Dark Side (20 page)

I forced myself to eye Patrick with clinical detachment, having realized with a shock that he was not well and might have been far more badly hurt when he and James were attacked than everyone had thought.

Hamsworth jerked his head at Kev and I was forced-marched towards the nearest doorway on the right and literally tossed within. I landed half-on, half-off something soft, an unmade bed I saw when the light was switched on.

‘No, get rid of him before you draw lots,' Hamsworth said.

The door slammed.

S
everal truths jumped into my mind. I was sure that whatever happened next they would kill us, Hamsworth raping me last so he would have the added pleasure of killing me. Although I was still in possession of my mobile phone there was no time to call for help. My right arm was still just about useless.

Desperately, I cast about the room. There was an old wooden sash window but it was immovable. The only other item of furniture was a dilapidated cupboard – empty, I discovered. A curtained-off hanging space that contained a few flimsy garments, an ironing board, an iron and a few other bits and pieces was in a corner next to a washbasin.

Someone who must have won first turn, Nosebleed, burst into the room and kicked it shut. By great good fortune he placed himself perfectly for a kick in the groin and as he folded up I hit him, left-handed, as hard as I could with the iron, getting him on the nape of the neck.

I supplied a few graphic sound effects, screams and shrieks of, ‘Get your filthy hands off me!' to cover the sound of him thundering to the floor and then jumped on to the bed, bounced around quite a few times, screamed again, jumped off and turned out the light.

To produce the sound of heavy breathing was no bother at all.

Half a lifetime went by while I tried to work out the odds. I was fairly sure I had shot one of them in the shoulder so he could reasonably be regarded as one less. Another was unconscious, or at least I prayed he was, a yard or so away from me. That left three counting Kev, plus Hamsworth.

Finally, the door opened a crack. ‘Shane, you gone to sleep in there? We let you have first go because she buggered up your hooter but reckon you've had long enough and we're all coming in for our share. The boss is getting impatient.'

Another little eternity went by, during which time I hid behind the door. What the hell had they done to, and with, Patrick?

There was no more time to think; the door was flung open and two of them jostled in, laughing and making pig-sty noises. The time-honoured shove caught the last off-balance and he cannoned into the man in front of him. I did not wait to see any more, threw the iron in their general direction, provoking a howl of pain, ran out and slammed the door, leaving them in the dark.

Unbelievably, the Smith and Wesson had been kicked into a corner in the corridor. I had only seconds to get to it before everyone reacted. The first reaction took me completely by surprise – Kev hurtling, sideways, out of the room where the light had been on, bouncing off the wall and reeling back in again only to re-emerge in the same fashion, followed by Patrick. He gave the man a cracking blow to the jaw that must have rendered him unconscious before he hit the floor.

‘Thank God you're OK … Hamsworth's mobile rang,' Patrick gasped, heading in my direction. ‘He's gone outside to get a signal. Go, I'm done … can't shoot 'em all.'

I asked no questions and we headed back the way we had come, with me firing a warning shot, still left-handed, down the corridor as I heard the bedroom, or rather brothel room, door open.

‘Where's your Glock?' I asked as we crossed the office.

‘Got it,' Patrick grunted.

Once outside – there was no sign of Hamsworth – it became obvious that he had suffered further punishment when he practically collapsed, leaning against a wall.

I got him away for a short distance, knowing it was not far enough, and then called an ambulance and the police – in that order.

The tally was, like Carrick, two cracked ribs, one having been on the mend from the previous attack but re-damaged, and internal bruising. Also, like James, there was some sign of infection, source unknown, again in connection with the first attack as he had a temperature. I railed against the nursing staff in A and E for not examining him when he went there with James on the first occasion but then apologized as it was different staff.

