by Tania Carver
‘Like I wish I was dead.’
Fiona nodded as if she understood and drew from a pocket in her skirt a dinner knife. She handed it to Joanne. ‘This’ll do the trick,’ she said.
Joanne stared at it. The light caught the blade. It had been sharpened much more than when they were given them to eat with.
‘Joanne.’ Fiona held both her hands, looked straight into her eyes. ‘They’re never going to let you out. You’re never going to see your men again. This way, you’ll find peace.’ She smiled. ‘Be brave. I know you can.’
Fiona stood up, left the room.
Joanne stared after her, watching her go.
Then turned her attention back to the knife.
22
T
he incident room was silent when Phil entered. The whole room concentrated, waiting to see what happened when Phil picked up the phone.
He did so.
‘DI Brennan,’ he said, voice as bland and non-committal as possible.
‘You know who this is.’ The voice was muffled, familiar.
‘Right,’ said Phil. ‘What can I do for you?’
He noticed Elli go to her desk and begin punching keys. She was trying to trace the call. She looked over at Phil, nodded. Keep him talking, the gesture meant.
Something that Phil decided was a laugh came down the line. ‘What can you do for me?’ An edge of anger to the voice now. ‘You can start by taking me seriously.’
‘And why wouldn’t we?’ said Phil. ‘Why wouldn’t we take you seriously? You’ve already killed two people.’
‘No,’ said the voice. ‘Not true. I didn’t kill them. They allowed themselves to be killed.’
‘How? How d’you mean? Didn’t you kill them?’
An exasperated sigh. ‘You’re not listening, are you? You’re hearing what I’m saying but you’re not listening. They were responsible for their own deaths. The choices they made in their lives led to their deaths. I had nothing to do with it.’
‘So that little baby, Shannon,’ said Phil, ‘she was responsible for her own death too?’
Only the rasping sound of laboured, heavy breathing down the line. Phil waited.
‘Collateral damage,’ the voice said. ‘It was unfortunate but it would have happened to her sooner or later. And besides, it had to be her. It had to be her when he was given the choice. It had to mean something to him. It was useless if it didn’t. He wouldn’t learn.’
‘Who wouldn’t? Darren Richards?’
‘Justice. That’s what it’s about. What it’s all about. Justice.’
Phil glanced over to Elli. She made another ‘keep him talking’ gesture with her left hand, the other hand playing over the keyboard, eyes on the screen.
‘So you gave Darren Richards a choice. Is that right? That what you’re saying? What was his choice?’
The voice sighed. ‘Come on, Phil, you’re supposed to be an intelligent man. Work it out.’
‘Justice. Is that what you mean?’
‘He should have been punished for what he did. He killed a woman and her child.’
‘Right.’ Phil nodded. ‘So you killed his girlfriend and daughter.’
‘No, no, that’s not right. He had to be punished. He had to choose. I just gave him the choice.’
‘So… what? You gave him the choice of his girlfriend and daughter or his own life, is that it?’
‘Now you’re getting it.’ The voice sounded proud. ‘Justice. You see?’
Questions swirled round Phil’s head. So much he wanted to know, to ask. Try to trip him up, reveal himself. Or even just keep him talking. Let him betray himself. He rejected several questions before deciding on the next one.
‘Why Darren Richards, though?’ he asked. ‘Surely there are more important people than him.’
‘Oh,’ said the voice, ‘so you think some people are more important than others? Is that right? That your idea of justice?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ Phil kept his voice calm, tried not to lose him. ‘I just asked you a question. What I meant was, there have been bigger crimes committed and gone unpunished. Why single out him?’
‘As a calling card.’ He could barely keep the pride out of his voice.
Phil felt dread within him. ‘So you intend to keep going?’
‘Oh yes. That was just the first.’
‘Right.’ Phil decided to change tack. ‘Why me? Why did you want to talk to me in particular?’
The voice laughed. ‘Lots of reasons. The main one being I know you.’
Phil’s stomach flipped. ‘Know me? From where?’
‘Oh… around.’ Then quickly: ‘The TV mainly. Saw you on TV.’
‘Right.’ Phil wasn’t so sure. Had he almost given himself away? ‘So what do I call you, then? Have you got a name?’
There was a pause. For dramatic effect it seemed like, thought Phil.
‘You can call me… The Lawgiver.’
Phil was aware of Sperring shaking his head and muttering, a wry smile on his face.
‘The Lawgiver. Right. Okay. But —’
Phil didn’t get a chance to finish. The voice interrupted. ‘Oh, but look at me. I’ve been on the phone for ages nattering away and I haven’t even got round to telling you why I called.’
‘Why did you call?’
‘Well, pleasant though it has been to catch up, I just wanted to tell you that I’ve done some more justice dispensing.’
Phil felt the whole room make a collective intake of breath.
‘Where?’ asked Phil.
‘Well, I suppose you’re trying to trace this call. I mean, I would, if I were you. So I’ll save you the trouble. Come to the Malmaison. Room 702. Bring the paramedics. You’ll need them.’
He rang off.
The room exploded into action.
