Dead Blind

by Rebecca Bradley

  ‘What is it?’ he asked. Then remembered the phone call when he’d been with Helen and the kids. Kicked himself. Took a slug of the wine and waited for her to berate him. He leaned against the kitchen worktop.

  ‘Things were going really well before your accident, you agree?’ Her eyes were intense.

  ‘I do. They were great. They still are.’

  ‘Ray.’ She dropped her bag onto the worktop next to her. Slipped off her jacket and folded it over the bag. ‘Let’s not do that.’ She looked good. She’d obviously been home and showered and changed from work. She was wearing slim-fit jeans with a cream jumper that clung to her curves. Highlighted her natural colouring. Her cheeks had a slight blush to them from the cold outside. She was beautiful.

  Ray rubbed at his face.

  ‘I was starting to feel for you. Really –’ there was emphasis on that really ‘– feel for you.’

  ‘I know, I –’

  ‘Let me finish.’

  He nodded. Took another gulp of the wine. Noticed Celeste was cradling hers but not drinking it. The difference between them.

  ‘I was even beginning to get ideas in my head. Of the future. Just what ifs. Nothing to scare you away. They were just mine. For me to play with in my mind. But I noticed that it all changed after the accident. And what I want to know is, if it is something to do with the accident and I should hold on, or if it’s something else and I should walk away. So tell me. Which is it, Ray, what should I do?’

  61

  Rusnac was happy with what he knew. The man had two addresses. Not technically two, but he had his own address and then he had a family at another.

  Popa had done well when he’d tailed him. He hadn’t been satisfied when he’d placed him in one address, he’d waited him out to check some of his haunts and they’d fallen lucky and found this other address in Harlow. A detached family home on a corner plot. It might come in useful if events didn’t go the way he planned. Rusnac was taking a risk, after all.

  He had no real idea why the cop had failed to pick him out, and to approach him to ask was maybe one of the dumbest moves he’d ever made; but seriously, to not pick him out of the line-up – the only logical explanation was that the cop was bent and wanted something from Rusnac and was waiting for the approach. Too proud or vain to do it himself.

  Maybe even afraid.

  Rusnac liked the idea that the cop was afraid. It made sense to him. After all, he’d seen him kill the kid in cold blood so he could walk away from a police sting operation.

  After his night outside the police station, Rusnac knew the cop worked late. It was a cliché that murder cops worked late on the job but it seemed to be true – clichés were such for a reason. So he left it late to make his call. He didn’t want to waste his time or be left waiting about in the cold again. The end of March had some mild days, but it was not a time of year he wanted to be left waiting around in the evening, even if he had a vehicle and heating this time. The temperature dropped. Work like that was for his men, not for him. He wanted to roll up and get on with the job at hand.

  Ten-thirty p.m. He walked up the steps to the door, knocked, and waited.

  62

  The beer was cold, the only light came from the laptop and the standard lamp in the corner. The conversation with Celeste had been difficult. She’d been open with him. Laid herself bare. It was as honest as they’d been since he’d got out of the hospital. He’d asked her to bear with him. Told her things would get better. He hoped he hadn’t lied to her. Hoped that he could resolve this case and then focus more on their relationship and link his feeling for her with the unknown face he saw every time they met up, as he did with the children. She was right in that they had been good before the accident. And Helen, she had this new guy, Lewis, Lonnie, something. Liam. He needed to make it work with Celeste. And he would.

  Ray checked his Dedit account for the fifth time. Surprised when he had a response in the inbox.

  Dear Mr Gordon

  Thank you for your contact. The initial step you need to take is very small. It is in fact only a blood test so that we can see who you may potentially be compatible with.

  It is a kind-hearted undertaking you are considering and for that you will be generously compensated.

  Please let us know if you require any further information.

