Strangers (35 page)

Lucy froze. It had not been a squeal that some human or animal might make, but metallic.

Try though she may, it was impossible not to picture a knifepoint creeping along metal.

Glancing behind her, she was confronted by a wall of steam so dense that it was more like moorland mist. Even her phone light failed to penetrate, turning it an iridescent white.

Another squeal sounded, this one closer – and accompanied by a loud
clatter
.

Still that terrible knife, but now a blunt instrument too.

Instinctively, Lucy felt again for her own weapons, which of course were hanging in her locker back at the station. Her ears strained for further sounds, only for the steam to actually envelope her, billowing up from below. Coughing and wafting, she lurched forward, trying to fight through it – and didn’t notice the figure standing in her way until she collided with it.

‘Hey!’ she shouted, jumping back, assuming the combat position.

Just as quickly, the steam evaporated, to reveal Des rubbing his thigh and glaring at her reproachfully. ‘You’re all knees and bloody elbows,’ he complained.

‘God almighty, Des … you scared the crap out of me!’

‘What’re you doing down here?’

‘I thought I saw … someone.’ She glanced past him, but saw only more steam. ‘I thought someone came down here. Was that you?’

‘I came down here because I couldn’t find you and the gate was open.’

That didn’t rule Des out, she supposed, but whoever she’d seen had looked taller.

‘You weren’t kicking things around?’ she asked. ‘Weren’t hammering pipes by any chance?’

He looked baffled. ‘Not as I noticed.’

‘Did you hear anything like that?’

‘I heard something, not sure what. I assumed it was you.’

‘The last one was like half a minute ago. Des … he’s got to be down here now.’

‘Unless
that
was what you heard.’ Des pointed up past her shoulder.

Lucy turned, and now that her eyes were fully adjusted, gazed through another mass of dust-shrouded pipework to a high, mesh-fenced balcony, accessible by a switchback steel stair and on top of which what looked like an exterior door stood open.

‘You mean he was making a quick exit?’ she said.

‘Yeah. He’s had his fun, he’s dragged us down here, and now he’s gone home.’

Lucy’s heart sank. Suddenly, it all seemed incredibly likely. The squealing she’d heard was the sound of unoiled hinges, the clattering the sound of the outer door being lugged open.

Irritated, she commenced walking.

Des limped in pursuit. ‘So where we going now?’

‘Out.’

‘That’s the first thing I’ve heard all evening that I like.’

They worked their way through the maze of pipes and conduit, at last locating the foot of the stairs and climbing to the top, where Lucy halted and looked down. From this height, it was impossible to make out any detail of the subfloor level they’d just wandered around.

‘Someone’s got nothing better to do, love, that’s all,’ Des said.

She shook her head, unsure what to think. They re-emerged into the outer world through a maintenance door that Lucy had previously only ever seen locked. It was located about fifty yards to the right of where she’d parked her bike.

‘I feel like a right pillock,’ she muttered.

Des shrugged. ‘Ultimately, it wasn’t too bad a call. You’re right in that we didn’t have much time to decide what to do, and it was a lead of sorts … there wasn’t too much scope for doing anything different.’

‘I dunno. We could have gone straight to the boss with it. That’s what you’d have done.’

‘And who’s to say I’d be right? You think Jim Cavill would have been happy with me if
he’d
been the one trekking all over town. It’s a bag of shit, chuck. These things happen.’

But Des was bouncing from foot to foot as he uttered these words of comfort, and Lucy knew why. It was nine o’clock, and he
had
to get home.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘You shoot off. I’ll book the evidence in.’

He nodded, looking relieved, but just as quickly frowned. ‘I’d like to say “see you tomorrow”, but I won’t, will I?’

‘You don’t get rid of me that easily,’ she replied. ‘I’m back in uniform from Monday, and I’ll still be working out of Robber’s Row. We’ll see each other plenty.’

He slapped her on the shoulder, before turning and heading for the nearest corner. Lucy climbed onto her bike, but before she put her helmet on, glanced again at the black doorway leading to the subterranean level.