23
L
etisha Watson stared at the wall. She had put on the TV, but couldn’t look at it. Didn’t have the energy, the urge. She didn’t even have the energy to go the kitchen, make herself something to eat. Not that there was anything in there worth eating. Not that there was anything in there. She had no hunger, just an empty, twisting gnawing inside her guts. She sat in her armchair, ignoring the TV, watching the sky darken, the day give way to night.
It was always faster in the films and on TV. There’d be a shot of a building, like a tower block, like the one she was in now, and the sky would rush across, clouds speeding away over the horizon, changing colour as they went, turning red then grey then black. Then the black would start to change, give way to pinks and greys, then day once more. Over in a few seconds. At least that was the view from outside. From inside, sitting there watching, it was a completely different story. Time dragged. And the more she watched it, the slower it went. Like it was doing it deliberately, trying to spite her.
The visit from the police had shaken her. She didn’t mind admitting it, at least to herself. Not because she was worried that they would think she’d done that skank in, not really. Although if they wanted to they could bend the facts to make it fit for her. Put her in the frame for it. She’d seen them do that plenty of times to her mates, knew what they were capable of.
No. It wasn’t that. It was because of the way that older one had been with her. He’d gone into her bedroom. She knew it. And she saw what he’d been doing. Hadn’t even tried to hide it. Left her phone on the bed, open at the screen he’d been looking at. Like a challenge, a taunt. One name illuminated: Moses Heap.
It was like they knew. They knew. He had said as much. Sperring, wasn’t it? The old one. And she had to deal with that. Head it off before it spiralled out of control. Before it became too big for her to deal with on her own.
And then there was Darren. She had liked Darren, maybe even loved him. She didn’t tell people that she loved them often. She had done that when she was younger and the boys she’d said it to just seemed to use it as an excuse to treat her like shit. Like they didn’t have to try any more, they had her where they wante
d her. That was why she had started turning tricks. Why not? At least she got paid for it. Well, that was one of the reasons. Not the only one.
But Darren. He had seemed a bit different, a bit… special. Not like the others. But he was, in the end. He had shown it by getting that slag pregnant and leaving her for her. Doing the right thing, he had called it. Being responsible. And yes, she had got that bitch one night and tried to teach her a lesson. And look how that had ended up. So she had let him go. Goodbye, good riddance, and all that. And she told herself she was over him.
But that didn’t mean she had wanted what had happened to Darren and his skank and kid to have happened. Jesus Christ, no.
And now this. The police round. Again.
She looked around the flat once more. The TV was pumping out something that she didn’t recognise as life. Not real life, not hers. That programme set in olden days where the posh people are really nice and a bit odd and their servants, the common people, had to bow and curtsey and make sure their bosses’ lives ran smoothly. Like doing that was the most important thing in their own lives. Like their own lives were worth nothing.
Nothing.
Maybe these people weren’t so different to her after all.
She sighed, lit up another cigarette. Tried to tell herself that she had to do something, anything, that would make things better. For herself. For —
A knock on the door.
Letisha jumped, knocking her ashtray from the arm of the chair onto the carpet.
‘Shit.’
She looked down. From the state of the carpet it wasn’t the first time she had done that.
Another knock. Harder this time, insistent, not wanting to be ignored.
Letisha sighed. Got slowly to her feet. She felt like her body wouldn’t respond to the commands her brain gave it, or didn’t want to. And even when the signal got through it seemed her joints wouldn’t work properly. Like she was old and damaged.
Another knock; this time accompanied by a voice. Harsh, threatening.
A sudden shiver hit Letisha like she’d been struck by lightning. She knew who it was. And what it meant.
Slowly, she got to her feet. She glanced at the ashtray, thought of tidying it up, realised that she didn’t have any time. She had to answer the door. She looked around the living room. Living room. That was a joke too. It was filthy, not fit for receiving guests. Or at least this guest.
She walked to the door.
‘Yeah, I’m comin’…’
She opened it.
There stood one of the most handsome, best-dressed, sweetest smelling men she had ever seen in her life. He made her, with her bad clothes, her fag breath and her lack of a shower for a couple of days, feel like nothing. He was so perfect he always made her feel like nothing. Her heart skipped a beat. Then, for good measure, another.
He spoke.
‘We’ve got to talk.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Can I come in?’
‘It’s… a bit of a tip.’
He smiled. And the night was illuminated.
‘That’s okay.’
She stood to one side and allowed Moses Heap into her flat.
She closed the door behind them.
24
‘J
esus Christ…’
The door to room 702 was flung open by one of the receptionists with a keycard. Phil then physically restrained her so she couldn’t step into the room.
‘You don’t want to go in there,’ he said. ‘Crime scene. We’ll take it from here, thank you.’
The young woman was relieved not to go any further. What she had glimpsed was enough.
The paramedics were next in.
‘This is a crime scene,’ shouted Phil, ‘please be careful, people…’
He wasn’t ignored, but no one paid him any heed. They all knew it was a crime scene. But from the state of the two people in the room, saving lives took precedence.
Phil watched from the doorway. Then, when he’d seen enough, turned and looked up and down the corridor.
