No Time to Die_a thrilling CSI mystery Page 25

  He tried. And that’s why she lov–

  Ros’s eyes sprang wide at the realisation.

  — Two —

  There was a chair in the corner of the room; something like a Shackleton’s high seat chair. It was one of those crusty old things you’d find in an old folks’ home. The smell of piss didn’t bother him. He sat in it quietly, feet up on the creaking old bed, looking at the patterns on the frayed curtains, and the slim orange stripe of street light from outside that showed the fleur-de-lys wallpaper. Between his fingers, a cigarette curled smoke into the room, and on the bedside table next to him, a cup of something they called coffee was cold and untouched.

  Next to it was a half-bottle of cheap whisky. The seal unbroken.

  Eddie flicked ash and took a drag, rubbed his aching eyes and considered the words Benson had spoken: Everyone around you turns into a corpse.

  Down the hall, outside his room, a door banged, and he could hear people shuffling about in the next room, mumbled voices.

  What was the point of life if you did no good with it? What was the point of life if you just died and left nothing of yourself behind? Because once he was dead, he thought, and those around him died too…who would remember Eddie Collins? No one. He would leave no legacy, nothing on this shitty earth would be any better for him having been on it for thirty odd years. Certainly nobody, no person, would have been better off for him having been here. And that was the point, surely; to make someone’s life better.

  But he’d tried.

  He’d tried to help Charlie and look what happened. He’d made it worse, he’d gotten her killed. She was worse off for knowing Eddie Collins. He was in negative equity.

  ‘Don’t you worry about them,’ Benson had said, ‘we’ll get round to ’em.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ Eddie whispered to the empty room. MCU had been dealing with gangs and organised crime for years. And there were still gangs and organised crime around. Most of the crimes he’d dealt with as a divisional CSI were propagated by organised crime and street gangs.

  Noises from the room next door grew louder until Eddie’s thoughts dispersed like mist in sunlight, and all he could hear was groaning; getting louder, more intense. He banged on the wall. ‘Hurry up and come, will you!’

  There was a muffled laugh and then a muffled retort, ‘Piss off!’

  Eddie sighed. His thoughts might have dispersed, but his anger hadn’t. He reached for the bottle of whisky and his car keys.

  — Three —

  In the darkness, the tap dripped.

  Her teeth chattered. She tried to sit up.

  ‘Watching you.’

  Eddie would never do something like this to her. Eddie cared about her. And she wanted him to care about her, she wanted him to protect her, and that’s why she’d invited him to MCU in the first place. He would never do anything like this to her.

  Of course it was all her fault. She had come to realise that over the last half an hour. Brian was right after all. And she was genuinely sorry; yet Brian’s punishment did not fit the crime. But he was in control now, he steered their ship and she went wherever he sent her, and he doled out the punishment for her misdemeanours as he saw fit. She couldn’t complain. And she wouldn’t complain.

  — Four —

  He had very little idea of what he wished to achieve. All he knew was he was pissed off and the chances of the law actually getting off their fat arses and doing anything about it were pretty slim. Eddie decided to do something about the Crosby bastards by himself.

  Had he stopped and thought more about it instead of cracking the seal on the whisky bottle, he might have saved himself a lot of trouble. Eddie was one of life’s deep thinkers. But tonight, he wasn’t. Tonight, Eddie was angry. Tonight, Eddie had given someone his word, and these bastards had broken it for him. And that was more than he could tolerate.

  He drove the Discovery straight through the automatic gates and they folded sideways as though like they were made from toilet rolls and crepe paper, and Eddie brought it to a halt outside the front doors just as the lounge light came on and the curtains were pulled back. And then he was out of the car and kicking the door until it crashed inwards.

  Across the courtyard, the front door of the staff house opened and a lad wearing dirty white trainers stood there for a moment before disappearing back inside. He returned with his handgun and walked across to the main house.

  Inside the house, Eddie began shouting, ‘Tyler Crosby!’ He staggered down the hallway and was met at a door to his left by a big black man. Eddie stopped, swayed and said, ‘Where’s Tyler Crosby?’

  From behind the black man, a voice said, ‘Bring him through, Monty.’

