The Edge of Sanity (28 page)

Gritting his teeth through his chewing gum, DI Short’s desire to nail Charlie Roberts was now all consuming. He glanced toward the boatyard. The scumbag wasn’t likely to be holed up there, of course. Too clever by half was Charlie, to make himself a sitting target. Any leads as to where he might be could well be inside the house, however.

He couldn’t risk going in without armed backup, though. Any backup would be good. DI Short reached for his radio.

Sod it. He waited another hour-long minute, and then reached a decision. There had to be a way of checking out the yard, if not the house, without being seen. DI Short was about to find out, when he heard a car approaching behind him. A taxi, he noted, as the vehicle slowed to pull around his car, also noting one male passenger in the back as it cruised past. DI Short watched, holding his breath as the taxi slowed again at the entrance to the yard, before driving on to take a left further down the lane.

Right, he’d take a look, DI Short decided, climbing out of his car. Stroll past, see if he couldn’t see any signs of life. He was halfway between car and entrance when the taxi reappeared, driving past in the other direction … minus passenger? So where had it dropped him? DI Short’s antennae twanged. There were no other houses in the vicinity, no shops, no pubs. If the passenger had been resident on a boat, why drive past the yard?

Odd, he thought, definitely. DI Short ran back to his car, started the engine, and headed off in the direction the taxi had come from. Taking the same left turn, he drove only a few yards before passing a man—white, mid-forties—standing at the entrance to a field, wherein was a parked-askew SAAB.

Curious, DI Short parked up and slipped out of his car. He raised an eyebrow when he realised the guy was muttering to himself. Then two, when the guy, said out loud, ‘Slight damage!?’ slapped his forehead and stared hard at what appeared to be a nasty dent in the car’s bumper.

‘Daniel-bloody-Connor.’ DI Short’s ears pricked up as the guy mumbled on, retrieving the keys to the vehicle from the top of the front wheel as he did, then turning swiftly on his heel to find himself eyeball to eyeball with DI Short.

‘Shit!’ The man swallowed. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’

DI Short looked him over, trying to reserve judgment, though the guy was a boozer, obviously. DI Short could smell it a mile away. And possibly not a very pleasant piece of work, if the body language was anything to go by.

‘Problem?’ DI Short asked him.

‘Not half as big a problem as Daniel-bloody-Connor’s going to have when I get hold of him,’ the guy muttered.

‘Oh, yes?’ DI Short narrowed his eyes and flashed his identity card, then breathed a sigh of relief as he noted three squad cars—coming in quiet, as instructed—slowing to a halt in the lane.

‘Wait,’ DI Short told the now somewhat baffled looking guy, and stepped around him to signal one of the officers driving.

He turned his attention back to the man, as several officers spilled out of the squad cars. ‘And why’s that then, Mr …?’

‘Clarkson. John Clarkson,’ John supplied, his eyes boggling at the sight of armed police. ‘Bugger’s damaged my car, hasn’t he? Practically written it off. And then he dumps it and rings me to come and pick it up.’

John turned to survey the car, his eyes brimming. ‘That’s not nice, is it?’ He turned back to DI Short. ‘Not when I lent it to him in good faith.’

DI Short shrugged, a touch embarrassed. Never been one to form an emotional attachment with a lump of metal himself, but the guy obviously had just cause for complaint. ‘You lent the car to Daniel Connor?’ he asked apprehensively. ‘When?’

‘Last night. Late last night. Said his wife was in trouble. I’d have driven him but—’

‘She is,’ DI Short cut in. ‘Keys,’ he demanded, extending his hand. Was that how the scumbag had lured Daniel into his nasty little trap? Threatened his wife and daughter with … Didn’t need much imagination to know what Charlie would threaten. That was the coward’s style, torturing the man with threats to his wife and child, and then torturing him some more. No way was Charlie Roberts going to sit quietly twiddling his thumbs until he got his hands on whatever hard-earned cash Daniel Connor had got.

‘But, I have to get her to the garage,’ John said passionately as he handed the keys over.

‘The car stays.’ DI Short reached for the driver’s door. ‘And you’re well over the limit anyway.’ He hazarded a guess. ‘You should be thanking your lucky stars you ran into me.’

John opened his mouth to protest, and then clamped it shut fast. ‘Blimey,’ he gasped, following the detective’s gaze to a distinct handprint on the driver’s side wing.

Blood, DI Short thought grimly. And not Charlie’s, he’d bet. He crouched down to examine the tyre. More blood.
Hell.
His jaw tight-set, DI Short pulled his gloves from his pocket, stretched them over his hands and examined the red spattered rubber. Still fairly fresh, he studied his fingers. Daniel’s?

