Cold Kill (40 page)

Jack tried to struggle against the pain, but he was pushed faster than he could walk, his feet stumbling.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Jack shouted.

There was no response. Jack was thrown forward until he slithered on his knees, smooth across a concrete floor, his hands breaking his fall. He looked up as he landed. Wheel clamps were piled up in a corner, next to a small white van and a stack of clamping warning signs. But it was what was in the middle of the floor that made Jack gasp. It was what he had seen through the window, but it was clearer now, closer.

There was a man tied to a chair, his ankles bound around the chair legs, his hands behind his back. He was skinny, his shirt ripped open, and Jack could see the outline of his ribs. His legs were exposed, and they were red and blistered. It was his face that attracted Jack’s attention though. It was swollen and bloodied. His mouth was just a red shadow, and through his grimace Jack saw gaps where there had been teeth not long before. The man’s eyes were virtually closed by vivid purple swelling around them. Blood ran down both cheeks and pooled around the base of his neck, soaking his shirt.

Don Roberts was in front of him, sitting in a chair, leaning forward, his feet tapping on the floor, making soft clicks as the prisoner moaned.

Jack’s gut churned, fear making sweat prickle onto his face.

Then Jack saw something else that made him close his eyes and wish that he had called the police before poking around.

There was a clothes iron plugged into an extension cord, steam belching out as it reached the top temperature, the orange light still showing. Jack looked again at the figure strapped to the chair, and this time he spotted a triangular blister on his chest, red and inflamed. Next to the iron was a kettle, wisps of steam just visible from the spout. Jack knew now why his legs were blistered.

Jack looked at Don. ‘You’ve gone far enough,’ he shouted. ‘Call the police. You’ve had some revenge.’

Don’s feet stopped tapping, and someone cleared their throat behind him. Don Roberts got to his feet and walked right up to Jack. His arms were by his side as he looked down. There was blood on his knuckles and some smears across his shirt.

‘There is no such thing as far enough,’ Don answered, his voice deep and angry.

‘Let the police handle it,’ Jack said.

Don shook his head. ‘Would they do this?’ he said, and went back to the steaming iron. He picked it up and held it close to the man’s face, who tried to squirm away. He couldn’t, he was bound too tightly.

‘No!’ Jack shouted, which mixed in with the man’s scream, but the sounds faded as Jack’s head was banged against the concrete. Everything faded. Sounds. Vision. Don’s movements seemed slower, as if there was a time-lag, but then Jack’s vision cleared just in time to see Don press the iron against the man’s chest.

He bucked and screeched with pain. Jack tried to bury his face in the floor, unable to watch.

The screams quietened down into a gasping sob, and Jack looked up to see Don putting the iron down. Hands gripped Jack and pulled him up, and then he was dragged back towards the end of the room. He was thrown onto a chair, and a voice said, ‘If you move, you take his place.’

Jack looked around at his captors. There was Don, with a few of his goons, and then he saw Mike Corley against the wall. He was wearing the same expression as Don: anger mixed with hatred and revenge.

‘Why are you here?’ Jack said to Mike Corley. ‘You’re a policeman for Christ’s sake.’

Mike glared at him and said, ‘If you ever lose a daughter, tell me what you would do. And if it’s something different, you’re no man.’

Jack looked along the wall and saw David Hoyle. He didn’t look so brash and confident anymore.

‘What’s wrong, David?’ Jack said, breathing hard. ‘Revenge for Angel too sweet for you?’

David Hoyle looked down.

‘You don’t want to be here, I can tell, David,’ Jack shouted. ‘You can end this.’

A hand gripped Jack’s hair and pulled it back. He grimaced with pain and heard the click of footsteps again. As his head was thrown forward, he saw Don Roberts standing in front of him.

‘Why did you come here?’ Don said.

‘To stop this,’ Jack said, between sharp breaths.

‘You should have stayed away. You’ve put me at risk,’ Don said. ‘I can’t allow that to happen.’

Jack looked around the group, looking for a sign that he wasn’t in danger, but everyone looked angry.

‘What, you’re going to kill me?’ Jack said.

Don didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and walked towards the man in the chair. When he got close, he pulled his fist back and punched him hard on the jaw. The man’s chin hung slack as blood spewed out of his mouth.

