Matthew squinted at her as he managed to get to standing, trying to understand what she was saying, rather than the burning pain ripping through him.
Ashley swivelled her eyes in the direction of the bag, but then dropped her gaze quickly as Sullivan glanced in their direction.
‘All right, sweetheart, enough. I said help him up, not kiss him.’ Sighing, Sullivan turned his attention back to his phone. ‘Go back over there and sit down.’
Shooting Matthew a meaningful look, Ashley backed away.
‘Good girl,’ Sullivan commented, distractedly watching her progress. ‘Behave yourself and I might find a use for … Ah, bingo, we have a signal.’ A slow smile curving his mouth, he waved his mobile in Matthew’s direction. ‘Doesn’t take a detective to work out what’s happening next, does it, Adams?’
Pausing, Sullivan crouched to ferret in his bag. ‘That’s a question, Adams,’ he reminded him, as he retrieved his cigarettes.
Matthew smiled derisorily. ‘No, Sullivan,’ he said, looking in his direction, ‘where you’re concerned, it doesn’t take a detective to work out what’s coming next.’
Sullivan nodded, satisfied, though his expression told Matthew he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t being disrespectful. ‘Unlike some people, though, who abuse their position to intimidate and bully other people, I don’t kick a dog when it’s down, Adams. That’s why I want you standing. So I can look you in the eye when I end your miserable little life, comprendre?’
Smirking up at him, Sullivan flipped open the lid of the packet—and Matthew did a double-take. He stared disbelieving for a second, as one long-legged spider fumbled its way over the top of the packet, and then his astonished gaze shot towards Ashley.
‘I’m just trying to decide whether to let you kiss your wife goodbye,’ seemingly oblivious, Sullivan went on, his taunting eyes on Matthew’s, as he tipped the packet towards his mouth. ‘But then, I don’t suppose she wants you …’ Sullivan stopped, the look on his face one of shock, escalating to sheer terror, as the spider plopped neatly onto his face.
Instinctively sealing his mouth closed, he clawed at his cheeks, neck and torso, trying to pluck it off. Realising it had fallen into his lap, he flicked frantically at it, only to find another scurrying over his hand, heading fast for his shirtsleeve. Whimpering, as Matthew looked on, momentarily stunned, Sullivan lost his balance, falling backwards. He saved himself with his arms, but succeeded in jamming his fingers under his gun in the process.
‘Fuck!’ He fell all the way then, landing heavily. ‘Fuck! Ugly bastards. Get them off me!’ Scrambling backwards, he yelped hysterically, as one determined spider ran the length of his lapel. Horror-struck, Sullivan sat up swiftly. Dementedly swatting at his clothes now, the bastard was clearly petrified.
Matthew felt hope rise in his chest. The gun. He prayed, moving towards him, his hope to stamp Sullivan, not the spider, into the ground. Let go of the gun, you son of a bitch.
But Sullivan was on his feet. The gun still in his hand, he continued to swipe frenziedly at his clothes, glancing down at his trousers—and Becky moved swiftly behind him, looping her tied hands over his head and around Sullivan’s neck in one smooth movement.
‘The key!’ Matthew shouted desperately, propelling Ashley into action.
Ashley wasted no time. ‘Top pocket,’ Matthew told her where to find it, as Sullivan clawed at his throat with one hand, raising the gun with his other. ‘Keep out of his aim, Ashley! Keep to his side!’
Still delving into his pocket, Ashley moved sideways. Two steps away, Matthew did too. Too late. He heard the shot, felt something graze his upper arm, a tingling sensation, pain: not too intense. Matthew didn’t falter, but took another step, and then stopped. Sullivan’s pain, he imagined, as Sullivan dropped to his knees, would be extremely intense. The kick Matthew had been intending to deliver to his gut wouldn’t have been half as effective as the one Ashley had just delivered to the man’s balls.
‘Aim it straight, Ashley,’ Matthew instructed her, as she bent to pluck up the shotgun while Sullivan’s hands were otherwise engaged. ‘And aim it low.’
‘Becky?’ Matthew turned his attention to his wife, whose tied hands were still pulling tight under Sullivan’s neck. ‘You need to let go, Becky,’ he said quietly. ‘You need to get the key to the cuffs from Ashley.’
Becky wasn’t hearing him. She wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze was focussed intently on Sullivan. She pulled tighter.
