Justice for the Damned (7 page)

Doug gave another, louder snort. ‘He’s not old school. Your dad was old school. And he was a far better copper than Jim Monahan too, not because he was the greatest detective in the world, but because he knew it was us against,’ he pointed at the street, ‘them. You can trust a copper like your dad no matter what happens. You can’t trust coppers like Jim, idealists who’ve always got to do what they think’s right.’ He leant forward, eyes sharp with intensity. ‘It’s not doing the right thing, or even upholding the law, that matters most in this job. It’s the people you work with. It’s having their backs and knowing they’ve got yours at all times. That’s what matters most. Guys like Jim don’t understand that. They come into the job thinking they can make a difference. When they realise they can’t, they start to hate it. But by that time they’ve given up so much for it they can’t bring themselves to just walk away. They want to go out with a bang. And that’s when the coppers around them get hurt, maybe even end up dead.’

‘You mean Amy Sheridan. That wasn’t Jim’s fault.’

‘Bollocks it wasn’t. She wouldn’t have been outside the hospital with the Baxley lad if it wasn’t for Jim. He got himself barred from ICU by stepping on that psychiatrist’s toes.’

‘That psychiatrist was a child molester.’

‘Yeah, but Jim didn’t know that at the time. And anyway, that’s beside the point. The point is crusaders like him seem to think they answer to a higher power than the rest of us normal cops.’

‘Are we normal cops?’

Doug scowled as if the question was an insult. ‘Course we fucking are. We’re no different to anyone else, we’re just smarter.’ He sipped his whisky, studying Reece over the rim of his glass, a glimmer of a frown in his shrewd eyes. He swallowed his frown with the whisky. ‘Listen, I understand why you look up to Jim. I used to look up to him myself. But think on this: if you’d been his partner it’d be you, not Amy, lying in the mortuary.’ His voice was friendly, almost fatherly. ‘Luckily for you, you’re not his partner, you’re mine, and I look after my own. Always remember, Reece, the only person in the world a cop can trust is another cop.’

The muscles of Reece’s jaw tightened. Was that a sideways dig at Staci? ‘What about when we’re not cops any more? Who do we trust then?’

Doug grinned. ‘Once a cop always a cop. I thought you’d have learned that from your dad.’

The line twitched between Reece’s eyes again. His dad had taught him a lot of things, but that saying wasn’t one of them. As an image of his dad sitting alone coughing up the lining of his lungs filled his mind, the words sounded more like a warning than a recommendation. He washed the image away with a swig of beer. ‘There’s something I want to ask you. Have you ever heard any rumours about someone abducting prostitutes in the city?’

Doug raised an eyebrow. ‘When you say “someone”, you mean a serial killer. Right?’

‘Possibly, I don’t really know.’

‘And let me guess where you heard this rumour. One of your whore’s workmates has gone missing and she’s convinced they’ve been abducted. Right?’

Reece’s fingers tightened on the beer bottle at the word ‘whore’, but he kept his voice carefully emotionless. ‘Right.’

‘So now your whore wants you to look into the other whore’s disappearance.’

Stop fucking calling Staci a whore!
The words pushed at Reece’s lips. He nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth they’d come bellowing out.

‘But you’re not going to waste your time on this bullshit,’ went on Doug. ‘Because you know your whore’s friend isn’t really missing, she’s just found somewhere else to turn tricks.’

‘Don’t—’ Reece started to snap, but checked himself.

‘Don’t what? Don’t call your girlfriend a whore. Why not? That’s what she is, isn’t it?’

Reece turned away from Doug’s all too perceptive eyes. The bottle trembled under his vice-like grip.

Jabbing a finger against the table for emphasis, Doug said, ‘Always call people what they are. That way there’s no confusion.’

‘I’m not confused.’

‘Then you must know that just as you’ll always be a cop, your girlfriend will always be a junkie whore.’

That was too much for Reece. He jerked his face towards Doug, eyes blazing. ‘The fuck she will be!’

Doug spread his hands. ‘Easy, big man. I know it’s hard to hear the truth, but I’m just trying to save you a lot of heartache later on.’

‘You don’t know Staci. All she wants is to get out of that life and get her daughter back. And I’m going to do whatever I can to help her. Do you hear me?’

‘I hear you. And who knows, maybe I’m wrong, maybe she can change.’
And maybe pigs can fly
, Doug’s eyes seemed to add.

Reece shoved his chair back and stood. ‘I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘No you won’t. Remember, you’re taking your dad for his chemo.’

