‘Phil?’ Byrd shouted. ‘Phil. Please speak to me.’
No response.
Byrd, Leonard, and Timms moved on. Grearer had hung back to see to Brad, but it was evident, by his lack of pulse and pool of blood around his still body, he was dead. He called dispatch, asking for back up and medical attention.
Byrd approached the door on the right and shone the torch inside. He could see a wall on the left, indicating the space inside wasn’t very big, unless it was another corridor.
‘Phil? If you’re in here, we’re coming in. Talk to me.’
Byrd waited for a response, and when he didn’t get one, turned and nodded to Leonard and Timms. They returned the nod, signalling they were ready. Byrd stepped in front of the door and kicked it fully open, the door swinging off its hinges and crashed into a wall. Byrd shone the torch inside. It was a small closet, roughly a metre wide, going back two metres at the most, filled with old cleaning equipment that hadn’t been used in a long time, almost hidden under a mass of spider webs.
‘Shit,’ muttered Byrd.
Behind them, a little further up, a door opened quickly. They all turned and stared.
Cornty dashed out of it and ran towards the stairs, knocking Timms over, who was off balanced down on his knee. Timms fell back, cracking the back of his head against the wall.
‘Fucker!’ Leonard screamed, turning, and setting off after him. Timms followed and Byrd trailed. When it came to sprinting, Leonard was the man.
Byrd pulled his phone from his pocket and called Weaver. If Cornty made it up the stairs and through the room, there would only be Weaver blocking his path before he got out.
‘Come on… pick up!’ Byrd shouted into the ringing phone.
88
Tuesday Afternoon
Lingfield Point, Darlington
‘Amy… can you hear me?’
‘See… for ca… nat…’ Weaver crackled.
Byrd sighed, pulled the phone from his ear to see the signal. It was on one bar. He bent down to Grearer, who was holding the back of his head. ‘You okay, Donny?’
Grearer nodded.
‘Amy, if you can hear me, go outside, shut the door, and put the crowbar across,’ Byrd shouted into the phone. ‘He’s coming now!’
Timms was just ahead, a flight up. Leonard was out of sight, presumably through the room on his way to the exit.
‘Who… hu fort…’
‘Lock the door, Amy!’ Byrd shouted clearly.
‘Door?’ There was a crackle.
‘Yes. Yes. Lock the door.’
‘Okay…’ she said finally.
Byrd ended the call and helped Grearer to his feet, checking he was okay. He said he was so Byrd left him, taking the stairs two by two, propelling himself up with the aid of the blue-neon covered handrail.
He stepped into the room with the computer and through the door they’d first come through, out into the long corridor. He took a left and dashed towards the exit door.
No one was there.
The door was wide open.
When he stepped outside, he heard a commotion to the right: Leonard and Timms were on top of Cornty, wrestling with him, trying to keep him still while Timms attempted to put the cuffs on him, then after a struggle, managed to click them in place.
Leonard punched him for good measure, sending Cornty into a moment of dizziness.
To Byrd’s left, just near the door, Weaver was on the floor, holding her head.
‘Jesus, Amy.’ He lowered to one knee, took hold of her. There was a cut to her forehead. ‘What happened?’
‘Fucker kicked the door open, hit me in the head.’
Byrd looked closer, noticed the cut starting to swell. ‘Back up is coming.’ He stood up, raced over to Cornty who was handcuffed on the grass on his front, bent down and grabbed his face, squeezing his cheeks so hard, his nails dug into his skin.
Cornty winced in pain, glaring up at him in defiance.
‘You’re going away for a very long time. Piece of shit.’
It wasn’t long before the sirens were heard and back up arrived. An ambulance pulled up. Two paramedics saw to the cut on Weaver’s forehead and then checked on Grearer, who’d suffered a cut to the back of his head when he’d been pushed into the wall at the bottom of the stairs.
They had Sarah McKay on a trolley inside the ambulance, hooked her up with fluids and an IV line to build her strength back up. It was obvious she’d been deprived of a decent intake of food and was hours away from dying. If she survived until the game on Friday, she’d have been lucky.
