Truth or Dare (7 page)

T
he man in the hospital bed looked exactly what he was, thought Phil: the only survivor of a great tragedy. He was pale, dehydrated. Skin sunken, mottled, discoloured to various unhealthy shades of sickness. He was awake – barely – but he appeared to be tired beyond sleep. His dead fish eyes were deep set, hollowed, staring at things no one else could see, open to a private world of horror. The rest of them round his bed were thankful they didn’t share it.

‘Darren Richards?’ Phil asked.

At the mention of his name, Darren Richards seemed startled, fearful. If he had the energy to jump, thought Phil, he would have.

‘Detective Inspector Brennan,’ said Phil, holding up his warrant card.

Detective Constable Imani Oliver sat at the man’s bedside. Darren Richards looked at her while Phil spoke, as if for guidance on how to respond.

Imani had been the first – and sometimes he thought, the only – one on his team to respond to his approach. Dress creatively, think creatively. She was dressed casually but practically in jeans, sweater and boots. Young and attractive, her dark skin contrasted with the white of her Aran sweater. Having worked with her, Phil knew how good she was and really valued her presence on the team in a way that Sperring often didn’t. Sperring was good at his job. And loyal and trustworthy. But he wasn’t always a good judge of character, nor was he the most unprejudiced of people.

‘It’s all right, Darren,’ said Imani, her voice soft, solicitous, ‘you can talk to him. He’s safe.’

Daren Richards didn’t look convinced, seemed too traumatised even to speak.

Imani, sensing this, spoke again. ‘Don’t worry. He just wants to help. Help you. We all do.’

Phil found another chair, dragged it up to the bed. The nurse pulled the curtains round, giving them a semblance of privacy.

‘Please don’t stress or overtire him,’ she said to Phil.

‘I’ll be as brief as I can,’ he replied. ‘Thank you.’ He smiled.

The nurse returned it, quite shyly. ‘You’re welcome. I appreciate you’ve got your job to do.’

‘And I’m aware that you do, too.’

Phil kept smiling at her. The nurse, reddening slightly, let herself out.

‘Charmer,’ said Imani quietly.

‘Always be polite,’ he said. ‘I may have just bought us a bit of extra time because of that.’ Then he turned to Darren Richards. The traumatised young man was surrounded by drips and monitors. It might have been the most attention he’d ever had, thought Phil, then amended his thought. Darren Richards had been before the judge. Several times. It was one of the reasons Sperring had given for not accompanying Phil to the hospital.

‘You’re better dealing with that sort than me,’ he had said, not bothering to hide his distaste. ‘I’ll go back to the station. See if Nadish’s come up with anything worth following through. Check a couple of leads from this morning.’

‘Such as?’ Phil had asked.

‘Moses Heap, for one. Rings a bell for some reason. Not just ’cause of all the stuff in the papers, there’s something else. Can’t think what, though. But it’s like an itch that needs scratching.’

‘Lovely. I’ll leave you to it.’ And Phil had come to the hospital alone.

He moved his chair closer to the bedside. ‘So, Darren,’ he said, voice matching Imani’s tones, ‘what happened?’

Darren Richards’ eyes widened, filled with shock. The fear subsided as his eyes emptied, became blank. Give nothing away in front of the law, thought Phil. Old habits dying hard.

‘I dunno,’ said Darren Richards.

‘Oh, come on, Darren,’ said Phil, ‘you must have known what happened. You were there.’

Darren Richards closed up again. ‘I don’t remember.’

Maybe there was another reason he wasn’t talking, thought Phil. A much more obvious one. ‘I’m sure you don’t want to remember,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it’s very painful to remember. What you’ve been through is enough to horrify anyone.’

‘So if you know what I’ve been through, why d’you want me to go through it again?’

‘To find out who did it. Stop them doing it again.’

‘I didn’t do it,’ said Darren Richards quickly. Too quickly: it was like the sudden exertion tired him out. He flopped back on the bed.

Phil kept on. ‘No, I don’t believe you did. But I’m sure you saw it. You saw the person who did it. And I need you to tell me all that you can about them.’

Darren, against his better judgement, was remembering. Phil could see it in his eyes. He had to get him to talk before he clammed up once more.

‘Come on, Darren, please. Help me here.’ Phil glanced at Imani, the cue for her to speak.

‘We’ll catch him, Darren,’ she said. ‘We’ll bring Chloe and Shannon’s killer to justice. We’ll do it for them, for their memory. But for us to do that you have to help us. I know it’s difficult, I know it’ll hurt but we need your help. Please.’

‘Just tell us now,’ said Phil. ‘Get it out of the way and you can get on with forgetting.’

‘Please,’ said Imani.

‘What did he look like?’ said Phil, leaning forward. ‘Can you remember? Did you get a good look at him? Was it a him?’

