Justice for the Damned (30 page)

Edward’s clothes hung on Melinda like sacks, giving her the appearance of an ill-used rag doll. Jim shot her a cautioning look. ‘Stay close to me and stay quiet.’

Jim opened the door, watching his phone to see if there was a signal. Stepping into the fresh air, he had the feeling that he was returning from the twilight zone of someone else’s diseased dream to the real world. Melinda emerged blinking into the pale day. She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. Tears came into her eyes again. This time she let them roll silently down her cheeks. The scent of wet earth and leaves, the shrill ring of birdsong, these were things she’d never paid much attention to before. But she noticed them now. It was intoxicating. She wanted to close her eyes and drink them in with every fibre of her being.

‘Drop the phone and get on the fucking ground!’

Melinda heard the voice before she saw the speaker. A man stepped into the clearing. He was short and stocky with crew-cut greying hair and a goatee. He advanced a couple of paces, aiming a handgun at Jim.

Jim’s eyes grew wide with recognition. ‘Stan… Stan Lockwood. Easy, easy, don’t you recognise me? It’s Jim Monahan.’

‘I know who the fuck you are. Now do as I say or I swear to Christ I’ll shoot!’

Such a response, Jim knew, could only mean one thing – Stan was working for Forester. Upon seeing his ex-colleague, he’d hoped for an instant that Stan was back on the force. Even as the thought flashed through his head, he’d realised it couldn’t possibly be true. A couple of years ago, Stan and a young DC he was mentoring – Liam something-or-other – had been dishonourably discharged after a brutality complaint was made against them. They’d been seen by several witnesses beating up a suspected drug dealer. There were whispers it was because the dealer refused to cough up protection money. Both men had been lucky to avoid prison.

As Jim dropped his phone and lowered himself to the ground, Stan switched his aim to Melinda. ‘You too. On your face.’

Melinda hesitated to obey, her gaze darting towards the trees that suddenly seemed so near yet so far away.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Stan, reading the intention in her eyes. ‘You’d be dead before you got three paces.’

Melinda dropped down beside Jim, whispering frantically, ‘Who is he?’

‘Someone I used to work with,’ replied Jim.

‘A cop?’

‘No, not any more.’

‘No fucking talking!’ snarled Stan, striding forwards to snatch up the phone. He pressed the gun against the back of Jim’s head, quickly frisking him. He took out Jim’s extendable baton and wallet. Keeping the gun on Jim, he patted down Melinda. ‘You could hurt someone with this stuff, little girl,’ he said, upon finding the PAVA spray.

‘Just give me the chance,’ hissed Melinda.

Stan’s mouth twitched with amusement. Flinging the can into the undergrowth, he stepped back from the face-down figures. ‘Now, where’s Forester?’

Jim jerked his chin at the bunker. ‘In there.’

‘Is he alive?’

‘Yes.’ Jim glowered up at his ex-colleague. ‘You do realise what kind of man you’re working for, don’t you?’

Stan made no reply, but the scowl of distaste that passed over his grizzled face left his thoughts in no doubt.

‘And you can live with that?’ went on Jim.

‘Better than I can live with working my guts out for sod all.’

Jim shook his head with sad disgust.

Stan’s scowl grew fiercer. ‘Don’t you fucking look at me like that, Jim. You think you’re so much better than me, but you’re not. The only difference between you and me is I don’t need anyone to do my dirty work for me.’

Jim’s gaze fell away from Stan. The meaning behind his words was obvious – Bryan Reynolds had talked. And if he’d talked, he was dead. Jim wasn’t sure how the knowledge made him feel. Not that it really mattered any more. Soon he would no doubt be meeting the same fate as Reynolds.

‘Yeah, that’s right, I know what you did,’ continued Stan, grinning in satisfaction at the effect of his words. ‘Not so fucking high and mighty now, are you?’

‘I’m not proud of what I did, but I didn’t do it for myself.’ Jim glanced at Melinda. ‘I did it for her and everyone else Edward Forester’s ever hurt.’

‘Well, more fool you. Only an idiot would take a risk like that for anything other than money.’

‘Is that why you joined the force? For money?’

The muscles of Stan’s jaw contracted, as though Jim had touched a nerve. ‘You know something, Jim, I’m going to really enjoy feeding you to—’ His words changed into an, ‘Oomph,’ as a grey flash of fur hurtled into him. He went over like a felled tree under the impact of the wolfhound, crying out as Conall’s teeth sank into his thigh. The sharp crack of a gunshot echoed through the trees, sending a flock of startled rooks into the air. Conall fell down instantly dead, his skull a ragged mess of bloody fur and shattered bone.

