The Edge of Sanity (32 page)

Charlie looked away from Steve, disgusted. ‘Keep her out of my way,’ he warned, and turned to the fridge, where there was no lager. ‘Piss box of a toy fridge,’ he cursed, banged the door closed and slammed his fist against it.

‘Bloody nutter,’ Steve muttered, steering Jo and Kayla well towards the back of the boat.

Chapter Twenty-One

Daniel sank slowly onto one the berths, Charlie having granted him permission.

‘Hope you’ve been doin’ some reflecting, Danny Boy,’ he said, watching Daniel trying to adjust himself to a more comfortable position.

Daniel barely nodded, but Charlie took that as his best effort, given he was obviously in some pain.

‘Because if you haven’t, you’d better do it now,’ Charlie went on, turning to walk past Daniel again, nice and slow and nice and close, because it gave him a bit of a kick to see Danny Boy brace himself when he got directly in front of him.

He stopped this time, swapping the gun from one hand to the other. Yeah, he thought, amused as Daniel physically flinched, he’s been doin’ some reflecting all right. He hitched the gun quickly onto his shoulder.

Oh, man, he almost laughed—some serious thinking by the look of him. Scared to death, he was. Gotchya Danny Boy, haven’t I? Right where I want you.

Charlie let him sweat a minute longer then walked jauntily towards the door. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Make sure you’ve got the right answers when I am.’

****

Daniel didn’t bother to try the ropes. His hands were still tied, but he couldn’t feel them. He took shallow breaths, trying to ignore the pain that had settled like a lead-weight in his chest.

He recommenced counting as the door closed, choosing, this time, the wooden tongue and groove panels lining the opposite wall. He started with a random number and counted methodically down from the ceiling, wondering why the thought of reaching number one terrified him.

He stopped when he got down to five, and started over, trying hard to occupy his mind so his imagination couldn’t wonder—how a psychopath would have chosen to degrade his wife and his daughter.

****

DI Short dragged in a tense breath. Everything was set. The road and canal bank were cordoned off. Armed officers were in position up front, just beyond the next bridge, should Roberts make a bolt for it in that direction. Men on top of the bridge, trigger fingers ready to blow the little runt’s legs from under him if he showed enough of himself wielding his shotgun. That’d wipe the gloating smirk off his face. DI Short pictured the scene with some satisfaction.

Behind the boat, officers had moved stealthily to secrete themselves on the steep incline of the embankment, trees as cover and weapons at the ready.

The Super had done him proud, air surveillance ready to circle and run the little rat into the ground, if by some chance he did manage to slip through the net.

For now though, the silence was so profound, a pin dropping on soft grass would have been loud. Everyone was poised, awaiting his instruction, and DI Short was praying for inspiration that might enable him to postpone issuing that instruction. By surprise was how he wanted to take Charlie Roberts. To get to him before the vermin had the chance to scurry behind his victims and use them as a shield. Shoot one of them possibly, which he would, to prove a point. Point being, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill them all if he wasn’t guaranteed safe passage out of there.

‘Well, DI Short, do we go in?’ his superintendent asked, crouching next to him in the undergrowth.

‘I suppose.’ DI Short sighed, still racking his brains for anything that might lure Roberts out into the open, and came up with nothing, short of divine intervention, that wouldn’t alert him to police presence. ‘
Shit,
’ he cursed, ‘I wish there were some other way.’

Reluctantly, he made ready to signal the front line of officers to sweep in, keeping it tight, whilst moving in himself to tell Roberts the game was up, like he’d just pop his hands up, when PC Stokes whispered, ‘Batteries.’

DI Short craned his neck to peer at Stokes blankly. If that was a profanity, it was new to him.

‘They’re outside, sir,’ PC Stokes went on, nodding towards the boat. ‘Under the decking boards on the back, if my memory serves me right.’

DI Short stared at him, confused.

‘We hired one once, sir,’ PC Stokes elucidated, looking slightly uncomfortable under DI Short’s perplexed gaze. ‘A narrow boat, that is, to, er …’

‘Thank you for sharing, PC Stokes,’ DI Short said, with a flat smile. ‘But I don’t really think which end the engine is, or where the batteries are, is very pertinent to—’

‘But they’re
outside
the boat,’ PC Stokes cut in quietly but forcefully. ‘Sir,’ he added quickly. ‘They supply the power to the engine and—’

‘The electrical system. Of course!’ DI Short eyed the Heavens thankfully as the penny dropped.
Bingo
! ‘Well done, lad!’

