Dead Pretty: The 5th DS McAvoy Novel (DS Aector McAvoy) (40 page)

He forces himself to move. To do what he must.

Instinctively, McAvoy flicks the headlights of the car to full beam as he opens the door. Steps onto a patch of uneven ground and stumbles a little. Looks up just as a nine-inch nail whistles past his ear and smashes the glass in the door.

He throws himself to the ground. Looks at the scene illuminated by both sets of headlights.

A figure, crouching behind another. He has a blade in one hand and a large, fat-barrelled nailgun in the other. Dangerous, but not necessarily deadly.

He ducks back behind the car door. Wonders what the hell to do. Thinks about reaching down for a stone and throwing it at the gunman and finds himself laughing at his own hopelessness.

From the barn, there is a sudden, angry shout. McAvoy ducks his head out from behind the car.

Hollow has smashed his head back into the jaw of the man behind him. The blade has gone skittering away into the dark.

McAvoy runs through the blinding light and launches himself at the two men scuffling on the floor.

The trio go down in a tangle of limbs. McAvoy feels his head bang against a kneecap. Feels damp clothes and cold skin. Scrabbles to his feet just as Reuben Hollow grabs the nailgun and swivels away.

Teddy’s scream is a raw, animal thing that rips through the fog and the darkness and causes the pigs in the neighbouring field to screech in accompaniment. He looks down. Blood is already seeping through his shoes to puddle on the dirty floor. It comes as a relief when Hollow hits him in the face and unconsciousness takes him. He collapses to the ground, nailed to the floor.

Hollow turns to McAvoy. Smiles, as if they are standing at a bar.

‘You’re that copper. Her friend.’

McAvoy feels as though he is going to collapse. There’s warm blood on his face where his wound has reopened.

‘Give me the gun,’ says McAvoy, and there is no disguising the tremble in his voice.

Hollow looks at the weapon as if seeing it for the first time. Then he hands it over, obediently.

McAvoy wonders what to say next. Wonders if he should arrest him or tell him that it’s all okay and he’s going to be safe.

Hollow makes his mind up for him. Drops his head and his shoulders begin to heave. His legs give out and he falls to the ground.

‘Thank you,’ he says, snuffling into his hand. ‘I thought I was going to die.’

McAvoy stands still for a moment. Then he surreptitiously finds the knife with his boot and stands upon it. He crouches down and pockets the blade.

He feels the adrenaline begin to leave his system. Feels the familiar sickness and weakness. Feels the same damn need to fall on his belly and let Roisin stroke his hair.

He moves forward and puts an arm around Hollow’s shoulders.

Doesn’t notice the lack of tears as the smaller man weeps against his chest.

Chapter 30

9.06 p.m.

A strip of road with no real name, somewhere grim off the A18.

An abandoned outbuilding between an old dairy farm and Humberside Airport, its metal roof rising above the trees like a bald scalp.

Three men, in a dying circle of light. Two lean against the bonnet of a sensible family car, staring at one another like chess masters. The third is a little way behind them, in the open doorway of the barn. He’s sitting up, clutching at his foot, threatening bloody murder and shielding his eyes from the glare of the headlamps.

Helen Tremberg climbs out of her Citroën. Takes in the scene before her and decides she will leave the most intense of her questions until later. Penelope is with Helen’s dad, who was good enough not to sigh when Helen called him and told him she needed another favour.

‘Sarge,’ says Helen, raising her torch and flicking it on to illuminate the broad back of her superior officer. She flicks the light upwards. Takes in the familiar face of a bleeding man. ‘Mr Hollow.’

Helen turns towards the dark opening of the barn.

‘He won’t give us his name,’ says McAvoy, gesturing at the man, who is baring his teeth like a cornered fox. ‘His wallet belongs to an Edward Tracy. South London. He’s not poor. Belongs to a couple of private members’ clubs with names that rang a bell. I thought you might like to make the arrest.’

Helen holds her sergeant’s gaze. He’s fuzzy and indistinct in the fog. There’s blood on his eyebrow. Blood on the neck of the man to his left.

Another scar
, she thinks.
Another bleeding medal.

‘This is the gentleman who abducted you?’ asks Helen, looking at Hollow. He’s good-looking, up close. Dazzling eyes. But she’d expected more swagger. More style. He looks humbled and broken. His eyes are red-seamed and his lower lip seems to tremble as he nods.

‘And he isn’t running away because . . . ?’

McAvoy looks momentarily awkward. ‘He’s nailed to the floor.’

Helen sucks her teeth. Looks impressed. ‘DIY can be fraught with danger – my dad told me that. He’s a clever guy. He’s the one who told me never to cut the grass in flip-flops.’

McAvoy pushes himself off the car bonnet. He looks tired, dirty and sad.

‘The boss?’ asks Tremberg.

‘Following a lead,’ says McAvoy, looking away. ‘Going to tell Mr Hollow’s daughter that he’s quite well.’

‘Going to be fun for the press,’ says Helen, looking around. ‘I’m picturing a zeppelin full of shit and a desk fan the size of Scunthorpe.’

‘It doesn’t need to be,’ says Hollow quietly. He’s taken his box of tobacco from his back pocket and is trying to roll a cigarette with shaking fingers. ‘There are ways to play this right. I need to speak to Delphine. There are things that need to be sorted out . . .’

McAvoy turns fierce eyes on Hollow. Shakes his head. ‘You received help because that’s the way things have to be. But don’t go thinking you’re the victim here. You have a lot of questions to answer.’

Hollow looks puzzled. He hasn’t spoken much, just sat and stared. A little while ago he remembered his mobile phone was still in his pocket. Took it out and looked at a smashed, dead screen.

‘Questions?’

