The Edge of Sanity (26 page)

Seemingly frozen with indecision, Steve got halfway to his feet behind Charlie, causing the boat to lilt further, metal grinding creakily against metal, as the hull brushed the reinforced sides of the bank.

No one spoke.

Charlie dragged a hand across his face, wiping the spittle from his mouth. He breathed in, then out through his nostrils, dropped his gaze to the smashed phone in his hand—and then fixed eyes smouldering with hatred back on Daniel.

‘You didn’t ring, Daniel,’ he said flatly.

Daniel glanced past him to Steve, who’d straightened up and was now risking a cautious step towards them.

‘You know I did. You were there,’ Daniel reminded him, gauging Charlie carefully. ‘You dialled the number.’

‘And you cut the fucking call off, didn’t you?!’ Charlie jabbed a finger at him.

Daniel took another step back, one hand raised to ward Charlie off.

‘I made the transaction, Charlie. You heard me.’ Daniel didn’t quite lie, but he prayed hard that Charlie hadn’t got wind of the other end of the conversation. The person at the call centre telling him there were insufficient funds. Daniel had replied nonsensically, praying hard then, too. That Charlie wouldn’t snatch the phone to listen in and hear the bank refusing to continue the conversation, data protection rules requiring them to call him back.

Charlie looked away, then down. ‘You’re dead, Danny. End of,’ he said unemotionally, ran his hand under his nose then fixed cold eyes back on Daniel. ‘Outside.’ He nodded towards the doors.

‘Oi, what you doing?’ Steve took another step, his brow furrowed.

‘Taking Danny for a walk in the woods.’ Charlie said, with a matter-of-fact shrug. ‘He can have a think about what’s going to happen to his wife and daughter on the way.’

‘
Dan …!
?’ Jo gasped behind him.

‘Daddy?’ Kayla whimpered, sounding more like Emma, as she slid off her berth.

Daniel shook his head hard, cautioning them to stay put. His gaze travelled from Steve to Charlie and back. His heart hammered wildly and his muscles tensed, ready to fight; to kill the fucking psychopath, or die trying.

‘Don’t be bloody stupid,’ Steve scoffed. ‘You can’t go and—’

Charlie levelled his gun. ‘This says I can,’ he gave Steve a warning glance, ‘so shift your fat arse,
mate
, or you’ll get some of the same.’

Steve’s face tightened. He breathed in, pulled up his rounded shoulders, and looked from Charlie to Daniel.

Holding his gaze for a second, he nodded, almost imperceptibly, and then looked back to Charlie. ‘So,’ he said, folding his arms, ‘what’s he supposed to have done, then?’

Charlie snapped his attention to Steve. ‘What’s he …?’ He shook his head, disbelieving. ‘Are you deaf!? It’s what he hasn’t done, you soft twat.’

Steve waited, arms still folded, his big bulk blocking the doors.

‘He hasn’t … rung … the … fucking … bank.’ Charlie spelt it out.

Steve looked at Charlie dispassionately. ‘Says who?’

‘Says …? I don’t believe this. They haven’t rung back, have they, you thick prick.
He
said they—’

‘Not likely to, now, are they? Phone’s broke, innit, Charlie.’ Steve stood his ground, looking not very impressed.

‘It is
now
! Thanks to—’

‘
You
broke it, Charlie,’ Steve talked over him, ‘because you’re losin’ it,
mate.
Now pack it up and go pop a freakin’ pill, or somethin’, or I’ll take a bloody walk. I mean it, Charlie. I’ve had enough,’ he looked Charlie over distastefully, ‘and so has he, so lay off.’

Charlie boggled, stunned for a second, then pulled himself—and his gun—up. ‘
You
are taking the piss, mate,’ he fumed. ‘No one, but
no one
takes the piss out of—’

‘And
you …’
Steve unfolded his arms and poked a finger at Charlie ‘ … are acting like a dickhead. He rang ‘em!’

‘Aw, for Christ’s …’ Charlie rolled his eyes. ‘Do you think I’m dense, as—’

‘And
they
rang back,’ Steve went on forcefully. ‘If you hadn’t been busy shooting up and snoring like a pig, you’d have known.’

Charlie shook his head. ‘You
what
?’

‘The phone was on silent, Charlie, so you could get a bit of shuteye, remember? I took the call and passed it to him. Now leave it out.’

Steve turned away.

‘Oh.’ Charlie seemed to debate. ‘Well that’s all right then,’ he said, eventually and lowered the gun. ‘You should have said so, Danny Boy. You really can be very irritating sometimes, y’know?’

