Death Sentence (25 page)

‘Right.’ Nodding slowly DCI Davies walked around to his desk. ‘He’s called you with his demands then, obviously?’

‘Yes. Unregistered phones,
obviously,
’ Matthew stated flatly, as if he needed to.

Sitting down, DCI Davies nodded again, clasping his hands tightly in front of him.

‘We can still pinpoint the phone using call triangulation,’ DS Collins suggested, her expression now sympathetic as she looked at Matthew. ‘If you keep him—’

‘No.’ Matthew cut in categorically.

DS Collins stopped, glancing concerned from Matthew to Davies.

‘If he gets even a sniff of uniforms crawling all over this he
will
kill her,’ Matthew stated, as if he needed to do that either, given what they now knew. What he’d
always
known. Assuming he hadn’t already killed her that was. Matthew gulped back a sick taste in his throat.

DCI Davies took in a deep breath. ‘Matthew,’ he started carefully, ‘I know how you feel, but—’

‘You have no fucking idea how I feel! None!’

‘No,’ Davies conceded, his look a mixture of contrition and concern. ‘No I don’t, but …’ he glanced again at DS Collins ‘… you can’t do this on your own, Matthew. I can’t let you. We have to—’

‘He killed my daughter!’ Matthew took a step towards him, slammed his hands hard on the desk. ‘He killed her, John. I know it.
You
know it.’ He locked eyes with the man, his meaning, he hoped, implicit, and then turned for the door. ‘I have to go.’

Pulling the door open, he walked out without looking back. The silence in the outer office was palpable this time, heavy, guilt-ridden. Matthew walked on, guilt weighing heavy in his own chest. Every single one of the officers here would go out on a limb to help him. Matthew also knew that. As Steve had, and got shot down like a dog for it. As Davies would, if only following protocol didn’t get in the way of bringing animals like Sullivan to justice.

Matthew was on his own on this, though. Had to be. There was no other way.

Swinging into the corridor, he reached for his ringing phone, assuming it was Sullivan with account details to facilitate the transfer of the funds. And once he had what he wanted? Had Matthew really thought there was any chance he’d release Becky unharmed? Release her at all? He’d shot Steve, at close range. Killed his own
father
. Matthew had no doubt Sullivan had had a hand in that. No, he wasn’t going to let Becky go. Money wasn’t what he was after. Retrieving evidence that wouldn’t stand wasn’t his aim. Sullivan’s motive in all of this, the motive of a madman derailed, was to prove he was the better man, the bigger man. Whatever had driven Sullivan as a kid to viciously attack his victims careless of the consequences was driving him now. Matthew
should have
stopped him.

Melanie’s voice in his ear surprised him. He struggled to understand what she was saying initially, something about Ashley, but she was talking fast, the baby was crying in the background; and then the penny dropped, driving another knife into Matthew’s heart. ‘Gone?’ he repeated, disbelieving. ‘Gone where? When?’

‘I don’t know,’ Melanie sounded distraught. ‘We were getting along fine. At least I thought we were. I had to take Lucas for his check-up this morning. Ashley was still in bed when I left, or I thought she was. When I got back I found a note. Her bed didn’t look as if it had been slept in. I have no idea what time she left. Oh God, Matthew, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I was going to ring Becky, but then Ashley had said she was at her mum’s. I didn’t want to worry Becky, or you, but—’

‘Whoa, slow down.’ Matthew tried to get his own chaotic thoughts in some sort of order. ‘What did it say, the note?’

‘Well, that’s just it. It doesn’t make any sense. Hold on, I’ll fetch it.’ Matthew waited again, every second he did seemed like sand slipping through a timer on Becky’s life.
Come on, Melanie,
he willed her, hearing her shushing the baby as she moved around in the background.

‘It’s addressed to you,’ she said, finally coming back on. ‘She says something about none of it would have happened if she hadn’t been there and … Hang on, I’ll read it.’ Melanie paused, while Matthew supressed a sigh of frustration.

‘Here we go:
If I hadn’t been there none of this would have happened. You were right. I’ve decided to go back.’
Melanie went on, reading from the note. ‘
I have some stuff to do first though, so please don’t worry.
Don’t worry? Honestly, you’d think she’d realise you’d be worried to death. Poor Becky will be out of her mind. Is Becky all right, Matthew? Only I was really concerned when Ashley told me—’

‘I’ll ring the care home,’ Matthew said quickly. ‘Thanks, Melanie. I’ll get back in touch as soon as I can.’

