Time to Play (North East Police) (19 page)

For the hundredth time, Connor wondered how he had come to be on this path. How his dream job could’ve ended up turning into the nightmare from hell thanks to his actions, and how he had come to be this person he despised so much.

Life fucking sucks.

Chapter Eighteen

11
^th
November, 2320 hours – Ryhope, Sunderland

He was angry.

The kind of anger that simmered beneath the surface, ready to blow with the ferocity of a volcano. It seemed to him that the older he got, the harder it became to contain the fury. One shitty day and he wanted to lash out to anyone and everyone, kill them where they stood just for looking at him.

He tried to rein it back in. Going in to see the girl when he was this mad would probably be a bad idea. Too much, and he could do irreparable damage to her, and he knew that would blur the lines, make this whole thing about him and not about the lessons he had to teach. There was a fine line between teaching someone to cope with pain, and inflicting torture.

Pushing open the door, he took in a breath and flicked the light switch.

Her eyes widened, blinking as the bright light made her pupils dilate.

For a moment, he realised he couldn’t remember when he had last visited her, last brought her food. The last few days had blurred into one, no specific action clear to him.
I’m too old for this shit.
And maybe he was, but it wasn’t something he could stop doing. He was destined to do this, karma had shown him the path he had to take and regardless of how angry he was, he had to follow it. Doing this would make everything right. It had to.

The girl’s face was apprehensive, but also accepting and it threw him off balance. Normally it took weeks for them to get to that stage. How long had she even been here? It wasn’t weeks though, he knew that. It was more like days. The acceptance was strange though. Had her life been so shit before that this was actually better?

He stood for a long while, just staring at her.

She was attractive, he supposed, though not to him. With everything he’d dealt with in recent years those kinds of stirrings were a thing of the past. And even when he’d had them back then his wife had always serviced them, before she’d gone anyway. And afterwards, well he’d just learned to ignore them. Or head to the brothel if he needed to. He might’ve liked this girl though, with her long, dark hair and brooding brown eyes. Even curled up in the cage, in need of a bath and a hair brush, she could still captivate.

Suddenly he wondered what she was called, where she had come from.

Knowing that information would be a bad idea. It would make it personal, and he couldn’t afford to get emotionally attached. Not to her, not to anyone.

Emotion caused pain.

His anger dampened now, he unlocked the cage and held out his hand to her. He saw her wince, and knew her muscles were tired of being in the same position and would be sore. 

Despite the pain, she paused. Then softly slipped her hand into his.

Again, he found himself surprised. He’d never had a girl so accepting of her fate. Usually they kicked and screamed until they realised that doing that meant more pain.

He put her in the chair, fastened the straps and stepped back.

Before he even realised what he was doing, he pointed to his chest.

‘Jim,’ it had been his father’s name but she didn’t need to know that. Repeating the motion, he said it again and then looked at her expectantly.

Understanding gleamed in her eyes and she replied. ‘Nita.’

Nita. Pretty name, it suits her.

Then he realised what he’d done.

God damn idiot. What did you go and do that for? Now it’s all going to go to hell in a hand basket.

Stepping back, he waited for the lightning bolt to strike him down, but there was nothing. Just the girl, still strapped in the chair in front of him.

‘Sorry,’ he said, reaching for the Stanley knife from his pocket.

Maybe I shouldn’t do this; maybe she’s already had enough pain.
He realised he felt sorry for her. He knew the girls Rocko brought in had no life, wouldn’t be missed by anyone. They already knew pain to a point. And he knew what went on in the houses, and had seen first-hand, how hard it was for them to come off the drugs. Maybe she had suffered enough.

Told you not to ask her name. Now it’s personal, and you’re soft.

Setting his mouth in a straight line, he tried to ignore the argument in his head. He slammed the Stanley knife back down on the bench, cursing loudly, making Nita jump fearfully.

He couldn’t do it.

Unstrapping her wrists and feet, he pulled her roughly from the chair and pushed her back towards the cage.

The first he knew of her resistance, was the feel of her fingernails scratching across the side of his neck, ripping his flesh. She screamed like a wildcat, clawing at him again and kicking at him with her bare feet.

