Bad Apple, page 25
‘So? Where did you get that creep, Vince, to hide her?’
‘Oh, bless you. You really think she’s alive, don’t you? God, you’re pathetic.’
My heartbeat reverberates inside my ribcage; I press my palm on my breastbone, feeling it pulsating against it. At least it’s still beating. Don’t rise to it. He’s lying.
I don’t want to play this game anymore.
‘Okay. So what now? Where do we go from here, John?’
He sniffs loudly. Steps towards me. ‘You see, I’ve worked real hard to get where I am today. Despite your attempts to bring everything crashing down.’
‘You have Francesca Withers to thank for that – I mean, if we’re assigning gratitude to the correct people. Because, had she not been brave enough to send that message to your burner, I’d never have found out you’re a rapist.’
‘Oh, now, now. Don’t be modest. You were more worthy of thanks than you are comfortable recalling. You shouldn’t pretend you didn’t see the signs.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You were careful to hide your true self. No one suspected you for the repulsive things you did. Are still doing.’
‘You saw what you wanted to see. Ignored what you didn’t want to face. That makes you implicit.’
‘That makes half the Salford CID and beyond implicit. Some more so than others.’ Blood rushes to my face, the burning hurts my cheeks and makes me realise how cold the rest of me has become.
‘If that’s how you sleep at night, babe.’
I flinch. The way he’s saying ‘babe’ is grating on my nerves. My fists clench by my sides. I could get one hit in before he launches himself at me. But before I push him to the brink, I need him to admit to what he’s done. All Hannah needs is him bragging about his crimes, how he’s raped multiple women, abused and attacked them, manipulated and coerced them. How he is part of a wider group of corrupt members of the force, that he and others have covered up what he’s done . . . and I don’t want to think about what each of those people has done in addition to clearing up John’s messes. People capable of that are likely to be neck-deep in their own shit too.
John begins to circle me, like a shark breaking down its prey’s defences before it goes in for the kill. My stomach bubbles with anticipation. He doesn’t seem to be armed, but he could easily be concealing a weapon. Just as I am. Very slowly, I begin to take a step back with each loop he makes around me, gradually steering us towards the back of the warehouse. My foot snags the corner of a large box and I falter. John’s hand shoots out to grab hold of me, preventing my fall.
‘Steady on. Can’t have you having an accident now, can we?’ he sneers. ‘Not prematurely.’
‘Ruin your big plan, would it?’ I pull my arm from his grasp, but we’re still too close. I can smell the sourness of his breath and screw up my nose, turning away sharply. ‘Jesus. Heard of a toothbrush?’ I say, knowing the simple, disparaging comment will irk him.
‘Why don’t you just fuck off, Becky!’ He lunges, and both my arms are suddenly in a vice-like grip, his face is in mine; we’re nose to nose. ‘Always thought you were something special, eh? Coming up here, all high and mighty. You’re nothing. Just a kid of dead fishermen.’
‘You’ve always been good at dishing it out, never could stomach being on the receiving end.’
‘Whatever. I’ve had enough of the games now.’ He shoves me, my back hitting against a stack of boxes. I try to shuffle sideways, so I’m not trapped, but John slams his hand into the centre of my chest, pinning me in place. My instinct is to go on the attack, get out of this, but I know I need it to look convincing for the recording. What if Hannah isn’t even here? No! Don’t think like that. I have to trust she is and give the performance of my life. Vulnerability is what John enjoys, what he feeds off, and I need to give him just that. No self-defence, no heroics – this evidence has to be strong, needs to demonstrate what he’s capable of. It has to be enough proof to ensure he’s put away for a very long time. And with luck, he won’t be alone come judgement day. If I shake the apple tree violently enough, I’ll watch all the bad ones fall. And I’ll relish each and every one.
God, I hope Hannah has a clear view. She said she’d done a reccy prior to us luring John here, and from what she said, I assumed it had no blind spots. But now, in this position, I’m not confident that’s the case. I should move us out into the open more, away from the shield of these boxes.
‘If you’ve had enough of games, why did you come here?’
