Death Sentence Page 9

  ‘Whoa!’ Steve caught hold of Matthew from behind. ‘Enough!’ he shouted, attempting to pull him off. ‘Matthew, leave it!’

  But Matthew wasn’t hearing him. Surging forward, he grabbed hold of Sullivan, heaving him to his feet by his cashmere-fucking-lapels and dragging him towards him. ‘Do not go near my wife again,’ he seethed. ‘If you do I will kill you.’

  ‘She’s quite tasty,’ Sullivan said quietly, thin globules of blood trickling from his mouth, his eyes, black pools of pure evil. ‘Girl’s tasty too.’

  ‘Bastard!’ White-hot rage exploding inside him, Matthew slammed him hard backwards into the car, and then followed through, landing a low blow to his stomach. His temper nowhere near abated, he watched Sullivan crumple, and then kicked him like the fetid animal he was.

  ‘That’s enough!’ Steve was on Matthew’s back, his muscle-bound arms wrapped hard around him.

  ‘Get him off me!’ Sullivan screamed, shielding his head from further assault, his voice high-pitched and hysterical. ‘Fucking madman, get him off!’

  Locking his hold tight, Steve hauled Matthew away. ‘Leave it!’ he growled, close to his ear. ‘He’s not worth it.’

  Matthew closed his eyes. His chest wheezing, his head reeling, he tried to draw air into his lungs, to think, but the only thought in his head was that he wanted to kill Sullivan, to stop him, to shut him up, once and for all. Counting, desperately trying to control his rage, he looked back to Sullivan. He couldn’t quite believe it when Sullivan’s mouth twisted into a smirk. Even through the blood smeared across his face, the man’s expression was unmistakeable: triumphant.

  Chapter Eight

  Detective Chief Inspector Davies leaned back in his chair. Placing his hands under his chin, he regarded Matthew with quiet despair. ‘You do know he’s filed charges?’ he asked him.

  Matthew shook his head. ‘It’s bullshit. He’s trying to get my card marked, that’s all. The man’s a complete—’

  ‘Bullshit?’ The DCI’s chair hit the wall behind him as he shot to his feet. ‘He’s at the hospital, Adams!’ He balled his fists on his desk and eyeballed him furiously. ‘You’ve probably broken his jaw and the best you can come up with is it’s bullshit?’

  Guessing he was pissed, with good reason, Matthew glanced down. ‘It was provoked, sir.’ Running a thumb over his own bruised fist, he attempted to explain. ‘I—’

  ‘So you say!’ Davies barked over him. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, DI Adams? Have you been drinking? What?’

  ‘No,’ Matthew assured him adamantly. He guessed his drinking would always come up, the months after Lily’s death, when he’d been too permanently hung-over to make a right judgement call. He really wished Davies hadn’t brought it up in front of Steve, though.

  ‘Because if you are, Adams, I don’t need to tell you what the consequences—’

  ‘He threatened my wife!’ Matthew’s gaze snapped back up. ‘He’s been following me, for Christ’s sake, watching my house! What the hell would you have done?’

  He’d been right outside his house, waited until he’d left and Rebecca and Ashley alone inside and then made sure they were petrified out of their wits. There had been a bird. Matthew hadn’t been able to work out how it had flown anywhere, maggot riddled and obviously dead. He’d thought a cat maybe? It had been Sullivan, Matthew now realised, his blood running cold.

  ‘I’d have gone through the proper channels, Adams, thereby securing the chance of a formal investigation,’ DCI Davies replied tersely. ‘DS Ingram,’ he turned to Steve, ‘I assume you can corroborate these threats?

  Steve shifted awkwardly in his seat. ‘I, erm …’ He glanced worriedly at Matthew.

  ‘Well?’ Davies urged him impatiently.

  Steve’s shoulders slumped. ‘No, sir,’ he said, his gaze now anywhere but on Matthew. ‘I was too far away to hear the whole conversation.’

  DCI Davies sighed heavily and turned to walk towards his window. ‘It’s a bit of a mess, isn’t it, Adams?’ he commented, gazing out.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Matthew tried for contrite, though any remorse he was feeling was that he hadn’t broken Sullivan’s neck. At least then he would be sure Rebecca was safe.

  ‘You do realise you’ve jeopardised the undercover operation?’ Davies asked, as casually as if he were asking about the weather.

