The Trophy Taker Page 15

  Pushing the letter box open, she shone the spotlight from her phone into the hallway, shouting out Moses’ name. Two figures were huddled inside, towels held to their mouths.

  ‘Charlie, is that you?’ a voice said and for the second time in an hour she recognised his distinctive low drawl. ‘Is it safe to come out?’

  ‘Yes, yes. It’s me. Come out,’ she screamed over the sound of the engines.

  The door opened and Moses shuffled out, his arm around Claudette protectively. Apart from looking dishevelled and anxious from the ordeal, they appeared otherwise to be unharmed. Charlie couldn’t stop herself throwing her arms around them both. She was so relieved.

  ‘I left it too late, didn’t I?’ Moses shook his head. ‘I didn’t think he would actually do anything until I saw him flicking his lighter. I was hoping you’d get to him first before he ran away.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Moses. I came as quick as I could. I thought you’d have pressed the panic alarm at the same time as you called me. Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, we’re fine. I put the flames out with the extinguishers and sealed up the bedroom and then we came down here to wait by the front door. There was just smoke. I didn’t want to come out straightaway in case he was waiting for us.’

  ‘Is anyone else in there?’ A fire fighter was striding towards them.

  Moses shook his head. ‘No, it was just us.’

  Charlie put her arm through Claudette’s and led her and Moses out to the street as the firefighters streamed into the house. A row of police cars, fire engines and an ambulance was now lined up, their blue lights all flashing haphazardly. She took the elderly couple over to the waiting ambulance and watched as the crew helped them aboard, wrapping bright red blankets over their night clothes. She saw her colleague Bill Morley speaking to some of the gathered crowd and beckoned him over. They would be safe with him. For now.

  *

  It had been fucking brilliant throwing the petrol bomb. He couldn’t stop himself laughing as he’d launched it at the window. The explosion had been impressive, the way the petrol had ignited in a ball of fire. He’d hoped to hear some squeals of terror, some screams of pain, maybe even see the bastards alight but that hadn’t happened. It hadn’t been as effective as he’d hoped. Then he’d seen that woman detective again and decided it was time to leave.

  Maybe he’d try it again but with a larger bottle next time; or with two or three together through different windows. There were quite a few different ways to skin a cat.

  For the moment though he had to sort something out. He strolled around a corner away from the noise and smoke, slipping into the shadows silently and pulled out a Stanley knife from his pocket. There was someone following him.

  *

  Ben had disappeared. He’d been animated during the journey up, whooping at times at the speed of her driving. She’d told him to stay in the car on their way but half expected him to be right behind her, watching over everything she did. Now he was nowhere in sight.

  She tapped his name into her phone and waited for him to pick up, wondering why he didn’t say anything when the line clicked in.

  ‘Where are you, Ben?’

  ‘I’m following a guy,’ his voice was quiet and slightly nervy. ‘When we arrived I saw him dart away. He stared at you for ages and then left. I don’t know if he had anything to do with it but he just looks wrong.’

  ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘Tall, muscular white guy, in his late thirties, quite erratic, likes he’s on something.’

  As he gave the description, Charlie felt a shiver of fear run down her spine. It was Cornell Miller. It had to be. ‘Where are you?’ She had to get to him quickly, before it was too late.

  ‘I don’t really know. I’ve been following him for a while now. We’re in an estate back in the direction that we came from. Hang on; he’s just gone round a corner. When I catch up with him, I’ll see if there’s a block name.’

  ‘Ben, stay where you are.’

  She was already running. She guessed the estate and it wasn’t that far. As soon as Ben confirmed the name of the block she’d get some more backup on way. She could hear shouting from the handset. She started to sprint. Pushing the receiver to her ear, she tried to hear what was happening. She heard Ben cry out but his voice sounded distant, the handset seemingly away from his mouth. It sounded like a fight but she couldn’t tell whether the sound came from the phone or through the air.

  She ran into the estate, homing in on the noise. Turning a corner, she found Ben lying in a crimson pool, clutching the top of his arm. Blood was pouring from a deep cut and she could see further slash marks to his hands, where he’d apparently tried to fend off his attacker. She rushed to his side and knelt down next to him, glancing up to see the shape of a man disappearing around the end of the block ahead. He turned and stopped for a moment; it was Cornell Miller, she’d never forget his face. She wanted to chase him but she had nothing to fight him with and Ben needed tending. She had to let him go. Miller was laughing as she pushed the phone back up to her ear to summon an ambulance.

  ‘You’re too late, DC Stafford. You’ll never get me.’ He lifted the Stanley knife up, making a play of slashing it through the air and screamed out loud maniacally. ‘Next time, it’ll be you.’

  *

  Hunter met Charlie at the hospital on Saturday morning. She was sitting with Ben waiting for him to finish his treatment. The main laceration was to his upper left arm. This had been cleaned and seventeen stitches now held the wound together. He was waiting for further stitches to be put into the cuts on his hands where he had tried to protect himself, but X-rays had confirmed they were superficial, with no damage to ligaments or tendons. Fortunately his jacket had borne the brunt of the Stanley knife blade. Several neat slashes in the thick cotton fabric now showed where Miller had struck.

