Time to Play (North East Police) Page 11

  Elvie didn’t know why. She didn’t know how the men had known to take her either. All she knew was that she wished she was back there, with Noni still looking after her.

  She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of the outer door opening again, and more footsteps heading up the stairs. Snuggling down into the tarp, she silently finished her tea and fell into an uneasy sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  8th November, 1010 hours – Unit 12b, Sunderland Enterprise Park

  Danny didn’t want to wake up. He felt consciousness try and pull at him, and fought it every step of the way. But finally his eyes cracked open a slit.

  Sunlight shimmered through the crack in the rear door and for a moment he forgot where he was, staring as the light danced with the dust particles in bright rays.

  Slowly though, the pain invaded his mind. He pulled his bottom lip inwards, it had felt dry and cracked, but as his tongue flicked over it he realised that something wasn’t right. It was the metallic taste and the feel that it was all rough and cut up. He felt like every limb was burning, and suddenly he remembered the rats.

  Tears sprang to his eyes as he imagined them crawling all over him, biting at his flesh and eating his lip. Oh Christ, fucking hell. I’m still alive. How am I still alive? There must have been hundreds of them.

  He shuddered in disgust; all he could see in his mind was dirty great rats with huge teeth baring down on him.

  And then the door behind him opened.

  Rocko and Gaz entered the unit, Gaz immediately coming round to face Danny.

  ‘He’s still alive. The rats have done a good job of munching at his face like. Looks like something out of the Walking Dead. Gross, look at his lip. It’s hanging off.’

  Gaz slapped him hard across the face, and Danny groaned as his cheek started burning. He felt his lip split and blood started to drip down his chin.

  ‘What we gunna do with him, boss? Leave him for the rats or finish him off?’

  ‘What a fucking pain in the arse. Why’d you have to mess up, Danny? I had big plans for you.’ Rocko’s voice penetrated the fog of agony, he sounded disappointed, pissed off even. But Danny no longer cared. Just end it you fucking twat, finish it. Please, God, just let me die. I can’t take any more.

  ‘Do you know what I do to people who screw me, Danny? And their families? I’m not going to leave you here for the rats, they get fed enough shite. You’re gunna die knowing that because of you, your little girl is gunna grow up without her daddy, your girlfriend is going to find your body and be traumatised for life, always looking over her shoulder wondering if she’s gunna be next. And eventually, when they finally feel safe, I’m gunna come for both of them. They’ll see me and realise in that moment that their lives will be over. And I’ll make sure they both understand that it’s all your fault. That if you had kept your dick in your pants and not fucked one of my girls, not helped her escape, and not been caught yourself, that their lives would have carried on as normal. And both of them will hate you for what you’ve done, in those last few minutes they will curse the piece of shit you are and wish to God that they’d never met you.’

  Anger burned in Danny’s stomach. No! Please no, not my family. I didn’t shag the girl, I swear I didn’t! Please don’t hurt my family.

  His silent screams echoed round his mind, but he knew Rocko couldn’t hear them. He shook his head from side to side, grunting, trying to beg to tell them not to do that, to tell them the truth about the girl and what had happened.

  But it was no use.

  He felt the blade cut across his neck, the silky smooth feel of steel on skin almost deceptive in its intent. Blood gurgled in his throat, and he saw a red streak fly past him onto the rear door and ceiling. His last thought as he drifted off was of his daughter, and how she would grow up not knowing him, not knowing that he had died trying to do the right thing.

  ‘You really gunna do that to his family, boss?’ asked Gaz, once Danny’s eyes had glazed over and his chest had ceased to rise. ‘I can take care of that for you. I’ll make them both wish they’d never met this useless sack of shit.’ He kicked at Danny’s leg before turning to face Rocko, his eyes sparkling. ‘I could bring them here, boss. Make her watch while I bleed the little one dry. I could fuck her, all over. Then kill her too. I don’t mind, boss.’ Gaz was almost salivating at the thought.

  ‘No.’ Rocko’s voice was sharp. ‘What he did isn’t their problem. It’ll be enough that they live without him and that he died thinking they would suffer.’

