Next to Die Read online

  ‘So what do I do?’ he said.

  ‘You go to Piccadilly station, platform fourteen,’ she said. ‘You have to do just one simple thing: jump in front of a train.’

  Sam shook his head. He couldn’t do this. He turned quickly, looking for a hint. ‘And you will release Ruby if I do?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How can I be sure you will?’

  ‘You can’t, but you can be certain you will hear her die if you don’t.’ A laugh, and then, ‘You need to get moving. There aren’t many trains, and thirty minutes is all you’re allowed. That’s always the game. And you’re down to twenty-eight now.’

  And then his phone went silent.

  As he put it back into his pocket, his heart hammering, he saw a tram approach along the rails that came from Piccadilly station, brightly-lit green and white quivering its way towards him, rocking from side to side.

  She had been calling from that way.

  He started to run.

  Sixty-Seven

  Ruby knew that he was on his own. She could hear the pace of his feet, slow and regular, backwards and forwards, crunches on the concrete as loud echoes. It seemed like he was waiting for something. Or someone. The faster, more frantic shorter steps of the woman hadn’t yet returned.

  ‘Is she coming back?’ Ruby said. She was shivering. It was getting cold and she was still wearing just her school uniform, her bare legs covered in goosebumps.

  The pacing stopped.

  ‘The woman,’ Ruby said, her voice bolder. ‘Why is she so cruel to me? You were nice until she arrived. I don’t want her to come back.’

  She heard the footsteps turn towards her. Slower, more deliberate. She pushed herself back against the pillar. She felt the vibrations of his feet as he stopped in front of her. She knew he was looking down at her.

  There was the crack of bent knees and then she caught his aroma. Sweat and cigarettes. She grimaced as she felt the scrape of his finger along her cheek, and then shivered as he ran his hand through her hair. He breathed heavily through his nose.

  ‘Why do you do it for her?’ Ruby said, trying hard to keep the tremble from her voice. She wanted to get him on her side, because she had seen how he had changed when the woman arrived. He became more aggressive, following her lead. Ruby tried to hide her revulsion, she didn’t want to make him angry, so she just swallowed hard and let him stroke her hair. Her eyes were closed, although they were still behind the blindfold. He was holding his breath as his fingers ran along the strands, separating them, the curl of his fingers brushing her neck.

  ‘You haven’t answered my question,’ she said.

  ‘It’s love,’ he said, his voice a whisper. ‘You’re too young to understand.’

  ‘I do though. I know about love. That’s why I was there, meeting you, because I loved Billy.’

  ‘That was just a silly girl thing, and none of it was real.’

  ‘Yeah, I know that now.’

  He didn’t respond.

  ‘I’m cold,’ she said, and then heard the sound of his jacket being unzipped. As he put it over her, like a blanket, she ignored the smell and savoured the warmth. As her legs tingled back to life, she realised it had another use. It concealed her hands.

  Ruby tried to move her wrists until they found an edge on the pillar, the base rough and bubbled by rust. She moved her arms slowly, so that he couldn’t see what she was doing.

  ‘Will you take off my blindfold, please?’ she said. ‘If I’m talking to you, I want to see you.’

  There was just silence.

  ‘Please,’ she said.

  He knelt down again and she felt a pull on the knots. As the cloth was pushed up, everything loosened and the night came back into view, making her blink, despite the darkness.

  He was on his haunches, saying nothing, just looking.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, and tried to smile. ‘So what do you mean about love?’

  ‘It’s about sacrifice,’ he said. ‘About doing something to let the other person go free. That’s real love.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I said you wouldn’t.’

  ‘So educate me,’ Ruby said. ‘What’s your name?’

  He paused for a few seconds, and then said, ‘Ronnie.’

  ‘And what is she called, the woman?’

  He didn’t answer for a few seconds, as if he was working out whether he should answer, but then he said, ‘She’s called Carrie. And over there is our baby, Grace.’ He pointed towards the corner of the building.

  ‘I can’t see a baby.’

  ‘She’s asleep, wrapped up warm.’

  ‘So Ronnie, what do you mean about sacrifice?’

