Dark Angel - a gripping serial-killer thriller with a nail-biting ending Read online

  Stevenson Square had become quite a venue for the type of off-beat bar that thrived in the Northern Quarter. For a Wednesday night, the place was busy with drinkers. And, where drinkers went, so did those who asked for spare change. They soon passed the first person sitting on the pavement, legs swaddled in a sleeping bag, empty cup before him.

  Jon pointed out a small neon sign with yellow lettering. ‘That’s the bar. Wayne’s mate must have meant the place next door. Looks like a commercial premises.’

  Senior grunted a reply. ‘I doubt he’ll have kipped down for the night already. Let’s hope he isn’t too far away.’

  But as they neared the deeply recessed doorway, two figures came into view. They were on a flattened layer of cardboard, bags and food packaging around them. One was sitting up, the other was on his side, seemingly asleep. Senior made a beeline for them both. The one with his eyes open watched their approach from beneath the rim of a battered flat cap. After holding up a hand in greeting, Senior stooped down. ‘Wayne, wake up, you lazy tosser! It’s me, Senior. We’re doing pyramids tonight. Pyramids until you puke.’

  Jon couldn’t help smile at the memory of Senior’s brutal fitness sessions. Hated them at the time, he thought. But, weirdly, quite miss them now.

  The bloke in the flat cap was now lighting a cigarette. ‘He’s out of it, pal. You got no chance.’

  Senior looked to the side. ‘I’ll fucking wake him. With my shoe.’

  The bloke shook his head. ‘He’s had Spice.’

  ‘Great,’ murmured Jon. The synthetic version of skunk that was rife among the city’s homeless community. Sometimes, the stuff left people temporarily paralysed, even while standing up. The sight of their swaying forms had become depressingly familiar in the city centre. ‘When?’

  The man squinted at Jon. ‘Few hours ago? Should be round soonish.’

  Senior crouched down. ‘You give it him?’

  That caused a glare. ‘No. Don’t touch it, me. Who are you, anyway?’

  ‘Old friends,’ Senior said. ‘He played rugby with us, before the army.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Senior.’

  The man nodded. ‘You’re that coach? He said you two had chatted.’

  ‘And this is Jon. Wayne wanted a word with him.’

  The man had to tilt his head right back to see Jon’s face. ‘Sit down, will you? I’ll be putting my neck out at this rate.’

  Jon glanced down, found a relatively clean spot of space on the cardboard and sat, trying to ignore the strong scent of piss coming from the doorway. ‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘Where did he get hold of the Spice, then?’

  ‘Some fucking scrote was doing the rounds before. Even gave it him on tick.’

  A freebie, Jon thought. So Wayne was in his debt. How scummy could you get? ‘You know Wayne, do you?’

  ‘Yeah, we two-up.’ He caught Jon’s questioning look. ‘Sleep as a pair. Safer that way.’

  ‘Were you in the army?’

  ‘I was.’

  Jon held out a hand. ‘Jon Spicer.’

  ‘Alright.’ After they shook, the man dragged deeply on his roll-up, held it down for a second then exhaled. Tobacco smoke wafted across Jon.

  ‘So, Wayne wanted to speak to me about a couple of—’

  ‘Jim Barlow.’ The man pointed to the right with his cigarette. ‘He went off the top of the NCP on Tib Street two weeks ago. Then Ryan Gardner: he was found in an abandoned building over on Bendix Street. At the bottom of the central stairwell. Fell from the top floor.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘About a month ago.’

  ‘And they were both army?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Interesting, thought Jon. ‘What do you think happened?’

  He gave Jon a look. ‘Who can say? Sleeping rough: it’s risky.’

  As the silence stretched out, a group of people strolled past. Jon could tell they’d sensed people were in the doorway, but none of them actually looked.

  It’s different down here, Jon thought. Like being invisible. ‘You reckon someone else was involved?’ he asked.

  The other man pinched his roll-up out and slipped what was left back into a packet. ‘I can’t say I saw anything.’

  ‘But you’ve heard something?’

  He sighed, then looked across at Wayne. ‘I wish that fucker was awake.’

