by J. S. Spicer
When he’d forced a gap of a few inches he pushed his eye into the space hoping to see what was going on. A wall jutted out unhelpfully a few feet away. He had more work to do, but maybe the same wall obstructing his view of the next room would also conceal his presence.
Max wiped the sweat from his palms. He grabbed the door again, tensed himself to push.
Suddenly a blast of sound shook the very air around him. Max instinctively dropped to his knees as a gunshot reverberated like thunder through the small space.
**
Lorraine had reached the side of the building. She paused, leaning against the rough surface. The area was mostly office blocks or empty premises. Mid-morning on a week day was understandably not busy, but the streets were unnaturally quiet. The police cordon had turned the place into a ghost town. The silence and emptiness were palpable, throbbing with anticipation.
The alley was blocked by fencing at this end. She would either have to sprint round the block the long way to access the other side, or haul herself over the fence. Clambering over the fence might make noise, and her efforts might easily be seen if anyone looked out of the upper floors. On the other hand it felt unnatural to go all the way round, it would mean hurrying away from the centre of the action.
The decision was blown away by a sudden blast of noise ripping through the quiet morning.
A gunshot.
This changed things. Their killer had always favoured the knife, stabbing his victims to death, up close and personal. There’d been no hint of firearms before now, not at the crime scenes, not at Doyle’s house or the home of Chantelle Jacobs where Vine had hidden out. A gun was new, and unexpected.
Lorraine saw movement down the street. The game had changed, the stakes had risen. They needed, now more than ever, to know exactly what was going on in there. She was pretty sure the shot had echoed from the front of the property.
Where was Max?
Fear for him prompted action, blocked reason. She was already hauling herself up and over the fence before she had time to consider if it was the right thing to do.
She found Constable Patel by the back window. He’d pulled the boarding away and stuffed his head and shoulders inside. Hearing Lorraine’s footsteps behind him he retracted, turning to reveal an expression tapping at the door of panic.
“Where’s Detective Travers?” Lorraine kept her voice low, steady, but the way she gripped Patel’s arm betrayed her own disquiet.
He pointed stupidly at the gap next to him for a second, then pulled himself together.
“He went inside, Detective,” he said. “I could just make him out across the dark room. When that gun went off I ducked.” The young constable looked ashamed of himself, glancing aside almost shyly.
“Quite understandable, Constable,” she assured him, now squeezing his arm in reassurance instead of desperation.
“When I looked again there was no sign of Detective Travers.”
Lorraine felt a cold sensation trickle through her insides. Pushing the constable aside she looked inside, heedless now of exposing her presence. She threw her arms over her head, trying to shut out the daylight around her, peering deep into the room. At Patel’s words her first thought was that Max must have been shot, fallen to the ground, that’s why he was there one moment, gone the next. The gloomy interior yielded nothing helpful. She realised by blocking the light with arms and torso she was preventing herself a better view of what lay inside. She shifted, turning sideways, letting light stream into the tiny and dust-filled room beyond the window.
It was empty, except for a few stacked crates there was nothing and no-one inside. On the opposite wall a door stood ajar, open by about a foot. Wide enough for someone to have squeezed through. On the floor she saw where the movement of the door had arced a trail through dirt and debris on the other side.
Max had forced his way through.
Although her sense of time was spinning on its axis, she knew realistically it can have been only a minute or two since the shot was fired. Max had rushed in from this side when he heard the shot. He might be in trouble, held at gunpoint at that very moment.
Since Max had entered from the back, Lorraine reasoned she should go round the front, try approaching from another direction, albeit a fairly obvious one.
“Stay here, but be careful.”
She ran, adrenalin boosted her back over the fence with surprising ease. In seconds she was crouching by the front door.
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
Jasmine was shaking again, worse now, much worse than before. She was finding it hard to focus, light and sound were all tumbling around and making no sense. She was confused, her own emotions had warped reality for a moment. She didn’t really mind. Somewhere in the depths of her consciousness she knew this confusion was cushioning her from the horrific truth.
Real life slowly unfolded again.
It started with a touch.
Fingers enfolded her own hands, gentle fingers, they carefully prised her grip from the handle of the gun. It was taken from her. As the gun was removed from her trembling hands the first icy reality blew in.
She heard the sob escape through her lips, felt the press of air in and out of her chest, but shock was screwing with perception. Even as the emotions flowed into her, out of her, still there was a queer numbness, as though this were all a bad dream.
Having the gun taken away was a relief of sorts, but her palms felt clammy and naked without the weight of it.
He should never have given the gun to her. Why had he done that? Why had Bryan Doyle thought she could be trusted to hold onto a weapon of death?
But she knew why.
The truth had crashed in on her as the two men had fought at her feet. Doyle, so determined to silence Felix, so fearful of the truth coming out about Justin’s death. His weak excuses about his reputation, all so hollow she now realised. He’d planted the seeds of suspicion in Jasmine’s mind, pointed the finger of blame at Felix, then handed her a loaded weapon. Doyle was relying on Jasmine to shoot the man she thought had killed her little brother. He was relying on her appetite for vengeance if things took a bad turn.
