Justice for the Damned (6 page)

‘Slowly, or it won’t stay down,’ cautioned her captor as she drank again. He dampened the towel and began dabbing away the blood trickling from the dozens of tiny puncture wounds on her body. When he was done, he unlocked the padlock that secured the collar to her neck, unscrewed the top from a tube of antiseptic cream and gently rubbed it into her sores. ‘There now, doesn’t that feel better, hmm?’

Shudders of fear and confusion racked Melinda’s body. In some strange way her captor’s apparent concern was more terrifying than his anger. She at least had some slender grasp of why he tortured her. But this… this was beyond her comprehension. Didn’t he intend to kill her after all? Or was he simply keeping her alive to play with later? Like a cat toying with a little bird. He reached into the holdall. She went rigid, expecting him to reveal some new implement of torture. But instead he took out a pre-packaged cheese and ham sandwich. ‘Are you hungry?’

Melinda nodded.

Her captor pressed the sandwich into her hand. ‘Don’t try to eat it right away. Your throat’s too swollen.’

He locked the collar back on to Melinda, then unlocked the cuffs from her wrists and ankles. She stared at him, her eyes shot through with burst blood vessels and tormented uncertainty, as he gathered up his bag and stood to leave. He closed the door without a backward glance. The bolts grated into place.

Melinda’s gaze dropped to the sandwich. For a long moment she stared at it as though expecting it to disappear in a puff of smoke. Then, clutching it to her chest like a prize, she did what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do again – she began to sob loudly and uncontrollably.

The deep-set little eyes that were pressed to the other side of the slit in the door grew heavy-lidded with satisfaction.

As Reece drove back to Burton Road, he fought down rising anger. He wasn’t angry at Wayne for not coughing up his dues – that merely pissed him off a bit. It was the thought of Wayne beating Staci, or for that matter, any other woman. In his book there was nothing lower, nothing more despicable, than a man who liked to use his fists on a woman. Wayne badly needed teaching a lesson that would make him think twice about hurting the girls who worked for him. And Reece couldn’t think of any better man for the job than himself. But as with every lesson, there would be a time and a place for it, and now wasn’t that time. Right now all he needed to focus on was keeping Doug happy. That was how he would get into the real money, the money that would give Staci and Amelia the chance to start a new life. A life with him.

His thoughts turned to Staci’s theory about Melinda’s disappearance. Was it possible she was right? It wasn’t hard for him to believe there was some kind of psychopath prowling the streets for prostitutes to abduct. Prostitutes were the perfect victims. The majority of them were runaways and drug addicts, leading transient existences. If they disappeared, it was often months or even years before they were reported missing, by which time the investigative trail was stone cold. What he found harder to swallow was the idea that there was a killer at large in the area who’d been getting away with it for years, maybe even decades. Surely even the most cautious killer couldn’t go unnoticed over such a long period of time.

Reece’s line of thought was disrupted by the sight of Wayne Carson. The pimp was slouched in the same spot as earlier, puffing on a cigarette. Reece pulled over, took an extendable steel baton from the glove compartment and got out of the car. Spotting him, Wayne flicked away his cigarette and shoved his hand inside his jacket.

With a jerk of his wrist, Reece extended the baton. ‘Get your fucking hand where I can see it or I’ll break it off.’

Wayne drew his hand back into view, fingers spread to show that it was empty. ‘I was just gonna get what I owe you, that’s all.’

Reece stopped a pace from Wayne, the baton raised, ready to split his nose open like an overripe tomato.
Go on
, said Reece’s eyes,
just give me a fucking excuse.
‘So get it. Slowly.’

The pimp delved into his jacket again and removed a wad of crumpled cash. Reece snatched it away from him. Just the feel of the banknotes in his hand told him there weren’t nearly enough of them. He eyeballed the money, then Wayne. ‘Where the fuck’s the rest of it?’

Wayne hawked and spat a jet of phlegm through his teeth close to Reece’s shoes, glaring at him defiantly. ‘That’s all you’re getting. After the way you’ve fucked me over, you’re lucky to be getting anything.’

‘What do you mean, the way I’ve fucked you over?’

‘Staci’s one of my top earners and you’re trying to steal her from me.’

‘How can I steal her from you? You don’t own her. No one does.’

‘Fuck you. You know what I mean. If it wasn’t for you, there’s no way she’d have got it together enough to even think about leaving me.’