****

‘Right, Daniel, you ready to behave?’ Charlie asked, returning as promised. Danny Boy had had enough time to stew, he reckoned. He’d have to be nuts to consider anything but compliance after what he’d been through—what his obstinacy might have put his dearly beloved through. Assuming he was capable of considering anything, that was. Meek as a lamb, he looked. Blimey, hope his mind hasn’t gone, Charlie thought a bit panicky. He’d need him in possession of his marbles when he went to the bank.

‘Daniel?’ Charlie looked at him quizzically. ‘You hearing me?’

Daniel nodded.

‘Speak up, Danny Boy,’ Charlie said, a warning edge to his voice. ‘Didn’t quite catch that.’

‘Yes,’ Daniel managed.

‘That’s better, Danny. Much better. So tell me, what do you when I tell you to, Daniel?’

Daniel hesitated, looking uncertain.

‘Need a little reminder, Danny?’ Charlie enquired.

‘No!’ Daniel said quickly. ‘Shit … no. I, er, jump.’ He swallowed, hard.

‘Correct.’ Charlie nodded, pleased. ‘And what else?’

‘I speak … when you say so,’ Daniel said quietly.

‘Full marks, Danny Boy.’ Charlie grinned. ‘I do believe you’ve got it. Now, while you’re learning so fast, I think it might be better if you don’t
speak
to
anyone
, unless I invite you to do so. Understand?’

Daniel nodded.

‘And you don’t look at anyone either, especially not me.’

Daniel nodded again, and glanced down.

‘Good boy,’ Charlie said pleasantly, patting him on the shoulder. ‘Now, go get cleaned up and maybe we’ll let you get some air. Having a little trouble breathing, ain’t you?’

He’d overlook his not answering that one, Charlie decided. Bit difficult talking while you’re coughing. He pulled Daniel to his feet, freed his hands, and then steered him out of the door and towards the bathroom. Not too roughly though. Danny Boy still seemed a bit unsteady on his feet. Didn’t want him hurting himself.

‘Hubby’s going for a freshen up.’ He winked at Jo, seated at the dinette. ‘Make him a cuppa, there’s a good girl.’

Jo looked from Charlie to Daniel. Daniel didn’t meet her eyes. She got shakily to her feet. ‘Tea or coffee?’ she asked him, desperately trying to touch base.

Daniel glanced at Charlie before answering. Charlie nodded his approval.

‘Coffee,’ Daniel replied, so quietly Jo could barely hear him.

Jo turned away.
No
, she screamed inside. Wrong answer, Daniel. It’s caffeine you want. Not coffee. She forced back a sob. She’d lost part of him when Emma died. Now she was terrified she’d lost him completely. What dark, lonely place had that animal driven him to, where she couldn’t reach him?

****

Daniel clutched the sink and pressed his forehead against the cool of the mirror. He didn’t pray. Not much point. Instead, he steeled his resolve not to do, say, or see anything that would provoke the psycho. And to jump—he ran the cold tap and threw water over his face and chest, attempting to bring his temperature down—when he was told to.

‘Hurry it up, Daniel.’ Charlie rapped on the door. ‘Stop messing about. You’re getting on my nerves.’

Daniel made eye contact with himself in the mirror. Jump to it, Daniel, he told himself expressionless. Don’t keep Charlie waiting. ‘One hundred and counting,’ he grated out loud, raked his hand through his hair, and slipped the latch.

‘What was that?’ Charlie eyed him narrowly as he came out.

Daniel averted his eyes fast. ‘I said, sorry, I’m coming.’ He coughed, a hand going instinctively to his side.

Charlie looked him over, and apparently decided Daniel wasn’t deliberately trying his patience. ‘Come on, let’s get you some air.’ He steered Daniel ahead of him towards the back doors, past Steve who didn’t look at Daniel, and Kayla who obviously couldn’t. ‘You’ll be all right when the smack’s out of your system.’

‘Bring the coffee outside, darlin’,’ he addressed Jo pleasantly, over his shoulder.

****

DI Short stripped off his jacket with grim determination.

Stokes had volunteered for the job, insisting he knew where to look for the batteries, but DI Short was adamant. ‘So do I now, thank you, PC Stokes,’ he assured the lad, giving him a respectful nod nevertheless, for his bravery as well as his brightness.

