by Rona Halsall
She pulls in a few good breaths and tries to clamber on to the edge of the bath again, biting her lip to make herself concentrate. The sound of her pulse whooshes in her ears and she moves at a snail-like speed as the life drains out of her.
It takes a few attempts, but eventually, she manages to stand on the edge of the bath and lean out through the open window. She studies the drop to the roof below and her stomach clenches. It looks so much further than it did before and everything is spinning around, like she’s on a fairground ride. Bile rises up her throat and her stomach heaves. She steadies herself, closes her eyes and pictures what she has to do.
Head first? Is it even possible?
Feet run down the stairs.
Natalie’s eyes flick open.
Christ, what’s she going to do now? There’s a whole garage full of tools down there.
Natalie grits her teeth and heaves herself through the opening, but her sling gets caught on the window catch and with all her body weight lying on top of it, she can’t work it free.
No, no, no.
Her heart pounds so hard its beating rises up her throat. Seconds turn into minutes as she tugs and twists, trying to free herself. She tries to go backwards, but that doesn’t work and her body is fast running out of energy. She rests for a little while before trying to go forwards again. It’s her only chance and she grits her teeth and increases her efforts.
Exhaustion slows her struggles and she has to stop again. A car engine starts up, the sound thrumming through the mist before it disappears into the distance.
Has she gone?
She listens, her head spinning, heart pounding, and for a few minutes, she thinks she might be safe. Thinks it might be over. Her body starts to relax, her eyes close and her pulse slows.
Until there’s the sound of the engine again. A door slams.
Christ, it’s not over! She’s come back.
She starts to struggle again, trying to free herself.
The sound of footsteps thumping up the stairs makes her efforts more frantic.
The lock rattles. There’s a heavy thump, then a bang as the door bursts opens, the handle bouncing off the airing cupboard.
She whimpers, every nerve in her body alive to the fact that she’s going to die if she doesn’t move. And finally, with a fresh bout of wriggling and squirming, the sling rips free. With all her remaining strength, she pushes against the windowsill, oblivious to the pain as she fights to get away.
Her weight starts to pull her downwards.
She feels her legs sliding over the windowsill and she tucks her head down, getting ready to push herself off the wall as she falls, and roll when she lands.
But a hand grabs her skirt.
Another grabs her belt and pulls her backwards.
Fifty-Seven
Now
Jack tugs at his hair, his sense of foreboding growing by the minute. Fliss still isn’t answering and Toby has drawn a blank.
Where the hell is she?
He decides he has only one option left and cringes at the thought. But it’s got to be done. He dials Sergeant Tosser’s mobile.
‘Yeah, bro, can’t really speak now. Up to my neck in something with the Treasury.’ Bro? Since when did they call each other bro? The guy was developing affectations like an outbreak of acne. ‘Call you later. Gotta go.’
‘No wait, Dan! Wait. This is urgent.’
‘What, in like urgent police stuff, or urgent, gotta get some lads together for a night out?’
‘Trust me, Dan. It’s in connection with the Treasury case you’ve got going. Fliss is involved, right?’
There’s a moment’s silence and Jack wonders if Dan has disconnected. Then he hears muffled voices, and realises Dan’s hand is over the receiver. He’s talking to someone. Jack clenches his fists as he paces up and down and is wondering whether to hang up when Dan comes back on the line.
‘Sorry about that. So, the answer to your question is yes. But Fliss shouldn’t be talking to you about it. It’s highly confidential. It could damage the case.’ He sounds superior now, bossy, and Jack wonders if it was a mistake to call. Should have gone for nine-nine-nine. But he’s talking to a policeman, so he decides to plough on.
‘Shut up and listen, will you! I think someone’s been kidnapped. You were looking for her earlier. In connection with an incident in town. Anyway, I need some help.’
‘What? Sorry? I didn’t quite catch that. There’s a lot going on here.’
Jack shakes his head, jaw clenched. He takes a deep breath.
