Death Sentence (28 page)

Patrick hid a smile. ‘Well, if you were fancying your chances, just so you know, he has far choicer cuts than you to choose from, sweetheart.’

Her look was perturbed now, very.

‘He’s paid for services rendered with at least three of my girls.’ Patrick casually examined his nails. ‘Sex-workers,’ he said, when she looked confused, then, ‘they sell sex,’ he spelled it out. ‘They’re a bit older than you, but still young enough to be his daughter, dirty sod.’

‘You’re lying,’ she said. She believed him all right though. Patrick could see the little-girl-crushed look in her eyes.

‘I say
paid for
,’ he continued blithely, ‘but, knowing him, he probably abused his police authority, gave them a load of bullshit about protecting their interests. You know what these coppers can be like.’

Got her. Patrick noted disappointment as the girl’s gaze fluttered downwards. He was enjoying himself here, trashing the detective’s goody-two-shoes reputation. No less than Adams deserved, mind, given his own reputation was totally destroyed, something Adams seemed to get some perverse kick out of doing. Patrick felt a rush of humiliation as he recalled the first time he’d embarrassed him. Years it had taken him to live down being hauled up at school, branded a coward in front of everyone, including that cocky little runt, Adams. He’d denied squealing, of course, pretended his oh, so, important father turning up at the school had nothing to do with him running home telling tales.

Patrick had given him a good kicking that time. It couldn’t undo the damage done though. Yes, it would be most gratifying, seeing the copper’s face when his little niece called him out on his predilection for younger flesh, preferably in front of his darling wife. Served the bastard right.

Aware of the ticking clock, Patrick considered. Should he leave it there, or drive the seed a little deeper? The latter, he decided. Might as well. Couldn’t hurt.

‘Look, I have a daughter not much older than you,’ he said, trying for sympathetic as he crouched down in front of her.

‘I know kids get crushes. It doesn’t mean the emotions aren’t real, though, that they don’t hurt like hell. My daughter was besotted with her science teacher, broke her little heart when he left the school.’ Patrick thought it better not to mention why the man had chosen to leave, losing his tackle being his other option.

‘I understand, really I do. Your first love is always the most painful, especially when it’s unrequited.’ Patrick gave himself a mental pat on the back and wondered whether he’d missed his vocation. He ought to have been a bleeding poet.

She didn’t answer, just studied her thumbnail. Upset obviously, Patrick deduced.

‘I understand more than you think I do,’ he pushed on. ‘We’re a lot alike, you and I.’

She blinked at him then. Patrick felt a bristle of indignation at the stunned look on her face, but valiantly supressed it.

‘Both neglected by those who should have loved us, our innocent childhood trust abused. Just because Adams chose to do the same, abuse your trust to fill some empty void in his life and then toss you aside, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. It’s him that’s got the problem. I told the last girl he dumped the same.’

Noting he now had her full-on, fascinated attention, Patrick got to his feet. There was another lady who needed attending to. He hoped she hadn’t expired prematurely out there.

‘Natalie her name is, beautiful girl. In bits she was, until I put her right. Get good and angry with him, I told her. Seize that anger and use it. She was about to dob him in to the police when she ended up in hospital. Strange that.’

Shaking his head bemusedly, Patrick turned away, and then sharply back, as she promptly burst into tears behind him.

‘Oh, for crying out loud, don’t start blarting all over the show. You’re giving me a headache.’ He glanced to his side, the intensity of a naked light bulb definitely dancing in his peripheral vision. Wonderful, now he was getting a migraine, just what he needed. He could hardly shoot the copper’s legs from under him, if he couldn’t sodding well see him, could he?

‘Emily, stop,’ she blubbered, as Patrick closed his eyelids, testing to see how bright the flashing white light was, ergo what kind of a whopping headache he might be in for.

Patrick’s gaze snapped back to hers. ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ She dragged a hand quickly under her nose. ‘I was just willing myself to stop. You told me to.’

He looked her over narrowly. Was she taking the piss? No, he decided. Her expression was back to hostile though. Probably hated his guts now he’d revealed the detective in his true light. Whatever. As long as she didn’t think the sun shone out of Adams’ backside, Patrick didn’t give a stuff.

Kneading his temples, quietly cursing himself for bringing everything in his bag except the Paracetamol, he glanced down and then almost shot out of his alligator leather loafers.

