Chapter Twenty-Four

Steve sighed despondently, his gaze drifting sympathetically to the pole dancer, who far from hot stuff, looked bloody cold to him, cavorting about on stage wearing nothing but a sequinned thong.

‘Blimey, she’s supposed to be an exotic dancer and she’s got two left feet.’ Dougie, one of Hayes’ henchmen and presumably in charge while Hayes was ‘helping’ the police with their enquiries, winced as the woman went over on one spindly stiletto. ‘Shame. Nice pair of tits on it. Maybe I can get one of the other girls to train her up?’ he pondered.

‘I wouldn’t bother if I were you,’ Steve offered, swallowing back his contempt. ‘She’s underage.’

‘Yerwhat?’ The guy goggled and looked her up and down disbelievingly.

‘Hayes is not going to be happy if you start recruiting schoolgirls to add to his problems, is he?’

The guy looked momentarily panicked at that, tugging at his shirt collar as he gestured the girl off stage. ‘You’re too young, luv,’ he shouted as she pouted. ‘Come back when you’ve finished school, yes?’

At which the girl bent to pluck up the miniscule bra affair top she’d just wriggled out of and turned to strut huffily off.

‘Happy?’ Dougie asked Steve, with a flat smile.

‘Delirious.’ Steve smiled back, equally flatly.

‘What’s it to you anyway? Last I heard you’d been pensioned off.’ Dougie looked him over suspiciously as Steve scanned the bar, looking for any likely suspect he might put some pressure on.

‘Resigned,’ Steve corrected him, ‘voluntarily.’

The guy’s eyes narrowed. ‘So what you doing sniffing around here then?’

‘Private investigation,’ Steve supplied. ‘Jasmine’s mother’s trying to locate her.’

‘Oh blimey, we are desperate, aren’t we? Missing the action, are we, Mr Ingram?’

The emphasis was on the ‘Mr’, Steve noted. ‘Not much, no,’ he assured him. ‘I’m also trying to locate Matthew Adams.’

‘Adams?’ Dougie eyed him questioningly. ‘I thought he was in police custody. Hang on a minute.’ He narrowed his eyes. Squinty little eyes. Steve wouldn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. ‘He’s skipped bail, hasn’t he? Well, well, well, DI Adams on the run. A guilty man if ever there was one.’

Steve waited, any hope he might get information here dwindling as the man trundled brainlessly on. ‘Is that why you’re looking for Jasmine?’ Dougie asked, inevitably. ‘You don’t reckon he’s caught up with her and done her in after all, do you? Bloody hell.’ The man paused for one second’s mindless thought. ‘Then again, I can’t say I’d blame him what with that trollop claiming he raped her. She was bound to have been leading him on if he did.’

Steve looked at him askew at that little gem.

‘She’s no angel, Ingram,’ the guy went on, giving Steve the benefit of his wisdom. ‘I mean, come on, a girl like that interested in Hayes? Ugly bastard. She’s obviously only after his dosh.’

‘Brilliant deduction, Dougie.’ Steve arched an eye, taking in Dougie’s rearranged features, which didn’t exactly make him beauty pageant material. ‘You ought to be on the police force.’

‘You reckon?’ Looking pleased with himself, Dougie straightened his tie.

‘No, not really.’ Steve sighed again, heavily, and turned to go. He was getting nowhere here. ‘Oh, incidentally, DI Adams hasn’t skipped bail. He’s out. You’d better watch your mouth, Dougie, me old son. If Hayes doesn’t shut it for you, Matthew just might. Like you say, he’s pretty pissed off.’

Leaving the cretin with that worrying thought, Steve walked on, racking his brains as to where the hell he would look next.

‘All right, DS Ingram?’ One of the bouncers nodded uncertainly as he passed him, heading in Dougie’s direction.

‘Yeah, peachy,’ Steve replied gloomily, pushed the doors into reception open and then stopped.

‘What bloody builder?’ he heard Dougie ask the bouncer behind him.

