by Isaac, Jane;
Pemberton motioned for Helen to move away, then swung his elbow back and thrust it into the long window beside the door. He looked away as it shattered, then pushed the loose glass aside and climbed through the gap.
The entrance was empty and eerily quiet. The CSI boards now disappeared, it was another derelict unit. They rushed up the stairs to the first floor. Helen resisted the temptation to switch on her torch. While the broken window would alert Blane to their presence, he wouldn’t know when they were inside. Which still gave them the element of surprise. They entered the offices tentatively, checking beneath each desk.
They ran out into the factory, feet clanking the stairs. Sweat was coursing down Helen’s back now. ‘He’s not here,’ she said.
Pemberton rang the number again. They followed the ring tone back to the office, checking the surfaces, the floor. The sound drew them to the side window. On the ledge was a phone merrily ringing out.
CHAPTER 54
‘What’s he playing at?’ Pemberton said.
‘He wants to delay us finding him.’ She recalled Sinead’s injuries: the marks on her arms, the blows to her head. The severed fingers. The longer it took to find Blane, the longer he had to inflict pain on Rosa and Natalia.
Back down the stairs, they ran out the front of the building. Blane had been there, planted the phone and left it as a decoy. Which meant he had a key to access. He knew they were tracking him and in his twisted mind he was playing a game. This couldn’t end well.
It troubled her why he’d taken the girls to the trading estate. Why not a more desolate location, like Henderson’s trail on the edge of Hampton, a single track down to Pitsford Water? But there were no hiding places there for cars, no hidden areas. And with Dark on board, he’d been held up. He knew they’d be looking for him, which is why he’d planted his phone in Billings. Maybe he was hoping he could dispose of both women and make off before they reached him.
Helen wracked her brains. There were over twenty empty units on this side of the estate, many of them much larger than Billings. This could take all afternoon. She remembered their conversation about Sinead and him visiting the estate. A factory with a conference room that seemed suitable. Which one was it?
They were out the front now. Feet pounding the tarmac to the next factory. ‘There it is,’ she cried, pointing at purple signage in the distance. It was plusher than the others, newer. And much further down the road.
‘What?’ Pemberton said, gasping.
‘Blane said Sinead and he viewed these factories for somewhere to run a self-defence class. He almost chose the conference room in Wilton’s shoe factory.’ They’d fallen into a jog now. ‘It has to be worth a try.’
Wilton’s layout mirrored the front of Billings, with a reception area at one end, a factory at the other. The small car park out front was empty. They ran past the goods-in entrance and around to the rear, where there was another, larger car park.
Helen’s heart plummeted. He wasn’t there. She placed her hands on her hips, turned on her heel, 180 degrees, and stared back at the building, desperately searching for any sign of life. The sun glinted off the empty windows, glaring back at her. A flat roof extension had been added at the far end, behind the old offices.
Pemberton reached for his phone and gave a quick update of their position. Sirens rang out in the distance.
She ran to the other end of the building, and back up the side towards the reception at the front, with a view to trying the unit next door, and stopped. Parked up beside a fire exit, and out of view of the main road out front, was a shiny blue Peugeot, the driver door hanging open, keys still in the ignition.
‘Here!’ she called.
Pemberton joined her. The side entrance door to the unit was also open. Another key he appeared to have.
They rushed inside. Which way would he go? A left turn would take them to the front of the building. Right, to the rear. Reception areas were usually at the front of buildings with lifts and stairs to the floors above. It seemed a good place to start.
They ran down a corridor, through a fire door and into a wide foyer. A door on the left had a stairs symbol above it. Helen rushed across, taking to the stairs, two at a time to level one. How many levels were there? The sirens were louder; lights flashed outside. Backup was arriving.
She glanced into a few of the rooms on the first floor. They looked like empty offices, all arranged in a square, with lifts in the middle of the building. No sign of anyone.
