Truth or Dare (11 page)

L
etisha Watson stared at the wall. She had put on the TV, but couldn’t look at it. Didn’t have the energy, the urge. She didn’t even have the energy to go the kitchen, make herself something to eat. Not that there was anything in there worth eating. Not that there was anything in there. She had no hunger, just an empty, twisting gnawing inside her guts. She sat in her armchair, ignoring the TV, watching the sky darken, the day give way to night.

It was always faster in the films and on TV. There’d be a shot of a building, like a tower block, like the one she was in now, and the sky would rush across, clouds speeding away over the horizon, changing colour as they went, turning red then grey then black. Then the black would start to change, give way to pinks and greys, then day once more. Over in a few seconds. At least that was the view from outside. From inside, sitting there watching, it was a completely different story. Time dragged. And the more she watched it, the slower it went. Like it was doing it deliberately, trying to spite her.

The visit from the police had shaken her. She didn’t mind admitting it, at least to herself. Not because she was worried that they would think she’d done that skank in, not really. Although if they wanted to they could bend the facts to make it fit for her. Put her in the frame for it. She’d seen them do that plenty of times to her mates, knew what they were capable of.

No. It wasn’t that. It was because of the way that older one had been with her. He’d gone into her bedroom. She knew it. And she saw what he’d been doing. Hadn’t even tried to hide it. Left her phone on the bed, open at the screen he’d been looking at. Like a challenge, a taunt. One name illuminated: Moses Heap.

It was like they knew.
They knew
. He had said as much. Sperring, wasn’t it? The old one. And she had to deal with that. Head it off before it spiralled out of control. Before it became too big for her to deal with on her own.

And then there was Darren. She had liked Darren, maybe even loved him. She didn’t tell people that she loved them often. She had done that when she was younger and the boys she’d said it to just seemed to use it as an excuse to treat her like shit. Like they didn’t have to try any more, they had her where they wanted her. That was why she had started turning tricks. Why not? At least she got paid for it. Well, that was one of the reasons. Not the only one.

But Darren. He had seemed a bit different, a bit… special. Not like the others. But he was, in the end. He had shown it by getting that slag pregnant and leaving her for her. Doing the right thing, he had called it. Being responsible. And yes, she had got that bitch one night and tried to teach her a lesson. And look how that had ended up. So she had let him go. Goodbye, good riddance, and all that. And she told herself she was over him.

But that didn’t mean she had wanted what had happened to Darren and his skank and kid to have happened. Jesus Christ, no.

And now this. The police round. Again.

She looked around the flat once more. The TV was pumping out something that she didn’t recognise as life. Not real life, not hers. That programme set in olden days where the posh people are really nice and a bit odd and their servants, the common people, had to bow and curtsey and make sure their bosses’ lives ran smoothly. Like doing that was the most important thing in their own lives. Like their own lives were worth nothing.

Nothing.

Maybe these people weren’t so different to her after all.

She sighed, lit up another cigarette. Tried to tell herself that she had to do something, anything, that would make things better. For herself. For —

A knock on the door.

Letisha jumped, knocking her ashtray from the arm of the chair onto the carpet.

‘Shit.’

She looked down. From the state of the carpet it wasn’t the first time she had done that.

Another knock. Harder this time, insistent, not wanting to be ignored.

Letisha sighed. Got slowly to her feet. She felt like her body wouldn’t respond to the commands her brain gave it, or didn’t want to. And even when the signal got through it seemed her joints wouldn’t work properly. Like she was old and damaged.

Another knock; this time accompanied by a voice. Harsh, threatening.

A sudden shiver hit Letisha like she’d been struck by lightning. She knew who it was. And what it meant.

Slowly, she got to her feet. She glanced at the ashtray, thought of tidying it up, realised that she didn’t have any time. She had to answer the door. She looked around the living room. Living room. That was a joke too. It was filthy, not fit for receiving guests. Or at least this guest.

She walked to the door.

‘Yeah, I’m comin’…’

She opened it.

There stood one of the most handsome, best-dressed, sweetest smelling men she had ever seen in her life. He made her, with her bad clothes, her fag breath and her lack of a shower for a couple of days, feel like nothing. He was so perfect he always made her feel like nothing. Her heart skipped a beat. Then, for good measure, another.

