Numb: A Dark Thriller (22 page)

33

“Sit down please, sergeant.”

Detective sergeant Davison nodded and did as asked. The chair was low down and uncomfortable and in direct contrast to the one on the other side of the desk where Superintendent Ian Nelson was seated in comfort and authority.

Davison smoothed the creases from her dress and crossed her legs as her superior flicked through the manila file in front of him.

Nelson was tall and broad and for a man in his fifties he was still quite attractive. His hair was dark and cut short, his eyes were small and bright blue and his features were chiselled and strong with no hint of sagging jowls or a double chin. He always wore expensive aftershave that lingered in his office and his dark blue uniform was always immaculate. And he would already read her report, she knew. This was just an act, a way to control the situation and get the words right in his head before speaking. No doubt when he wanted the meeting to end he’d say he was expecting an important call and that would be all, you’ll have to excuse me, sergeant.

“There’s a lot of work in here, sergeant,” Nelson said after he’d finished reading.

“Thank you, sir,” Davison replied. He’d noticed how much time she’d put into this investigation. All the extra hours. That was one thing, at least. “As you know, we investigated Leonard Dainton several years ago in connection with drug smuggling-”

“You headed that investigation, am I right?” Nelson interrupted. “At the time DI Thornton was on another case and he let you take the reigns on that one.”

The superintendent
knew
that she had been in charge. What’s more, he
knew
the investigation eventually went nowhere. So why the hell was he highlighting the fact that she’d been in charge other than to be a complete dick?

“Yes, sir, I headed the investigation,” Davison said. “We were successful in convicting one of his employees – a Mr Shaun Rodgers – of a lesser charge of possessing narcotics with intent to supply when we raided his own property but Dainton got off. There was nothing to link him with any crime. Anyway, nothing has turned up since then for us to get close to Dainton. That is, until the shooting at Twilight Nightclub.”

“It says in your report that DNA evidence suggests the two men who died in the fire were the shooters.” He looked back in the manila file. “A Mr Wilcox and a Mr Tennant. There’s nothing to say Dainton was involved at all.”

“We think Dainton paid them to do the shooting. They had links to him. They were known dealers. They were suspected to be working under Shaun Rodgers - who works for Dainton - before he was convicted.”

“Being dealers doesn’t link them to Dainton, though. He is only
rumoured
to be in control of the drugs on the north side of the river. He wasn’t proven to be involved. Shaun Rodgers took the rap for that bust. Just because he works for Dainton doesn’t automatically mean Dainton’s involved. I can’t give you permission to go after him because of a crime one of his employees was charged with.” Nelson licked his fingers and leafed through the pages in the file. Then he shook his head and looked back to the DS. “There is nothing solid in your report to suggest Dainton was involved in this at all. You see, the main thing that bothers me is that if this is Dainton, then why now? Things have been peaceful for years, every gang and criminal sticking to their own patch. What has Nash done recently that would make Dainton want rid of him?”

“That’s what I want to find out, sir,” Davison said. “That’s why I need time to investigate this.”

“What it seems to me, sergeant, is a classic case of a police officer trying to get the one that got away. You nearly had Dainton once and you’ll do anything to get him again.”

Davison held the superintendent’s gaze.
Why don’t
you
want to get Dainton?
she wondered. She knew there were rumours that some of the force were either bribed or blackmailed by certain criminals, although she didn’t know who. People in that situation keep things like that to themselves and didn’t tell even their most trusted colleagues. She’d worked with inspector Thornton for several years and he’d never divulged that he’d had links with Nash’s firm, even though since his untimely death rumours abounded. Was Nelson in Dainton’s pocket?

“Is trying to get the one that got away such bad thing?” she asked, rhetorically. “He’s a criminal and doesn’t deserve the life of luxury that he has.”

“Even so,” Nelson said, “I have to delegate work and can’t put you on something that isn’t priority.”

“I think finding out who tried to kill Nash
is
a priority, sir.”

