by LJ Ross
Moving quickly now, she made for the front door and found that unlocked as well. She threw it open and clutched the knife in her other hand, ready and able to use it if he should be waiting around the corner. The sight of verdant green fields and pale sunshine nearly overwhelmed her as she stood there, on the cusp of freedom.
A sob escaped her lips as she limped out into the light, letting her feet sink into the thick grass. It was still damp from rainfall earlier in the day and, to her starved senses, it was like a balm. Her toes curled into it and she felt a wave of emotion wash over her.
A bird flew overhead, letting out a long cry.
She shrank back against the outer stone wall and wondered which way to go. Straight ahead led to the forest in the dip of the valley, but it might lead her further away from the nearest town. Gnawing the inside of her lip, she decided to trace the perimeter of the house to see what lay on the other side.
Perhaps there would be a road.
Please, let there be a road.
Another tile clattered off the roof and fell to the ground not far from her head. She stumbled and looked up to see the same bird perched on the edge of the guttering, watching her slow progress.
“Shh,” MacKenzie warned it, raising a shaking finger to her lips.
She emerged on the western side of the house to find a mirror image of the view she had just left. More farmland, rippling in a patchwork of green and brown far off into the distance, broken only by outcrops of woodland. It was an Arcadian scene that she might have appreciated, in her old life.
But now all she saw was vast emptiness and miles of painful walking ahead.
East or west?
North or south?
Every direction looked the same.
She turned too quickly and trod on a sharp pebble jutting from the grass beneath her feet. She threw a hand across her mouth to stifle a cry but found herself wondering if there had once been a driveway hidden beneath the undergrowth. If so, perhaps this was the right direction to follow.
MacKenzie scrutinised the ground, looking for more patches of rubble. She found traces leading back towards a wooden gate in the hedgerow nearby. It had long since fallen from its rusted hinges, but her heart swelled.
She had found the way out.
* * *
Frank Phillips stared down at an image of Keir Edwards, taken sometime after his arrest back in 2014. Edwards stared boldly back at him from the glossy photograph in his file; unrepentant, defiant.
“Put it away,” Ryan said mildly, from his desk a few feet away.
Phillips shoved the image away from him and tugged his lip between thumb and forefinger.
“Have you heard from Durham yet?”
Ryan didn’t bother to look up.
“I’ve already told you, they’re re-interviewing the pilot and his wife tomorrow. Lowerson has set up an interview with Edwards’ former solicitor in the meantime. He’ll be interviewing her first thing in the morning, alongside one of the DIs from the fraud team.”
“Is he up to the job? He’s barely out of short trousers.”
Ryan merely raised an eyebrow.
“Alright, he’s a decent lad,” Phillips relented. “But it would be better to have one of us in there—”
“Morrison is watching every move we make. Lowerson has the impartiality she’s looking for, at least on paper. Give him a chance, Frank, he cares about her as much as you and I do.”
Phillips swallowed his frustration and looked down at the stack of papers scattered across his desk.
“I’ve gone back over all the statements we received last week. The taxi driver who picked Edwards up at the airport said he seemed like, ‘a really nice bloke’.” Phillips let out a bark of laughter that held no humour whatsoever. “A nice bloke. What kind of idiot has a serial killer sitting on his back seat and thinks he’s a canny body?”
Ryan set his file to one side and turned to face him.
“Edwards operated in society for years before he was captured. Think about all the doctors and nurses who worked with him at the hospital; all the patients who said how charming he was and who found it hard to believe that nice Doctor Edwards could ever hurt anybody. But we know better. The man is an operator and manipulating people is one of his greatest skills. He doesn’t go around wearing a t-shirt saying I’m The Hacker, to alert people. He moves among them, blending in.”
Phillips sighed and looked back down at the statement on his desk.
“The cabbie also describes him as tall and very muscular. That doesn’t seem to tally, does it? I mean, he liked to keep fit but he was more of an athletic build, a bit like you,” Phillips said, unguardedly.
A shadow crossed Ryan’s face and Phillips instantly regretted his casual remark.
“Ah, that is to say, you’re both tall and that…”
“Well, apparently, he’s bulked out quite a bit which is hardly surprising given the time he’s spent in prison. What else did he have to do, except mastermind his escape and work on his physique?”
“Didn’t the taxi driver also say he had close-cropped hair and a beard? That’s another change from his usual foppish hairdo,” Phillips added.
“The prison officers confirmed he had grown a beard,” Ryan said. “But they didn’t have an up-to-date photograph, just the old one from when we first booked him back in 2014.”
Ryan searched the files on his computer and found a facial composite which had been produced using a combination of Edwards’ old image and new, overlaid features based on eyewitness accounts of his recent appearance. He brought the photofit up on his computer screen and turned it towards Phillips.
“This new image has been plastered all over the news and there are leaflets and flyers all around town. Let’s hope somebody recognises him.”
