Numb: A Dark Thriller (32 page)

But what could Riley do about it...?

He continued to sit and think until the sun came up four hours later and the morning rays highlighted the shadows under his eyes and the torment on his face.

Even then, he still hadn’t made a decision.

51

It was now Saturday evening, the time approaching six, a good eighteen hours since Sandra had been taken by McCabe and Howden. It was a long time to leave her alone and injured and helpless in the hands of a madman but that couldn’t be helped. Riley and Purvis had had things to do, things to prepare before driving back to the outskirts of the city centre to try and put an end to this terrible situation.

Riley found a quiet back street and stopped the car. They were only three miles from Nash’s apartment and four from McCabe’s lock up. That was too close.
Dangerously
close. Nash probably had half the city keeping an eye out for them. Every dealer, mugger, burglar, car thief and bent copper were all probably hoping to find them and get a sniff at some reward money.

Riley and Purvis climbed out of the car and shook hands. There was more than friendship in Purvis’s grip. There was also gratitude and hope.

“Take care,” he said.

Riley nodded.

Yes, he would try, but he couldn’t guarantee his safety, not with the plan they’d just hatched. It was madness, but also their best shot.

“Right, you and Wendy head back,” he said. “I’ll call you in an hour or so to make sure everything’s in place.”

Purvis climbed in the driving seat. Wendy was in the back, eating a Happy Meal and she smiled as he settled behind the wheel.

“Bye, uncky Wiwey,” she shouted and waved.

Riley couldn’t help smiling. In the last twenty-four hours he’d been upgraded to an uncle. That was nice.

“If things don’t work out you know what to do,” he then told Purvis through the opened car window.

Purvis pulled out detective Davison’s card that Riley had given him earlier and waved it in the air.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t just call nine, nine, nine?” Purvis asked. “If it’s an emergency it’ll be quicker.”

“No, call Davison,” Riley said. “Tell her everything and she’ll sort the rest.”

“Right.” Purvis took a deep breath and although he hadn’t cried since they’d fled the motel last night, his eyes appeared to gloss over again. “Hopefully, I’ll see you soon.”

“You will,” Riley said and with that he turned and walked away.

When he heard Purvis drive off behind him, he felt a little relieved. At least they were safer on the move. On the way here Purvis had again asked why they didn’t consider heading straight to the lock up to try and rescue Sandra. Riley had again told him that this wasn’t just about rescuing Sandra. They also had to take care of Nash otherwise he’d keep coming after them.

The plan was that once Riley knew that Purvis was ready, he would call McCabe and arrange a meeting at the lock up. He’d demand proof that Sandra was alive and try and make a deal to free her. McCabe would have to come himself and not involve Nash and risk his treachery being revealed. But, Riley also knew, McCabe couldn’t be trusted and would try something funny and Riley would undoubtedly end up at McCabe’s mercy. But it was all part of the plan, and if Purvis kept his cool and played this the way that they’d discussed then both Nash and McCabe would be off their backs forever.

He headed out of the backstreet towards his fate.

First, though, there was someone he needed to see.

52

Riley pulled out his mobile when he was about five minutes from his destination.

The weather was dry for a change and evening had set in early and he was shaded from the dying sun by the row of evergreens overhanging the railings of the park where several young boys were kicking a football around. Apart from them, no one was around and Riley had only passed a dozen or so people since he’d set off on foot fifteen minutes before.

He dialled Dr Carter’s number.

If he was leaving for good – or worse, killed – then he only had one person he owed a goodbye to.
Wanted
to bid farewell to. The good doctor would probably ask a few questions as to why Riley had finally decided to take his advice and leave and Riley would lie and say that the time was just right. He should’ve done it years ago. Then they would shake hands, probably share a hug, maybe reminisce about a few past memories as they stood for a final time on the doorstep. And then Riley would have to go. Meet McCabe and head into uncertainty. If he died, Carter would never find out, McCabe would see to that. He’d be disposed of in some unmarked hole in the ground in the woods and become food for the nocturnal animals there. If the plan failed and Purvis had to contact Davison, however, Riley and Sandra would be killed before the police could take McCabe out and the news would spread across the country within minutes. Carter would find out then, but at least Purvis and Wendy would be safe. Then again, maybe today would go better than planned and Riley would really be able to leave and start afresh somewhere else. Maybe meet a lady and start a family and surprise Carter in a year or two’s time with a surprise visit and the family - dog and all - in tow.

It was a nice thought. A nice dream.

Riley waited for the call to be answered as he continued towards Carter’s house. He’d called early this morning and told Carter he’d pay him a visit at some point later today but couldn’t give a time.

“What’s the problem?” Carter had asked.

“No problem,” Riley had replied. “Just want to say hello. What time will you be in?”

“I should be in all day. Got a lot of stuff to do in the garden.”

