by A D FOX
‘Fuck it,’ he heard Kate say. And then he heard another rip and a whisper of ‘Yesss.’ Then she was close to him; he could smell her breath and her sweat and was suddenly assailed by the most intense, bizarrely-timed, desire for her. It’s the drug, some part of him suggested, but most of him didn’t pay it attention. Sid was hot against his chest and he felt the distinct and perplexing stirrings of a hard on. Maybe it was because he knew he would be dead soon. He’d heard men got erections when they were hanged; the doomed body having its last ditch attempt at leaving a little seed behind. Bloody hell! He didn’t want to be thinking this way. The room had stopped spinning, though, and Kate was pulling at his taped wrists. ‘Sorry,’ she said, close to his ear. ‘I… can’t really… co-ordinate. Bastards have drugged me I think.’
‘Me too,’ said Lucas.
‘It’s getting to be a habit for me,’ she muttered. ‘Shit. Fucking hate gaffer tape.’ She tugged at it ineffectually and he could sense her energy dipping dangerously low.
‘Stop,’ he said. ‘Try my jeans pockets. There’s a pen knife in there. I’m sure of it.’
And then she was digging her hot hands deep into his pockets and his subsiding erection was suddenly ready to party again. He felt hollow with embarrassment. What if she noticed? Of all the times…
‘Well, what do we have here?’ she burbled, drunkenly.
‘I’m sorry - I can’t help it-’
‘I bloody love the Swiss!’ she said, holding up the shiny red gadget with its reassuring silver cross shield.
His reassurance was short-lived. He could sense their enemies returning even before he heard it. ‘Quick!’ he said. ‘They’re nearly here.’
But she was right, her co-ordination was still shot. She couldn’t get the blades open. And now he could hear them approaching the door. ‘Just give it to me!’ he whispered, urgently. ‘Then play dead, OK. Wait for your moment!’
She grunted her agreement, shoved the pen knife between his fingers and sank back down into the same position she’d been in before, pulling her hands in behind her back and closing her eyes. Lucas could see she was breathing heavily from the last few minutes of exertion, but hoped their captors wouldn’t notice. The element of surprise was all they had against a loaded shotgun and a lot of motivation to see them both safely dead. He pictured the two of them being dragged into the bushes and elaborately posed to depict a bike crash fatality. Would they put his helmet back on before or after they got to work with the spade? He shuddered and worked the penknife between his constrained fingers, trying desperately to prise out a blade when his wrists and palms were so tightly bound. Sid told him he had about ten seconds to pull off quite a trick. The only upside to this new level of panic was that his cock had settled down again.
In fact, they stood outside for a good couple of minutes, talking in low voices before they moved on with their plan. As they reached the door he could clearly sense their intertwined energies; the man was scared - and the fear made him desperate and dangerous. The woman was much colder and very determined. He got the feeling she had no qualms at all about ending their lives; while her partner in crime was feeling it all much more sharply. He was wishing he’d never started all this.
‘Don’t overthink it,’ said Donna. ‘Ready?’
‘Ready,’ said Larkhill.
The shed door opened and they came in on a draught of cold air and even colder intent. ‘Right,’ said Donna, handing her lover a coin-sized plastic bag and holding up one of her own. ‘About half of this should keep them docile. They’ll stagger a bit but we should be able to keep them walking. It’s only about five minutes down the track, anyway. You do him - make sure he swallows it. We can pool the rest to finish her off when we get there.’
‘OK,’ said Larkhill, sounding nervous.
‘Don’t worry - they’re both pretty dopey already,’ she said. ‘Just get it done.’
Lucas kept his eyes half closed as Larkhill approached. He had rested his forehead on the post and he stayed there in a semi-recumbent pose, allowing his mouth to hang open a little as if he was asleep. He laboured his breathing. Larkhill leaned in and tipped the plastic bag, sending the white powder inside it towards the edge. He gingerly held it out towards Lucas’s mouth and Lucas gave a snort and breathed out hard, sending a cloud of the stuff into Larkhill’s creased face. ‘Shit!’ the man said.