  Eddie looked up at the man called Monty and tried to point a finger. ‘Is he in there?’

  Monty grabbed Eddie by the arms and dragged him through into the lounge. Eddie looked around at the curved leather suite, the huge wall-mounted TV, the projector hanging from the ceiling, the ornate and far too grand fireplace with real plastic logs glowing in the grate. In the centre of the room, a circular glass coffee table.

  Spittle hung from Eddie’s mouth as he surveyed the two men sitting there. One was old, fat, and bearded: Slade Crosby, dressed in a shirt and slacks, and the other was Eddie’s age, jeans and T-shirt, blood across his face, nursing a drink: Tyler Crosby. A man walked into the room and closed the door. He stood in front of the silent TV, handgun sticking out of his black leather belt.

  In the kitchen beyond, and out of sight, there were other people, muffled voices, moving around. Considering it is gone three in morning, thought Eddie, this place was fucking alive.

  ‘Which one of you bastards is Tyler?’

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ Slade looked at him; he didn’t seem particularly perturbed by Eddie’s presence, or the fact he’d ruined the posh gates and bust the lock on his front door. Slade looked preoccupied. Slade’s knuckles were smeared with blood.

  ‘Fuck me, it’s Grizzly Adams!’ Eddie shook his arm free, smiled at the bearded old man and staggered around the coffee table towards Tyler. ‘I’m guessing you’re the twat that kills innocent women?’

  Tyler glanced at his father.

  Slade sneered then nodded at Monty. Monty took a step forward and said, ‘Gillon,’ nodding at the kid with the white trainers. Gillon strode over to Eddie, stuck the gun in the back of his neck. Eddie froze, eyes wide. The spittle fell from his lips, and he swallowed.

  ‘Boss?’ Gillon said.

  Slade shook his head. ‘Not here.’

  ‘Why did you kill her, you dumb fuck? She didn’t kill your stinking piece of shit rapist bastard brother!’

  ‘I’ll ask again,’ Slade said. ‘Who are you?’

  Eddie swayed as he turned to Slade, almost fell over and caught himself against the mantelpiece. ‘I’m the fella who rescued a young lass called Charlie. Charlie was hiding in her house, scared shitless because of him,’ he nodded to Tyler. ‘I found her. I told her she’d be safe at my house–’

  ‘You!’ Tyler spoke at last, an involuntary gasp of recognition.

  ‘Yeah, me, you prick. You broke into my house and killed her!’

  ‘She deserved–’

  Eddie half fell and half ran at Tyler, and as Tyler scrambled to his feet, Slade stepped sideways and threw a punch into Eddie’s stomach strong enough to throw him off balance and leave him writhing on the floor.

  Tyler seemed to gain confidence then, to become brave. He stepped forward and kicked Eddie in the ribs, before Slade slapped him. ‘Leave him,’ Slade said. ‘He stinks like a fucking brewery, and you don’t get to do anything until I say so.’ Slade nodded at Monty. ‘Drink, please.’

  Slade retook his seat, pointed at Tyler, ‘This!’ he screamed, ‘this is what happens when you don’t do as I say!’

  ‘She was–’

  ‘Shut up!’

  Eddie coughed and sat up, propping himself up with one hand while the other massaged his ribs, feeling inside his jacke
t for the pocket. He still swayed and tried to see past Tyler’s chair and out into the kitchen; he could see movement still, even caught sight of someone through the crack in the open door, but they were gone in an instant. Strange, but they looked familiar somehow.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  Eddie was shocked at the question. In the motel with his feet on the bed, even while smashing his way through the front door here, he’d never thought they’d ask him outright; it just never occurred to him. What am I doing here? he thought. ‘I yam here to plant a bug on behalf of Wesh Yorshier Police Force.’ He smiled, deadpan.

  Slade eventually chuckled. ‘Don’t piss me about, son; I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘I wanted to see the man who thought he was God.’ He stared at Tyler. ‘You roll through life, taking whatever you want, whenever you want. You never give any thought to the lives you ruin or take along the way, do you? You’re above all that. You’re above the law.’ Eddie almost fell forward but controlled it enough to stay upright.