‘Becky,’ aware that once Sullivan’s pain subsided, his first instinct would be to reach up and grab her, Matthew moved carefully towards her, ‘Ashley needs our help,’ he tried to connect with her. ‘Undo the cuffs, Becky, please?’
Could she even hear him? Could his words penetrate the shock and unbearable pain she must be in, override her understandable urge to squeeze the life out of the animal who’d caused it? ‘Becky?’ he repeated urgently.
She blinked, bewildered, at last looked at him, and the anguish Matthew saw in her beautiful aquamarine eyes cracked his heart wide open.
‘The key, Becky,’ he urged her softly.
Disoriented, clearly, Becky nodded slowly. Then, relaxing her grip, she slid her hands from under Sullivan’s neck and haltingly up over his face. She looked down at him, as Sullivan looked towards Ashley, her expression once again worryingly devoid of emotion. Sullivan’s expression Matthew could read. He could almost see the cogs going around in his fetid little mind. He was contemplating making a grab for the gun. Apparently, Ashley was wise to him too, stepping further away from him, as Matthew shouted, ‘Becky! The key!’
Becky nodded again, more certainly this time, and moved towards Ashley.
Releasing a hand from the gun, Ashley pressed the key between the thumb and forefingers of Becky’s right hand, and then clamped her hold determinedly around the gun again.
‘Rest your finger on the trigger, Ashley,’ Matthew instructed her quietly. ‘Squeeze it—’
‘No! Don’t!’ Sullivan’s gaze snapped to Ashley’s face. ‘Don’t tell her to squeeze it, you mad fucker!’ Sullivan looked bewildered back to Matthew. ‘Are you mental, or what?’
‘Squeeze gently, Ashley, just enough to feel the tension.’ Matthew ignored him, his attention on Ashley. ‘Hold the gun firmly. If he moves even a hair, shoot the bastard.’
‘What?’ Sullivan gawked. ‘You want her done for manslaughter?’ He looked frantically between them. ‘You’ll go to prison, sweetheart. Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t give a stuff about anyone. Look what happened to you, to her, to his colleague. He—’
‘Or his mouth,’ Matthew grated. ‘One more word, you fucking freak and you’re dog-meat. Comprendre?’
Though he was willing Becky to hurry, he could feel her shaking as she fumbled with the key. ‘Take a breath, Becky, and focus. You can do this.’ He kept his tone quiet, his eyes locked on Sullivan’s.
Feeling one cuff slacken, Matthew moved fast, one stride and he was clutching hold of the bastard’s designer lapels and hauling him to his feet.
‘I wasn’t going to hurt her!’ Sullivan shouted, his voice high-pitched, his expression petrified, as Matthew pulled his face up close to his.
‘Either of them, I was going to let them go.’
He was pallid, visibly shaking, Matthew noted. Pathetic piece of scum.
‘I didn’t touch her,’ Sullivan insisted, blinking rapidly. ‘I swear, I didn’t. It was all bullshit. Ask her, your wife. She’ll tell you. I didn’t. I …’ Sullivan trailed off, swallowing hard, as Matthew fixed his furious gaze unflinchingly on his.
Desperately, Sullivan searched Matthew’s eyes, in his own palpable terror.
‘I didn’t,’ he repeated faintly, his gaze now darting wildly past Matthew in hopes of rescue. ‘Please don’t …’ Sullivan swallowed again and glanced down. ‘Please … don’t hurt me.’
That was the spark that escalated the fast-burning fuse. His fury building dang
erously inside him, Matthew clutched Sullivan’s collar tight.
‘How many times?’ he seethed, twisting the collar still tighter. “How many times did you make people beg, grovel and crawl? You fucking animal?’
Sullivan gagged and clawed desperately at the hands at his craw.
Matthew heaved him up, ramming him backwards into the wall. ‘How does it feel, Sullivan?’
‘Please.’ Sullivan pleaded through a bubble of snot.
‘Please what? Stop?’ Matthew yanked him forwards. ‘Isn’t that what they asked you to do, Sullivan? Your victims? Did they beg you to stop? The people you punched and kicked to the floor? Did my wife?’ He glanced quickly towards Becky, who was sitting with her knees hugged to her chest, rocking silently, shaking; driven half out of her mind.
Matthew tightened his grip. ‘Did she ask you to stop, you bastard?’
