The Victim

by Max Manning

  Norton took his foot away. “You’re such a pathetic loser, aren’t you?”

  Finch said nothing. He slipped a hand inside his coat and pulled the money bag from his pocket. “You’re right,” he said, his voice weak with pain. “Here, it’s only fair. There is more than three hundred pounds in there. Take it.”

  Norton crouched down, reached for the bag, then toppled onto his right side. Finch took the bait, twisted to his left, and aimed a vicious kick at Norton’s groin. The kick never hit its target. Before Finch could even think about his next move, Norton’s right knee slammed into his stomach. The little man doubled up in agony, rolling from side to side, groaning and gasping for air.

  Norton jumped up and checked the contents of the bag. The cash would come in useful, but he felt nothing but contempt for Finch’s belief that this was about money. He stood up and put the bag on top of three cardboard boxes that had been stacked against the wall. Pulling what looked like a large plastic bottle of mineral water from his pocket, he unscrewed the top. A strong smell of gasoline filled the room.

  “What’s going on?” Finch asked, wriggling up into a sitting position. “What the hell are you doing?”

  The panic spreading across his face made Norton smile. “You’ve paid me for having to find somewhere else to live. Now you’ve got to pay for your betrayal. You had your chances, I gave you chances, but you failed. You lost. Rules are rules. I have no choice now.”

  “What are you talking about? Are you crazy? I told you I didn’t tell the police anything.”

  Norton started pouring the gasoline liberally around the room, spraying the walls, cardboard boxes, and furniture. Finch attempted to scramble to his feet, but Norton placed the sole of his boot on his chest and stamped hard, forcing him onto his back again. Finch whimpered like a wounded dog as Norton poured the last third of the gasoline over his face, shoulders, arms, and legs.

  When he’d finished, he dropped the empty bottle and walked out, switching off the light as he went. He turned and stood silently in the darkness for a few seconds. He could see Finch lying perfectly still, waiting meekly until he was sure that he was safe.

  Norton took a box of matches from his pocket, struck one, tossed it into the storeroom, and ran for the door. Outside, he stopped running and walked calmly away, heat on his back and Finch’s screams ringing in his ears.

  35

  Fight

  The Boyfriend

  Drew Bentley sat back, stretched his legs, and rubbed the soft leather arms of his chair. He loosened his tie and surveyed his office, recalling how excited he’d felt on his first day at Stone and Maddox. He’d made it. A big-city lawyer, with a big desk and a salary to match.

  He smiled at the memory. Through a combination of hard work and talent, things had gone well for him, and now he was on the brink of achieving heights he had believed were out of his reach. Considering where he’d come from, he had a lot to be proud of.

  Along with being made a partner would come a bigger, grander office and what some people might describe as an obscene salary. To him, obscene was good. The annual partners’ bonus would be the icing on the cake.

  Everything was falling into place, even Gem. Initially, he’d been worried that after the carjacking and the hysterical news coverage of her bravery, it would be even harder to get her to come around to his way of thinking.

  Things had turned out differently. She’d become more and more affected by what had happened to her that night, to the point where she thought she was being stalked every time she left the house. Each day that passed, she showed less and less interest in climbing back onto the career ladder.

  She’d become nervous and a little feeble. Not a good image. The last thing he wanted was for her to lose the spark that had attracted him in the first place, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to take advantage of her anxiety while it lasted. He picked up the telephone and dialed Gem’s cell phone. She answered on the third ring.

  “Hi, Drew, are you on your way home?”

  He found himself wanting to smile but knew she’d be able to detect it in his voice. “I’m so sorry, darling, but I’m going to be busy here for a while yet. You’ll be all right, won’t you?” The line fell silent, but he could hear her breathing become louder and faster.

  “Are you still there, Gem? Look, I’ve got a pile of case files I really need to go through, but I’ll only do half of them tonight so I can get back sooner. What about that?”

  “If you really need to stay, then I’m fine with that,” Gem said, sounding anything but fine. “It’s just that I’ve been at home on my own all day, and I’m feeling a bit miserable. You know I can’t even think about going to bed and trying to sleep until you get back.”

  Bentley sighed, unnaturally loudly. “You’ve not been out of the house at all? You didn’t go for that walk we talked about then? I thought you were determined to get out, to start getting on top of this thing?” Gem sniffed twice, and he wondered if she’d started to cry.

  “I know I promised,” she said. “It’s hard to explain. I really wanted to, but I just couldn’t do it. Not on my own. I will though, soon. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after. I’m determined to sort myself out. I need a little bit more time, that’s all. I’ve been thinking that perhaps it would be a good idea to do what that detective suggested and have some counseling.”

  Bentley thought for a moment. “Maybe we should have a serious talk about it,” he said. “I tell you what I’ll do tonight. If I set myself a lower target, aim to work through only a third of these case files, then I should be able to get back home by 10:30, 11:00 at the latest. If I get in early tomorrow and work through my lunch, I should be able to catch up. What do you think? If you really can’t cope on your own for a couple of hours more, then I’ll drop everything and come straight home, of course. The problem is that will only create a backlog, which will mean I’ll have to stay even later another day.”

