Numb: A Dark Thriller (24 page)

36

“If you need us, don’t hesitate to call, okay?”

“Yes, thanks,” Sandra said as Davison and Burns stepped out into the corridor. They’d been at the apartment for over an hour, asking questions and offering support. She would have liked to have helped them more by being able to give some decent answers but she couldn’t. She never got involved with Nash’s business and honestly had no idea who he might have wronged to cause all of this trouble. And, of course, Nash had hardly co-operated and helped the two detectives out. He’d given short answers, all of which either contained the lines,
“I don’t know”
or
“I haven’t a clue,”
like he had no
idea who was out to kill him.

And kill me!
Sandra thought.
They were out to kill me and Wendy too!

“Mr Nash refused police protection,” Davison reminded her. “We can’t force it upon him, but we feel that after the two attacks on his life it would’ve been better if you were all moved to a safe house until things settle down.”

“I understand,” Sandra said. “He can be a little... stubborn at times. But I’m sure he knows best.”

“You and your daughter can still accept the offer,” Burns said.

No, we’ll be leaving soon anyway.

“Yes, I know,” Sandra said. “I’ll talk to Mike tonight and see what he thinks.”

“Okay,” Davison said. “I suppose you should be fine here. There are other people in this apartment and a security man downstairs. Anyway, call us if you need us.”

“Of course.”

When the two detectives trudged off along the corridor, she closed the apartment door and leant against it for extra support.

It had been a hell of a day and the stress of the funeral alone had taken it out of her, but after the explosion and the trip to hospital and then the visit from the police Sandra didn’t know if she was ready to collapse into bed or was so wired that she wouldn’t be able to sleep for a week.

She rubbed her tired eyes and slowly went back into the living room in time to see Nash down the brandy he held. Then, before he’d even swallowed it, he reached for the decanter and poured another large measure. His face bore a few cuts and scrapes where splinters of wood had hit him when the bomb had gone off and the sorrow that had been burned into his eyes for the last week had been replaced by his usual piercing gaze. Anger was boiling away inside him, she could tell.

He began pacing the floor, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the crystal glass to his mouth as he continuously sipped his drink. He looked deep in thought and ready to kill someone and Sandra felt her insides go cold. Despite all the arguments of recent years, Nash had never laid a hand on her. She’d seen him lose his temper on numerous occasions but she’d never feared a violent assault from him. Tonight though, he looked unpredictable and capable of anything.

“I’m scared Mike,” she eventually said.

Nash didn’t answer her. Just finished his brandy and poured another. He was dressed in fresh trousers and a clean white shirt – some of the few clothes they kept here at their second home. Sandra had showered and changed into jogging bottoms and a sweat-shirt and Wendy was in a clean pair of pyjamas and was watching a DVD in her bedroom. The door to that room was closed. Good. Sandra didn’t want her daughter to hear any of the conversation that was about to happen. She knew it would lead to another argument.

“Mike, I said I’m scared,” she said loudly. “We’ve got to get out of Thirnbridge. We should have taken the police’s offer of protection. It’s too dangerous-”

“I’m not running,” Nash said calmly and without looking at her.

“But we could’ve been killed today.”

“I’ll sort it.”

Sandra shook her head and threw out her hands. What did she have to say to get through to him? Would he listen to
anything
she said? Would he listen to anything
anyone
would say? No, of course he wouldn’t. He was the boss, the big man. He made the decisions. He won the battles. He didn’t run away. He’d obviously made up his mind to stay and fight and to hell with anyone else.

“The shooting and then the bomb,” Sandra went on, hoping and praying he would take notice. “What next? No doubt it’ll happen again. What about Wendy and me-”

“I said I’ll sort it!” he snapped.

The power, the vehemence of his words made her jump in her skin. This wasn’t the Mike Nash she knew. Not only was this man far removed from the friendly and suave gentlemen she’d first met but he didn’t resemble the selfish, power crazy thug she’d come to know over the last two years. This man was something new, a creation of grief and guilt, of remorse and rage, of drugs and alcohol. This was a monster standing before her. A mad man.

