The Reckoning (16 page)

THIRTY-TWO

Anderson pushed his chair back and got to his
feet. With swift strides, he rounded his desk and hurried out of his office.
“He’s the only one of Davis’ friends who lives in town, are you sure?” he asked
as he approached the desk where DS Worth was busy tracking down information on
the list of names he had collected from Donna Harp in Greenville.

“As far as I can tell, sir, yes,” Worth
answered. “I’m still trying to find out everything I can about them, but so
far, Andrew Andrews appears to be the only one in town. Do you think it likely
that Davis will have gone to him? He must realise that we’ll find out about Mr
Andrews and look for him there.”

Anderson shrugged uncertainly. “The
information I’ve seen on Mr Davis so far suggests that he is of no more than
average intelligence, which means he’s remained at large for this long by luck,
good luck for him and bad luck for us. That’s bound to change sooner or later,
and then we’ll catch him,” he told his subordinate. “As far as I can tell, he’s
been acting on instinct ever since he escaped custody at the hospital this
morning, and the chances are that those instincts are going to lead him to seek
help, and soon. The only person he can go to for help, as far as we know at
this time, is this Andrew Andrews. Even if he doesn’t go to him, there’s every
chance that Mr Andrews will be able to provide us with information that will
help us to close in on Davis.”

“Very true, sir.”

“I’m glad you agree, Sergeant,” Anderson
said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Now find someone to take over from you
here, you’re coming with me to Mr Andrews’.”

“Yes, sir.”

Anderson, with Worth at his side, was on his
way out of the building when he was stopped by a constable. “What is it?” he
wanted to know impatiently, not happy about being delayed.

“There’s something you need to see, sir,” the
constable said; with that, he turned and moved off briskly down the corridor
toward the canteen.

Unhappy about being diverted from what he had
planned, but curious about what he needed to see, Anderson followed the
constable into the canteen. He looked around quickly, but could see nothing to
indicate why he had been led in there; it was mostly empty, with just a few
officers on their breaks, enjoying tea or coffee with a snack.

“…as I understand it, Constable, the first
girl to go missing, Danielle Pale, was dating Michael Davis, and indeed was on
the way to meet him when she went missing. How is it that Michael Davis
remained free to attack more girls over the following week and a half?”

“I don’t know, Sergeant Underwood…”

Anderson turned toward the television in the
corner of the canteen at the mention of Danielle Pale.  He was dismayed to see
Constable Harp being interviewed in the car park of the pub in Greenville. “God
dammit!” he swore angrily, not quite able to believe what he was seeing and
hearing. “I told her not to talk to anyone, especially not journalists and
reporters; doesn’t she have any sense?”

Having seen everything he needed to see, he
turned away from the television and started from the canteen. As he did so he
shoved a hand into his pocket for his mobile phone; he had it out, and was
listening to it ring, when he took it from his ear and jabbed the disconnect
button. Dealing with Constable Harp could wait, he decided, especially since he
needed to give some thought to the best way of dealing with her; not only that
but he needed to get to Andrew Andrews’.

Despite his annoyance with the constable from
Greenville, his top priority just then was finding and catching Michael Davis,
before he could hurt anyone else. He hoped the teen’s friend would be able to
help him do that.

With an effort, he pushed the constable and
her actions from his thoughts and returned the phone to his pocket.

*****

“What the fuck, Mike!”

“I’m sorry, Andy,” Michael said, sounding as
if he actually meant it. “I didn’t want any trouble when I came here, I just
wanted somewhere to lay low for a while, while I sorted some things out.”

Andy’s focus wasn’t on his friend, despite
the knife Michael had to his girlfriend’s throat; his attention had been drawn
to the television. On the screen was a series of pictures of young girls, girls
he recognised. “What the hell have you done?” he asked in a disbelieving voice
as he took in both the pictures and what was being said by the reporter and
Constable Donna Harp, who was being interviewed. “Is this true?” he demanded of
his friend.

“They were cock-teasing bitches and they got
what they deserved!” Michael snarled, both his voice and his entire demeanour
drastically different from how they had been just a moment before. “Get me your
car keys!” he suddenly ordered.

Andy was too stunned by his friend’s
admission of what he had done to react to the command. He didn’t even react to
the sight of the blade at his girlfriend’s throat; he simply stood there,
staring at the person he had known for most of his life.

“I said get me your car keys!” Michael
repeated sharply. To encourage his friend, he dug the point of the knife he was
holding a little more firmly into Becca’s throat, which resulted in a fresh
trickle of blood running down the exposed white skin beneath the blade.

“Okay, okay,” Andy said hurriedly, “I’ll get
the keys, just don’t hurt her.” His voice held a pleading note as he watched
the blood run down his girlfriend’s throat.

Slowly, because he didn’t want to do anything
that might provoke Michael into doing something drastic, Andy backed out of the
living room. In just a few moments he was back, having taken the keys from the
hook in the passage where he kept them. “Here you are.” He held them out.

“Bring them over here and give them to her,”
Michael ordered, holding on tight to Becca, who shook and gave every appearance
of being on the verge of collapsing from sheer fright. “Take the keys,” he
instructed her when Andy approached. “Good, now back off.” He told his friend.

Though he was tempted to try something, while
he was so close to Michael and Becca, Andy didn’t. Instead, he stepped back
away from them, as he had been ordered. He was confident that he could hold his
own in a one on one fight with Michael, but the knife, and the fact that
Michael was holding Becca hostage, meant he wasn’t prepared to do anything
risky.

Once Andy had backed away to the other side
of the living room, Michael made for the door. It wasn’t easy for him keeping
the knife at Becca’s throat as he forced her to move ahead of him, and when he
turned to keep her between him and Andy, he got his feet tangled with hers.

