123
She passed in and out of consciousness due to the pain and had no idea of the time or whether it was night or day. She couldn't even have said how long it was since her jaw was broken. She was dimly aware of someone coming into the room and then the beams flooded down.
There were four halogen lamps on top of stands which must have been at least 6 ft in height. Their beams were directed directly down on her and although the light to her eyes was excruciating, the warmth of the lamps was very welcome. He stepped into the beam looking down at her, filthy, bleeding, swollen and unable to speak. When she sat up, she still held her head at a very determined angle and willed him to see the fight still in her.
She also wanted him to know that his appearance now was no surprise to her. If he expected a look of surprised recognition in her face, he would be sorely disappointed. She wanted him to know that she had already worked it out.
“So, Detective Inspector, not surprised then?” He sneered at her and kicked away the empty plastic bottle from her feet.
She shook her head as best she could.
“So, when exactly did you work it out?” he studied her face. “Today?”
She shook her head.
“Yesterday?”
She didn't answer. Yesterday was approximately right but she wasn't sure of time. He took her silence as a yes.
“Clever DI. I wonder what gave me away?” He picked up his whip again. She could see it now. A vicious looking thing about two to three feet in length, and with several strands of a leather-type material with knots on the end of each strand. “No matter,” he said tapping the handle of his whip against his leg. “Its immaterial now, isn't it?”
He was dressed completely in Black. Black trousers and a black shirt, open at the chest. If he had not been so evil, Yvonne would have found him handsome, and thought back to the time when she had first met him and how likeable she had found him. It wasn't hard to see how so many young women could have fallen under his spell, with his jet black hair, greying at the temples and the tanned handsome face.
“Take a good look,” he said with menace. “Take a good look at your killer.”
She had known from the moment the lights came on that this was probably the last scene. That she wasn't meant to come through this one. Any remaining hopes that he might give her back to the world alive had disappeared when he let her see his face. She really wished she could speak right now: there were so many things she wanted to ask him, the first of which being why? This would be quickly followed by where was Catherine and was she alive? He raised the whip and brought it down hard on her shoulder, his face remained unmoved when he saw her jerk with pain. She couldn't even cry out now, her jaw being too swollen.
“Shall I put you out of your misery?” He passed behind the lights, appearing again with a long, sharp blade.
She felt her heart begin a familiar rapid pumping and tried to calm it she didn't want a panic attack now and she didn't want to die now.
There was a sudden, loud bump from behind the lights, and the thin form of Catherine staggered up from where she had tumbled into the room.
“Catherine...” He stopped in his tracks, a look of confusion momentarily replacing his cruel sneer.
“Gerald stop this...stop it now!” She roared the words and both Gerald and the DI were taken aback at the power in her voice, totally at odds with the fragile form that stood shaking in front of them.
“Catherine,” he started, “you shouldn't be here. I told you to finish your drink.”
Catherine staggered again and almost fell, but managed to remain upright. She was clearly drugged but at least she was alive. Yvonne was relieved, but at the same time, knew that time was running out for both of them. Catherine was a distraction to him right now though and the DI knew she ought to take advantage of it. Shackled as she was, her options were limited to say the least and that was not even taking into account the pain she was in, though this had lessened with the adrenalin rush.
She threw herself forward and grabbed his right leg from behind, twisting it so he fell to the floor. Enraged, he turned and grabbed her wrist. He bent her hand back so hard she thought her wrist would snap.
She couldn't stop it. The panic attack which she had fought back so successfully throughout her ordeal now had the upper hand. She couldn't breathe. Her heart beat so hard and so fast she thought it might stop altogether and she felt her consciousness slipping... slipping.
Then David was there. Her David was standing in front of her with his warm, sparkling eyes and handsome, mischievous face. He was holding his arms out to her to comfort her and she slipped into them, feeling the warmth and strength of him. She would be alright now and felt herself drifting to sleep in his arms until he suddenly and with force, pushed her away.
The DI opened her eyes again, just as Catherine pushed one of the lights crashing down onto Gerald. He roared with rage as the knife which he was holding fell from his grasp. Yvonne's reflexes were working fine and she grabbed the knife and held it up. As he pushed the smashed lamp off himself he was unsure about whether the DI would have the strength to use the knife and he hung back, arms apart like a wrestler weighing up his options.
The effort it had taken Catherine to push the lamp had sent her tripping to the floor and in her drugged state she was finding it difficult to get up again. Gerald moved to pick her up, just as the DI swung the knife and reached far enough to gash the back of his calf.
“You bitch! you stupid bitch!”, he shouted and came back in her direction, tripping on the light stand which was in his path. She still had the knife raised when he fell towards her. If this had been a film he would have impaled himself on it but instead, he narrowly missed falling onto the knife but he was half on the DI. She swung the knife wildly at him and it entered his neck on his right side. He rolled off her and lay there, hand stemming the blood which had begun to flow from it.
