Death Sentence (30 page)

Fury welled in Matthew’s chest. His hand itched to reach for the gun, to pull back the trigger and watch Sullivan’s guts spill out. More likely he’d watch his wife and Ashley die, lying crippled by a well-aimed shot while they did. Sullivan would do it. Someone mentally deranged enough to do what he’d done to Brianna, to who knew how many others, to his own wife; someone who shot a man at point blank range, someone who, as a boy, took pleasure in snapping the necks of birds and cats. Sullivan would do it without hesitation.

Sullivan appeared then, a shotgun in one hand, his free arm sliding around Ashley from behind, across her chest, coming to rest under her chin.

‘Do invite our guest in,
Ashley,
’ He took a step backwards, forcing Ashley to step with him.

Ashley looked to Matthew, beseeching, quietly pleading. Her hands went to the arm around her throat.
Don’t.
Matthew took a step forward, knowing that would only make Sullivan tighten his grip.

‘It’s okay, Ashley,’ he said, working to keep his voice calm. ‘Don’t struggle.’

‘That’s right, sweetheart,’ Sullivan cooed in her ear, ‘don’t struggle. Didn’t do you much good last time, did it?’ He looked back to Matthew, his eyes goading, willing him to lose it. And, God help him, Matthew felt he just might.

‘Don’t be shy, Detective. Do come in,’ Sullivan suggested. Even knowing this could only end hopelessly, still he was smiling. Matthew dropped his gaze to the shotgun. The same gun he’d used to blast a man’s chest open from five paces away. He looked back to his face, trying to read what might be going on in his mind. What it was that might drive a person to end someone else’s life without conscience.

‘I’m waiting, Adams.’ The smile slid from Sullivan’s face as Matthew studied him. ‘You really don’t want to try my patience.’

Glancing again at Ashley, Matthew hesitated. He’d made a wrong decision. He should have made the damn call, trusted Davies to hold back and maintain covert surveillance. At least then, if the psychopath shot him, Becky and Ashley might have stood a chance. Hot and clammy under his jacket, Matthew felt his head swim. ‘Where’s Becky?’ he asked, attempting to establish whether she was in there before he himself was trapped.

‘For me to know and you to find out, Detective Inspector,’ Sullivan drawled sardonically. ‘Come on. Come see.’ He gestured behind him.

‘Let her go, Sullivan. You have me. I’ll do whatever you want. You don’t need them,’ Matthew tried, knowing it was useless. He had him exactly where he wanted him, but he wasn’t about to let hostages go. And Matthew could do nothing about it. Reaching into his pocket, whether for gun or phone, would be certain suicide. Going in there would also probably be. He’d weighed those odds, come to the conclusion that Sullivan’s aim was to see him beg and crawl before killing him. Matthew would beg, would crawl. If he had to die, so be it. But, please God, only once Becky and Ashley were safe.

Sullivan appraised him as he debated. ‘What, this one not enough to entice you inside, hey Adams? God, you’re a heartless bastard. Told you, he was, didn’t I, sweetheart?’ He leaned down to Ashley, his mouth brushing her cheek, causing Matthew’s chest to tighten.

‘She was imagining a happy future with you, Adams. Not sure she realised she’d be sharing you, but …’ His meaning implicit, Sullivan trailed off.

Repugnance broiling inside him, Matthew stopped deliberating and started walking.

‘She’s feeling a bit spurned, aren’t you, darling?’ Sullivan continued with his disgusting drivel. ‘A bit used.’

‘No!’ Ashley refuted desperately. ‘I’m not. He’s—’

Yanking her head back, Sullivan cut her short.

‘Did I tell you to speak?’ he growled.

Matthew was directly in front of him now, his jaw clenched, the urge to sink his fist into Sullivan’s face overwhelming.

Sullivan met his gaze, his mouth twisting into its usual triumphant smirk. ‘Perverts like you really should be locked up, you know, Adams, preying on innocent young kids, and you a policeman, and all.’

Matthew willed himself not to do exactly what Sullivan wanted him to. Instead, he tried to eradicate emotion from his own eyes as he looked into Sullivan’s: cold, hard, uncompromising, simmering pools of pure hatred.

Sullivan sneered openly. Then, leaning again towards Ashley, he demonstratively breathed in the smell of her.

‘I did try to console her.’ He glanced tauntingly back at Matthew. ‘I think I managed to take her mind off you, but I had to work at … Whoa!’ Sullivan jerked up, jerking Ashley’s head further back, as Matthew moved towards him.

