Sins of the Father, page 10
Connor, it seemed, definitely wasn’t in the mood for sharing. ‘Piss off,’ he spat as Matthew attempted to twirl him around to face him. Then, ducking out of his grasp, Connor took his chance and gave Matthew a heavy shove backwards, which really wasn’t a good idea, Matthew decided, because he was more desperate than this bloke was. More desperate by far.
‘Don’t,’ he warned him regaining his balance, as Connor moved threateningly towards him. Connor, though, clearly wasn’t about to heed his warning, and balled his fist and swung hard.
Idiot. His personal safety training coming to the fore, fury driving him, Matthew reacted instinctively. Stepping to his side and in behind him, he grabbed the man’s extended arm, dead legging him from behind as he did, then bringing the arm swiftly and violently back. Simultaneously, he brought his own left arm up and under the man’s chin, forcing him backwards over his own leg. Connor landed heavily, twisting onto his side, and Matthew wasted no time. Dropping down fast after him, his bodyweight pinning him down, he forced his knee hard into the squirming man’s shoulder.
‘Bad move, sunshine,’ he grated, wiping a hand across his mouth. ‘Where is she?’
‘I don’t know!’ Connor spluttered. ‘I haven’t seen her!’
‘Since when?’
‘Yesterday!’ Connor definitely sounded desperate now. ‘You’re hurting me!’
‘Bullshit!’ Matthew breathed in, counting hard in his head as he resisted the urge to do the man permanent damage. He knows. He knows what had happened to him. He’d been at the apartment, at the hotel room, Matthew was sure of it. And there was no way the girl would have been able to move an unconscious man on her—
‘Oi, you!’ Matthew’s thoughts were cut short by a shout from behind. ‘Get off him!’ the man closing in on him growled, his tone menacing.
Shit! Matthew eased off a fraction, but didn’t let go. Obviously his mates had glanced back and cottoned on to something. So now what did he do?
‘You heard him,’ another man said, coming to stand by Matthew’s side. Attempting to assess the situation, Matthew checked out his footwear. Trainers, he noted. If they were looking for trouble, they couldn’t do too much damage with those he was thinking, when he received an almighty kick from the other side.
‘Lay off him, you bastard,’ whoever had delivered the blow seethed, putting the boot in again. Another low body blow to the kidneys followed, causing Matthew to keel over. ‘Call the police, Joe!’ the owner of the boot yelled.
Matthew didn’t get a chance to ID himself verbally or any other way, before somebody else delivered a heel kick to the side of his head.
‘Already called ’em, mate,’ the trainer guy shouted, clutching hold of the back of Matthew’s jacket, as he rolled clear of Connor and attempted to heave himself from the ground.
Jesus. Matthew felt a heavyweight press down on his shoulders as he levered himself to his knees.
‘Sit on him!’ the boot guy shouted. More of them on him then, determined to force him face down. Aware of the wheeze in his chest, of distant sirens growing louder, Matthew fought to stay on all fours. With their combined weight on him, they’d bloody well kill him.
‘Go down, you stubborn bugger.’ Someone jabbed a fist, or an elbow, Matthew couldn’t tell, into the back of his neck.
‘Hold him! Keep him down!’ the boot guy instructed.
His strength ebbing, Matthew couldn’t tell who was shouting what any more. Couldn’t breathe. He felt the gravel of the path bite into his cheek, his lungs compress, as several bodies on top of him squeezed the air from his chest.
That was it. He was stuffed. Matthew clamped his eyes closed, his heart plummeting as he heard the squeal of tyres behind him, followed by a distinct clunk as a car mounted the kerb. He heard the car door open. A scuffle of feet, as the driver climbed out, then, ‘That’s enough, lads,’ someone yelled. ‘Police! Let the man up.’
‘Yerwhat?’ one of the men holding Matthew down gasped, disbelieving. ‘Don’t be daft. He’ll leg it.’
‘I very much doubt it. He’s a copper,’ was the droll reply. ‘I’d get off him pronto, if I were you.’
Thank God. The fight almost out of him, Matthew physically wilted, as his captives climbed reluctantly off, one of them grumbling grudgingly about police brutality as they did. Another pair of feet came into view then, one leg with a distinct limp. ‘Come on, up we come.’ Steve crouched down to his level. ‘Looks like this is another fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, doesn’t it?’
