Written In Blood

by Alex R Carver

  When they were almost at the top of the stairs he jumped out, yelling, “What the hell are you doing in my house?” as loudly as he could. At the same time he flipped the switch on the wall, bathing the stairs and the upper passage in light.

  The suddenness of his appearance, combined with the light and his shout, had the desired effect on the ascending trio. The foremost of the three staggered back a step from the noise and the light, lost his footing as he missed the step he had just left and fell. His arms flailed wildly as he sought something, anything, to keep him upright, but there was nothing, and after about half a second he succumbed to gravity. He collided with his friends, who were only a couple of steps behind him, and together the three of them tumbled down the stairs in a tangle.

  Zack hurried down the stairs after the trio, jumping the last four steps so he could avoid the jumble of arms and legs at the foot of the stairs. He landed awkwardly and felt pain shoot up his leg as his ankle buckled, making him fall forwards and bang his head on the front door.

  He shook his head to clear his vision of stars, as he got to his feet and checked on the downed trio of would-be killers. Two of the three appeared to be unconscious, they remained just as they had fallen, and showed no signs of moving. The third, however - Zack could not help thinking it annoyingly typical, that it should be the one with the knife, the one who seemed most eager to kill him - not only had his eyes open, but had disentangled himself from his friends and was most of the way to his feet, the knife in his hand moving threateningly.

  Hurriedly, Zack brought his torch up to block the knife as it came towards him; he got it in the way just in time to keep him from suffering anything more than a slice to the finger.

  He had no time to think of his injury, which was minor but bled profusely, for the knife came towards him again. Once, twice, three times, he blocked as the would-be murderer slashed at him again and again, attacking with such rapidity and ferocity that it was all Zack could do to get the torch in the way and keep the knife from drawing more blood than it already had.

  When his attacker changed tactics, and lunged instead of slashing, Zack twisted aside, only just avoiding the point of the knife. His injured ankle buckled as he evaded the blade and he fell against the wall. Before he could recover, the knife came towards him again, this time in a wide sweeping arc that was aimed at his head, and which would have injured him seriously, perhaps even fatally, had it made contact.

  There was only one way for him to avoid the danger and he took it; he fell, letting gravity pull him down and out of the way. Unfortunately, as he went down, his arm went up, straight into the path of the knife. Zack yelled in pain as the knife sliced deeply into his arm, making blood spurt. He cried out again when he hit his head on the door for the second time, though he maintained enough presence of mind to lash out with a foot to drive his attacker back, gaining him space to get to his feet.

  The kick had an unexpectedly positive double result. He caught his knife-wielding attacker square on the kneecap, which made them both cry out in pain, and caused the intruder to stagger backwards into his still unconscious friends.

  Zack saw his attacker catch his foot in the entwined bodies of his friends, stumble, and fall backwards onto the stairs and took advantage of the opportunity. He ignored the pain from his ankle and his arm, as well as the blood that ran from his injuries, and struggled up. On his way to his feet, he swung the torch in an overhead blow that proved to be far better timed than he could have anticipated; he intended simply to connect with his attacker, to injure him and put him off continuing the fight, or even to simply hold him off until the police arrived.

  The heavy thud that sounded when the torch connected with his rising assailant’s head startled Zack; it was louder than he would have expected, and he worried that he had hurt him more seriously than he meant to, that he might have killed him.

  Hesitantly, he moved forwards, stepping carefully over the two tangled figures on the floor so he could reach out and check for a pulse. The relief he felt when he discovered what he was looking for – the pulse was faint, but it was there - was overpowering.

  23

  Zack parked his Land Rover as close to the entrance of the police station as he could and got out. He winced the moment his right foot touched the ground, the painkillers he had taken when he got up – twice the recommended dose – were not doing a good enough job of blocking out the pain from his various injuries; the ankle he had twisted, while not the most serious injury, was making the most ‘noise’, which didn’t surprise him because he couldn’t rest it, so it was constantly being aggravated.

  Slowly and painfully, he limped around to the front of the building, and then up the steps to the entrance. Once inside he crossed to the counter, where he had to wait almost a minute for anyone to appear to deal with him.

  “Is Sergeant Mitchell in?” he asked when a constable finally arrived.

  “I’ll see if he’ll see you,” Constable Pritchard said, without offering any of the pleasantries he might have normally when someone entered the station.

  “Thanks.” Zack noted the coldness from the constable, but paid it no mind, he had other things to worry about. While he waited for the constable to return, he leaned on the counter to take some of the weight off his ankle, and reduce the throbbing that made him want to scream.

  “What can I do for you, Mr Wild?” Mitchell asked when he reached the counter. He could not bring himself to be any more civil than that given his suspicions.

  “I’m here to make a statement about the attempt on my life,” Zack said, ignoring the barely concealed hostility, just as he had ignored that from the constable.

  Mitchell looked confused for a second, but then his expression cleared. “You mean the assault on you by Georgina Ryder’s cousin. Constable Black told me about it this morning.”