Jim had seen the dog burst from the undergrowth and guessed its intent. He scrambled to his feet as Stan pitched sideways. He barely had time to wonder whether it would be best to make a run for it or try to tackle Stan, before he realised there wasn’t time for either course of action. Melinda was still struggling upright when Stan swung his gun away from the dead dog towards Jim and her. Jim grabbed her arm and tried to pull her back into the bunker. Her eyes swelled with a horror that made it clear she would rather be shot than return to that black hole. She wrenched herself free, screaming, ‘No!’

Her hysterical strength threw Jim off balance. He staggered and tripped over the bunker’s threshold. His breath whistled between his teeth as he landed on his back on the concrete floor. Through tear-misted eyes, he saw Melinda run for the trees, her arms flailing like a puppet with broken strings. Standing unsteadily on his injured leg, Stan took aim at her. Another shot rent the air. She staggered, but Jim couldn’t tell whether she’d been hit or if it was an instinctive reaction to the noise. He willed her desperately to stay on her feet, and somehow she managed to. Then she was in amongst the trees.

Straining to suck air into his winded lungs, Jim clambered to his feet and made to yank the door shut. Stan jerked towards him and the gun’s muzzle flashed again. Sparks flayed Jim’s face as the bullet ricocheted off the door. His vision punctuated by a galaxy of dancing lights, he groped frantically for the bolts. Once he’d shot them and turned the key in the lock, he slid back down to the floor. The winded sensation wasn’t fading, it was intensifying, squeezing the strength out of his body, radiating in tingling waves down his left arm.

Not now
, he thought, clenching and unclenching his hand with difficulty,
please not now.

Stan’s gaze jerked between the bunker and the fleeing girl. What the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn’t let the girl get away. But neither could he leave the bunker unwatched. He glanced at his leg. Adrenalin was overriding the pain, but it was obvious the dog’s teeth had gone deep. Blood had already soaked down to the knee of his jeans. ‘Shit! Fuck!’ he exclaimed, snatching out his phone. Tyler was going to tear him a new arsehole for this. ‘We’ve got big problems,’ he said, when Tyler came on the line. He rapidly recounted what had happened.

‘Are you certain you hit the girl?’ asked Tyler, his voice as coldly calm as ever.

A little shudder ran through Stan. He was an ex-cop. He was used to reading people. But he couldn’t read Tyler. And that made him nervous. The fucker was as emotionless as a machine. If he’d cut him open, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find wires. ‘Yeah… well, ninety-nine per cent certain.’

‘Then stay at the bunker. Monahan’s far more dangerous to us than the girl. If you hit her, she probably won’t get far anyway.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I think it’s time we put our back-up plan into action.’

‘What back-up plan?’

‘I’ll explain when I get there. You say you’ve got Monahan’s phone. Are there any numbers programmed into it?’

Stan opened the phone’s contact list. ‘Only two. One for someone called Margaret. And one for… Fucking hell, the other number’s Reece Geary’s. What’s his number doing in Jim Monahan’s phone? You don’t think Reece is helping him, do you?’

Tyler was silent a moment as though mulling the possibility over, then he said, ‘Give me Margaret’s number.’

Stan did so and asked, ‘What about Reece? What are we going to do about him?’

‘Let me worry about that. You just concentrate on making sure Monahan doesn’t hurt Forester.’

‘And just how the hell am I supposed to stop him from doing that?’

‘Talk to him. Feed him some bullshit. Say you’ve got the girl and you’ll kill her if he touches Forester.’

‘But what if—’

‘Fuck what if. Just do it.’

The line went dead. Stan scrunched up his face, muttering, ‘Do this, Stan. Do that, Stan. Do fucking everything.’ He limped to the iron door, rapped on it with his gun and shouted, ‘Jim.’

‘What do you want?’ Jim’s voice was eerily muffled by the thick door.

‘Just to talk.’

‘We’ve got nothing to—’ Jim faltered briefly, then continued, ‘to talk about. And don’t try to get in here or I’ll kill Forester.’

A wrinkle of thought gathered between Stan’s eyes. The snap shot he’d fired off at Jim hadn’t found its mark, as evidenced by the bullet pockmark on the door. So what was the breathless, pained edge in Jim’s voice about? Was the prick having another heart attack? ‘You don’t want to do that. Not if you want the girl to live.’

