The Kill Zone (16 page)

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Authors: Chris Ryan

BOOK: The Kill Zone
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It was a biggish garage, maybe six metres by four, but largely empty. The faint smell of oil in the air suggested it had once housed a car, but if this really was an O’Callaghan lock-up, Siobhan knew they wouldn’t be so stupid as to keep a vehicle here any more. They were too easy to track back to the owner. No, she felt sure that there would be nothing here to link the place with Cormac. He was too cute for that.
There was shelving along the left wall, filled with half-empty pots of paint, a few brushes and a bottle of white spirit. An old bicycle lay on the floor, one wheel detached. And along the back wall, three metal cabinets with dented doors. Siobhan approached them. They were locked, of course, but these cabinets were even easier to pick than the main padlock had been. In next to no time, they were open.
The first cabinet contained money, wads of tens, used. Twenty grand, minimum, Siobhan reckoned. An easy stash to get hold of should anyone need to disappear in a hurry. The second cabinet held weapons and ammo. Two shotguns, expertly sawn off, and a 9 mm Beretta. It was the third cabinet, though, that interested her. Tupperware boxes. Four of them. Filled to the brim with a pure white powder.
Siobhan didn’t need to taste it to know what it was, and she had to fight an urge to take the boxes of heroin and empty them down a drain. But she was in this for the long game, and needed to leave everything untouched. From her bag she removed a small camera that she had modified specially to take pictures using an infrared flash. She quickly snapped the stash, the guns and the money, then relocked the cabinets with her picks. Back home she would carefully write up her notes, detailing where, when and why the pictures were taken. It wouldn’t be enough to bring a charge against anyone, but as corroborating evidence further down the line, it might be worth something . . .
She headed back to the door. One ear against the thin metal told her it was still raining heavily outside. That was good. She secreted her torch and camera in her nappy bag, reholstered the gun and slipped out of the garage. Moments later the padlock was fastened and Siobhan Byrne was pushing her baby back to her car. Not too fast, not too slow.
Doing nothing to draw attention to herself . . .
Back in the car, she strapped the baby into its seat, stashed the buggy, then got the heating going. She was soaked through and shivering and could think of nothing but getting home and getting warm. As she kicked the engine into life and pulled out into the road, she eased her mobile out of her pocket, switched it on and put it to her ear to listen to her messages.
Just one. A woman’s voice, slightly uncertain of itself.
‘Siobhan, this is Yvonne. You need to call me back as soon as you get this. It’s important.’
She sighed. Yvonne and she went way back. She was a nice girl, but neurotic. Siobhan was cold, wet and not in the mood, but she’d be even less in the mood when she got home, so she dialled her number.
The phone was answered immediately.
‘Yvonne, it’s me.’
‘Siobhan.’ She sounded relieved.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Where are you? Are you with anyone?’
‘No, I’m in the car. Look Yvonne, I’m very—’
‘I’ve just been speaking to a scene-of-crime officer. He’s dealing with a young girl, drug addict. She’s in the Royal now.’
‘And?’
‘He was going through her personal effects.’
‘Yvonne, I’ve had a long day—’
‘
Listen
to me, Siobhan. She had a photograph on her. Just an old Polaroid. I don’t know how old it is.’
‘Uh-huh . . .’
‘I recognise the girl in the photo, Siobhan. I’d know her anywhere.’
‘Who was it?’
A pause.
And then, with a catch in her voice, Yvonne spoke. ‘It’s Lily,’ she said. ‘It’s your daughter.’
Everything was a blur. The lights of Belfast, the traffic, everything. As Siobhan floored it to Yvonne’s house, her friend’s voice rang in her head.
It’s Lily. It’s your daughter . . .
She felt sick with apprehension. A small part of her mind hoped Yvonne was mistaken, that the picture she had found wasn’t Lily at all. Ever since her daughter had disappeared she had dreaded receiving any information about her because she knew, in all likelihood, the news would be bad. The worst . . .
