Chapter 9

Consequences of the Unforeseen

Back at his office, Commissioner Randall was waiting, as Ironside guessed he would be. In spite of everything that had happened, the Chief still had a money drop to consider, though he didn't know where or when it was going to be. Getting the McDonald case to trial was the Department's and the Commissioner's top priority, even though it was the very last thing on Ironside's mind at the moment.

There was a sense that time was running out. There were only a few hours left, and the Commissioner was understandably anxious.

'Carl has been keeping me informed, Bob, as far as it goes,' Dennis Randall said sombrely as Ironside rolled himself in. 'How's Eve?'

'Resting. For the moment.'

There was a meaningful pause.

'And what about Sergeant Brown?'

Ironside noted the lack of a first name with interest.

'He's gone.'

'Well, I hope for your sake there's a but to qualify that, Bob,' said Randall.

'Of course there's a but,' snapped Ironside. 'Eve's statement clears him of any conspiracy. It was blackmail, Dennis, a particularly nasty kind of blackmail.'

'But…'

'The first rule in any sort of kidnapping is to keep the victims safe. And that is exactly what Ed did. That is what I would have done, and you too, Commissioner!'

Dennis considered this for a moment.

'Very well, Bob. We'll leave that aside. We have other things to worry about.'

From his inside jacket pocket, the Commissioner pulled out a letter.

'While you were at the hospital, this arrived at my office, addressed to you. I took the liberty of opening it.' He handed the letter over. 'We've had the lab boys over it, no fingerprints, no anything.

Ironside opened the envelope. There was a set of instructions typed out on a plain sheet of paper, and a short string of numbers at the end.

The Chief looked up, his mouth open to ask, but the Commissioner beat him to the punch.

'By courier, special delivery. We've tried to trace it, but there's nothing. All done by telephone and cash.'

'Are you sure?' asked Ironside. Dennis gave him a dark look.

'There are other competent law enforcement officers in this department,' he said dryly. 'Besides you.'

'And this?' said Ironside, pointing at the number. 'I presume it's a telephone number.'

'It's being checked right now.'

'Good.'

The instructions were simple. Ironside was to be at the right place at two minutes past four in the morning with the money in the van. No cover. No backup. And no second chances.

'I'll need your help to get everything ready, Commissioner,' said Ironside.

'You're not going to go through with this, are you, Bob? Not without some sort of backup on hand?'

'Of course I am,' replied Ironside.

'Doing what Richards wants you to do is dangerous,' said Randall. 'You'll be playing right into his hands.'

'And if I don't, there will be no doubt that McDonald will walk. Richards isn't going to compromise.'

Randall gave him a doubtful look.

'You don't fool me for a moment, Bob,' Dennis said curtly. 'I know why you're doing this.'

The dark expression on the Chief's face grew darker.

'Even if there is still a slight chance he's alive, I'm going to take it,' said Ironside. 'You can't stop me.'

'I can withhold the money,' said Randall. 'Two million dollars is a lot for just one police sergeant.'

Ironside's face curled into a full scowl and he hunched forward in his wheelchair.

'I had no idea you were so penny-pinching, Commissioner!' he said angrily.

'I know you'd pay ten times that, a hundred times that, or more, to get him back, Bob. But it's not your money.'

'You're not going to stop me from going,' persisted Ironside. 'So if that's all you came here to say, then…'

'Don't throw me out just yet,' said Randall calmly. 'I'm not going to withhold the money. I'm just saying that your walking into a trap.'

'I know. I'm going into this with my eyes open.'

'Bob, please. This is not a good idea.'

'He's right, Chief,' chipped in Mark suddenly. 'It's what this Richards cat wants you to do.'

'But Anthony Richards is not the only one who can plan a trap.'

'So what are you planning, Chief?' Mark asked.

Ironside shook his head. The idea was still in its infancy, he needed some more time to be sure, before he spoke to his staff. And he certainly wasn't going to tip his hand too soon to the Commissioner either. Dennis would only try and talk him out of it.

'We have a lot of work to do before four,' he said. 'Mark, you take care of the van, strip it everything that's not vital. Right down to the spare. And get me Carl, I want information from Texas, I want the full file on my desk in an hour. Then get me Eve.'

'Surely Eve has been through enough,' said Dennis.

