’

  Several disgusted faces stared back at Byrd, which made him feel stupid for letting her in to help them with the investigation.

  ‘Do you think she helped Dilton?’ Cornty asked, adjusting himself on the seat.

  ‘It’s looking a very likely possibility.’ Byrd looked down at the floor for a moment, collecting his thoughts, not allowing them to defeat the positive attitude he was desperate to keep a hold of.

  ‘When Phil – and Orion – had been taken to hospital, Amy and Eric had gone looking for Dilton. We were told, judging by his clothing, that he’d got into a blue Ford Focus and left in a hurry. I reached out to Jennifer Lucas at the Town Hall with some info, hoping she’ll track the car down.’

  ‘What did she say?’ Tanzy asked.

  ‘Still waiting to hear back. She said she had to leave the office for a family emergency. Her mum had an accident. She’s back in this morning, searching for it, so I’m hoping it’s soon.’

  ‘What happened to Phil?’ PC Grearer asked.

  ‘After Phil was taken to hospital, I went to see him. As we know, from the previous three victims, Mackenzie Dilton, or as he called himself, Roger Carlton, had left notes on their laptops asking us to look at them. According to Mac in DFU, there’s a website called attheend.com. Mac said it’s unusual because the website shows a home screen that is pretty much blank, with a box asking for a username and password, but the site contains massive memory. Something, which he explained, is beyond the login page. We wouldn’t know what this is if Tanzy hadn’t managed to get on, using the laptop from Danny Walters attic which had his username and password saved.’ He looked over to Tanzy and nodded.

  ‘Yeah, once we pressed enter, it took us to a screen showing a camera looking at a woman in a room. The floor was made of concrete and the walls were bare. Next to the camera shot was a list of a few players. RCarl20 was there. Who we know to be Mackenzie Dilton. Below that, there was a tab saying, watchers. Next to watchers was a number. Over a thousand. It then logged me out and I couldn’t get back in.’

  ‘What was it?’ DC
Cornty asked, frowning.

  Tanzy shrugged. ‘I don’t really know. Some kind of a game. Whatever it is, I didn’t have long enough on there.’ Tanzy then looked back at Byrd, knowing he’d tell them what Stockdale had said.

  ‘When I spoke with Phil, he told me he’d logged on to the website, and that he was a player.’

  Several gasps were heard around the room.

  ‘What did the player do?’ Leonard asked, concerned.

  ‘Phil said that players paid a lot of money to play the game. The game was hosted by unknown hosts. Only five players were allowed at any one time. The watchers, Phil explained, were online users wanting to play but had to wait for their turn. They paid a lesser amount to watch the game until the series of games finished and they’d get a chance to become a player.’

  Weaver raised a hand to her mouth. ‘Jesus. That’s awful.’

  ‘What happened in the games?’ Cornty said.

  ‘They decided how the person died.’

  Byrd’s words sent shivers among them. They all looked at one another, not believing Stockdale would be a part of this.

  ‘Please, Max, go on…’ Fuller encouraged him, wanting them to know the full story.

  Byrd nodded. ‘Each victim was placed in a chair, tied down, with a gag over their mouth. Each player, in turn, could tell the hosts what to do with them. He said in the first game, the victim had died in the end from fire. The username DWalt66 had instructed the hosts to pour petrol on her and burn her.’

  Weaver physically gagged but stopped herself from being sick.

  The senior forensic officers, Tallow and Hope, exchanged worried looks between each other.

  ‘Then what happened?’ Leonard asked.

  ‘The username EricJ4 had told the hosts to put a bag over her head to starve the next victim of oxygen. The third murder involved a woman dying from water. One of the hosts, who was dressed in black with a black balaclava to hide their face, as the username Hammr33 had suggested, placed a tightly-fitting plastic bag around her head and filled it with water until she drowned. Only the players had a say what happened to them. Each player had a go at each victim. So far, Phil told me, there’d been three victims. There was one more to go.’

  ‘So, if there have been three victims in this game, and Phil was meant to be Dilton’s fourth murder, what did Phil do?’

  Byrd took a breath. ‘Phil told me the hosts had a lot of props. He'd asked the host to place a plastic box with a hole in the bottom just big enough for the victims head to fit through, and then asked them to pour soil inside so the victim wouldn’t be able to breathe, then take it off just in time before they died. Phil’s victim would have been the next one.’

  ‘When did this happen?’ Weaver asked, grimacing.

  ‘According to Phil, every Friday night. There’s one coming up this Friday.’

  Collective sighs swept the room.

  And then something strange happened.

  Tanzy and Leonard both looked at each other and narrowed their eyes.

  ‘You thinking what I’m thinking, Jim?’ Tanzy asked.

  Leonard nodded twice. ‘I think so…’

  ‘What is it?’ Byrd asked, intrigued about what they’d figured out.

  ‘You go first…’ Tanzy offered.

  ‘So if user DWalt66 had told the hosts to kill the victim with fire, it can’t be a coincidence that Dilton set Danny Walters’ house on fire, or that EricJ4 had told the hosts to place a bag over the victim’s head and then she was gassed out in the lift before she fell from her balcony…’

  Byrd nodded, now understanding. He looked at Tanzy.

  ‘Or that Hammr33 had told them to place a plastic bag over their head and fill it with water. Then she and her boyfriend died by Dilton injecting excessive water into their bodies until they internally drowned?’