Avoiding the inevitable questions out of necessity, Matthew ended the call and immediately redialled. No Ashley at the care home, he learned. No sign of.
Dammit!
He dragged his collar loose, sucked air deep into his lungs, then cursed out loud and raced for his car.

Chapter Nineteen

Ashley wriggled through the downstairs loo window she’d prised open, manoeuvred herself down to the cistern and waited, and listened. It was as quiet as a grave. Shuddering, as though someone had tiptoed lightly over hers, she dropped to the floor, squeaked open the loo door, and then shot across the lounge area, one eye on the wide patio windows, as she went. She didn’t like those windows. She hadn’t slept a wink the night the bird had splattered itself against them. If it was a bird. Becky had said it was, but Ashley hadn’t been convinced, imagining it was zombies or something. She’d had nightmares about them ever since some of the kids at the care home had downloaded a zombie film, thinking they were being really cool. They weren’t cool. Nothing there was cool. Ashley wasn’t going back. Uh-uh, no way. She’d only told Matthew she was in hopes he wouldn’t get an attack of the guilts. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but definitely not back there. She’d just keep going, she supposed. She could steal enough to eat, she was good at that. She’d had to be, with no food in the cupboards and her mum passed out half the time.

She wasn’t going anywhere without her locket though, she’d decided. Heading for the stairs, she tried to ignore Emily chuntering on in her head, something about hiding under the bed, like
that
was a really intelligent idea. Ashley wasn’t going to sell the locket. Even if she needed the money, she’d made up her mind she wasn’t going to do that. She was going to keep it, her one keepsake of the only nice time she’d ever had in her life. She was going to take a photo, too. The one on Becky’s dressing table, of Matthew and Becky at their wedding. It was a nice photo. They were kissing, their lips lightly touching. Matthew’s mouth curved up at the corners in a smile. It suited him. He looked much more handsome and happy when he smiled, which he hadn’t done much of since Becky had gone, not surprisingly.

Ashley had heard him crying. She’d pretended she hadn’t, and Matthew hadn’t let on, but he had been. That time his policeman-friend Steve had called. Ashley recalled how Matthew had lied to him about where Becky was. He’d lied badly. Ashley had reckoned even his mate hadn’t really believed him. Matthew had looked choked when Steve had left. Really choked. Ashley hadn’t known what to do. She’d wanted to put her arms around him. Make things right for him, but she couldn’t, of course.

She’d watched him worriedly instead, wondered whether she should make tea or something, as if that could help. Matthew had looked desperate, like a caged animal, walking relentlessly round and around, back and forth, checking his mobile. He was breathing really heavily, Ashley remembered, when he’d gone upstairs. To shower he’d said, making sure to tell her to keep the front door locked. He had run the shower. Ashley had crept up and listened, and that was when she’d heard him catch a sob in his throat, and another, because his heart was breaking, Ashley knew. Matthew loved Becky. That much was obvious. They were right for each other. That was pretty obvious too. Ashley was pissed, yes, that suddenly what she’d hoped might be, that she might finally have a proper family, wouldn’t be, but she didn’t want Becky not to come home.

Pausing on the landing, Ashley felt like crying too, something she’d rarely done. She’d made up her mind there wasn’t any point a long time ago, knowing there was no one around who cared. Becky would have cared, she conceded. Ashley felt that funny sinking feeling in her chest again, the same feeling she’d had watching her mum leave for the last time.

She’d take the photo. Running her sleeve under her nose, Ashley nodded determinedly. And the locket. She’d grab some bottled water from the fridge and maybe a few biscuits, but that was all. Deciding an extra couple of jumpers might also be practical, Ashley was stuffing her rucksack when she heard it, a shuffling, snuffling sound down below, right outside the window.
Shit!
Ashley’s heart flipped in her chest. It couldn’t be Matthew. She made her way cautiously across the bedroom. She would have heard his car.

Visions of grey-faced, flesh-eating zombies or beady-eyed birds splatting against the window, Ashley crept warily towards it and peeked quickly out. Nothing, then, ‘
Crap
,’ she ducked as she heard it again. Her heart beating a steady drumbeat in her chest, Ashley risked another look after a second, and then almost wilted with relief, as her eyes lighted on the little stray dog she’d seen once before. It wasn’t much more than a puppy.
Oh, no
. Ashley squinted harder as it foraged around. The poor thing was limping.