On the next floor there were more offices. Helen was starting to lose heart, wondering if this was another one of Blane’s false starts, when she heard a scraping noise. Something was being dragged across a floor. Pemberton rushed into her as she froze. She placed a hand out to steady herself against the wall and shushed him.
The crash that followed shook the entire building. They both ducked. It sounded like glass breaking, as if something had driven into the back of the building. Helen didn’t move for several seconds, fearing the worst, when she heard Blane’s voice in the distance. Raspy. Coming from the back of the building.
He was on this floor. They made their way slowly around the quadrangle of offices. The side entrance was far away from up here and, without the alarm working, it was possible he hadn’t heard them enter. But he wouldn’t have missed the sirens outside.
At the back of the building was a room with two doors, one at either end. It would be a vast space. Perfect for a self-defence class.
More scraping. He was inside.
Helen paused outside the door for a split second. All was quiet. ‘I’m going in,’ she whispered.
‘Armed officers have arrived outside,’ Pemberton said, phone pressed to his ear. ‘They’re just surrounding the building.’
She motioned for him to move to the other door, further down the corridor.
When he was in place, she pushed her door open.
***
A blast of fresh air hit Helen as she entered a room that overlooked the flat roof and the car park below. A long table sat at one end, a stack of chairs beside it, left behind by the former occupier. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the source of the crash: Blane had thrown one of the chairs through the window. It lay on its side on the flat roof outside.
Beside it, Blane stood with Dark.
Helen’s breath caught. Dark’s hands were bound, her ankles tied together. Blane was holding her in front of him, a knife to her throat.
Helen stepped outside to join them. ‘Don’t come any closer,’ Blane said.
They were precariously close to the edge of the roof. The car park loomed below.
Helen halted. ‘Blane, please. We can talk about this.’
‘Stay where you are.’
She held up her hands, froze. ‘You don’t want to do this.’
Blane’s eyes hooked hers. They were eerily dark, the pupils dilated. ‘You have no idea.’
‘About what? Talk to me. I can help.’
‘Talk. You sent out this one to talk and look where she’s ended up.’
Rosa squeaked as the edge of the knife nicked her neck. A thin line of blood trickled down.
‘That wound needs attention,’ Helen said, fighting to keep her voice calm. She made to take a step forward.
‘Stop!’ Helen froze. ‘If you come any closer, I’ll slit her throat. I swear.’
In her peripheral vision, Helen could see Pemberton had entered the room through the other door and was now peering around the edge of the broken window, phone still pressed to his ear. He’d be liaising with backup, pointing out Blane’s location, requesting a hostage negotiator. She needed to calm Blane, keep him talking.
‘Think of your children,’ Helen said slowly.
‘That’s all I’ve ever done. Think of my children. Think of my family. And look what I got in return. Sinead, planning to go off with someone else.’ Spittle flew out of his mouth.
He tightened his grip on Dark. The armed response team would be in place now. Blane would
be aware of that. He’d also be aware they needed a clear aim. And he kept Rosa close, his head near hers, an arm around her front, shielding his body with hers. Preventing a clear line of fire on him.
Rosa whimpered again.
Helen dug deep. She recalled talking a suicidal male down from jumping off a shopping centre car park in her early years. What was it they were taught? Appeal to their humanity. Find their Achilles heel. Something they could hold on to, something they would engage with. And keep them talking.
What was Blane’s Achilles heel? Family.
‘Rosa got engaged this week, Blane,’ Helen said, the triviality of the words clawing at her. ‘She’s planning to get married later this year and start a family of her own.’
Blane said nothing.
‘Your Ava will be like that in twenty years,’ Helen continued. ‘Starting out, her life in front of her.’
She felt the heat of his gaze, silent and unwavering.
‘She’d be wanting you to support her, help her.’ His eyes softened, for a nanosecond his mind taken elsewhere. ‘Let Rosa go, Blane. She has no place here. She was doing her job. Following orders. Like you or I. Like Thomas or Ava might one day. Don’t deny her the chance of happiness.’
For a second, he was still, as if he was considering her words.
