Justice for the Damned (35 page)

‘We don’t have much time,’ continued Jim. ‘They’re going to torture you to try and make me talk. And they’ll succeed and others will suffer.’

Margaret shook her head frantically. ‘I can’t.’

‘You’ve got to.’

‘But someone might come and rescue us.’

‘No one’s coming.’

Still shaking her head, Margaret pressed her head against Jim’s legs again.

‘Please, Margaret. Don’t you see, this is the only way we can beat them.’

‘You bastard,’ came Margaret’s muffled, sobbing voice. She raised her head, her eyes flooded with tears, her face stretched with anguish. ‘You fucking, fucking…’ She trailed off into grief-racked silence.

‘I know,’ Jim said softly.

‘No, you don’t know!’ Margaret cried in a whisper. ‘I love you. I still love you.’

Her words were a pain to him so sweet and sad it brought tears to his eyes. ‘Then do this for me.’

Margaret’s mouth opened and closed, but only incoherent sounds came out. She squeezed her eyes shut as if trying to block out an image too terrible to bear. Hauling in a breath that shook her whole body, she visibly took hold of herself. ‘How?’

‘Loosen the leather strap, loop it around my neck and put all your weight on it.’

With a dazed, stricken expression, Margaret stood and turned her back to Jim. She fumbled at the strap’s buckle to no avail. ‘It’s too tight. I can’t undo it.’

‘Yes, you can. Take a breath and try again.’

Margaret sucked in a slow, shuddering breath and attempted once more to work the belt loose from the buckle. Her heart gave a sickening lurch when the strap suddenly slackened in her fingers. Awkwardly, she manoeuvred it up around Jim’s neck and pulled it into a loose loop. She turned to him. He urged her with sad, resolute eyes to do what needed to be done. There were so many things he wanted to say. But there was no time. She stooped to kiss him. He drew in her taste, her tenderness, everything about her that he’d yearned for through all the long, lonely years. And in that room of pain and fear, he felt, if not happiness, then at least a kind of peace.

Tears streaming down her face, Margaret moved behind Jim and leaned all her weight on the strap. He pushed forward against it, as if in a tug of war. He felt the buckle biting into his neck. He felt his airway being choked off. He felt pressure building behind his face, pushing at his eyeballs, bloating his veins. He felt the agony of knowing he was leaving Margaret behind. Then he felt nothing more and knew nothing more.

The door opened. Doug stepped into the room, followed by Tyler and Edward. For an instant all three stood as if paralysed by what they saw. Then Doug leapt forward and drove his knee into Margaret’s midriff, crumpling her into a heap. Tyler tore the strap from Jim’s throat and felt for a pulse. He didn’t find one. Hooking his arms under Jim’s, he lowered him to the floor. He tilted his head back and checked to make sure his airway was clear, before pinching his nose and breathing into his mouth. Then he planted his hands in the centre of Jim’s chest, one locked over the other, and gave several quick hard thrusts. As he methodically repeated this process, a sound filled the room – a high-pitched sound like a chattering monkey. Edward was laughing. He was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his cheeks.

‘Shut the fuck up!’ yelled Doug

Edward’s laughter grew louder. Doug lunged at him, landing a hard jab to his gut. Doubling over, Edward staggered forwards and fell on top of Margaret. She tried to shove him off, but he clung on. Her face wrinkled with revulsion as his tongue slid out and licked her ear. Doug prised him loose with a couple of well-aimed kicks to the ribs.

‘One more sound out of you and I’ll break every fucking bone in your body,’ warned Doug.

Tyler delivered several hammer-fist strikes to Jim’s chest. Jolting as if he’d been hit by a cattle prod, Jim gasped in a breath. His eyes snapped open and filled with despair at the sight of Tyler. As his gaze sought out Margaret, his despair was replaced by surprise and then a spark – the faintest glimmer – of hope at the sight of Edward curled up in agony. Surely Edward’s presence could only mean one thing – Melinda had managed to evade capture. If she’d put the police onto Edward, his protectors would have to become his destroyers to save their own hides. Jim knew that Margaret and he would almost certainly be long beyond help by the time his colleagues tracked Edward to the farm – if indeed they managed it at all. But even so, he drew a little cold satisfaction from the thought that Edward would be joining them in the grave.

‘I’m afraid you don’t get off that easily,’ said Tyler, a trace of something in his voice that might have been admiration.