Sullivan gagged again, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
‘And did you stop, Sullivan?’
Sullivan nodded and then shook his head, dazed, confused. Terrified, Matthew thought, with some small satisfaction.
‘Which makes you what, Sullivan?’ he seethed, so close he could smell the man’s fear.
No answer from Sullivan, Matthew shouted, ‘That was a question!’
‘A bully!’ Sullivan blurted.
‘And?’ Matthew waited.
Sullivan’s eyes flew wide, scanning Matthew’s, uncertain.
Matthew kept his gaze locked firmly on his.
‘A coward,’ Sullivan finally rasped.
‘Louder!’ Matthew lifted the man from his feet and slammed him back hard.
‘A coward!’ Sullivan screamed it.
Matthew sucked in a tight breath, the jagged pieces of his heart twisting painfully in his chest. He had the power now. He could kick this excuse of a human being until he couldn’t crawl, until he didn’t have breath enough to beg anymore.
‘Matthew?’ Ashley said uncertainly to his side.
Closing his eyes, Matthew exhaled long and hard, attempting to hold on to the values that separated men from animals. Every part of him wanted to give in to his base instincts and kill this thing parading as a human being with his bare hands. All that had sustained him was the thought of finally being able to crush him, yet, somehow, he couldn’t. Slowly, reluctantly, relaxing his grip, he watched as Sullivan crumpled and slid to his haunches, cowering at his feet now, like the weakling he was.
Sullivan blinked up at him, as Matthew struggled to bring his rage down to a controllable level.
‘Not so different, are we, Adams?’ he said after a second, dragging a hand across his mouth and then looking at him full on.
‘You and me, when the chips are down, we do what we have …’ Sullivan trailed off as Matthew reached to take the gun from Ashley, his eyes never leaving Sullivan’s.
Aiming it squarely at Sullivan’s chest, Matthew looked him over disgustedly. What use were the kind of values that would allow vermin to crawl the streets, he wondered, murderers, child abusers. The punishment would never be enough to fit the crime.
‘Probably not a lot different, no.’ Venom lodged like acid in his windpipe, he dropped the gun pointedly lower.
Noting its target, Sullivan paled. ‘Don’t,’ he croaked, now looking considerably panicked.
‘The chips are down, Sullivan.’ Matthew gave him a c’est la vie shrug.
‘You’re losing it, Adams,’ Sullivan said shakily.
‘Yep,’ Matthew said simply.
‘You won’t get away with it,’ Sullivan tried, his eyes now fixed on the steady trickle of blood snaking its way down Matthew’s arm to plop onto the floor.
‘Oh, I think I just might,’ Matthew assured him, ‘me being a copper and you being a lowlife piece of scum. The thing is, Sullivan, I do have the balls. What I also have, something you haven’t had since the day your mother had the misfortune of giving birth to you, is a shred of decency. Compassion, Sullivan. A conscience. Now though, I’m beginning to think that ending your miserable existence is worth losing sleep over. I mean, an eye for an eye and all that. No one could blame me. So, what d’y’think, Sullivan? Shall I do the world a favour?’
Sullivan gulped. ‘Don’t,’ he repeated, his voice cracking.
‘You didn’t answer the question, Sullivan,’ Matthew pointed out quietly.
‘No!’ Sullivan said quickly. ‘Don’t do this, Adams,’ he begged. ‘Think of your family.’
‘Oh, trust me, I am.’ Matthew’s jaw tightened. ‘Maximum pain, Sullivan,’ he promised him.
‘For fuck’s sake, you’re supposed to uphold the law! You can’t just shoot me.’ Sullivan now looked extremely worried.
But not worried enough, Matthew decided. No contrition, no feelings that were remotely human. ‘How sorry are you for killing my daughter, Sullivan?’ he asked him, keeping his tone calm.
Sullivan appeared to be struggling for an answer.
‘That was a question! You snivelling little shit!’
Sullivan jumped, visibly. ‘Very!’ he answered, sweat popping out on his forehead he didn’t dare move to wipe away. ‘I didn’t mean for your daughter to die. I …’
Matthew felt the ground shift beneath him. Even the thought of Sullivan thinking about her, made his stomach turn over. Closing one eye, he tensed his finger on the trigger.
