Police teams pounced in a flash, pulling him away. He Len was bundled out the building, shrieking curses.
“Dead men,” he screeched, his red face bulging. “You’re all dead men. We’ll have revenge on you, your families, and anyone who’s ever worked in or entered your restaurants or gambling houses.”
Wo Chang threw his head back, and unleashed a roar of bitter laughter. “No revenge can hurt me. Save your breath for the court room.”
He turned his gaze to Julia.
“I zee I have shocked you, Julia. How can a gentle, sweet old man like me be guilty of horror and depravity? It is so eazy. I feel nussing, you zee. I wish I could but I’m numb inside, dead. Oh yes, I can be charming. Charm iz the coat we wear when we pretend we are human.”
“You need help,” Pitcher said quietly.
“Help? Yes, there waz a time I needed help. But none waz offered. You never trusted the world, only for everyzing you love to be burned in flames before your eyes. I swore that day, when I lost everyzing, father, mother, family and friends, nussing would ever hurt me again. Pain would become my friend, my only ally.”
He pulled a blade from the folds of his magnificent surcoat, and raised the engraved sabre high above his head.
“Stand back officers. My experience wielding this knife is second to none. Come near and I will slash a dozen of you to pieces in seconds.”
Then with one leap, he turned sharply, lunging at Mantel. He slit his throat as easily as slicing a ripe peach. Mantel fell to the ground, body twitching, blood pumping from the wound.
Before anyone could move, Wo Chang raised both arms high above his head, the blade glinting in the full light.
“My friend again,” he shrieked, plunging the knife down violently into his chest.
“No!” screamed the man Julia thought she recognised and could now see more clearly.
Of course, Simon Chang, and that must be his brother Anthony beside him. The new generation of Dragon Masters waiting in the wings. Julia turned her head away.
After that everything moved like a film reeling slow. Gang members were taken into custody – mainly resigned to their fate. Scenes of crime officers attended the bodies.
Pitcher signalled to Ziggy, “Take her home. You shouldn’t be here anyway. Take my car. She’s seen enough. Take her home.”
JULIA DIDN’T WANT to go home. When she got back in the car, she asked to be taken to her office.
“Sure?” Ziggy asked.
She nodded. “I need to file something tonight. I can make the final deadline.”
The driver turned towards Bermondsey Street when her mobile rang. It was Patrick Silverman. Julia wrinkled tired eyebrows when she saw his number.
“Patrick,” she answered, her voice exhausted.
“Can you come, Julia? Laura wants to see you,” his speech was abrupt – words short and monosyllabic.
“Come where?”
“Cornwall.”
Julia cleared her throat. “No, Patrick. It’s out of the question. It’s been a tough day – I’m spent. One more thing to do, then home to bed. I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow may be too late.”
A knife twisted in Julia’s heart.
“Too late?”
“Laura isn’t good.”
“You said she was fine,” a loud drum beat in her ears.
“She was, but she’s sliding fast. She wants to talk to you. There’s a flight from City to Exeter in about an hour. I can collect you from there.”
The car pulled up at a red light. Julia knew in some strange way her fate and that of Laura’s were bound together.
She made her decision, leaned forward and spoke to the driver, “Can you take me to City airport?”
“Sure,” he changed lanes to make a sharp turn left.
“OK, I’ll come,” she said down the phone, before turning to Ziggy.
“D’you want to get out here? Laura’s taken a turn for the worse.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She wants to see me. There’s a flight to Exeter due.”
“Would you like me to come?” he stretched a hand over hers.
“No. I’ll be fine.”
“Let me at least come to the airport with you.”
SHE WAVED goodbye to Ziggy, ran across the forecourt, and raced up the escalator to the departure lounge. The flight was delayed half-an-hour, but Julia was glad. It gave her time to write a short piece about a police operation in a warehouse in Bermondsey thought to be connected to the murder of banker Adam Lee. She heard the final call for Exeter, hit the send button, and sprinted for last place in the boarding queue.
CHAPTER 54
Sunday 8pm
THE FLIGHT was short. Patrick was waiting for her, his car parked opposite the small terminal.
“You must know this road like the back of your hand,” she said, as he pulled onto the A30.
“I do. Could find my way home with my eyes closed.”
“How’s Laura?”
He let out a sigh. Shaking his head, he changed gear to overtake a caravan.
She studied his sallow face, his eyes fixed on the darkening road ahead. He looks dreadful, Julia thought. Please God, don’t let her die.