'I need her,' said Ironside. 'And she will want to be part of this, she maybe even needs to be part of this. Lying, going over her imagined mistakes in a white hospital room isn't going to help. Being here, with me, helping, is.'

'I hope you're right,' said the Commissioner, rising. 'I'll have the money ready for you to collect, Bob.'

'Thank you, Dennis.'

The Commissioner shook his head.

'For what it's worth, I'm not sure you should be thanking me.'

Dennis rose, and with a courteous nod to Mark he walked out. Ironside watched him leave, his forehead furrowed in a frown, already thinking of what to do next.

He was under no illusions about what was at stake, not just one of the most important trials in the city, but also the life of one of his close friends. He had to think this through very carefully; what was he willing to risk on the off chance that he could save Ed's life?

Though his expression remained the same, he felt a rising sense of anticipation. He had to predict what Richards would do, unflinchingly and dispassionately. He was the only one who could.

And once he'd done that, all he could do was wait and pray for Ed's sake that he was right.

The first thing that Ed became aware of was the repetitive rhythm of pop music, and every drumbeat and chord sent a surge of pain though his head. It took him a few moments of confusion to realise that the music was coming from a radio as it had the low quality hiss, and the occasional burst of static.

Someone was listening to a radio. That didn't make a great deal of sense at the moment. But rather than worrying about it, as maybe he should have, Ed slowly opened his eyes.

He was inside somewhere, lying with his right arm crushed underneath him on a wooden floor, his hands still cuffed in front of his stomach. From his position on the ground, he could almost make out a table close by that was the source of the music. The room beyond was larger than he remembered, and colder. It had a low roof, and thick wooden beams that supported a string of yellow-tinted electric lights. Though the lights were dim, their brightness hurt the back of his eyes. Squinting made it feel a little better, but it was too difficult to sustain. He let he eyes close again.

Apart from an aching head, his shoulder and arm hurt where he had been lying on them, and he felt the room swim and lurch very slightly, making him feel sick. There was a damp, sea-like smell to the building, and Ed could only guess that he was somewhere near the ocean, but if there was any noise of water, it was drowned out by the music.

Worry whispered at the back of his mind. Remembering was difficult, but he needed to remember what had happened, and how he had gotten himself into this, whatever this was.

Almost drowned out by the music, Ed could make out male voices, and they were arguing. One, an educated, Californian voice, was trying to be reasonable, but the other one, with a Texan accent, was furiously spitting out swear words.

Ed couldn't make out all of the conversation, and the parts he did were garbled and confused. Then the Texan said something about a woman, and there was a tiny flicker of understanding in Ed's mind.

'I wanted the blondie,' the Texan said. 'You promised me I could have her afterwards.'

'You'll just have to make do with the money instead,' replied the other man.

'I don't want money!'

'Just think of all the blondes you can find with a quarter of a million.'

There was a low mutter that Ed couldn't make out.

'Besides,' said the second man, 'She dead now, so it's over.'

Dead? Ed drew a sharp breath, opening his eyes again. Who was dead? Blonde? Dead? As if someone had suddenly flicked a switch, he remembered the room they had been in; holding her gently through the long, empty night as she slept; the harsh stink of gas as he'd been dragged out to the car. They had left her…

'Eve…!' he said. Oh, God, not Eve!

The rush of shock and grief made it feel like he was falling. He could hardly breathe. There was the sound of hurried footsteps and the radio was suddenly cut off, mid-song. He saw movement, and a man walked forward to where Ed was lying on the floor. Anthony Richards.

'So you're awake,' he said. 'Finally.'

'Eve?' His voice sounded distorted and far away. 'Not dead.'

Eve couldn't be dead. Not after everything that had happened. But Richards gave a callous shrug that made Ed's blood turn colder that iced water.

'It was on the news. They're looking for a body at the warehouse.'

For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped, a feeling that he had had once before, the last time someone he'd cared for was murdered. He'd never wanted that feeling again. The disbelief lifted, leaving behind the suffocating shock of loss. Ed wasn't sure what hurt the most, the fact she was dead after all he'd done to keep her alive; the fact he had failed to keep her alive; or the totally cold and emotionless way with which Richards spoke.

He wanted to shout at the man as a red haze of anger descended on him, but he couldn't get the words out to express himself. He'd lost friends before, he'd lost partners, he'd lost his fiancée. Now he'd lost Eve too. Richards glanced down at him, without any trace of emotion.

