She couldn’t see the number from where she was and she really ought to verify it. After all, it could be his wife’s, or even a visitor’s, and if Marnie really was there, and if she could get her out before he came back …
That was certainly what she would say if she was challenged about disobeying orders about approaching. Actually, she didn’t doubt it was Morrison’s car; she just wouldn’t be able to live with herself if the worst happened and she could have managed to save Marnie by being right on hand. Always assuming Marnie wasn’t dead already.
The house phone ringing had wakened Marnie too. She had turned over, wondering what time it was and was about to reach for her mobile to look at the time, but then realised Vivienne had thought of everything; there was a digital clock on the bedside table: 11.57. An anti-social hour for someone to be phoning, but perhaps the Morrisons were late birds.
Then she heard Mikey start to wail. Poor Gemma wouldn’t appreciate that, but it was nothing to do with her and Marnie turned over luxuriously in her comfortable bed and pulled the duvet up over her shoulders. She was just drifting off to sleep again when she heard the crunch of tyres on gravel.
She tried to tell herself that she had nothing to fear here, that being nervous was neurotic, but she couldn’t stop herself: she got out of bed and went to peer through the curtains.
There was a light on over the front door and a man was getting out of the car parked at an odd angle just beside it, and she noticed that he staggered slightly as he stepped out. She couldn’t really see his face but she guessed it must be Gemma’s father. He’d obviously had a few; perhaps he had drink problem. That would explain why Gemma’s mum looked so strained.
Just before he reached the front door he looked up suddenly, as if he was studying the house. Marnie shrank back behind the curtain – he would hardly appreciate being spied on – but not before she had seen the look of agony on his face. He looked like a man in torment and she could feel the hairs on the nape of her neck bristling.
Gingerly, she lifted a corner of the curtain again. He was still looking up at the house, not towards her window in the corner but at the others: Gemma’s room, the child’s room and the next, where presumably Gemma’s mother was sleeping. He studied each individually and then he put his hand up to cover his eyes. When he took it away, he wiped the back of his hand across as if to wipe away tears.
He went through the front door. Above Mikey’s wails, dwindling a little by now, she could hear Gemma talking to him. Marnie crept to her door and holding her breath opened it. Of course it made not a sound; there would be no creaking doors in Vivienne Morrison’s house.
The landing was in darkness but Gemma’s door was open, spilling light onto the landing, and there was a light on in the hall below, where she had gone to answer the phone. Marnie could hear the conversation quite clearly.
The police! Why would they have been phoning this respectable household at this time of night? Was it something to do with her? After all that had happened, she would be wise to be afraid, but somehow she felt this was something else.
She risked peeping over the banisters. As Gemma disappeared into the kitchen she saw her father wrap his arms round himself as if suffering some dreadful pain. He gave a strangled sob, then went through the kitchen door. He hadn’t taken off his coat.
Sick with foreboding, Marnie tiptoed downstairs in her bare feet. Gemma’s father hadn’t shut the door behind him; as she stood in the hall, poised to flee back upstairs again if necessary, she could hear Gemma chatting away in the kitchen, telling him some little story about what Mikey had done as she clattered pans.
He said nothing until he suddenly burst out, ‘Stop it, stop it! I can’t bear it. It’s all over, Gemma, it’s all over.’
And as Marnie listened outside, a chill of horror ran through her.
DC Hepburn was close enough now to read the number plate. Yes, that was Morrison’s. He was there, in the house. Was Marnie there too? She had no way of knowing. After a hopeful glance at her phone to see if by any chance she had missed a message from Marnie, she switched it to vibrate – it wouldn’t do to announce her presence with a ringing phone.
It was very, very silent. The sky had cleared, apart from a few ragged clouds, and a thumbnail of moon was rising over in the west. Avoiding the noisy gravel Hepburn worked her way round the edge of the flowerbeds.
All the windows on the ground floor were dark apart from the fanlight above the front door and the outside lamp. She looked about her; there was a path on the far side of the house leading round to the back garden, but she would have to cross gravel to reach it and there would more than likely be security lights.
