Death Sentence Page 15

  His head screaming, his chest rasping with the effort of trying to breathe, Matthew dropped the phone to his side as the call ended. Bastard, he thought, fumbling in his pocket, finding his inhaler, trying to take the requisite breath in, and out, in readiness to suck the medication out of the inhaler.

  ‘Damn, stupid … fucking thing! Jesus Christ!’ He could not do this!

  White hot rage coursing through him, fury at his inadequacy, Matthew hurled the inhaler hard across the room.

  ‘Why?’ he implored, as the canister separated from the chamber and clattered to the floor. Why? Dragging his hands over his face, Matthew dropped again to his haunches. He tried to fight it, to think: what did he do next? How?

  He was beaten, Matthew knew he was, by the asthma, but not by Sullivan. Never by Sullivan. Walls for support, Matthew pulled himself to his feet and walked across the bathroom to retrieve the medication that would allow him to breathe. Rebecca needed him. She needed him to be rational, to be calm and functioning. He would find her. And while he did have breath in his body, he would find Sullivan and destroy the bastard like the vermin he was.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He hadn’t found her. Ashley’s heart sank, as she watched Matthew walk back towards the car. He looked exhausted, his face pale and drawn, like a man defeated: lost and lonely. Ashley knew how that felt.

  It might be better if he doesn’t find her, Emily commented.

  Ashley tried to ignore her, wishing to God she could cut her sister’s thoughts in her head.

  Matthew would keep us even if he was on his own. He’s nice, Emily went on, despite Ashley’s determination not to hear her.

  So is Becky, she replied silently.

  Yeth, but she’s having a baby. A brand new one. She won’t want us under her feet, will she? She’ll be tired and moody and nasty.

  Ashley closed her eyes. Be quiet! She fumed, her mind immediately hurtling back to their last cold, dank flat. Where the curtains were always drawn and things crunched underfoot when she walked. An involuntary shudder shook through her as she remembered the cockroach. She’d hit it with the pan, at least five times, before it cracked. And then her mother had woken up. And Emily had cried and her mother had screamed at her, always pissed off with her, losing her temper if she got under her feet. Always losing it.

  Ashley scrunched her eyes tighter, wishing she could blot out the memory: Her mother screeching at her, her hair demented and her eyes wild. “Why can’t you be normal?” she’d spat out the words. “Why can’t you help out with Emily, You’re driving me mad!”

  Once she’d stopped screaming, she’d taken her pills. Ashley recalled how her mother used to wash them down with the water, which didn’t taste like water and which Ashley knew full well wasn’t water. When she’d stirred again, finally, she’d put her song on. It was always the same one. And, as usual, her mum sang along, as she mascaraed her eyes and slicked on her lippy, like an angry red slash for a mouth. And then she’d taken Emily and gone out. ’Back soon,’ she’d said, banging the front door shut behind her.

  She never did come back though.

  ‘Ashley?’ Matthew pulled the driver’s door open and sank into the seat beside her. ‘Everything all right?’

  Ashley nodded quickly. ‘Huh, huh,’ she said, wiping her nose on her coat sleeve, something else her mother would have gone mental at her for. ‘Just thinking.’

  Sighing expansively, Matthew nodded, pushed his key into the ignition, placed his hands on the steering wheel and then paused, almost as if he’d forgotten what he was doing.

  Ashley watched him for a second, noting the tight set of his jaw, his long eyelashes closing over his eyes. He had nice eyes, caring eyes. Haunted eyes, Ashley had noticed, since Becky had gone. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, scared for him, scared for herself.

  ‘What?’ Matthew answered distractedly.

  ‘You didn’t find her, did you?’ Ashley tried to supress the seed of doubt that Emily had planted in her head: that if Becky did come back and have her baby, then she’d be in the way, just like she’d always been.

  Matthew hesitated, then, ‘No,’ he said and took a deep breath.

  ‘So what now?’ Ashley wondered if he was ever going to breathe out.

  Matthew thought about it, then, ‘I’m taking you back,’ he said, starting the engine. ‘And then I need to go to the station.’

  Ashley felt a surge of panic rise inside her. She didn’t want to go back, not to the home, not to the flat. She couldn’t!

