Hurt (The Hurt Series) (30 page)

Look too hard and you risk missing what you seek.

Yeah, and if she had taken her father’s advice all those years ago, she would not have been hidden behind the sofa when Hoyt came calling.

And would not be alive today to suffer the guilt of surviving.

She snatched the page with the number sequence on, picked up a pen and fished out a calculator. Was about to get to work when out the corner of her eye she saw the notes she’d just made during her chat with Hannah. And in particular, the numbers she’d scribbled down: 7/28/11.

Hannah had lived in the UK for the majority of her life, yet she still had the accent and used the American date format.

Thinking back to her chat with Edwards earlier, she recalled something he’d said about Chambers ability to imitate his American wife’s accent.

Had he also adopted his American wife’s habit of writing the month before the day?

She glanced at the first number on the list: 1231556.

She and Davies had played around with dates at the beginning, but had quickly dismissed the idea when the middle number of the first two groups 12/31/556 and 11/13/70 could not represent a month.

Not in this country, anyway.

A second later she’d swapped the first four digits of the first group, resulting in a feasible date that could have no possible relevance whatsoever: 31/12/556.

‘Shit.’

Digging deep, she tried the same technique with the next four numbers: 111370 became 13/11/70, 11251830 became 25/11/1830, and 122604 became 26/12/04 - Boxing Day.

Bottom of the list of ten, a similar number appeared: 122603.

She converted it, sat back and stared at the date, 26/12/03. Boxing Day, again? Had to be relevant. Turning to her computer, she tapped the date into a search engine. Discovered the top results were dedicated to the Iran earthquake, which killed 29,000 people on that day in 2003.

Something stirred in the back of her mind. She adjusted the search for 26/12/04. Found the top ten results told of the Indian Ocean earthquake that spawned the tsunami killing 266,000.

‘Christ.’

Even before the word had left her lips, she was flipping back a page in her notebook to read the beginning of the transcript of her chat with Hannah. Found the part about Chambers surfing the net all day, making notes about death and suffering and God’s most infamous acts of destruction.

A
moment later she was staring at a webpage listing the world’s top ten worst natural disasters. Top of the list, the Shaanxi earthquake, which claimed 830,000 lives in China. Date: 23/1/1556. She found Chamber’s list, compared the date to the first number: 1231556. When converted: 23/1/1556

Next on the list: Bhloa cyclone, Pakistan. Killed over 500,000. Date: 13/11/70

Chamber’s second number: 111370.

Next: India cyclone killing 300,000. Date: 25/11/1830

Chamber’s number: 11251830

The fourth devastation to appear on the list was the 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake.

Frantically, she worked her way down both lists, marrying up the dates until she reached God’s ninthcruellest act upon the world.

Kamakura, Japan. 30,000 dead from an earthquake that hit on 20/5/1293.

Yet the ninth number on Chamber’s list bore no resemblance to 2051293.

91877.

Edwards’ words:
Son of a bitch chalked up the nine longest range kills in British Military history. Was going for the big ten when he got hit.’

91877. Jessop shut her eyes, converting the number in her head.

‘Trust me, the guy’s top fucking notch. Never misses. Used to boast he’d hunted the best and killed the best…’

She logged onto another website which detailed world events on 18/9/1977. Other than the US Voyager I taking the first photograph of the earth and moon together, nothing of global significance had made the news that day in history.

She glanced back at the list, considering the cruel acts of God that had befallen the unfortunate thousands on the nine previous dates. Her eyes fell to the last number, its significance suddenly chilling her flesh and knotting her stomach.

Disaster had not struck the world that day.

But it had struck
her
world.

Because on the 18
^th
September 1977 her family was slaughtered. And Chambers knew this…

‘…and was deadlier than God himself.’

Chapter
Eighty

Other than a number of name changes over the years, The Penta Hotel was one of the few buildings that had remained constant and unchanged since as far back as Jessop could remember. In a growing city where the landscape would alter monthly with newly erected office blocks and apartments, and every street corner was occupied with trendy coffee shops and ghosts, The Penta was a welcome beacon of stability in more ways than one.

