She Will Rescue You

by Chris Clement-Green

  ‘They were both actively involved in badger baiting and dog-fighting rings. CSI examination of the Volvo’s boot shows badger and dog hairs as well as fairly large blood samples from both kinds of animal.’

  Bastards! Mark could hear Mia’s indignation reverberating inside his head.

  The post-mortem provided game-changing information.

  Toxicology had been both expansive and fast. It identified the poison as ricin, ingested in a liquid form mixed with alcohol. The report also confirmed what had been so clearly written on the faces of the two men — their deaths had been slow and painful. The ricin had been strong enough to cause burns the whole way down the throat and oesophagus as well as the stomach itself. Death was estimated within fifteen minutes of consumption, fixing the time of the double murders at around three that morning. The car had been found at five, so while motive and means had already been established, there was still a two hour time frame to be covered. Ron already had someone checking the automatic number plate recognition cameras for the Volvo.

  ‘The press are waiting.’ The local DI sounded gloomy. ‘I hate bloody press conferences; like a pack of dogs at feeding time — always wanting more than you can give them.’

  Mark nodded acknowledgement. ‘Can you deal with them? I need to get back to London and brief Gold Command.’

  He’d have to brief the Met Commissioner, who’d then brief the Home Secretary who would then undoubtedly liaise with MI5 and MI6. Ricin was playing with the big boys and this whole case had just moved into new territory. Where the fuck was Mia?

  He turned to Ron. ‘Make sure no mention is made of the ricin. This information stays between you, me and the toxicology report, Ron. No one else — not even anyone in your incident room knows about this until I say so — clear?’ Ron nodded. ‘They already know about the feather from the bloke who found the bodies, but give them nothing else. It’ll cause mass panic if it gets out.’ He hurried from the room to make a call on a secure line.

  Mark had only been in his own Chief’s office once, but the Met Commissioner’s was far bigger: a glass fronted monstrosity that had the square footage of a medium sized flat. The Commissioner had just given him the surprising news that he was to remain in charge of the case, with intelligence services support when he needed it.

  ‘Your DI Matt Brown has the necessary anti-terror experience so he’ll act as your SPOC with the security services.’ The Commissioner looked drawn. ‘And, as agreed, the use of ricin must be kept from the media for as long as possible, so no one else in the incident room is to be told of this . . . complication.’ She gave the SIO a nod of dismissal.

  Mark desperately wanted to share this upgrading of offending with Mia but it was not something he could do via email or answer phone. So he texted her — come back ASAP, developments!

  But it was over twenty-four hours of him continuously checking his phone before he actually got to speak to her directly.

  ‘I’m sorry to let you down, Mark, but I’ve had to take compassionate leave. My mum just can’t manage on her own. The fall’s broken more than her ankle — it’s shaken all her self-confidence.’ Mia sounded truly sorry, and he wondered if she was missing him as much as he was missing her.

  ‘Well, just let me know if there’s anything I can do. I — we’ll be very glad to get you back whenever you can come. Things have moved up a notch this end.’

  ‘Anything I need to know about?’

  ‘Yep. But nothing I can talk about over the phone.’

  He hoped this might whet Mia’s appetite enough for her to offer to at least meet him, however briefly, but her mother seemed to be all she could think about.

  ‘Okay. You’ve got my number for anything else. It should only be a week or two.’ Mark was left standing with the silent phone still held to his ear.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Extremism in the defence of the undefended is no vice and moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue.

  Ellie met with Alex and Mia every morning and afternoon. The meetings lasted for as long as she remained compos mentis. As she worked her way towards death, the only thing Ellie retained any direct control of was the small red button connected to her morphine drip. She always waited as long as she could before pressing it, as the drug made her sleepy and useless.

  She was frustrated by the pain and the need for opioids, but Mia seemed to be picking things up very quickly . . . including Alex. After their first two meetings, he’d arrived the following day with a new haircut and a closely trimmed beard. His green eyes were accentuated by the blue of a new button-down collar, double-seamed shirt, and Ellie had never seen him look so . . . weirdly handsome . . . so focussed. What should have been a reciprocal wow on her part, died in her throat; none of this was for her benefit and this pain was as hard as the cancer’s.

