Authors: Sheryl Browne
Scumbag
. Matthew kneaded his temples. Sullivan would be secured behind a very different automated gate if Matthew had his way, permanently. All he needed to do was to pull him in and get him banged up long enough to get him stripped of his personal effects. God willing, he could do it without having to falsify evidence.
‘Er, his rear lights are not out,’ Steve pointed out, flicking the blues and twos nevertheless.
‘Not yet, no.’ Matthew’s jaw clenched, as the BMW convertible the son of a bitch had obviously worked his fingers to the bone for, slowed to a stop, Sullivan no doubt sitting cockily at the wheel, that smug can’t-touch-me look all over his face. Well, Matthew had got news for him. Climbing out of the passenger side, he nodded Steve on, indicating he should have the pleasure of informing Sullivan why he’d been stopped.
Glancing questioningly at Matthew, Steve did as bid. He waited while Sullivan took his time lowering his window, and then, ‘Excuse me sir,’ he said politely, ‘do you realise your rear lights are out?’
‘Aw, for fuck’s sake,’ Sullivan groaned wearily. ‘Are you having a laugh, or what?’ Thrusting his door wide, he climbed out and walked around to check for himself.
‘Nope.’ Matthew smiled tightly, joining Sullivan at the back of the car. ‘Your lights are out,’ he reiterated, kicking one in with the heel of his shoe. ‘Both of them.’ He made short work of the second light.
Sullivan’s response was to stare, dumbfounded for a second, and then laugh out loud. ‘Oh, deary me, a girly tantrum. We are desperate, aren’t we, Adams? What you going to do now? Write me a ticket?’
Matthew didn’t react. ‘Move away from the vehicle, please sir,’ he requested courteously instead.
Sullivan cocked his head to one side. ‘Why?’ His look was now one of discernible irritation.
Matthew moved towards him, no attempt this time to hide the anger broiling inside him. ‘Because I’d quite like to kick
your
lights out,’ he grated, getting some small satisfaction from the flicker of fear he saw in the man’s eyes.
Sullivan soon collected himself, squinting at him curiously. ‘What are you up to, Adams?’
Matthew held his gaze. ‘Just a routine search.’
Sullivan balked. ‘Oh, man, you have to be joking. You sad bastard, Adams, you can’t keep pulling me over and searching my property without my consent.’
Matthew shrugged indifferently and turned towards the driver’s side. ‘I think you’ll find I can, Sullivan, given grounds for reasonable suspicion.’
‘
Reasonable suspicion?
’ Sullivan spluttered and made to follow him. Unfortunately, he found himself blocked by Steve’s intimidating bulk. ‘You’re fitting me up, you bastard!’
Matthew ignored him, in favour of climbing into the driver’s seat of the BMW. His mouth was dry, his hands shaking, as he retrieved the wraps from his pocket. Was he really going to do this?
‘You haven’t got a snowball in hell’s chance of getting away with this, Adams!’ Sullivan shouted around Steve. ‘I’ll walk. You
know
I will. And
you’ll
be stuffed. You won’t even get a job as a bloody security guard! Do you hear me?’
‘I don’t think he’s in a listening mood, Patrick,’ Steve offered, squaring up to him. ‘I’d button it, if I were you.’
‘What bloody grounds for suspicion?’ Sullivan attempted to push past him.
‘Back up,’ Steve warned him.
‘
He
is legally obliged to tell me what his grounds for suspicion are.’ Sullivan jabbed a finger in Matthew’s direction. ‘
And
what he’s searching for. I know my rights! You hear me, Adams? Do this and you’re finished!’
Matthew pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, trying to still the images, his daughter’s blood seeping towards him, staining the road crimson and soaking into his clothes, the ugly fat fly, which seemed to be buzzing around in his head. He was losing it. He swallowed hard. Sullivan was right. He had no hope of making this stick. Was he really willing to risk screwing Steve’s career up, along with his own? What the
hell
had he been thinking? He hadn’t been, clearly. Matthew felt the tension slacken a little, as another option occurred. He needed that nail file. The tie might be useful too, which Sullivan was overly fond of straightening. He didn’t need to drag Sullivan in to get it, though, did he?
Re-pocketing the drugs, Matthew climbed out of the car. ‘Patrick Sullivan,’ he said, pulling out his ID card as he walked towards him. ‘Detective Inspector Matthew Adams,’ he introduced himself, as per protocol during a public search. ‘Following a tip off, I have reasonable grounds to believe that you are carrying drugs for purposes of supplying.’
‘I don’t bloody believe this. You are, aren’t you?’ Sullivan looked utterly astonished. ‘You’re going to fit me up?’
