by Taylor Leon
WHEN LLOYD TANNER came to, he was tied down to a bar-stool in the middle of his kitchen. He felt groggy, like he was going to throw up. He couldn’t feel his arms or his legs. His face was hurting, his mouth swollen, his head pounding. The bright kitchen lights burned his eyes as he tried to focus on what was around him.
What the hell happened? He’d come back from a few drinks with some buddies. Seeing Angel’s car parked outside, he was surprised that all the lights in the house were out, so he’d called her name as he stepped into the hallway. Then---whap! Something heavy had smashed against the back of his skull. He was on the floor feeling himself drift away when he suddenly felt a boot smash into his face…
The masked face hovering over him. Watching.
‘Hello Detective Tanner,’ it said. ‘Time passes quickly doesn’t it?’
Lloyd tried to hoist himself up but couldn’t. He was tied down tight
The masked man sighed. ‘I do hope I didn’t damage your memory when I hit you over the head.’ He leaned in and grimaced. ‘You know I only insist on wearing these masks out of respect for Mark. He wore them whenever he was forced to take action against the enemy. He said it helped stem any emotion, kind of like those FBI agents in America who hide behind their shades. Meant he could stay detached and do the job. You are an exception though. I need you to see me. Here, lookee lookee.’ He peeled the mask up to reveal a white pockmarked face with large brown eyes, and yellow stained teeth.
‘That’s right Detective, think five years ago. Think Mark Riley.’
Lloyd closed his eyes. In the darkness he tried make the connections.
****
Five years ago.
Mark Riley and George Hilton. The NID pub bombers.
Five years ago.
A call came through.
They’d got the names and addresses of the bombers.
They went to fetch the first name Mark Riley. Another team went to pick up George Hilton.
Four o’clock in the morning.
They smashed the front door open with the “big key”.
A blonde girl, in a long nightdress, came downstairs screaming.
‘Police,’ Lloyd pushed past her, briefly flashing his badge, his partner and a couple of other armed officers in tow.
He called back for someone to stay with the girl.
Upstairs on the landing, he stepped over the clothes scattered across the pea green carpet.
There were three doors to choose from. The bathroom door was slightly open. One bedroom door was open and looked empty.
The third door was closed.
‘Police. Come out with your hands up,’ Lloyd called.
No answer.
He nodded to his partner. They had their guns drawn.
His partner stepped forward and kicked the door hard. It broke open.
Lloyd was the first in.
Mark Riley was standing there in his boxers. He was twenty-seven years old, had murdered nine people in the last two weeks, and now he was aiming a gun straight at them.
‘Drop the weapon,’ Lloyd said.
‘Fuck you!’ Mark Riley called back.
Lloyd swore he saw Mark’s finger squeezing the trigger.
No chances.
Lloyd fired first.
****
Lloyd recognised him now. ‘What do you want?’ he said.
‘What do I want? What do I want?’ He bent down over Lloyd. ‘I want Mark back. I want my country back.’
‘Your country?’ Lloyd stammered. The back of his head felt like it was about to explode every time he spoke.
‘My country,’ he said. ‘As this country teeters from one crisis to another, people flood in from abroad and milk the system, getting benefits for nothing, contributing nothing, while the hard-working citizens who were born and bred here are the ones that suffer. Whatever happened to looking after your own first?’
Lloyd sneered. ‘So, you want a revolution? How noble. I thought Brexit sorted that for you.’
He could see the anger rising in his captor’s face but he had to keep him talking for as long as possible.
‘That came far too late,’ another, younger voice, said from behind. ‘They’re already here like rats coming up through the drains. We don’t want a revolution. We want a war.’
‘Like you tried five years ago? It didn’t work then, and it won’t work now.’
‘You talk too much,’ the voice from behind said, and suddenly two hands swooped down and roughly grabbed Lloyd’s jaw squeezing it tight. Lloyd looked up, but everything was blurred through his hurting, swollen eyes.
He tried to turn his head but it was held in a vise-like grip. He felt large, cold hands press against his cheeks and chin, imagined he could taste dirty thick fingers as they prised his mouth open, even as he screamed and squirmed against his bonds, even as he saw a hand holding a knife that glinted in the light.
Fingers reached into Lloyd’s mouth, grabbing his tongue between thumb and forefinger, pulling it taut like a piece of elastic. Then with the small knife someone started to cut through it with quick furtive sawing motions.
Lloyd screamed, blood pouring out of his mouth and down his front. The pain was excruciating, the shock of what was happening to him even greater.
The masked figure in front finally rocked back triumphantly, waving the organ in front of his face like a child’s rattle. ‘That’ll shut you up for now,’ he said.
Then he stepped aside. Angel was lying face down on the kitchen floor in a thick pool of blood. Motionless.
Lloyd gave a silent scream. The shock of seeing his daughter dead in front of him was an aesthetic to the pain from the amputation that had just been performed on him. He surged forward against his bonds.
‘Eye for an eye,’ a voice said. ‘You can sit there and watch your child bleed to death. And know this. The whole world will see that in the end, Mark won.’
19
THE MOBILE PHONE woke me up. The red digits on the bedside clock read 06:33.