  ‘What shall we do with the body?’

  ‘Untie him, wrap him in plastic. We’ll dump him after dark. Then you can come back and clean this place with a gallon of bleach.’

  8th November, 1905 hours – Buchanan Residence, Sunderland

  ‘God damn stupid lift, always on the blink when I have shopping to carry,’ mumbled Marlo, balancing the large box on her arms while the carrier bags dangling from her hands cut off the circulation in her fingertips. ‘Always bloody happens when I’ve got shopping. I’ll be emailing the maintenance man about this.’

  Griping didn’t make her feel better, but she did reach the top in what seemed like record time. She manoeuvred herself around the door to the corridor and tried to pull the handle down with her little finger.

  The door suddenly sprang towards her, hitting the fingers that held the bottom of the box and causing her to instinctively release her hold on the box. Marlo cried out, partly in pain as her fingers suddenly realised there was blood flow, and partly to warn whomever was about to barrel through the door that she was there.

  Tins clanked down the stairs as she moved back to allow the other person through. ‘Jesus, you could’ve bloody looked,’ she snapped, not bothering to look up. She didn’t know her neighbours anyway, but no one went barrelling through a stairwell door without at least considering someone might be coming the other way. It was just plain rude.

  Placing her carrier bags on the floor, she bent over and tried to retrieve a tin of tomatoes that was rolling towards the top of the stairs.

  ‘Anyone ever tell you, you have a habit of bumping into people?’ said Ali with a smile, bending to help her pick up the items that were now strewn over the landing.

  ‘Just living up to my name I guess,’ she grumbled back, remembering him calling her a jerk the last time they had collided.

  Even his confusion didn’t stall her, and she looked him in the eye. ‘Next time you wanna call someone a jerk, at least have the decency to do it to their face.’

  Ali’s confusion was blatant, ‘Jerk? I didn’t call you a jerk.’

  Marlo threw her hands up and shrugged in exasperation, ‘And he can’t even own up to it. At least have the decency to admit when you’re at fault.’

  ‘Marlo, I didn’t call you a jerk.’

  She felt her temper start to rise. ‘I heard you,’ she said. ‘You knocked me over and asked me to carry that bloody box to your office, and as I was leaving you called me a jerk!’

  She saw the moment Ali realised what she was on about, his expression changing from confusion to acceptance. But she froze as he surprised her by taking her hand, ‘I didn’t call you a jerk, Marlo. I was referring to myself. You carried my box and said something that I took the wrong way. I was calling myself a jerk for dismissing you like it was your fault.’

  Marlo raised her eyebrows, questioning him even as her pulse quickened under his touch. He hadn’t released her hand, and it felt warm where his lay on top.

  Whoa there girlie, don’t even go there.

  Ali sighed, ‘We were talking about the murder case a few months back. You said it wasn’t my fault that the guy had escaped, and I snapped at you. I was the jerk, Marlo, not you.’

  Marlo pulled her hand back, considering his explanation. It did ring a bell. Her tone softened, ‘It really wasn’t your fault you know.’

  ‘I know, it feels like it, though. You’re a cop, you know what it’s like. A man died. Maybe if I�
�d done something different, he’d have lived.’

  ‘Not at your hands, Ali. You’re not responsible for a prisoner once they enter the prison system. There wasn’t anything you could have done differently to change the outcome. Brown wanted to escape and he did what he needed to do to facilitate that. The prison service staff messed up, every Tom Dick and Harry knows you don’t leave a high-risk prisoner like that with one staff member to look after him. The other guard shouldn’t have left. But Brown will get caught again, and when he does the prison service will throw away the key.’

  ‘I know you’re right, but still. I’m sorry for being a jerk, and I’m sorry for knocking your shopping down the stairs. I’ll go grab what’s down here,’ he said, leaving her sitting on the floor and picking the items off the steps and bottom landing. His cheeks coloured slightly as he handed her a box of Tampax that had gone astray, but it was nothing compared to how hers felt. Burning wasn’t the word! Of all the things he could’ve picked up, it had to be these? It couldn’t have been a tin of bloody beans?