‘I’m therefore informing you that I intend to carry out a body search.’
‘Piss off, Adams.’ Sullivan moved towards his car.
‘Failure to give consent will result in you being detained for twenty four hours for questioning without formal arrest. Your call, Sullivan.’
Sullivan stopped and turned back. Cocking his head to one side, he appraised Matthew for a second, and then, ‘Good film you were watching last night, was it?’ he asked.
Fear tightened Matthew’s stomach like a slipknot. ‘What?’
‘
Taken
,’ Sullivan went on, narrowing his eyes, weighing Matthew’s reaction. ‘I thought it was pretty good myself.
Taken Two
wasn’t up to much, but …’
Blind fury sweeping through him, Matthew was on him, slamming his fist so hard into the man’s face, he heard bone and sinew crack. ‘
Bastard!’
he spat, wiping a hand across his mouth, as Sullivan sank to his knees. Matthew wasn’t finished with him yet though. Not by a long chalk. He took a step towards him.
‘Whoa!’ Steve caught hold of Matthew from behind. ‘Enough!’ he shouted, attempting to pull him off. ‘Matthew, leave it!’
But Matthew wasn’t hearing him. Surging forward, he grabbed hold of Sullivan, heaving him to his feet by his cashmere-fucking-lapels and dragging him towards him. ‘Do
not
go near my wife again,’ he seethed. ‘If you do I
will
kill you.’
‘She’s quite tasty,’ Sullivan said quietly, thin globules of blood trickling from his mouth, his eyes, black pools of pure evil. ‘Girl’s tasty too.’
‘Bastard!’ White-hot rage exploding inside him, Matthew slammed him hard backwards into the car, and then followed through, landing a low blow to his stomach. His temper nowhere near abated, he watched Sullivan crumple, and then kicked him like the fetid animal he was.
‘That’s enough!’ Steve was on Matthew’s back, his muscle-bound arms wrapped hard around him.
‘Get him off me!’ Sullivan screamed, shielding his head from further assault, his voice high-pitched and hysterical. ‘Fucking madman, get him off!’
Locking his hold tight, Steve hauled Matthew away. ‘Leave it!’ he growled, close to his ear. ‘He’s not worth it.’
Matthew closed his eyes. His chest wheezing, his head reeling, he tried to draw air into his lungs, to think, but the only thought in his head was that he wanted to kill Sullivan, to stop him, to shut him up, once and for all. Counting, desperately trying to control his rage, he looked back to Sullivan. He couldn’t quite believe it when Sullivan’s mouth twisted into a smirk. Even through the blood smeared across his face, the man’s expression was unmistakeable: triumphant.
Chapter Eight
Detective Chief Inspector Davies leaned back in his chair. Placing his hands under his chin, he regarded Matthew with quiet despair. ‘You do know he’s filed charges?’ he asked him.
Matthew shook his head. ‘It’s bullshit. He’s trying to get my card marked, that’s all. The man’s a complete—’
‘
Bullshit?
’ The DCI’s chair hit the wall behind him as he shot to his feet. ‘He’s at the hospital, Adams!’ He balled his fists on his desk and eyeballed him furiously. ‘You’ve probably broken his jaw and the best you can come up with is
it’s bullshit
?’
Guessing he was pissed, with good reason, Matthew glanced down. ‘It was provoked, sir.’ Running a thumb over his own bruised fist, he attempted to explain. ‘I—’
‘So
you
say!’ Davies barked over him. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, DI Adams? Have you been drinking? What?’
‘No,’ Matthew assured him adamantly. He guessed his drinking would always come up, the months after Lily’s death, when he’d been too permanently hung-over to make a right judgement call. He really wished Davies hadn’t brought it up in front of Steve, though.
‘Because if you are, Adams, I don’t need to tell you what the consequences—’
‘He threatened my wife!’ Matthew’s gaze snapped back up. ‘He’s been following me, for Christ’s sake, watching my house! What the
hell
would
you
have done?’
He’d been right
outside
his house, waited until he’d left and Rebecca and Ashley alone inside and then made sure they were petrified out of their wits. There had been a bird. Matthew hadn’t been able to work out how it had flown anywhere, maggot riddled and obviously dead. He’d thought a cat maybe? It had been Sullivan, Matthew now realised, his blood running cold.
‘I’d have gone through the proper channels, Adams, thereby securing the chance of a formal investigation,’ DCI Davies replied tersely. ‘DS Ingram,’ he turned to Steve, ‘I assume you can corroborate these threats?