I pulled myself up into a sitting position, gently easing Sampson off me with one hand and reached over for my phone. A six-thirty call is never good news.
The reply was a barrage of words.
Lloyd.
Angel.
Incident.
House.
I cut the phone off and tossed it back onto my bedside table, the words not sinking in as fast as the panic was. Rushing out of bed I crossed over to my wardrobe, pulling out clothes at random.
Sampson was stirring uneasily on the bed, sensing something bad was up.
I rushed out into the lounge area, where Cade was still asleep on the sofa. I shook him awake.
‘What’s up?’ he said drowsily, perhaps forgetting where he was for an instant. Then he saw the panic on my face: ‘Erin, what’s happened?’
Behind me Sampson padded in, moaning softly as though he’d taken the call himself.
I couldn’t answer Cade. Didn’t want to repeat what they had told me on the phone.
I deal in death, and death follows me like a curse.
‘It’s Lloyd,’ was all I said.
Cade looked at me quizzically, but threw the blanket back. Still fully dressed he pulled his shoes back on and followed me straight out the front door.
Wordlessly, I reversed my car out of the parking bay way too fast, nearly colliding with a neighbour’s vehicle.
My mind was a whirlwind of panic and anger.
Lloyd.
Angel.
The residential roads ahead were already filling up with early morning commuters. I asked Cade to pass me the blue light, and then with sirens blaring we surged forward, the lanes of traffic in front of us parting like the Red Sea.
He asked me again what had happened, so I told him what they’d told me. He stared ahead, grim-faced and didn’t say anything more.
I put the radio on, but the only reference on the news was that an area in Whetstone had been cordoned off, and they’d bring more informa
tion as it came in.
****
The media were already there, lining up their cameras behind the plastic tape at the road-block, two hundred yards from Lloyd’s house. I drove up to a Uniform, and showed him my badge. He waved us through the cordon, past a long row of detached houses. Lloyd’s was the fifth on the right.
There was an ambulance ahead of me in the road and they were bringing a gurney with a body bag down the drive towards it.
I parked up badly amongst the other cars, jumped out and ran around towards the gurney. Cade was there first, reaching out his arms to slow me down, or stop me completely.
I pushed past him, and stood in front of the gurney, blocking its path.
‘I want to see,’ I said.
The two paramedics pushing, looked past me at Cade. I turned and glared at him. With a resigned sigh, he nodded back at them.
I stepped to one side of the gurney, reached across and with an unsteady arm pulled the bag’s zip down just a few inches to uncover Angel’s face.
Oh My God.
No.
No.
Death and destruction follow me like a curse.
She looked so pale and so beautiful.
I turned away and threw up. I could sense the paramedics wincing behind me. I closed my eyes and took in large gulps of air, even as I felt everything around me teeter and turn.
When I opened them again, one of the paramedics had walked around the gurney and was zipping the body-bag up.
‘Are you going to be okay?’ he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and motioned for his colleague to continue wheeling.
As they passed I could feel my legs give way, but I couldn’t fall back because Cade was behind propping me up.
‘You need to sit down,’ he said in my ear.
I looked up at the house.
Lloyd.
I straightened up, pushing off Cade, and with a sudden surge of adrenalin, I marched purposefully up the drive, with no idea what I was going to find, no idea what I was going to do.
Cade ran to catch up with me. ‘Erin, don’t go in there,’ he said.
I ignored him and kept on going.
Arnie Shenker was just ahead with a couple of other suits. He stepped away from them when he saw me.
He held his hands up. ‘Erin, you can’t go any further. Come on, we’re moving back. The bomb squad are in there trying to get him out.’
I turned and faced him, couldn’t believe I’d heard him correctly. ‘The bomb squad? What’s the bomb squad doing here?’
‘They didn’t tell you? Come on, Erin, let’s talk over there.’
‘I need to see Lloyd,’ I said.
‘No chance.’
I pushed past him as well and made it up to the doorway.
Glancing back over my shoulder I saw Cade and Arnie retreating. Arnie had a look that said, If that bomb doesn’t kill you, I will.
I turned and headed inside the house.
I had expected pandemonium in there. No idea why as I’d never been in a situation with the bomb squad before. I guess I just got it from the movies. But it was eerily quiet, just the voices from outside filtering through as whispers in the hallway.
Then I heard the loud muffled moans coming from the kitchen. It was a horrific deep groaning noise, like a wounded animal crying out for help.
Lloyd.
I followed the hallway into the kitchen. Lloyd was sitting facing me but with his head bowed, dressed in grey slacks and a dark shirt. A black clad figure was bent in front of him working on something that was attached around his neck.
Lloyd saw me and looked up. His face was bruised and ashen, his mouth and chin covered in dried blood. He continued making those horrible grunting noises, nodding in my direction, trying to say something. At first I thought that something had been stuffed into his mouth which was preventing him from talking. Then when he opened his mouth I realised what they’d done to him, and almost passed out at the thought.
‘My God, Lloyd,’ I whispered.
His bloodshot eyes were fixed on me, and he was visibly shaking.
