by GB Williams
The bed in the next apartment groaned. It wasn’t unusual. The next apartment was owned by a spaced-out woman making the rent by scoring any punter desperate enough to pay her. He heard the fake moaning and the headboard started to bounce against the wall.
Great.
So he was trapped here listening to the fake ecstasy of a prostitute, with no contact to the outside world. No way of knowing if Teddington was alive. His world was hanging in the balance and there was nothing he could do. This was worse than being in a prison cell. This was purgatory.
38
‘Will you just have done and kill her?’
Teddington ignored Carol as she looked at Andy. He was looking back at her, but all she could see in his eyes was her own reflection. She wasn’t looking good. She wasn’t feeling good either. Everything hurt, from the shin Carol had kicked, past the broken nose to the top of her head, which felt like it wanted to explode it was under so much pressure. That was definitely concussion. She knew she’d feel bad for a few days, if she lived that long.
The other two men were gone, along with two of the bags. The sound of an engine echoed down the stone corridor from the garage. Two engines, she counted. Probably the Caravelle and something a bit throatier than a car. That was a motorbike, she realised. Sounded like quite a powerful one too.
‘Carol, get the bags.’ Though he wasn’t talking to her, he never looked away from Teddington.
‘But there are thr—’
‘Get the bags.’
Teddington could see his patience was running out. Carol on the other hand…
‘My arm—’
‘Just get the bloody bags!’
Carol was grumbling, but Andy’s focus was back on Teddington.
‘You sure you want her tagging along?’ she asked softly as Carol, grumbling, did what she had been told.
‘You offering better?’
‘Could be.’
The pressure of the gun lowered, but she could still feel it at her neck. She wouldn’t survive if that trigger was pulled now. ‘Always had a thing for powerful men.’ She licked her lips, tasted the blood on them.
They all heard the screech of tearing metal. Andy turned around, his fist still bunched in Teddington’s hair. Through the unadorned windows they heard and saw a motorbike screaming past, a second and third was close behind, blue lights flashing.
Andy and Carol both swore.
‘Kill her and let’s get out of here.’
Andy was already forcing Teddington before him. ‘No. We need her now more than ever.’
Teddington calculated the risks. One false move and her head was getting blown off. She could try a surprise attack, kick Andy off his feet, but right now, that was most likely to get her shot. The police were just outside. It was time to let them do their job. Andy said she was his shield, so for now that’s just what she’d be.
‘I really can’t manage all the bags.’
Teddington turned her eyes towards Carol. The woman looked pale and her arm, which she held awkwardly, was still bleeding. The force of Andy’s hold steered Teddington toward the table.
‘If you want to keep your head, show me what a clever girl you are.’
‘You won our last fight,’ Teddington said carefully. ‘I’m not rushing into another.’
She was forced to walk backwards as Andy told Carol to put a bag over his shoulder. The gun moved away from her neck. If there was a time to move it was now, but Teddington stayed compliant, still. Andy had her hair so tight, all she could do was stare at the ceiling. There was every sort of moulding up there, mildew too. This had once been a great house, but all things decayed, especially bodies once there’s a bullet in them.
Finally, the tension at her scalp was released. She was able to tip her head forward more, see where she was going. She was made to lead the way back down to the garage.
‘How the fuck did they find us?’ Carol demanded.
‘I don’t know.’
Teddington did, but she wasn’t about to say. It might not have been Piper but it had been the police. They had traced her phone. Andy was steering her through the house, back to the garage. She was surprised to see the Caravelle still where it had been left.
They didn’t stop at the blue people carrier as she’d expected, but Andy took her past that to a classic car. Teddington didn’t know what type of car it was—cars weren’t her thing—but it was a sports convertible, top already down, which she thought was just patently stupid at this time of year. Carol scuttled around, plucked some keys off a hook and unlocked the car, opening the boot to stow all three bags.
‘You’re driving,’ Andy told Teddington.
‘I can’t.’
‘You can’t drive?’ Andy seemed surprised.
‘Yes, I drive, but—’
‘Then get in the bloody car!’
Fear shook through her. ‘Concussion, remember?’
Fetid breath hissed close to her ear. ‘Adrenalin junkie, remember?’
She held her hands up and away from her. ‘Okay, but you’ll need to let go of my hair so I can see what I’m doing.’
The grip tightened and Andy’s face appeared at her ear. ‘Just remember this gun’ll be on you at all times.’
‘Yes, Andy.’ She hoped she sounded more submissive than she felt. ‘I’ll only do what you tell me.’
This time she felt his small laugh over her skin. ‘You really are something, Ari.’
She forced herself not to judder when she felt his tongue on her ear.
‘You could have been the best thing I ever stole.’
Taking it slowly, Teddington eased herself into the low driver’s seat as Andy helped Carol into the cramped back seat, then got himself into the front passenger seat. Teddington wasn’t in the least bit surprised when the pistol came up and pressed coldly into her temple.
Carol passed her the keys.
‘Start the car.’