He spoke.

‘We’ve got to talk.’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Can I come in?’

‘It’s… a bit of a tip.’

He smiled. And the night was illuminated.

‘That’s okay.’

She stood to one side and allowed Moses Heap into her flat.

She closed the door behind them.

‘J
esus Christ…’

The door to room 702 was flung open by one of the receptionists with a keycard. Phil then physically restrained her so she couldn’t step into the room.

‘You don’t want to go in there,’ he said. ‘Crime scene. We’ll take it from here, thank you.’

The young woman was relieved not to go any further. What she had glimpsed was enough.

The paramedics were next in.

‘This is a crime scene,’ shouted Phil, ‘please be careful, people…’

He wasn’t ignored, but no one paid him any heed. They all knew it was a crime scene. But from the state of the two people in the room, saving lives took precedence.

Phil watched from the doorway. Then, when he’d seen enough, turned and looked up and down the corridor.

‘He’s been here,’ he said to Sperring. ‘He called from here. He might still be around. Get onto management. Check the CCTV. Look for him. Look for anyone coming out of this room. He’s given himself away this time. He has to.’

Sperring hurried off down the corridor.

Phil had already given orders to Khan as they entered the building. ‘Nadish, get entrances and exits blocked. Pull in as many uniforms as you can to help. No one goes in or out. He can’t have gone far, we need to catch him.’

Nadish had stayed where he was, began coordinating.

Now, Phil risked another look inside the room.

The paramedics had wasted no time in cutting the seated man free from his chair and attaching tourniquets to his wrists. The floor around him attested to how much blood he had lost. The carpet was thick with it; the paramedics’ booted feet squelching it out of the weave with every move and step they took. Won’t get much evidence from that now, thought Phil.

Also on the floor were what Phil realised were the man’s fingers and thumbs. One of the paramedics was calling for ice to store them in but Phil doubted they would be able to do anything with them.

The half-dressed woman on the seat next to him looked physically unharmed but seemed in deep shock. Her expression told that she had witnessed things no one should ever see.

Phil moved out of the way as the paramedics stretchered the man and rolled him out of the room.

‘Any ID on him?’ asked Phil as they pushed him past.

‘Sorry, mate,’ said one of them. ‘We’ll have to look later.’

They went past him and down the hall.

Phil surveyed the room once more. He couldn’t imagine what pain the man had gone though, couldn’t begin to contemplate why this person had done what he had done. Justice dispensing, he had called it. Looking at the carnage he had left, Phil wondered what kind of justice this was.

He turned away, walked down the corridor. As he went, he took his phone out, made a call to Marina. Got her voicemail. He left a message, telling her he wasn’t going to be back home any time soon but that he still loved her.

‘H
ow you feeling?’ DC Imani Oliver saw Darren Richards’ eyes flutter open.

‘Dunno,’ he said, looking round, realising where he was once more. Trying to lift his hand, finding the tubes restraining him, quelling his rising panic by looking at Imani’s calm features.

‘You’ve been through a lot,’ she said, ‘just rest.’

‘Do you… are you here to ask me more questions?’

‘When you’re feeling up to it. Not before. The more we know about what happened to you, the better our chances of catching the person who did it.’

Darren nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said. He lay back on the bed, stared at the ceiling.

Imani waited.

‘Have… have you heard anythin’?’

‘Not yet,’ said Imani. ‘We’re hoping to have some news soon, though.’

Darren nodded again. ‘You’re nice, you are.’

Imani smiled. ‘Thank you.’

‘Not like other coppers. Treat me like shit, they do.’

‘Well, you’re a victim here, Darren.’ She leaned over, took his hand. ‘If you can think of anything, anything more at all that’ll help, please say it.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, then seemed to fall back into a state of pre-sleep. Imani kept hold of his hand. Suddenly his eyes jerked open.

‘You okay?’

‘Yeah. Remembered. He said it was justice, that’s what it was. Justice. That’s why he had me there. He wanted me to suffer for what I’ve done.’ Tears crept into Darren’s eyes.

‘Suffer, is that what he said?’

‘He said… I had a choice. Between me an’… an’…’ The tears started in earnest now.

Imani waited until he had cried himself out. ‘So,’ she said eventually, her voice soft, solicitous, ‘he killed Chloe and Shannon to make you suffer? Is that it?’

