‘What the fuck is going on, Markita?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘DON’T TAKE ME FOR A FUCKING MUG!’ He leapt towards her, wrenching the cigarette from her lips and grinding it into the plush, oatmeal carpet. ‘When I went to visit Piotr, he was in bits over you. I told you to keep him sweet, yet he reckons he’s had more warmth from a fucking ice cube.’
He sniffed again and then hocked a globule of spit in her direction. ‘You’ve dumped him? By text message! Who the fuck do you think you are? You callous bitch!’
‘I’ve tried! I’ve fucking tried, okay?’ Markita screeched back. She swiped the spit away from her cheek, her body arched towards him defiantly. They glared at each other for a moment, until exhausted, Markita slumped forward, hugging her knees.
Fresh tears sprung into her eyes. ‘I just don’t love him anymore, okay?’ she said wearily. ‘God knows I’ve tried to make it work, but my feelings have changed. There’s nothing between us anymore.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Anyway, it’s between me and Piotr. This has nothing to do with you, Aiden.’
He leant towards her, his face pressed hard against hers, spittle hitting her cheek as he spoke. ‘Is there someone else?’
She shook her head numbly.
‘Markita,’ he said softly in a sing-song voice, accentuating each syllable of her name. ‘Tell me the truth. Are you shagging someone else?’
Her eyes widened with fear as he produced a large knife from his waistband. He wielded it in her direction, she shook her head, more emphatically, too terrified to speak.
‘You lying fucking bitch,’ he said in the same sing-song voice as before. He pulled away from her before suddenly swinging back his fist and smashing it into her face. The momentum sent her sprawling to the floor. She tried to stumble back to her feet to get away from him. He aimed a kick at her head before gathering her hair in his fist.
Markita’s head was yanked up roughly from the floor. She felt like her scalp was going to tear and she screamed out in pain. She heard a swoosh before the tension was released, causing her face to smash into the carpet. Donnelly was laughing like a madman as he clutched the large clump of hair he had just sliced from Markita’s head. She shook with fear, if the knife could slice through her hair so easily, what would he cut next? She reached a hand to her head, sobbing harder as her fingers brushed against short stumps of hair.
‘A little present for Piotr,’ he said through a cackle. ‘I bet this will go down a treat with all those desperate men inside,’ he said, pressing the hair to his nose and inhaling deeply. ‘Now what else do you think they’d like? Tits or lips?’
Markita tried desperately to twist and thrash away from Donnelly, but he was too strong for her. She was on her back now as he straddled across her hips, his knees were pinning her arms down so she couldn’t move. Menacingly, he traced the knife from her mouth to her cleavage. She felt a sharp sting as the blade sliced into her skin, beads of blood rising to the surface.
Donnelly tipped the blade upward, pressing the edge against her left breast. She was too scared to move. He slowly began to increase the pressure and she prepared herself for the inevitable puncture. He sniffed again. His eyes were bloodshot, and his pupils enlarged, making him look even more deranged. She realised now that he was high on cocaine. Whatever happened this night, she was not going to make it out alive.
‘Aiden, please,’ she begged, her voice barely a whisper. ‘You don’t have to do this…’
‘Shhhhh…’ he hissed soothingly as slowly he began to increase the pressure. The knife began to penetrate her skin and the room began to swim before her eyes. Suddenly, there was a noise from the hallway. Donnelly froze, alerted to the sound.
He and Markita turned simultaneously towards the noise. Andy Carr was framed in the doorway, palms held up towards Aiden. His face was pale, and he was visibly shaking at the sight of Markita, the huge clump of hair and the equally large knife.
‘Stop, please,’ Andy said pleadingly. ‘Don’t hurt her, Mr Donnelly. You need to let her go.’
Still holding the knife against Markita’s breast, Donnelly surveyed Andy with suspicion and the usual disgust. ‘What the fuck are you doing here? And since when did you tell me what to do?’