Steve turned back, cocking an ear interestedly.

‘The bloke who’s doing the renovation work on Seventh Heaven,’ the bouncer supplied. ‘Says his last invoice hasn’t been paid and he ain’t going back on site until it is.’

Seventh Heaven? If Hayes had bought it, then surely Taylor would know about it? And if renovation was underway it was obviously sitting empty. Shit.

They hadn’t done a very good job with the water membrane, Matthew thought obliquely, feeling the damp seep through his shirt as he sat with his back to the wall. His arms felt numb behind him. His whole body felt numb, inside and out. How cold was his baby?

Pulling his gaze away from the rusty hook in the ceiling, which for some reason kept drawing his attention, he recommenced counting the bricks on the opposite wall, futilely attempting distraction while the video played relentlessly over, a cacophony of words and sounds merging into one: a child’s innocent laughter. Would Mia ever laugh again? A tight breath catching in his chest, Matthew bowed his head. Vaguely, he wondered whether it was possible to die from a broken heart. He’d come so close once. He didn’t think it was humanly possible to endure that kind of pain twice. How could Becky survive this?

She’d be better off without him. Matthew swallowed, and then braced himself for the next words on the tape, which were steadily chiselling away at his soul: I’m crying. With my eyes, Lily’s little voice, reminding Matthew how much pain he’d caused his wife, his children. He’d sworn to protect them. He’d failed. Christ, he was so useless.

YessSS! Becky’s voice then, whooping out loud. Fractured reminders of his life, a life wasted. Too much time spent on inconsequential things, so little time with his family. Matthew smiled at the irony of the timely confirmation of how much of a useless bastard he was, then idly, his thoughts seeming to slow as his body grew colder, he wondered at the scratching at the door. A rat, he supposed, glancing towards the corner, where one scaly-tailed cellmate had scurried when he’d kicked out at it. Cocking his head to one side, he squinted at the thing, which was hunched and immobile, and then snapped his gaze up sharp as the cellar door slammed open, crashing into the wall behind it and causing the rat to scuttle frenziedly across the floor.

‘Where’s your meds?’ Connor Preston banged in, shouting urgently as he did.

Looking towards the man, whose cheeks were flushed and whose body language was definitely agitated, Matthew eyed him narrowly, wondering what new game this was. If this was about to get physical, he’d stand no chance against someone of Preston’s considerable bulk with his hands tied.

‘Your inhaler! Where is it?’ the bitch demanded, coming in behind Preston, the gun clutched in her hands and pointed right at Matthew.

Noting her eyes, which like her psycho father’s before her were normally awash with nothing but goading contempt, but were now wide and wild, Matthew felt a knot of trepidation rise in his chest. ‘Why?’ he asked, attempting to find some leverage to get to his feet.

‘I told you this would happen,’ Preston muttered in Taylor’s direction as he hurtled towards Matthew, hooking an arm under his armpit and heaving him up. ‘Where is it?’ Palpable fear now in the man’s eyes, he asked Matthew again.

Terrified as sick realisation hit him, Matthew scrambled to remember. ‘In her bag,’ he said, panic twisting his stomach as he glanced towards Taylor.

‘Where’s your bloody bag?’ Preston yelled at her, turning fast back to the door.

‘I don’t know! Eeeargh. Shit!’ Taylor recoiled as the rat reappeared, scampering for the safety of a dark corner, and then gestured frantically after him. ‘Out there, I think, by the steps. How was I supposed to—’

‘Stupid cow!’ Preston growled and swung out of the room.

‘Watch your mouth, Connor! And you,’ Taylor whirled back, levelling the gun as Matthew moved towards her. ‘Stay where you are!’

His terror mounting, threatening to choke him, Matthew kept going.

‘I said stay!’ Taylor hitched the gun higher, pointing it squarely at his chest.

‘She won’t take it!’ Ignoring her, Matthew shouted after Preston, praying that if this sick bitch had no heart, Preston would find one. ‘For God’s sake! You need to untie me!’