The rain had stopped, leaving clear blue skies in its wake. Ryan was quiet for a moment while he watched the sun begin its slow descent, blazing trails of light through the remaining clouds. He thought of all the people going about their lives, never thinking that they might be The Hacker’s next victim.
He envied them their naivety.
“Edwards was behind bars for nearly two years,” he continued. “That’s two years when he was cooped up and unable to kill anybody. He’s been outside for a week now and I don’t need to tell you that it will have been a feat of superhuman restraint for him to have lasted this long without sating his aggression.”
Ryan turned to look directly at his sergeant.
“I still believe MacKenzie is alive because she serves a special purpose and she’s got the training and the will to survive. But there are thousands of other people out there who serve no purpose to a man like Edwards, except as a vessel for his needs. He was never one for delayed gratification.”
Phillips knew it was true.
“He’s gone to ground but he’ll have to surface at some point. When he does, we’ll be ready.”
“I hope so.”
* * *
Freedom was intoxicating.
MacKenzie dragged herself across the grass towards the broken gate in the far corner of the field as quickly as she could, tripping over potholes in her haste to get away. She didn’t know how long she had until Edwards returned and there was a possibility he would see her, fleeing the house in the same direction. As soon as she reached a road, she would keep to the hedgerows, out of sight. Her ankle protested with every agonizing step and one arm clutched her midriff to quell the stabbing pain in her ribs. Her other arm swung at her side, still clutching the kitchen knife.
Gradually, awareness crept in.
A prickle worked its way along her spine, causing the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck to stand on end. Her heart rate quickened to a roar and she could see the gate a few feet ahead of her, tantalisingly close and wide open, beckoning her onward.
But the feeling would not go away, it only grew stronger.
She came to a gradual standstill, drawing shuddering breaths into her body.
Through blurred vision, she saw the edge of a dirt-track road leading from the gate and down into the valley. It was almost hidden by years of undergrowth but it was there, directing her towards safety and civilisation.
It might as well have been on the other side of the world because she knew she would never reach it. She knew that he was behind her somewhere, watching.
Laughing.
Impotent tears began to fall as she stood immobilised, frightened to move forward yet afraid to look behind. She waited for long minutes until the tears completely dried against her skin. She would not give him that satisfaction.
Drawing herself up to her full height, she took one last lingering look at the road and then pivoted on her good foot to look back towards the stone house that was her prison. The sun had dropped lower in the sky, grazing the uppermost edge of the moss-topped roof. She raised a hand to shade her eyes against its bright glare but then a tall figure moved, eclipsing the light.
Defeat weighed heavily against her heart. The hand holding the knife began to shake and it fell from her nerveless fingers into the thick grass at her feet.
Edwards had been on the roof all along, with a rifle aimed at her head.
CHAPTER 5
Day moved seamlessly into night as the occupants of CID worked with their heads bowed, and the sun went unnoticed as it dipped into the horizon, throwing out wide arcs of amber and gold in a final display of light as it fell off the edge of the world. When he eventually looked up, Ryan was surprised to note that it was well after eight o’clock and he had been working for twelve hours straight. Half of his staff, particularly those with children waiting for them, had gone home. He arched his back to ease out the kinks and ran a hand through his hair in a habitual gesture, thinking of what else could usefully be achieved that night.
Not much.
He had already delivered his obligatory report to Chief Constable Morrison, detailing the problems they faced tracking down Edwards’ phantom vehicle without first having a lead, which might come from their interview with his former solicitor the next morning. Forensic work had ground to a halt after an extensive operation covering every nook and cranny of the stolen helicopter, of Edwards’ old prison cell and of MacKenzie’s home and car. All the prison staff working on Edwards’ section at HMP Frankland were due to be re-interviewed in the coming days, alongside the pilot who had earned himself the dubious reputation of being the man who had air-lifted a killer.
Ryan stood up with his mug of cold coffee and prowled towards the long window overlooking the car park. Streetlights flickered along the main road and he knew that a few miles yonder, the city would be coming to life. Bars and restaurants opened their doors and people flocked, despite the wolf lurking in their midst.
It was the perfect hunting ground.
“Lowerson?”
Across the room, the young detective constable looked up from his desk.
“Guv?”
“Contact the railways and the buses again. I want updated feeds of their on-board CCTV cameras.”
“There’ll be a delay,” Lowerson warned him.
“As quickly as possible, then,” Ryan said. “After you’ve done that, go home and rest. I want you here bright and early tomorrow ahead of the interview with that solicitor.”
“Understood.”
Lowerson busied himself with his task and Ryan turned away from the window to look back at Phillips, who was hunched over his desk. His suit jacket lay crumpled on the floor where it had fallen off the back of his ugly green desk chair and his hair stood out at odd angles, the product of restless fingers. Ryan couldn’t recall the last time they had eaten and he berated himself for not taking better care. After a few moments spent rifling inside his desk drawer, he produced a depleted multi-pack of chocolate bars and tossed one onto Phillips’ desk.
His sergeant looked up in surprise.