By the time the police had arrived – not very promptly according to someone interviewed on local radio who lived nearby, heard shooting and also dialled 999 – the whole building was deserted. The premises were searched and a quantity of drugs and weapons were found – some of which, of course, Patrick and I already knew about. A call was put out to local hospitals requesting information about any men treated for bullet wounds, broken noses or possible concussion. Next day, the place was boarded up pending enquiries into it having been an illegal brothel, and descriptions had been put out of the men we had come across. As far as we were concerned this, and my spending a little time at Manvers Street helping to create a photofit image of Hamsworth, were the only positive developments.

Patrick was at home, seething at what he regarded as his failure to protect me and for ‘messing up on the job', quote, in general.

‘You're not admitting that one of them did rape you to save me from feeling worse, are you?' he said, not for the first time.

I knelt at his side and kissed his cheek as he sprawled, up to the hilt with antibiotics like the DCI, on the sofa. ‘No, absolutely not.'

‘When I heard you screaming …' Head back, he closed his eyes.

I have a good line in screams.

‘And your arm?' he went on to ask.

‘Just bruised.' Assuming all shades of black and blue under the sleeve of my top, actually. ‘Constructive thinking,' I encouraged. I was refusing to allow the nightmares of Hamsworth, crawling, scaley, lizard-fashion, pursuing me through an endless darkened building, to get to me.

‘They got away,' said Patrick bitterly.

‘And they'd broken through into that part of the building they weren't supposed to be in, through that door they came through, so they could hide away in part of the upper floors. We weren't to know that and nor, obviously, was Lynn.'

‘And I'm no nearer to helping James.'

‘You're not being constructive.'

‘No, but we almost had the man in our hands!'

I went away to make some coffee and when I returned Vicky was on the sofa with him, having given him her new teddy bear to cuddle. She and Justin had been told that ‘Daddy has hurt his chest so you mustn't jump on him,' the two older ones using their eyes but being assured that there was nothing to worry about.

‘Very good medicine, this,' Patrick said, smiling down at his little daughter.

Further results on samples taken during the post-mortem on Cooper showed that he had eaten very well shortly before his death, having consumed oysters, steak and asparagus. He had probably enjoyed fine wines with his meal as well, as he would have been twice over the legal limit had he driven his car.

‘Which means that Carrick, feeling ill, took him out to dinner just before he killed him,' Patrick, still not feeling well, said.

DI Campbell, who had just imparted this information to us, was already regretting having asked us ‘to attend' the nick in connection with our nocturnal visit to Jingles and clearly hating the fact that Patrick was armed, although he was probably ignorant of the existence of the Smith and Wesson. Patrick, who had duly handed over the staff records and other information we had found – having copied them to peruse later – had brushed off his reservations about our activities. He had gone on to tell him that he had his orders to arrest Hamsworth and as the local police were attaching no importance to his mission then he would act alone. I did not mind being omitted from this remark as Campbell appeared to attach little importance to my input either and, anyway, there was a head-to-head man thing going on here, into which Patrick would not want to drag me.

Campbell said, ‘As I've reminded everyone more than once it's important to act professionally and stick to the evidence. We have a murder weapon with the DCI's fingerprints on it. He was found at the crime scene. And, yesterday, a pair of leather gloves was discovered on top of a pile of garden waste at the recycling site that Carrick has identified as his. They have the name of a Glasgow mens' outfitters on a label inside. There are traces of the same grease on them, or motor oil as we now know it is, as we found on the steering wheel of his car. The forensic people think the wheel was wiped with them, not just worn while driving. He can't explain that
although
he remembers putting some oil in his wife's car recently.'

‘Wearing his leather gloves?' Patrick queried. ‘Really? It's been very warm lately.'

‘Perhaps he didn't want to get his hands dirty.'

‘Oh, come on! What man would do that to decent gloves?'

‘They're by no means new,' Campbell responded urbanely.

‘Let's try to re-create this,' Patrick persisted. ‘He gets in his car in the station car park and absent-mindedly puts on the greasy gloves but takes them off and then wipes the wheel with them. That makes no sense at all.'

