Truth or Dare

by Tania Carver

  Nadish gave a grim smile. ‘Was hoping you’d say that.’

  He pushed the door gently again. It swung right back on its hinges. Nadish stepped inside, looking round as he went. Imani followed him.

  ‘Mr Hinchcliffe,’ he called into the gloom, waiting for a response, getting none. ‘It’s Detective Constable Khan. We met the other day.’ Nothing. ‘Just wanted to ask you a few more questions.’ Silence. ‘Mr Hinchcliffe?’

  He was now firmly in the room that he remembered as the workshop. His eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark.

  ‘Light switch?’ asked Imani.

  ‘On the wall, probably,’ said Nadish. ‘I was only here once. Can’t remember where everything is.’

  ‘Tetchy,’ said Imani.

  ‘Well, where d’you think it is? Stupid question.’

  Imani thought Nadish was probably just nervous and trying to cover that by being angry with her. She let it go, thinking that if it was any other reason he would have said something.

  She moved over towards the wall, ran her hand along it. She found objects hanging there, felt them. Tools. Kept going. Eventually she found the switch, turned it on.

  The overhead strip lights flickered into life. When she saw what was there, she wished they hadn’t.

  ‘Oh, Christ on a bike…’

  She stared at what was before her, horrified yet unable to draw her eyes away. She turned round. Nadish had run for the door. She heard retching sounds from the street outside.

  She put her hands in her pockets, took out latex gloves, slipped them on. Moved closer to the body once more.

  ‘I think we’ve found Glen Looker,’ she called. ‘I think we’ve gone beyond the chatting stage with Hinchcliffe as well.’

  Moving slowly so as to preserve the crime scene, she began to back out of the workshop. Then noticed something. A mobile phone, smeared with blood, was on the bench that Looker had been tied to. She bent down to look at it. Pressed the button to turn it on. Immediately the screen lit up with a text message, the last thing that had been read. Imani read it.

  A shudder ran through her. Why was the phone left here? With that message open in particular? She checked the screen again, saw the time the message had been sent. Today. This morning. She doubted very much that Looker had read the message. So that only left one other person.

  Quickly, she made her way back out into the street, her phone already at her ear. Once outside, Nadish stared at her, shamefacedly. He was about to make an apology, or at least an excuse, but she didn’t allow him the time. She held up her hand to silence him. The call was answered.

  ‘Elli? Imani. I need an address for Letisha Watson. Quick. And get a message to the boss. Tell him to get over there as quickly as possible. With back-up this time.’

  ‘Okay. Anything else?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, looking at Nadish, ‘we’ve found out who the Lawgiver is. And where he’s going.’

  89

  L

  etisha couldn’t bear it any more. And if Letisha couldn’t bear it, she had no idea what Moses was going through.

  Tiny’s henchmen had pulled him into the kitchen. It took two of them to hold him, stop his trying to escape. Moses had started screaming and shouting, trying to raise help, attract attention, his face a mask of terror. Tiny’s henchman had punched him in the stomach with such force that Letisha half-expected his fist to go straight through his body and emerge from the back.

  Moses doubled over, nearly vomiting in pain.

  ‘Shut it,’ said Tiny. Then found a dishrag and stuffed it into his mouth. All the way down, so far it nearly choked him.

  Tiny went to the living room, dragged Letisha into the kitchen, holding her by her hair. She offered little resistance, by now almost completely broken.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘watch what your lover’s going to do for you now. See how I, like, avenge my brother. His murder.’

  The gas was lit, all four rings. Bottom left, nearest the front, nearest Moses, was the largest. One of the henchmen turned it up full.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Tiny, a sick smile on his face.

  Moses looked like he was about to faint. He stared at the flames, eyes round with horror, terrified about what they were about to do, which part of his anatomy they were going to push into the heat. One of the henchmen grabbed his wrist. Moses tried to pull away, aware of the whimpers that were coming out of his mouth, filtering around the stuffed dishrag. He shook his head. Tiny nodded in response.

  ‘Oh, yeah…’

  The henchman pushed Moses’s hand into the flame. Moses screamed. Sobbed, bleated.