Andy faltered. Time seemed to stand still as seconds stretched into hours. His bowels writhed with fear, as he frantically racked his brains to come up with something plausible. Markita was staring at him, her wide eyes silently pleading.
‘Well?’ Aiden demanded angrily. He climbed off Markita. She scrambled away from him, across the floor, to the back of the room. Donnelly’s attention was on Andy now. The bloodstained knife was now pointing in his direction. Vitriol and aggression exuded out of every pore. ‘WELL?’ Donnelly repeated.
‘I-I… was passing and saw your car. I’ve just found out that Redford and Mitton are planning on having Markita watched, starting later this evening. I came to warn you. If you mess her up anymore, they’re going to start asking questions. You need to leave, Mr Donnelly. Now. Please. For your own sake.’
There was another long, intimidating silence, until eventually Donnelly threw his head back and laughed manically. He approached Andy slowly, a sinister grin on his face. ‘Well, well, well, you’re not the completely useless piece of shit I thought you were.’ He patted Andy sharply several times on his face. Tucking the knife back into his waistband he headed towards the door.
‘Sort that out,’ he said, gesturing towards Markita without even looking back. Andy and Markita remained rooted to the spot for several moments until certain he was gone. Then Markita began to cry hysterically, like a wailing banshee, and it took all Andy’s best efforts not to join in.
50
Maya had fallen asleep in a drunken stupor and was now dead to the world. He lay on the pillow next to her watching her sleep. He grinned widely to himself as she let out a sudden snore. God, she was beautiful. Her long lashes framed her cheeks, her hair a mass of untamed curls spread across the pillow.
He could quite easily lay his head next to hers and succumb to some much-needed sleep, but he knew he had stayed too long already.
Maya let out a little snort as she turned suddenly, rolling onto her side. Her face was now turned towards his and he found himself catching his breath as he gazed at her, thoroughly mesmerised. She was so close. Her breath tickled his face, and he could still smell wine. It had a sharp sour smell, but he didn’t mind. He was too captivated by her beauty.
He could lie here all night, just watching her sleep. She looked so peaceful. She looked so perfect. She was perfect. Unable to resist any longer, he leant forward and very lightly, very gently, kissed her on her cheek. Unexpectedly, Maya’s eyes flew open, wide with shock.
‘Hello,’ said Lurch. ‘What’s your favourite colour? Your dad wants to know.’
51
Mark Posner. Drug dealing piece of shit. It’s laughable how much of his lengthy prison sentence he actually served. The system is a joke. When I think of the number of lives lost because of the dodgy batches of gear he supplied over the years. It’s heartbreaking and an insult to the families. The junkies that survived caused so much misery for themselves and others, they’d have been better off dead. Justice isn’t always issued in court though.
To think how he ended up. He’d made a point of never touching the drugs he sold. He knew what a slippery slope it was. He was smarter than that. He’d witnessed the effects of addiction first-hand and would never be so stupid.
But he’d only been inside a fortnight and was hooked. He’d take or do anything to temporarily anaesthetise the harsh reality of prison life. His baby-faced looks had served him well when he was dealing. His sharp suits and swagger had the addicts flocking to him. Inside, that same pretty face made him easy prey. And he was equally sought after. Now he was out, he was homeless and giving head for the price of a bag of smack. Poetic justice really.
With everything that was going on, I’d been unable to sleep that
night. I’d been so preoccupied thinking about who to kill next. I hadn’t even intended it to be Posner. He had just presented himself as a glorious opportunity. There was something soothing about strolling around undesirable areas in the dark. I was goading trouble. Tempting fate. The next thing I knew, I found myself in an area frequented by the homeless and drug addicted.
Bridge Street is a stretch of canal on the edge of town, shrouded by an old railway bridge. The towpath is covered in pools of vomit that glisten in the moonlight. The cover and lack of CCTV footage in that area gives them the perfect place to come and go without being observed. They move like ghosts here. Unseen and unheard. Unclean and unrepentant.
