Dead of Night [Full Book]

by Paul J. Teague

  It was Clive’s voice. There was a gunshot. Then silence.

  ‘Oh my God! Clive? Sophie? What was that?’

  ‘Half an hour, Mr Dawson. No police. Not unless you want to be visiting another grave with your wife.’

  The call ended.

  The last thing that Jack heard was Sophie screaming.

  ‘Oh my God! Oh my God!’

  Lucy said the words over and over again. If she was pale before, now she was ashen.

  ‘What happened, Jack? What did they do? Did they kill somebody?’

  Jack wanted to scream. He’d had enough. He didn’t know if he had the energy to see it through, but they had his child – what could he do? It was as they’d thought. It was his fingerprints they were after. No wonder they needed him alive. Contrary to all the movies, the fingers had to be attached to a living person.

  The driver was leaving the train, walking over to a colleague who’d come out of a small office along the platform.

  Jack focused, he knew that they had to act fast if any of them were getting out of this hell.

  ‘Luce, I want you to distract those two guys. Walk over to them and I’m going to get something from the train.’

  Lucy didn’t need to do much distracting. When the men saw the state she was in they rushed towards her to help. Jack darted up into the cab and quickly rummaged around for a first aid kit. There was one hanging on the wall. He tore it off, picked up a wallet that was lying on the dashboard, and jumped back onto the platform. He grabbed Lucy’s hand and they ran to the footbridge which crossed the line.

  ‘I need to take her to hospital!’ he shouted. ‘Thanks for your help.’

  ‘Give me my wristband,’ Jack said, working it off Lucy’s wrist as she stretched it out towards him. ‘Follow me – don’t look behind you.’

  They passed the closed ticket office and walked past the newsagent’s. Its shutter was halfway down and he could hear voices inside. They must be sorting the papers, the world was waking up. Outside the station entrance, there was a blue van parked with its engine running. The driver was nowhere to be seen.

  Jack worked it out quickly. The Sunday papers and milk were being delivered and the driver was chatting to the shopkeeper. He had no idea that his vehicle was about to be stolen. It was better than Jack had hoped. He walked quickly over to the taxi drivers who were huddled round the window of one of the vehicles, sharing a joke.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ he interrupted, ‘but I need to get this wallet back to its owner at the hospital. Here’s a twenty pound note for the fare, you can keep the change. It’s for Dr Neil Patel – can you leave it at reception for him?’

  The other drivers moved away. Jack had slipped his wristband into one of the pockets in the wallet – those bastards would still be tracking them. Once he got home he’d tell them that Lucy had gone to the hospital. That should give her and Sophie a chance to get Hamish out safely.

  ‘You know there’s no way out of this now,’ Lucy said. ‘Not if they’re in the house. Not if they have Hamie. You know they’re going to kill us all, don’t you? No one is getting out of this. They’re going to do whatever it is they want to do with your fingerprints, and then they’ll kill us all. You do understand that, right?’

  ‘Of course I do, but I’m not going without a fight. They can have my fingerprints, I don’t care what they do to me, but I refuse to give up another child and I won’t let them hurt you. There was nothing we could to save Helen, but we can save Hamie. And we’re going to have to do it together. Okay?’

  Lucy looked deep into her husband’s eyes and saw reflected back a man who loved her, who would risk his life for her. For them. Her and Hamish.

  She’d do it. She and Jack together, they’d work as a team and get their child out of there.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s do it. What’s the plan?’

  ‘Get in the passenger seat.’ Jack nodded towards the delivery van. ‘Some people are going to have to make do without a Sunday paper this week.’

  10

  They barely spoke throughout the drive. It was a familiar route for Jack, it was his way home. Usually he felt excited to be home at last, but also anxious. What state would Lucy be in when he got there? Would Hamish be crying? But now all he could think about was how they would get out of there alive.

  As they entered the outskirts of the village, it was quiet, most people were still in bed. If things had gone to plan, they should have been home a couple of hours ago, quietly entering the house via the back door and sleeping on the made-up sofa bed in the snug at the back until Hamish stirred. They’d have enjoyed a fry-up when everybody was awake and then Clive and Sophie would have gone their separate ways.

