Chapter Seventy

Jack waited for the swing, for the drop, his nails digging into his clenched fists, his chest rising and falling fast, his heart like a drum roll, but nothing came. He opened his eyes. Don was staring at Shane, his jaw set, Mike just behind him. Shane laughed, but it came out with a wince as the beating took effect again.

‘What are you laughing at?’ Don said.

‘You,’ Shane said, his voice muffled through the swelling. He spat blood onto the floor. ‘What do you want, for me to feel fear? Or is it that you’re too scared to do it?’

‘Don’t, Shane!’ Jack shouted.

‘Oh, fuck off,’ Shane snarled at Jack. ‘Stop playing the hero. I’d have had your girl too if that other car hadn’t come along. So go on, kick away my chair, like the big man wants you to.’

Don stepped forward and raised his foot. It rested on the edge of Shane’s chair. ‘I want you to feel the terror that my daughter felt, in the last moments before she died.’

‘Those weren’t moments,’ Shane said. ‘They were minutes.’

Don went pale.

‘It’s not like the movies,’ Shane continued, his voice gloating. ‘There’s no quick squeeze and then it’s over. No, they can hold on for fucking ages. Can you imagine how long someone can hold their breath for? It’s like that, big man.’ He laughed again, and then he was wracked by coughs. ‘I had to take a break, my hands were cramping up.’

An unhealthy flush was colouring Don’s cheeks.

‘He’s trying to make you angry,’ David Hoyle said to Don. ‘Don’t do it. Stick to what you said.’

Shane nodded, and tried to peer at David Hoyle through swollen eyes. ‘He’s fucking sharp, that one. I remember when I was creeping around his house, but I fucked that one up, because it was all a bit off the cuff.’

‘Why me?’ Hoyle said, his voice hardening.

Shane spat out some more blood, and Don and Mike had to move quickly to avoid being hit. ‘Because you’re as guilty as everyone else for making her life miserable. I saw you, at the police station, on the day you released Don’s pets into the wild. Those little shits have made Emma’s life a misery, and all you could do was grin as they laughed at how they’d got off again.’

‘That was the lack of evidence, not me,’ Hoyle said.

‘Oh spare me your fucking morality,’ Shane snapped, drawing deep breaths as he battled his injuries. ‘It’s just a big game to you. I was there, I saw you. I was wheeling some files through, and you looked so fucking pleased with yourself. So I improvised, and it didn’t pay off.’ He tried to hold his head up so he could stare at Hoyle, but he just grimaced with pain. ‘Now you want to do it, Hoyle, I can tell. Go on then, you do it, although you’re already as guilty as everyone else, because you’re all wanting the same thing to happen. Tell them, Hoyle, that it won’t get you off, it doesn’t matter who kicks away my chair.’

Don jabbed Shane in the groin again. Shane went to double up, but the noose stopped him.

‘It’s not about us,’ Don said. ‘It’s about stopping him talking,’ and he gave Jack a jab on his leg.

‘But you want to make me scared,’ Shane said. ‘But I don’t get scared, and that’s what makes me different to you.’

Hoyle stepped forward. ‘He’s trying to make you do it, Don, that’s all. He wants you to end it.’

Shane cackled. ‘Frightened, are we, Mr Hoyle?’

Don stared at Jack, and then back at Shane. He raised his foot onto Jack’s chair and tensed.

‘You’ve got ten seconds to push that bastard’s chair over, and if you don’t, your chair goes first.’

Jack tried to delay it. He turned to Shane. ‘Why Rachel Mason? What was she to you?’

Shane coughed out some more blood. ‘Just for fun,’ he said. ‘Snooty little cow had it coming.’

‘So that was it? You just didn’t like her?’

Shane paused, and then he grinned, blood gathering where his teeth used to be. ‘Oh, I liked her all right. I had been looking forward to her most of all.’

‘You’re wasting your own time, not mine,’ Don said. ‘Do it.’

Jack looked down and saw Don’s foot tense against his chair. He expected Don to count the seconds out, but instead he let the time hover, the room silent. Jack looked up again, closed his eyes, refused to take part, made a silent prayer that it was an empty threat. But he knew it made sense, that he was a witness, and people like Don Roberts don’t like witnesses. He could feel Don’s foot push against the chair, making it rock onto the back legs, and Jack’s leg was struggling to support him now. He was shaking. He said goodbye to Laura, to Bobby. He was angry that he was acting like a coward, except that it didn’t feel like cowardice, because he was doing what was right: he was refusing to kill a man. But even if it felt like the right thing to do, whatever Shane had done, it would be a short-lived victory, because his conscience would die with him.

Jack knew the ten seconds had passed, and he opened his eyes to the view of the skylight. Then he saw them.

Jack had been looking at the stars, silver dots in the dark blue, but then the light seemed to change. It acquired a flicker, like a strobe effect, and as he watched, the flickers got brighter. Blue flickers.

Jack looked down. Don was tense and still. Hoyle was turning towards the front of the office. So was Mike Corley.

Then Jack heard them. A distant wail. The soundtrack for the flickers. Sirens, far off, but getting closer.

‘Cut us down,’ Jack shouted, his pulse racing now, adrenaline making his cheeks flush, his fingers trembling. ‘All you will have is some beatings. Go on, do it, Don, while you still have the chance.’ His tongue flicked across his lips as his mouth went dry.

The sirens sounded like they were close now. Don looked at Jack, then at Hoyle, and then at Shane. He looked angry, and he looked scared, like an animal caught in the headlights, not sure which way to turn.

‘We need to go, Don,’ Hoyle said, panic in his voice.

Corley headed for the front door, but Don shouted, ‘No, out the back.’

Mike turned, but then his attention was dragged back to the front by the sound of sirens in the street outside. ‘We need to go, Don, now.’

Don looked towards the rear of the building, and then at Jack again, before he started to move. ‘Let’s go,’ Don said. He pulled out a knife from his pocket and started to look around for a way to get level with the rope, but then there was a screech of tyres outside and the sound of shouting.

They ran towards the back of the room, all in a rush to get away. There was a hammering at the front door, and then the sound of someone trying to kick their way in. Jack felt relief course through him, sweat breaking across his forehead, the pain in his knee coming into focus.

Jack looked at Shane, and realised that he knew what was going on.

‘It’s over,’ Jack said to him.

Shane looked at the door as it sounded like the wood was splintering, the banging incessant. Then he turned to Jack and shook his head.

Shane kicked at Jack’s chair and it wobbled. Jack shouted for him to stop, pressed his feet down to try and apply some weight. He felt the rope go tight against his neck as he tottered on the chair, the knot digging into his skin. Shane took another go at kicking the chair, and this time he caught it with more force.

The chair started to lean to one side. Jack tried to balance on it, to bring it back. He heard Shane cackle behind him, and the sound of shouting from outside. Jack lashed out with his foot but his leg gave way, just for a second, and as he struggled to control it, he felt himself lose balance.

Jack’s chair hit the floor with a clatter and he felt his legs swing into the air. He tried to shout out but the rope clamped tightly around his neck, and all he could hear for a couple of seconds was the creak of the rope. Then there was another noise, another clatter of a chair going over, followed by a short scream and then the sound of a crack.