  Jon sensed that was the way to get the other man to talk; get him to give Wayne’s story. ‘What sort of stuff has Wayne heard?’

  He bit at his thumbnail for a second or two. ‘Some bloke who dresses totally in black, apparently.’

  The man’s voice had dropped so low, Jon could hardly hear him.

  ‘Just appears,’ he continued. ‘No warning. Then vanishes again. I don’t know ... there’s always bullshit rumours flying about, isn’t there?’

  Jon draped his forearms over his knees. ‘Is there something to suggest this person targeted the two who died?’

  The man scratched at his armpit. ‘Well, they were in the army ...’

  I’ll need more than that, Jon thought. ‘Had either said someone was after them? Anything like that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How many people knew they’d both been soldiers?’

  ‘Couldn’t really say. But we don’t spread it around. The ones who do that are usually full of shit. “I was in the paras, five tours in Iraq, don’t fuck with me.” That sort of crap. Soon sniff those types out.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Jon asked. ‘How?’

  ‘Just ask them their number. You never forget your number, isn’t that right, Senior?’

  Senior smiled briefly. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So, you haven’t seen this person who wears black?’ Jon asked.

  ‘No. I haven’t. But ...’ His eyes cut to Wayne, who now seemed to be coming round.

  Chapter 3

  Wayne let out a long series of coughs. Lay there for another minute, the fingers of one hand rubbing away at his ear. A few more coughs and, slowly, his head lifted. Several blinks later, he managed to get a word out. ‘Senior.’

  ‘Wayne. You all right?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He raised himself onto one elbow and rubbed his face with the palm of his hand. ‘Cracking. Got any smokes on you, Senior?’

  ‘No, not tonight.’

  ‘Greg, lend us a smoke, will you?’ He reached a hand over his shoulder, unaware that Jon was sitting alongside his companion.

  So that’s your name, Jon thought, watching as Greg shoved the rolling materials in Wayne’s hand. With trembling fingers, Wayne struggled to extract a cigarette paper from the pack. Next, he pulled a straggly pinch of tobacco from the pouch. Half of it fell on his sleeping bag, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘You were asking about Jon,’ Senior announced. ‘The other day, when we spoke.’

  The cigarette was now between Wayne’s lips and he started clicking on a lime-green lighter. ‘Fuck’s sake.’

  ‘Well,’ Senior continued, ‘he’s sitting right behind you.’

  Wayne’s chin lifted and his head slowly turned.

  Jon was now able to see his old teammate’s face properly. You’ve aged, he thought. Bloated out. He could see that the man’s pupils were heavily dilated. Still off his head. ‘Wayne. It’s been a while.’

  ‘Jon Spicer! Jon fucking Spicer.’ Both his front teeth were missing. A lower one, too. The unlit cigarette bobbled in his mouth. ‘Fuck me. It’s you. Fuck.’

  ‘Good to see you, mate.’

  ‘Yeah, you too. You too.’ He remembered there was a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth and got it lit. Smoke wreathed his face as he shuffled back into a sitting position. ‘I still remember those matches with you. That fat blob from the team out near Runcorn? Remember that match? He was trying to gouge me in that ruck and you,’ he let out a croaky laugh, ‘you got hold of his throat and did something with your thumb.’

  Naughty me, Jon thought. Using a pressure point in a
rugby match; the player must have been going for Wayne’s eyes.

  ‘He let out that strangled noise and his legs went. Just went. Dropped to his knees like he was begging you to stop. Remember it?’

  Jon couldn’t, but he nodded anyway. ‘I think so.’

  ‘I reckon he would have blinded me, the bastard.’ Wayne dragged on his crooked cigarette, head shaking. He looked about, as if remembering where he was. ‘Listen, this – where I am now. Look at this.’ His eyes were filling with tears. ‘I don’t really know how the fuck it happened. I’m sorry.’

  Jon leaned forward, squeezed the guy’s shoulder. ‘Don’t apologise, Wayne. It’s not necessary.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He wiped at his eyes, took another drag.

  ‘Wayne,’ Jon said. ‘You had something to tell me – about the two people who died recently.’