He cocked the gun under his arm, and then called to Jo, ‘Get us that grub, darlin’. I’m starving,’ as he ambled to the saloon to seat himself in front of the telly.

Chapter Seventeen

‘Pants,’ Hannah muttered. ‘Sorry,’ she added, noting the sergeant’s arched eyebrow.

‘Would you like to leave your details?’ the sergeant suggested. ‘I’ll get DI Short to contact you when he gets back to the station.’

‘Um …’ Hannah had a think. Leave her details? Yes, right. The law phoning home would go down well, wouldn’t it? ‘No, thank you.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘I’ll pop back.’

Typical, she thought, trudging back down the station steps. Now the detective was on the missing list, too. Couldn’t be that much of an emergency, could it, if he wasn’t even at the station. Might be out on the case, she mused, organising the dredging of the canal, or something.

God, she hoped not. Hannah shuddered and wandered around awhile, then rang the station. Still no DI Short, apparently. She checked her watch and her uniformed state of dress, which was attracting all sorts of attention at this time of evening, and none of it the right sort. She’d nip home, she decided. Her mum might just have torn her eyeballs away from her boyfriend long enough to clock the time. She might even be concerned she was late.

Yeah, that’s what she’d do, go home and get changed, which should kill some time, and then go back to the station. Hannah didn’t want to talk to anyone else. This detective bloke was the one she wanted to see. And check out that earring, while she was at it, just to make sure.

An hour later, Hannah presented herself for the third time at the police station. ‘DI Short, please,’ she asked, as demurely as she was dressed, in cut offs and vest top.

The sergeant shook his head apologetically. ‘Look, would you like to see a nice WPC, instead?’

‘What for?’

‘She could take a statement,’ he suggested.

‘What statement?’

‘A statement about whatever it is you want to see DI Short about.’ The sergeant knitted his brow.

‘No,’ Hannah said, adamant. ‘DI Short’s on the case.’

‘And what case would that be?’ the sergeant asked patiently.

‘Dunno.’ Hannah shrugged. ‘I’ll wait.’ She plonked herself down on a chair, leaving the confused sergeant scratching his head.

****

‘Not bad.’ Charlie licked his knife and plonked his empty plate on the floor. He’d tasted better than tinned potatoes, corned beef and beans, but it wasn’t bad considering she hadn’t had much time to prepare for their little holiday.

Nobody else seemed to have much of an appetite though, he noticed. Strange that, what with all that hard work opening locks and whatnots. Ravenous, he was. Crack and speed usually left him a bit peckish, and knackered. And knackered whilst wired is not conducive to sleep, he’d found.

Good job he had some heroin in his bag of tricks. Steve might well sit there with a face like a spanner, but at least it’d allowed Charlie a bit of shuteye. Felt much better for it, too. Been a bit depressed he had earlier. But waking to hear Danny’s revelations had cheered him immensely. Given him a high with a capital H.

Well, waste not, want not. ‘Cheers, mate.’ Charlie reached for Steve’s plate to relieve it of its contents, slurping happily as he did so.

Daniel ran his hand through his hair, resisted the temptation to walk across and wedge the plate in the psycho’s mouth, and headed for the back of the boat instead. Hopefully, some fresh air would control his creeping claustrophobia.

‘Where’re you goin’?’ Charlie muffled, spitting corned beef.

Daniel stopped. ‘To open the hatch,’ he said calmly. ‘We need some air.’

Kayla definitely needed air, Daniel knew. He’d watched her as they’d sat through feeding time at the zoo. She was as white as a sheet.

‘Stay,’ Charlie instructed. ‘You move when I tell you to,’ he reminded Daniel, stuffing the last of the meal into his mouth.

At which, Kayla stood abruptly, picked up her plate—the food thereon untouched, eyed Charlie with disdain and banged it down in front of him. ‘Choke on it, cokehead,’ she spat, and then turned to march past Daniel to yank the hatch wide.

‘We need some air,’ she said, turning back to face Charlie, her arms folded insolently.

Daniel stopped breathing as Charlie looked Kayla slowly up and down.

‘Ooh, a girly tantrum. Save me,’ Charlie said, at length. ‘I’m shaking in my boots.’ He smirked, and then turned his attention back to the television, leaving Kayla looking deflated and Daniel feeling uneasy relief.

At best, he’d expected another debilitating blow with the gun. At worst he’d thought the sicko would sink lower and try to take it out on Kayla. So what the hell was he up to? Daniel and Jo exchanged nervous glances.

Steve lit up a cigarette.

Charlie split a matchstick and picked at his teeth.