Who might well have been forced to move the vehicle, once he’d made Charlie’s delightful acquaintance. While the little turd was still inside the house with his wife and daughter, he wondered? Which could explain why Daniel had been in a bit of a hurry to park it. DI Short sucked in a deep breath. For all his information and half-baked instinct, he was still no nearer to knowing where Roberts was.
Dammit
. He hammered the heel of his hand against his forehead, in hopes of kick-starting his brain.

****

‘Anything?’ DI Short glanced hopefully at one of the officers returning from his reconnaissance of the property.

The officer shook his head. ‘Nothing, sir. Sorry.’

‘Right.’ DI Short nodded tersely. ‘Call it in. And tell them we need more men on standby.’

‘Sir.’

DI Short sighed heavily, resigning himself to the task of painstakingly gathering information about Daniel that might lead him to where Charlie was holding them. Close to a bank or building society, possibly? Which is where this sick scenario would end. Along with the lives of his captives?

God, DI Short hoped not. Hoped fervently that two-thirds of the family weren’t already out of the picture, Daniel Connor being strung along by a promise until he’d produced the readies. With or without drug-induced mood swings, Charlie Roberts was a psychopath. It was only a matter of time before he did something he couldn’t hope to get away with.

****

‘Ah, Daniel, we were expecting you, weren’t we, sweetheart?’ Charlie smiled a slow satisfied smile, and twisted Kayla’s hair tighter around his hand.

‘What, Danny?’ Charlie sneered, as Daniel took in the scene before him. ‘Did you think you’d charge in here like something out of
Lethal Weapon
to find me raping your daughter? Not likely really, was it,
yet
? Have to be a bit dense, wouldn’t I, to have my arse in the air, defenceless, with a faggot around.’

Charlie wrenched Kayla’s head back. Her hands went to his forearm, instinctively trying to relieve the pressure against her throat. ‘Because that’s what you are, isn’t it, Danny Boy?’ Charlie went on, mockingly. ‘A child-murderer—and a faggot?’

Daniel didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t dare. He kept his eyes fixed on the sharp, cold metal pressed against Kayla’s throat, which could end her life in an instant if he made a wrong move.

‘Aren’t you?’ Charlie persisted, his tone more taunting by the second.

Daniel shook his head, desperately trying to think of a way to make the bastard let her go.

‘Wrong answer.’ Charlie pressed the knife closer.

‘Yes!’ Daniel shouted, panic surging him forwards.

‘Stay!’ Charlie spat.

Daniel forced himself to stand still. Forced himself to give the sick bastard the answer he needed. ‘Yes,’ he repeated, his tone subdued. ‘Whatever you say. Just stop.’ He swallowed back the salty taste in his mouth and begged. ‘
Please
… just let her go.’

‘And do you think I’m dense, Daniel?’

‘Oh, Jesus, fucking …’ Daniel dragged his hands over his face. He wasn’t going to stop. The sadistic piece of scum was enjoying every second of it. This wasn’t just drugs. The man really was out of his mind. Daniel studied his twisted face, his cold taunting eyes.

He was terrified.

And Charlie knew it.

‘I asked you a question,’ Charlie said slowly. ‘Do you think I’m stupid, is what I asked, Danny?’

‘No,’ Daniel answered, dropping his gaze. Sick, but not stupid. In the psychological warfare this nightmare had become, Charlie was winning, hands down.

‘Then why do you insist on trying to undermine me, Daniel? Hmm?’

Daniel stared at him blankly. ‘What?’ he asked, disbelieving. ‘Undermine you
how
? I don’t—’

‘Don’t try to deny it.’ Charlie seethed. ‘I know very well the fucking bank didn’t ring back. There was no battery in the phone,
was
there?’

He glared at Daniel, who struggled for something to say. Anything.
Jesus … Don’t let him do this. Please don’t let him do this.

‘You lied to me, Danny, which tells me you do think I’m stupid, don’t you?’

‘No! For Christ’s sake, just let her go!’

‘I can see the way you look at me, like I’m too thick to work it out. Like I’m a piece of shit you just stepped in. And
her
…’ he nodded beyond the door ‘ … precious little wifey, with her cat’s eyes.’

‘And your tart of a daughter.’ He twisted Kayla’s hair until he forced a cry from her mouth. ‘You even let them talk to me like I’m nothing.’

Charlie rambled on, every sentence he uttered sounding more and more insane, and Daniel grew more terrified by the second. What if he forgot he was holding the knife? One slip of his hand. One animated gesture and …

The small space around him heaved inwards. Daniel felt himself sway on his feet. Cold sweat tickled his spine, saturated his brow, but he didn’t dare move to wipe it away.

