Needing (9 page)

Oliver got the gist—the lab tech’s flat—and nodded. “Yep, been a long day. I’m starving. Pick up some beer too.”

“Sounds good.” Langham sighed. “I hate having to bring this kind of information to someone. The potential those rumours have to ruin a company doesn’t bear thinking about. Malicious, that’s what people are.”

“Too right.”

The elevator came to a perfect, gliding stop, and the doors slid open. A huge space met them, an open-plan office that took up the whole floor. Several desks were dotted about, but only one was occupied. It was situated rear centre, shielded from the others either side by black zigzag screens. A man sat behind the desk, head bent, giving them the impression that he was hard at work and had nothing to hide, thank you very much.

Langham cleared his throat again, and the man looked up.

“Mr Jackson?” Langham asked.

The man stood, rounding his desk and strolling towards them with the air of someone who was at ease with who he was. His dark grey suit—pressed so well that his trousers still bore the strict line down the front despite the fact that the man had possibly been sitting for untold hours—fitted him just right. No pulling material on broad shoulders here, or a tight waistband. This guy took care of his body. Shoulder-length wavy hair, that strange colour between brown and black, made Oliver think of Antonio Banderas in his eighties days.

“Ah, hello, Detectives,” Jackson said.

Langham didn’t correct him, and Oliver felt stupidly proud that he could pass as a member of the police force.

“What can I do for you?” Jackson walked towards his desk, looking back over his shoulder with eyebrows raised as though asking if they wanted to follow him.

They did, and at the desk, after they were all seated, Langham said, “I’m sorry to bother you with this, but we thought it best we told you personally. Rumours are circulating about your company doing experiments on children—and on a man named Alex Reynolds. Of course, this is utterly ridiculous, but we felt you should know in case something unfortunate hits the news later tonight.”

Jackson abruptly sat straighter, covering his slip of alarm by making out he was reaching for a pen and notebook. He held them in hands that didn’t shake, held their gaze too, an unwavering stare that spoke of him being calm and collected now. Clever bastard. “Really? How on earth did you come by this information?”

Langham rolled his eyes. “Some children were found in the basement at Alex Reynolds’ home. If he’s to be believed, your company has been conducting experiments on them.”

“Experiments on children? That’s a little far-fetched, don’t you think?” Jackson did the flabbergasted look well.

“Indeed,” Langham said. “Between you and me, we think Reynolds is trying to hide the fact he had the children down there for…
other
reasons.”

“Oh, God. That’s disgusting.” Jackson put his pen and pad down.

“People will do anything to get themselves out of trouble, sir.” Langham smiled sheepishly, as though it was his fault Reynolds had spun such a tale. “But we wanted you aware. If it leaks out what he’s said… I don’t have to tell you the devastating effects this could have on your company. Even if he’s lying, people will remember the PrivoLab name for all the wrong reasons.”

“Well, thank you for coming to tell me. I’ll alert my staff and let them know we have a ‘no comment’ policy should they be approached by the press.”

“Very sensible.” Langham paused. “So, you wouldn’t object if we asked to take a look around? Specifically at your labs.”

“Of course not. I’ll take you on a tour immediately.”

“Very good, sir. It’s for the best. I can radio in to my chief once we’ve had a look about and let him know the rumours are totally unfounded—he’s expecting us to call him in half an hour or so. Hopefully, if we’re quick, I can get that information to him before the news airs. Perhaps he’ll be able to telephone the newsroom and let them know he’s available for comment. It can only help your company.”

Jackson stood quickly. “Yes, yes. I’ll show you around right now.”

Chapter Eight

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Oliver grumbled as they sat in the car in the delivery area out the back of PrivoLabs.

A massive bush, which had protested with a groan of branches and the spiteful scratch of thorns on car paintwork as Langham had reversed into it, shielded them from view. Of course, Jackson could have seen them hiding the car in his shrubbery, but then again, he may well have been too intent on covering his arse to have bothered looking out of the window at whether they drove away or not. Maybe Langham’s ruse had worked, put Jackson at ease. Perhaps the guy had believed him.