Conversation was thin for most of the journey. Visibility fell as the car ploughed its way through grey mist and dirty drizzle across the Bodmin moor. Windscreen wipers swished repetitively at high speed.
Julia’s mind flicked restlessly over the showdown at China Wharf. How could Pitcher never have suspected Wo Chang? Then again, it seemed so unlikely.
Now he’s dead, along with Mantel.
Her thoughts returned to Laura. I travelled half-way across the world to keep her safe. After all we went through in Hong Kong, surely this can’t be the end?
What a journey it had been. Her imagination raced through memories like a home-movie on fast-forward. Fear of arrest in China, her terror in the night markets, the drama at Victoria Peak, Dr Kathy bruised and broken, Cody’s beaten body, her wrecked office. Blood spouting from Mantel’s throat, and Wo Chang’s arms raised high ready for the ultimate act of violence.
She can’t die. She mustn’t. A shard of ice entered her heart.
Her mind flashed back to their first meeting in the clinic in the mountains. It’s true, she seemed frail – weak. But then she smiled, and all Julia noticed after that were her bright eyes and gentle voice.
Now the kaleidoscope turned, presenting Julia with a different reality. She stared at the swishing windscreen wipers and saw anew the questions she should have asked, but failed to.
Why change her mind about returning? So unexpected – so welcome, they accepted it all at face value.
Silverman accelerated. Julia watched the speedometer touch 100 miles an hour. Her stomach lurched as they raced across the dark bleak moors.
“Perhaps it’s time,” Julia said softly. Those had been Laura’s words, and suddenly their meaning was becoming clear. A new meaning. The way she puffed when they walked up the airport stairs. Her tiny appetite.
“It’s not the virus is it?” she said softly.
“No. That we could deal with. It’s cancer. Laura’s known for months she had a short time to live.”
“Her mother died young,” Julia felt blood draining away.
“Yes. The virus weakened her and masked the early signs. By the time it was diagnosed, it was too late.”
“Dear God,” a sickening sadness overwhelmed her. “So that’s why she was content to hide away in the mountains.”
“She thought to die there, doing what she could to make a difference to the Yao people to the very end,” Silverman said, staring grimly ahead.
It was pitch black when they reached the causeway. Not a soul stirred.
“We can drive across,” Patrick said, moving down through the gears. The car rumbled over the cobbled ocean road. In the distance, Julia could hear a gentle lap of the water. The tide was going out.
She followed him up th
rough rooms she remembered. The study, the banqueting hall, the chapel, and on to another suite. Silverman knocked at a door, and spoke to someone inside. Julia guessed a nurse.
He closed the door again. “She’d like to see you. Are you ready?”
Julia turned away, her lip trembling. This is all happening too fast, we need to slow things down.
The light was dim in the sick room. Laura looked tiny, as if she had shrunk since coming home. Julia noticed the rasping of her breath, the uneven rise and fall of her chest. The frail figure stretched her face into a wide warm smile when she saw Julia, but the effort hurt her. She screwed up her eyes until the pain passed.
“I’m so glad you came,” she said, each word weightless like cotton fluff.
“Can I get you something?” Julia asked.
“Perhaps some water...” Julia poured a glass from the jug at her bedside, then leaned across helping her to sit. She held the glass to her mouth. Laura took a couple of sips then fell back against the pillow.
“I’m so glad you could come,” she repeated, her voice painfully thin. “I’ve known my time was running out,” Laura continued. “But I’m happy I came home to Patrick. I have you to thank for that. That’s why I wanted to see you. To thank you and to set the record straight – to explain about that weekend all those years ago.”
“It’s not necessary, the story’s over, you need to rest.”
“It’s why you came looking for me in the first place. You knew what had happened, but you couldn’t understand why? What makes gifted, talented people chose one bend in the road rather than another.”
“Tomorrow, Laura, we can talk about all this another time.”
Laura shook her head. “My tomorrows are fading. You deserve an explanation.”
“Not now...”
“We were too greedy,” Laura raised a feeble hand to stop Julia interrupting. “All of us. We stole from the future. But we were little more than children – children led by a mad Svengali. That’s no excuse. I knew that night in the castle, we’d conjured with the devil – in a way. I should have stayed – stayed and tried to prevent the turmoil which followed. But I walked away. I was a coward. That’s why I admire you. You never give up, do you? You put me to shame.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Laura, you’re the bravest person I know. You devoted your life to helping others, and will do again.”