  ‘But I don’t want to, Matthew,’ she implored him. ‘I want to stay—’

  ‘I’m taking you back, Ashley. Now! No arguments.’ Matthew checked his rear view and reversed sharply.

  ‘No! I don’t want to!’ Ashley screamed … and the car died. Right there, in front of his eyes, the dashboard went dark and the car stopped.

  ‘You have to be kidding.’ Matthew pulled his hands from the wheel as if it might electrocute him. ‘Did you do that?’ He turned his stunned gaze on Ashley, hearing the incredulity in his own voice, and wondering if he really was going out of his mind.

  ‘No,’ Ashley refuted tearfully. ‘I didn’t do anything! I don’t want to go back there, Matthew. You can’t make me. I’m not a kid. You can’t—’

  ‘Stop!’ Bewildered, his mind reeling, his panic escalating, Matthew shouted, ‘For God’s sake! Just stop!’

  Matthew breathed in and out steadily, trying to control his breathing, his temper.

  ‘You’re going back,’ he repeated, more quietly. ‘You can’t stay with me. It’s not safe. End of subject.’

  ‘I’ll stay right by your side, just like you said,’ Ashley kept on, sounding as desperate as Matthew felt.

  ‘You can’t,’ he said adamantly, trying to stay calm, to hold on to rational thought.

  ‘I could stay in the house.’ Ashley twisted in her seat to face him. ‘Or go to a child-minder, or—’

  ‘We don’t have a child-minder, Ashley. You have to go—’

  ‘Anywhere then,’ Ashley countered. ‘A friend, a relative, I don’t care. I can’t go back there.’

  Matthew pressed his thumb and forefinger hard against his forehead, trying to stave off the hopeless exhaustion. ‘Ashley—’

  ‘I won’t be any safer there than I am here. They’re always picking on me and shoving me around. I spend most of the time outside on my own anyway. I don’t see why I have to be there to do that. I could stay here in the car if you have to go somewhere. I wouldn’t budge, I promise. Matthew, please?’

  Matthew’s shoulders sank, his resolve waning as he remembered her doing just that, sitting alone in the grounds, a sitting target, if Sullivan’s depraved mind went off in that direction. Would anyone even notice if she went missing?

  ‘I won’t stay.’ Ashley faced front again, slamming herself back in her seat. ‘I’ll run away,’ she announced. Her tone was resolute, her arms folded.

  Great! Sighing inwardly, Matthew congratulated himself on his sensitive handling of the situation. ‘Ashley, please don’t make this more difficult for me. I don’t have a choice. I have to—’

  ‘I will!’ Ashley shouted over him. ‘I hate it there. I won’t stay.’

  Wearily, Matthew shook his head. ‘You can stay somewhere tonight. At a friend’s. We’ll talk about it more tomorrow,’ he said, and was only mildly surprised when the dashboard pinged back to life.

  Matthew glanced sideways at her as they set off. She hadn’t said anything, yes or no, but he really did have no choice here. She must realise that.

  ‘About the bullying, by the way,’ he said, hoping that when he did drop her off, she’d realise it was because he did care, ‘I know how you feel.’

  Ashley glanced curiously at him, struggling to understand how, at five eleven and reasonably toned, he could ever have been a victim, Matthew guessed. Most people did, which is why he chose not to share it.

  ‘Yep,’ he dred
ged up a semblance of a smile, for Ashley’s sake. ‘I might look as if I can hold my own, but I’ve been there, too. They’re cowards, Ashley. Bullies pick on people to shore up their ego in front of their friends, that’s all. It’s their problem, not yours.’

  Ashley shrugged. ‘I know. Still makes them vicious bastards though.’

  That it did, Matthew conceded. And if he was going to rid the world of one of those vicious bastards, he had to get Ashley to a safe place and find Sullivan. His chest tightened at the thought of what that animal might be doing right now. What might be going through Becky’s mind. Please God, make he hasn’t touched her. Terror slicing through him, as his mind supplied a graphic illustration of what Sullivan was capable of, Matthew tightened his grip on the wheel.

  ****

  ‘Come on, don’t piss about,’ Patrick snapped irritably and attempted to pull the stubborn cow out of the back of the van. The coast was clear. That part of his plan had worked out nicely. The last thing he needed now, though, was to be spotted by some animal loving dog-walker poking their nose in.