  “No, sergeant, I mean the attempt on my life,” Zack said. “He didn’t introduce himself, so I’ll take your word for it that he’s Georgina Ryder’s cousin, but the guy who did this – he held up his bandaged arm – made it very clear why he was at my house.”

  Mitchell looked as though he wanted to debate or dispute that, but then he gave a little shake of his head and said, “You’d best come through so you can tell me what happened.” He opened the security door and led Zack along the passage to the interview room, where he had spent so much of the previous evening. “If you’d like to wait in here, I’ll be with you shortly.”

  “Do you think I could get a coffee?” Zack asked. He was not surprised when the sergeant looked less than willing.

  Mitchell wanted to tell Wild where to go; the last thing he wanted to do was give him what he wanted, even when it was something as simple as a drink, he certainly did not want to listen to him give a statement about the assault that had taken place. After meeting Wild’s solicitor, though, he realised that refusing, either to take the statement or to provide a drink, would only give her ammunition to use against him. Reluctantly, he nodded before closing the interview room door on the man he did not want to deal with.

  “Mel,” he caught the attention of the young constable, who was working in the small office she shared with the other constables. “Mr Wild is waiting in the interview room to give a statement about Oliver’s attack, he’d like a drink before we get started, would you see to it?”

  “Sure.” Melissa jumped to her feet, happy to take a break from what she had been doing – like yesterday, she was researching Zack Wild to discover everything there was to know about him. Ordinarily, she would have been happy to have an excuse to satisfy her curiosity, but not then; she knew she had been given the job because Mitchell was hoping she would learn something that would help to prove Wild was guilty of the murders that had taken place, and she was uncomfortable with that. She had been hoping a good night’s sleep would make Mitchell more reasonable, and more willing to consider the other possible suspects, but that was not the case.

  “Morning,” Melissa said as brightly
as she could when she reached the interview room. “Sergeant Mitchell said you’d like a coffee, how d’you take it?”

  “Right now I just want it strong and sweet,” Zack told her. “I need all the energy I can get.” He barely managed to finish speaking before he was overcome by a yawn so massive it made his mouth resemble the entrance to an underground cavern.

  “I can see why; you look about as tired as I feel. I’ll be right back.”

  Zack could hardly deny that he was tired – he had gotten less than two hours sleep before being woken by the intrusion that led to his injuries, and after the fight he had had to be rushed to the hospital so his arm could be stitched up. He was only able to get a couple of hours’ rest, after returning from hospital, before Isobel was forced to get up and head home so she could take care of her dog.

  “Right, Mr Wild, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do with your time, and I know I do, so let’s get this statement dealt with. Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me what happened.” Mitchell turned on the recorder in the corner of the room and took out a pad and pen.

  Zack was about to start speaking when the door to the interview room opened; both he and Sergeant Mitchell turned towards the door, startled by the interruption, and saw Melissa creep into the room.

  “Sorry,” Melissa apologised when she saw that both men were looking at her. “I just thought Mr Wild would like a few biscuits with his coffee.” She laid a pack of digestives on the table, set a mug of coffee in front of Mitchell, and then joined her superior on his side of the table, putting her own mug of coffee down as she took a seat next to him. She had no sooner sat than she reached out to open the biscuits and grab a couple to dunk in her coffee.

  Mitchell scowled at Melissa but said nothing. “Now that we all appear to be settled, perhaps we can get started; as I said, we all have other things we need to do.” Mitchell didn’t look at Melissa as he said that, but out the corner of his eye he saw her redden, and knew she was aware the comment had been directed at her.

  Zack nodded. “Okay, well, after I got home from being interviewed by you yesterday evening, I had a drink and went to bed, with my solicitor in the spare room – it was too late for her to head home,” he said, getting straight into his story since he didn’t want to take any longer about it than necessary. “I’d been asleep for a couple of hours maybe, I’m not sure how long exactly, when something woke me up. I wasn’t sure what it was to begin with, but then I heard noises from downstairs, so I got up to check it out; I grabbed the torch I keep on my bedside cabinet on my way out of the room.”

  “I take it that’s the torch Constable Black logged as evidence,” Mitchell said. When he received a nod, he went on. “That’s not the usual kind of torch a person has around the house, where did you get it?”

  “I got it when I was on the force, but I believe you can buy one like it in most hardware or camping shops. Does it matter?” Zack asked.

  “I guess not,” Mitchell said unhappily. “But in the future you might want to be more careful about carrying something that could be considered an offensive weapon, which your torch clearly can be, given the amount of damage you did to Oliver Ryder.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” Zack said blandly. “Under the circumstances, though, I’m glad I had the torch to protect myself with. If I hadn’t, it’s entirely possible I wouldn’t be around to talk to you now.”

  ‘More’s the pity,’ thought Mitchell, though he fervently hoped neither the constable at his side nor the man across from him could tell what he was thinking.