But Yvonne wasn’t mistaken. She stood on the doorstep of her two-up two-down, her eyes wide with sympathy as Siobhan stared numbly at the Polaroid.
‘Where’s the girl who had this?’ she demanded.
‘Siobhan,’ Yvonne said, ‘you should go through the proper—’
‘
Where is she?
’
Yvonne sighed, and told her.
‘The boyfriend. What do we know about him?’
‘One of O’Callaghan’s crew. At least he used to be. Started dabbling with his own product. No good to anyone after that.’
O’Callaghan. Everywhere she turned, his name cropped up.
Thirty minutes later she was glancing through the window of the door leading into the ICU of the Royal, the dog-eared Polaroid in her hand.
The place was silent – a row of beds, their occupants cabled up to complicated machines and life-support systems. There was one doctor on duty, who stood at the end of one of the beds with a clipboard in her hand. Siobhan steeled herself, and walked in.
The doctor looked at her in shock. ‘Excuse me, this is the ICU. Members of the public—’
Siobhan held out her police ID. ‘Detective Inspector Byrne. I need to speak to Alice Stevens, Dr . . .’
‘Dr Philips. And Miss Stevens is in no state to speak to anyone.’
Siobhan gave her a hard glare. ‘We’ve got two options,’ she said. ‘Either you let me speak to the girl, or I arrest you now for obstructing a police investigation.’ She kept the glare up, hoping that this doctor wouldn’t realise how many regulations Siobhan was breaking.
A silence. And then . . .
‘Five minutes, not a second more. Third bed along.’ And with an unfriendly look she walked to the other end of the unit.
Siobhan approached the girl’s bed. She looked a mess. Desperately thin, her chest rose only fractionally. A clear oxygen mask covered her mouth and nose, a saline drip sprouted from her right hand and she looked like she was barely hanging on.
But she was awake.
Siobhan sat by her side. ‘Alice,’ she whispered. ‘I need to talk to you.’
Alice’s head stayed still, but her eyes moved to the right. ‘Who are you?’ she breathed. Her voice was muffled because of the oxygen mask, which clouded over with water vapour as she spoke.
Siobhan didn’t answer that question. She just held up the photograph. ‘I need to know where this girl is. I think you can help me.’
The patient glanced at the photo, then her eyes fell shut. She didn’t say anything.
‘Alice?
Alice?
’ Siobhan put one hand on the patient’s arm and shook her gently. Her eyes opened. ‘Where is she, Alice? I have to know.’
‘You the filth?’ Alice asked. And when Siobhan didn’t answer: ‘You
are
the fucking filth. Piss off.’
‘I’m not the police, Alice,’ Siobhan lied.
‘Then why’re you so interested in Lily?’
‘She’s my daughter. If she’s in trouble, you’ve got to let me help her.’
‘She doesn’t want your help.’
‘Then let her tell me that to my face.’
Alice looked like she was thinking about it. ‘I don’t believe you’re not the police,’ she said. ‘I’m not telling you anything.’
Siobhan glanced over her shoulder. Dr Philips was at the other end of the ICU, clipboard in hand, recording the vital signs of another patient. The police officer turned back to Alice and began to examine the tubes emerging from her body. The saline drip would be no good. Remove that and it would take an hour or so for it to have any effect on the girl. But the oxygen mask was a different matter. It had two small ventilation holes on either side, and a clear pipe that snaked from the bottom of the mask, across her chest and towards a dull green oxygen canister on the opposite side of the bed. Without hesitation, Siobhan used two fingers on her left hand to cover up the ventilation holes on the mask; with her right hand she gently lifted the pipe and held it up so the girl could see what she was doing. Then she bent it, creating a kink in the pipe and stopping the patient’s precious oxygen flow.
It took about five seconds for Alice to realise what was happening. She opened her mouth to cry out, but she was too weak and in any case the lack of oxygen had an immediate effect. She gasped and Siobhan felt the suction pulling the mask against her skin. The patient’s eyes widened and her feeble body shook. Siobhan gave it ten seconds, then released her grip on the oxygen tube and removed her fingers from the mask.
