Double Cross (36 page)

My mobile started to ring. I answered it on auto-pilot, my
hand trembling. My whole body was shaking. Breathe in,
breathe out. Calm down, Tobey.

Rebecca
. . .

Breathe out, breathe in.

Tobey, get it together.

Rebecca.

Rain washed over my hand and my phone, but I didn't
care. Why couldn't I stop shaking? Keep walking, Tobey.
Whatever else happens, keep walking.

'Tobey? This is Detective Inspector Boothe.'

'Yes, Inspector?' I said faintly.

'I have some good news for you.'

Good news for whom? Had he got to McAuley . . .
before I could?

'Good news?' I prompted.

'We found our corrupt cop. She's been arrested, along
with Gideon Dowd.'

'I don't understand.'

'Acting on an anonymous tip-off, we were able to place
surveillance equipment and use undercover personnel
from other regions to catch Gideon Dowd discussing
future payoffs with DCI Reid. In return she gave him
details of a raid on his house and one of his business
premises planned for two days' time. DCI Reid was the
one in the Dowds' pocket.'

DCI Reid . . . Where had I heard that name before?

'The woman who interviewed me at the police station?'
I remembered.

'That's right,' said DI Boothe. 'I believed what you said,
Tobey. And as it was DCI Reid's idea to bring you in, I
went over her head to get permission to lay a trap for her.
And she walked right into it.'

I shook my head, which felt like it was stuffed with
cotton wool.

'I . . . I don't understand. You got an anonymous tip-off?'

'Yeah. Some public-spirited citizen provided us with
chapter and verse. We know all about DCI Reid and her
involvement with Gideon Dowd. We were sent files
documenting meeting times and payoffs, offshore bank
account details and all the operations she scuppered on
Dowd's behalf. We also got information tying a whole shipment
of hijacked drugs to Gideon. He was stupid enough to
store them in the basement of his town house. With the data
we were sent and the surveillance evidence, that piece of
trash Reid and her scumbag lover Gideon will both be dining
on prison food for twenty years minimum.'

'I see.'

'I did wonder if I have you to thank for the files I was
sent?' Boothe enquired ingenuously.

'Nothing to do with me,' I replied slowly.

No, DI Boothe needed to thank Owen Dowd.

Gideon was out of the way. McAuley was on the
ropes and busted. Owen Dowd now owned it all.
Meadowview was out of the frying pan – and into the fire.

Well done, Tobey.

What was my mantra? Whatever it takes?

All I had to do now was head up to the top of the tallest
building in Meadowview and wait for one and all to thank
me. With a psycho nut job like Owen Dowd now
running things, the thanks would pour in.

'So are you prepared to talk to me now?' asked Boothe.
'Will you testify against McAuley?'

'Why would I do that?'

'Because we both know he's the one responsible for your
girlfriend ending up in hospital. Testify against him and I
can guarantee you and your family will be protected. We can
even relocate you if necessary,' said DI Boothe.

'It's too late,' I replied.

'What d'you mean?' I could hear the frown in Boothe's
voice.

'I mean, it's too late tonight. Ask me tomorrow.'

I disconnected the call.

I tried phoning Dan, but his phone just rang continuously.
There was only one thing left to do. I headed for his
lockup. It was only on my second attempt that I accurately
remembered the combination to his padlock. I went in,
coughing against the smell of stale air and stale hopes and
stale dreams. The single bulb didn't cast enough light to
sweep the corners of the place. No matter. I knew what I
needed. I found it in a box in the far corner of the room,
a P99 military semiautomatic – the 9mm version. It had a
green polymer frame – an eco-friendly colour, I told
myself. I checked the magazine. It was fully loaded.
Making sure the safety was on, I put the gun in my jacket
pocket. I spun around and halted in mid-step. Dan stood
at the entrance to the lockup, watching me.

'Dan, I need your help,' I launched in at once.
'McAuley killed Rebecca Dowd and now he is
after me.'

'What d'you plan on doing about it?'

'It's me or him,' I said quietly.

'Finally gonna get your hands dirty?'

'Dan, please. Will you help me?'

The smile Dan gave then was a long way from friendly.
'Why don't you just call the police?'

''Cause then McAuley will find a way to make my
whole family pay, not just me.'

'Why should I care about you or your family?' asked Dan.

'It's not about me, Dan. My mum and sister don't
deserve what will happen if McAuley gets hold of them.'

