Justice for the Damned (31 page)

‘Was that one of our friends?’ asked Reece.

Doug didn’t reply. He stepped closer to Reece.

‘What’s wrong, Doug? You look worried sick.’

‘You tell me.’ Doug’s voice was low, almost threatening. ‘
Is
there something I should be worried about?’

‘You mean apart from Bryan Reynolds?’

‘Fuck Bryan Reynolds!’ Doug’s hands shot out and gripped Reece’s wrists. ‘We’re locked together now. If one of us goes down, both of us go down. You know that, don’t you?’

Reece nodded. He’d known that from the first moment he took dirty money. ‘Have I done something to piss you off?’

Doug continued to stare searchingly at his partner. Was that a guilty flicker in Reece’s eyes? Or was the big man simply worried about possible reprisals from Reynolds? If the latter was true, surely it stood to reason that Jim hadn’t taken him into his confidence. If the former… Doug’s stomach gave a twist. He’d never killed anyone before. Not directly. Could he really do it to someone, especially someone he liked? He silently scorned the question.
Like
had nothing to do with it. This was about survival. And he would do whatever it took to survive.

He suddenly jerked into motion, releasing Reece’s wrists and hurrying to open the front door. He ushered Reece outside, then set the alarm and locked the door. He jumped into his car and lowered the window. ‘Go back to your dad’s house and stay there. I don’t want to hear you’ve been anywhere else between the time it takes you to get there and when you next hear from me. Is that clear?’

‘Yes.’

‘I fucking hope so, Reece. For both our sakes.’

The Subaru’s wheels kicked up loose gravel as Doug accelerated away. He punched Margaret’s number into his phone. She came on the line after a couple of rings. ‘Hello, Margaret,’ he said, his voice friendly but grave, ‘my name’s Doug Brody. I work with your ex-husband, Jim.’

‘What’s happened? Is Jim alright?’

The concern in Margaret’s tone was palpable. Doug’s lips curled into a smile. This was going to be easy. ‘No, I’m afraid he’s not.’

‘He’s not had another heart attack, has he?’

‘No, but he will do if he carries on like he’s doing now. And it’s not only him I’m worried about.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Jim’s not been himself recently. Not since he started working on this one particular case.’ Doug had learnt long ago to always use half truths to make his lies believable. ‘Has he spoken to you about it?’

‘No. The last time we spoke he said he thought he was in trouble, but that the situation had changed.’

‘Oh, the situation has definitely changed. But not for the better. I don’t really want to say much more on the phone. Would you be able to meet up with me this afternoon?’

‘I’m working. I’m not sure I can get away.’

‘Please, Margaret. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could help.’

There was a pause, then Margaret said, ‘Do you know Bailey Street?’

‘Of course. It’s not far from police headquarters. I can be there in five minutes.’

‘I’ll be waiting at its top end.’

‘I’ll see you soon. I’m driving a silver Subaru.’

Doug put on an extra burst of speed, but not so much as to attract unwanted attention. He scanned his surroundings uneasily as he neared Bailey Street. He was a little too close to headquarters and the law courts for comfort. The last thing he wanted was to be seen by a colleague. He climbed past apartment and office buildings towards the upper end of Bailey Street. A middle-aged woman with bobbed brown hair signalled to him. He recognised her vaguely from work parties. She was exactly the type of woman he would have put with Jim – not bad-looking, but not particularly good-looking either; modestly made-up; modestly dressed. Not his type at all. He liked them short-skirted and big-titted.

Doug pulled over, lowered the passenger window and with an easy friendliness that suggested he knew her well, motioned for Margaret to get in. She peered into the car with a faint, uncertain frown. ‘You probably don’t remember me,’ he said, ‘but we’ve met a couple of times before, five or six years ago.’

‘Yes, I remember you,’ said Margaret. ‘I don’t remember Jim and you being particularly good friends, though.’

‘We weren’t back then. We only really became mates after you two got divorced.’

Margaret looked at Doug a moment longer, then ducked into the car. ‘So what was it you didn’t want to say on the phone?’

Doug heaved a sigh as though what he had to say weighed heavily upon him. ‘Like I said, there’s this case we’re working. A murder case. I can’t go into too many details, but it’s one of the worst I’ve been on. Really horrific. And the thing is, we know who did it, but we can’t nail him. The evidence just isn’t there. It happens like that sometimes. You’ve just got to accept it. But Jim refuses to. He’s determined to nail this guy, no matter what it takes.’

‘So what are you saying? That Jim might end up losing his job?’