Teddington’s hand was shaking, so it took two stabs to get the key in the ignition, but the car started first attempt. It purred as it idled. Andy opened the garage door remotely.
As the barrier went up, it revealed that the driveway ahead of them was being illuminated. Though from this angle it was impossible to see what with.
‘Drive forward slowly, turning left,’ Andy instructed.
Finding first was easy enough. She carefully depressed the accelerator and eased off the clutch. She didn’t want to gun the engine, didn’t want to spook anyone into firing at them. The clutch was smooth and bit gently. The car crept out of the garage to face the amassed lights of the police.
For a moment, Teddington blinked. Night had settled in but there were lights out there, headlights that blazed like suns. She shook her head and focused; it wasn’t as easy as it should have been.
The driveway ahead of them had been choked with police vehicles. Even in the haze of her condition, she could see that there were various vehicles, some marked, some not. Some were cars, two vans and two more motorbikes blocked their exit. One car faced the way out—she saw it had been crumpled into a marked police car. The airbags had activated. That was the tearing they’d heard from inside. Both damaged vehicles were to one side of the driveway. She assumed the driver had been taken away. Whether it was Martin or the oriental man, she neither knew nor cared.
The sound of the opening garage door had caught their attention, now the police and the firearms team rifles were focused on them.
Teddington allowed the car to roll forward until they were within shouting distance of the line. She knew that the dashboard light would show up the gun at her head. Then one man stepped forward.
Piper.
Teddington focused on him. He wasn’t the hero she wanted, but he was the only one she had. His suit was rumpled, his tie knot loose. He looked grim, drawn and tired from the day.
She knew how he felt.
If this was to be her last day on earth, she wanted it to be remembered. She wanted to be remembered, not ju
st to fade away into the abyss of the unknown. It was bad enough her mother didn’t know what happened to Terry; she didn’t want to be another millstone.
39
Charlie paced. The headboard was banging the wall again. But this was a different session, another punter. It made him sick to have to live next door to that. He’d looked through yesterday’s paper again. Even spotted and circled an ad for a lodger. Anything had to be better than this.
He stuffed in hands in his pockets, his fingers encountering that watch again.
R and P.
Brothers.
He didn’t know how that felt, being an only child. His only child was dead. His parents hadn’t contacted him since before the trial. Not since he’d told them he was guilty and they had to stay away.
The only person he wanted in his life right now was in danger and he couldn’t do anything about it. It was torture.
All relationships were a minefield.
‘Fuck me, big daddy.’
Charlie glared at the wall through which he’d heard those words. Some families were worse than others. He thought about the watch. He thought about his inability to help Teddington. Things he could, things he couldn’t do.
If this watch was something to do with the Mansel-Joneses then he had a potential in. If he had an in, he could do something. He wasn’t sure what, but he had to do something.
Grabbing his coat, he headed for the door.
The one thing he knew about minefields—they could be blown apart.
40
Piper stood before the massed force and looked at the silver three Series.
Charlie was out in the cold. Teddington had a gun to her head. He didn’t want to think about how much worse today could get. All he had to lose was his career, and the way the rules were tying his hands these days, that might not be such a great loss.
Beamish shouted at them. ‘Clear the way!’
Piper peered into the gloom. This time, Beamish’s face matched that in their data, his make-up long gone. The brunette in the back was clearly Carol Freeman, but she looked quite different from the blonde in the bank.
‘Mr Beam—’
‘Now!’ Beamish shouted. ‘Or she dies.’
It wasn’t that much of a threat. If he killed his driver, he wasn’t going anywhere. On the other hand, Piper would have let a civilian die. He watched as Beamish pushed the pistol harder against Teddington’s head, but she wasn’t giving way. Her head was still upright. The other side of her forehead was raw, scabbed and swollen. That, he knew, she’d suffered when Carlisle saved her life. Even though she’d only hit her head on the arm of a chair, indications were that she was concussed. Concussion and driving didn’t mix. He looked at her. The bruise on her left cheek was new, as was the dried blood on her top lip from her nose. He looked nowhere but at her. She looked directly back at him. She was calm. This wasn’t a woman in fear, she’d gone way, way past fear. She blinked, then something changed. He saw her hands on the steering wheel flex.
Piper returned his gaze to the man with the gun. ‘I can’t do that.’
‘Try harder!’ Teddington yelled suddenly.
Piper looked at her. She was going to pull that one on him? Now? Her eyes didn’t look right. With the amount of light on her, she should have been shielding her eyes, squinting at least. Beamish was, but she wasn’t. Was this a result of concussion? It seemed likely. Everything about her appearance shouted beaten. But her eyes told of determination.
They had the guy from the van; they had the guy from the bike. He had Andrews in his ear asking for permission to fire. There were two risks if Andrews fired: Teddington could be hit in error, or Beamish could reflexively shoot Teddington.
Piper concentrated on Teddington. She wasn’t beaten. She had a plan.
‘No,’ he muttered so Andrews could hear, ‘move your men to look outside the wall. If they get out, take out the car tyres.’ As he turned he moved his mike aside, and shouted the order. ‘Clear the drive!’
