Truth or Dare (32 page)

‘I
mani Oliver.’ She put her phone to her ear, turned down the music that was playing in the car. Nadish, driving them to Hinchcliffe’s house and knowing the call was probably work, looked across at her.

‘Hi, Imani, Elli here.’

‘Just putting you on speaker so Nadish can hear.’

She did so, turning off the radio.

‘Okay. Are you there yet?’

‘Still on the way,’ said Nadish. ‘Run into traffic.’

‘There’s a surprise. Well, I did some digging around, some checking on Stuart Hinchcliffe. Think you should hear this before you get there. I’ve been through the guest registers for both the Malmaison and Radisson Blu for the nights in question. And they both had a guest registered by the name of Diana Hinchcliffe.’

‘Any relation?’ asked Imani.

‘Well, that rang some alarm bells so I did some more digging. Apparently Stuart Hinchcliffe had a sister called Diana. Same address. Mother and father both deceased.’

‘He said he had a sister who lived with him,’ Nadish said. ‘But I didn’t see her. She was out.’

‘And she’s been out for a long time,’ said Elli. ‘The brother and sister came into an inheritance four or five years ago and she was never heard of again.’

‘Never?’ said Imani.

‘Stuart Hinchcliffe told everyone that she had taken off, gone on a world trip. No one seems to have paid much attention to her after that.’

‘You think she’s back now?’ asked Nadish. ‘Was that her last night with Glen Looker?’

‘Seems odd to actually use her real name to book in to the hotel. Would lead us straight to her,’ said Imani.

‘Maybe he thought we’d be looking for a bloke,’ said Nadish.

‘What about credit card details?’ asked Imani.

‘I was just coming to that,’ said Elli. ‘The credit card is in the name of Diana Hinchcliffe. And registered to the Legge Lane address.’

Nadish and Imani exchanged glances. ‘Would he really be that stupid?’ asked Nadish.

‘If he thought he wasn’t going to get caught, he might be,’ said Imani.

‘There’s something else,’ said Elli, ‘something I just thought of.’

They waited for her to speak.

‘I’ve been watching the footage from last night again. And that woman, Diana, if it’s her, doesn’t look right.’

‘In what way?’ asked Imani.

‘She’s convincing, but I think she may be a man. Stuart Hinchcliffe in drag, perhaps?’

Nadish laughed in surprise. ‘Jesus, man…’

‘Seriously?’ asked Imani.

‘Well, I’m fairly convinced. And it would make sense: putting the room in her name, using her credit card.’

‘So where’s Diana?’ asked Imani.

‘We’ll have to ask Stuart Hinchcliffe that,’ said Nadish.

‘Should I tell Cotter?’ asked Ell. ‘Get you back-up?’

‘Cotter?’ asked Imani. ‘Where’s Phil?’

‘Still visiting Sperring in hospital. Apparently Sperring had something for him. I’ve tried to reach him, can’t get a signal. Goes straight to voicemail.’

Another glance between the pair of them. Nadish shrugged. ‘Boss just said questions. Said it a few times. Made sure I got it.’

‘But does this change anything?’ asked Imani.

‘What d’you want me to do?’ asked Elli.

Imani thought. ‘Leave things as they are for now,’ she said. ‘We’ll be straight on the radio if things change.’

Elli rang off. Nadish and Imani shared another glance.

Nadish pushed down on the accelerator.

‘Y
ou shouldn’t have made me angry… shouldn’t have made me feel weak…’

The Lawgiver, still maskless, stood over the ruined body of Glen Looker. He stretched out a hand, moved what was left of Looker’s head from side to side. He was still attached to the chair, which had been attached to a workbench so the majority of his body was still in place.

‘You shouldn’t have done that…’

Looker’s head made wet, squelching noises as it was moved.

The Lawgiver was fizzing with energy. Beating Glen Looker to death had been the wrong thing to do. He knew that now. But once he had started a kind of righteous anger had enveloped him and he hadn’t been able to stop.

Or at least he told himself it was righteous. And kept telling himself that.

‘It’s your own fault,’ he said to what was left of the head, ignoring the blood and other liquid matter that was seeping into his cuffs. ‘All your own fault. You made me do it. Made me tell you about Diana. About everything. Made me feel weak. Laughed at me…’

He felt that anger rising again and slapped the head sideways, where it stayed, hanging twisted from the body.

The Lawgiver stood up. Looked around the workshop, took in the history of the place, tried to imagine, not for the first time, what it must have meant to his father. The pride the man must have felt at spending his working days in here. The sense of accomplishment on completion of a project, the way he must have held his head high when he took payment for it. The way he must have embarked on the next one with a renewed sense of optimism.

It was an alien world to him. He had never had a real job, just lived off his mother’s money. Never known any of that, only tried to touch it through his imagination.

Being the Lawgiver was supposed to be recompense for that. A way to balance the books, make his father posthumously proud in the process. That was why he had brought Looker here. It had seemed important for him to do that.

Now, he wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure about anything any more.