Sandra sat down on the leather sofa and put her head in her hands. She felt so helpless. Nash had lost it, been pushed way over the edge and wouldn’t see sense. Not even the mention of Wendy seemed to make him see that even she wasn’t safe with him. Surely a real man, even a
crazy
man, could still think of others. Surely Nash should still care a little about the safety of-

-who? His daughter? But she’s not his. Wendy’s life is in danger and she’s not even his!
Your
daughter’s life is in danger because you’re still here, with Nash, the madman!

That reminder hit her hard. Yes, she’d done wrong sleeping with Purvis. God, it was terrible to have a child to another man and pretend to Nash that she was his. And to let the charade go on for nearly three years was beyond reproach. Yet, she’d had no choice. If doing the right thing was telling the truth then both she and Purvis would have probably been killed as soon as the truth came out. And what would that have meant for Wendy? None of this was her fault.

No. She’s innocent. She’s the important one in all of this...

“Well, me and Wendy aren’t staying here to die with you.” Sandra had spoken before she was even aware of it.

Nash glared at her. The cuts on his face seemed more prominent, making him uglier than he already was in her eyes. She stared back at him and remained rigid in her seat. She’d just threatened to leave Mike Nash and wasn’t about to go back on her words. This was it. This was her chance. She had an excuse to leave him now. Even if she didn’t have Purvis her time with Mike Nash was about to end.

“You might be alright with putting Wendy in danger but I’m not,” she said. “We’re going.”

“Sandra,” Nash said with a shake of his head, “just shut the fuck up, will you.”

“No!” she said, getting up from her seat. “Wake up Mike. Someone wants you dead. What if they get Wendy next?”

Nash ignored her, walked to the window and stared out at the darkening sky, at the rain that hadn’t let up all day. From here, seven floors up, there was a panoramic view of the city centre. Office blocks, shops, busy roads, pavements heaving with human traffic. It all looked so dirty and depressing.

“You think I’m just going to hang around here while you put my daughter’s life in danger?” When Nash didn’t answer, Sandra walked up behind him so that he could at least see her reflection in the window. Ignoring her was only making her angrier. This wasn’t a game. This was life or death. “Oh, I forgot, you don’t care about Wendy. She doesn’t matter, just like I don’t matter. You don’t love us and you probably never have. Not like your precious son-”

It happened so fast that Sandra didn’t see it coming.

Nash spun fast and the punch knocked her off balance. The pain didn’t come straight away, only a fog which clouded her thoughts and made her feel like she was going to pass out.

Before she could even sink to her knees, her left eye swelling and closing almost instantly, Nash had his free hand around her throat, his face only inches from hers. His breath stank of booze and stale cigar smoke, and Sandra, although dizzy and her vision blurred, again saw that wild look in his eyes.

He’s going to kill me! Strangle me! God, help...

“Don’t ever mention Michael again,” he hissed, quietly.

“Please... Mike,” she said, trying to claw his hand from her throat. “Mike... I can’t... breathe.” Her head felt like it was going to explode and the fog in her mind was growing thicker, darker, enveloping her brain. A few seconds more and she’d go to sleep forever, she was sure.

Nash stared at her, his eyes brimming with hatred. Veins throbbed in his forehead. His mouth was a twisted, vicious grin. All the time his hand still squeezed.

Finally, just as she thought she thought he’d never let go, he released his grip and Sandra sank onto her back, gasping for air.

“Go and leave,” he said, calmly.
Too
calmly. Then he finished his drink and casually tossed the glass aside where it shattered on the hardwood floor. “Go on. You’ve had a good few years out of me. Spent a lot of my money. Had a good life. Go on and fuck off out of my life you whinging cunt.”

As she lay there, trying to get her throat working, Sandra again realised that this wasn’t Nash talking. This wasn’t even the bad Nash. This was the monster he’d become.

He suddenly reached for her and Sandra held up her hands, fearing another assault.

“Mike, please, don’t-” she croaked.