‘For you, Becky.’ He pushes his groin into me and moves one hand to my throat. ‘You always did like it rough,’ he whispers into my neck, then scrapes his teeth across my skin. I gasp.
‘Get off me.’ I wriggle my arms to get them closer to my chest and ready to push him.
‘Come on. For old times’ sake. One. Last. Time.’ He releases the hand from my throat, unzips his trousers.
‘No! I said get off me John, you’re disgusting.’ I push him with all my might and manage to unbalance him. I use this brief interlude to move away from the boxes. I cast my gaze around quickly, but can’t see any evidence of Hannah. She’s here, though. I can sense her. She’s just doing a good job of covert observation. Better than I could ever do.
But, I have my role to play. And as John strides towards me, I know it’s not over yet.
‘Playing hard to get?’ He shrugs. ‘I like it. Adds a bit of spice.’
‘Say that to all the women you’ve raped?’
He snorts. ‘Oh, Becky. I realise your jealousy was always an issue. I tried so hard to make you feel special. Like you were the only one for me – all I ever needed. But, truth be told, you were a necessity. You ensured I always stayed under the radar, was seen as a respectable serving officer. You helped me become the man I am today. And people say women are only good for one thing.’ He clasps my cheeks between his thumb and fingers, his fingertips digging in hard. Pain sears through muscle, teeth and bone, triggering tears to spring to my eyes. His tongue licks at them, like a cat lapping up spilt milk.
‘You won’t get away with hurting me, John.’ I force the words between my contorted lips, through the agony of his grip.
‘I’m pretty sure I will.’ He smiles as he pushes me backwards using the hand on my face, the other is rummaging around in his trousers. Dread sits heavy inside my body, a scream building as he begins tearing at my clothes. I swallow my terror back down. In my weakened state following the concussion, I hadn’t considered he would rape me before going in for the kill. The plan was to film him in the act of attempted murder. I’m going to have to go through a sexual assault before Hannah calls for the backup to storm this place.
My strength leaks from every muscle; my arms hang uselessly by my side and my legs wobble. And then I feel the cold, hard blade against my skin and it reverses, everything tensing back up. I narrow my eyes as my mind struggles to comprehend what’s happening.
He is armed with a knife, that’s what he was retrieving from his trousers. My own weapon is unreachable.
‘I mean, it’s not a flawless plan,’ he says, tracing the point of the knife along my jawline, then lowering it to my throat. He pauses, the tip resting above where I imagine my jugular vein is, and I freeze. I feel my bounding pulse and I’m scared that if I so much as breathe, the knife will pierce my vein. ‘My DNA will inevitably be on your body, vice versa – but you know – you were so desperate for a reconciliation after the trouble you caused me, that you came to my place looking to hook up. Whatever evidence can’t be explained will . . .’ he smiles, ‘simply disappear. Puff.’
Here we go. This is the stuff I need from him. Implicating other corrupt cops is perfect.
But do I want to die on this hill in the process of extricating it?
The images of Fran, her child’s discarded toys, left to crumble like old headstones in a cemetery, the list of names in the journal – the many women I suspect have been abused by John – Nina and Millie, who will suffer at his hands in the future.
Yes. I’m up for taking the risk. It’ll all be on film at least.
Chapter 53
NOW
BECKY
John doesn’t blink. He’s glaring at me, waiting for me to say something. He wants me to speak; desperate for his moment to show off. And I want him to remove the knife from my throat, give me some breathing space – literally and figuratively. I lift an eyebrow, silently communicating my wishes. He rolls his eyes. The pressure of the blade disappears, but I know he’s still holding it close, so I don’t make a sudden movement. Just breathe at a natural pace. My lack of vocalisation even now the knife is lowered seems to annoy him.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ he says, then laughs. ‘I would say you’d die an old spinster surrounded by a load of manky cats, but as it is, I’ll be sparing you of that humiliation.’
‘Meaning?’ I mumble. He finally loosens his fingers on my face, drops his hand so I can speak more freely.
‘I think you know what I mean, Becky.’