  Ray leaned back in the chair. Still shocked that they’d replied, that they’d believed him. He felt as though he stood out like a lighthouse on stormy night. But there was no reason he should, at this stage. They had a website and he’d put in a query. Like any of the desperate people looking for what they thought would be quick and relatively easy funds for the difficulties in their lives.

  He had to compose a response now. Consider how far along he was willing to go with this. A lot depended on the inquiry at work. If he thought they could get Rusnac through that route, he would back away from his off-books line of inquiry; but if, as it currently stood, they weren’t getting anywhere, he saw no real option but to continue to push forward.

  He might talk to Helen about a lot of his issues, but he hadn’t informed her that he had made this move on the website. A stab of guilt caught him unawares as he opened the reply box. She’d been so supportive recently. He understood that it was because she wanted their children to be safe and secure and unafraid of the issues facing him and his life, but he still detected an underlying current of feeling between them. What was once talking and getting along for the sake of the children now had a warmth to it. And that was what made him feel deceitful in the actions he was taking and was about to take.

  The doorbell chimed before he had chance to type a word. He was actually saved by the bell. He smiled. Then realised it was his door. And it would either be someone he knew or someone he’d never met, and either way he wouldn’t know. It was rare that he received unannounced visitors and he couldn’t remember one since he’d been out of hospital. How do you answer the door and know the person, without saying their name? Easy enough, he imagined: say hello in a bright voice, sound pleased to see them, but … That would be weird if they were here to talk about his religious beliefs or the state of his fascias and soffits. He looked at his watch; it was a little late for cold callers, so the odds were good that it would be someone he knew. He would have to pretend until it became clear.

  He slugged back the remains of his beer and headed to the door. A bright hello ready on his lips, a hopeful expression that they’d jump straight in to ease his pain. He’d do the quick rundown of the people he knew, but it could take a while, and standing on a doorstep at this hour wouldn’t serve him well.

  There was a wall light at the side of the door that cast light and shadow on the visitor who was standing on the second to top step of the half dozen that led to Ray’s front door from the street. A male of Eastern European origin, wearing jeans and a dark blue bomber jacket. A bright and breezy hello died on Ray’s lips as the implications dawned on him. A bomber jacket that seemed familiar. He gripped the door, fingers white, as he waited for the visitor to speak, to alleviate his fear of who this was. At this hour.

  ‘I want to know what the bent copper needs from me.’

  63

  ‘What?’ A sudden chill scored through Ray. His hand cramped as it gripped the wooden door frame. Fingers bent and tight. Rigid. White.

  This male at his door. Could it really be Billy’s killer? He had to concentrate. ‘What did you say? I think I misheard you. I’m sorry, my mind was elsewhere when I answered.’ Concentrate.

  ‘You know you didn’t mishear me. Playing for time, maybe? Didn’t expect me to make my approach at your home? Where did you think I would approach you?’ His hands were shoved in his jacket pockets. Relaxed. At ease with the conversation.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Dark hair. Tidy. Dark brows. Heavy and low on his forehead.

  No connection.

  Concentrate.

  The street was quiet. Muted sounds of a car engine further down the street registere
d in Ray’s consciousness, but other than that they were alone out here.

  ‘We doing this on the doorstep or you inviting me in?’ The male nodded towards the door Ray was blocking.

  Something was familiar. Something about him screamed out that this was Billy’s killer. But it wasn’t his face, his identity. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘We have things to discuss, don’t we. You made that clear. You want something. I want to know what that is. What I can do for you.’

  ‘I don’t want anything from you.’ Shit, he should have asked him what they needed to discuss.

  The male turned away. One foot down on the next step below. ‘It’s too bad, copper, we would have made a beautiful partnership.’

  A memory flashed in Ray’s brain. It’s too bad, copper. The phrase, the intonation. The speech pattern. It was an exact match. This was Billy’s killer. These were the words Billy’s killer had uttered before he shot Billy. He couldn’t say if this was Vova Rusnac, the man arrested for the offence, but what he could say was that it was Billy’s killer. He couldn’t let him walk away.