“I’m not qualified to know what the fuck we were looking for,” Oliver went on, “and any drugs they had on the shelves looked the same as any I can get over the counter in the damn supermarket. And you do realise he’s going to dump any drugs relating to those kids now, don’t you?”

“He won’t. They cost too much. Shit, the leaves are seriously thick. I can’t see much except the back door of the place.”

“Fuck the back door!”

“I will once this pissing case is over!” Langham bit back.

“I thought we were fucking tonight.”

“Yeah, we are. Look, shut the hell up while I concentrate.”

“And you say
I’m
a bitch?”

Oliver didn’t push it further, knew to keep quiet now. Their banter had no place when Langham was uptight and staking out.

“He’ll call someone, you’ll see.” Langham leant forward, squinted to see through the foliage covering the windscreen. “They’ll come and collect the drugs and anything related to them.”

“And I take it we’ll follow.”

“Yeah.”

“So what about visiting Ronan Dougherty’s flat? Seeing if he’s been cut up, has arms missing like Mark? See if those strands are all over him?”

“Shit!” Langham whacked the steering wheel, narrowly missing blasting the horn. “What the hell is wrong with me? I forgot about him. Call it in to Shields, same deal as before—you’ve only just been told. Tell him what we’re doing too.”

Oliver obeyed, wincing at the sound of Shields’ smarmy voice coming at him over the airwaves.

“I told you to tell
Langham
to report to me,” Shields barked. “Not you, freak. What’s he doing that has him so tied up he can’t speak to me?”

“He’s the one who’ll be driving, following the people, if they come to collect the drugs.” Oliver closed his eyes, willing himself not to snap back, but his mouth worked before he could stop it. “Why, did you want to taunt him about being bent again, is that it? Hey, why don’t you say what you have to say to me? I mean, I’m a freaky fag, too, so you’ll hit home with either one of us. Doesn’t matter which one you speak to.”

“Fuck off, you little spirit-hearing bastard.”

“Ah, so you admit I
do
hear them, then? That it isn’t
me
killing these people?”

Shields spluttered. “No, no, that’s not it at all. I still think it’s you. That you have a gang, some guys who kill when you’re with Langham so it just
looks
like it isn’t you.”

“Oh, give me a fucking break, shithead.”

Langham lifted his eyebrows at that, smiled then continued studying ahead.

“Shithead? Fuck, I’ll have the chief take you off civilian duty for that. You shouldn’t even be with Langham now. Probably had a quick fuck in those bushes, haven’t you.”

“And I’ll speak to the chief about your disgusting mouth and the crap you come out with. You do know gays are accepted in the force now, don’t you? Like, they can be openly gay. I mean, words in the right ears could cost you your job. You’re victimising us.”

Shields laughed, hard and rough. “Prove it, freak.”

“These calls are monitored at random, aren’t they? Recorded? I could get Langham to call someone now so they make sure to listen to this call once we’re done, if you like?”

Shields remained quiet for several seconds. “Just let me know if something goes down.”

“Oh, I will do. You want me to tell you if something happens at Privo too?”

“What the hell are you on about? Yes, of course I do! That’s what I just said!”

“Well, it’s just that you said about something going down, and off the back of our conversation before, about being gay and all, I thought you were referring to
me
going down on Langham.” Oliver struggled to hold back his laughter.

“You dirty little bastard. You know damn well what I meant. Just call it in.”

Oliver re-hooked the radio and let out a stream of laughter.
Fuck, that felt good to get back at that greasy wanker.
“There. I think your job is safe now, don’t you? And I reckon we’ll still be working together.”

Langham quickly glanced at him then back at the Privo building. “Jesus, I knew you were a mouthy little sod, but I didn’t think you had it in you to bite back at Shields.”

“He’s pissed me off long enough. Besides, he started messing with you. I won’t have that.”

Langham looked at him again, his expression tender. “Why did we wait so long?”

“I don’t know. Fear of rejection, I guess.”

“Yeah.” He looked away again. “Fuck, mushy moment over. Someone’s here. Hand me the camera, quick!”

Oliver fumbled in the glovebox and pulled the digital camera out. He switched it on. “Careful, battery’s low.”

“Always forget to charge the bloody thing. Thanks.”