  ‘What are you doing lurking in the stairwell anyway?’ she asked, suddenly wondering how he came to be there.

  ‘I live here. Fourth floor.’

  ‘Howay, pull the other one, it’s got bells on it. I live on the fourth floor. Surely we’d have seen each other?’

  ‘Seriously, I’m in flat E. Inherited it when Alex moved in with Cass last year.

  ‘No way. Flat E? You’re the Luke Bryan fan?’

  'I play it too loud then,' said Ali with a rueful grin.

  'Never too much volume for Luke Bryan. I have all his music. Love him. Wouldn't have pegged you for a country fan, like?'

  'Always have been. Dad brought us up on the likes of Don Williams and Kenny Rodgers. He always said it was music that spoke to the soul.'

  Marlo grinned at him as he handed her a bag full of tins. 'Would you mind returning the favour and carrying them to my apartment for me? Could do without having to chase them all down the corridor.'

  'Sure,' he smiled back.

  Wow, when he smiles his face changes completely. It's like he's a different person.

  She unlocked her front door and pushed the door open with her hip, holding it open to allow Ali past. 'Thanks, Ali. You wanna stay for a coffee?' It was an impulsive question and she felt her cheeks flush with colour. She didn't do that, ask men to her apartment for coffee. It was almost unheard of.

  But she got a reprieve as Ali replied, 'I'd love to but actually I have plans. I'm just on my way out. Rain check?'

  'No problem,' said Marlo, 'thanks for the hand with my shopping.'

  'Least I could do seeing as how I knocked it all out of your hands. See you later.'

  Marlo closed the door thoughtfully. In that few minutes she'd learned more about him than she suspected most people learnt in a long time. Ali always came across as a good inspector, but he could also be standoffish, distancing himself from his colleagues. Or so she'd heard anyway. Shaking her head, she decided it was none of her business. She never listened to the rumour mill anyway, she made her own judgements. And her judgement about Ali was that he was a good man. Turning back to the kitchen, she turned the CD player on and smiled as Luke Bryan's voice came from the speakers.

  Chapter Fourteen

  8th November, 2205 hours – Ryhope, Sunderland

  He sighed as he unlocked the door to the room. It had been a helluva day and the last thing he wanted to do was check on the girl. He wanted to go to bed.

  He was tired right through to the core of his bones, the kind of exhaustion you got from being mentally and physically challenged all day. He felt the beginnings of a migraine niggle at the side of his head.

  Maybe I should just leave her today; she’ll still be here tomorrow. But he shook his head, if he didn’t do the breaks today then his schedule would be all to pot. He already felt behind because he was more than a day late doing the breakages.

  Why do I do this? I could just stop, let the girl go and not get any more.

  But he knew he wouldn’t: how would he get his teachings across if not to these girls who were so in need of guidance.

  He felt his nose wrinkle as he entered; she’d soiled herself. He couldn’t expect anything else really, he supposed. He had been thoughtful, though, and given this one a bucket: better a vessel to hold the waste than finding it all over the floor again. Such a simple idea really, he didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. Still, it smelt ripe.

  His memory faded back to a time when he was a child. He’d been given a dog off his mum, an old dog not a puppy like he’d asked for. It had grey all round it’s muzzle, and she’d said he could name it himself. It only took hours to realise that the dog had a chronic wind problem, the smell so bad that he’d found himself pinching his nose and trying not to breath. He’d quickly decided on the name Stinky, and once named, the dog and he were inseparable. At least until Stinky disappeared. He frowned as he remembered his brother had been the last to see the dog. He’d denied hurting Stinky but he’d always wondered. It wouldn’t surprise him. His brother had always been a nasty piece of work.

  His mood changed and he found himself grinning as he closed the door behind him. He’d thought of the perfect name for the girl.

  Pulling her from the cage, he said, ‘Come on now, Stinky. It’s time to play.’

  8th November, 2210 hours – Ryhope, Sunderland

  Nita was finally starting to feel more human. The shaking had stopped, the gnawing hunger was easing and despite the fear she had for the man, it was less than she’d felt in the house. In there she wouldn’t have managed to survive much longer, she knew that.

