Death Sentence

by Sheryl Browne

Matthew, Rebecca realised, any last vestige of hope she’d had failing fast. In height they were a good match. Matthew was fit and toned. But this thing by her side, holding her arm, leading her along like a child, his shoulders were broad. He had a shotgun. Matthew couldn’t defend himself against that.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Becky?’ Rebecca heard Ashley, her voice small and tremulous, as he bundled her through the door. Thank God. Rebecca offered up a small prayer of gratitude, relief flooding through her that Ashley seemed physically unharmed, repulsion for the unfeeling creature at her side following in its wake. She might seem physically unharmed, but psychologically … ? Rebecca noted the look in her eyes. Sitting on the damp floor, wearing only her leggings and cropped sweater, she was shaking with shock, tearful, petrified.

  Meeting her eyes, Rebecca tried to reassure her, to communicate with her that she was all right, but what good could that do? With her arms trussed behind her, no shoes on her feet, tape on her swollen face, she must look anything but. Did she have blood on her face too? She worried, for Ashley’s sake. She’d tasted it after the last blow, felt it trickle warmly down her cheek, congeal in her hair, as she’d lain curled in the dark, praying for unconsciousness to claim her. It didn’t come. There was no mercy here. Steeling herself, Rebecca twisted to face the monster who would show them none. Silently, she beseeched him. Would he not allow her to at least talk to Ashley, console her in some way, whatever was to come?

  He cocked his head to one side, noticed the tears Rebecca now allowed to fall freely, and reached to wipe one roughly away with his thumb.

  ‘Thirsty?’ he asked her, sounding almost concerned.

  A flicker of lost hope resurfacing, Rebecca nodded fervently.

  He nodded in turn, assessing her, and then glanced suspiciously at Ashley. As if there was anything either of them could do to overpower him when he had them tied up like animals while he paraded around with his gun. ‘Good job I thought to bring enough water, isn’t it?’ His gaze roved over Rebecca again, and then he turned to walk away.

  Morbidly fascinated, Rebecca watched him, as he bent to place the shoes neatly next to the box. Standing back, he cocked his head to one side again, as if appraising them as one would an ornament or art form. Then, obviously dissatisfied with his arrangement, he bent again, re-aligning the shoes just so.

  He was mad, utterly deranged. Rebecca felt icy fingers run the length of her spine, as he swaggered on towards his bag, his gun now propped on his shoulder, and apparently not a care in the world.

  ‘Left up to your little stray over there, we’d have no water left. Needs taking in hand, that one.’ Glowering disdainfully towards Ashley, he retrieved a bottle of water and walked back towards Rebecca. ‘Make it last. It’s all we have left.’

  If Rebecca wondered how she was supposed to drink it, she didn’t wonder for long. Parking the bottle at her feet, he straightened up and then, with no forewarning, reached to rip the tape sharply from her face.

  ‘Don’t try anything,’ he warned her, going around behind her. ‘I’m untying you only long enough to drink and make sure she has one. Do anything stupid and the girl suffers. Understand?’

  He worked quietly on the ropes for a moment, then, ‘You didn’t answer me.’

  He spoke without emotion, but Rebecca sensed the underlying threat in his voice.

  ‘I understand.’ She swallowed back her revulsion, as his fingers brushed her flesh. Ignoring the red hot pokers shooting the length of her arms, she turned once the rope went slack. Her movements measured and slow, rather than risk riling him, she forced a smile, tried to offer Ashley some sort of comfort.

  ‘I’m all right, Ashley,’ she said, moving towards her.

  Ashley just stared at her, her eyes wide and disbelieving.

  Kneeling beside her, Rebecca pulled her gently into her arms.

  ‘We’ll be fine, sweetie, I promise.’ It was a hollow promise, but she had to try.

  ‘We won’t!’ Ashley choked back a sob. ‘He’s going to kill us, and it’s all my fault!’

  ‘Shhhhh.’ Rebecca stroked her hair. ‘He’s not. He wants money, that’s all. Once he has it, he’ll let us go.’ She faltered, not daring to look towards the monster, for fear of what she might read in his eyes.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with you, sweetie.’ She wanted to say more, point out to her that evil existed, manifested in this madman, but to do that would definitely invite his wrath. She wanted to fight. While she had breath in her body, she’d sworn she would, but to make any rash moves now would be to turn that wrath on Ashley. Rebecca had to stay calm. Panic clawed at her insides even as she thought it.

