Justice for the Damned (8 page)

Edward strode through the headlights like a man well aware of his place in the world – and that was a place which didn’t include being intimidated by employees, no matter what the nature of their job was. He yanked the passenger door open. ‘You’d better have a bloody good reason to—’ His voice caught in his throat at the sight of the Glock.

‘Get in and close the door.’

‘What is this?’ There was a tremor in the politician’s voice. His eyes darted between the gun and Tyler’s poker-faced gaze.

‘Get in and close the door.’ Tyler’s voice was as blank as his expression, yet there was a force behind it that caused Edward to do as he said. Tyler proffered the bag to his passenger. ‘Put it on your head.’

‘Now just hang on a bloody minute,’ said Edward, rediscovering some of his indignant courage. ‘I pay you, and pay you well. I know you’ve had a rough time these past few days, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit here and let you treat me like this.’

A rough time? I’ve lost a fucking eye!
Tyler shoved the thought away. To think like that was not only unprofessional – after all, as Edward had said, he was paid well to risk his skin – it was weak. And if there was one thing he hated it was weakness. ‘Please, sir, just do it,’ he said, realising he had to give the politician a token that his authority was, at least in some degree, still acknowledged. ‘It’s for your protection. It’ll be safer for you if you don’t see where we’re going.’

Edward stared at Tyler, an uneasy, calculating glimmer in his deep-set brown eyes. ‘How long will this take?’

‘The sooner you do as I ask, the sooner you can get home to your bed.’

‘I wasn’t in bed.’ Edward took the bag and pulled it over his head. ‘OK, let’s bloody well get this over with.’

Tyler slid the Glock into his jacket and reversed onto the road. Neither man spoke during the drive back to the farmhouse. As Tyler pulled up, the front door opened and Liam emerged, dragging Bryan Reynolds’s skinhead sidekick along the ground by his hands. ‘Wait here, and keep the bag on,’ Tyler said, jumping out of the car. A glance at the skinhead’s battered, blue-tinged face told him the man was dead.

‘I didn’t touch him,’ said Liam, his high-pitched voice sounding like a child pleading innocence. ‘He just died.’

‘Put him in the barn.’

‘That’s what I was doing.’

Tyler took hold of Edward’s arm. The politician flinched as if he’d been prodded awake. ‘Can I take this thing off my head now?’

‘In a moment.’

The moon had disappeared behind a cloud, shrouding the encircling hills and woods in impenetrable darkness. There was no way Edward would be able to identify his surroundings. But Tyler saw no reason to risk that he might get a glimpse of some stray detail that could help the police, or whoever, locate the farmhouse. He knew from experience that it was often the tiny details that were the difference between being caught or not. He drew Edward out of the vehicle and guided him towards the farmhouse. Once they were inside and the door was closed, he removed the bag.

Edward’s eyes darted around, curious and nervous. Tyler headed towards the rear of the hallway. His tongue sliding dryly across his lips, Edward followed him to the interrogation room. Stan was in the process of securing Bryan to the chair. Bryan’s wrists had been cuffed to the chair’s arms, but the leather strap hadn’t yet been cranked tight around his chest. The instant he saw Edward, Bryan jerked halfway to his feet, his teeth gnashing against his gag, his eyes swelling out of his head, gleaming pure hate.

Stan punched Bryan in the solar plexus, dropping him back onto the chair. Winded, Bryan continued to strain wildly against his bonds. Wrapping one arm around the gangster’s neck, Stan grabbed the bicep of his other arm. He pushed down on the back of Bryan’s head, cutting off the blood supply to his carotid artery. As Edward watched Bryan go limp, he ran his tongue over his lips again, only now it left a trail of glistening saliva, as if he’d smelled something that made him hungry. Stan pulled the strap taut. The gangster’s eyelids flickered open. His head rolled from side to side, a confused, lost look on his face.

‘Do you know him?’ Tyler asked Edward.

Edward shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen him before in my life.’

‘His name’s Bryan Reynolds.’

‘Bryan Reynolds.’ Edward’s forehead creased, as if the name was familiar but he couldn’t quite place it. ‘Who is he?’

‘He’s a drug dealer, amongst other things.’

Edward nodded as his memory was jogged. ‘Ah yes, I knew I’d heard his name before. But isn’t he some kind of major organised crime guy?’

‘He controls the trade of narcotics and prostitution in Sheffield.’

Edward’s forehead bunched into a deep frown. ‘And this man came to my house. Why?’

‘To kill you.’

