He really thought he had me. I walked around him, my gun still pointed at his head. The banging on his door was getting more insistent. I had about a minute, if that, before the door gave way. McAuley tried to twist his body to follow my movements. My gun against his temple soon persuaded him not to. But he wouldn't stop talking.
'You and me, Tobey, we live in the real world. We know the way things really work. Those that don't know, don't want to know. It's too much for them to take in. Life in Meadowview doesn't happen to them, so it doesn't happen at all. But we know different, don't we?'
Standing behind McAuley, I pulled the top of the small plastic bag apart. The top of the bag gaped open like a transparent mouth.
'It's that knowledge that has made me rich,' McAuley continued. 'And it will make you even richer than me, 'cause you're a smart guy, Tobey.'
'You don't get it, do you, Mr McAuley?' I said. 'This was never about money. This was about you. Why d'you think I did all this? I know you tried to kill me and Callie got hurt instead. All I cared about was bringing you down.'
'Then why didn't you just go to the police?'
'The police were my last resort. I didn't know how many of them were in your pocket. Besides, it's not exactly the Meadowview way, is it?'
'Seems to me that wouldn't've stopped you.'
'You're right. If there was no other way to get you then I would've taken my chances with the police.'
'Don't you see, Tobey,' said McAuley, 'you and I are the same. We go after what we want and we're ruthless about getting it.'
'In your dreams, McAuley. I'm nothing like you.'
'No?' He smiled. 'Look at yourself. Tell me that gun in your hand doesn't make you feel powerful. Tell me this situation isn't giving you the adrenalin rush of your life. Tell me otherwise and I won't believe you.'
I didn't want to hear any more. I couldn't think straight with his words dripping like poison into my ears. Time to shut him up.
'Open your mouth,' I ordered.
McAuley tilted back his head. 'What?'
'You heard,' I said. 'Open up.'
He slowly did as I'd asked. I tipped the whole bag of white powder into his mouth. He writhed on the ground, kicking frantically as he tried to spit it out, but I clamped my hand over his lips, forcing him to swallow.
'This stuff means so much to you?' I hissed. 'Choke on it.'
His eyes raged against mine, but I couldn't hear or feel a thing. I kept my hand against his mouth and my gun against his head. He was the one who'd tried to shoot me down in cold blood, only he'd hit Callie instead. He was the one who'd decided I was a danger to him because I'd unknowingly delivered Ross Resnick's finger to his wife Louise and the police had become involved. If he'd just left me alone, none of this would be happening.
The door was beginning to splinter. It was all over.
Outside the door there was a loud unexpected bang. Then another. And another. Gunshots. Each shot was loud as the devil's shout and reverberated right through me. Did McAuley's men have guns salted away throughout the warehouse? Maybe they'd got tired of banging on the door and were shooting out the lock. Another gunshot, louder than before . . . closer than before. I pressed my gun against McAuley's head, my finger on the trigger. He was coughing and retching. He could dish it out to anyone who wanted it and could pay, but he sure couldn't take it. The door burst open. I was ready. When I went down, so would McAuley.
Standing in the doorway was . . . Dan.
He had the P99 in his hand and two dead men at his feet.
'Get out of here, Tobey,' he said grimly. 'The police will be here any minute. The guards outside must've woken up by now.'
'Dan . . .' I stared at him. 'I thought . . .'
'I know what you thought. Go, before I change my mind.'
'But I can't just leave . . .'
'Yes, you can. You need to go,' Dan ordered.
'McAuley's got more men on their way.'
'The police will get here first.'
'Dan, I don't understand. What made you change your mind?' I couldn't help asking.
'I'm damned if I know,' he said. 'I owe you. You owe me. Everything is screwed up. Tobey, there are times, like now, when I hate your guts.'
'Then why?'
'The McAuleys of this world can't always win. Not all the time,' said Dan. 'And you and me, we were friends once.'
'We were friends,' I agreed. 'Once.'