  Reminded of Adams’s derogatory reference to him as an animal, Patrick’s irritation intensified. The sad little copper was going to be sorry about that, very sorry indeed, particularly when he’d had time to contemplate the consequences of his insults.

  ‘I said, move it! Now!’ Clutching the woman’s ankles, he dragged her out of the van, only to end up with her landing in a heap at his feet.

  Women. He sighed exasperatedly as he heaved her up. Obviously she couldn’t get up on her own with her hands tied behind her, but she was getting right on his nerves. Patrick wasn’t happy about that. He was beginning to wonder whether to just finish her off and be done with. He’d got Adams exactly where he wanted him. He’d taken the bait, and Patrick was reasonably sure he’d follow instructions hereafter in hopes of finding his pretty little wife in the same condition he’d lost her. Careless that, DI Adams, Patrick mentally addressed him. Very, considering how careless you were with your kid.

  Blimey, she’d got some spirit. He’d give her that. He smiled bemusedly as she persisted in trying to pull away from him, pointlessly, considering her petite stature compared to his honed physique, of which Patrick was proud. He’d worked hard, toning himself up with relentless work-outs at the gym. Image was all, as far as Patrick was concerned, which is why he never dressed in anything but designer, making sure he looked the part, should any insignificant piss-ant think about messing with … Crap. Glancing down, he lost the smile fast when he saw the state of his mud-caked alligator leather loafers.

  Marvellous. Four-hundred-and-fifty quid those cost. She was trying his patience, she really was.

  ‘Stand the fuck up, can’t you?’ He snarled, as she continued to squirm, which obviously meant she was going to end up with bruises all over her pretty porcelain skin. What was it with these bloody women? Patrick tightened his grip on her arms. Could they never obey a simple instruction?

  ‘Aw, for fu—’ Gritting his teeth, a migraine definitely threatening, Patrick glanced down again, to where the silly bint was attempting to kick him. Not sensible with no shoes on, he decided, particularly as she’d now gone and splattered mud all over his Armani Collezioni Velvet texture trousers.

  That was it. Patrick was officially annoyed. He’d acted like a complete gentleman, hardly touched her, offered her tea in his best Harrods bone China, and she shows him no respect whatsoever. No choice but to, Patrick pulled his fist back and punched her. That should stop her shenanigans.

  ‘Silly bitch,’ he muttered. ‘Now, do as you’re told, before I get seriously angry.’ Letting go of one of her arms as she wilted, he yanked her along by the other.

  Reaching the dilapidated property, he ferretted in his pocket for the key to the door, pushed it home and shoved the door open. The place was a shithole, but it would have to do. Snatching her in a hurry, Patrick hadn’t had much time to think it through, other than to consider what Adams’ first ports of call might be. Dead predictable coppers were. They’d be all over his home turf like flies over dog turd. The plus was, it would definitely be the last place Adams would think of looking.

  ‘Move.’ He pushed the woman before him. ‘Inside.’

  Staggering forwards, Rebecca stifled a moan as her bare toes stubbed on something. She wouldn’t show any signs of weakness, she’d already decided, feed the animal’s need to show off his pathetic prowess. She wouldn’t! The absolute bastard. If only her hands were free, she’d poke her thumbs in his flat evil eyes and watch them pop. Gulping back the bile in her parched throat, Rebecca continued to walk forwards, until he barked, ‘Stop! You’ll do yourself an injury, stumbling around in the dark, stupid cow. Stay there.’

  Rebecca waited, heard the hinges creak on the door, as he closed it, and then opened it again and slammed it shut. Where was she, she wondered, trying to recall any of the journey which might give her some kind of clue. It smelled of mildew, damp moss, leather, and old hay. In the countryside somewhere, presumably, but it could be any building anywhere. She’d lost track of time, blindfolded in the back of the van, lost all sense of direction as he’d driven for what seemed like hours, careering around corners, careless of his cargo.

  Careless of anything or anyone, she realised, her chest physically constricting with fear. He had no feelings, none that were normal, talking to her about women’s legs, muscles and orgasms, his disgusting clammy hands on her flesh, the look in his vile eyes, like that of a persecutor pulling the legs off a spider. What did he want? It could only be money, but why pick on Matthew, a police officer?

