Death Sentence (35 page)

Aiming it squarely at Sullivan’s chest, Matthew looked him over disgustedly. What use were the kind of values that would allow vermin to crawl the streets, he wondered, murderers, child abusers. The punishment would
never
be enough to fit the crime.

‘Probably not a lot different, no.’ Venom lodged like acid in his windpipe, he dropped the gun pointedly lower.

Noting its target, Sullivan paled. ‘Don’t,’ he croaked, now looking considerably panicked.

‘The chips are down, Sullivan.’ Matthew gave him a
c’est la vie
shrug.

‘You’re losing it, Adams,’ Sullivan said shakily.

‘Yep,’ Matthew said simply.

‘You won’t get away with it,’ Sullivan tried, his eyes now fixed on the steady trickle of blood snaking its way down Matthew’s arm to plop onto the floor.

‘Oh, I think I just might,’ Matthew assured him, ‘me being a copper and you being a lowlife piece of scum. The thing is, Sullivan, I do have the balls. What I also have, something you haven’t had since the day your mother had the misfortune of giving birth to you, is a shred of decency. Compassion, Sullivan. A conscience. Now though, I’m beginning to think that ending your miserable existence is worth losing sleep over. I mean, an eye for an eye and all that. No one could blame me. So,
what d’y’think
, Sullivan? Shall I do the world a favour?’

Sullivan gulped. ‘Don’t,’ he repeated, his voice cracking.

‘You didn’t answer the question, Sullivan,’ Matthew pointed out quietly.

‘No!’ Sullivan said quickly. ‘Don’t do this, Adams,’ he begged. ‘Think of your family.’

‘Oh, trust me, I am.’ Matthew’s jaw tightened. ‘Maximum pain, Sullivan,’ he promised him.

‘For fuck’s sake, you’re supposed to uphold the law! You can’t just shoot me.’ Sullivan now looked extremely worried.

But not worried enough, Matthew decided. No contrition, no feelings that were remotely human. ‘How sorry are you for killing my daughter, Sullivan?’ he asked him, keeping his tone calm.

Sullivan appeared to be struggling for an answer.

‘That was a question! You snivelling little
shit!’

Sullivan jumped, visibly. ‘Very!’ he answered, sweat popping out on his forehead he didn’t dare move to wipe away. ‘I didn’t mean for your daughter to die. I …’

Matthew felt the ground shift beneath him. Even the thought of Sullivan thinking about her, made his stomach turn over. Closing one eye, he tensed his finger on the trigger.

‘I didn’t!’ Sullivan shouted. ‘It was meant to be a warning. That was all. I swear to God it was. I told the guy to scare your wife, to warn you off. I told him …
Oh, sweet fucking Jesus
.’ Glancing upwards, Sullivan trailed off, relief flooding his features as he obviously noted the distinct sound of rotor blades going round outside.

Evil. Matthew gulped back the sour taste in his throat. The man was pure evil.

‘I’m sorry!’ Sullivan looked desperately back at him. ‘I swear I am. Don’t do this, Matthew.’

Matthew cocked his head to one side and considered. ‘You forgot the magic word,’ he said, at length.

‘
Please,
’ Sullivan obliged immediately, steepling his hands in front of him. ‘I’m not a well man, Matthew. I …’

‘You know, you can be dead irritating sometimes, don’t you, Sullivan?’ Matthew said evenly.

‘I’m not well,’ Sullivan repeated desperately. ‘I … I have a brain tumour!’

Matthew’s mouth curved into a slow smile. ‘Must be your lucky day. I have just the cure.’ He levelled the gun.

‘I do! I get these headaches!’ Sullivan swiped a hand under his nose. ‘Really bad. They affect my eyesight, my judgement. It wasn’t my fault, Matthew. For pity’s sake, show some mercy.’

Mercy?
The man who destroyed people’s lives, prostituted young girls, pumped them full of drugs, murdered people without compunction was expecting mercy because he had a headache? Matthew might have laughed, had it not been so sickeningly absurd. ‘Shut … the …
fuck
… up, Sullivan,’ he grated slowly.

‘I have a daughter.’ Sullivan clearly didn’t
comprehend.
‘I know … I can imagine how you must have felt, but it wasn’t my doing. You
have
to believe me.’

Hearing the whirr of the copter growing louder, Matthew tuned it out. He didn’t bother trying to still the images playing staccato through his mind, his daughter’s eyes, silently pleading, her blood staining the road crimson, the tiny white coffin; too small, too precious a cargo to let go. He’d carried her in his arms.