‘What the fuck was that?’ he gasped, stepping smartly back as something scurried between his feet, something he most definitely didn’t want to come in contact with, not even through the leather on the soles of his shoes.

‘What?’ She stared at him, and then at it, as it bolted towards her like a marathon runner. A huge, hairy, eight-legged marathon runner. His mouth running dry, his chest palpitating, Patrick stumbled back another two steps as it suddenly stopped, its disgusting legs hunched, poised to shoot off in God knew what direction.

‘It’s only a spider.’ She looked back at him, incredulous.

The mother of all spiders, fucking ugly thing, Patrick thought, and then very nearly had apoplexy as she reached out and flicked it. ‘What’re you
doing?
’ he croaked, his own legs distinctly wobbly as it took off full pelt, mercifully in the same direction it had been going.

‘Sending it home,’ she said, watching it as it scurried past her to the side of the box. ‘It probably has babies.’

Babies?
Patrick’s eyes boggled, looking this way and that, searching for spiders crawling up walls and across ceilings, ready to drop on him. ‘Yeah, well, they’ll starve if the ugly fucker comes out again.’ He pulled himself up, hurriedly wiping his sweaty palms against his sides. ‘Vermin, the lot of them.’

‘They’re not.’ She laughed. ‘Spiders are good. They catch flies.’

‘And what are you?’ Patrick glanced derisorily at her. ‘The resident sodding expert?’

‘No,’ she said, now looking at him bemusedly. ‘It’s just they don’t do any harm. They’re—’

‘Shut it,’ Patrick said quickly, guessing she might be about to tell him they were more scared than he was, which would be another reminder of his daughter he didn’t want. Giving her a warning glance, he walked across to her and caught hold of her arm.

‘Where’re we going?’ she demanded, as he pulled her to her feet, his gaze surreptitiously sweeping the floor for tarantulas as he did.

‘Two words,’ he said, suspecting he might have gone OTT with the big brother routine. She might be a bit more malleable now, but Patrick wasn’t taking any chances. ‘Shut the fuck up.’

He glanced at her, as he marched her across to the right hand wall. He was half-expecting her to retort that’s four words, as Taylor would have done. Always ready with the smart retorts were teenage girls, Patrick thought, then stopped and caught himself short. Bloody hell, what
was
the matter with him, constantly comparing a homeless little tart, who probably wasn’t even a virgin, to his own daughter?
Was he
going soft in the head?
Crap,
had he got a brain tumour? Is that why his migraines were so persistent lately? Forcing her down to sit on the floor, Patrick slid his eyes worriedly to the side. The aura was still there, flickering as nauseatingly intensely as ever.

‘Stay.’ He cocked the gun in her direction and backed towards his bag of tricks. He’d better make a doctor’s appointment, he thought, trying not to linger on the fact that the only doctor he might be seeing if this went belly up was the sort who laid out dead bodies. Nah, he reassured himself, extracted two lengths of rope from the bag and threw one at her. It wouldn’t be him on a slab. A copper Adams might be, but if it came to a stand-off, the cowardly little wimp would back off. Always had. Always would.

‘Wrap it around your ankles twice,’ he ordered the girl. ‘And then tie it, nice and tight.’

‘But why?’ She looked at him perplexed, as if it wasn’t a perfectly clear instruction.

‘Don’t ask, just do it!’ he snapped, irritated now by her cross-questioning him. Women, they were all the bloody same. Be nice to them for five minutes and they think they’ve got you wrapped around their little fingers.

Patrick had a quick perusal of the floor around him again, lest anything hairy might be sneaking up on him, then, keeping one eye on her, he pulled another item from the bag. Handy things, slip leads, he thought, testing the choke factor on it. Adams should have thought about getting one for his sidekick lapdog. Then maybe the man wouldn’t have been trespassing on farmland and ended up getting himself shot.

Noting the girl had done as instructed, without any mouthing off this time, Patrick walked across to her, placing the slip lead to the side of the front door, as he went.

She watched him, her big Bambi eyes full of trepidation now. And well they might be, sweetheart. Patrick smiled, walking around her.

