The Edge

by Jessie Keane

  Daisy knew every inch of this house, she’d spent her whole life here when she was not up in town with her Aunt Ju. Catching Leon by surprise with her sudden action and turn of speed, she sprinted off along the passage toward the east wing, tore through the padded green baize door that led down into the kitchens below stairs, slamming it behind her. Then she hared through the kitchen with its old range and walls hung with rows of copper pans and unlocked the back door. She heard Leon coming down the stairs as she tugged at the key, needing to lock it from the outside.

  It wouldn’t come out.

  And she couldn’t take the time to keep trying.

  She went outside, slamming it behind her as she heard Leon coming across the kitchen flagstones. She ran along the pathway at the back of the house, glancing back in dread as she heard the kitchen door open and close. He was coming.

  He’s going to kill me.

  Total fear fogged her brain. She was about to die. Jody might have phoned for help. Or she might not. Who knew?

  Daisy ran over the lawn to the family chapel, thinking it would be unlocked. She turned the big circular handle, but it wouldn’t open. It was locked up tight and she could hear Leon’s footsteps getting closer and closer.

  She ran on, snatching up a three-foot stick from among the thick shrub on either side of the path. She reached the clearing in front of the bell tower and thought with sudden despair that that must be locked, too. She was on a curve in the path, and for a moment she couldn’t see Leon.

  She ran over and tried the handle. It turned, and the door swung inward with a groan like a coffin lid lifting after long dry years. There was no key. She pushed the door closed very gently, trying to be quiet. It was dark and damp in here. The scent of ancient mould and moss tickled her nose. Maybe he hadn’t seen her coming in. Maybe she’d got lucky. Maybe he’d pass on by.

  Daisy, paused, gasping for breath, and looked up at the rafters in the tower. The bell-pull hung there, still and silent; no one ever rang it now. She could see the massive circular bell with its clapper high above her head. To the side of where she stood, crumbling stone stairs wound up around the interior edge of the tall building. Glancing fearfully back at the door, she started up them. She had gone up thirty of the hundred steps when she heard the door creaking open.

  Oh Christ!

  He was here.

  110

  ‘Oh, Daisy!’ Leon called.

  She didn’t answer. Stepping as quietly as she could, she carried on upward.

  ‘I know you’re in here!’

  Daisy said nothing.

  ‘What’s the use of running? You’re only putting it off. Might as well get this over with.’

  Now she could hear him starting up the stairs behind her. Trembling, sweating, she walked on. Her grip on the stick was loosening. She wiped one damp palm on her dress and tightened her hold. Fuck it! Whatever he had in mind, she wasn’t going down without a fight. She had the twins. She had her family. This bastard had been responsible for her losing Rob. One way or another, he had to pay for that. She had to live long enough to do him some harm. She had to.

  ‘Daisy, Daisy . . .’ he was singing, like this was some cheerful little jaunt, like he wasn’t following her up the tower with every intention of killing her stone dead.

  Fuck you, Leon, she thought, but her brain was stalling. He was stronger than her, fitter, faster. When she reached the top, what then? She wasn’t familiar with the inside of the clock tower, it had been closed for years. One day, it was intended that restoration should take place. Some of the rafters were disintegrating. She didn’t know the details. All she knew was that it had been off-limits for as long as she could remember.

  Now, she was inside it. And climbing, climbing. Seventy, eighty, ninety steps. Ninety-five. One hundred.

  She was at the top of the stairs. She stepped off and onto a wood floor. She was in a room, at the centre of which hung the huge bronze bell. It was lighter up here, the air fresher. There were two windows, glassless, through which a howling breeze was coming, ruffling her hair, drying the nervous sweat on her brow. She walked toward one, hoping to see someone – anyone – outside down there, someone she could shout to for help.

  All she saw was greenery. The gardens. The landscaped lake. The mausoleum.

  She went to the other window and a fearsome fluttering erupted in her face. A manic draught and ferocious flapping made her close her eyes with a shriek and step back. A pigeon! The thing flew out of the window, even more startled by the unexpected encounter than she was. Then she felt the wood beneath her feet give and groan. Quickly, she stepped off it, gasping in shock. Christ! She looked down. The wooden planking was full of wormholes. She reached down a hand, touched it. It felt friable and light. Rotten.