Yvonne lay there out of breath and out of fight, just as the door flew open and Brian and Tasha leapt into the room. Brian sprayed his CS gas onto the wounded Gerald and cuffed him. He then set about first aid for the wound as he telephoned the emergency line for the police.
Tasha ran to straight to DI to assess how badly she was injured. The DI was struggling very hard to say something to her through her swollen face. Tasha leaned very close to her and managed to make out the words which were no more than breaths. “What took you so bloody long?”
She laughed with relief, as she scooped the DI into her arms and kissed her on the top of her head.
124
Yvonne woke up in hospital with her jaw pinned and covered in wound dressings. Her head and jaw hurt a little but apart from that, she felt in pretty good shape. The nurses chatted to her as they plumped her pillows or brought her drinks which she could only drink with a straw. Her overriding emotion was that it was just so very good to be alive.
When Brian arrived with Tasha, they bought with them a copy of the Independent.
“See?” He laughed, pointing excitedly to it. “You're front page news, ma'am.”
The DI pulled a face and then winced from the pain. She still couldn't talk so she made noises to the effect of “Ha ha ha!”
Tasha, pushed back Yvonne’s hair from her face so that the DI could read the article. It said that she and Catherine were recovering well in hospital. It made her sound like Rambo she thought and it also said that Catherine and Graham had been reunited. It seemed also that Michael was giving his brother all the support and help he needed.
Of the sadist, it said that Gerald Adams had been remanded in a top security prison awaiting trial, but that he had been receiving treatment for testicular cancer in the hospital wing.
He had so far refused to answer any questions. The DI shivered at the memories of him and read on to see that she had been recommended for a commendation for bravery and how Superintendent Peterson was quoted as saying that, “DI Yvonne Giles is a credit to the Thames Valley Force.” Well now there's
a turn-up for the books she thought.
It had all ended well, but she knew how very close she had come to it all ending full stop. If she were honest, she would have to say that thoughts of quitting her police career had been crossing her mind whilst she lay there in her hospital bed. She knew that if she did leave and Gerald got wind of it, he would see it as a personal victory so it was not really an option. She'd heard of officers who had come through ordeals such as this and who had gone to pieces afterwards. She wondered how she would fare.
Brian and Tasha chatted away to her, but she heard only half of what they were saying to her and was relieved when they turned to leave.
“I'll be there if you need me,” Tasha said, turning to leave. The DI nodded, but she did not feel ready to need anyone yet. What she needed now was time.
125
Tasha stood in Yvonne's office packing her things with a sad heart. She was back off to the Metropolitan district in London. She had been offered the chance to stay but had turned it down as she was not sure that this was what Yvonne wanted or needed. Just as she was finishing up, the DI appeared in the doorway.
“Yvonne, I thought you were off for another few weeks?”
“I am.” Yvonne's jaw was still strapped but she could just about be understood. “I popped in to check my mail and see how things were coming along. You're leaving, I hear?”
“Yes.” Tasha paused, waiting for something to indicate disappointment but it didn't come. “My work is finished here you know?”
The DI didn't want Tasha to go but, equally, did not want to be the one to ask her to stay. She was unsure what she felt about what had been growing between them and could make no promises. Not yet at any rate. She knew that she would miss the psychologist and that her house and her office would feel empty and yet she still could not bring herself to say the words in case that gave Tasha a hope that the DI may be unable to fulfil.
Tasha seemed to sense the DI's ambivalence, and smiled reassuringly at her. “I'll email you,” she winked. “And I'll phone you. Feel free to email and ring me too, Okay?”
Yvonne nodded and tried to smile back. “Take care, Tasha,” she said, taking her hand and squeezing it. I shall miss you.”
Then, the psychologist was gone. Yvonne watched her leave down the corridor until she was only a couple of inches tall.
“Bye...” she whispered as Tasha disappeared from view.
126
He sat down with a plastic tray, which was partitioned into little sections with some sliced beef in one, some slush which he assumed was mashed potato in another and some overcooked cabbage and carrots in another.
He hated this food almost as much as he hated this place and he shouldn't be here.
He was wearing orange and he hated orange almost as much as he hated the endless, mindless chatter of his fellow inmates with whom he refused to converse.
Then there were the guards, in their black and white uniforms, who were probably only here because they couldn't get a decent job anyway, he thought, and they had taken far too much pleasure in telling him how Catherine was reconciled with Graham and that they had big plans for their future which was starting with a three month cruise around the world. He threw his spoon down into the mash and pushed his plate away from him.
The sandy-haired lad who sat down next to him couldn't have been much older than 20 he thought. He was eyeing the pushed away plate of food.
“Don't you want that?” the young man asked, pushing pack his shoulder length hair to look at Gerald with eyes like a puppy dog. Gerald did not answer but looked towards the plate of food, inviting the lad to take it.
Seeing this unspoken form of consent, the young man rubbed his hands on his trouser legs and reached for the tray and began sliding it towards himself. He screamed with bulging eyes when Gerald's fork came crashing down into his hand.
