by Bev Robitai
The bellow subsided to a mutter, then she heard a low voice talking. She guessed he was calling Colwyn for instructions.
While he was concentrating on the phone, she slipped out of the door at the far end of the studio heading for the stairs to the floor below. There were plenty of hiding places down there where she should be able to hole up until other workers began to arrive in the morning.
It was very dark down there.
She felt her way cautiously down the stairway and through a set of swinging doors into the main fashion shooting area. A dim glow from a power pack showed her a stand of still life gear, with cutting blades, stone weights and other bits and pieces. She took a moment to fill her pockets with useful items, especially some heavy rubber bands.
At the back of the shooting area she remembered there was a storeroom with lots of big cubby-holes. She’d be able to climb into one of those and cover up with a piece of cloth. Provided she could keep still, Harry would never find her.
She felt her way along the wall till she located the cubby holes, then found one that had enough room to climb into. Once there, she settled in and waited, breathing quietly through her mouth so that dust from the cloth didn’t provoke a sneeze.
It didn’t take long before she became aware of an urgent need to use the bathroom, and she cursed the cup of coffee she’d enjoyed so much before going to sleep. Fear added its spur to her need though she tried valiantly to ignore it. Finally she could stand it no longer, and reluctantly untangled herself from her hidey-hole. She had no idea where the washrooms were on that floor, but with careful listening she heard the automatic flush of a men’s urinal. She homed in on the welcome noise, found the door, and slipped inside to do what she had to do.
As she opened the door to come out, she listened carefully. Not a sound. Perhaps Harry had assumed she’d escaped out of the broken window and had given up the search. It wouldn’t be a safe bet though, so she felt her way back to her hiding place and crawled inside. It occurred to her that real life would be a whole lot easier if it came with background music. If the bad guys were closing in, there’d be some kind of dramatic chords playing and she’d know what was happening.
Time passed agonisingly slowly, although the hands of her luminous watch were still moving despite her feeling that they’d frozen at 3am and would never turn again. She closed her eyes and tried to doze.
A smell roused her. Not the sour sweat of Harry’s greasy body, but a sweet, heavy cologne that she recognised instantly. Colwyn’s, and he must be very close.
Tension in her muscles prompted a cramp in one leg. She bit on a fold of material and kept still.
‘Come out, Robyn. You don’t have to hide any more. Wouldn’t you rather be home in a comfortable bed? Let’s put all this silly fuss behind us. Harry didn’t really mean you any harm – he was trying to scare you, that’s all. It’s just me here, Robyn. You know me. You know I couldn’t hurt you. Come on out now.’
The words were persuasive, the tone hypnotic. Her resistance was weakening. It was almost as if he was looking right at her and knew exactly what she was thinking.
‘Come on Robyn, don’t be silly, you can come out now and there won’t be any trouble, I promise. I’ll take you straight to the airport so you can go home. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? No more chasing around. Back home to safe little old New Zealand. You can go there right now, Robyn. Come on, what do you say?’
She opened her mouth.
Harry spoke.
‘Don’t think she’s here boss. Let’s try through there. If we don’t find her we can just lean on that Kent guy until he tells us where she is.’
‘You idiot!’ hissed Colwyn. ‘If she’s here she’ll have heard that. Christ, can’t you get anything right?’
The sweet scent faded away and was replaced by Harry’s sharp stench. She heard him belch wetly as he walked by. Both her legs were trembling with the strain of being doubled over, but she kept absolutely still until she was certain they must have gone.
Weak with fatigue, she unfolded herself from the cubby-hole and stood up shakily, stretching the cramp from her calf muscle and rubbing it to restore the blood supply. Her brain was spinning with the implications of what she’d heard. No wonder Mike hadn’t answered his door - they’d got him and were keeping him prisoner. She’d have to find him somehow.