‘Careful, Detective. We don’t want to do anything rash now, do we?’

Sullivan’s eyes were now full of intent, malevolence oozing from the man, and Matthew was powerless. Wishing with every fibre of his being he could reach past Ashley and throttle the piece of scum where he stood, he lowered his gaze to hers instead. Her eyes were wild, uncertain, guarded.
God, no
. Matthew’s gut twisted. Did she really think there was any truth in whatever rubbish this sick bastard had been feeding her?

‘Ashley?’ he said quietly, willing her to meet his gaze.

‘Don’t tear yourself up over it, Adams,’ Sullivan’s tone was amused. ‘I doubt she was much of a prize anyhow. Not exactly as pure as the driven snow, is she?’

Hatred searing through him, Matthew locked furious eyes on his.

‘You evil son of a bitch.’ He caught a wheeze in his chest, swallowed it, prayed hard that if there was a god in heaven he would give him five minutes alone with this
thing
without his gun. So help him, he
would
kill him.

‘I thought I warned you about the name-calling, Adams.’ Sullivan lost the smile.

‘Inside. Now.’ He stepped back, turning sideways and manoeuvring Ashley with him.

‘Move it!’

His eyes never leaving Sullivan’s, Matthew took a step only to find his progress barred by the barrel of the gun.

‘A word of warning,’ Sullivan said, ‘if you’re wired, if you’ve alerted anyone, your wife and Snow White here, they’re both dead. Got it?’

She was still alive.
Matthew closed his eyes, this time offering up a silent prayer of gratitude. ‘
Oh, Jesus …’
Matthew’s legs almost gave way as Sullivan allowed him further into the property.

Chapter Twenty-Three

‘Not very gentlemanly, keeping ladies hanging around, Adams, is it?’ Patrick watched with interest, as the copper turned a pale shade of white. Reeling on his feet, he was, poor sod. He actually looked as if he might pass out. Didn’t take him long to recover himself, though. Patrick watched on as Adams pulled himself up, bracing his shoulders in that bloody annoying Bruce Willis
nothing-gets-to-me
way he had. It obviously did though. He might be trying to keep a grip, but the little tic going in his cheek was a dead giveaway. Patrick had noticed it when Adams had paid him a visit in the nick. Seen it many times, when the pathetic little runt had tried to stand up to him as a kid. Most recently, before the bastard had kicked him to the floor like a dog, for which the copper was about to get payback. Oh, yes, his fuse was lit all right. The man was a ticking time-bomb, far too reactive to be on the force, in Patrick’s humble opinion.

Patrick barely had time to free himself of the girl before the copper exploded.

‘You
fucking
animal!’ he seethed, lunging towards him.

But Patrick was ready. ‘Down!’ He levelled the shotgun, ready to blast Adams to kingdom come if he didn’t back off.

Clearly realising he might be at a disadvantage, Adams stopped, his expression pure thunder, his chest heaving. Oh, dear. Was that a little wheeze Patrick could hear in there? Quietly amused, he noted how Adams was struggling to control his breathing, another giveaway as to the copper’s high state of anxiety. Patrick probably knew the signs better than Adams did.

‘I said, down, Adams.’ Lowering the gun, Patrick indicated the floor, which is where he wanted Adams. No one, but no one, constantly refers to
Patrick Sullivan
as an animal and gets away with it.

‘Unless you want your wife and Snow White to see your blood splattered all over the walls, that is?’

Adams didn’t budge. Taking slow breaths, he stayed exactly where he was, his fist clenched at his side and in his eyes … pure murder. Patrick felt the tiniest flicker of apprehension run through him.

‘We can play the waiting game if you like, Adams,’ he made sure to hold his gaze, ‘but I’m not sure your good lady will be very keen on the idea. Are you?’

Patrick’s gaze flicked in the direction of the man’s wife.

‘Do it,’ he ordered. ‘Face front and get down on your knees, copper, if you value her life.’

‘You
bastard
.’ Adams took another laboured breath and ran his hands over his face. Then, glancing heavenward, finally, he did as instructed.

Got him, Patrick thought, hugely satisfied that the copper seemed to be getting the message. Patrick had the upper hand now. This time, it would be Adams, defenceless on the floor, while
he
broke his fucking jaw.
Quid pro quo,
as far as Patrick was concerned.

‘Right, you,’ he swung the gun in the girl’s direction, and then quickly back to Adams, ‘get over here. And bring the dog leash with you.’