'You bastard,' Ed whispered.

Richards wasn't even listening. He didn't care.

'Enough,' said Richards. 'It's done and can't be undone. I would worry about yourself now.'

Ed gave an ironic half-laugh. After everything that Richards had done, did he really think it mattered?

'You can't use her as leverage any more,' Ed replied, his voice slightly slurred.

'That is true,' said Richards. 'But maybe I don't need to. Maybe I don't want to. Pick him up.'

Lonnie tugged Ed's arm, sending a bolt of pain though his shoulder, and then pulled him to a nearby chair. On the table close by, Ed caught sight of Eve's discarded purse, and the wave of revulsion rose again in the back of his throat. She was gone. How could he live with himself after letting her down so badly?

'Now you're awake, let's see if we can get some answers,' said Richards. 'Because there's only one way Ironside could have been there so soon.'

Richards grabbed Ed by the throat, forcing his head back. Pain shot through the top of his spine and neck, making little pinpricks of light swirl through his vision. He tried to raise his arms to push the man away, but something jerked them back down.

'I want to know how you did it?' Richards hissed. 'How did you tip him off?'

'I didn't.'

Richards smashed the palm of his other hand into Ed's face, across his nose and Ed cried out. All he could smell and taste was warm metal and there was the trickle of blood coming out of his nose and over his mouth.

'I didn't,' Ed said thickly, surprised at how odd his voice sounded. He looked up at Richards. 'Maybe Ironside's better than you think.'

Under the circumstances, it was a pretty stupid thing to say. Richards responded by hitting him flat-handed across the face again. But through the pain, Ed couldn't quite regret saying what he thought, as he'd finally managed to get the urbane and unflappable Anthony Richards mad enough to do something and get his hands dirty. Besides, the physical pain helped dull the haunting image of Eve's face.

With a final, agonising shove, Richards released Ed's throat. After a few moments of stillness to steady himself, Ed slowly leaned over to spit the blood from his mouth onto the floor.

'Well, you should be very glad she's not here,' hissed Richards. 'I would have let him have as much fun with her as he could.'

Ed shuddered at the threat, empty though it was now. They couldn't hurt Eve now. That was the only small comfort he could find in Eve's death.

'Well, maybe I should just let Lonnie work on you, since we've lost our leverage,' Richards snarled.

Ed was sure he saw Lonnie smile.

'Mr Richards, it would be a pleasure to bleed the pig and hear him squeal.'

Ed could still remember what Richards had told him about Lonnie. And he had no doubt the man would enjoy it.

Cold dread settled in Ed's stomach. He couldn't see any way out of this. He'd been in tight situations before. As a cop on the streets of the city his life had been in danger a number of times, and working for the Chief had sometimes felt like a death wish. But he had always known that his colleagues, his friends, were still looking out for him. This time, he wasn't so sure. Eve was dead, what if they thought he was dead too? Or worse, what if they thought he'd caused her death and were out, looking for revenge? Ed gave a small shiver. But what else were they going to think?

Just how would the Chief react to Eve's death? And Mark? Ed was still too shocked to believe it. But at least she wasn't here.

On the table beside him, he could still see Eve's purse, half open with the contents sticking out of the top, her lipstick, her keys, her notebook, her compact, her perfume. Beside that was a gun. Ed recognised it as a police revolver; maybe it was her gun as well.

Richards followed his gaze and picked the gun up. For a heart-stopping moment Ed thought that was the end, that Richards was going to point it between his eyes and fire. But Richards didn't move.

'Do you know what happened to my brother?' he asked at last. 'Did Robert tell you?'

Ed debated not saying anything, but silence would only result in more pain. There would be more than enough of that later, he was sure.

'You put a contract on him,' replied Ed. 'You ordered a hit so he wouldn't testify against you.'

'But did Robert ever tell you exactly how he died? The circumstances? What happened?'

'No.'

Richards gave a sardonic laugh.

'I can't say I'm surprised,' he said. 'Robert Ironside bears the brunt of the responsibility for it.'

Richards lifted the gun up, holding it to the light so he could examine it. It gleamed in the dim light like the ocean under the moon, treacherous, mysterious and black. Ed watched every move Richards made, wondering when the man would finally snap and pull the trigger.

After a minute of silence and contemplation, Richards looked back at Ed.