Together, he and Becca fell, crashing into
the coffee table, which shattered and splintered beneath their combined weight.

The air exploded from Michael’s lungs in a
gasp, driven from him by Becca’s bulk. He kept hold of the knife, but his grip
on his friend’s girlfriend loosened and the blade fell away from her throat. It
was several long moments before he recovered, and he only did so when Becca’s
weight left him, enabling him to regain his breath.

Andy reacted the moment he saw that the knife
was no longer at his girlfriend’s throat. He leaped forward to help her to her
feet, pulling her off Michael. He gave no thought to his car keys, which Becca
had dropped, as he got her up and then pulled her toward the doorway so he
could get her out of the living room.

Despite the pain he was feeling, which was on
a par with anything else he had felt that day, Michael surged to his feet. The
thought of Andy and his girlfriend getting away, to reveal to the police where
he was or had been, sent adrenaline flooding through his system, giving him the
strength to ignore the pain as he pushed himself up.

Once on his feet he rushed across the room,
catching up with Andy and Becca in the doorway. He grabbed Becca by the back of
the neck and hauled her back into the room; when he let her go she stumbled and
fell amid the wreckage of the coffee table. Michael was on her in an instant,
plunging the knife in his hand into her stomach.

He withdrew the knife and stabbed her again,
and again and again. He was just raising the weapon to stab Becca for a fifth
time when he was grabbed from behind.

As he was spun round Michael slashed with the
knife, forcing Andy to let him go and jump back out of the way. Michael
staggered a little as he struggled to regain his balance, before he could, Andy
crashed into him in a tackle that would have made a rugby coach proud.

A fresh wave of pain washed over Michael as
he and Andy rolled from the sofa to the floor. It was almost enough to make him
blackout but, somehow, he managed to remain conscious, and he grappled with his
friend. Both of them fought for control of the knife, which had slipped from
Michael’s grasp.

Michael didn’t know how but he ended up on
top of Andy, though his friend had succeeded in getting hold of the knife. With
one hand Michael gripped Andy’s wrist and repeatedly banged his hand on the
floor to make him drop the weapon, while the other he secured around his
friend’s throat.

Andy was blue in the face from lack of oxygen
before he dropped the knife. The instant he did, Michael let go of him,
snatched up the weapon and rose to his feet. Without even a glance at his
friend, he crossed the room to retrieve the car keys Andy had given Becca and
once he had them he left the room.

He was just pulling the front door open when
he heard pounding footsteps behind him. He wasn’t able to turn fully to meet
the approaching threat before Andy barrelled into him, crushing him against the
door. A fist smashed into his back and with a cry of pain Michael fell to the
floor, where Andy kicked him in the side. A second kick to the side rolled
Michael over and into the door, leaving him stunned, breathless, and fighting the
nausea that was brought on by the waves of pain sweeping over his body. He had
just enough presence of mind to get an arm up to block the next kick as he saw
the foot coming toward him.

Though the kick hurt, and jarred his arm,
Michael counterattacked with the knife, slashing through the leg of his
friend’s trousers and opening the shin to the bone. While Andy staggered back,
blood running down his leg, he pushed himself to his feet. With his friend
still on his back foot, and clearly more focused on the injury he had received,
Michael took advantage; he lunged forward with the knife held before him.

Andy tried to twist away from the attack but
he was only partially successful. Instead of being buried in his stomach, the
knife sliced into his side, drawing more blood from him. He clamped a hand to
his side to try and stem the flow of blood, turned and limped as rapidly as he
could down the passage toward the kitchen and the back door.

It was clear to him that he couldn’t hope to
get the knife away from Michael, let alone stop him doing whatever he wanted.
His only option was to flee, and to hope he could get away.

Ignoring the pain in his back and side as
best he could, Michael hurried after his friend. Not that he thought him much
of a friend anymore. He caught up with him in the doorway of the kitchen and
grabbed him by the t-shirt, jerking him to a stop, at the same time he plunged
the knife into Andy’s back.

Andy arched away from the blade but it did
him no good.

Michael pulled the knife from Andy’s back and
stabbed him again. In a frenzy, he stabbed him again and again, plunging the
eight inch kitchen knife into his friend time after time, ignoring the blood
that covered his hand and splashed onto the carpet.

Finally, he ended his attack and allowed his
friend’s body to drop to the floor, where it lay, motionless. He left it there,
certain that Andy was dead, and headed back down the passage.

“…despite being considered a suspect
initially, Mr Denton was instrumental in the arrest of Michael Davis after…”

Hearing Donna Harp’s voice Michael stopped
and turned to step into the living room. The constable was still being
interviewed by the reporter, and the sight of her, combined with her mention of
Jason Denton, the two people who had stopped him that morning, angered him. He
felt his blood boil and pound in his ears as he stalked across the room to the
television. “FUCKING BITCH!” he yelled, drawing back his foot.

*****

Anderson was glad he’d chosen to have DS
Worth drive when his phone rang in his pocket. Shifting about in the passenger
seat until he was able to get a hand into his pocket, he took out his phone.
“Anderson,” he answered it, wondering as he did so whether he was about to
receive good news or bad; based on how things had been going that day, he
couldn’t help thinking pessimistically that it was going to be bad news.

“Sir, we’ve had a report of a disturbance.”

“And?” Anderson wanted to know. “Why are you
telling me?”

“It’s at twenty-seven Lonsdale Road, the
address you’re on your way to, Sir,” the duty sergeant reported. “According to
the neighbour who called in the report, there was shouting and the sounds of a
fight, then he saw a young man run from the house with blood on his t-shirt.
Apparently the young man got into a car and drove off.”