  ‘It is.’ Ashley sobbed in earnest now, pitiful sobs. Rebecca could feel the shudders running through her. ‘If I hadn’t been here, none of this would be happening. I know Matthew doesn’t care about me, but you do. I know you do. I’m so sorry, Becky.’

  Rebecca shook her head, trying to decipher what Ashley had said. ‘Ashley, Matthew cares about you,’ she tried to reassure her, as another shudder racked Ashley’s frail frame.

  ‘Why on earth would you think—’

  ‘Aw, for fuck’s sake, stop with the grizzling, can’t you?’ Patrick interjected. ‘You’re giving me a headache. For information,’ he said, glancing at Ashley as he passed Rebecca the bottle she hadn’t yet drunk from, ‘it’s not your fault. You should listen to the lovely Becky. It’s Matthew’s fault, taking advantage of you like that. He deserves everything that’s coming to him.’

  Taking advantage? Rebecca felt an uneasy chill of trepidation creep over her. Tentatively she reached for the water, easing away from Ashley a fraction to offer it to her first.

  ‘Why?’ she asked calmly.

  Patrick gawked at her. ‘Why? Why? What is this, fifty questions? I’ve told you why. He’s obsessed. Not right in the head.’ Patrick gave himself a demonstrative jab in the head, and then wished he hadn’t. The aura was back, bright and strong, and literally blindsiding him. ‘Don’t tell me you had no idea how he secures his convictions? He fits people up, sweetheart. Didn’t I tell you that? To say nothing of messing with girls half his age. He’s a paedo, darling. A bent copper and a perv. Comprendre?’

  Obviously, she didn’t comprehend. Patrick despaired as the woman just stared at him, a gormless look on her face, as if she had no clue what he was talking about. Hadn’t he told her, gone to great lengths to explain Adams’ obsession with him, his constant baiting him, attempting to fit him up, beating him up, to say little of the trifling fact that his brother was dead because of him? Patrick had lost a consignment because of Adams’ constant interference. More importantly, he’d lost his good reputation. If Hayes caught up with him, he’d very likely lose his kneecaps, followed by his balls, and the stupid bint asks why? OK, so the paedophile bit was laying it on a bit thick, but true, more than likely. Adams obviously did like them young. Knowing what the consequences would be, why else would Brianna and Natalie have coughed their guts up to him, a copper? Not because he could offer them around-the-clock protection, that was for sure. Nah, Adams was sweet-talking them, along with a good few of Patrick’s other toms, offering them a shoulder, and a bit more.

  ‘That’s not true,’ the woman said. Her expression was composed, but Patrick saw the swallow slide down her pretty pale throat. Yeah, she was wondering all right. And so she should be.

  ‘You don’t think so?’ He held her gaze. ‘Ask your little stray what she thinks, why don’t you? Someone who’s been used and abused half her life, and then Adams comes along and uses and abuses her all over again. Disgusting I call it.’

  Patrick stopped, watching with interest as the woman’s gaze shot to the girl’s.

  ‘Ashley?’ she said, her eyes questioning, her face ashen. It was heart-breaking really: the woman’s obvious pain at realising her safe little world was crumbling around her.

  Interesting, though, watching those insidious little seeds of
doubt take root. At this rate, one of these pair might pull the trigger for him. Patrick’s mouth curved into a slow smile. His face dropped though, as the woman seemed to pull herself up, taking a breath and straightening her shoulders. He was perplexed he had to admit, when she reached again to wrap an arm around the girl. She was obviously in denial, soppy cow.

  ‘Enough with the lovey-dovey stuff,’ growling, Patrick gestured her up. He’d had it with this happy family crap.

  The woman didn’t move, annoyingly. ‘Can’t you at least untie her?’ she asked.

  Patrick looked her over contemptuously. ‘Do I look stupid?’ Clearly, she must think he was. Did she really expect him to untie both of them, together? And then what, stand still while they leapt on him and scratched his eyes out?

  ‘Up.’ He gestured the woman again, and then grabbed hold of her arm to hoist the stubborn bitch up. ‘She’ll be untied when you’re re-tied,’ he informed her. ‘Now, go over there, put your shoes on and stand on the box.’