  What? Matthew stared incredulously at his back. ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘Unfortunately not.’ DCI Davies clasped his hands behind him and continued to gaze out of the window, as if he hadn’t just delivered a bombshell, announced that the only other plan to nail Sullivan hadn’t just been taken off the table. ‘We’re going to have to pull back, at least until we’ve cleared this mess up. I think you’ve marked your own card, Adams.’

  Davies turned back, eyeing Matthew meaningfully. ‘Not going to be very popular with your colleagues for a while, are you?’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Steve glanced disbelievingly from the DCI to Matthew.

  ‘Bloody hell, indeed.’ Davies smiled shortly. ‘Thank you, DS Ingram. You can leave now.’

  DCI Davies waited while Steve did as bid, casting now very worried glances in Matthew’s direction as he went.

  ‘As for you,’ Davies turned back to Matthew, ‘I think you should take some gardening leave.’

  ‘Uh, uh.’ Matthew shook his head. No way was he going to be out of the loop, not knowing what that bastard Sullivan was up to, not now.

  ‘It wasn’t a suggestion, DI Adams, it was an order. And, off the record, if you are hitting the bottle again, don’t. Okay?’

  ‘What?’ Matthew laughed incredulously. Now he had to be joking. They were going to take Sullivan’s word over his? Believe there was no provocation? Assume he was back on the booze? Jesus Christ. Matthew tried to rein in his tempter.

  ‘Look, John,’ he said shakily, ‘cut me some slack, will you? I lost it. I know I did. But you know me. You also know Sullivan. You must know he pushed me.’

  ‘To the limit probably, but sorry, Matthew, no can do. It shouldn’t have happened. Look …’ glancing at him sympathetically, DCI Davies walked around to perch himself on the edge of the desk, ‘… I know you think Sullivan had something to do with … the accident …’

  ‘Think?’ Matthew balked, astonished. ‘He as good as told me. He tried to warn me off. For God’s sake, John?’

  ‘As good as told you,’ DCI Davies repeated, his meaning implicit. ‘There was no evidence against him, Matthew, no witnesses to put him at the scene. The man had an alibi,’ he reminded him, as if Matthew needed reminding. ‘Take some leave,’ he offered, more quietly. ‘Spend some time with Rebecca.’

  Matthew nodded tightly. ‘Right,’ he said, swallowing back his disgust and getting to his feet. ‘Is that it?’

  DCI Davies nodded reluctantly. ‘For now.’

  ‘Cheers.’ Matthew grated, and turned to slam out of the office. ‘Thanks for nothing,’ he muttered, striding to his own desk and grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair.

  ‘So?’ Steve, who’d been quietly watching him, asked warily.

  ‘So what?’ Matthew headed for the door.

  ‘So, what happened?’

  ‘Exactly what Sullivan wanted to happen, Steve!’ Matthew rounded on him angrily. ‘I’m stuffed. Out! On gardening leave. Pending a psych evaluation, and then on permanent leave probably. Why they hell didn’t you cover my back?’

  Steve scanned his face, his expression unimpressed. ‘That’s exactly what I did, sir,’ he said, his tone flat. ‘If not for me it wouldn’t be assault you’d be up on a charge for. It would be manslaughter, or worse. I couldn’t verify something I didn’t hear, though. Maybe I should have lied in there, I don’t know. Should I?’

  Matthew dropped his gaze. ‘No,’ he conceded, with a despairing sigh. ‘I, er … Sorry.’ He shrugged apologetically. ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?�
�� Steve reminded him, as Matthew turned back to the door. ‘A certain something obtained from friends in wrong places?’

  Hell, the heroin. Matthew realised he was about to leave with it still in his desk drawer. In which case, it might well have been discovered and then he really would be stuffed.

  ‘You’ll find it’s over here,’ Steve said, as Matthew headed back. ‘I thought it might be safer where I could keep an eye on it.’

  Guessing he owed Steve more than a half-arsed apology, Matthew nodded gratefully and walked around to the drawer Steve had opened.

  ‘I’ll keep you up to speed.’ Steve extended his hand, once Matthew had retrieved his illegal goods.

  ‘Cheers,’ Matthew shook it, feeling like a total shit for having let the man down, and then worse, as DS Collins came into the office.

  ‘Nice going, sir,’ she said, casting him a scathing glance, as she marched past. She was still wearing her sequins under her coat, Matthew noted, and obviously also not overly impressed with him.