  The realisation of what had happened hit everyone at a similar time.

  ‘So,’ Fuller said, ‘you’re thinking that Dilton, who we know was playing the game with them, had somehow figured out who they were and had taken some form of revenge on them?’

  Tanzy nodded. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’

  The door in the corner opened suddenly and in came the receptionist Lisa. ‘Max, there’s a call for you…’

  Byrd said okay.

  Lisa walked in with a cordless phone that was usually sat on the desk at reception. ‘She’s tried to call you, but couldn’t get through, so called reception.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Byrd asked but took the phone, putting it to his ear. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Max. It’s Jennifer from the Town Hall.’

  ‘Hi, Jennifer. Thanks for getting back to me. What do you have?’

  ‘I have a very good idea where to find your blue Ford Focus.’

  77

  Tuesday Morning

  Darlington

  Brad bent down near Sarah, placing the tray of food near her leg. A ham and cheese sandwich, a packet of crisps, and bottled water. He’d even treat her today because she’d been so good and put a chocolate bar on there, too.

  He picked up the empty tray and the empty bottle she’d squashed out of anger earlier that morning. Brad didn’t blame her for it. He’d do the same. Being taken to a dark room with three friends in pitch black, then suddenly waking and finding one of them missing was no idea of fun. Especially when she didn’t know where they’d gone or what had happened to them.

  He stood up, looked down on her for a moment, feeling sorry for her. It wasn’t pleasant what they had done, or what they’d do over the next few months, but financially, it was something he couldn’t turn down.

  He’d been thinking over the past few days about the next victims, making a list of five for the next set of games. After reaching out using a fake profile, the plan was still to meet them on Saturday. Joanne, the one he’d been speaking to, said she’d be out on Saturday and would message him to meet. Apparently, they had a lot in common. The plan was to drive into town, park the blue van somewhere, and hit the bars. Once he locates the women, he’d tell them there’s a party at his house and on their way back, gas them out, using the same stuff they used in the room below when delivering their food or taking one of them for the games.

  On his way out of the room, he closed the door and slid the bolt across until it reached the end, making a metallic pinging sound. He then turned with the empty tray by his side and made his way up the stairs.

  The blue neon lights flashed from the angled ceiling and the handrail, illuminating the stairs as he climbed them two at a time. It reminded him of an old nightclub from the eighties.

  Cheap, fun, and unmissable.

  He opened the door at the top, took a left, then went through further doors until he reached the room with the computers in. He placed the tray with empty wrappers on a table to the right, then dropped into the chair at the desk, plucking his phone from his pocket to call Mitch.

  ‘Brad,’ Mitch answered. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Just fed her. She’ll wake up soon.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘When are you getting here?’

  ‘I have a lot on today, Brad. Are you alright holding the fort?’

  Brad said he was. He had little choice. Mitch was in charge of all the money the players and watchers paid, so whatever Mitch wanted, Brad would do it to get his cut, which he was yet to receive.

  ‘Yeah,’ Brad said, ‘whatever you need, Mitch.’

  ‘Good. How’s the list coming on?’

  Brad told him about Joanne and the plan to meet them this Saturday. That he’d lure them into the van and bring them here.

  ‘Keep up the good work, Brad. I’ll see you soon.’

  Mitch hung up the phone and the line went dead.

  78

  Tuesday Morning

  Police Station

  Byrd had passed on what Jennifer Lucas had said about the blue Ford Focus to Leonard, Cornty, and Weaver. It was seen on a camera leaving the roundabout on Haughton Road going
up Barton Street. The only way out of that estate is under the bridge on Cleveland Street leading to North Road. There was a camera, Jennifer knew, because she’d looked at the same camera months ago when helping the police, positioned high up on the side of a factory next to the railway line, facing towards North Road. She’d waited at least half an hour, looking for the car but it didn’t show, nor did it back on itself and come back down Barton Street to the Haughton Road roundabout it originally came from.

  Although she knew Darlington like the back of her hand, she looked on Google Maps and made a list of streets within that small area. Judging by the list, it wasn’t that small. There were ten in total with a few areas of industrial units, including a hefty number of garages where a vehicle could easily be hidden.

  ‘Where should we start?’ Leonard asked them.

  Cornty, who was riding shotgun, looked down at the list of streets in his hand on the paper that Byrd had written for him. Weaver was in the back with her phone open on Google Maps, switching her focus between the road ahead and the electronic map in her hand.

  ‘Could start with this one? Barton Street,’ suggested Weaver.

  Leonard nodded and drove on, slowly passing the timber place on the right. They were all looking around carefully and meticulously, scanning left and right.

  ‘What year was it?’ Leonard said in concentration.

  ‘Twelve reg, Jim. N. A. 1. 2. O. P. P,’ he said, referring to what Byrd had jotted down.

  Over the next thirty minutes, they drove around the streets slowly, passing every house in the area. When they returned to Barton Street, they pulled over to the left. Haughton Road was roughly one hundred metres behind them.

  The enthusiasm they’d driven over with seemed to have dissipated a little.

  ‘No sign then?’ Weaver noted sadly.

  ‘Do you think if there had been, one of us would have said,’ Cornty replied sharply.

  The tone he used with her didn’t go unnoticed with Leonard.

  ‘Don’t take it out on her, Phil.’ Leonard stared at him and Cornty matched it. ‘She’s making conversation.’