Chapter Twenty-Six

Ashley glanced at Becky worriedly, as the barrel-chested bouncer refused to allow them access to the club. ‘He’s busy, my luv,’ he said, referring to whoever was in charge in lieu of Tony Hayes. ‘You’ll have to make an appointment.’

‘In which case, you’d better interrupt him,’ Becky suggested, eyeballing him coolly, ‘unless you’d like me to start screaming, that is, which might just attract his and one or two other people’s attention. And for your information,’ she went on, as the guy knitted his thickset brow dubiously, ‘I am not, nor in your wildest dreams will I ever be, your “luv”. Tell him I’d like to speak to him. Now, please.’

Becky turned away from the man then, perusing the décor in the foyer and making it obvious she was going nowhere, other than inside. ‘Tasteful,’ she commented to Ashley.

Facetiously, Ashley gleaned, taking in the ambience of what looked like a plushly decorated tart’s boudoir. The lounge was no better, red and gold everywhere, show girl posters all over the walls and girls showing their all everywhere else. A few had looked them curiously over as they stood waiting at the bar, as instructed. Becky didn’t bat an eye, all kudos to her. Even Ashley had been a bit gobsmacked when one girl with legs up to her armpits and wearing nothing but a thong and two bits of tinsel on her boobs had sauntered by.

‘All right?’ Ashley whispered sideways to Becky.

Becky nodded and smiled tightly. She wasn’t, Ashley knew, but she was doing a flipping good job of pretending to be. ‘Do you reckon that’s him?’ She nodded towards a door at the far end of the bar, from where a middle-aged man dressed in a business suit appeared to converse with the bouncer, glancing in their direction as he did.

Becky followed her gaze. ‘Must be. He looks every inch a seedy little pimp,’ she said, notching her chin up, as the guy ambled across.

Not so little, Ashley decided, as he stopped in front of them. Standing a good head taller than Becky, he looked gnarled and mean. Like an ageing, overweight boxer. His nose had been broken, more than once probably, or else he must have been a really ugly baby.

‘Ladies,’ he said, looking them lewdly up and down whilst passing the disgusting cigar he was smoking to his left hand and extending his right. ‘Dougie,’ he introduced himself, as Becky shook it, then, ‘Tony’s not here, I’m afraid. If it’s a job you’re after you’ll have to come back.’

Becky didn’t miss a beat. ‘I have one. I’m a policeman’s wife,’ she said, with a short smile. ‘Rebecca Adams. Nice to meet you.’

But not very nice, Ashley mentally added. ‘And I’m his daughter,’ she said, eyeing him distastefully, as the man’s look changed immediately from leery to wary.

‘Oh blimey,’ he said, appearing to gather himself, ‘not someone else looking for the mysterious missing policeman?’

Becky and Ashley exchanged quick glances, as he took a tout on his cigar. ‘Only it ain’t actually that mysterious, is it, luv?’ he said, his mouth curving into a smirk, as he puffed out a fat cloud of putrid smoke. ‘I mean, let’s face it, the bloke’s in the proverbial up to his neck, ain’t he? If I was him I’d have done a runner an’ all.’

Becky’s gaze didn’t falter. ‘Who else has been looking for him?’ she asked evenly, her thoughts obviously on a par with Ashley’s.

‘His partner in crime. Or should I say, ex-partner?’ the man said, studying Becky interestedly now, and seeming to have decided to enjoy himself winding her up. ‘I told him the same. Ain’t seen Adams. Ain’t clapped eyes on Jasmine either, not since your good husband …’ He paused, pointedly. ‘For diplomacy’s sake, shall we say, decided to help himself without asking permission first?’

Still Becky didn’t react, but Ashley saw her body tense and knew how much she must be hurting inside. ‘Thank you,’ she said curtly instead and turned to leave.

The guy smiled expectantly in Ashley’s direction, as Becky headed for the door, his lascivious, squinty little eyes eating her up. Ashley offered him a fluttery-eyed smile back, then, ‘Piss off.’ She gave him one finger and turned to follow Becky.

‘Pity you weren’t looking for employment. You’d have made a tempting twosome,’ the guy chortled as he called coarsely after them. ‘I’d pay for it, darling.’

