Heated Beat 02 - Lucky Man (16 page)

The DCI opened the final briefing. After he’d said his piece, he passed the reins to Danny.

Danny pinned the suspect’s photo to the ops board. “Bill Hughes, wanted in connection with the murders of Ruth Maddox, Donna Preston, Selina Smith, and… Gemma Biggs. We have plainclothes officers outside his address already. He’s inside and it looks like he’s packing up, so we need to move fast. Daniels and Hollis at the front. Jenkins and Rhodes at the back. Parker and Hills, you take the door. Lanes and I will secure the suspect. Uniform as backup. Any questions?”

None were forthcoming. Danny knocked his fist on the suspect’s grainy face. “Let’s roll.”

They traipsed out to the cars, five vehicles in all. The suspect’s address was less than a mile away, and it struck Danny as darkly ironic that they’d been hunting up and down the M1 for someone right on their doorstep.

Danny got in the passenger seat of the lead car with Lanes at his side and two uniformed officers in the back. The powerful unmarked purred to life, and Lanes pulled out of the station car park. The drive passed in a flash. Danny directed each car to block access in and out of the unassuming terraced house and counted down on the radio.

Then they hit the ground running. Officers disappeared around the back of the property, and the front door caved in with a splintering crash.

Danny hurdled the wreckage and darted through the empty hallway. The two reception rooms were clear, the kitchen too. Danny made for the stairs with Lanes hot on his heels. He heard movement ahead of him, and then a body blocked the light at the top of the stairs. Danny looked up and met the gaze of a startled middle-aged man. Balding, overweight, faded tattoos, Bill Hughes looked like every other bloke propping up the bar at a dodgy local pub, but then something changed. Danny shouted his warning and Bill Hughes sprang to life.

Hughes charged at Danny with a low growl. The impact of the heavier man caught Danny off guard. He stumbled back into Lanes and grabbed the bannister to steady himself, but Hughes had gravity in his favor and the three of them tumbled down the stairs.

They landed in a heap. Danny grappled with the weight pinning him down. In the chaos he caught a flash of silver slicing through the empty air.

Lanes screamed, “Danny, he’s got a knife!”

Danny’s vision narrowed to the dangle of limbs on the grotty carpet of the dilapidated house. He yelled for backup and took an elbow to the gut. Lanes took a knee to the face and then Hughes was up and running, slashing the crude kitchen knife to keep Danny at bay.

Lanes let out a grunt of pain. Danny scrambled to his feet and reached for her. She pushed him away. “I’m okay, I’m okay. Go, go,
go
!”

Danny tore through the ground floor of the house with four officers behind him. Hughes had made for the back door, now guarded by Jenkins and Rhodes. Less than a minute had passed since Hughes had barged Danny down the stairs, but as he looked ahead and watched Hughes plunge his knife into Jenkins’s neck, it felt like a lifetime.

Jenkins fell to the floor. Rhodes dropped to help him. Danny yelled for assistance and leaped over them both. Ahead of him Hughes disappeared down an alleyway the officers watching the house before the raid had failed to mention.

Danny sprinted after him. Adrenaline surged in his veins, laced with a real fear he’d find himself cornered in a dead end, just him, a blade, and serial killer. But it didn’t happen. The alleyway came to an end and Hughes hit the streets.

Screams and the screech of tires reached Danny’s ears. He emerged from the alleyway in time to see Hughes make a brazen dash through the busy Christmas Eve traffic, holding his bloody knife aloft.

Danny followed. Behind him he heard the shouts of the officers on his tail, and above, the first drone of the police helicopter. But Danny couldn’t wait for the chopper or the panda cars wailing through the traffic to reach him. Hughes had a knife, blood on his hands, and nothing to lose.

He had his hands on Hughes when the car struck them both. Jarring pain roared from Danny’s hip to his shoulder, and then his head as he landed on the pavement a few feet away with Hughes once again on top of him. Danny rolled, ignoring the crunch of bones in his left side, and pinned Hughes to the ground. Dimly he was aware of screams and heavy footfalls bearing down on them, and then blood oozing out of Hughes beneath him… and dripping down Danny’s own face.

Danny jammed the cuffs on Hughes. He’d known his face for less than an hour, but the venom he felt was consuming. Hate, anger, horror; in that moment Danny felt them all.

