by Paul Finch
Vinnie was almost too groggy to understand this – until Hardy leaned down and, rather gently, began handling his arm as though studying the extent of the damage.
He tut-tutted. ‘That must hurt a lot. But don’t worry. All bad things come to an end. And yours, Mr Budd, is going to end just about … there.’
He prodded with his fingertip an inch above the point where the steel jaws had clamped shut. Vinnie still didn’t know what he meant, nor did he notice that Laurel was now leaning over him from the other side. In fact he only grasped what was happening when, with a flash of steel, Laurel struck him with his own knife.
The first chop didn’t sever clean through the mangled limb, but it made a neat incision, laying the flesh wide open. Vinnie tried to jerk back, combined squawks of horror and outrage lodged in his phlegm-filled throat. It took Hardy to wrap his arms round Vinnie from behind and hold him in position before the blade could be applied again – and again – and again.
The poacher’s eyes widened in mortal horror, stunned whimpers issuing from his drooling mouth, as steel chewed steadily through flesh; as with a series of sickening thuds, meat and bone were systematically parted, jets of arterial blood raking the air, spattering all over the three of them. Even so, it was quicker than he might have expected. With a massive grunt from Laurel, and a vicious final slash, the last threads of tissue were sliced and his stump was freed.
Not that they were finished yet.
Vinnie’s vision was dimming and his heart now beating in wild, irregular rhythms. Despite this, they hauled him to his feet, where he stood rocking back and forth.
With heartfelt congratulations for his strength and courage, they slapped his back and draped his coat over his shoulders. One of them took his remaining hand, spread out its fingers and placed the knife’s blood-slick hilt between them. Had he the gumption or wherewithal, Vinnie might have used his weapon to lash out at them, but in truth he no longer knew where he was or what had happened. His ribcage felt as though it was shrinking, crushing the vital organs inside. There was a roaring in his ears. The world around him had turned black. He barely felt the pain of his dismembered arm.
A brief, lucid thought struck him – that it was only three miles to the nearest road. If he made it that far and some early riser saw him, they might still get him to a hospital on time. He took a slow, careful step, and another. There was further clapping from behind, more enthusiastic encouragement.
‘Keep going. You’re almost there. Well … maybe not.’ Ribald chuckles followed.
Vinnie didn’t hear them. All he knew was the ground rushing up to meet him, but he never felt it – not even when it struck him full in the face.
Chapter 26
Heck’s watch alarm woke him just before six. He yawned and sat up, even though he’d actually only had a couple of hours’ sleep. He’d pay for that later in the day, but at present there were things to do. He scratched his tousled head and glanced around. Milky daylight filtered into the room, spilling luxuriously onto Gail’s fine contours as she lay face down alongside him. Her hair was spread in a wide arc across the pillow; only a crumpled sheet lay over the small of her back.
He leaned down and kissed her exposed neck – she stirred and muttered slightly – and then he lumbered into the bathroom, where he emptied his bladder copiously and stepped into the shower. The scorching spray did its bit to fully revive him, a sachet of shampoo taking care of his gritty, sweaty mane.
When he’d towelled himself down, pulled his shorts on, and returned to the bedroom, Gail was still asleep. But stronger daylight now poured through the curtains, and he saw something that halted him: three small, circular marks on her peachy right buttock. He sat alongside her and probed them with a gentle fingertip. They were indents in the flesh, as if tiny, circular sections of its upper layer had been removed, leaving only rugged pinpricks of scar tissue. When he checked further up her body, he saw another one – on the side of her right breast. He didn’t need to examine that one closely to know it would be identical to the others. There were all sorts of innocent reasons why people picked up nicks and scars, but cigarette burns left their own unique signature. He touched the marks on her bottom again. This time the muscle clenched slightly. He realised she was awake, and saw her looking over her shoulder, watching him sulkily from under her messy locks.
‘Stand up for me,’ he said.
With unusual acquiescence, she slid from the bed and stood with her back turned. There was another small burn on her lower spine, previously masked by the bedsheet.
‘Turn round, eh?’
She did so. Another mark showed just above the line of her pubic hair.
‘And before you ask,’ she said, ‘no … I don’t actually like it rough. But he had his needs, and I was with him.’
Heck took her by the wrists and drew her towards him. Again, she obliged. His hands alighted at the sides of her breasts and roved down her slender torso. Just left of her sternum there was another noticeable indent. A lack of surface blemish didn’t disguise it.
‘Was it one of his needs to break your ribs?’ he wondered.
‘That wasn’t intentional,’ she replied, lips quivering. ‘I don’t think.’
He took her right hand in his, thumbing at a distortion among the carpals; this was only slight – he wouldn’t have spotted it if he hadn’t been looking. ‘Was it intentional when he dislocated your wrist?’
‘That was a difficult arrest.’
He glanced up at her. ‘Is that what you told Will Royton? When you presumably had to sit in the office for four weeks, answering the phone.’
Her eyes glimmered with tears. ‘You’re not surprised by any of this, are you?’
‘I’ve been in this job for nearly two decades, Gail. I’ve seen it a hundred times before.’
