“I don’t know,” Glen admitted. “You go on up to bed, though, I’ll be alright, I just want some time to think.”
About fifteen minutes later, Kieran watched his father cross the yard and start down the road as he stood at the window of Emily’s bedroom. He hadn’t heard the front door either open or close, but he hadn’t needed to, he had already been in Emily’s room, waiting for his father to leave the house and take matters into his own hands, as Kieran had been sure he would, which the shotgun Glen appeared to be carrying strongly suggested he was going to do.
34
“Bloody hell, Zack,” Isobel swore when she saw the mess in the living room. “That sergeant and his cronies did this?” she asked, looking around the room.
“Uh huh.” Zack nodded. “I think they thought I might have Emily hidden in the sofa or something,” he said, seemingly concerned by the damage done to his things. “It’s not that bad really, they could have done worse.” His laptop, which was the thing that mattered most to him, was still intact, even if very little else was.”
Isobel looked at her friend as though he had gone crazy. “How on earth can you think this isn’t that bad?” she wanted to know. “The only way this could be worse is if they actually set off a bomb. I don’t care what you say, we’re suing them for this, this and your injuries. If this is what it looks like in here, I hate to think what the rest of the place is like,” she said, more to herself than to Zack. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a camera around here, have you?”
“What’s the matter with the camera on your phone?” Zack asked, more harshly than he intended. “Sorry. It was in the desk, so it could be anywhere now, assuming the cops didn’t take it in the hopes of finding some evidence on it. “He looked around at the mess on the floor surrounding his desk, the majority of which had either been in or on the desk prior to the visit from the police.
“If it’s somewhere in amongst that lot, it’s probably best if I leave it there,” Isobel remarked. “I don’t want anything moved ‘til I’ve had a chance to take pictures of the mess Sergeant Mitchell and his men have made. This is probably going to be the easiest lawsuit I’ve ever had to deal with; it’s like they were trying to give us everything we could need to sue them.”
Zack was glad that if there was going to be a lawsuit, it was going to be an easy one; he knew how difficult they could get from watching his ex-wife when she handled such cases . “Do you want anything to eat?” he asked from the doorway.”I’m going to make myself a fry-up and get some painkillers.”
Isobel didn’t answer straight away, she was distracted by fiddling with her phone. Once she was ready with the camera function, though, she realised what it was Zack had said. “Please. You couldn’t get us a drink as well, could you?”
“Sure, a glass of wine?” Zack was not a wine drinker, he preferred cider or spirits, but he always kept a bottle of red and a bottle of white in the house for guests.
Zack produced the glass of wine – white – almost immediately, but it took the best part of twenty minutes for him to put together a fry-up for himself, and another for Isobel. When he entered the living room with the two plates, he found Isobel still taking photographs.
“Alright, get your top off.”
Zack froze just inside the living room. “I beg your pardon.”
“Get your top off,” Isobel repeated. “I’ve done everything in the house – this room’s the worst, by a fair margin, but they didn’t spare any room in the place, they’re all a mess, so now it’s your turn. If we’re going to nail Sergeant Mitchell, and the police, as fully as they deserve to be, we need pictures of what was done to you.”
“Can’t it at least wait ‘til we’ve eaten?” Zack asked. He looked around for somewhere to put the plates down, and for somewhere to sit; that was when he saw movement outside the window. He reacted instinctively, shouting, “Get down.” The plates he was holding, along with the food they contained, went up in the air as he dived for cover; he couldn’t have said how he knew the movement he had seen heralded danger, but his quick reactions saved him, for no sooner had he let go of the plates than the main window of the bay exploded in a crash of thunder.
Zack landed alongside what remained of his sofa, which protected him from the flying glass, though it didn’t protect him from the fry-ups he had thrown. A mix of bacon, sausage, mushroom, egg, and baked beans rained down on him, messing up his hair and leaving him with bean juice running down his neck.
It was only when he looked up from his position on the floor, and saw that Isobel was covered in blood and swaying on her feet, that Zack put together what he had seen and heard and realised what had happened. Scrambling to his feet he launched himself at Isobel so he could protect her, since she didn’t seem able to protect herself. He crashed into her just as the shotgun went off again and felt a wave of pain, unrelated to the injuries he had received at the hands of Sergeant Mitchell and his constables, sweep over him.
He ignored the pain and focused on making sure that Isobel was safe.
He saw straight away that his friend was in bad shape, having been struck many times by the pellets from the shotgun – covered in blood as she was it was impossible to tell how many of the pellets had hit her, or where she had been hit - her breathing was shallow, and her skin was pale beneath its mask of blood. Worst of all, the blood on her lips bubbled and frothed in a way that made Zack fear she had been hit in the lungs; whatever other injuries she might have, the possibility of a punctured lung worried him the most, and he reached into his pocket for his mobile phone.
35
Goosebumps stood out on the exposed flesh of Mitchell’s arms as he stared skyward, watching the lights from the air ambulance disappear into the distance.
Once it had vanished from sight, bearing Zack Wild and Isobel Walker away to the hospital in Branton, Mitchell refocused his attention on things a little closer to home.
