Numb: A Dark Thriller (31 page)

50

Riley stopped the car on a quiet tree-lined road half an hour after they’d fled from the motel.

Wendy was almost asleep again and sitting on Purvis’s lap. She had calmed down and seemed taken in by Purvis’s pathetic lies that this was all just a game. Her mother had been caught by the other side and they had to leave before they got captured too. They’d see her again when the game was finished. Would they win? Of course, they would, Sweety. Don’t you worry and try to sleep...

When Wendy calmed down she stopped asking questions, not even why her ‘uncle’ Dylan was still crying if all of this was just a game. Purvis’s sobs had now subsided to sniffles and he was pressing his fingers against his eyes to try and hold back the tears as Riley tried to get his head around the situation.

Here they were, the middle of nowhere, the wind scooping up litter from the road and swirling it around the car like tormented spirits whilst God knew what was happening to Sandra. And what could they do? Head back to Thirnbridge and try to rescue her? Two men and a two year old girl against McCabe and Howden and the rest of Nash’s army who will soon be told that Riley was as much a traitor Purvis? They’d last about thirty seconds.

Riley thought things couldn’t get any worse until his phone rang.

He knew who it would be.

“It’s McCabe,” he said, looking at the display.

“Let me talk to him,” Purvis said, holding out his hand.

“No, I’ll do the talking.” Riley stepped out of the car so that Wendy couldn’t hear, pressed the answer button and raised the phone to his ear. “What?”

“Riley, Riley...” McCabe said with a throaty sigh. “What a mess this is...”

“Where’s Sandra?” he asked, not wanting to waste time.

“She’s with me, of course.”

“Alive?”

“For now.”

“So what do you want?”

“You know what I want,” McCabe said. “And both of them are with you.”

“Not an option – especially not Wendy.”

“Well, maybe just Purvis then. If this is just about the kid I suppose we can keep her out of this. Tell Purvis to hand himself over and it’s a deal. You and the kid can go.”

Riley knew that was bullshit. He was in it as deep as the others now.

“I don’t trust you,” he said.

“So I’ve heard,” McCabe said. “I hear you’ve been doing a little detective work on me. Think I was involved with the attacks on Nash. Is that right?”

“Bang on,” Riley said, sensing an opportunity. “I actually filmed your little meeting earlier tonight. Got you and Shaun Rodgers nicely framed exchanging words and paperwork. Let Sandra go and Nash will never find out about it. I promise.”

“Really?” McCabe was being sarcastic. “You’d do that for me?”

“Don’t fuck around, McCabe,” Riley warned. “I can show Nash what I’ve got on you and he’ll have your balls.”

“I doubt he’ll listen to you after what you’ve done tonight. Anyway, if that’s how you want to play this, then fine. Here’s my idea. I’ve got Sandra. You know where I’ll be. Tell Purvis to hand himself over with any shit you’ve got on me and I’ll let you and the kid live.”

“Any other choices?” Riley asked.

“Well,” McCabe said, “you could try and be a hero and come to her rescue. Anyway, Sandra’s getting a bit restless. Got to go. Hope to see you soon.”

McCabe hung up and so Riley climbed back in the car.

“Wendy’s asleep again,” Purvis said quietly and Riley looked and saw that she was lying in his friend’s arms, looking content and safe. “Is Sandra alive?”

“Yes.”

Purvis seemed relieved. That was the best news he could hear under the circumstances.

“So what did McCabe say?”

“He wants you to hand yourself over,” Riley told him.

“And if I don’t he’ll kill Sandra, won’t he?”

“Yes. But if you do he’ll kill both of you.”

“And Wendy?”

“He said that she won’t be harmed if you do as he said. But you know McCabe can’t be trusted.”

“So then I have to go back to Thirnbridge for Sandra,” Purvis said. “I have to try and save her.”

Riley nodded. That’s what he’d do.

“What about Wendy?” he asked.

“You’ll have to watch her until I get back.”

“You won’t come back,” Riley told him, flatly. “McCabe will kill you before you get anywhere near Sandra - or Nash.”

“What if I call Nash and offer to hand myself over if he agrees to let Sandra go first.”

“You know he won’t go for that. He wants to pay Sandra back as much as he does you.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Like I said, you and Wendy run.” Riley sighed. “It’s all you can do.”

“And leave Sandra to die?” Purvis began sobbing again. “How did they find us anyway?”

“The bloke who was doing your fake passports sold you out.”

“This was all my fault,” Purvis said through gritted teeth. “If I had planned this more thoroughly-”

“You didn’t have time,” Riley reminded him. “Sandra came to you in a hurry to leave. You did what you thought was best.”