He stared down at the body. Sighed. This was the end. He could feel it. He had gone wrong, seriously wrong. Instead of sticking to the plan that he had carefully mapped out, he had let his temper get the better of him when he should have remained in charge. Been able to see the bigger picture.

He had done exactly what Glen Looker had wanted him to do. Kill him. The man was too much of a coward to do it himself so he had forced the Lawgiver to do it. He felt angry at being used. And something else. The other feeling that was curling and curdling inside him. He had been denied his righteous kill. Yes, he knew that, if he was being honest with himself. His anger hadn’t been righteous. Nothing about what he had done, shared, with Looker had been righteous. He had been tricked, taken advantage of.

Played.

And the feeling that was now coiling in his guts was one he couldn’t put into words. But it itched away at his insides, spoke to him in a loud, urgent voice. Something had to be done. The scales had to be balanced.

He closed his eyes, waited. Nothing. He had expected Diana to be there, to talk to him, tell him what to do, or advise him, even. But there was nothing. Even Diana had abandoned him now.

He looked down at the body of Glen Looker once again, saw his phone sticking out of his inside jacket pocket. The blows must have dislodged it. The Lawgiver took it out, looked at the screen. A text from Moses Heap. He opened the phone. Read the text.

The Lawgiver threw the phone on the bench, smiled. Nodded his head. Oh yes. This was a sign. This was divine intervention. Here, in the place that had been so important to his father, he had found the means of his salvation. A new path for the Lawgiver to tread.

If it was all to come to an end, this could be his final, glorious act. They had got away with murder. Or thought they had. He could correct that assumption for them. There was still time.

He looked around the workshop one more time. He just had to hope that no one came in while he was out. No one found the body. He could salvage everything. Be ready to start again. Just this one act of justice and then the future beckoned.

He turned, walked away.

Went to visit his armoury. Prepare himself for battle.

‘I
t’s not locked…’

Nadish pushed the door to Hinchcliffe’s house. It swung slowly open. He looked at Imani.

‘What d’you think?’ he said. ‘Should we go in?’

‘The boss said just to talk,’ said Imani. ‘That’s all. If the door’s open and there are bars on the windows then I think we have probable cause to enter.’

Nadish gave a grim smile. ‘Was hoping you’d say that.’

He pushed the door gently again. It swung right back on its hinges. Nadish stepped inside, looking round as he went. Imani followed him.

‘Mr Hinchcliffe,’ he called into the gloom, waiting for a response, getting none. ‘It’s Detective Constable Khan. We met the other day.’ Nothing. ‘Just wanted to ask you a few more questions.’ Silence. ‘Mr Hinchcliffe?’

He was now firmly in the room that he remembered as the workshop. His eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark.

‘Light switch?’ asked Imani.

‘On the wall, probably,’ said Nadish. ‘I was only here once. Can’t remember where everything is.’

‘Tetchy,’ said Imani.

‘Well, where d’you think it is? Stupid question.’

Imani thought Nadish was probably just nervous and trying to cover that by being angry with her. She let it go, thinking that if it was any other reason he would have said something.

She moved over towards the wall, ran her hand along it. She found objects hanging there, felt them. Tools. Kept going. Eventually she found the switch, turned it on.

The overhead strip lights flickered into life. When she saw what was there, she wished they hadn’t.

‘Oh, Christ on a bike…’

She stared at what was before her, horrified yet unable to draw her eyes away. She turned round. Nadish had run for the door. She heard retching sounds from the street outside.

She put her hands in her pockets, took out latex gloves, slipped them on. Moved closer to the body once more.

‘I think we’ve found Glen Looker,’ she called. ‘I think we’ve gone beyond the chatting stage with Hinchcliffe as well.’

Moving slowly so as to preserve the crime scene, she began to back out of the workshop. Then noticed something. A mobile phone, smeared with blood, was on the bench that Looker had been tied to. She bent down to look at it. Pressed the button to turn it on. Immediately the screen lit up with a text message, the last thing that had been read. Imani read it.

A shudder ran through her. Why was the phone left here? With that message open in particular? She checked the screen again, saw the time the message had been sent. Today. This morning. She doubted very much that Looker had read the message. So that only left one other person.

Quickly, she made her way back out into the street, her phone already at her ear. Once outside, Nadish stared at her, shamefacedly. He was about to make an apology, or at least an excuse, but she didn’t allow him the time. She held up her hand to silence him. The call was answered.

‘Elli? Imani. I need an address for Letisha Watson. Quick. And get a message to the boss. Tell him to get over there as quickly as possible. With back-up this time.’

‘Okay. Anything else?’

‘Yeah,’ she said, looking at Nadish, ‘we’ve found out who the Lawgiver is. And where he’s going.’

L
etisha couldn’t bear it any more. And if Letisha couldn’t bear it, she had no idea what Moses was going through.

Tiny’s henchmen had pulled him into the kitchen. It took two of them to hold him, stop his trying to escape. Moses had started screaming and shouting, trying to raise help, attract attention, his face a mask of terror. Tiny’s henchman had punched him in the stomach with such force that Letisha half-expected his fist to go straight through his body and emerge from the back.