'Says the man who started all this in the first place,' he
said bitterly. 'You wound us all up like your little dancing
dolls and now you're complaining because we're not
dancing the way you want us to.'

What could I say to that? Nothing.

'Dan, please. McAuley's at his warehouse, but he's not
alone. I can't do this by myself.'

'You're gonna have to.' Dan shrugged. 'This isn't my
fight.'

'But McAuley's men will all be armed to the teeth.'

'Not my problem,' said Dan. 'And now we're even.'

So much for that then. The faint glimmer of hope I'd felt
when I turned round and saw Dan standing there flickered
and died. Only desperation had made me believe that he
might help me. Far too much had passed between us.

'Can I take your P99?' I took the gun out of my pocket
to show him.

'Are you going to bring it back?' he asked wryly.

Probably not.

'If I can.'

'Then go ahead. Take a couple of extra magazine clips,
just in case.'

We could've been talking about comic books or
sausages rather than guns. I took an extra magazine clip
out of the box and headed for the exit.

'You won't change your mind and help me?' I tried one
last time.

Dan shook his head, adding, 'You do know you won't
get past Byron and the others packing a gun, don't you?
It'll never happen.'

I looked down at the gun in my hand and shook my
head. What did I think I was doing? I'd never fired a real
gun in my life. Targets at a fairground and pellet guns with
my dad were about my speed. What did I think was going
to happen? I'd go in, guns blazing like some Cross cowboy
in a film, and save the world from McAuley? Yeah, right.

I walked back to Dan's table and put down the P99 and
the extra clip.

'Ah! Going to use a new technique against McAuley
and his crew, are you? Gonna poke them in the eyes or
swear at them? Or were you thinking of throwing the odd
shoe?'

Dan was right – and I resented him for it.

I didn't stand a chance with a gun.

I didn't stand a chance without one.

'Welcome to the dance floor, Tobey,' Dan said with
satisfaction. 'The song is called "Survival".'

And I was about to get crushed underfoot. I left the
lockup and headed for McAuley's warehouse.

As I walked, I tried not to think and I certainly didn't want
to feel. It wasn't far, only thirty minutes from Dan's
lockup, and at least the rain had eased off. I looked up at
the sky, knowing I'd never enjoy rain again. I just wished
I could've spoken to Callie one more time before seeing
McAuley. Just one last time. I wasn't happy about the way
things had been left between us, but then whose fault was
that but my own? If I didn't know who or what I was any
more, then what chance did she have of figuring it out.

At last I arrived at the warehouse. The industrial estate
contained seven or eight units, most of which were empty
and boarded up. At this time of night the place was
deserted. The railway bridge beyond the estate was the
only sign of irregular life in the whole place. Four or five
street lamps had to illuminate the entire estate and were
failing miserably. Two Nought security guards dressed in
dark blue or black stood outside McAuley's warehouse,
chatting. One wore a wool hat pulled tight down over his
head, the other was smoking a cigarette. The guard
wearing the hat was showing the smoker something on a
mobile phone. I inhaled deeply, allowing the smell of tar
and rubbish and traffic fumes to fill my lungs, then walked
straight up to them.

'I need to see Mr McAuley. Could you tell him that
Tobey Durbridge is here?'

The two guards exchanged a look. The smoker stubbed
out his cigarette, grinding it under the toe of his thicksoled
shoes. He looked me up, down and sideways as he
broke out his walkie-talkie. Turning away from me, he
spoke into it, his voice a low monotone. Thirty seconds
later, he signed off and turned back to me.

'Turn left inside and head for the far end of the warehouse.
The office is on your right. Mr McAuley is
expecting you,' he told me ominously.

'Thanks,' I replied, though I had no idea why I was
thanking him.

He opened one of the warehouse doors and left me to
it. I followed his instructions, passing vast crates and boxes
stacked on top of each other. The warehouse was dimly lit
and eerily silent, a silence so deep it echoed back at me.
The rest of McAuley's men had to be in his office already.
I took out my phone, pressing the speed-dial icon to get
through to DI Boothe. I was wasting my time. From
within this warehouse, it was impossible to get a signal.
Every nerve in my body screamed at me to turn back.
There was no way I could take on the likes of McAuley.
It was foolish to even try.

Don't think about that, Tobey. Just keep going.

Whatever it takes.

I knocked on the office door before I could change my
mind. 'Mr McAuley, it's me – Tobey,' I called out. 'I have
some news you need to hear.'