A smile tickled her pale lips. “Yes I intend to, another reason I wanted to see you. Patrick’s father left me a fortune. I’m setting up a trust to help underprivileged children. I want you to be on that trust, along with Patrick.”
“Rest now. Everything will look differently in the morning...”
Laura stretched out a weak hand. “Dear Patrick. He has no one. Be a friend to him Julia. He needs a friend. Promise me you’ll be his friend.”
Laura closed her eyes, and Julia realised her energy was spent.
CHAPTER 55
LAURA DIED two days later. A small funeral was held in the Castle Chapel – the Chandlers, Silverman and Julia the only mourners. Patrick’s face was gaunt as he fought back his grief. Julia was numb. She watched rivers of tears stream down Rebecca’s distraught face.
Thick mist engulfed the bay, when they emerged from the service, wrapping the landscape in a dense moving fog. Julia could hear water lapping in the distance, but the sound was muffled and low. They walked slowly together behind the coffin, accompanying their friend on her final journey. Visibility was reduced to a few feet. Julia trailed Laura and Stephen’s silhouettes blindly as they wound their way down the rocky path to the island churchyard. The air froze with an icy chill.
When they reached the grave plot, the vicar switched on a torch and bid the small party come closer. They encircled Laura for a last few prayers before her body was lowered into the ground. One by one, they threw sods onto the coffin. Julia waited last for her turn. As she moved away from the graveside, a strong beam of light broke through the clouds, and they were bathed in a warm shaft of sunshine. They stretched their necks to look up to the sky.
“Laura will always be with us,” Rebecca said.
“She will,” Stephen nodded.
“Thank God, she got out with her research,” Rebecca added. “That’ll be her legacy. Her good work and sacrifice will go on living long after this day.”
The sun warmed their backs as they began the steep climb back up to the Castle. A simple lunch awaited them in the refectory. Julia was desperate to get back to London and normality, but felt obliged to stay a little while longer.
“It’s so weird sitting here after all this time,” said Stephen. “D’you remember that night Pat? The rain. The storm. Mantel’s demonic smile.”
He moved his chair, stood, and walked gingerly towards the stained glass windows. He bent from the waist, screwing up his eyes, scrutinising the figures on the medieval panels. “That skeleton racked by the devil. If only we’d heeded the warning.”
“We made mistakes. Now it’s our job try to put things right and prevent the same thing happening again.” Silverman replied. “Will you help me with that work?”
“Poachers turned gamekeepers? Who better qualified?” Stephen nodded.
Julia turned to Rebecca. “Have you forgiven him?”
“Just about,” she smiled in the direction of her husband.
“It was too dangerous. I couldn’t risk involving you,” Stephen said shame-faced, returning to the table.
“Patrick was as bad,” Rebecca grimaced in his direction. “You owe Julia and me an apology.”
If they wanted an apology, it didn’t come. Patrick rubbed his palm over the old oak of the refectory table, then turned his head and gazed into the distance.
Rebecca took Julia’s hand. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough. In my darkest hour, you were the only person I could trust. Let’s keep in touch when we’re back in town.”
“Which won’t be any time soon,” Stephen said. “I’m staying here and enjoying my life with my wife.”
“Pull the other one,” Rebecca laughed. “Tower Gate’s opening on Monday. You’ll be straight in there, sorting out that mess, and every other mess you and Patrick can find.”
Lunch over, Julia stood to leave.
Patrick Silverman walked her back down to the causeway, where a car waited to take her to the station.
“I’m so sorry, Patrick. You wanted her in your life so much. We all did.”
She looked up into his troubled blue eyes.
“You risked everything to find her. What kept you going Julia?”
“It’s what I do.”
He took both her hands in his. “Any chance we could start again? I’d so like us to be friends. I realise that may not be possible, but I’d do anything to make it possible.”
“I’d like that too,” she squeezed his hand.
THE END
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Teresa Hunter is an award-winning journalist, who has worked for the Guardian, Telegraph and Sunday Times. She has also worked for the BBC in television.
She is married with three children and divides her time between her home in West Cornwall and London.
She has an MA in critical and creative writing.
DISCLAIMER
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any likeness to real life persons or events is accidental and unintentional. Timeframes may also differ from historic dates. The work has been extensively edited, but if you find any errors please email the author at [email protected]
Copyright © 2021 Teresa Hunter
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 979-8-7144-757-33
Take A Thousand Cuts Page 28
