HE WILL KILL YOU an absolutely gripping crime thriller with a massive twist

by Charlie Gallagher

  Adam faced her. He tapped his pockets and seemed satisfied he had what he needed. His visits were often fleeting. He would come down for a couple of days at a time. He sometimes talked about moving closer, but never seriously. He didn’t stay at her place often; the risk was too great. But, just recently, she’d become a little more rash — a little less careful. She was making a mental note to rectify that when he kissed her hard on the lips. For a second she forgot every mental note she had ever made. He had that ability. He stepped back and his eyes twinkled their mischief. He pushed a strand of her hair out of her face with his knuckles, his hand resting to cradle her cheekbone.

  ‘I’m taking you for dinner,’ he said. ‘In London. This little place I found. Sunday — you’re off right?’

  ‘Well yeah, but—’

  ‘Sunday then!’ he cut in. He had moved to the door. He pulled it open and stepped through it. There was no discussion, no set plan and certainly no details. Just like always.

  The door pulled shut behind him. She lifted her own hand to her cheek as if he might have left something of himself she could gather up. She shook her head. She was being silly. She hated that he had that effect. She brought the hot coffee to her lips for a swig. Her eyes drifted to the clock.

  ‘Shit!’ She was running out of time. She slopped her coffee back down on the bench and made for the shower. She doubled back quickly when her phone emitted a whistle: her text message tone. She made it back before the screen dimmed. It was from Adam: You look beautiful this morning.

  Her stomach fluttered a little and she felt her lips form a hapless smile. This whole thing was hopeless. As much as she floated to the shower, she couldn’t ignore the feeling that always nagged at her whenever she dared feel happy about Adam: that this couldn’t end well. And it did have to end.

  For now, she needed to get to work.

  Chapter 10

  Major Crime was buzzing. Harry Blaker was aware that they had now been drafted in officially to assist with the aftermath of the explosions in the Roundhill Tunnels. It was the sort of incident that could jam up a whole police force, let alone a department and seemingly Counter Terrorism had run out of manpower too. Harry had seen the news, the incident was rolling twenty-four hours a day and talking heads were starting to demand answers. Harry knew the sort of pressure that could exert.

  DCI Julian Lowe’s office was mainly glass fronted and along with the man himself Harry could see a DC and Acting Inspector Carl Maddocks deep in conversation. Maddocks had been stepped up as cover for Harry while he was off. He was a nice enough fella, but he struck Harry as being a little out of his depth — too nice, perhaps, too busy trying to please the officers now under him, when his main focus should be on getting the job done.

  Harry perched on the edge of a table and crossed his arms. He stayed out in the main office to let the meeting come to its end. Detectives were sweeping past him constantly in both directions, carrying blue files and loose paperwork, some chatting into phones, some calling out to colleagues. No one seemed to notice him. He would wait his turn.

  Lowe’s office emptied, leaving just the chief inspector. Carl Maddocks looked panicked when on his way out he saw Harry.

  ‘Harry! I didn’t know you were back! I’ll clear out your desk just as soon as I can.’

  Harry waved him away. ‘You can keep it for now. You need it more.’

  Carl nodded. He was still moving away. Detectives were making for him from across the floor and two questions came at him at once. Harry smirked to himself. He moved into the office and closed the door to the bustle. Julian Lowe was stood up but bent into his computer monitor. He looked up.

  ‘Ah, Harry.’

  ‘You wanted to see me, sir.’

  ‘Of course I did. Sorry about the delay. Talk about timing, eh! Your first day back and it’s as chaotic as I’ve known it.’

  ‘My second, actually. I moved some stuff in yesterday. This is good timing, then. I can be a help.’

  ‘You can. It was always going to be a positive to have you back, Harry. I did plan on taking you out for a coffee first thing — having a chat, you know, about how you are.’

  ‘No need. I’m fine.’

  Lowe stood up straight, his attention dragged away from his computer, his head rocked ever so slightly to one side. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve been through a lot is all. I’m speaking with Occie Health later today, I want to understand—’

  ‘I’m fine. Like you said, I’ve been through it. I just want to get back to work. It’s already been far too long.’