  The smell of burning flesh, skin and hair filled the kitchen. The tiny flat was now awash with pain and suffering.

  Moses watched as his left hand was consumed by flame. As the skin cracked and burst, the blood and flesh blackened. He had his hand clenched into a fist, a futile attempt to protect it as much as possible.

  Tiny held up his hand. The henchman pulled Moses’s hand from the flame. Moses stared at Tiny, almost too pain-wracked to stand, almost unable to not faint.

  ‘So you killed my brother, yeah? You did it. For that skank there.’ Tiny pointed at Letisha.

  Letisha shook her head at Moses, eyes imploring him not to go any further, not to take the blame for her. At that second, Moses knew if she had the gag removed from her mouth she would tell Tiny all about it. What had happened, who was really to blame for his death. Moses knew he couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Through the pain and the suffering, Moses nodded.

  ‘Hope she was worth it, bro,’ Tiny said. ‘Hope she was a good fuck.’

  Moses just closed his eyes.

  Tiny nodded at the henchman again. ‘Do his face now.’

  Letisha started screaming behind the gag, tried to wriggle free from Tiny’s grip. He just held on to her harder.

  The henchman behind Moses grabbed his head, started to push it towards the flame. Moses tried to pull back, push away, do anything that he could to avoid what was about to happen. Everything was futile. The two men were both stronger than him, bigger than him. He had no chance.

  His face was pushed into the flame. He felt his left cheek start to sear, the pain coursing instantly through his body. He smelled his own hair burning. Felt his ear take fire. He closed his eyes as hard as he could but the flames just burned through his eyelid. He was trying to scream, to pull away, but the amount of pain he was in, another part of him just wanted to let go, embrace it. The sooner he gave in, the sooner he would be dead.

  His face burned until he could no longer feel the pain. Then he was abruptly yanked away from the flame.

  He opened his eyes. Only the right one remained. The henchmen loosened their grip on him, left the kitchen and hurried into the living room. Tiny had already gone there.

  Moses moved slowly forward. What he saw stopped him in his tracks. The front door had been broken open. In the centre of the living room stood a man dressed in overalls and a tight-fitting gas mask with darkened eyeholes. In his hand he held a fierce-looking crossbow. One of the henchmen was already on his back on the floor, a crossbow bolt sticking out of his forehead. The intruder had quickly reloaded from the quill he kept on the front of the bow and in the process of taking advantage of the stunned silence that greeted him, put another bolt into the forehead of the other henchman.

  Tiny was staring at the man, immobile.

  Moses looked behind him. The gas was still on. He tried to turn it off, but he was in so much pain and disorientated that he only succeeded blowing out the flame. The gas supply was left on. He was in the process of trying to switch that off when the masked figure entered the kitchen.

  ‘Jesus Christ, what happened to you?’ he said.

  Moses didn’t – couldn’t – answer.

  ‘In here, now.’

  Moses did as he was told, shambling forward.

  In the living room Letisha was pulling the gag from her mouth with her good hand.

  �
��Please,’ she said, her voice near hysteria, ‘he needs a doctor, an ambulance. Please…’

  Tiny took that moment to make his move. He tried to get to the door but the Lawgiver was too quick for him. The crossbow bolt didn’t land fatally, just went through his left shoulder. The force of the bolt smacked him against the wall. He slid down to the floor, clutching at the wound, which was spilling blood already.

  ‘I didn’t give you permission to leave,’ said the Lawgiver. ‘Stay where you are.’

  No one moved. He turned back into the room. ‘Moses Heap. Letisha Watson.’ He raised the crossbow. ‘I can’t let you both get away with murder, can I?’

  Letisha and Moses clung together, neither knowing what had just happened, only sure of what was about to. Their rescuer had turned out to be even worse than Tiny.

  Moses closed his one good eye. Prayed that it would be swift and painless for both of them.

  But the shot never came.

  He was aware of a knock at the door. The door was then opened.

  Moses opened his eye once more.

  In walked Detective Inspector Phil Brennan.