A large white truck backed into the Privo yard, reverse alarm bleeping. Once the truck had stopped, four men dressed head to toe in black poured out of the cab and approached the back door. It opened, and Jackson appeared in the doorway, head darting left to right as he inspected the area. Obviously deeming it safe, he ushered the men inside and closed the door.

“You catch all that?” Oliver asked.

“Yep. Got some good close-ups too. Keep your eye on the door. Let me know when they come out again. I’m just going to check the pictures I took.” He glanced down at them then switched the camera off. He reached for his radio. “I’m going to need back-up.”

He relayed into the radio that unmarked cars needed to be at the rear of Privo for when Langham and Oliver followed the truck when it left. Whether that meant those cops would go in and arrest Mr Jackson, or wait to follow him in case
he
left, Oliver didn’t know. He had no time to contemplate further either—the black-clad men were coming out of the back door, loading boxes into the truck.

“Langham…”

The detective looked up. “So he does have something to hide. Bastard.”

They sat in silence, watching, Oliver losing count of the boxes once they went over fifty. That was some serious amount of drugs there. Maybe the shit they’d used to make them too. Everything was evidence these days. Oliver imagined Jackson panicking, wondering how the hell he could cover his bases, ensuring that those workers oblivious to what he’d really been doing with those drugs still only thought they’d been working on something innocent. Who knew, maybe the guy would just announce he’d pulled the plug on their research, that the drug wasn’t viable, too expensive to produce, something like that. Whatever he did, he’d have to do it fast. Just by Langham snapping pictures of the guy letting the men into Privo had him banged to rights for
some
kind of crime. Aiding and abetting. Whatever. So long as the man went down for a stretch and the killings stopped, Oliver would be happy.

“Hold up,” Langham said. “They’re on the fucking move.” He barked into his radio that back-up ought to get here pretty damn quick.

The truck rumbled to life, Jackson standing at the back door as the vehicle eased forward and nosed out onto the main road. Then he closed the door, the truck joined the light traffic and Langham took the opportunity to start his car and follow. The branches had a jolly time scratching the paintwork again, and Oliver glanced to the side to see Langham’s reaction. The detective winced.

There were only two cars between Langham’s and the truck, and they tailed it at an acceptable thirty miles per hour. No bringing attention to themselves. No smart-arse overtaking to get closer. The truck was large enough to be seen for a good few hundred yards ahead, so providing they remained on this straight road for a while, they didn’t risk losing it.

The two cars turned right, stalling Langham and Oliver for a few seconds. Oliver’s heart rate increased, adrenaline speeding through him too fast for comfort. He felt sick, had never been on a pursuit before and had no idea what Langham had in mind. Would they just follow until the truck had reached its destination? If they did, didn’t they risk being spotted if the end of their journey was in some remote place?

“What’s next?” he asked, noting the truck had turned left onto the slip road leading to the motorway.

“We follow, see where it goes.”

“So we don’t flag it down, get them to stop?”

“Not at the moment, no. There are too many men inside for me to deal with should they turn nasty. Got to wait for that goddamn silent radio to squawk and let me know
we’re
being followed by other cops. I could pull them over on a random truck check, ask to look inside, and then what? If we find those damn strands, yep, we’d have reason to take the men in, but like I said, one of me, four of them. They’re not likely to go with me without a fight. Looked a nasty set of bastards, didn’t they.”

Oliver agreed. Big, burly men they wouldn’t stand a chance against. “Obvious they’ve got the drugs in the back.”

“Of course they have. Forensics will have a field day finding out what those strands contain. Wonder if they’ve got around to doing those from Louise’s body yet?” He snorted. “Doubt it. They’re way behind with evidence processing. Always are. You’d think there’d be more employed. For times like this, when we need a quick analysis in order to bring someone in. We need solid proof the strands on Louise and in that old woman’s mouth are the same ones in the truck. And those they’ll find on Mark’s body.”

“Wonder if Shields has arrived there yet. And I wonder what they’re going to do with those kids. How they’ll get them out without being bitten or attacked.”

“Only thing I can think of is drugging them, and that doesn’t sit well with me, seeing as they’re drugged up to the fucking eyeballs already. Poor little bastards.”