“Bill Hughes, I’m arresting you for the murders of Ruth Maddox, Donna Preston, Selina Smith, and Gemma Biggs. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

Hughes grunted. “Fuck you. Little slags had it coming.”

Danny saw red, but strong hands pulled him away before he realized he’d raised his hand. Lanes. She dragged him a few feet and crouched in front of him, her nose bleeding and set at an awkward angle.

“We’ve got him, Danny. Just hold on, okay? The ambulance is coming.”

Chapter Fourteen

I
T
WAS
2:00 p.m. on Christmas Day when Danny finally called. Finn jumped on his phone before the vibration morphed into his Ramones ringtone. “Danny?”

“Please tell me you know where my sister is?”

Finn got up from the couch and slipped out of the living room, leaving most of the band, and Sara, glued to the news like they had been all night, ever since the news had filtered through about the knife-wielding serial killer roaming the city streets. He shut the door and went to the kitchen. “She’s here. She’s safe. She’s chatting up Jack.”

Danny chuckled, wry and tired. “Lucky Jack.”

“Are you okay? They said on the news that maniac was running around with a sword or some shit, and a copper got stabbed. Please tell me it wasn’t you?”

“It wasn’t. I got hit by a car instead.”

“What? Where are you? Are you all right?”

“Kind of. I’m at Queens A and E still. That’s why I’m calling. Could you… could you come and get me?”

“Of course.” Finn already had his keys in his hand. “Do you need me to bring anything?”

“Some clothes, maybe? I might have some lying around your place.”

“No worries. I’ll be twenty minutes, okay?”

“Yeah… bye.”

Danny hung up and Finn stared at his phone a moment, frozen in that place where it took reality a moment to fall into place. Something as ever felt off, and then it clicked…. He’d never, ever heard Danny ask for help, for anything, from anyone, let alone Finn.

He needs me.
The realization hit Finn like a brick wall, but he found himself in motion before he could dwell on it. He flew upstairs and threw clothes in a bag—his, Danny’s, maybe Jack’s, he wasn’t sure—then dashed back down and beckoned Jack out of the living room. “Danny called. I’m going to go and pick him up. Can you look after Sara? I’ll come and get her in a bit.”

Jack nodded. “Danny all right?”

“I don’t know,” Finn said. “He’s at the hospital. I’ll know more when I see him.”

“What about Bigsy? Have you heard from him yet?”

Finn shook his head. Bigsy had gone to ground since the media had exploded with news of the dramatic breakthrough in the murder case. “I’ll go round tomorrow.”

“Only if Danny doesn’t need you. Otherwise I’ll go over with Will. You can’t look after everyone.”

As if.
How much time had Jack lost looking after Finn? “I’ll call you when I know more.”

“All right, mate.”

Finn left and drove the six short miles to the hospital he knew well. The psychiatric unit was on the third floor, and even on a good day, the sight of it always made him feel a bit strange. But not today. Finn threw the van into a parking space with nothing in his mind but Danny, getting to him, putting his hands on him, and seeing with his own eyes that he was safe. Even the throngs of press and police at the hospital entrance hardly registered.

He slipped past them all, head down, face half-hidden in his jacket, and went to the front desk. “I’m here for Danny Jones? He’s a police officer.”

The graying man behind the desk frowned a moment, then clicked a few buttons on his computer, and his expression became grave enough to scare the ever-loving shit out of Finn. “Wait there. I’ll get someone to come and speak to you.”

The man disappeared, and the wait for another soul to appear felt like a lifetime. Finn’s mind raced, his stomach in his boots. Danny had called… asked Finn to pick him up, so logic told Finn his injuries couldn’t be that severe, but half an hour had passed since that call. What if—

“Finn McGovern?”

Finn whipped around. A slim black woman stood behind him, her face a bruised mess. “Yeah?”

“Detective Lanes.” The woman held out her hand. “Danny’s just getting discharged. I’ll take you to him.”

Finn followed the woman through a set of double doors. “Is he okay?”

“He will be. He broke a rib. Some stitches in his head. He scared the crap out of me when I saw him covered in blood, but it could’ve been a lot worse.”

Finn knew that—God, he knew that—but it still felt like the worst thing in the world. “How did it happen?”