  90

  ‘J

  esus Christ…’ Phil stared at the scene that greeted him, rooted to the spot, heart in his mouth.

  Two dead men, both large and black; another wounded man, as small as the other two were large. Then there were a mutilated couple. Phil recognised them immediately as Moses Heap and Letisha Watson.

  And there, standing right in the centre of the room, was the Lawgiver.

  The Lawgiver turned, stared at him. Behind the mask, Phil knew that he was smiling.

  ‘Detective Inspector Phil Brennan,’ said the Lawgiver. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’ He raised the crossbow, pointed his last remaining bolt, the one intended for Moses and Letisha, at him.

  ‘The Lawgiver, I presume,’ said Phil. ‘Should I say, we meet at last, something like that?’

  ‘Say what you like,’ said the Lawgiver. ‘It’ll be one of the final things you ever say.’

  Phil tried to focus, concentrate on the here and now. He had only been coming here as a favour to Sperring, checking out something for him and then back to the real investigation. But things hadn’t turned out quite the way he had expected them to. Sperring said he had a good copper’s instinct, thought Phil. I must tell him he’s absolutely right.

  Assuming I manage to walk out of here.

  ‘So,’ said Phil, finding his voice, hoping his professional training would kick in when he started talking, ‘what brings you here?’

  The Lawgiver pointed his crossbow at Letisha and Moses. Briefly; then back to Phil again. ‘I’m making house calls now. Dispensing justice to murderers along the way.’

  ‘Where’s Glen Looker? What have you done with him?’

  ‘Mr Looker is no more,’ said the Lawgiver. ‘He had to answer for his crimes.’

  ‘You killed him.’ Less a question, more a statement of fact.

  The Lawgiver didn’t answer immediately. Like he couldn’t admit to what he had done. Phil found his restraint slightly puzzling. But he didn’t have to dwell on that now.

  ‘Look,’ said Phil, voice calm and steady, ‘we can resolve this. Amicably. It’s not too late, we can do it. Just… put the crossbow down.’

  The Lawgiver laughed. ‘I think we’ve gone beyond that now, don’t you?’

  Phil remembered Marina’s profile: they’ll catch him when he starts improvising. That’s when he’ll begin to unravel. Looking at the sight before him, seeing how much the Lawgiver was shaking while holding the crossbow, he believed that time had come now.

  If he handled it the right away.

  ‘Has it?’ said Phil. ‘It’s over. Finished. Look where you are, look around you. All over.’

  ‘No it isn’t, no it isn’t…’ Voice becoming louder, more cracked.

  Unstable, thought Phil. Definitely unstable. Have to be careful.

  ‘It’s over,’ he said again.

  The Lawgiver said nothing. Just stood there, breathing heavily.

  Phil continued. ‘I haven’t come here alone. Back-up is on its way.’ He edged closer to the Lawgiver, hoped he wouldn’t notice. ‘Any minute.’

  ‘Liar…’ said the Lawgiver, his voice rasping from more than just being behind the gas mask.

  ‘Any minute,’ said Phil. ‘What are you going to do then? How do you propose to get out then? To walk away?’

  ‘Liar,’ said the Lawgiver. ‘You’re bluffing.’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  ‘Oh, I will.’

  ‘One question, though,’ said Phil. ‘Serious question. Why me?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why me? What made you choose me instead of all the other police officers out there?’ Still edging forward towards the Lawgiver while he was talking.

  The Lawgiver laughed. ‘Why not you?’

  ‘That it? Nothing better than that?’ Phil was still moving forward, still listening when he noticed something else. Could he smell gas?

  ‘Yes,’ said the Lawgiver. I saw you on TV. You’d just made some high-profile arrest, had the whole of Digbeth closed, helicopters in the sky, the lot. I wondered what kind of copper had done that, been in charge of that kind of operation. And then I saw you. Scruffy, no suit, leather jacket and check shirt. And I thought, He looks different. He might be a man I can do business with. Not like all the others.’

  ‘And am I?’ asked Phil. ‘Different to all the others?’

  ‘No,’ said the Lawgiver flatly. ‘You’re exactly the same as them. Exactly the same.’