Shouldn’t have done that, sweetheart, he thought. But he’d let it go, for now. Danny Boy must swing both ways, he decided, because whatsername was definitely the product of her both her parents, defiant little cow.

She’d learn.

They all would.

Pushing their luck they were, undermining him. And it wasn’t on, plain and simple. He’d sort them, though, when he was ready. Charlie burped loudly. Take out the linchpin and the women would tumble. Be no trouble at all, wifey and daughter with Danny Boy subdued. And subdued he would be when Charlie had finished with him. He’d cut through Danny Boy’s cool exterior like a knife through butter, and serve him right.

Kills one daughter outright, couldn’t care less what company the other one’s keeping, and still they look up to him. Needed bringing down to size, Danny Boy did. He’d shown Charlie absolutely no respect from the word go, and Charlie didn’t like it.

Worked out that nondescript look of his, Charlie had, as well. Danny Boy was doing it now, unbelievably, looking right through him, as if he didn’t even exist.

Bloody head-case.

****

‘Chip?’ DI Short offered Hannah some of his dinner, soon to be supper.

Hannah shook her head, eyed the detective warily across his desk, and made up her mind. ‘Earring,’ she said, extending her own hand.

DI Short studied her, puzzled for a second, then sat bolt upright. Ferreting a greasy hand through his pocket, he fished out the earring, glanced from it to her, then handed it over.

Hannah examined it. It could be. Then again, it could be any number of similar earrings. But throw Strobes into the pot, and Kayla and parents suddenly eerily on holiday. ‘It’s Kayla’s,’ she said eventually, opting for safe rather than sorry. ‘Well, her mum’s, actually, but Kayla was wearing it.’

Hannah sat on her hands and shuffled her feet.

‘Oh?’ DI Short’s eyes shot wide. He screwed up his chip paper, the contents only half-consumed, and gave her his absolute undivided attention. ‘And when, exactly, was she wearing it, Hannah?’ he asked cautiously.

Hannah glanced from her knees to him and back. ‘Last night. At Strobes.’

‘And did you meet anyone there, Hannah? At the club?’ DI Short asked casually, laced his fingers, crossed his feet—and prayed.

‘Steve,’ Hannah confirmed, after a moment. ‘Steve Simmons. And Charlie.’ She shuddered, visibly, a hand going to her face.

Where the vicious little sod had slapped her, DI Short would be willing to bet. Observant in all things relating to charming Charlie, DI Short had noticed the finger-marks, almost concealed with foundation. Oh, yes, Hannah had made the evil runt’s acquaintance all right.

‘Don’t know his second name,’ Hannah went on, with a scowl, ‘but he lives at 33 Elgar Towers.’

‘And where is Kayla now, Hannah?’ he probed carefully, concern for the girl escalating fast.

‘I don’t know, do I!?’ Hannah blurted. ‘They’re not there!’

‘They’re not
where
, Hannah?’ DI Short asked, trying to hide his frustration. ‘Let’s start with Kayla’s address and surname, shall we?’

Thirty seconds later, DI Short was hooking his arm into his jacket. ‘Make sure Hannah gets home safely,’ he instructed a WPC. ‘And get me some back-up.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ Hannah informed him, suddenly super-glued to his side. ‘I know a way into the house.’ She persisted as DI Short marched through reception.

‘Breaking and entering is against the law, Hannah.’ DI Short sighed. Would someone not take the child home? ‘I’ll gain entry the legal way, if it’s all the same to you.’

‘What, with a warrant?’ Hannah dogged him to his car. ‘That’ll take time.’ She quoted a line from the telly, serious-faced. ‘You’ll have to break the door down.’

‘Then that’s what we’ll do, Hannah.’ DI Short threw himself behind the steering wheel. ‘Now, please, go home.’

‘But I know what she’d take.’ Hannah looked desperate. ‘Kayla, I mean, if she were going away, CDs, make-up and stuff. I even know where they keep the suitcases. You
need
me.’

‘Hannah, I don’t. You’re wasting time. Go home.’ DI Short made to close his car door.

‘I know things about them. Their history.’ Hannah dug her heels in. ‘Stuff that might help.’

DI Short hesitated. He knew their history, too. As soon as Hannah had given him the address, he’d realised it was the same couple who’d lost their youngest daughter, six or so months back. He couldn’t see how, just now, but it might be significant.

‘There’s other stuff. Things you should know.’

DI Short stuffed the key in the ignition. ‘What things?’

‘I’ll tell you on the way.’ Hannah nipped deftly around to the passenger side.