The Sinner

by Martyn Waites

  The four by four stopped, headlights still blazing. He shrank back even further into the shadows.

  Heard voices. Couldn’t make out the words, but managed to identify the genders. A woman. A man. No, two men. And at least one of those voices he recognised.

  DC Blake.

  Incredulity washed over him. What was she doing here? This was more than just coincidence. This had been planned. But how?

  He thought. A GPS tracker on the bike? That must be it. The only way she could have tracked him down. Then anger: how could he have been so stupid? He should have checked. He should have known. It was what he would have done if he had been in her situation. A necessary precaution.

  He tried not to blame himself any further. Needed his mind sharp, had to work a way out of this.

  He listened, tried to make out what was being said but the wind and rain carried most of the sense of the words away. He heard Blake’s voice:

  ‘Get looking. He must be around here somewhere. The signal says he is.’

  Tom looked round, saw the hillside illuminated once more in the glare of the headlights. Saw more outcrops of rock than he had realised were there originally. Heard footsteps approaching.

  He thought of making a dash for it, trying to reach the bike, ride away before they could stop him. Quickly abandoned that idea. They had the tracker and they might be carrying guns. He had been lucky before. He might not be so lucky this time.

  ‘Found the bike.’

  That was the definite end of that plan. But did he recognise the voice? He wasn’t sure. Not in this weather.

  He peered closer. The figure was medium height, dressed in an anorak over what looked like prison issue gear. Very inappropriate trainers on his feet. He was examining the bike. Blake shouted something in response that Tom didn’t catch.

  Time to make a decision.

  Tom felt around on the ground for a suitably sized rock, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, big enough to inflict damage. He found one easily, weighed it, readied himself.

  The man started to creep towards the overhang.

  Tom barely had time to register the man’s identity or what he looked like. All he knew was that he must be subdued, and in the most direct way possible.

  He leaped out of the shadows, rock held high and, before the other man could turn round, brought it down as hard as he could on the side of the man’s head.

  ‘Oww . . .’

  The man staggered forwards to his knees, hand to his head from the sudden pain. He looked up.

  ‘What d’you do that for?’

  Tom only had to time to register the blood on the man’s face and how hideous he looked even without it. He didn’t have time to think. He hit him again. This time the man went quiet.

  Blake’s voice drifted up from down below. ‘Baz? You OK? What’s happened? Baz?’

  Tom lifted up Baz’s body, placed it in front of him like a shield. Made his way to the edge of the cave mouth, looked down the hill. And stared, open-mouthed.

  DC Blake was there, as he had expected. But she wasn’t alone. Standing next to her, looking exactly like he had all those years ago, was Dean Foley. He might, thought Tom, actually have been wearing the suit he always used to wear. It was like an hallucination in the rain.

  He didn’t have time to be surprised, though, not if he wanted to get out of this alive. He held up Baz’s body before him.

  ‘You want him? Let’s talk.’

  59

  ‘So why are you doing this to us?’

  Lila and Anju were sitting on the sofa. Quint sat in the armchair opposite, still pointing the gun at them. He hadn’t relaxed. Lila had no idea how much time had passed. Could have been minutes, could have been hours.

  ‘You know why,’ he said. ‘And I know what you’re doing. And it’s not going to work. So you may as well stop it now.’

  ‘What am I doing?’

  ‘Trying to get me to talk. Humanise yourself in front of me. Make me feel like you matter. Save yourself the trouble. Don’t bother. It won’t work.’

  Lila said nothing in reply. Just had a momentary flashback to a similar situation several months ago where she had tried the same thing. It hadn’t worked then, either. Trying not to let that thought add to her problems, she pressed on.

  ‘So you’re going to get this mythical money for yourself and double cross your partner, is that it?’

  ‘Shut up.’ Almost yawning as he spoke.

  ‘Is that your job?’ asked Anju. The bleeding had stopped now but she still looked pale. Possibly concussed, Lila thought, desperately wanting to help her.

  ‘Yeah it’s my job.’

