Chapter Five

The prat might be trying to wheedle his way back in to her affections, but he wasn’t going to get inside the apartment, if Matthew ever managed to get anyone out tonight that was. Frustrated, he took another large gulp of his second coffee, strong and black and, actually, disgusting, but at least it would keep him awake if he was going to be up half the night. Waiting on his mobile for one of the locksmiths Crime Prevention had supplied the number for, he watched Jasmine wander nervously from the hall, where she’d peered through the peephole in her front door at least four times in the last twenty minutes, to the lounge.

Her arms folded defensively across her breasts, her eyes flicking from her own phone on the coffee table to him, as if willing him to hurry up, Matthew realised she really was petrified. Despite his reservations, he’d definitely made the right decision coming in with her, particularly given the isolated location of the property. What kind of society was it, he wondered despairingly as he waited, that tolerated the Connors of the world reducing young girls to being frightened of their own shadows, too frightened to report the bastards for fear of retaliation? If anyone so much as laid a finger on Ashley or Mia …

His thoughts tailed off as the locksmith’s wife came back on the phone, sounding a touch annoyed at being woken in the small hours. ‘He was asleep. He’s just coming,’ she informed him shortly.

‘Right, thanks.’ Matthew stifled a yawn. He was feeling pretty exhausted himself now. Extremely, in fact. ‘I’ll hang on then,’ he offered. ‘Will he, er …?’

‘Will he what?’ the woman asked impatiently as Matthew trailed off.

Be okay with being invoiced, Matthew had been going to say, but couldn’t seem to make his mouth coordinate with his brain. ‘I, er …’ Pausing again, he shook his head. He was feeling dizzy, he realised, and suddenly troublingly queasy. Had he eaten something? He was definitely feeling dodgy, way too hot and clammy. Yanking the tie he’d been forced to wear for the wedding loose, he ran a hand up over his face and across his forehead. He was sweating buckets. Either the central heating was on full blast or he was coming …

Down, he thought woozily, as the floor seemed to undulate and rise beneath him. He needed to sit … Pulling in a slow breath, Matthew attempted to alleviate the sudden tightness in his chest. Breathe, he instructed himself, struggling to recall when he’d last used his inhaler. Last night? This morning? Creeping panic washing over him, he tried to focus, blinked hard and concentrated on the red and purple painting hanging on the wall, as he tried to get his chaotic thoughts in some sort of order. Then cocked his head to one side, as the wall shifted and the abstract colours seemed to bleed into one. Christ, he felt pissed. But, he couldn’t … He hadn’t …

His panic escalating, Matthew swiped at the perspiration tickling his eyelashes and shook his head hard, as the walls tilted again and the room swayed nauseatingly around him. Attempting to stay upright on legs that were threatening to give way, he stumbled forwards, dropped his phone and groped for something to hold onto, only to succeed in knocking over the coffee. Watching, as if in slow motion, the dark contents spilling onto the table and sliding over the edge like elongated liquorice, he saw the gloop hit the floor. Morbidly fascinated, he watched on, as the mug spiralled sluggishly down after it, finally crashing to the floor to shoot slivers of ceramic in a hundred different directions.

What the …? The room revolving steadily now, like a merry-go-round on slow spin, Matthew turned panic-struck towards Jasmine. Her eyes were wide, curious, mesmerised. Squinting confusedly at her, Matthew swallowed hard. Still, he couldn’t get air past the heavy weight in his chest. He staggered forwards. She stepped back. Cat and mouse, he thought obliquely, as they repeated the manoeuvre. Mantrap. Matthew tried another step, but his limbs refused to acknowledge his brain’s simple instructions to obey. His head reeled, his stomach churned, his instincts screamed.

Again, Matthew tried to draw breath. Again, it stopped short of his chest. Nausea swept through him, his legs buckled beneath him. Matthew dropped to his knees. He was going to throw up. How? How could he throw up if he couldn’t breathe? Groaning, he dragged his hands over his face, tried to still the whirling room as it picked up momentum.

‘Matthew?’ He heard Jasmine’s voice, distant, as if echoing through a tunnel. ‘Oh dear, are you feeling a bit poorly, hmm?’ she asked, her tone that of a mother mollifying a child. He felt her move closer, sharp fingers running through his hair, clutching it, yanking his head back. ‘Trust me, Adams, you haven’t felt anything yet,’ she spat, a whisper away from his ear.

A sharp twist, she released her grip. Walked around him. Circling him. Choosing her spot? Going in for the kill? Matthew didn’t know. Couldn’t ask. Couldn’t move. Muscles … unresponsive.

‘Would you like to know why this is happening, Matthew?’ She came around to stand by his side. ‘I’ll tell you anyway, shall I, since you’re so pig-ignorant you can’t even be bothered to answer!’

One shove was all it took. Matthew keeled heavily to one side.

‘You’re all the same, coppers. Pig-ignorant bullies, the lot of you! Intimidating people. Tearing things apart. Thinking you’re entitled to … Thought you could get away with it!’

Her voice drifted in and out of his consciousness. Her words were drawn out and slurred, like a warped tape recording, broken sentences punctuated by the dull thud of his heart. ‘Incessant questioning …’ Thud. ‘Wouldn’t even let me see …’ Thud. ‘He was my …’ Thud. ‘Treated me like a …’ Thud ‘… took it all away!’

She ranted on as Matthew’s blood thrummed loud in his ears, her heels clacking on the wooden floor like the distorted tick of a clock. Matthew stopped listening. Warm cotton wool enveloping his brain, too enticing a blanket, he just wanted to sleep.

A vicious kick to his ribs forced his eyes open. Matthew watched hazily as she removed one of her shoes and lowered herself to kneel right beside him. ‘You’re going to pay for what you did, Adams,’ she spat venomously. ‘Beg for the nightmare to stop and then crawl and beg some more.’

Matthew felt the sharp point of a stiletto graze the length of his cheek. Saw it hover a hair’s breadth from his pupil, and then winced as it dug hard into his temple.

‘Do you want me to finish you off when we get back, or not?’ Irritably, Jasmine twizzled in her seat to glare at the side of Connor’s stubborn head. They’d argued all the way here, he being the great wuss that he was, and wanting no part in it. Well, that, Connor, is just tough, she thought. He was in it now, up to his neck. Like it, or not.

She watched as he deliberated, his hands clenched tight around his steering wheel and his single brain cell obviously doing battle with his libido. ‘Well?’

‘’Course I do,’ he huffed eventually, his heavy shoulders slumping and clearly miffed at being a slave to his penis, as if all men weren’t.

Out of necessity, she’d primed him as soon as he’d walked through the front door. His face had been a picture as she’d quieted his questions with a kiss and reached immediately down to unzip him. He’d looked like all his Christmases had come at once when she’d closed her hand around what she’d been seeking, which was already standing to eager attention. Determined to give him the best hand job he’d probably get in his life, she’d worked on him diligently, expertly pumping and squeezing, until he’d groaned with pleasure. Sadly for him, not with sweet release.

He’d been a bit put out and somewhat confused when she’d pulled away at what was very nearly the crucial moment. He’d zipped up pretty swiftly when she’d burst into tears and explained there was a policeman in her lounge though. The very same policeman who’d roughed him up, threatened him, interfered in their business, which had had nothing to do with him. Connor, of course, had turned around panic struck and ready to run, until she’d assured him he was safe. That the copper was dead to the world.

Connor had got brave, once he saw Adams really was passed out, from drink he’d assumed. ‘Tosser!’ he’d called him, manfully puffing up his chest. Then, ‘What the bloody hell’s he doing here?’ it had occurred to him to ask her.

‘He just turned up!’ Jasmine had told him, swiping fresh tears from her cheek. ‘He was so drunk he practically fell in. I tried to make him go, but …’ Pausing for effect, she’d dropped her gaze embarrassedly. ‘I didn’t know what to do. He was so … forceful.’

She’d kept her gaze fixed down, wiping a hand under her nose and leaving Connor to conjure up the implications of what she’d just said.

It had taken him a while, he being last in the queue when they handed out brains. ‘You what?’ he’d blustered, finally, incredulously. ‘You mean, he …?’

Wrapping her arms around herself, Jasmine had nodded. ‘Tried to,’ she’d said, ashamedly. Better not to claim he had actually done the deed, she’d decided, which might have made Connor wonder why she’d want to do the deed with him.