Anyway you cut it, this didn’t
feel
like a piss-take. She’d allowed herself to think that it was possibly because the whole thing was so elaborate. But for the very same reason she now had doubts. Hadn’t it all been just a bit
too
intricate? Especially when the most you were going to get out of it was a couple of sniggers. Especially when seven people had been brutally slain and what this really amounted to was an obstruction of that investigation.

Despite Des’s logic, it really didn’t compute that this was just a silly game.

Des checked his watch as he walked quickly along the pavement.

There were no two ways about it; Yvonne would go spare – especially as on this occasion he hadn’t even phoned ahead to warn her that he’d be late. It wasn’t like he could blame her either; not after twenty-five years of this kind of thing. When he’d first told her he was joining the Intel Unit and would be working a solid four-till-four, she’d initially been pleased. Though it had meant that he wouldn’t be around in the evening, which she wasn’t overly keen on, it had also meant that he’d be in by the time she woke up in the morning and would be with her for most of each day. It also meant the hours would be regular. There’d be no unexpected overtime. Somewhat typically though, this acceptable arrangement hadn’t lasted long, and they were already back in the realms of uncertain starts and even less certain finishes.

Des sighed and walked faster.

Yvonne had never really got used to him being a copper. They’d first begun dating at middle school. They were engaged when they were nineteen, and married by the time they were twenty-one. She’d then been stunned when, at the age of twenty-three, he’d announced that he was packing in his job as a trainee plumber and applying to join the police. It would be better money and better prospects, or that was how he’d tried to sell it to her, but it had still come as a hell of a shock. Because back in those days, kids from their part of Manchester, especially kids of mixed race, didn’t join the cops; not in the numbers they joined now. But she’d stuck with him – of course she had – through all the thick and thin that had followed, for which he was supremely grateful as well as still being madly in love with her.

Even all these years later, Des came over warm and fuzzy when he thought about this: the girl of his dreams, the perfect wife and the ideal mum, who’d not only kept a beautiful home for him but had gone on to bear him six children. Lord knew, that was hard enough in this day and age, but when the father was nearly always at work it would challenge anyone’s relationship. It was less warm and fuzzifying to ponder that, he supposed – especially when he had so little to show for all this time on the job. He earned thirty-six grand a year, which wasn’t too bad, but for a lifetime of unsocial hours it wasn’t a great pay-off.

Something that Yvonne was less than delighted about, along with her fears for his safety, of course, which never went away.

The main problem here was that Yvonne was superstitious. She got that from her late grandma, who’d been born in St Kitts, and who’d reckoned that just being a policeman was asking for trouble because it challenged the forces of chaos. Those forces didn’t forgive, Grandma had said, so being a copper would get steadily more dangerous the longer Des stayed in. Each new day, the evil stacked against him would increase, and the chance that something bad would happen grew ever greater. Now, in his third decade in the job, he thought, he must be walking very thin ice indeed.

That was when he saw the figure standing in the recessed doorway.

The west side of the Emporia was a relic of the old precinct, an immense monolithic structure, mostly bare concrete, with exceedingly narrow, castle-like windows. Apparently it was now in use by the local authority as the Tax Office. It had a single-glazed entrance door set at the back of a shadowy, rectangular cave, which no doubt would be the sort of place you’d find homeless people sleeping, though there was no one roughing it there now – just this single figure standing with back turned, staring in through the frosted glass.

Des slowed as he walked past, and then, reluctantly, stopped.

Even if he hadn’t been on the lookout for someone who might have been leading Lucy a merry dance, as a police officer he couldn’t just stroll away from this; not without making at least a basic enquiry. He glanced round, to check if he was alone. No one else was in sight. The only vehicle nearby was a blue Renault van parked on the other side of the main road. He glanced back to the dim shape in the recess.

‘Hey mate … you alright?’

The figure didn’t move.

Des made a rapid assessment of what he was facing here. Five foot eight, this guy, tops. Pretty solidly built. Wearing a black anorak over a hoodie, with the hood pulled up.

‘Hey, pal?’ Des ambled towards him. ‘What are you up to? And don’t give me attitude … I’m a copper.’

In a sudden, sharp movement, the figure drew its right hand from its jacket pocket, revealing a tight, leather-gloved fist, which even as Des watched, balled itself even tighter.

Des halted, and as he did he heard one of the doors to the Renault van on the other side of the road bang open. Feet clobbered the tarmac as they came rapidly across.

