by Tania Carver
‘Or the sign of a sick mind with too much time on its hands,’ said Looker, again unable to stop himself. ‘This isn’t an origin story. You’re not Batman.’
The lawgiver stared at him, breathing hard through his nostrils, eyes unblinking red-hot coals. ‘Shut up,’ he said, and slapped him across the face. Hard.
The force of the blow, unexpected, stung. Looker reeled from it, tasted old pennies in his mouth. He smiled. This was more like it, he thought. Now we’re getting to it.
‘Couldn’t be you,’ said Looker through a mouthful of blood. ‘Just couldn’t be yourself you punished. Had to be everyone else…’
‘Shut up…’ Another slap, even harder this time.
The Lawgiver stood over him. Stared down at him, breathing heavily, teeth gritted. ‘You met Diana last night. Talked to her. Came here with her.’ Then, screaming in his face: ‘Didn’t you?’
‘I met you wearing a dress,’ said Looker.
The Lawgiver straightened up, a stunned expression on his face. ‘You… knew?’
‘Of course I knew. How could I not know? I mean, you were convincing from a distance, you’ve got the figure for it. But close up… Jesus…’ Looker shook his head.
‘No,’ shouted the Lawgiver. ‘It was Diana! Diana! She was helping me again…’
‘You were a bloke in a dress. Admit it. You honestly think you fooled me? Really? If he’d been sitting as close as I was, even Stevie bloody Wonder could have seen that you were a man.’
The Lawgiver’s rage was increasing. He walked backwards and forwards in front of Looker, fists clenching and unclenching all the while. ‘So… so why did you come with me? Hmm? Why did you leave with me if you knew who I was? You knew what would happen.’
Looker sighed. ‘Yeah, I knew. I suppose I knew all along. I was bored. I didn’t come with you because of your great master plan; you got lucky. I was bored.’
‘Bored? How?’
Looker sighed again. ‘Because maybe you’re right. Maybe I do hate what I do. The clients I have to work with. Maybe I wanted to change my life and couldn’t. Maybe I’ve got too much baggage. An ex-wife who hates me, a career that’s going nowhere. I have to keep working just to stand still. Whatever idealism I had has long since gone.’ He fell silent, choosing his next words carefully. ‘Maybe I’m just tired. Sick of my life. Can’t see a way out and I’m too much of a coward to do anything about it.’
The Lawgiver stood there, stared at him, unsure what to say, how to react.
‘So go on,’ said Looker, voice rising, ‘what are you waiting for? Do it.’
No response.
‘You’re going to do it anyway, going to kill me for what you think I’ve done. You’ve already judged me and nothing I can say will change that. I know that now. So do it. Come on, do it now.’
The Lawgiver looked around, trying to find something familiar to settle on, confused at what was happening.
Looker sensed him wavering, kept at him. ‘Come on then, what you waiting for? You’ve got all that guilt swilling around inside you, just ready to take it out on the world. Come on… you killed your sister.’
‘No…’
‘Yes you did. You killed your sister and you want to take your guilt out on me.’
‘No. That’s not true.’
‘Bullshit. You know it is. You’re guilty as fuck. You’re the one who’s been judged. That’s the verdict. You’re guilty.’
‘No…’ Confusion was giving way to anger.
‘Yes you are. That’s exactly what you are. That’s all you are.’
‘No…’ His anger welling now, gathering force within him. Waiting to spill out. ‘I’m not guilty. I’m the Lawgiver.’
‘No you’re not,’ said Looker, letting go with all the force he had bottled up so far. ‘You’re not. You’re just a murdering little fuck-up. But hey, a good lawyer could have got it down to manslaughter for you. You could have afforded that. But no. You decided to go the fuck-up route. The poor-me fuck-up route. How predictable.’
‘Shut up…’ Another slap. Even harder.
The slap was so fierce, the pain so intense that Looker saw stars burst before him. He twisted his head straight, stared at the Lawgiver, smiled. ‘That the best you can do?’