‘Are you deaf, Sullivan, or just stupid?’ he asked, swallowing back the too familiar tightness in his chest.

Sullivan blinked at him, uncertain. ‘What?’

‘Clearly you’re not capable of obeying a simple instruction, are you?’

‘I …’ Sullivan looked frantically past him towards the front door.

‘Question, Sullivan,’ Matthew reminded him.

‘Oh God.’ Sullivan attempted to wet his lips with is tongue.

‘He’s not home,’ Matthew growled. ‘Now answer the fucking question!’

‘I … Yes,’ Sullivan answered unsteadily. ‘No,’ he added quickly. ‘I don’t know!
Which
question?’

‘Stupid, obviously,’ Matthew answered it for him. ‘You appear to be struggling, so I’ll give you another, easier question, shall I?’

Matthew waited, his heartrate escalating, his throat dry and his hands visibly shaking, he waited, and debated.
Had
he got the balls? Was he really going to shoot a defenceless man down on his knees? The man who’d killed his daughter, his unborn child, tormented and tortured his wife? Tugging in a ragged breath, Matthew asked his question.

‘I think it’s payback time, Sullivan, don’t you?’

‘
No!
’ Sullivan yelled, reaching behind him as he attempted to scramble to his feet.

Shit! The handgun.
‘Say your prayers, you bastard.’ Matthew focussed his aim.

And then stopped.

Stunned, he lowered the gun and looked towards Ashley and then back to Sullivan. He would most definitely not be feeling too well now, if the ugly red stiletto heel lodged in his neck was any indication. Matthew guessed from the fountain of blood it had severed a main artery and prevaricated for a split-second longer.

Sullivan’s look was one of surprise when Matthew finally shot.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

‘He fell awkwardly.’ Seated reluctantly in the back of a patrol car, Matthew answered questions around the circumstances of Sullivan’s demise vaguely. He needed to be with Becky.
Now.
Swiping agitatedly at the blood and crap on the side of his face, he watched as she and Ashley were helped into the waiting ambulance. His focus was on her. It should always have been. He hoped never to have to think about or hear about Sullivan ever again. He would have to, of course. There would be an enquiry. Mathew’s aim, though, was to try to keep Ashley out of it. She needed help. That much was clear. She needed the right help though, and being cross-questioned wasn’t it.

‘Right.’ DCI Davies frowned pensively. ‘And this was after you shot him?’

‘That’s right.’ Matthew looked back to where Davies stood outside the car, obviously contemplating the spurious details of his story. He didn’t believe him, but the look in the man’s eyes told Matthew he wasn’t about to dig too deep.

‘John, I need to go,’ he said, growing more anxious by the second. Once the cavalry had arrived, too late to save Sullivan, fortunately, pandemonium seemed to break out, blue lights and uniforms everywhere. Matthew hadn’t had the chance to hold Becky more than briefly, and she’d been frighteningly unresponsive in his arms.

‘I need to be with them, John. Surely this can wait?’

Clearly hearing the desperation in his tone, Davies nodded soberly. ‘I think you probably do,’ he conceded, glancing down at the blood oozing through the wad of gauze wrapped around Matthew’s arm.

Nodding, relieved, Matthew immediately heaved himself out of the car.

‘Do you need any help?’ Davies asked him, stepping aside to allow him to pass.

Pausing, Matthew turned back. ‘No, sir, I don’t,’ he said, eyeing him levelly. ‘Not anymore.’

DCI Davies lowered his gaze, at least having the decency to look contrite.

‘We’ll need statements, Matthew,’ he called after him, as Matthew headed for the ambulance. ‘As soon as you’re able.’

‘You’ll get them,’ Matthew assured him. They would go in together, as a family. Once they’d given all the information that was needed, he was taking a sabbatical, rather than enforced gardening leave. A long one. His wife needed him. God willing, she still wanted him. Matthew prayed that Becky and he could get through this intact.

He glanced worriedly at her as he climbed into the ambulance. Still she was quiet, subdued, not looking at him. Ashley was knotting and unknotting her fingers, her head bent, her hair hiding her face.

The paramedic offered him a sympathetic smile.

‘It’s a bit of a squeeze, but I thought you’d all want to travel together,’ she said jovially. Attempting some kind of normality, Matthew guessed, as if anything could ever be normal again.

‘Thanks.’ Glancing again at Becky, whose gaze was fixed on the ligature marks on her wrists, her mind no doubt playing over the horrific scenario she’d just endured, the horrific details of the “accident”, Matthew lowered himself carefully onto the bunk next to her. Every bone in his body ached now, every muscle. How much must Becky be hurting?

