“They ran me over. There were two of them, but the Chinky drove. Me fucking leg’s broken and look what he did.” He gestured at his ruined knee and winced.
Siobhan’s ears pricked up. “One of the men was Chinese?”
“Yeah. The other one was that big black fucker Ritchie’s after.”
“Oh, yeah. Byron Mason.” Although her emotions churned, Siobhan kept her voice casual at the confirmation of Adam’s involvement — it couldn’t be anyone else. She’d given him the benefit of the doubt when she’d discovered he’d sheltered Philip but he must be close to the family for him to be involved in something like this.
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Boss, this is one of Ritchie’s,” Eddy called out. “Wayne something.” He stood up and walked towards her. “It looks like someone’s thrust a blade into his throat.”
“Yeah, that one almost got me.” Gary confirmed and pointed towards the door. “He hit the doorframe, took a big chunk out of it. He was a big black bastard.”
“The same one?” Siobhan’s mind raced.
“I’m not sure.” Gary paused for a second. “No, it couldn’t have been. The one in the car didn’t know who was dead.” He nodded towards Wayne’s body and winced as his knee moved. “That’s why it’s open, they wanted to look at the body.”
“Boss!” The shout came from the building.
Siobhan ignored it and signalled to Eddy to deal with it. A siren wailed in the distance — the ambulance would be here soon.
“We’ll soon have you in a nice warm hospital bed.” Siobhan smiled. “Do you know where the two men went?”
After a brief internal struggle she saw he would tell her. The ambulance crunched across the car park. She didn’t have much time. Once he’d reconsidered, he’d clam up.
“Okay, I’ll tell you what I told them, but only so you can catch them. I’ll deny it if it comes to court.”
“Of course.” By the time the paramedics strapped him to a stretcher, she’d written the addresses down, hoping Eddy could make sense of them.
Mugisa drove around for a few minutes after the men had lost him, a fog of disappointment weighing him down. He didn’t have the car or the driving skills to keep up with them. He decided to return to the factory. It represented his only link to Philip and he could get the guards to give him the information they’d given to the two men. He drove back in a hurry, worried they’d have gone before he returned.
Half a mile from the factory flashing blue lights approached. Mugisa slowed. An ambulance, with a police car following in its wake. Uneasy, he drove on, saw the cars outside the factory and continued.
A car sat in the spot where he’d shot at the big man. As he drew level, he recognised the two men standing by the car and watching the factory. He’d seen them at Philip’s house on Monday night and guessed they knew where he’d been taken. Without slowing, he passed their car and turned round before parking in a spot where he could see them. He didn’t have to wait long before they returned to the car and drove off.
He had no problem following them, and after a few miles, they entered a part of the city he didn’t recognise. The road dipped, and as they rounded a bend, the land opened out below them. In the field below, several blocks of flats sprouted, towering above their surroundings. The early morning autumn sun glinted off their windows and, from a distance, they looked like the turrets of a fabulous palace but when they came closer, he saw a less romantic reality. What looked from afar like tinted glass, turned out to be plywood covering broken windows.
The car ahead slowed and pulled into the small car park at the bottom of one of the tower blocks, pulling into a space between an old Ford Escort and a Vauxhall, their large SUV looking out of place. They got out, locked their vehicle and walked towards the front doors.
Mugisa drove on and parked in a bus stop with a graffiti-covered concrete shelter alongside it. He checked on the men he’d followed. They’d reached the doors of the building. Mugisa got out of the car, his pulse racing. This must be where they kept Philip. He checked his pistol, left the car and set off at a run. The front doors were still swinging when he reached them.
With his hand on the butt of his automatic, he entered the foyer. It was empty. The room stank of stale smoke and urine, with walls a shade of institutional magnolia and the stained floor covering pitted with small burns.
A wooden door to his left opened onto the staircase and a pair of steel-clad lift doors faced him. Each served alternate floors and one of them emitted groans and squeaks as it wheezed upwards. The illuminated numbers above it advanced before stopping at fourteen. Mugisa smiled and started up the stairs.