‘I bet you’ve never got this close to it, though. Caressing it, the way you are now. I bet you’ve never kissed it the way you did last night.’
He stood up and smoothed out the coverlet for her. ‘Sit down. I’ll make you a brew.’
‘Oh yeah – because I’m a soft little woman, and that’s all it takes.’
‘Well if you don’t need a brew, I do.’ He crossed the room and flipped the kettle on.
Gail sat on the bed, naked, hugging herself. Her eyes weren’t exactly brimming, but they remained moist. ‘I should’ve known you’d notice when the sun came up. Bloke like you, eyes like a bloody hawk. Last night was a bad idea for all sorts of reasons.’
‘Milk?’ he asked. ‘Sugar?’
‘I don’t want any sodding tea!’
Heck continued to stir. This was something else he’d seen before: victims lashing out in times of stress, particularly in relation to what they perceived to be their own inadequacy; they had to disprove suspicion that they might be weak.
I’m not going to be bossed around or made to feel like an office junior.
It perhaps seemed odd that, the previous night, she’d sought to conceal the evidence, turning the light off before she undressed, and yet this morning had appeared resigned to the inevitable revelation of it – but psychologically it was all entirely consistent. Intimacy such as they’d enjoyed last night often broke a barrier between the twosome involved. It was almost as if, once you’d made love to a person, there was no real point keeping secrets from them. Not that this ever made things better for you, particularly if you’d only got it on with the other party out of a brief desire for close companionship.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘anyone can get trapped in an abusive relationship. A woman, a man. A civvie, a cop. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.’
‘I’m not embarrassed.’
He handed her a cuppa. Even though she’d said she didn’t want one, she accepted it. He also handed her a neatly folded grey-and-white chequered handkerchief, which he’d taken from his jeans pocket. She dabbed at her eyes.
‘Okay, not embarrassed,’ he said. ‘How about bewildered?’
�
�Bewildered?’
He sat in the facing armchair. ‘You’re a very competent detective, Gail. Better than that in fact. You did something last night that only two or three other officers I know in all the police forces of England and Wales could have matched. And if you didn’t know how good you were before, you do this morning. So now more than ever, you’re wondering, “How the hell did I ever let these things happen to me?”’
She sipped her tea absently. ‘It’s not that, it’s just … you think you love someone …’
‘Or you think you need them. Or both.’
She regarded him cautiously, as if maybe – who knew? – he was someone she really could trust with this ultra-personal information. But then, slowly, her expression twisted into a frown. ‘Is this what they teach them in battered wives counselling? Don’t tell me you’ve majored in that as well?’
‘I just told you I’ve seen it all before. That’s why I’m not surprised.’
‘You might not be surprised, but I can tell you’re disappointed.’
‘Why would I be?’
‘I can look after myself, Heck.’
‘You’ve already proved that. You kicked the bastard out.’
‘But not far enough, eh?’ She got up and headed for the bathroom. ‘That’s what you’re thinking. You’ve seen the way he follows me around like a shadow.’
‘What’s really bugging you, Gail?’
She stared back at him. ‘Excuse me?’
‘What’s the real beef? I mean, I’ve just said I don’t think you’re any the less an exceptional officer because of this – so what is it?’
‘What do you think it is?’
‘Let me guess. You’re worried that if you take any further action against this clown, he’ll play his trump card. Make it public knowledge about the kind of relationship you two had.’
‘Wouldn’t you in his situation?’
‘You think he’ll want it known that he’s a bully and a sadist.’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, he won’t care. He’s the alpha male of alpha males – he defines himself by how much he can control me.’
‘And as long as you tolerate the way he’s behaving now, you’re letting him.’
‘What would you have me do?’
‘I dunno. Fill his car with bent gear. Load his hard drive with illegal porn …’
‘Grow up!’ She stormed into the bathroom and turned the shower on.
He followed her in. ‘Gail?’
She pulled a bunch of towels down from the rack. ‘I’m wriggling free, Heck. It’ll be over in due course.’
‘That isn’t how it looks to me.’
‘Why’s it giving you such a problem? Look, surely you can see that if this stuff leaks out, my reputation in Surrey will be worth shit.’
‘Ask for a transfer.’
‘Yeah, because it’s that simple.’
‘Apply to SCU.’
She glanced around at him. ‘Some chance. I’ve got less than a year in divisional CID.’
‘My word counts for a lot.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, no. It probably doesn’t, actually.’
‘That’s one thing I’ll say for you, Heck. You’re disarmingly bloody honest.’
‘Look, it’s your call, Gail. This arsehole is going to keep on tormenting you. It may be from a distance, but he’s enjoying it now as much as ever. You can either put up with it, or you can shake him off.’
‘You know, I was wrong about you. One thing you clearly haven’t majored in is counselling brutalised spouses. Because that’s got to be the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.’ She stepped into the shower and slammed its door behind her.
Before Heck could reply, his phone began bleeping in the bedroom.
‘DS Heckenburg,’ he said, grabbing it up.
‘Heck, it’s Brogan.’
‘Morning.’
‘My guv’nor says there’s something you might be interested in.’
‘Yeah?’
