Truth or Dare (27 page)

‘W
hy do it?’ said the Lawgiver.

‘Why do what?’ asked Glen Looker.

‘What you do. Represent scum. Give them a fair hearing.’

Looker stared at his host, tried to make out the man’s eyes behind the mask. He couldn’t gauge much from the muffled tone of his voice. He had to talk and talk for his life. He had to know what mental state his audience was in. Unfortunately he couldn’t see behind the gas mask’s round eyeholes. ‘And what would you suggest I do? What would you suggest the justice system do instead?’

‘They’re scum. They’re all guilty.’

‘Of what, though?’ said Looker. ‘The people I represent are poor. They’ve been pissed around by the system. Bad housing, bad schooling, bad family life. Nothing going for them. They may as well be sent straight from school to prison. That’s what certain parts of society thinks, if you read the right newspapers. They commit crime and they have no one to speak for them. Apart from me.’

The Lawgiver let out a harsh, distorted sound. At first Looker thought he was having some kind of fit. Then he realised he was laughing.

‘Sentimental liberal bullshit,’ the Lawgiver said. ‘Poor-me politics. They break the law, they should be punished. Simple as that.’

‘No it’s not,’ said Looker. ‘It’s not simple at all. What do we mean by law? By morality in the law? Is it obeying the letter of the law or the spirit of the law? If you steal a loaf of bread because you’re starving and you have to feed your family, is that wrong?’

‘Get a job. Feed your family with pride then.’

‘What if there are no jobs? Or the jobs you’re trained for are too far away and you can’t afford to travel or retrain for the ones that are nearby? What if you do have a job but it doesn’t pay you enough to live on? That’s the reality of life in this country now for millions of people. That’s my client base.’

‘Like I said, liberal bullshit. I’ve seen the kind of people you represent. Low-lives. Nothing. You get them off, let them out to do exactly the same things over and over again. They’re not the noble poor. They’re just scum.’

‘That’s just your judgement.’

‘Yes, it is,’ said the Lawgiver. ‘And look where we are now. I’m the one whose judgement matters. To you.’

Despite the gravity of the situation, or perhaps because of it, Glen Looker was starting to feel energised by this argument. He had recently been questioning his commitment to the law and to the clients he represented. Every trip to prison was more depressing than the last. Every battle with the police to keep a client out of jail more draining that the previous one. And were they grateful? Did they appreciate the effort he put in on their behalf? Hardly ever. He remembered Darren Richards’ face in the hospital bed. All he was concerned about was himself. Not Chloe and Shannon. Himself.

Reluctantly, he had to admit there was something in what the Lawgiver was saying.

‘All right then,’ said Looker. ‘Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that you don’t agree with me.’

‘I don’t.’

‘I know. Let’s take that as a given. There’s something else that you haven’t considered. Something much more important.’

‘Such as?’

Looker hid a smile. The Lawgiver was asking questions in response to his statements. That was a good sign, a positive indicator that he wasn’t as in control of the situation as he believed himself to be.

‘The greater good.’

‘There is no greater good,’ said the Lawgiver. ‘There’s only good and evil.’

‘And what are you?’ asked Looker, genuinely curious.

‘Good.’ No doubt in his voice at all.

‘Even though you kill and mutilate?’

‘I don’t. I just do what they want me to do. I give them the choice. That’s more than their victims ever got.’

‘You went after Darren Richards because he accidentally killed a woman and child.’

‘Correct.’

‘And you went after John Wright because he was a banker who got off with his crimes.’

‘He destroyed lives. Ruined families and communities. Deliberately. And he got away with it. Before he met me, that is.’

‘So where does this end?’

‘All the guilty must pay for their crimes.’

‘All the guilty? That’s a lot of repayment. Where do you stop? Where do you draw the line?’

‘There is no line. There is only good and evil. Innocence and guilt. Justice. That’s all.’

‘No mitigating circumstances?’

‘No such thing.’

Looker smiled. ‘Interesting. Because a lot of people would think that you’re a criminal, that what you’re doing is evil.’

‘Then a lot of people would be wrong.’

‘You kill and mutilate. Regardless of the context. Is that what the good guys do?’

The Lawgiver walked away from Looker, turning his back on him. He seemed to be thinking. Eventually he turned, stared at Looker.