Well, he had got his wish.
She looked at him, at Bryan. Before the tears blurred her vision too much she saw the sight that would never leave her. Bryan Doyle, sprawled untidily on the floor at her feet, blood blossoming so fast across his shirt, already spreading beneath him, the eyes looking up at her lifeless, blank windows, one shoe had come loose in his scuffle with Felix, now it was hanging off stupidly. Doyle, so slick, so controlled and confident and powerful, lying there like that. He would have looked ridiculous were it not for the fact he was dead.
Another touch. A hand again, still gentle. A squeeze, very soft, to her fingertips. Then he let go.
Jasmine stared dumbly at Felix Vine, and wondered why he was wiping the gun with the hem of his shirt. Before she could fully fathom the meaning of this something else caught her attention.
They were no longer alone.
Dim recognition, vague at first then clearer. Jasmine felt the weight of reality returning. She could feel the concrete floor beneath her feet, smell the sweat and fear and blood hovering in the air. The man who’d just entered from the rear of the building was the detective, Max Travers. His hands were held out, palms up, his steps slow, measured. He was saying something.
Jasmine focussed on the detective’s voice. Somehow its low, clear tone helped clear her head; maybe it was the comforting presence of an authority figure, a man of the law. Maybe just seeing another face reminded her there was still a world out there, a place of normal people with normal lives; she wanted that back.
“Can you lower the gun, Mr Vine?” the detective was saying, hands still held submissively before him. “Let’s have a conversation. OK?”
Jasmine shifted her vision back to Felix. He was gripping the gun now, pointing it towards the detective. She realised the danger. The thought of more killing was ripping her apart.
“Felix, no.” Her voice was a whisper, thick with fear and tears.
Felix glanced at her, and in that brief moment threw meaning and intensity into the look; she thought his head moved fractionally to the side. What was he trying to convey to her?
Travers was still talking. “Nobody else has to get hurt, Felix,” he told him. She noticed he was still moving, inching his way towards her.
Felix’s full attention returned to the policeman. He took a step towards him. “Stop!”
Travers froze, dropping his head, keeping his arms up. Submissive, cooperative. Even in her current emotional state, Jasmine couldn’t help but be impressed. The detective, for all his compliant actions, looked as steady as a rock, calm and in control.
“Whatever you say,” said Travers. The detective looked down at Doyle’s body, at the crimson puddle growing across the floor. “That gunshot will have attracted attention, you know. This place is surrounded by police, Felix.” Travers shifted his feet very slightly again, trying to manoeuvre closer once more. “The gun changes things. They’ll send for the armed response team. Let’s work this out before that happens, Felix. You and me, together.”
As he spoke Max kept moving his feet, little by little. He was alongside her now. Felix noticed it too. “I said stop.”
This time, instead of freezing, Max quickly side-stepped so that he was standing directly in front of Jasmine. She felt a welling of gratitude. Travers’ priority was to protect her, even though she was sure they both knew Felix was far more likely to shoot the detective than Jasmine.
Peering around him, Jasmine could see the flare of annoyance in Felix’s face.
“No-one else has to die today, Felix. Not me, nor Jasmine, or you. We can all walk out of here. Please, just put down the gun.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” She heard the resolve in his voice. Jasmine had visions of a bloody shoot-out being the end of this story. Maybe she could help, help to diffuse the tension. At least take her share of the blame.
“Detective,” her voice quavered as she addressed the back of Travers’ neck. “Please, you need to understand…”
“SHUT UP!” Vine loomed up at her beyond the detective who’d become her shield. “You!” Felix stared at her, into her. “Not another word. Understand? Not another word from you, or I’ll shoot you too.”
Jasmine was stunned. Why couldn’t she speak all of a sudden? Why couldn’t she tell the truth of what had just happened? Was Felix intending to take the blame for Doyle’s death? Why would he do that? He owed her nothing, she knew that now. Still, he had wiped clean the gun after taking it from her. He had wiped off Jasmine’s fingerprints.
Travers, reacting to Vine’s swift approach, pushed Jasmine back another foot, swivelling them both to keep between her and Vine.
The result was that, as Jasmine looked away sadly from Felix, she had a clear view of the front door. It was still ajar, left that way after Felix had entered the building.
Someone was out there.
Jasmine saw the glint of sunlight off blonde hair. Another new arrival. In her heart Jasmine was sure another person in here would just make things worse.
Max heard the gasp behind him. A second later he realised what had startled Jasmine when he too saw the figure in the doorway.
Lorraine.
Even as he willed her not to make a move, she was already creeping over the threshold. Vine was the only one not to notice. This man, standing before him, gun in hand, his latest victim at his feet, was dumb enough to expose his back to the door. Even after Max had pointed out that the shot would attract attention, he was still more focussed on Max and Jasmine than any external threat. He hadn’t counted on the recklessness of Lorraine Pope.
Neither had Max. It was the kind of idiot move he’d make, not Lorraine. He couldn’t wave her away, couldn’t make any gesture or sign. Vine would see. His only hope was to keep Vine focussed on him, and away from the door.
“Let’s all stay calm, shall we?”
