Death Games

by Chris Simms

  As she suspected, there was a fullness at the front where the humerus had come forward of the joint. When she gestured for him to try and straighten the limb, it hung down, the dislocation rendering it flail and useless. She wondered how long it had been like that. The injury must have occurred when the car crashed. That was in the early hours of the morning; the shoulder muscles would have been in spasm for a while. It was going to take a heck of a lot of force to put it back in. The pain, she knew, would be excruciating.

  CHAPTER 19

  Jon knocked once then half-opened the door.

  The man sitting at the head of the table didn’t look impressed as he stopped speaking. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, sir. I think we have a match with the call record of the mobile phone recovered at the RTA on the M60.’ His eyes swept the room; she was sitting in the far corner. Like everyone else, her expression was one of curiosity and bemusement. ‘Could I borrow Detective Constable Khan, sir? Just for a moment.’

  He turned to her. ‘Appears you are being summoned elsewhere. And who are you?’ His attention was back on Jon.

  ‘Oh, Detective Insp – Constable Spicer, sir.’

  ‘Ah, Spicer. Yes.’

  A loaded answer if I ever heard one, thought Jon. ‘I just started today.’

  ‘Clearly.’ One of his eyebrows was at a slight angle. The sort of look that said, your card is marked.

  Iona had made her way round the table and Jon was glad to step back outside. In the other meeting room, he saw Hugh Lambert was back in his seat and staring intently out of the window.

  ‘DC Iona Khan,’ Jon announced, holding the door open for her. ‘Earlier, we were talking about connections to Bilal Atwi. Iona mentioned the name of a nurse she’d been sent to question.’ He turned to Iona, who had failed to step fully through the door. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her. A stab of unease went through Jon. If I’ve got this wrong, he realised, the whole unit will be laughing. ‘What was the name again?’

  Keeping her eyes on Jon, she said, ‘Elissa Yared.’

  Jon turned to Hugh Lambert. ‘Does that...?’

  The other officer glanced at his sheet. His reply seemed to take ages. ‘It does.’

  Relief surged up Jon’s spine. ‘How many calls to her phone?’

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘Seven?’ Iona stepped into the room and the door swung shut behind her.

  ‘And a text, which says, ‘We must only talk about this when we meet’.’

  Iona’s lips were tight with annoyance. ‘How long did the calls last?’

  Lambert examined the sheet. ‘Two minutes seven. Three minutes forty four. One minute twenty eight. Six minutes – ’

  ‘She told me she had no direct contact. None.’

  DCI Pinner got to his feet. ‘Right. We need to bring her in. DC Khan, you have her address?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. And DC Spicer? I want you along, too.’

  ‘I’m just saying,’ Iona sighed.

  Jon tapped the steering wheel with the side of his thumb.

  ‘You didn’t notice the awkward atmosphere?’ She sneaked a quick glance at him. That ear of his with the top bit missing. Yuk.

  ‘Oh, aye. I noticed the awkward atmosphere. Your boss, he was looking at me like...but, for fuck’s sake, it was major. Pinner had only just said in our meeting if there were any – I stress any – links between your team and ours, we were to shout out.’

  Iona smiled inwardly: the big guy’s attitude was certainly going to shake a few feathers in the CTU. Especially among the ones who peacocked about the place, trying to draw attention to their own achievements. ‘Maybe things were done a bit differently where you last worked.’

  It was Jon’s turn to shoot a sideways look. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘What I said. It sounds like you’re used to – ’

  ‘Have you heard where I used to work?’

  ‘No. Should I?’

  Jon looked across the street. It had been about half an hour since they’d banged on Elissa’s door. There’d been no reply. Now they were waiting on the go-ahead for a forced entry on the basis she could be in danger as a result of her association with Bilal Atwi. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  Neither said anything for a few seconds.

  ‘You’ve got me interested now,’ Iona stated. ‘Where did you work?’

  Jon swivelled his head. She had a cheeky half-smile on her face.

  ‘What?’ she protested. ‘You raised it. Bet you wanted me to ask, secretly.’