“Eat that,” Ryan ordered. “Then go home and have something more substantial.”
“I’m not hu—”
“I’ve got a funny feeling that he’ll move tonight, Frank. I’ve ordered extra patrols at the mainline station in Newcastle and at the airport. I need you primed and ready when the call comes in.”
Phillips looked down at the chocolate, then back at Ryan.
“In that case, I’ll see if the pie van is open on my way home.”
* * *
Doctor Anna Taylor yawned widely and flipped her legs up onto the sofa, crossing them at the ankle while she tried to concentrate on a tedious academic article about the Viking raids on Northumberland during the first century. The history of early pagan religion was her specialist subject but it was hard to focus on people who were long dead when you were too busy worrying about those who were still alive.
A strand of dark hair worked its way loose and she tucked it behind her ear with an absentminded hand, joggling the sheaf of papers resting precariously on her knee.
Where was Ryan?
After recent events, they had agreed he would try to be home as early as possible. Anna understood that his job was demanding and it was not always possible to stick to a schedule, especially when you cared as much about the victims as Ryan did. Besides, she had her own heavy workload at the University in Durham and the small matter of a book to write.
Still, the house was awfully empty.
She thought of Denise MacKenzie, a woman she had grown to love. Only weeks ago, they had laughed together in a bridal shop while Anna tried on an array of floaty white dresses, each more preposterous than the last. It was a moment when every woman wanted her mother beside her. Anna’s was gone, but Denise had been there instead, tactfully reminding her that meringue dresses had gone out of style in the nineties. They had plotted and planned for the perfect wedding day, but now…
Anna smiled sadly and tried not to imagine where her friend might be or the terror she faced. Instead, she craned her neck to look at the carriage clock on the mantle.
Eight-fifteen.
Where had the time gone?
She was about to set her papers aside and roll off the sofa in search of coffee when her mobile phone jingled out an electronic rendition of Kenny Loggins’ Footloose.
She snatched it up.
“Anna?”
Her entire body relaxed at the sound of his voice. Clipped, well-rounded but with just enough edge.
“Is everything alright?”
“As well as it can be,” he replied. “Look, I just wanted to let you know I’m running late. Is the surveillance car still there?”
Anna unfolded her legs and walked across to the window, tugging aside the heavy curtains to look outside. A silver Ford Mondeo was parked across the street and, noting her arrival, its headlights flashed once.
“Still there,” she confirmed, giving the two plain-clothed police officers a quick wave before letting the curtains fall back into place.
Back at his desk in CID, some of the tension eased from Ryan’s shoulders.
“Good. They have orders to stay put for another hour until their relief arrives. I’ll be back by then, anyway.”
Standing alone in the quiet room, Anna injected some brightness into her tone.
“No problem. I’m absolutely fine, here. Absolutely.”
There was a short pause.
“You said ‘absolutely’ twice,” he pointed out, feeling the tension creep back.
Anna rolled her eyes. It was impossible to get away with even the most well-meaning white lie when you lived with a man whose job it was to sniff them out.
“Alright, smarty-pants,” she snapped. “I’m feeling a bit on edge. Does that make you feel better?”
Ryan considered the question.
“Actually, it does,” he surprised her by saying. “We can’t afford to get complacent. If you’re scared, it makes you human and it makes you alert.”
He wasn’t the only one who could read nuance.
“Something’s happened. What is it?”
Ryan sighed.
“Nothing…yet.”
“You mean, something might happen tonight.”
Ryan looked up and caught Phillips watching him across the room with dark, sombre eyes.
“Just make sure you lock the doors,” he murmured. “And Anna?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
* * *
Keir Edwards drove confidently, his grip firm at the wheel of the old Toyota Rav 4. It had taken him a while to meander his way along the A68 leading into Durham using roads he had mapped out in advance. It would have been much quicker to take a more direct route but, as he had learned, patience was a virtue.
He supposed he had prison to thank for that. The routine and regimen had taught him fortitude, something he had never exercised before. Now that he had reclaimed his rightful place in the world he could afford to be magnanimous about it.
Almost as soon as the thought entered his mind, it was erased by a mental image of Ryan swanning around playing the hero while he rotted away behind bars. His foot flattened the accelerator pedal and the car surged forward, edging towards eighty-five on the speedometer.
Smug bastard, Edwards thought venomously. He’d wipe that self-satisfied grin from Ryan’s face soon enough. He had followed the man’s meteoric rise to near-celebrity status from the widescreen television in the prison common room, when he had behaved himself for long enough to warrant recreational privileges.
Privileges.
As if any of the apes in uniform at HMP Frankland would know the first thing about privilege. They wouldn’t know the difference between filet mignon at a Michelin-starred restaurant and a double whopper. In fact, if he had time, he might just go back and clean the lot of them out. The Prison Service could consider it a form of community service on his part.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the angry red mist receded and he eased his foot off the pedal. It wouldn’t do to attract the interest of a passing traffic cop or a speed camera. No siree.
Average car, average speed.