“Okay, I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”

And now Riley had. But the phone had rung a long time. Riley supposed the doctor was probably still out in his garden on a nice day like this, tending to his flowers and tomato plants.

Just as Riley was about to hang up, Carter answered.

He seemed out of breath and Riley assumed he just hurried back into the kitchen, hoping to pick up the receiver before the caller rung off.

“It’s me,” Riley said, waiting for Carter to say hello. He was breathing heavily. “I’m on my way over. You okay? You sound out of breath. How big were those plants?”

“Where... where are you?” Carter asked.

“Two streets away. I’ll be there in-”

“TURN AROUND, RILEY!” Carter suddenly screamed down the phone. “DON’T COME HERE! HE’S HERE, HE’LL-”

There was a muffled thud down the line, as if Carter had dropped the receiver and Riley, his blood suddenly replaced with ice-cold water, didn’t need to here anymore to understand that McCabe had somehow found out about Carter and had assumed Riley would try to contact him.

He broke into a run, pounding along the pavement in the plush suburban part of the city, tracing the same path he had fifteen years earlier on his first visit there with blood pouring from his hand and right now his heart was beating just as fast as it had all those years ago and the fear he felt was just as strong.

Purvis had bought a new mobile phone earlier today. Riley dialled the number as he raced into Carter’s street.

“It’s started!” he said.

“What has?” Purvis asked. “Are you running?”

“McCabe’s made a move,” Riley said breathlessly into the phone. “You have to start now.”

“But I’m not set up yet. We have to test the-”

“We just have to hope everything works. McCabe’s going to take me soon!”

“But...”

“If everything works then stick to the plan. If not, call Davison!”Riley hung up.

A minute later, sweating and out of breath, he reached Carter’s house. The door was ajar and as he tentatively stepped inside he braced himself for what he knew he’d find.

His initial reaction was one of surprise. Everything was so tidy inside. Nothing was out of place in the hallway or living room and in the kitchen nothing had been turned over or smashed. There was even a jacket potato still in the oven, cooking slowly. Indeed, apart from Dr Carter’s body slumped in a seat at the dining table no one would have suspected anything had happened here.

Riley walked a little closer. He didn’t feel the need to check for a pulse or call an ambulance. Carter was dead, the bulging, wide staring eyes that focussed on nothing gave the sad fact away. His medicine box and a couple of empty bottles were on the table in front of him. Riley saw the hypodermic protruding from the crook of the late doctor’s left arm and knew that McCabe had administered an overdose of some kind. But that was a mistake on McCabe’s part. There would surely be signs of a struggle somewhere on Carter’s body, bruising or scratches or fibres from McCabe’s skin or clothes, but obviously he was assuming the police would take one look at this scene and assume an elderly practitioner of medicine, still unable to deal with the loss of his wife several months before, had decided to end it all and that there was no need to suspect foul play.

But no
, Riley suddenly thought.
That wouldn’t work because McCabe knows that
I
know. He knows I’ll head straight here. Therefore he hasn’t left. He’s still here...

Riley remained still, his back to the hallway door. He just stood there, looking at the body of his dear friend, his father-figure. He didn’t want to search the house, didn’t listen for approaching footsteps or watch out for moving shadows. He was staying put. Riley had to let McCabe continue to think that he was in control of this situation. Then, suddenly...

He’s behind me
, Riley thought.
I can sense him. I can smell him.

Still he didn’t move.

A second later he heard the footsteps. A few seconds after that, he began to feel dizzy.

A moment later, his legs went weak and he sank to the floor.

Dropping to one knee, his head lolling, Riley caught sight of a pair of legs behind him. His automatic response was to try and fight whatever was making him feel this way, whatever was clouding his vision and dulling his mind, but as he struggled to get to his feet and flopped onto his back as the dizziness suddenly increased, he knew he wouldn’t win against it.

Riley’s eyes flickered as he stared up into the blurred face of McCabe, McCabe who held a hypodermic professionally in one hand, like a doctor who’d just saved a patient’s life.

Riley put one hand to the back of his neck and then checked the blood on his fingers. He hadn’t felt the needle go into his flesh and muscle, but the drug had done its job.

“See you on the other side,” McCabe said, his voice deep and distorted, his face beginning to swirl.

Riley took a final look at Dr Carter.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but heard,
I’mmmm sorrrrrrreeeeee...

Suddenly, his vision began to fade, his eyes closing.

Purvis
, he thought as he slipped into unconsciousness,
you better not forget the drill!

Then, not able to fight whatever had been forced into his bloodstream, Riley let himself fall into the dark pit of oblivion.

53

Detective sergeant Davison was at her desk, looking through files and staring at photographs, trying to piece together the puzzle of why Lenny Dainton had hired two thugs to kill Mike Nash and when they’d failed had upped the attacks to explosives and had risked starting a gang war that was now well underway. Just what was in it for him? What was the motive? She had to find that out to complete the puzzle.
Needed
to find out, and fast.