‘She got away. I saw her.’

‘She didn’t get far. I winged her good and proper.’

‘Let me hear her voice.’

‘She’s passed out. I reckon she’ll bleed to death unless I do something. Look, Jim, why don’t you open this door so we can talk properly. I know you’re not interested in money, but maybe we can come to some other arrangement.’

‘Fuck you, Stan. You were a lying piece of shit copper. And now you’re a lying piece of shit murderer.’

A flush of angry colour climbed Stan’s thick throat. He hammered the gun against the door again. ‘You’re going to die in there, Jim. Do you hear me? You’re going to fucking die.’

There was another pause, then Jim’s voice came again, steely with resolve, ‘If I die, it won’t be alone.’

Doug’s gaze lingered on the contents of the safe. It gave him a buzz of satisfaction to see the holdalls nestled amongst the neatly stacked cash and heroin. Another two or three years of this shit, then it would be goodbye Sheffield, hello Bangkok. He shut the safe and turned to Reece. ‘Well I’d say that’s been a very successful—’ He broke off as his phone vibrated. He pulled it out. It was Tyler. He put the phone to his ear, relishing the thought of telling him how well the job had gone. The bastard seemed to think his judgement was infallible. But this time he was wrong. Reece had proved himself more than worthy of their trust. ‘It’s done. Everything went—’

‘Are you alone?’

‘No.’

‘Then go somewhere where you are.’

Holding up a finger for Reece to stay where he was, Doug opened a door and climbed some stairs to an attic room that was empty except for cobwebs and dust. ‘We can talk now.’

‘I want you to do that other thing we discussed.’

Doug’s face creased. ‘What changed your mind?’

‘Monahan’s not in hospital. He’s in Forester’s bunker.’

‘What! How did he get in there?’

‘I assume he forced Forester to let him in.’

‘Forester’s in there with him!’ Doug shook his head as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Jesus fucking Christ, Tyler—’

‘The situation’s not as bad as it sounds,’ Tyler cut in again. ‘But we need to move fast if we’re going to keep it under control. Is Monahan’s ex-wife called Margaret?’

‘Yes. How did you know that?’

‘Stan’s got Monahan’s phone. Don’t ask how. There’s no time to explain. Her mobile number’s on there. You need to get her to meet up with you.’

Doug pursed his lips in thought. ‘I could tell her Jim’s in trouble.’

‘That’s what I was thinking.’

‘What if she doesn’t go for it?’

‘Then you’ll just have to do things the hard way. But there’s no point taking that risk if you can get her to come to the bunker of her own free will.’

Doug heaved a breath. ‘Christ, just when I thought my luck had changed for the better, another load of shit drops on my head.’

‘We’ve got another problem. Your boy Reece’s number is in Monahan’s phone.’

‘So what? They work together. My number’s probably on there as well.’

‘No, it’s not. There are only two numbers on Monahan’s list of contacts.’

Doug shook his head again, his eyes deeply troubled. ‘No way. I know what you’re thinking but there’s no way fucking way Reece is helping Jim Monahan.’

‘Then why has Monahan got his number?’

‘Maybe Jim got wind of Reece’s search for the missing whore. He could’ve spoken to Vernon Tisdale. The two of them used to know each other.’

‘That’s possible. But I don’t want to stake my life on a possibility. Do you?’

Doug’s fingers tightened on the phone as though he wished it was Tyler’s throat. The bastard was right. He was always fucking right! And yet Doug couldn’t bring himself to accept his words. Not with the memory of Reece flinging himself at the gun-wielding woman still fresh in his mind. ‘I’m telling you, Tyler, Reece is with us one hundred per cent. You should have seen him today. I’d be dead now if it wasn’t for him. So fucking forgive me if I’m not willing to put a bullet in his head on the strength of a phone number. In an hour or two we’ll have Jim Monahan in our hands, and you can ask him what the deal is with Reece. And if it turns out I’m wrong, I’ll personally make Reece wish he’d never been born.’

The line was silent a few seconds. Then Tyler said, ‘If it turns out you’re wrong, I’ll make you both wish you’d never been born,’ and hung up.

‘I’d like to see you fucking try it,’ Doug hissed at the dead phone, but there was a fear in his eyes that didn’t match his words. He peered through a shuttered window. The street was deserted. There would never be a better time for putting a bullet in Reece. He shoved the thought away. A few hours were all it would take to be certain. He owed Reece that much. Didn’t he? His lips compressed into a twitching line, he headed back downstairs.