They sat in silence for a minute, the only sound that of the wind whistling around the car and the rain that still insisted on falling.

“That’s why I have to try and save her,” Purvis then said. “I have to at least try.”

More silence. This time longer.

You’ll not change his mind...

Riley stared at the phone in his hands. Should he call Nash? Tell him about McCabe? Would it save Sandra by switching Nash’s anger to someone else, someone who was involved in the death of his beloved son? Then again, would Nash believe him? He could send him the footage he’d taken earlier. Let him see with his own eyes that McCabe was involved and that Dainton hadn’t been responsible-

A thought suddenly struck Riley. It wasn’t so much of a light bulb going off inside his head but more of a candle. Yet it was something. It was hope. It was a change worth taking.

“I filmed McCabe meeting with one of Dainton’s men earlier tonight,” he told Purvis.
             

“So he
was
involved somehow?” Purvis asked.

“Looks that way.”

“It’s too late to do anything about it now, though isn’t it? We can hardly call Nash and tell him McCabe’s a traitor after what we’ve done. He’ll suspect something.”

“I’m not talking about telling Nash.”

“Riley, all of this doesn’t matter anymore. We need to save Sandra. We know McCabe. We know where he’ll take her.”

“His lock up. I know. He’ll be expecting us to try and rescue her.” Riley looked out into the night, staring blankly in the distance through his reflection in the windscreen. A plan was forming in his mind. “And we will. Just not the way he expects.”

Riley started the engine and pulled away, sending dust and litter higher into the air.

“Where are we going?” Purvis asked.

“Back to Thirnbridge,” Riley said.

“To save Sandra?”

“We need to sort out a few things first.”

“What, weapons and stuff?”

“No,” he said. “But trust me, if this works out, you and Sandra will be free of Nash forever.”

They drove for a while and re-joined the traffic on the motorway. Then, out of nowhere, Purvis said, “Can I ask you something?”

“What?” Riley said.

“Why are you doing this?”

Riley stared at him through the rear view mirror.

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why are you risking your life to help us?”

“Because I’m a good person.” Riley smirked. “And I’m your friend.”

Purvis nodded, as if he wanted to believe it but suspected another motive.

“No other reason?” he asked.

Riley looked back at the road as they passed a sign that read;
THIRNBRIDGE 40 miles

“No,” he said. “No other reason.”

6 MONTHS AGO

Riley, alone in his apartment, the time approaching midnight, looked at the front page of the newspaper once more before placing it on the coffee table. He’d read the story over and over, and he knew a lot more about what really happened than the jumped-up journalist who’d written it did.

Tragic accident – ha!

Henry Frederick Thornton had died a month shy of his fifty-sixth birthday, leaving behind an estranged ex-wife and a thirty year old daughter. He’d served with the Thirnbridge police force for the last quarter of a century, had been the rank of detective inspector for the last ten years and on Nash’s payroll for the last six. Nash used to pay him two grand at the end of each month for the DI keeping his colleagues as far away from Nash and his business as possible, but that little deal had suddenly come to an end last week and had led to tragedy.

Thornton had been diagnosed as suffering from the early stages of Parkinson’s Disease a month ago. Once the tremors had started he’d become worried that maybe the stiffness in his limbs and the tiredness he’d been feeling recently might not simply be part of the aging process but could part of something more sinister. Soon after the diagnosis of Parkinson’s he was offered early retirement from the force with a full pension. Thornton said no, he’d work until he couldn’t do his job anymore, thank you very much. In reality, he had nothing else. His ex-wife hated him and he hadn’t seen his daughter in years. He didn’t have any real friends – not even on the force – and work was his life. Plus, the two grand a month from Nash came in handy.

The ‘offer’ of early retirement soon became an ‘order’ though, and once Thornton had his  gold watch gift along with his pension book Nash suddenly found no reason to keep making payments to him. What good was he?

But Thornton still demanded the money. Said he deserved it for all the work he’d done over the years. He was a stubborn old bastard who hadn’t taken any shit his whole life and wasn’t about to start now.