Suddenly she felt a breath of air as a door opened, and a shaft of torch-light flickered at the far end of the room. There was no time to clamber back into her hole. She’d have to make a silent dash for escape before they came any closer. She edged along the wall, watching the torchlight behind her instead of looking where she was going. A roll of backdrop paper was leaning against the wall and she bumped against it, sending it sliding in a slow arc down the wall to land with a crash onto a pile of equipment. She heard Colwyn shout, and the torch shone in her direction. She used its light to run as fast as she could, ducking and weaving in case Harry had brought his gun, until she was through the swing doors and beside the stairs.
She pulled off a shoe and threw it up to the first landing on the stairs, then ran away from the stairwell into a store room where all the mannequins were kept. She grabbed a wig off one and put it on, pushing her way towards the back of a row of clothed dummies where she stood in a matching pose, making sure she could hold the position without too much strain. It was an old trick, but if she was lucky they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference with just the feeble light of their torches.
She heard running footsteps, then a shout of triumph as they spotted the shoe. Heavy feet clattered up the stairs and then the sound faded, muffled by the office carpet.
Robyn sank down cautiously, every muscle trembling in reaction to the stress it was under. She forced herself to think calmly. Where was the most likely place that they would keep Mike? The cottage at the lake was ideal from a secrecy point of view, but a long way away. If they’d brought him back, they surely wouldn’t have taken him to Colwyn’s apartment, it was too public. The boat! That was a good possibility. The marina was quiet at night with few people around, and they could spirit a body on board relatively easily. It would be just as useful for getting rid of him too. All they had to do was weight Mike’s body and drop it overboard on a casual fishing trip out on the lake. He might never be found.
She held no illusions about Colwyn and Harry, not any more. Between them they were capable of anything, and she was perfectly aware that both she and Mike were in grave danger. But while both Colwyn and Harry were currently occupied with searching the entire studio for her, Mike was, presumably, unguarded.
Without a second thought, she decided to rescue him.
She crept out of her hiding place and moved towards the stairs. Good, her shoe was still lying on the landing. She put it on and moved quietly towards the office, sniffing cautiously as she went. Only faint traces of cologne and body odour remained tainting the air so she proceeded without hesitation.
The window she had broken was right in front of her, sending cool night air into the room. She paused. If they knew it was the only way in or out of the building, they might be watching it. She had a sudden uncomfortable feeling of being a mouse in a cartoon, knowing there was a big fierce cat waiting for her to stick her head out of the mousehole. Well, since it was the only way out... She stopped, almost slapping her forehead in a “doh!” moment. She was inside now, so she could open any window she wanted to make her escape. She moved to a different wall in the office and unlatched a window with extreme care. It swung open far enough for her to wriggle through and drop to the ground, then she was off and running.
There was a main road curving round the edge of the studio grounds and she ran straight for it, hoping there would be a taxi cruising past that she could persuade to take her to the marina in return for her watch - the only valuable item she had with her.
As she reached the edge of the road, there was a shout from behind her. Had she been spotted? She cursed. Where was that miraculous taxi
that always appeared in movies just when it was needed? Someone had obviously forgotten to write it into the script.
She leaped into the road and flagged down the only passing vehicle - a nondescript sedan with a tired middle-aged driver.
‘Can you take me downtown please, to the harbour-front, as fast as you can?’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘Just drive!’ she gasped, sliding into the front seat. ‘It’s a domestic, OK? My husband’s been abusing me for months and I’ve just escaped - please don’t let him catch up, he’d kill me right here in your car.’
‘Ugh, don’t want that.’
The driver pulled away with a squeal of tyres and accelerated down the road, throwing Robyn back on the seat in a heap. He took corners faster than she considered safe, but at least he was earning her a lead in getting to the marina. She clung to the grab bars and steadied herself, trying to work out her next move.