‘I’m saying he might end up in jail himself if someone doesn’t talk some sense into him. I’ve tried but he won’t listen to me.’

‘And what makes you think he’ll listen to me? I phoned him after talking to you, but he didn’t answer my call.’

‘Jim loves you, Margaret. You’re the only one he’ll listen to. I know it’s asking a hell of a lot, but will you come with me and talk to him?’

‘What? Right now?’

Doug nodded. ‘He’s with another colleague out in the Peak District, near Bamford.’

‘What’s he doing there?’

‘That’s where the man he’s after lives.’

Margaret sat in frowning thought for moment. Then she said, ‘Wait here. I’ll have to let my boss know I need the rest of the day off.’

‘It would be best if you don’t tell your boss why or where you’re going.’

‘I wasn’t about to.’ Margaret got out of the car and entered an office building.

Doug phoned Tyler. ‘She went for it.’

‘Call me when you get to Southview,’ said Tyler, and hung up.

A scowl pulled at Doug’s face. Would it kill the fucker to show a bit of appreciation? He lit a cigarette and smoked tensely. He flicked it out the window when Margaret reappeared and got into the passenger seat. They headed out of Sheffield along the green floor of the Rivelin Valley. Mist clung to the wooded slopes that rose steeply to either side of the road, but it was fast being burnt away by the pale afternoon sun. They crossed the broad stone arches of the Ladybower Reservoir Bridge and turned onto a narrow lane that climbed high above the cottages of Bamford.

‘Is that where the man Jim’s after lives?’ asked Margaret, when Southview’s mock battlements and sprawling gardens came into view.

‘Yes.’

‘Bloody hell. Who is he?’

‘He’s nobody special. Just someone with money.’

Doug drove past the house and pulled over at the padlocked gate to the woods. He phoned Tyler again and said, ‘We’re here.’

After a couple of minutes, Tyler jogged into view and unlocked the padlock with a pick. He opened the gate and waved Doug through. After snapping the padlock back in place, he got into the back of the Subaru.

Margaret held out her hand to him. ‘I’m Margaret, Jim’s ex-wife.’

Tyler made no reply, but he shook her hand, noting its palm was slightly clammy, suggestive of nervousness. His own was dry as a snake’s skin. Margaret’s eyes narrowed a fraction, as though she wasn’t quite sure what to make of him.

‘This is going to knacker my suspension,’ grumbled Doug as the Subaru bumped over the dirt track. He braked again at the entrance to the clearing. The wolfhound was still lying where it had been shot. A mud-spattered black Golf GTI was backed up against the door of the bunker. ‘Where’s Stan?’

‘He’s looking for the girl.’

‘What girl?’

‘I’m not sure, but I’d guess it’s the missing prostitute your boy Reece was searching for.’

Doug’s face screwed into an agitated knot. ‘Are you saying this girl’s on the loose somewhere around—’

‘Excuse me,’ cut in Margaret, looking from Doug to Tyler with pinched brows. ‘But what exactly is going on here? Where’s Jim?’

Tyler pointed at the bunker. ‘We’ve got him in there for his own safety.’

Margaret’s frown intensified. ‘His own safety?’

‘We didn’t want it to come to this, but Jim forced our hand.’

Tyler got out of the Subaru, motioning for Margaret to follow. She pulled up abruptly, putting a hand to her mouth at the sight of the dead dog. Tyler beckoned her again, but this time she remained motionless. She’d lived with a cop long enough to know when something didn’t smell right. And this whole situation suddenly smelled worse than the dog’s evacuated bowels. She tensed as Doug’s hand curled around her upper arm. His grip was gentle, almost reassuring. But she sensed that if she tried to resist, it would turn steely hard. She allowed herself to be guided towards the bunker.

‘Call to Jim,’ said Tyler.

Margaret passed her tongue nervously over her lips and remained silent.

Doug’s grip tightened a little. ‘Do as he says, Margaret.’

She shot him a sharp glance. ‘Let go of my arm and I will do.’

Doug released Margaret’s arm, smiling and spreading his palms as if to say,
Your wish is my command.
She hadn’t thought he was a bad-looking bloke upon first seeing him. But it suddenly struck her how smarmy and cheap he looked with his expensive suit and orange tan. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she turned to place her hand on the door. Its surface was pitted and corroded by rust. Was Jim really on its other side? Imprisoned for his own good? There was only one way to find out. ‘Jim,’ she called tentatively.

‘Louder,’ said Tyler. ‘That door’s five centimetres thick.’

‘Jim!’