The icy floor leached heat from Philip’s battered body and a spasm made his teeth chatter. His headache and the pain in his back now seemed to have suffused through his whole body, making thinking of anything else impossible. Waves of nausea engulfed him and he fought to control his gut. Faint sounds reached him from outside but he didn’t know where he was. He remembered being shoved into a lift stinking of piss but that didn’t narrow it down much.
After the mock execution, which Lenny found hilarious, they’d dragged him to the front entrance, blindfolded him and dumped him into the boot of a car before driving him here. The idea of getting his revenge on Lenny kept him going. He pushed the pain away and listened for clues. They must have a reason for moving him. Although he wanted to believe it was because Byron had found their last place, he knew he should dismiss the idea. Voices reached him from outside the door and it flew open, making him jump.
“Right, get up.” Lenny’s voice filled him with fear, but he braced himself and struggled to his feet.
Lenny removed the blindfold, taking half his eyelashes, and led him to the lift. To his surprise it went up and, following a long slow ascent, they stopped.
“Lenny, should we untie the lad?” one of the men asked. “He won’t try anything, will you?” He prodded Philip in the chest.
Philip whispered, “No.”
Lenny grumbled but agreed, making the consequences of misbehaving clear. Philip worked to regain the circulation in his arms. Lenny herded him into a flat. A short corridor led to four internal doors and he waited outside one of these. The faint odour of damp mingled with cooking smells. Lenny opened one of the doors and gave Philip a shove, propelling him into a dark cavern. His foot caught on something soft, a darker rectangle on the floor, and he stumbled. The door slammed shut, plunging him into darkness. A thin strip of light at the bottom of the door provided the only illumination. The stink of stale body odour and unwashed clothing pervaded the room.
Arms outstretched, he shuffled across the floor, exploring his new home. He reached the windows and discovered why the room was so dark. Someone had nailed a sheet of plywood to the inside of the window frame. The room contained the thin mattress he’d tripped over and a plastic bucket. He found the door but it didn’t have a handle on his side.
He lowered himself onto the mattress. A small lumpy pillow and blanket lay scrunched up against one end and he pushed them away, suspecting the odour originated from them. Tired, hungry and in pain, he leant against the wall, fighting a sense of despair.
Mugisa’s loping strides ate up the distance to the fourteenth floor. One floor below, he slowed and took the last two flights at a walk, allowing his breathing to recover. He took out the Makarov and slid a round into the chamber, relishing the reassuring weight of the spare magazine in his pocket. Fifteen shots remained.
At the door onto the landing, he paused and took two deep breaths before he opened it. Arms extended, he swept an arc with the pistol, checking the landing was clear. Four doors led off it but which one concealed Philip and his captors? He began at the nearest, bending to peer through the letterbox.
The lift groaned and his heart lurched. He stared at the lift doors waiting for them to open but realised the men he’d followed had arrived at this floor before he started up the stairs. Whoever was using the lift, it wasn’t th
em. He lifted the flap of the letterbox again but couldn’t see or hear anything from the pitch-black interior. He moved to the next door, ensuring he made no noise. An obstruction blocked the letterbox and he pushed against it.
Behind him, the lift doors slid open. By the time he turned, one occupant had got out. The man shouted something, and pointed towards Mugisa, a long dark object in his hands. Mugisa raised the Makarov feeling he was moving in slow motion. He saw the flash and the blast filled his ears.
CHAPTER 27
The whole village waited to greet their prodigal son. Mugisa’s father had become a stooped greybeard with a withered leg. The injuries he suffered in the second raid had allied with tragedy and time to diminish this once-strong man. His brothers, now young adults with their own families, looked upon this stranger as another mouth to feed.
Before long, he became the target of the bitter hatred directed against the raiders. On the second night back in the village, a group of young men, the sons of the man he’d injured, waylaid him. He fought ferociously and the injuries he inflicted on these men ensured they left him in peace.
