Border Lines (Reachers Book 2) Page 10

  “Okay, stupid idea.”

  The tears broke free and she knocked back the rest of her drink. “He killed Harvey and he's coming for me.”

  Charlie took a step back. He'd walked in on something big and he wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to stay. She wiped her face, spreading more mascara over her sapphire eyes. It dawned on him suddenly – she wasn't crying for her husband, she was crying for herself. Common sense begged Charlie to leave, but he wasn't that type of guy. She was alone and afraid and there was no way he could just leave her like that.

  “Look is there somewhere you can go, maybe someone you can call?”

  “I called Harvey,” she told him bluntly and lifted her head back in anguish. “I thought you had come to kill me,” she confessed.

  “No, just to snoop through your husband's things, that's all. Listen are you really sure that he's dead? What evidence do you have?”

  “Evidence? Harvey was working on the serial killer story.”

  “Serial killer story?”

  She gestured that he make himself comfortable in the lounge and brought the vodka with her. She sat opposite him but there was no caution in her now. Charlie wasn't sure if that was just a vibe he encouraged, or if the blue vodka was helping with her nerves. Either way it wasn't healthy for a girl in her situation to be so relaxed around strangers.

  “You really don't know about the killings?”

  “I've only just arrived in London.”

  “Where were you before then?”

  “Out in the country.” He was earning her trust. “With my brother and sister.”

  As he said it he remembered they were probably about ready to storm the building.

  “Oh crap how long was I out?”

  “I don't know, not long.”

  He fumbled for his phone. As he did she tensed but another sip of vodka took the stress away. He quickly sent John a text to make sure they didn't come in guns blazing.

  “Sorry, my brother will be pacing like an animal by now.” He put his phone away and she offered him the bottle of vodka after topping up her own glass. He figured one sip wouldn't hurt.

  “So you were saying, about some killings.”

  “You saw the wall right?” Jess licked her lips, clearly finding the next part of her story difficult. “I used to work out on the streets. Does that surprise you?”

  “I'm rarely surprised,” he replied.

  “Well I'm not ashamed of it. A girl has to eat right? That's how I met Harvey and by the way he isn't ashamed of it either so you can forget about blackmailing him for that. After I got married I didn't totally lose touch with the other girls. Some of them fed me stories, snapped a few photos if they got to hook up with anyone particularly important. Then one girl I knew got murdered. The cops weren't going to do anything about it so I asked Harvey if I could take the story. At first he wasn't interested, one dead hooker isn't exactly news, but then we uncovered more. Then I lost a friend.”

  Charlie took another sip, as intrigued by Jess as he was by the story.

  “There were other girls killed in exactly the same way. All working girls all on the border. When I took that to Harvey he got interested. We started to investigate together and Harvey, well he just got obsessed. That wall, God I didn't even know he'd done that. He was worried about me, he thought I could be a target. Bastard took me off the case and that was the last time I spoke to him.”

  “Did Harvey keep working the case?”

  “Yeah. He got information from the morgue, the cops, everyone.”

  “Do you know who the killer is?”

  “Harvey did. He wouldn't say, but he was holding something back. He told me to lie low and drop the case. He said he'd do the same, but clearly he didn't. Whoever killed those girls killed Harvey – I'm sure of it.”

  “There isn't a body though?”

  She glared at Charlie, her bright blue eyes shining desperately. “He's dead.”

  “You were separated you said.”

  “We make a great team, just not a great married couple.”

  “Could he have gone off with another woman?”

  The incredulous look she gave him stopped that line of questioning altogether.

  “His advice is probably right. You should lie low, keep your head down and wait.”

  “While more girls die?”

  “What's more important, stopping the killer or saving yourself?”

  Her eyes rolled over him, settling on the hand holding the bottle neck, homing in on his wedding ring.

  “How long have you been married?”

  “I was married seven years.”

  “Divorced?”

  “Widowed.”

  She reached out and touched his hand. The spark of electricity that ran through him was embarrassing. It had been a long time. He should have pulled away but he couldn't bring himself to. Jess was grieving, looking for a source of comfort and stability while she rode out the storm. She was vulnerable and it would be easy to take advantage. Charlie tried to convince himself he was not that type of guy, but there was also the job to think about and Jess could prove to be quite useful.

  “How did she die?”

  “She was murdered.” He held back the rest of the story.

  Jess was surprised. “Wow, I guess we have quite a lot in common.”

  “I hope not, you don't want to have a lot in common with me.”

  “Funny I was thinking the same.” She laughed to herself, as though she were musing on some private thought.

  She regarded him for a few moments. He couldn't tell if it was the journalist or the whore trying to work him out.

  “I don't like the idea of you staying here by yourself. Are you sure we can't get somebody to come and stay with you? Maybe one of the security guards downstairs?”

  She shook her head. “No, I can't trust them.”

  “Okay, well what about if I give you my number and you call me if you need help?”

  “Do you normally break into houses and leave girls your number?”

  He smirked. “Only the ones that hit me on the head. Just to put my mind at ease.”