  ‘Wait!’

  The male turned back to him.

  ‘You’re right. The front doorstep is not the right place to have the conversation and I didn’t want to be seen with you here, which is why I said that. You need to get inside, and quickly.’

  But what would he do with him once he had him inside?

  64

  It didn’t feel right. Rusnac wasn’t about to stroll into the cop’s house, be contained in a small space by him. He’d been about to let him walk away. Why the sudden change?

  ‘No. You want to talk, we talk here or we walk.’

  ‘Okay, let me grab a coat.’ The cop turned to go back inside his home.

  ‘No. No grabbing of anything. I’m not giving you chance to call anyone.’ What the hell was going on?

  The cop stepped forward, out onto the top step. Rusnac moved back onto the tread he was half on. The cop had seemed bemused when Rusnac had turned up, but now he seemed hardened. His face set. He grew a couple of inches before him.

  It happened too quickly and caught Rusnac off balance. He’d recognised it, that look, the one that said you were deciding whether to make a move or not. Men had tried to take him on plenty of times in Moldova, but this time he wasn’t prepared. He was too busy fumbling over his confusion around what the cop wanted. It had slowed his reflexes.

  The cop’s right hand shot out and grabbed him before he could counter.

  ‘I’m arresting you for the murder of –’

  He wouldn’t go back there again. He knew it would have a different outcome this time.

  Rusnac shied away, pulled back. Hard. He wanted this guy off him. He clenched his fist and struck the cop’s face before the cop could even consider what to do next.

  It was quick. Swift. Dirty. The way he was used to fighting when he was back home. He’d had little use for it since the Russians had sent him here. It felt good. The feel of his fist against nose as it yielded.

  Blood came freely. Bright red. Easily visible even in the half light of the doorway.

  But this sudden shift in purpose had made his knees unsteady. He’d been taken by surprise. He needed to move. To put as much distance as he could between him and this cop.

  But the cop didn’t relent; he pushed forward, grabbed for him, blood smearing them both. Running from the cop’s nose, down his face, onto his clothes and onto Rusnac.

  He refused to go back to jail again. And it looked like this time the cop wanted to ID him. It would prove to be more permanent. His feet moved without much thought as he backed away, used the weight of his body, the momentum from pulling downwards, in his favour. He needed to get the cop off balance.

  He had the gun in the back of his waistband. But shoot a cop? That would bring the entire police force down on his head, on his organisation. They would never stop until they had him and he wasn’t that stupid. He needed to get out of this situation without using it, if he could.

  ‘The fuck?’ screamed Rusnac.

  He punched again.

  Hard.

  The cop held on. Dogged. His knee came up and powered into the side of Rusnac’s leg and completely destabilised him.

  Rusnac’s balance gave way, a grunt escaped the cop as his weight and size worked against him and he was pulled down towards Rusnac. They both stumbled. All feet, tumbling down the last two steps.

  The ground came up to meet Rusnac, the air caressing him as the cold concrete of the pavement slammed into him hard. His lungs expelled all the breath that was in them with an ‘Uumph’. And the cop crashed down on top of him. A gasp of his own escaping. An elbow smashed into Rusnac’s chest. A knee into his thigh.

  A car slid past quietly on the road. The driver oblivious to the trouble on his left.

  ‘You didn’t fucking ID me,’ Rusnac shouted into the cop’s face. Spittle flying. He could feel the Glock digging into his back. All he had to do was get to it. He wouldn’t be taken. ‘Why the fuck not? I thought you were bent.’

  The cop leaned up, his knees digging into Rusnac, his arms pinning him down. They were at the bottom of the steps, Rusnac’s head on the pavement now. He had to get out of this situation. He had to get away.

  ‘I’m not bent and you’re under arrest for the murder of Billy Collier.’ He started to pull himself up, yanking at Rusnac’s arm as he did so, but it was his left arm, which meant Rusnac’s strong arm was free.

