Death Sentence (10 page)

‘Friends in the wrong places.’ Matthew kept his eyes on the windscreen. The less Steve knew about his illegal drug purchasing activities, the better.

‘Have you got those addresses I asked you to dig out?’ he asked, making a weak attempt to change the subject.

‘Yes.’ Steve slammed the glove compartment shut. ‘Sir.’

Contempt on a scale of one to ten, that was way off it. Matthew knew it was no less than he deserved.

‘I don’t bloody believe this.’ Steve laughed incredulously. ‘So what are you planning to do with it, if you don’t mind my asking? I mean, I’m only your partner, after all.’

Matthew sighed inside. Involving Steve was the last thing he’d wanted. He wanted Sullivan, though, so much he could taste it.

‘Crush a parasite,’ he grated, his anger exacerbated by the fact that, having seen the stuff, Steve now obviously
was
involved. Why hadn’t he thought to put it under the damn seat, for Pete’s sake?

‘Sullivan?’ Steve deduced.

‘One and the same.’ Matthew nodded tightly.

Steve shook his head despairingly. ‘So you’re going to fit him up, just like the man said?’

Matthew hesitated. ‘Call it plan B.’

Steve said nothing, which spoke volumes.

Matthew glanced warily at him. ‘You didn’t see it. If anyone asks, you have no idea. Whatever happens, I’ll back you.’

‘Oh, well, that makes me feel a whole lot better. I’m about to get married, for God’s sake!’

‘I know. Steve, I …
Bloody Hell!
’ Narrowly avoiding cutting someone up at the roundabout, Matthew swerved and braked hard. ‘Watch where you’re going, can’t you! Prat,’ he growled at the driver, unfairly.

‘Or killed,’ Steve muttered. ‘Definitely sacked.’

‘Steve, just forget you saw it, okay?’ Matthew could hear the hint of desperation in his own voice. ‘This has nothing to do with you. I—’

‘Or banged up,’ Steve went on over him. ‘That’s it then, isn’t it? I can kiss goodbye to my career, can’t I? Ask me it’s
you
who’s the prat.’

‘Look, Steve …’ Frustrated, Matthew ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’m not going to do anything that might incriminate you. Just forget we had the conversation and—’

‘Right.’ Steve’s expression was scathing. ‘Look the other way, you mean?’

‘Yes.’ Matthew kneaded his forehead. ‘No.’ He sighed, knowing that, whatever he said, he was digging a bigger hole and dropping Steve squarely in it. ‘I’m not asking you to do that, Steve. I—’

‘That’s
exactly
what you’re asking me to do, mate, and you know it!’ Steve shouted furiously. ‘I think it’s about time you shared, don’t you?!’

Matthew eyed him quizzically.

‘You and Sullivan, you two obviously have a history, one that runs much deeper than you’re letting on. I think you need to fill me in, don’t you,
sir?
’

Matthew heard the derisory edge to the salutation and really couldn’t blame him. ‘It’s … difficult.’ He shrugged evasively.

‘Difficult how?’ Matthew could feel Steve’s eyes drilling into him.

‘Complicated,’ Matthew amended, searching for a way to divert the conversation.

Steve wasn’t about to be diverted, though. ‘Personal?’

Matthew dragged a hand over his neck. ‘Some.’

‘You’re not giving me a lot of waggle room, here, Matt. I’m mean, it’s either turn a blind eye or go to the DCI. One of us is going to be stuffed and I’m not going to—’

‘
Dammit!’
Matthew slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel. ‘He killed my daughter! Okay! Now, for Christ’s sake, can you just drop it?!’

‘What?’ Steve turned to him astounded.

Feeling a definite wheeze in his chest, Matthew tried to breathe through it. ‘Lily,’ he clarified, guessing there was no way now that Steve would, or could, drop it, ‘She was with Becky. They …’ he faltered.

‘How?’ Steve asked, clearly winded.

‘Hit and run.’ Matthew tightened his white-knuckled grip on the wheel. ‘No witnesses, no substantial evidence. Sullivan was doing time. He set it up, though. As sure as God made fucking little green apples, it was him.’

Steve furrowed his brow. ‘But you had nothing to go on?’

Matthew laughed sardonically. ‘Nothing but good old intuition, as they say.’

Steve exhaled heavily. ‘Blimey.’

‘So, is it personal?’ Matthew shrugged ambiguously, his gut clenching as his mind played over the graphic images of that Godforsaken day. ‘Some people would probably say so. The thing is, though, whatever his method, drugs, guns, knives, cars, his fists, he’d do the same to someone else’s daughter, wife, sister. We both know it. And he’ll just keep right on doing it, until someone stops him.’