  Tyler smiled at that.

  Monty handed the drink over then looked at Gillon. ‘Put it away.’

  ‘Don’t you care?’ Eddie asked.

  Tyler shrugged, rubbed his lip.

  Eddie looked at Slade. ‘And you, don’t you care? Your son rapes her, and then this prick kills her. And she was innocent.’

  Slade smiled. ‘Casualty of war. I’ll send a wreath.’

  Eddie smiled in return, and that made Slade’s face straighten up pretty quickly.

  ‘So, who did kill him, if it wasn’t this girl?’

  Eddie took a long slow blink. ‘I haven’t worked that bit out yet.’

  ‘I think we got it pretty much spot on,’ Tyler said.

  ‘Shut up, boy!’

  ‘But I’d be happy to share it with you,’ Eddie said, ‘if you’ll forget my little intrusion.’

  ‘I don’t need nothing from you, whoever you are.’

  Tyler laughed.

  Eddie looked at him. ‘And as for you, prick, I’m having you; I’ll make you into a casualty of war. I’ll make you shake like a shitting dog. I’ll make you terrified just like you made her terrified–’

  Monty leaned over, grabbed Eddie by the throat and lifted him into the standing position. Eddie clawed at the giant’s arms, eyes wide and frightened, bubbles of air grazing down his constricted throat, snot running out of his nose, face a bloated red. And just as he was about to black out, Monty took the pressure off, and Eddie sank to his knees coughing and clutching his neck, a raspy noise coming from his throat as he breathed out, a squeaky noise as he breathed in. Tears blurred his vision, and he had a pressure inside his head that felt like his ears were going to pop.

  ‘After tonight, you’ll be in no position to make threats against my boy in my house. Now, I like to know the names of the people I kill. So, what’s your name, you pisshead?’

  Eddie swooned, and the oxygen racing into his brain almost made him black out again, but the big guy had done him a favour, and he was now in the perfect position to see through into the kitchen. A face stared back at him. And when he recognised it, it disappeared again as though it knew it had been spotted. ‘I see you,’ Eddie pointed and giggled.

  The kitchen door opened, and a blurred shape stood in the doorway. Eddie looked, and despite wiping his eyes, he couldn’t make out any distinguishing features. Until she spoke.

  ‘His name’s Eddie Collins. One of my forensic geeks. And until now, a reformed alcoholic.’

  Eddie furiously rubbed his eyes and squinted at her. ‘Lisa?’

  ‘That’s why I don’t need nothing from you. See?’

  She shook her head at Eddie, as though he’d disappointed her. Slade lit a cigarette and tapped his shoe on the floor, as though the nerves were getting him.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Eddie tried to rationalise her presence; was she part of a sting, was she here under a warrant, searching the place? Each option came pre-stamped in big red letters: N O. ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘I’m making corrections to your work.’ She waved an evidence bag in front of him. He couldn’t see what it was, not from here, and so he tried to stand but just then, the kid with the gun stepped on his hand hard enough to make him hiss.

  ‘What? What do you mean “making corrections”?’

  Lisa Westmoreland turned around and walked back into the kitchen.

  ‘Hey, what do you mean?’

  Slade called, ‘Does he have friends?’

  From the kitchen, Lisa laughed. ‘He’s a loner. And a loser.’

  ‘Boss?’

  Slade looked at the kid who was standing on Eddie’s hand, and though Eddie couldn’t see the kid’s reaction to Slade’s shake of the head, he heard the gun being replaced for the second time. And then the penny dropped, and he understood why Lisa was here. No, that wasn’t quite right; he didn’t understand why she was here or what “corrections” she was making, but he did understand that she wasn’t too bothered about Eddie seeing her fraternising with the enemy. And that scared him.

  ‘So how come you went to such lengths to employ me, then?’

  ‘You don’t need a character reference where you’re going, lad,’ Slade said. ‘Monty, get this piece of shit out of my sight.’

  Eddie snarled, ‘Shut up, you old prick.’