  ****

  ‘Matthew?’ Rebecca called, as she came into the kitchen.

  ‘Here.’ Matthew looked up from where he sat at the table, nursing a substantial whisky, the bottle parked to one side, Rebecca noted, with some trepidation.

  ‘Twelve?’ she asked about his day, which had obviously been a rough one.

  Matthew laughed sardonically. ‘Way off the scale.’

  Rebecca walked over to him. ‘It’s three a.m.,’ she pointed out, gently.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. I just …’ Heaving out a sigh, Matthew trailed off.

  ‘I take it you can’t sleep?’ Rebecca ventured. The fact that he’d tossed and turned when he had finally come to bed after mooching about outside for a good hour had given her a subtle indication.

  Matthew shrugged. ‘Brain’s too active. Sorry,’ he repeated. ‘You’re cold.’ He looked her over, concerned, as Rebecca rubbed her goose-pimpled arms.

  ‘My foot-warmer deserted me.’ She smiled, studying his face. God, he looked so tired. What on earth was it that was worrying him?

  ‘Come here.’ Matthew extended and arm and pulled her towards him. ‘I’ll warm you up.’

  Smiling, Rebecca settled into his lap and snuggled into him. ‘Not after half a bottle of whisky you won’t.’

  ‘Er, no, probably not,’ Matthew conceded, with a small smile.

  ‘Do you want to share?’ Rebecca glanced up at him.

  Matthew drew in a breath and shook his head. ‘Just work stuff. Something I have to try to figure out. Nothing to worry about.’

  Rebecca didn’t push him. She knew better than to do that. Matthew would never share anything he thought might be too upsetting, as if she were made of cut glass. She couldn’t help but love him for trying to protect her, but she really did despair of him keeping his emotions bottled up.

  Matthew squeezed her closer. ‘Sorry,’ he said again and planted a soft kiss on the top of her head. ‘How’s Ashley?’ he asked, after a pause.

  ‘Good. Fast asleep with her earphones still plugged in.’ Rebecca debated, then, ‘She talks to herself, have you noticed?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Matthew’s mind was obviously elsewhere.

  ‘Ashley, I’ve heard her. The thing is, it’s not to herself exactly, more as if she’s talking to someone else.’

  ‘Oh.’ Matthew furrowed his brow. ‘So, what do you think? An imaginary friend possibly?’

  Rebecca hesitated. ‘I think it’s a real friend. Or at least it was. Someone she might possibly be grieving the loss of.’

  ‘Really?’ Matthew contemplated. ‘They never mentioned anything at the care home. Do you think it’s a problem?’

  ‘No. Not really. I’ll mention it to the counsellor, but I think it might just be her way of expressing her emotions. It’s just …’ Rebecca looked up at him. ‘She broke a statue. The porcelain Japanese lady in the lounge, you know the one. It’s no big deal, but …’

  ‘But?’ Matthew urged her.

  ‘I heard her talking, just before I heard the crash. I was in here. She kept telling whoever it was to stop it. She sounded quite distressed, and …’ Again, Rebecca hesitated, not wanting to add to Matthew’s problems. But then, he should know, she supposed ‘… when I went in, the statue was broken, the scatter cushions were … Well, scattered everywhere. The magazines on the coffee table, too. She said she saw a mouse, but I’m not convinced.’

  Matthew’s frown deepened.

  ‘She might just be testing us,’ Rebecca suggested.

  ‘Testing you.’ Matthew glanced apologetically at her. ‘I’m sorry, Becks. I should have been here earlier. I—’

  ‘Got detained, I gathered. You don’t have to keep apologising, Matthew. I know the nature of your work means unpredictable hours. I also know it takes a lot out of you. Come on, come to bed.’ Slipping off his lap, she threaded an arm through his and urged him up. ‘Lie with me, even if you can’t sleep.’

  ‘Now there’s an offer a man can’t refuse.’ Matthew smiled and got unsteadily to his feet.

  ‘Unless he’s incapable,’ Rebecca reminded him. She tried not to read too much into his sitting up drinking. Obviously, he did have some things he needed to think through. Not that he’d be doing much sensible thinking with however many whiskies under his belt. Hopefully, the news she had to tell him would cheer him up a bit. She wouldn’t tell him yet, though, not while he’d got so much on his mind. ‘I’ve booked a day off tomorrow,’ she said instead, chatting as they walked towards the stairs. ‘I thought Ashley and I would go shopping.’