Steve nodded slowly. ‘No disrespect, sir,’ he said, ‘but don’t you think that someone should be someone other than you? That you should maybe step away from it?’

‘Walk away, you mean?’ Matthew glanced at him. ‘The way I see it, that would mean personal getting in the way of putting that bastard away.’

Matthew drove on, as Steve fell silent, obviously contemplating his best course of action.

‘So,’ he said gruffly, after a moment, ‘what’s the plan, assuming you don’t actually want to stitch him up?’

Matthew felt a huge surge of relief flooding through him. Steve had obviously decided not to go to the DC, at least not yet.

‘We pay his girls a visit, all of them. Talk to them. Hope they can give us some kind of lead regarding his drug activities, distributers, couriers, drop points. Something around what happened to Brianna. We might get lucky.’

Which wasn’t likely, Matthew was well aware. He’d been this route before: customs under surveillance, eyes on Sullivan and the suppliers. Sullivan had got wind of it somehow. Result: no result. Finally, the drugs squad had got one of their own on the inside, but she’d need time to gain the cretin’s trust, gather enough concrete information to warrant going that same route again. Meanwhile, if Sullivan got even a sniff of it, that would be it, game over. The chances of any one of his girls giving him anything to work with were slim to nil, but Matthew had to at least try.

‘And if we don’t get lucky?’

‘DS Collins is undercover,’ Matthew reminded him. ‘She might get something. That’s not going to happen anytime soon, though, is it? I need a way of bringing him in now.’

Steve’s gaze strayed to the dash. ‘Plan B,’ he said, his expression uncertain at best.

Chapter Seven

Sighing, Matthew considered his next port of call. All he’d got for his efforts so far approaching girls on the streets was his cash supply depleted and sore feet. The girls they’d paid a visit to at their various places of abode hadn’t offered anything either, other than to confirm what Matthew already knew, that Sullivan did indeed fill his father’s shoes admirably. Each and every one of those girls had been terrified of what might happen if Sullivan found out the law had been sniffing around.

‘Do you always part with money for no information?’ Steve gave him a curious glance, as they entered another apartment building, this one more upmarket than the rest.

Matthew shrugged. ‘Not always.’ He flashed his ID at the concierge, who glanced perfunctorily at it, before turning his gaze back to whatever he was watching on his PC. Matthew suspected the guy wouldn’t be on Sullivan’s payroll very long.

‘Right.’ Steve rolled his eyes, stepping into the lift beside him. ‘Must have missed the one you didn’t bung. You’ve been giving twenties away like they were going out of fashion.’

‘It might buy us a future favour.’ Matthew shrugged again, as if it was no big deal. ‘It might also buy a few of the girls five minutes out of the rain.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Steve shook his jacket lapels free of water. ‘Like they’re going to use it to go and buy a Starbucks? Do us a favour.’

‘Do I detect a touch of cynicism, DS Ingram?’ Matthew asked, leading the way out of the lift. The man was right, though. Chances were the majority of the girls would take a short walk across the road to their dealers and be back doing business five minutes later.

‘I was trying not to be cynical.’ Steve followed him moodily. ‘Even after that shit with the girl behind the Thai restaurant. But then, I opened my boss’s glove compartment …’

Acknowledging the jibe with a contrite nod, Matthew hit the doorbell of the apartment he’d paused in front of. The man had every right. He’d spent a considerable amount of time pondering what Matthew had told him. Probably debating whether he’d developed some kind of fixation, waging a personal vendetta on a known criminal based on nothing but fresh air.

‘So what’s this?’ Steve glanced around the tastefully decorated landing. ‘Bit fancy for a working girl, isn’t it?’

‘High class,’ Matthew supplied, ‘upmarket clientele, by appointment only.’

‘Oh, right. Out of my league then?’ Steve creased his brow thoughtfully. ‘Joking, boss,’ he added, as Matthew shot him a warning glance. ‘Lindsey’s plenty enough for me, given she doesn’t dump me if this little lot goes belly up.’

Matthew sighed, reaching for the doorbell again, as the door squeaked open a few inches.

‘What do
you
want?’ The girl’s tone wasn’t exactly welcoming. Obviously she’d already established who it was through the peephole.

Christ
. Catching sight of her face, Matthew winced inwardly. ‘Walked into another cupboard door, Natalie?’ he asked, taking in her split lip and bruised cheek. ‘Or was it a lamppost this time?’

‘Fell over the dog,’ Natalie said tartly, unhitching the chain and pulling the door open. ‘You’d better come in, but you’d better not let Pat know you’ve been here,’ she warned him, heading into the lounge.