Moses doubled over, nearly vomiting in pain.

‘Shut it,’ said Tiny. Then found a dishrag and stuffed it into his mouth. All the way down, so far it nearly choked him.

Tiny went to the living room, dragged Letisha into the kitchen, holding her by her hair. She offered little resistance, by now almost completely broken.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘watch what your lover’s going to do for you now. See how I, like, avenge my brother. His murder.’

The gas was lit, all four rings. Bottom left, nearest the front, nearest Moses, was the largest. One of the henchmen turned it up full.

‘Ready?’ asked Tiny, a sick smile on his face.

Moses looked like he was about to faint. He stared at the flames, eyes round with horror, terrified about what they were about to do, which part of his anatomy they were going to push into the heat. One of the henchmen grabbed his wrist. Moses tried to pull away, aware of the whimpers that were coming out of his mouth, filtering around the stuffed dishrag. He shook his head. Tiny nodded in response.

‘Oh, yeah…’

The henchman pushed Moses’s hand into the flame. Moses screamed. Sobbed, bleated.

The smell of burning flesh, skin and hair filled the kitchen. The tiny flat was now awash with pain and suffering.

Moses watched as his left hand was consumed by flame. As the skin cracked and burst, the blood and flesh blackened. He had his hand clenched into a fist, a futile attempt to protect it as much as possible.

Tiny held up his hand. The henchman pulled Moses’s hand from the flame. Moses stared at Tiny, almost too pain-wracked to stand, almost unable to not faint.

‘So you killed my brother, yeah? You did it. For that skank there.’ Tiny pointed at Letisha.

Letisha shook her head at Moses, eyes imploring him not to go any further, not to take the blame for her. At that second, Moses knew if she had the gag removed from her mouth she would tell Tiny all about it. What had happened, who was really to blame for his death. Moses knew he couldn’t allow that to happen.

Through the pain and the suffering, Moses nodded.

‘Hope she was worth it, bro,’ Tiny said. ‘Hope she was a good fuck.’

Moses just closed his eyes.

Tiny nodded at the henchman again. ‘Do his face now.’

Letisha started screaming behind the gag, tried to wriggle free from Tiny’s grip. He just held on to her harder.

The henchman behind Moses grabbed his head, started to push it towards the flame. Moses tried to pull back, push away, do anything that he could to avoid what was about to happen. Everything was futile. The two men were both stronger than him, bigger than him. He had no chance.

His face was pushed into the flame. He felt his left cheek start to sear, the pain coursing instantly through his body. He smelled his own hair burning. Felt his ear take fire. He closed his eyes as hard as he could but the flames just burned through his eyelid. He was trying to scream, to pull away, but the amount of pain he was in, another part of him just wanted to let go, embrace it. The sooner he gave in, the sooner he would be dead.

His face burned until he could no longer feel the pain. Then he was abruptly yanked away from the flame.

He opened his eyes. Only the right one remained. The henchmen loosened their grip on him, left the kitchen and hurried into the living room. Tiny had already gone there.

Moses moved slowly forward. What he saw stopped him in his tracks. The front door had been broken open. In the centre of the living room stood a man dressed in overalls and a tight-fitting gas mask with darkened eyeholes. In his hand he held a fierce-looking crossbow. One of the henchmen was already on his back on the floor, a crossbow bolt sticking out of his forehead. The intruder had quickly reloaded from the quill he kept on the front of the bow and in the process of taking advantage of the stunned silence that greeted him, put another bolt into the forehead of the other henchman.

Tiny was staring at the man, immobile.

Moses looked behind him. The gas was still on. He tried to turn it off, but he was in so much pain and disorientated that he only succeeded blowing out the flame. The gas supply was left on. He was in the process of trying to switch that off when the masked figure entered the kitchen.

‘Jesus Christ, what happened to you?’ he said.

Moses didn’t – couldn’t – answer.

‘In here, now.’

Moses did as he was told, shambling forward.

In the living room Letisha was pulling the gag from her mouth with her good hand.

‘Please,’ she said, her voice near hysteria, ‘he needs a doctor, an ambulance. Please…’

Tiny took that moment to make his move. He tried to get to the door but the Lawgiver was too quick for him. The crossbow bolt didn’t land fatally, just went through his left shoulder. The force of the bolt smacked him against the wall. He slid down to the floor, clutching at the wound, which was spilling blood already.

‘I didn’t give you permission to leave,’ said the Lawgiver. ‘Stay where you are.’

No one moved. He turned back into the room. ‘Moses Heap. Letisha Watson.’ He raised the crossbow. ‘I can’t let you both get away with murder, can I?’

Letisha and Moses clung together, neither knowing what had just happened, only sure of what was about to. Their rescuer had turned out to be even worse than Tiny.

Moses closed his one good eye. Prayed that it would be swift and painless for both of them.

But the shot never came.

He was aware of a knock at the door. The door was then opened.

Moses opened his eye once more.

In walked Detective Inspector Phil Brennan.