‘Get it done, Rob,’ said Donna.
Larkhill tried again, pushing the bag close up to Lucas’s drooping lips. Then several things happened very fast. Lucas snapped his teeth shut on the man’s fingers, like a Rottweiler, hanging on grimly while slicing the blade he’d finally unsheathed through the tape and releasing his hands.
While Larkhill screamed in shock and pain, trying vainly to pull away, Lucas heard Donna give a shriek. As he grabbed hold of Larkhill by both ears and rammed the man’s face against the post he heard further commotion across the shed floor; a scuffle and a crack.
And then the deafening bang of a shotgun going off.
33
Josh didn’t fumble with the keys. They weren’t grabbed from behind as they scrambled to get in. The engine, still warm, started up like a dream. The only jarring moment was when Karen Carpenter started singing: ‘Such a feeling’s coming over me…’ through the stereo which Finley must have smacked on with his elbow.
Josh smacked it off again. shouting: ‘Fuck OFF, Karen!’
As he hit the central lock button and heard the doors clunk, Josh knew he and Finley were going to get away safely. The plan had worked. The two people in the shed would have to take their chances while he and his number one fan got the hell out of there and tried to get the signal for the emergency services call.
Then he heard the shotgun blast. He stalled the car. Finley was gaping through the windscreen towards the shed. ‘That guy,’ he murmured, in a strangled voice. ‘He tried to save me. Him and the policewoman. I think they’re killing them.’
Josh flung the car into reverse. Nearly every instinct was screaming at him to get the fuck out of this hellhole. Nearly every one. Just one was screaming ‘They KILLED SHEILA!’
Finley was crying again. ‘I don’t want them to die,’ he wailed.
‘Put your seatbelt on!’ said Josh.
‘It’s on,’ sobbed Finley.
Josh put his own on. ‘Hang on tight,’ he said. He swung the car around and saw the shed door was open, the light shafting outside. He couldn’t quite believe what he was about to do.
Kate had taken a dark pleasure at the way her elbow had connected with Donna’s face. She had held her pose beside the tractor, waiting for her moment as the woman leaned in to tip more poison into her. Her dopiness was being shoved aside by adrenaline and this was a great help when she abruptly flung herself forward like a human mantrap, snapping her legs around and sending her knee hard into Donna’s kidney while pistoning her elbow upwards. The white powder puffed into the air in a tiny mushroom cloud while Donna fell sideways with a shriek. A few steps away Larkhill was screaming as Lucas drove his teeth into the man’s hand while simultaneously smashing his enemy’s face against the wooden pole with such force that the whole shed was shaking.
Kate leapt up, going into her defence pose and readying herself for a kick to Donna’s head as soon as the woman got to her knees. She didn’t, however, reckon on the effects of recent concussion combined with a modest dose of Rohypnol, and suddenly staggered sideways as her balance went. She was steady again in a second but not before there was an ear-splitting bang and Donna was standing up, holding the smoking shotgun. Kate froze, glancing to Lucas, who was still holding Larkhill’s head against the post but no longer pile-driving the man towards oblivion. He didn’t appear to have been shot and Kate was pretty sure she hadn’t been either… although that could change at any second.
‘Let… him… go!’ growled Donna, waving the gun back and forth between Kate and Lucas. Lucas disengaged his teeth from Larkhill’s bloodied fingers and released his grip on
the man’s ears. Larkhill staggered backwards, groaning, blood gushing from his nose.
Kate suddenly felt fully alert. She understood why. This was her last chance. Life was about to be punched out of her by a bullet at almost point blank range. Or maybe Lucas would get it first. She couldn’t bear to think of either option but grim reality was staring her in the face. Oh, poor Francis. How would he manage with all of his womenfolk dead and gone?
‘It won’t work, you know,’ she heard Detective Sergeant Sparrow say. Calm voice. Neutral tones. Speak to the common sense of your potential attacker - connect with them. Hmmm. Kind of hard to get a rapport going with someone whose jaw you’d probably just dislocated. ‘Right now you might just about make it through this. You will be caught but so far you’ve not killed anyone, right?’ The look that passed over Donna’s face told her this guess was wrong. Donna was fully complicit. Bugger. ‘Even if you have,’ she went on, ‘you could be out again before you’re old. Shoot a police officer and you’ve got no hope. You’ll die in jail.’