  She found a pen wedged between two dinner plates, passed it to him and offered him her hand to write on. Carefully he wrote his mobile number down, happily ignoring the paranoia going off in his head.

  “I should go, I'll be missed.”

  “I imagine you will. Thank you for not killing me.”

  Charlie made his way to the door. He paused when he got there.

  “If you think you're in trouble, call me,” he said. “I'll be in London for a while yet.”

  “Does trouble mean someone is here trying to kill me or I'm alone and fearing for my life?”

  He pretended to think about it. “Both.”

  Charlie gave her a smile he thought he'd forgotten. He forced himself to open the door. He had to leave. His common sense was screaming at him to get away. He made the final push and launched himself towards the elevator. His head was as messed up as Harvey's kitchen. He pressed himself up against the wall and tried to sort himself out. The stupid grin still remained on his face, even after he'd walked out of the building.

  19

  They drove around for hours. Mark sat in the driver's seat, scouring the pavement for something, anything familiar. They were never going to find them but if Adams objected to the fruitless task he didn't say a word. Rachel was gone, that was obvious after the first few minutes, but Mark couldn't let it rest. If there was just one chance he could find her, he had to take it.

  He gave up just before eleven. He pulled up the car in a side road and smacked the steering wheel. Once again he'd screwed up. Adams was probably going to cut him loose and where would he end up? Back at the work camp? On the streets?

  But as usual, he'd underestimated his boss. Adams scratched at the shaving rash on the side of his face. He checked his watch, seemingly uncaring that they had just wasted an entire evening. He unbuckled his seatbelt.

 
“Come on kid, let's go get a pint before you do my car some serious damage.”

  There were pubs in S'aven. Some of the ones Mark used to get invited to with the rest of his old squad were pretty good. But London had real pubs, ones that had been serving since the middle ages and would probably be serving for many years to come. There were other bars too, themed bars, clubs, spiritual bars pumping through clean air and covered in yoga mats, but Adams was a proper old school drinker. He had one local a block away from their office and that was all he needed to know about London's nightlife.

  He sat Mark down in a wooden booth and passed him a pint of bitter. Mark wasn't much of a drinker and he tried not to wince like a child as he swallowed the tepid brown liquid. There were a few others in the pub, mostly old men staring off into nothing as the hours ticked away. This was the first time Adams had invited Mark anywhere off duty – if he wasn't in such a bad mood Mark might have appreciated it.

  “How long were you with her?” Adams asked, leaning back in his chair and letting his gut swell in the space.

  Mark fingered the rim of his tankard. “Four years.”

  “How'd you meet?”

  “There was a fight on the job and I got knocked on the head. Being a junior officer I had to go to St Mary's. Rachel was my doctor. She was so good, she knew what she was talking about and she was kind. We just connected.”

  “You never suspected she might have been using you to keep herself safe?”

  Mark shook his head. “Do you think that was what she was doing?”

  “How many people were in that lobby, twenty?”

  “Maybe.”

  Adams nodded. “She's category five,” he declared as though it was something he had suspected for a while.

  “Harvey O'Connor's missing,” Adams said after a few minutes. “Nobody's seen him for several days. You know until those security guards told me that, I had the whole case figured out in my head.”

  “You did?”

  “When I interviewed O'Connor after he found the second body he was holding something back. I figured at first that he was probably looking for some action and just didn't want us to know. Then when he was there at the fourth body, Clare – well that was just a bit too much of a coincidence.”

  “He said he was working the story,” Mark said. Harvey O'Connor was a rich and powerful guy, there was no reason to think he was up to no good.

  As if Adams had read his mind he shook his head in despair. “Kid, Harvey O'Connor is a so-called editor of a so-called newspaper. He isn't a reporter and as far as I'm aware he hasn't got a creative bone in that sapphire addicted body of his.”

  “He's on drugs?” Mark said in surprise.

  Adams looked at him incredulously. “Listen son, you've got to get your head out of the propaganda for a minute. This city here is just S'aven in a mink coat okay. The streets are a little cleaner and the food flows more freely, but it is the same cesspit of shit as anywhere else on the planet. Men like Harvey O'Connor are scum with big bank accounts and small dicks. Remember that.”

  Mark nodded in obedience.

  “When that second girl came through I had a feeling Harvey was involved. Tell you the truth I was starting to suspect he was a Reacher. That's why we were going to see him. But you know I'm starting to think that maybe O'Connor really was writing a story and maybe he got too close.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “Do you know how many category five Reachers I've come across this year?”

  Mark shook his head.

  “Three. They were all here ten months ago and now they're back.”

  “You think that the Smith Brothers are doing this?”

  “Or your Rachel. Maybe Harvey had pictures of them. Maybe he was about to break the biggest Reacher story in history. We've got to look at the facts. These girls are being killed by one or more Reachers, at least category four. And today we have seen two category fives in O'Connor's building. This can't be coincidence Mark. One of them at least is a killer. And we are going to bring those sons of bitches down.”

  “But how, we can't even find them?”

  “We know what they look like, this won't take long at all. Drink up kid, tomorrow we're going hunting.”