He’d let his guard down, and now he was paying for it.

He grabbed her hand and did the only thing he could to control her; he twisted it hard, the movement and the pain knocking Nita to her knees with a loud cry.

She whimpered as she looked up at him, apologising and pleading with her eyes, but it was too late. His eyes flashed with anger, and he couldn’t stop himself if he tried. His fist slammed into her face, again and again, bringing blood forth and breaking teeth. His feet kicked her in the stomach and ribs, harder and harder until he was so exhausted he could barely lift his arms any more. She’d slipped into unconsciousness somewhere along the line, and didn’t struggle as he pulled her limp body up and practically threw her back inside the metal box that had become her home.

Locking the padlock, he left the room, and realised he was devoid of any feeling now. There was no guilt, no anger, just a massive expanse of darkness.

12
^th
November, 0940 hours – Dive Team HQ, South Shields

‘For Christ’s sake, I’ve had enough of this. My chicken and rice was taken the other day, and now someone’s troughed my bloody sarnie!’ Sharpie’s voice echoed round the canteen as Marlo exchanged looks with Mac and Connor.

‘You’re not the only one. We’ve all had stuff taken, and the tuck shop’s been coming up short. Do you think it’s Bravo Team being dicks? It’s ridiculous like. It’s a police station not a flipping school playground.’ Marlo’s questions had the others nodding their heads in agreement.

She watched as Sharpie’s gaze hardened. ‘I have no idea, but I’m damn well gunna find out. I’ll not have this childish behaviour. I’m going out to grab some breakfast and run a couple of errands. If anything comes in buzz me on my mobile.’

As he left, Connor asked, ‘Do you think it is Bravo Team?’

‘Dunno, but something’s not right. Don’t think I’ve ever seen Sharpie that pissed off. Am sure there’s an old line that says never come between a man and his food!’

The team chuckled, then sobered, lost in their own thoughts, at least until Marlo’s radio burst to life a few minutes later.

‘5204 Buchannan. Go ahead LV.’

‘Marlo, I’ve tried contacting Sergeant Sharp but can’t raise him on his radio, can you have a look at an incoming job please? It’s a bloke who was seen to go underwater near a buoy just off the coast of Seaham. Apparently the old boy has swam in the ocean three times a week for the last fifty years. Coastguard is asking if you can assist: they’ve got a ship in distress down Blackhall way so can’t dispatch a full crew.’

‘Yeah, no problem, LV. I’ll try Sharpie on his mobile. What’s the log number?’

‘It’s 132 of today. Thanks Marlo.’

Marlo sighed and pulled her mobile out from her pocket. ‘So much for a leisurely morning for once,’ she muttered as Connor and Mac made their way out of the break room and down to the equipment room.

12
^th
November, 1235 hours –off the coast of Seaham, County Durham

Marlo pulled the mask in place over her face, and stood to allow Doc to check her connections. She felt the cool oxygen brush over her face and spoke to test the radio inside the mask.

‘Testing, Buck to RIB, over.’

‘Picking you up loud and clear, Buck. Dive safe, don’t let Davy Jones catch you.’ Sharpie’s dive message was always the same no matter who was getting wet. It had become a kind of safety mantra for the team.

Connor was fully suited and ready to go next to her, though he’d been in a foul mood all morning, snappy and frowning constantly. She’d try and catch him after shift and ask if everything was OK.

One thing she was sure of though, was that the weather wasn’t helping his mood any. The wind was bitterly cold, biting into any exposed flesh with its icy tendrils. Dark clouds floated ominously above the RIB and the smell of rain overwhelmed the normal scent of salt. The North Sea was always chilly to swim in. The temperature warmed slightly in summer but it was cold enough from September onwards to give even the hardiest folk cause to consider before dipping their toes in.

Obviously the bloke that had gone swimming was made of tough stuff.

Marlo made sure the Kevlar gloves were snug over her hands, then sat down on the edge of the RIB. Letting her body fall backwards, she landed in the water with barely a splash.

