No One's Safe: DI Max Byrd & DI Orion Tanzy book 3

by C. J. Grayson

‘Ring this in, Jim.’

  Leonard took his phone out and rang dispatch. Moments after, they went downstairs. Weaver was in the living room, hunting through a cabinet in one of the alcoves.

  ‘We found a location for the online games. Just off McMullen Road. Where are Timms and Grearer?’

  ‘Upstairs with you, I think. In the back bedrooms?’

  Byrd appeared behind Leonard. ‘We need to go, Amy. You go with Leonard.’ He turned back to Timms and Grearer, who had followed Byrd down. ‘Eric and Donny, you go together.’

  They both nodded.

  ‘Where’s Phil?’

  Weaver shrugged. ‘He was here a moment ago.’

  They went outside and found the marked Peugeot was gone.

  ‘Eh? Where’s Cornty gone?’ Byrd said.

  ‘He asked me for our key to the car, said he wanted to check something,’ Timms said.

  ‘Someone please call him,’ countered Byrd.

  Timms pulled his phone from his pocket and did as Byrd had asked. They all watched the blank look on his face. ‘He’s not answering, boss.’

  ‘He was literally here a moment ago.’

  Byrd thought for a moment. ‘Amy, you come with me. Eric, Donny, you both go with Jim.’

  They nodded and made their way to the cars. Byrd edged the front door closed. Later, they’d be back, but for now, they had to go to the place where the tracker had said.

  Byrd climbed in his seat, pulled his door shut. Weaver got into the passenger seat and closed her door. While Byrd turned on the engine and turned the car around, Weaver noticed a slip of paper down by her foot. She bent down, picked it up between two fingers, and scanned it curiously.

  There was a list of names.

  Max Byrd.

  Orion Tanzy.

  Amy Weaver.

  Phil Cornty.

  Lisa Shepherd.

  ‘Boss, what’s this list?’

  Byrd pulled out of Church Grove, and glanced her way, seeing the paper. ‘List of people whose prints forensics found on the box that was delivered to the station. One with the head in.’

  Weaver frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Byrd looked her way. ‘What?’

  Weaver stayed silent for a moment.

  ‘Amy, speak up. What is it?’ Byrd was stern.

  ‘I got it from Lisa when it was at reception then brought it straight to you and DI Tanzy in the office.’

  ‘Okay…’ Byrd was unsure what she meant.

  ‘Phil Cornty didn’t touch the box while it was at the station.’

  85

  Tuesday Afternoon

  Church Grove, Darlington

  ‘He didn’t touch the box?’ Byrd asked, turning onto Barton Street.

  Weaver shook her head. ‘No.’

  Byrd grabbed the radio from the dash, pressed the button. ‘Dispatch…’

  ‘Go ahead…’ the female voice replied.

  ‘Can we get a location on vehicle November-Alpha-Six-Seven-Yankie…’ His mind went blank for a second.

  ‘PC,’ whispered Weaver, helping him out.

  ‘Papa-Charlie?’ added Byrd, then nodded thanks towards her.

  ‘Hold on…’ replied the operator.

  Approaching the roundabout at the bottom of Barton Street, Byrd angled left, not taking Haughton Road but the next one, the road heading to McMullen Road. The location of the IP address the program on Dilton’s computer had told Byrd was an industrial property near Lingfield Point, close to the Tornado Way heading to the A66. He flew over the roundabout, the X5’s three-litre engine roared as he put the gear into third and pushed his foot flat to the floor. The road ahead was clear, allowing him to open it up, approaching seventy within seconds.

  Weaver straightened in her seat, grabbing the handle on the door to steady herself.

  ‘DI Byrd,’ said the female operator through the radio, ‘the location of the vehicle is currently at Eastpoint Road in the Lingfield Point estate.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied, concentrating on the traffic lights ahead which were quickly approaching.

  ‘Sir?’ Weaver muttered, noticing he wasn’t slowing down.

  The lights were on red, with a line of cars waiting to go straight ahead.

  Byrd didn’t ease off the pedal.

  Traffic from the left and right were crawling through the cross section, minding their business.

  ‘Sir?’ she repeated, this time louder, tightening her grip on the handle.