The Lawgiver stared back at him. Unsure whether to give in to his rage or to examine these new feelings further.
‘Well, come on then, what are you waiting for?’ Looker laughed. ‘You guilt-ridden, useless, cross-dressing fucking weirdo…’
That was the trigger. The Lawgiver picked up a wrench from a nearby bench and began bringing it down on Looker with more ferocity than he knew was within him. Screaming all the time.
The blows hurt, the pain beyond anything Glen Looker had experienced before. But with each one that fell, the pain receded. The world around him began to disappear, blackness took over.
Glen Looker closed his eyes. And then he saw something else. The blackness itself gave way. And there before him was the island paradise he had only ever seen in holiday brochures. It looked so welcoming, so reachable.
Happy to be on his way, Glen Looker smiled. Gladly went there.
For ever.
85
J
essica Elton née Hepburn stood on the tiny balcony of her sister Anni’s flat, sucking down smoke from her cigarette, blowing it out over Colchester. Marina came to join her, mugs of coffee in hand.
‘There you go.’
Jessica nodded her thanks, took the mug. She shook her head slowly, as if to dislodge unpleasant events from it, looked out over the town.
‘You just…’ She drew on her cigarette, let the smoke go, started again. ‘Awful, really. What an awful state of affairs.’
Marina nodded in agreement. Said nothing.
Jessica continued. ‘We knew something like this would happen.’
Marina frowned. ‘Knew?’
Jessica turned to her. ‘Well, you know. Maybe not knew. Suspected. Thought. Feared, I suppose. Frightened. With our mother, when Anni had just joined the police, every time she watched the news and saw something about a police officer having been killed or injured, she would always think it was going to be Anni.’
‘I suppose you do,’ said Marina. ‘It’s natural. My husband’s her boss. Was her boss. I know exactly what you mean.’
‘But you still go on letting him do it.’
‘What choice do I have? It’s what he does, who he is. He’s been in some… tight situations, shall we say. I’ve been with him. And we’ve managed to get out of them.’
Jessica nodded. ‘But Mickey wasn’t so lucky.’ She turned, looked out over the town once more.
‘No,’ said Marina, sighing. ‘He wasn’t.’ She joined Jessica in looking out over the town. ‘I think that all the time. Every time something happens to Phil, or to me. Or Anni… any of the team. We get through. We get lucky. I always think, we dodged a bullet that time. Next time we might not be so lucky.’
‘He wasn’t.’
‘No.’ There was nothing more for her to say.
They stood in silence, looking out, watching the traffic come and go.
‘When I got the call, you know what I first thought?’ said Jessica. She continued, not waiting for Marina to reply. ‘I thought, Oh God. It’s Anni. Something’s happened to Anni. The worst has happened to Anni. And then it was Mickey. And you know? You know the awful thing? I thought, Thank God it’s him and not her. Just for a second, a short moment, but I thought it.’ She turned, looked at Marina. Guilt in her eyes. ‘Isn’t that awful?’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Marina. ‘She’s your sister. It’s a perfectly natural reaction.’
Jessica turned away once more. Not answering.
More silence.
‘How d’you do it?’ Jessica, still staring outwards. ‘Go through it all, every day? Thinking he might not come home, wondering where he is all the time.’
‘It’s not every day,’ said Marina. ‘I always think
that if you can imagine all the things that could go wrong in a day they won’t. That’s not, strictly speaking, a psychologist’s most professional advice, but it’s what I do. It’s just the days you’re not expecting to hear it, when you can’t imagine it. They’re the ones to watch out for.’
‘Hey.’
A voice from behind them. They both turned. Anni had come to join them.
‘Didn’t hear you get up,’ said Jessica, turning, flicking her cigarette butt over the edge and embracing her sister. ‘How you feeling?’
Anni just shrugged.
‘D’you want some coffee?’ said Marina. ‘I’ve just made some.’
Anni shook her head.
