Time To Play by KA Richardson (best book club books of all time TXT) 📗

a bloody coward, is what he is. Killing himself like this, leaving you all with nothing but a guilty plea.’ He waved the note under Connor’s nose. ‘That’s right, lad. Your dad was nothing but a sick fuck. It’s all in here. But he’s not taking me down with him. Quit your whining and look around, boy. Does this look like your typical shed?’

Connor’s Parents’ House, Sunderland – 17 November

Connor stood and looked around, confusion settling on his features amidst the streaks on his cheeks. ‘What the fuck is all this stuff?’ he said quietly, as if whispering would make it all go away. ‘Let me see the note,’ he demanded, stepping towards Fred.

Fred handed it over, watching as he read.

As he read, he felt himself detach from his body as a wave of dizziness overcame him. My dad’s a killer? He killed girls?

Suddenly it clicked – the reservoir had been their favourite picnic spot when they were kids. They’d gone there several times a year; his dad loved it. Apparently so much that he’d decided to dump dead girls in the water there for Connor to fish out.

‘Why, Dad?’ he whispered, distraught.

‘Coz he was a sick fucker, that’s why,’ said Fred. ‘Doesn’t matter anyway, you’re gunna help me clean this mess up.’

‘No, Fred. I’m not. I’m going to ring this in. Dad made his bed. He can lie in it. I’m not covering for him, and I’m certainly not covering for you.’

He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and dialled 999.

‘You put that phone down right now, lad, or so help me I’ll—’

‘You’ll what? Shiv me like you threatened the other day? Kill me? Do what you want, Fred, I said I’m phoning this in.’

Connor pressed the dial key and put the phone to his ear.

The roar that came from Fred was guttural as he viciously whacked the phone from Connor’s grasp. Connor noticed the glint of the switchblade Fred had pulled from somewhere as it arced towards him. Blocking the blow, Connor yelled out, ‘Get the fuck away from me with that knife, Fred. My career is over anyway, I’m not taking any more of this shit. Get off me!’ Fred brought his palm up to impact with the bottom of Connor’s nose, almost blinding him with the blood that spurted forth. Connor stepped back and brought his knee into Fred’s groin, propelling him backwards towards the door.

‘You’re not taking me down. I’ve built up too much to let a prick like you ruin it. Just die already, you fucking twat!’ As Fred spat the words in Connor’s face, he brought the knife round and rammed it upwards, hard. Connor felt the blade slice into the soft flesh of his stomach, and just as he thought it couldn’t go in any deeper, he felt the hilt split his skin even further apart. Then Fred twisted it sharply, grunting as he tried to push it in even farther.

Connor couldn’t let it end like this. He couldn’t let Fred get away. Blindly, he felt behind him and closed his hands round something with a wooden handle. Praying it was a hammer or something, he swung round and connected it with Fred’s temple. Fred dropped like a tonne of bricks, the mallet more than sufficient to knock him unconscious. As he’d fallen, his hand had maintained its hold on the knife handle and the blade had slipped from Connor’s stomach.

Connor vaguely heard the mallet clatter to the floor and looked down as his fingers pressed against the gaping wound in his stomach. Blood poured steadily, rapidly soaking the waistband to his trousers. Damn, this burns. I thought it would hurt more.

Dropping to his knees, he noticed his mobile phone within reach. With blood-soaked fingers, he picked the phone up and gabbled, ‘The bastard fucking stabbed me. He stabbed me…I’m sorry. Jesus, this fucking hurts. Sorry. I’m at 22 East Lea in Ryhope in the shed. I might’ve killed him, but he stabbed me. With a fucking knife. And my dad’s dead, swinging there like a fucking monkey in a tree.’ Shock caused him to start giggling hysterically, and the phone fell to the floor with a clatter. Following suit, Connor slid to the floor with a soft sigh. ‘Hurry,’ he whispered as he passed out.

 

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dive Team HQ, South Shields – 17 November

‘G

uys, settle down. I’ve got stuff to pass over.’ Sharpie’s voice was stern, and Marlo looked up expectantly, pausing from taking the mickey out of Doc’s bedhead.

‘Where’s Connor?’ asked Mac, glancing around.

‘That’s what I need to tell you,’ said Sharpie. ‘This morning Connor rang 999 from his parent’s address. I don’t know the full circumstances yet, but Connor’s currently in theatre after being stabbed in the stomach. It’s touch-and-go at this stage: he’d lost a lot of blood. His dad was found dead, a presumed suicide. His uncle has a serious head injury and is in intensive care.’

Marlo, Mac, and Doc sat back in their chairs, too shocked to speak.

‘Obviously, we all wanna be at the hospital,’ continued Sharpie, ‘but with Bravo Team on rest days, we are already short. We’ve pulled poor Angelo in on overtime as it is – he’s gunna be working with us today at the reservoir. We’ll try to get wrapped up asap so anyone who wants to can visit the hospital. Alex is handling the case, and he’s promised to let us know as soon as there’re any updates.’

Silently, the team filtered down to the wet room to get the gear together.

‘I should’ve made him talk to me. He’s been off for a couple of days now,’ said Marlo.

‘There’s a difference between being a bit off and being mixed up in something so bad you end up getting stabbed. What the fuck was the kid into?’ asked Mac, shaking his head.

‘Come on,