‘What dog leash?’ she asked, after a second glancing around stupidly.

Patrick felt a stab of irritation. Was she being deliberately insolent? No, he decided. Her tone had been one of undiluted fear. Unlike the copper, obviously she wasn’t too dense to realise what the consequences of deliberately provoking him might be.

‘On the floor by the door, and hurry it up.’ Patrick kept his eyes on Adams, who was gulping back deep breaths now, considerably shaken, Patrick imagined, as he took in the carefully planned scene before him. Patrick actually thought his little wife looked quite nice, perched up there in her red stilettos. She really did have good legs. Shame not to show them off. She was wobbling a bit, though, he noticed. He did hope she didn’t fall off them and do herself a mischief. Clearly, she wasn’t used to wearing high heels to titillate hubs. Or maybe she couldn’t be arsed, since Adams was no doubt into younger flesh.

‘Loop it around his neck.’ Patrick motioned the girl, who was taking her own sweet time. ‘Move it!’ he barked, as she dilly-dallied. They were all at it, trying his patience, as if he had all the time in the world, which he hadn’t. He needed to be on his yacht, heading for sunny climes a.s.a.p., before the law did get wind of who’d shot Adams’ little lapdog. The lovely Mrs Adams didn’t want to hang about much longer either, from the looks of her. Shaking from head to foot, she was now. One slip and
click, clack, crack:
dead bird, swinging from the rafters.

‘Pull it tight,’ he instructed the girl, as she continued to fanny about, looking piningly at Adams. As if he gave a toss how she looked.

‘For crying out loud … Give it here!’ Patrick snatched the end of the slip lead she’d draped ineffectually over the copper’s head.

‘Over there.’ He nodded her over to the far wall. ‘Sit down on the floor, like a good little girl and do
not
utter a word. Got it?’

Patrick waited while she complied and then turned his attention back to Adams, who’d clearly managed to put his dubious detecting skills to good use and realised he was in deep shit.

‘Comfortable?’ Patrick smiled.

Adams didn’t answer, but Patrick forgave him that on the basis he was pretty choked.

‘So, tell me again, what is it you think I am, Detective?’ he asked pleasantly.

Adams hesitated before answering. ‘Nothing,’ he said, without conviction, in Patrick’s mind, and certainly not with a whole lot of respect.

He yanked the lead tighter. ‘What was that?’

‘Nothing,’ Adams repeated, and then gagged as Patrick gave the lead another yank.

‘Telling me you think I’m nothing isn’t the right answer,
is it,
you insolent bastard!?’

‘Anything …
Christ.
’ The copper spluttered and coughed.

‘I’m waiting, Adams.’

‘I don’t … think you’re anything,’ Adams rasped, his hands going to his throat.

Patrick held the tension. ‘Not an animal then?’

‘No.’ A little more conviction this time, Patrick thought, but probably not a lot of honesty. Still, on the basis he didn’t want the copper actually choking to death just yet, he relented and slackened the lead off a little.

Adams pulled air into his lungs.

‘Let her down,’ he asked, obviously struggling to breathe now. Patrick wasn’t slow to notice the rattle in his chest. Poor bastard looked well on the way to an asthma attack. Such a shame.

‘You forgot the magic word,’ he reminded him.

‘
Please
,’ Adams obliged immediately. ‘I’ll do anything. Whatever you want, you’ve got it. Just …
please
let her go.’

‘Anything I want?’ Patrick enquired, cocking his head interestedly on one side.

The copper closed his eyes and nodded, humiliated, Patrick hoped, but not enough. Not by far.

‘What? Like bring my brother back?’ Patrick paused to let the man ponder the impossibility of this task.

Adams’ answer to which was to look defeated. He would really, wouldn’t he? Patrick felt a knot of anger unfurl in his chest.

‘Restore my good reputation with Hayes, will you, Adams? Tell him what a great guy I am and return his consignment?’

Adams had nothing to say there either, surprise, surprise.

‘And what about my daughter, hey, Adams? She’s training to be a veterinary nurse. I was looking forward to seeing her graduate. And now you’ve gone and fucked that up, too,
haven’t you?
’

Patrick was so furious about that, he was tempted to shoot his brains out right here, right now. Still no answer from Adams, ignorant sod.

‘
That
was a question, Detective,’ Patrick reminded him of his manners. Again.

Adams gulped hard. And well he might. In his position, the man should be scared. Very scared.