‘Bastard,’ Connor had gasped, and then, ‘You should report him,’ he’d said, more stridently.

‘I can’t!’ Jasmine had looked up at him, beseechingly.

‘What do you mean, you can’t? The wanker tried to rape—’

‘I hit him!’ Jasmine had been improvising then. She knew Connor would ask how high if she asked him to jump, but still, he’d needed handling carefully at that juncture. ‘With the lamp.’ She’d gestured towards the sizeable ceramic lamp on the side table, next to which still lay the broken coffee cup to add weight to her claim. The lamp had actually still been plugged in, but not being Mensa material, Connor wasn’t likely to have noticed that.

He’d furrowed his brow, visibly thinking, which was clearly a strain. ‘He deserved it,’ was the astounding conclusion he’d come to.

‘I know!’ Jasmine had had to work at hiding her frustration. ‘But look at him. He’ll claim I assaulted a police officer. He’s bound to, and it’s his word against mine, isn’t it?’

‘Ours!’ she’d added as Connor pondered. ‘He could say anything, couldn’t he?’ Jasmine had pushed on, needing Connor on side. ‘He might even say it was you.’

Connor had blanched and stared at her aghast. ‘Me?’

‘We need to move him,’ Jasmine announced decisively.

Connor had looked perplexed then. ‘Move him?’

‘Yes, move him.’ Jasmine had sighed inwardly. Honestly, talk about wading through treacle.

And now here he was, looking perplexed all over again. ‘All you have to do is help me take him into the hotel room,’ Jasmine assured him. ‘I’ll take a few compromising photos of him with my girlfriend and that will be it, job done. He won’t want to be making any false allegations then, will he?’

‘I dunno, Jas.’ Connor glanced at Adams slumped in the back and then worriedly up at the hotel, which was about as seedy looking as hotels in the red-light-by-night part of Wycombe got. Jasmine would have to de-flea herself after this. Needs must though. The plus was, the alcoholic twat on reception would be so inebriated by now, he wouldn’t notice if they carted a camel up the stairs.

‘Plus it will humiliate him as much as he’s humiliated me. You wouldn’t want him to get away with it scot-free, would you? My ex wouldn’t have. He would probably have killed him,’ Jasmine went on, playing on his moral indignation that the copper had dared touch her, his girlfriend, whilst hinting again at Conner’s manliness, or lack thereof.

Still Connor hesitated, causing Jasmine a flutter of panic. If Connor bailed on her at this point she’d be screwed. ‘I like sex, Connor,’ she said, fixing her eyes frontwards and drawing in a shaky breath, ‘but I prefer to choose who I have it with.’

That did the trick.

‘You’re my rock.’ Jasmine smiled and squeezed his fingers, as Connor reached gently for her hand.

‘Crap!’ Connor balked, as he unhooked the copper’s arm from over his shoulders and lowered him onto the bed. ‘His eyes just opened. He’s coming round.’

He better bloody well not be. Jasmine muscled past Connor, leaning over Adams to scan his face. She’d given him enough Rohypnol to drug a rhinoceros and thrown some regular Valium in there to boot. Thankfully, Tony’s mate had come good. Only because he was on the take, of course, and figured supplying her with what she needed was a better option than trying to explain to Tony why his sums didn’t add up. It was definitely handy having Tony Hayes, big shot drugs kingpin, for a boyfriend, even if he was so gross she felt like puking every time he came near her. Tony looked after her, treated her with a bit of respect, because he wanted to shag her, obviously, but Jasmine tolerated that in order to achieve what she needed to.

‘He’s not breathing right.’ Standing alongside her, Connor peered worriedly down at Adams. ‘You don’t think he’s going to snuff it, do you?’

‘No, Connor. He’s not going to snuff it.’ Jasmine sighed and rolled her eyes. He’d better not do that either, she thought, miffed. She’d got something much more interesting planned for Detective Inspector Adams. Shining hero, was he? White knight in blue prepared to lay down his life for his wife and kids? Yeah, right. In which case, he wouldn’t mind in the slightest proving it, would he? All in good time though.

Satisfied that her plan had worked out nicely thus far, Jasmine glanced over her shoulder as the girl she’d hired emerged from what passed as a bathroom in the disgusting, fleapit of a room Jasmine had booked especially for the occasion.