‘Nice try, copper,’ Taylor spat, closing one eye and focussing her aim.

‘She won’t take the bloody thing!’ Matthew walked right into the gun, the barrel of it pressing hard into his torso. His only concern if she blasted him to kingdom come right now was for Mia. ‘She won’t know how!’

Preston appeared back at the door then, the inhaler in his hand.

Desperately, Matthew searched his face. ‘She won’t know how,’ he repeated, willing him to believe him. ‘She needs her aerochamber.’

‘A what?’ Taylor lowered the gun a fraction as she glanced between them askance, and then jabbed it hard back at Matthew when he tried another step.

‘Please?’ Matthew begged, his gaze never leaving Preston’s. ‘Let me go to her.’ She was close. Matthew’s heart pounded hard against his ribcage. She was here. She needed him. Please … Dear God help me.

Preston hesitated for a fraction of a second longer, and then, ‘Stuff this,’ he muttered, stepping in and behind Matthew.

‘What are you doing?’ Taylor gawked, the weapon in her hands drifting dangerously between them as Preston fumbled to untie Matthew’s bindings.

‘What the hell does it look like?’ Preston snapped. ‘Move.’ Glaring at her, he manoeuvred Matthew past her. ‘And stop waving that bloody thing about, daft bitch.’

‘Where?’ Matthew asked, ignoring the searing sensation as the blood rushed to his hands.

‘There.’ Shoving the inhaler at him, Preston pointed him towards a room across the open floor area they’d first brought him into. Realising how close she’d been, Matthew spat out a curse, and then ran.

He heard her before he saw her, a rasping wheeze rattling through her tiny chest, which meant she was having a severe attack. ‘Mia!’ His foot catching an abandoned piece of scaffolding, Matthew pushed, half stumbled, through the door, then, ‘Oh God, no.’ No. No. No

Slamming a lid tight shut on his rage, he crossed the room, stepped into the playpen, and lifted his baby gently into his arms. Her breaths were shallow, short and rapid, stopping partway down her trachea. Minimal air reaching her lungs, Matthew realised, his heart plummeting inside him. Climbing out, he looked frantically around. Nowhere to sit. No safe place to lay her, he lowered himself to his knees, easing himself to sitting and cradling his little girl as he did.

‘It’s okay, munchkin,’ he tried to reassure her. ‘I’m here, sweetheart.’ But it wasn’t okay, it was far from okay.

‘What can I do?’ Preston asked worriedly, hovering in front of him.

Contempt clawing at his insides, Matthew didn’t answer. His focus was on Mia.

‘Okay, baby,’ he said, nestling her head in the crook of his arm. ‘I have our magic medicine.’ But what if it was too much? If the dose was too high. What then? Matthew dragged in a ragged breath of his own. ‘Daddy can’t remember how to use it though. Stupid Daddy.’ He choked out a laugh. He wanted to weep. ‘Can you show me, Mia? Can you show me how to breathe it?’

Mia’s eyes flickered open. A flutter of recognition? Matthew prayed it was. Prayed she could hear him. Her colour was all wrong. Blue. She was blue. Jesus Christ … Please help me. ‘Here we go, sweetheart. Breathe it in for me, angel, will you?’ Softly, Matthew tried to cajole her. ‘Mummy’s going to do that thing with her eyebrows if she thinks I’ve forgotten.’ Scowl despairingly at him. Pseudo-despairingly. It was a ritual they went through. Daddy in the doghouse meant he needed rescuing by Mia doing whatever it was he needed her to do. He knew Mia knew. Prayed hard again that she would help him now. That she could.

‘Mia?’

Blinking away the sweat and tears from his eyelashes, Matthew pressed the inhaler between her tiny lips. His hand was shaking. He hoped she couldn’t feel the tremors that seemed to be running through his entire body.

‘Can you breathe it for me, munchkin?’ he asked her, forcing back the constriction in his own throat. ‘Big breaths, yes?’ Breathe, baby. Please breathe.