Sharpie had already assessed the tidal flow and given her an initial search grid of approximately twenty metres around the area of the buoy where the male had last been seen. It sounded like a small area, but twenty metres on a day like this would take some time. Virtually all searches conducted by the dive team were done in near-zero visibility, and today's was no different. UK diving was definitely not the same as diving abroad where the waters were crystal clear. Marlo couldn't even see her hand in front of her face.

She kicked her feet, pushing herself forward as she blindly felt around for anything that resembled a human body. She monitored her direction, swimming in a circular pattern, and did her best to ignore the piercing cold seeping through to the bones of her fingers. The drysuit kept her body temperature at a decent level, but the Kevlar gloves were awful and provided no protection at all.

'They really need to invent fur-lined Kevlar,' she muttered.

'That's next on my patent list,' responded Sharpie. 'How's it going down there?'

'Crap visibility and freezing temperatures, my favourite kind of diving,' said Marlo. 'Has the sonar picked anything up?'

'Couple of forms but nothing big enough as yet. You've been down twenty minutes, you ready to switch?'

'I'm good for a bit yet, I can still feel my knuckles.'

Her light heartedness was acknowledged and her mask fell silent again.

It was the life of a diver: you either didn't mind the quiet, claustrophobic nature of being underwater and stayed in the job for years, or you hated it and didn't dive. There wasn't really an in-between. Over the years, people had commented that it couldn't be all that bad underwater, that the UK had clean water ways didn't it? Marlo just responded that it was like swimming through 'poop soup', dark, dingy, and often smelly when you were above the surface line. Despite this though, all of Alpha Team bar Connor, and the members of Bravo team had been in the job for years. Spaces were scarce on the team and didn't come up often. Most wannabe police divers resorted to other roles in the hope that one day their dreams would be realised.

She groaned a little as her hand started going into cramp. It was time for a break.

'Coming topside,' she said before kicking powerfully towards the surface.

12
^th
November, 2135 hours – Marlo’s flat, Sunderland

Marlo rubbed the towel through her hair and pulled it through the bobble into a loose, messy ponytail. Her bones finally had warmth seeping into them and she’d stopped shivering under the scalding heat of the bath she’d just clambered out of.

The silent screams in her head were exceptionally loud tonight, and she frowned as she placed the bottle of red on the side to rest. She suddenly felt incredibly lonely.

She’d never told a soul about the things that haunted her, not even Deena who knew her better than anyone. She’d like to say it was being brought up in care that prevented her saying anything: a lack of skill with boundaries and relationships, but it wasn’t. She was ashamed, it was that simple.
If I hadn’t – nope, not going there.
She pushed the screams aside, and made an impulsive decision.

Loneliness fuelled by red wine was an accident waiting to happen, so she grabbed the bottle of wine, and made her way towards Ali’s front door. It was only once she arrived that her common sense kicked in.
What the hell am I doing? I’m not the girl who knocks on a guy’s door in the middle of the night.

‘
But you’re lonely and he did say rain-check
,’ argued her mind mercilessly
. 

Yeah rain-check on coffee, not wine. This is a bad idea.

She turned to leave, and jumped as she realised Ali was standing behind her, obviously assessing her reasons for being there.

‘I was, erm… just…’ Marlo fell silent, her panic now so deep she could barely follow her thought train, let alone string the sentence she didn’t even know how to say together.

‘Bringing me a bottle of wine? Great, after the day I’ve had I could use a glass or two. I’ve just ordered a huge pizza, way too much for me so you’re welcome to stay and join me if you like?’ Ali grinned as her stomach grumbled in response. ‘Guess that’s a yes then, come on through.’

Her cheeks pink, she followed him through the door and into the flat. Glancing around, curiosity got the better of her, and she wandered to the huge mantelpiece in the middle of the lounge. The décor itself was simplistic, neutral colours that were neither here nor there, but there were photos all over. They adorned the top of the mantle, and were mounted on hooks around the room. It made it very homely, and she couldn’t help but look at them. Most had the same dimple in the chin as Ali, and she realised they were all family.