Death Sentence (15 page)

‘Why did you do that?!’ Ashley’s screamed. ‘We had a lovely day and you had to go and spoil it!’ Her arms were rigid at her side, her eyes wild. ‘Why did you
do
it?’

Matthew’s heart flipped over, as the front door slammed shut behind him. Trying to still his escalating panic, he turned his attention to Ashley.

‘Ashley, I know what it looked like. I know it seemed like I was angry. I was. I am, but
not
with Becky
or
with you. She’s in danger and I’m scared for her, Ashley. I don’t have time to explain right now. I have to go and look for her. Do you understand?’

Her expression a little less hostile, Ashley nodded uncertainly.

‘Will you help me? Will you stay here in case she comes back?’

Another small nod, the fury he’d seen sparking in her eyes beginning to wane.

‘The phone’s working.’ He indicated the socket he’d unscrewed while he’d been searching for any kind of device that might somehow have been planted. ‘Stay by it.’

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he locked his gaze on hers and prayed she’d realise the importance. ‘Ring me if she does come back. Ring me if you’re worried about anything. Slide the bolt on the door while I’m gone, and don’t answer it to anyone.
Anyone
, Ashley,’ he reiterated forcefully. ‘After what you just witnessed, I know your instinct is not to trust me, but I need you to, for Becky’s sake. Can you do that?’

Ashley’s nod was more fervent, this time.

‘Okay, good.’ Matthew turned back to the front door. ‘Make sure to lock it.’ He glanced meaningfully at her again, before racing to his car.

Chapter Eleven

‘Typical copper, thinking he’s above the law.’ Patrick shook his head disgustedly, as he watched Matthew drive past the lane he’d parked discreetly in while he waited. ‘He’s way over the speed limit, look at him. You’d think he’d have learned his lesson, wouldn’t you? I mean, there are only so many kids you can put in the ground, before you get a light-bulb moment and realise it might be a good idea to stop bending the rules, don’t y’think?’

The lady didn’t answer. That was okay. Patrick didn’t really expect her to.

‘Did you know he’s bent?’ he asked, putting the finishing touches to the spliff he’d been rolling. ‘As bent as a nine bob note, my old man used to say, bless him. Well, actually, no, don’t bother with the blessing bit. He was a vicious bastard. He was another one who needed teaching a lesson. I shot him up with dodgy heroin, yesterday, actually. Funny old day.’

Patrick lit up his joint and paused to reflect.

‘Course, I had to make sure he was pissed as a fart first,’ he said, and took a deep tote, ‘which wasn’t difficult. He liked a drink, the old man did. Needed something to relax him,’ he went on, exhaling thoughtfully. ‘It’s hard work, see, running a drugs cartel, as he liked to call it. Then there’s the tarts, always trying to pull a fast one, pocketing money to pay for their habits, which is a definite no-no. That’s what I do, by the way. Not the prostitution bit, obviously.’ Patrick had a little chuckle at his wit. ‘No,
I’m
the top-dog now. Very stressful it is, too. Profitable, but stressful. Course, the old man had the added stress of having to beat some sense into his dumb-fuck son every five minutes.’

Patrick paused again, remembering the look in his father’s eyes, somewhere between terror and dawning realisation that it was payback time, before he’d twitched one last time and then tripped off into oblivion. Not a nice way to go, but needs must. It was the only way he was going to go quietly. Selfish bastard might have made sure his insurance premiums were paid up though.

‘Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, Matthew, our goody-two-shoes detective. His halo’s a bit tarnished, sweetheart, but I don’t suppose he told you that, did he? He fits people up, does DI Adams: falsifies evidence.’

Taking another long tote on his spliff, Patrick held it a while and then blew it out nice and slow. ‘And when that doesn’t go according to plan, he gets a bit pissed. He did this,’ Patrick lifted his bruised chin to the rear view mirror and poked a finger at it. ‘But I told you that earlier, didn’t I? Not nice, is it, marring a man’s good looks, just because he knows he can get away with it, particularly a man who’s recently bereaved.’

Taking another leisurely draw, Patrick’s mind drifted back poolside. She really was a careless cow, that Chelsea, dripping chlorine all over his cashmere coat, giving the copper come-hither eyes right under his nose, and then she goes and cracks her skull open, as if he hadn’t got enough to worry about. Like soft clouds they were, he recalled, the drops of blood that plopped into the water, rolling and swirling, before finally dispersing. Patrick had idly wondered, as he’d watched, what blood to water ratio would be needed to turn the whole pool red.