Darren, his eyes averted from her and unreadable, nodded.

‘That’s terrible,’ she said.

‘Yeah,’ said Darren.

‘Why did he say you needed punishing, Darren? Did he tell you?’

‘’Cause of… of what I did. When I nicked that car.’

‘You killed a mother and daughter.’

Darren nodded once more.

‘So he killed Chloe and Shannon because you killed a mother and child? Is that it?’

Darren sighed, expelling air so hard it could break chains. ‘Yeah.’

‘But… you didn’t do time for that, did you?’

A quick, fox smile flickered across Darren’s face. ‘Nah. Got off.’

‘How?’

‘My brief. Found somethin’ wrong with the investigation, didn’t he? Got me off. Good fella.’

‘Right.’ Imani still held his hand but it now felt slick and greasy. ‘And when you got off, did you not think about what you’d done?’ Genuinely interested.

Darren frowned. ‘You know, like, when you play, like,
Grand Theft Auto
? Shit like that?’ He nodded again, enthused. ‘You know when you, like, when you hit people an’ they go flyin’, an’ shit? Yeah? Like that. Boom.’ He nodded once more, eyes closed, pleased with himself, like his words would impress her.

‘So they were nothing to you, is that what you mean? The people you ran down?’

‘Well, yeah.’ He shrugged. ‘Obviously. Never met them nor nothin’.’

‘Don’t you feel anything for them? Any remorse for what you did?’

‘Ah,’ said Darren, his eyes narrowing, voice hardening. ‘That was what my brief said I should do. Remorse, an’ shit. You’re soundin’ like him now.’

Imani took a couple of breaths, calmed herself down. ‘So he killed Chloe and Shannon to… what? Teach you a lesson?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Because you didn’t do time? Or because you didn’t show remorse?’

‘Both, probably. Got me to make a choice.’

‘Choice? What d’you mean?’

‘Them or me, wasn’t it? Lose them or he’d kill me.’

Imani’s stomach turned over. ‘So – he gave you the choice. He would either kill you or kill them, is that it?’

‘Yeah.’ He looked away from her once more. ‘Said I had to pay.’ His voice small, saying more than he’d intended.

Imani let his hand drop.

‘What?’ he said. ‘I just did what everyone would do. You’d do the same, wouldn’t you?’

Imani was saved from answering by her phone. She answered. Phil urging her to get to the Malmaison as quickly as possible.

She stood up. ‘I’ve got to go, Darren.’

‘What?’ He looked suddenly sad, as if he’d just asked a girl out and been knocked back. ‘Where you goin’?’

‘Got work to do.’ She started to walk away from the bed.

‘What about me?’

She stopped, turned. ‘What d’you mean, what about you?’

‘I thought… aren’t you supposed to stay with me, or somethin’? Look after me?’

‘I think you’re more than capable of looking after yourself, Darren. You chose to live. Now choose to live with what you’ve done.’

She turned and left the hospital ward.

U
niforms had arrived at the Malmaison. Phil gave them orders.

‘He’s still in here. Got to be. Make this place watertight. He can’t just disappear into thin air. Go to it.’

They did.

He took Nadish off door duty and set him to work coordinating door-to-doors as well as interviews with anyone else in the hotel, trying to find out what they had seen, if anything.

His phone rang. His first thought was that it was Marina but on checking the display he saw that it was Sperring.

‘Come and look at this,’ he said.

Phil found his DS in a room on the ground floor, checking video footage.

‘What is it?’ asked Phil, entering the cramped, sweaty room.

‘This, boss,’ said Sperring. He sat forward, pointed at the screen.

The man sitting with Sperring paused the footage, rolled it back. Sperring told him to press play.

‘Here’s our couple,’ said Sperring. ‘Coming down the hall.’ The screen showed the man and woman from the room arm in arm. The man kept trying to fondle and manhandle the woman. The woman was smiling, but even on grainy CCTV Phil could tell that she wasn’t enjoying it and only tolerating it. ‘Getting a bit amorous here,’ said Sperring.

‘Well, one of them is,’ said Phil.

‘And here they are, going into the room.’

The screen showed the door closing, the man with his hand gripping the woman’s behind.