  ‘You mean because I catch criminals and protect the public? Whether I wear a suit or not? I suppose I am.’

  ‘No,’ said the Lawgiver, ‘that’s not what I meant. I thought you might be different, able to think for yourself, see things differently. Realise that what I’m doing is not a criminal thing but merely a campaign to correct criminal acts. I thought we could work together, be on the same side.’

  Phil moved forwards slightly. He noticed that the Lawgiver was also moving, but backwards. He also noticed that Moses, in pain and mutilated, was trying to get behind him.

  ‘We can never be on the same side,’ said Phil, ‘so long as you take it upon yourself to kill who you feel like.’

  ‘I’m not a criminal. I’m a… lawgiver.’

  ‘If that’s the case, then why don’t you put down the crossbow and we can talk about it?’

  The Lawgiver looked down at his hands, as if he had forgotten he was holding the crossbow. Phil’s words reminded him. He raised it up, pointing it once more at Phil.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said.

  Phil saw his finger tighten on the trigger. Felt his heart hammer in his chest. Knew this wasn’t one of the things he had expected, planned for, happening today.

  He looked left to right, tried to work out where he could dive to avoid the bolt. Felt like a goalkeeper facing a penalty. Whichever way he dived would be the wrong one.

  But he had reckoned without Moses.

  The destroyed man put himself behind the Lawgiver, forcing his damaged arm round his neck, pulling as hard as he could, the pain giving him strength, pushing the crossbow down towards the floor with the other. Screaming in agony as he did so.

  The Lawgiver fired. The bolt went harmlessly into the carpet.

  The Lawgiver pulled hard against Moses’s grip, tried to wriggle free from Moses’s embrace, but he had him too tight. The Lawgiver tried to squirm around, find pressure points to hurt Moses with. It was no good. Moses was beyond pain now.

  As they fought, Moses lost his balance and pulled the Lawgiver over onto the ground, never once letting go. Moses held the Lawgiver tightly round the throat, the other man had his hands at his neck, fighting for air through his mask.

  Phil ran forward to help Moses, but he held up something in his hand. Phil stopped moving.

  Letisha’s lighter. Moses brandished it like a weapon.

  ‘Go,’ roare
d Moses through his ruined mouth. ‘Just go…’

  ‘No, Moses,’ shouted Phil, I’m not leaving you…’

  Moses moved his thumb to the wheel. ‘Go…’

  The Lawgiver was still squirming in his grip, trying to kick against his captor, hit him. Moses ignored him, pulled tighter.

  ‘No, Moses,’ said Phil. ‘There’s another way…’

  Moses shook his head. ‘Too late… too late for that…’

  Phil knew from the look in Moses’s one remaining eye that he wasn’t going to be dissuaded. Phil put his arm around Letisha and ran towards the door.

  ‘No,’ she called, ‘no, Moses… I love you…’

  Moses looked up. Tears in his one good eye. ‘I love you too…’

  Tiny had already managed to escape from the scene. The two henchmen were dead. Phil kept his arm tight round the sobbing, protesting Letisha and dragged her out of the flat.

  They reached the landing and he kept going, kept running. Not letting her go.

  As he ran, Phil became aware of figures appearing from the stairwell in front of him. Imani and Nadish.

  ‘Get back,’ he shouted. ‘Down the stairs. The flat, it’s going to —’

  The explosion knocked them all to the ground.

  91

  P

  hil was exhausted.

  He had made it back to his home in Moseley hours later. His clothes, skin, hair all stank of smoke from the explosion. He had spent hours following up what had happened, giving statements, writing statements, briefing and debriefing until he couldn’t talk any more. All he wanted was to grab a quick shower then crawl into bed and wait for Marina to get home.

  She had texted him a couple of hours ago to say she was on the way from Colchester. He could tell just from her words that she sounded about as tired as he was.

  There was no sound in the house, no lights on in any room. She wasn’t back yet. Josephina was still with Eileen. She would stay there for the night. Phil toyed with doing his usual post-work ritual, a beer from the fridge, sitting down and listening to music to reorient himself, but decided against it. A shower then bed.