On the side of the house she was on, there was only a flowerbed planted thickly with shrubs. At least that would be silent enough, but the bushes looked to have more than the usual number of thorns – for burglar deterrence, perhaps. Grimacing, she began to force her way through.
It was slow painful work and round here it was pitch-dark. As branches snatched at her she could hear the fabric of her jacket ripping; blood was trickling down her face from two vicious scratches and a thorn had embedded itself in her hand, but at last she could see dull patches of light being thrown onto the garden at the back a little distance ahead. From the kitchen windows, perhaps – and she could only hope that the blinds weren’t drawn. Hepburn battled on.
A trailing branch tripped her just as she reached the edge of the flowerbed and she fell heavily forward, winding herself. Had anyone heard that?
When she scrambled to her feet there was no sign of anyone coming to look out of the window. That was the good news. The bad news was that the windows were completely obscured by thin blinds.
‘Dad! What do you mean? You’re frightening me!’ Gemma dropped the packet of bacon she was holding, her eyes wide with alarm.
‘It’s all over,’ Michael said savagely. ‘We’re finished, my darling. All of us.’
‘All of us? Is it the business?’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, the business and everything else. We’ve had the good times, though, haven’t we, sweetheart? I’ve looked after you – you and Vivienne and little Mikey. My boy.’ His voice softened as he said that. ‘You never wanted for anything, did you?’
Gemma shook her head dumbly.
‘I was here to protect you from everything that could harm you, to give you the perfect life. Now, it’s over.’
She sat down abruptly on one of the chairs by the table, feeling that her legs couldn’t support her any more. ‘What’s happened? For God’s sake, tell me.’
‘Drax betrayed me. After all these years, he turned against me. And like a fool I handed him the power to do it. I did what he told me, I trusted him. I thought I had protected myself against Grant – that his stupidity was the main threat. But I never thought that Drax would—’ He choked on a sob.
In her protected life, Gemma’s reaction to any problem had been to run to her father. Now he was the problem, her mother was upstairs in a drugged sleep as usual and there was no one to turn to. She was all alone, yet instead of panic all she felt was a sort of icy detachment.
She said, ‘Sit down, Dad. We need to talk this through. Explain to me! I’m a grown woman—’
But he was shaking his head. ‘You couldn’t cope with this. It’s too much. But I’ll take care of it, trust me. I won’t doom any of you to a life of poverty and shame. It’s because I love you, I love you all—’
Tears were pouring down his cheeks now. He slumped onto a chair and the coat he was still wearing swung forward. From the inside pocket a dark, dull metal cylinder poked up and from a hundred crime series she recognised it as the silencer of a gun.
She mustn’t faint. If she fainted she would die and Mikey – Mikey! – would die too. From somewhere she found a soothing voice. ‘I know you do, Dad.’ Her mind raced, searching out possibilities. She couldn’t get it away from him; even drunk, he was much stronger. Keep them talking – that’s what they alwa
ys said hostages should do, and now, she realised, that shockingly she was a hostage to her own father, her beloved protector.
‘Dad, we both need a drink.’ She got up and went across to the cupboard in the kitchen where the drinks were kept, the cupboard by the kitchen door. It was ajar and beyond it she caught a glimpse of movement.
Marnie! He wouldn’t know she was there. Gemma stole a quick glance at her father but he was leaning on the table, his hands to his head. As she moved to where she was visible through the door Marnie materialised outside, making a ‘Shall I come in?’ gesture.
Gemma shook her head frantically. ‘Is Scotch all right?’ she said conversationally over her shoulder, then with a backwards tilt of her head mimed a gun, and then a baby. She saw Marnie nod and then silently disappear.
She could run, of course, race upstairs and snatch Mikey herself, try to make it to the car, but he would be after her a moment later. Marnie surely would be phoning the police, but how long would they take to get there?
No, her only hope was to sit down at the table again, try to talk him down or, failing that, get him drunk enough to pass out. She took the bottle over to the table and all but filled the glasses.