‘Fuck me, Jim, you’re one crazy bastard,’ Doug said, as Tyler rolled Jim into the recovery position.

Tyler motioned to Edward. ‘Strip him and put him in the chair.’

As Doug did so, Tyler set about cutting the cuffs off Jim and Margaret’s ankles. ‘What are you doing?’ asked Doug.

‘Putting them in the basement.’

Doug indicated Edward. ‘Don’t you think they should see what happens to our friend here? It might give them something to think about.’

‘They’ll have plenty to think about soon enough.’

Tyler helped Margaret to her feet. Jim struggled to rise, then fell heavily back. Tyler steered Margaret out of the room into the kitchen. Doug followed, dragging Jim by the feet. The basement exhaled a dank breath as Tyler opened its door. He flicked a light switch and prodded Margaret down the stone stairs. Then he and Doug carried Jim to a gloomy, low-ceilinged room. The basement ran the length of the house. Its brick walls had once been painted white, but were now mottled with damp and dirt. In one corner there was a metal bucket that gave off a tang of human waste. Jim found himself hoping that Forester got to spend a little time down here before his end came. Not that it would make him think about what he’d done to his victims. Bastards like him were incapable of that kind of remorse. But it would be fitting nonetheless.

They dumped Jim down beside a chain dangling from an eyebolt in the wall. Tyler looped the chain through Jim’s cuffs, doubled it over so there was no slack and padlocked it. Doug chained Margaret to another eyebolt in the opposite wall.

‘I know how to secure a prisoner,’ grumbled Doug as Tyler checked Margaret’s chain.

‘Yeah, I saw that upstairs,’ Tyler said in his bone-dry voice.

‘How was I supposed to know they’d try something like that?’

Without affording Doug a glance, Tyler headed back upstairs. Doug scowled after him. With a hoarse chuckle, Jim said, ‘The pay might be better, but the management’s the same.’

Doug turned his glare on him. ‘Fuck you. He’s not my boss.’

‘He acts like he is.’

‘Yeah, well, our friend the politician acted like he was my boss too. Look at him now, tied to a chair about to have his insides rearranged.’ Doug’s perma-tanned face split into a grin. ‘How’s about that for getting away with it?’ He turned to follow Tyler. The light went out and the door banged shut, engulfing the basement in absolute darkness.

Margaret’s voice reached Jim in a trembling whisper. ‘I’m sorry, Jim. I tried.’

‘No, Margaret, I’m sorry. I was wrong to give up hope.’

‘What are you saying? That you think there’s a chance we might be rescued?’

‘No. I’m just saying never give up hope.’
Never give up hope!
The words echoed in Jim’s head like a truth long forgotten. He’d said them dozens of times to the families of missing persons. And he’d kept on saying them even when he stopped believing in them himself, because he knew that if you gave up hope, there was nothing else left.

‘When that man fell on me, he whispered something. He said, “The book’s under the attic floor by the window.” Does that mean anything to you?’

‘Yes.’ There was surely only one book Forester could have meant – Herbert Winstanley’s little black book. A crooked smile tugged at Jim’s mouth in the darkness. Forester wanted to take his fellow sickos down with him. And Jim would have liked nothing better than to oblige the bastard. But barring a miracle the secret of the book’s location was going to die with Margaret and him. And he didn’t believe in miracles.

Reece watched Doug speed away from the headquarters of Steel City Security, wondering what the hell had got him so riled up. He’d seen that look in his eyes before when his partner was about to beat the crap out of someone. It occurred to him that maybe word had got back from Wayne Carson that he’d resumed searching for Melinda. Wayne had sworn to keep quiet, but that meant nothing if he thought he could profit more by opening his gob. He nodded to himself. That had to be it. He got into his car and headed towards the city centre. As Doug had suggested, or rather demanded, he intended to go home and stay there, but not before he’d paid Wayne a visit.

Pulling over on Wicker, Reece stashed the bundles of cash in one pocket and the Glock in another, then headed up to Wayne’s flat. He hammered on the door until the pimp’s voice came through it. ‘You’d better pack that in or the next thing that’ll be hitting my door is your fucking head.’

‘Open up.’

Wariness replaced Wayne’s irritation. ‘Aw, fuck. Not you again. What do you want now?’

‘I’ve got something for you. Open up and I’ll give it to you.’