  ‘I heard all about what happened. How are you both?’

  ‘Well I’m fine and Ben’s been lucky. Quite a few stitches but nothing too serious and nothing permanent, except maybe a few scars.’

  ‘He was the lucky one,’ Ben interjected. ‘If I hadn’t been chatting to Charlie on the phone, I would have been ready for him. He must have heard me speaking and hid round the corner; jumped me as I came into view, but I did manage to get a few well-aimed kicks in, which sent him flying. He didn’t dare come back at me after his initial go.’

  ‘Thankfully. He’s one of the most violent men I’ve ever dealt with. It could have been much worse.’ Charlie turned to Ben. ‘You should have stayed in the car like I told you or at least let me know where you were going!’ She felt awful for not having realised.

  ‘He was very brave, Charlie. There’re not many coppers that would have even noticed what Ben saw, or gone after Miller on their own, never mind civvies. Anyway it sounds like you had your hands full with Moses.’

  Hunter didn’t often give praise, certainly not that freely. She looked up and saw him give the most imperceptible of nods, coupled with a look in his eyes that told her to shut up, immediately. For a second she was confused but then she realised what he meant. Scolding Ben like she had would emasculate him and knock his confidence. She hadn’t meant to; but for a strong military man like Ben to be told that he should have sat still or checked with her first about following Miller was misplaced and totally insensitive. He had made a decision, and it was a courageous one. He didn’t need her permission. Anyone could have done it. It was just a shame he hadn’t known quite what he was up against. He had done well in the circumstances.

  Hunter was right and in that moment she realised why she respected him so much and loved him. He was her role model, the father she wished she’d had. He just had that intuition to know what needed to be said. Ben had been brave, but it hadn’t worked out quite the way he had hoped. He could have stayed at her mum’s but instead he had come out into the cold to keep her company. He needed to be told how much it was appreciated, not admonished for failing to tell her w
here he was going. She gave Ben’s knee a squeeze.

  ‘Yes, you’re right, boss. I didn’t even notice Miller.’ She turned to Ben, who was still looking embarrassed and crest-fallen. ‘If you hadn’t spotted him making off from the scene and followed him, I wouldn’t have been able to identify him and we wouldn’t have the evidence to pin the arson on him. Moses couldn’t say it was definitely him. He couldn’t see properly in the darkness. I’m sorry for telling you off. I was just worried. There was so much blood.’

  She looked up at Hunter and again saw the tiniest of nods. When she turned back to Ben his face was glowing.

  ‘And Moses? How is he?’ She hadn’t heard anything further.

  ‘Naz and Sabira have come in and are dealing with him and Claudette. They are both good and unhurt and are making statements. Even the house is pretty well still intact, just a bit of fire and smoke damage to the bedroom and the smashed window. You and Naz had briefed him well on what to do in case of an emergency; it’s a shame he didn’t put the instructions into practice sooner. Naz has given Moses a gentle telling-off, as only Naz can. Apparently he didn’t want to bother police until he was sure. Just you.’ Hunter laughed. ‘As Lambeth’s number one crime-fighting weapon, he thought you’d be able to get Miller single-handedly.’

  ‘I wish I could have lived up to his expectations.’ She laughed too but underneath the words, she didn’t feel like smiling.

  Hunter stood up to leave.

  ‘Thanks for coming in especially, boss. We do appreciate it.’

  ‘No worries. Keep me posted on how you get on. You both did extremely well.’

  She heard the words but didn’t believe them. She’d certainly tried, especially without the security of having her safety equipment and radio, but in her own mind she’d failed. Moses and Claudette were lucky not to have been burnt alive, Ben was fortunate not to have been seriously injured and, even though she had every justification in the world for staying with Ben and tending to his wounds, she’d chosen to let Cornell Miller go.

  Chapter 22

  JJ watched as Roger left for his conference. He was suddenly depressed at being alone again, after such a short reunion. He enjoyed all the time they spent together. They rarely argued and if they did it was short-lived and normally about inconsequential rubbish.

  He grabbed his coat and decided to go for a walk. The sea in October was often spectacular and it might lift his mood. You could walk along the seafront for miles and rarely would anyone ever bother you. Tonight was no exception. He walked slowly, breathing in the sea air. It was fresh and cold; and the tiny molecules of salty spray whipped up by the wind stung against his cheeks, making them feel moist and grainy. He loved the freedom of Brighton, so different from the estates and concrete of London. He’d done this on many occasions when he wanted to escape. Walked and walked and forgotten. However troubled his mind was, the sea always calmed him. It was constant. It had always been there. However much its mood changed from welcoming tranquillity to wrathful fury, it would still be there the next day and the next, and he liked that. He needed a constant.

  He walked for miles, not caring who saw him, not looking for anyone, just walking. Evening became night. The promenade emptied of even the few residents out late with their dogs, the last joggers finishing off their weekend with a burst of energy. He felt as alone as he’d ever felt.