Darren began breathing heavily. His eyes spun, focusing in and out, fighting the urge to remember. Phil checked his heart monitor: the graph had started to speed up. They waited.

‘Skull,’ he said eventually, his voice cracked and broken, the word sounding like it was dragged from him.

Phil and Imani shared another glance. Puzzlement, this time. ‘Skull?’ repeated Phil. ‘You mean he was thin? Like you could see his bones through his skin?’

Darren shook his head. ‘No… skull…’

Imani leaned forward. ‘Like make-up?’

He shook his head.

‘A mask?’ she said. ‘Is that what you mean? A skull mask?’

Darren shook his head once more. ‘No. A mask. Yes. Not a skull mask. Just looked like a skull mask.’

‘What then?’ asked Phil.

Darren frowned, concentrating. ‘Gas… mask…’

Phil understood. ‘Gas mask. He wore a gas mask.’

Darren nodded.

‘And this gas mask,’ said Phil, ‘it had round eyes? Pale and close-fitting?’

Darren nodded.

‘And it looked like a skull.’

Darren shuddered. Closed his eyes.

‘Right,’ said Phil. He could feel they were starting to get somewhere.

‘So how did you get there, Darren? Into that building?’

‘Dunno,’ said Darren, his eyes remaining closed.

‘No idea at all?’

Darren shook his head. ‘Just woke up there. In that chair…’ He shuddered once more.

The shudder threatened to turn into a more prolonged shake. Phil and Imani knew they had to get him to open up more before they lost him.

‘What’s the last thing you remember?’ asked Imani.

‘Goin’ to Wayne’s,’ said Darren, his voice reduced to a tired tremble.

‘Wayne,’ said Phil. ‘And were you drunk when you were off to Wayne’s?’

Darren shook his head.

‘High?’

Darren shook his head. ‘Nah, man.’ Irritated now.

‘Okay,’ said Phil. ‘You were on your way to Wayne’s. Your friend Wayne.’ He made a mental note to check Darren Richards’ file for the name, follow it up. ‘And the next thing you knew you were in that building.’

Darren nodded.

‘Taped to the chair.’

Darren nodded again, eyes tight shut.

‘Who’s Wayne?’ asked Imani.

Darren shrugged. ‘Mate.’

‘Could he have done this? Been responsible for what happened to you?’ Imani again.

Darren opened his eyes. ‘Nah, man.’ He sounded appalled.

Phil leaned forward once more. ‘Do you have any idea who could have done this? Who would have wanted to do this? Any idea at all?’

Darren’s sense of discomfort was growing. As the questioning became more and more insistent he began thrashing around in his bed like he wanted to escape but lacked not only the strength but also the ability to issue the correct commands to his body.

‘No idea at all, Darren?’

Darren shook his head, wilder this time.

‘So what did he want, Darren?’ Imani. ‘Why did he do this?’

Darren began to shake. Any harder and he would vibrate his body into pieces. His mouth all the while twisting and contorting, like he wanted to speak but the words wouldn’t birth.

Phil pressed on. ‘Why, Darren? Why did he do it?’

Darren continued to shake, his mouth twisting. Phil and Imani stopped talking, waited to see what would happen next. Then the words came screaming out.

‘Justice… justice… he wanted… he said he… I had to have… had to give, to give justice…’

Then a scream that became a sob that trailed away into the horrible, dying whimper of an animal that Phil had never encountered before.

The nurse pulled the curtain open and stepped in but Phil was already on his feet, issuing orders and walking to the exit.

Justice
.

‘L
et’s run through that again, shall we?’ Glen Looker stared at his client, tried to keep the exasperation, not to mention sarcasm, out of his voice. ‘Only this time you don’t mention the trainers.’

‘But they were my trainers.’

Glen Looker put his head in his hands and shook it slowly. Eventually he looked up.
Nope,
he thought. His problem hadn’t gone away. He was still sitting there, larger than life and twice as stupid.

‘Yes, Leon, I know they were your trainers. You know they were your trainers. And you know how the blood got on them.’

Leon smiled. ‘’Cause I kicked Milton in the side when he was bleeding.’

Glen sighed. ‘Leon, if you mention that outside the confines of this room…’ He paused.
Confines
was probably too complex a word for his client. ‘… outside of this room – which I might remind you is a special room in that you can say what you like in it and it doesn’t matter at all – if you tell anyone else that then they will put you in prison, Leon. Do you understand?’

Leon frowned.

No, thought Glen. He doesn’t understand.

Glen sighed. ‘Let’s go through it from the top, shall we? You were out one night going to your favourite chicken take-away, is that right?’

Leon’s face lit up. ‘Yeah. Chicken Cottage. Love it. Do fries an’ all.’

‘Right. You were going to buy a meal for your family because you like to support your family and provide for them when you can.’

