by Tania Carver
She just dug in even more, the feral screaming rising from her.
Blood sprayed everywhere, hitting the windscreen, obscuring the view.
Mickey’s breathing became short, ragged. His own voice was reduced to a sad whimper. He felt the life pumping out of him.
Unsaid words, unthought thoughts tumbled through his mind. Sadness, panic and fear fought for dominance. The night around him got darker.
He screamed once more. An exhausted, defeated sound. It sounded like ‘Anni’. But it could have just been a scream.
His foot slipped off the accelerator.
The encroaching darkness enveloped his vision.
62
T
he paramedics had taken Sperring away, clinging to life. Phil stood in the hall by the toilet, what remained of his suit covered with blood. He felt unable to speak, almost unable to stand.
Glen Looker had gone. They had searched everywhere and neither he nor the woman who was with him were anywhere.
The Lawgiver had done it. Right in front of them. Taken him.
Phil had never felt such a sense of failure. And with Sperring fighting for his life, that just made it so much worse.
They would keep looking, spend all night doing it if they had to, but Phil knew. Looker was gone.
Cotter appeared in the corridor. Phil couldn’t even bring himself to look at her.
‘Jesus Christ,’ she said, sighing, ‘what a fuck-up.’
Phil managed a nod.
‘Right under our bloody noses… How did…?’ She sighed once more, shook her head.
‘I failed,’ said Phil. ‘He was here and…’ He sighed. ‘I failed.’
Cotter stood directly in front of him. ‘Pull yourself together, Phil. You don’t have time for that. You’ve got a job to do. We have to find him. Now.’
Phil nodded absently, not really hearing her words.
Then his phone rang.
He took it out, checked the display: UNKNOWN CALLER. Heart hammering he put it to his ear.
‘Phil Brennan.’
He knew immediately who it was. The muffled breathing gave it away.
‘What did I tell you, Phil?’
‘How did you get this number?’
The Lawgiver laughed. ‘Oh come on, Phil. That should be the least of your questions. Amazing what you can get off the internet these days.’
‘You stabbed one of my officers. You’re not going to get away with that.’
‘Really? You think?’ The voice hardened. ‘I told you. You’re either with me or against me. I think we know which side we’re all on, don’t we?’
‘I’ll find you. I’ll get you.’
A laugh. ‘No you won’t. Goodbye, Phil. I’m off to have fun with Mr Looker. I’m sure you’ll hear about it. One way or another.’
The phone went dead. Phil stared at it and, accompanied by a huge scream of frustration and rage, threw it against the wall.
PART FOUR:
HEROES’ END
63
G
len Looker opened his eyes. Saw the masked face staring right into his, jumped.
‘What… where’s the…?’
‘Toilet? Light? What are you trying to say?’
Looker didn’t understand the jokes, kept talking through his fogged mind. ‘Girl. Where’s the… girl…?’
The Lawgiver straightened up. ‘Don’t you know?’
Looker stared at his captor. Understood. Shook his head and gave a small, tight smile. ‘Yes, yes, I know now.’
‘Good. You know who I am?’
‘I can guess.’ He shook his head slowly, tried to dislodge the fog that was still clinging inside there. ‘You look like a refugee from a Slipknot gig.’
The Lawgiver straightened, paused momentarily before speaking again. ‘And you know why you’re here?’
Looker didn’t reply straight away. Instead, he tried to move his arms, which wouldn’t budge. Glancing down he realised he had been taped to the chair using heavy-duty duct tape. He looked around at where he was. All he could see was darkness. A light shining on him from behind his host, the halo it cast making the surrounding dark seem even blacker. He tried to pull himself forward. No good. The chair was firmly secured to the floor and something behind him just as he was firmly secured to the chair. He sighed.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I know why I’m here. Or at least why you would want me here.’
‘And why would that be?’
Looker smiled. ‘Oh come on, do I really have to spell it out to you? You’re the one that’s supposed to have all the answers, you tell me.’ His voice came out stronger than he had expected.
The Lawgiver stopped once again, taken aback somewhat by Looker’s words, his attitude. He had anticipated fear, apologies. Confession. Instead he was getting… this. This attitude.
‘Is this bravado, Mr Looker? Trying to make yourself appear brave before me? Thinking that if you appear nonchalant then I might back down before you?’
Glen Looker stared directly at him. Thought of the words he had just heard. He had expected himself to be frightened, tearful even. Start begging for his life before his captor. Pleading for deals like the worst kind of defendant. He thought back to yesterday, the first appearance of Phil Brennan in his office. He had tried to laugh off the threat, not take the detective seriously. Or at least appear to be laughing it off. And even last night – if it was last night, he had lost all track of time – he had been scared but once he had realised what was happening he had actually gone along with it. Willingly.
There had been a chance to escape. The woman at the bar, Diana, had approached him. On first glance he thought that there was nothing wrong her, that his luck was in. Especially after the knock-back he had experienced just after the dinner. Stuck-up cow. But the more Diana talked to him, the more he realised what was happening. Who she was. And when he realised this he should have walked away, or at least raised the alarm to one of the detectives dotted conspicuously around the room. But he didn’t. Just allowed her to talk on. And when she suggested that they go on somewhere else, he went willingly, knowing exactly who and what she was by that time.
