Truth or Dare (10 page)

T
he Lawgiver. That was it. That felt right. The Lawgiver. Because that’s what he was. What he did.

He had needed a name. Nemesis had been his first choice. He’d even said that on the phone to the police. But it wasn’t right. Overly dramatic. And not quite representative of his calling.

And then he hit on it. As he had worked his way round to the middle finger of John Wright’s left hand. When that arrogant banker, a person who thought nothing of bankrupting someone, or a whole company, putting families out on the street if there was profit to be made, was reduced to a screaming, sobbing, pleading, snivelling wretch. He knew what he was. Who he was.

The Lawgiver. That’s who he would be from now on.

He had paused, looked down at his work. It was harder than he had expected, cutting off John Wright’s fingers and thumbs. Even with the heavy-duty bolt cutter he had brought along. He had built up quite a sweat underneath his gas mask. The bone had proved to be surprisingly resilient.

But he had persevered. He had given Wright his word. Justice not only had to be done but had to be seen to be done. And despite the heat and the exertion, he had enjoyed it. No, more than enjoyed. Filled with an exultant joy, a righteous delight. He had felt all-powerful, a god among mortals. It had confirmed in his mind that this was the right thing to be doing. Making a stand. Fighting back. A champion of the oppressed, the underdog.

He grunted, bringing the bolt cutters together for one final assault.

The little finger snapped right off, fell to the floor.

The Lawgiver stood back, took a deep breath.

‘Wow,’ he said, looking at his work. ‘Hungry now.’

The carpet around the chair was sticky and black with blood. Fingers and thumbs were scattered around like grisly ketchup and tomato relish-covered chips. Wright had long since passed out.

The Lawgiver took out a length of rope and tied it round Wright’s wrist. It matched the one he had placed on the other wrist earlier.

‘Don’t want you bleeding to death now, do we? Fair’s fair.’

The Lawgiver checked the laptop, hit a key. The numbers on the screen stopped moving. He peered in closer for a better look.

‘Oh dear,’ he said to the unconscious figure, ‘you don’t seem to have much left, I’m afraid. Harder than I thought it would be. Still, you can always start again, can’t you? That’s what your sort are always telling the rest of us. Get on your bike, and all that. Obviously not in your case. Not now, anyway.’

The Lawgiver began replacing his tools in his bag and saw the woman. Almost did a double take. He had been so involved, absorbed, in his work that he had forgotten she was there. She was curled up in the chair, moaning slightly, eyes tight shut as if she couldn’t see him and what he was doing, he wouldn’t be able to see her and get any more ideas.

He crossed to her, placed a blood-stained, gloved hand on her chin and turned her face towards him, almost tenderly.

‘Hey,’ he said, ‘hey, I’m still here.’

Eyes remaining closed, she just whimpered.

In front of the half-naked, terrified woman he felt the stirrings of an erection. Power. Righteous, angry power. How sweet.

‘Really,’ he said, ‘I should kill you too. Not because it would give me any pleasure, of course not. But…’ He sighed. ‘You see, you’re as guilty as him. You’re complicit. In everything. In time, you might have even become as bad as him. And really, I would be doing the world a favour, getting rid of you. But…’ He shrugged. ‘You weren’t part of the deal. And I’m a man of my word.’

He let her face go, stood up. Stared down at her.

‘Take this as a warning. See what happened to him? That’ll be your fate if you don’t mend your ways. You see? I’m here to help you.’

He turned away from her and surveyed the room once more.

‘Oh yes,’ he had said once he had finished, ‘they’re not going to be able to ignore me now.’

He took out his phone. Began dialling.

D
inner-time. Joanne Marsh loved dinner-time. Even here it was good. At home she would be eating whatever she wanted. She would buy some stuff and get some stuff off the farm and put it together and cook for her and her dad. And she was good at it, too. She thought so. Her dad never said anything about anything she made, either good or bad, but she liked to do it. Liked to have a man to cook for.

A man. A shiver ran through her. A sad little shiver. Man. She was never going to see her men again, the woman with the big hair had told her. Never. And she was never going to go home again either, that’s what she had said. The shiver intensified and she felt herself starting to cry.

There was a noise at the door.

Joanne quickly wiped her eyes. She didn’t want them to see her like this. She didn’t know who it was going to be but she didn’t want them to see her with her face all red and puffy and sad. The men never liked it when she got like that, they weren’t interested in her then. And she thought it would be the same in here.

The door opened.

‘Here you go, Joanne, dinner.’

She got up and sat at the little desk-cum-table. Looked up. It was the young one, the handsome one. Neat hair and a nice smile. Good body, too; she could see that under his uniform. Oh yes, she’d been looking. She smiled at him. He returned it.