‘I know this land,’ said Donna, in a voice chillier than the plains in January. ‘I know where to leave your bodies so you’ll never be found.’
She lifted the gun, settled it against her shoulder, nudged the safety off, aimed at Kate.
And then flew abruptly up in the air as a maroon Peugeot 208 smashed through the shed wall.
34
The impact of the car against the shed was terrifying. Finley screamed in harmony with Josh as the front of the car ploughed through the old timber with a deafening bang and a bone-shaking crunch. Splintered wood and nails thumped the windscreen, cracking a star shape across Josh’s side of the glass but not shattering it. The seat belt cut brutally into his chest as he lurched forward and the passenger seat airbag went off in Finley’s face, knocking him back against the headrest with a grunt.
It wasn’t over. There was another resounding bang as the bumper struck something behind the wrecked shed wall. Even through the steering column and the juddering chassis Josh could sense that the collision was with something softer than a crate or a wheelbarrow; something dense but with give. He hoped it was Rob or Donna.
This whole thought process took place in a matter of three seconds and ended as he stamped on the brake. He’d never intended to drive straight through the shed and out the other side - only to smash into the wall and somehow stop a murder. Truth was, he hadn’t really thought it through at all. He’d been acting on pure, dumb, instinct. A moment later and here he was - staring, dumbfounded, through a cracked windscreen and a pile of broken planks, at the back of Donna Wilson’s head. She lay against the windscreen as if she was having a little power nap. He recognised the black of her bobbed hair and, on her flung up wrist, the gold charm bracelet which she often wore to work .
He might have just killed the woman who organised his multi-signed card and Marks and Spencer birthday cake last month. It hadn’t been a gesture of much consideration. She’d overlooked the note on his staff file that he was coeliac. He’d left the cake in reception for Moira to take home. Just goes to show… you should pay more attention to the overnight guy, Donna.
There was a hiss of silence - like dead air - for a few seconds after the crash. Kate found she wasn’t breathing. Her chest was hitching but her throat was shut. The wing mirror of the Peugeot was an inch away from her right hip. Inside the car sat Josh Carnegy, gaping through the windscreen, and next to him was the dazed face of Finley Warner, evidently rescued from the radio car mast and recently punched catatonic by an air bag.
Donna lay back across the bonnet, looking quite peaceful for someone whose lower legs were pinned against the unforgiving flank of a tractor. Her eyes were open and unfocused and her chest was rising and falling at great speed. Kate hoped she was in a deep enough state of shock not to notice that everything below her knees was missing in action. Permanently.
The slow ticking of the stalled engine found its way through the silence, ushering in more sounds, slowly increasing in volume, as if the radio presenter at the wheel was bringing up a fader. The driver side window was gently powering open. Larkhill was whimpering ‘Donna! Donna! Oh, Jesus Christ, Donna…’ Lucas was ripping the tape off his ankles and getting to his feet, white-faced and breathing heavily.
Kate heard a sudden sucking sound and realised her throat had reopened for business and she was breathing again. Hard and fast. ‘Josh - Finley,’ she called out, trying for commanding and achieving feeble. She coughed and did better with ‘Are either of you injured?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Josh.
‘Carefully… move your arms and legs. Tell me what you can feel,’ said Kate.
Her head was sharpening up, thank god. She glanced at Lucas and he gave her a small, reassuring nod; he was OK. Not great, but OK. She returned the nod as Josh said: ‘I think everything’s alright, but I might have pissed my pants.’
‘Finley?’ she asked.
Finley turned his gaze slowly around to her. ‘I feel a bit sick,’ he said. Then he pushed the passenger door open and threw up noisily on the floor.