“Will you be alright if we talk about what happened?” Mitchell asked of Constance Hawkins, who was at his side, and who, unlike him, showed no sign of being affected by the night’s chill, thanks to the dressing gown that covered her from her ankles to her neck.
There wasn’t much to talk about, based on what he had seen when he took a quick look around, being careful not to get in the way of the paramedics as they worked on Zack Wild and his solicitor. It was clear what had happened, and after the conversation he had had with Glen Wright following the release of Zack Wild, he could guess who was responsible for the attempt on Wild’s life. Before he could do anything about the situation, though, he needed to know what Constance had seen and heard.
“If you’d prefer, we can leave it ‘til morning, but I think it might be better if we do this while everything is fresh in your mind.”
Constance thought about it for a couple of seconds before responding. “I don’t imagine I will be able to sleep much for the rest of the night, not after this, so you might as well ask your questions now. Would you like a cup of tea?” She started up the path to her front door without waiting for an answer, leaving Mitchell with no choice but to follow her.
“Thank you.” Mitchell accepted the cup of tea Constance brought him and lifted it straight to his lips. The first sip was hot enough to burn on its way down his throat but he put up with that, it was a small price to pay for feeling warm for the first time since receiving the call about the attack on Zack Wild. “Do you think you could tell me what happened tonight, from the beginning?”
“Of course.” Constance took a moment to sip at her own tea, and then she began. “I went to bed at my usual time, about ten o’clock, and read for a little bit, then I put my head down. I dropped off almost straight away – I’ve never had a problem getting to sleep, but it seems as though the older I get, the harder it is for me to stay asleep; the slightest little thing wakes me up. I hadn’t been asleep for more than an hour when I was woken by a car passing the house and stopping next door; I guessed it must be Mr Wild getting home, but as eas
y as it is for me to wake up, it isn’t so easy for me to get out of bed.
“I had barely made it back into bed, at least that’s how it seemed, the clock on my bedside table said about half an hour had passed, though, when I heard the shotgun blasts next door.”
“You knew what the noises were straightaway?” Mitchell asked.
Constance looked at him for a moment. “Of course I did. You can’t live your whole life in the countryside without knowing a shotgun when you hear it.”
Mitchell accepted that with a quick nod since he could hardly deny what Constance had said; he hadn’t grown up in the country as she had, but twenty plus years of living there made him sure he would recognise a shotgun when he heard one being fired.
“So you heard the shotgun, how many times was it fired?”
“Twice.”
“What happened after that?”
“I struggled out of bed and made my way over to the window. I was hoping to see who had been shooting, and at what, though after Oliver Ryder’s little escapade last night I was reasonable certain what, or rather who, was being shot at.” Constance paused in her narrative to sip at her tea; only when it was finished did she put her cup down and resume speaking. “By the time I made it to the window, though, they were gone. Since I was concerned about Mr Wild, I put on my dressing gown and headed next door to make sure he was alright. Thank goodness Mr Wild was able to remain conscious long enough to call for an ambulance; who knows how long it would have been before help was on the way if they had had to wait for me to find them.”
“Yes, very fortunate,” Mitchell said. “You said you didn’t see the person who fired the shots, I take it that means you can’t tell me anything about the person who tried to kill Mr Wild.” He didn’t even consider the possibility that Zack Wild’s solicitor might have been the intended target.
“I’m afraid not, sorry.” Constance felt bad that her lack of speed had prevented her seeing anything that might be of help. “Do you think it might have been Oliver again? He already tried to hurt Mr Wild once, and he’s never been the sort to let up on a grudge.”
“He would have been my number one choice,” Mitchell admitted. “But he couldn’t have done it, he’s still unconscious in hospital after last night’s adventure; I would have been notified if he’d woken up.” He sighed briefly, as though annoyed that Constance couldn’t tell him anything. “You didn’t see anything, but is it possible you heard something that might help me to figure out who tried to kill Mr Wild?” he asked.
“You mean like a car or something?” Constance shook her head when Mitchell nodded. “Sorry, no, I didn’t hear anything, other than the two shots. I didn’t hear a car after Mr Wild got home, either coming or going, and I’m pretty sure I would have.”
It took Mitchell a few seconds to realise the implication of what Constance had just said. “Whoever did this must have walked here,” he said. “Not that I suppose that means all that much – it wouldn’t take long for someone to get here on foot, even from the other side of the village.” He sighed again. “Do you suppose Barry might have seen or heard anything?” he asked, referring to Constance’s neighbour on the other side from Zack Wild.
“I guess anything’s possible,” Constance said. “I wouldn’t be too hopeful, though; Barry’s deaf as a post, I doubt if he had any idea anything was going on until you turned up with your siren going.”
“Surely he would have heard the blasts from the shotgun.” Mitchell couldn’t see how Barry Whitelaw could have heard the siren if he didn’t hear the shotgun.
Constance offered an uncertain shrug.
*****
Mitchell banged noisily on the door, and then stepped back to wait impatiently. When almost a minute passed without a response, he hammered on the door again with his fist.
Glen Wright yanked open the door, ready to yell at whoever had disturbed his sleep, but the words froze on his lips when he saw who was on the doorstep. “Lewis, what’s going on?” he wanted to know.