Oh … Yvonne, love,
he thought.
I am so … so sorry.

Chapter 27

Lucy contemplated the perplexing situation for several minutes before opting to take a final turn around the exterior of the Emporia, this time on her bike.

She kicked the Ducati to life and rode across the bus station, banking east onto Langley Street, passing the Post Office sorting centre and heading north-east along Pearlman Road, where the micro-pubs and fast food outlets were. She glanced into each alley and doorway as she passed, but saw no one. Finally, she emerged onto the pedestrianised section at Brunton Way. There still wasn’t a soul in sight, but she decelerated and traversed it slowly. At the corner of Brunton and Brick Kiln Terrace stood the red-brick façade of Crowley Indoor Market. Here, she swung a left and headed west along Bakerfield Lane, where the taxi rank was located. She expected to find one or two individuals there, even if it was only cabbies standing chatting while awaiting customers. But this too was a dead zone. Thursday evening, she reminded herself. Crowley was yet another provincial town which these days relied on its nocturnal economy, though in truth it only came alive at weekends, when the town centre in particular swarmed dusk till dawn with drunken, brawling revellers.

But then, spotting something peculiar, she slowed to a halt.

Des’s Volkswagen Beetle was parked at the back end of the taxi rank. The cabbies wouldn’t have liked it, had there been any here to object, but he’d simply have flashed his warrant card. The curious thing was that the Beetle was still here.

Though stationary in the middle of the carriageway, Lucy remained astride her bike, staring at the parked car. He ought to have collected it and headed home by now. With a pang of unease, she throttled up to the next junction, where she swung left, cutting through a red light and speeding south down Kenyon Lane, in effect back towards the bus station. He would have come this way on foot, and she was hopeful that even now she’d see his short, rain-coated figure stumping happily along. But this was dashed almost immediately when she passed the entry to the Tax Office, and just in front of it spotted Des’s body lying face down in the gutter.

Lucy braked so hard that she skidded along the kerb, but that didn’t stop her jumping off the machine and throwing her helmet aside.

‘Des! Des, it’s Lucy!’
She slid to her knees beside him, hurriedly checking for vital signs. To her relief, he groaned, but it was a horrifying shock to then note the multiple red trickles twisting away over the tarmac. ‘Oh, Jesus …’

She probed around his neck and the base of his skull. A slow throb in his carotid revealed a regular pulse, but God knew how much damage had been done. Even more was threatened when she reached under his body and lifted him slightly, but she
had
to do this – it was crucial she check underneath him to ensure that
nothing
had been hacked away.

Miraculously, it seemed, nothing had. The front of his trousers were intact and dry.

Relieved, she glanced round the empty street, belatedly wondering if the attacker was still lurking nearby, perhaps half-concealed. But there was no trace of anyone. Not so much as a parked vehicle.

Des now responded to her presence by groggily turning his head. He croaked in agony.

‘Don’t move, Des!’ she shouted. ‘Lie still, for God’s sake!’

‘Knathered …’ Des burbled through a mouth that had literally been mangled. His lips were ribbons, his teeth broken. It was from this gruesome wound that most of the blood was streaming, though in addition his nose had been flattened – that too was pumping gore – and his eyes, which were both swollen closed, resembled ripe plums. ‘Tho knather …’

‘Des, it’s Lucy. Can you hear me?’

‘Luthy … too lathe, babe …’ He chuckled and choked. ‘Didn’t thee him …’

‘Stay conscious, okay! And don’t bloody move! I mean it. Especially not your head.’ She jumped back to her feet, digging out her phone.

‘My neck’th hurting …’

‘That’s what I mean, you dipstick! Just stay put!’

The call to the MIR was answered by a DS Clubb, who was on night-cover.

‘This is PC Clayburn!’ Lucy shouted. ‘Listen, sarge, I’m off-duty at present, so I’ve no radio … but you’ve got to get onto Crowley Comms. I’m on Kenyon Lane with DC Barton. He’s been seriously assaulted. I mean
badly
… extensive head, neck and facial injuries, heavy bleeding. He’s conscious but he doesn’t have the first clue where he is. I need backup, supervision and an ambulance. And I need them right bloody now!’