Dan walked over to McAuley, watching with contempt as he vomited all over his suit, white powder smeared around his lips and frothing in his mouth.
'Dan, you don't have to stay here. Come with me,' I said.
He shook his head, adding with a defeated smile, 'Tobey, haven't you figured out by now, this is my proper place. But don't worry about me. McAuley and I have some business to take care of. Then it's every man for himself.'
I wanted to argue with him, but it would've been futile. I looked from Dan to McAuley, who was still retching. I didn't know if McAuley had brought it all up and I didn't care any more. I just wanted to be away from here. Away from all of them, including Dan. They made me heartsick. I went to walk past Dan, but he put out a hand to bar my way.
'Give me McAuley's gun,' he said.
We regarded each other. Laying the gun in Dan's open hand, I carried on walking. Would I feel the bullet tear into my back or hear the gun go off – which would be first? I looked straight ahead as I left the room. I could see nothing but Callie's warm, brown eyes smiling at me. I held onto her image. If Dan was going to kill me, then at least I'd die with her on my mind, at least I'd die happy.
I got McAuley for you, Callie, I thought with a grim smile. I got him.
Just as I'd promised her and myself when I'd cradled her in my arms at the Wasteland.
All this because of packages and deliveries and Ross Resnick and money. Thanks to my greedy impatience, I'd let myself get caught up in it. And thanks to my naïvety, so had Callie Rose. And because of me, Rebecca . . .
Rebecca.
Forgive me . . .
Who was I talking to? What was I hoping for? I was seeking absolution in a warehouse filled with blood. I blinked as I walked out of the building and into the moonlight. I was still standing. But only just. Behind me a single gunshot sounded. I flinched instinctively. The sound had come from inside the warehouse, from McAuley's office. Without turning round, I carried on walking away just as fast as I could. In the distance, I heard sirens approaching. I ran for cover, ducking out of sight behind some bins and staying there until the police cars had passed by.
I walked all the way home, my head down, my gaze turned inwards. I turned into my street, my whole body aching. But I didn't stop outside my house. Instead I went up to Callie's, intent on seeing her again. But I didn't knock and I didn't ring her bell. I just stood, staring at the closed door.
I did it for you, Callie.
But in doing so, I'd lost myself. I wasn't the same person as before and I couldn't bear to watch Callie turn away from the person I'd become. And she would turn away, maybe sooner, maybe later, but it would happen.
Slowly I trudged up the path to my house and went indoors.
The
Reckoning
seventy-one
'Tobey, Callie's here,' Mum called out from downstairs.
Five days had passed since McAuley had been shot. And my friend Dan Jeavons was wanted for his murder, as well as the murders of two other men who worked for McAuley. But Dan was still on the run and the police hadn't tracked him down. Yet. The DCI in charge of the case insisted that it was not a question of if Dan got caught but when. And all I could do was hope that Dan kept his head down and never stopped moving. And all I could do was wish he would stop running and give himself up, just to find some peace.
If it wasn't for him . . .
Dan and me. We were friends. Once.
Gideon Dowd and DCI Reid had both been arrested and charged on several different counts. I'd thought DCI Reid would be done for gross m
isconduct and kicked off the police force and that would be the end of that, but not so. The authorities wanted her skin, not to mention all her internal organs in a pickle jar. The deputy commissioner, no less, was at pains to assure the public that DCI Reid, if found guilty of the charges levelled against her, would be going to prison. The police were obviously on a roll. They'd even got Vanessa Dowd on a charge of tax evasion – not that she cared. She was still openly grieving over the death of her daughter Rebecca. The fatal stabbing had been all over the newspapers and the TV. Everyone seemed to be judging Rebecca and the circumstances of her death by the infamy of the rest of her family. She didn't deserve that. The press were still trying to establish a link between her death and the death of Alex McAuley as everyone knew about the enmity between the two factions. There was even speculation that Dan had been working for the Dowds.
My name hadn't been mentioned anywhere.