  He sat in front of her, cross-legged, and reached forward to touch her hair. Ruby fought the urge to pull away, and so instead she closed her eyes, tears brimming on her lashes, the smell of his hands in her nostrils, dirty and unwashed, as he stroked and caressed.

  ‘I was going to go to prison for her,’ he said softly. ‘Men do that for Carrie. She’s special.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He shook his head. ‘It sounds stupid now, but we set it all up so that everyone would think I had killed her. We smeared some blood and then Carrie went away. I acted suspiciously, shouted things, did badly at work. We thought the police would come round sooner, that her family would call them, but she was seen by someone and so I handed myself in, told the police I’d killed her. I was going to go to prison so that Carrie could make a fresh start, go live somewhere else, but, well…’ He shrugged.

  ‘That’s extreme.’

  ‘We had to do it that way.’

  ‘So what went wrong?’

  ‘I couldn’t go through with it. I thought I could handle prison, but I couldn’t. I got your brother to be my lawyer. He would remember me, I thought, because he’s helped me before. I know how it works with lawyers, that they all talk between themselves, and so the rumours go round and reach the police, and so the police would know that even my lawyer thought I was guilty, even if the jury freed me. All I would have to do was sit it out for six months and then I would be free. I’d be able to join Carrie again, and it wouldn’t matter about the things we’d done, because everyone would think Carrie and Grace were dead, and that I’d got away with it. They’d stop looking for her. But everyone had to believe they were dead or it wouldn’t work.’

  ‘And the plan didn’t work?’

  ‘That was your brother’s fault, Joe. He set me free. When they let me out, Carrie said we had to carry on, because it was a sign.’

  ‘Carry on what?’ Ruby said, her voice breaking. ‘What had you been doing?’

  Ronnie pulled his hand away from her and rubbed at the homemade tattoos on his hand. Six lines. He stood up and moved away.

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’ she said.

  ‘It’s not time yet,’ he said. He swallowed, the clench of his jaw showing as a lump in his cheek.

  ‘But why are you doing it for her?’ Ruby said. ‘If you don’t want to do it, you look like a mug.’

  He just stared, and for a moment Ruby thought she had gone too far. She braced herself for the blow, but then he smiled, almost regretful, and she felt her hopes rise that she was getting him on her side.

  ‘Untie me, please,’ she said. ‘Let me go. I won’t tell anyone. Come with me, if you want. I’ll tell everyone how it was all her fault.’

  ‘It’s too late for that. I’ve told you everything, but it doesn’t matter. This is the end for you.’

  There was a clang from down the stairs, movement of the metal plate, and the fast steps of someone running upwards.

  He quickly reached forward and pulled her blindfold back down. She was in darkness again.

  The woman was back, Carrie, and she sounded out of breath and more excitable when she said, ‘It’s on. He’s on his way there. This is it, Ronnie. The end.’

  ‘What happens now?’

  She laughed, high
and wild. ‘I go outside, because then I can see him do it. Sam Parker, dead. Think what Ben will say.’

  Ruby put her head back against the pillar and her lips curled in distress as her tears started to soak the blindfold.

  Sam was running but he wasn’t dressed for a sprint. His tie flew over his shoulder and his suit jacket flapped backwards. His right arm was still strapped in the sling and the movement made him grimace with pain. But he had to keep going.

  He faltered as he got to some traffic lights, his shoes slipping on the new stones. There was a bus turning to his right. He thought he could make it and so he made a quick dash, rushing into the road. He heard the judder of brakes and then a horn, but he didn’t stop to apologise.

  He looked down at his phone, glancing ahead to make sure he wasn’t about to run into someone, slowing slightly to dial Joe’s number. When he answered, Sam was panting. ‘They’re somewhere near Piccadilly.’

  ‘Where? Do you know?’

  ‘No, but whoever it was could see me in the gardens. They’re close by.’ Sam threaded his way through the crowds, ignoring the shouts and threats whenever he bumped a shoulder or knocked a bag.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘She told me to go to the gardens. Now she’s told me to go to Piccadilly. She knew when I was there. She will know when I’m at the station. She’s close, I know it.’