‘But he was ill. I'm not saying for one moment that the man did any of this while being in what I'll describe as his right mind.'

‘I suggest to you that someone else put on the gloves because he didn't want his fingerprints to be found inside the vehicle. His hands were greasy as he had been fiddling around with his car and without thinking he had tried to clean them on the gloves as he got behind the wheel, then realized that he ought to wear them. Before he threw them on the tip he wiped the wheel with them just to be on the safe side.'

‘That could be one theory,' the DI agreed.

‘Have you found the weapon with which Cooper was struck on the head before his throat was cut?'

Campbell shook his head. ‘No. It's likely to be some kind of heavy, blunt object, possibly metal, as it did a lot of damage to his skull.'

‘Just the one blow?'

‘Yes. And delivered to the top of his head, so whoever did it must have been quite tall.'

Carrick happens to be quite tall. I could see where he was leading with this. So, too, could Patrick. ‘Or Cooper was on his knees having already been knocked over.'

‘Carrick's just over six feet in height,' Campbell persisted.

‘Kev,' I said to Patrick, ignoring the remark.

‘The bouncer at the club,' Patrick explained to the DI. ‘Outgrew his intellect before he was born.'

‘Who you say you came across at the club.'

‘We came across quite a few of Hamsworth's retinue. They must have all been living there.'

‘Pity you didn't arrest him.'

I held my breath, waiting for Patrick to boil over but he merely said, ‘Would you have given me a search warrant? Backup?' Into the subsequent silence, he added, ‘Thought not. Can we go now?'

‘You've both made statements?'

‘We have. Are you going to arrest Carrick?'

‘I'm not prepared to discuss it with you, and would prefer it if you stayed away from him until he's well enough to be interviewed.'

Patrick's response to this was unrepeatable.

‘Right now Campbell has to get through me in order to talk to James,' Joanna stated robustly. ‘And as far as I'm concerned he's not well enough yet. Does the wretched man have any other lines of enquiry?'

Patrick said, ‘All I know is that as many people as possible are working on it. And, as you've probably realized, nothing's gone out to the media other than the finding of a body at the council tip. The biggest problem as far as we're concerned – that is, Ingrid and I – is that he resents what he regards as SOCA's interference. I can understand his point of view but seeing as both cases, his and mine, seriously overlap …' He stopped speaking with an angry shrug.

‘Did I hear friendly voices?' said James Carrick, descending the stairs into the hallway where we were standing.

There followed, in the adjoining living room, a detailed de-briefing, both men – and here Joanna and I exchanged little smiles – demonstrating exactly how good they are at what they do, covering everything that was, officially and otherwise, currently existing or missing.

‘If he doesn't arrest me I shall go back to work,' Carrick said after Patrick had related what had been said at the police station earlier. ‘Not that I shall be able to work on the case, of course.'

‘How the hell can he arrest you?' Joanna demanded to know. ‘Any fool can see that you've been set up.'

‘But you've told me that Hamsworth denied that he'd been involved in Cooper's death,' Carrick said.

‘Well, he would, wouldn't he?' replied his wife furiously.

‘And that he wasn't involved with the murder of the café bar owner in London, which may well be true,' Carrick added. ‘I'm only making the point that, although, Patrick, you were duty-bound to report as closely as possible everything that was said in the club the other night, it does give Campbell more leverage in writing that mobster out of the equation.'

‘Yes, and it'll look good on his report into the case even when you've either been found not guilty or the case never comes to court due to new evidence,' Patrick said contemptuously. ‘He's covering his back and, as I originally thought, is right out of his depth. His thinking is that he has Suspect A, and B
might
follow. If not …'

‘Perhaps I did kill him.'

‘I'd stake my entire reputation on your not having done so. You've never cut anyone's throat.'

‘Perhaps I battered him over the head and someone else finished the job.'

‘OK, what with? They haven't found it yet.'