He likes me, she thought. And kept smiling.

He placed the tray on the table in front of her. Mashed potato, something green and a piece of brown meat with gravy on. A carton of yoghurt and a spoon next to it.

‘Why do I have to eat on my own?’ she asked.

‘You know why, Joanne, they’re the rules. Everyone has to eat on their own, in their rooms.’

‘But why?’

He smiled again. She could smell his aftershave, he was so close.

‘Rules are rules. Got to make sure all the cutlery comes back again, don’t we? Don’t worry. You’ll be out again soon.’

‘Right.’ He had said that last time she had asked and she still didn’t understand it.

He turned to go. ‘Hey,’ she said. He turned. ‘Do you want to stay for a while?’

She started to pull her top down and push her titties together. She leaned forward while she did it, the way her men had told her they liked to see her.

‘Come on, Joanne,’ he said, still smiling, but his voice now softer, ‘eat your dinner, eh?’

‘You sure?’ She was still pulling at her top.

‘You’re dancing at the wrong end of the ballroom for me, love.’

He left the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

Joanne left her top alone, felt sad once more. Men always liked her. Always wanted her. She felt good when she had her men, like she was sexy and attractive. And now he’d said something about ballrooms that she didn’t understand but knew it wasn’t good news. She would just have to get used to living without her men. Forever.

She felt the tears start to come again as she picked up her fork and ate.

Later, the dinner plates taken away and the cutlery accounted for, Joanne was allowed out of her room once more. Except she didn’t want to go anywhere. She just sat there on her bed, staring straight ahead.

‘Hey,’ said a voice.

Joanne looked up. A woman was standing at the doorway to her room, looking in. Young with dark hair and glasses. She was smiling at Joanne.

‘Can I come in?’

Joanne was startled. In the short time she had been in the hospital, no one had ever asked to enter her room before. Doctors and staff, the police and that woman with the big hair earlier had just come in. But this woman was asking. That was nice. That was polite.

Joanne nodded and the woman entered.

‘What’s your name?’ asked Joanne.

‘Fiona,’ said the woman, looking round. There wasn’t much to see. The walls and shelves were bare. Joanne had nothing. Fiona sat down on the bed.

‘You fairly new here?’ asked Fiona.

Joanne nodded once more. ‘A few days.’

‘Same with me. Not here long.’

‘How long you staying? They said I might be here for ever.’ Joanne’s face fell as she spoke the words. She tried not to cry.

‘Oh, I’ll not be here long,’ said Fiona. ‘I’ll be out soon.’

‘That’s good.’ Joanne sighed. ‘Wish I could come with you.’

Fiona looked at Joanne for what seemed like a long time, her gaze clear and level. ‘I know about you,’ she said eventually. ‘I know why you’re here.’

Joanne, fighting back tears, settled for sulking. ‘They won’t let me see my men.’

Fiona nodded. ‘And that’s a shame. A real shame.’

Joanne looked up. Frowned.

Fiona continued. ‘Your men make you feel good, don’t they? They make you feel young and pretty?’

Joanne was amazed. How did she know? She could barely answer. She managed a mumbled yes.

‘And they make you feel loved. Most of all, they make you feel loved.’

Joanne, stunned, not trusting herself not to cry, said nothing.

‘You give them your body and they make you feel like the most important woman in the world. Is that right?’ She didn’t wait for a reply, kept talking. ‘And that’s why you want to keep seeing them. Why you need to keep seeing them. It isn’t just the sex, although that’s important to you too, it’s the way they make you feel. That really, lovely, gooey good feeling inside.’

She turned to Joanne, waited for a reply. Joanne started to cry.

‘You… you’re right… yes…’ Joanna leaned into Fiona, sobbing on her chest.

‘I know,’ said Fiona, putting her arm round the other woman, ‘I know…’

They sat like that for a while. Even amongst all the sadness she was feeling, Joanne was so happy to have found a friend.

Fiona spoke. Her voice was small, but strong. ‘Joanna, you’re never going to see them again. Ever.’

The crying started again. ‘I know…’

‘They’re going to keep you in here and you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life.’

More sobbing from Joanne, harder this time.

‘You’re never going to feel loved again.’

Joanne’s heart broke. She sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Eventually, she didn’t know how much time had passed, the tears burned themselves out. She sat there, curled into Fiona.

‘How do you feel?’ asked Fiona quietly.

‘Like I wish I was dead.’

Fiona nodded as if she understood and drew from a pocket in her skirt a dinner knife. She handed it to Joanne. ‘This’ll do the trick,’ she said.

Joanne stared at it. The light caught the blade. It had been sharpened much more than when they were given them to eat with.

