From his hiding place in the shadows of a tree, Oliver Winter had watched the prone figure scramble to her feet. He could tell from her hoarse cries that she was female, but it was only when she returned to her full height that he realized that it was Grace. She had impressed him during their conversation at the hospital – her intellect, her determination – and, besides, she was instantly recognizable from her biking leathers, even in the gloom of the forest.
Somehow she had tracked him. It seemed impossible, given that he’d had no idea himself that he would end up here, but she had managed it. Perhaps they had found the Defender and taken a flyer that he would head to the deepest point in the forest. If so, they had got lucky. They could have had no idea that this was where his beloved daughter had been attacked all those years ago.
Still she made no move to leave. In fact, she was now standing stock-still, straining to hear, hoping perhaps to pick up the sounds of her colleagues on the wind, giving her a direction to head in. And then he thought he heard them. A slow rumbling, like dozens of feet haring through the forest. But that was crazy, it sounded like a small army …
Now the sound became a little clearer and for the first time he realized it was coming from above the forest. It wasn’t a human noise at all, it was mechanical. He could make out the thrum, thrum of the rotary blades and now in the distance he glimpsed a thick beam of blinding white light.
This decided it for him. He could avoid a troupe of disoriented police officers, but there would be no hiding from a helicopter. Slowly, he reached down to his side and slid a bolt from his quiver. Silently, smoothly, he slid it into the flight groove, raising the bow until it was pointing directly at Grace.
She had concerned him when he first met her. He’d had no doubt then that she was a dangerous adversary and so it had proved. Whether through her own enterprises, or Alice’s intervention, she had worked out that he was responsible for the recent murders. Having done so, she had tracked him here, cornering him in this ancient forest, denying him the chance to say goodbye to Julia. His plan had always been to confirm to Julia that justice had been done, then dedicate himself solely to her care during her last few days. But Helen Grace was going to stand in his way, and so she would have to die, along with any of her colleagues who tried to intervene.
He stared down the shaft of the bolt. Helen Grace was directly in his sights, unaware of the danger she was in. He took his time, slowing his breathing, lowering the sight line slightly so that the barb would slam into her back. This would puncture her lungs, possibly her heart, and would propel her to the ground. Then it would be a simple matter of finishing her off, before turning his attention to the other aggressors.
Grace moved slightly now, taking a step left, and briefly his sight line was blocked. For a moment, he felt a shiver of panic pulse through him, but then she took half a step back in the other direction, craning up to look at the sky. And now he didn’t hesitate.
Taking a small step forward, he checked his aim once more and pulled the trigger.
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Acting on instinct, Helen threw herself to the left. As she did so, something shot past her, landing with a heavy thud in a nearby tree. Hitting the ground, Helen rolled sideways, springing up on to her feet. Her first instinct was to see what had clipped her – angling a look behind her, she caught sight of the barb sticking out of a tree trunk – then she turned her attention to her aggressor. But he was nowhere to be seen.
Dashing behind a nearby tree, Helen flattened herself against the trunk. Without knowing it, she had been seconds from death, distracted by the bright lights in the sky. It was only the tiny, faint crack of a twig snapping, presumably as Winter steadied himself to shoot, that had warned her of the imminent peril she was in. She had no way of knowing for sure it was Winter, but her senses were heightened tonight, her body tensed for danger, and without thinking she had taken evasive action. She gave thanks that her reactions were as sharp as ever – had she been a second slower she might be lying face down on the forest floor right now.
How had Winter found her? They were some way from Cooper’s Lake. Had he chanced upon her? Seen her fall? Or had he stalked her to this point? Whatever, the fact remained that he now had her pinned down. The barb had penetrated deep into the trunk, suggesting he had shot from close range. There had been a forbidding bank of foliage, and a couple of yew trees, behind her. This placed Winter approximately thirty feet away – not good odds for her, given that she was unarmed and had little cover.
Inching around the tree trunk, she strained to hear. But the forest seemed to be alive, groaning, whistling, laughing even. Furthermore, the sound of the helicopter was getting ever louder, making it virtually impossible to hear the rustling of foliage, a killer’s measured creep. Taking a chance, she inched round still further, darting a look towards Winter’s last position.
A loud gasp nearby. Helen yanked her head back sharply, the speeding bolt flicking her hair as it sped past and away into the darkness. Her heart pounding, Helen leaned back against the tree, clinging to its security. There was no doubt he had her totally pinned down. All she could do was wait and hope that the helicopter would scare him off, before he had a chance to loose off the fatal shot. But even as Helen darted a look skywards, she saw the helicopter moving away from her.
‘No, no, no …’
It made perfect sense, of course. The helicopter would be heading for Cooper’s Lake, searching for Winter. But this was no help to Helen in her desperate plight. She looked on, as her last hope of salvation turned away, a feeling of fear stealing over her. What chance did she have now against a remorseless killer?
One thing was certain – there was no point sitting here waiting for death to come to her. If she was going to perish in this lonely stretch of forest, she would do it on her terms. A small, fallen branch was at her feet and she picked it up carefully now. Then, taking in a huge gulp of oxygen, she hurled the stick to her right, before darting off in the opposite direction.