Mitchell didn’t answer straight away, instead he grabbed the younger man by the front of his t-shirt and pulled him out of the house, he didn’t want either Kieran or Tara to hear what he had to say. Heedless of the fact that his friend was bare-footed, Mitchell dragged him across the yard and into the shadows on the far side of it.
When they were out of the moonlight, and far enough from the house to avoid drawing the attention of Glen’s children, Mitchell spun him round and shoved him up against the side of the chicken coop. He did so with enough force to rattle the coop and disturb the occupants, who squawked their protests noisily for half a minute before settling down again.
“Why’d you do it?” Mitchell demanded over the noise from the chickens. “I told you not to do anything, why didn’t you listen to me?”
“What’re you talking about?” Glen wanted to know, his voice as sleep-filled as his eyes.
“Don’t play games, Glen, I’m not in the mood.” Filled with anger over the situation he had been put in by someone who was supposed to be a friend, Mitchell shoved Glen up against the chicken coop again, re-awakening the occupants. “I know you went down to Wild’s place after I told you I had to release him. I told you not to do anything, to leave him alone, but you went down there, and you shot at him through the bloody living room window.”
“You’re damned right I did,” Glen said, matching Mitchell’s anger with his own. “I told you what I’d do if you let that sick sonofabitch go. You let him go; I had no choice. That bastard took my Emily, and he’s almost certainly killed her – I can’t let him get away with that. Being shot’s nothing compared to what he deserves; he deserves a much more painful death than that, he deserves to be tortured, slowly.”
“Except he’s not dead,” Mitchell snapped. “You came closer to killing his solicitor than you did to killing him; it’s just as well you didn’t manage to kill either one of them, just as well also that Constance is old and can’t move too quickly. She didn’t make it to the window in time to see you, so she’s got no clue who tried to kill Wild, which is good news for you and for me. If she’d seen you, or had any clue it was you, I’d have to arrest you.” He looked far from happy at that thought. “As it is, I might still have to arrest you if Wild or his solicitor saw anything that points to you. You’d better hope that when they wake up, they either saw nothing or they remember nothing, otherwise, you’re looking at a lot of time in jail for attempted murder.”
“I don’t care, if you wanna arrest me, go ahead,” Glen told his friend. “I’ll tell the world what I did, I’m not ashamed; I’m glad I did it – I just wish I’d made sure I killed the sonofabitch; the world would be a better place without people like him in it.”
“Don’t be such an idiot.” Mitchell had to bite his tongue to avoid snapping at his friend as he sought to get his temper under control. “Do you really think what you’ve done only affects you, that if you go to jail declaring yourself a martyr for justice, or whatever bollocks you choose to claim, it’ll only make a difference to you. What about Kieran? What about Tara? What about Emily – she might not be dead; I know you’re sure she is, but she might not be, and if she is still alive, she’s gonna need you when she’s found. Even if she is dead – Mitchell hated having to speak so bluntly, but knew it was necessary if he was going to get through to his friend – Kieran and Tara still need you; Kieran can’t manage the farm on his own, if you go to jail, you’ll lose it. Even if he could keep the farm going, he couldn’t manage it and Tara. I doubt he’d be allowed to try given he’s only seventeen.
“Going to jail would cost you the farm and Tara, she’d either have to go and live with relatives or, more likely, be taken into care, is that what you want?” Not only that but I’d probably lose my job, since you told me what you were going to do and I didn’t stop it, Mitchell thought, but didn’t add.
Glen seemed to deflate at the mention of his two, still definitely alive, children. “What do I do?”
“Nothing
, for now,” Mitchell told him. “Just go about your life as if you did nothing, and pray that when they wake up, Wild and his solicitor either saw nothing or remember nothing.” He let go of the younger man’s t-shirt and was about to walk away when he thought of something. “There is one positive to be had from you shooting Wild – with him in hospital, there’s no way he can hurt any other girls, and by the time he’s ready to be released, we’ll have the evidence to put him away.”
“Fat lot of good that does my Emily,” Glen said.
36
Melissa had no idea her grandmother was there, despite her name being called repeatedly, until a hand landed on her shoulder. The touch shocked her out of her reverie so violently that she jumped visibly.
“I’m sorry,” Constance apologised as she sank onto the pew next to her granddaughter. “I didn’t mean to make you jump. You didn’t seem to know I was here.”
“I didn’t,” Melissa said with an apologetic smile. “I was lost in my own little world. I started off in the café, and the next thing I knew, I was in here.”
“It must be serious, whatever it is that’s got you thinking so hard, I don’t normally see you in here.” Constance meant it only as a general comment, but couldn’t help sounding faintly accusatory as she looked around the nearly empty church. “I don’t see many people in here during the week, and especially on a Monday morning; most folk seem to think they get enough church on a Sunday to last them through the week.” As though sensing how embarrassed she was making Melissa, she switched subjects and asked, “So, what is it that has you so troubled that you’ve come to church to try and figure it out?”
Melissa’s eyes strayed from her grandmother to Father Wozniak, who was pottering around, doing his daily housekeeping chores.
Written In Blood Page 20