  Gem stayed silent. Bentley imagined her holding the telephone in one hand and nervously twirling a lock of her hair with the other. When she did speak, it was short and to the point. “Do whatever you want,” she said, terminating the call.

  36

  Surrender

  The Detective

  Day smiled at his son and pulled away from the curb into the slow-moving traffic. The boy didn’t smile back, and he couldn’t blame him. Pressure of work meant their outing was going to have to be cut short.

  Day had tried to explain that he shouldn’t even be taking the morning off, but his estranged wife and Tom hadn’t been impressed. The Gem Golding carjacking and the death of her boyfriend had become all-consuming. The investigation was finally starting to get somewhere, making it increasingly difficult to keep the Bentley case from being taken out of his hands and passed to his old squad.

  Day flicked a sideways glance at Tom in the front passenger seat. The boy’s head was bowed, his dark bangs falling away from his forehead. You didn’t need to be a detective to work out that he was sulking.

  “I thought we might spend a few hours visiting the London Dungeon,” Day said. “We haven’t been there for a while, and I know you love all that gory stuff. What do you think?”

  “If you want.”

  Day was wondering whether it would be worth splashing out for a ride on the London Eye or even a short Thames cruise when his cell phone rang. He let it ring out and drove on for a couple of hundred meters until he could pull up on the forecourt of a gas station.

  Shields knew he had taken the morning off, but he’d said she could contact him if it was urgent. He checked his phone’s screen, hoping that the caller had been someone he could safely ignore. It wasn’t.

  “Damn,” he said.

  His son lifted his head and gave him a curious look.

  “Sorry about this, Tom, but I have to make a quick telephone call about work. It won’t take a minut
e.”

  Day climbed out of the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut, and phoned Shields. She answered straightaway.

  “I know this isn’t good timing, but it couldn’t wait,” she said. “I think you need to see this, Boss.”

  “See what?”

  “We’ve got another body.”

  * * *

  Day knew that if he ever caught any of his detectives bringing a child along to a crime scene, he wouldn’t hesitate to tear a strip off them and suspend them from duty for at least a week. Somehow, he’d convinced himself that his situation was different. He couldn’t face driving Tom back and explaining to his wife that their outing had been canceled.

  At the end of Stratford High Street, the entrance to Broadway was blocked by two uniformed police constables standing in the road. One of them recognized Day and waved the car through. A fire engine was parked outside the kebab shop, and Day pulled up beside it. Tom had perked up and was gazing intently at the flame-blackened brickwork and the shattered glass shopfront. Naturally, a bit of real-life gore was more interesting than a trip to a tourist attraction.

  “Sit tight here for a while,” Day said. “I need to take a look, but I promise I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  Tom nodded but said nothing. He was more interested in the devastation caused by the fire than anything his father had to say.

  Day climbed out of the car and spotted Shields deep in conversation with a tall, gray-haired firefighter, his bright-yellow helmet tucked under his arm. The detective sergeant beckoned her boss over.

  “The blaze was extinguished in the early hours,” she said. “But the body was only discovered recently when the firefighters went in to clean up. They’d assumed that the place was empty. There was no reason to believe there was anybody in there.”

  Day turned to the firefighter. “Does it look like the fire was started deliberately?”

  “Officially, our investigation isn’t yet complete, but from what I’ve seen, there is no doubt about it. There is evidence that an accelerant was used, probably gasoline or some kind of oil.”

  “Is it safe to go in and take a look at the body?”

  “It is, but we used a lot of water, so watch your step.” The firefighter raised a hand and signaled to a younger colleague who jogged over carrying yellow hard hats for the detectives.

  Shields led the way into the building. The floor was blackened, the walls were charred, and the service counter had been partially melted by the intense heat. Shields covered her mouth and nose with a hand, walked cautiously over to the doorway of what looked like a storeroom, and gestured for Day to do the same. He stepped closer and gagged. He’d experienced the smell of roasted human flesh once before and had suffered nightmares for several weeks after.

  His eyes rested on a pile of charred debris on the floor. It took him a few seconds to realize it was human shaped. “I take it we don’t know for sure who this is yet?”

  Shields reluctantly removed her hand from her face. “The pathologist and crime scene investigators are on their way, but it will take a while before we can formally identify the body. It’ll probably come down to dental records, but I don’t think there’s any great mystery here.”

  Day didn’t say anything. He raised an eyebrow and waited for Shields to explain herself.

  “We sent a couple of uniforms around to inform the owner about the fire, and his wife said he didn’t come home last night. She had no idea where he might be. She said she was worried about him because he’d never stayed out all night before.”

  Day took a long look at the black, twisted corpse. “So that’s probably Kevin Finch. The man who swore that he’d no idea that our suspect was living in the apartment above his business. He’s obviously upset someone, and I think we both have a good idea who that person is. He’s moved from carjacking to pushing someone under a train to burning a man alive.”