‘Course, he didn’t know that, I suppose,’ he offered magnanimously. ‘My wife’s departure was very … sudden. Not that it would have made much difference. He’s had it in for me for a long time, has our delightful DI Adams, determined to make my life a misery one way or another.’

Still not much of a reaction from the back, Patrick noted.
Ah, well, maybe later
.

‘They fitted my brother up, him and his bent oppos. That was just before your darling daughter met her unfortunate demise. Then they shot him down like a dog. Don’t suppose he mentioned that over Sunday breakfast on the patio, either, did he, sweetheart?

‘Did he mention he likes prostitutes?’ Patrick twizzled his neck in hopes of a response. There wasn’t much of one. Mind you, she would be a bit hard-pushed to talk, he conceded.

‘Natalie’s one of his favourites.’ He turned back to the windscreen. ‘Pretty girl, aged about nineteen. Or should I say, she
was
pretty?’ Thinking that was a nice intriguing touch, Patrick let it hang.

‘I don’t like people who cross me, see, Mrs Adams, or take things that are mine. Your husband has something that belongs to me. I get it back, along with due recompense for a very tricky work-related situation he’s caused me, he gets you back, in some shape or form. Fair exchange is no robbery, after all, is it? Let’s just hope he’s not too dense to see the good sense in that, hey?’

‘Right, we’d better get off. Don’t want your old man coming back and finding us in flagrante, do we? Now then, what do you think, shall we stop off at your house and pick up your lovely niece en route? Don’t want her getting lonely, while hubby’s off out on his white charger, do we?’

****

She would have been safe. He could have kept her safe.
Should
have! Mathew slammed his fist against the steering wheel. Instead, he’d probably delivered her right into the bastard’s hands. Killing the engine, Matthew swallowed back the sick taste in his throat and reached for his inhaler. Taking two short puffs, he waited for the damn stupid wheezing to abate, and then climbed heavily out of his car.

Where might she have gone? Melanie’s? He should probably contact her first and then ring round her other friends. He tried to think; to quash the mounting panic threatening to suffocate him and formulate a plan of action. Might she have gone to her brother’s? Her parents, he wondered, attempting logical thought, before his mind slipped into … complete fucking insanity. He was thinking like a copper, following routine procedure. This wasn’t routine. This was his wife! And his friends on the force had turned their backs on him. Where the
hell
was she?

His emotion in danger of spilling over, Matthew stopped before he reached the front door. Attempting to compose himself before speaking to Ashley, he turned away, and his gaze fell on a lone wood-pigeon settling on the crumbling roof of the half-renovated barn opposite. The bird had lost its mate. For months, two plump pigeons had settled on the crest of that roof, cooing and canoodling contentedly. And now that lone bird was lost.

Matthew felt lost. He had no clue what to do. None. Did he call it in? She wouldn’t even qualify as a missing person yet. Matthew felt nausea claw at him again as that thought landed icily in the pit of his stomach. And if she was officially missing: taken by that piece of scum, what then? If she was still alive … he clamped his mind down hard on the possibility she might not be, then the bastard wanted something. In which case, he would make contact, make demands. Matthew knew the protocol. The first instruction would be not to involve the police, an instruction that Matthew would advise anyone in a kidnap situation to ignore, until now. Whatever sick, twisted game Sullivan was playing, there would be no rules, no criminal profile that would fit. Even as a kid, Matthew had Sullivan down as a sociopath, a product of physical and emotional abuse. He didn’t tick just that box, though, committing only haphazard, spontaneous crimes fuelled by fits of rage. He was also cool, calm, and meticulous, a highly organised psychopathic killer, viewing his victims as objects to be tormented and violated for his own warped amusement, and leaving few clues behind. Sullivan had obviously had eyes on him for a long time, watching his and Becky’s every move. He’d known what film they’d been watching. Matthew felt fresh bile rise in his throat. He knew about …
Ashley!

Dread propelling him, Matthew turned to race back to the front door.

‘Ashley!’ he shouted, aware he’d told her not to open it, that he’d probably scared her half-witless. ‘Ashley, it’s me, Matthew. Can you open the …
Shit!
’ Dropping his keys as he fumbled them into the lock, Matthew stooped to retrieve them, straightened up, and closed his eyes with relief, as he heard the bolt on the front door slide back.