Alice’s breath came in short gasps and it took a minute for her to breathe normally again. ‘Listen to me, Alice,’ Siobhan whispered. ‘I’m not messing around. Next time, they’ll be sending a hospital porter in to take you down to the morgue. Understand?’
Alice just looked at her like she was looking at a monster.
‘Where’s Lily?’
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.
‘Is she a friend of yours?’
Alice nodded. ‘She was. I haven’t seen her for months.’
‘How many months?’
‘I don’t fucking know. I’ve been high. So has she, knowing Lily.’ Alice said this aggressively.
Siobhan felt her body chill, but she didn’t let it show. ‘You’d better give me something else to go on, Alice.’ She held up the oxygen pipe again.
‘There was a guy,’ Alice said quickly. ‘Lots of guys. They kept us in this house . . .’
‘Who were they?’
‘Who cares?’ Alice whispered. ‘They all want the same fucking thing, don’t they? Lily gave them anything they wanted, long as they gave her enough gear to chase the fucking dragon every night. There was one guy, though. Important guy. Paki or something, like the rest of them. Took a shine to her. She was well fucking gone by then. Doing anything. Anal, you name it, just to get a hit.’
Alice’s eyes started to fill with tears at the thought of it, and Siobhan stared in shock at this messed-up girl who was weeping for her daughter.
‘Who was this guy, Alice?’ Her voice was a bit more gentle now.
‘I don’t know his name. He took her away and I managed to get the hell out of the house. I haven’t seen either of them since she left.’ Alice closed her eyes. ‘You’ll never find her,’ she said.
‘Why not?’
‘There’s rumours. About what happens to girls when they disappear like that, when the guys have finished with them.’
‘What kind of rumours?’ She glanced over her shoulder to see the doctor looking at them. ‘
What kind of rumours?
’
‘They ship them out. Africa, they say. Places where white girls fetch a price . . .’
Siobhan closed her eyes and looked away. ‘
Jesus . . .
’ she whispered. She felt sick. She took a few deep breaths to get a hold of herself, to steel herself to ask more questions.
But the questions would have to wait.
All of a sudden, Alice’s eyes were rolling, her body twitching. One of the machines by Alice’s bedside started to beep. Dr Philips was there instantly. ‘Officer, you have to go.’
‘I just need to—’
But the doctor wasn’t even listening to her. ‘
Get out!
’ she hissed. ‘She needs treatment,
now
.’
One look showed that the doctor was right. Siobhan nodded, then hurriedly left the ICU just as a team of three doctors rushed in. From her vantage point at the other side of the door she watched them get to work on the patient. One of them performed CPR; another slid an injection into her right arm; they worked on her for three minutes, maybe four.
But whatever they did, it wasn’t enough. Siobhan could easily read the body language: the way the four doctors stepped back away from the bed; the way Dr Philips hung her head; the way Alice’s arm hung limply from her side. Siobhan turned. She didn’t need to watch them pulling the bedclothes over the girl’s head to realise that she was dead.
Back in the car, Siobhan stared through the windscreen for a full ten minutes. She felt numb. Cold. Then she put her head against the steering wheel and wept. Her whole body shook and it felt as though the tears came from deep in her veins. She didn’t even know why she was crying. Was it horror at what she’d heard? Panic? Revulsion? Or was it relief that her daughter might –
might
– be alive? Great, racking sobs coursed through her as the guilt that she lived with every day became more raw. Guilt that she’d not been able to do anything to stop Lily going off the rails back then, and she seemed just as impotent now. Guilt at her inability to be a good mother. God knows it hadn’t been easy, bringing Lily up by herself while she tried to hold down a job that wasn’t exactly family friendly; but she blamed herself for Lily’s situation, even though she knew she was hardly cut out to be a cookies-and-milk kind of mum.

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