Authors: Jessica Lake
"Well, the evidence certainly seems to be pointing in a specific direction."
I hated hearing the hesitance in Akin's voice, the sliver of doubt I knew he was probably fighting as hard as I was - and knowing it was me he was doubting, not the evidence.
"Yes, it does. I'll be in first thing in the morning. Sir, you know me."
"Yes, Lily, I do. I don't want you to interpret anything I'm saying right now as my doubting your abilities. It's worry for you more than anything else. Personal concern, nothing more."
We hung up and I slumped over the kitchen counter, out of breath. I stayed there for a long time, concentrating on my breathing in an attempt to get my mind to slow down. The warm glow of what had transpired between Callum and I hadn't even left my body and there I was, facing the real possibility that he was the man who had murdered Linda Trout.
I spent the next few hours on the sofa with a bottle of white wine, flipping back and forth between the hard and incontrovertible fact of the DNA and the soft but no less compelling fact that I truly didn't think he had done it. Had he? Nothing I knew about Callum, even if I admitted to myself that maybe I didn't know as much as I felt I did, lent itself to his being a killer. He had no idea I was a police officer. He had no reason to tell me what had happened in France or about his plans to extricate himself from Gary Wilson's small but apparently growing crime empire.
At almost two a.m. I stood in front of my bathroom mirror brushing my teeth, hardly able to meet my own gaze. Had I been fooled? Me? The woman whose self-esteem was almost entirely built on the back of her ability to do good, thorough police work? I knew damn well what I would think of anyone else in my situation. I'd think she was a dupe, an idiot. Hypnotized by a dimpled smile and strong jawline, some sweet words and an even sweeter cock.
Logic. Evidence. The refusal to go with what felt good in the face of what was true, no matter how ugly that truth was. That was me. That was how I ran my life.
I crawled into bed drained of all mental energy. One foot in front of the other, I told myself. Go where the evidence leads. Follow the steps. If he's guilty, find proof and arrest him. If he isn't, don't. I knew it wasn't going to be that simple. But I had to give myself something to hold onto, if only to allow myself a few hours of sleep before facing the next day and the possibility that I might be forced to arrest the man I had already fallen in love with.
I drove back through a drizzly London night accompanied by a nagging feeling of unease that I couldn't shake. Lily said a friend had been in an accident, but there had been something off about her reaction. She hadn't seemed worried as much as she'd seemed suddenly
scared
. I couldn't figure it out. What did Lily have to be afraid of? Nothing she'd ever said to me had led me to believe she lived a life that was anything less than wholly above-board. She hadn't just seemed scared, either. She'd seemed scared of
me
. And Lily had absolutely nothing to fear from me.
Unless. Unless - and the thought refused, even at that point, to come fully to the surface of my consciousness - Gazza had been right. About someone undercover. Not Lily. But - why not Lily? Why was I so adamant that it wasn't her? She was sharp as hell. She was interested in everything I had to say about the Streatham Club and Gazza and the things we'd gotten up to.
I told myself to calm down. I'd caught feelings for Lily Parker, that was all. The man who thought love was a myth people invented to make their transition into domesticity easier was falling in love, and his psyche was having trouble dealing with it. That was it. That had to be it.
I needed a drink. I also needed Lily. Part of me had felt like a child when she was rushing me out of her flat. The sudden compulsion to throw myself on the floor like a toddler and cling to her ankles, shouting at her not to make me go had been almost overwhelming. I shook my head and looked out the window. Almost there. I just needed to get a beer - or two, or eight - down my throat and I'd be fine.
The door to the Club was closed and the parking lot was dark when I arrived, despite it being prime drinking hours for most of the regulars. I pounded on the door with my fist.
"Gaz! Stan! The fucking door is clo-"
It opened in front of me and I saw Ian standing there, a suspicious look on his face. More bullshit. Did they think running guns was going to be stress-free? It made me want to laugh.
"The door's closed, mate. What's going on?" I asked.
Ian stepped aside to let me in. "Boss wants to see you."
It was empty inside. Ian followed me to Gazza's office, standing close enough behind me that I could almost feel him breathing down my neck. Whatever it was that was happening, I wasn't going to get involved. I was just going to get a drink and leave.
Gazza was sitting at his desk when I walked in. He had a strange look on his face.
"Sit," he ordered.
I sat down, wondering how long it was going to be before I could duck out and head to the pub.