Nothing remained of the remembered happiness of his childhood and his father, now a peripheral figure in the family, blamed him for his diminished status. The brothers resented having to support this stranger, who knew nothing of work.
When the white Land Cruiser returned three weeks later, he climbed on board and left without a backwards glance.
Byron released the door handle and refastened his seatbelt. “Let’s go.”
Adam started the engine and pulled away, his relief palpable.
The woman and two boys grew smaller in the mirror and the weight on Byron’s shoulders lifted. “Let’s go to the flats — someone might have seen something when they delivered him.”
“You made the right decision, Byron.”
“Yeah, I know.” He exhaled. “I hope it doesn’t mean we don’t find Philip in time.”
They drove on in silence until Byron’s mobile rang. He checked the caller. Not recognising the number, he hesitated but took the call.
“Byron?” Kieran McLaughlin said.
“I’ve been trying to get hold of you. You were supposed to call him off—”
“Sorry, Byron, I’ve been trying to talk sense into him but he won’t listen. We’ve had enough of him, it’s bad for business.”
“Where’s Philip?”
“Safe for now, but Ritchie’s talking about doing to him what he did to Liam.”
“Philip didn’t touch Liam.”
“I believe you, but Ritchie…”
“What do you want?”
“You can have him back, as long as I get the trailer, but you need to come before Ritchie gets back.”
“What’s going to happen when he sees Philip gone?”
“Let me worry about that. And come on your own — I don’t fancy getting done for kidnapping.”
Byron used an old biro from the glove compartment to scribble the address Kieron gave him on the cover of the road map.
“Make sure you come alone. I’ll be watching, and if you’re with anyone the boy disappears.” Kieron ended the call.
“That was Ritchie’s brother and it sounds as if they’re planning a coup.” Byron relayed his message.
“That where he’s waiting?” Adam indicated the writing on the map.
“Yup.” Byron read out the address. “Do you know it?”
Adam nodded. “The whole area’s awaiting redevelopment.”
“It should be nice and quiet on a Saturday morning.”
Adam looked thoughtful. “Can you trust him?”
“Maybe.” Byron wasn’t convinced. “But it could be a hoax, to keep us away from the real place.”
“Do you want to ignore it?”
Byron couldn’t decide. If they’d put Philip here, going to the flats would be a waste of time. But if Philip was at the flats…
“Siobhan and the police should be at the flats by now.”
“You’re right, we’ll have to check it.” If Byron had made the wrong decision, he prayed the police would keep Philip safe.
Siobhan waited by the entrance to the Community Centre behind the flats where Gary had directed them. Beside her stood Eddy and Ian Meehan, the inspector in charge of the armed response team. They watched impatiently as the scruffy, unmarked police car returned. The couple in it, undercover drug squad officers, had driven round the blocks of flats to check for any vehicles that looked out of place. The car stopped and the driver wound down his window.
He addressed Meehan, pointing at a map with a red circle marked on it. “This one, Boss.” He handed him the map.
The circle surrounded the third block in the series.
“What did you find?” Siobhan asked him.
“There’s two big SUVs in the car park and a third arrived as we passed.”
“Yeah, we saw it. I’m sure they were Ritchie’s men, Boss,” Eddy said.
“Thanks, guys, well done.” Siobhan dismissed them and spoke to her sergeant. “Eddy, have you got the list of tenants for that block?”
Already searching for the list in a folder, he handed it to her before she finished speaking. She smiled her thanks and took it.
“Quite a few empties,” he observed.
Siobhan scanned the list. “Third, fourteenth and top floor are the emptiest, ninth has also got one empty.” She addressed the inspector. “Ian, I think the third is the most likely, it’s near enough to ground level to give them an emergency escape.”