  ‘Hold on, Amy…’

  The left lane for cars turning left was empty. Weaver wondered if he was planning on taking that but found her eyes flicking towards the dashboard. The X5 was going somewhere between sixty and seventy. The lights were less than a hundred metres away.

  As Byrd veered over to the left lane and reached level with the last car in the queue waiting to go, the lights flashed amber, then green. Byrd judged the first car would set off when they turned green, so dropped a gear and planted his foot, surging the big 4x4 onwards.

  Weaver clamped her eyes closed, gripped the door handle so hard, her knuckles were sheet white.

  ‘Hold on…’ Byrd whispered and concentrated hard to avoid the oncoming kerb, pulling hard on the steering wheel. The tyres skidded a little, the sound of screeching ripped through the air but somehow managed it although the whole car shifted before it levelled out.

  ‘Sorry about that.’

  She opened her eyes and smiled shyly at him.

  At the next set of lights, he took a right, a back way into Lingfield Point. They came to a roundabout, realising there was only the right turn to make, so traffic was minimal. There was a left turn but it was blocked off with four large boulders, leading to a half-built road.

  They arrived at Eastpoint Road.

  Weaver looked down at her phone in her hand. ‘This is the road.’

  ‘Keep an eye out for our Peugeot.’

  She nodded.

  He stopped the X5 at the junction, unsure to take a right or left. He scanned both ways. It was fifty-fifty, so he decided to take a right. The road went down until it reached a left bend, taking it around an old, abandoned building, something he’d noticed when driving along the main road.

  Byrd carefully took the bend, cautious of oncoming traffic, when Weaver shouted, ‘Hold on, hold on!’

  ‘What – what is it?’

  ‘Stop the car.’ She pointed to a small parking area behind the building. Around it, were a few smaller buildings, the size of garages. If she hadn’t been looking directly through the gap in between the buildings, she’d have missed it. ‘You see it?’

  Byrd did. He looked back at the road, deciding the best way to get to it. He followed it further, took a left to back on to himself, and pulled up behind the Peugeot. Next to it, was a blue Volkswagen Transporter Van.

  ‘There’s our van,’ noted Byrd with a sigh, remembering it was the one they’d been looking for, the one the body parts had fallen out of on the A66.

  It wasn’t long before they heard a car nearby. Leonard’s Insignia appeared to the left on the road they’d just driven down. Leonard spotted them and came to a halt behind the X5.

  They all stopped and jumped out.

  ‘Why is he here, sir?’ Leonard said loudly, clear frustrated about the situation. ‘He doesn’t know where it is yet…’

  Byrd nodded in understanding, knowing what it could mean.

  ‘And, his phone is turned off,’ added Weaver, stopping near Byrd.

  They all padded towards the car, then looked around it. The car was sheltered, a small building to the left, and a large – what looked like an old factory – ahead of them.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ asked Leonard, his heart rate through the roof.

  Byrd scanned the area. ‘There must be a door somewhere?’

  ‘Over there,’ Timms said, pointing to a set of faded yellow double doors.

  They all went over to them. They looked like they’d been there for over a hundred years, judging by the r
ust that had taken over. The whole building, too, looked aged, weathered, and abandoned.

  ‘What even is this building?’ Leonard asked no one in particular.

  ‘God knows,’ Byrd said, trying to pull the handle on the right door, then the left. The door was locked.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s up for let,’ Timms added. ‘Sign on the top up there.’

  Grearer looked up for a moment, noticed the blue fabric banner.

  ‘James… you got a crowbar in your car?’ asked Byrd, looking his way. He nodded and went to the Insignia, opened the boot, and grabbed the crowbar. He ran back to the door and placed the sharp tip into the slight gap in the door. He pushed against it, the reluctant sound of metal responding to his efforts.

  ‘Come on!’ he whispered, putting his full effort in.

  ‘Here, let me help,’ Timms said, stepping forward, grabbing the bar at a lower point to Leonard.

  ‘On three,’ said Leonard. ‘One, two, three.’

  They both pushed hard. The lock cracked and the door edged open, the mechanism breaking in two, most of it falling near their feet. Leonard stepped back, keeping hold of the bar.