"Listen, Gaz," I told him, "I've had a shit day. Could I just get a drink before we-"
Then I felt it - something cold against the back of my neck, just at the base of my skull. Something metallic. FUCK. I knew what it was even before I heard the neat 'snick' of the gun being cocked and my stomach lurched violently.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Gaz. What the fuck is-"
"Shut up, Callum. You stay there." He paused, and I realized that the strange look on his face was fury."And you don't move a fucking muscle."
So he'd gone and done it. He'd lost his damned mind already, before the big money had even started rolling regularly in. What an asshole. I sat very still and watched as Gazza pushed a pile of papers across his desk towards me.
"You want to tell me what this is about, Callum?" His voice rose to a shout and I watched his face twist with rage. "YOU WANT TO TELL ME WHAT THE
FUCK
THIS IS ABOUT!?"
I looked down at the papers as the muzzle of the gun dug further into my skin.
"Go on, take a good look," Gazza sneered.
The logo at the top of the first page was that of the Metropolitan Police. My eyes skimmed downwards. Names. Superintendent David Akin. DCI Lily Morgan. DI John Larkin. Sergeant Jenny Holmes.
DCI Lily Morgan. Lily? Gazza saw my eyes stop at that name. "Keep going. Turn the page."
I turned the page. There was that name again. DCI Lily Morgan. Beside the name was a black and white photo. My blood turned to ice in my veins. It was her - Lily.
My
Lily.
I've always had a habit of going into robot mode when shit goes down. That's what happened there, in Gazza's office. Lily was a cop. She wasn't just
a
cop, she was
the
cop, the one who was poking her nose around Gazza's business. Any anger or betrayal I was going to feel was neatly postponed by the instant realization that if Gazza knew who she was, she was in danger. The first words out of my mouth were:
"What are you going to do?"
"It's done, mate," Gazza said matter-of-factly."You think I'm joking? You think I'm sharing this with you out of the kindness of my heart? It's fucking done. And so are you."
The surge of adrenaline was so intense I was almost light-headed. The words "it's done" rang over and over in my head. I'd just seen her, safe and happy in her flat. I'd just come from there. Gazza had to be bullshitting. Unless...that phone call. Oh Jesus.
"Tie him up."
Ian hesitated at Gazza's command."You sure? Why not just-"
"Tie him up."
Ian complied, passing the gun to Gazza who held it leveled at my face while Ian tied me to the chair I was sitting in. I fought not to choke on the acid fury boiling up in my throat.
"That's right," Gazza said, staring at me, "you get angry, Callum. You get as angry as you want. This is your fault. Anything that happens to that dumb bitch is on you."
'Anything that happens...' Future tense. So she was alive. She might’ve even been at her flat still, asleep in bed. It took every ounce of my will to submit, to stay where I was. I just had to stay alive. If I got myself shot, Lily was alone. Nothing mattered except her. Not Gazza, not the Club and certainly not my own status as a free man. It wasn't even a question that needed pondering.
As soon as Ian was finished tying my arms behind the back of the chair, they left me there in Gazza's office. I sat straining towards the door to try and catch what they were saying outside. They didn't make much of an effort to keep their voices down. It was Ian who said the following:
"Right. You give me the call and I'll meet you in Croydon."
Croydon. The storage depot. I heard Gazza's footsteps retreating and then the sound of the front door slamming shut. Ian walked back into the office where I was sitting and plonked himself down on Gazza's desk, facing me.
"You fucked up, Callum. You fucked up bad. Now that pretty little copper has to die and it's your fault. You should have just let us check her out at the beginning, when we weren't going to be forced to go to such extreme measures."
"Why do you have to go to such extreme measures now, mate?" I asked, half-snarling, half-pleading."You think she knows anything? Why haven't any of us been arrested? She doesn't know anything. I haven't told her anything. I don't even know what Gazza's doing, for fuck's sake!"
Ian turned the gun on its side and ran his fingers along the barrel thoughtfully.
"Insurance, innit? We ain't got no idea how much she knows. No one's fucking stupid enough to believe you'd tell us if she did know anything. She's got a meeting scheduled tomorrow morning and our man on the inside says there's been a major development. We can't take the risk. It's a shame, though. She's so pretty. Such a sweet little ass. You get into those knickers, Callum? I bet you did. I can't say I don't understand, but business is business, right?"
I could feel sweat starting to bead on my brow, and I tried to blink it out of my eyes when it started to drip down my face. There was no way I was going to be able to wrestle the gun away from Ian while I was tied to a chair. I strained my hands, testing the rope around my wrists. It was tight and barely allowed any movement. One thing was absolutely certain: if I managed to get free, Ian was going to get hurt. Badly.