Reece stepped closer to the pimp, lowering his head so that their brows were almost touching. His voice came heavy with the threat of violence. ‘You mean she’d still be pumping her veins full of your shit.’

Wayne didn’t flinch from Reece’s words, but as he spoke a tremor in his voice betrayed his nerviness. ‘I’ve totted up what I reckon you owe me for her. I’ll be deducting five hundred quid from my payments each month until you’ve paid off your debt.’

‘And what am I supposed to tell Doug?’

‘Not my problem.’

A slow smile spread across Reece’s face. ‘Oh, you’re wrong about that. Because if you don’t give me the rest of what’s due, there’ll be no more tip-offs, no more looking the other way. But best of all, you’ll get no more protection from me. And if that happens, I won’t just take Staci from you, I’ll take everything you’ve got. I’ll fucking destroy you.’ He jabbed a finger at Wayne’s ear, and this time the pimp flinched. ‘Are you hearing me, you rat-faced fuck?’

‘You can’t do that,’ retorted Wayne, just barely managing to keep up his defiant air.

Reece took out an ID card with his name, photo and detective inspector’s rank on it. ‘You see that? That means I can do what the fuck I want. You’ve already got a couple of convictions behind you. Fuck up again and I guarantee you you’ll be eating prison food for the next few years. Is that what you want? Maybe you like to eat shit.’ He put his forehead against Wayne’s and pressed hard. ‘Is that what you like?’

The pimp shook his head. Reece thrust the cash back into his hand. ‘I’ll be coming to see you again tomorrow, and you’d better have the money.’

Reece drew away from Wayne, still eyeballing him. The pimp avoided his gaze, pale with impotent anger. ‘There’s something else I want to talk to you about,’ said Reece. ‘One of your girls went AWOL last week.’

Wayne’s lips drew into a gap-toothed scowl. ‘Someone’s got a big gob. It’s going to get them into trouble one of these days.’

Reece’s hand shot out and grabbed the pimp’s throat. ‘Don’t you even fucking think about it. Do you hear?’

‘Get off!’

Wayne vainly tried to squirm free. Reece’s hand tightened, choking off his air. ‘Do you fucking hear?’

Eyes bulging, Wayne nodded. Reece released him. ‘Now tell me about Melinda. Start with her surname.’

‘Why the fuck would I know her surname?’ muttered Wayne, rubbing gingerly at his throat.

‘I hear you had a special thing for her.’

‘Look, policeman, all I need to know about a girl is whether they’re a good fuck. And believe me, Melinda is.’

Reece gave the pimp a glare of undisguised revulsion. ‘Any idea where she might be?’

‘If I knew where she was, she wouldn’t be there. She’d be here working her patch.’

‘There’s a rumour that she might have been abducted.’

‘Bollocks,’ Wayne retorted in an offended tone. ‘No one round here would dare mess with one of my girls. She’s buggered off, that’s all. Probably gone back to whatever shithole she came from.’

‘So she’s taken all her belongings with her, has she?’

‘What belongings? She didn’t have much more than the clothes on her back.’

Reece recalled what Staci had said about Wayne always buying Melinda stuff. ‘Would you mind me coming round to your flat and checking that out for myself?’

‘Yeah, I would fucking mind. Unless you’ve got a search warrant.’ The corner of Wayne’s mouth lifted into a crooked smile. ‘But I’m guessing this isn’t an official investigation.’

Reece resisted the urge to smack the cocky grin off the pimp’s face. ‘If you’ve got nothing to hide, why not just let me take a look around?’

‘Cos I don’t like you, that’s why.’

Reece could have forced Wayne to take him to his flat, but he saw little worth in doing so. He got no sense that Wayne was hiding anything. Like Staci had said, Melinda was – or rather, had been – a valuable asset to him. Sure, he might have slapped her around a little to keep her in line. But kill her, no way. At least not intentionally. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said, turning to head back to his car. ‘Don’t disappoint me.’

As Reece ducked into the driver’s seat, Wayne called after him, ‘Staci doesn’t want your dick, policeman, she wants your wallet.’

Reece’s fingers twitched on the baton’s grip at the pimp’s words, which echoed his own doubts. He found himself almost hoping that when he returned to collect what was owed Wayne failed to produce the goods. As he drove, he phoned Doug.

‘Have you got it?’ asked Doug.

‘No.’

Doug’s voice rose in irritation. ‘Why the fuck not?’

‘He’s got cash-flow problems. I’ve given him another day to come up with it.’