Lorraine was now inside the room, pressed against the wall only feet from Felix Vine. Max could feel his heart thumping with fear for her. She looked so vulnerable, yet so brave. He had to distract Vine. He didn’t dare risk Jasmine though. His eyes fell on Doyle’s inert body.
“Felix, Bryan Doyle. Let me check on him, OK?”
Vine’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Oh, he’s very dead, detective. I made sure of that.”
Max knew it was true, but it was all he could think to do. “Maybe not. If I could check for a pulse. He might need an ambulance.”
This time Felix actually laughed out loud. “Go ahead, knock yourself out.”
Max slowly made his way over to the body, discreetly gesturing to Jasmine to stay where she was. He wished she’d stop looking at Lorraine in that wide-eyed way. As Max approached the dead man on the floor Felix also stepped closer. Good. He was focussed on what Max was doing.
Reaching the body, Max crouched, trying to avoid the blood. He felt for a pulse.
“Well?” Vine stood over him now, one eyebrow cocked.
“No pulse,” Max confirmed what everyone already knew.
“He was supposed to be last,” Vine said. The self-satisfied smirk evaporated as his eyes fell fully on the face of his childhood friend. “The others were mere shadows, drifting in his wake. But they all had their charmed lives; families and friends and love. Bryan,” he prodded the dead man’s leg with the toe of his boot. “He was the most charmed of all. Had it all. Money, education, success. Even as kids he was the winner.”
“That’s why you killed him? You were jealous?” Max didn’t really care, Vine was clearly a psychopath, but he wanted to keep him talking. Lorraine was moving in.
Vine’s gaze left Doyle to look at Travers. “You don’t get it.” Vine half turned away.
“Explain it to me!” Max stood up suddenly, forcing Vine to face him again.
“Explain? Explain how the summer I spent here gave me a taste of something I’d never known. All I had was a brutal father who dragged me around with him from one cold, lonely place to another. For the first time I was happy.”
Lorraine was close now, just two feet from Vine’s back.
“No, I wasn’t jealous. I knew I’d never have Bryan’s life, even though I wanted it. But I wasn’t stupid. No, I just wanted his friendship. To keep in touch. He was the light in my darkness. But when I left he cut me out of his life. I tried phoning, writing. But nothing. He just forgot me. But now I’ll be remembered, won’t I?”
Max nodded. “Yes, Felix, you will be remembered. Please, let me have the gun.”
As he stretched out his hand Lorraine made her move. With one hand she gripped Vine’s gun hand, the other arm looped skilfully around his neck. Max rushed in, also reaching for the gun.
Vine’s strength surprised him. His left hand was still free and with it he threw a punch. Max staggered away. Vine scuttled backwards, barging Lorraine hard into the wall behind them. Max heard the gasp she let out as the force of the impact winded her. It was enough for Vine to wrench free. He turned quickly. Before Max could reach him he’d smacked Lorraine hard across the side of the head using the butt of the gun. She fell.
The gun was trained on Lorraine’s head before Max could get close enough to tackle him.
“Your turn, detective,” he told the still dazed Lorraine.
Suddenly Jasmine was there. “Felix, please, don’t.”
“I have to shoot.”
“No, Felix.” Tears once again streaked Jasmine’s face. For years her grief had been stony, brittle and painful, but she rarely cried. Now she seemed unable to stop, unable to contain the sweet onslaught of emotion tumbling out of her. She knew what Felix was capable of; he’d killed so many people, brutally and without remorse. Still, she wanted to help bring it to an end, and perhaps bring him some peace.
Jasmine now truly believed she was the one person safe from his murderous intent. She rushed to place herself between him and th
e female detective on the floor.
Travers grabbed her arm, yanking her back sharply. “No!” The policeman in him was hard-wired to protect the civilian first and foremost.
It was a mistake. Seeing Jasmine manhandled and restrained infuriated Felix. “LET HER GO!”
He swung round on Travers; Lorraine was forgotten.
Max saw the intent. In that moment it was still the lives of the others he cared for most. He pushed Jasmine from him, pushed her to the side, trying to get her clear of the gun.
Felix’s eyes were alive with fury.
“Felix, please.” Jasmine was still trying to get through to him. With a flash of understanding she saw his plan. His prints were now all over the gun, but that wasn’t enough. Firing a gun left behind residue on the shooter’s skin, clothing. He was doing this for her. “Please, don’t,” she begged.
“I have to.”
Then he fired.
Hot pain knocked Max backwards. He hit the ground with shocking force. He waited for the dark veil to fall, but the room stayed in focus. There was just searing pain in his left shoulder.
He watched, stunned, as Lorraine once again threw herself onto Felix Vine. This time she had help. Jasmine grabbed for him too, trying to get hold of the gun. Felix, now crying too, held Jasmine at bay with his free hand, shaking his head at her. Then, surprising Max even in his agony, Felix fell to his knees and let the gun fall. Lorraine kicked it away and a second later was handcuffing Felix Vine.
Jasmine fell to her knees too, touched him softly on the shoulder. They exchanged a look, sad and deep and intensely private.
It was all over.
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