They reached the lakefront in just a few minutes, with no sign of her pursuers yet. Robyn offered her watch to the driver as payment for the trip but he refused to accept, saying it was the most fun he’d had all day. She asked him to call the police as soon as he could, and told him she would be hiding out by the boat till they got there. She sprinted down the dock towards the Angel Lady, her feet echoing hollowly on the weathered wooden boards.
The boat was quiet and still, riding on the oily black water like a pale swan. No lights showed in the cabin. Robyn hesitated. Had they somehow got ahead of her? Were they lying in wait? Impossible - nobody could have beaten her driver the way he’d hurtled through the streets.
She stepped on board, feeling the boat heel slightly under her weight. The cabin was locked, but the catch yielded to persuasion from a long-handled screwdriver she found in the cockpit locker. She moved quietly down the stairs into the cabin and listened.
Breathing.
Not hers.
She felt for the emergency safety light in the rack by the cabin door, and cracked the tube. A green glow filled the cabin, allowing her to see Mike sprawled in the bunk in front of her, hands tied, dead to the world. She hurried to free him, and started slapping his face to revive him. She shook him but he didn’t stir.
‘Come ON, you silly bugger, this is no time to sleep. Oh God, why aren’t you Clark Kent instead of Mike Kent. What are you, his useless younger brother? Mike! Get with it! The bad guys are coming, wake up.’
She filled a cup with cold water and poured it over his head but got no response except a groan. His eyes stayed shut. She opened the fridge and grabbed a handful of ice cubes which she rammed down his shorts. He grunted, blinked a few times, and looked around dazedly.
‘Wha...?’
‘Mike, wake up will you? We’re on Colwyn’s boat, you’ve been drugged, and they’re on their way here.’
She hauled him to a sitting position and gave him a cup of water, to drink this time. Slowly, his faculties seemed to be coming back.
‘Are you with us yet? Hurry up mate, the fat lady has taken a deep breath and opened her mouth. It could be all over very shortly unless you rattle your dags.’
Running feet sounded on the dock outside. Robyn shoved the safety light under a seat cushion, returning the cabin to darkness.
The boat heeled once, then again.
Voices murmured outside the cabin door. Robyn felt in her pockets for weapons and prepared to repel boarders.
The cabin door burst open with a brilliant beam of light that dazzled them. Colwyn had turned on the cockpit spotlight and aimed it straight into the cabin. Robyn screwed up her eyes against the glare and hurled a heavy chunk of marble at the light. It shattered with a satisfying explosion of glass and a curtain of darkness returned.
There was a pause.
‘Get in there Harry. Get them under control,’ Colwyn whispered furiously.
A squat figure filled the doorway and came forward.
Robyn heard Mike moving round so she kept still, waiting for her vision to recover.
As Harry entered the cabin, Mike leapt on him from beside the door and wrenched his gun hand around. One shot fired but plunked harmlessly into the woodwork, the explosion leaving Robyn’s ears ringing.
Robyn saw Colwyn’s head silhouetted in the doorway, and took careful aim with a thick rubber band and a heavy staple. Whang!
‘Aarrgh!’ Colwyn clapped both hands to his right eye and stumbled backward, falling to the floor of the cockpit with a shout of agony.
Robyn pulled the safety light from under the cushion and saw that Harry was about to break free. With a whoop she launched herself at his legs in a perfect rugby tackle, sending him sprawling onto the floor. From there he was easily subdued, and Mike grinned at her as he used the same piece of rope he’d been tied with to bind Harry securely.
Once he was safely trussed, Robyn climbed up into the cockpit with murder in her heart. Colwyn was still lying on the floor groaning. His wig had come off, revealing pale stubble across his scalp.
‘My eye, you bitch! I’m going to lose this eye!’
‘That’s what you get for robbing people blind, you evil bastard. See how you like it.’ Robyn fitted a second staple over the rubber band and stretched it back. ‘Want to go for two out of two?’
‘No! No! Why are you doing this to me? What have I done to you?’