  Mathew stopped dead. ‘Shopping?’ He sounded alarmed.

  ‘Yes?’ Rebecca turned to face him, puzzled. ‘You know that thing we do when we need to buy things. Ashley needs some stuff. Don’t worry, we won’t break the bank.’

  Matthew ran a hand over his neck, another telling indicator of his stress levels. ‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rebecca eyed him curiously. It wasn’t like Matthew to vet her shopping habits. ‘She doesn’t even have a decent phone. I thought it might be nice if she had some of the normal things a teenager should have. Plus her wardrobe needs a bit of a makeover. Do you not think it’s a good idea then?’

  ‘No. Yes. I, er …’ Matthew appeared confused, indecisive, definitely not himself, possibly due to alcohol consumption. ‘It’s a great idea.’ He smiled, finally. ‘In fact, I’ll come with you.’

  Now Rebecca was definitely worried. Matthew tried, but shopping was not on top of his list of fun things to do. ‘You? Shopping? On a work day?’

  ‘I have some leave,’ Matthew said quickly. ‘Annual leave I need to take, so …’ He shrugged, trying for nonchalant, but still he looked as confused as Rebecca felt.

  She needed to get him to bed, she decided. He was exhausted. Whatever he was worrying about would still be there in the morning.

  ‘You hate shopping,’ she reminded him. ‘In any case, I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to do a bit of girl-talk, which I’m thinking you would also probably hate. Come on.’

  Taking hold of his hand, she gave him a tug onwards, at which Matthew winced.

  ‘Matthew? Rebecca glanced down at the hand he was now attempting to retract. ‘What on earth have you done?’

  ‘Car door,’ Matthew was quick to answer again. ‘We were out on a shout. Steve got a bit keen. I’ll come shopping with you,’ he repeated, holding her gaze, searching her eyes. Rebecca detected a hint of desperation in his.

  ‘Okay,’ she relented, growing more concerned as she glanced again at his bruised knuckles and then back to his face. ‘But you get to pay for lunch,’ she warned him, attempting to lead him upstairs, ‘and no complaining in the lingerie department.’

  ‘Do I ever?’ Matthew said, sounding relieved, more like himself.

  Still Rebecca was concerned. It was true he didn’t mind the lingerie-shopping bit, he was actually quite good at selecting i
t, but shopping generally wasn’t something he would volunteer for. She needed to talk to him properly, get to the root of what was troubling him. Tomorrow would be soon enough, though, when he’d had a chance to catch up on his sleep.

  ****

  Matthew was still dead to the world when Rebecca went back up to check on him the next morning. Even sleeping, he looked troubled. No wonder when he’d woken at least three times in the night, clearly haunted by some recurring nightmare. Was he feverish, coming down with something? There was an awful bug going around at the hospital. Looking him over, she noted his sweat-dampened torso, half in and half out of the duvet he’d wrestled with. He was obviously exhausted. Trooping round the shops was probably the last thing he needed. She’d leave him, she decided. The rest would do him good.

  Padding back out, she closed the door carefully behind her and headed along the landing to Ashley’s room.

  ‘Ready?’ She poked hear head around the door, and then pressed a finger to her lips when Ashley looked up from the clothes she was searching through. ‘Matthew’s still sleeping.’

  Ashley nodded. ‘Two minutes,’ she said and went back to her clothes-strewn bed.

  Not so far off normal teenager then? Rebecca smiled, reminding herself mess was good, as she headed downstairs.

  She found a pen and wrote Matthew a quick note: Sorry, you’ve been outvoted. Stay and catch up on your beauty sleep. Back around five. Catch you later. xxxx P.S. Haute cuisine not necessary. I’ll bring some ready meals in. P.P.S. Love you loads.

  Adding a few more kisses for luck, Rebecca looked up as Ashley appeared.

  ‘Do I look okay?’ she asked, peering uncertainly from under her curtain of hair.

  ‘Lovely,’ Rebecca assured her. She took in the trainers, which had seen better days, the black leggings and faded grey tee. ‘I think we could improve on the trainers, though,’ she suggested diplomatically. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Cool.’ Ashley brightened and dragged her hair from her face.

  She was definitely pretty, Rebecca decided. Exceptionally pretty.

  ‘How about me? Will I pass?’ She indicated her own attire: her oversize cable-knit sweater over a loose fitting shirt-dress.