A voice shouted from below.
And suddenly his face contorted. He pulled Rosa back. They teetered on the brink of the roof, only millimetres between them and the edge. One false move…
Helen raised a hand. ‘Don’t do this, you’ve got children. Please, Blane. Let Rosa go and we can talk. You and me.’
Footsteps. Helen was aware of officers spilling into the office behind them. So was Blane. He pulled Rosa back, off the floor, her feet dangling in mid-air, over the edge of the building.
Dark’s eyes widened.
He adjusted his grip. She slipped slightly.
‘No, Blane. Don’t do this!’
Then, at the last minute, he tossed her aside.
Arms and legs still bound, Helen could hear her muffled scream as Dark dropped to the floor like a rag doll, juddering as she lay, head and shoulders over the side of the roof. She tried to wriggle back, wobbled. With no limbs free, she couldn’t save herself. Helen and Pemberton rushed forward. Helen grabbed her arms, Pemberton her legs, pulling her away from the edge.
Footsteps pounded the roof, instructions called out as armed officers closed in. They were almost on Blane when he raised the knife and sliced it across his throat.
‘No!’ With Rosa safely away from the edge, Helen ran towards him. Blood spurted out, spraying across her, the roof, the broken glass at their feet. Blane dropped to his knees before he fell face down on the roof. The whole building shook like thunder under his weight.
A paramedic rushed to his side, checked for a pulse. Helen’s heart dipped as she looked up and shook her head. Helen moved back to Dark.
Pemberton was tugging the gag out of her mouth. She doubled over, coughed. Tried to speak, but the words disappeared in a wheeze. Pemberton retrieved a Leatherman from his pocket and worked on the cable ties.
‘The car,’ she squawked.
Another paramedic knelt by her side. ‘Try not to speak,’ he said.
Dark grabbed Helen’s sleeve and pointed towards the window. ‘The car!’
‘She’s trying to tell us something,’ Helen said.
Dark wheezed, spitting out a thread. ‘She’s in the car.’
Pemberton pushed past the other paramedic leaning over Blane and checked his pockets. The car keys jingled as he removed them.
The stairs seemed to go on for ever. One flight after another. They darted past more officers, a bewildered Jenkins, who’d heard about the fracas and come out to support.
The Peugeot was still parked beside the fire door. They searched the seats, clambered around to the boot and flipped the lid.
The sight inside wrenched at Helen. Natalia Kowalski’s bruised and battered body lay coiled in a foetal position. She reached for her neck. ‘There’s a pulse. Get a paramedic here now!’
CHAPTER 55
Helen dragged her feet down the polished flooring of the hospital corridor; she’d spent far too much time here over the past few months.
Pemberton and she had raced here from the scene, only leaving the rear-view of the ambulances for a brief stop-off at the station to change her bloody shirt.
The sorry body of Natalia Kowalski was already hooked up to IVs on the floor above when they arrived. She’d suffered mild concussion, the doctors had said, where Blane had knocked her out, and heat exhaustion from being confined in the boot of his car, and was deeply traumatised, but they were hopeful she would make a good recovery.
It could have been so much worse.
The phone he’d planted as a decoy rang persistently in her mind. He’d tried to delay them. Thankfully, she’d remembered the other factory he’d mentioned and they were too quick for him; he’d only managed to carry one of the women upstairs when they arrived.
It was a wonder Natalia hadn’t choked on the necklace he’d stuffed into her mouth behind the gag. A necklace they later discovered the woman had bought for Sinead only weeks earlier, a sweet gesture from a close friend to encourage Sinead to be kinder to herself. The same necklace that was innocently returned with the personal contents of Sinead’s locker. Helen could imagine Blane’s anger when he found it. An anger that warped, supporting his theory that Sinead was having an affair. An anger that would have no doubt built when he’d broken into the homicide systems, read the case material and discovered Sinead’s secret friendship with Natalia.