  And now Leon was coming.

  ‘Oh, Daisy . . .’ he cooed, laughing at her, knowing he had the upper hand.

  Now she could see him, his blond head appearing as he slowly climbed the last of the stairs, as if he had all the time in the world. He was smiling. Daisy clasped the stick more firmly in her hand and prepared to fight for her life.

  111

  Daniel swung the car off the lane and into the driveway of Brayfield. They flashed past the gatehouse on the left and the car streaked up toward the house. He slammed on the brakes in front of the fountain of Neptune, right beside Daisy’s empty Mini. He and Fats got out at a run and tore up to the door. It was unlocked. They went in.

  ‘Daisy!’ shouted Daniel.

  Nothing.

  ‘Daisy! You here?’ he bellowed.

  Christ, what if they were too late . . .?

  ‘Who’s that?’ came a shaky female voice from somewhere over their heads.

  He looked up and saw Jody the nanny leaning over the banister on the landing. She looked pale, frightened.

  ‘Where’s Daisy? Is she all right?’ he called up while Fats went off along the hall, looking left and right, throwing open doors.

  ‘Daniel? She said there was some sort of crisis going on. She was with Leon. I called Ruby’s place to let Kit know.’

  ‘Where are they?’ he asked. Fats came back to the hall, shaking his head.

  ‘I heard them go down to the kitchens,’ said Jody. ‘I think they went out the back door from there. Daniel?’

  Jody looked down, her face taut with strain. ‘I think Daisy was running away from him. I think she was scared.’

  ‘You stay here,’ Daniel said to Fats. ‘Look after Jody and the twins.’

  Then he was gone at a flat run, heading for the green baize door that led down to the kitchens and from there to the back of the building.

  112

  As Leon came into view, Daisy ran forward and swung the stick as hard as she could. It struck his head with a fearful whack and Leon fell sideways, almost – but not quite, dammit – losing his footing. If he’d done that, he could have tumbled end over end right down to the bottom and broken his rotten neck, and she would have been glad.

  Leon fell against the side wall of the tower, bracing himself with his hands. As Daisy watched, blood started to seep out of a wound, colouring the blond hair with crimson. First it seeped, then it dripped. Good. She’d hurt him. His face was screwed up in pain.

  Daisy took another swipe at him, thinking of the twins, her babies, and that if she let him come up further she was never going to see them grow up. Worse still, their own lives would be in danger so long as this bastard was alive. She swung as hard and as fast as she could, her mind focused on stopping him at any cost.

  On the downswing, Leon caught the stick in one bloodied hand. His eyes turned on Daisy and she saw pure venom in them.

  ‘Fucking bitch,’ he spat out as blood leaked steadily from the gash on his head and dripped down over his face, turning it into a fright mask. He yanked the stick toward him, taking Daisy with it. She stumbled forward with a yell, falling to her knees, the skin scraping back from her palm as he pulled the stick from her grasp.

  He was c
oming further up the stairs and now he held the stick, not her.

  Oh Christ!

  Daisy lurched to her feet and then she heard it: Daniel’s voice, way below them, out in the grounds.

  ‘Daisy!’

  She ran to the far window, away from Leon.

  ‘Daniel!’ she screamed, looking out there, desperate to see him. She couldn’t. And he probably couldn’t see her, either. ‘I’m in the . . .’ she started, and then agony erupted in her arm as Leon swung the stick at her.

  She fell, unbalanced by the weight of the blow, her upper arm a sea of pain. Clutching at it, she rolled, narrowly missing another hefty whack with the thing, and kicked out, catching the side of Leon’s knee. He staggered, letting out a roar of rage, and fell on her, throwing the stick aside, clutching her throat in his hands.

  Daisy couldn’t breathe. He was choking her. His weight was crushing her. She felt consciousness flicker in and out as he increased the pressure. Above her he bled, red droplets falling onto her, his face twisted, bloodied, demented. She felt everything go hazy, and thought Oh God, the twins, he’ll kill them . . .