‘All this because you couldn’t let go,’ I say, a flare of anger bringing heat to my face. A moment of confusion flickers behind his eyes. ‘You didn’t want me to leave you alone – couldn’t bear the thought of losing my attention. Ahh, poor John. Afraid of being forgotten. Insignificant. You revelled in the spotlight I shone on you. Without it, you were merely in the shadows – boring, steadfast John Lawson.’
‘Shut up.’ He holds the knife up again. ‘I know what you’re doing. And it’s sad.’
‘Sad?’ I have to show some guts now, try to turn the tables, so I push the arm holding the knife away and begin stepping forwards, telling him how bullying and coercing women is the saddest thing – jabbing my finger in his chest with each word I speak to hammer it home.
Of course he knows I’m goading him, and there’s a strong possibility he’ll realise why I’m doing it, but that won’t stop him from snapping. Men like him always do in the end. While not all rapists are psychopaths, I suspect John – who is a serial offender and likely does have the capacity to commit murder – is. I touched upon criminal psychology in my degree, and working for five years in Salford CID brought me into contact with a number of people displaying violent, antisocial behaviour and psychopathic traits. If I were assessing John, it would be tick after tick.
So, why didn’t I recognise those traits when I was with him? Will I ever quash the anger that rises up when I think about them now, and my own actions of pushing any negatives aside? Ultimately, John’s right with what he said. I shouldn’t pretend I didn’t see the signs. I ignored them. I’ve aided and abetted his behaviour, helped shape him into what he is. But now I have the chance to remedy it.
‘Okay, you’ve had your moment,’ he says, stopping, counteracting my force so I can no longer push him. He grabs at my hand on his chest, squeezing my fingers then twisting them.
‘That it? You’re so weak, John. The inability to control yourself is astounding. How the hell did you even get into the police in the first place? Oh, wait. Of course.’ I give a dramatic laugh. ‘Someone on the inside helped you.’ I sigh and shake my head. ‘Can’t do anything on your own merit. What a loser.’
His hand trembles with the effort of tightening his grasp. I clench my jaw to try and ride out the crushing pain. ‘Taken a good look at yerself lately, love? Pretty grim, eh? Shithole of a flat, only a cat for company. Oh, well – until he left you too. And guess what? You only got that place ’cos of me. You’re welcome.’
The bastard. He had orchestrated it and then somehow made it seem that Hannah had found the place. It’s what Danny was getting at. A knot of hatred tightens in my stomach. But I can’t allow my emotions to distract me. I look him in the eye as I calmly utter my comeback. ‘Like I said. You couldn’t let go. Needed to interfere, meddle in my life still. I feel sorry for you.’
‘You won’t feel anything soon.’
A cracking sound, followed by a sharp pain makes me realise he’s snapped a finger or two on my right hand.
‘Oh dear, sorry about that.’
His eyes light up with my involuntarily moan. Sneering, he drops my hand. I don’t look at the damage, it’ll make it worse if I see my deformed digits. ‘You’ve done worse,’ I say between gritted teeth.
‘Not to you I haven’t.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion.’
‘Of course you’d say that. But, hey – you got out of the way of the bloody car, didn’t you?’
My heart skips a few beats. ‘You were the one who tried to run me over? Coward.’
‘If it was me, there’s no way I’d have fucking missed. If you want a job done, you gotta do it yourself.’
‘Well, yeah – it’s a real cop-out if you get others to do your dirty work. Second nature to you, though, isn’t it? Surprised you didn’t get your local thugs to attack the women for you, too. Or were they only reserved for officers?’
‘You’re trying to paint me as being a bit of a monster here, Becky. Come on, I never killed any of them slags. Just did a bit of . . . business with them. Mutual, of course.’
‘There was no consent involved and you know it. I know it. I saw the messages, heard the evidence, read—’
‘And none of that counts for shit now, does it? Because you’re fuckin’ useless. Lost it all. You’re pathetic, incompetent. You dare to call me the loser. Hah.’