  That night, when Mia and Alex had gone out to dinner, Mick found Ellie racked with sobs. They were the silent kind, exiting the body through hunched shoulders as tears coursed down both her cheeks, continuing to flow despite Toby’s best efforts to lick them away. Mick hitched himself onto the bed and put his wiry arms around the shell of the woman he had grown to love.

  ‘Best let them flow, Ellie. There’s no stopping tears when something hurts this bad.’

  ‘It’s not fair!’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ Mick gave her a gentle squeeze. ‘But, if you had to choose . . . between Alex and your work . . . what would it be?’

  ‘Love or money?’ Using the heels of her hands she brushed angrily at her tears, embarrassed as much by their existence as by Mick seeing them. ‘Why should I have to choose? Why couldn’t I have both?’

  ‘Because, in my experience, most people have to make a choice at some point between what they want and what they need. So . . . money or love?’

  Ellie let the tears fall. It was good to have something concrete to focus on. It stopped images of Alex and Mia’s naked bodies rolling around her morphine-clouded brain. Looking back at what she’d achieved in a relatively small space of time, the tears gradually stopped; like an engine running out of petrol, one last small shudder and they were gone. She smiled down at Toby and gave his ears a reassuring flip.

  ‘The money . . . of course.’

  ‘Then don’t begrudge Alex the love. I’m sure he never saw it coming. I certainly didn’t.’

  ‘You? You’re in love with Mia too?’ She turned to look at a face whose lines had deepened dramatically since her diagnosis.

  ‘No, you idiot, you! As a daughter mind — only as a daughter. I’m the wrong side of sixty, Ellie and, apart from my mother, you’re the first and last person I will ever love.’ Mick stared out of the large bedroom window.

  Ellie insisted the curtains were always pulled back. She liked watching the moon’s slow progress. It was company in the small hours.

  ‘Never use the word only when talking about love, Mick.’ Her voice was thick with drugged drowsiness. ‘Mum once told me that love is like light . . . everyone thinks they know what it is, but it’s hard to pin down . . . to explain. Everyone sees it differently.’ She nestled back into Mick’s arms. ‘You’ve no idea how much your love means to me. I never had a father.’ She wrapped her skeletal arms around his lean body. It was like hugging an ancient olive tree — the sort bent by wind but surviving a thousand years without much water. ‘I don’t want to die a virgin . . . I never got to see . . . to experience . . . something as wonderful as I imagine the Northern Lights could be.’

  ‘Nobody’s ever died from a lack of sex, Ellie — it’s a lack of love that kills us.’

  But Ellie was asleep. Mick held onto this most intimate moment of human contact, brushing her hair from her face with a nicotine-stained finger. A tear of his own ran slowly down his wrinkled face to meld with Ellie’s sadness and regret.

  The next morning, Ellie found a copy of The Serenity Prayer under the fruit juice on her breakfast tray. She was touched by both the thought and immense effort that had gone into th
is simple act of kindness. Mick was barely literate and appeared to have written the prayer from memory. The writing was childlike with plenty of spelling mistakes and not much punctuation, but his intent shone through and made her cry again. While she’d never have Mia’s education and intellect, she had developed enough wisdom to try and ignore the things she couldn’t change, and she deeply appreciated Mick’s recognition of this. It had taken a long time to come to terms with the various compromises she’d been forced to make, and she sometimes still struggled to bear these costs with swan-like serenity.

  Alex and Mia were drinking coffee in the kitchen when Mick walked back in. Despite the expanse of scrubbed pine available, the two were sitting as close as they could get to each other with just the corner of the table separating them. When Mick entered, Alex had immediately leant back in his chair. Mick was having none of it.

  Walking behind Alex, he suddenly turned and wrapped his right forearm around Alex’s throat, placing the ex-SAS man in a vice-like head lock which he secured by clasping his right wrist with his left hand and pulling both hands back towards his own chest. Alex was caught off guard and was struggling to breathe, never mind speak.