The door opened slowly. Byron stood in the doorway,
gun in hand. He took a quick look around to make sure I
was alone, then stepped aside to let me into the room.
McAuley sat in the chair at his desk. My gaze zipped
around his office like a pinball. Byron stood next to me at
the door. Trevor, the guy from McAuley's house, and two
other muscle-heads I'd never seen before were dotted
around the room.

'So you came?' said McAuley. He turned to Byron. 'I
told you he'd come. Search him.'

He stood up and sauntered towards me whilst Byron
patted me down from head to toe, not missing a
centimetre in between.

'Mr McAuley, I've got something to—'

McAuley threw his whole weight behind a punch to
my stomach. It felt like a wrecking ball had hit my innards.
I dropped to my knees, clutching my belly and coughing
my guts out. Another punch to my head and I was down
on the floor, seeing stars and the whole solar system
whizzing round my head. My cheek was on fire. I could
taste blood in my mouth. McAuley ambled back to his
original position behind his desk.

'Byron, get rid of him.' McAuley's voice reached me
through the ringing in my ears.

'No. W-wait. P-please. Wait.' My breathing came shallow
and fast and sharp. Sweat coated every centimetre of my skin.

This is it, I thought. I tried to swallow, but nothing
could move past the jagged rocks in my throat.

It's all over. I'm done.

Byron grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. I
struggled to stay upright, holding my stomach, which still
roared with pain. It felt like my stomach muscles or maybe
my spleen had been split wide open. And my cheek was
on fire.

'Mr McAuley, I f-found out s-something from Gideon
Dowd.' I could hardly catch my breath to speak. But
silence would kill me for sure, or maybe just sooner.
'Something you n-need to know.' I had to get the words
out whilst I still had the chance.

'If it's the identity of the bent cop, I already know. It's
been all over the late-night news,' said McAuley. 'You
should've been the one to provide that information,
Tobey, not a newsreader. You let me down on that score
as well. And ignoring my instructions about Rebecca
Dowd? Not smart, Tobey. Not smart.'

'I'm s-sorry about Rebecca, sir. I shouldn't have
disobeyed you. It won't happen again.'

'That's right,' said McAuley softly. 'It won't.'

'But the information I have is something far more
interesting than a bent cop, sir,' I rushed to assure
him. I managed to stand upright to face him. Something
was trickling down my cheek. I touched my
fingers to my face. Blood. His punch had cut my cheek,
inside and out. My hands dropped back to my side.

Silence.

'I'm listening,' McAuley said brusquely.

'It's private,' I said, deliberately looking at each of his
squad in turn.

'I have no secrets from my men. I'd trust them with my
life.'

'Would you really?' I asked carefully.

McAuley might've been a lot of things, but slow wasn't
one of them. He glanced at Byron, who shook his head. I
wasn't carrying any hardware, so I was no threat. It wasn't
luck that had made me leave Dan's gun behind – it was a
sense of self-preservation.

'Maybe you should get three of your men to guard the
warehouse entrance, just in case?' I suggested. 'One of
Dowds' men saw you – what you did to Rebecca. They'll
come calling.'

McAuley stood up, his ice-blue, ice-cold eyes burning
into me. 'Trevor, take Dave and Scott and go do as he
says. And when you're outside, you'd better phone for
some reinforcements.'

The three men left the room, albeit reluctantly. That was
perfect. I hadn't had to engineer it so Byron was left behind.

'So what is it?' said McAuley.

This was it. The moment of truth, half-truths and
downright lies.

'One of your men is working for the Dowds.'

'Bollocks!' McAuley didn't believe it for a second.

I remembered what he'd said about demanding the
loyalty of the people who worked for him. He was like
Rebecca that way. Loyalty was everything.

'I have proof,' I said.

'It'd better be watertight,' McAuley said silkily, the
threat evident in his voice.

'Can you go online with that computer?' I asked,
pointing to the one on his desk.

McAuley's eyes narrowed. 'Of course.'

'Ask Byron to log on and show you how much money
he's got in his bank account.'

'What the . . . ?' Byron piped up. 'What is this?'

'Byron is working for the Dowds,' I explained. 'The
proof is in his bank account. After today he was going to
turn tail and run out on you.'

'I don't believe a word of it,' said McAuley.

'Then check his account. If I'm wrong, then you can
hand me over to Byron.'

Byron marched over to me. 'I'm going to enjoy
breaking your scrawny neck,' he hissed, spraying spit in
my face.

I stepped back, wiping my face with the back of my
hand.

'Just check, Mr McAuley. Unless of course you want
Byron to get away with it.'