  Zack got on with relating the previous night’s events then. “When I realised that someone had broken in, I crept downstairs to try and find out what was going on, that’s when I heard Oliver Ryder, at least that’s who I assume it was. He was telling his friends, who were stumbling around drunkenly, breaking whatever they didn’t plan on stealing, that he was there to kill me, and that they should follow him upstairs to help him do that. I headed back upstairs after that and told Isobel to lock herself in my bedroom, and to call the police while I waited to see what was going to happen.”

  “Why didn’t you lock yourself in the bedroom with your friend?”

  “Because I figured it would take whoever answered the call to the police station a while to get to my place, and I didn’t fancy getting trapped in my bedroom by three guys who were planning on killing me,” Zack answered. “I figured my chances were better if I didn’t trap myself, and instead surprised them when they got to the top of the stairs. I figured Isobel would be safer if I did that as well. If Oliver and his friends had come after me in my bedroom, there was every chance Isobel would have gotten hurt as well as me, and I didn’t want that.” He finished the story quickly after that, ending with a brief description of the injuries he had received at the hands of Oliver Ryder – though serious, they were far from the fatal wounds intended by the teen, for which he was duly thankful. “Given the situation, with Mr Ryder being given the impression that I am responsible for the murders of both his cousin and his girlfriend, I wouldn’t normally insist on him being charged – just about anyone would react the way he did to the murder of someone they love. That said, I wasn’t alone last night, and as drunk as they were, I don’t think either Oliver or his friends would have noticed that they had the wrong person if they had come across Isobel before me.

  “Charging him is unlikely to change his mind about what he wants to do to me, only you finding the person who really killed those girls will do that, but at least it’ll keep him from putting anyone who happens to be with me in danger.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Mitchell said, “Oliver’s friends will be out of hospital later today, they only suffered minor injuries during their tumble down the stairs, but Oliver’s going to be in hospital for a while - you fractured his skull. He’s in a coma, and the doctor is unable to say when he might wake up. I hate to say this, Mr Wild – that was about as far from the truth as it was possible for him to get – but I am going to have to speak to my superior, and to the Crown Prosecution Service, so a decision can be made about whether you should be charged with ABH.”

  “I guess I’ll have to hope that the CPS sees sense then, won’t I,” Zack said. “I’m sure they will, once Isobel speaks to them, after all, it was self-defence.” He was reasonably confident the CPS would make the right decision, but he had known them to make some very strange ones. “Is there anything else you need from me?” he asked. “Only I’m supposed to be meeting a friend in town for lunch, and I’d hate to be late.”

  *****

  Mitchell stood on the top step and watched as Zack Wild drove away. Only when the Land Rover had disappeared did he turn to the constable at his side.

  “Do you want to tell me why you decided to invite yourself to sit in on Mr Wild’s statement, when you knew I wanted you researching him?” he asked, making no effort to hide the anger he was feeling.

  Melissa looked thoroughly abashed, but also a little defiant. “After what happened at the interview last night, I thought it best if you had someone with you. I didn’t want that solicitor of Mr Wild’s to have a reason to cause trouble for you.” That was not the only reason she was there, it was not even the main reason, but it sounded good, and she hoped it would satisfy Mitchell. “She’s already threatened to do so.”

  Mitchell was reluctant to accept that Melissa’s reason was valid, and instead said, “You’d better get back to your research, I want to know everything you can find out about Wild, everything, especially the details of those incidents that were in the summary of his personnel file. He’s clearly a violent person, but I want something that will connect him to the murders. And, if possible, I want you to find out what he’s done with that fancy sports car of his.”

  Melissa had no idea how she was supposed to do that, but knew better than to waste her time saying as much. Instead, she nodded and made her way back into the station so she could get on with her work. She hoped th
at while she was looking into Wild’s life, she would come up with some inspiration for how to find the Aston Martin.

  24

  Zack saw Sophie almost as soon as he walked into the Litten Tree Restaurant; his former sister-in-law was sipping a drink at the bar. She was looking away from the entrance but seemed to sense his presence, for he had barely walked through the door before she turned towards him.

  The smile of pleasure that lifted the corners of her lips when she saw him, changed to a look of curious concern at the sight of his limp, and the grimace that crossed his face with each step. The moment he reached her, and before he could say hello, Sophie asked, “What’s with the limp?”

  “Hi, nice to see you,” Zack said, he kissed his ex-wife’s sister on the cheek and took the stool next to her.

  “It’s good to see you too, but what’s with the limp? Does it have anything to do with you needing Izzy’s help so urgently yesterday? Why was that, by the way, she didn’t say.”

  Zack had to smile. He always forgot, when he hadn’t seen Sophie in a while, just how energetic and full of questions she was; she never stopped, either moving or questioning what was going on, not until she had worn herself out completely, which rarely happened before everyone else was exhausted, and she knew everything that had happened or was happening.

  He did not respond to any of the questions until he had caught the attention of the bartender and ordered himself a pint of cider; even then he settled for saying, “I’ll tell you everything that’s been going on, but let’s see if our table’s ready first, I’d rather not be interrupted, and I could do with taking the weight off my ankle.”

  Be right back then.” Sophie hopped off her stool and went to check on their table.