‘I know what you’re doing.’

Looker swallowed hard. There was something different about the tone of his voice. Something slightly unhinged. ‘And… and what’s that?’

‘You’re trying to sow doubt and confusion in my mind. Make me uncertain about my calling. My work. Use your words to get me to stop.’ He walked right up to Looker. Looker could smell the sweat coming off him. He bent down, face to mask. ‘Well, it won’t work.’

‘I never said it would.’

‘Good. Because it won’t.’

‘I never said it would,’ said Looker, hoping his voice was coming out strong, ‘because that wasn’t what I was doing. We were talking, weren’t we? Having a conversation. I was telling you why I do what I do. You were listening. Isn’t that what you wanted?’

The sightless, round spaces stared at Looker. Twin dark pools, he could barely see that there was anything human behind them. Looker didn’t realise it but he was holding his breath.

The Lawgiver straightened up, walked away. Turned and stared at Looker once more.

‘The greater good,’ he said, the light haloed around his head.

‘What?’

‘The greater good. You were going to tell me about it.’

‘Right.’

‘I’m getting bored by your
Guardian
-reader lectures. Be specific. Give me an example of how what you do affects the greater good.’

Looker didn’t reply, thinking hard. He looked up. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘how about this. The streets of Birmingham are a safer place now from warring gangs. And I was partly responsible for that.’

‘How?’

‘By getting people to look the other way when I wanted them to.’

The Lawgiver cocked his head to one side, listening. ‘Tell me about it,’ he said.

Looker smiled. This was more like it. This was his chance.

T
he couple, Graham and Lauren, were as good as their word. They took Fiona Welch back to their house and helped her inside.

Deciding that the level of hysteria she had started from would be grating and ultimately unsympathetic if she kept it up for any length of time, she decided to drop it a few notches. It would be good for the couple to see that, too, let them know that their ministrations were working. They would feel good about themselves then and, more importantly, drop their guard with her.

Play the victim, she thought, just play the victim and everything will go according to plan.

She sat on the sofa in the living room, a thick blanket wrapped round her shoulders, mug of hot tea on the table before her.

‘Let’s see what I’ve got in the garage to get those things off,’ Graham said.

‘Thank you,’ she managed, her voice frail and brittle as spun sugar. ‘You’re… you’re very kind…’

As Graham left the room, Lauren smiled at her. Placed her hand on her knee. ‘Don’t worry. You’re going to be all right now. You’re in safe hands.’

She nodded, tried to blink back tears.

Graham came back with a pair of gardening secateurs. ‘These should do it,’ he said. ‘Cut the chain, at least. Strong enough to lop off whole branches, these things are.’

The linking chain cut easily. The metal cuffs were harder work. He had to get a hacksaw blade and saw away at them. By the time he had eventually done it, her tea was cold.

‘I’ll make you another, shall I?’

‘Thank… thank you,’ she said, rubbing her wrists. She looked up at Graham. ‘And thank you. For this. I thought I was never going to get…’ She started welling up again.

‘Hey,’ he said, thinking of slipping his arm round her shoulder, then stopping himself. ‘It’s okay. Don’t worry. You’re safe now.’

They gave her space after that. Ran her a bath, found her a spare towelling robe to wear. She luxuriated there for as long as she dared without arousing suspicion. She needed the bath. It washed the blood from her skin, both her own and the police officer’s. Soothed her aching muscles. And washed away the stink of that institution.

She looked at her wrists. The red marks looked like she had been branded. She smiled to herself.

This was going to be easy.

Eventually she came downstairs. They were still sitting up. It was well past midnight now and the couple’s earlier adrenalin rush was beginning to abate and tiredness starting to creep in. But they wouldn’t go to bed. Not until they had learned more about their new house guest.

Lauren smiled as she entered. ‘Sit down, love. You must feel so much better after that.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Yes.’

‘So,’ said Graham, leaning forward, ‘what’s your name? We don’t even know your name.’

‘It’s…’ She hesitated. Not because she hadn’t thought of one, but because she wanted to give the impression that it was a big thing, a way of showing that she was coming to trust them. ‘Anni. Anni Hepburn.’

‘Anni,’ said Graham, ‘right.’ He smiled. ‘Hello, Anni.’