  Jon looked back across the street. He wondered whether to say that, during a temporary assignment with the Tactical Aid Unit in the wake of the 2011 riots, they’d crashed in loads of doors, particularly in certain areas of Salford. But now she’d probably take that as him trying to drop clues about his past career. Safer to say nothing.

  Her mobile went off. Six rapid notes; first four ascending, last two descending. Efficient and businesslike, he thought. A bit like her.

  ‘Iona here. Lovely. How long? OK, we’ll be waiting outside.’ She cut the call. ‘It’s happening. There’s a van two minutes away with an Enforcer in the back.’ She opened the glove compartment and removed two black baseball caps. White letters spelled out POLICE above the visors. ‘Need to have one of these on when we go in.’

  As Jon climbed from the car, his mind was back on that glorious summer of the riots. Dawn raids, dragging scrotes, bad-boys and would-be gangsters who’d been out looting from their beds, hauling them down stairs to waiting vans. Some in just their boxers if they’d put up a fight. What fun it had been.

  ‘When you spoke to this lass,’ Jon said over his shoulder as he crossed the street, ‘what did you say to her?’

  Iona had to almost jog just to keep up. ‘I tried to warn her that, given a few details connected to the crash, it was likely her aunt would need to be questioned further.’

  Jon kept walking. ‘You didn’t let anything slip?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  He reached the far kerb and stepped onto the pavement. ‘About the wider investigation.’

  Iona started to say no. Her mouth closed and she glanced at the property. ‘You mean like I spooked her?’

  ‘I’m only trying to anticipate what your boss might be asking you. If something’s caused her to disappear, just make sure your arse isn’t in view.’

  ‘Crap, didn’t think about that.’ He was looking off down the street and she studied him for a moment. He didn’t act like a lowly constable. She started going over exactly what had been said when she had been alone with Elissa in the kitchen.

  ‘Magic key’s here,’ Jon said a minute later as a police van pulled up. ‘Afternoon, boys.’

  The driver turned the engine off and reached for some paperwork. ‘Number 4a?’

  ‘That’s the one,’ Iona replied.

  It only took one impact for the door to fly open. The uniformed officer stepped aside and Jon, now wearing a baseball cap, thundered up the stairs. ‘Elissa Yared! Police! Elissa!’ He moved swiftly into the first room, eyes darting about. ‘Hello? Elissa, are you here? Police.’

  A doorway at the far end led into a galley kitchen. To his left, another door. He opened it: a short corridor, with a bathroom at the end. A closed door off to each side. Jon stood between them, lifted both hands and rapped loudly on them both. ‘Elissa, we’re coming in, OK?’

  He waited for Iona to reach for the handle of the right one. On his nod, they pushed both doors open. Jon’s room lacked soft, feminine colours. There were photos of mountain bikers on the walls. The duvet on the bed was dark blue and he realised the room smelt slightly musty. Unused. Hangers rattled as he checked the wardrobe. Empty. He stepped back out. ‘Clear!’

  Iona called a reply. ‘Clear!’

  Jon was already moving towards the bathroom. No one in there, either. ‘I presume that’s her room,’ Jon said. ‘I’d say mine belonged to a bloke.’

  ‘You wer
e in her brother’s,’ Iona responded, looking through the door. ‘Still not changed anything in it.’

  ‘What did you say happened to him, again? Killed out in Iraq?’

  ‘Afghanistan. American missile strike on the field hospital he was working in.’

  ‘That was it.’

  They walked back into the front room. ‘It looks like a lot of her clothes are missing,’ Iona said, making her way round. She paused at a small cabinet full of hideous little ornaments. ‘Nice.’

  Jon was down on one knee before the TV unit. ‘Everything’s switched off at the wall. Don’t suppose she mentioned going on holiday to you?’

  ‘Er, yeah.’ Iona lifted a forefinger. ‘Now you mention it, she did.’

  Jon twisted round, saw her sarcastic grin and relaxed. ‘OK, dumb question.’

  Iona snapped on a pair of latex gloves and started opening drawers. When Jon wandered back out from the kitchen, he was holding a small photo encased in thick plastic. ‘This was stuck to the fridge. I’m thinking brother, not boyfriend.’

  Iona had a look. The shot had been taken in a pub’s beer garden. They were sitting next to each other at a chunky wooden table. Encroaching at the edge of the frame were two muddy front wheels. ‘Mountain biking together. Seems they were close.’