“We know who tried to kill him, and they’re both dead themselves. DNA evidence links Wilcox and Tennant to the car the shooters were driving. It’s open and shut. Until the fire report and their full post mortem reports come back and tells us that the fire was deliberately started by a third party then we have to assume that they were solely responsible for the attack. And as for the fire, well, maybe they were both drunk or on drugs and were clumsy with a cigarette. Probably both passed out before one of them had finished a joint or something.”

“So the two of them dying in suspicious circumstances the night of the shooting is just a coincidence?” Davison asked. She knew what Nelson was like. He was a statistic man. Solve the crime as quickly as possible and make the force look good – regardless if the right people were found guilty or not.

“Until we know otherwise – yes,” Nelson replied, matter-of-factly.

“And as for who paid them to do the job? Do we just let them get away with it?”

“Who said anyone paid them?” Nelson looked back in the file. “Some of the witnesses in your reports told of their past violent behaviour. That one of them was particularly trigger happy. Had a temper. They’d been known to frequent the city centre on the south side of the river, probably been to the club on several occasions before. It looks to me like a typical case of personal revenge.” He closed the file and looked at Davison. “Come on, sergeant, we see this all the time. People get shot, stabbed and beaten all the time for the silliest little reason these days. People on drugs or people with a short fuse will kill someone for looking the wrong way at them.”

Davison didn’t know what to say. She’d come in here with the hope of being given time and man power to try and link the shooting at the club with Dainton. Within five minutes, her hopes had been dashed.

“So that’s it? No case?” she said.

Nelson handed her the file and then sat back in his seat. Crossed his hands across his stomach.

“We have the people who did the shooting,” he said. “Case closed.”

“And what about Dainton?”

“He’s too powerful to go snooping around with absolutely no evidence. It’ll look bad on the force - and you know how much the media likes to give the police bad press given the chance. So, for now, Dainton’s to be left alone.”

Davison shook her head and stood up.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

It didn’t work.

“Anytime, sergeant,” Nelson replied, politely. “And if there’s anything else I-”

Nelson stopped as his office door burst open and DC Burns fell into the room, wide-eyed and out of breath.

“Sorry, sir,” he said.

“Jesus, constable. Can’t you knock?”

“Yes, sir,” Burns said. “Sorry, sir. This is very important, though.” He looked at Davison. “Two bombs have just gone off within minutes of each other.”

“What?” Nelson asked, shocked. “Terrorists?”

Davison knew that wasn’t it.

“No, sir, not terrorists,” Burns said. “At least it doesn’t look like it. There’s been an explosion at a private club owned by one of Nash’s men and another at Nash’s mansion. There’re reports of fatalities at both areas.”

Davison spun round to face Nelson.

The superintendent suddenly looked like he was getting a headache.

34

Riley could see the smoke rising above the trees about a mile in the distance; a thin, grey plume, almost exactly the same shape and colour as the one that was dissipating into the sky four miles behind them as it drifted up and out of the entrance to Turner’s club.

“We’re nearly there,” Riley said. He stamped down on the accelerator and dodged through the traffic on the rain-soaked road.

He and Purvis had jumped in the Merc and sped away from the club seconds after Riley had heard the explosion down the phone-line. Purvis had tried to call Sandra another three times since getting in the car but all he’d heard was a recorded message informing him that the call could not be connected. Nash’s mobile had relayed the same message in the same robotic female voice;
“Sorry, but the number you have dialled is busy. Please try again later...”

“Try calling again,” Riley urged.

Purvis, still shaken, dried blood clogging his eyes and one hand holding a sodden tissue up to the cut on his forehead, dialled the number and put the phone to his ear. A second later, he dropped it to his lap and sobbed, “Nothing.”

Riley feared the worst but kept driving anyway. They knew nothing yet. Maybe Sandra and Wendy had escaped the blast. Maybe she’d simply dropped her phone when the explosion went off. Maybe...

They’re both dead! You know it!

“Two minutes and we’ll be there,” he told Purvis and kept his foot to the floor.