  Lucy could take the key from the false stone next to the sundial and creep through the back door to go to get Hamish. Meanwhile, he’d go in by the front door to distract the woman. Her voice had been familiar. Did he know her? He suddenly realised who she was. He’d met her in Aberdeen, it was Anna.

  Jack pulled the van onto the verge a couple of hundred metres away from the house leaving the keys in the ignition.

  ‘Okay, Lucy. All you have to do is to go through the back door and find Hamish. Once you’ve got him, take him to the van and drive. It doesn’t matter where you go, just get away.’

  ‘What about you? What about Clive and Sophie?’

  ‘We’ll have to take our chances – that’s if Clive is still okay.’

  Jack paused a moment. How had it come to this in such a short time? It seemed crazy to think that his colleague – his friend – might have been shot dead. Things had happened that night that were beyond belief.

  He was aware of a persistent mechanical sound in the distance. It was getting louder.

  ‘What’s the time?’

  Lucy checked the screen on Erica’s phone.

  ‘It’s nearly 6 o’clock. You need to get in there.’

  The noise was loud now and directly overhead.

  ‘It’s a helicopter!’ Jack craned his neck to look through the van window. ‘Is it the police?’

  Lucy stepped out of the van and Jack followed her, just in time to see it move behind the trees.

  ‘Not police, at least I don’t think so,’ she said.

  ‘They’ve landed in the field behind the house. It’ll be the rest of them that we left behind at the railway bridge, that’s how they’re getting to the airport. The buggers have it all planned out, they must have had that helicopter hidden near the woods.’

  ‘You need to go, Jack.’

  ‘No heroics,’ he replied, walking over to her. ‘Get Hamie out of there and stay safe. Let me take care of the rest.’

  He moved towards Lucy and she put her arms around him, pulling him in tight.

  ‘I love you, Jack. I’m sorry things have been so shit recently.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Jack replied. ‘It’s okay, we’ll work this out. Together, we’ll sort this.’

  He kissed her and pulled slowly away, not wanting the moment to end. It struck him for a moment that this might be the last time he got to hold his wife. No, he wouldn’t let that happen.

  Lucy nodded, squeezed Jack’s hand, then walked across the verge into the trees that lined the road. She would use them for cover right up to their garden, then sneak up to the back door. She had to pray that Hamish would be in his bedroom or, better still, in the snug.

  Jack checked that he’d left the keys in the van. There would be no car seat for Hamish on his next journey.

  He began to walk along the road. He could hear the helicopter idling. Would the local population assume it was some rich guy flying overhead or perhaps a police helicopter? As he approached the house, he saw three cars outside. Their own was there and one was Clive’s, in the same place they’d parked up the day before. The other was large and black, it probably belonged Anna.

  He walked up to the front door, his mouth dry, his heart beating fast, terrified at what he was going to find there.


  They were ready for him.

  ‘At last, Mr Dawson. This could have been a lot easier if you’d played nice. Anna Reichmann, by the way. We’ve met already, you’ll recall.’

  Jack heard footsteps on the gravel. Someone was walking round the side of the house. It was the bearded man who’d been talking to Clive in Aberdeen.

  ‘Hello, Franz. Perfect timing,’ she said.

  He didn’t reply. Instead he opened the black leather briefcase he was carrying and pulled out a laptop. It was like nothing Jack had seen before, it wasn’t an off-the-shelf model, this was bespoke.

  ‘Your wife seems to have gone elsewhere. We’ve been monitoring that tracker of yours. The hospital? I hope she knows to keep her mouth shut.’

  ‘She does,’ Jack replied. ‘She was in no state to come to the house. She knows not to say anything.’

  ‘You’ve secured the line?’ Franz asked.

  Anna nodded.

  ‘I dialled in a few weeks ago. It’s all sorted.’

  ‘Okay, Mr Dawson. Let’s do this.’

  There was a strong smell of petrol moving through the house. Where was it coming from? Fumes from the helicopter perhaps.