‘I didn’t!’ Sullivan shouted. ‘It was meant to be a warning. That was all. I swear to God it was. I told the guy to scare your wife, to warn you off. I told him … Oh, sweet fucking Jesus.’ Glancing upwards, Sullivan trailed off, relief flooding his features as he obviously noted the distinct sound of rotor blades going round outside.
Evil. Matthew gulped back the sour taste in his throat. The man was pure evil.
‘I’m sorry!’ Sullivan looked desperately back at him. ‘I swear I am. Don’t do this, Matthew.’
Matthew cocked his head to one side and considered. ‘You forgot the magic word,’ he said, at length.
‘Please,’ Sullivan obliged immediately, steepling his hands in front of him. ‘I’m not a well man, Matthew. I …’
‘You know, you can be dead irritating sometimes, don’t you, Sullivan?’ Matthew said evenly.
‘I’m not well,’ Sullivan repeated desperately. ‘I … I have a brain tumour!’
Matthew’s mouth curved into a slow smile. ‘Must be your lucky day. I have just the cure.’ He levelled the gun.
‘I do! I get these headaches!’ Sullivan swiped a hand under his nose. ‘Really bad. They affect my eyesight, my judgement. It wasn’t my fault, Matthew. For pity’s sake, show some mercy.’
Mercy? The man who destroyed people’s lives, prostituted young girls, pumped them full of drugs, murdered people without compunction was expecting mercy because he had a headache? Matthew might have laughed, had it not been so sickeningly absurd. ‘Shut … the … fuck … up, Sullivan,’ he grated slowly.
‘I have a daughter.’ Sullivan clearly didn’t comprehend. ‘I know … I can imagine how you must have felt, but it wasn’t my doing. You have to believe me.’
Hearing the whirr of the copter growing louder, Matthew tuned it out. He didn’t bother trying to still the images playing staccato through his mind, his daughter’s eyes, silently pleading, her blood staining the road crimson, the tiny white coffin; too small, too precious a cargo to let go. He’d carried her in his arms.
‘Are you deaf, Sullivan, or just stupid?’ he asked, swallowing back the too familiar tightness in his chest.
Sullivan blinked at him, uncertain. ‘What?’
‘Clearly you’re not capable of obeying a simple instruction, are you?’
‘I …’ Sullivan looked frantically past him towards the front door.
‘Question, Sullivan,’ Matthew reminded him.
‘Oh God.’ Sullivan attempted to wet his lips with is tongue.
‘He’s not home,’ Matthew growled. ‘Now answer the
fucking question!’
‘I … Yes,’ Sullivan answered unsteadily. ‘No,’ he added quickly. ‘I don’t know! Which question?’
‘Stupid, obviously,’ Matthew answered it for him. ‘You appear to be struggling, so I’ll give you another, easier question, shall I?’
Matthew waited, his heartrate escalating, his throat dry and his hands visibly shaking, he waited, and debated. Had he got the balls? Was he really going to shoot a defenceless man down on his knees? The man who’d killed his daughter, his unborn child, tormented and tortured his wife? Tugging in a ragged breath, Matthew asked his question.
‘I think it’s payback time, Sullivan, don’t you?’
‘No!’ Sullivan yelled, reaching behind him as he attempted to scramble to his feet.
Shit! The handgun. ‘Say your prayers, you bastard.’ Matthew focussed his aim.
And then stopped.
Stunned, he lowered the gun and looked towards Ashley and then back to Sullivan. He would most definitely not be feeling too well now, if the ugly red stiletto heel lodged in his neck was any indication. Matthew guessed from the fountain of blood it had severed a main artery and prevaricated for a split-second longer.
Sullivan’s look was one of surprise when Matthew finally shot.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘He fell awkwardly.’ Seated reluctantly in the back of a patrol car, Matthew answered questions around the circumstances of Sullivan’s demise vaguely. He needed to be with Becky. Now. Swiping agitatedly at the blood and crap on the side of his face, he watched as she and Ashley were helped into the waiting ambulance. His focus was on her. It should always have been. He hoped never to have to think about or hear about Sullivan ever again. He would have to, of course. There would be an enquiry. Mathew’s aim, though, was to try to keep Ashley out of it. She needed help. That much was clear. She needed the right help though, and being cross-questioned wasn’t it.
‘Right.’ DCI Davies frowned pensively. ‘And this was after you shot him?’
Death Sentence Page 27