"You look worried, Callum," he said, as if he was making an observation about the weather."Just relax. There's nothing you can do. Look, you're fucked. Don't blame yourself, mate, we all understand how pussy can mess with your mind."
Ian was enjoying himself. I could see the barely concealed glee on his face. If he wasn't going to leave, I was going to have to try something else. I fought to keep calm as my pulse pounded in my throat and visions of Lily being hurt filled my head. Anyone who touched her was going to die. In order for me to make sure that happened, I had to stay in control.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" I asked."I can see you and Gaz think you're starting up your own little crime empire here, but are you entirely sure that murdering Met officers is the right way to get started? You think they're going to just let that go, mate? You two couldn't even pull off a minor heist without getting into a fucking gunfight. You think you're going to take on the Met?"
Ian leaned forward slowly, almost casually, and punched me in the face. I felt my head rock back and saw bright pinpricks of light dance across my field of vision.
"Stop talking, Callum. It's not going to do any good anyway. Like Gazza said, it's done. She's done. And before the night's out, I think you're gonna be done, too. You just keep running your mouth and we'll see if it doesn't happen sooner rather than later."
I decided then that trying to talk Ian out of anything was going to be futile. So I let my head loll to the side, pretending to be woozy from the punch and, very carefully and quietly, began moving my wrists back and forth against each other. Tiny little movements so he wouldn't see anything or hear any noise. I kept at it for five minutes, then ten, then I lost count. It felt like maybe the ropes were getting looser, but I couldn't really tell. I had to believe they were. Eyes closed, all I could see in my mind's eye was Lily's face, pale with terror.
At some point, Ian got up and left the room. I stayed absolutely still and listened for the sound of the front door closing. Instead, I heard the door to the men's room. I started yanking my wrists back and forth under the rope, not even feeling it when the rough fibers started to cut into my flesh. I had a couple of minutes at most. Sweat soaked my clothes as I fought, but nothing was happening. The ropes were not getting looser. I heard the men's room door swing open again and knew I wasn't going to make it. There was no choice, then, I had to take a chance - maybe my only one. I stood up as far as I could and turned around to face the office door, tensing my body and listening to the sound of my own ragged breaths filling the office.
As soon as I saw Ian I ran straight into him as hard and as fast as I could, slamming my forehead down into his face and staggering, falling to my knees as the room swam in front of my eyes.
He was down, though. Ian was down, out cold, and I was still tied to that fucking chair. I looked around the room for something sharp - an edge, anything. There was a bottle opener on the bar and I shuffled over to it in a blind panic, looking back behind me every few seconds to check that Ian was still on the floor. As soon as it was in my hands I positioned the pointy tip of the bottle opener against the rope and started rubbing it back and forth, catching the small fibers and snapping them one by one. It seemed to take forever.
Ian groaned at one point and I moved back to where he was, poised over him, ready to drop a knee onto his neck if he so much as opened an eye.
Finally the rope snapped and I ripped my hands free. I slammed the chair down onto the floor and pulled the gun out of Ian's waistband. He made a groaning noise and rolled over while I stood over him, rubbing my wrists to try and get the circulation flowing again. I needed him to wake up, so I ran to the bar to fill a pint glass with water which I then emptied in Ian's face. He spluttered and looked up at me, uncomprehending for a few seconds as he came to.
"Where is she?" I demanded. "Is Gazza taking her to Croydon? Is she there already?"
Ian mumbled something unintelligible and I raised my voice to a shout. "WHERE IS SHE?!"
It took him a few moments to figure out what had happened. He turned his head up to me and forced a smile. "You're dead, sunshine."
There was no time. I knelt down and held the gun against his mouth, pushing it between his lips so it rattled along his teeth when he tried to turn away. The smile disappeared.
"Tell me where she is. Tell me where she is or-"
He was angry now, twisting his body around, trying to get to his feet. I balled one of my hands into a fist and drove it into his stomach, not taking my eyes off his.
"I'm going to ask you this one more time. Only once more. Where is she?"
Ian closed his eyes. "Croydon."
"The storage depot?"
"Yes."
"Right now? Is she already there?"
"Yes - probably."
He tried to get up again and failed, his head falling back against the wooden floor with a thud. I started to tie him up, not making the same mistake he had and making sure his ankles were secured.
"Where? Where at the depot? Where does he have her?"
"I don't know. You're too late anyway, Callum. You really want to get yourself killed over this bird? We could have had a very good thing going here, you know. It's not too late-"