  ****

  Matthew walked purposefully, his breath freezing and flying into the crisp air like a soft white djinn. He’d debated hard whether to make the call. One call and air surveillance could be hovering overhead in minutes, armed officers despatched and honing in on their target, ready to shoot Sullivan down if they caught so much as a glimpse of him. And where might that leave Becky and Ashley? His thumb hovering over his mobile, he’d factored in that Sullivan would use them as a human shield.

  Matthew hadn’t made the call. Those were exactly the tactics the coward would resort to, and Matthew had no idea whether Becky was in there. Depending on the soundness of the roof, thermal imaging might have indicated how many people there were and pinpointed their location, but it couldn’t have identified who was who. Ashley he’d heard. Matthew’s heart sank afresh as he recalled her soul-crushing scream. Becky though … The thought of her imprisoned in some dank, confined space … an underground sewer, a box buried somewhere … and the only man who knew where, shot down and killed before he’d disclosed her location? That was the unbearable scenario that had decided him.

  The gun, bought with one specific aim in mind, to destroy Sullivan like the vermin he was, was now useless. Matthew had it with him. Biting rain now slashing down, obscuring his vision and soaking him through to the skin, he checked his jacket pocket for the lump of cold metal. He’d abandoned the shoulder holster, thought about trying to secrete the gun, but then abandoned that idea too. Sullivan would search him. He’d find it in seconds. Ditto any other weapon Matthew had considered. He had no plan. His only hope, he knew, as did Sullivan, was to do as instructed. Turn up at the designated time. Wiping a hand over his eyes, Matthew squinted at his watch. Thereafter, offer himself in exchange for Becky and Ashley, beg Sullivan to release them, take whatever crap the sick bastard dished out. Nothing could be worse than the pain tearing Matthew apart now, except to lose the woman he loved. To know that she and Ashley had suffered and he’d been able to do nothing about it.

  Rage smouldering steadily inside him, Matthew stopped directly in front of the property making sure he was in full view. One clear shot and Sullivan could take him out in an instant. But Sullivan wasn’t about to do that. He needed to satiate his depraved appetites, play his perverted little game, and in the nightmare this game had become, Sullivan was winning hands down.

  Five minutes ticked by, excruciatingly slowly. Matthew didn’t move, other than to blink away the rain falling from his eyelashes like icy tears from a frond. Trying not to imagine what might greet him inside, he scanned the outside of the building, mentally noting all available exits. Close up, it was more dilapidated than he’d thought: slates off the roof, the framework skeletal in places, upstairs: empty sockets for windows, dark, like blind eyes watching him. There was a hayloft-door hanging off, rotting supporting beams interlacing the brickwork. Two windows downstairs, both boarded, bar a gap in one, through which Matthew had no doubt he was being watched. A sturdy front door, cast iron hinges … Matthew fixed his gaze on it and waited.

  Eventually, he heard a bolt being drawn. Bracing himself, Matthew drew in a long breath as the door slowly opened, jarring on the uneven floor as it went.

  ‘Ashley?’ seeing her upright, unharmed, he blew out a sigh of relief. Relief turned fast to despair, though, as he looked her over. She was chalk-white, visibly shaking, petrified.

  ‘I’m right behind her, Adams,’ Sullivan’s voice, arrogant, threatening.

  ‘Keeping a very firm eye on her, aren’t I, sweetheart? Wouldn’t want her falling into bad company, would we, hey, Adams?’

  Fury welled in Matthew’s chest. His hand itched to reach for the gun, to pull back the trigger and watch Sullivan’s guts spill out. More likely he’d watch his wife and Ashley die, lying crippled by a well-aimed shot while they did. Sullivan would do it. Someone mentally deranged enough to do what he’d done to Brianna, to who knew how many others, to his own wife; someone who shot a man at point blank range, someone who, as a boy, took pleasure in snapping the necks of birds and cats. Sullivan would do it without hesitation.

  Sullivan appeared then, a shotgun in one hand, his free arm sliding around Ashley from behind, across her chest, coming to rest under her chin.

  ‘Do invite our guest in, Ashley,’ He took a step backwards, forcing Ashley to step with him.

  Ashley looked to Matthew, beseeching, quietly pleading. Her hands went to the arm around her throat. Don’t. Matthew took a step forward, knowing that would only make Sullivan tighten his grip.

  ‘It’s okay, Ashley,’ he said, working to keep his voice calm. ‘Don’t struggle.’