  Lowe smiled. It was patronising. ‘Yes, Occie Health said you’ve been banging on the door for quite some time now to come back. I’m sure you understand that we couldn’t have you back until we were sure you were okay. It wouldn’t have been fair on you.’

  ‘I understand,’ Harry shrugged. He didn’t. He had told Occupational Health it was a load of nonsense months ago. It was a tick-box exercise, his employer’s way of being able to say they did what they could if he subsequently went off the rails. He told them that too. It wasn’t about him; it was about protecting themselves. It wouldn’t have helped his case any but he felt better for saying it.

  ‘Okay, good. Well, something came in yesterday that I was going to task you with. I think it makes sense to stick with that plan, actually. You’re better off out of all this.’ He gestured at the window of his office and Harry looked out to the activity outside. He could see at least three people hovering close enough to the door to jump in the second he left.

  ‘Maybe I can take some of the pressure off you, if you let me help?’

  ‘It’s beyond that, Harry. You’ll just get sucked in and lost to this tunnel job like everyone else. It’s a good thing no one really knows you’re back. You can deal with something for me. Something that I would appreciate being nipped in the bud.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Have a seat. It’s a quick thing.’

  Harry did as he was told. There was a knock at the door behind him. Someone had obviously been brave enough to do more than just hover. Lowe waved it away with a finger gesture that made it clear that he was asking for two minutes’ peace. Harry considered he didn’t have much chance of that.

  ‘Frank Dolton,’ Lowe said.

  Harry recognised the name immediately. ‘Frankie Fingers?’

  ‘Well, yes . . . quite. I think he is soon to become Mr Dolton to you and I, Harry.’

  ‘You think he’s going to get the nod?’

  ‘So it would appear. He’s invested a lot of money in his campaign, although he is being pushed hard by some MP’s other half, I hear. It’s going to be a lot closer than we thought, but he’s still the favourite with the bookies.’

  ‘The favourite! Does anyone actually go out and vote in these things?’ Frank Dolton was a local businessman who was in the running to become the county’s independent police commissioner. These were relatively new roles and no one was really sure what they entailed. The senior ranks seem to recognise them as links between the police and the politicians that they answered to. Certainly, IPCs across the country had used it as a first step on the ladder to becoming a national politician. Harry was in no doubt that this election was nothing more than such a stepping-stone for Frankie Fingers and he would only be seeking political influence for his own gain. Independent police commissioner was an elected position, with the candidates funding their own campaign. In the past, the victor had generally been the one who had put in the most funding. And funding was not something of which Frank Dolton was short. His personal fortune was believed to be well north of a hundred million. Known as a local entrepreneur, he would be quick to tell you he came from nothing, but his nickname gave an idea as to how he had accrued such wealth. He was a man with fingers in many pies.

  ‘It doesn’t matter how many vote, just that more vote for Frank than the rest.’

  ‘So what do you need from me?’

  ‘Fr
ank called me this morning. He was unhappy to say the least. It was 6:30 in the morning so I wasn’t best pleased either. It seems he was the victim of a fraud last night.’

  ‘A personal line to the chief inspector already!’ Harry quipped. He knew Lowe and Frank Dolton were old friends. He also knew that Lowe didn’t like people to know, or to show that they knew. He squirmed a little in his chair.

  ‘Quite. I told him that he would need to go through the normal police channels, that there could be no special attention.’

  ‘Okay. Is this the normal channel? You personally briefing a Major Crime guv’nor?’

  ‘Well, no. Perhaps not. But your return has given me a bit of an opportunity. This is a sensitive matter. It needs to be handled as such.’

  ‘Sensitive? Caught with his pants down, was he?’

  ‘Strange you should say that, Harry. Mr Dolton got . . . chatting, to some young lady via social media. He was approached on a messenger system hosted via Facebook. I believe that somehow turned into a video call — I’m not really up on how it all works. Anyway, it appears that one thing may have led to another and both parties had indeed gone on to reveal their intimate parts to each other. It continued to escalate and there may have been an element of masturbation on the part of our soon-to-be-elected IPC—’

  ‘And they sent him a video straight after and demanded money?’