It was obvious his colleagues didn’t understand, but he wasn’t worried about them. He was worried about Teddington. He didn’t know what she was going to do, but she had a plan and he trusted her.
The vehicles were being started, moved aside. As one van reversed, the lights highlighted the solid stone wall and the column that flanked the open gateway.
Now there was only one thing in the way of the car and the exit. Him. Piper turned to face the car. The engine was revving, but the car was stationary. He had a momentary vision of American on-street drag racing. That car was going to speed past him.
He moved aside.
Teddington gunned it.
For a second the wheels spun, then she was shooting past, she was speeding down the drive. He realised that at that speed, she was never going to make the ninety-degree turn through the gate.
Dear God, she has no intention of turning outside the gates.
Twenty metres to go and she was doing maybe fifty, sixty.
At the last moment she swerved.
The impact reverberated through the ground and the air. He was drowned in a tsunami of sound, grinding tyres, buckling metal. Screams, and not all from the occupants of the car.
Crashing silence.
Even nature was stunned into holding its breath. No wind blew, no bird cried. No one moved.
Not from the car.
Piper was running. It was like a nightmare, the car never seemed to get any closer. Other people were there before him, checking out the passengers. Beamish was immobile, probably dead. Carol was groaning. Teddington had hit the stone wall about half and half. Her side was more protected, but still damaged and she was slumped over the wheel—not moving, and trapped in the wreck.
41
Charlie had got only a few metres down the road when he heard someone call his name. At first, he didn’t answer, he was determined to confront Mansel-Jones, offer him the watch, find a way to blow that bloody family apart.
The call was repeated. He turned around and saw the kind of top-end Mercedes that really didn’t belong around here. He looked through the window that slid further down as the car reached him and saw Russell Towers. Charlie frowned. What was his barrister doing here?
‘Mr Bell, would you get in the car please?’
‘Why?’
‘Well, mostly because I don’t want to be on this street too long.’
The honesty and self-awareness of the man’s smile echoed something in Charlie—his own wish to get out of the area, probably. What he had been planning to do had waited four years; it could wait a few minutes more. He reached out and opened the door. The soft leather seat felt like it was cuddling him as he sat. The car was beautifully warm as he shut the door and they moved away.
‘No offence, Towers, but you don’t make social visits to men like me. What’s going on?’
Towers actually laughed. ‘You might be surprised who I socialise with, but you’re right, I’m not just dropping by. Detective Chief Inspector Piper called me. He said I was to take you back to the station.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘Superintendent Broughton wants to question you. He also said that Broughton was sending uniforms, so it would be better if you arrived voluntarily.’
There was sense to that. He just hoped it worked out.
‘You know I can’t afford so much as an hour of your time, don’t you?’
Towers laughed genteelly. ‘You know I have plenty of clients who can and do. Between them all, they cover your bills.’
Now Charlie nearly laughed. ‘Is that legal?’
‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ The man smiled as he drove. ‘Besides, what you lack in financial rewards, you more than make up for in making-my-life-interesting rewards. Something that is usually, sadly, rather lacking in my other clients.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
Towers laughed again. ‘You should.’
For a few minutes, they were silent. Charlie considered the m
an beside him. He always got the impression the barrister was actually a lot older than he looked. He also supposed that as a barrister, rather than a solicitor, Towers didn’t actually get to spend a lot of time at the sharp end in the interrogation room.
‘Did they tell you anything about Teddington?’
Towers glanced across to Bell. ‘Teddington? Are you referring to Prison Officer Ariadne Teddington? What’s she got to do with this?’
On the journey Charlie told him, surprised to find out that Towers hadn’t heard about the raid because he’d been in court all afternoon and hadn’t seen the news.
Now Charlie sat across from Broughton, Towers at his side. The DCS looked as happy as a bulldog chewing a nest of hornets. They’d gone through the motions of what was said to be a voluntary interview, even though it was being taped.
‘Do you know the Invicta Bank on Glenister Street?’
Charlie frowned. ‘Of course I do.’
‘When were you last in the Invicta Bank?’
‘Never, I’m with Santander.’
‘So you weren’t in the Invicta Bank today.’
‘No.’
‘Glenister Street?’
‘No.’ Charlie scowled across the table. ‘We’ve been through this, why go through it again?’
‘Let’s go back to November 18th last year,’ Broughton said far too evenly.
‘Why? What’s this about?’
Broughton ignored the question. Instead he went through all the details of Charlie being listed as an informant, and through details he’d given of the intended raid today.
‘But you know all of this,’ Charlie asserted. ‘Why have you dragged me back to go over old ground?’
‘What time did you leave Glenister Street?’
‘Superintendent, I really must protest,’ Towers cut across Broughton’s continuance. ‘You cannot keep pressing my client in this way. He’s here voluntarily and has shown an obvious willingness to help you in any way he can, but he cannot give you details he does not have. However many times you ask the same question, the answer remains the same: Charlie Bell was not in the Invicta Bank on Glenister Street today. And you don’t have a single shred of evidence to suggest he was.’
