by Tom Bale
She worked intently. The pain and fear receded. She threw all her attention on the task in front of her, oblivious to concepts like survival and freedom and escape. Forgot about passing time. The only thing that mattered was now.
It wasn't the police.
While George went to the door, Craig stretched his leg out straight and examined the wound. The cut was about three inches long, but not too deep. He ripped his jeans open further and pressed down on the cut to stem the bleeding. Vanessa's malevolent gaze prickled the hairs on his neck.
'Why did you help him?' Craig asked her.
'Fuck off,' she snarled.
George came back in, pressed between two huge men in dark coats. Other men followed, filling the room with menace and testosterone. There were six of them in all, their leader distinguished not so much by his mixed-race complexion and slimmer frame, but by his unmistakable aura of power. Even Vanessa seemed to baulk at the sight of him.
'What's been happening here?' he said, to no one in particular.
George babbled something about needing to treat the wound, but as he moved towards Craig strong hands pulled him back.
'Sit down, George,' the man said. He peered at Craig's leg. 'It's not serious.'
'You're Kendrick?' Craig said, with a lot more assurance than he felt.
'Well done.' He turned to Vanessa, noted the knife in her hand, and tutted. 'You'd like to explain?'
She ignored the question. Kendrick took a step towards her and she spat at him. Nothing came out except air, but it made him recoil, and Craig sensed a fearsome rage, barely held in check.
George intervened. 'Toby was here,' he said quickly.
Kendrick spun to face him. 'I thought so. Where's he hiding out?'
George considered for a moment. 'I don't know. The farmhouse, possibly. It's only a couple of hundred yards from here.'
'I know where it is,' Kendrick said.
He directed a sharp look at Craig, who'd been about to mention Julia. Then he thought of Abby Clark's fate and clamped his mouth shut.
Kendrick addressed a thin, weasly-looking man who had stepped into view from behind a couple of the heavies.
'Jacques, go and check it out. Take Barrett. Let me know when you find him.'
The weasel disappeared, accompanied by one of the men. Four left, including Kendrick, who settled in the chair Craig had recently vacated and beckoned for George to sit also. Craig remained on the floor, holding his leg. He could feel the blood congealing, sticking to his hand.
Kendrick acted as if there was no hurry. He plucked at his trousers, wriggled himself comfortable. He was wearing a heavy overcoat and calfskin gloves. He pressed his hands together and rested them against his mouth like a child saying his bedtime prayers. Only then did his gaze settle on Vanessa.
'It's time you explained yourself, woman.'
She met his eye with a cool contempt. She looked relaxed, at ease with herself. There was a palpable sense of pleasure that, despite such powerful company, she was once more the centre of attention.
In contrast, George was vibrating with tension. 'Tell me you didn't have anything to do with it,' he pleaded.
'She was going to take my place,' she said. 'Her and her little brat.'
'Megan,' said George, sounding broken-hearted.
'Toby's not up to much. But he's family.' Vanessa's dark eyes glittered with malice. Her voice scratched like dry straw dragged through a pipe. 'He's my family. And you were going to pass over him in favour of that bitch. It was my duty to warn him. I had every right, given how you treated me. I told him to find a way to stop it.'
She said something else, but no one heard her because of the noise George made as he fainted and slipped from his chair.
In the end she pushed so hard, the belt burst through the tape and jabbed her wrist. Blood sprang from the wound, but Julia hardly noticed it. She tore the tape apart and stood up, rubbing life back into her arms. Then she buttoned her shirt, repulsed by the memory of his touch, but relieved that he'd gone no further.
She tested the door, indulging a faint hope that it had somehow failed to lock properly, but it was secure. She rattled the handle a couple of times, then examined the room for something to use as a ram. The only contender was the bedside table.
The door was composed of a solid frame with six rectangular panels. The panels felt relatively flimsy to the touch, and so it proved. Gripping a leg of the table in both hands, she swung it like a baseball bat at the middle section. Shards of wood flew from the panels, and a dent appeared in the central strut. Another four blows and there was a hole big enough to climb through.
She hurried downstairs on legs wobbling from the adrenalin rush. Outside the storm was howling. It took a few seconds to summon the courage to enter the living room, where she snatched up her coat without looking too closely at Vilner's mutilated corpse.
Back in the hall she noticed there was a phone on a shelf by the door. She picked it up but it was dead. Probably disconnected after the massacre.
Her next unwelcome discovery was that the front door wouldn't open. Toby must have used the deadlock, which meant it couldn't be opened without a key.
She didn't know it at the time, but it saved her life. The door rattled and shook, and she realised it wasn't from the wind. For a moment she stood transfixed, unable to comprehend that she had failed. She'd thrown away her best hope of survival.
The door shuddered under a massive impact, and only then did Julia come to her senses. She turned and dashed into the kitchen as a second blow reverberated through the house and the door burst open.
No one else went to George's aid, so Craig did it, dragging his leg across the carpet. George was already coming round, his eyes flickering like a dying bulb. Craig helped him sit up, feeling almost as stupefied as the older man.
If Vanessa was in any way disturbed by her husband's reaction, she gave no sign of it. Instead there was a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.
'You planned the massacre?' he asked her.
'No. I sent Toby an anonymous message, suggesting he do something about the Caplans, to preserve his inheritance. It was his decision to use Carl.'
'You didn't help organise it?'
'No.' She snorted with disdain. 'I rather wish I had.'
Craig shook his head, still unable to believe that this . . . this shadow of a woman had presided over the murders.
'Bit of a shock, isn't it?' Kendrick's tone was one of mock gravity. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the revelations.
'What about the gun?' George asked Vanessa. 'The Walther with the silencer?'
Vanessa shook her head. 'No idea. Ask Toby.'
'We will,' said Craig.
'Or ask him,' Vanessa said. 'The half-caste.'
Kendrick chuckled. 'Quite a mouth you have,' he said. 'I don't know how you stayed married to her all this time, George. Not when you had young Laura Caplan waiting in the wings.'
George refused to acknowledge Kendrick. 'We never set out to deceive you,' he told his wife. 'Please believe that.'
'Be quiet, George,' Vanessa said. 'It's far too late.' Imperious as ever, she grasped her walking stick and tried to stand up. 'I'd like you all to go now,' she declared. 'It's my desire to die in peace.'
Kendrick rose and gave a little bow. 'Let me help you.'
'No,' said Vanessa, but Kendrick ignored her. He blocked her path and grabbed the hand that held the knife, crushing her wrist until she released it. That was when Craig understood why Kendrick hadn't removed his gloves.
With his other hand, Kendrick clasped Vanessa's throat. It was so swift, so effective, no one had a chance of saving her. Craig started to move but felt a gun at his neck, one of the heavies standing over him. George could do nothing but stare, a wild, almost delirious look on his face, as though his hold on reality had already broken.
Vanessa can't have weighed much more than sixty pounds. Kendrick lifted her, squeezing harder all the time, until she was fully upright. Then he li
fted her higher. