Truth or Dare (23 page)

P
hil reached the toilets on the floor below just as Nadish was entering. ‘Where is he?’ he shouted.

‘I… dunno… I just got —’

Phil pushed Nadish aside and ran inside. ‘Ian?’

The toilets were gleaming, sparkling. Sperring was lying in the middle of the room, oozing dark red blood spoiling the minimalist décor.

Phil knelt down beside him. ‘Ian…’

Sperring’s eyelids fluttered. He tried to move his mouth.

‘Don’t speak.’ Phil looked up. ‘Nadish, get a paramedic here. Now.’

Nadish took out his phone, began to talk in urgent tones. Phil looked down at Sperring once more. He was bleeding through his shirt, pumping out blood in time with his quickening heart rate. He would go into shock soon, thought Phil. But before that he needed to calm down or he would die of blood loss before the paramedics got here.

Phil looked around, trying to find something, anything, that would stop the flow of blood. Towels would be a start but all he saw were hand driers.

‘Nadish, get to the kitchen, the laundry, wherever. Get some towels, some linen. We need to wrap him up, stop the blood loss. Cling film, anything. Go. Now.’

Nadish ran from the toilets.

‘Come on, Ian,’ said Phil, ‘don’t give up on me, don’t let go, come on…’

Phil felt so helpless before his bleeding colleague. He had to do something. He took off his suit jacket and tried to pull it tight round Sperring’s body. Sperring grimaced with the sudden pain.

‘Come on, Ian, don’t let go… come on…’

Imani ran in, saw the sight before her and stopped dead.

‘Oh shit, oh no…’

Phil turned to her. ‘Find him,’ he shouted. ‘Get out there, get the uniforms, whoever you can. He’s got Looker. Find him.’

Imani turned and, recovering composure from what she had just seen, went about her allotted task.

Phil turned back to Sperring. ‘Ian… Ian… can you hear me?’

No response.

‘Ian… Ian…’

Sperring’s eyelids no longer fluttered.

The blood kept pumping.

‘S
o what’s the story with you and DC Hepburn, Mickey? Anni?’

Mickey knew it had been too good to last. After her pronouncement about manipulation Fiona Welch had fallen silent and Mickey had found the drive much more tolerable. But no. She had to start talking again. And about Anni now.

He didn’t reply. She carried on regardless.

‘How long have you been together? Oh, you didn’t have to tell me. I worked it out straight away. Guessed. You don’t have to be a psychologist to see that. It’s so obvious, the way you look at each other. Especially the way you look at her. Trying to look like the hard copper but you’ve got these big puppy-dog eyes on her all the time.’ She laughed. ‘You still act the hard man, though, even when she’s there. Is that deliberate? Are you trying to impress her?’ Her voice became teasing. ‘Does that turn her on? Go on, you can tell me.’

Mickey put his hand down hard on the horn, angry at the driver in the opposite lane who he had narrowly missed while overtaking another car.

‘Oh,’ said Fiona Welch. ‘Think I’ve hit a nerve there…’

Mickey didn’t reply. Just kept his eyes on the road dead ahead.

Fiona Welch kept probing. ‘Is that even allowed? In the force? You know, two people in the same outfit having a relationship? I would have thought you’d have had to get special permission, or something. In case being with your partner in private as well as public life was too much of a distraction. Or if you haven’t got permission can they separate you?’

Mickey said nothing.

‘No, seriously, I’m interested. Honestly.’

Again, nothing.

Fiona Welch sat back, sighed. ‘Well, this is boring.’ She looked out of the window. The stretch of road they were on was unlit, hedges either side. She turned back to face front. ‘Just put me off here, please.’

Mickey almost laughed.

Fiona Welch didn’t. Her face was flat, a death mask. ‘I’m serious. Put me off here.’

Mickey shook his head.

‘Just stop the car, and let me get out. You don’t even need to undo the cuffs.’

No response.

She sighed. ‘It’ll save a lot of trouble and heartbreak. Really. For you, I mean. And Anni.’

No reply.

She leaned forward, speaking as if he hadn’t been able to hear her until now. ‘Look, at the risk of repeating myself, put me off here. Please. You’ll be saving yourself a lot of trouble and heartache. Trouble for you, heartache for Anni. I’m serious.’