  Lowe’s mouth flapped open for a second. ‘They did. You’ve seen this before then?’

  ‘I’m very aware it goes on. It’s become common. What isn’t common is finding the offenders. They can be anywhere in the world.’

  ‘I know. I said as much from what little I know about this type of crime.’

  ‘How much have they asked for?’

  ‘Ten grand.’

  ‘That’s considerably higher than your average.’

  ‘Well, our Mr Dolton does have a Ferrari as a profile picture.’

  ‘So he’s asking for it. What does he want done?’

  ‘I’m not actually sure. He’s made it quite clear that he has no intention of paying them for starters. He said that wasn’t his style. He is of the opinion that this is a bluff and it will go away on its own.’

  ‘Then why call the police at all?’

  ‘Well, quite. He clearly isn’t as convinced as he would have us believe. I think it’s a bad time for him. People will be going to the polls very soon and this is the last thing he needs. I think he was running it past me to see if I’d heard of this sort of thing before as a way of deciding whether he has taken the right course of action.’

  ‘He’s probably right. That would be my opinion at least. You call these people’s bluff and they slither away to pick on someone else. Chancers.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘But I wouldn’t promise him that. They might release it just for the hell of it.’

  ‘I agree with that, too. I said the same. He wants to know if there is anything that can be done to at least limit the possibility of this little faux pas coming to light. This would need to be under the radar — I cannot tell you how important that element is, Harry. He’s not exactly broadcasting this as you can imagine. I told him that I would talk to one of my more experienced detective inspectors. That also means that if this gets out he will know that it was either you or me who leaked it, and I can tell you now that I will not be breathing a word. He insisted I provide a name, just so you know.’

  ‘Well, thank you very much — the name drop, I mean.’

  ‘He insisted. I said I had someone I could trust and who has the time to have a look. I’ve already started managing his expectations, though. I just need you to go and speak with him, see if there’s anything obvious we can use. I don’t expect there will be, so it’s a few words of advice around what he shows as his profile picture and his security settings. Job done. He will be happy that he’s had a Major Crime inspector out to him personally and that we’ve done what we can.’

  ‘What have you got? From our commissioner I mean?’

  ‘Not much. I’ll send over what I have. I’ll put his PA’s number on there. Mr Dolton will be expecting you to call, so you can arrange a time that suits face to face. And Harry . . . I’ll say again, this requires a certain element of sensitivity, okay?’

  Harry’s flat tone might have conveyed his apathy. ‘Isn’t that the reason why you gave this to me?’

  Chapter 11

  Grace woke suddenly. She felt like she was moving. Something had hold of her ankle in a grip so tight it was painful. The duvet was also close around her as she attempted to move inside it and she got a mouthful of cotton as she tried to breathe. She was dragged until she fell. The back of her head caught something hard, as did her injured arm, and she yelped in pain and surprise.

  ‘WHO SAID YOU COULD GET INTO MY BED?’ she heard Craig roar.

  She pushed out her arms to try and get out from under the cover, but immediately felt blows on her body. She couldn’t see Craig — she couldn’t see anything; she could just about work out that it was daytime. She caught a blow to her head that made her ears ring. For a moment or two she didn’t know which way was up. There were more blows, from which the pain may have stopped her from slipping unconscious. There was still something firm behind her and she leant back into it to slide down into her defensive foetal position. She brought her legs up and tried to protect her left arm, on which even the slightest touch was agony. The blows continued. She shut her eyes and tried to wait them out.

  The shouting had stopped and now the blows stopped, too. She heard footsteps moving away. She didn’t know if it was over. It seemed to be for now at least. She didn’t move, not wanting to antagonise him, and concentrated on listening. She heard the distinctive swish of the shower curtain followed by the spray of water. A short time later the shower stopped and the curtain seemed to be ripped back again by someone in a hurry. Then came more footfall around her.

