53
Friday, 26 September
Outside, the wind howled around the cottage, rattling the tiny kitchen window. Harland stirred the two mugs of hot chocolate and dropped the teaspoon into the sink.
‘Listen to it,’ he said, gazing out into the darkness as rain lashed against the glass. ‘It’s really coming down.’
He picked up the drinks and edged his way around the small, farmhouse table that occupied most of the room, sitting down opposite Kim.
‘Thanks,’ she murmured, warming her hands on the mug he’d placed before her.
‘No problem.’
She looked thoughtful, preoccupied. They had spent the evening talking, trying to make sense of everything that had happened, but somehow her mind seemed elsewhere. He lifted his own drink and considered it for a moment, then decided to continue.
‘So how long were you with him?’
She glanced up at him briefly, then lowered her eyes again, staring into the past.
‘Almost three years.’ Her finger traced a line down the side of the mug. ‘It seems like a long time now, but I suppose that’s all it was.’
‘Were you happy?’
Another brief look, but she didn’t answer him. It was a stupid question, and a selfish one. Annoyed with himself, he tried a different approach.
‘When did you first suspect that things weren’t right?’
‘I always suspected him,’ she said softly, then looked up. ‘I don’t mean—’
She broke off, a pained expression on her face.
‘I thought he was cheating on me,’ she explained. ‘I was always … accusing him of stuff.’
‘And was he? Cheating on you?’
‘Probably,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t know, maybe I pushed him into it.’
She shook her head and took a sip of her hot chocolate. Harland could feel the distance growing between them and tried to pull the conversation back around.
‘What about the other stuff?’ He reached across the table, gently touching her hand. ‘What about Severn Beach? How long have you suspected what he was?’
She slowly wrapped her fingers around his.
‘A few months … at least, that’s when he first said anything.’
She looked up at him for a moment, her large eyes wary, vulnerable.
‘We were staying here when he told me.’
Was she worried about past associations with the place? No, she probably felt a sense of guilt that she’d stayed with him. She knew what he was going to ask next.
‘You didn’t leave him though?’ He said it gently, letting it hang in the air between them.
‘No.’ Her hand had tensed a little, but she didn’t draw it away.
‘Was that because you were frightened?’
‘Yes.’ She answered very quickly, then looked down at the table and reluctantly added, ‘That was part of it.’
Harland waited, giving her time.
‘I didn’t want to drive him away,’ she murmured.
‘Drive him away?’
Her shoulders sagged and she bowed her head.
‘I always seem to screw things up.’ She broke off, drawing her hand away now, closing up a little before she continued. ‘I don’t know … I just didn’t want to ruin another relationship.’
Harland sat back a little, studying her – those long lashes hiding her downcast eyes, her small hand touching the silver pendant that glistened at her neck.
‘But he told you he had killed someone.’
How could she think it was her fault?
Kim leaned forward, absently hugging herself as she stared at her hot chocolate.
‘I thought he loved me.’ She seemed to be talking to herself.
The window rattled again as the storm raged on, and a chill seemed to slither through the room. She looked so small and sad now – they weren’t getting anywhere tonight.
‘Come on,’ he told her with a weary smile. ‘It’s getting cold in here. Let’s go through and I’ll light the fire.’
He got to his feet and opened the door, stepping through into the passageway and waiting for her as she stood up slowly and followed him. The whole place felt cold now, but he’d noticed a few logs piled beside the fireplace when they arrived, and staring at the flames would be comforting for them both.
He opened the lounge door and approached the hearth. There was no kindling in the grate, but he thought he’d seen some bundled beside the logs—
Behind him, Kim let out a shriek.
He whirled round to see her framed in the doorway, frozen. Her eyes were wide and he turned further, following her terrified gaze to the opposite corner of the room.
It was Naysmith.