‘Definitely.’ Winded and hoarse, Matthew gratefully grabbed the hand Steve offered him. ‘You’re my guardian angel,’ he joked shakily as Steve helped him to standing.
‘Yeah.’ Steve rolled his eyes. ‘What I want to know is when do I get some bloody holiday leave?’
Matthew tried to smile, but winced instead, as a sharp pain shot through his shoulder.
‘All right?’ Steve asked, looking him over, his brow knitted in the permanent worried furrow he always seemed to wear around Matthew.
Massaging his bruises, Matthew nodded and then reached to wipe a trickle of blood from his mouth. ‘I’ll live,’ he assured him.
‘Just about.’ Shaking his head despairingly, Steve looked towards where the sirens were growing louder. ‘You need to go in, boss,’ he said, his tone grave. ‘You’re not achieving anything like this.’
‘Can’t.’ Matthew was resolute.
‘Oh, for fu—’ Steve looked at him, now utterly despairing. ‘You’re not doing anything out here that won’t get done at the station. Come on, Matt, see sense.’
Matthew noted he hadn’t said that you can’t do from the station. Meaning Steve knew as well as he did that he wouldn’t be functional if he went in now. He’d be suspended at best, banged up at worst, powerless to do anything in his own defence.
‘I have to see Natalie, Steve,’ he said adamantly, and attempted to dust himself free of the grit from the ground.
‘She’ll get seen,’ Steve insisted. ‘They’ll find her. Give me a break, hey, boss. They’ll be sending plod around to arrest me at this rate.’
Matthew’s gaze snapped back to Steve’s. ‘They’re ready to make arrests then?’ he asked warily, assuming the hotel room and suspect evidence therein had been discovered.
‘No. Not yet, as far as I know, but it’s only a matter of time before they realise you’re on the missing—’
‘I know Natalie, Steve,’ Matthew implored him. ‘She’ll talk to me.’
Steve’s gaze flicked again in the direction of the sirens, which were closing in fast, and then back to Matthew. ‘Go.’ He nodded towards the car he’d loaned him. ‘And text me a number,’ he called as, emitting a huge sigh of gratitude, Matthew headed for it.
Rebecca felt goosebumps prickle her skin as Detective Chief Inspector Davies stepped into her hall. Nodding his thanks at the officer who’d opened the door, DCI Davies looked towards her.
‘Rebecca,’ he greeted her, with the kind of forced smile that immediately had foreboding washing all over her. ‘How are you?’
‘She’s bloody ecstatic,’ Ashley supplied, coming down the stairs with a still fretful Mia hitched on her hip. ‘How else would she be with reporters camped on her lawn, policemen crawling all over the house, and her husband plastered all over …’ Glancing worriedly at Rebecca, she trailed awkwardly off.
‘Bwoody static,’ Mia emulated, around the thumb plugged into her mouth.
‘Shhhh.’ Ashley heaved her up in her arms. ‘That’s a rubbish word,’ she told her, pressing a finger to her nose, and then quickly tickling her tummy while she was distracted. Just like Matthew would, Rebecca realised, her heart constricting inside her, as Mia let out a squeal of laughter.
‘Sorry, silly question,’ DCI Davies apologised, his expression now somewhere between sympathetic and solemn.
‘It’s fine. What can I do for you, John?’ Rebecca managed, attempting some sort of civility.
‘I need to have a little word,’ John said, his eyes now definitely holding a warning. ‘You know DS Collins.’ He indicated the woman police officer behind him, who Rebecca did know, by Christian name, as she did many of Matthew’s colleagues, and which John had pointedly not used.
Trepidation twisting inside her, Rebecca acknowledged the woman, who offered her a concerned smile. ‘Jamie,’ she said, but she couldn’t muster up a smile back. The fact that he’d brought a female officer with him told Rebecca that something had happened. Something more dreadful, if that were possible, than her husband’s apparent infidelity broadcast via the internet for the whole world to see. Matthew had hinted at more. What? Had he had an affair with Jasmine? Rebecca felt her stomach clench sickeningly again. Was that about to be made public as well? She didn’t think she could bear it. For pity’s sake, why didn’t Davies just spit it out, instead of loitering in her hall looking exactly like a policeman about to deliver bad news?