‘Hands behind you,’ he said. Waiting while she obliged, he parked his gun and then bent to tie her wrists nice and tight too. Didn’t want to stop her circulation, but nor did he want her thinking he was anything but serious, which he most definitely was, given Adams had left him no choice. The girl he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with yet. For the first time since he’d had nightmares about surprised pigeon’s eyes, Patrick was feeling something akin to conscience. Moving her on to someone who might make use of her, he might be able to live with. Leaving her lying wide-eyed and cold in the ground would definitely keep him awake at night.

Job done, he straightened up and picked up his gun.

‘Shuffle back against the wall,’ he ordered her. He walked back around her while she did as instructed and he cocked the gun at her again, locking eyes with hers. ‘Do
not
move a muscle or the lovely Becky gets it,
comprendre
?’

‘Becky?’ she said, her little face hopeful.

Really couldn’t keep the lip buttoned, could she? Reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes, Patrick sighed with despair.

‘Yes,
Becky
,’ he replied patiently, flipped the lid on the box and dropped a pre-rolled spliff into his mouth. ‘Now, stay.’

Giving her a last warning glance, Patrick walked back to his bag, dropped the packet in and ferretted for his lighter. Lighting his spliff, he dropped the lighter back in the bag too, and then, the gun under his arm, he headed for the door at the back of the room, drawing deeply, as he went.

****

Rebecca had tried to keep calm, to keep her terror at bay and take only shallow breaths. Common sense told her she couldn’t suffocate, but the air was thick, dark, and cloying. She’d lost all sense of time, even though, ironically, her only company had been the quiet tick of her watch. She had no idea whether it was night or day. She needed the toilet and a drink in equal measures. Her throat was parched and raw, made worse by her muffled, useless cries. Her hands were numb behind her; she’d long ago lost the sensation of pins and needles tingling down to her fingertips. Worse, though, was the pain in the small of her back. Please God it wasn’t the familiar pain she suspected it might be. To miscarry her child here, in the clutches of a madman, would be more than she could bear.

Stifling a sob, Rebecca squeezed her eyes closed. They were already swollen from too many cried tears. Pointless tears. There was no one to hear her, and tears would be lost on the animal who’d taken her. His heart was as black as his soul. He had no feelings. None.

Attempting to curl herself tighter, wishing she could protect the little foetus inside her, Rebecca’s knees jarred once again against a jut of hard metal. The pain shot through her, jagged and raw, a tender bruise further bruised. The pain was nothing, though, to the rawness in her chest when she thought of Matthew, imagined not seeing the smile in his eyes ever again; imagined what that monster might do to him.

Staring into the darkness, Rebecca wished she could sleep, that death might steal her away if she did. Better that than … Her thoughts screeched to a halt as she heard something in the stillness, she wasn’t sure what. A dull thud, doors opening and closing. Movement outside. Definitely movement. Rebecca held her breath. She strained her ears, hoping, praying, as her heart fluttered like a helpless bird against her ribcage, that it wouldn’t be him.

Please don’t let it be. Please let it be someone to help me.
Rebecca clamped her eyes shut again as metal scraped against metal and the car boot was flung open, light flooding the confined space and temporarily blinding her.

Hope faded as the odour of him assaulted her senses, immediately making her nauseous all over again.

‘How are we, sweetheart, hey?’ he asked pleasantly. Rebecca felt the hairs rise on her body, a thousand tiny spiders crawl over her skin, as he touched her, trailing the knuckles of his hand across her swollen cheek.

‘Sorry I didn’t come back sooner. I got delayed …’ he paused, stroking her hair softly from her face ‘… by your niece.’

Rebecca’s eyes shot wide.
Ashley!

‘Pretty little thing,’ he went on. ‘Bit mouthy, though. Needed teaching a lesson. And you know me, always one to oblige. Come on, up we come.’ He tucked his hands under her armpits, heaved her up, as Rebecca blinked at him, disoriented.

‘But you don’t know me, do you?’ Hitching her out and planting her on her feet, he chatted on, his conversation growing evermore inane.

‘Never mind, we’ll change all that when hubby gets here. Whoops, careful, you’ll be feeling a bit wobbly, I expect.’ He steadied her, as she reeled. ‘Now, where’s your other shoe?’

Rebecca studied him, horrified, as he fished back into the boot of the car, searching for the one red stiletto that had become detached from her foot. He was completely insane. Stunned and terrified in turn she watched him, tutting and tsking as he searched, a furrow deepening his brow, as if he was troubled, genuinely troubled … by a missing shoe?