Situated in the heart of the city centre, the 4 star hotel was the city’s largest and oldest hotel. With six floors accommodating 238 rooms, a swimming pool, gym, and three sizeable conference rooms, it was a favourite for companies to host corporate meetings and seminars.

It was also a favourite of The Witness Protection Unit, who used it as a half way house for key witnesses due to its location just two minutes walk to the Magistrate’s Court. An arrangement with the hotel meant the WPU could commandeer any of the rooms with an hour’s notice.

The room they had secured for her was on the fifth floor and faced east. This was both their preferred floor and side of the building, because none of the adjacent buildings stood over two stories high, eliminating the threat of a rifle shot through the room’s window. Of course, that wouldn’t stop Chambers taking a shot at her on the street whilst she was out hunting the bastard, but she’d already devised a plan to prevent that from happening. A plan she had not disclosed to anyone.

Decorated in soft blues and warm creams, with a small flat screen TV, double bed, built in wardrobe, and an adequate pastel green bathroom, her room was as comfortable as any hotel room she’d stayed in. Admittedly, it was hardly The Bellagio, but with the WPU’s 24/7 surveillance, and their detailed plans of the building and every possible exit, it was a hell of a lot safer than her house.

After unpacking the few clothes and personal possessions she’d listed for the WPU to bring, she took a well needed shower, turning the power on full until the scorching jets of water massaged the knots from her shoulders and back. She couldn’t help but wonder if the safe house Ray and the girls were holed up in had such a powerful shower, and if it did indeed have Broadband and Sky Plus for the girls. Ray had been right in thinking there’d be hell to pay if it didn’t.

And that was a hell she’d dearly pay if only to be with her daughter again.

If only to hear her voice again.

She stepped out of the shower and threw on the hotel’s white towelling robes. Padded to the bed and picked up the secure phone she’d been given. Prayed the secure phone line was up and running. She dialled the number, eyeing the photo of Ray and Chloe she’d perched on the bedside table. A voice asked her for her password, then informed her for everyone’s security to keep the conversation basic and that the connection would be automatically broken after three minutes. A silent moment later and Ray said, ‘Hey you.’

Relief swept through her like a tidal wave. ‘Hey yourself. How’s it going?’

‘Good.’

‘You feeling okay?’

‘Never better.’

Of course, she thought. ‘The place to your liking?’

‘It’s comfortable and quiet. Good for writing.’

‘
And the girls?’

‘They’re fine. Luckily for both of us they’ve got Sky Plus.’

She smiled to herself, looked at the clock, aware Ray also knew they hadn’t long to talk. ‘Chloe around?’

‘Wait a sec’.’

A moment later Chloe was on the line and Jessop’s chest was fluttering with the sound of her girl’s voice.

‘We haven’t got long left, sweetie. You settling in okay?’

‘It’s cool. Nothing much to do, but hey.’

‘It won’t be for long.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘It’s good to hear your voice.’

‘Yeah, and yours.’

‘I miss you.’

‘You too.’

‘Listen, we’ll talk again soon, sweetie. Can I have another quick word with Ray?’

‘Sure.’

Ray said, ‘Hey.’

‘Some wedding day, right?’

‘Not exactly how I envisioned it.’

‘I’ll make it up to you, promise.’

A pause. ‘I’m counting on it. Be a crime to waste that speech I wrote.’

She closed her eyes against the prick of tears. ‘Can’t wait to hear it.’

‘Then catch that fucker, okay?’

Her throat closed.

‘But hey…Lets be careful out there, huh?’ The connection broke.

Through sodden eyes she stared at the photo of the people she’d just talked to. People she loved so much her chest hurt just thinking about them.

Yeah, she’d be careful. Real careful. She had too much to live for not to.

She hoisted herself off the bed and padded to the door. Checked it was locked.

It was time to execute her plan.

Chapter
Eighty-one

Two days later

Monday, November 6
^th

‘He’s struck again,’ Mason said through her mobile. ‘Last night. Thirty-six-year-old father. Chamber’s caught him in his garage tinkering with his car. Made his ten-year-old boy watch as he sliced his old man’s tongue out and let him choke to death on his blood.’