  ‘Is that where you’re heading?’

  ‘Yes. I’m going to get Ruby back. We’ve got less than half an hour now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She says that she’ll kill Ruby after thirty minutes if I don’t jump in front of a train.’

  There was a pause, and for a moment all Sam could hear was the thump of his shoes on the pavement and the strain of his breath as he ran. Then Joe said, ‘I’ve called Evans.’

  Sam slowed to a halt, his chest pumping hard with exertion. ‘I told you not to,’ he said, panic in his voice.

  ‘I can’t let you do this. You can’t sacrifice yourself.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you’ve got a wife, and two beautiful girls. And think what it would do to Mum.’

  ‘I’ve made my mark,’ Sam said. ‘I’ve created life, lived some good years. It ought to be Ruby’s turn.’

  ‘Bullshit, and you know it,’ Joe said, getting angrier. ‘They’ll kill Ruby anyway. They want you dead. Why would they release Ruby?’

  Sam didn’t respond. He just stared at the crowds ahead of him, and the glass of Piccadilly station at the end of a slow rise past food shops and newsagents.

  ‘How can we explain that to Mum?’ Joe continued angrily. ‘That she’s about to lose a son, and probably a daughter? Stop and think, Sam. What would you do if it wasn’t your sister?’

  ‘I’d leave it to the police.’

  ‘So why won’t you?’

  ‘Because I need to do something!’ he shouted.

  ‘But it doesn’t have to be the only thing. You do what you need to do, Sam, but stay alive. You don’t have to be a martyr for anyone. It won’t change anything. I’m going to tell Evans where you’ll be.’

  Sam nodded slowly, taking deep breaths to maintain some semblance of control. ‘All right, but I’m going to follow their instructions. I’ll follow their trail and let you know where I end up.’

  ‘I’m coming there myself. I’ve got to help you. Don’t do as they ask, Sam. Don’t do anything stupid. Wait for me.’

  ‘There’s no time to wait. I’ve wasted five minutes already,’ and then he clicked off.

  Sam tried for a sprint, his legs protesting as he ran, his lungs straining, his throat raw from panting hard breaths. It was hard up the slope, and he slowed down as he approached the station entrance, pausing with his free hand on his knee, leaning over, sucking in more air, sweat across his forehead. He glanced up. The station was busy, the bars, cafés and shops filled with people who had stretched their working day into a drink with friends. His eyes flitted from group to group, looking for the loner, the woman standing on her own, watching him. She would have just arrived, because she was somewhere quieter when she called. Or was it someone else who would be there, watching? He gritted his teeth in frustration. All he saw were bored commuters and some people who were starting to enjoy their drinks too much.

  He rushed forward to the departures board. There was a train due at platform fourteen. It was in a separate part of the station, along one platform and up a level. He took a deep breath and broke into another run. He barged past people with shopping bags and briefcases, and someone spilled a coffee.

  There was a ticket collector ahead, barring his way, a queue of people leading to him. Sam reached into his pocket for his police identification. He flashed his card and rushed past him, not waiting. A hard push sent him out of the way. There was a shout, and someone grabbed at his sleeve, but Sam yanked his good arm away and started running again. He expected to hear the sound of running feet, but instead he got the unmistakable beep and fizz of a walkie-talkie. He wouldn’t be alone for long.

  He ran onto the long moving pavement that crawled to the upper level, past the dead-end platforms lined with the red livery of the long-distance trains. There were shouts behind him, but Sam ignored them and kept on going to the bridge that would take him down to platform fourteen, weaving through commuters. He missed out steps as he skipped down the stairs, until he landed on the hard concrete of the platform. There was a train further down the track, rumbling towards Oxford Road. He’d missed one.

  He sucked in air, his heart beating fast, sweat pouring down his face. He looked around. It was quiet. There was an old man sitting on a plastic seat, hunched up in an old coat, and three women with shopping bags chattering, glancing briefly as he stared at them.

  Then his phone rang again. He looked at the number. Withheld.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’re there. Good.’

  ‘Where are you?’ he shouted, turning quickly. Then he realised.