Nash told him no chance, so Thornton said he’d spill the beans if he didn’t get it. He’d tell everything he knew about the murders, the beatings, the loan sharking, the drug deals, the protection rackets – everything. He’d be okay. He’d make a deal with the chief super to spare him any charges and keep his name out of the papers. But Nash would have the whole force suddenly snooping into every nook and cranny of his life. They’d nab him on something within a year and he’d be banged up for life. But that could all be avoided if he continued with the payments. In fact, stuff the two grand a month. Thornton assumed that maybe he only had a couple of years before he was a twitchy, shaking wreck who would struggle to wipe his own arse. He’d need some sort of home care. Maybe have to go into a hospice. Bollocks to the monthly payments. He now wanted a half a million one-off payment so he could spend the last years of reasonable health sunning it up abroad before returning to a private hospice that was the best money could buy. He’d give Nash two weeks to come up with the cash and if he didn’t get it he’d go straight to the chief superintendent and tell him all he knew.

Half a million? That was a lot of money.

And Nash knew a better way to solve this problem.

And for the last two days, Riley had found it hard to think about anything else. Especially after seeing today’s local newspaper, the one that was in front of him right now, on the coffee table, the picture on the front impossible for him to look away from, the face in that picture holding him in an hypnotic gaze.

Christ of all the things to happen...

Last Monday, Nash had called a little meeting for a brainstorming session. He wanted Thornton dead. But Thornton was a copper. Retired or not, you can’t kill a police officer and expect to get away with it easily. Anything that looked suspicious was out of the question. Nash could hardly have him shot in the head and buried in a shallow grave because if Thornton went missing, questions might be asked. So an accident or a suicide, that’s what it had to look like.

Turner then said that making it look like a suicide would be tricky. Forensics would find something out of place that would hint at murder. So an accident then, but what sort of accident? McCabe suggested something with his car. Yes, that would be perfect. Thornton hadn’t had to give up his license yet as he was still capable of driving in the early stages of his illness. A car crash could easily be put down to his condition. Maybe his legs stiffened up and he couldn’t hit the brakes in time. Maybe his arms had gone into one hell of a spasm and he’d lost control of the wheel. Yeah, a car accident would be good. McCabe, sort it out...

Two nights ago, after McCabe had schemed for a few days, Nash had called Riley and told him to be the driver for the job.

Riley reluctantly drove McCabe and Howden to Thornton’s place; a decent size detached on a pleasant street set back from the dual carriageway. It was late and the street was deserted. Thornton’s house was locked up for the night and the former detective appeared to be in bed. The garage was connected to the right of the house and Riley pulled up just along from it.  Howden had come along as he was needed for his lock-picking skills. Once inside the garage, McCabe was going to cut the brake pipes on Thornton’s Ford. He’d gotten hold of a manual for the exact model and had asked Alan Anderson how he should do it. Anderson had said to severe the brake pipes a little so that not all the fluid leaked out. That way there would be enough pressure for the breaks to work a little for Thornton to get out of the garage, down his street and onto the dual carriage way. Once on the dual carriageway the nearest turn-off was three miles in one direction and four in the other. Thornton would easily get up to seventy before he needed to break again and by then the fluid would be all gone. Anderson had also suggested Howden pick the car lock and remove the fuse for the brake warning light so that it didn’t flash and make Thornton suspicious. Riley, along with McCabe and Howden would be getting a nice little bonus if they pulled this off and as Howden and McCabe left the Merc and headed towards the garage, Riley tried to convince himself that Thornton deserved what was coming to him. He was a crook. A bent copper was worse than a common criminal. Plus he had no close family. No one would miss him.

But Riley found it hard to convince himself, just like he did whenever he had to give someone a hiding for not paying on time or whenever Nash ordered him to sort out someone who was becoming a problem. Recently it seemed that a lot of people Nash had a problem with didn’t deserve the punishment they got and the punishments were becoming harsher.

Howden got the garage unlocked within two minutes. McCabe silently lifted the door to make a one foot gap and both men slid underneath and out of Riley’s view. Should anyone walk past, the garage would still appear closed. Should Thornton appear Riley was to call McCabe’s mobile and warn him. If Thornton heard a noise and came out to look, the accident plan went out the window and instead McCabe and Howden would overpower him and they’d take him to the lock-up to be killed, frozen and diced up. Fuck the consequences.

As it happened, McCabe and Howden appeared again within ten minutes and locked the garage door behind them. It had gone as planned and now all they had to do was wait.

The next day, at 09:23a.m, Thornton left his house for a doctor’s appointment in the city centre. He died at 09:28a.m.

Nash called a meeting at midday and seemed in a celebratory mood. Thornton’s car had skidded out of control and ploughed into queuing traffic at the lights. He’d been killed instantly, the front of the Ford crumpling up like tinfoil. Nash proudly flicked on the news channel and there it was, a reporter standing by the side of the dual carriageway barely six miles from where they now sat drinking and laughing, the road closed, the wrecked Ford behind him, fire crews and police officers wandering about the crash site...