‘We’ve been nicking the rest of the Snake Eyes since five this morning. Turning over every drum on the Skelton. There are lock-ups, squats, you name it. There’s all sorts of stuff here relating to crimes they’ve committed. If you want to have a gander, now’s the time, because an awful lot of stuff’s getting bagged and tagged.’
‘Be there in twenty.’
He was clambering into a fresh set of casuals when Gail re-emerged wrapped in a bath towel.
‘Time to hit the road,’ he said.
She glanced at the digital clock on the TV, which only read 6.45. ‘Already?’
He assessed her as he pulled his trainers on, briefly taken by how she looked with her hair hanging in sparkly-wet ringlets. In truth, her bodily scars were inconsequential; they could have happened to her under any normal circumstances and nobody would bat an eyelid. The psychology of the problem was more the issue here, but ultimately it wasn’t for him to offer advice where it wasn’t wanted. Not that he was much good at that kind of thing anyway.
He explained about the call he’d just had. She thought about this as she sat on the armchair and dried her hair. ‘Suppose you’d better get down there then. I’m going back to Reigate.’
Heck was in the process of chucking his dirty stuff into his grab bag, but now he looked up. ‘Since when?’
‘Since I made the decision five minutes ago. We’ve got about nine thousand pages of paperwork to catch up with. Not to mention a progress report for Will Royton. If nothing else, he’ll need to know about Manko … so he can make some kind of garbled explanation when the internal enquiries start flying.’
‘We’ve still got to find out where that grey van came from.’
‘I’m sure that doesn’t take both of us.’
Heck straightened up. ‘This is a wind-up, yeah?’ She looked puzzled, as if she didn’t even understand the term. ‘Gail, not long ago you asked why all this was giving me such a problem. I’ll tell you: because personal issues are one thing, but personal issues affecting your ability to do the job are another. That actually would lessen you in my eyes.’
‘It’s nothing to do with any of that.’
‘Course it damn well is.’ Again, he hadn’t intended to raise his voice, but time was running out fast. ‘If you can’t stand being with me because I now know what you consider to be your dirty little secrets, fine. No problem. We’ll never so much as shake hands again. But don’t you dare think I’m letting you take time off work for it. So get bloody dressed and get your stuff together. I’m going back to the Skelton right now. I’ll expect you there in fifteen minutes. No later.’
Chapter 27
The Skelton Wood didn’t feel so menacing with a massive security presence on it.
When Heck arrived, the air crackled with radio static and there were police vehicles everywhere: not just local patrols, but PSUs – heavy troop carriers loaded with tactical support units. Quite a few buildings were sealed off with crime-scene tape; even certain roads were closed – he’d had to flash his warrant card just to be passed through. ARVs were stationed on various corners with clutches of firearms officers gathered near them, though most of these were now drinking coffee and eating bacon butties. Fire crews were also present, reeling in their hoses after dousing the blackened shells of shops or the twisted relics of cars. It seemed there had been disturbances here during the early hours, but they hadn’t lasted long. As was so often the case, even in a desperate neighbourhood like this, not everyone was as supportive of the local criminal gang as its members might have liked to imagine.
The mopping-up work was now being undertaken by the Flying Squad and divisional uniforms, who were moving among the lock-ups, garages and basements, wheeling out scowling individuals in plastic cuffs. One or two of these had tried to resist and were suitably bloodied – after all, police officers had been shot at and one had suffered a severe throat wound; it was never going to go easy for them. However, some of the handier Snake Eyes had come quietly and ev
en had the decency to look scared. The top tier of their organisation had vanished overnight. Not only that, the leaders they had trusted were now serving up the lesser soldiers. The entire Snake Eye world had shattered in the space of a few hours. No one knew what awaited them next.
Heck parked his borrowed Mazda alongside a row of police carriers being loaded with boxes and evidence bags. Even at a quick glance, these contained masses of incriminating paraphernalia: knives and guns, sacks of pills, sachets of weed and powder, wads of cash, wallets, iPhones, iPads, and other expensive gadgets.
‘DS Heckenburg?’ a voice said. Heck looked round. DC Bernetti was approaching. Like most of the other Sweeney guys on the plot, he was still armed, his Glock visible on his hip. ‘Bob’s got someone you might want to speak to.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Thirteen, Talbot Court.’
Heck shrugged.
‘Through there.’ Bernetti pointed across the Football Field to its north side, where a black passage led between two conjoined apartment houses. ‘Second floor.’
As Heck headed over there another car roared into place alongside his own. It was a yellow Fiat Punto. Gail got quickly out and fell into step alongside him. Heck couldn’t resist a smile, but neither said anything as they walked across the field and down the passage, which was strewn with bricks and bottles from last night’s battle. At the end, a flight of concrete steps took them up to a gantry overlooking a row of back gardens that were little more now than rubbish tips. A uniform was on guard duty here.
‘Looking for Bob Hunter,’ Heck said, showing his ID.
The uniform stuck a thumb over his shoulder, and three doors along they found number thirteen, which was standing open. DS Brogan was just inside. As before, he had an MP5 carbine slung over his shoulder. He nodded into the darkened interior.