She laughed, putting relief into it.

‘What happened, then?’ asked Lauren then immediately recoiled. ‘If, you know, you’re ready to tell us. Or can tell us.’

‘I’ll… I’ll try,’ she said, holding yet another mug of tea, clutching it hard as if it were a lucky talisman. ‘I was…’ She screwed up her face, dropped her voice, as if reluctantly remembering something particularly unpleasant. ‘I was out. With, with my friends one night in Ipswich. We went, went clubbing. And then, then…’ She tailed off, matching the lack of words with a uncomprehending look off into the middle distance.

‘Take your time,’ said Lauren, reaching across, placing her hand on her knee. ‘Take as long as you want.’

She nodded, seemingly grateful for the words. ‘Well, I don’t know. What happened. I’ve gone over and over it, but…’ She sighed. ‘I was in the club with my friends. Then I felt woozy. And then…’ A shrug. ‘I was… somewhere else. And I didn’t know how I’d got there.’

‘Where was that?’ asked Graham.

‘It was… I don’t know where it was. But I wasn’t alone. There were other women there too. They’d been there longer than me. I was…’ She closed her eyes, threatened tears again. ‘Horrible… Oh God…’

Lauren kept her hand on her knee. ‘Dear God, Anni…’ She waited for the tears to roll away. ‘How did you get out?’

‘I…’ Her eyes clouded over again. ‘I… did something horrible…’

More tears.

Graham shook his head. ‘We’d better take you to the police. We’ve got to do something about this.’

‘No!’ she suddenly screamed. ‘No police. I think… I don’t know, but I think they might have…’ Another sigh. ‘There were men. Used to visit. Do, do awful things. Some were… were police…’

Graham and Lauren exchanged a look that they thought she hadn’t caught.

‘I just…’ she said, head bowed down, shoulders slumped, ‘I just want to sleep…’

‘Okay, then,’ said Lauren. ‘I think that’s for the best. We’ll sort out what to do in the morning.’

The house was small but cosy. The second bedroom had become Lauren’s dressing room and the spare room was kept for Graham’s study so they fixed up the sofa bed for her. She snuggled under the duvet, found a smile for her hosts. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much, I don’t know what I’d have done if I hadn’t met you, I…’

There were the tears again.

They said some more platitudes, told her it was nothing and that she had nothing to worry about, that she was safe now and went up to bed. She could see they were tired, the post-adrenalin come-down having kicked in for both of them. They would be off to sleep soon.

Good.

After that it didn’t take long. She lay awake until she was sure they were both off, the sound of light snoring filling the dark, otherwise quiet house. It was easy for her to go into the kitchen, find the biggest knife, ensure the blade was sharp and start slowly up the stairs.

She found their bedroom and entered it, walking so lightly she could have been a ghost. Lauren was the nearest. It was a simple matter of holding one hand over her mouth, pulling the blade quickly across her throat and forcing her down hard, waiting while the blood, and the life, pumped itself out of her.

Graham hadn’t stirred. But he soon did. He woke up with her straddling him, the knife tip pushing into his throat, his dead wife’s bloodied body next to him.

‘Your credit card and debit cards,’ she said. ‘And their PIN numbers. Don’t fuck me about. You can see that I’m serious.’

She saw the conflicting emotions travel swiftly over his features. She pushed the knife in, drew blood to help concentrate his mind.

‘Now,’ she said.

He told her the PINs. Then he told her where the cards were. She got up from him, crossed to get them. He was lying exactly where he had been when she returned. She smiled at him. ‘Good boy,’ she said. ‘Car keys?’

He told her where they were.

‘Thank you.’

‘You… you’re going to let me go? Please, please let me go…’

‘You’re of no use to me now.’

She plunged the knife into his throat, dragged it side to side. It didn’t take long.

And there she was the next morning, showered and changed, in Lauren’s dressing room wearing Lauren’s old clothes. She packed a few more into one of Lauren’s supposed designer bags but was more likely a cheap knock-off bought from a market on a Mediterranean package holiday, looked around the room once more. There was nothing else she wanted.

Picking up the keys, she left the house just as the sun was rising.

Fiona Welch was no more. It was time for a new identity.

And she knew just the one.

She got behind the wheel, drove away.

Bound for Birmingham.