  He looked nervously past Jon to the square beyond, gaze lifting to the rooftops on the far side. Checking what might be up there. ‘I know it sounds mad, but I saw him.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘I saw him up on the roof that Jim went off. The bloke with the wings.’

  ‘Hang on: wings? Who had wings?’

  ‘The one who’s doing it.’

  ‘You’re talking about the person who wears black?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Wayne replied. ‘Whenever he appears, someone dies.’

  Jon glanced over at Senior, who had now crossed his arms and was avoiding eye contact. ‘Who else has died?’ Jon asked.

  ‘Ryan, of course. In that building over on Bendix.’

  ‘And you saw the same person when that happened?’

  ‘I didn’t, but others did.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘This pair. They’d all been there, up on the top floor. It was a decent place to go.’

  ‘To take drugs?’

  ‘And to sleep. A crash pad.’

  Jon thought for a few seconds. This gets worse. Whenever this person appears, everyone’s heavily under the influence. ‘Talk me through the time you saw him.’

  ‘So, Jim and me had gone up to the roof of the NCP for a wee smoke.’

  ‘Spice?’

  ‘I don’t really do it anymore. But Jim, he had some and was offering.’

  Yeah, right, Jon thought. ‘What time was this?’

  ‘About midnight?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘At some point, I kind of half woke. Could hear talking nearby. Jim’s voice and someone else. They were off to my left. Couldn’t really move, so I just lay there on my side. He crosses my field of vision as he walks by.’

  ‘Jim?’

  ‘No – the guy in black. And on his back, he had wings. Black wings. That’s what I saw.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘I fell asleep again, but not properly. Drifting in and out. No sign of Jim. Then I heard the sirens. When I realised they weren’t going away, I got up. Peeped over the roof and there are ambulances and police cars surrounding the benches below me. Found out later that’s where Jim had landed.’

  ‘You didn’t see him leave with the person you saw?’

  Wayne shook his head.

  Jon didn’t want to ask about the wings. It only risked making the other man look ridiculous, but he had to. ‘How big were these wings?’

  ‘Only little. Like things a kid might wear for dressing up.’

  ‘And they were black?’

  ‘Black as a crow’s.’

  ‘How ... how do you think this person got down from the roof?’

  Wayne looked at him, eyes widening as he started to laugh. It was a shrill sound. Not far from hysterical. ‘I don’t think he flew! Fuck me, is that what you thought I thought? Jesus, that’s funny.’ Then, just as quickly, his mirth disappeared. ‘He was heading towards the stairwell. I know what I saw, Jon.’

  That’s a relief, Jon thought. If you’d said the man had flapped away into the night ... ‘How far away from you was he?’

  ‘Twenty, no, thirty metres, probably.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  ‘You mean like they do in TV programmes?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘A bit under six foot tall. Slim build. Anywhere between twenty and forty.’

  ‘Hair colour?’

  ‘Dark. But I think he was wearing a black beanie hat. And he had gloves on, too.’

  ‘Black?’

  ‘You guessed it.’

  ‘What about ethnicity? Could you see the colour of his skin?’

  ‘Oh, he was white. Definitely white.’

  Interesting, Jon thought. ‘You sound sure of that.’

  ‘He’s in black from head to foot. I couldn’t see what he looked like, but his face was white.’

  ‘Did he know you were awake?’

  ‘Doubt it. My eyes were only just open.’

  ‘The other two you mentioned. The ones who saw him that second time, when Ryan Gardner died. Did it sound like the same person?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Including these, er, wings?’

  He glanced at Jon, aggression sparking in his eyes. ‘You really don’t like the wings, do you?’

  ‘Wayne,’ Senior said softly. ‘Don’t be a dick. He’s trying to help out, here.’

  Wayne’s head dropped. ‘Sorry. The wings, as well.’

  ‘Did they give any sort of statement to the police?’ Jon asked.

  Wayne snorted in reply.

  ‘Who reported it?’

  Greg spoke up. ‘I heard he was found by the building’s owners. They’d gone to secure the doors.’

  ‘So the two who were with Ryan didn’t give a statement?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Greg replied.

  ‘Do you know who they are?’

  ‘One of them.’ He turned to Wayne. ‘It was Dan, wasn’t it? The Brummy?’