Pulling in a fortifying breath, Rebecca braced herself. ‘I’m all ears, John,’ she said.
John hovered, uncertain for a second, and then stepped forward and gently took hold of her arm. ‘Do you mind if we, er …’ Glancing meaningfully back at Ashley, now at the foot of the stairs, he indicated the lounge.
Gulping back her thudding heart, which felt as if it might implode inside her, Rebecca nodded and led the way.
‘Well?’ she asked, turning questioningly towards him, as Jamie followed them in.
‘It’s about Matthew,’ DCI Davies finally imparted, glancing at Jamie, who turned unbidden to quietly close the door.
‘I gathered.’ A silent scream building inside her, as the man insisted on dragging it out, Rebecca reached agitatedly to stuff an errant tendril of hair behind her ear. As if it mattered how she looked. As if anything mattered. ‘John, what?’ she implored him.
‘Has he been in touch?’ John asked.
And Rebecca felt her legs go weak beneath her. She’d been beginning to think … Dear God. Gulping back hard, Rebecca vanquished images her mind had just conjured up of her husband lying cold and lonely on a mortuary slab. She’d been so sure he was going to say something had happened to Matthew. That she would never see him again, the tenderness in his eyes as he looked at little Mia; when he looked at her, held her in his arms, touched her, made love to her, to the very core of her. He was breaking her heart. Right now, he was tearing her apart, but he did love her. She was as sure of that as her love for him. Jasmine had been lying through her teeth. She did trust him. Rebecca repeated it again, like a mantra, over and over.
‘Becky?’ John urged her.
‘No. No he hasn’t.’ Gathering herself, Rebecca lied. She had no idea why, other than that Matthew had said he needed time. Privately she was praying, though, that in giving him that time, Matthew might somehow make her heart whole again.
John sighed heavily. His face sombre, he studied her quizzically for a second, then, ‘He’s leaving me no choice, I’m afraid. We have to bring him in, Becky,’ he said. ‘I’ve given instruction for Matthew’s details to be circulated on the Police National Computer.’
Matthew had picked up the vibes immediately. Word was out on the street and there were one or two people who had made it obvious they would take great pleasure in beating the crap out of him. According to his would be assailants, blokes who would sell their grannies on street corners, he was the lowest of the low: a copper abusing his position and taking advantage of the services on offer without paying for them. The story going around was that the disgruntled sex worker therefore had decided to name and shame him by posting the video all over the internet. Matthew had declined the invitation to offer explanations to a proprietor of a club who’d suggested his bouncers might be inclined to escort him outside. Pointing out the age of one of the strippers gyrating on stage – underage – Matthew had managed to walk away relatively unscathed.
Doubting his reception at Tony Hayes’ club would be any more cordial, Matthew went in anyway, noting the contemptuous glances from his heavies as he did. They weren’t slow to impart their opinion of him as he waited for Hayes, who was taking his own sweet time.
‘Scum,’ one Neanderthal spat, as in actually spat, as he sauntered past him, clearly confident that Matthew wouldn’t touch him.
Yep, that would be me. Glancing down, lest the man read the considerable contempt simmering inside him, Matthew laughed disdainfully and wiped the gob from his shoe with the heel of his other.
At last the doors to the ‘Gold’ lounge – reserved for A list clientele, as in men whose careers would suffer if their sordid sexual predilections were splashed all over the papers – swung open and the man himself appeared, two henchmen close behind him and blowing a fat cloud of cigar smoke out in front of him.
‘Well, I never, it’s our squeaky clean cop come to pay us a visit.’
Tony Hayes, a short, stocky, ugly bastard, whose hard as nails expression rarely altered, stopped in front of Matthew, his heavy jowls curving into a smirk. Obviously, he was finding his predicament highly amusing.
‘So what can we do for you, Detective?’ he asked him, perusing him leisurely. ‘Quickie upstairs, is it? We’ve got a gorgeous new girl, Sierra. Dark hair, legs up to her armpits, fantastic tits. Young, but old enough, if you get my drift. Right up your street, I imagine.’
His disdain now in danger of becoming all too apparent, Matthew didn’t bat an eyelid. He wouldn’t give the slimy piece of shit the satisfaction.