'Alex, you don't believe this bullshit, do you?' Byron
turned to his boss.

'Of course not,' said McAuley.

My heart nose-dived. I was screwed.

'But it wouldn't hurt to check, would it?' McAuley
continued. 'Log onto your bank account, Byron.'

Byron stared at his boss, unable to believe his ears.

'And once you've proved that Durbridge is lying, he's
all yours,' McAuley added.

Byron gave me a look I'd never seen before, and if I
lived to be two hundred I never want to see again. If
Owen had been lying about putting the money into
Byron's account, I was deader than a Sunday roast. Byron
marched round the desk and started slamming his fingers
down on the keys. I moved round the desk to see the
computer screen along with him and McAuley.

Byron input the requested three digits from his fourdigit
pin code and the requested first, fifth and ninth
characters from his password. They all came up as asterisks
on the screen so I couldn't hope to learn or guess what his
pin code and password might be. Not that it made much
difference now. A new screen appeared, showing details of
Byron Sweet's current account. It contained six figures, a
very healthy six figures. Owen hadn't lied – thank
goodness.

Behind Byron, McAuley straightened up.

'T-that can't be right,' Byron spluttered. He clicked on
the refresh icon to redisplay the page. The amount of
money in his bank account didn't change. He sprang to his
feet. 'Alex, I don't know what's going on, but I have no
idea how all that money got in my account. I really don't.'

I moved out from behind the desk. If things were about
to kick off, I didn't want to get caught up in it.

'That's a lot of money, Byron,' said McAuley quietly.

'It's not mine. You've got to believe me, Alex,' Byron
protested. He looked around as if searching for someone
to back him up, but there was just him and McAuley –
and me. He pointed at me. 'Tobey did it. He must've put
it in my account.'

'Where would I get that kind of money from?' I scoffed.

'Boss, I—'

The gun blast made me jump. Byron's hands flew to his
throat, but blood squirted out from between his fingers
like a fountain. It splashed over McAuley's suit and
sprayed his hair. Byron fell backwards like a felled tree. He
was dead before he hit the floor. McAuley stared down at
him, eyes wild. My mind was screaming. I didn't expect . . .
I clamped my lips together so that no sound could spill out
of my mouth.

Omigod . . .

McAuley was going to kill me next. I saw it in his eyes
as he slowly turned to look at me, his gun still in his hand.

'I'm sorry, Mr McAuley, but I thought you should
know,' I said quickly. 'I heard Gideon Dowd talking to
one of your men on the phone when I worked at TFTM.
Gideon called him by his surname, Sweet. But I only
found out earlier today that Byron's surname is Sweet. I'm
really sorry, Mr McAuley.'

Trevor, Scott and Dave burst into the room. McAuley
was covered in blood, but Byron's body was behind his
desk so they couldn't see it from the door. The three men
looked me up and down, wondering how I was still
standing, wondering where all the blood on their boss had
come from. McAuley put his gun down on the desk so he
could button up his bloodstained jacket, like he thought
that would tidy him up.

'Get rid of the body,' he told them, still buttoning up
his jacket.

The three men went round the desk. They stared down
at Byron's body, shocked. Two of them bent down to pick
him up. I saw it on the desk, my one and only chance. I
snatched up McAuley's Glock 23 before any of them
could make a move. I hadn't planned on this, but the gun
was lying there just asking to be claimed. And I'd rather
be at the stock end of it than the barrel end.

'All of you, just stay right there. And keep your hands
where I can see them.' The gun was trained on McAuley
and his men, who were standing together for the first time
since I'd entered the warehouse. From what I could figure
out, apart from McAuley and these three, there were just
the two security guards at the warehouse entrance. But for
how long? McAuley had sent for reinforcements. How
long would it take them to get here? I didn't have much
time.

We all stood like figures in an oil painting.

Now what?

'One at a time, I want all of you to take out your guns
and place them on the table. Dave, you start.'

I watched as Dave withdrew a gun from beneath his
jacket.

'You, the one with the red hair. What was your name
again? Scott? Your turn.'

He reached round to pull the gun from the waistband
at the back of his trousers. I would've thought keeping a
gun there was a good way to blow your buttocks off, but
what did I know?

'Now you, Trevor.'

Trevor took a gun out of his jacket and put it on the
desk.

'Trevor, you'd better get lost,' I said. 'Unless you want
to stay here and wait for McAuley to realize that you're
the one who works for the Dowds, not Byron.'