DCI Fuller came down to see the mess. As usual, he was less than impressed, and didn’t mind showing it either.
‘What a fucking shit show…’ his final words were before getting back into his Jaguar F-Pace and speeding off, kicking up the gravel.
Byrd couldn’t blame him. Fuller had been inside to see the computer where Cornty and Brad had used to run the games, then went down the stairs and through a door on the right, leading to the cold, concrete room where they found Sarah McKay asleep on a duvet covered in urine and faeces. The smell was atrocious.
Fuller was pissed off because there was only one left, meaning three of the missing four women had no doubt been killed. Byrd looked at it as a positive. They’d saved one of them and in the process, stopped whatever Cornty and Brad had planned for the future games. They’d let Mac inside later this afternoon to analyse the computers to see what more information he could extract.
What had bothered Fuller the most was the room next to where they found Sarah. Roughly twenty feet by twenty. In the centre of it was a wooden chair with ankle straps fitted to the legs and wrists straps fitted to the arms. To the side of it were drawers and a cupboard full of items that Stockdale had described were used in the games.
Fuller was right, Byrd had to admit. It was a shit show.
But the shit show was over. That’s the way Byrd saw it.
After he watched Fuller disappear around the building, he went over to the ambulance and asked one of the paramedics how Sarah McKay was.
‘Very weak,’ the man in his late thirties said. ‘But she’ll live. You’ve saved her life. You should take credit for that, Detective.’
Byrd nodded appreciatively, and moved away, then checked in on his team, who were sitting on the grass over to the right, the afternoon sun beating down on their tired faces.
‘Listen up, guys.’ Leonard, Weaver, Timms, and Grearer looked up at him. ‘You should be proud of yourselves today. I’m proud to have you on my team.’
89
Tuesday Afternoon
Lingfield Point, Darlington
Byrd arrived back at the station a little after three. The sun was still bright in the cloudless blue sky, and it was still hot. Probably the hottest part of the day. Byrd had put his thin black jacket on the passenger seat but even in his t-shirt, was sweating profusely. He tiredly pulled the key out the ignition and sighed heavily. He watched an elderly couple walking on the path beyond the perimeter.
He smiled, thinking about the future. About Claire. The idea of them at that age walking along, holding hands, after forty-plus years of a happy marriage. The thought faded away when he opened the door and sluggishly got out.
Leonard, Timms, and Grearer had gone back in Leonard’s Insignia and were already back at the station. DC Phil Cornty had been taken away by additional units that arrived after they got the cuffs on him.
Weaver had been taken to the hospital for the cut on her forehead, so he mentally noted to check up on her very soon.
The senior forensic officers, Emily Hope and Jacob Tallow had looked inside the building, especially down in the room they found Sarah McKay. As she went missing with Lisa Felon, Lorraine Eckles, and Theresa Jackson, they needed to know from obtaining the DNA samples, they’d been there. They had proof that the body parts that had fallen from the blue Volkswagen van on the A66 had been Lorraine Eckles, but they needed to know if the others suffered the same fa
te. They’d assumed so, but assumptions weren’t to be made without evidence to back it up. They’d need to speak with Sarah when she was well enough.
Byrd went through the sliding doors into reception. If he thought outside was hot, he had no idea he’d walked into a sauna.
‘You okay, Max?’ asked Lisa, the receptionist behind the desk.
Byrd gave a weary wave, and an equally tired nod before he went through the door and continued down the corridor into the office.
The round of clapping almost took him by surprise.
His eyes widened, unsure what was happening.
Fuller was standing at the end of the aisle, near the door to his office, clapping hard. Several others were also clapping, Leonard, Grearer, and Timms included. At first, he thought it was sarcasm, but by their looks of sincerity, and of course Fuller’s too, it was genuine.
Byrd nodded at his peers in thanks. When he was close enough Fuller extended a solid hand.
‘Well done, Max. We nailed the sonofabitch.’