Would she ever forgive him for not telling her the whole story around Lily’s death? How could she? Matthew doubted he’d ever forgive himself. It had been a monumental mistake, one that had almost cost Becky her life. If she’d known about Sullivan, if Matthew hadn’t decided to keep the information to himself, she would have been on her guard. He’d thought he’d been protecting her. He’d actually put her directly in the line of fire. He should have trusted her. Instead he’d shut her out.

Looking down at her hands resting listlessly in her lap, Matthew wanted to reach out, but didn’t know how. Selfishly, he had no idea how he’d cope if she recoiled from his touch. And she had every right to. He waited instead, hoping that some space was all she needed.
Yeah, right
. He laughed inwardly at his damn, stupid naïvety. That and a whole new life with someone who cared enough to let her in.

Ashley glanced at him, as the ambulance pulled off, dipping in and out of the deep divots in the mud, as it went. ‘Okay, Ashley?’ he asked her softly.

She nodded uncertainly. ‘Emily told me to,’ she said, her voice an urgent whisper.

Not sure he’d heard her right, Matthew looked at her curiously. ‘Told you to what, Ashley?’

Ashley shrank further into herself.

‘The shoe,’ she said, her gaze flicking fearfully between Becky and him.

‘Right.’ Matthew nodded slowly. ‘Ashley, who is Emily?’ he probed gently.

Ashley shrugged and looked away. ‘My sister,’ she said, glancing warily back at him. ‘You’re still bleeding.’ She immediately changed the subject, her gaze drifting to the gauze on his arm.

‘I know. It’s only a flesh wound. It’ll mend. We all will, given time.’ Matthew smiled reassuringly, though he was reeling inside. She had a sister? Which meant Kristen had had another child?
Christ.
He really had been emotionally missing, hadn’t he? Too wrapped up in himself to see anyone else.

Growing more aware of his failings, on all fronts, Matthew glanced back to Becky. She didn’t return his glance, didn’t speak. Swallowing back the pieces of his heart, which seemed to be wedged like a thousand shards of glass in his windpipe, Matthew dropped his gaze, mentally playing over each and every one of his failures. He
should
have been there.
Dammit.
Dragging a hand across his eyes, he prayed hard, hoping if there was any kind of god up there, he would make sure Becky, a woman who’d given so much of herself, would survive this, with or without him. He’d been labouring under the illusion he was being strong. He’d been wrong. There was no strength in silence, shutting his emotions away, allowing his anger to fester.

He should have
been
there, building a new life together with the woman he would gladly have died for rather than live without. Becky was the strong one. Stronger than he’d ever been. She’d tried to understand his self-centred preoccupation with his work. She’d been there, for him, always. Now it was his turn to help her. To make sure she got through this, somehow. To make sure he was there. If he’d lost her, then so be it. He would still be there, wherever and whenever she might need him. That much Matthew promised himself.

‘Is he dead?’ Finally, Becky spoke, her tone so quiet she was barely audible.

Overwhelmingly relieved, Matthew snapped his gaze to her. ‘Yes,’ he said, uncertain, even after all she’d been through, how she would emotionally process the fact.

Becky fell silent again. ‘The gunshot?’ she asked, after a minute.

Matthew glanced at Ashley. ‘The gunshot,’ he confirmed, holding her gaze briefly before turning back to Becky.

Slowly, Becky nodded. Matthew watched her intently, as she drew in a long breath and held it. Hesitantly, he reached to wrap his good arm around her as she dropped her gaze to her lap. Easing her gently to him as her shoulders sagged, he waited, hope surging through him as she leaned into him. He felt the shudders run through her, heard the sob catch in her throat, saw the tears, hot and wet on her cheeks, as she looked at him.

Seeing the myriad o
f emotions in her eyes, shock, deep-rooted sorrow, relief, Matthew caught a lump in his own throat.

‘Did I ever tell you how much I love you?’ he asked her hoarsely, uncertainly. He scanned her face, bruised and swollen, but still she was beautiful, the same beautiful woman he’d fallen in love with and never dared hope might love him back. Could she now, still? He wished he could kiss her tears away, were it so easy, that he could hold her and keep her safe forever. That he had, instead of being blind, insensitive to anybody’s pain but his own.

Becky searched his eyes, then, ‘Ditto.’ She swallowed, turned to bury her face in his shoulder and cried harder.