  She had to fight back, but she couldn’t.

  She was floating away, losing her grip on reality.

  It was all going, fading away into nothing.

  113

  Then suddenly her throat was free and Leon’s crushing weight was gone. Daisy looked up, gulping in great lungfuls of air, hardly able to believe that she was still alive, and saw Daniel lifting Leon up bodily, shoving his younger brother away from her.

  Now the two brothers were fighting, grappling with each other, landing punch after punch, the cut on Leon’s head staining their fists and clothes. Daisy crawled shakily to her feet and backed up, away from them. She leaned weakly against one of the windowsills, felt the stone crumbling under her fingers. Then she looked at the boards she had trodden on earlier. She wanted to call out a warning to Daniel, but she daren’t distract him.

  Don’t tread there, Daniel. Please don’t!

  Leon was heavier than her, but Daniel was heavier still. If he stepped where she had stepped, he’d go through. She knew he would. Leon punched Daniel hard and he fell back, so close to that weak mouldering patch of floorboards that she almost yelled out in terror.

  ‘You rotten little shit!’ Daniel shouted, clouting Leon right back. ‘Picking on women? That’s about your mark, isn’t it, you tosser.’

  Leon was actually grinning through his mask of blood. ‘Got the hots for her, aintcha?’ he taunted.

  Daniel hit him again. Leon went reeling back, then straightened, spitting out a tooth, and the grin dropped from his face. He waded back in, throwing vicious lefts and rights, forcing Daniel to retreat.

  Daniel was on that weak patch now.

  She could hear the floor creaking and groaning under Daniel’s weight.

  ‘Daniel, don’t!’ she shrieked, and caught his fist on the backward swing and with all her remaining strength pulled him back toward her, off that weakened section of board.

  Daniel staggered back, and Leon saw his chance. He leapt forward, thundered forward, toward his older brother, to finish the job.

  The wood didn’t groan this time; it splintered with an ear-splitting crack. Leon looked down in bewilderment. Then, just as he tried to move, to save himself, the floor opened up beneath him, shreds of rotted wood falling away, and he fell.

  114

  When Leon’s body hit the floor fifty feet below, there was only a dull, final thud. Up in the bell tower, Daniel and Daisy stood frozen, staring at each other. Then, slowly, Daniel leaned over and looked down through the gaping hole in the floorboards. Catching at his arm for support, Daisy looked too.

  Leon was stretched out on the slabs down below, spread-eagled like a starfish. A slowly expanding pool of blood was seeping out around his head, staining the stones dark red.

  Daisy drew back, thinking she was about to throw up. Her arm hurt. Her knees too. She was shivering with the aftermath of fear. She sat down gingerly beneath the window. Carefully stepping away from the hole in the rotted section of floor, Daniel slumped down beside her. He was breathing hard. They both sat there for long moments, exhausted, wrung out.

  ‘I thought you were dead,’ said Daniel finally, when he could speak.

  ‘He was going to kill me,’ Daisy managed to say. ‘He wanted this. Brayfield. Eunice told him that my father was his, too . . .’

  ‘I know. She told Ruby, and Ruby filled us in,’ said Daniel tiredly.

  He leaned his head back against the stones. His knuckles were red-raw from the fight, his suit spattered with blood. When he looked at Daisy his eyes were full of despair. ‘This is going to do Mum in,’ he said. ‘Leon was always her favourite. We all knew it.’

  ‘Maybe she actually loved my father. Maybe that’s why she thought Leon was so special.’

  ‘Who knows?’ said Daniel. ‘I only hope my dad was none the wiser.’

  Daisy turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Leon said he told Harry all about it, right before he died.’

  ‘Christ.’ Daniel put a battered hand to his eyes, his face contorted with pain.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Daisy.

  ‘It’s not your fault.’ He wiped angrily at his eyes, dropped his hands. ‘Thanks for telling me the truth.’

  Daniel clambered to his feet. He held out a hand and Daisy stood up, too.