Reece rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, reflecting sardonically that the evening’s events had at least driven that particular unpleasant thought out of his head, even if it had only been replaced with other almost equally unpleasant thoughts.

‘Tell him good luck from me,’ continued Doug.

The thought of what tomorrow held weighing in his stomach like a heavy stone, Reece returned to his car. As he started the engine, Doug tapped the window. Reece lowered it and Doug proffered him a scrap of beermat. There was a name written on it. Vernon Tisdale. ‘He’s a journalist at the South Yorkshire
Chronicle
,’ explained Doug. ‘At least he used to be. I don’t know what he’s up to nowadays. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s six feet under. He was a real porker. Must have weighed well over twenty stone last time I saw him. Anyway, a few years before your time, he came to us with a list of missing prostitutes he believed had been murdered.’

Reece’s eyebrows lifted. ‘So it’s more than just a rumour then.’

‘Only in the overactive imagination of Tisdale and the whores he’d been speaking to. It didn’t take us long to realise his list was a load of bollocks.’

‘Bollocks in what way?’

‘Well, for starters, several of the so-called victims had died from natural causes and drug overdoses. And for seconds, others on the list had simply moved out of the area. So you see, that’s why I know your whor— your girlfriend’s little theory is nonsense. But hey, if you want to waste your time on nonsense, that’s up to you. Just so long as you don’t let it get in the way of your real work.’

‘I won’t. Thanks, Doug.’ Reece pocketed the scrap of beermat, and flicking Doug a wave, accelerated away.

So what the fuck do I do now?
wondered Tyler. He scratched at his bandaged eye socket. The painkillers were wearing off. Soon, he knew, the itching sensation would build to a throbbing pain deep enough to make even him grimace. It still hadn’t really sunk in that his left eye was gone. When he glanced from side to side, he could feel his eye muscles moving as though it was still there. The surgeon who’d operated on him in a makeshift backstreet surgery had explained that his eyeball was too badly damaged to be saved, and what’s more, considering that the wound stopped just millimetres short of his brain, he was lucky to be alive. Tyler had accepted the news with his usual inscrutable air. He felt no anger towards Mark Baxley for stabbing him. He would have done the same himself in Mark’s position, only he’d have made sure to push the broken plastic handle all the way through the eyeball into the brain.

Bryan bellowed through his gag, goggling his eyes in a way that said far more clearly than his muffled words,
Take this fucking thing off me!

Tyler headed into the hallway, motioning for Liam and Stan to follow. Liam slammed the door and looked wide-eyed at his colleagues. ‘This is fucked. This is so fucked. Why would Bryan Reynolds want to kill Edward Forester?’

‘That’s not our concern,’ said Stan, his dour Yorkshire voice as steady as ever. ‘We’ve been contracted to do a job, and we have an obligation to complete that contract.’

‘Are you off your rocker? If we kill Reynolds we’ll have every psycho with a gun in Sheffield after our arses.’

‘Well we can’t let him go. He’s seen our faces. And anyway, who’s to know it was us that killed him?’

‘Forester knows,’ said Tyler. ‘And if Reynolds’s goons know about Forester, they’ll go after him and try to make him talk.’

‘Fuck, you’re right,’ said Liam. ‘And there’s no way that prick will keep his gob shut. Well, that’s it then. We’ve got no choice. We have to kill them both.’

‘Make your mind up,’ said Stan. ‘A moment ago you were all for letting Reynolds go.’

‘No I wasn’t. I just wasn’t sure what we should do.’

‘You sounded sure enough to me.’

Liam turned to Tyler. ‘So are we going to kill them or what?’

‘As far as Reynolds goes, the question isn’t are we going to do it,’ said Tyler. ‘It’s how do we compensate for what we’re going to lose? We make as much from Reynolds in five or six months as what we’re being paid for this job.’

‘Simple,’ said Stan. ‘Forester’s going to have to pay more.’

Tyler nodded. ‘A lot more.’

‘And when he’s paid us, we do him in too. Right?’ said Liam.

Tyler scratched his bandage again. Christ, the itching was enough to drive you crazy. ‘I’m not sure about that. Killing a gangster is one thing. No one is going to miss a scumbag like Bryan Reynolds. Killing a politician is another thing entirely. We’ll have every copper in South Yorkshire looking for us.’

‘We already have after what you did to that policewoman,’ pointed out Stan.