  By the time he got back to the central pier it was gone ten. He climbed down on to the stony beach, and walked across the larger stones to where the pebbles lay in mounds, ground down by the constant motion of the waves. The surface shimmered with residual reflections from the glitzy displays and winking lights of the penny arcades on the pier. He sat down on the top of a mound and stared out to sea. Some nights when JJ had been out walking it wasn’t even safe to venture on to the beach, nights when roller after roller crashed down, hurling stones at anyone who dared get too close. Tonight was different. The waves were large and indignant, as if they were discontented, rather than furious and raging. They crashed on to the pebbles, sending them spiralling out of reach in front of them, before sucking them back quickly into their grasp.

  He stared at the ebb and flow of each wave watching as it visited and left, the small smooth pebbles scurrying in its wake. As he watched, he noticed one particular stone. It was larger than the others and slightly misshaped so it moved less and was more immune to the force of the water. He concentrated on the stone, marvelling at how steady it stayed, while all around the smaller stones danced to the tune of the waves.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  The voice behind him was low and he could hardly hear it over the noise of the shoreline. He turned and saw the shape of a man, silhouetted against the last remaining lights on the promenade.

  ‘I was worried. I thought you might be in danger. I saw you earlier and I thought you looked distracted. You’re very close to the waves.’

  He stayed sitting still facing out to sea. He didn’t really want to talk but the man sounded friendly; concerned even.

  ‘I’ll go away if you want me to, as long as you’re all right. But if you need someone to talk to…’

  The man left the sentence unfinished. There was no pressure; just an offer of help; a genuine moment of concern from a Good Samaritan. In Brighton there were many who knew the high suicide rates among the gay community and the anguish of being different and trying to fit in with a society that wanted everyone to fall within an accepted norm. The man was just being friendly. Who was he to shun this offer?

  ‘Thanks. I’m fine, but I’m happy to talk.’ He turned towards the man, who was wrapped up warmly against the cold. Only a small part of his face was visible from within the hooded top pulled tightly over his head, but he was smiling. The man held out his hand and he took hold of it. The man’s grip was strong and his skin warm. He suddenly didn’t feel alone. The man pulled him upwards until he was standing, continuing to hold his grip even when he was fully upright. JJ didn’t attempt to pull away.

  ‘So, do you want me to walk with you?’

  JJ looked at his physique, large and athletic with a thick neck and bulky shoulders. He was strong and secure while he was weak, like the little pebbles on the beach. Roger was not there to be his rock, but this man was. He did want to walk with him; his voice sounded warm and friendly and vaguely familiar. He didn’t want to be on his own. He wanted to be with someone tonight and he didn’t really care who.

  He nodded back at the man and they started to walk slowly back towards the promenade.

  *

  JJ hadn’t changed much after all these years, not like he had. He was still thin and wiry, like he had been as a child and his eyes were still haunted. His honey blond hair was thinner now and both ears were pierced, but he was still baby-faced and he still had the appearance of a lost boy. It was that look that had always attracted him.

  JJ had only been young when they had met, having run away from a care home into the solace of his arms. It had been easy. The boy craved love and he was readily available to oblige. He had all the time in the world and in his position nobody would ever suspect that he got as much from their relationship as JJ. He had loved JJ with all his heart and with all his body, watching as he changed from a boy to a man and revelling in the way he could mould him whichever way he wished, do with him whatever he desired. Sometimes if his passion made him a bit rough, it didn’t matter because it was done with love. JJ was putty in his hands, or so he had thought, so he had been distraught when JJ, the man had run away. He had searched for him for ages, months and months driving from one place to another, acting on tips only to find he was too late. JJ had moved on. JJ was not there. JJ had found someone. JJ didn’t want to see him ever again.

  The knowledge had been hard to bear. That’s when he had gone travelling, spending time in other countries, moving around poverty-stricken areas where life was cheap and death was a blessing; meeting, loving, killing; moving, meeting, loving, killing; always restless, always searching. That�
��s when his heart had hardened again, after fighting his compulsion for several years. That’s when his desire to avenge each heartbreak had reawakened. That’s when he’d started the list.

  JJ was on his list, after Susan, the next to feel his revenge; second in the refreshed record, which continued to grow with every new romantic disappointment. He fell in love easily.

  Finding JJ and walking with him now, he could tell he was still the same vulnerable boy, still the man who craved love. Even though now in his forties he could only think of JJ as a boy. He always would. He took hold of his hand again, but this time all he could feel was the thick gold ring, a symbol of his love for his partner Roger, the metal band punching a freezing spike through his palm.

  ‘Are you on your own tonight?’ He knew the answer.

  JJ nodded.

  ‘Do you want to come back to my place?’

  JJ nodded again.

  They were nearly at his car now. It was parked in a backstreet, with his kit in the back and a small vial of liquid measured out ready. It had all gone to plan. JJ could never turn down the chance of attention.

  He opened the door and JJ got in, undid his trouser fly and splayed his legs without a word, as quiet as a church mouse. Maybe he did still want him. He climbed in next to his prey, and turned, kissing him roughly, thrusting his hand down against his groin. JJ’s eyes remained open, fixed and staring straight out through the windscreen. He barely reacted to his touch, wanting only the physical pleasure; not able to return any of the love he so wanted; the mental and spiritual connection that he desired.