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ he said, indicating with a nod of the head the hole through which his brother had quit this life. ‘And we’ve got to tidy the mess away down there. Listen, Daise – when we get down to the bottom, go straight over to the house and tell Fats to come here. And then stay there, upstairs with Jody and the kids. OK? Don’t come back out. I’ll tell you when it’s all clear.’ Daisy nodded. She knew how this must be hurting him. Leon was his brother.

  ‘Daniel,’ said Daisy.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, and leaned forward and brushed a kiss against his cheek.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, drawing back. Then he took her hand and carefully led the way back to the stairs, and down.

  115

  When Daisy, Daniel and Fats got back from Brayfield, Ruby fell on her daughter with a cry of relief.

  ‘I was so frightened when they said you were with Leon! Are you all right?’ Ruby crushed Daisy to her in a tight hug.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Daisy, but Ruby’s hug hurt her bruised, aching body and she had to suppress a flinch of pain. Her arm where Leon had struck her throbbed hotly; tomorrow it would be black with bruising, she knew it.

  Kit was looking thunderous. ‘Where is he?’ he asked Daniel, taking in his bloodstained knuckles and bruised face. ‘What the hell happened to you?’

  ‘We had a fight,’ said Daniel. He glanced at Fats. ‘Leon ran off after that. He knows the shit’s hit the fan, boss. He won’t come back.’

  Daisy looked at Daniel, the awful secret thrumming in the air between them. Daniel looked away.

  Leon’s dead.

  And Daniel killed him.

  ‘Things been OK here?’ asked Daisy, trying not to meet Daniel’s eyes, trying to act as if everything was normal when in fact she felt shaken to her core. But Daniel had told her before they left Brayfield, say nothing. Even Fats had been sworn to secrecy, and to her surprise he had agreed to that. She didn’t know what he and Daniel had done with Leon’s dead body. She didn’t even want to. It could just as easily have been her, or Daniel, laid out dead at the bottom of that tower. The very idea was enough to make her shiver.

  ‘Mum and me got hauled into the nick for questioning,’ said Kit.

  Daisy stared at him. ‘No,’ she said faintly. ‘Oh no.’

  But Kit was smiling. ‘Yes, Daise,’ he told her, amused as always by Daisy’s attitude. Kit and Ruby might be into all sorts, but Daisy? She never got involved in the business. ‘We were questioned about the warehouse robbery. And we know nothing about it, do w
e? So we were released without charge.’

  Kit was thinking that they’d got off lightly. Surprisingly so. Their insider, DS Harman, had conducted the interview with some green DC beside him. There had been no sign of DI Kane, and Kit wondered about that. Had Romilly put Harman in there deliberately? Maybe she knew about Harman being Kit’s man, and knew that because of that he’d pull his punches. In which case, Kit was being shielded. It was an interesting thought.

  ‘Leon’s up to his neck in all this,’ said Kit. ‘He’s in tight with Patrick Dowling. So I want him found. And so do Old Bill.’

  116

  Patrick Dowling was finally spilling the beans. Well, some. Not about the money. That had been divvied up, shared out, and he said he didn’t know where his partners in the warehouse crime had gone with it. Upcountry or abroad, most likely. He had devised the raid, hired a crew. Planted the seed of misdirected suspicion by having one of the gang name Thomas Knox during the raid. He could give more names, to lessen his own sentence, if they wanted him to. They did. He gave the names.

  ‘You had your nephew shoot Clive Lewis and Robert Hinton,’ said Romilly, as she sat in the interview room across the table from Patrick.

  Her shoulders ached with tension and she could feel the gnawing onset of another stress headache, but she was ignoring it, surging ahead because this had been her goal for weeks, and now she was nailing Patrick Dowling’s fat arse once and for all.

  ‘All right. I admit it. I wanted Hinton out of the way because he’d found out about the drugs operation. At the same time, Lewis was getting too chicken to go on with what he was doing, the situation was heating up, and me and Leon thought he might tell your lot. We were certain Rob Hinton was going to tell his boss Miller about it, so yes, I had my nephew do the job on both of them.’

  ‘Three shots fired,’ said DC Paddick, a gangly hawk-nosed young man, who was sitting in. ‘Who’d the shooter miss, Patrick?’