Several seconds passed. Then, as if from a long way off, Margaret heard Jim’s voice. ‘Margaret, is that you?’

He was in pain, Margaret could tell that instantly. But there was a note of something else in his voice too. Panic? ‘Yes, Jim, it’s me. Doug Brody brought me—’

‘Doug’s with you?’

‘That’s right, Jimmy boy,’ shouted Doug. ‘Your old pal Doug’s here.’

The door shuddered as if from a blow. ‘You lay one fucking finger on her, Doug, and I swear to Christ I’ll tear your heart out with my bare hands!’

‘How can you even think I’d do something like that?’ Doug said in a tone of mock hurt.

‘You’ve got five minutes to open this door, Monahan,’ said Tyler, his voice so cold that Margaret looked at him with a shudder. He was holding a black-handled Bowie knife. ‘After that, I start cutting pieces off her. Understood?’

As Jim’s pulse had eased off, so too had the pain in his chest. But at the sound of Margaret’s voice it flared up again, like petrol poured over flames. She was as good as dead. He knew that the instant he heard her. Regardless of what he did, they couldn’t allow her to live. He clenched his fists and eyes against the knowledge. He wanted to tear his own heart out almost as much as Doug’s. How could he have been so blind? How could he not have seen that once he’d crossed the line this was the only way it could ever end? The genie was out and there was no way of controlling it. There was only more violence, more death.

Time. He had to play for time. It was the only thing he could do. If Doug was on Forester’s payroll, it meant Garrett didn’t know about Amber. Which also meant there was no chance of Freddie Harding leading the DCI to Forester. That left one hope – Melinda. If she made it to a phone…

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said the voice Jim didn’t recognise; the voice that turned his guts to ice. ‘You’re thinking the girl might get to a phone and call for help. And who knows, maybe she will. But I doubt it. Not with the amount of blood she’s losing. Either way, it makes no difference to Margaret, because in…’ There was a pause as if the man was checking his watch, ‘exactly three minutes and forty-two seconds, I’m going to start cutting her fingers and toes off, then her ears, nose and tongue, then maybe her nipples. After that, I might start removing her internal organs. I know how to do it in such a way that it’ll take her hours to die.’

‘You bastard, you fucking bastard,’ Jim breathed in an agonised whisper. Tears burning in his eyes, he hurried towards the rear of the bunker. He snatched up a scalpel from the shelves and opened the door to the tiny, stinking cell.

Edward’s bloodshot, swollen eyes bulged like saucers at the sight of the scalpel. ‘Oh Christ, don’t kill me,’ he cried. ‘I’m begging you, please don’t kill me.’

‘Shut your mouth,’ snapped Jim, stooping to remove the restraints from Edward’s ankles. He used them to bind one of his own wrists to Edward’s. Then he hauled Edward to his feet and shoved him towards the outer room.

‘One minute thirty seconds,’ came the shout from outside.

Edward’s head jerked up at the sound of the voice, fresh hope flaring in his eyes. It was all Jim could do to stop himself from driving the scalpel into Edward’s eyeballs. The bastard deserved a lot of things, but not hope. He pressed the blade’s diamond-sharp edge against Edward’s windpipe. ‘Who is he?’

‘His name’s Tyler – or at least that’s what he calls himself. He’s a killer. That’s all I know.’

‘Tyler,’ Jim murmured, his forehead creasing. He’d never known anyone by that name on the South Yorkshire Police force, or, for that matter, any other force. He began counting down the remaining time in his head. Every second was a grain of sand running out of the hourglass of Margaret’s life. Every second was a chance for Melinda to get help.

‘Ten seconds,’ said Tyler. ‘Five, four, three…’

‘OK,’ Jim shouted. ‘I’m coming out.’

As he drew back the bolts, there came the sound of a car engine starting up outside. He twisted the key and opened the door. He pushed Edward forwards, the scalpel at his throat. The politician’s pale, hairy legs trembled like twigs in a breeze. Margaret was standing about ten metres away from the bunker. The pain screwed deeper into Jim’s chest at the sight of her fear-swollen eyes. There was a knife at her throat too. The man holding it was maybe a couple of inches taller than Jim and well built. He had short dark hair and several days’ worth of stubble on his face. Jim guessed him to be in his late thirties or early forties. As soon as he saw the dressing taped over the man’s eye, Jim knew he was standing face to face with Amy and Grace’s killer. A VW Golf was pulling away from the bunker with Doug behind its wheel. Doug stopped at the edge of the clearing and got out of the car, wearing his trademark idiot grin and pointing a handgun at Jim.