The detective snorted. “He jumped in front of a car to save the world. Typical bloody Danny.”

Was it? Finn had no idea, and as he looked beyond the woman and caught his first glimpse of Danny sitting shirtless on a bed in blood-soaked jeans, covered in bruises, he didn’t much care.

“Danny?”

Danny looked up, startled, like he’d been somewhere else entirely. He didn’t say anything, just held out his hand, but for Finn the gesture said everything. He took Danny’s hand and moved close enough for Danny to lean on him.

“All right? They said you broke a rib,” Finn said.

“Yep.”

“And your head?” Finn put two fingers under Danny’s chin and inspected the damage. A one-inch gash was hidden just beyond Danny’s hairline, and the source, no doubt, of the dried blood flaking from behind his ear. “That looks nasty.”

“Scalp wounds bleed a lot.”

Finn eyed the blood staining Danny’s jeans. “I’ll say. I brought you some clean clothes. Here, I’ll help you.”

Finn pulled the curtain around the bed and helped Danny into a clean set of clothes while Danny remained dazed and silent, like he could drop off the earth at any moment. Finn touched his cheek.

“Still with me?”

Danny let out a tired grunt. “Honestly? I’m off my face on codeine. I want to sleep… on something really soft, and pretend I’m someone else for a while.”

It was such an un-Danny-like thing to say. Finn folded Danny’s bloodied jeans, careful to hide his shaking hands. “Do you need to keep these… for evidence, or something?”

“Nah. We’ve got all the evidence we need.”

Finn swallowed the lump in his throat. “Who got stabbed?”

“Bob Jenkins.”

“Bob Jenkins? Who’s that?”

“A colleague. He’s going to be okay, though. The knife missed anything that mattered.”

“That’s good.”

“Hmm? Yeah. Yeah, that’s good.”

Danny looked ready to drop. Finn put his arm around him. “Your friend said you’d been discharged. How about I take you home?”

“Home? Who’s at your house?”

“Everyone,” Finn said. “But we don’t have to go there. Your place is closer.”

“Sara?”

“I’ll go and get her when you’re settled.”

Danny nodded. “You’ve never been to my place.”

“You’ve never invited me.”

“Haven’t I?”

“Nope.” Finn helped Danny off the bed and into his shoes. “And it’s too late to hide your midget porn collection or whatever it is you don’t want me to see.”

Danny turned suddenly and fixed Finn with the steadiest gaze Finn had seen from him so far. “It’s not that. It was never that. My place is just… nothing, you know? I’m never there.”

“Looks like you need to be there now. Come on. Let’s go.”

D
ANNY
’
S
FLAT
was ten minutes down the road. They made the drive in silence, and then Finn took Danny’s keys from him and let them in.

“Do you want a shower?”

Danny nodded. “Yeah. I can’t get my stitches wet, though. Make yourself at home, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.”

Finn gazed around as Danny sloped off to the bathroom. Danny’s flat was everything he’d said it was: clean, sterile… nothing. It felt like no one had ever lived there, let alone anyone as warm and sweet as Danny.

He put his boots by the front door and hung his coat up. Then he looked around for something for Danny to eat before he inevitably crashed out.

Danny’s fridge was bare bar some dubious-looking cheese and a lonely egg. There was milk for tea, though. Finn made a strong brew and went looking for Danny’s bedroom. He found it neat and tidy like the rest of the flat, and sat down on the bed to wait for Danny.

He didn’t have to wait long. Danny emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, moving slowly, with his arm wrapped around his torso and his face creased with pain.

Finn jumped up and took his weight. “Come on. Get into bed. I’ll get you some more painkillers.”

With Finn’s help, Danny pulled on a pair of jogging bottoms and lay down on his uninjured side, head propped in Finn’s lap.

Finn played absently with Danny’s hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“What happened to you.”

“Nothing happened to me, Finn. One minute I was with you, the next I was arse-over-tit on the pavement with my head smashed in. I’m not the one who got stabbed or strangled and dumped by the roadside.”

Finn stilled his fingers. “Do you wish you were?”

If Danny thought the question odd, he didn’t show it. He shook his head slightly and closed his eyes. “No. I just wish we’d caught him sooner.”

“You’ve got him now, though, right? The news said he was under armed guard in hospital. Did he get hurt?”