Davison sighed as she turned the page to the fire department’s report on Wilcox and Tennant’s flat. The fire had been deliberately started. Fuel aided. Their post mortem reports had shown that both men were still alive when the fire began and had died as a result of smoke inhalation yet both had suffered head trauma as well. It was obvious that they’d been killed, and it should be obvious that Dainton had
ordered
them killed for failing to take Nash out in the shooting.

But without evidence...

This was the frustrating part of police work; having to prove someone’s guilt. No wonder most people these days had no faith in the justice system. Every police officer, lawyer and judge in the world could see that Dainton was behind the attacks but without the
evidence,
the
proof
, then their hands were tied. And they had nothing. No CCTV footage that clearly showed Dainton or one of his employees up to anything dodgy, no fingerprints leading back to them, no phone-recordings (she never got permission to tap any of his lines) and no witnesses or grasses. Absolutely nothing.

Davison slammed the file shut and sat back in her chair. The office was empty, only Burns and herself working past five on a Saturday, and Burns had just closed down his computer and was gathering his things, ready for home. Both of them had been working late recently but Burns had taken tonight off to celebrate his anniversary. So it would just be her, tonight. Diane Davison, alone, as always.

“Right, I’m away, boss,” he said, appearing by Davison’s desk, his jacket slung over his shoulder. “Unless you need me for anything else?”

Davison looked at the clock on the wall. 6:58p.m. So this was her Saturday night? This was how she should be spending her weekends at the age of thirty-five?

“No, get yourself home,” she said. “Have a good night. Where’re you taking Emily?”

“Some Italian restaurant in the high street. Somewhere a steak costs twenty quid and doesn’t even come with chips.”

“Which one is it? There must be ten Italian’s in the high street.”

“Can’t remember the name off-hand. Something ending in a vowel.”

Davison laughed.

“They all do,” she said. “But I’m sure Emily will like it. It’s a night away from the kids at least. Who’s babysitting?”

“My parents.” Burns looked at the files on Davison’s desk. “I can hang on another half an hour if you really need me to. Look over some more things.”

“No, it’s alright,” Davison said, not wanting to keep Burns away from his wife if it wasn’t necessary. “There’s nothing much we can do tonight.”

“So what, we just wait until something else happens?”

“Pretty much,” replied Davison, running a hand through her hair. “We’ve got nothing solid on Dainton and no man power to keep an eye on him. We just need a bit of luck, that’s all.”

“Well, maybe we’ll get it.” Burns walked to the door. Stopped and turned back. “That’s if I don’t use it all up when I win the lottery tonight.”

“You’d still be into work tomorrow if you did,” Davison said, smiling.

“You wanna bet?” asked Burns, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re a copper. You couldn’t rest knowing there’s scum out there.”

“The money would keep me warm though.” Burns smiled warmly. “See you, boss.”

Davison waved him out and then looked around the office again, at the empty seats and vacant desks and Liz, the cleaning lady, who was mopping the floor.

Yes, this is my Saturday night.

She had nowhere to be. No family to go home to. Just her job. When things were going well she couldn’t be happier with her life but at times like this it made her wonder if work
was
really all there was. Maybe she had no choice now. She was too old to start a family and with her track record she probably wouldn’t ever met the right man anyway. Half the men she’d gone out with in the past were nothing but trouble. Diane Davison certainly attracted the bad boys; cheaters; gamblers; drinkers; fighters, and it wasn’t one-way traffic either. She herself seemed to be attracted to the wrong kind of man. She wasn’t into doctors and lawyers. She had no interest in kind and gentle men. She liked the rough stuff...

From nowhere she suddenly thought about Riley. He was her type; strong and cool, a little dangerous. Of course, she couldn’t let anyone at work know that was her type but you can’t help the way you feel, can you? But that wasn’t why she was thinking about Riley now. No, she was again wondering if he was going to get in touch. He’d been different when they’d spoken at the vandalised pub last night. He’d seemed more open, maybe even ready to talk. Was he ready to break the code of silence and put an end to the bloodshed and violence? Did he really know what was going on? Was that the lucky break she was waiting on?

Liz the cleaner flashed a ‘hello’ smile as she mopped past Davison’s desk and Davison flashed one back as her mobile began to vibrate on the desk.

Davison saw the number was displayed but not a name. Whoever was calling wasn’t listed in her address book.

“Hello,” she said on answering.

“Davison?” the man asked.

She went cold and held her breath. Looked round at the deserted office as Liz moved next door into Superintendent Nelson’s office.

“Yes,” she said.

The man spoke slowly and calmly, the words hitting Davison square in the forehead like a fist. She found it hard to understand, like she was waking from a dream and trying to distinguish fact from fiction.

“Say that again?” she asked.

She listened.

“Okay,” she said and hung up, smiling.

What was that about luck?