  ‘So what, you’re a hitman? Is that right?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He shrugged. ‘Suppose that covers it.’

  ‘How d’you get into that?’ asked Anju, seemingly serious and interested.

  Very clever of you, thought Lila. Ask anyone about their job and they’ll always talk about it. Even people like him.

  ‘Was in the army for a few years. Went over to Iraq, like I said. Did a few stints there. SAS. The army trains you for war. When you leave all you can do is fight. So I went back east, joined up with a few private contractors.’

  ‘You mean mercenaries?’ said Anju.

  ‘You could say that. All those rich Arabs want their own private army. I was just hired help. Good thing was, if there was any trouble, they just waved money at the problem and it disappeared.’ He smiled, almost wistfully at the memory. ‘We could do whatever we liked and get away with it.’

  ‘I can understand all that, but how did you get to be a hitman? I mean, it seems like a much more specialised job.’

  ‘Suppose it is, really. I came back home, homesick really. Tried to go into security consultancy. Got bored really easily though. Then someone asked me to off someone. And of course, I was good at it. So someone else asked. And someone else. And word got round. I was the go-to guy. For a price, of course.’

  Anju leaned forwards, the expression on her face genuinely curious. ‘So why haven’t you killed us yet?’

  ‘Because you might be more help to me in looking round this house. Or you might not. Then I’ll think again.’

  She sat back. Thinking. ‘Listen,’ she said eventually.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said you’re going to take the money you find here and cut your partner out, right?’

  Quint didn’t answer.

  ‘Well, like Lila says, she doesn’t think there’s any money here. And neither do I, to be honest. But I’ll tell you one thing.’ She leaned forwards. Lila noticed her top was gaping and she hadn’t had time to put her bra back on underneath. Quint’s eyes went there too.

  Anju continued. ‘My parents are rich. And I don’t just mean rich for Cornwall. I mean very rich. They would pay you to leave us alone. Pay you really well. Honestly.’

  Quint stared at her, as if seriously considering it.

  It felt to Lila like the room held its breath.

  ‘Nah,’ he said eventually. ‘Too much hassle.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ asked Anju. ‘I’m serious. They’d give you plenty of money to get me back safe.’

  ‘Maybe they would. But I’ve heard that before. Even fell for it a couple of times, when I was just starting out. Always ended up messy. More trouble than it was worth. Either they didn’t have the money when push came to shove, or they wouldn’t pay up, or they threatened me with the law . . . It never worked. So no thanks.’

  ‘Please,’ said Anju, ‘it won’t be like that this time.’

  ‘I said no.’ Steel back in his voice. He repositioned his gun arm. Reminded them he was still in charge.

  ‘But there is one thing,’ he said.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Lila.

  ‘I’m hungry. Make me something to eat.’

  60

  ‘OK then,’ said Foley, smiling through the rain, ‘let’s talk.’

  Tom stared at him, waiting for whatev
er trick he was planning. Nothing happened.

  Foley behaved as if the rain, the wind, the cold, didn’t touch him. Tom was certain that wasn’t the case but he knew Foley. Don’t show weakness in front of an opponent. And right now he was showing only imperviousness.

  ‘Seriously,’ said Foley, ignoring the water running down his face. ‘Just you and me. Talking. Why don’t you come down?’

  Tom moved slightly forwards, still holding the semi-limp body of Baz. His human shield.

  ‘Never mind about him,’ said Foley, stretching his arms out, waggling his fingers. ‘I’m not armed.’

  ‘No,’ said Tom, gesturing with his head. ‘But she is.’

  Blake was standing to the side of Foley, out of his peripheral vision, gun drawn, pointing it at Tom.

  Foley turned to her. Irritation back on his face. ‘Put that away. We don’t need that now.’

  She stared at him, a look of pure hatred and anger. ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’

  Foley returned her glare, held it until most opponents would have blinked or looked away. Instead Blake held his gaze.

  Foley broke first, looked back at Tom. Smiled. ‘Seems we have a stand-off.’