  ‘That’s right, sweetheart,’ Sullivan cooed in her ear, ‘don’t struggle. Didn’t do you much good last time, did it?’ He looked back to Matthew, his eyes goading, willing him to lose it. And, God help him, Matthew felt he just might.

  ‘Don’t be shy, Detective. Do come in,’ Sullivan suggested. Even knowing this could only end hopelessly, still he was smiling. Matthew dropped his gaze to the shotgun. The same gun he’d used to blast a man’s chest open from five paces away. He looked back to his face, trying to read what might be going on in his mind. What it was that might drive a person to end someone else’s life without conscience.

  ‘I’m waiting, Adams.’ The smile slid from Sullivan’s face as Matthew studied him. ‘You really don’t want to try my patience.’

  Glancing again at Ashley, Matthew hesitated. He’d made a wrong decision. He should have made the damn call, trusted Davies to hold back and maintain covert surveillance. At least then, if the psychopath shot him, Becky and Ashley might have stood a chance. Hot and clammy under his jacket, Matthew felt his head swim. ‘Where’s Becky?’ he asked, attempting to establish whether she was in there before he himself was trapped.

  ‘For me to know and you to find out, Detective Inspector,’ Sullivan drawled sardonically. ‘Come on. Come see.’ He gestured behind him.

  ‘Let her go, Sullivan. You have me. I’ll do whatever you want. You don’t need them,’ Matthew tried, knowing it was useless. He had him exactly where he wanted him, but he wasn’t about to let hostages go. And Matthew could do nothing about it. Reaching into his pocket, whether for gun or phone, would be certain suicide. Going in there would also probably be. He’d weighed those odds, come to the conclusion that Sullivan’s aim was to see him beg and crawl before killing him. Matthew would beg, would crawl. If he had to die, so be it. But, please God, only once Becky and Ashley were safe.

  Sullivan appraised him as he debated. ‘What, this one not enough to entice you inside, hey Adams? God, you’re a heartless bastard. Told you, he was, didn’t I, sweetheart?’ He leaned down to Ashley, his mouth brushing her cheek, causing Matthew’s chest to tighten.

  ‘She was imagining a happy future with you, Adams. Not sure she realised she’d be sharing you, but …’ His meaning implicit, Sullivan trailed off.

  Repugnance broiling inside him, Matthew stopped del
iberating and started walking.

  ‘She’s feeling a bit spurned, aren’t you, darling?’ Sullivan continued with his disgusting drivel. ‘A bit used.’

  ‘No!’ Ashley refuted desperately. ‘I’m not. He’s—’

  Yanking her head back, Sullivan cut her short.

  ‘Did I tell you to speak?’ he growled.

  Matthew was directly in front of him now, his jaw clenched, the urge to sink his fist into Sullivan’s face overwhelming.

  Sullivan met his gaze, his mouth twisting into its usual triumphant smirk. ‘Perverts like you really should be locked up, you know, Adams, preying on innocent young kids, and you a policeman, and all.’

  Matthew willed himself not to do exactly what Sullivan wanted him to. Instead, he tried to eradicate emotion from his own eyes as he looked into Sullivan’s: cold, hard, uncompromising, simmering pools of pure hatred.

  Sullivan sneered openly. Then, leaning again towards Ashley, he demonstratively breathed in the smell of her.

  ‘I did try to console her.’ He glanced tauntingly back at Matthew. ‘I think I managed to take her mind off you, but I had to work at … Whoa!’ Sullivan jerked up, jerking Ashley’s head further back, as Matthew moved towards him.

  ‘Careful, Detective. We don’t want to do anything rash now, do we?’

  Sullivan’s eyes were now full of intent, malevolence oozing from the man, and Matthew was powerless. Wishing with every fibre of his being he could reach past Ashley and throttle the piece of scum where he stood, he lowered his gaze to hers instead. Her eyes were wild, uncertain, guarded. God, no. Matthew’s gut twisted. Did she really think there was any truth in whatever rubbish this sick bastard had been feeding her?

  ‘Ashley?’ he said quietly, willing her to meet his gaze.

  ‘Don’t tear yourself up over it, Adams,’ Sullivan’s tone was amused. ‘I doubt she was much of a prize anyhow. Not exactly as pure as the driven snow, is she?’

  Hatred searing through him, Matthew locked furious eyes on his.