  Rusnac knew he still had the opportunity to extricate himself from this.

  He twisted to his right as though to lift himself, as the cop pulled his left arm up and around his back. Rusnac reached behind, felt the handle of the Glock, wrapped his hand around it and tugged.

  ‘Recognise this?’ he sneered as he shoved it into the cop’s side.

  The cop’s eyes widened. He was panting. Rusnac thought he was going to brazen it out and wondered if he was actually going to have to shoot him to escape. Then, suddenly, his arm was free and the cop heaved himself up and stepped back.

  Away from the gun.

  Rusnac stretched his arm out. Still on the ground, Rusnac pointed the Glock at the cop. ‘Now, let’s try this again, shall we?’

  65

  It hadn’t gone quite as Ray had planned. His evening hadn’t gone as he’d expected at all. How was he going to get out of this? His phone was still in the house. His neighbours hadn’t come out of their homes to see what the noise was about, and right now he was glad they hadn’t. He’d hate for them to become further victims of this man.

  The weapon looked dull in the light from his door. You always hear about a glint in books, but really, they’re dull, matt weapons, guns. The barrel pointed steadily at his chest. Point-blank range. He wouldn’t stand a chance if Rusnac fired. Why had he come here? He’d said something about him being bent. Suppose it must have been confusing being released if he had shot and killed Billy. Knowing that the cop in front of him had been there when it happened. Not much further away than they were now.

  Rusnac pushed himself up from the ground and stood in front of him.

  Christ, he’d made a damn mess of this. No one to blame but himself.

  ‘You don’t have to do this.’ It sounded clichéd even to his own ears, but what was he expected to say? ‘You know how much worse it will get if you shoot me, a cop.’

  ‘Why didn’t you pick me out of the line-up?’

  That same question again. The confusion evident on his face. How could he answer him, honestly? It would throw any chance of conviction out at court. But …

  ‘You were there. When I shot him.’ The confusion in the man’s voice was evident.

  His voice was deep and sounded rusty, with drawn-out vowels and hard edges. Ray would be able to recognise it again in the future, quicker than he had this time. He studied the man in front of him. Forced himself to turn away from the weapon levelled at his chest and took in anything else he could about the man. Rusnac’s height, b
uild and stance and the clothing he wore. He’d have to wait until he moved more to examine his gait.

  ‘Yes.’ He’d give him as little as possible to work with.

  Rusnac stepped back a pace. Onto the pavement. A couple more cars passed in the street, engines humming loudly through the silence that enveloped them as confused thoughts scrambled for purchase. Rusnac took another step back, looked left and right along the street but kept the gun trained on Ray. ‘You’re not bent?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Let me tell you one thing, cop. You think I only do part job? Eh?’

  Ray didn’t understand and shook his head.

  ‘You think I only checked you out here?’

  A slow chill crept up Ray’s spine, tiny claws digging in as it made its way up one vertebra at a time.

  ‘I have your other home. The one with your children.’

  Ray stepped forward. His face closed, eyes narrowed, jaw hard. ‘Listen to me, you fucker –’

  Rusnac waved the gun from side to side, laughing. ‘No, no. You listen to me, copper. I’m in the, what do you call it … driving seat … I’m in the driving seat here. I have your other home. You mess with me as I leave or later, then I mess with your other home.’

  Ray stepped forward again, fists clenched and pulled up to his waist.

  Rusnac laughed again, louder this time. ‘What you going to do against this, eh? Tell me that, big man.’

  Ray snarled, ‘You leave my family out of this.’

  ‘You – you leave me out of this. Hear me?’ He continued as he stepped back, keeping the weapon on Ray until he got to the curb, where his vehicle was parked. ‘You didn’t pick me out. You’re bent, musor. I don’t know what game you play, but I don’t play game. Stay out of my business now.’ He reached for his car door, opened it. ‘Or I play with your family.’ He climbed in and Ray watched helplessly as he drove away.