He laughed, grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to her feet. She held in her scream as she felt strands of hair slowly being pulled from her scalp.

“Please,” she begged. “Wendy’s next door.”

“Go on. Bye, bye.” Nash shoved her in the direction of the front door and Sandra went skidding across the hardwood floor in her stocking feet, only stopping when she managed to cling to the sofa. Then Nash grabbed the brandy decanter and walked through the broken glass towards the master bedroom as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving!” Sandra said, her bravado returning now that there were a few metres separating the two of them. “And Wendy’s coming with me!”

Nash slammed the bedroom door and the sound of his manic laughter on the other side made the hairs on Sandra’s neck stand on edge.

She stared at her swollen eye in the reflection in the window as she fought back tears.

“To hell with you, Mike,” she whispered. “To hell with you.”

37

Purvis had called at six. He was home from hospital with four stitches in his head and an all clear for concussion. He asked if Riley fancied a drink.

“You know I don’t drink,” Riley had said. “But tonight I think I could force a couple down.”

And an hour later, here he was on Purvis’s doorstep, his collar hitched up to keep the rain from running down his back. The wind had picked up but he could only guess that it was bitingly cold. He was as numb to temperature change as he was to pain. He sweated when he was hot and shivered when he was cold but they were his body’s automatic response to those kinds of stimuli. There was no... feeling; no burning if his skin caught too much sun; no stinging or pins and needles if his hands or feet were too cold, only his body trying to right itself in its own natural way with raised hairs and gooseflesh and chattering teeth. Tonight, wrapped up in his overcoat, the only hint he had that the temperature was close to zero was that his breath was clouding in front of him as he walked from his car to Purvis’s townhouse. However, he was still glad to get inside once Purvis opened the door so he could step out of his wet coat, and he was even gladder when his friend shoved a glass of something amber in his hand and showed him through to the living room.

“So what happened at the hospital?” Riley asked as both men took a seat.

Purvis showed off the stitches just under his hairline.

“Caused by a chunk of brick or something,” he said. “They stitched it, kept me in for a few hours for observation and after I told them I felt okay they discharged me. I think finding out that Sandra and Wendy were alright was better than any treatment or painkillers.” Purvis exhaled dramatically and then took a sip of whisky. “God, Riley, I thought I’d lost them. I called Nash a couple of hours ago but he didn’t answer. Sandra didn’t either. I’m still a little worried.”

“Turner called me earlier,” Riley said. “He’s spoken to Nash. Told him about the deaths at the club.”

“Atkins, Knight and Devlin,” Purvis said, nodding. “Poor fuckers. I mean, I didn’t really like them – didn’t really know them – but, to go out like that...”

“I know.” In fact, Riley didn’t know what he felt for the three of them. They’d done some bad shit over the years but they weren’t half as bad as some he knew of. Knight and Devlin were just thugs, pure and simple, the exact persona of what the likes of Davison and Burns saw as doormen. They’d worked the doors for money, the image, free drinks and loose women. Atkins had been more professional and less likely to lose his temper for any little thing but when he did, he lost it big style. There would be quite a few blokes in the city who’d been on the wrong end of a hiding from one of them in the past and who wouldn’t be mourning their demises.

They all had families, however. Devlin had a young son. Knight had two girls in senior school. Atkins was divorced but still saw his teenage boy. Well, he used to anyway...

“Turner said Nash received minor cuts to his face when the mansion door exploded,” Riley went on. “But that was about it. Wendy was still in the car when it happened and so wasn’t hurt, and Sandra was out of the blast range – although she
did
drop her phone with shock and it smashed. That’s why you couldn’t get through to her.” He took a drink. The whisky tasted bitter and harsh but he knew it would relax him. Like everyone else, he wasn’t immune to alcohol. Just the headache the next morning. “That’s about all I know. Turner didn’t stay long because the police were coming to talk to Nash. Did they come and see you at the hospital?”

“Yeah. You?”

“I had a nice little chat with two detectives. They even bought me coffee.”

“Wow, lucky you.”