Riley then saw that there was another car next to the Ford. It looked like it had been a people carrier before it was written off. The back end had been crushed as Thornton had ploughed into it, unable to stop, panicking as he worked the brake pedal. Metal and glass littered the roadside in an industrial style collage.

As Nash and Turner poured themselves another brandy and Howden and McCabe started a relaxing game of pool, Riley turned the volume up on the television in time to hear the reporter say one sentence, one sentence that made him almost drop the glass he held and cause his stomach sink down to his feet.

“... confirmed that as well as the driver of the Volvo, a second person sadly lost their lives in this terrible accident...”

And today, he’d found out the name of that second person.

Jamie Hudson. He’d been only eighteen months old when Thornton’s Volvo had slammed into the back of his parent’s car. He’d been asleep in the child seat in the back, on his way to the supermarket with his mother, when he’d been killed. The picture on the paper showed him sitting in a pushchair and holding an ice-cream. He was smiling through the white mess that stained his happy, innocent face under a headline that read:

TODDLER KILLED IN HORROR SMASH

Nash had wanted Thornton’s death to look like a tragic accident and had caused a very real one.

Riley called him the second he found out that the victim had been a child, expecting Nash to be overcome with grief and remorse.
Hoping
he would be.

“That’s too bad,” Nash had said. Then he added (and Riley could imagine the smile on Nash’s face as he spoke): “Still, at least we’re rid of Thornton.”

Riley then called Turner, Howden and McCabe and all of them had reacted in a similar way.

“Yeah, it was a shame,” Turner had said. “Still, nothing we can do about it now. Try and forget about it.”

“A kid, eh?” McCabe had said, coldly. “Poor fucker.”

“Oh, really?” Howden had grunted. “Anyway, can you give me a lift to the club later? I was too pissed to drive and left my car there last night.”

Riley had said no, he was busy and hung up.

Didn’t any of them give a shit? Didn’t any of them have any feelings? How could this not bother them?

Riley called Purvis last of all. He had been kept out of this job but when he answered Riley told him everything, the words tumbling out of his mouth like a confession.

“They killed a kid, Purvis,” he said. “
I
helped kill a little kid.”

“You didn’t do it, Riley,” Purvis said. “It was an accident.”

An accident!
Riley almost laughed.

“But I know who caused it,” Riley said. “I
helped
cause it.”

“You didn’t kill anyone, Riley,” Purvis tried again.

“I know about it though. I let it happen.”

“You’ve told me about. I’m in the same boat now. What can we do about it, though? Talk to the police? Riley, that’s just causing trouble for ourselves. I’ve got Sandra and Wendy to worry about. Things are nearly in place for us to leave. I know it sounds selfish but...”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Riley said, thinking of Jamie Hudson’s parents; his mother in hospital with minor injuries; his father, glad that she’d survived but torn apart after losing his child. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even told you. I just needed someone to talk to. Maybe I
should
quit bothering you and talk to the police.”

“I don’t think so, Riley,” Purvis said. “Nash will get off with it. He always does. No, what you’ve just learned the hard way is that you haven’t got the stomach for this life. You’re in deeper with the firm than you ever planned and you’ll only keep getting deeper. And the deeper you go, the dirtier the jobs will get. Get out of this while you still can.”

Riley snorted a sardonic laugh down the phone.

“I think it’s too late for that now. I don’t deserve to walk away knowing what I know.”

There was a pause on the line. Then Purvis said, “Try and get some sleep, Riley. If you still feel this way tomorrow then maybe you
have
to do something about it, for your own sake.”

“Like what?”

“Go to the police? Run? That’s up to you. You’re the only one who can decide that. Try and rest and I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow, okay.”

“Yeah,” Riley said and hung up.

Now, several hours since the phone call had ended, he sat staring at Jamie Hudson’s face on the front page of the newspaper, Purvis’s words echoing in his head as he remembered how Nash and the others had laughed and been so pleased when Thornton had died and couldn’t care less about anyone else, especially some dead little kid that didn’t make a difference to anything anyway. And besides, they were untouchable. They ran this city. Who was going to stop them?

(“That’s up to you...”)

He couldn’t go to the police, he told himself. There was no proof other than his word that Nash and the others were behind this. He couldn’t walk away either. He’d hurt enough people to know he would never deserve to be free from this life. But Nash needed to be punished for this. How many other people would he hurt in future, people who’d done little or nothing wrong? How much more wealth would he acquire by hurting others. How much more power would he gain whilst others suffered.

Whilst Jamie Hudson’s parents suffered...