Jack looked towards David Hoyle. ‘How are you going to defend this?’ Jack shouted, before he felt the sharp sting of a slap across his face.

Hoyle just cast his eyes to the ground. He wasn’t enjoying this.

Jack looked back at Don. ‘How do you know it was him?’ Jack said. ‘What if you’re torturing an innocent man?’

Don shook his head. ‘But I’m not.’

‘The police don’t know who he is. What makes you so sure you’ve got it right?’

Don crouched down in front of Jack. ‘Let’s just say that at least one police officer knows who he is.’

‘What do you mean?’

Don grinned, although the brightness never got to his eyes. ‘A little birdie made a call,’ he said, and creaked back to his feet.

Jack closed his eyes. Rachel Mason. He had guessed right. She had been closest, pinned underneath him in that derelict factory. It all clicked into place. So she had recognised him but not told her colleagues. Rachel had chosen vengeance, not justice.

‘My girlfriend knows where I am,’ Jack blurted out.

Don turned round. ‘Why should I care?’

‘I told her that I was just checking it out,’ he lied. ‘And you know that she’s a detective on the case.’ Don’s eyes just widened for a moment, a hint of panic. ‘Had you forgotten?’ Jack nodded his head towards the front door. ‘You could check on my phone, except that you’ve smashed it.’

Don looked around at his men, as if he was suddenly unsure what to do.

Then he turned back and pointed to the prisoner. ‘We haven’t got much time,’ Don said. ‘Let’s finish it.’

Jack closed his eyes.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Carson waited outside Don’s house, looking down the road. Laura watched from inside the hallway, keeping Helen Roberts and Angel in sight.

‘Where the fuck are they?’ Carson hissed, pacing up and down.

‘We can’t stay much longer,’ Laura said.

Carson turned back to flash Laura a look that told her he knew exactly how urgent it was, but he was distracted by the flicker of blue lights on the houses opposite. He ran onto the road and waved his arms, and as the squad car pulled over at the side of the road, Carson pointed into the house. ‘Get them.’

Laura knew what he meant.

She went back into the living room and grabbed Helen Roberts by her arm. ‘You’re under arrest,’ she said, and yanked her towards the door. Her dog started to growl and then bark, but Laura ignored it, twisting Helen’s arm up her back.

‘What for?’ Helen shouted.

‘All the things that the inspector mentioned, so shut your mouth and get outside,’ Laura snapped in her ear. ‘You’re going to the station.’

Helen looked back at Angel, whose hand was over her mouth, and Helen started to say something, but Laura pushed her hard through the doorway, her shoulders banging against the door frame.

‘You’re hurting me,’ Helen said, her voice angry.

‘Tell your lawyer that,’ Laura said. ‘He might be in the next cell before morning.’

The uniformed officer walked towards the front door, a young male officer, uncertainty in his eyes, unclear as to why he was there.

‘We needed cuffs and a car with proper locks,’ Laura said, and pushed Helen towards him. ‘Take her with you.’

Carson walked past Laura and went into the house as the handcuffs snapped around Helen’s wrists. Laura followed him.

‘She’s gone now,’ Carson said to Angel. ‘I think we need to talk, don’t you?’

Angel began to nod, tears streaming down her face. She slumped backwards onto the sofa. ‘I’m scared,’ she said.

Laura pushed past Carson and kneeled down in front of Angel. ‘We need to stop David from helping them kill someone.’

Angel nodded again.

‘Where are they?’ Laura said.

Angel looked towards the window as shouting came from outside. It sounded like the uniform was struggling with Helen. Then she wiped away the tears.

‘I heard them talking. Don’s got premises, where he keeps his vans. They were taking him there.’

‘Did they say where?’

Angel shook her head. ‘Sorry,’ and then the tears started to flow again.

Laura got up and looked around the room. She was looking for something with Don’s business details on it. The room was just filled with gadgets and videos, with computer games stacked by the television. Then she saw them, a pile of papers on a shelf in the corner.

Laura went to them, and saw they were carbonated sheets filled out with vehicle details. Clamping tickets. There was a number and the name of the company, DR Security, emblazoned across the top. Underneath that there was an address. ‘We’ve got it,’ she said.

‘And what about me?’ Angel said.

‘You’re coming with us,’ Laura replied, and they all headed for Carson’s car outside.