‘She’s happy enough to do all the work,’ Hayes went on, alluding to the video and clearly enjoying himself. ‘You’d have to bung her a bit, depending on what you want, but she’s worth it.’
Shaking his head, Matthew glanced down and back. ‘It was set up, Hayes, as you well know.’
‘Was it?’ Hayes widened his eyes in mock surprise. ‘Honestly, the levels some people will sink to. Blackmail, is it?’ He looked at Matthew interestedly, as if he gave a stuff.
‘I wondered if you might know anything about it, Tony?’ Matthew maintained his composure. Making outright accusations would get him nowhere, other than escorted none too gently from the premises. He was here unofficially, and Hayes and his mindless thugs knew it.
‘And why would that be, detective?’ His eyes narrowing to icy slits, Hayes cocked his head curiously to one side.
Sensing two hefty men moving to position themselves at the door behind him, Matthew cautioned himself to play it cool. ‘I’m not sure.’ He shrugged. ‘I was hoping you might enlighten me. Unfinished business, maybe?’
‘Which would be?’ Hayes studied him, his expression hardening to its usual cold, uncompromising glare.
‘Payback for a certain drugs consignment that went mysteriously missing?’ Matthew suggested, guessing Hayes wasn’t exactly going to be forthcoming.
His thick eyebrows shooting upwards, Hayes’ eyes widened again, this time with genuine surprise. ‘Oh, do me a favour, Detective.’ He laughed scornfully. ‘Do you honestly think I’d get involved in anything as tacky as taking porno flicks of you shagging some sad little slapper?’ Looking Matthew incredulously over, he shook his head and turned away, gesturing his heavies to stand down as he did.
‘It’s amateurish, Adams,’ he said, heading for the bar. ‘The sort of thing kids or idiots would do. I mean, given the right incentive, the girl would open her mouth to the law as fast as she’d opened her legs anyway. So what would it actually achieve?’
A drink produced and handed to him in record time, Hayes turned back. ‘No, Detective Adams. It’s not my style,’ he assured him, eyeing Matthew contemplatively over the rim of his glass. ‘If I’d wanted payback I’d have taken it some other way, trust me on that.’
He could have been playing him, but Matthew thought not. The man was ruthless in his dealings with anyone who crossed him, but somehow always managed to keep his hands clean. Targeting a copper so openly using people he couldn’t trust to keep their mouths shut really wasn’t the way Hayes operated. Knowing there was nothing further to be gained, Matthew left, unassisted, to try any other avenues he could, most of which were fast becoming closed to him.
The girls on the street were pissed with him, inevitably, he soon learned. Matthew had worked hard over the years at gaining their trust. Making it clear to every sex worker he came into contact with that he never sampled the goods, free or otherwise, had eventually won him a grudging respect, also securing him useful informants in various places. Now he appeared to have broken that trust, he was finding it difficult to get anyone to talk to him at all. He was only moderately surprised when one girl he approached, eyed him disdainfully, blew out a fat bubble of gum, and then popped it in his face. ‘Up yours, copper,’ she said, raising a middle finger and walking away.
He spent several more hours scouring the streets, handing out what money he had like it was going out of fashion. Over the years he’d offered girls more than the amount he might normally part with for information, which tended to be more than he should. Steve had called him naïve, pointing out that they were more likely to nip up the road to their supplier for their next fix than get out of the rain and grab a coffee.
Steve was right. Clearly, he was naïve. Never in his wildest dreams would Matthew have imagined Natalie being coerced into … screwing him, basically. She’d obviously received some inducement. Some bloody considerable inducement. But then, it was business, after all. He’d just been another sad punter at the end of the day. Another loser.
Weary with pounding the pavements and getting nowhere, and the grey drabness all around him, which seemed to be seeping into his bones, Matthew tried to quell the bitterness gnawing away at him. He’d genuinely had a soft spot for Natalie. Seeing her lying in a hospital bed, having been on the receiving end of Sullivan’s handiwork, he’d promised her the animal would get what was coming to him. He’d made good his promise. He’d covered Natalie’s back ever since. Disappointment didn’t come close to how he felt now. Used, was the only way to describe it. Abused. He quashed that thought down along with the humiliation that went with it and headed back to Natalie’s bedsit, a pit compared to the upmarket pad Sullivan had had her installed in, the one she frequently ‘walked into doors’ in.