She broke cover, sprinting for her life. For a second or two, all was quiet. Then she heard a rush of air. Another bolt shot past her, crashing into the undergrowth beyond. This miss emboldened Helen and she sprinted on, ducking low to take cover behind a hedge, before hurtling on once more. Ahead she could see a faint path, curving around out of sight behind a line of bushes. If she could get there, she would be out of Winter’s sights and then –
The impact knocked her clean off her feet. Having been charging directly forward, she now found herself flying sideways, crashing in a heap on the forest floor. For a moment, she was breathless, seeing stars, then suddenly the pain consumed her. Craning around, she saw it – a savage, bloody wound in her shoulder, from which the shaft of the bolt protruded.
Behind her, she could hear skittering footsteps, so Helen struggled to her feet. She had to get away. She could still run and if she could make it to cover …
Her right leg gave out beneath her, a second bolt slamming into her thigh. This time she lost her balance, pitching over and landing face first in the dirt. Spluttering, gasping, Helen tried to haul herself up, but a sharp boot connected with the side of her face and she pitched onto her back.
And even as she lay there, helpless and bleeding, her attacker loomed above her. Oliver Winter was dressed in leather body armour, a hood concealing a dull metal mask with two huge, sinister eyeholes. He didn’t speak, simply loading his final bolt, before aiming the bow at her throat.
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He tore along the path, his torch beam strobing the darkness. He saw shapes, branches, even the occasional pair of blinking, yellow eyes deep in the undergrowth, but there was no sign of Helen or Winter.
‘Helen?’
Hudson skidded to a halt, calling her name.
‘Helen, can you hear me?’
But there was no response, save for the roar of the wind. The weather was worsening, becoming wild and desperate – a fitting match for his mood. He and McAndrew had paired off, sending Osbour
ne and Edwards in one direction, Bentham and Lucas in yet another. Prompted by Charlie, they had descended on Cooper’s Lake from different angles, expecting to find Helen and her team there, possibly with Winter already in custody. But when the disoriented armed officers had eventually arrived, there was no sign of their leader. They had lost Helen.
Hudson hadn’t hesitated, tearing off in the direction they had come from, McAndrew labouring to keep up. Hudson hadn’t spared her, keeping up a relentless pace, searching desperately for any sign of their missing colleague. Helen was alone in the forest now, with a brutal killer in close proximity, and Hudson was determined to find her. She had saved his life and he was determined to repay the favour.
‘Helen? Helen, can you hear me?’
He was careless of the volume now. If he found Helen, great. If he scared Winter off, so much the better. The only thing he had no care for now was his own safety. While Helen was in peril, everything else was immaterial.
Yet still she didn’t answer. Slowing, Hudson shot an anguished look at McAndrew, but she just shook her head, clearly as desperate as him.
‘Helen? Please, if you’re close by …’
He petered out, suddenly feeling utterly deflated. He had no idea which direction to go in, nor what might be happening to her. Was it possible that they might not find her in time? That she would become Winter’s next victim?
It was too awful a thought to contemplate, so, signalling to McAndrew, Hudson resumed the hunt, plunging into the darkness once more.
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‘Please, Oliver, you don’t need to do this.’
But the mask stared back at her, silent and expressionless.
‘I’m not the enemy here …’
Winter lowered his face to the bow, staring directly down the sight line towards her.
‘I know you’ve suffered, I know Julia’s suffered. But it’s over now. The people that ruined her life are gone. There’s no need for further bloodshed.’
His finger squeezed the trigger.
‘Please, Oliver. Just take off your mask, so we can talk …’
Now Helen heard a soft chuckle from behind the blank mask.
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes, yes, I would.’
‘Buy yourself a little time. But it won’t make any difference. Either I finish you off or you bleed out on the floor.’
Helen stared at him, trying to control her anguish. She knew she was bleeding heavily from both wounds – she could feel blood seeping through her saturated leathers – and she felt dizzy from the pain.
‘I just want to talk, that’s all,’ she replied breathily. ‘I understand why you felt you had to do this, why Morgan and the others needed to be punished –’
‘Do you?’ Winter shot back witheringly. ‘And how do you know that?’
‘Because I know what happened to Julia. I spoke to her today.’
Now Winter seemed to hesitate.
‘What do you mean, you spoke to her? The hospital won’t allow …’
‘I forced their hand.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘Dr Ellis helped me. I asked Julia about you, about the murders. She never wanted any of this, she wants it to stop.’
Winter said nothing, shaking his head violently.
‘And I know for a fact that she wouldn’t want any more blood spilt. And surely she is the most important person in all this?’
‘Of course she is. And do you know why?’
Helen looked up at her aggressor, who now leaned in towards her.
‘Because she was the one that suffered. Do you know what it’s like to suffer?’
As he spoke, he placed the toe of his boot on the bolt in Helen’s leg, pressing down hard. Helen gasped, agony ripping through her, even as vomit rose in her throat. The pain was excruciating and her hand grasped his foot, attempting to wrench it off. But still he pressed, harder and harder … before suddenly relenting. Helen gasped in relief, clamping her hand to the gaping wound. But Winter wasn’t finished yet.