‘Tom Wilson and his wife. Or just his wife. One of them. Or maybe both of them, I don’t know.’ Jack wonders how to shrink the story into a couple of sentences that will make Dan take notice. ‘Anyway, they’ve been following my friend around. And now she’s disappeared.’ Jack can hear raised voices in the background.
Is he even listening or am I just talking to myself here?
Dan is issuing instructions and Jack rubs the back of his neck as he waits.
Two minutes, he thinks. Then I’m gone.
‘Sorry, can you run that by me again?’ Dan says, when he comes back on the line.
Jack takes a deep breath to calm himself down before he speaks. ‘She’s disappeared and I think they’ve taken her. I haven’t got time to give you all the details now, I just need some help because I can’t find out where Tom Wilson lives and I thought you’d have his address. That’s all I need. Tom Wilson’s address.’
Dan gives a staccato laugh. ‘Yeah, bro. We’d like to know that as well. Seems they’ve moved out of the address the Treasury have got. We’ve just been to their old place, looking for them. Right palaver going on.’
The receiver is filled with the chatter of conversation.
Jack rings off. Probably better to go through official channels, he decides. Then they can’t ignore me. He’s about to dial the emergency services when his phone rings.
‘Fliss, thank God! There’s something—’
‘No, no, it’s not Fliss, it’s Mary.’ Jack grimaces. ‘I wanted to make sure it’s alright for me to go home now. It’s just that I’m going to miss my bus if I don’t set off soon.’
Jack sighs. ‘Yes, sorry, Mary. I should have rung earlier. It’s just… I, um…’
‘Something the matter, lovey? You sound all of a dither.’
‘Oh, Mary.’ Jack sits down at the kitchen table, his knee jiggling up and down. ‘Natalie’s disappeared. I think her ex might have taken her, but I can’t find out where he lives and—’
‘Taken? What do you mean, taken?’
‘There’s something weird going on. Someone’s been following her and…’ I haven’t got time for this. ‘Thing is I need to ring emergency services. Get the police looking for her. So… look, I don’t mean to be rude but I’ve got to go.’
‘Oi, just a minute,’ Mary says, in a tone that Jack recognises from his youth. ‘I know where she’ll be. Tom Wilson’s house.’
Jack grinds his teeth. Patience, he tells himself. She’s an old lady. ‘I know that’s where she probably is. But nobody seems to know where he lives at present. Not the Treasury. Or the police. And I’ve tried all the normal databases. But—’
‘I know.’
‘What?’
‘I said, I know. Well, my friend Margaret is friends with Judy Kennish. She was nanny to Tom Wilson when he was a baby and she’s been looking after Tom’s little boy these past few years. Anyway, I remembered her saying something last month when we were—’
Jack raises his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Mary, sorry to interrupt, but this is urgent. I just need the address.’
‘Oh, right, yes. Ballamona Cottage, it is. You remember. Belongs to Maurice Fairburn, that grumpy old git of a farmer who tried to shoot—’
‘No, I don’t remember.’ He snaps. ‘Where is it?’
‘Ooh, you’re in a right tizz, aren’t you? Well, it’s on that little lane, just off Poortown Road. On the right. After the cattery, I think.�
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‘Mary, that’s brilliant.’ His heart races. He knows just where she means now. ‘Gotta go.’
He rings nine-nine-nine, gives them Tom’s address and tells them it’s a suspected kidnapping and he thinks the woman involved is the person the police were looking for earlier in the day. Then he texts the address to Dan and Fliss. Double whammy. That should get them going. He shrugs on his jacket, grabs his helmet and runs out of the door.
The mist has thickened to a fog and he has to make himself drive slower than he’d like through the estate. Dusk has come early and the street lights glisten like golden globes in the gloom, the light sparkling on the droplets of water that fill the air. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long before he’s out into the countryside and he allows himself to accelerate.
It only takes a few minutes to get to Tom’s house and he pulls up by the gate and turns off his engine. The house lights are on, dim squares of yellow in the greyness. He decides that he needs a stealthy approach, because he has no idea who’s in there. Or what’s happening.