Part of him even applauded the Lawgiver for doing it that way.
He had walked out of the room and down the stairs on the pretext of looking for a toilet. On the level below one of Brennan’s team had accosted him, followed him into the lavatory. Diana had appeared behind them and silently dealt with the police officer. And he had just stood there, watching. Numb. He could have run. Gone back upstairs, told a member of staff what was happening. But he didn’t. He just stood there, waiting. Waiting for her to finish.
Then they hurried to the door and the cab rank. And away.
And then… this.
He vaguely remembered telling her that she didn’t need to do anything, that he would come willingly, but he wasn’t sure if he had dreamed that or actually said it. It didn’t matter. He had still ended up here. Which was just about where he had expected to be.
He realised the Lawgiver was waiting for an answer. He decided not to give him that, instead offering him another question. ‘Where’s Diana?’
Wrong-footed again, the Lawgiver paused before answering. ‘Don’t you know?’
‘Yeah,’ Looker said, ‘I think I do. I just wanted to hear you say it.’
‘Diana is… gone. For now.’
‘Right. And who is she, then? What’s her story?’
‘You think there’s a story to her?’
‘Oh yeah. Must be a story.’ He tried to shrug. ‘I mean, come on…’
‘There’s no story.’ The Lawgiver sounded angry behind his mask. ‘No story.’ He leaned in closer. ‘I asked you a question. Are you feeling brave? And do you think your bravery will help you?’
‘That’s two questions, actually. Which one would you like me to answer and in what order?’
The Lawgiver stepped forward, backhanded Looker across the face. ‘Don’t play games with me, answer
the question.’
Looker’s head snapped to one side. He actually saw stars, a little miniature cosmos against the room’s darkness. Eventually the blackness swam back into focus. His mouth felt wet. He spat something on the floor. Knew from the taste of old pennies that it was blood.
He laughed. Despite the pain, he actually laughed.
‘I’m a lawyer,’ he said through his rapidly swelling mouth. ‘I deal with words every day. I deal with liars every day. I deal with game players every day. I do all that because I’m one of them. I could wrap you in knots with words tighter than you could tie me to this chair.’
The Lawgiver stepped forward once more. Back in Looker’s face. ‘But you can’t, can you? You’re off your home turf. You’re on mine. You have to play by my rules here.’
‘And what would they be?’
The Lawgiver stood back, walked away from him, turned. The light cast a righteous halo around him. ‘You have to pay for what you’ve done.’
‘Oh? And what’s that, then?’
‘You’ve allowed criminals to walk free when they should be locked up. You, with your words and your games. You’ve built a career on it, your reputation’s been made on it. Your whole life has been built on the misery and suffering of others.’
Looker stared at him. ‘That your opening statement? Nicely presented.’
The Lawgiver paused once again before speaking. Looker saw him breathe deeply. ‘This is what I propose,’ he said. ‘We’ll count up all the years that your criminals have had free when they should have been locked up. Then I’ll take away something of that number of yours to match.’
‘I’ve got an ex-wife who hates me and a daughter who won’t speak to me. Good luck with finding that,’ Looker said.
‘Oh, I’ll find something, don’t you worry,’ said the Lawgiver, his voice chill behind the mask.
Looker said nothing.
‘So what do you say? Have we a deal?’
‘On one condition,’ said Looker.
‘You’re in no position to make conditions.’
‘You asked me if I have a deal, this is the deal. You can put the accusations to me. I’ll counter them. Every one. And if, after that, you still believe you’re right, you still think that what I did was wrong and that I need to be punished for it, then go ahead. Do your worst. On the other hand, if you think that I’ve made a persuasive case then you have to let me go. Fair?’
The Lawgiver didn’t answer.
‘I said is that fair? Do we have a deal?’
Looker heard a sigh from behind the mask. ‘Yes. Fine. We have a deal.’
‘Good. But there’s one other thing.’
‘What?’ The voice flat, tired, almost.
‘I want to know about Diana too.’
The Lawgiver paused, stared. Looker wondered whether he had gone too far, misread his host. Eventually the Lawgiver gave a curt nod. ‘All right.’
‘Good.’
Something in him felt that, perversely, he was going to enjoy this. In fact, he actually felt that some redemptive part of him had led him to this moment. Far from being scared by the situation, Glen Looker felt more alive than he had in a long time.
‘Are you ready?’ asked the Lawgiver. ‘Truth or dare time. Do you dare to tell the truth?’
‘Sure,’ Looker said, as breezily as he could manage. ‘Where d’you want to start?’
64
P
hil opened his eyes, looked around. At his desk. Still at his desk. He had nodded off again.
He had slept the night at the station. Or tried to: there had been very little sleeping and certainly no rest. The scene at the hotel the night before had devolved into chaos. Looker was gone, Sperring was in a critical condition. And Phil felt he was, in some large way, to blame for both of those things. It had happened on his watch, under his command. Ultimately, the responsibility was his.