‘Tosser,’ Becky fumed and almost collided with a near naked girl emerging from the loos as she strode through the foyer.

‘I take it you’ve met the delightful Dougie?’ The girl eyed them questioningly, and then lowered her gaze to adjust one of the tassels she was wearing, for what little modesty it offered her.

Becky drew in an angry breath. ‘Yes,’ she snapped and marched on. Then, ‘Why on earth do you do this?’ she asked, whirling back around. ‘I mean how can you possibly work with someone like that?’

‘Not easily.’ The girl shrugged, unconcerned. ‘But it pays my uni fees.’

Becky blew out a sigh and then nodded sympathetically. ‘Your left one’s crooked,’ she said, offering the girl a small smile and indicating the other sparkly tassel she was wearing.

Ashley watched all this goggle-eyed. She had to hand it to Becky. She really would not have been able to restrain herself in there. ‘Do you think Steve’s looking for them?’ she asked her, scooting to catch up, as Becky turned to walk on.

Becky nodded despondently. ‘Yes, but where?’ Dragging her recalcitrant hair from her face she sighed again, heavily.

Now the armour was slipping. Ashley noted the tears welling in her eyes and wished there was something she could do to make her pain go away. She couldn’t though, could she? All she’d ever seemed to do is cause havoc in her life.

Don’t give up, whispered a voice in her head. You have to keep looking.

Yes, but where? Ashley silently echoed Becky.

‘Come on,’ Becky said, attempting yet again to pull herself up. ‘Let’s get out of this place. I need to get some air.’

‘Mrs Adams?’ someone called as she pushed open the exit door.

The Neanderthal bouncer, Ashley realised, glancing over her shoulder. One smart comment from him and the mood Becky was in he probably wouldn’t walk for a week.

Becky paused. ‘Yes?’ she said, glancing impatiently back.

‘What you were saying in there, I, er … Well, it might be nothing, but Ingram seemed to think it might be worth checking out.’ He stopped, looking awkward as Becky turned to eye him curiously. ‘I was worried about Jasmine see, and he asked about the place, and I told him she seemed really interested in the work going on there. She was the one who encouraged Hayes to buy it. She was always popping over there and—’

Again, Becky and Ashley exchanged quick glances, then, ‘Where?’ they both bawled together, causing the guy to jump in his suit.

‘Seventh Heaven,’ the bouncer supplied warily. ‘Patrick Sullivan’s old place.’

‘I take it it’s not money you want?’ Matthew asked, trying to work out how he could distract her long enough to get hold of the gun. Not easily, he decided, given she was now pressing the thing hard into his back.

‘Correct,’ she said. ‘Now stop with the fucking questions.’ She gave him a shove with the flat of her hand and, stumbling forwards, Matthew gritted his teeth hard. Don’t, he cautioned himself, sorely tempted to turn anyway. He might succeed in taking the gun. He might also end up taking a bullet to the chest, which would do Mia no good at all.

‘Stop,’ she ordered as he struggled to bring his fury down to a containable level.

Matthew braced himself, wondering what the bloody hell she was going to do next.

‘See anything you recognise?’ she asked behind him.

Her tone was light, teasing almost, reminding Matthew her moods were likely to swing like a pendulum. Narrowing his eyes, he tried, yet again, to work out what sick game she was playing.

‘Or should I say anyone?’ she amended, giving him a sharp jab with the gun.

A chill of trepidation running down his spine, Matthew gulped against the grittiness in his throat and glanced around the semi-dark basement. Then stumbled of his own accord, as his eyes snagged on a hand protruding from behind a roll of abandoned wall insulation. Male, caucasian, he registered. Blood. Fresh blood. On the hand and sleeve. Spatters around it. A ring on the wedding finger. Steve?

‘Christ, no,’ groaning out loud, Matthew moved instinctively towards him, and then stopped dead, as she screamed, ‘Don’t! Don’t you dare move until I tell you to!’ Matthew felt spittle hit the side of his face as she snarled close to his ear. ‘Do not mess with me, Adams. Understand?’

Breathing deeply, the damp, fetid air testing his lungs, Matthew waited, counting silently down as he did. How long could he do this, he wondered, his heart heaving inside him. How long before she lost it completely. She already has, a nagging voice warned him.