He pushes his motorbike next to the hedge, out of sight and is just resting it on its stand when the roar of an engine makes him look up. Is that the police? He hopes so, but fog bounces sound around in a peculiar way and it’s hard to tell which direction the sound is coming from. He takes off his helmet and realises that the noise is closer than he thought. In fact, it’s coming from the other side of the hedge.
He peers round into the driveway just as a car speeds through the gates, making him jump back out of the way.
A silver estate car.
He stares after it. Checks the number plate.
That’s the car that was following Natalie.
He looks at the house, then back down the lane, where he can see the red tail lights getting smaller. He has to make a decision. Fast. Check out the house or follow the car?
Maybe Natalie’s in the car?
The thought gets him back on his motorbike and he speeds down the lane. The tail lights turn left, towards Peel and he holds back a little, his lights off, so he won’t be seen. His mind races. Was that the right decision? Should I have made sure Natalie wasn’t in the house first? But then he would have lost the car. And the police will be at the house soon. Just focus on the car, he tells himself. He’s made his choice and his gut tells him it’s the right one.
They twist down the streets until they reach the marina. The road is a dead end and there’s no chance of losing them now. He parks up, deciding he can be stealthier on foot, and runs after the vehicle.
It turns into the car park by Fenella Beach and he presses himself against the sea wall, peering over the top. Someone gets out. Dressed in black. Long hair. It must be Sasha or Blue or whatever she calls herself. The car lights blink and he hears the locks engage.
Sasha hurries past his hiding place, back towards the marina and before he can make a conscious decision, he springs out, grabbing her arm.
She cries out, spins round and the hairs lift on the back of his neck when he sees her bloodied face. How the hell did that happen?
‘What the fuck? Get off me!’ She kicks at his legs, but he dodges out of the way and they stagger across the road grunting and grappling, like wrestlers. ‘Marco! Marco!’ she shouts. ‘Help! I’m being attacked.’
Who’s Marco? Jack wonders as he tries to grab her other arm, but she whips it out of his reach.
‘Where’s Natalie?’ he demands. ‘What have you done with her?’
‘Marco!’
She writhes like a snake and it takes all of Jack’s strength to hold on. But he does. Until a blow to his back sends him falling forwards. Sasha pulls her arm out of his grasp, and for a moment, he loses his balance. He teeters on the edge of the marina. The tide is in, and the footbridge has been swung back, to let boats in and out. He has just about regained his footing when a powerful push to the small of his back sends him sprawling forwards, into the dark, glassy water.
He tumbles head over heels, his heavy biker gear dragging him down. Water trickles down his neck, into his suit and his boots. It starts to fill his helmet. The weight of his clothes make it a struggle to lift his limbs out of the water. Swimming is not an option. He grasps for the surface, then sinks, down, down to the bottom.
Fifty-Eight
Now
Natalie tries to kick out, but her legs are wedged against the body of the person holding her. This is it, she thinks, holding her breath, eyes closed tight, steeling herself for the final stab of the knife. The end of her life.
Thoughts of Harry flow into her mind, the child she has never been allowed to know and a sob fills her chest, her last memory of him being his indifference towards her. Sasha did that, she thinks, and now she will taint his pure little soul with her evil and greed. The pain in her heart is worse than any pain caused by her injuries. Tears roll down her cheeks and drip off her chin while she waits for Sasha’s final blow. I love you, Harry, she thinks. I’ll always love you.
‘Oh, no you don’t.’
Natalie’s eyes flick open. It’s a man’s voice. One she doesn’t recognise.
‘Nige!’ The man shouts. ‘Need some help up here!’ The man tightens his grip.
She hears footsteps running up the stairs. More hands grab her and heave her back through the window. The men set her on her feet and when she sees the black uniforms, she almost chokes on her breath, unable to decide whether to laugh or cry.
Police. It’s over. I’m safe.
Her legs decide they can’t cope with the confusion of emotions and she crumples to the floor. A policeman crouches next to her and she tries to focus on his face, but it keeps moving. She closes her eyes, nauseous and hot, shaking with relief.
