Souls At Zero (A Dark Psychological Thriller) (10 page)

Edger wasn't in the small cafe when Rankin got there, so he ordered two coffees and went and sat down at a free table near the back that was nestled into a secluded corner. The cafe was half full, mostly with couples who were out shopping, their shopping bags gathered around their feet on the floor. Rankin thanked the young waitress when she brought the coffees and he dumped three packets of sugar into his cup. Having given up the booze and cigarettes years ago, sugar had become his one weakness. It was something he could never give up, despite trying a few times, albeit half heartedly. The way he looked at it, you had to have some pleasures in life.

Even if certain pleasures had to remain a secret.

Rankin was half through his coffee before Edger finally walked into the cafe, dressed as he was the last time Rankin saw him, in dark jeans, boots and a black jacket that was zipped up this time, which meant Edger was carrying his gun underneath. His dark eyes were focused and serious as he came towards Rankin. Behind the deep focus in Edger's eyes, Rankin could see the taut desperation beginning to form. "I got you a coffee," Rankin said, although Edger looked wired enough without adding caffeine into the mix.

Edger shook his head, waved his hand. "Thanks, but I'm fine."

"You don't look fine, Harry. What's been happening?"

Edger leaned his thick arms on the small table after moving his unwanted coffee cup to one side. He glanced briefly over his shoulder like a man who thought he might be being watched or listened to, then he turned back to focus his intense gaze on Rankin. Rankin tried to stay relaxed so they wouldn't attract too many stares from the other people in the cafe, but it was difficult when Edger was so clearly unsettled. "Kaitlin's kidnapper called me again," Edger said, his voice hushed as he leaned in towards Rankin, who sat with one arm leaning on the table, his other hand cradling his coffee cup.

"And?" Rankin asked in a similar hushed tone. "What did he say?"

Edger shook his head, like he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "The fucker wants me to kill someone."

Rankin couldn't conceal the shock from his face and he looked past Edger for a second to see if anyone had overheard. "What the fuck, Harry? Is he for real?"

Edger's jaw clenched. "Course he's fucking for real. He sent me a photograph of the target."

"Who is it?" Rankin was nearly on the edge of his seat as he waited to hear who this person was.

Edger leaned in close and lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "The Lord Mayor of Belfast."

Rankin stared at Edger in disbelief. He didn't know what to say to that. He shook his head and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "Jesus Christ, Harry."

Edger leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

"Do you know this person?" Rankin asked after a moment of silence.

Edger shook his head. "No. He didn't tell me, and his voice was still disguised. Only thing he said was that this whole thing had everything to do with me and I would find out soon enough what it was all about."

"That's it?"

"No. I have twenty-four hours to do what he asked or he said he would start cutting pieces of off Kaitlin." Edger clenched his teeth as he struggled to contain himself.

"Jesus, Harry. I'm sorry. This is…I don't know what to say. You should involve the cops in this. They can help you."

Edger was adamant. "No. He said no cops, or Kaitlin would suffer the consequences."

"So what, you're just going to do what he asked you to?"

Edger shrugged and looked at his watch. "I have twenty-two hours left." He shook his head. "I have to make a decision, John."

"Harry, you can't just—" Rankin lowered his voice. "—kill the fucking Lord Mayor."

"Well what the fuck do you suggest I do?" Edger snapped. "What would you do if it was one of your kids, John, hmm?"

Rankin sighed and said nothing as Edger stared fiercely at him. It was an impossible situation. What
could
you say to a man in Edger's position? Don't try to save your own daughter? As a father, Rankin would never presume to say such a thing. As an ex-cop, he was bound to advise against it, but he knew he would wasting his breath. Edger wasn't stupid. He knew the gravity of the situation, the possible consequences of his actions, consequences that he was no doubt willing to accept if it meant saving his daughter.

"Alright," Rankin said eventually. "We can't talk about this here. Let's go to the office."

"What if the cops come round?" Edger asked. "They might want to talk to you for some reason."

"Look, you told the cops Kaitlin was fine. They have no real evidence to say otherwise, not yet anyway, so I doubt they'll even pursue this, to be honest."

"The detective who interviewed me seemed like he didn't want to let it go. He knew something was up. I told Gemma to say there was nothing wrong if they called to see her."

"Well then," Rankin said, standing up. "They should stay away. Let's go."

"Okay," Rankin said when they got to the office. He was sitting on the edge of his desk while Edger paced impatiently around in front of him. "I need you to think, Harry. Do you know anyone who would do this to you? Anyone you crossed in the past that might want revenge on you now?"

Edger continued to pace up and down, deep in thought. "Fuck, John," he said eventually. "You know the job. You're up against people all the time who view you as the enemy. In Sarajevo, Iraq, Haiti, Africa, South America…I've fought against a lot of different groups. As a contractor, I've protected a lot of people against criminals and insurgents. But in the Legion, I was just a soldier, a
Caporal
. I wouldn't have stood out to any of these people."

"What about the contract work you did in Iraq? Where else? Haiti, South America…you get on anybody's wrong side in those places?"

"I had a few fall outs with certain people," Edger said. "Nothing that would warrant coming here and kidnapping my daughter over though."

"You're sure? There has to be somebody, Harry."

Edger shook his head in annoyance. "I was professional at all times, John. A few bar fights here and there, but that's it. As a soldier, I was fucking impeccable."

"What about your brother?"

Edger stopped and stared at Rankin like he was insane. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Rankin folded his arms across his chest. "You said yourself, Harry, your brother's body was never found."