  ‘You got your flashlights?’ Byrd asked, peering inside, noticing it was very dark.

  Timms and Grearer nodded, both pulling theirs from the belts.

  ‘Let me have one,’ said Byrd.

  Timms handed his light over. Byrd adjusted his grip on it and pulled his baton from his belt too. ‘Right, let’s go…’

  86

  Tuesday Afternoon

  Lingfield Point, Darlington

  Byrd had told Weaver to stay near the door, just in case anyone tried to escape while they were inside. She nodded and called for more back-up. They had no clue what they were dealing with so the more help available, the better.

  Byrd, Leonard, Timms, and Grearer went down the dark space, with Byrd and Grearer at the front holding the torches out in front. The corridor was long and narrow, with multiple doors on both sides, all closed.

  ‘Hello? Police,’ Byrd said loud and clear.

  They moved onwards, further into the building, trying the handles of the doors but so far, every door was locked.

  Byrd raised his hand suddenly. Everyone stopped and stared.

  ‘Wha—’ Leonard began to say.

  ‘Shhhh….’

  There was a rustling sound somewhere down the hall.

  ‘Hear that?’ Byrd whispered.

  ‘Yeah,’ Grearer replied.

  ‘Come on.’

  Slowly, they followed Byrd’s lead, keeping their wits about them, trying door handles, and moving onto the next, trying to keep quiet. On the right-hand side, they came to a door Byrd was sure he heard something behind.

  Byrd raised a palm again, put his head to the door and listened hard. There was the sound of a click on the other side, a similar sound to a door closing.

  He tried the handle but it was locked. Stepping back, he raised a leg and kicked the left side of the door just below the handle. The door juddered but held. He did it again, this time, the door crumbled in on itself, the lock shearing with a crack.

  Inside the room was bright, so he lowered the torch, but kept his baton held high, ready for anything that might try and surprise him. There was a large desk with two computer screens on top of it. Behind the screen, was a black window.

  ‘What the fuck is this?’ Leonard said, as he stepped inside, seeing the computer screens.

  Byrd looked carefully around the room. To the right, a thin black coat hung from a hook on the wall. To the right of that was a shelving unit with various papers on them, nothing in any particular order. On the wide desk before them, was an empty chocolate wrapper and a half-drunk bottle of Pepsi. Whoever was here, hadn’t been gone very long.

  Leonard took a seat on one of the two empty desk chairs and pulled himself in. On the right monitor was a screen showing a camera looking down onto a room. He leaned forward, squinting.

  ‘Is that a woman?’ He turned back to Byrd. ‘Sir. Have a look.’

  Byrd, Timms, and Grearer came over immediately.

  ‘Looks like it…’ replied Byrd.

  They saw the tab with the word Players on it, then underneath, another tab saying Watchers.

  ‘This is exactly where it happens,’ Leonard noted angrily, hitting the desk with a palm.

  The rustling sound on the other side of the door over to the left caught their attention. They all stared, exchanging quick glances with each other. Byrd wasted no time and stepped away from the desk, then dashing over with the baton high up in his right hand, he grabbed the handle and pulled the door inwards.

  He was well aware of the dangers when opening a door, not knowing what could be behind, so, through experience, he stamped his foot down near the open threshold but held off, missing the baseball bat that swung down from the right. And boy, was he glad he did. Judging by the speed and the crack when it hit the floor, it would have split his skull into two.

  Leonard, Timms, and Grearer all froze, staring at the door.

  A moment later, Brad stumbled through, raising the bat high above his head with menace on his face. Byrd kept a close eye on him, weighing him up, watching his movements. Brad was big and bulky and Byrd knew he’d have to be sharp to avoid another one of Brad’s vicious swings, which would no doubt knock him into next week.

  ‘Calm down,’ said Byrd quickly. ‘You don’t want to do this…’

  Brad didn’t speak. He moved forward and raised the bat high above his head. Only when he was in the room he noticed Leonard, Timms, and Grearer, and realised he was outnumbered, but it was clear that he’d go down fighting.

  ‘You need to put that down,’ Byrd said, louder and clearer this time.