  Jack was ushered into the sitting room. That was good, he could try to keep them contained while Lucy sneaked in the back. Where was Hamish? The first thing that he noticed was a splash of blood against the wall.

  He stopped dead. Anna pushed him forward.

  Stefan was already standing in the room. His face was bruised and his right eye purple and swollen. He tensed and snarled, recalling how Jack had kicked him earlier. He took his arm and gave it a sharp twist, eager to get his own back on this runt of a man. He pushed him into a chair in front of the spattered blood. Was this where Clive had been executed?

  ‘How long do we have now, Franz?’

  The older man looked at his watch. It was an expensive one, it was funny how Jack noticed that in spite of everything.

  ‘And Rosa?’

  Franz looked directly into Anna’s eyes and gave a small nod.

  ‘And Rosa too,’ he said.

  Whatever had passed between them, Anna knew exactly what he meant.

  ‘Let’s get this done,’ he said.

  From inside his jacket, he drew out a small handgun and shot Stefan directly between the eyes, unflinching as he pulled the trigger. The big man dropped heavily to the ground. Jack gasped. It was a cull. If they were killing their own, what chance did he have?

  Anna had been tapping away at the laptop and now held it out to Franz. Franz turned it around so that the screen was facing Jack. He recognised this. It was the fingerprint access screen that he used for work.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ he asked. ‘What can you possibly want with this? It’s inconsequential.’

  ‘You might think that, Mr Dawson, but your colleague Matt Rackham has had you working on a project of slightly more importance than you might believe. Now, please, your fingerprints.’

  ‘And what happens when I touch that screen? You kill me anyway?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Dawson. You don’t get out of this one, but I’m sure you’ve worked that out already. Have you any idea how much a cure for Alzheimer’s is worth globally? Probably not, you just write code. It’s worth losing a few lives for, let’s put it that way.’

  ‘And what about my baby? Where’s Hamish – and Clive and Sophie?’

  ‘Your friend is dead. Although he was never your friend. Do you know how much he sold you out for? Fifty thousand euros. That’s how broke he was. If you want something to remember him by, don’t redecorate in here.’

  Jack was going into shock. He couldn’t move, a paralysis had gripped his body.

  ‘And if I don’t give you my fingerprints?’

  ‘It makes no difference, Mr Dawson. We shoot you anyway. We can get your prints before you’re brain dead. You know how these things work.’

  Jack vomited onto the sofa. Strangely, it gave him the kick he needed. He wiped the side of his mouth and eyed Stefan’s gun. When Franz had shot him, the dead man’s weapon had flown out of his hand, coming to rest on the rug at the far side of the sitting room.

  Anna wasn’t carrying a weapon or, at least not one that Jack could see. He calculated that if he could disable Franz in some way and make a run for the gun, he might at least stand some chance of fighting back.

  With Franz now leaning over him, the laptop in his right hand, the gun in his left, Jack scooped his hand into the pool of vomit and threw it at Franz’s face.

  ‘Only another half-hour, only another half-hour,’ Lucy chanted to herself, forcing her mind off the pain and driving her body forward. She was exhausted, completely spent. But everything would play out in a matter of minutes now. If she could get Hamish out unharmed, if Jack could escape, it would all be over. She wanted to lie down and sleep for a week.

  The trees which bordered the garden were beginning to thin. She needed to stay alert. Lights were on in the house – in the living room, and there was a dim light on in Hamish’s bedroom. It was his night-light. That was bad news, she’d hoped they’d put him down in the snug. He often slept there at night.

  Lucy scanned the rear of the garden. It backed onto fields. She could hear the sound of a helicopter idling. She needed to stay alert. How many of them were around?

  She hopped over the three-bar fence which bordered their garden and ran across the vegetable patch to the cover of the garden shed. There was movement at the back door. Damn, that was her only way of getting in. She waited and watched. She could see a figure carrying a large metal container into the house through the open door.