He’d go far, that one. DI Short aimed to see to it, once he’d seen to it Charlie Roberts got what he deserved, that was.

‘Right hand side, you say?’ He handed his jacket to the Superintendent.

‘As you approach stern-end, yes, sir,’ PC Stokes confirmed. ‘There should be a flip-switch just below the batteries to disengage them in an emergency. Failing that, I’d just rip off the wires.’

‘Good idea.’ DI Short smiled, and resisted saying,
golly gosh, I never would have thought of that.

‘Right, cover me, as they say. I’m going in.’ DI Short gave his superintendent a resolute nod then turned to pick his way carefully through the undergrowth along the embankment.

Just short of the back of the boat, he checked the officers behind him were closing in to cover him then, dodging gnarled trees and flailing branches, scrambled down to the towpath.

Keeping as low as he could, he sucked in a deep breath and moved silently closer.
Careful
,
Detective,
he cautioned himself, as he got within reaching distance of the handrail stern-end.
Gently does … Shit!

DI Short snatched his hand back, dropped flat in a split-second, and all but belly-crawled onward to the bow end of the boat.

Dammit!
Glancing around, he fast realised his only course of action was to throw himself bodily back up the embankment, hope to God whoever was emerging didn’t see him, and lay low.

Seconds—and a torn shirt and bruised knee later, DI Short peered around the foliage that had ensnared him, and felt the collective police presence breathe in as one. A dragonfly dancing on the water could be heard so complete was the silence, but DI Short sensed arms tensing and fingers brushing triggers.

Who the hell was it? He blinked against the murky early light of dawn as two figures appeared on deck. Charlie Roberts and Daniel Conner were similar in height, it occurred to him. How, in God’s name, were they supposed to distinguish persecutor from prey hindered by the dark?

Good God in Heaven! DI Short offered up earnest thanks as divine intervention did indeed step in. Somebody up there obviously didn’t like Charlie Roberts any better than he. Charlie was suddenly floodlit by some miracle—by a deck light, it seemed. And also half-hidden—DI Short’s joy turned swiftly to chagrin—by Daniel, who stumbled before him as Charlie shoved him.

No way could DI Short risk revealing the presence of armed police with the scumbag so close to Conner. Roberts wouldn’t lay down his weapon, a handy little sawn-off that doubled as a stick with which the sadistic bastard had beat his victim, bruises as evidence. And with which he now jabbed Daniel between the shoulder blades, presumably to help him with his sense of direction. Daniel didn’t seem to know his left foot from his right.

DI Short sighed bitterly. The parasite had pushed the man as far down as it was possible to go, beaten him, drugged him—crushed him. And still he kept pushing. DI Short gritted his teeth, and felt sick to his soul.

He’d been harbouring a small hope that Roberts might stray far enough from the family to dig his own grave. Give one of his men a chance to pick him off, if he so much as twitched whilst holding that gun. The gun that was now pointed casually less than six inches from the father of the family still inside. Yes, fat chance.

The choices, it seemed, were two. Sit tight and keep hoping, and allow Charlie to humiliate the man further, if that were possible. Or make their presence known, which might mean that Daniel Conner would be in the line of fire, from both directions.

****

Daniel sat on the seat next to the tiller slowly—as instructed—and tried to do what should be the most natural thing in the world, breathe.

Whichever way he turned, the psycho kept jabbing that gun into him. He’d
got on his nerves
, apparently. Didn’t move fast enough. Must remember that next time. Daniel made a mental note, and then made the mistake of shaking his head, which earned him another sharp poke in the shoulder.

Tolerable, Daniel thought, counting sixty down to fifty-five as he took five shallow breaths. Passing out was what he was desperately trying to avoid, though that might be the only way to stop the panic supplying the psycho more reason to hit out—when they had to go back inside, where the walls would slip silently closer.

Don’t. Block it out, Daniel willed himself, counting more slowly, and unconsciously taking a deep breath, which sliced through his chest like a knife. Christ, he couldn’t pass out. He massaged his side and tried to still the swimming deck of the boat.

‘Don’t do it, Danny,’ Charlie warned.

Daniel looked up, confused. Oh, shit. Mistake. He dropped his gaze. Do what? What the hell was he supposed to …?

Charlie trailed the gun lightly under Daniel’s chin, and on up his cheek. ‘Don’t
think
, Danny Boy,’ he clarified coldly, sliding the barrel across his temple. ‘Could be dangerous. Got it?’