  Brad’s eyes flicked from Byrd to the others, then rested back on Byrd, as he was closer and posed a threat with the extended baton.

  ‘Where’s Phil?’ asked Byrd.

  Brad’s eyes frowned. ‘Phil who – you dare come near me!’ he screamed at Leonard, noticing him edge closer from his left.

  Leonard threw his palms up. ‘Okay. Okay. Calm…’

  Brad glared back at Byrd. ‘I don’t know a Phil. Now fuck off.’ He raised the bat higher and took a step forward.

  Byrd weighed up his options. The last thing he wanted was a clout from the big guy with a baseball bat, but he was a threat that had already swung for him. If he’d connected, it would have probably killed him.

  He also knew DC Cornty was somewhere in the building.

  As he figured, Brad swung again, but Byrd was ready, diving to the floor, just missing the bat that whizzed by his head. Once Brad was off-balance, Leonard acted quickly, charging towards him, knocking Brad off balance until he hit the floor. Leonard mounted him, using his left arm to block Brad, swinging the bat up from the floor. Without hesitation, Leonard laid into him, relentless pounding on his face until he dropped the bat and it rolled away a few feet.

  Timms pulled Leonard off, dragging him up against his will. He was like a man possessed, wriggling like an animal.

  ‘Jim – fucking calm down!’ Timms shouted, struggling to hold his frantic arms back.

  Byrd had rolled away and had climbed to his feet. Leonard finally lowered his arms and regained control of his breathing and uncharacteristic temper.

  ‘I’m fine. I’m fine,’ he said, pushing Timms off him, allowing the mixture of emotions that had built up over the past few weeks.

  ‘You got him?’ Byrd asked Timms and Grearer.

  Grearer nodded, pulled the cuffs from his belt, and leaned down over Brad.

  Byrd went to the open door and noticed the stairway going down. The handrail on either side was illuminated in soft blue neon strips. At the bottom, although it wasn’t very well lit, he saw someone standing there looking up at him.

  He didn’t need to be a detective to recognise DC Cornty.

  There was a sudden scuffle behind him in the room. Byrd turned quickly. Brad had managed to get up, wriggling
Timms and Grearer off him, and charged through the open door directly at Byrd.

  ‘Max!’ Leonard screamed.

  87

  Tuesday Afternoon

  Lingfield Point, Darlington

  Byrd spun on his toes, seeing Brad charging right for him. He looked bigger against the light inside the room behind him, almost highlighting a rapid moving silhouette, growing bigger each passing second.

  In his mind, knowing if he stayed where he was at the top of the stairs, he’d be flying down them. A hot wave ran through his body as he tensed and waited for him, steadying his feet, raising the baton high above his head.

  When he felt Brad was close enough, he did two things almost at the same time. First, he swung the baton at Brad’s face. Hard. This caused him to wail in pain as the end of the baton popped his nose, blood exploding from it instantly. And two, he dropped to his knees and rolled to the left, hurling himself into the wall.

  Brad continued to travel and went tumbling past him, bouncing off the stairs, all the way down to the bottom with a huge thud.

  Panting, Byrd rolled over and stood up.

  ‘You okay, boss?’ asked Leonard, stopping behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  Byrd managed a nod and stared down the stairs. There were four flights, with flat areas between each flight. It must have been thirty metres, maybe more. A long way to tumble.

  The man at the bottom didn’t move.

  And DC Cornty had gone.

  ‘Come on, Jim,’ said Byrd. ‘Cornty is down there somewhere.’

  Byrd went first, taking the steps quickly, sliding his hand down the blue neon railing. Leonard followed, with Timms and Grearer behind. Approaching the bottom it was clear that Brad hadn’t moved. When Byrd got closer, the torch light illuminated the blood on the floor under Brad, the pool growing quickly.

  They stepped over him and came to a set of double doors.

  Byrd pushed down the handle and entered into a well-lit corridor that was twenty or so metres in length, but barely more than a metre wide. The floor was covered in a worn blue carpet that had seen better days and off-white walls, no doubt faded in time along with the rest of the place. There were doors on either side, roughly two metres apart; the last door on the right was the only one open, telling Byrd there was a chance Cornty had gone through there.