FIFTY-ONE

 


Liza Radley pulled into a lay-by on her way through Lancashire. She had to slow down for a moment, take stock. There had been months of planning, but now she was improvising.

She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of traffic rushing past her, felt the car rock with turbulence. She felt her eyes go damp, her throat tight with sadness. There was a fluttering, like wings beating, a light sound just filling her head. It wasn’t a voice, more of a heartbeat.

She opened her eyes and looked across the road. There was a diner, stainless steel, American reproduction. She could see faces looking out, fathers, sons, mothers, just happy families passing idle conversation, lives untouched.

She took out the wallet she had taken from the body in her house. As she opened it, she saw a police badge, faked or stolen, and some money. There was a fake ID which showed the head by the stairs, with a casual smile and deep blue eyes. There were credit cards as well, for three different identities: all cloned, she expected. He was a real-life fake. She knew now that this was no friend or fan acting out of some perverse loyalty. He was a professional hitman, hired by a wealthy and famous client.

Next, she pulled out the phone. She looked at it, weighed it in her hand, guessing that she had the key to the endgame. She pressed the button and saw the screen flicker into life again, the screen lighting up blue. She flicked through the options screen until she got to the list of stored numbers. There was only one. The number identification just said ‘David Watts’. No code words. No secrecy. She smiled to herself. He was making sure that if he went down, his client went with him.

She put the phone on her lap and watched it for a while. It didn’t do anything, so she reached into her glove box and pulled out the voice distorter.

She clicked the dial button and checked around her while she waited to be connected. She felt her chest tighten when she heard a ring tone.

   

David Watts had pulled into a farm track. He was just driving round, waiting for news. He didn’t want to see a police car. The girl in Manchester was eating him up now, making him grip the steering wheel until his fingers turned white, broken only by the blood around his knuckles. He had stopped to top up his nose. The powder had started to fade away, so he was stuck with real life for a moment.

His phone rang. He saw who was calling. Maybe he could go home now.

He pressed the answer button and barked, ‘Where the hell have you been?’

He was expecting the measured tone of the American. Instead, he heard a voice he wasn’t prepared for. It was the voice on the calls he dreaded, that flat electronic distortion making him freeze.

Hello, David.’

He put the phone down and looked out of the window. He felt himself go pale, not knowing how to answer at first. How had she got his number? Then he felt his stomach tighten when he realised that she had the American’s phone.

‘How did you get that phone?’ he asked, his voice quiet and nervous, not wanting the answer. He cringed when he heard her laugh.

Let’s just say that your friend can’t come to see you any more.’

David wiped his eyes with the palm of his hand. His thoughts raced as fast as his nerves. His heart tightened when he realised what she meant. ‘What have you done?’

I’m sorry, David, but he just sort of fell apart.’

He swallowed nervously, his stomach crawled.

Were you close to him?’

‘What do you want?’ David barked, ignoring her question, angry now.

‘I want you, David. Is that so bad?’

He felt his hand go slick around the steering wheel, slippery with sweat. He wiped them on his pants and then wiped his mouth. He needed a drink.

‘What do you mean, you want me?’ he asked.

I want to hear you say sorry, David. I want to hear you admit what you did, and when I hear you say it, I want to see the remorse in your eyes, the sorrow, an echo of my pain.’ A pause. ‘That’s what I want.’

David kicked the underneath of the steering column. ‘I’m not going on TV,’ he sneered. ‘You can kiss my arse and shoot every footballer in town, but I still won’t do it.’

I don’t want it like that any more, David. You don’t need to go public any more.’

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, his voice quieter, wary now.

I want to see you on your knees, in front of me, begging for my forgiveness.’

David laughed, traces of hysteria filtering through. ‘Yeah, so you can blow my fucking head off. What kind of arsehole do you think you are dealing with here?’

The kind who did what you did to Annie Paxman,’ she snapped.

‘Oh, fuck you,’ he snapped back. ‘She was such a prick-tease. I had to shake that fuck out of her.’

He took a breath and looked out of his car window. If he could get this bitch on her own, he might be able to end the problem his way.

‘Where do you want to meet?’

‘Where do you think?’ she snarled. ‘You get to Turners Fold in the next couple of hours and go to where this all started, to that aviary.’

‘And if I don’t?’

I’ll kill you. I’ll stalk you and shoot you the first chance I get.’

‘But you forget that I could just call the police. Get them to swarm around the aviary. Then it’s all over.’

But you won’t, David, because you’re scared I’ll talk. You want me to either die or go away. And I’m doing neither until I get what I want from you.’

‘But who would believe a crazy bitch like you?’

That’s your gamble, David. Your choice. And anyway, I’ve got the one thing you want.’

‘You’ve got nothing I want.’

Emma. I’ve got Emma.’

David stopped smiling.

I said I would get her, and I got her.’

David was silent for a moment, and then he said, ‘I don’t believe you.’

Then it was her turn to laugh.

That’s not your choice, David, because if you don’t come for her, I’ll leave her dead where you left Annie.’

‘Prove it.’

She laughed again.

You don’t think I’m driving around with her in my car, do you?’ She laughed again. ‘I’ll get her on the phone, and then you’ll know. And once you know, get to that field and get on your knees. You beg for my forgiveness and you get Emma back.’

‘You fucking bitch! I’m going to…’

Stay by your phone, David.’