  Wayne nodded. ‘And Big Ian, I heard.’

  Jon frowned. ‘You’re not sure exactly who was in the building that night?’

  ‘I was told it was Dan and Big Ian,’ Wayne said. ‘That’s what people are saying.’

  ‘But you didn’t actually speak with them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are they around? Can I find them?’

  ‘Haven’t seen either in a while.’

  Greg adjusted the blanket draped over his legs. ‘I think they may have moved on.’

  Great, thought Jon. Everyone who’s seen this winged man was off their heads, and two of them aren’t even around. ‘Wayne, did you give a statement?’

  He smiled. ‘I didn’t put things together. Not until I heard about Ryan.’

  ‘So you’ve not given a statement?’

  ‘No fucking point.’

  ‘Regular police aren’t interested,’ Greg explained. ‘You give a statement and nothing happens. Last year, I woke up to find two blokes kicking the crap out of me. In A & E, this copper takes a statement. But what then? We’ve got no address, so they don’t follow anything up. That’s even if they wanted to.’

  Wayne pointed to his missing teeth. ‘That happened in Piccadilly Gardens. There’s CCTV all over Piccadilly Gardens. The guy who stamped on me was with two women. The police could have got the CCTV of that, no problem. Did they? Did they fuck.’

  Jon scratched at his jaw. ‘OK. Let me have a look at what’s on the system. Maybe have a word with the officers working the cases. I can also see if there are any other reports about a person who wears black.’

  Wayne was rolling another cigarette. ‘I knew he’d come good. Didn’t I say, Greg?’

  Jon got to his feet. It was time to go, but he felt guilty. ‘Do you need anything? Food or something?’

  Greg pointed to a carrier bag. ‘It’s one thing you’re never short of, sleeping rough. Folk shower you with fucking sandwiches and that. You’re all right, mate. Thanks anyway.’

  ‘Yeah, cheers Jon,’ Wayne added. ‘And Senior. I appreciate it.’

  ‘You take care, you hear me?’ Senior said, stepping back.

  Once the
y were round the corner, Senior let out a sigh. ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘I reckon if I go into work and repeat that story, I’ll have the piss taken out of me for months.’

  Senior nodded. ‘Yeah. Thought so. Sorry I wasted your time.’

  ‘He’s not in a good place, is he?’

  ‘No,’ Senior replied.

  ‘Emotions all over the place. I thought he was going to cry at one point, poor fucker.’

  ‘What’ll you do, then?’

  Jon stopped walking. Eyes closed, he took a deep breath. He thought about the last time he’d let himself get dragged into something like this. Using his police powers as a favour to someone. ‘Shit, Senior. This sort of thing: it’s why I’m a detective constable at forty-six.’

  Senior gave a glum nod. ‘I understand. I’ll let him know you’ve had to go and do a job down in London or somewhere. Maybe he can report it to the nick on Bootle Street.’

  Jon knew that would be futile. If his colleagues would find the story amusing hearing it from him, they’d wet themselves hearing it from someone like Wayne. ‘No, don’t do that,’ he said. ‘I’ll look into it.’

  Chapter 4

  Alice’s voice broke the calm of the breakfast table. ‘Duggy, stop it!’

  Jon looked up to see a naughty grin on his son’s face. Wiper was swiftly snuffling some cereal that his son had accidentally dropped on the floor.

  ‘Jon?’ His wife was giving him a look.

  He put on a stern voice. ‘Oi, you little monster, you know that’s not allowed.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Alice’s voice was incredulous. ‘That’s it?’

  He pointed a finger. ‘Duggy, we don’t want a dog that begs. No one likes a dog that skulks about the place begging. He gets his food in his bowl, understand?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I mean it.’ Jon held his son’s eyes for a moment longer then glanced at Alice. There you go. Sorted.

  She didn’t look convinced.

  Holly walked in, poured granola into a bowl, added some milk and attempted to carry it straight back out.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Jon asked.

  She stopped, but didn’t turn round. ‘My room.’

  ‘I don’t think so, my little sugarplum. No food in your bedroom. Like you’d forgotten.’