“It tasted like shit.”

“Still, if it was free...” Purvis chuckled and finished his drink. “What did you tell them?”

“They did most of the talking,” Riley said. “They wanted me to give them any info I had on Dainton.”

“What?” Purvis looked confused.

“They said that they know Nash is the sort of bloke who’ll take matters into his own hands but that it would be best if the police apprehended the people behind the attacks.”

Purvis laughed as he refilled their glasses with the bottle he grabbed from the coffee table.

“I didn’t think
they’d
suspect Dainton,” he said. “I mean, come on, both attacks stink of an inside job. They should be watching all of
us
not a rival firm. Think about it, how would Dainton know when to plant the bombs? How would his men get access to Nash’s mansion? I bet there’s not much evidence on the security footage there either.”

“Do you think it’s worth checking it out?” Riley asked.

Purvis shook his head.

“The police would’ve already taken it for evidence after they cordoned off the scene. This wasn’t like the shooting at the club last week. Whoever planted those devices had to be up close to buildings. Whoever left the wreath in the alleyway would have been caught on the cameras in the high street and I bet they did their best to disguise themselves to the max.”

“Well, if the police see that on the footage they might get suspicious,” said Riley. “It might make them wonder how the culprits knew both areas so well. Might make them think one of Nash’s own men was involved.”

Purvis shook his head again and said, “It seems to me the police only suspect one person and will probably dismiss any evidence that doesn’t point at him. They’ll probably just think that whoever Dainton employed to plant the bombs had scoped the scenes well before hand. The time of Michael junior’s funeral was in the public domain and so whoever planted it at the mansion assumed it would be empty and the gates left open. Dainton’s no novice when it comes to stuff like this, remember.”

Riley stared into his drink. Then he said, “Do you realise what you’ve just said?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve just said that Dainton’s no novice when it comes to stuff like this.”

“Well, he’s not.”

“But the shooting at the club was pretty amateurish. Not like today.”

“So you think today was genuine? That it
was
Dainton, and McCabe wasn’t involved?”

Riley shrugged.

“I don’t know anymore,” he said. “Why would McCabe want Nash dead in the first place? He certainly hasn’t been acting like a traitor since the shooting.”

“Beats me,” Purvis replied. “But judging by what we saw on the footage he definitely expected the shooters to come from around that corner.”

Riley drank some more. Thought some more.

“So were they paid by Dainton?” he asked himself as much as Purvis. “Was McCabe in on it? If he was, then why be soon keen to go after Dainton’s nephew for revenge?”

“To seem genuine?” Purvis said, clutching at straws. “What else could he do after Nash survived?”

“Yeah, possibly. But surely Dainton wouldn’t give him his blessing to torture and chop up one of his family.”

“Maybe Dainton was looking for an excuse to get rid of his useless nephew.”

“It’s still a little extreme.”

“So McCabe isn’t working for Dainton,” Purvis tried. “He’s...”

“What?”

Purvis sighed.

“I don’t know. Trying to start a war between the two firms? Playing them off against each other?”

Riley paused with the glass touching his lips. He didn’t drink. Just stared at his friend.

“What did you just say?”“Purvis downed his drink and said, “I said maybe McCabe’s trying to start a war between the two firms. Another drink?”

“Yes.” Riley said, something dawning on him. “Of course.”

Purvis reached for his glass but Riley pulled it away.

“No, not that,” he said.

“No what?” asked Purvis.

“No to the drink,” Riley said, smiling. “Yes to what you said.”

Purvis frowned.

“Maybe it’s my because of my head wound, but I’m lost...”

“McCabe’s playing the two firms off against each other,” Riley said. “He’s trying to start a war.
He
set up the shooting on Nash. No doubt if Nash had been killed Turner, who would take over, would have ordered a hit on Dainton straight away and both bosses would be dead. But Nash survived and McCabe had no choice but to act all loyal and innocent and go after Mark Dainton as payback. Then, in revenge for that, Dainton comes back with the bombs...”