  And then Eddie found himself face down on the floor again with a foot in his back and pain in his ribs, and his arms so far outstretched that one hand rested under Tyler’s armchair. But evidently, they did have time for a character reference, because now Lisa Westmoreland stood again in the doorway, her arms folded, a resolute look on her face.

  ‘Because you shot your mouth off at Tony Lambert’s scene?’

  Eddie grunted.

  ‘If you’d left it as a straightforward murder-suicide, you could have been blissfully unemployed now. And still alive tomorrow.’

  ‘Aw, bless ya; you saying I was too good for your fucking clowns?’

  ‘Something like that.’ She glared at Tyler. ‘I had to keep you close, where I could keep an eye on you.’

  ‘It’s a little late for flattery.’ Eddie tried to laugh, but his ribs put a sharp stop to it.

  ‘And then you had to go back, didn’t you–’

  Slade yawned. ‘Look, this is all very Agatha Christie, and really, I’m enjoying the exposé, but it’s time you stopped breathing, Mr Collins.’

  He smiled up at Slade and tried to stand. ‘I’ll be going now, mate, thanks for the hospitality.’

  The kid with the gun stepped forward and raised his eyebrows in a question to Slade. Slade nodded. ‘Cable tie his wrists. Get Jagger to follow you. And make sure his body is well hidden. Okay?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘But Dad–’

  ‘Shut it, you.’

  Suddenly, Eddie didn’t feel quite so jovial anymore. As the ties nipped the skin on his wrists, and he looked at the people who stared at him, it all became very real. And he wondered if this was his final hour.

  ‘Don’t take no chances, Gillon. I’m trusting you.’ And then he turned to Eddie. ‘Now you know why I’m above the law, son. And he’s not God, I am.’

  They used wide cable ties to make sure Eddie remained compliant, and then a third one looped through the first two and tied into the rear seat belt ring of Eddie’s Discovery to make sure he didn’t try anything foolish on the journey.

  Eddie first saw Gillon in the courtyard as they dragged him from the house. He caught Tyler a good kick in the balls on the way, but all it did was earn him a punch in the abdomen that saw him paralysed, unable to breathe at all for what seemed like an hour, until he thought he was going to pass out or die prematurely. But eventually, he had hauled in hicks of breath and then a long one, and the cold night air and the flicks of rain had brought him back around again. It would have been cruel, he thought, to have denied Gillon his first kill.

  Gillon was whooping with delight, dancing around like an idiot and
slapping Eddie on the back of the head. Monty caught hold of the kid as Tyler and Jagger installed Eddie on the rear seat. ‘Stop fucking about,’ he’d said to the lad. Eddie saw him become serious almost immediately, but he also saw the sly glance at his new prisoner and understood what was crawling through his shallow mind even as he nodded and apologised to Monty for his foolishness.

  ‘It’s not too late, Tyler,’ Eddie whispered. ‘Just untie me and we’ll call it quits.’

  Tyler just smiled and yanked on the tie harder.

  ‘I mean it, let me walk. You’ll never be free–’

  Tyler slapped him. ‘I wish it were me putting that gun to your head.’ And then he was gone. The door slammed shut, and the interior light blinked out. Eddie was alone. He could hear voices outside, and the voices became shouts, and he caught a part of the shout that he wished he hadn’t.

  ‘Gillon gets to do it!’

  Eddie closed his eyes; they were arguing over who got the thrill of killing him like a pair of kids arguing over who got to open the last date on the advent calendar, or who got to ride the bike and who got pillion. Bile rose in Eddie’s throat, and the heat stung as Gillon climbed aboard and closed the door.

  The reflection in the mirror told Eddie he was pleased. He turned in his seat, staring at him and then laughing. ‘You look scared fucking shitless!’

  ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘I’m gonna fucking love this!’

  ‘I’m happy for you.’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to do this.’

  ‘I want you to know,’ Eddie said, ‘that I will come back and haunt the fuck out of you. Each time you’re on the shitter, I’ll be there, each time–’

  ‘In fact, I’m gonna stick one right up your arse first. I wanna see if that’ll kill you.’ He disappeared into a brief moment of thought. ‘Hope not,’ he said, ‘I just can’t wait to put one in your brain.’