‘Here boy,’ she called him. Then, realising he hadn’t heard, she reached for the latch, pushed the window open and called him again. ‘Hey, doggy, up here!’

‘Duh.’ Ashley rolled her eyes, as the dog gazed around, clearly too stupid to look up, then turned to grab up her rucksack, as it turned tail to go in the other direction.

She’d have to come back for the water and stuff, she decided, using the front door to exit faster than she’d entered. She’d have to give the dog some water, too, if she could catch up with the flipping thing. Obviously spooked by someone he couldn’t see calling him, he’d moved pretty fast, even with his dodgy paw.

Uh, oh.
Reaching the spot where the dog had been foraging, Ashley ground to a halt. Blood, she noticed, crouching to examine the rich red droplets, which had fallen on discarded plasterboard debris. Fresh blood, which meant he could be badly injured.
Brilliant.
This was going to hinder her progress a bit. She didn’t want Matthew to catch her here. He’d be sure to take her straight to the flipping care home. Ashley chewed on her lip, debating whether to just take off. If she hadn’t come here today, she would never have known the dog was hurt, after all. In her heart, though, despite her nothing-can-touch-me image, Ashley knew she couldn’t just abandon him. Leave him to starve like she’d been left. She’d have to take him to a police station, she thought, setting off after the dog.
Yeth, brilliant idea
, Emily said in her head
. And what are you going to do when they ask you where you live, hmm?

Good point. Ashley had to give her little sister that one. She’d tie him up outside a shop then. Someone would surely take him to a vet or a rescue centre.

‘Here boy!’ she called as she ran, feeling a bit panicky now.
God, where is the dumb animal
? Out of breath, Ashley stopped and took stock. She’d done the length and breadth of the field, flitted in and out of half-renovated properties, swinging barn doors and creaking hinges giving her the serious willies. No dog on site or in sight. Ashley glanced down, hoping against hope, given the sloshy mud, for signs of blood and realised her boots were caked in the stuff.

‘Wonderful,’ she muttered. Then, hearing her mobile beeping in her rucksack, she reached for it and scrolled warily through her messages.

Matthew. She’d guessed it might be.

Hell.
So what did she tell him? Where she was, she supposed. He’d only worry otherwise. He’d already got enough to worry about without worrying about her. She’d tell him she was here collecting her stuff and that she was going to see a friend. That’s what she’d do. That way, at least he’d know she was okay and she’d buy herself a little time.

Feeling a fat drop of rain plop on her head, Ashley glanced up at the gunmetal grey skies. God, it was desolate around here. And spooky. Not somewhere Ashley would fancy being out on her own when it got dark.
At home
, she quickly started keying her message, and then instinctively ducked, her heart skipping a beat, as a great fat crow cawed raucously above her.

‘
Oooh,
bloody thing,’ she muttered, scowling upwards, as she straightened up. She was about to resume texting when she found herself flailing forwards, physically winded, as something the weight of a WWE wrestler thudded into her back.

****

‘Small puncture, right arm,’ Nicky confirmed what Matthew had suspected.

‘A syringe, do you reckon?’

‘Almost definitely,’ Nicky supplied, ‘off the record, though, Matthew,’ she added, obviously not happy disclosing information over the phone before she’d completed her report.

‘The toxicology report?’ Matthew asked, though he didn’t need it. Michael Sullivan had been a supplier, a boozer, verging on an alcoholic eventually, but not a drug user. Small chance then he’d suddenly be injecting. The information Matthew already had was enough to carve another piece out of his soul. Patrick Sullivan had murdered his own father, at least two women to Matthew’s certain knowledge. The man’s wife was on the missing list. He had Becky, and Matthew had one aim in mind. Whatever the outcome for him, he was going to kill Sullivan. He’d wondered how he was going to find him, how he would find Becky. He’d thrown up until his stomach was raw, wondering where it would end. But, of course, it wouldn’t end, he’d realised, until Sullivan had proven whatever he had to. To do that, he needed Matthew’s full attention, ergo, he would need to keep Becky alive. Matthew tried to hold onto that hope. When Sullivan was ready, he would know where he was, Matthew had no doubt about that. He wouldn’t have the element of surprise, but what he would most definitely have, something Sullivan had sneeringly pointed out he’d lacked over the years, was the killer instinct. God willing, that might be surprise enough.