He turned off the main road and onto the quiet lane that led to Nash’s property. As they drew closer, Purvis pointed ahead.

“The police are there,” he said and then burst into tears again. “They’re dead, Riley. The bastards killed them...”

“We don’t know for sure.” Riley saw that two officers were doing what they did best and were standing guard by the front gates. Behind them, at the house... he couldn’t see just yet. “Just calm down until we know what’s what.”

He pulled up and as he and Purvis jumped out two officers quickly approached them.

“Sorry, this is a closed area,” one of them said, reaching out a hand as if ready to push them back inside the Merc.

“We know,” Riley said and saw that the officers had now noticed their soaked and dirty clothing and Purvis’s bloodied face. They could probably smell the smoke on them, too. “No doubt you heard about an explosion back in the city centre - well, we were there. We called Mr Nash to warn him what had happened and the call was cut off by the explosion here.”

“Are the girls okay?” Purvis hurried forward only to be held back by the larger of the two officers. “Please, I just need to know that Sandra and Wendy are alright!”

“Sir, calm down!”

Riley pulled Purvis back and took over the conversation.

“He’s still in shock,” he said. Behind the officers, he could now see the front of the mansion and make out the scene of the explosion. Two ambulances were parked close to what used to be the front door and several other police officers were standing around the perimeter of the building. They’d gotten here quick and Riley assumed a neighbour had probably called them seconds after the bomb had gone off. On the floor, near one of the ambulances, he could make out a white sheet soaked by the rain. It was obviously covering a body.

Only one?

“Sir, do you require medical attention?” one of the officers asked Purvis. When he kept crying and didn’t answer, the officer turned to Riley. “Are you relatives of Mr Nash?”

“We work for him,” Riley said. “We were at his son’s funeral today. Please, can you just tell us the situation?”

The two officers exchanged a glance. Then, the bigger one said, “Mr Nash has been taken to hospital with minor injuries-”

“What about the girls?” Purvis interrupted. “Are they alright?”

“Both Mr Nash’s partner and his daughter were unharmed.

The blast knocked Sandra’s phone out of her hand,
Riley thought.
She wasn’t killed
. He felt a tidal wave of relief wash over him.

“So where are they?” Purvis asked.

“They’re being treated for shock and have gone to hospital with Mr Nash. I’m afraid the driver of the limo was killed.”

“But the girls are both fine?” Purvis asked, almost heartlessly. It was understandable, given his position.

“Yes, sir.”

Purvis let out a final sob and collapsed to his knees.

Riley knew this time that the tears were ones of relief.

“Sir, are you alright?” one of the officers asked again.

“I think he needs to see someone,” Riley said. “He’s got a head injury.”

One of the officers radioed to a colleague at the mansion, who then alerted the paramedics. Seconds later, one of the ambulances was winding its way down the drive towards them.

Riley patted Purvis on the back and whispered, “The girls are okay. Now, get yourself seen too. I’ll call you later.” Then he stepped away and allowed the paramedics to see to his friend.

He stood by the edge of the gates and looked back at the house, at the body under the blanket.

One dead here, three dead at the club.

This was different to the shooting last week. This had been a more detailed and planned attack. This had been for real. This had Lenny Dainton written all over it, and after what Nash had had done to his nephew the attack certainly had a basis. In the same way that Nash took an interest in Dainton’s men, knowing their whereabouts and routines, Dainton must have done the same. He knew when and where to hit. He knew about Turner’s club. He knew when the best time to plant the explosive at the mansion would be. He’d come after Nash in a way no one expected.

So what about McCabe now? How’s he involved?

Is
he involved?

“Mr Day?”

Riley slowly turned around on hearing the voice.

He’d been in that much of a dream he hadn’t even heard the car pull up behind him and someone climb out. He hadn’t even heard the clicking of heels on the wet ground. But here she now stood, only three feet from him, protected from the elements under her grey umbrella. Looking good, too.

“Fancy seeing you here,” detective sergeant Davison said. “Have you got time for a quick chat?”