So Alex McAuley was out of the picture. And Owen Dowd now occupied the whole frame. Two days ago, I received a banker's cheque for a lot of money. Owen hadn't sent me a personal cheque – that'd be too easy to trace – but he'd sent me the money just as he had said he would. It arrived in an ordinary envelope with a first class stamp. And if the cheque had gone astray? Well, Owen had plenty more where that came from. Just touching the slip of paper made me feel unclean. I folded up the cheque just as small as I could, but I couldn't make it disappear. I went for a long walk to try and clear my head, dropping the cheque into the first charity collection box I came across. But I still felt contaminated.
Owen Dowd . . .
Not the outcome I would've hoped for as far as he was concerned. None of this was what I'd hoped for. I read a story once about a king who was greedy enough to wish that everything he touched turned to gold. Well, thanks to my desire for money and then revenge, everything I'd touched had turned to crap. I wasn't about to touch anyone I cared about ever again. Dan was right about me. So was Sephy. And Lucas. Everyone saw me more clearly than I saw myself.
I swung my legs off my bed to head downstairs. Too late. My door opened and Callie walked in. Her hair was loose, falling like a dark cloud around her face and shoulders and covering the scar on her temple. But in time, her scar would heal. She'd lost weight, but she was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. She was wearing a white dress and white sandals and my insides started hiccupping at the sight of her. I remembered the last time Callie had been in my room. That'd been the first, last and only time in my entire life I'd been truly one hundred per cent happy. But that was another lifetime ago. And now I was broken inside.
Callie walked towards me and I froze. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the now permanent scar on my cheek, courtesy of McAuley. Her touch made my skin tingle.
'Your eye is a bit puffy and yellow,' she said softly. 'Does it hurt?'
I pulled away from her. 'I'll live.'
Callie's hand dropped to her side. 'Who did that to you?' she asked, indicating my face.
'Callie, I haven't got time to talk to you now. I was just on my way out.'
'Can I come?'
'No,' I said, pulling on my trainers. 'I have a date.'
'With who?'
'Misty.'
'I see,' said Callie. She studied my carpet as if she'd never seen it before.
'Why did you want to see me?' I prompted as I stood up. I had to get her out of my room. Seeing her like this was doing my head in.
'I came to tell you that Mum has invited you to come with us tomorrow to Bharadia and Hammond.'
'To who and what?' I frowned.
'Bharadia and Hammond. They're Nana Jasmine's solicitors,' Callie explained. 'We're going to hear Nana's will being read. Mum says you can share our car. We're leaving at two tomorrow afternoon.'
'Why do I need to be there?'
'You're mentioned in Nana's will,' said Callie.
I frowned at her. 'Why?'
She shrugged. 'No idea.'
Silence.
'Tobey, I was sorry to hear about what happened to your friend, Rebecca.'
I shrugged.
'Are the police any closer to finding out who did it?'
I shook my head. 'They'll never find out who's responsible.'
'You mustn't give up hope,' said Callie.
Hope? What was that? Every day was like standing at the gateway to hell. The knife McAuley had used on Rebecca hadn't been found on his body, so he'd obviously disposed of it before he got to his warehouse. They would never find it now. Rebecca's death would remain an unsolved mystery, at least officially.
'Callie, have you remembered anything about the day . . . the day you got shot?' I asked.
Callie shook her head. I waited for her to say more, but she was silent. So she probably still didn't remember the night before the shooting either. She didn't remember the two of us together. I smiled bitterly. I didn't even have that to silently, secretly share with her. The memory was mine and mine alone.
'Tell me something,' I began. 'If you found out who shot you, what would you do?'
Callie flinched at my question, her gaze sharp. 'Tobey, d'you know who it was?'
I shrugged. 'It's just a hypothetical question.'
'Then my hypothetical answer is – I don't know,' Callie replied. 'I'd probably tell the police and get them arrested and sent to prison.'
'And if they were above the law?'
'No one is above the law.' Callie frowned.
I looked at her pityingly.
'OK, then. No one should be above the law.'