The door remained firmly shut. ‘Look, just piss off, will you? I’m trying to get some sleep.’

‘I know what you did, Wayne.’

‘I dunno what the fuck you’re talking about. I’ve not done anything.’

Reece greeted the assertion with no surprise. He would have been amazed if the devious little prick had said otherwise. ‘Listen, I’m not here to lay a finger on you.’ His voice was suddenly weary, drained of aggression. He’d driven over there intending to confront Wayne, but now that it came to it all he wanted to do was give him the money. His memory kept replaying the images of what had happened in the short space between this and his previous visit to the pimp’s flat.
That
was his world now – a world where a mother kept a gun in her baby’s cot. There was no going back. He knew that. But if everything went to hell, if he lost his job, even if he ended up in prison, it would be worth it so long as Staci got out of this life and into one worth living. ‘Right now, I don’t care what you have or haven’t done. I’ve got fourteen thousand, three hundred and fifty quid for you here. Do you want it or not?’

A moment passed. The door opened on a security chain and Wayne’s shifty eyes peered out. ‘Let’s see it.’

Reece took out the money. Wayne eyed it uncertainly but hungrily. ‘Sixteen thousand and the bitch is yours.’

‘What’s the other sixteen hundred odd quid for?’

‘Let’s call it a matchmaker’s fee.’

Wearing an expression of intense distaste, Reece peeled off the required amount. The thought of haggling over Staci like she was a piece of meat was as repulsive to him as the pimp’s face. He passed the wad of cash through the door and repocketed the little that was left over. ‘Congratulations,’ said Wayne. ‘Staci’s all yours. Tell her she’s got until tomorrow morning to get herself and her shit out of my house.’

‘You’re a generous man.’ Reece’s voice was thick with sarcasm.

Wayne bared his yellowed and chipped teeth in a grin. ‘So I’ve been told. Now can I get back to my beauty sleep?’

Reece wedged his foot against the door as Wayne started to close it. ‘One more thing. If I ever so much as see you talking to Staci again, I’ll kill you.’ It wasn’t so much a threat as a simple statement of fact. ‘Do we understand each other?’

Wayne’s smile wavered, but only for a second. ‘You don’t need to worry about that. The bitch is your problem now.’

‘I’ll be seeing you soon. And your payment had better not be a penny short.’

This time the pimp’s smile vanished. ‘What about our deal?’

‘Forget our deal.’

‘Why?’

‘You know why.’

As Reece turned and headed down the stairs, Wayne shouted after him. ‘Fucked if I do. I told you, I’ve not done anything. I’ve not spoken to anyone.’

A trace of doubt clouded Reece’s face. Wayne sounded genuinely indignant. Was it possible he was telling the truth? Reece dismissed the idea. What other reason could Doug have for being so pissed at him? ‘Who smells of bullshit now?’ he shot back, taking out his phone.

Wayne shouted something else, but Reece wasn’t listening any more. He was thinking about what he was going to say to Staci. He didn’t want to tell her over the phone. He wanted to see the look in her eyes when she realised she was free – free from the street, free from fear, free to live and love. But if Doug got wind that they’d met up, the shit really would hit the fan. Reece placated himself with the thought that when this business with the Winstanley case had died down a little, Staci and he would be able to spend some time together. And not an hour here or a few hours there, but real time, the kind of time it took to truly get to know each other. For now, though, hearing her voice would have to be enough. As he dialled her, the phone vibrated in his hand. Smiling, he put it to his ear. ‘I was just about to call you. I’ve got something to tell—’

‘I need to see you,’ broke in Staci. Reece frowned at the anxiety in her voice.

‘We can’t risk meeting up right now. You know that.’

‘Please, Reece. I’m worried about Amber. I think something might have happened to her.’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. After you left this morning, a red BMW parked up outside her house. I went out to buy some cigs a while ago. When I got back the BMW was gone. I knocked on Amber’s door—’

‘Fucking hell, Staci. I thought we agreed you were going to stay away from her.’

A note of hurt joined the worry in Staci’s voice. ‘I was worried about her. She’s my friend.’

Reece heaved a sigh. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just you do realise what it’ll mean for us if you get dragged into the Winstanley case, right?’

‘Amber knows better than to mention my name.’

‘Even so, if any of my colleagues were to see you talking to her it could ruin everything for us.’

‘No one saw me talking to her. She wasn’t in. Or if she was, she didn’t come to the door.’