  Rebecca’s thoughts were cut short, as he came towards her. She could feel him, smell him. Her skin crawled and her stomach heaved with repulsion.

  ‘I’m going to take this off,’ he said, jabbing a finger into the side of her head. ‘When I do, you do as I say, nice and slow and nice and calm. No girly tantrums. Got it?’

  Desperate to see, to breathe properly, Rebecca nodded.

  ‘Good.’ He hooked a finger under the silk pillow slip he’d tied around her head and yanked it off.

  ‘Just so you know,’ he said, his face close to hers, a pungent mixture of stale whisky, cigarette smoke, and sickly sweet aftershave assaulting her senses before she had time to focus, ‘there’s nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.’

  He waited while her eyes adjusted to the light, smiled pleasantly, and then waved his arm around, like an estate agent showing off a property. It was empty, dusty and derelict, crumbling brickwork, boards at the windows, Rebecca noted, her heart sinking. Original beams supported the roof, ropes and chains hanging from a cross-beam.

  Her heart lurched into her mouth. Rebecca quickly averted her gaze, lest she draw his attention to what possible use he might make of it. The front door looked like the original, stout wooden and heavy. He’d placed the key on the inside of the lock, she registered, which meant it could be locked from both sides. Her gaze strayed to the hefty iron bolts, top and bottom.

  ‘Nowhere to go,’ he repeated, obviously following every movement of her eyes. ‘All exits are well-secured.’ He bent to flick at the mud spatters on his trousers, tsking as he did, and then looked back at her, with a scowl.

  ‘The door is solid wood, by the way, so if you were imagining you might claw your way out with your fingernails, think again. Your hands will be, shall we say, otherwise engaged, in any case.’

  Cold terror gripped Rebecca’s stomach, as she followed his gaze back to the cross-beam.

  ‘But that’s for later. Let’s get you comfortable for a while first, shall we?’ He smiled again, an almost paternal smile. Rebecca felt the hairs rise on her flesh.

  ‘Get the old circulation going and do something about those feet. Can’t have you walking around barefoot and hurting yourself, can we?’ he chatted jovially away, unbelievably.

  Rebecca stared at him, waiting, wondering. Was he really oblivious to the broken brickwork and debris he’d just
force-marched her over?

  ‘Sorry about that.’ He nodded at her face, obviously referring to the swelling Rebecca could feel forming under her eye, red-hot, throbbing right down to her cheekbone. ‘But you did ask for it, didn’t you?’

  He looked at her, as if expecting a reply.

  Rebecca glanced down and back, her throat constricting, as she looked back at him. Even without tape on her face, was he really expecting an answer?

  ‘I asked you a question,’ he said quietly. ‘Bit rude not to answer, sweetheart, don’t y’think?’

  Dear God, he was. Rebecca swallowed, and nodded, barely.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said, apparently satisfied. ‘Course, you would’ve struggled to answer a bit, I suppose.’ He cocked his head to one side, surveying her thoughtfully. ‘Here, let’s take this off,’ he said, at length. ‘Then we’ll get you some water. How does that sound?’

  Rebecca’s overwhelming urge was to knee him hard in the groin. She nodded again instead, playing along. No choice but to. No choice. Oh, dear God, please, please help me.

  Carefully, his eyes almost crossed as he concentrated on his task, he reached to peel a corner of the duct tape away from her face, then ripped it away fast.

  ‘Ouch,’ he said, as Rebecca winced, and then, ‘Needs must.’ He shrugged, and smiled. ‘I’m going to untie your hands now, so you can get the feeling back. I’ve got to retie them anyway, so it’s not a problem,’ he chuntered inanely on, as if he was being noble. As if he was concerned she thought she might be inconveniencing him in some way.

  Swaying on her feet, Rebecca attempted to still the nausea rising inside her, as he moved around behind her, his hands touching hers, as he worked to untie her.

  ‘Don’t try anything silly now, will you, sweetheart?’ he said, leaning close to her ear as he loosened the knots, ‘because, if you do, DI Adams is going to struggle to identify the body. Got it?’