'What should be and what actually is are two completely different things,' I said with derision. 'The Equal Rights bill should've been made law decades ago, not a week ago. We shouldn't've had to wait for a bent copper in a gang-leader's pocket to be found out before the police started cracking down on the gangs taking over Meadowview.'
'Well, the law is man-made so of course it's going to be fallible,' said Callie. 'But there is such a thing as justice. Justice isn't the same as the law.'
'So what would you do to make sure you got justice, if you knew the person who'd shot you was above the law?' I persisted.
Callie shrugged. At my impatient look, she exclaimed, 'I really don't know, Tobey. I'd want revenge, of course I would. I'm human. But the desire for revenge is like hatred or anger, it eats away at you. And I should know.'
'And what if it was your mum or Meggie who got shot?' I asked.
Why was I doing this? Maybe I just needed to hear her say that what I'd done was not correct, but it was right, that it wasn't lawful, but it was justice and she would've done the same.
'I honestly don't know, Tobey,' Callie sighed. 'Why?'
I shrugged. 'I was only wondering, that's all. It doesn't matter.'
I tried to step past her, but she moved to stand in my way.
'Tobey, you and Misty? Is it serious?'
'Very,' I instantly replied.
'I see.'
This time she let me pass. I opened my bedroom door for her to leave first. As she walked past me, I inhaled deeply but discreetly. Callie didn't smell of my perfume any more.
'I'll see you tomorrow at two,' I confirmed.
Callie headed back downstairs with me following behind. I stretched out my hand towards the back of her head. Was her hair as soft as I remembered? I forced my hand back to my side.
'Oh, before I forget, I think this belongs to you,' Callie dug into one of the pockets on her dress and held out the letter I'd sent to her, the one with all the information about McAuley's shipments. 'Am I right? Is this yours?'
I nodded, wondering what she had made of the information on the sheets of paper. Had she read it? Did she believe I worked for McAuley? I wasn't about to ask.
'I'm afraid I opened it as it was addressed to me, but I stopped reading when I realized what it was,' she told me. 'I thought maybe it was sent to me for safe-keeping?'
I didn't answer.
'I take it you don't want me to hold onto it?'
/> 'No. I'll take it,' I replied.
'Tobey, what happened when I was in hospital?'
'The Earth went round the sun. The tides ebbed and flowed. Life carried on,' I replied evenly.
Callie lowered her gaze momentarily. 'I'd better get back.'
'See you, Callie.'
'Bye, Tobey.'
Callie headed back to her house. I set off in the opposite direction. A conversation I'd had with my sister a while ago kept playing in my head. Jess told me that I'd never understand her until I experienced what all miserable, lonely, unhappy people shared. Only now had I finally figured out what she meant. Failure. I couldn't bear to look at myself in the mirror any more. I was someone I no longer recognized. I thought I could take my revenge on McAuley and emerge unscathed at the end of it. I had failed.
I thought about the stuff I'd poured down McAuley's throat and the gun I'd held against his temple. In that moment, I'd wanted so badly to hurt him. No, that's not true. I'd wanted to kill him. And if it had been anyone else but Dan who'd entered the office, by now I'd be a murderer. Who was I kidding? Rebecca was dead because of me, as was Byron. McAuley should've been dead because of me. The drugs I'd made him swallow would've done the job sooner rather than later. Dan had merely put him out of his misery.
Five people dead because of me. Rebecca. Byron. McAuley. The two guards Dan had shot . . .
I was a murderer. Now I truly knew who and what I was. No one should ever find out for certain exactly what they're capable of. It left you with no place to hide.
I walked around the block, then headed back home.
seventy-two
Mr Bharadia's conference room was truly impressive. The oval mahogany table was solid wood, not just mahogany veneer. At least I think it was, I'm no expert. I glanced under the table. The legs were carved like birds' claws on a stand. The ten chairs around the table all matched each other and had the same design on the front legs. The back legs were plain. The backs of each chair were also intricately carved . . .