  He walked to the edge of the platform. It was for the through-trains and the station was above the rest of the city, feeding trains across Manchester on old brick viaducts. It was mostly dark ahead, the view towards where the bright lights of the city centre petered out. There were some offices and apartments and the high-rise of student flats, along with the stream of orange lights from a road that seemed empty apart from the flow of black cabs. There was no one walking, it wasn’t that type of area. There were large patches of darkness, where derelict brickwork spoke of decay, spaces used for prostitution and drug dealing. This was why she had chosen this place. She could see him. But he would never see her.

  ‘So what do I do?’ he said.

  She was moving again. ‘Like I told you. When a train comes in, jump in front of it. Then Ruby goes home. Just twenty minutes now. Time is slipping by.’

  ‘There has to be another way,’ he said.

  There was a noise in the background, some shuffling, and then, ‘No, please, stop, don’t hurt me. No, no, no,’ and then a scream, a short burst, a lungful of terror and desperation, loud and shrill, and Sam could hear the tears in it, the fear, but it was cut short by a slap. It became muffled as something was pushed into her mouth, like screeches through cloth. He had recognised it though. It was unmistakable. It was Ruby.

  Sam closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about what they were doing to her, of how damaged Ruby would be afterwards, if there was an afterwards for her.

  ‘How can I trust you to let her go?’ he said.

  ‘You can’t,’ was the reply. ‘But you can believe me when I say that I will kill her if you don’t do as I say.’

  Then the phone went silent. He looked at the handset, disbelieving, and then looked out over the city again. Where was she?

  The three women had edged away from him and had stopped talking. When he looked at them, they turned away. Then he was distracted by the sound of heavy boots. As he looked round, he saw the bright green coats of cops.

  Transp
ort cops.

  Sixty-Eight

  ‘They’re somewhere near Piccadilly,’ Joe said, accelerating. ‘We don’t have much time.’

  ‘What, he’s seen them?’ Gina said, surprised, wiping tears from her cheeks, the news about Monica hitting her hard.

  ‘No, but they saw him in Piccadilly Gardens.’ He got closer to the car in front, craning his neck, looking where he could overtake, but it was all traffic bollards and lights and further queues ahead. His knuckles were white from gripping the wheel, tight and throttling.

  ‘Why Monica?’ Gina said. ‘What has she ever done to Ronnie Bagley?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Joe said, as he stared grimly out of the windscreen. ‘I should have protected her.’

  ‘You can’t think like that. He was just a client.’

  ‘Accused of murder. I should have been more vigilant. I should have remembered him. That’s why he wanted me, because he had used me before, and it was a big thing to him, that I remembered him. Why was that?’

  ‘But it’s not just Ronnie, is it? Who’s the woman? If Ronnie has an accomplice, do we have a name?’

  Joe glanced over. ‘I’m not sure Ronnie is in charge.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Think about it,’ Joe said. ‘You were right, Ronnie was with us around the first time someone followed Ruby. So someone else must be involved, helping with the hard stuff. The snatching. The pursuing. And what did we find out today about the woman Ronnie was accused of killing?’

  ‘Carrie? That she’s still alive.’

  Joe nodded. ‘Terry Day told us that he had seen Carrie and Grace. What was Ronnie’s reaction?’

  ‘Anger.’

  ‘Didn’t that surprise you? He’s wanted for murder, and instead of relief that his case is going to go away, or happiness that his daughter is alive, he got angry, told us not to pursue that line of defence. Not long afterwards, Terry Day was murdered. Sam said that it was by a woman. What does that tell you?’

  Gina frowned. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘That Ronnie didn’t want anyone to know that Carrie was still alive,’ Joe said, and banged the steering wheel with his hand. ‘Why would that be? If he was working with someone else, why does it matter if Carrie is alive or not? Sam thought that he might have murdered Carrie because she’d found out what he was doing, snatching teenagers, people linked to Ben Grant’s trial, and so he silenced her. But why would that bother her? She was Ben Grant’s most frequent visitor. There are rumours about her being involved with him. No, she wouldn’t feel revulsion.’ He frowned. ‘I think it’s something different.’