Byrd shook his hand, lost for words.
‘Come into my office, please,’ said Fuller, placing a hand on his back, guiding him in. Byrd did and took a seat in front of his desk. Fuller closed the door, made his way around to his side, then sat down. The air inside was a blessing. Air-conditioned and bloody lovely.
Byrd didn’t know what this was about. The last time he’d spoken with him, Fuller had stormed off.
‘Max… I’m sorry how I went on before. It was unprofessional. A lot of how I felt was clouded by what I’d have to say to Barry Eckles.’ He leaned and winced. ‘You know how he can be sometimes.’
Byrd did.
‘Although two of our own had proved to be on the different side of the law, it’s because of you, Orion, and our team that this is finished.’
Fuller saw the doubt on Byrd’s face.
‘What is it?’
‘We haven’t found Linda,’ replied Byrd. ‘She was helping him.’
Fuller considered that for a moment, almost as if he’d put that into the back of his mind. ‘No, that’s true. We haven’t. But there are no more online games and there’s no more Mackenzie Dilton. So, for that, Max Byrd, I thank you for carrying out your role and doing it the best you possibly could.’
‘Have you heard from Orion?’
Fuller nodded. ‘I have. Fortunately, his leg – well, his knee – is only badly bruised. It isn’t broken. They’ve strapped it. He’s coming out today.’
Byrd raised his brows. ‘That’s good. That’s really good.’
‘How are you doing, Max?’
‘Tired. It’s been a tough one for all of us.’
Fuller agreed with a nod and smile.
‘I was going to ask about Sarah McKay – have you heard from the hospital?’
Again, Fuller nodded. ‘Yes. Just put the phone down before you arrived. She’s sleeping. They’ve fixed her up with medicine and fluids, so hopefully, she’ll be in a better state to talk soon.’ Fuller stood up, extended his hand. ‘Once again, Max. I’m proud to call you one of my DIs.’
Byrd shook it, thanked him, and left the office slowly as if his body was almost shutting down.
‘Have some rest,’ Fuller said through the open door.
‘See you tomorrow, boss.’
On his way home, Byrd phoned Tanzy, who’d told him a similar story to what Fuller had, about the injury to his knee not being as severe as it felt hours earlier. Tanzy, although he wasn’t meant to and should go straight home, told Byrd he’d pop over with some flowers for Claire to make sure she’s okay and to say hi.
Byrd thanked him and ended the call as he pulled up outside his house.
Claire’s friend's car was still there. They were probably on the sofa, resting up. He was glad her pills were working and equally glad she had company to cure her boredom. He couldn’t wait to see her and tell her about his day. Usually, the last thing he’d want to do is sit with her, watching some crappy American show about people with less talent than a blade of grass, but tonight it’s all he wanted to do. After the day he’d had, he wanted to sit, doing nothing and look at her and the little baby growing inside of her belly.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside.
‘Hello?’ he said, hanging his jacket on the hook to his right, then flicked off his shoes and put them in a rack near the bottom of the stairs. There was a sweet smell lingering somewhere, but Byrd couldn’t place it. It was a mixture between perfume and baking, so instantly, the thought of homemade cakes or scones waiting for him on the kitchen worktop caused a rumble in his stomach.
‘Hello?’ he said, entering the living room.
The television was on. One of the American shows she loved to watch. Everything was in its place, apart from Claire.
And her friend.
On the small table in the middle of the room, were two glasses, half-empty, and beside them, two plates, one with a half-eaten scone on.
‘Claire?’ he said louder this time.
No response.
He frowned, wondering where they were. She was probably somewhere around the house showing her friend something. Another project for him, no doubt. She had, over the past couple of days, mentioned a list of things she wanted to do before baby Alan arrived. It was only natural, Byrd realised after reading up on pregnant women wanting to change things. Nesting, it was called.
He stepped out of the room, took a left and headed for the kitchen.