Edger's face reddened as he stepped close to Rankin, who continued to remain calm as the bigger man loomed over him. "I can't believe you're even fucking saying that," Edger said, his brown eyes fierce. "Declan was taken twenty-six years ago. He's dead. And even if he wasn't, what possible reason would he have to come along after all this time and kidnap my daughter, then ask me to kill the fucking Lord Mayor of Belfast?"

Rankin held his palms out towards Edger. "Alright, Harry. I'm just trying to cover every angle here. You're forgetting I used to be a cop."

Edger's nostrils flared as he kept staring angrily at Rankin for another few seconds, then he shook his head and walked to the window where he rolled himself a cigarette, not bothering to open the window when he lit it, instead just staring through the glass as the smoke billowed into the room.

Rankin pushed himself off the desk and walked around the office for a moment, then he said, "What about the people who took your brother?"

Edger shook his head, calmer now. "No one knows who they are. And if they wanted me they would took me along with Declan years ago. Why would they turn up again now?"

Sighing heavily, Rankin went and sat in his chair by the desk. "Well, I'm out of ideas, Harry. Sorry."

"Shit," Edger said suddenly, opening the window and disposing of the cigarette butt in his hand.

"What is it?" Rankin asked.

Edger reached inside his coat pocket and took out a mobile phone. "The kidnapper left me this. It's how he contacted me the second time. I'm to phone him on this when I've done what he asked me to do."

Rankin sat up straight. "Fuck, Harry, why didn't you say. We could can try and get his rough location off that. But you would need to call him and keep him on the line for as long as possible."

"And say what? If he thinks I'm trying to track him, he'll hurt Kaitlin."

"Yes, but we could also get a general location. Maybe find him before you have do anything rash."

"It's a long shot. I'm not sure if it's worth the risk."

"Up to you, Harry. You don't have many options here."

"Fucks sake," Edger snarled, staring at the phone. "What do I say to him?"

"Tell him you want to speak to Kaitlin, then you'll do as he asks."

Edger thought for a second. "Set it up."

Rankin nodded and opened the laptop on his desk, then he opened the program that would allow him to triangulate the location of the kidnapper's phone. Normally, Donna would do this sort of thing. Donna Lennon was the firm's resident techie. She dealt with all the cyber related cases that came in, as well doing the occasional bit of hacking when required. As she wasn't currently available, Rankin would have to muddle through himself. It took him ten minutes to set everything up, during which time Edger stood smoking and constantly checking his watch. "Alright," Rankin said when everything was ready to go. "Call him."

Edger gave Rankin a look that said he wasn't comfortable with what he was about to do, but he nonetheless dialled the number that was programmed into the phone, then he put it on speaker so Rankin could hear.

After six rings, the kidnapper answered, his voice still disguised. "What is it, Harry?" the kidnapper said. "Are you calling to tell me the Lord Mayor is dead? I hope so, otherwise I won't be happy."

Rankin's stomach turned when he heard the kidnapper mention killing the Lord Mayor. Hearing it from Harry was one thing. Hearing it confirmed by the kidnapper only made it more real somehow.

"Not yet," Edger said. "I want to speak to Kaitlin again before I do anything."

A silence descended on the other end of the line, and Rankin worked as fast as he could to triangulate the location of the kidnapper's phone.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," the kidnapper said, and both Rankin and Edger looked at each other, for they knew what was coming next wouldn't be good. "Do you think I'm stupid? I know what you're doing. You're trying to triangulate my location. Is your ex-copper friend with you?"

Shit.

Edger raised his head towards the ceiling for a second, then looked at the phone in his hand again. "I just need to know my daughter is okay. She's probably scared to death. I need to tell her that things will be okay."

"Things will not be okay, Harry," the kidnapper said. "Not if you keep making stupid moves like this one. You now have twelve hours from now to do as I say. Don't call me again until the Mayor is dead and you have proof of death."

There was a click and the line went dead.

"Well?" Edger asked Rankin.

Rankin could only shake his head. "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't get it."

Edger inhaled an angry breath through his nostrils and then turned around and punched the wall. "Fuck!" He leaned his head against the wall for a moment, then stood as if gathering himself. Rankin knew better than to ask if he was alright. Edger was far from alright as he walked to the door. "Where you going, Harry?"

Without turning around, Edger said, "To do what I have to do."

Then he was gone.

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was an old attic room. Bare boards on the floor. A low ceiling that was steeply pitched on both sides, creating a sharp peak in the middle. On one of the exterior concrete walls there was a small round window, which was the only source of light in the room. The only way in or out of the attic room was through a trap door at one end. The whole room had a fusty smell and dark patches of damp on most of the walls and ceiling. Gusts of wind blew through the eaves, causing the felt in the ceiling to flap noisily. Cold drafts swirled around the room, occasionally so strong they shifted the dust around on the old floorboards. In the middle of the room was a single mattress, brand new, along with three folded up blankets and a white pillow with no casing on it. Next to the mattress, there was two small bottles of unopened water, a Mars bar and a bag of boiled sweets. Next to them was a large black bucket and a roll of toilet paper.

Kaitlin McGuire sat on the edge of the mattress, her knees drawn up to her chest, her thin arms wrapped around her legs. Since waking up inside the attic room a few hours ago (her kidnapper injecting her for a second time after speaking briefly with Harry on the phone earlier), she spent the first hour shouting for help, until her throat went hoarse, and she ended up being sick in the corner of the room, the half digested contents of the Ulster fry she ate that morning congealing in a puddle of vomit, the smell of which would occasionally assail her nostrils and make her stomach heave again.