  She hated that her body had craved the drug so much though, despised the fact that she’d felt like she needed it, and worse would have done anything to get it.

  This man might keep her locked in a cage, but surely it was preferable to needing brown liquid, and accepting the things the men had done to her in that house. Nita shuddered: it didn’t even bear thinking about. All she could do now was try and get away, find out where she was, and then see what she could do about her situation.

  Hoping it would work in her favour, she flashed a quick smile at the man as he opened the cage door and extended his hand to help her out.

  She glanced round the room he held her in.

  The wall behind the chair held tools mounted on hooks, and a work bench that was dusty but clear of debris. It wasn’t a large room; the cage, the bench and the chair in the middle pretty much filling it, though there was a gap to the right of the doorway. Something was there when I arrived... something plastic? Where’s it gone?

  The man applied the straps of the chair to her wrists and ankles, then went into the corner and turned on the video camera. Why does he video me? I don’t get what he does with it. I don’t know why I’m here. If I could understand him, maybe he would let me go.

  She heard him say the words softly to her, she didn’t know what they meant but they were the same words he spoke every time he came into the room. She felt his hand touch her cheek gently, then withdraw.

  The explosion of pain she felt as his fist hit her nose was unexpected and sharp, and even as blood dripped down the back of her throat she gasped. This caused her to gag, and she coughed loudly, blood exiting her mouth at speed and landing on the man’s trousers.

  Through the red haze, she heard him curse and looked up to see his anger. She pulled her hand back as he roughly bent her thumb until it cracked. Nita screamed. Why is he doing this? Please stop. It hurts.

  Blood poured from her nose, she felt its warmth on her lips and her chest as she struggled to breath. Her thumb was pulsing with pain, she didn’t even know if she could move it, but she didn’t want to.

  She hadn’t even realised he’d unhooked her hand until she felt him pull her arm taut. Her mouth dropped into a wide ‘O’ as she saw him raise his other hand in the air, the hand that held a large mallet.

  Blood gargled in her throat as she
tried to scream, and attempted to pull her arm from his grasp. But he held fast and the mallet connected with a crack. She knew instantly the bones had shattered, feeling them crunch beneath his fingers as he reapplied the restraints, as if she was going to pull away with the agony coursing up her arm. Nita couldn’t stop the tears falling down her face, she could barely breath through the blood in her throat, and felt it thicken as her body tried it’s best to stop the blood flowing by clotting and congealing. Why was he doing this? What kind of freak did this?

  As he put his hand back on her cheek, she pulled her head away, shaking her head vehemently from side to side. Please let me go, please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I swear. She felt herself whimper, her breath quickening as her body went into a panic. Within seconds she was hyperventilating, unable to stop the reaction as she struggled to draw breath. Black stars appeared in her vision as her panic grew, and suddenly, it all went black.

  8th November, 2230 hours – Ryhope, Sunderland

  He hadn’t expected that; the blood flying from her mouth and covering his grey trousers with red spots. He knew they would wash out but still, it wasn’t pleasant. Maybe he should invest in some clothes just for use out here. That way he wouldn’t have to worry that someone would see.

  Working methodically, he cleaned up the blood from the floor, putting the cloth in the bin under the work bench. He wiped down the chair and replaced the mallet on its hook on the wall.

  Finally he opened the cage and placed a salad bowl, a sandwich, water and a section of a strip of paracetamol inside.

  And now he sighed deeply. He knew he would sleep tonight. There was rarely a night he didn’t sleep, but he didn’t particularly want to. He had a sudden urge to go to a bar and get shit-faced. It had been a long time since he’d been so drunk he’d managed to force himself to forget everything. The last time had been about three years previously, and he’d been so drunk he couldn’t even remember where he lived. He’d sat in the taxi and giggled to himself as the meter had ran onwards, the taxi driver charging for every minute he couldn’t remember. Eventually the woman he’d picked up in the bar had told the taxi driver her address, and had let him go with her. He’d woken up the next morning in a strange bed, with a strange woman lying beside him and no recollection of how he’d even gotten there.