He stood there, a tall figure with a chillingly calm expression, looming up against the back wall of the room, dripping wet and glistening in the shadow. His dark hair was plastered down from the rain and he wore a grey sweatshirt under a slick black anorak, but it was the evil-looking machete that caught Harland’s attention. Naysmith held it calmly, easily, the two-foot black blade pointing down, dripping water onto the floor.
Kim reacted first.
‘Run, Graham!’ she screamed, turning and bolting from the room as Harland stood reeling.
Naysmith gave an eerie smile.
‘Yes. Run, Graham.’
He straightened, seeming to grow taller as he stepped towards the middle of the room, his movements agile as he began sweeping the blade around in easy, fluid arcs.
Harland stumbled backwards, turning and running after Kim. Bursting through the doorway, he raced down the hall and into the kitchen, where she was jerking open the back door. A sudden blast of cold air swirled into the room.
‘Kim,’ he called, ‘wait!’
‘No!’ She looked back over her shoulder at him, eyes wide as she shook her head. ‘Come on!’
And then she disappeared out into the howling gale and he was skidding around the damn table, cursing as he leapt after her. The wind and rain smothered him as he followed her into the storm stealing his breath and stinging his face, whipping the long grass into billowing waves.
She was going the wrong way!
Their best hope would have been to head inland, down the hill so they could make for the road, but she’d run straight ahead, sprinting along the cliff path that led up to the lighthouse. As he chased after her, he struggled with his pocket, trying to find his phone so he could call for help, but it wasn’t there – he must have left it in the bedroom – shit!
‘Kim!’ he yelled. She was only ten yards ahead of him, but the gale threw his shout back in his teeth. He tore after her, his ears catching the deep crash of breakers rising from the rocks far below, mingling with the wind. They were close to the cliffs now. He could almost make out the crumbling edge on his left, where the last of the grass gave way to a sheer drop with rocky coves on either side of them.
‘KIM!’
Finally, she looked back, glancing over her shoulder, slowing as she saw him, then looking past him at something in the darkness behind.
He flailed out a desperate hand to her, grabbing her arm as he turned to see what she had seen. Behind him, the path wound away into the gloom, leading back to the distant yellow lights of the cottage windows. And there, close enough that he could make it out through the rain, an advancing silhouette came after them, the long blade swinging at its side.
Harland looked round quickly. The headland came to an end at the precipice ahead of them, and there were sheer drops on either side. They were trapped.
He pulled Kim close to him, hands gripping her shoulders as he bent his face close to hers so she could hear him against the wind.
‘Listen to me.’ He spoke urgently, shaking her as she stared blankly at him. ‘Listen! Stand behind me. Whatever happens, stand behind me and keep away from him, OK?’
She stood trembling, arms limp at her sides, her long hair a tangle of wet strands across her face.
‘OK?’
Sh
e seemed to hear him and nodded slightly. Harland held her gaze for a second to make sure, then gulped down a breath and turned round to face their pursuer.
Naysmith came towards them through the storm – a dark shape that grew steadily clearer as he walked calmly up the path. He stopped a few yards away from them, his body taut, the machete held in readiness, suddenly illuminated by the glow of the lighthouse as it lit up the rain.
Instinctively, Harland moved to stand in front of Kim, his arm reaching back as though to shield her.
Naysmith smiled and inclined his head briefly.
‘Detective Harland. Kim.’ His manner was calm – almost polite – as he called out to them across the wind. ‘Quite a night for it.’
The storm swirled up around the headland as the two men stared at each other. Behind him, Harland felt Kim moving backwards, tensing as though about to run. Naysmith saw it too, and laughed in the darkness.
‘Forget it, sweetheart,’ he called to her. ‘Ask your new boyfriend – he knows how fast I can move.’
Harland started, his mind recalling that night in Docklands when he’d chased a shadow and almost paid with his life.
‘So that was you then?’ he shouted across the wind.
Naysmith inclined his head once more, an oddly modest gesture that Harland found confusing. What was he so pleased about?
‘Why didn’t you kill me?’ he called.