'My brother,' he said with a slight hiss to his tone, 'my betrayer was left to bleed to death in a dark alleyway.'

Richards looked at him, but underneath the cold stare, Ed could sense the other man's anger bubbling just below the calm surface. His face, once so bland and bloodless had thin lines of tension all over it.

It was clear what was going to happen. Somehow, probably baited with the missing drugs, Robert Ironside would be led here for a demonstration of revenge. The Chief had already lost Eve, he'd watch as Ed was murdered as well. Then Richards would kill Ironside too.

Richards nodded slowly.

'I see you understand, Brown,' he said. ' But remember, I couldn't have done it, any of it, without your help.'

Ed shuddered, and Richards gave a light laugh and turned away.

It hurt all the more because it was true. He'd been manoeuvred and blackmailed into cooperating, but that didn't change the fact that he had helped. He was responsible, at least in part for this situation, and for Eve's death. And now he couldn't even warn the Chief.

'String him up,' Richards said to Lonnie. 'Over there.'

Ed was abruptly pulled upright once more. Though he was still in pain, Ed was aware enough to know that this might be his very last opportunity to get himself out of this and help the Chief. He didn't have a plan, he couldn't think straight enough for that, but he did know he had to try, now he couldn't endanger Eve.

As Lonnie undid the cuff on his right wrist, Ed yanked his arm away, and hit the man hard in the stomach with all that was left of his strength, using all the grief and pain as fuel. Lonnie gave an oof surprise.

But still, Lonnie was faster. He straightened quickly and did exactly the same back to Ed knocking the air out of his lungs and following it up with a powerful hook that sent Ed crashing against the wall, next to a line of boxes.

Again, Ed was too slow and weakened to gain any advantage. Lonnie was across beside him by the time Ed had managed to push himself upright, and he brought his foot down across the cuff that was still on Ed's left wrist, grinding it down into the wooden floorboards. A lance of agony shot up Ed's arm, and he only didn't cry out as he didn't have any breath left to make the noise.

Clearly furious at what had happened, Lonnie yanked him off the floor and pulled him back across to beside the table. Disorientated and breathless, Ed had no strength or coordination to stop him. Lonnie jerked Ed's left arm round, twisting it as far forward as it would go. Then he lifted it up high, and flicked the other side of the cuffs over the ceiling beam and pulled it tight. Then he grabbed Ed's other arm and lifted it up, and clipped the cuff round the wrist, leaving Ed stretched at full height, arms fixed fast round the roof beam, unable to get away. His feet slipped on the floor, and he struggled to keep himself upright without putting all his weight on his aching arms. In spite of the discomfort it caused, Ed let his head tip back, as it was easier to breath. His last chance was gone.

'That was very stupid,' said Richards, not looking at Ed.

Ed didn't particularly care if it was stupid or not. He couldn't just let himself be brought down completely without a fight, now they couldn't hurt Eve. Richards move closer to Ed so he was only a few inches away, the hand with the gun shifting restlessly. There was silence but for Ed's ragged, erratic breathing.

'Mr Richards?' said Lonnie hopefully. 'Mr Richards?'

Richards sighed, the calm, urbane disinterest back on his face. He looked Ed in the eye for a few moments.

'Oh, ok, Lonnie. Get on with it. But nothing too clever. And don't kill him, I want him awake for Ironside.'

Lonnie nodded and stepped up in front of Ed, the smile on his face one of pure anticipation. Ed tensed, struggling ineffectually against the handcuffs, but that only made Lonnie smile more widely.

Ed knew what was going to happen. And there was nothing he could do to stop him.

Once again, Lonnie reached up to touch the blood on Ed's face, his expression one of fascination. Then slowly and deliberately, he removed Ed's tie and one by one undid the buttons down the front of Ed's once-white shirt.

The man's hand felt like sandpaper on the skin of his ribcage, and Ed hissed in pain as Lonnie found and poked all the cuts and bruises down his side. Then he moved round examining Ed's torso as if it were a piece of meat waiting to be carved. It was all Ed could do keep breathing, and try and control his growing panic and fear. And though he tugged and pulled, all that did was make his arms, wrists and neck hurt more.

Finally, Lonnie stopped touching him and stepped back.

Then Ed heard the flick of a knife. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the cold cut of steel, and yet more pain.

He didn't have to wait for long.