I blink with every word he spits in my face; his use of insults are his tactic, a way to demean me like he did last year after I found out what he was. For a split second, I recoil, shrinking into myself as I did then, too.
‘No!’ I open my eyes wide as a surge of adrenaline triggers my fight response. ‘That shit won’t work on me anymore, John.’ I step forwards to move past him, protecting my damaged fingers with my good hand.
John puts his arm out in front of me, slides the knife under my T-shirt. ‘Don’t. Move.’
I freeze, my muscles immobilising. ‘Why? You gonna kill me if I do?’
‘I’ll gut you like your dead pa used to gut his fish.’
A cold trickle of fear runs down my back. Is a threat to kill enough? Will Hannah alert the backup team now? I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up. Or how much longer I have to live.
‘Why are you so hellbent on killing me, John? I’d have thought you’d enjoy having an intelligent adversary – keep it exciting for you. Showing off how clever you are is something you crave, isn’t it? Without me around, who are you going to brag to? Nina?’
‘And there it is. You’re jealous,’ he scoffs. ‘You can’t bear knowing I’m with another woman, can you? Bet you got into a right strop when you found out we have a kid together. Must’ve hurt. Knowing I didn’t want one with you.’ He laughs, the sound echoing. ‘I knew, see, that Nina was up the duff – and I was glad. She’s more of a mothering kind. You’re too focused on clamouring to the top. Not good parenting material.’
‘You haven’t got a clue – you don’t know me now. Maybe you never did. But it’s you who’s bitter. You never thought I’d throw you out, did you?’
‘It’s all by the by now, and it doesn’t matter anymore. But to set the record straight, you might’ve got in first by evicting me from my own home, but I’d have left anyway. I wanted to be a proper family with Nina and our Millie. You were never part of my future.’ He presses the knife into my side, the tip feeling as though it will push through at any second.
‘Bored of raping now? Need to up the thrills to murder?’
‘Yeah, I’ve had my fun. Let’s shut you up for good, eh?’ He pulls his knife-wielding hand back, readying himself to ram it in hard.
I go into survival mode. Inhaling sharply, I twist my body, sidestepping at the same time, and then duck down to retrieve my weapon from my sock. Before I can pull it out, a booted foot to my temple knocks me over and I sprawl out on the ground. The same boot propels itself into my stomach and I double up on the floor, curling my body like a baby in the womb as I lose all the air from my lungs.
‘Enough,’ I say in a breathy gasp. John laughs. But I’m not saying it to him. ‘Enough!’ I manage with more power to my voice. ‘Enough,’ I repeat for the third time. This is the signal – to ensure backup storm in and put a stop to John’s attempted murder of me. And, in this moment, I know even though I haven’t got him to confess all I’d hoped, Hannah will have enough on film to get the bastard put away.
‘I say when it’s enough,’ John says as he pulls his foot back, ready to strike again. But just before I close my eyes so I don’t have to see it coming, the foot stops its momentum – suspending in midair as though this is a TV show and the viewer has pressed pause on the remote. Tears of relief sting my face as I hear another pair of boots rushing up.
Backup has arrived.
I roll away from John, and look to the rear of the warehouse, where the footsteps originated. Hannah is coming towards John, and it looks as though her hands are raised. I squint. She can’t have got a gun, but it’s too dull in here to decipher. Given John stopped immediately and is now standing, shocked and silent, I guess she must have something. Maybe the camera is rolling. A twinge of concern ripples through me. Stowing it until John is safely arrested and can’t damage it might’ve been the best option, not showing him what we’ve done. But it’s fine. She’s called for backup, and they’ll be here any second.
‘Thank fuck,’ I say as she nears me. I struggle to get up off the ground. I need to get to Hannah’s side, create a strong defensive line. ‘Where are the others?’
Hannah takes my arm, and although I can’t relax yet, my body slumps against hers – my adrenaline waning now I know I’m not going to die.
‘You hurt?’ she asks, her gaze fixed on John.
‘A bit.’ I hold up my oddly bent fingers.
‘John Lawson,’ she says. I smile, knowing what’s coming. At last.
