Numb: A Dark Thriller (27 page)

“No,” Nash said. “This was a spur of the moment thing. If they are planning on jumping on a plane then they’ll still be in the country for a few days yet. So find them.”

“And when we find them?” McCabe asked.

Riley looked over to him. The traitor was acting the loyal servant again. There must obviously be a reason for it.

“Do what we do to all those that fuck with us,” Nash said. Then he turned to Riley, eyeing him personally. “I believe you when you say you had no idea what was going on between the two of them. But I know you were friends with Purvis – more so than the rest of us maybe.”

“That means nothing,” Riley lied. “He fucked you over. You don’t do that sort of thing.”

“Exactly. So, you’re on my side?”

“Of course.” Riley didn’t like where this was going but he had to stay for the ride. Pointless rocking the boat after all that great acting. “If he did this to you then he’s no longer a friend of mine.”

“Well, you’re gonna prove it,” Nash said. He poured a drink and downed it in one. Then he shot Riley a crooked smile and winked. “Because when we find that fucker, you’re gonna help me kill him.”

PART THREE

3 YEARS AGO

Nash had flown to Spain two days ago but Sandra hadn’t gone with him. Despite the recent news of her pregnancy and the fact that they’d decided to try and make a go of things for their unborn child’s sake, two weeks in the sun together seemed too much too soon and the more time they spent apart was likely to make things between them easier. But to show his ‘love’ for her, Nash had asked Purvis to install a security system at the mansion for her protection whilst he was away.

But, at three o’clock this Friday afternoon, the day Purvis had begun work at the mansion but before he’d probably even had time to unpack any equipment or trace any wires, half of the lights had blown in Twilight nightclub as one of the cleaners had plugged in her floor buffer and everything suddenly changed forever for Riley.

After flicking the trip switch on and off several times to no avail, Martin Price, the manager of the club, flicked through the Yellow Pages and called several electricians, all of whom could pop round tomorrow and take a look. After telling them that was no good because the club needed to open in a few hours and having no luck persuading to any of them to come round sooner, he called Riley.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said.

“The club isn’t even open yet,” said Riley, who’d been relaxing in front of the telly at the time. “What sort of problem?”

“The lights are fucked.”

“The lights? What, do you want me to throw them out and tell them they can’t come back?”

“Ha ha, very funny. We can’t open tonight if they aren’t fixed. We need to get someone out.”

“So call an electrician,” Riley told him, wondering why the hell he’d been bothered with this kind of problem in the first place.

“I tried,” Price said. “I can’t get one ‘till tomorrow at the earliest. Can you get hold of Purvis?”

“Purvis?”

“Yeah, I don’t have his number. He reports straight to Nash when anything about the security system is involved. He installed it and so I figure he knows a little about electrics.”

“Yeah, I suppose he does,” Riley conceded. “He’s actually working at Nash’s place today. You want his number?”

“Can you call him?” Price asked. “I’m busy here doing a stock take – in the fucking dark!”

Riley sighed.

“Alright then.”He hung up and dialled Purvis’s number. It rang several times before going to his answer machine:
“Hi, I’m not available to take your call right now...”

So, having time to kill before work, he pulled on his jacket, jumped in the car and drove to Nash’s mansion. The gates were open (probably because Purvis had disconnected the electric to fit the new wiring) and so Riley headed up the drive and soon spotted Purvis’s car by the side of the property.

Riley knocked on the front door and received no answer. He rang the bell – which didn’t ring (it’s electric – the powers off, remember!) and without waiting for anyone to answer he tried the door handle. It was locked.

Riley pulled out his mobile and called Purvis again, and again got the answer machine.

So he headed round the back of the house. Found the door to the kitchen unlocked and let himself in.

There were two half cups of cold tea on the kitchen table. Below the table were several boxes of equipment that were marked with numbers and letters or the words
HIGH RESOLUTION CAMERA
or
HD
MONITOR
and various other electronic legends. Purvis’s jacket was slung over the back of one of the chairs and his phone was on the table. Neither him or Sandra were anywhere to be seen.