Amid the sound of alarms and men being told to clear the dining hall, several guards rushed in to seize Gerald by both arms to take him off to solitary. Gerald offered no resistance. Not this time.
THE END
Edited: David Burton, Economyedits, 2016
Cover: SelfPubBookCovers. com/Shardel
Copyright: Anna-marie Morgan.
All rights reserved. 2016
Created with Vellum
To my wonderful son, Christopher.
Prologue
'Come here my friends, behould and see
Suche as I am, suche shall ye be
As is my state, within this tombe
So must be yours before the doome
Even dust, as I am now
thou, in time, shall be.'
Anon (old English)
1
Ear-splitting thunder shredded the sky, like a bandage torn for the wounded. He cowered instinctively, as though the entire wrath of God was aimed at him, and him alone. The veins in his temples made tents in his fragile skin, as he struggled to cover the last hundred yards to the street lamp. He examined the note again, turning it over in cold-stiffened hands.
Reverend Evans, I need to speak with you, urgently. Please come to St. David's church at 9.00 pm.
The note revealed nothing about the sender. Outside of the locked church, David Evans found himself alone. It was 9.15 pm.
Jagged rapiers of light rendered the building in stark facade. Light and shade. Good and evil. A rogue sapling, growing from a hole in the main tower, appeared dwarfed by its own gnarled shadow, dancing grotesquely in the flickering light.
The wind flapped the note in his hand and chilled the inside of his coat, as a large raindrop hit him hard on the top of his head, followed by another and another. Within moments, the downpour was torrential and he sought shelter in the church doorway, closing his eyes.
“Hello, Father.” The deep, rasping voice was barely audible above the rain, the wind and the thrashing of branches.
“Hello?” He stumbled forward, searching for the voice's owner.
Forked lightning illuminated long grass, discarded bottles and broken roof tiles.
“Where are you? I can't see you..." The reverend's head thrashed like the branches. He held the rain-soaked note above his head in a futile attempt at shelter.
A hooded shadow appeared on the path and crept eerily up the church wall.
He cowered again. “Who are you? What do you want?” His abdominal muscles clenched so tight, they might render him in two.
“You.”
"Me?" He could taste the iron-tang of blood, as his own teeth dug into his fist.
The figure leapt forward, grabbing the reverend by the shoulders, thrusting paper into his face. “Read.”
“W...What...?”
“Read.” The staccato word was delivered by a voice thick with violence.
Fingers, like steel rods, shot pain through his shoulders, and he fought for breath, squinting in the dim light and heavy rain. When he swallowed, it felt like he was swallowing his fist. A blinding torch shone on him and the page he was holding. All else was deep shadow. He didn't dare look into the shadow.
“Through the ages, Almighty God has moved His people to...”
“Kneel."
He sank to his knees in the cold, dank mud. “...build houses of prayer and praise...”
“Louder.”
“...and to set apart places for the ministry of His holy word and sacraments. With gratitude for the adornment of St. David's church, w...we are now gathered to dedicate and consecrate it in God's name.”
“Now the prayer.”
He could feel the mud splashing his face as the rain plowed down around him. The sky lit up again and the ensuing thunder all but drowned out his next few words.
“Let us pray. Almighty God, we thank you for making us in Your image, to share in the ordering of Your world. Receive the work of our hands in this place, now to be set apart for Your worship, the building up of the living, and the remembrance of the dead, to the praise and glory of Your name; through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.”
As he finished reading, he had visions of his congregation: could see the respect they afforded him and the pleasure they took from the reassurance of the sermon. They were singing and praising God. The sound was beautiful to him.
Something hard smashed against his skull, the singing replaced by the sound of the blood coursing through and out. His cracked voice howled in pain, as the thick, warm fluid snaked down his neck, mixing with the muddy rain. It was the last worldly thing he felt. The killer dragged his body to the bushes at the back of the church, ripping the blood-stained collar from his neck with gloved hands.
Making sure he was unobserved, the killer placed a clean collar at the foot of the church door, putting the freshly bloodied one in a plastic bag, in his holdall. He spent several minutes with the body, and made the most of every one, in order to leave his message. Peeling off the gloves, he placed them in his pocket and set off through the back of the churchyard to the car park.
2
Diolch yn fawr, ma'am!” DS Dewi Hughes grinned and ducked, as he took the open file from his DI.
“Dewi Hughes, I didn't come here to learn Welsh.” Yvonne raised her right eyebrow, but couldn't resist the curl of a smile at her detective sergeant's wicked eyes.
“What does it mean, anyway?” She poured herself a coffee.
“It means, thank you very much, ma'am.” Dewi passed her the milk.
Yvonne, still adjusting to her new life, fingered the two inch scar on her chin, the result of injuries sustained at the hands of the Shotover Sadist. Her jaw had long since mended, but it ached sometimes. Dewi watched her rub her chin, his gaze soft, but he knew better than to ask if she was all right.
DI Giles BoxSet Page 26