‘Okay, love, can you tell me your name?’
She tries to remember the name she used for her ferry tickets, but decides that things have got too far out of hand to bother with lies.
‘Natalie.’ She whispers. ‘Natalie Wil… No, sorry, it’s not that anymore. It’s Natalie Patterson.’
Natalie’s eyes stare at the sink in front of her. She feels like her batteries are running out, every movement such an effort, even thinking requires too much energy.
‘Okay, Natalie. So, I’m Sergeant Corlett and this here is Constable Waters.’
Her head is too heavy for her neck and she leans it against the bath.
‘Right, Natalie, there’s a lot of blood here. I’m just going to put a dressing on your leg.’ He nods to the other policeman, who keys his mike.
‘We need an ambulance,’ he says when it squawks into life. ‘Urgent. Female patient, lost a lot of blood.’
Natalie is shaking so much she can hear her teeth chattering, her body banging against the bath panel. She clings on to herself, the sink swaying back and forth.
‘I think you might be in shock,’ she hears Sergeant Corlett say, as if he’s half a mile away. ‘Let’s just get you lying on the floor. Feet up on the bath.’
Sergeant Corlett is gentle and she’s grateful for the support of the floor as he manoeuvres her into position. Her heart bangs along to a crazy beat, fluttering and skipping before finding a rhythm and losing it again. Sergeant Corlett frowns and turns to his colleague. ‘Nige, get a pillow and a blanket or something, will you? We need to keep her warm till the paramedics get here.’
He grabs a towel and wraps it round her leg. She winces as he pulls it tight. ‘Sorry, Natalie. Just trying to stem the bleeding. Ambulance won’t be long.’ He goes to join his colleague in the hallway, where the Constable murmurs an update.
‘So, we’ve got a dead male in the kitchen. ID says he’s Tom Wilson. Looks like there’s been a fight. He’s got a carving knife in his hand. Head’s been bashed in with something. I’ve left it for SOCOs to do their bit.’
‘Okay. Thanks, Nige.’
‘Then there’s blood stains on the stairs. And here outside the door.’
Natalie tries to concentrate on what they’re saying, but her mind is caught up in an a
valanche of thoughts, tumbling on top of each other. Stay with it, she urges herself, trying to catch the thing that’s bothering her and dig it out of the confusion. Harry. Get him safe.
‘Where’s Sasha?’ she says it with as much force as she can muster, but it sounds like a whimper, rather than words.
The policemen turn and look at her. The sergeant comes closer. ‘Sorry, did you say something?’
She clears her throat. ‘Sasha. Did you get her?
He frowns. ‘Who’s Sasha?’
‘She was here. Tom’s wife. She killed him. Then tried to kill me.’
Dan Corlett crouches next to her. ‘Tom Wilson’s wife, you say?’
She nods, panic thrashing in her head. ‘You’ve got to find her. She’s got my son.’
The policemen look at each other. One goes out into the hallway and she can hear him talking into his mike.
‘Nige, have another look round,’ Sergeant Corlett calls. ‘Make sure she’s not hiding anywhere. Check outside as well while you’re at it.’ He turns his attention back to Natalie and pulls a little black notebook from his top pocket. ‘Right, then. Let’s see if you can tell me what’s been going on here?’
Her mind rewinds and replays everything that just happened. She begins to speak, the story flowing out in one long sentence before the last of her energy drains away, her voice so quiet, the policeman has to lean close to hear.
A little while later, the Constable comes back, grim-faced. ‘Nobody else here. But it looks like someone might have escaped from the rear exit in the kitchen. There’s a trail of bloodspots going out to the driveway.’
‘Okay,’ Sergeant Corlett swallows hard. ‘Right, well, we’ve already got the exit routes covered. The ferry and the airport. She’s not going to get away.’
Natalie’s own plans to sneak Harry off the island drift into her mind. Private boats. Her eyes widen as she remembers.