‘You’re going to Colchester,’ Mickey said and was immediately angry with himself for having spoken.

‘She sat back, laughed. ‘He speaks! He speaks!’ The laughter died away. Her face resumed its earlier death-mask quality. ‘No, joking aside, I’m not going to Colchester. In fact, it’s time I got out.’

‘Stay where you are,’ said Mickey. ‘You’re going to Colchester. And you know it.’

Fiona Welch smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. ‘Mickey, there’s a question you haven’t asked me. And really, it’s one of the most important ones and you should have done it. Before we got into this car. Know what it is?’

He didn’t reply.

‘Then I shall tell you. It’s this: what was I doing in Finnister? Why did I go to all that trouble to be put away in a place like that instead of a prison? And once I was in there, why would I try to make a suggestible patient kill herself? Actually, that’s more than one question, that’s three, but you get the idea. Three questions you should have asked me. Do you want to ask them now?’

Nothing.

‘I really think you should. It’s important for what happens next. For you, I mean.’

Again, nothing.

‘Fair enough, I’ll tell you. I was there to get your attention. Simple as that. You and your team. Especially the psychologist. And I’m sorry about what happens next, but —’

She leaned forward in her seat, the movement too sudden for Mickey to do anything about. She lunged at him, putting all her weight into it. Mickey was too startled to react. Without giving him a chance to move, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and sunk her teeth into the flesh of his neck.

Mickey screamed in pain, his hands coming off the steering wheel and going to her face, trying to push her away.

His actions just made her cling on all the harder, her teeth, unexpectedly sharp, gripping his flesh with the remorselessness of a mantrap, sinking in deeper.

The car began to weave all over the road, Mickey’s foot still on the accelerator, his leg stretched out as his body thrashed around trying to shake her off.

But she held on. Harder. He could hear a strangulated screaming coming from her as she did so, a feral, animal hunting cry.

Mickey tried to grab her face, find her eyes. Push his thumbs into the sockets. He managed to get his thumb in one, pushed as hard as he could. A screaming sound came over the top of his own and he realised that he had drifted over to the other side of the road and a huge articulated lorry was bearing down on him, horn blaring.

With one hand he managed to yank the wheel over to the left, pulling the car back to the right side of the road, trying to regain some semblance of control. As he did so, Fiona Welch renewed her attack.

He could feel her teeth chewing, grinding. Looking for an artery. He knew he couldn’t let that happen.

He tried to think logically, work out an order to do things. He took his hand away from her face, put both of them on the steering wheel, tried to control the car, guide it to the side of the road where he could pull over then deal with her properly.

She sensed this and renewed her attack, biting down even harder.

She found the artery she was looking for.

Mickey tried to pull away, taking his hands off the wheel as he did so.

She bit down hard, tugged at it, pulled, like a dog worrying a toy.

Mickey felt his hands, his neck become suddenly wet. The wetness spread down his front. He knew immediately what had happened, tried frantically to get her mouth from his neck.

She just dug in even more, the feral screaming rising from her.

Blood sprayed everywhere, hitting the windscreen, obscuring the view.

Mickey’s breathing became short, ragged. His own voice was reduced to a sad whimper. He felt the life pumping out of him.

Unsaid words, unthought thoughts tumbled through his mind. Sadness, panic and fear fought for dominance. The night around him got darker.

He screamed once more. An exhausted, defeated sound. It sounded like ‘Anni’. But it could have just been a scream.

His foot slipped off the accelerator.

The encroaching darkness enveloped his vision.

T
he paramedics had taken Sperring away, clinging to life. Phil stood in the hall by the toilet, what remained of his suit covered with blood. He felt unable to speak, almost unable to stand.

Glen Looker had gone. They had searched everywhere and neither he nor the woman who was with him were anywhere.

The Lawgiver had done it. Right in front of them. Taken him.

Phil had never felt such a sense of failure. And with Sperring fighting for his life, that just made it so much worse.

They would keep looking, spend all night doing it if they had to, but Phil knew. Looker was gone.

Cotter appeared in the corridor. Phil couldn’t even bring himself to look at her.

‘Jesus Christ,’ she said, sighing, ‘what a fuck-up.’

Phil managed a nod.