‘He looks a bit pale,’ the girl commented. Inappropriately. Jasmine shot her a warning glance. Hadn’t she warned her to keep her mouth shut if she wanted the rest of her money? She was here to do her job, that was all. Admittedly, she’d got a bit of a job on her hands, shagging someone who was unconscious, but the Viagra should help, plus she was a sex worker, Jasmine had told her. She’d just have to work at it.

‘He’s fine,’ she assured her. ‘He has asthma. But then, you know that, don’t you, being one of his paid informants?’ Betting that wasn’t the only service the copper paid for, Jasmine looked the girl over, who looked every inch the part, and who Connor was looking over too. Up his eyes travelled, boggling as they did, from the scuffed six-inch stilettos on her feet, then slowly up the long length of her fishnets, where they came to rest on her microdot thong. Jasmine would swear he was going to come right there and then when his dumbfounded gaze landed on her naked breasts.

Men. They really were predictable creatures. She sighed inwardly, and then, noting Connor was still wearing his white wedding shirt, as was the detective, that he was roughly the same height and build, and also dark-haired, as was the detective, saw an opportunity she hadn’t previously considered. In the low wattage lighting provided by the shabby bedside lamp, he might just pass as Adams, from a suitable distance.

‘Do you fancy her, Connor?’ she asked him interestedly, trailing a fingernail down his arm.

‘I, erm … No!’ Initially distracted, clearly, Connor hurriedly attempted to deny his obvious lust.

‘Really?’ Jasmine feigned surprise. ‘Oh, pity,’ she said, emitting a long, wistful sigh. ‘I thought you might like to get warmed up. Saving the best bit for me, of course.’

Connor glanced bemusedly up to the girl’s face and then twanged his gaze incredulously to Jasmine. ‘But … won’t she mind?’

‘Natalie?’ Jasmine used the girl’s name, for authenticity’s sake. ‘No. Nat does this for a living. Did I not mention that?’ Jasmine thought fast. Having told Connor the girl was a friend, rather than try to explain how she would know her otherwise, now she was having to improvise, again. Damn. Couldn’t he just get stuck in and done with? ‘To pay her uni fees, don’t you, Nat?’

Shooting the po-faced girl a meaningful look, meaning ‘you’re getting paid, so lose the attitude,’ Jasmine moved around in front of Connor.

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ the girl agreed moodily behind her.

Ignoring the truculent tone, Jasmine focussed on Connor instead. Resting a hand on his groin, she brushed his lips with her tongue. ‘Go on,’ she urged him, expelling a heavy breath into his mouth. ‘It will be a bit of a turn on. We can finish what we started earlier then, if you like, once I’ve got the photos we need.’

‘What? Here?’ Connor’s voice was now slightly strangulated, as Jasmine moved her hand to cup his most sensitive parts.

‘In the car, but only if you want to,’ Jasmine purred, and squeezed. At which, clearly incapable of speech, Connor gulped and nodded.

Arching her eyebrows suggestively, Jasmine moved away, leaving Connor free to indulge, while she reached for her phone. Ugh. The man was a Neanderthal. Jasmine watched as he immediately stuffed his face in the slag’s cleavage. Then, satisfied she’d got some useful footage of the back and broad shoulders of a man clearly keen to do business and operating under his own free will, Jasmine paused the video at a suitable juncture. ‘Oh, Connor, you’re such an animal,’ she gasped, laughing. ‘I have to stop you, though, my love. Time flies …’

Heaving out another sigh, as if she was actually turned on by his clumsy slobbering, she trailed a finger down his back, leaning into him when he turned. ‘Wait downstairs for me,’ she said. ‘Fantasise about what you want to do to me with that delicious cock of yours.’

‘Right,’ Connor spluttered. ‘Sorry,’ he said huskily, offering the girl an apologetic smile, as if worried he might be leaving her disappointed, and then peeled himself away and turned to the door, walking rather stiffly as he went, Jasmine noted with a wry smile.

‘You’re cruel, you are,’ the girl imparted as the door closed behind him.

‘Oh, I’m definitely that,’ Jasmine assured her, wondering if the girl would be as smart with her mouth when she found out how cruel.

Giving her an unimpressed look from under her false lashes, the girl moved towards Adams. ‘You sure he ain’t going to wake up? His eyes definitely just flickered open,’ she said, bending to peer down at his face.