  Lucy watched and waited. It was one person on their own. She had no time, she had to get Hamish. She grabbed Jack’s axe from the low log store next to the woodpile behind the shed. At least she’d look threatening, even if she didn’t feel it. She waited for the figure to turn their back and ran across to the small outhouse where she’d be able to see what was going on.

  It was Rosa. The bitch was indestructible. She had already taken one can inside the house and Lucy watched as she took the cap off the second and walked in with it.

  Lucy followed, petrol fumes sweeping over her as she stepped into the house. The bastards were going to burn them down. She looked ahead, expecting to see Rosa emptying the contents of the can along the hallway and up the stairs. Instead, she saw her listening at the door of the living room. Then all hell was unleashed.

  Franz was caught completely unawares. He recoiled. Jack seized his chance, darting across the room towards the gun.

  While Franz was retching and wiping his face, Anna was fumbling in her pocket. Jack assumed she was reaching for a weapon. The laptop tumbled to the floor. Jack grasped Stefan’s gun and turned to point it at them. Suddenly Rosa walked into the room. Startled, he fired the gun too soon, hitting one of the ceiling lights and spraying Franz and Anna with fragments of glass.

  To his horror, as he was about to fire the gun a second time, Lucy ran into the room, the kindling axe raised above her head. She lunged at Rosa, who in a flash spun Anna in front of her. Jack fired and the bullet grazed Rosa’s leg, while Lucy’s axe drove deep into Anna’s forehead. She dropped to the floor, her eyes wide open, her body convulsing in shock.

  Franz had now recovered and was clutching his gun, trying to work out who was the greater threat, Jack, Rosa or Lucy.

  ‘They’re going to burn the house down!’ Lucy screamed.

  ‘Shut the fuck up, bitch,’ said Rosa, striking her across the face. Lucy fell to the floor.

  Jack fired again and the room was silent. Franz swung around and shouted to Rosa.

  ‘You need to get me out of here.’

  ‘And what then, you little shit. You have me killed as soon as we land at the airport? No, that’s not happening.’

  ‘Where’s the baby?’ Jack demanded.

  Rosa nodded towards the stairs.

  ‘In his bedroom along with that stupid cow of a babysitter. I had to shut h
er up, she makes a lot of noise.’

  There was some kind of liquid pooling behind Rosa. Had someone pissed themselves in the panic? It was only when he saw Rosa’s hand move to her pocket that Jack worked out what was going on. She was so fast.

  As her left hand moved to her pocket, Rosa ripped the axe out of Anna’s split face with her right. She hurled it at Jack. As he recoiled, Rosa flicked the flint on the lighter that she’d been carrying in her pocket and threw it to the ground. The axe flew past Jack’s face and fell to the floor. There was a roar as flames leapt up along the hallway and straight into the back of the house.

  ‘Oh Jesus – Hamish!’ Lucy cried, still recovering from Rosa’s violent blow.

  Rosa kicked her in the face, then stood on her hand inches away from the fire.

  ‘Franz, get this bastard’s fingerprints and let’s get out of here. You won’t want to fuck your wife any more once she’s been thrown in the fire, Mr Dawson, so I suggest you get on with it.’

  Franz pointed the gun at Lucy.

  ‘I’ll be needing those fingerprints, Mr Dawson.’

  Lucy was screaming as the flames began to lick around her hand. Rosa pushed down harder with her foot.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Jack said, ‘I’ll give you the fingerprints, but you go then, alright? You leave us?’

  Franz and Rosa looked at each other. It was a reluctant collusion, but they nodded. There was no way they were getting out of that house alive, but they needed his compliance now. Jack held his gun out, covering both Rosa and Franz. It was a stalemate. Both sides had weapons, Jack wanted to live, they needed his fingerprints.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, get off her hand!’ Jack shouted. Rosa didn’t move.

  ‘The fingerprints.’

  Jack activated the panel on the laptop which had fallen to the ground. It fired up, recognising his prints, and Franz rushed over to retrieve the machine. Lucy was shrieking with pain, the flesh on her arm raw with the heat of the fire.

  Franz tapped some buttons on the keyboard, made sure that he’d got what he’d come for, and slammed down the lid.