He was alone when I found him. I almost didn’t recognise him. He’d aged so much. Toothless and cadaverous. Slumped across the towpath with lungs full of spice. He was a zombie. He didn’t react when I nudged him in the ribs. He was already half dead. It didn’t take too much effort to roll his skeletal form over a couple of times until he dropped into the moody water.
Splash.
52
Maya was trapped in a living nightmare. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She willed her legs to move, but they remained paralysed. The giant’s face was so close to hers, she thought he was going to kiss her again. She could smell his foul breath and stale sweat. Slowly he backed away, not once breaking eye contact. Then, surprisingly deft for a man of his considerable size, he swept softly out of the bedroom. Despite the deafening sound of her racing heart, Maya heard him quietly click the door behind him.
She remained frozen on the bed. Frantically listening out for signs that someone else might be in the apartment. She could still smell the man’s presence. Still feel the weight and see the indentation on the bed where he had lay. She suddenly became aware of the feel of his wet kiss on her cheek. Retching, she ran to the bathroom, barely making it in time.
Vomit pumped out of her ceaselessly until she was empty, leaving her wobbly-legged and coated in sweat. Still dry heaving, her stomach was wracked with pain. Barely able to stand, she knelt up towards the sink and grabbed her flannel. She scrubbed frantically at her cheek. Scrubbing away the dirtiness of the kiss. What the fuck?
Her limbs were shaking. A combination of fear and the after-effects of having vomited so much. She plucked a pair of nail scissors out of the container on her bathroom ledge. A poor weapon, but better than nothing. She clasped it in her fist as she tiptoed out of the bathroom. Palpitations erupted in her chest as she peered into the lounge. No one there. Still panic-stricken, she continued softly towards the kitchen. Each footstep might as well have been a drumbeat. She arched around the kitchen door; all her senses heightened. Nothing.
Thank God, she was alone. At last, she released a sound. A strangled scream as she hurtled to the door. She checked the lock and could see no damage. She had either left it open or the burglar had used a spare key or some sort of lock-picking device. For what it was worth, she attached the chain. It seemed paltry and ineffective in keeping that monster of a man out, should he choose to return.
Quaking, she pressed her back against the door and slid to the ground. She buried her head in her arms and held herself, rocking slowly. The tears came thick and fast. Sobs wracked her body as snot and tears streamed down her face.
Gradually the tears subsided. Maya gulped occasionally as she rose on unsteady legs. Slowly, she walked toward the bedroom. She stood at the door, afraid to go in. From what she could see, nothing appeared disturbed and nothing had been stolen. Her fear was suddenly replaced with a torrent of rage. She refused to become a victim. She was a grown woman. Strong and resilient. Nobody had the right to fucking scare her like this.
She tore at the bedding, stripping it away. She couldn’t stomach the thought of some stranger… some animal lying on her bed. And to kiss her? The paralysing fear returned at the realisation of what else the man could have done to her while she was sleeping. She had to phone the police. She should have done that straight away. What had she been thinking?
But then rationale took over. Other than the kiss, he hadn’t touched her. That wasn’t his intention. He was there to deliver a message. ‘Your dad wants to know.’
She shuddered violently. The thought of Naylor made her feel sick all over again. At the best of times, the thought of him horrified her. And now what? She was receiving messages from him at 4am. Was he even still in prison or had he been released? Surely, she and Dominique would have been informed if he had? The pair had only discussed him recently and there was no way Dominique would hold something so important back from Maya. The possibility that Naylor could be walking the streets was terrifying.
Maya knew she couldn’t risk phoning the police. She couldn’t afford to expose herself to the fact she was Marcus Naylor’s daughter. After all, this was the secret she was so desperate to keep. When Maya had failed to disclose her relationship with Naylor on her application form, she had known at the time that this was contravening the conditions of her application and was effectively fraud.