Perched on the side of the hotel bed, Jessop took a swig from a carton of orange juice and glanced at the alarm clock: 7.58am. ‘Name?’

‘Mark Hughes. Boy’s name is Liam.’

She scribbled down the names below the last victim Chambers had claimed on Saturday:

No’ 7: Collette Wilkes, 28. Ambushed in her kitchen Saturday night before bed. Stabbed in the gut and slowly bled out in front of her husband.

Mason said, ‘Listen, boss. Are you okay? I mean you haven’t left - ’

She hung up. Lit a cigarette. Scrutinised the list of victims. Discounting Terence Randal, whose death was motivated by Chambers’ want to expose the truth about him raping his son, Mark Hughes brought the total to eight.

Eight from ten left two.

91877.

She was next.

She eyed the vodka bottle lying on the bed, its contents one shot shy of empty.

She hated loose ends.

A moment later the bottle was empty. Satisfied, she climbed back into bed and pulled the duvet over her head.

Chapter
Eighty-two

2 weeks later

Monday, November 20
^th

‘I write my own laws, with Death I break bread. Killers are quiet when they come from my head…’

She ground her teeth against the blasting sound of Slipknot, Chloe’s favourite thrash metal band at the moment. Her trigger finger worked on instinct, twitching rapidly, sending CGI mutant zombies to a bloody hell on the plasma screen. On her request, the hotel had supplied the game and console a week ago. She’d played it so often she could second guess every attack, knew every corner from where every flesh-eater would appear.

If only her job was as simple.

If only she could second guess the real monster’s movements. Be there with a big fucking gun and blow Chamber’s sick fucking head off when he stuck it out. No trial, no defence, no insanity plea, and no cushy fucking cell to while away a couple of years.

But she couldn’t, could she? Because Corporal Phillip fucking Chambers was ‘
highly proficient in concealment and stalking techniques.’
And
‘patience was his greatest weapon.’
And
‘Now that you’re onto him, be prepared for him to use it.’

Meaning?

‘
Meaning you might have to exercise some patience of your own.’

Not a problem.

Not a problem at all.

Perspiration coated her forehead as her heart accelerated with the speedy guitars piercing her eardrums through the headphones. Since she’d downloaded the albums onto the iPod the hotel had also supplied, rarely did her head not. In her new world silence was deafening.

Silence meant thinking. And thinking was useless against God.

He did what He wanted, when He wanted, where He wanted.

She quit the game, flung the controls down. Mixed some vodka and orange juice together in equal quantities and drank thirstily. Turned the volume on the iPod up to maximum and flopped back naked on the bed.

‘What I want is so insensitive. Stay out and be abused. Cause this is so confused. I only want to be left alone, and rot away.’

Her grip faltered and the bottle slipped from her palm and fell on the mess of files and paperwork blanketing her bed. She reached for it blindly, but instead of the bottle, found an object with a more reassuring feel.

Out of the corner of her eye she regarded the gun she’d liberated from the evidence room before holing up in here two weeks ago. A Webley Mk 4 revolver, used by the British Military until the late eighties, and now one of the most common and cheapest firearms to be bought on the street.

Along with patience, the gun was all part of her plan, and also had a delicious irony attached to it. A thin smile crossed her lips.

For when Corporal Phillip Chambers came for her, she’d end his disillusioned reign with the weapon favoured by his military forefathers.

Chapter
Eighty-three

Friday, December 1
^st

‘Hey sweetie.’

‘Hey,’ Chloe replied.

As always, Jessop’s throat closed at the sound of her daughter’s voice. ‘How’s it going out there?’

‘Same as always…boring.’

‘I’m sorry, but − ’

‘Yeah, I know. It’s for our own safety.’

‘Shouldn’t be too long now.’

‘You said that last week, and the week before that.’

‘I know, but this time we’re real close. Got a big break yesterday.’

‘You said that last week, too.’

She gripped the phone tight.
Had
she said that last week? How many empty promises had she made her daughter over the last month? She eyed the vodka bottle resting between her knees ‘Ray around?’