“Sorry, Boss. I disagree,” Eddy said. “They’ll probably use the top floor — all the flats are empty and the floor below has only two occupied. If they keep the lift at the top and block the stairs nobody can reach them.”
She thought for a few seconds and decided it made sense. “Okay, Eddy. We’ll go with your call. Ian, have we got enough bods to cover both floors?”
Meehan shook his head. “We’d need another team.” He checked his watch. “And they’ll be at least twenty minutes.”
Siobhan chewed her bottom lip and considered the significance of the build-up of McLaughlin’s troops. “Okay. We’ll go in now.” She hoped she’d made the right call.
The teams gathered for a final briefing then used the community minibus to approach the building. Someone on the first floor buzzed them in. Both lifts were at the top of their travel so Eddy pulled the fireman’s switch. The lifts should have returned to ground, but the lights didn’t move.
Siobhan made the decision. “Okay. We’ll take the stairs.”
A collective groan escaped from the detectives.
“Take it steady, lads,” said Meehan, leading the way.
He set off and his team trotted after him. Siobhan waited for them to pass and studied her officers. One or two looked like they’d struggle.
“Like he said, let’s take it steady,” she said. “We’ve still got to do our jobs after we get there.”
As she passed through the door, the first shot rang out. Siobhan heart jerked against her ribcage and everyone froze, immobilised by the sudden noise. Three more shots followed producing the same effect on the officers as a starter’s gun. The instruction to take things steady forgotten, they made their long ascent at maximum speed. Siobhan concentrated on her breathing, hoping they weren’t already too late.
Mugisa fired three times and the men fell. The echoes of the shots died away and he gulped in air. Every sense heightened, he welcomed the familiar feeling of invincibility.
He looked at the fallen men. Dead, or they soon would be. Pools of thick blood grew under each body and flowed together, to create a large red slick. One of the bodies lay in the lift. The one who’d shot him had fallen across the door, keeping it from closing.
Blood ran down his face and he examined the wound in his forehead. The man had used a sawn-off shotgun. The pockmarks on the wall behind him showed the shot pattern concentrated at head height, well above his crouching position, he’d been lucky. Ther
e wasn’t much time, the shooting would alert the others. The desire to get Philip conflicted with his need to escape. Before he could decide, a figure appeared in doorway to the stairs.
A man he recognised from the night before stood in the doorway. A muzzle-flashed and something punched his left shoulder. He swung his pistol up in an arc, pulling the trigger. The first shot hit the man in the thigh, the second in the midriff. The man cried out and fell.
A second gunman crouched behind him and Mugisa fired twice more. A red bloom appeared at the man’s throat before he fell with a gurgle, landing on top of his wounded colleague and pinning him to the floor. Mugisa stepped forward, swung his pistol towards the wounded man’s head and ignoring his plea for mercy, shot him.
He didn’t realise he’d run out of bullets until he pulled the trigger three times without effect. When he tried to retrieve the spare magazine from his pocket, his shoulder didn’t respond. He examined the rebellious limb with irritation. Blood soaked through his shirt and jacket and dripped onto the floor. His breaths became shallow and his heart raced. As his body went into shock, he slowed his breathing. He must calm down and think.
The realisation more of Philip’s captors would investigate cut through the fog enveloping him. He checked the doors on the landing. They remained closed. What did this mean? The two men he’d just killed came down the stairs. Reinforcements would come up, and fighting off waves of nausea and dizziness, he understood.
Philip must be upstairs, and these two were his guards. There couldn’t be many left upstairs — he’d already killed four and they were not men of high calibre. Even one-armed, he could overpower them and kill his quarry. He gritted his teeth and discarded his useless weapon, picking up one dropped by the men he’d killed.
Meehan led his team up the stairs. More shots came from above, each report acting as a spur. He checked behind him as he negotiated yet another flight, the thirteenth, and saw his men just behind him. The new DCI brought up the rear with the rest of her team several floors below. He rounded the final flight to the fourteenth floor and stopped, trying to take in the sight before him.
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