‘I need to go to him,’ he said, attempting to keep his tone even.

‘Why?’ she asked, after several loaded seconds’ silence.

Quashing the violent rage simmering inside him, Matthew steeled himself to ask the question he didn’t want to. ‘Is he alive?’

‘He’s twitching,’ she answered casually.

Matthew dragged a hand through his hair, now desperately fighting his urge to turn and wrap both hands around her throat, whatever the consequences. Did she actually expect him to just stand here? To stand by and watch while his friend bled out all over the floor? No way. ‘I need to go to him,’ he grated, taking a step forwards.

‘I said. Don’t. Move!’ she growled.

Matthew guessed she had the gun levelled right at him. ‘Christ! What do you want from me?’ Regardless of the threat, he turned, causing her to cock the gun high. ‘Do you want me to beg? Is that it?’ he asked, searching her face, trying in vain to understand her motives, what the hell it was she expected to gain from this utter insanity. ‘For my daughter, my family? For Steve? I will. For pity’s sake, please … Just tell me what you want!’

A slow smile curving her mouth, she searched his face in turn. ‘I want you to beg for you,’ she said coolly. ‘Now, stay. Unless you want to crawl over there and die with your buddy in the dust and the shit. I’ll do it, Adams, trust me.’

Matthew met her eyes. Cold, indifferent, as black as her father’s, there was nothing there, no humanity, no decency. Feeling something he’d refused to allow himself – utter, soul-crushing defeat – Matthew glanced away. ‘At least let me check his airways are clear?’ he asked hopelessly.

‘I don’t give a shit whether his airways are clear! He’s as responsible as you are!’

Responsible? ‘For what?’ Matthew’s gaze shot back to hers. Obviously, just like her fetid-minded father before her, she felt that he, the police in general, everyone in general, was responsible for whatever misfortunes had befallen her. Yet again, Matthew cursed his inadequacy. He should have hunted Sullivan down and rid the world of the scum sooner. Way before the animal had taken the life of his innocent child. When they were younger, when Sullivan and his gang of brainless minions had taken pleasure in kicking the crap out of him time and time again. He should have done it then, sunk to Sullivan’s pathetic level and killed him by whatever means he’d had to, before the bastard spawned the evil he obviously had. He should never have allowed it to come to this!

‘Everything!’ she screeched, her face puce with fury. ‘He was with you. You obviously didn’t even see me did you, so focussed were you on fitting my dad up for something he didn’t do? But I saw you. And him!’ She gestured the gun towards where Steve lay, dead or dying, Matthew had no way of knowing. ‘Constantly hounding him. You destroyed him, Adams. You killed him!’

His mind racing, Matthew searched frantically for something to say. What? What could he say that wouldn’t immediately be deemed a desperate lie?

‘But he didn’t die straightaway, did he?’ It was an accusation, not a question. Her eyes, as she narrowed them, were pools of pure unfettered hatred. ‘I had to make the decision, Adams. Me! I had to pull the plug. Have you any idea how that feels? To watch someone you love die right before your eyes? To know someone murdered them and then walked away scot-free and there’s nothing you can do about it? He was my father, and you …’

She ranted on as Matthew’s head reeled with the impact of the immediate flashbacks. Lily, the light in her eyes fading as she lay dying in his arms; Becky, her life hanging on a brink, at the mercy of a madman. An unscrupulous, sadistic psychopath with no qualms about prostituting young girls, pumping them full of drugs, beating them to death, yet still he was loved, hero-worshiped by his daughter. The takes on the tape clicked through Matthew’s mind, one by one, Sullivan in awe of his daughter, Taylor’s gleeful laughter. Sullivan had loved her; a tiny piece of the man’s heart had functioned as normal. And Taylor Sullivan had loved him back. Matthew felt his last vestige of hope slip away. Why wouldn’t she?

‘… lost everything!’ Taylor snapped his attention back to her. ‘I loved that horse. My dad bought him for my birthday. And now he’s probably dog meat, thanks to you! I was going to veterinary college, did you know that? Did you care? I was going to get my veterinary nursing degree and then it all went tits up because of you.’