Riley checked the living room and then headed to the hall and up the stairs. Maybe he sensed something wasn’t quite right and that was why he didn’t call out the fact he was here. Maybe he suspected what they were up to right then. Later,
much
later, Riley wondered if a part of him wanted to catch them at it. He’d noticed the way Purvis had been looking at Sandra recently. He’d seen the way the two of them had seemed uncomfortable in the same room whenever Nash was there. Maybe that was why he took the stairs quietly. Maybe that was the reason (and
everything
happens for a reason) he approached the master bedroom door as quietly as a common thief out on the prowl and pushed it inward gently.

Before it was half open he saw Sandra standing by the bed in her dressing gown and Purvis under the covers, and before it had opened fully both Sandra and Purvis had turned towards him, eyes wide with shock and surprise.

Sandra stifled a scream. Purvis froze. Riley turned away, as if hurt by their betrayal himself.

Before he reached the stairs Sandra came hurrying after him, pulling the cord of her dressing gown tightly around her waist, protecting her modesty.

“Riley, please, it’s not what you think?”

Riley stopped. Put his hands up to his head, as if to massage away the image of what he’d just seen. Suspecting something was one thing. Knowing for sure was another.

“Riley, please...”

He shrugged out of Sandra’s grip and stared disbelievingly at her. Then he stared the same way at Purvis who appeared at the bedroom door a second later, bare-chested and buttoning up his trousers.

“What the fuck are you two playing at!” he yelled. “What... what is this?”

“Like Sandra just told you, it’s not what you think,” replied Purvis calmly, like he was stating a fact.

“Not what I think?” Riley said. “You expect me not to think that you two are having it away with each other whilst Nash is in Spain?”

“Please, Riley,” Sandra tried again. Then she began to cry. “Don’t say it like that. Don’t make it sound so... dirty.”

“What are you thinking?” he asked her. “Your three months pregnant!”

“I know!”she bawled.

“Pregnant with Nash’s kid!”

“It’s not his, it’s mine.”

Riley slowly turned to Purvis, sure that he must have heard wrong.

“What?”

“The baby’s mine,” Purvis said. He walked up to Sandra and put his arm around her. “Like we’ve both told you, this is not what you think. This isn’t just a little fling. A little bit of fun when the cat’s away. We’ve been seeing each other for the last six months. Sandra fell pregnant after sleeping with me.”

A few months ago, whilst working at the club, Riley had been breaking up a fight when a man popped up behind him and hit him on the back of the head with a barstool, causing his brain to bounce around inside his skull like a pinball shooting around inside a machine. For the rest of the night (after the other doorman had put the barstool-wielding dickhead in hospital) Riley had sat at the bar nursing his head with an ice-pack. Everything seemed dizzy and disorientated, dreamy and unreal. Concussion made the world look strange.

He felt like that now.

“I hadn’t slept with Mike for over two months before I found out I was six weeks pregnant,” Sandra said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “You know our marriage was on the rocks, Riley. He’s always working on his dodgy deals or out at meetings or seeing one of his tarts. If he wasn’t such a dangerous bastard I would’ve left him long ago and me and Dylan could have been open about our relationship.”

“But you got pregnant to another man,” Riley said, his voice quieter now. “How come Nash didn’t work out the dates and realise he can’t be the father.”

“You know Mike,” she said. The way she said
Mike
, so disgustedly and full of venom, told Riley that even if the child
was
his, this relationship couldn’t be mended. “His mind doesn’t work like that. With the amount he drinks and the coke he snorts he can’t remember who he slept with last night let alone two months ago.”

“So you’re going to let him think the baby’s his?” he asked.

“What do you think he’ll do if he finds out it’s not?” Purvis asked, rhetorically. “As far as we see it we have no choice but to let Nash think he’s the father. We can’t leave now. Sandra needs mid-wife appointments and things – not to mention as little stress as possible.”

“So you’re not bothered that you won’t be able to acknowledge your own kid?” Riley asked him. He wasn’t being cruel. He genuinely wanted to know the answer.

“I have to do what’s best for Sandra and the baby,” Purvis said. “One day in the future, we’ll see...”