  She stayed still. Her eyes were open now and starting to function. She could see enough through the fabric to make out the bedroom window as a block of light with shadowy movement in front of it. She could hear Craig making noises: animalistic squeaks and grunts that she had heard only a couple of times before, when Craig was so furious that he struggled to even articulate himself. He must have built himself up to it. She stayed dead still and mouthed silent words of prayer that he would just leave. He must have been out all night and he would be going to work. He had very early starts and normally rose before the sun. He had to be running late.

  The footsteps were close to her now. She held her breath again. The snorts and grunts were replaced by muttering.

  ‘You make me do this. It’s like you want me to be like this. I swear you wind me up on purpose, mugging me off so I have to do it. I SWEAR IT!’

  She twitched involuntarily at the sudden lift in volume. Then there was absolute silence: no more footfall, no more grunting. She considered the possibility that he was gone, but still she dared not move. She prayed for the sound of the front door.

  The blow to her midriff came from nowhere. It rushed through the duvet so hard it lifted her off the ground and bounced the back of her head off something hard. She didn’t feel pain; she didn’t feel anything. Her peripheral senses closed in, but she could still feel her ankle being grabbed again, her legs being pulled roughly apart. She felt blows to her thighs on both sides, then she was tugged again so that she was lying flat. The duvet was pulled tighter down round her face and she struggled to breathe as the cotton was pushed into her mouth. There was another blow to her head — maybe two — before she felt her underwear digging into her skin as it was grabbed. Her hips were lifted off the floor until the material gave and she bumped back down. A weight pushed on top of her and she heard a grunt from close to her ear before there was another blow to the side of her head. Her legs were pushed further apart and she could feel a firm grip on her thigh. And then the darkness closed in.

  * * *

  When Grace awoke she didn’t know
where she was. She tried to move but nothing seemed to work. Something suffocating lay over her face and she was baking hot. She felt claustrophobic and trapped, and her hands lashed out in a panic. The something over her face was her duvet. She fought her way out of it and then felt silly for doing so. She was still on the floor at the foot of her bed. She stayed still for a few moments as the pain from her left arm threatened to overcome her. She lay flat and stared up at a bulb hanging in a shade that was criss-crossed with dusty cobwebs. She must have missed them. She used it as something to focus on as she waited for the pain to abate.

  It was at least ten minutes before she could sit up. Her head hurt, her side and her back did too. Her nose throbbed a little, and when she put her hand to it she could feel a clump of clotted blood. She sucked in air, her mind flashed with the fear that had been the last thing she could remember. He had been here! She stopped still to listen. She couldn’t hear anything; he had to have gone.

  Grace tried to get to her knees, but moaned out loud as pain shot through both her thighs and her abdomen. She took another moment. She recognised the pain. It was a ‘dead leg’: internal bruising to her thigh muscles. She had lost count of the amount of times she had suffered it — usually when she had talked to Craig about going out. She couldn’t walk well on it, certainly not any distance, but it would only last a day or two, then heal as if nothing had happened. From experience, she knew that the sooner she got moving around the sooner it would ease up.

  When she tried to move there was a different pain too. She looked down to where she was exposed. She had gone to bed in a nightie and a pair of knickers. Her torn underwear was wrapped round her left thigh. Craig had forced himself on her before. Only once. That time he hadn’t hit her, though, just held her down.

  Craig was getting worse. Maddie had told her he would.

  There was a clock on a bedside table that read 08:30. She didn’t know how long she had been lying there. She struggled to her feet. Her muscles flared with pain, but she could walk. The stairs were going to be difficult. She tried the first, and when she shifted her weight onto her leading leg she was close to collapse. She had to grab the handrail. She sat down. Edging down the stairs on her bum was surely safer. Once at the bottom she was able to stand. She waddled gingerly through to the kitchen and considered starting dinner. She could get the basics done at least. She always felt a little less anxious when she knew it was started, then, if he came home, he could see that she had been there all day and that she had been working. She was expecting a delivery of shopping today too.