Swearing silently, DC Hepburn made her way back to the front of the house by the path this time, no wiser than she had been before about what was going on behind those blinds and considerably more worried. Since she had nothing to show for her insubordination she had better get back to her car before the boss arrived.
Fortunately the grass verge at the other side met the path so she was able to run down it after a quick glance back at the blank face of the front of the house to make sure no one was watching her. She saw the beam of a car’s headlamps appearing at the end of the road just as she slammed her own car door.
Hepburn was still slightly out of breath, though, when MacNee jumped out and came across to her. He was wearing body armour and he frowned when he saw her face.
‘What have you been up to?’ he demanded.
‘Nothing, Sarge.’ She was all innocence. ‘I just did a wee recce, that’s all, to check it was Morrison’s car. They’ve some nasty bushes around there.’
MacNee’s ‘Hmmph’, was sceptical, but he said only, ‘So he’s back, then?’
‘Yes, but I still don’t know if she’s inside.’
‘The boss is sending for armed response. We’ll have to wait till they get here – can’t go just ringing the doorbell when the man may be armed.’
‘That could be hours! Surely we can’t just leave it. If Marnie’s there she’s in danger every moment now he’s in the house.’
‘Louise, you’re not thinking straight. She may not be here. He maybe was just out working late and Lee got himself killed by some toerag in Glasgow. On the other hand, Gemma Morrison may have lied and he was there all along and Marnie’s dead already. OK?
‘What we do know is that it’s possible the man is a murderer and has a gun. I’m not volunteering to get my head blown off for ringing the doorbell and neither are you. Anyway, where’s your body armour?’
‘Sorry, Sarge, in the boot.’
‘Not much use there, is it? For God’s sake, Louise, get a grip.’ He went back to join Fleming.
Hepburn got out and obediently strapped herself into the bulky armour. She wasn’t starring, at the moment. That really had been stupid – she hated wearing it, and she just hadn’t thought it through. She was lucky to have come out of it with just a scratched face.
She spat on a tissue and did her best to wipe the blood off her cheeks and was just pulling at the thorn to remove it when the phone in her pocket vibrated.
Marnie was breathless as she whispered into the receiver. ‘Gemma’s father’s here and I think he’s going to kill them all. He’s got a gun.’
‘Where is he?’ Hepburn said.
‘In the kitchen. Gemma’s with him. I’m upstairs. I don’t think he knows I’m here but I’ve got to rescue her kid. I’m going into his room now.’
‘Where is that?’ It was Fleming’s voice this time.
‘Front of the house, above the front door. How soon can you get here?’
‘Walking up to the house just now. Can you reach him and get down to the door?’
‘As long as her dad doesn’t come out of the kitchen. The kid might start crying – he’s asleep now.’
‘Hand over his mouth, grab him and run,’ Fleming directed.
Marnie drew a deep breath and bent over the cot.
‘Here you are – drink up. It’s not the answer to everything, but sometimes it helps.’ Gemma tried for a smile, but it didn’t quite work. At least he took the glass and drank half of it in one swallow.
‘You and Mikey have had such good times together,’ she said. ‘Do you remember the Halloween party? You were both covered with treacle.’
‘Yes. Oh yes.’ Her father was slurring the ‘s’s just faintly. ‘The wee man.’
There was a snap that Vivienne particularly liked standing on the kitchen surface, a pose of Mikey on a visit to a play farm, intent on the day-old chick in his cupped hands. As Gemma went to fetch it, the innocent face of her son almost broke her and she knew her voice was unsteady as she said, ‘This was a fun day too.’
He didn’t seem to notice, though, just took the photo and stared at it hungrily. ‘I’d to stop him loving it to death, didn’t I? He’s always needed me. And I would always have been there for him, looked after him just the way I always did you.’
‘You’re a wonderful dad.’ And it was true; he had been. Then, without thinking, she said, ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
She realised her fatal mistake as the words left her lips. Michael Morrison’s face changed and he got up and pulled an ugly, snub-nosed handgun with a suppressor fitted out of his pocket.
