Tania Carver - Choked

DCI Gary Franks.

She turned back to where she had been headed.

Her brother, her daughter were now completely lost to the crowd.

‘Taking ages to answer,’ said Mickey.

‘Maybe she’s got a hot date.’ Anni was sitting on the desk once more, swinging her legs.

Mickey waited. ‘Not going to voicemail, either. Strange.’

‘Not really. It is Sunday night. Easter Sunday. Maybe she’s at home. Not everyone’s like us. Some people have social lives.’

The phone was answered. Mickey held up a hand, indicating this to Anni.

‘Hi, Jessie?’

‘Oh, so it’s Jessie now, is it?’ Anni was speaking just loud enough to be heard on the other end.

Mickey waved his hand at her, trying to shush her. ‘Mickey Philips here. I’m just—’

He stopped dead. The voice on the other end of the phone spoke.

‘You’re too late, Mickey Philips. Whoever you are. Much too late … ’

The line went dead.

Anni had a wisecrack planned. The expression on Mickey’s face froze it in her mouth.

‘Shit,’ he said. ‘We’ve got trouble.’

‘No!’ shouted Marina, throwing off Franks’s hand. ‘My daughter, my daughter’s down there … ’ She wriggled free from him and ran forward. He followed.

All around was chaos. Franks and his team had identified themselves as police officers and the crowd were panicking, desperately clambering towards the exits. The fight was over. The fight to avoid arrest for taking part in an illegal activity had begun.

Marina pushed her way through with a new-found strength. She wished that strength had been in evidence a few minutes ago. Eventually the barn began to clear, and she could make her way through the crowd. She reached the spot where Josephina had been. Her brother and the gunman were being marched away by police officers, arms up behind their backs. The woman she had spoken to on the phone had gone too.

‘He’s my … my brother … ’ she called out, but no one heard her.

She looked round, scanned the faces in the barn. Checked behind the bales, on the seats. Nothing. She turned to Franks, panic rising.

‘Where’s my … where’s my daughter?’

He answered, but she didn’t hear him. She searched frantically. Pulled everything apart. But the woman was gone.

And so was Josephina.

Midnight. And Easter Sunday became Easter Monday.

Michael Sloane paced the floor of the hotel room. Or as much as he could, given the tiny space they were in. The Holiday Inn outside Colchester wasn’t where they usually stayed, but that was the point. No one would look for them there, Michael had said. Having spent less than half an hour in the room, Dee agreed.

She found it small, anonymous and dull. That must match the kind of people who stayed here, she thought, then felt a shuddering memory. Her own origins were much lower than this. But she was a different person now, and she intended to stay that way.

She sat silently on the end of the bed, ankles crossed, arms behind her, watching Michael pace. She knew better than to approach him or speak to him when he was in this mood. This was no time for their intimate power-playing games. When she saw that look in his eyes, that stiffness in his back, she knew that if she even attempted to intervene or turn the situation into a game, he would hurt her. Normally she would enjoy it, give it back, even, if he was in the right mood. But not when he was like this. When the rage was on him, he could carve her up — or anyone who got in his way.

‘What … the fuck … was he thinking …?’

Dee said nothing. She had not been invited to speak.

‘Picking her phone up … speaking to the caller … idiot … ’

More pacing, more waiting from Dee. Eventually he stopped, turned to her. ‘And have you seen him? What’s he on? What’s Bracken sorted him out with now? He’s … unravelling. Becoming a danger to us.’

Dee took the direct look from Michael as her cue to talk. ‘Let’s get rid of him, then,’ she said, her voice deferential, her eyes downcast.

‘I will,’ said Michael. ‘When he’s finished this job for us, he’s gone.’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘If he’s capable of finishing this job for us.’

The pacing resumed. ‘We’ve let things get out of control, gone too far this time … too far. It’s time to leave.’

‘Where? The country?’

He nodded, still pacing. ‘The route’s been in place for years in case we need it. Nickoll can stonewall for us until we’re away.’

Dee nodded. She had expected something like this to happen sooner or later. It would be sad to go, to leave everything behind. But their lifestyle would continue. They had enough put aside to take care of that. And that was fine. Because the lifestyle would be what she couldn’t live without.

‘What about the three in the car?’

The two police officers and the Hibbert woman had been left in the 4x4. Parked at the back of the car park, covered by blankets, the Golem watching over them.

‘Hibbert I don’t care about. But we can’t risk them finding the bodies of the police officers. They’ll have to disappear.’

Dee nodded. It was what she had expected to hear.

Michael stopped pacing, stood in front of Dee. He grabbed her face, forced it upwards, made her look at him. ‘And when they disappear … we’re gone too.’

She looked into his eyes, tried to smile, as a shiver of fear ran through her.

Tyrell stared at the wall in front of him. No. It wasn’t a wall, it was a mirror. And he saw himself looking right back. But he knew it wasn’t just himself. The mirror was twoway. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were watching. He had been watched all his life. He knew when it was happening.

His hands were in his lap, under the table. His feet together, back relaxed. He felt calm and composed. At ease with himself. He felt the best he had been since he had come out of prison.

Prison. It didn’t feel like it at the time, but when he looked back, he realised he had been safe there. Happy, almost. But safe, especially. The safest he had been since childhood. Proper childhood, when it was just him and his mother. Before they went to live in the big house. With the old man who said he wanted to be his father and tried to be kind to him. And the brother and sister who only pretended to be kind to him.

He shuddered. It was one of the memories he had tried to keep hidden because it hurt to think it. But they had all come back now. The good ones along with the bad. He thought of his pretend brother and his pretend sister. How they would smile at him when their father was around or his mother was there. And how they would hurt him when it was just the three of them.

He closed his eyes. Tried to block out the things they had done to him. Too late. He had thought the thought, it was there in his head and he had to see it. He had no choice.

How they would hurt parts of his body. Pull, twist. Hit. How he would scream out and they would make him stop. Threaten to send him away from his mother if anyone heard. He would stop crying, but they wouldn’t stop hurting him. They just got worse. Sticks, tennis racquets, cricket bats. Anything was a weapon. And burning him. Tying him up, gagging him, putting lit cigarettes on his skin.

He wriggled in his seat, reliving the memory.

He could feel the rope against his skin, the knots tightening as he tried to pull away from it. He could hear the hiss and crackle of burning skin as the cigarette was applied. Smell again the nicotine smoke, the cooking flesh. His own flesh. Hear the screams and sobs in his head, the cries he couldn’t let go, that died against the gag in his mouth.