Leon frowned again. ‘’Snot right, Mr Looker. No.’

‘What d’you mean it’s not right? This is what we agreed on.’

Leon shook his head. ‘No, Mr Looker. I went there ’cause I had beef with Milton. Went lookin’ for Milton. He’d been dissin’ me. Heard that. Can’t have that. Was gonna shank him.’ He smiled. ‘Got him good, didn’ I?’

Glen sighed, closed his eyes. This wasn’t the way I thought my life would go, he thought. Why me? I thought I’d be in one of those swanky law firms with gorgeous secretaries and lines of coke for lunch. Instead, I end up representing the dregs. Why do I bother? I should just let him take the stand, spout his gibberish, get sent down
.
He nodded to himself. Yeah, he thought. Do that.

‘So can I go now?’ asked Leon.

‘Where would you go, Leon? Back to your cell? Are you in a hurry to go back there?’

‘Won’t be for long, though, will it, Mr Looker? You’ll do your magic. You always do. You’ll find something. You’ll get me out.’

Glen Looker sighed once more. ‘Leon, let me explain. If you don’t work with me here, if you don’t see things the way I see them, if you don’t think the way I’m telling you to think, do the things I’m telling you to do, then you won’t be getting out. Do you understand?’

Leon looked hurt, as if he was about to cry.

‘Let’s try it again, Leon. You went to Chicken Cottage to get a meal for your family. On the way back someone ran into you. It was Milton. He was bleeding. You ran away from him. You didn’t want to get involved with whatever had happened. People knew you and Milton didn’t get on. You didn’t want to be blamed for what had happened to him. You just wanted to get home and give your family the meal you had bought for them.’

‘Don’t get my mum nothin’. She’s a skank.’

Glen sighed. Continued. ‘And you slipped in the blood. And that’s why your trainers ended up with Milton’s blood on them. Right?’

Leon shook his head. ‘Lot to remember.’

‘Yes it is, Leon. Yes it is.’

He scrutinised the oversized child in front of him, sitting there in his prison-issue jogging suit. According to the local media, Leon was one of the city’s most feared and dangerous gang members. Maybe I could plead diminished responsibility, Glen thought. As in he’s too fucking thick to understand what he was doing. Trouble was, he wasn’t too thick. Leon had been tested and found to be fully cognitive. Glen couldn’t use that defence this time. He had tried.

‘I don’t know if I can do it, Mr Looker.’

‘Practise, Leon. Practise. You can do it. Come on. Give it a go.’

Leon stared at him.

‘Come on, Leon.’

‘What, you mean now?’

Glen sat back, arms folded, stared at the ceiling. ‘I wonder if it’s not too late to be a fireman…’

‘What, Mr Looker? You leaving?’

He sat forward once more. ‘No, Leon, I’m not. Come on. You’ve heard me say it, you try now.’

Leon screwed his eyes up in concentration. ‘I went to Chicken Cottage to get a meal for my family.’ He looked at Glen, beaming. ‘I’m doing well, aren’t I, Mr Looker?’

‘Brilliant, Leon. Worthy of an Oscar. Now keep going.’

Leon screwed his eyes tight once more, reaching back in his mind for the words, trying to assemble them in the correct order. ‘I like to provide for my family. Even my mother. ’Cause she doesn’t. Skank.’

‘You’re going off the script now, Leon.’

‘Sorry. Sorry.’ He refocused. ‘I like to provide for my family. Give them somethin’ healthy an’ nutritious.’ He beamed once more. ‘You like that, Mr Looker?’

‘Brilliant, Leon. You’re a marvel. Keep going.’

Pleased with himself, Leon kept talking. ‘And then I saw Milton who I had a beef with.’

‘No, Leon, don’t say that.’

‘Why not? I did. Everyone on my end knows I did.’

‘Yes, but you have to persuade the jury that even though you and Milton didn’t get on —’

‘We had serious beef.’

‘Indeed. But you have to forget that and persuade the jury that you had nothing to do with his death. Right? That it was all an accident. Right? You have to stick to the story that I just told you. That’s the one you have to tell. The only one you can tell. Do you understand?’

Leon closed his eyes and frowned for such a long time that Glen thought he had drifted off to sleep.

‘Yes, Mr Looker,’ he said eventually, snapping open his eyes. ‘It’s like we’re tellin’ a story, innit? An’ we have to make the story sound true so they believe us. Yeah?’

Glen smiled. ‘That’s exactly it, Leon.’ He swallowed a yawn. ‘Shall we give it one more try?’

Once outside Birmingham Prison, on the way to the car, and with Leon’s woeful attempt at his testimony still ringing in his ears, Glen Looker checked his messages. What he heard on voicemail made him stop walking. He replayed it.

‘Aw shit,’ he said out loud, and headed for his car.

As if his day hadn’t been bad enough already.