‘My sweetheart, I can’t do it to you. Or Mikey. Or my poor, darling Vivienne. They won’t know a thing, I promise. I wish it had been the same for you, but I know you can be brave. Remember when I took you to hospital with your broken arm? Like that – chin up! Goodnight, my precious!’
He’s quite, quite mad, Gemma thought. He levelled the gun at her and fired.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
From somewhere, a great cry shattered the quiet night. ‘What’s that?’ Fleming said sharply then, ‘Marnie, stop! Don’t move! Can you hear me?’
She couldn’t quite make out what Marnie said but at least she was still at the other end. ‘Do you know what’s happened?’ She strained her ears to hear the whispered response.
‘A sort of muffled bang. Came from the kitchen. I can hear someone crying – I think it’s him.’
‘No screams or anything?’
‘No. Do you – do you think he’s killed her?’
Marnie’s voice had risen. ‘Sssh!’ Fleming said, alarmed. ‘I need you to stay calm. Find a room with a lock – bathroom, say. Keep out of line with the door. Don’t wake the boy till you’re ready, then keep him quiet – hand over his mouth if necessary – and hold him tight. Keep the line open.’
‘I’m going.’
Fleming, Hepburn and MacNee were crouching behind the Mercedes. The patrol car was blocking the end of the drive and the officers were standing by, waiting for the armed response team.
Fleming turned to the other two. ‘It is strictly against regulations to enter this house before armed response arrives. Wait here while I check out what’s happening.’
MacNee sneered. ‘Aye, right. There’s a kid in there and I’m going to say he got killed because I was feart?’
‘Can’t stop you. But Louise, stay here. That’s an order.’
‘Sorry, ma’am.’ Hepburn took off ahead of them. ‘It’s round this way.’
MacNee didn’t follow but Fleming was close on her heels. She spoke into the phone again, whispering now too. ‘Marnie? Where are you?’
‘There’s a bathroom. I’m going to get him now and lock ourselves in.’
‘Tell us when you’re safe.’
They were approaching the kitchen windows with infinite caution, keeping low, as MacNee joined them, bearing an axe from the standard rescue kit. ‘Double glazing,’ he breathed and Fleming nodded.
Even up close there wasn’t a chink in the blinds but now they could hear a man groaning and sobbing. Nothing else.
Not a good sign, Fleming reflected grimly. She glanced at the phone, willing Marnie to tell her they had reached the bathroom.
It was the cat that undid them, a sleek black cat about its nocturnal business that dropped down from the roof of a small shed without noticing they were crouched there, and gave a startled yowl. A moment later the blind was lifted and a bleared grotesque of a face peered out at them, then with a yell of anguish disappeared.
MacNee was at the back door, swinging the axe. Fleming was at his shoulder, saying urgently into the phone, ‘Marnie. Watch out! He’s coming.’
Looking through the window, Louise saw with sick horror Gemma Morrison slumped on the floor, her fair hair plastered to her head with bright blood.
‘Mikey, wake up!’ Marnie murmured. As the sleepy child opened his eyes she went on, ‘Remember me – Marnie? We’re going to play a lovely game to surprise Mummy, so we have to be very, very quiet. It’s a special surprise.’
Mikey frowned. ‘It’s night-time.’
At least he wasn’t crying. ‘That’s why it’s so special. You’re not really allowed, are you? So it’ll be fun. Now, really quiet.’
He liked the idea of not being allowed, holding his arms up eagerly. ‘Mousey quiet,’ he said, too loudly.
Marnie gave an agonised glance over her shoulder. ‘Sssh! Yes.’
With him in her arms, she tiptoed out along the landing to the main bathroom. Mikey looked back through the open door of Gemma’s room. ‘Mummy’s not there!’ he exclaimed. ‘Where is she?’
‘Sssh!’ Marnie said again, desperately. ‘She’s downstairs. We’ve got to hide first.’
They were nearing the bathroom door when she heard Morrison’s despairing bellow and ran the last few yards, almost flinging the child inside so that she could bolt the door.
Bad Blood Page 35