‘Robert Larkhill, I am arresting you for the murder of Dave Perry and Sheila Bartley,’ said Kate, suddenly finding her full detective sergeant voice and reaching to the back of her belt to find her station issue handcuffs. ‘And the kidnap and attempted murder of Finley Warner, Lucas Henry and… Kate Sparrow. You do not have to say anything-’
If she had been expecting Rob Larkhill to go quietly - and looking at him, sagging against the far wall in a state of horrified shock, it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption - she was wrong. Larkhill suddenly leapt across the room and out through the broken shed wall and fled into the darkness.
Lucas immediately gave chase, as if sprung from a trap. ‘Oh no you don’t, you little shit!’ he bellowed and vanished into the darkness too. Kate was left with a quandary. Her instinct was to give chase with him, and bring Larkhill to the ground with as much accidental violence as she could get away with. But she was also faced with managing Donna Wilson, lying critically injured on the bonnet of the BBC pool car and two witnesses who might also be about to go into shock.
‘Have either of you got a working phone?’ she asked Josh and Finley.
Josh got out of the car, keeping his eyes away from the victim on its bonnet, and dug into his pocket. He retrieved a small iPhone. ‘Couldn’t get a signal, though,’ he said, inputting the security code and passing it to her with a shaking hand. ‘I tried earlier.’
‘My phone’s still back in the radio car,’ said Finley, wiping his face and getting to his feet with a fearful glance at Donna before slumping down on the crate next to the bit of wall that remained standing.
Kate checked Josh’s phone and held it up. Then, averting her eyes from the point it connected with a Peugeot 208 and some human legs, she clambered up on top of the tractor and lifted the device to the rafters. ‘There’s one bar!’ She hammered out 999 but couldn’t get the call to connect. Calm. Stay calm. ‘I might at least be able to get a text out,’ she muttered, tapping out an emergency back-up request to her colleagues, along with the best directions her tired brain could summon. Then she clicked send and prayed she wouldn’t get a bounce back message. She held the phone high above her head, eyes riveted on the message she’d written. After five seconds there was nothing to suggest it had failed. Maybe she had finally caught a break.
Finley was starting to shiver uncontrollably. ‘I think you need to get back in the car,’ said Kate. ‘Try to keep warm.’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t look,’ he said.
‘Me neither,’ said Josh. He edged along and around the Peugeot to sit next to Finley on the crate.
Kate got down from the tractor and gingerly reached for Donna’s wrist. It felt cool, but she could just detect a pulse. ‘We should probably get something over her - keep her warm,’ she said.
‘Should I back the car up?’ said Josh, looking sick at the thought.
‘No,’ said Kate. �
��There’s a lot of damage to her legs and I think moving her could make it worse. Her blood pressure would probably crash and she’d die. We just need to hold on until the ambulance crew gets here.’ She checked the phone again, reflexively. There was no answering text.
‘I think there’s a first aid kit with a foil blanket in the boot,’ said Josh. He got up and opened it, digging around. ‘Shit,’ he gulped. ‘I really didn’t think I’d mash someone’s legs up tonight. Shit.’
‘You saved my life,’ said Kate. ‘And Lucas’s. No question. Thank you.’
‘He made me do it,’ said Josh, glancing at Finley. ‘I would have driven off otherwise.’
‘You saved my life too,’ Finley told her, shivering harder. ‘You and that guy.’
‘If there’s more than one foil blanket you need to get one for Finley and yourself, too,’ said Kate. ‘You need to keep warm. I think there’s some sacking over here.’ She walked to the back of the tractor and found the damp material. She picked up a bundle, shaking away any creatures and turned back just as Finley shrieked ‘No, no, NO!’.
She had half a second to register that Donna was sitting up before the bullet struck her.
35
Lucas skidded on wet grass and glanced left and right, trying to locate Larkhill. Sid, thrumming against his skin, told him to go right. The radio car and the Jeep were down to the left and he would have guessed the man had headed that way if it wasn’t for the patterns he was picking up. Neither of them had a torch, it was obvious, but Lucas had a dowser’s frequency map vibrating helpfully across his third eye and picked up a seething, panicked blur of energy stumbling towards the western end of the field. He increased his speed, determined to get the guy before he vanished into the trees that lined the perimeter.