‘Right under our bloody noses… How did…?’ She sighed once more, shook her head.

‘I failed,’ said Phil. ‘He was here and…’ He sighed. ‘I failed.’

Cotter stood directly in front of him. ‘Pull yourself together, Phil. You don’t have time for that. You’ve got a job to do. We have to find him. Now.’

Phil nodded absently, not really hearing her words.

Then his phone rang.

He took it out, checked the display:
UNKNOWN
CALLER
. Heart hammering he put it to his ear.

‘Phil Brennan.’

He knew immediately who it was. The muffled breathing gave it away.

‘What did I tell you, Phil?’

‘How did you get this number?’

The Lawgiver laughed. ‘Oh come on, Phil. That should be the least of your questions. Amazing what you can get off the internet these days.’

‘You stabbed one of my officers. You’re not going to get away with that.’

‘Really? You think?’ The voice hardened. ‘I told you. You’re either with me or against me. I think we know which side we’re all on, don’t we?’

‘I’ll find you. I’ll get you.’

A laugh. ‘No you won’t. Goodbye, Phil. I’m off to have fun with Mr Looker. I’m sure you’ll hear about it. One way or another.’

The phone went dead. Phil stared at it and, accompanied by a huge scream of frustration and rage, threw it against the wall.

G
len Looker opened his eyes. Saw the masked face staring right into his, jumped.

‘What… where’s the…?’

‘Toilet? Light? What are you trying to say?’

Looker didn’t understand the jokes, kept talking through his fogged mind. ‘Girl. Where’s the… girl…?’

The Lawgiver straightened up. ‘Don’t you know?’

Looker stared at his captor. Understood. Shook his head and gave a small, tight smile. ‘Yes, yes, I know now.’

‘Good. You know who I am?’

‘I can guess.’ He shook his head slowly, tried to dislodge the fog that was still clinging inside there. ‘You look like a refugee from a Slipknot gig.’

The Lawgiver straightened, paused momentarily before speaking again. ‘And you know why you’re here?’

Looker didn’t reply straight away. Instead, he tried to move his arms, which wouldn’t budge. Glancing down he realised he had been taped to the chair using heavy-duty duct tape. He looked around at where he was. All he could see was darkness. A light shining on him from behind his host, the halo it cast making the surrounding dark seem even blacker. He tried to pull himself forward. No good. The chair was firmly secured to the floor and something behind him just as he was firmly secured to the chair. He sighed.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I know why I’m here. Or at least why you would want me here.’

‘And why would that be?’

Looker smiled. ‘Oh come on, do I really have to spell it out to you? You’re the one that’s supposed to have all the answers, you tell me.’ His voice came out stronger than he had expected.

The Lawgiver stopped once again, taken aback somewhat by Looker’s words, his attitude. He had anticipated fear, apologies. Confession. Instead he was getting… this. This attitude.

‘Is this bravado, Mr Looker? Trying to make yourself appear brave before me? Thinking that if you appear nonchalant then I might back down before you?’

Glen Looker stared directly at him. Thought of the words he had just heard. He had expected himself to be frightened, tearful even. Start begging for his life before his captor. Pleading for deals like the worst kind of defendant. He thought back to yesterday, the first appearance of Phil Brennan in his office. He had tried to laugh off the threat, not take the detective seriously. Or at least appear to be laughing it off. And even last night – if it was last night, he had lost all track of time – he had been scared but once he had realised what was happening he had actually gone along with it. Willingly.

There had been a chance to escape. The woman at the bar, Diana, had approached him. On first glance he thought that there was nothing wrong her, that his luck was in. Especially after the knock-back he had experienced just after the dinner. Stuck-up cow. But the more Diana talked to him, the more he realised what was happening. Who she was. And when he realised this he should have walked away, or at least raised the alarm to one of the detectives dotted conspicuously around the room. But he didn’t. Just allowed her to talk on. And when she suggested that they go on somewhere else, he went willingly, knowing exactly who and what she was by that time.

Part of him even applauded the Lawgiver for doing it that way.

He had walked out of the room and down the stairs on the pretext of looking for a toilet. On the level below one of Brennan’s team had accosted him, followed him into the lavatory. Diana had appeared behind them and silently dealt with the police officer. And he had just stood there, watching. Numb. He could have run. Gone back upstairs, told a member of staff what was happening. But he didn’t. He just stood there, waiting. Waiting for her to finish.