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Shields said. “It’s not going to be easy to prove. The body’s well on its way to being cremated, and the heat is likely to have destroyed any forensic evidence. Maybe Finch started the fire himself, or a faulty electrical device burst into flames and he happened to find himself trapped.”

  Day knew she was right to be cautious, to wait for the pathologist and fire incident reports before jumping to conclusions. He also knew he was right about who’d done this to Finch. This was Norton’s work. He had to be stopped, and Day wanted to be the man to do it.

  “Take a good look, Cat,” Day said, pointing at the body. “We know that Norton has been living in the apartment above this room, and despite what Finch claimed, the two men would have known each other. We’re starting to get an idea what Norton is capable of. Do you really think it possible that this fire was an accident?”

  Shields let her gaze linger on Finch’s scorched remains for a few seconds. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Instead, she turned and walked away.

  Day joined her on the sidewalk outside. He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, trying to clear the smell of barbecued flesh from his nostrils. “When you get back to the station, I want you to check on how Stock is doing chasing up those children’s home records. I’ll be there in an hour or so.”

  Shields nodded, but he could see that her eyes and attention were focused on something behind him.

  “Tell me something, Boss,” she said. “I assume you know that there’s a child in the passenger seat of your car?”

  Day took off his hard hat and handed it to Shields. “That’s Tom. I’ll see you back at the station as soon as I can.”

  37

  Fight

  The Mastermind

  Norton stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped a towel around his waist, and sat on the double bed. He was still sore about being forced to abandon Finch’s hovel when the meddling reporter had come calling. The budget hotel room was even smaller than the kebab shop apartment, but at least it was clean. It was as good a place as any to hole up until he could find something cheaper and long term.

  He reached over to the bedside table and picked up the camera he’d taken off the newspaper photographer. Norton didn’t know much about the technology, but it was clear it could be used for shooting video footage as well as still images.

  He placed it back on the table, switched it on, and pressed Record. He lifted his jacket from the bed and fished a pound coin from a pocket. Crouching, he positioned his hands in front of the camera lens and flipped the coin. Heads. Fight this time. The coin had decided. The game master will execute.

  Twenty minutes later, he was dressed and walking along Mile End Road toward the Underground station. Every few hundred meters, Norton passed a neon sign advertising fried chicken, and all the takeouts were packed with ravenous, drunken customers.

  It was a clear spring night, and in the distance to the south, he could see Canary Wharf’s forest of illuminated towers.

  He rode the Central line to St. Paul’s, and as the train slowed on its approach to the station, he scanned the miserable faces of the other passengers in the rattling car. The contempt he felt made him smile and shake his head. How would these people react if they knew who he was, what he’d done, and what he was about to do? Their ignorance of his power over life and death thrilled him to the marrow of his bones.

  Riding the escalator up to the ticket hall, he patted his pockets. Satisfied that he had everything he needed, he walked through the barrier and out of the station. Turning onto Paternoster Row, he headed west toward the floodlit dome of the cathedral.

  Gem the Warrior

  Gem stood by her bedroom window and squinted through a chink in the curtains. Two women deep in conversation stood near the bus shelter at the top of the road, one with a muscular, brindle-colored dog straining on its leash. The rest of the street seemed quiet, but that didn’t make her feel safer.

  In the past hour, she�
�d checked the front and back doors three times, making sure they were double-locked and that the extra bolts Drew had fitted for her were in place. A cyclist without lights on his bike slowed as he rode past the front of the house on the sidewalk. Gem tracked him carefully until he was out of sight.

  Fear and anger burned high in her chest. Turning away from the window, she walked into the bathroom, bent over the sink, and splashed cold water on her cheeks. Catching a glimpse of herself in Drew’s shaving mirror, she paused to stare at her reflection. She took a short, sharp breath and sent the mirror flying with a swipe of her hand. It landed in the bath with a loud clang and slid toward the taps, the chrome frame scraping the white enamel.

  Gem picked it up and placed it back on the tiled shelf, relieved to see the surface of the mirror hadn’t cracked. She despised the way she was behaving. It was almost as if she’d been the loser in her struggle with the carjacker, as if he still had his fingers around her throat and was slowly squeezing the life out of her. She knew she couldn’t allow things to slide any further. There would be no coming back from self-hatred.

  Gem went downstairs, sat on the sofa, and picked her book off the coffee table. She was a third of the way through the story, a mystery set during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, but she hadn’t read a line since the night of the carjacking.

  She started to read but found it impossible to concentrate, her trembling hands causing the text to blur. Closing the book, she put it down on the arm of the sofa, stood up, and walked into the kitchen. She poured herself a large glass of white wine, drank half of it, then topped it up.

  She hated the person she was becoming. Things had to change and soon. Drew was due home in an hour, and they would talk, draw up a plan, work out the best way to get her life back on track. Thank God she had someone she could depend on to help her through this living nightmare.