Good job he is out of it, Jasmine thought, curling a lip. That crap-caked mush blinking down at him would be enough to give him a heart attack. She hadn’t wanted a pretty one for the job though. She wanted a sluttish-as-possible looking one. She’d wanted this one.

‘He’s not going to remember me, is he?’ The girl straightened up, her studded eyebrows almost meeting in the middle, as she scowled in Jasmine’s direction.

‘I doubt he’ll remember much of anything,’ Jasmine replied dryly.

‘Only Matthew’s not bad, as coppers go,’ the girl went on uncertainly. ‘Fair, you know? Looks out for us, too, if anyone gets aggressive or anyfink.’

She was on first name terms with him then? That was a plus, Jasmine decided. ‘What, including your pimps?’ she asked her facetiously. She really did despair of the girl’s street vernacular. It was as if she worked at living up to low expectations.

‘Especially them,’ the girl imparted, with feeling. ‘That bloke he shot, Sullivan? Matthew hated the way he treated his girls. Promised he’d make him pay for what he did to me. Beat me senseless he did, the bastard.’

‘And from what I hear, Adams lived up to his promise,’ Jasmine commented interestedly.

‘Definitely.’ The girl wandered over to her bag, ferreted in it, and then tipped it out onto the carpet, several condoms spilling liberally therefrom. Jasmine made a mental note to secrete some of those in the copper’s car. That would be a nice touch, should the ‘oh, so caring’ Rebecca have any lingering doubts about her precious husband’s fidelity. ‘When he pulled that trigger, I reckon he was doing it for everyone Sullivan had shat on and abused,’ the girl went on.

‘He’s obviously a saint,’ Jasmine retorted drolly. ‘Bet he thanks you when he’s fucked you too?’

‘Just sayin’,’ the girl said, giving her another one of her sly looks as she walked back towards the bed. ‘He’s all right, that’s all. I dunno why you want to go and rubbish his reputation.’

‘Because he’s trying to get my friend banged up for something he didn’t do,’ Jasmine repeated the lie she’d already supplied. ‘And maybe you should have had a fit of conscience before I paid you half your money. Now, get on and do the effing job you’ve been paid to do.’

‘All right, all right. Don’t get yer fancy knickers in a twist.’

Natalie? Matthew fought to open his eyes, to claw his way from semi-consciousness, to make sense of the nonsense in his head, the bodies in the room, the nimble fingers working at the buttons on his shirt. Don’t, he willed her, desperately trying to flail his way back to the surface, to breathe.

‘No pics of my face, right?’ He heard her, felt the soft brush of material, a rush of cold air prickling his skin.

‘Not necessary. All I need are photos and a short video of you doing what prostitutes do.’

Jasmine? Couldn’t see her. Couldn’t … Limbs … dead weights. Matthew’s heart thrummed, a steady drumbeat, pounding sluggishly at the base of his neck. Powerless. Panic rose like a sharp knife in his chest.

‘Sex worker.’ Natalie. Indignant. Was it her? ‘And it’s going to be a bit difficult, isn’t it, unless you put some Viagra in with his meds?’

‘I’ve given him a bloody drugs cocktail. Improvise, if you have to. Just get on with it!’

Raised voices. Room swimming. Gut churning. Christ, please stop this.

‘I’m trying to, aren’t I? If you’re in such a flipping rush, why don’t you come over here and give me a hand getting his clothes – crap! His eyes are open again. He’s really spooking me. You sure he won’t remember anyfink?’

‘Oh, for crying out loud! He probably won’t even remember his name.’

‘Only it doesn’t do to make enemies, y’know? Especially not coppers.’

Two sets of hands, tugging at his clothes. Determined. Aggressive. Powerless.

‘I gathered. How you doing, Matthew, hey?’

Jasmine? Sarcastic. Standing over him. Smiling. Smug? Blue eyes? Striking blue. Familiar. Not blue. Who …? He felt her hand on his cheek, protestations dying feebly in his throat, his stomach turning over, as light fingers languidly walked the length of his torso. Don’t. Helpless, Matthew watched from some faraway place inside him. Don’t do this, Natalie, he begged her silently, as he felt the mattress dip beside him.