‘Ashley?’ He stepped in as the front door opened and glanced quickly around. There was no sight of her downstairs. ‘Ashley?’

‘Here.’ Ashley’s voice was small and tremulous.

Matthew’s head snapped up. She was on the landing? Vaguely aware that the opening door and her location meant the geography didn’t add up, Matthew dismissed it in favour of breathing again. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, his guard still up, his eyes searching the landing beyond her.

Ashley walked towards the stairs. Stopping at the top, she nodded apprehensively, stepped down three steps, and then lowered herself to sit.

‘Are you sure?’ Matthew noted the hair over her face, the hands tucked under her thighs, closed body language that meant she was anything but.

Ashley nodded again, a small, but determined nod. ‘You didn’t find her, did you?’

Matthew debated. He could lie, but doing that wouldn’t make her vigilant, which he needed her to be.

‘No,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Can I join you?’ He indicated the stairs.

Ashley hesitated for second, and then nodded and shuffled across to allow him space.

Wearily, Matthew climbed the stairs and sank down heavily next to her. Where did he start? How did he explain his behaviour? That the terror that had gripped him the minute he’d realised Rebecca had gone out simply wouldn’t let go of him? He’d known, absolutely, with every fibre of his being, that Sullivan had been targeting her. How do you explain that to a teenager? And then go on to tell her, God help them, that the ice-cold fear slicing through his gut told him he’d found her.

Praying he was doing the right thing, Matthew took a breath. ‘I’m sorry about earlier,’ he started, knowing that, if he was going to ensure Ashley’s safety, he needed her to do everything he asked of her. To which end, she needed to be able to trust him. ‘I acted like I did because I was worried, Ashley. Rebecca’s …’ he faltered, gulping back his heart, which seemed to be working its way up his oesophagus.

‘It’s something to do with that man, isn’t it, the one who ran into the back of us?’ Ashley picked up.

Matthew looked at her, still unsure how much he should disclose.

‘I know it is,’ Ashley met his gaze, ‘so you might as well tell me.’

Taken aback by her intuitiveness, Matthew searched her eyes and read what was there: fear, definitely that, uncertainty, but also a quiet defiance, he noted, as if daring him to lie to her.

‘Yes.’ He nodded, at length. ‘I … think she might be in trouble.’ He dragged his hands up over his face. ‘But I don’t want you to worry, Ashley. We’ll get some people on it, the best.’ He paused again, knowing that that was exactly what he couldn’t do yet, and feeling utterly impotent.

‘Are they looking for her now?’ Ashley studied him carefully.

‘Not yet, no,’ Matthew answered honestly. ‘The thing is …’ He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

‘You don’t know whether she’s missing yet,’ Ashley supplied, leaving Matthew grateful and also slightly in awe of her obvious maturity.

‘No. I don’t.’ Again, he answered honestly, on the basis he had no more than his instinct screaming at him to go on.

Ashley nodded slowly, and then, ‘Becky’s strong,’ she offered, as if trying to reassure him in some way.

Matthew swallowed. ‘I know.’ He tugged in a breath, fighting back the tears that were too damn near the surface, as he recalled how Becky had pulled herself up after the loss of Lily, the miscarriage. She’d been determined to support him, despite his inadequacies as a husband: holding him up, keeping him strong when he’d felt like crumbling. And when she’d needed him … He hadn’t been there.
Dear God …

‘She’s all right, Matthew,’ Ashley said, as he heaved out a shaky sigh. ‘She’s scared, but she’s all right.’

Perplexed at that statement, Matthew glanced from the hand Ashley had placed hesitantly on his arm to her face. Her expression was earnest, her wide brandy-coloured eyes seeming to have taken on a luminescent quality. She seemed to be willing him to believe that she was alright. Because she needed him to? Matthew found himself transfixed by her penetrating gaze, and then felt his heart thud against his ribcage, as his mobile rang, loud against the silence.

Scrambling to his feet, Matthew yanked it out of his pocket. The number was unrecognisable, he quickly noted. Sullivan, he guessed, who would have all bases covered: unregistered phones at his disposal.

‘Adams?’ he answered, over a terse intake of breath.

Nothing the other end. Matthew descended the stairs and waited.