“Riley,” Sandra said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s asking a lot, but please, you can’t say anything to anyone about this. No one else knows.”

“I can’t pretend I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not that good of an actor.”

“Riley, if not for me,” Purvis said, “then do it for Sandra and the baby. You know Nash will take this out on her as much as me. Remember, this isn’t some stupid little affair. We love each other.”

Riley stood there for long seconds, staring at both of them in turn. Purvis was his friend – a fucking stupid friend, but a friend none the less. Sandra, well, he’d always thought she was too good for Nash and deserved better. Still, it didn’t make this right. They’d fucked Nash over. You just don’t do that. The firm was solid. The boys stuck together.

But, in the end, he really only had one option available. He wasn’t a grass and Purvis had been right. Nash would take his anger out on Sandra as much as Purvis.

“There’s a problem with the lights at Twilight” he told Purvis. “We need you to come and have a look.”

“Riley, I-”

“No electrician can make it today,” he said, heading down the stairs. “So you’ll have to try and fix the problem otherwise we can’t open tonight.”

“But what about this?”

“About what?”

“Us,” Purvis said. “Me and Sandra.”

Riley shrugged.

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” He winked.

Purvis forced a smile and said, “Good. Thanks, Riley. Please let it stay that way. This is our problem, not yours.”

Riley started to laugh at that point and maybe because the situation suddenly seemed so ridiculous the laugh came out harder than he expected.

Purvis and Sandra exchanged a look of confusion.

“What’s so funny?” Purvis asked.

“Not my problem,” Riley said between giggles. “That’s funny. That’s a good one.”

“It isn’t your problem,” Purvis said, seriously. “We won’t expect you to stand by us if Nash finds out, and I promise that neither one of us will let on that you knew when the truth comes out.”

“Okay,” Riley said, his chuckles dying away. “But you seem to be forgetting something.”

“What?” asked Purvis.

“I’m your friend,” Riley said. “And I’ll stand by you no matter what. So you’re wrong. If Nash finds out, then it
is
my problem.”

Silence lingered between them for several long seconds and for the first time since Riley had met Purvis, the silence was uncomfortable.

“Then for all of our sakes let’s hope he never does,” Sandra said.

Riley agreed.

“Yeah, let’s hope so.” He looked up at Purvis. “So, are you coming to the club or not?”

42

The clock in the motel’s reception showed 09:53p.m as Purvis paid for the room in cash, signed a couple of forms and then collected the key.

“Enjoy your stay, Mr Williams,” the young girl behind the desk said as he headed for the door.

He almost forgot to stop.

Williams? Oh, that’s me.

Every place they’d stayed these last few nights had been under a pseudonym. Harrison. Robertson. Not Smith – that seemed
too
fake. Tonight, he’d decided on Williams at the very last moment.

“Yes, thank you,” he said, flashing the girl a smile before making his way out to the car park.

The night was dark, the sky a deathly black, the stars hidden from view under a thick yet invisible layer of cloud as Purvis hurried to the car where Sandra was waiting.

“Here.” He handed her the key as she stepped out. “Number twelve, it’s along there.” He pointed to the far end of the first row of rooms. “Go open up. I’ll fetch Wendy and come back for the bags.”

Sandra took the key as Purvis opened the back door and reached inside for Wendy, who was sleeping soundly. He lifted her from the child-seat which they’d bought on the first day after leaving Thirnbridge (didn’t want to get stopped by the police for not having one!) and hurried after Sandra.

He let her open the door and flick on the light before handing her Wendy who was beginning to stir.

“Back in a minute.”

After collecting the bags from the car he was back in the room in just under three.

As he stepped through the door, he glanced behind him, checking the car park and the motorway beyond where the traffic was still streaming, making sure that they hadn’t been followed.

A solitary vehicle turned off the motorway and into the forecourt before heading towards the McDonald’s Drive-Thru on the other side of the reception block. Other than that, all was clear.