‘What now?’ asked Phil.

‘Keep watching,’ said Sperring.

He did. Another figure approached the door. Phil’s stomach turned over. He knew instinctively who it was. He scrutinised the screen, trying to take in everything about the figure, every detail.

He saw someone wearing what looked like overalls or work clothes and boots with a hoody over the top. Phil felt a thrill run through his body.

‘Turn round… turn round…’

The figure, as if listening to Phil, did so. And Phil’s elation dropped. The figure was wearing a gas mask.

‘Shit,’ said Phil.

As they watched, the masked figure looked up at the camera, gave an elaborate salute.

‘Fucker. He knew we’d be watching.’ Sperring could barely contain his anger and frustration.

The figure hefted his bag onto his shoulder, knocked on the door. The door was opened. In the figure went.

‘Fast forward,’ said Phil. ‘He must come out.’

‘He does,’ said Sperring.

The other man fast-forwarded the footage until they watched the same figure step from the room, walk down the hall and away.

Phil sat back. Then, thinking of something, leaned forward again. ‘Stop. Go back,’ he said. ‘To where he comes out.’

The man obliged. They watched the masked figure leave the room once more.

‘Stop,’ said Phil. He put his reading glasses on, screwed his eyes up tight. ‘Is this the best you can get with the screen?’

The other man said it was.

‘Look,’ said Phil, pointing. ‘There. His feet.’

‘What about them?’ asked Sperring.

‘Different shoes. Or boots. The carpet in that room was thick with blood. He would leave a bloody trail if he just walked out wearing the same boots. He must have taken them off and replaced them. In the room.’

‘You think they’ll still be there?’

‘I doubt it, but it’s worth a look. If not, he’ll have them in that bag of his. Should make him easier to find, even if he’s got out of his gear. Or maybe he’s left some DNA behind. Something. Anything.’

‘In a hotel room?’ said Sperring. ‘No shortage of that.’

‘We have to try.’ Phil sighed. ‘Do we know what their names are, this couple?’

‘Booked in as John Wright,’ said Sperring. ‘Don’t know if that’s his real name or not. No idea about the woman.’

‘The hotel should be able to tell us. He’d have booked with a credit card.’

Phil took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes. Before he could speak again, his phone rang. He took it from his pocket, again expecting Marina, and checked the display. The station. He answered.

‘Sorry to disturb you,’ said Elli, ‘but I thought you’d want to take this. It’s him.’

Phil’s stomach flipped again. ‘Put him on.’

He put his hand over the mouthpiece, mouthed the words ‘It’s him’ to Sperring, then heard several clicks as the call was transferred.

‘Hello, Phil,’ said the same muffled voice. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Phil, do you? I mean, as we’re going to be working together it’s only fair that we should call each other by our names, don’t you think?’

‘So what do I call you, then?’

‘I told you. The Lawgiver.’

‘Right. The Lawgiver. And… and what makes you think we’ll be working together?’

‘Well, I’m sure you’ve seen my latest judgement by now. John Wright. Banker. Caught with his hands in the till.’ A laugh. ‘Can’t do that any more, can he?’

Phil was lost for words. He didn’t know how to proceed. Whether to humour the caller or go up against him. He tried to keep calm, keep asking questions. Remember his training.

‘I presume you’re still in the hotel.’

‘You presume wrong.’

‘Why don’t you show yourself, eh? Come and talk and we can get this all sorted out now before it goes any further.’

Another laugh. ‘Does anyone ever do that, d’you think? Someone, like your good self, says that and the other person thinks, “Why yes. I’m going to stop what I was doing and hand myself in. Just for a chat, of course. That’s all it’ll be.”’ The voice hardened. ‘Don’t treat me like an idiot. You’ve seen what I’m capable of. You know what I’m doing. Why I’m doing it. I’m not going to stop. And you’d better be prepared to help me. Or you won’t like the consequences.’

‘What should —’

‘Shut up. Just shut up. Listen. You’re going on TV. You’re going to tell everyone watching what I’ve done and why. And you’re going to take me seriously.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘You really want to find out? Really? You’re on the right side at the moment. The same side as me. But go up against me and you’ll become my enemy. And you’ve seen what I do to my enemies.’

The phone went dead.

Phil just stared at it.