Tania Carver - Choked

‘Malcolm,’ said Tyrell, feeling strange saying the name out loud. As if it confirmed his new identity.

The little girl just stared at him.

He looked back at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, her nostrils encrusted with snot. She looked tired and terrified, like she had woken from a nightmare to find it was real. The woman still held her by the wrist. She looked like she should have been holding a soft toy in the other hand.

Tyrell, thinking he might be scaring her, sat down to be nearer her height.

He tried to smile at her. From the expression on her face, he must have failed.

‘Hello, Josephina. How are you?’

She just stared at him.

‘Have they hurt you?’

‘Oh for God’s sake … ’ The woman twisted Josephina’s hand, trying to pull her away, back to the house.

‘Stay where you are.’

She stared at Tyrell, surprised at the strength in his voice. At the stern words, Josephina looked like she was about to cry. He softened his voice again. Looked at the girl. Was careful not to touch her. He didn’t want her to get the wrong impression about him. That was important to him.

‘Sorry for shouting,’ he said, his voice soft once more. ‘But have they hurt you?’

Josephina risked a glance up at the woman, who was staring off out the window. She looked back at Tyrell, gave a slight shake of her head. No.

She’s saying no, he thought, not because it’s necessarily true, but because it’s the answer she’s expected to give.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to hurt you either. You’re safe when you’re with me. When I’m here.’

Josephina looked like she didn’t believe him. He wasn’t sure he believed himself.

‘I won’t let them hurt you.’

A sigh from the woman. ‘You finished? Yes? Happy? Good. Because we’ve got to get on.’ She pulled Josephina’s wrist, dragging her to the door.

But Tyrell wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. ‘It won’t be long. They want me to meet your mother. They want her to do something for them. Then you and your mother can go home. Together.’

Another sigh from the woman.

‘Mummy?’ said Josephina. She looked around. ‘Mummy?’

‘We’re going to meet her,’ said Tyrell.

‘Don’t go telling the kid that, shit-for-brains,’ said the woman. ‘We’ll never be able to manage her.’

Tyrell stared at her. Felt himself shake with anger at her words. ‘You look after this child, or I won’t do anything you want.’

The woman stared at him.

‘And don’t swear in front of her. It’s not nice.’

Another sigh. Exasperation this time. ‘Jesus … ’

Then the dogs started barking.

The woman dropped Josephina’s wrist, moved hurriedly to the window. ‘Oh fuck.’

‘What did I just say?’ said Tyrell. ‘No swearing in—’

She turned to him.

‘This is bad,’ she said. ‘This is very fucking bad.’

DS Jessie James tried hard not to let her irritation show.

DC Deepak Shah had received a call on his mobile. Fair enough. But instead of just answering it or putting it on handsfree and loudspeaker, he had insisted on pulling the car over.

‘Just take the call,’ she had said, exasperatedly, not for the first time.

He had ignored her, followed his own procedure. She had shaken her head. Bet he demands an invoice every time he makes a cup of tea at home, she thought.

‘No,’ he had said. ‘It’s this one.’ And had dug down into his trouser pocket, pulled out a second mobile. An old black clamshell.

Two phones. Jessie shook her head.

He listened, asked a couple of questions, and Jessie became curious, despite herself. Deepak took out his notepad, wrote something down. Jessie tried to see what it was, but he kept it angled away from her.

Sometimes she wanted to kill him.

He ended the call slowly, almost ritualistically, and pocketed the phone.

‘Two phones?’ she said.

He nodded.

‘Why?’

‘Because I can’t be too careful,’ he said. He patted his pocket, checked the notepad, entered something into the sat nav, put the car back in gear. When a space in the traffic appeared, he pulled out.

‘Can’t be too careful?’ Jessie laughed. ‘What, like the American cops that used to carry two guns? One a throwdown piece, for shootouts.’

He said nothing.

‘That’s you, is it? The British equivalent? What you going to do, call someone to death?’

‘That was the station,’ he said, ignoring her. ‘They’ve traced the car.’

Jessie was suddenly all business. ‘From outside the cottage? The one that was there when the cottage went up?’

He nodded.

‘And?’

‘It’s registered to … ’ He glanced at his notepad. ‘Michael Sloane.’

‘Right. Good. We got an address?’

‘On the pad. I’ve taken the liberty of keying it in. I presumed you would want to go there and question them.’

‘Absolutely. No time like the present.’

They drove on.

‘Sloane … Michael Sloane … ’ Jessie frowned. ‘Why does that name mean something? I’ve heard it before.’

Deepak nodded. ‘I agree. Can’t remember where, though. Shall I pull over, ma’am? Make a few calls?’

‘No, just keep going. We’ll do it later.’

‘You’re the boss.’ He kept driving.

Deepak annoyed the hell out of her. But she had to admit, he was a damned good copper. In fact there was no one she would rather have alongside her.

She smiled to herself. Well, perhaps Mickey Philips …

The Golem cursed and stopped walking. Such a simple mistake. An apprentice’s error. Why would they need elaborate security systems when they could have attack dogs?

He looked round once more. Saw a curtain being dropped back into place in the caravan. Glanced at the house. Saw the person at the downstairs window look out, hurry away again. Saw activity. The laptop being closed up. Someone getting ready to leave in a hurry.

No change of plan. He made for the house. Quickly.

As he reached the corner, he heard something. The dogs’ barking changed in tone. Lower, growling. Then he heard a gate opening. By the time the Golem realised what was happening, it was too late. The dogs were free and barrelling towards him.

He looked round. He wouldn’t reach the car in time. There was no other shelter, no hiding place. They would catch him. He gave another glance round for a weapon, anything he could use to defend himself, fight them off. Found nothing.

He stood, braced, as the two slavering animals bore down on him, jaws apart, ready to pounce, to tear him to shreds.

He closed his eyes. Centred himself. There was nothing he could do about the physical contact, the pain. That was going to happen. The sooner he accepted it, embraced it, the sooner it would be over.

But he could do something about the noise. Most people, when faced with an attacking dog, were terrified. He knew that. And it wasn’t just the open jaws and the anticipation of pain that terrified them; it was the noise too. The barking, growling, howling. That was what scared people. But the Golem wasn’t people. He kept his eyes closed. Focused. Channelled. Blocked out the sound.

He opened his eyes once more. The dogs were still coming towards him, but he could no longer hear them. And if he couldn’t hear them, then he could think. And if he could think, then he could strategise.

The first one, a slavering black and mustard Rottweiler, jumped up at him. It was huge, almost the same height as him at full stretch. But the Golem wasn’t going to allow himself to feel scared or intimidated.

As the dog jumped, he pulled back his arm, brought it forward. Hard. Landed a punch on its neck. The dog’s legs immediately went limp and it fell to the ground, dazed. The Golem kicked it in the head, hard as he could. His steel-reinforced boot connecting with the dog’s skull, the bone splintering, crunching as it hit.