A voice from the front door called in. ‘It’s clear outside.’
‘There’s someone in here!’ The black clad figure shouted back.
‘You in there,’ the voice in the doorway called. ‘You need to come out right away.’
The figure in front of Lloyd called back over his shoulder. ‘Whoever’s behind me, get out of here right now. This thing around his neck is either going to shut-down or explode in a few seconds.’
Lloyd’s beaten and battered face, staring back at me helplessly, would haunt me forever. A man who had seen his daughter murdered and knew he himself was maybe seconds away from death.
‘I’m staying,’ I said.
‘Don’t be a martyr,’ the bomb-disposal guy said without turning. ‘Go now.’
Lloyd nodded. Blinked slowly once. Telling me to go.
‘I’m sorry,’ I mouthed back.
Shaking, I turned and walked numbly back towards the open front door. I wasn’t running. I didn’t care.
My Mum, Angel, Lloyd.
God, take your best shot. Just come and take me now.
And then, just to show he’d been listening, God let loose. As I stepped over the threshold the explosion tore through the kitchen and hallway behind me, tipping the ground up, shaking it violently and hurtling me forward out through the doorway and onto the drive.
There was an immediate silence as I lay still on the warm asphalt.
I was alive. But I kept my eyes closed, hoping that maybe this was just another vivid dream. Hoping that I’d wake up, and everything would be back in place, even as I heard shouts and screams in the distance.
Because the alternative was too awful.
I deal in death, and death follows me like a curse.
Part Three
THE DAWN
20
I’M AN OFFICER of the law, my job is to keep us all safe. That’s what I do. I just operate outside the normal limits. Ever since I caught Bella, Moira and Frankie breaking into a convicted paedophile’s house just over a year ago.
I knew Bradley Hill. I knew what he was and what he’d served time for. I didn’t want to protect him, but I couldn’t just allow these girls to play vigilante.
I was naïve back then.
There had been rumours that Bradley Hill was back to his old tricks, luring young girls back to his house, enticing them with drink and drugs before abusing them. And so, I had decided to keep a watch on him.
I sat up the road from his house for six nights straight, waiting, before I saw the three shadows. I followed them into his back garden and then, standing quietly in the darkness, I watched them contemplate which pane on the French windows they were going to smash and break in through.
I recognised Frankie, and although we hadn’t seen each other for about five years, she recognised me too when I stepped forward and loudly whispered her name.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ I said.
For an instant she looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. Then, as the tall black girl by her side took an aggressive step towards me, she waved her back.
‘Are you here to protect Bradley Hill, Erin?’ Frankie said, stepping in front of the black girl. She was frowning like she was waiting for my reaction. Now looking back, I know she was reading me.
She broke off and looked at the other two. The black girl’s eyes were like daggers. Looked like she wanted to plunge one into me.
The other woman with her looked a lot older. A stern face under a tight bob. Mumsie. She too stepped forward. But that didn’t bother me. I felt sure I could take on all three of them if I needed to.
‘She’s the police,’ Frankie said to her friends, and I noticed Mumsie step back with a face that said, ‘We-ell that changes things.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Frankie continued. ‘She and I used to be friends. Right Erin?’
‘A long time ago,’ I said. ‘We
need to talk.’ I looked at Mumsie and the black girl. ‘“We” means you two as well.’
‘You’re not arresting us, are you?’ Frankie smiled her best friend smile. I softened when I saw that. We had been close, once upon a time.
‘Have you got another option?’ I said.
And she did. Against my better judgment the four of us ended up in an all- night greasy spoon café nearby.
‘And if you had got inside his house before I stopped you, what would you have done?’ I asked as we sat there with coffee and toast.
Frankie looked at the other two and shrugged. I looked at Mumsie next to her, and the beautiful black girl next to me.
‘Do you two have names?’ I asked.
Mumsie Moira and beautiful Bella
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a couple of silver haired men in yellow bibs giving us the eye. Looking right at Bella. Or me. Or both.
Frankie interrupted. ‘What were you doing there, parked across the road from his place?’
She’s got some balls, I thought. ‘I can’t tell you that.’
Frankie frowned. I didn’t know it then of course, but that look meant she was getting inside my head again.
‘You’re concerned he’s at it again aren’t you?’ She stared at me, then cast a triumphant look at the other two.
I thought, lucky guess. An obvious one as well if I was sitting alone in my car in the dead of night, outside an ex-con’s house.
I didn’t have to answer. I was the cop and they were the suspects. But something about these three intrigued me.
‘I was just making sure,’ I whispered weakly.
Frankie smiled at me and then looked at her two friends. ‘You should go,’ she said to them. ‘I’ve got this.’ They looked at each other, shrugged, and then started to rise.
‘Whoa,’ I said, grabbing Bella’s arm, prepared to pull her back down if I needed to. ‘No one’s going anywhere.’
Bella looked at Frankie with raised eyebrows. I thought Frankie was the ringleader.
‘Erin,’ Frankie said. ‘You and I need to have a talk.’
‘We can talk Frankie, but these two stay.’
‘I’m not being silly, but if they wanted to they could just leave here and there would be nothing you could do about it.’