  She handed the photo back and opened another drawer. The first thing she saw was a passport. ‘That’s odd.’

  CHAPTER 20

  Christ, Elissa thought. How the hell do I explain this?

  He was looking at her with a hungry expression. ‘Bistryei!’ He nodded down at his shoulder. ‘Davay dyelai eto!’

  ‘I can’t just...you’ll need...’ She made a cup of her hand, covered her nose and mouth with it and took several deep breaths. She lowered her hand. ‘Gas and air, yes? For the pain.’

  He was almost on the balls of his feet, his whole body tense. ‘Bros! Prosto postav yego na mesto. Bistryei!’

  Was it Russian? she wondered again. She spotted the booklet for the Xbox and an idea struck her. She picked it up and flicked past the instructions written in English. Next was Deutsch, then Francais. She kept on turning. Nederlands, Espanol, Portogues, Italiano, Svenska, Dansk, Suomi, Norsk, Russkiy.

  ‘This!’ She held a finger to the page. ‘Russkiy. You speak Russkiy?’

  He glanced at it. ‘Da, Russkiy. Bistryei!’ He tried to take the booklet from her.

  She stepped back, mind now speeding. She turned to the section written in English. There it was: using your Xbox to search the internet. This is how we can talk.

  She raised a finger at him then knelt before the telly. As the screen came to life, she turned the Xbox on.

  ‘Chto ti delayesh?’ His voice was sharp and impatient. ‘Hey!’

  ‘Give me a minute. You’ll see.’ As she grabbed the controls, the knife appeared before her face.

  ‘Prekrati seichas zhe delai chto ya govoryu.’

  She tried not to let her fear show. ‘Internet. Russkiy, English. English, Russkiy. Google translate. Yes? We can use – ’

  He used the heel of the knife’s handle to knock the controller from her grip. ‘Snachala moyo plecho.’

  He was poking the damn knife in her face again and for the first time, she felt a flash of anger. ‘Fine! You want me to put your shoulder back in?’ She stood up, mimed the action, made the crunching noise at the back of her throat. ‘Yes? No drugs, nothing? OK, let’s see how long you last. On your back.’

  He frowned.

  ‘Get on your back. Lie down. Here.’ She brandished a hand at the threadbare carpet. ‘You, here. Like this.’ She held her arms at her sides and lifted her chin.

  ‘Mnye lyech zdes?’ he asked uncertainly.

  ‘That’s correct. Right there.’

  Suspicion played on his face as he slowly sat. Gingerly, he leaned back on his right elbow. She could see pinpricks of sweat on his forehead as, inch by inch, he lay flat and placed his injured arm by his side. His stomach flexed as he took in quick breaths.

  Think that hurt? She kicked off her trainers. Just you wait. ‘Now, I’m going to take your left wrist in both of my hands, like this. OK? Now I place my foot in your armpit, like this.’ His right hand was gripping the knife’s handle so tightly, the veins in his forearm had started to bulge. When the pain really kicks in, she thought, I can see him swinging that knife across and burying it in my leg. ‘Now, I’m going to start slowly leaning back. Like this.’

  His shallow panting suddenly cut off. Deep in his chest, a groan gathered strength.

  Told you, she thought, easing the pressure so she could lower his arm back down.

  ‘Ne ostanavlivaisya, prodolzhay.’ His voice was snarly and ragged as he lifted the knife so it was level with her thigh. He glared up at her with crazed eyes. ‘Davai delai seychas!’

  Flecks of spit flew from his mouth. She felt one hit her cheek. My God, she thought, he wants me to carry on.

  Gripping his wrist, she leaned back once again and the groan returned. But rather than turn to a roar, he somehow kept it at the back of his throat. She felt his muscles start to spasm and waited. After a bit they relaxed and she returned the pressure. A sharp tangy smell filled her nostrils and she could see sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat. You cannot bear this for much longer, she thought. You can’t. The muscles contracted again and she waited. It took a minute for the spasm to pass. As she started to pull again, his eyes swivelled, fixing her with a look of desperate intensity.

  He nodded encouragement. ‘Da, da!’