‘Yes, yes, I know that,’ Edward shot back impatiently. ‘But why? Why does this man want to kill me?’

‘He’s Mark Baxley’s father.’

Edward’s mouth dropped open. ‘Yes, now you’ve said it I see the resemblance,’ he murmured, lifting a finger to his lips, touching them softly, almost caressing them. ‘Stephen told me he wasn’t Mark’s father. I always wondered who the real father was.’ His frown returned suddenly, deeper still. ‘But how the hell did he find out about me?’

‘That’s what we’re here to try and find out.’ At a signal from Tyler, Stan tore the duct tape off Bryan’s mouth.

‘You’re fucking dead!’ The words exploded from Bryan like pent-up steam. He jutted his head towards Edward, veins and tendons standing out in his thick neck. ‘I’m gonna tear your cock out by the roots!’ He twisted towards Stan. ‘And you. I thought you were a stand-up bloke. How much is he paying you? It must be a shit lot if you’re willing to work for filth like him. Or maybe you’re the same as him. Maybe you get your kicks out of sticking your dick in kids too.’

Stan made no reply, but he shifted on his feet as if he was uncomfortable.

Grabbing Bryan’s head between his hands, Tyler wrenched it around to face him. ‘Who put you on to Mr Forester?’

Bryan bared his teeth in a savage grin. ‘I’m going to give you a chance. Let me go and give me him,’ he jerked his eyes at Edward, ‘and I’ll let you live.’

For a moment, Tyler seemed to consider the offer. Then he shook his head. ‘I made a contract with this man.’

‘He’s not a man,’ spat Bryan. ‘He’s an animal!’

‘Regardless of what he is, I…’ Motioning to Stan, Tyler corrected himself. ‘
We
have a duty to carry the contract out.’

‘And what about your duty to me? Don’t I pay you to protect me?’

Tyler scratched his bandage thoughtfully. ‘He’s got a point there. I think this is, what do you call it, a conflict of interest.’

‘There’s no conflict of interest here,’ Edward piped up, the tremor back in his voice. ‘I’ve paid you to do a job, so bloody well do it!’

‘You haven’t paid us yet.’

‘That’s merely semantics! As soon as the job’s done, you’ll get your money. And…’ Edward cleared his throat as if what he was about to say pained him. ‘And seeing as it’s turned out to be such a difficult one, I’ll chuck in a completion bonus of, let’s say, twenty thousand pounds.’

Tyler fixed the politician with his unreadable gaze. ‘Each.’

Edward’s tongue flickered between his lips, dry once again. He stared at Tyler for a second, then nodded.

‘Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it,’ said Bryan.

‘This isn’t a sodding auction,’ snapped Edward.

‘Isn’t it?’ Tyler rested back against the drawers, folding his arms, looking expectantly from one man to the other.

Edward stood silent, his expression wavering between anger and nervousness. Liam’s hulking form filled the doorway behind him. Edward’s gaze flinched over his shoulder as Liam enquired, ‘What’s going on?’

‘Mr Forester was just expressing his willingness to compensate us for unforeseen difficulties. Weren’t you?’

With a hiss through his teeth, Edward said, ‘Alright, alright, I’ll match Mr Reynolds’s offer, plus sixty thousand.’

‘That makes it four hundred thousand.’

‘No, only three hundred and—’ Edward broke off. He heaved a breath. ‘Yes, you’re right. Four hundred thousand it is.’

‘Six hundred,’ said Bryan. ‘Six hundred thousand quid if you let me carve this cunt up here and now. All you need to do is dispose of his body.’

Liam gave a little whistle. ‘I’d say that’s a pretty damn good offer.’

Edward’s gaze danced around the room as if searching for an escape route. ‘This is absurd! How do you know this man even has that kind of money?’

Bryan’s eyes glittered with brutal amusement. ‘Oh, they know I’m good for it, alright.’

‘I won’t have you holding me to ransom like this.’ Edward pulled out his phone. ‘We’ll bloody well see what Charles has to say about this.’

‘What makes you think he’s got any influence out here?’ asked Tyler. But as the phone started to ring, quick as a striking snake, he snatched it away from the politician and cut off the call.

Red blotches stained Edward’s cheeks. His lower lip protruded like a child about to have a tantrum. Deep laughter suddenly boomed around the room. All eyes turned towards Bryan. ‘Anyone got a dummy?’ he asked, his broad chest heaving against the leather strap. ‘I think boo-boo needs one.’

The colour in Edward’s cheeks drained to a white mask of rage. ‘Seven hundred thousand!’