‘He’s been here,’ he said to Sperring. ‘He called from here. He might still be around. Get onto management. Check the CCTV. Look for him. Look for anyone coming out of this room. He’s given himself away this time. He has to.’
Sperring hurried off down the corridor.
Phil had already given orders to Khan as they entered the building. ‘Nadish, get entrances and exits blocked. Pull in as many uniforms as you can to help. No one goes in or out. He can’t have gone far, we need to catch him.’
Nadish had stayed where he was, began coordinating.
Now, Phil risked another look inside the room.
The paramedics had wasted no time in cutting the seated man free from his chair and attaching tourniquets to his wrists. The floor around him attested to how much blood he had lost. The carpet was thick with it; the paramedics’ booted feet squelching it out of the weave with every move and step they took. Won’t get much evidence from that now, thought Phil.
Also on the floor were what Phil realised were the man’s fingers and thumbs. One of the paramedics was calling for ice to store them in but Phil doubted they would be able to do anything with them.
The half-dressed woman on the seat next to him looked physically unharmed but seemed in deep shock. Her expression told that she had witnessed things no one should ever see.
Phil moved out of the way as the paramedics stretchered the man and rolled him out of the room.
‘Any ID on him?’ asked Phil as they pushed him past.
‘Sorry, mate,’ said one of them. ‘We’ll have to look later.’
They went past him and down the hall.
Phil surveyed the room once more. He couldn’t imagine what pain the man had gone though, couldn’t begin to contemplate why this person had done what he had done. Justice dispensing, he had called it. Looking at the carnage he had left, Phil wondered what kind of justice this was.
He turned away, walked down the corridor. As he went, he took his phone out, made a call to Marina. Got her voicemail. He left a message, telling her he wasn’t going to be back home any time soon but that he still loved her.
25
‘H
ow you feeling?’ DC Imani Oliver saw Darren Richards’ eyes flutter open.
‘Dunno,’ he said, looking round, realising where he was once more. Trying to lift his hand, finding the tubes restraining him, quelling his rising panic by looking at Imani’s calm features.
‘You’ve been through a lot,’ she said, ‘just rest.’
‘Do you… are you here to ask me more questions?’
‘When you’re feeling up to it. Not before. The more we know about what happened to you, the better our chances of catching the person who did it.’
Darren nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said. He lay back on the bed, stared at the ceiling.
Imani waited.
‘Have… have you heard anythin’?’
‘Not yet,’ said Imani. ‘We’re hoping to have some news soon, though.’
Darren nodded again. ‘You’re nice, you are.’
Imani smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘Not like other coppers. Treat me like shit, they do.’
‘Well, you’re a victim here, Darren.’ She leaned over, took his hand. ‘If you can think of anything, anything more at all that’ll help, please say it.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, then seemed to fall back into a state of pre-sleep. Imani kept hold of his hand. Suddenly his eyes jerked open.
‘You okay?’
‘Yeah. Remembered. He said it was justice, that’s what it was. Justice. That’s why he had me there. He wanted me to suffer for what I’ve done.’ Tears crept into Darren’s eyes.
‘Suffer, is that what he said?’
‘He said… I had a choice. Between me an’… an’…’ The tears started in earnest now.
Imani waited until he had cried himself out. ‘So,’ she said eventually, her voice soft, solicitous, �
��he killed Chloe and Shannon to make you suffer? Is that it?’
Darren, his eyes averted from her and unreadable, nodded.
‘That’s terrible,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ said Darren.
‘Why did he say you needed punishing, Darren? Did he tell you?’
‘’Cause of… of what I did. When I nicked that car.’
‘You killed a mother and daughter.’
Darren nodded once more.
‘So he killed Chloe and Shannon because you killed a mother and child? Is that it?’
Darren sighed, expelling air so hard it could break chains. ‘Yeah.’
‘But… you didn’t do time for that, did you?’
A quick, fox smile flickered across Darren’s face. ‘Nah. Got off.’
‘How?’
‘My brief. Found somethin’ wrong with the investigation, didn’t he? Got me off. Good fella.’
‘Right.’ Imani still held his hand but it now felt slick and greasy. ‘And when you got off, did you not think about what you’d done?’ Genuinely interested.
Darren frowned. ‘You know, like, when you play, like, Grand Theft Auto? Shit like that?’ He nodded again, enthused. ‘You know when you, like, when you hit people an’ they go flyin’, an’ shit? Yeah? Like that. Boom.’ He nodded once more, eyes closed, pleased with himself, like his words would impress her.
‘So they were nothing to you, is that what you mean? The people you ran down?’
‘Well, yeah.’ He shrugged. ‘Obviously. Never met them nor nothin’.’
‘Don’t you feel anything for them? Any remorse for what you did?’
‘Ah,’ said Darren, his eyes narrowing, voice hardening. ‘That was what my brief said I should do. Remorse, an’ shit. You’re soundin’ like him now.’
Imani took a couple of breaths, calmed herself down. ‘So he killed Chloe and Shannon to… what? Teach you a lesson?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Because you didn’t do time? Or because you didn’t show remorse?’
‘Both, probably. Got me to make a choice.’
‘Choice? What d’you mean?’