  20

  At three in the morning Charlie carefully prised the door to their apartment open. Before he could step into the room the lights switched on and John and Rachel were waiting for him on the couch.

  “Hey, Mum, Dad,” he said. Neither of them seemed in the mood to joke.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” John snapped.

  “Didn't you get my message? O'Connor's wife was in the apartment when I got there. After a brief, violent misunderstanding we got talking.”

  “Just talking?” Rachel asked, folding her arms.

  “Yes, just talking. Not that it's any of your business.”

  “It is our business when you ignored our calls.”

  Charlie was about to argue when he noticed three packed bags by the door. “Wait, what's happened?”

  “Cops,” John stated.

  “Cops? What do you mean cops?”

  “There were cops at the Voice. Or rather there was a specific cop. Mark was there. I walked straight into him and he recognised me.”

  “Then they followed us out. We lost them,” John added. “For now.”

  The ache in Charlie's back grew. He sat down and as he did his brother got up. Cops brought out the worst in John. His mind reverted back to its old training and, until he felt sure he was out of reach, he wouldn't relax. Rachel didn't seem to be faring much better either. Charlie put his arm around her – half an apology, half in comfort.

  “Listen we stumble across cops all the time. There's nothing to worry about. They're like cockroaches, you're never more than three feet away from one. Is everything packed?”

  She nodded. John paced.

  “How long?”

  “Four hours since we lost them.”

  “That gives us plenty of time.” Charlie glanced at the apartment, his body yearning for bed. “I guess we're slumming it from now on.”

  There weren't a lot of places to go in the early hours of the morning. As metropolitan as the city was, it liked to keep business hours and anything more than that drew suspicion. The Grange's luxury was only ever a temporary thing – a treat before another long road ahead. They were well rested and clean, a few nights in squalor wouldn't harm them. Which was lucky because Charlie had the most squalid place imaginable in mind.

  If the cops were on their tail they would need to stay off the radar, concentrating fully on the job and getting it done quickly. He wanted to sit and think over what Jess had said to him, but in the rush, for the sake of the others, he had to put it and her to the back of his mind.

  John drove and instinctively he seemed to know where they were heading. It was then Charlie understood how tense his brother was – he wasn't even arguing about where they would spend the night. That was a bad sign.

  “You good?” he asked.

  “Fine.” John's growl would put a pit–bull in its place.

  “Don't stress this is nothing new. We're nearly there, we'll ditch the car, get settled in, and get some rest. You sleep first and we'll keep watch.”

  He was about to argue.

  “Listen,” Charlie quickly interjected. “You're our best chance at getting out of any trouble, you know that. The cops will have to trace us to The Grange. That's a few hours' work, assuming they're competent. You need to recharge and be ready in case they do catch up with us later.” It was an order and not up for debate.

  John pulled the car around the back of a small corner shop. They walked a further two blocks until they came to the older section of London towards Hyde Park. The buildings here were more ramshackle, while at the same time being charming and full of character. This was Charlie's favourite part of the city. His family home had been just a short walk from the four storey townhouse they were about to break into.

  Charl
ie pressed his hand to the front door and felt a satisfying clunk as it unlocked. He ushered the others inside, checking around for prying eyes. They had a few hours until dawn – anyone with any sense was already in a deep sleep. The ground floor flat of the house had been occupied by the same old lady for as long as Charlie remembered. She'd be awake in a couple of hours and would easily spot a disturbance in the building. He relocked the door and gestured that they head upstairs. The second floor was empty, used mainly for storage by the landlord. Charlie still passed it as quietly as he could.

  When they reached the third floor he stopped. Again he pressed his hand to the door and shook his head when he found it wasn't even locked. He opened it, took a deep breath and surveyed the damage. The door opened into a large living room. There was very little furniture, save for a huge sofa and a screen built into the wall. To compensate for the sparse furnishing the space had been filled with old pizza boxes and takeaway packets. There were boxes of junk piled up in most corners, topped with beer bottles and ashtrays. Poking out of the debris Charlie could see dirty underwear and socks, along with the odd bra and discarded condom wrapper.

  He smiled at his brother as he locked the door behind them, but John's mood was souring further.

  “Where the hell are we?” Rachel asked, displaying her own look of discontentment. After coming from The Grange this was a bit like falling from heaven into the pit.

  “Roxy's place,” John spat and then went to inspect the rest of the flat, grunting as he found one disgusting travesty after another.

  There was a bedroom and a box room, although the box room was filled to the ceiling with more boxes and bags of rubbish. The bedroom only had a bed and a bedside table, but that didn't matter as Roxy preferred to use the floor to store his clothes. His kitchen was a temple to coffee and cigarettes. The sink was full, as was the sideboard, and nothing suggested Roxy had ever cooked a meal in his life.

  “This is a joke, right; we're not really staying here?” Rachel said.

  “Would you believe this is the safest place in London?”

  “Maybe from cops but I'm pretty sure the kitchen could give us hepatitis. Does Roxy really live here I thought he lived in S'aven?”