Phil rubbed his eyes. He had showered and changed into a spare plaid shirt and a pair of jeans. But the comfort he derived from being in his familiar clothes was limited. There was too much to think about.
Sperring was still in hospital, intensive care. They hadn’t heard how he was but knew he had been operated on straight away. He had lost a lot of blood and the knife wound had been deep. But clean, one of the paramedics had said. Easier to stitch up, theoretically. So that was hopeful. That was something.
The hotel had been searched from top to bottom. No sign of Looker. The surrounding streets had also been gone over. Same result. Like they had just vanished into thin air. They had given their descriptions out citywide, but so far there had been no positive responses. The Lawgiver had planned this well.
Phil checked his computer screen once more, scanned his email, read the display on his iPhone. Nothing. No one trying to contact him. No news. He sighed, sat back, rubbing his eyes. Then he ran his hands over his chest. No tightening, no pain. No sign of a panic attack. Yet.
A knock at the door. Not waiting for a reply, it opened.
‘Jesus,’ said Alison Cotter, ‘you look like how I feel.’
‘Thank you,’ said Phil, sitting forward. ‘Always nice to hear.’
She entered, closed the door behind her. ‘Sorry,’ she said, sitting down, ‘probably not what you wanted to hear. Bit tactless of me. My bad.’
Phil hated that expression but he was too tired to make an issue of it. And it had been uttered by his superior. He looked at her. She looked as bad as he felt. Back in her usual work clothes, tight, no-nonsense grey suit, flat shoes. The evening dress and accompanying poise of the previous night a world away. She was back to business.
‘Have you slept at all?’ she asked. ‘Been home?’
Phil shook his head. ‘Got my head down here for a bit. But I couldn’t sleep. So I got up, started monitoring radio chatter. Tried to see if there had been any sightings.’
‘And there haven’t been.’
He shook his head. ‘Nope.’
‘I know. I’ve been checking as well.’
Silence fell between them as neither spoke. They sat like that for a while, not relaxed, just grabbing a brief respite in the trenches before the bombs started falling again.
Eventually Phil spoke. ‘Any news on Ian?’
Cotter shook her head. ‘Still in intensive care. They’ll let us know soon as.’ She managed a brief smile. ‘Are you concerned for him, Phil?’
‘He’s my DS,’ said Phil, looking away momentarily. ‘My second in command.’
‘And when you started working together the two of you hated each other.’
‘Ah, now, that’s not fair.’ Phil gestured with both hands, as if surrendering. ‘He may have hated me. Thought I got his job. That’s all. I never hated him.’
‘Really?’ A smile played on Cotter’s lips. ‘You never thought he was a reactionary old dinosaur? Never said he should be pensioned off, that he was the kind of officer that gave the police a bad name and a bad image with the public?’
Phil felt himself reddening. ‘Well, I may have said something along those lines… not as bad as that, though.’
The smile stayed on Cotter’s face. ‘Not as bad? I just gave you the edited highlights. The sanitised version.’
‘Ah,’ said Phil. ‘Right.’ It was his turn to smile now.
‘Right,’ said Cotter. ‘Exactly.’ The smile slid away. ‘I’m glad that the two of you have managed to find some kind of accommodation. Some way of working together, of mutual respect.’
‘Well, maybe we both have something to learn from the other’s approach.’
‘Maybe you do.’
Phil flashed a smile once more. ‘Or maybe he does. From me.’ After the previous night, his words carried only a hollow bravado.
Cotter shook her head. Her smile faded away. ‘I’m sure he’ll pull through. He’s tough. He’s a fighter.’
Phil nodded, nothing to add.
Cotter looked directly at him, as if reading him. ‘And what about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘Do you want me to replace you? I could, you know. In fact, I probably should. The morning briefing’s coming up. I was going to take it myself. Or bring in someone else from another unit to head this investigation from now on. That’s what I should do. Ian’s attack may mean that this has become too personal for you and you should step down.’
Phil knew what she was doing. Offering him a way out of his failed operation with his head held reasonably high. A retreat in a dignified manner.
‘Unless you can convince me that I should keep faith with you,’ she said before he could respond, her voice dropping to a confidential level as if they were being overheard. ‘After last night.’
‘That what you want to do?’ asked Phil. He stood up, began pacing the room. ‘I’ve still got a job to do. A team to lead. A killer to find. You think I can just walk away? Let someone else take over now? Really?’
Cotter looked him squarely in the eye. ‘I admire your passion, Phil. But is that going to be applied with professionalism? Or are you going to let your personal feelings cloud what you have to do?’
‘I think you know me well enough by now,’ he said. ‘I won’t let my feelings about losing one of my team cloud my professional judgement. I’m fit for this. I know I am. And you know it as well.’
She stared at him.
‘Ma’am,’ he said.
‘You sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ he said, as strongly as he could.
Cotter stood up. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’m glad. I want you working this case. I want you to succeed.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
She reached the door, turned. ‘But,’ she said, with no trace of the earlier comradeship in her voice, ‘if this goes south, then on your own head be it.’
‘I know,’ said Phil.
‘Briefing’s in thirty.’
She left the room.
Phil was ready.
65
M