Naysmith seemed to relax just a little, the tip of the blade dipping for a moment.
‘You weren’t part of that game,’ he replied, thinking for a moment, then adding, ‘well … not a target anyway.’
Harland nodded grimly. It made a strange sort of sense.
‘I have to know,’ he said. ‘What was the connection? How did you choose them?’
This seemed to amuse Naysmith.
‘I didn’t choose them,’ he laughed. ‘That would have been far too easy. No, they chose me.’
Harland frowned. What did he mean by that?
‘Except for the last one,’ Naysmith added suddenly. ‘You remember, the woman in Redland?’
Harland took a step back.
‘That was you as well?’
Illuminated again, Naysmith took a step forward, tracing lazy curves with the blade.
‘You’d be surprised at how much I’ve done.’ He paused, then fixed his eyes on Kim. ‘But I didn’t choose that one, did I?’
His tone was suddenly bitter, mocking. Harland whirled round to find Kim looking confused, fearful.
‘Remember, Kim?’ Naysmith continued. ‘Remember that day when we were people-watching in Bristol?’
‘What do you mean?’ She shrank back, then seemed to freeze, her face showing a terrible realisation. ‘Oh no, Rob. No!’
‘Oh yes!’ he snapped. ‘In fact, I think you’re wearing her necklace.’
Kim’s hand went to her throat.
Naysmith laughed at her, then addressed Harland. ‘Your poor little girlfriend picked out the Redland woman for me. She chose the target.’
Kim turned, clawing at Harland’s arm, staring wildly up into his face.
‘I didn’t know!’ she cried. ‘I didn’t know what he was going to do!’
Naysmith grinned, then shook his head in mock reproach.
‘You knew enough,’ he snapped, taking another step closer. ‘You knew what I was. I was honest with you.’
He spat the word ‘honest’ with sudden venom, almost as though it pained him somehow. But Harland was reeling, unable to take it all in as Kim stared up at him, her face stricken.
Naysmith raised the machete and pointed it at them.
‘More honest than you’ve been with your new fucking boyfriend,’ he snarled.
Harland stared at him, his eyes following the blade, as Kim began to panic, tugging at his arm, trying to pull him away. He stumbled back, a little closer to the cliff edge as stinging sheets of rain billowed over them. Somewhere far below, a wave boomed on the rocks.
Naysmith’s movements were fluid as he came closer, holding the machete confidently – familiar, comfortable with it. His face was serious now, and he seemed to be readying himself as he bowed his head briefly, then straightened.
‘There’s nowhere to run, Kim.’ His voice was stern. ‘Nowhere to go, but back to me.’
He stared past Harland, holding her gaze.
‘Time to choose, my love.’
Harland backed away another step, his arm held out protectively as he turned to look at her, a small bedraggled figure, forlorn in the downpour. She stared up at him, pale skin bleached white by the glare of the lighthouse, blinking the rain – or the tears? – out of her large eyes, then bowing her head.
She murmured something he couldn’t quite hear as the gale howled along the clifftop, then moved to one side. He tried to put his arm around her, but she shrugged it off, stepping out from behind him and picking her way unsteadily across the grass, drawing the sodden cardigan around herself against the wind.
Harland stared after her, then sagged as the despair came crashing in on him – it had all been for nothing.
A weight seemed to have lifted from Naysmith’s shoulders. His eyes were alight, exultant, as he watched Kim walk through the billowing grass towards him.
The bastard.
Harland glared at him and felt the familiar flicker of hatred deep inside. Here, at the end, his anger was all that remained – all he had left. Glancing over his shoulder, he measured the distance to the precipice. Ten yards, maybe less. There was nowhere to run, but he knew now that he would go down fighting. He would go down hard, and maybe take this fucker over the edge with him.
Gritting his teeth, he stood up ready, defiant, watching as Naysmith held out a hand to Kim and she reached out and took it.