‘Okay,’ said Marina. ‘Well, if you change your mind —’
‘Please, Marina. Just… I’m… I need space. That’s all.’ She looked at Jessica. ‘That’s all. I’ve got to come to terms with… process…’ She sighed, on the verge of breaking down once more.
Marina and Jessica exchanged looks. Marina nodded.
‘I’ll go,’ she said.
Anni looked up. ‘I didn’t mean it like —’
‘I know,’ said Marina. ‘I’ll give you some space. Jessica’ll look after you.’
Anni hugged Marina. ‘Thanks. You’ve —’ Tears were threatening once more.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll call you later.’
Marina turned away from the two sisters, made to gather up her belongings and go back to Birmingham. Back to her husband and daughter.
Hoping, following her conversation with Jessica, that it wasn’t going to turn out to be one of those days she couldn’t imagine.
86
‘I
mani Oliver.’ She put her phone to her ear, turned down the music that was playing in the car. Nadish, driving them to Hinchcliffe’s house and knowing the call was probably work, looked across at her.
‘Hi, Imani, Elli here.’
‘Just putting you on speaker so Nadish can hear.’
She did so, turning off the radio.
‘Okay. Are you there yet?’
‘Still on the way,’ said Nadish. ‘Run into traffic.’
‘There’s a surprise. Well, I did some digging around, some checking on Stuart Hinchcliffe. Think you should hear this before you get there. I’ve been through the guest registers for both the Malmaison and Radisson Blu for the nights in question. And they both had a guest registered by the name of Diana Hinchcliffe.’
‘Any relation?’ asked Imani.
‘Well, that rang some alarm bells so I did some more digging. Apparently Stuart Hinchcliffe had a sister called Diana. Same address. Mother and father both deceased.’
‘He said he had a sister who lived with him,’ Nadish said. ‘But I didn’t see her. She was out.’
‘And she’s been out for a long time,’ said Elli. ‘The brother and sister came into an inheritance four or five years ago and she was never heard of again.’
‘Never?’ said Imani.
‘Stuart Hinchcliffe told everyone that she had taken off, gone on a world trip. No one seems to have paid much attention to her after that.’
‘You think she’s back now?’ asked Nadish. ‘Was that her last night with Glen Looker?’
‘Seems odd to actually use her real name to book in to the hotel. Would lead us straight to her,’ said Imani.
‘Maybe he thought we’d be looking for a bloke,’ said Nadish.
‘What about credit card details?’ asked Imani.
‘I was just coming to that,’ said Elli. ‘The credit card is in the name of Diana Hinchcliffe. And registered to the Legge Lane address.’
Nadish and Imani exchanged glances. ‘Would he really be that stupid?’ asked Nadish.
‘If he thought he wasn’t going to get caught, he might be,’ said Imani.
‘There’s something else,’ said Elli, ‘something I just thought of.’
They waited for her to speak.
‘I’ve been watching the footage from last night again. And that woman, Diana, if it’s her, doesn’t look right.’
‘In what way?’ asked Imani.
‘She’s convincing, but I think she may be a man. Stuart Hinchcliffe in drag, perhaps?’
Nadish laughed in surprise. ‘Jesus, man…’
‘Seriously?’ asked Imani.
‘Well, I’m fairly convinced. And it would make sense: putting the room in her name, using her credit card.’
‘So where’s Diana?’ asked Imani.
‘We’ll have to ask Stuart Hinchcliffe that,’ said Nadish.
‘Should I tell Cotter?’ asked Ell. ‘Get you back-up?’
‘Cotter?’ asked Imani. ‘Where’s Phil?’
‘Still visiting Sperring in hospital. Apparently Sperring had something for him. I’ve tried to reach him, can’t get a signal. Goes straight to voicemail.’
Another glance between the pair of them. Nadish shrugged. ‘Boss just said questions. Said it a few times. Made sure I got it.’
‘But does this change anything?’ asked Imani.
‘What d’you want me to do?’ asked Elli.
Imani thought. ‘Leave things as they are for now,’ she said. ‘We’ll be straight on the radio if things change.’