“Hold on,” said Purvis. “So McCabe was behind the shooting, but Dainton was behind the bombs? How does that work? Is McCabe working for the other side or what?”

“No,” said Riley. “He wouldn’t have killed Mark Dainton if that was the case. He would’ve just defected to the north side after Nash survived the shooting. I think the plan was to kill Nash, make it look like Dainton was behind it and then kill him in revenge. Get rid of both bosses.”

“But going after Dainton’s risky. How would McCabe know he wouldn’t be a target himself after killing the nephew?”

Riley was already nodding, the answer already in the front of his mind.

“Because someone within Dainton’s ranks is working with him,” he said.

Purvis couldn’t hold back his laugh.

“Come on, Riley. Who has the head injury here? Have you heard yourself? That’s a bit far fetched.”

“Is it?” Riley said. “I don’t think so. Think about it. McCabe and someone from the other side hatch a little plan to start a war and get rid of both bosses.”

“But why?” Purvis asked. “What’s in it for him?”

Shit! Riley hadn’t thought about that yet.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe McCabe has a secret grudge against Nash and this other bloke has one against Dainton. Maybe they plan to wipe out the bosses and pick up the pieces for themselves. It could be anything. I guess only McCabe could tell you why he’s doing what he is.”

“Pity he won’t tell us if we ask,” Purvis said.

Riley nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe you should work some of your magic. Hack into his emails or text messages.”

“I doubt he’d have anything incriminating on his computer or his phone.”

“You never know,” replied Riley. That was a fact. One of the reasons that Nash had become so successful was that he’d learned quickly the best ways to keep the law off his back.  Bribery was no good. That cost money. Threats and violence were a last resort. They were a risky business, especially if you were going after police or a judge. Things could go wrong (like Jamie Hudson) and in the end you were only making more trouble for yourself. No, the best way was blackmail. Learning people’s hidden secrets. They didn’t have to be big ones either. Someone didn’t need a giant of a skeleton crammed into a closet. Little things worked too. Like when Nash asked Purvis to hack into the computer system of a London hotel and found that a local judge had ordered a couple of adult films whilst away at a three day conference. When Nash approached him with the evidence it turned out that The Right Honourable Judge Potter didn’t want his wife to find out he’d enjoyed a night of
Anal Extremes
without her. And she wouldn’t find out – as long as Nash wasn’t hauled up in front of him. Over the years Nash had built up quite a portfolio on numerous members of the Thrinbridge Police Force and legal system and had many an officer, lawyer and judge quaking in their boots should any evidence of his wrongdoings come to light.

“I don’t think anything like that would work with McCabe,” Purvis said. “I could try his emails but I doubt anything will be there.”

“What about hacking into his phone?” Riley asked. “His voicemail or messages?”

“It’s not that easy. You need specialist software for it.” He tapped his chin. “The simplest thing to do would be... no, it wouldn’t work.”

“What wouldn’t?” Riley asked.

“There’s a way to turn a mobile – most modern mobiles – into a kind of basic listening device. You put it on silent mode and set it to auto answer. Then you dial the number from another phone. The phone doesn’t ring as the call is answered immediately. The person might have the phone in their pocket but won’t know it’s been called and that the caller can hear what’s happening because it’s acting like a microphone, picking up any sound within its range.”

“So why won’t that work on McCabe?” Riley asked.

“Because we’ll need to get our hands on his phone without him knowing and get it back to him after we’ve changed the settings.”

“Oh, right.”Riley took another drink. Purvis did likewise. The room fell silent. The wind whistled past the windows. Somewhere outside, a car pulled up.

A few seconds later, the doorbell rang.

Both Riley and Purvis looked towards the hallway.

“You expecting anyone else?” Riley asked.

“No,” Purvis said. “Unless it’s one of the lads coming to see how I am. Or the police again.”

“I don’t know which I prefer,” Riley said heading out to the hall. “Pour me another and I’ll answer it.”

As he reached for the lock, the doorbell rang again. Then someone knocked. Whoever was out there was eager to get inside.

Riley pulled the door open.