  ‘OK,’ she whispered, increasing the backward angle of her body.

  He placed the rubberised handle of the knife sideways in his mouth, clamped it in his teeth and started to pound the floor with the flat of his hand. Now all her weight was being transferred through his arm; if she let go of his wrist, she would fall flat on her back. Just when she thought it would need someone heavier than her, she felt and heard a dull thunk. The joint had gone back in. He snatched the knife from his mouth and heaved in mouthfuls of air.

  Hardly able to believe it, she lifted her foot from his armpit and gently lowered his arm down so it lay across his stomach. ‘A sling,’ she mumbled, stepping back. ‘You’ll need a sling.’

  To her astonishment, he sat up and flexed the fingers of his left hand. ‘Teper khorosho,’ he said, nodding with a grim smile. ‘Da, seychas khorosho.’

  CHAPTER 21

  ‘So, she’s in the wind?’ DCI Weir was a dark-haired man with a wide mouth and eyes that were just a fraction too far apart. It gave him a slightly comical look. He sat back and interlinked his fingers. ‘Bugger.’

  Iona placed some plastic folders on his desk. ‘Apart from her passport there were lots of documents lying around. These are copies of her bank statements, utility and credit card bills. One for her mobile phone, too.’

  ‘She won’t be using that again,’ Weir stated glumly. ‘Not if she’s got any sense. Did she have a landline?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Computer?’

  Iona shook her head. ‘A Tivo box – could be a history on that if she was accessing the internet through her telly.’

  Weir reached for his phone. ‘Andrea? Pop up, please. We need provider permission to access some customer records.’ He replaced the receiver. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘We left uniforms knocking on neighbours’ doors,’ Jon replied. ‘That could give us an idea of how long ago she left. Any word on the Porsche Cayenne?’

  ‘Not as yet. It’s logged now, so if it strays onto any motorway, ANPR cameras will pick it up soon enough. All divisions have also been given the alert. I know Tameside and Trafford have checked known spots for where stolens get dumped. Nothing from those.’ He looked Jon up and down then turned to Iona. ‘DCI Pinner likes the look of you two as a pair and I don’t have any objections. So I’ll let you both get on with typing-up. Oh, DC Spicer? DCI Pinner wanted a word.’

  ‘Who are we actually reporting to now, Sir?’ Jon asked. ‘Yourself or DCI Pinn
er?’

  Weir raised both hands off the desk. ‘Not sure. I’ll have a word with him in a bit.’

  Back out into the corridor, Jon glanced towards Iona as he stepped towards DCI Pinner’s door. She didn’t seem to be bursting with enthusiasm about the prospect of working with him. ‘See you downstairs?’

  ‘OK.’ She was already walking towards the stairwell.

  He turned to the door and knocked lightly, head bowed.

  ‘Come in.’

  The DCI was standing at a filing cabinet. Sliding the top drawer shut, he turned round. ‘Jon. How did it go?’

  ‘Missed her, sir. We were just explaining to DCI Weir it looks like – ’

  Pinner cut him off with a flick of his fingers. ‘I’m meeting him shortly – I’ll get everything then. Now,’ he leaned a shoulder against the cabinet. ‘We’ve had a complaint. Member of the public.’

  ‘About me?’ Jon said, completely taken by surprise.

  ‘Yes. A car driver. His vehicle was at the front of the queue at the M60 crash site.’

  Him, thought Jon. He clasped his hands behind his back. Not another complaint for my collection.

  ‘You know the individual I’m talking about?’

  ‘I think so.’

  He stepped over to his desk and retrieved a piece of paper. ‘You said to him, and I’m quoting from his report, “Shut up, get back in your car, close the door.” Sound about right?’

  Jon cringed. First day in the bloody job, too. ‘Sir, I think that’s somewhat out of context. If I remember rightly, it was more like, ‘The best thing you can do is shut up.’

  Pinner cocked his head. ‘Dancing on the head of a pin here, are we not?’

  ‘The man was behaving in a way that I judged to be – ’

  Pinner waved a hand. ‘It’s fine. The person has been assured you’d be suitably reprimanded. So, there: consider yourself suitably reprimanded.’

  Jon wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly. ‘Sir?’