Fuck them. Both of them.
He was determined to make a good end, to show her that he wouldn’t break, no matter what happened to him.
Taking Kim’s hand, Naysmith smiled in triumph, drawing her close to him as the rain lashed down, staring past her at Harland. She hesitated for a second, then silently put her arm around him.
And there, as Harland glared at him, he seemed almost to stumble, though he had been standing still. Naysmith’s features tightened suddenly in a mixture of pain and puzzlement and he made an odd sound that stabbed through the wind, like a gasp cut short. He tried to move away from Kim, but she held onto him tightly, swaying with him as he staggered and the machete dropped from his hand.
Harland’s training kicked in and he launched himself forward, desperately trying to cover the ground between them before Naysmith could stoop to retrieve it.
But Naysmith didn’t bother with it. Or him.
Leaning back, he choked out an unsettling laugh, then struggled to peer down at Kim, who still had one arm around him as she gazed up unblinking into his eyes. And now, as the light flared again, Harland could see her other hand, the wet gleam of metal between her and Naysmith, the dark stain that bloomed out across both their clothing, and the trickle of red on the pale skin of her hand. And still Kim wouldn’t let Naysmith go.
‘Kim!’ Harland cried, hesitating as he stooped for the machete. ‘Oh God!’
‘It’s all right.’ Her voice was calm, soothing almost. He wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or to Naysmith.
Harland took the long black blade from the grass, then stared at the two of them, locked in a bitter embrace. He suddenly felt terribly alone, like a stranger disturbing an intimate moment. They stood without words as the rain poured down until Naysmith tensed, bowing with great effort to plant a single kiss on Kim’s upturned forehead. The light flared again. As he drew away, Harland could see the drops of blood his lips left behind, like red tears running down between her eyes.
And then, when she couldn’t hold him up any more, he crumpled down to his knees, the handle of the kitchen knife still jutting out from between his ribs. Kim stood over him sadly, one arm red with blood.
The spell broken, Harland moved
quickly to her side.
‘Kim! Are you all right?’
He wasn’t sure what to do, hesitating before awkwardly putting his arm around her shoulder. For a moment, she didn’t move, then one small hand crept up to hold his wrist.
‘What the hell happened?’ Harland gasped. ‘Where did you get the knife?’
She looked up at him, her face calm.
‘I brought it from the house,’ she said simply. Something in the way she spoke bothered him, but what was one more doubt when everything was wrong?
‘OK.’ He took a breath, trying to think straight. ‘We need to get back to the cottage, phone this in, get an ambulance—’
‘No!’ Suddenly she was alive, her voice urgent. ‘Please, Graham, don’t!’
Harland stared at her, confused.
‘But he’ll bleed to death,’ he told her.
She stared up at him and nodded sadly.
‘Yes.’
And suddenly he knew what she was asking. Her steady gaze suddenly seemed unsettling and he turned away from her, looking back down the path to the waiting lights of the cottage. How many relatives needed closure? How many police investigations needed a result? Naysmith might be the key to numerous unsolved cases …
He turned back, ready to argue, but as he did something seemed to pass between the two figures before him, and Naysmith raised his head slightly, a painful smile on his face. Kim looked up mournfully.
‘Please, Graham.’
And he understood. This was her chance to be free of him, really free. No technicalities, no indecisive juries, no parole. Really free. He took a tentative step forward, peering down at Naysmith, noting the amount of blood that had soaked out across his clothing, then stepped back and looked at Kim. She held out a bloody hand and, after a moment, he took it.
‘Thank you,’ she said softly.
They stood there as the storm blew itself out. Naysmith spoke very little, but did raise his head briefly and beckoned Kim close to him as the wind dropped. She knelt beside him as he struggled to speak.
‘My car,’ he told her. ‘Parked on a farm track. On the right … at the bottom of the hill.’
She watched as he took a difficult breath, then continued.
‘Get rid of it.’
Knife Edge Page 33