Then they hurried to the door and the cab rank. And away.

And then… this.

He vaguely remembered telling her that she didn’t need to do anything, that he would come willingly, but he wasn’t sure if he had dreamed that or actually said it. It didn’t matter. He had still ended up here. Which was just about where he had expected to be.

He realised the Lawgiver was waiting for an answer. He decided not to give him that, instead offering him another question. ‘Where’s Diana?’

Wrong-footed again, the Lawgiver paused before answering. ‘Don’t you know?’

‘Yeah,’ Looker said, ‘I think I do. I just wanted to hear you say it.’

‘Diana is… gone. For now.’

‘Right. And who is she, then? What’s her story?’

‘You think there’s a story to her?’

‘Oh yeah. Must be a story.’ He tried to shrug. ‘I mean, come on…’

‘There’s no story.’ The Lawgiver sounded angry behind his mask. ‘No story.’ He leaned in closer. ‘I asked you a question. Are you feeling brave? And do you think your bravery will help you?’

‘That’s two questions, actually. Which one would you like me to answer and in what order?’

The Lawgiver stepped forward, backhanded Looker across the face. ‘Don’t play games with me, answer the question.’

Looker’s head snapped to one side. He actually saw stars, a little miniature cosmos against the room’s darkness. Eventually the blackness swam back into focus. His mouth felt wet. He spat something on the floor. Knew from the taste of old pennies that it was blood.

He laughed. Despite the pain, he actually laughed.

‘I’m a lawyer,’ he said through his rapidly swelling mouth. ‘I deal with words every day. I deal with liars every day. I deal with game players every day. I do all that because I’m one of them. I could wrap you in knots with words tighter than you could tie me to this chair.’

The Lawgiver stepped forward once more. Back in Looker’s face. ‘But you can’t, can you? You’re off your home turf. You’re on mine. You have to play by my rules here.’

‘And what would they be?’

The Lawgiver stood back, walked away from him, turned. The light cast a righteous halo around him. ‘You have to pay for what you’ve done.’

‘Oh? And what’s that, then?’

‘You’ve allowed criminals to walk free when they should be locked up. You, with your words and your games. You’ve built a career on it, your reputation’s been made on it. Your whole life has been built on the misery and suffering of others.’

Looker stared at him. ‘That your opening statement? Nicely presented.’

The Lawgiver paused once again before speaking. Looker saw him breathe deeply. ‘This is what I propose,’ he said. ‘We’ll count up all the years that your criminals have had free when they should have been locked up. Then I’ll take away something of that number of yours to match.’

‘I’ve got an ex-wife who hates me and a daughter who won’t speak to me. Good luck with finding that,’ Looker said.

‘Oh, I’ll find something, don’t you worry,’ said the Lawgiver, his voice chill behind the mask.

Looker said nothing.

‘So what do you say? Have we a deal?’

‘On one condition,’ said Looker.

‘You’re in no position to make conditions.’

‘You asked me if I have a deal, this is the deal. You can put the accusations to me. I’ll counter them. Every one. And if, after that, you still believe you’re right, you still think that what I did was wrong and that I need to be punished for it, then go ahead. Do your worst. On the other hand, if you think that I’ve made a persuasive case then you have to let me go. Fair?’

The Lawgiver didn’t answer.

‘I said is that fair? Do we have a deal?’

Looker heard a sigh from behind the mask. ‘Yes. Fine. We have a deal.’

‘Good. But there’s one other thing.’

‘What?’ The voice flat, tired, almost.

‘I want to know about Diana too.’

The Lawgiver paused, stared. Looker wondered whether he had gone too far, misread his host. Eventually the Lawgiver gave a curt nod. ‘All right.’

‘Good.’

Something in him felt that, perversely, he was going to enjoy this. In fact, he actually felt that some redemptive part of him had led him to this moment. Far from being scared by the situation, Glen Looker felt more alive than he had in a long time.

‘Are you ready?’ asked the Lawgiver. ‘Truth or dare time. Do you dare to tell the truth?’

‘Sure,’ Looker said, as breezily as he could manage. ‘Where d’you want to start?’