Helen paused outside the door of the room housing DC Rosa Dark and stole herself. Dark was still in assessment when they arrived. Having confirmed she was out of danger, they’d rushed through to check on a surprised Spencer, only to find his injuries were superficial, and she’d left Pemberton with him to arrange discharge while she checked on Natalia. Such a wave of destruction, it was difficult to comprehend.
Helen knocked the door, then peered around the door frame. ‘Is it a good time?’ she asked.
Rosa looked across from her bed and smiled. She was sitting up, her left hand tucked between her partner, Tim’s, who sat in the chair beside her. ‘Of course. Come on in.’
The enthusiasm with which Rosa introduced Helen to her partner brought a tear to Helen’s eye. He nodded, his face impassive. It wasn’t an enthusiasm he shared and Helen didn’t blame him. She’d deployed the detective to speak with Blane O’Donnell, and although she couldn’t have known the ramifications of that decision, she was still the reason his fiancée was here, sitting in a hospital bed with a bruise the shape of Australia above her left brow and a bandage covering her neck.
‘How are you doing?’ Helen asked.
‘All right, thanks, especially as I’ve just been told it’s cottage pie for dinner.’ Dark gave a brief husky chuckle and coughed.
Her fiancé excused himself to get them coffee.
Helen watched him go, waiting for the door to close before she spoke. Suddenly she was overcome with emotion, seeing the young woman’s tiny frame in the hospital bed. The same frame that had been trussed up, teetering on the edge of a flat roof with a knife to her throat, only a couple of hours earlier. ‘Are you sure you’re okay, Rosa?’ she said. ‘You’ve been through a terrible ordeal.’
‘I’ll be fine, really. What happened to Spencer?’
‘Some idiot drove into the side of his Focus at Cross Keys roundabout. He had to be cut out. Luckily, he escaped with a few cuts and bruises. His phone took the biggest hit, it was flung out of the windscreen. We only found out when uniform attended.’
‘That’ll please the super,’ Dark said, a smile tickling her lips.
Her ability for humour in such circumstances warmed Helen’s heart. ‘It’ll certainly strain his budget.’
They both laughed.
Helen glanced down and caught a spatter of blood on her trousers.
Blane’s blood. She covered it with the corner of her jacket. ‘What happened back there?’ she asked.
Dark described how Blane had been tense when she arrived. His reticence to allow her near the kitchen. How his mention of the syringe found at the factory touched a nerve and she’d followed him anyway, only to hear Natalia Kowalski’s cries from his car outside. The scuffle that followed, culminating in her being thrown into the boot of his Peugeot with a semi-conscious Natalia. ‘The next thing I knew I was being lifted out of the car at Keys Trading Estate,’ she said.
He’d bound the wrists and ankles of both women, gagged them, but hadn’t bothered to cover their eyes because he didn’t expect them to stay alive to tell their tale. Helen suspected he’d arranged to kidnap and kill Natalia when Dark became a by-product of his plan. A plan that had gone askew as he lost all sense of reality.
Silence fell upon them. A bird landed on the windowsill and chirped, it’s voice crystal clear, and after everything they’d been through that afternoon, the two women found themselves listening and smiling at the simple gesture.
‘I have something for you,’ Helen said. She placed her hand in her pocket and pulled out Dark’s engagement ring.
‘Oh, thank you!’ Tears glittered Dark’s lashes. ‘I wondered if it would be found.’ As she slipped it onto her finger, the door opened and her fiancé returned with two cups of coffee. ‘Look!’ Dark said, holding up the ring. He smiled back at her.
Helen made her excuses and left. They needed some time alone together.
As she made her way back along the corridor, a wave of fatigue flew over her. She needed to check on Pemberton and Spencer, count everyone in, before she could consider rest. She was almost at the lifts when a familiar voice called from behind. It was Jenkins.
‘Hello, sir. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.’
‘I heard about the incident at the factory.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Are you okay?’
She nodded. He asked about the others and she updated him in the lift on the way down.
‘Join me for a tea,’ he said, when the lift doors finally opened on the ground floor.