Purvis dragged their luggage inside and locked the door before flopping onto the bed beside Sandra and Wendy, exhausted. The few days had been a hectic carnival of moving around, withdrawing money, making phone calls and – most importantly - arranging a meeting with someone he’d never met before, someone who could get them what they needed to get out of the country, a painfully thin Russian man in his early thirties called Anton Bardzecki (
if
that was his real name) who was based in the north-east of the country.

Purvis had tracked him down over a period of months via internet chat rooms and eventually got hold of a mobile number. After a brief introduction, Purvis had asked about passports.

“How many?” Bardzecki had asked in reply, his accent slurring out the words, as if he’d downed a good few mouthfuls of his country’s finest
Wodka
before answering the call.

“Three,” Purvis had said. “A man, a woman and a child – a girl. All with the same family name.”

“It’s difficult,” Bardzecki replied.
Iz deeficult.

Yes, Purvis assumed it would be. But not impossible. He knew a lot of poor families in Eastern Europe sold their passports to criminal organisations to keep them in food and clothes. Surely at some point a man would have handed over his wife’s and daughter’s along with his own. Anything, Purvis didn’t care about the name. It was just to get them out of the country without Nash knowing. Then when the heat cooled off they could re-apply for their own passports and go back to using their real names.

“I understand that,” Purvis said. “But I’ll make it worth your while.”

After a pause, Bardzecki said, “I can do it. When you need them?”

“I don’t know yet. How much notice do you need?”

“Notice?”

“How much... time in advance. If I call you tomorrow and say I need them in three days time can you do it?”

Another pause. Then: “Maybe. Yes, maybe.”

The morning after the three of them had left Thirnbridge, Purvis had called him back. After reminding Bardzecki of who he was and of their previous phone call, the Russian had asked Purvis to meet him later that day in a specific pub in Newcastle city centre and bring a photograph for each passport.

Purvis found a photo-machine in a supermarket and he, Sandra and Wendy posed for their snaps (Wendy took six attempts to sit still) and then he dropped the two of them at a cheap hotel before meeting Bardzecki alone.

“You have pictures?”
Peekcherz?

Purvis handed them to the Russian and Bardzecki looked them over.

“Your daughter?” he asked, brandishing Wendy’s mug-shot.

Purvis nodded.

“She very cute.” Then he held up Sandra’s mug-shot. “Your wife, very pretty.”

“Thank you. How soon can we have the passports?”

Bardzecki pushed out his lower lip. Frowned. Then he swallowed several mouthfuls of his lager.

“By Friday.”

“Two days, excellent.”

“The price be three thousands.”

Purvis said “okay” and saw a flicker of surprise in the Russian’s face. Bardzecki was obviously preparing to argue the fact the price was high because of the speed of the service, not to mention that the three passports had to be in the same name and that genders and ages had been specified.

“One thousand now. The other two on collection.”

Purvis went to the toilets and locked himself in a cubicle. He counted out a thousand in twenties and once back with Bardzecki he passed the notes under the table.

“Friday. I call you.”

The Russian then drank up and left, and earlier tonight, just one hour before Purvis had checked into the motel this dark and starless night, Bardzecki had been good on his word and the exchange had been made.

The passports would fool anyone.

“Nice doing business with you, Mr Markevich,” Bardzecki said with a crooked grin before walking away from the riverside where they’d met.

Purvis double-checked each passport and again felt confident about their quality.

He headed back to the car where Sandra and Wendy were waiting.

“How do they look?” Sandra asked.

“They look great, Alisa.”

She smiled.

“I like that name. What’s Wendy called?”

“Rozalina.”

“That’s nice too.” She looked him deep in the eyes. Then she kissed him. “So, what now?”

“We find somewhere to stay tonight and recharge our batteries.” He started the engine and drove away from the wasteland that had been the meeting place. “And we practice our Russian accents. Tomorrow we fly.”

Yes, first thing in the morning they’d head to Newcastle airport. Book a last minute flight with cash. Leave this nightmare far behind.

Now, as he sat on the bed, hoping the final leg of their journey would run smoothly, he heard Wendy yawn next to him. She was still awake – barely. Her eyes were puffy little slits, yearning for sleep.