‘You have no idea what she went through. What that animal did to her.’
‘I know that he raped her. That he –’
‘He destroyed her.’
The bitterness, the bile, was pouring from him now.
‘She left her diary, did you know that?’
Helen tried to answer, but the pain in her leg robbed her of breath.
‘When she wrote me her farewell note, she left her diary. I’ve carried it next to my heart ever since …’
To Helen’s surprise, Winter now raised his bow, reaching inside his jacket to remove a small diary from the breast pocket.
‘Read it.’
He tossed it at her. She caught it with her left hand, looking up at Winter to see if he really meant it. He responded by raising his bow. Balancing the book on her stomach, Helen flicked through the early pages, straining to read in the moonlight. They were from October, November, December 2008 and were scattered with brief entries, recording Julia’s excitement and anxiety at starting university.
‘You know which date to go to,’ he said quietly.
Even as he spoke, he cast around them, searching for signs of the helicopter, of potential rescuers, but there was nobody. They were quite alone. Flicking to April 30th, Helen started to read. Her vision was starting to swim, but she focused hard on the dancing words, trying to take in their meaning.
‘Went to the woods. Full Moon party.’
Unlike her earlier entries, which had been verbose and gushing, this entry was terse and cold. Helen could well imagine why, the young woman presumably still in shock after her horrific ordeal. She flicked forward.
‘Caleb had been attentive all night. Just after midnight, he suggested a game of hide and seek, just me and him. I agreed. I said “chase me” and ran off into the woods …’
Helen jumped a few more lines. She was feeling dizzy and had no desire to dwell on the details.
‘I told him I wasn’t interested. I pushed him away. But he hit me in the stomach. Next thing I remember I’m on the ground. My face is pushed into the floor, I have dirt in my mouth, I can taste the rotting leaves …’
Helen dropped the book to the floor, unwilling to read any more.
‘Read it!’ Winter roared.
‘I don’t need to read it. I’m sure Morgan denied it ever happened. That the others covered for him –’
‘She told her friend …’
He said the word with such anger that Helen flinched.
‘Told Lauren what had happened. And guess what? She told her boyfriend.’
‘Who’d provided the drugs for the full-moon party …’
‘Who’d provided the drugs for the party,’ Winter confirmed bitterly.
It was just a guess on Helen’s part, but it suddenly seemed to make sense. Campbell would have been worried about what might come out during a rape case, as no doubt was Scott, who’d sworn to her controlling parents that she was no longer taking drugs.
‘Next day, Lauren told Julia that she didn’t believe it had happened. That if she went to court they would say she wanted it, that it was consensual, that she had been all over him.’
Winter was virtually shouting now. To Helen’s surprise, he suddenly reached up, ripping off his mask and tossing it into the undergrowth. She was alarmed by what was revealed – Winter’s face was contorted with rage, years of pent-up fury bursting forth.
‘They betrayed her …’ he breathed fiercely.
It was true, they had. But it had come at a cost – Helen was now convinced that Lauren’s self-hatred, her descent into hard-drug addiction, had been prompted by guilt over her treatment of Julia. Not that Winter wanted to hear that now.
‘They betrayed her in the worst way possible,’ he continued.
‘Yes, they did.’
‘Just like you have.’
‘That’s not true, Oliver.’
‘How am I going to say goodbye to her now? How am I going t
o tell her I love her?’
His face was still set in anger, but sadness was also punching through now. He looked bereft, even hollow.
‘Look, Oliver, if you co-operate I’m sure we can arrange –’
‘Bullshit. This is the end of the line.’
It certainly felt like it. Helen’s vision was swimming worse than ever, darkness creeping in from the edges. She felt the strength flowing from her, as if she might pass out at any time. But Winter showed no mercy, gripping the trigger once more.
‘Time’s up. For both of us.’
He lowered his eye to the sight line. Helen tried to keep her eyes open, tried to focus, casting around for any means of deliverance. And now she saw that her right hand still rested on her thigh, wrapped round the offending bolt. Instinctively, her grip tightened further.
‘Goodbye, Helen. See you in the next world,’ Winter concluded, taking a step forward.
Pain had always been Helen’s friend, something she could channel. So, gritting her teeth, she ripped the bolt from her leg. Immediately, a huge plume of blood spurted up into the air, spraying them both. For a moment, Winter froze, but Helen didn’t, lurching forward and slamming it into his thigh.
Winter roared – a sustained, bloodcurdling roar. He stumbled slightly, staring at the offending bolt, then, enraged, raised his bow once more. But Helen was quicker, wrenching the bolt from her shoulder. As more blood splattered her assailant, she plunged the bolt into his knee.
This time his agonized scream virtually deafened her. Winter fell backwards, dropping his bow, as his hands went to his knee. Now Helen scrambled to her feet, staggering drunkenly towards her foe. Alarmed by her approach, Winter tried to right himself, but Helen snatched up the discarded bow, bringing the butt crashing down on to his chin. There was a horrible click, as his jaw broke cleanly, then Winter hit the turf and lay motionless.
Down to the Woods: DI Helen Grace 8 (Detective Inspector Helen Grace) Page 35