  Mia stared at the two men — at a complete loss as to what was happening.

  Bending forward, Mick spoke into Alex’s left ear. ‘If either of you,’ he glanced across at Mia, shooting her a look of concentrated malevolence that drew her into the violence, ‘ever,’ he gave Alex’s throat an extra squeeze, ‘do anything to hurt Ellie again, I’ll personally make the pair of you the subject of my own dark-op. Understand?’ Alex managed a slight nod which Mia reinforced with a bigger one. ‘You keep your personal antics out of Ellie’s bedroom. You focus entirely on what she says and on what she wants. You keep your lovelorn eyes on her, not each other and you dress and act normally. Have I made myself clear?’ The question received two more nods.

  Mick released his grip and walked over to the sink as though nothing more than a ‘good morning’ had been exchanged.

  Alex flicked his eyes at Mia, indicating she was to leave, but she mimed concern that Alex was not to retaliate. He smiled and nodded confirmation as he rubbed life back into his Adam’s apple.

  Mia left the kitchen with a sudden sense of shame, fearful of how Alex might react to his share of it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mick.’ Alex stood by the small man, who was wiping down the draining board.

  ‘It’s not me you should be apologizing to.’

  ‘True, but I can hardly go to E and apologize for being in love with Mia.’ ‘That’s not what I’m asking.’ Mick straightened his back and glared up at Alex.

  ‘I know, I know!’ He held his hands up, fending off another attack from Ellie’s tenacious guard dog. ‘But you’re right. I never meant to, but I have been disrespectful of E. It’s just . . .’ Alex struggled to find the right words. This was never a conversation he’d imagined having with any man, let alone Mick. ‘It’s just that Mia’s bowled me over. I’m smitten, Mick. I’ve never felt like this about any other lass and I forgot about E for a while.’

  Mia, out of sight but within earshot, had her world blown apart for the second time in as many weeks.

  Ellie had found herself struggling to keep Mia and Alex focussed on her vision of what was to happen after her death, and decided it would be easier to speak to them separately. When neither of them queried this change, she felt both patronized and angry. She knew Mick wouldn’t have said anything, which meant her feelings for Alex and her jealousy of Mia must have been obvious to everyone — including Alex.

  She forced a smile as Mia entered the bedroom. Despite being on her own, the woman had a spring in her step and a glint in her eye that Ellie hated. Mia’s eyes now held the same light of hope that Wilma and her mother had shared with the world, for a short time. But Wilma, like her namesake, had died. And now it was her turn. She had lost all hope of survival, all hope of love. All that remained was her own battle with death and how she could make best use of the inevitable. This final flexion of her soul mattered.

  Mia sat next to the bed and opened the ring-backed notepad Ellie insisted she use.

  ‘Anything relating to dark-ops is never entered onto any type of IT system, Mia. Only use pen and paper which, unlike a hard drive, is impossible to hack and easy to permanently erase. The ringed-spine means you can remove pages without anyone knowing how many are missing and when there’s not many left, recycle the pad to rescue work.’

  Mia had also been impressed when Ellie’d told her to rip out both the written on sheet and the one underneath, so that ESRA tests could not be used to reveal any invisible pressure copy on the underlying page.

  ‘At the end of each working day, dark-op paperwork no longer in use will be burnt by Mick.’

  Ellie waited for Mia to look up from the pad. ‘You need to lean forward, Mia . . . let fate catch sight of you. You need to stick your head above the parapet.’

  ‘It’s not fate I’m worried about, Ellie. It’s the NCA catching any sight of what I’m up to. And anyway, I don’t believe in fate — it relieves the believer of taking responsibility for their actions.’

  Ellie held her gaze. ‘Whereas believing in karma makes you responsible for them.’

  Mick, who was walking towards the bedroom door with an armful of dirty bedding, joined in the debate.

  ‘In my experience there’s no bargaining with either.’

  Neither woman acknowledged his wisdom and he closed the door behind him.

  ‘Mia, fate put me in a position where I was able to give my life meaning. You can give my death meaning.’