‘Joanne.’ Fiona held both her hands, looked straight into her eyes. ‘They’re never going to let you out. You’re never going to see your men again. This way, you’ll find peace.’ She smiled. ‘Be brave. I know you can.’

Fiona stood up, left the room.

Joanne stared after her, watching her go.

Then turned her attention back to the knife.

T
he incident room was silent when Phil entered. The whole room concentrated, waiting to see what happened when Phil picked up the phone.

He did so.

‘DI Brennan,’ he said, voice as bland and non-committal as possible.

‘You know who this is.’ The voice was muffled, familiar.

‘Right,’ said Phil. ‘What can I do for you?’

He noticed Elli go to her desk and begin punching keys. She was trying to trace the call. She looked over at Phil, nodded.
Keep him talking
, the gesture meant.

Something that Phil decided was a laugh came down the line. ‘What can you do for me?’ An edge of anger to the voice now. ‘You can start by taking me seriously.’

‘And why wouldn’t we?’ said Phil. ‘Why wouldn’t we take you seriously? You’ve already killed two people.’

‘No,’ said the voice. ‘Not true. I didn’t kill them. They allowed themselves to be killed.’

‘How? How d’you mean? Didn’t you kill them?’

An exasperated sigh. ‘You’re not listening, are you? You’re hearing what I’m saying but you’re not listening. They were responsible for their own deaths. The choices they made in their lives led to their deaths. I had nothing to do with it.’

‘So that little baby, Shannon,’ said Phil, ‘she was responsible for her own death too?’

Only the rasping sound of laboured, heavy breathing down the line. Phil waited.

‘Collateral damage,’ the voice said. ‘It was unfortunate but it would have happened to her sooner or later. And besides, it had to be her. It had to be her when he was given the choice. It had to mean something to him. It was useless if it didn’t. He wouldn’t learn.’

‘Who wouldn’t? Darren Richards?’

‘Justice. That’s what it’s about. What it’s all about. Justice.’

Phil glanced over to Elli. She made another ‘keep him talking’ gesture with her left hand, the other hand playing over the keyboard, eyes on the screen.

‘So you gave Darren Richards a choice. Is that right? That what you’re saying? What was his choice?’

The voice sighed. ‘Come on, Phil, you’re supposed to be an intelligent man. Work it out.’

‘Justice. Is that what you mean?’

‘He should have been punished for what he did. He killed a woman and her child.’

‘Right.’ Phil nodded. ‘So you killed his girlfriend and daughter.’

‘No, no, that’s not right. He had to be punished. He had to choose. I just gave him the choice.’

‘So… what? You gave him the choice of his girlfriend and daughter or his own life, is that it?’

‘Now you’re getting it.’ The voice sounded proud. ‘Justice. You see?’

Questions swirled round Phil’s head. So much he wanted to know, to ask. Try to trip him up, reveal himself. Or even just keep him talking. Let him betray himself. He rejected several questions before deciding on the next one.

‘Why Darren Richards, though?’ he asked. ‘Surely there are more important people than him.’

‘Oh,’ said the voice, ‘so you think some people are more important than others? Is that right? That your idea of justice?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ Phil kept his voice calm, tried not to lose him. ‘I just asked you a question. What I meant was, there have been bigger crimes committed and gone unpunished. Why single out him?’

‘As a calling card.’ He could barely keep the pride out of his voice.

Phil felt dread within him. ‘So you intend to keep going?’

‘Oh yes. That was just the first.’

‘Right.’ Phil decided to change tack. ‘Why me? Why did you want to talk to me in particular?’

The voice laughed. ‘Lots of reasons. The main one being I know you.’

Phil’s stomach flipped. ‘Know me? From where?’

‘Oh… around.’ Then quickly: ‘The TV mainly. Saw you on TV.’

‘Right.’ Phil wasn’t so sure. Had he almost given himself away? ‘So what do I call you, then? Have you got a name?’

There was a pause. For dramatic effect it seemed like, thought Phil.

‘You can call me… The Lawgiver.’

Phil was aware of Sperring shaking his head and muttering, a wry smile on his face.

‘The Lawgiver. Right. Okay. But —’

Phil didn’t get a chance to finish. The voice interrupted. ‘Oh, but look at me. I’ve been on the phone for ages nattering away and I haven’t even got round to telling you why I called.’

‘Why did you call?’

‘Well, pleasant though it has been to catch up, I just wanted to tell you that I’ve done some more justice dispensing.’

Phil felt the whole room make a collective intake of breath.

‘Where?’ asked Phil.

‘Well, I suppose you’re trying to trace this call. I mean, I would, if I were you. So I’ll save you the trouble. Come to the Malmaison. Room 702. Bring the paramedics. You’ll need them.’

He rang off.

The room exploded into action.