‘Eight,’ shot back Bryan.

‘Nine.’

‘A million and a half.’

‘Tw—’ Edward stumbled over the word, his breath coming short between his quivering lips. ‘Two million!’

Like an auctioneer bringing down his hammer, Tyler smacked his fist in his palm. ‘Sold.’

‘Fuck that!’ shouted Bryan. ‘Three—’

Tyler silenced him with a short hard elbow to the cheek. ‘No more bids. Congratulations, Mr Forester.’

‘You’re dog meat!’ Bryan exploded. ‘All of you. Fucking dog meat! I’m going to cut you up and feed you to my bitches.’

Tyler motioned for Edward to leave the room. They stepped into the hallway and he closed the door, only barely muffling the enraged gangster’s roars.

‘You understand it’s going to take a few days to come up with the money,’ said Edward. He had his voice firmly back under control now, but an oily sheen on his upper lip betrayed the strained state of his nerves.

‘And you understand that, considering the change in the terms of our deal, I’m going to need to see the money up front.’

‘You’ll get your money, don’t worry about that. You just concentrate on fulfilling your side of the bargain.’ Edward stabbed a finger at the door. ‘I want to know everything that bastard knows. And when he’s finished talking, I want him to die in the most agonising way possible.’

Tyler regarded the politician coldly. The idea of torturing someone simply for the hell of it held no appeal for him. He hurt people as part of his job, nothing more. But that didn’t mean he was uncomfortable with sadism. If Forester wanted Reynolds to suffer beyond what was absolutely necessary, Tyler would be happy to make sure he got his full money’s worth. ‘I strongly suggest you don’t return to Sheffield until this is over.’

Edward gave Tyler a look:
Do you take me for a fool?
‘I have no intention of doing so.’

Tyler returned to the interrogation room and said to Stan, ‘Take Mr Forester back to his car. See that he gets home safely.’ He handed his colleague the cloth bag, adding meaningfully, ‘And make sure he stays safe.’

Stan nodded. He approached Edward, holding out the bag. ‘Put that on your—’

‘Yes, yes, I know,’ Edward broke in, snatching it off him.

‘One more thing, Mr Forester,’ said Tyler. ‘Have you ever heard the name Jim Monahan?’ As he asked the question, his gaze moved quickly to Bryan. The gangster’s face showed no trace of recognising the name.

‘No. Why? Who is he?’

‘You needn’t concern yourself with that. I’ll expect to be hearing from you.’

Edward lifted the bag towards his head, but hesitated, his eyes lingering almost ruefully on Bryan. ‘What are you going to do to him?’

‘We’re going to have a nice little chat,’ said Tyler, motioning Liam to close the door again.

Jim stared at his bedside television. It was tuned into a twenty-four-hour news channel, and had been since a nurse woke him with breakfast. So far there’d been no mention of any incident concerning Edward Forester. That bothered him, although not quite enough to have him reaching for the phone. Not yet. It was only half past eight. If Reynolds had done as promised, Edward Forester would be dead and his wife, Philippa Horne, would most likely be tied up, terrified but unharmed. When neither of them turned up for work, their colleagues would phone to find out where they were. And when their calls went unanswered, sooner or later – most likely sooner considering Edward Forester’s status – some poor sod would be sent to look for them. At which point it would only be a matter of hours before the story broke. If that. A story like this was too big to be contained.

Jim’s gaze fell to the handheld tape recorder he’d retrieved from his jacket. Soon it would be time to turn it over to Garrett. A queasy feeling rose from the pit of his stomach. Not at the thought of what would happen to him. But at the thought of what he’d done. He squeezed his eyes shut as if trying to block out the memory. Had he really sought to provoke Reynolds into murdering Forester? He could hardly believe it. It was as if the heart attack had jolted back into focus something he’d lost sight of, some glimpse of the values that had driven him to join the police. How could he have ever thought murder was the answer? He thrust the question from his mind. It was too late for such thoughts now. The person he’d once been was gone, buried under too many years of frustration and relentless struggle to ever be exhumed.

Doctor Advani and a nurse entered the room. ‘How are you feeling this morning, Mr Monahan?’ asked the doctor.

‘A lot better, thanks. I’ve got no pain in my chest.’

The doctor checked Jim’s heart monitor readouts, before taking his notes from the end of the bed and jotting down her observations. ‘You appear to be responding well to the medication. Your blood pressure is still high, but within an acceptable range. There’s no sign of arrhythmia. Have you had any further shortness of breath or dizziness?’