Steve shifted awkwardly in his seat. ‘I, erm …’ He glanced worriedly at Matthew.
‘Well?’ Davies urged him impatiently.
Steve’s shoulders slumped. ‘No, sir,’ he said, his gaze now anywhere but on Matthew. ‘I was too far away to hear the whole conversation.’
DCI Davies sighed heavily and turned to walk towards his window. ‘It’s a bit of a mess, isn’t it, Adams?’ he commented, gazing out.
‘Yes, sir.’ Matthew tried for contrite, though any remorse he was feeling was that he hadn’t broken Sullivan’s neck. At least then he would be sure Rebecca was safe.
‘You do realise you’ve jeopardised the undercover operation?’ Davies asked, as casually as if he were asking about the weather.
What?
Matthew stared incredulously at his back. ‘You’re joking?’
‘Unfortunately not.’ DCI Davies clasped his hands behind him and continued to gaze out of the window, as if he hadn’t just delivered a bombshell, announced that the only other plan to nail Sullivan hadn’t just been taken off the table. ‘We’re going to have to pull back, at least until we’ve cleared this mess up. I think you’ve marked your own card, Adams.’
Davies turned back, eyeing Matthew meaningfully. ‘Not going to be very popular with your colleagues for a while, are you?’
‘Bloody hell.’ Steve glanced disbelievingly from the DCI to Matthew.
‘Bloody hell, indeed.’ Davies smiled shortly. ‘Thank you, DS Ingram. You can leave now.’
DCI Davies waited while Steve did as bid, casting now very worried glances in Matthew’s direction as he went.
‘As for you,’ Davies turned back to Matthew, ‘I think you should take some gardening leave.’
‘Uh, uh.’ Matthew shook his head. No way was he going to be out of the loop, not knowing what that bastard Sullivan was up to, not now.
‘It wasn’t a suggestion, DI Adams, it was an order. And, off the record, if you are hitting the bottle again, don’t. Okay?’
‘What?’ Matthew laughed incredulously. Now he had to be joking. They were going to take Sullivan’s word over his? Believe there was no provocation? Assume he was back on the booze?
Jesus Christ.
Matthew tried to rein in his tempter.
‘Look, John,’ he said shakily, ‘cut me some slack, will you? I lost it. I know I did. But you
know
me. You also know Sullivan. You must know he pushed me.’
‘To the limit probably, but sorry, Matthew, no can do. It shouldn’t have happened. Look …’ glancing at him sympathetically, DCI Davies walked around to perch himself on the edge of the desk, ‘… I know you think Sullivan had something to do with … the accident …’
‘
Think?
’ Matthew balked, astonished. ‘He as good as told me. He tried to warn me off. For God’s sake, John?’
‘As
good
as told you,’ DCI Davies repeated, his meaning implicit. ‘There was no evidence against him, Matthew, no witnesses to put him at the scene. The man had an alibi,’ he reminded him, as if Matthew needed reminding. ‘Take some leave,’ he offered, more quietly. ‘Spend some time with Rebecca.’
Matthew nodded tightly. ‘Right,’ he said, swallowing back his disgust and getting to his feet. ‘Is that it?’
DCI Davies nodded reluctantly. ‘For now.’
‘Cheers.’ Matthew grated, and turned to slam out of the office. ‘Thanks for nothing,’ he muttered, striding to his own desk and grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair.
‘So?’ Steve, who’d been quietly watching him, asked warily.
‘So what?’ Matthew headed for the door.
‘So, what happened?’
‘Exactly what Sullivan wanted to happen, Steve!’ Matthew rounded on him angrily. ‘I’m stuffed. Out! On gardening leave. Pending a psych evaluation, and then on permanent leave probably. Why they
hell
didn’t you cover my back?’
Steve scanned his face, his expression unimpressed. ‘That’s exactly what I did, sir,’ he said, his tone flat. ‘If not for me it wouldn’t be assault you’d be up on a charge for. It would be manslaughter, or worse. I couldn’t verify something I didn’t hear, though. Maybe I should have lied in there, I don’t know. Should I?’
Matthew dropped his gaze. ‘No,’ he conceded, with a despairing sigh. ‘I, er … Sorry.’ He shrugged apologetically. ‘I’d better go.’
‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ Steve reminded him, as Matthew turned back to the door. ‘A certain something obtained from friends in wrong places?’
Hell,
the heroin. Matthew realised he was about to leave with it still in his desk drawer. In which case, it might well have been discovered and then he really would be stuffed.
‘You’ll find it’s over here,’ Steve said, as Matthew headed back. ‘I thought it might be safer where I could keep an eye on it.’