‘And I told you not to!’ Charlie’s voice permeated his panic. ‘But even with a gun pointed at you, you keep pushing your luck. So you obviously
do
think I’m stupid, don’t you?’

‘No, I …’ Daniel stammered, confused. ‘Yes …’ Christ, what was the right answer? Fear clutched at his insides.

‘Oh, man, zip it.’ Charlie sighed. ‘And get down on your knees.’

‘Do … What?’ Daniel felt his stomach turn over. On his knees … why?

‘Leave it, Charlie,’ Steve said, stepping into the room, Joanne close behind him. ‘You’ve had your fun. They’ve got the message. Now leave it out.’

Charlie threw him a murderous glance. ‘Do
not
tell me what to do, Steve. I’ll leave it when I’m good and ready.
And
when I’ve taught
that
stubborn son-of-a-bitch a lesson.’

The knife still at her throat, Charlie pulled Kayla closer. ‘Now sit her down,’ he nodded at Jo, ‘and
get
him down on his knees.’

‘Shit, he’s lost it,’ Steve muttered, half under his breath. He gestured Jo, who hardly dared to breathe, towards the bed, then walked around to Daniel’s side, shaking his head. ‘You’d better do as he says,’ he said, turning embarrassed eyes away from him.

Daniel’s shoulder stiffened as Steve placed a hand on it. He looked from Steve’s uncomfortable scowl, to Charlie’s inane smirk, to Jo, who was petrified, to Kayla, who was watching Daniel steadily, the terror in her eyes palpable. To resist could be to kill her. Daniel got down.

‘Good.’ Charlie nodded. ‘Thought you’d put up a bit more of a fight, though, Danny Boy, I have to admit. Wasn’t quite sure what I’d have done then, with my hands full of your daughter.’

‘Now then, what to do with him? What do you think, sweetheart?’ Charlie asked, close to Kayla’s ear. ‘Shall we make him beg? Plead for your life?’

Charlie glanced back to Daniel. ‘No,’ he said, after a moment. That would be letting you off too easily. Quite frankly, Danny Boy, you’ve annoyed me. So before I do make you grovel, for her and for wifey, and then for your miserable self …’

Charlie paused, taking his time, getting his kicks.

‘ … I’m going to have Steve here hurt you.’

Daniel tensed. Panic knotted his stomach. He made sure not to look at Jo or Kayla for fear they might see his fear.

‘He owes you one after all, Daniel. An eye for an eye … Or in this case, a split lip. Return the compliment Steve.’

‘What?’

‘I said, return—the—compliment,’ Charlie said, extremely slowly. ‘Hit him back for fuck’s sake,’ he snapped, when Steve still didn’t appear to be getting the drift.

Steve gathered himself, finally. ‘No way,’ he said, tugging up his round shoulders in defiance. ‘I ain’t throwing punches at a bloke on his knees. No way, Charlie.’

‘I ain’t asking you to throw punches, Steve, or sodding kiss him. You have the gun. Use it. Left hand side, chest level. Or I’ll use it on you. Got it?’

Daniel flinched. A grin split Charlie’s face. ‘Thought I didn’t know, didn’t you, Danny Boy? Nobody gets one past Charlie, sunshine. You should’ve realised that by now.’

Daniel eyed him contemptuously.

Charlie held his gaze. ‘Humiliating isn’t it, Daniel, to be looked down on? Do it, Steve,’ he instructed.

‘Uh, uh, no freakin’ way.’ Steve backed off.

‘It wouldn’t be very sensible,’ Jo said, finding her voice and sounding quite calm. ‘He’s had fractured ribs. You know that. You’ve very probably broken them again,’ she went on as Charlie stared at her, his look one of mild irritation.

‘So?’

‘So he’s been coughing blood.’ She looked at Steve. ‘And if
he
does as you say, one of those
broken
ribs might pierce his lung, and then he won’t be in any fit state to drive, make phone calls or withdraw money, will he?’

Charlie narrowed his eyes and scrutinised her. Jo physically trembled, yet refused to look away.

Charlie did look away, eventually, not saying a word.

‘Over here.’ He motioned Steve.

‘The gun,’ he said, when Steve lumbered over, casting a worried glance at Daniel as he did so.

Charlie lowered the knife slowly, his eyes fixed on Daniel, and his other hand still tight in Kaylas’s hair. Once he’d a firm grip on the gun, he let her go, shoving her hard to one side. ‘Watch them,’ he commanded, handing Steve the knife as Jo gathered her sobbing daughter into her arms.