  Ellie, a woman guilty of so many crimes, was not above emotional blackmail. The question of succession, or more specifically the manner of succession, remained a weeping centrepiece between them, blocking their view of each other and preventing the conversation from moving forwards.

  Ellie’s eyes now held a soft desperation that Mia was finding increasingly hard to resist. She had found it relatively easy to lie to Mark and she was keeping things from both Alex and Mick, but she seemed unable to lie to Ellie. She just couldn’t tell her what she wanted to hear.

  ‘You have such drive, Ellie, an internal truth that won’t brook compromise. It’s given you a strength I don’t have and, to be honest, I wonder if the price you’ve paid has been too high.’

  ‘The cancer.’

  ‘No, not exactly. You have strength but not peace. I value my peace, Ellie.’

  ‘Believe it or not, I do have peace.’

  Ellie closed her eyes and was silent for so long that Mia wondered if she’d drifted off again. The high morphine dosage meant she could fall asleep halfway through a sentence. But not this time. Ellie opened her eyes and turned them on Mia.

  ‘I’ve had to make choices, Mia — some hard, some easy. But I accept all of the consequences.’ Her hand rose from the duvet in an action designed to demonstrate a sweeping away of all things, but the effort was too much and gravity forced it down again. ‘I’ve always believed that making a mistake . . . based on actions of good intent . . . is far better . . . than the mistake of doing nothing. And . . . as I keep telling you . . . the ability to act brings a responsibility to do so.’

  ‘I see that, Ellie. I do, really. But I’m with Mark Twain on this one — I don’t intend reaching my own grave via another woman’s road.’

  Mick had returned with yet another tray of tea and Mia’s words made him wince. But she continued unabashed. The one thing Ellie appreciated these days was the speed of utter honesty.

  ‘If I do this, if I take on your fortune and your operations, I must do things my way.’

  ‘But my way gets results.’

  ‘As will mine. Take this Danish job you’re proposing. You want Alex and his men to kill all the inhabitants of the village—’

  ‘All the inhabitants are responsible for the slaughtering of those whales — clubbing them to death with tyre wrenches, for Christ’s sake!’

  ‘But
club them to death?’

  ‘Only after they’ve been gassed, beached, and left helpless — like the whales.’

  ‘Ellie — clubbing even an unconscious child to death will weigh too heavy on the hardest of souls.’

  Mia could not bear to think of a child’s blood running through fingers which now regularly caressed her to peaks of ecstasy she had never experienced before.

  ‘They get paid well enough!’ Ellie knew she was missing the point, but pain made her impatient and she was increasingly opting for conversational shortcuts. ‘They actually sit their children on top of these dying, screaming beasts, and urge them on in their juvenile violence. An eye for an eye, Mia — that’s how it has to be!’ Ellie lay back against her pillows, exhausted by the emotion that still coursed through her veins, giving false and temporary strength to her polluted body.

  ‘But I’m saying it’s not how it has to be. I need to choose the means, Ellie, but I promise you, the end will be met. The slaughter will be stopped.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We use the ricin to contaminate the buildings and the streets, keeping the shoreline and surrounding countryside clear. But we round up the villagers first and march them inland for a mile or so.’

  ‘You’ll let the bastards live?’

  ‘Yes . . . unless anyone puts up resistance. Then and only then will they get the beating you want. But, most importantly, we’ll be putting an end to the slaughter of whales on that beach forever. We’ll also be sending out a global message that can’t be ignored and lost amidst the outrage of your proposed savagery. The bigger picture, Ellie, think of the bigger picture. Revenge has got to be palatable — it has got to be about more than making you feel better.’

  ‘You think this is what it’s all been about? Making me feel better!’

  ‘No! Of course not! But my default setting is probation, Ellie, not execution. I’m not you, but I want to carry on the best part of you. The part that listens to the guilty before passing sentence, the part that is willing to give a second chance, the part that stretches out an open hand as well as striking with a clenched fist.’ Mia grabbed Ellie’s paper-thin hand. ‘That way extraordinary things happen — look at Johnny, Lee and the other boys you’ve helped.’