He was about to shout her down when he realised he would be shouting into a silent phone.

He tried to shrug off the prickles of fear. She’d killed the American, and he’d come recommended by one of the meanest bastards in town.

He threw the phone back into the glove box. A quick check of his mirrors and he pulled back out into the road and accelerated hard. He was going to end this his way. There wasn’t a battle in his life he had lost yet. Why should this be any different?

He set his mind on Turners Fold. He wasn’t going to leave there until he knew that she couldn’t.

   

Laura was quiet at first as the roads hurtled past.

‘You’re mad with me, right?’

Laura ignored me for a few seconds, and then I saw her relax, her shoulders slump.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m mad with me. I was the policewoman back there. I should have controlled it. I let myself go with you when I should have made myself wait for back-up.’

‘So why aren’t you still there?’

Laura paused for a moment, and I thought I saw her blush, before she said, ‘The same reason.’ She flashed a look at me and then asked, ‘What’s it all about, Jack?’

I rubbed my eyes and wished I had a good answer. All I thought I knew was that we were both surviving on hardly any sleep and pure adrenalin. My leg was beginning to hurt again, and I thought that if we lost momentum now, we would lose the rest of the day. And that wasn’t going to happen. Right then, I was a suspect for Rose Wood’s murder. If we lost momentum, I’d find myself in a police cell, facing a life sentence.

‘She hates Turners Fold,’ I said, ‘and she hated her father. I suppose it is as simple as that.’

‘And that makes her shoot footballers, and anyone else who gets in her way?’

‘Seems that way.’

Laura didn’t respond, so I carried on.

‘She was an oddball, Laura, and small towns don’t like oddballs. They like everything to fit together, and people like Liza Radley don’t fit into the mix. She hated the town, and then she hated her parents because of what happened to Annie Paxman.’

‘So she was striking back at Turners Fold?’

‘In part, I guess.’

‘And the other part?’

I tugged on my lip for a moment. ‘What David Watts was allowed to get away with encapsulates everything Liza Radley hates about Turners Fold. He’s the big guy, the next big star. Annie Paxman was nothing. He was allowed to walk away because the town needed him more than it needed Annie Paxman.’

‘Are you going to write that stuff?’

I nodded. ‘If I get the chance.’

‘And you think Liza Radley took up Annie’s cause as some kind of revenge?’

‘That puts it simply, but that is just about it.’

‘But why such a big deal? Why that?’

‘Because her father was one of the first at the scene. He did what my father did: he allowed the secret to stay secret, because it suited them that way. But James Radley and my father were different. My father kicked back by hating his job. James Radley kicked back by hating himself, so he got lost in a bottle. My thinking is that she thinks she hates David Watts, but really she hates her father for what he did, and for how it affected him.’

‘Phew, sounds like a shrink’s field day.’

‘What made Liza Radley stop herself from driving that circular saw into your skull?’

Laura didn’t answer.

‘It was when I said you weren’t from Turners Fold,’ I continued, ‘and when she knew you were a parent. She lost a parent when Annie Paxman died, and lost him for good in that fire.’

Laura just drove for a few miles. I watched the green of Lancashire rush past the car windows as we headed back down south, my eyes bobbing in time with the ebb and flow of the walls. This was away from cotton Lancashire. This was farm country, with shallow streams and patches of woodland, filtering the sun.

‘Where next?’ she asked. When I looked around, she continued, ‘What if we’ve lost her?’

I shook my head. I knew straight away where Liza Radley was going.

‘We haven’t lost her,’ I said.

‘But she started the fire, and that can only ever mean one thing: she isn’t going back.’

I thought about that. Liza Radley had played her hand, stared David Watts down, matched and raised. He had sweated and twitched, until his nerve had gone and he had sent someone after her. David Watts had hired a killer to catch a killer, but Watts’s mercenary had also killed people he’d met along the way who might cause problems: Rose Wood, my father, and he had tried to get me. I looked to my right. And Laura.

‘Oh, she’s going back,’ I said, raising my eyebrows, ‘but back to the beginning. Back to Turners Fold.’

I reached into my pocket and pulled out Laura’s phone. I flicked through the recent-calls menu, found Tony’s number, and pressed dial.

Laura turned round to me. I smiled and then looked out of the window.

When Tony answered, I told him what had happened at the house.

‘Tony, I think it’s time to use the recording,’ I said. ‘Get Glen Ross in good company and play it, see what he says.’

I hung up on him and waited for Laura to speak.

‘And what do you want me to do?’ she asked eventually. She didn’t look at me when she spoke. Her eyes stayed on the road, every minute bringing us nearer to Turners Fold.

I thought for a moment, and then said, ‘I need you to create a press storm. Get hold of some TV companies. Get on the newswire. Tell them that the word is going out that the football shootings are tying in at Turners Fold.’

‘Isn’t that going to wreck your exclusive?’

I shook my head. ‘No, because no one else has got inside it like we have.’

‘We?’

‘Yeah, “we”. You got a problem with that?’

She aimed a playful slap at my thigh and then asked, ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Me?’ I scratched my nose and grinned. ‘Lie low and wait,’ I said, ‘and hope it all ends before they catch me. I’ll call you if my hunch is right. But get a TV crew on your side, ready to go.’

Laura looked at me with curiosity. There wasn’t long to go.

Fallen Idols
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