“You still tired, Sweety?” he asked.

Wendy nodded and yawned again.

“I’ll unpack your pyjamas and get you ready for bed,” Sandra said.

“Tewwy,” Wendy asked.

“You want to watch some telly?” Purvis said. He switched on the set and noticed there was a DVD player under it. So he rummaged inside one of the bags, pulled out a DVD and inserted it.
Peppa Pig
was a Godsend. Better than a cuddle and a bedtime story to help wind a child down at night.

Wendy smiled and lay on her side, enjoying the bright colours and silly voices of the characters. Enjoying the innocence of it all. Poor thing, Purvis couldn’t help think for the umpteenth time since they’d left. They’d told her that they were all going on holiday for a while and she’d gotten very excited and asked all sorts of questions; Where? For how long? Who with? and it had pleased Purvis immensely when she hadn’t enquired why her ‘dad’ wasn’t going with them. In fact, over the last few days, she hadn’t mentioned Nash once. What was even better was that during the few relaxing hours they’d managed to do normal things together, like spending time in a park or going shopping for new clothes, Purvis had felt Wendy warm to him even more. And last night, in a hotel twenty miles north of where they now were, Wendy had woken up in the middle of the night after having a bad dream and had crawled in-between them. When Purvis had woken early the next morning, she had been cuddled up close to him, her head against his shoulder and one arm across his chest.

Purvis had lain there for nearly an hour until she’d woken, feeling like a proper father for the first time. It had felt so natural yet at the same time so... wonderful.

Despite the antics of Peppa and her family, Wendy was asleep again within ten minutes, curled up on her side in the centre of the bed. So Sandra pulled off her shoes and dress and covered her with the blanket.

“We can let her sleep in-between us again, if you like?” Purvis said.

“Yeah, she should sleep till morning now,” Sandra said. “Poor thing’s exhausted.”

“It’s only for one more night,” Purvis said.             

Sandra smiled, although she still looked concerned.

“I just keep thinking that something’s going to go wrong somewhere.”

“We made it,” Purvis told her. “Nash hasn’t found us, and he won’t. Don’t even think about him anymore. Don’t let him become the bogeyman that haunts you.”

Sandra smiled and walked to the window. Purvis followed her, pulled back the curtains and double checked everything outside was still nice and quiet.

When he saw it was, he snaked his arms around Sandra’s waist. She had lost weight. The last week had taken it out of her. Out of all three of them.

“We will get through this, won’t we?” she asked. “We’ll make it out of the country?”

We have to
, Purvis thought.
We’ve no other choice.
They’d come too far to start worrying about airport security and customs. If the passports didn’t work, well... he just didn’t know what he’d do.

“Of course,” he said. “I won’t let anybody take you and Wendy from me. Ever.” He kissed Sandra’s neck and pulled the curtain’s closed. “Now stop worrying and come to bed.”

Ten minutes later, both still fully clothed, they were asleep either side of their daughter.

Outside in the car park, the man in the darkened Volvo tossed his half-finished Big Mac onto the passenger seat and pulled out his phone.

He belched onions and felt the heartburn instantly. Fucking McDonald’s. It was too rich for him and usually he never went near the place. But tonight he didn’t have a choice. He’d had to go through the Drive-Thru to avoid being seen and had to order something when the young lady came to the window.

He washed away the burn in his chest with a swig of strawberry milkshake. Then he stared at the window to room twelve as he dialled a number on his mobile phone, a number he’d scribbled down on a scrap of paper a few hours earlier after searching a few web sites and making a few phone calls in order to get Mike Nash’s personal number.

The word going around was that Nash (whoever he was) had offered five thousand pounds for any information on a man called Dylan Purvis who was said to be travelling with a woman and a young girl. This was too good to be true. All he had to do was follow them to find where they were staying and make the call. Simple.

This was nothing personal. In fact, Mr Purvis – now Markevich – had seemed a nice enough man. This was simply business. Three thousand plus another five made for a very good week’s work for an out of work immigrant.

Anton Bardzecki took another swig of milkshake as he waited for the call to connect.

It was time to make some
very
easy money.