Maya had willingly taken the risk. She was desperate to be a SOCO and had worked damn hard to get the job. It had never been an option to scupper her chances because of her association with such a violent, deranged man who she was blessedly estranged from. Now she was in it up to her neck. Naylor had been in touch. She knew him well enough to perceive this to be a threat. A warning. And the only people she could turn to for help, were the same people who would probably sack her for submitting a fraudulent application form.
There was nothing she could do. Nobody she could turn to. Not yet anyway. Not until she knew what Naylor was planning. She thought of Spence. The urge to text him and see him was overwhelming, but she didn’t want to get him involved in anything to do with Naylor. She cared about him too much. She was in no doubt that the early morning message was the start of some sick and twisted game of cat and mouse. Well, she wasn’t the frightened little girl he used to know. She’d got him put behind bars once before, and if he was out, she would do it again. But could she do it without jeopardising her and Dominique’s safety? And could she do it without risking the career she loved?
53
Spence was lying in bed, recalling the previous evening with Maya.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss. It had been incredible and mind-blowing. They had ended up in Maya’s apartment and things had progressed to the couch until he had become concerned that he could be taking advantage of the fact she’d had quite a lot to drink.
Reluctantly, he had suggested they slow things down a bit. She had resisted at first and told him in no uncertain terms what she wanted. For his own sake, he had insisted they stop. The last thing he would ever want was to see regret in her face the following morning. He also didn’t want her to think he had taken advantage. He liked her too much for that. They had both reluctantly kissed each other goodbye after exchanging phone numbers. Maya had swayed unsteadily at the door as she waved him off.
He had already sent her a text message to say good morning and to ask her how she was, but hadn’t heard anything back yet, despite checking his phone far too many times. He berated himself for acting like a lovesick teenager. At the same time, the longer the silence continued, the more he knew he had made the right choice to slow things down last night. She had been at a loose end and had quite a lot to drink. She had clearly been letting off steam after working on Ryan Johnson’s murder. There was no guarantee that in the cold light of day she would feel the same as she had last night.
He was broken from his reverie by a loud, authoritative knock on the door. He pulled on some jeans and rushed to open it, anticipating the delivery of a parcel for his sister. On opening the door, he saw two men, smartly dressed, wearing police body armour over their shirts. Their white Vauxhall Astra was parked proprietorially on the drive.
‘Spencer James?’ asked the younger of the two.
He nodded, confused. ‘Is everything okay?’ He berated himself for the fooli
shness of the question. Police officers didn’t just randomly roll up on somebody’s front door just to announce that everything was fine and dandy. He could imagine Maya teasing him for saying it.
The man pulled a lanyard out of his pocket and flashed an ID badge under his nose. ‘I’m DS Turner and this is my colleague, DC Malone. Could we come in for a moment?’
‘Erm, yes. Please come through to the lounge.’ He swung the door open for them and gestured up the hallway.
‘After you, sir,’ DS Turner said with stern authority.
‘What’s all this about?’ said Spence as he perched on the edge of the sofa. ‘Is this something to do with Ryan Johnson? Because if it is, I didn’t really know him. He was an old school friend, that’s all.’
‘We need you to accompany us to the police station so we can speak to you about a serious assault on David McCluskey. We are also going to conduct a search of this address. Do you understand?’
‘David who? I don’t know who you’re talking about. I haven’t done anything. And this is my sister’s house. She’ll go ballistic if you start pulling things apart.’
DS Turner nodded as he fished out a pair of handcuffs from his body armour. Spence was stunned as Turner cuffed him and read out the caution. ‘Do you understand?’ Turner asked again.
‘Yeah.’ Spence shook his head, bewildered. ‘I mean, I understand the words, but I don’t understand why you’re here. I’ve already told you; I haven’t done anything.’
‘Right, well, we’ll discuss it at the station under interview.’ Turner sounded bored, as if he’d heard it all before. He gestured towards DC Malone to keep an eye on Spence, while he stepped out into the hall and called up on his police radio.
Definitely Dead Page 21