  Tom knew what Foley was up to. It was another old ploy of his. Don’t show weakness. Absolutely. But only show the illusion of it if you intend to show real strength later. After you’ve lulled your opponent – or even your assumed associate – into a false sense of security. Let them think they have the measure of you while all the while you’re taking the measure of them. Tom had never seen it fail for Foley. Except once. With him.

  ‘Fine,’ said Tom. ‘I’ll talk from here.’ He held Baz up. ‘And I’ll keep him in place too. Just in case your mate gets a bit trigger happy.’

  Foley spread out his arms again, as if he was some genial party host and that was fine by him.

  Tom, sensing no immediate threat, turned his attention to Blake. She was still holding the gun on him. Unlike Foley, it was very clear that the weather – and everything else – was affecting her. At this moment, he thought, she was the dangerous one. The one to watch out for.

  ‘So what’s all this for?’ he asked her. ‘What’s it in aid of?’

  She smiled. ‘Money, of course.’

  Tom frowned. ‘Whose money? What are you talking about?’

  She didn’t reply. Instead kept staring at Tom.

  Foley smiled. ‘She thinks you’ve got my money. My two million. I must admit, the question’s crossed my mind over the years. So have you got it?’

  Tom sighed. ‘Why would I take your money?’

  ‘Because two million would set you up very nicely. You and your new identity.’

  Tom felt like laughing. ‘The case against you nearly collapsed because of that money. The case I’d spent years working on. It could have prejudiced the trial. Sent me into Witness Protection for nothing. Why would I do that?’

  Foley thought. ‘I don’t know, Mick. I really don’t know. Unless . . .’ He looked up, a thought having occurred to him. ‘Maybe you just wanted me to go free.’

  Tom stared at him. Wondered whether he had heard him right through the storm. ‘What? Why would I do that? The case . . .’

  Foley continued. ‘Yeah, yeah, the case. I know. The case. But isn’t it obvious? I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I mean, I’ve had a lot of time to think, haven’t I? But how about this . . .’ He pointed at Tom, as if accusing him. ‘You couldn’t bear to see me behind bars. That was the main thing. Everything we’d been through, all those things we’d shared . . . part of you just couldn’t let me go through with it, could you? You couldn’t let all of that go. Am I right?’ Foley smiled. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’

  ‘Never mind this bullshit,’ shouted Blake, making sure she could be heard over the storm, ‘just tell me where the money is.’

  Tom looked between the two of them. He noted Foley’s reaction as she said ‘me’ rather than ‘us’.

  ‘So you’re in this together, then?’ asked Tom, knowing what the answer would be. Hoping he could drive a wedge between them.

  ‘No,’ said Foley. ‘This is all her and that one.’

  He pointed at Baz who was beginning to stir in Tom’s arms.

  ‘He was one of your lot once too, you know,’ said Foley, smiling. ‘But he turned. Came to work for me. Properly. Not pretending. Like you.’ The smile faded replaced by a look of compassion.

  Tom wasn’t fooled for a second.

  ‘Couldn’t get any other work looking like that, could he?’ said Foley. ‘Poor fucker.’

  ‘He was a good man,’ said Blake, sounding even more angry about Baz than about the money, waving her gun towards Foley. ‘Better than either of you two. So don’t talk about him like that.’

  Tom heard Baz groaning, starting to move as he came round. He held him even tighter, not letting go of his bargaining chip.

  Baz opened his eyes. ‘What . . .’ He looked up at Tom, frowned. ‘What did you do to me?’

  ‘Hit you on the head. But you’re fine now.’

  ‘What?’

  Tom stared back at him. ‘I’ve seen you on the wing, haven’t I? With Dean?’

  It took a few seconds longer than usual, but Baz’s thought process began to work again. ‘Oh, you knew me long before that . . .’ He pointed towards Foley.

  Tom looked at him again. Tried to see through the blood and the rain, rebuild the face, scrub out the scars . . . ‘Jesus. Foxy?’

  Baz smiled. ‘Yeah. Foxy. That’s me. That was me. And you didn’t fucking recognise me.’