‘I …’ Matthew glanced quickly in Steve’s direction. He had no idea what to say, how to even try to appease her. Warnings of her spending a long time in prison would make no impact. It was clear there were going to be more casualties and Matthew wasn’t sure she cared whether one of those casualties was her.

‘You killed my baby! You killed her! You’re an absolute bastard, Adams! The only people who don’t seem to realise it is that pathetic bloody family of yours.’

Baby? Matthew was struggling hard to keep up. The horse? No, she’d referred to the horse as him. What the hell was she talking about? Whatever madness it was, Steve didn’t have time for this.

‘Don’t,’ she said again as he tried a step in Steve’s direction. Her tone was quiet now, inflection free, which was infinitely more terrifying than the screaming vitriol of a second ago.

‘You have to pay, Matthew,’ she added, quite calmly. ‘A life for a life.’ Keeping the gun raised, she moved slowly around behind him.

Her hands were shaking, Matthew noted. Perspiration trailing down his back, he waited for the impact his gut was telling him would come, his thoughts on Mia, who would be defenceless without him. On Steve, who was defenceless too, even with the man he’d proven he would give his life for standing only yards away.

‘Move,’ she said, after an agonising few seconds.

Reeling on his feet, Matthew squeezed his eyes closed. She hadn’t done it yet, but she would. He could feel it.

‘Now!’ she yelled, gesturing him in the direction of what might well be his tomb.

As soon as he stepped through the door, Matthew realised that that, in fact, was what it was. He’d wondered why his hands hadn’t been retied. Now he knew.

Ignoring the video playing on its continual loop, Matthew stopped, unconsciously running a hand over the back of his neck as he looked up at the noose hanging in the centre of the room, casting a prophetic shadow on the wall beyond it. His mouth twitched into an ironic smile. He’d wondered about that hook too. An upturned, sturdy wooden box now stood under it. A tray placed on top of it. Pulling in a tight breath, he pressed his thumb and forefinger hard against his eyes, and then walked across to examine the contents of the tray: one scalpel – picking it up, he ran his finger over it – surgically sharp. A syringe – Matthew had no clue what was in it, but whatever it was, he guessed it was lethal. Enough to kill a horse? Given her revelations back there, Matthew supposed she’d know how much Ketamine would do that. Lastly, a bottle of strong malt whisky. A final drink for the condemned man?

‘A life for a life, DI Adams,’ Taylor said again, her voice thick with deep satisfaction. ‘You claim to be a hero, ready to die for your family? Here’s your chance to prove it. You’ll find a note over on the sleeping bag, typed. Have you guessed the content of it yet, Detective?’

Her tone was back to playful. Matthew took another breath, which wheezed tellingly through his chest.

‘There’s a clean sheet of paper and a pen there, too. Hand copy the note and then sign it. Think of it as doing the world a favour,’ she went on chattily. ‘You’ll certainly be doing your long-suffering family a favour, won’t you?’

‘And if I don’t?’ Matthew asked, his own voice calm, his warring emotions colliding.

‘Oh, I think you will, Matthew. I mean, could you really live with yourself if you were responsible for another daughter’s death? Would you want to? You’d better check your watch, by the way. Once I leave, you have half an hour to decide who lives or dies.’

Contemplating his options, which seemed to be none, Matthew nodded slowly. ‘What guarantee do I have that you won’t harm Mia?’

‘None,’ she answered blithely. ‘Apart from my word. Do what you have to and she remains unharmed. I’ve no wish to hurt your child, Adams. I imagine you’ve already screwed up her life enough anyway, don’t you?’

Matthew swallowed and nodded again. Undoubtedly.

‘I’d have a drink, if I were you, blur the edges,’ Taylor said, the innuendo behind the comment telling him she’d done her homework there too.

Dragging a hand through his hair, Matthew eyed the bottle and smiled wryly.

‘That wasn’t a suggestion, Detective. It was an order. Drink it.’

Matthew glanced back at her, and then at the incessantly playing video, his gaze finally travelling back to the rope swinging from the ceiling. Click, clack, crack, he thought, and then, taking another fortifying breath, he reached for the bottle.

‘All of it, DI Adams,’ she instructed as he surveyed the contents. ‘It will numb the pain. And remember, I’ll be watching you.’