‘No.’ Matthew followed her, indicating Steve to do the same. ‘Wouldn’t want you falling over any more dogs you haven’t got, would we, Nat?’

Natalie shrugged, unperturbed, reached for her cigarettes on the coffee table and turned to face him.

‘So, whose handiwork was it, Natalie?’ Matthew asked, noticing the bruises also adorning her forearm as she lit up. ‘A punter? Or did the lovely Pat feel the need to have a forceful word?’

Natalie drew in a lungful of smoke. ‘What do you want, Detective Adams? I don’t have all day. Time is money, y’know.’

‘Yeah, I know. Have to make sure Pat lives in the style to which he’s become accustomed, hey, Natalie?’

Shrugging again, Natalie blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘I do all right.’

‘Yep, looking good, Natalie.’ Smiling ironically, Matthew kneaded his forehead. ‘Brianna’s not looking too good, unfortunately,’ he glanced back at her, ‘as you can probably imagine.’

Natalie took another tight draw and turned away.

‘I don’t know nothing about Brianna.’ She stubbed out her cigarette, snatched up her make-up bag, and headed for the mirror.

‘No,’ Matthew watched her, as she attempted damage limitation to her face, ‘not many people do know much about her, suddenly. Strange that, when she’d been in Pat’s employ for, what, two, three years?’

Natalie’s gaze flicked to Matthew’s, as she applied foundation to her cheek.

‘Gets her face beaten to a pulp, raped, strangled to death, and people are hard-pushed to remember even her name. Bit sad that, don’t you think, Nat?’

Natalie dropped her gaze, her eyes now fixed on the make-up bag she was ferretting through.

‘She had a life, Natalie. Dreams, ambitions, parents worried sick about her. Just like you.’ Matthew continued to watch, as she extracted her lipstick, making an ‘O’ with her mouth before applying it. Her hand was shaking, he noted. ‘And now she’s dead,’ he paused, studying her carefully.

‘Obliterated,’ he went on quietly, as Natalie dropped her lipstick back in her bag and resumed searching through her make-up.

‘And it’s like she never fucking well
existed
!’

‘God!’ Natalie dropped the bag as Matthew raised his voice, the contents spewing across the floor. ‘
What?
’ she cried, whirling around. ‘What do you want me to say, Matthew? I can’t tell you anything!’

‘Can’t or won’t?’ Matthew fixed his gaze hard on hers.

Natalie pulled her silk dressing gown tight. ‘I can’t! You
know
I can’t. Look what he did to her. If
I
say anything …’ Realising she’d said too much right there and then, Natalie stopped, her eyes wide, and petrified.

‘What
who
did to who, Natalie?’ Matthew pressed her, hoping, praying … if only she’d just name names.

Natalie glanced hurriedly down. ‘I can’t, Matthew,’ she said shakily. ‘You’ve been good to me, and I’m grateful, but … I just can’t.’

Matthew closed his eyes. That was it. He’d had his chance, and he’d blown it. Wearily, he dragged a hand across his neck. ‘Can you at least tell me why?’

Natalie shook her head and swiped at a tear on her cheek.

‘Right. Okay.’ Matthew exhaled, long and hard, and then bent to retrieve her lipstick from the floor. ‘Keep painting the smile on, Natalie.’ He handed it to her. ‘You know where I am.’

Natalie nodded, her gaze still fixed to her feet.

Gesturing Steve, who’d been watching and learning—what a soul-destroying, completely hopeless job it was, Matthew headed for the door.

‘She talked to you!’ Natalie blurted tearfully behind them. ‘She was on the take, and then she talked to you and …’

****

‘Pull him.’ Matthew instructed, nodding at Sullivan’s car driving directly in front of them.

Steve glanced at him askance. ‘For what?’

‘Breathing,’ Matthew suggested, ‘which should be an offence against humanity where vermin like him are concerned.’

Natalie had confirmed what he already knew. Matthew’s gut twisted afresh. He should go to the DCI. Follow protocol and do it by the book. The chances of the girl making a statement, though, were nil. He had corroboration of sorts but, even with Steve as a witness, without a statement, Sullivan named therein, it amounted to nothing. No, as far as Matthew was concerned, until he had indisputable evidence, the book was out of the window.

‘Right.’ Steve nodded. ‘Can’t see that sticking somehow, boss.’

‘Rear lights,’ Matthew said, as they continued to follow Sullivan, who was obviously aware of being tailed, and cruising towards his house is if he hadn’t a care in the world. Baiting him. Always bloody baiting him.