‘Yeah, well, that wouldn’t have happened if the bitch had backed down.’ The briefest flash of irritation – not at Stan, but at himself – showed in Tyler’s tone. He motioned at the door to what they half-jokingly referred to as the interrogation room. ‘You two get back in there and keep an eye on our guests.’ With a glance at Liam, he added, ‘That’s all. Don’t lay a finger on them, don’t even talk to them. Is that clear?’

Nodding, Liam and Stan headed back into the room. Tyler pulled out a mobile phone and dialled. The call was answered on the first ring. ‘Is it done?’ enquired a gravelly voice.

‘We’ve got a problem. The target turned out to be Bryan Reynolds.’

‘Oh it did, did it?’

‘You don’t sound too surprised.’

‘Maybe that’s because earlier tonight I learnt that Reynolds is Mark Baxley’s dad.’

A momentary silence from Tyler was the only outward sign that the news had needled him. ‘You might have warned me.’

‘By the time I found out, you were already on the job. Besides, how was I supposed to know Reynolds knew about Forester?’

‘That’s the big question, isn’t it? Who told Reynolds?’

‘Well, it was Jim Monahan who figured out the Baxley lad is Reynolds’s son.’

‘Monahan.’ Tyler’s eye narrowed fractionally. ‘Wasn’t he the partner of that bitch I had to put down?’

‘Uh-huh. But even if he’s somehow managed to connect Forester to Mark Baxley, I can’t believe he’d leak the information. He hates Reynolds worse than every other copper in South Yorkshire put together.’

A shadow of a wince darkened Tyler’s features as pain spiked through his empty eye socket. ‘This is getting messy. I don’t like messy.’

‘Perhaps it’s a mess we can turn to our advantage. With Reynolds gone–’

‘Reynolds isn’t gone yet,’ corrected Tyler.

‘Yeah, but he will be once you’ve finished questioning him. And with him out of the picture, there’s going to be a huge power vacuum for someone to fill.’ A thrill of excitement rippled through the voice on the other end of the line. ‘Maybe that someone is us.’

‘We’re not ready to make a move like that.’

‘I disagree. This is our big chance. Come on, Tyler, we’ve been talking about doing this for years.’

Tyler was silent for some moments. Then he said, ‘I’m going to arrange a meet with Forester and try to squeeze more cash out of him.’

‘Well don’t squeeze too hard. He’s a handy man to have in our pocket.’

‘That depends on who knows about the connection between him and Mark Baxley. If Jim Monahan knows, Forester’s got to go.’

‘I really can’t see how Jim could have made that connection. Not unless Grace Kirby told Mark Baxley before she died. But if that were the case, the whole department would know about it.’

‘Well someone knows.’

‘Point taken, but I still say we don’t do anything to Forester until we’re sure who that someone is. Agreed?’

‘Agreed.’

Tyler hung up and dialled another number. Edward Forester’s voice came on the line, calm but tinged with an undercurrent of anxiety. ‘Have you got the bastard?’

‘We need to meet.’

‘What for? If it’s money you want, I’m not paying you a penny unless you’ve got him. We agreed, payment in full when—’

‘I know what we agreed,’ interrupted Tyler, ‘but the situation’s changed.’

‘How so?’

‘It’s difficult to explain. You really need to see for yourself.’

Edward huffed an angry breath down the line. ‘A contract is a contract. I don’t see why it makes any difference if the situation’s changed.’

‘Look, either you meet me where I say, or I’ll come to your house. It’s up to you.’ Tyler’s voice was as cold as a dead fish.

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘I don’t make threats.’

The politician’s breathing grew hesitant as anger turned to uncertainty. ‘Alright. Where?’

Tyler described the location of a layby not far from Ladybower Reservoir, adding, ‘I’ll be there in twenty-five minutes. You be there too.’

Tyler returned to the Range Rover. He drove to the meeting place as fast as he dared with his vision the way it was, careering around the dark bends of the Snake Pass. Events were moving fast. He knew he had to move faster if he didn’t want them to swallow him up and shit him out. When he reached the layby, Edward Forester’s Jag was already there. He wasn’t surprised. The politician’s country pad was only three or four miles away. He pulled in facing the Jag and flashed his lights, signalling Edward to come to him. As Edward got out of his car, Tyler pressed a button and a concealed electronic compartment in the dashboard whirred open. He removed a Glock 9mm and a small black cloth bag from it. Resting the gun on his thigh, he twisted in his seat so that his remaining eye faced the passenger door.