‘Hannah Kelly,’ says McAvoy. ‘Ava Delaney. So many more.’

Helen steps closer. Tries her luck. ‘Bruce Corden. Dennis Ball. A dozen damsels in distress. There are jigsaw pieces slamming together like tectonic fucking plates in my head, matey.’

Hollow lights his cigarette. Takes a drag that seems to calm him.

‘I’ll talk to DSU Pharaoh,’ he says. ‘I need to talk to somebody who understands.’

‘You can talk to me,’ says McAvoy, changing tone and suddenly addressing him the way he would talk to a nervous animal. ‘A lot of people find me a good listener. And you can get it off your chest without there being any tape recorders. I don’t know how this is all going to play out. You’re a killer. I don’t know how many bodies you’re responsible for or how you turned Hannah’s head but I know for a fact you’ve got blood on your hands.’

Hollow looks at Helen. Gives her the briefest once-over. Cocks his head and talks only to her.

‘How’s the baby?’ he asks.

Helen looks surprised. Wonders whether McAvoy told him that the colleague he called in to help him clean this up was going to be a while because she has a new kid.

‘She’s well, thank you,’ says Helen warily.

‘A girl, then.’

‘Yes.’

McAvoy catches her eye. Shakes his head. He hasn’t told him.

‘You smell of formula,’ says Hollow gently, by way of explanation. ‘And baby wipes. Can’t be easy, looking after a child of that age and being a cop. You have my respect.’

Helen stares into the man’s blue eyes. She’s been charmed by slick bastards like him before. Won’t be charmed again.

‘This bollocks usually work, does it?’ says Helen, looking hard at Hollow. ‘Works on impressionable, frightened women, right? Do I look fucking impressionable, matey? Do I look frightened? Tell us the truth.’

Hollow seems taken aback. Drops his head a little. Looks up at her with his head on one side again, like a puppy begging forgiveness. McAvoy wants to hit him in the face.

‘I’ve spoken to David Hogg,’ says McAvoy, staring at the side of Hollow’s head. ‘He told me everything.’

Hollow wipes his face. ‘Who’s David Hogg?’

‘He drove his car into a horse and rider out towards Great Givendale. Somebody took revenge on him. Smashed him in the face with a horse-shoe in a sock.’

‘Sounds like he deserved it. But why are you telling me?’

‘The horse used to belong to Hannah Kelly.’

Hollow looks blank.

‘She went missing several months ago. Her body was found yesterday, lying on a bed of flowers outside my front door.’

Hollow grimaces. ‘That’s horrible,’ he says. ‘This Hogg character. Did he do it?’

McAvoy catches the aroma of pigs as the breeze picks up. Feels it upon his face. Hopes, for a moment, that the wind will blow away the grey clouds that tangle around him in tattered folds and make him feel as though he is wearing a monk’s sodden habit.

‘You knew Hannah Kelly,’ says McAvoy. ‘I’m sure you did.’

Hollow looks from one officer to the other. Turns his head to where his former captor sits, still clutching his foot, upon the barn floor.

‘Why do you think that?’ he asks, pinching out his roll-up between finger and thumb and putting the stub in his pocket. ‘I’ve been in jail for months.’

He seems cross, just for an instant.

‘This is a set-up, isn’t it? You’re recording me. Does this prick work for you lot? I’ve made you look silly and you want me back inside. Christ, I’d have thought better of Trish. I thought we were getting somewhere.’

McAvoy stands up. Begins to pace. Stalks towards the barn and slaps some tie-wrap cuffs on Teddy’s wrists. Teddy accepts it, offering his hands without complaint. McAvoy gives him a companionable squeeze on the shoulder. Makes sure Hollow can see.

‘It’s Detective Superintendent Pharaoh,’ he says, turning a hard stare on Hollow. ‘It’s not “Trish”. She’s not your friend. She was the senior officer who charged you with murder. I was away at the time. I didn’t get to know you properly. But I’m starting to. And I think in your own mind you’re some sort of hero. You kill bullies. Nasty people. You do it for pretty, vulnerable women, and you bask in the glory of knowing that you’re some modern-day Sir Lancelot. I think that if Helen here told you about some scumbag in her life, before long, that scumbag would end up dead. I think that somehow you met Hannah Kelly and she told you about how David Hogg had got away with killing her old horse. You battered David Hogg half to death. Made a video of it on Hogg’s phone and sent it to Hannah. But she asked you not to kill him. Rang you straight back and said that he had suffered enough. And because in your world you’re some sort of knight errant, you did her bidding. You let him live. She fell for you. Persuaded herself you were her knight in shining armour. And she became a nuisance. So you arranged to meet her, and you killed her. Kept her body God knows where, then decided to start playing games as soon as you got out. You left her for me to find.’

Hollow is rolling another cigarette. His face is impassive but his eyes are hard.

‘You did the same with Ava Delaney,’ says McAvoy, talking faster than he can think. ‘Killed her ex-boyfriend because he was battering her. And I think she wanted money to keep the secret. So as soon as you got out of prison you drugged her and killed her. You’ve tricked us with the dates, somehow. You must have done. We’ve got your DNA on a handkerchief we found at her home.’

Hollow holds up a hand. Lights his cigarette. Takes a drag and pushes out a lungful of grey.

‘You’re wrong,’ he says. ‘DNA? I’ve told Trish, I met Ava at the hospital. I dried her eyes.’

‘That was almost a year ago.’

‘No . . .’ he stops himself. ‘I wiped her eyes with my handkerchief. Like people do. I must have not got it back from her. That doesn’t mean anything. It’s horrible that she’s been hurt. I felt like crying when I heard.’

Hollow puts the hand holding the cigarette to his forehead. Looks, briefly, like a pilot fish.