There was a second or two’s silence, then, ‘I think we’d better meet up.’

‘I thought you were on duty.’

‘I just clocked off. I’ll see you at the usual place.’

‘On my way.’

Heaving a sigh, Reece headed into the city centre. He parked close to the grim, grey-stone façade of the cathedral and made his way to a nearby bar. The place was almost empty. A barman was cleaning tables in preparation for closing up. Reece ordered a beer, and taking a slug of it, approached a man sipping whisky at a table. With his lean, tanned cheeks and baby-blue eyes, at a glance Doug passed for the same age as Reece. Upon closer inspection, a network of crow’s feet and the slight bagginess of his jawline betrayed his age as being more like forty-five than thirty-one. As did his hair, which was dyed several shades darker than its natural colour and carefully styled in an attempt to conceal a bald patch on the crown. A sharp blue suit, a white shirt with the top couple of buttons undone and a thick gold chain around his neck completed the impression of someone who fancied himself as a ladies’ man.

Reece sank onto a chair opposite Doug. ‘Anything interesting go down tonight?’

‘Bryan Reynolds went for a drive with one of his sidekicks. They gave us the slip in Darnall. The DCI’s not a happy chappy,’ said Doug. ‘What happened with Wayne?’

‘I told you, he’s got cash-flow problems.’

Doug responded with a noise in his throat that made it clear what he thought of Wayne’s excuse. ‘You can’t give these scumbags a millimetre. If they think they can play you—’

‘No one’s playing me,’ cut in Reece.

‘You sure about that?’

Looking into Doug’s cynically knowing eyes, Reece got the feeling his colleague wasn’t simply referring to the ‘scumbags’ who paid for their protection. ‘Positive,’ he replied with a certainty he didn’t feel. ‘Wayne will pay up tomorrow, and if he doesn’t—’

Now it was Doug’s turn to cut in. ‘If he doesn’t, you come down on him hard. Make sure he understands that the only reason he’s in business is because we allow him to be.’

‘Oh, I’ll make the little prick understand alright. Don’t worry, Doug, I won’t let you down.’

Doug smiled with an easy confidence. ‘I know you won’t, Reece. I knew that the moment I realised you were Frank Geary’s boy.’

A line twitched between Reece’s eyes at the mention of his father’s name. He took a swallow of beer to hide it.

‘By the way,’ went on Doug. ‘How’s your dad doing?’

Reece thought about the last time he’d seen his dad, a couple of days ago. He thought about the brackish brown blood his dad had coughed up. He gave a small shrug of his big shoulders. ‘He has good days and bad days.’

‘Have the doctors given a prognosis?’

‘If they have, Dad isn’t saying.’

‘Sounds like him. He always was a closed-mouthed bastard.’ Doug reached across the table and patted Reece’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, your old man’s as tough as they come. I reckon he’s got a good few years left in him yet.’

Years.
Reece shook his head at the word. He wasn’t convinced his dad had months, let alone years, left in him. It wasn’t only the bleak articles he’d read online about survival rates for people whose lung cancer returned after a period of remission, it was the way the weight was dropping off. The speed of it was terrifying. He could almost see him wasting away in front of his eyes. ‘No one’s tougher than cancer.’

‘I don’t know about that, but I’ll tell you this, I’d sooner put a bullet in my head than go through chemo,’ said Doug.

A crooked smile flickered on Reece’s face as he reflected that Doug was probably more frightened by the thought of what chemo would do to his looks than the disease it treated.

Doug emptied his glass and indicated Reece’s bottle. ‘Want another?’

Reece shook his head. ‘I’m driving.’

‘Since when did that matter?’

He approached the bar and returned with their drinks. ‘I’ll tell you something else, there’s no way I’m going to be doing this job forever. Five years from now I’m going to be lying on a beach all year round in Thailand with some big-titted bird feeding me margaritas. No fucking way am I going to end up like Jim Monahan.’

‘What do you mean? What’s up with Jim?’

‘Haven’t you heard? He’s had a heart attack.’

‘Christ almighty. Is he dead?’

‘I don’t know.’

Reece puffed his cheeks. ‘I saw him just the other day. He seemed fine.’

Doug snorted. ‘That bloke’s been a heart attack waiting to happen for years. Do you know why? He let the job get on top of him.’

‘Jim’s a hell of a copper.’ Reece swallowed a mouthful of beer in salute. ‘Real old school.’