The unusual thing was there was no noise anywhere. Unless they were in the garden, lapping up the sun. The doctor had told her to rest, and sunbathing wasn’t exactly an exhausting task. He might join them, lap up the rest of the day’s sun which would still be warm.
As soon as he entered the kitchen he noticed the back door to his left was wide open. The cool breeze trickling in brushed his forearms where he’d rolled up his sleeves.
Then he stopped dead and glared at the floor near the back door.
‘What the fuck?’ he whispered, seeing all the blood.
90
Tuesday Late Afternoon
Low Coniscliffe, Darlington
Slowly, he padded across the tiled floor over to the back door. The pool of blood was thick, roughly two feet in diameter, meaning there was a lot of it.
‘Claire?’ Byrd shouted.
He leaped down into the garden and glared around. There were two empty sun loungers in the middle of the grass, with a folded magazine on one of them and an empty glass beside the other.
‘Claire!’
He went along the outside wall of the kitchen and looked around the back. There was no one there. If her friend’s car was still here, that meant she was still here.
But where the fuck were they?
He dashed back into the kitchen, noticed something red on the floor, over to the left, in front of the door leading to the garage.
More blood.
‘Claire?’ he repeated. And still, no response. He went over to the blood. There wasn't as much as there was near the back door but looking closer, it seemed to lead towards the garage door. He leaned in, grabbed the handle, and very slowly opened it, not knowing what to expect.
‘Jesus…’ he said, then gasped.
In the middle of the garage floor was a woman, her eyes wide, staring up at the ceiling. It wasn’t Claire. Regardless of that, Byrd panicked when he saw the enormous slit across her throat and the blood oozing from it. He jumped down, frantically looked around, but there was no sign of Claire.
‘Claire!’ he screamed.
He leapt back into the kitchen, took a left, and ran into the hallway. He checked the dining room. Empty. Then he darted upstairs, screaming her name over and over until he reached the landing. All of the doors were open apart from his bedroom, which was fully shut.
He dashed to his bedroom and opened the door.
Claire was tied to the chair, facing the door. Duct tape was wrapped around her ankles and over her mouth. She mumbled something but it was
nothing more than a desperate moan.
‘God…’ Byrd said, stepping inside with his arms out to help her.
Then he froze when she came into view, stopping beside Claire, holding a bloody knife by her side.
‘Welcome home, Max,’ Linda Fallows said coldly.
91
Tuesday Late Afternoon
Low Coniscliffe, Darlington
Byrd couldn’t speak, staring at Fallows, then at Claire, absorbing the fear in her terrified eyes.
‘Linda… I don’t understand.’
Fallows smiled. ‘I didn’t think you would, Max.’
He went to take a step forward but she lowered the knife to Claire’s stomach, the tip of the blade touching her skin.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I was you…’
Byrd threw his palms up in surrender and suddenly stopped. ‘Okay. Okay.’ He took several deep breaths. ‘I don’t understand this, Linda. Talk to me…’
She sighed heavily, keeping the knife at her stomach, knowing Byrd wouldn’t dare breathe near Claire, let alone try to save her.
‘Mackenzie Dilton was like a son to me. Because of you, he’s dead, Max.’
Byrd frowned and shook his head. ‘What happened to Dilton was his own fault, and his fault alone. He’s the one who broke the glass and fell through it. He killed himself.’
‘He did not!’ she screamed, startling both Claire and Byrd.
The whole house fell silent.
‘Okay…’ Byrd said, doing his best to remain calm. ‘Please explain. Go on,’ he added, nodding at her. The longer she spoke, the more time he had to come up with a plan.
‘Like I said, he was like a son to me. When I was a criminal psychologist, I had the job of getting into his mind, learning why he’d done the things he’d done. I got to know him…’ Byrd nodded, waiting for her to go on. ‘He’s very special, Max.’
After there was a lengthy pause, Byrd said, ‘He killed people seven years ago, Linda. The last word I’d use to describe Mackenzie Dilton is special.’
No One's Safe: DI Max Byrd & DI Orion Tanzy book 3 Page 30