Don Roberts went to the back of one of the vans and re-appeared holding a long tow-rope. He fashioned a noose at one end, his eyes on Jack, and then turned away to throw the rope over a roof beam. The noose dangled a few feet above the head of his prisoner.

‘Help me,’ Don barked at David Hoyle, who stayed silent and just shook his head. Don glared a look of disapproval. He had spotted Hoyle for what most lawyers were, tough with a pen, cruel with their actions, but they couldn’t cope when it didn’t stay clean.

One of Don’s muscle men stepped forward instead and kneeled down to untie the rope that bound the prisoner’s feet to the chair. When they came loose, he flopped forward, his hands behind his back, the only thing keeping him up.

‘Get him on the chair,’ Don said, his voice a growl now.

The goon hooked his arms under his prisoner’s and then hoisted him to his feet.

‘If you do it, you’ll die,’ Jack shouted.

The man looked up slowly, his mouth hanging slack, bloodied drool forming a tentacle on its way to the floor. He peered at Jack through his swollen lids and then put his head down.

Don stared at Jack, his expression a mix of rage and confusion, wondering why he cared.

‘He did it for Emma,’ Jack blurted out. When Don didn’t answer, he continued, ‘You remember her, don’t you, Don? Corley knows. Ask him.’ A look flashed between them. ‘The teenage girl you both abused all those years ago. No, not abused. Raped. Under age. Ringing any bells, Don? I never took you for a kiddy-fiddler.’

Don clenched his jaw and then said, ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t I? Or maybe there were a few more? How many, Don? The one I spoke to seemed pretty certain. Emma she was called. And there’s something else you don’t know: she had the baby. Didn’t Mike tell you all this?’

Don whirled around to Mike Corley. ‘Did you know about this?’

‘He told me before,’ Mike said.

‘Why didn’t you mention it?’

‘This isn’t some fucking cosy reunion,’ Mike snapped. ‘Once we’ve finished here, we go back to being cop and criminal. He’s got it all down on tape anyway. I just want him dead,’ and he pointed to the figure on the chair. ‘I don’t care what happens after that.’

Don clicked his fingers at one of his goons and pointed towards the door. ‘Check out his car for a tape machine.’ Then he walked over towards Jack, the click of his shoes louder now as everyone descended into silence. He stood over Jack, his fists clenched. ‘You need to learn to keep your mouth shut,’ he said, his voice trembling with anger.

Jack looked up, tried to gauge what Don would do. The iron was still plugged in, the orange light clicking on and off as it maintained its heat. Jack could feel the tension in the room. He had changed the dynamic, from the simple murder of someone who perhaps deserved it, to a scenario where someone could expose them and send them to prison. There were more people there than just Don and Mike though. If he could turn the others against them, maybe he could find a way out of this.

‘If you like fucking children, that’s your business,’ Jack said. ‘Does it make him much worse than you?’

Jack felt a burst of pain as Don punched him. His jaw went slack and blood spewed onto the floor, and he coughed a tooth onto the concrete. He took some deep breaths through his nose and looked at Don again. ‘She had a bouncing baby boy, but she had to give him away. She couldn’t give him a proper life, because she was just a child herself, but babies get bigger, and eventually they grow up.’

Jack nodded towards Don’s prisoner. ‘Say hello to your son.’

Don swallowed.

‘Although you’ve already acquainted yourself,’ Jack continued, ‘because you’ve just had your son tied to a chair.’

Don looked back to the bloodied figure by the chair, his face filled with confusion now, and then at Mike Corley, who was ashen.

‘He was adopted,’ Jack said. ‘Emma doesn’t know whose child it is. Maybe it’s your son, Mike. Are you going to save him? His real name is Shane. Say hello.’

‘This is bullshit,’ Don said, but his tone was unconvincing.

Jack shook his head slowly and then pointed towards the prisoner. ‘Ask him.’

Don followed his gaze, and the prisoner looked around the room, his face screwed up with pain, and then he started to nod. He tried to say something, but blood speckled his chin. Then he lifted his head and tried again.

‘I fucked up your daughters like you both fucked up my mother,’ he said, and then he started to cackle.

Don marched over and gripped him by the shirt. He hoisted him onto the chair, his rage giving him extra strength, so that his head was level with the noose. Don hesitated, just for a moment, but when Shane started to grin, Don reached for the noose and wrapped it around Shane’s neck. Don stepped back.