Elli rang off. Nadish and Imani shared another glance.
Nadish pushed down on the accelerator.
87
‘Y
ou shouldn’t have made me angry… shouldn’t have made me feel weak…’
The Lawgiver, still maskless, stood over the ruined body of Glen Looker. He stretched out a hand, moved what was left of Looker’s head from side to side. He was still attached to the chair, which had been attached to a workbench so the majority of his body was still in place.
‘You shouldn’t have done that…’
Looker’s head made wet, squelching noises as it was moved.
The Lawgiver was fizzing with energy. Beating Glen Looker to death had been the wrong thing to do. He knew that now. But once he had started a kind of righteous anger had enveloped him and he hadn’t been able to stop.
Or at least he told himself it was righteous. And kept telling himself that.
‘It’s your own fault,’ he said to what was left of the head, ignoring the blood and other liquid matter that was seeping into his cuffs. ‘All your own fault. You made me do it. Made me tell you about Diana. About everything. Made me feel weak. Laughed at me…’
He felt that anger rising again and slapped the head sideways, where it stayed, hanging twisted from the body.
The Lawgiver stood up. Looked around the workshop, took in the history of the place, tried to imagine, not for the first time, what it must have meant to his father. The pride the man must have felt at spending his working days in here. The sense of accomplishment on completion of a project, the way he must have held his head high when he took payment for it. The way he must have embarked on the next one with a renewed sense of optimism.
It was an alien world to him. He had never had a real job, just lived off his mother’s money. Never known any of that, only tried to touch it through his imagination.
Being the Lawgiver was supposed to be recompense for that. A way to balance the books, make his father posthumously proud in the process. That was why he had brought Looker here. It had seemed important for him to do that.
Now, he wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure about anything any more.
He stared down at the body. Sighed. This was the end. He could feel it. He had gone wrong, seriously wrong. Instead of sticking to the plan that he had carefully mapped out, he had let his temper get the better of him when he should have remained in charge. Been able to see the bigger picture.
He had done exactly what Glen Looker had wanted him to do. Kill him. The man was too much of a coward to do it himself so he had forced the Lawgiver to do it. He felt angry at being used. And something else. The other feeling that was curling and curdling inside him. He had been denied his righteous kill. Yes, he knew that, if he was bein
g honest with himself. His anger hadn’t been righteous. Nothing about what he had done, shared, with Looker had been righteous. He had been tricked, taken advantage of.
Played.
And the feeling that was now coiling in his guts was one he couldn’t put into words. But it itched away at his insides, spoke to him in a loud, urgent voice. Something had to be done. The scales had to be balanced.
He closed his eyes, waited. Nothing. He had expected Diana to be there, to talk to him, tell him what to do, or advise him, even. But there was nothing. Even Diana had abandoned him now.
He looked down at the body of Glen Looker once again, saw his phone sticking out of his inside jacket pocket. The blows must have dislodged it. The Lawgiver took it out, looked at the screen. A text from Moses Heap. He opened the phone. Read the text.
At Letishas. Need to get away NOW. Need your help. Come ASAP.
The Lawgiver threw the phone on the bench, smiled. Nodded his head. Oh yes. This was a sign. This was divine intervention. Here, in the place that had been so important to his father, he had found the means of his salvation. A new path for the Lawgiver to tread.
If it was all to come to an end, this could be his final, glorious act. They had got away with murder. Or thought they had. He could correct that assumption for them. There was still time.
He looked around the workshop one more time. He just had to hope that no one came in while he was out. No one found the body. He could salvage everything. Be ready to start again. Just this one act of justice and then the future beckoned.
He turned, walked away.
Went to visit his armoury. Prepare himself for battle.
88
‘I
t’s not locked…’
Nadish pushed the door to Hinchcliffe’s house. It swung slowly open. He looked at Imani.
‘What d’you think?’ he said. ‘Should we go in?’
‘The boss said just to talk,’ said Imani. ‘That’s all. If the door’s open and there are bars on the windows then I think we have probable cause to enter.’