  ‘It’s been a long time. I also wasn’t expecting to find you here. Like this.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Baz, the words curdling in his mouth, ‘and the law looks after its own, doesn’t it? Especially the white ones. The black ones can go and get fucked.’

  ‘I didn’t even know you were undercover until later,’ said Tom. ‘I thought you just worked for Dean.’

  Baz nodded. ‘That’s how they wanted it. Neither of us knew about the other. But we could keep an eye on each other for them when we reported. Clever fuckers.’

  ‘Foxy . . .’ Tom’s memory inevitably went back to that night.

  He remembered sitting in the BMW with Foley, seeing Hayley in one of the other cars, with . . .

  ‘Hayley,’ he said. ‘You were with Hayley that night.’

  Baz smiled to himself. ‘Oh yeah. She was your . . . niece. That was it, wasn’t it? Didn’t know until afterwards.’

  ‘Yeah. My sister’s girl. And she died that night.’

  Tom felt his heart racing. The cold and the rain disappeared. So too did Foley and Blake. All that mattered was Foxy, Baz, and the next words out of his mouth.

  ‘That’s right. She did.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘You mean, how did she die?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He could barely contain himself. ‘They said crossfire.’

  Baz didn’t reply straight away. He paused. ‘Bet that’s been worrying you for years.’

  Tom wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it. ‘What happened? Tell me.’

  Baz turned his head away. Tom couldn’t see the smile on his face. ‘I mean, if it was me, if it was my niece, and that had happened to her and we were close, and that, it would have torn me up.’ He turned to Tom. ‘Did it tear you up? Inside? All those years?’

  Tom felt anger welling up inside him. He wanted to choke Baz until he told him what had happened to Hayley. Instead he spoke with as calm a voice as he could manage.

  ‘Yes, it did.’ As much as he was willing to admit.

  ‘So you want to know what happened to her? That night? How she died?’ Baz not even bothering to hide the smile now, actively enjoying having the power over him.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tom, still managing to keep calm, but only just, ‘yes I do.’

  Baz laughed. �
�Well, I’d better tell you then.’

  61

  Lila opened the fridge door, peered inside.

  ‘Nothing hot,’ came Quint’s voice from behind her, ‘nothing you have to cook. You might get ideas about throwing hot oil. Wouldn’t want that, would we?’

  ‘What about a cheese sandwich? Am I allowed to make you that?’

  ‘Yeah. As long as you use a blunt knife.’

  She took the block of cheese out of the fridge, closed the door. Quint stood in the doorway of the kitchen, gun held on both her and Anju. She took a dinner knife from the draining board, began to hack at the block of cheese.

  She buttered the bread, stuck a few lumps of cheese on it. ‘Want pickle with that?’

  ‘If it’s to hand. Not if it’s miles away.’

  Back into the fridge for the pickle, smeared a brown dollop on the cheese, slapped the top lid on.

  ‘There you go.’

  Quint gestured with his free hand for her to bring the plate over and put it down on the table, near to where he stood. She did, then he waved at her to walk away to the far end of the kitchen. She did that too.

  He ate. Anju glanced between him and Lila, looking like she was desperately trying to come up with something that would get them both out of there. Lila hoped she wouldn’t try anything that would get them killed.

  ‘Shall I make us some tea?’ asked Lila, mainly to stop Anju trying anything rash.

  ‘What d’you think this is, some fucking tea party?’ said Quint through a mouthful of sandwich.

  ‘Don’t you want some, then?’

  He nodded, tried not to take his attention off the two of them.

  Lila crossed to the kettle, filled it from the tap, flicked the switch. Arranged three mugs with teabags in, got the milk from the fridge, the sugar from the cupboard. She looked down at the sugar bowl.

  And had an idea.

  A pretty desperate one, and it probably wouldn’t work, might even get them both killed, but she had to try it. The alternative wasn’t looking too promising. She didn’t believe for one minute that Quint was going to let them live after he got what he wanted. Even if he didn’t get what he wanted. So a bad idea would be better than no idea at all, she reasoned.