‘Let’s see, for starters there’s attempted murder up at the lake, and I’m sure you’d have had another go at the studio if you’d had the chance, oh and just one more little tiny thing... you killed my father, you lying, cheating, thieving piece of garbage! You stole his money when he was desperate and spent it on - on THIS!’
She kicked the side of the cockpit so hard that the fibreglass cracked.
‘He realised what you’d done and he went up on a cliff and jumped to his death, just so that we’d get the life insurance and not suffer for YOUR dishonesty. His body was getting torn apart on the rocks while you were sitting on your fucking balcony in your fancy fucking apartment drinking bloody Chardonnay. Well I’m here to tell you Colwyn Fucking Symons, you don’t get away with it. This is where you pay, and your time starts NOW!
She threw aside the rubber band and staple and began kicking him in a desperate grief-fuelled frenzy until Mike grabbed her arms and pulled her away.
‘That’s enough, stop now. You’ve given him a lasting reminder, don’t risk getting caught doing this.’ He held her close, stroking her hair gently until she calmed down. ‘You’ve done what you came to do. You’ve beaten him. Let the law take it from here, OK? It’s over, Robyn. It’s over.’
She sagged against him.
The sound of sirens cut the still night air.
Some months later, on a warm New Zealand summer evening, Robyn sat on her front deck checking her email on her laptop. A light breeze fluttered the leaves of the flax bushes and a few crickets chirped from the hedge. There wasn’t a peep of sound from the next-door neighbour.
She saw an email from Mike and opened it with a smile.
“Dear Robyn, life has been very quiet since you went back to New Zealand. What have you been doing down there? I check your local news sites now and again but haven’t seen your name mentioned so I guess you’re keeping out of trouble. Or they just haven’t caught you yet.
I hate to have to tell you this but I’m afraid Colwyn Symons got such a minimal sentence that he’s out of jail already. He blamed everything on Harry and got away with a three-month slap on the wrist. He’s disappeared from the city very smartly. That’ll be a blow to poor old Harry - he was sure Colwyn would make him his right-hand man after he took the rap for him in court.”
Robyn felt hot blood rush to her face and her hands started to shake. Her stomach tightened so much she thought she was going to throw up. After all her effort, Colwyn was going to walk free? The loss of one eye and three months of freedom was not a fair price for the loss of her father. This was inconceivable! How could she fix this? She read on, hoping to find a clue to Colwyn’s current l
ocation.
“Kate and Allan send their best wishes. It’s just as well we got Colwyn when we did because he’d already convinced them to sign the investment documents. Thanks to you he had no time to complete the transaction and get their money. Kate said she’s sorry you were made a part of their deal but she’s still glad she met you.
My current case is a good one - a guy who has defrauded a high school of its entire year’s operating budget. Some people are just way too trusting with their cheque books. He’s gone to ground somewhere in Hawaii so I get a tropical vacation while I track him down.
Let me know what you’re up to. I’m sure it’ll be something that gets you into trouble.
Fond regards, Mike”
Robyn paused for a moment then began typing a reply, her teeth clenched and her fingers clumsy with tension.
“Mike, that’s terrible – how could that happen? Couldn’t you persuade the court that Colwyn was guilty? That bloody louse is out and free? Hey, if you find out where Colwyn is now please let me know, OK? I guess I’ll have to finish the job myself.”
A week passed.
Mike’s next email contained the information that Colwyn Symons was leaving Canada on an Air New Zealand flight, on November 15th. He was in possession of a ticket to Wellington flying via Los Angeles. Mike trusted that Robyn would be sensible about any attempt to make contact with him. Robyn snorted when she read that part.
Some weeks later she emailed back to Mike.
“You’ll be interested to know that Colwyn has made it back here. He was on the news a couple of days ago, limping through Wellington airport with a patch over one eye looking very sorry for himself. A bunch of journalists tried to ask him searching questions about his fraud charges and he practically burst into tears. Obviously an act to get their sympathy.
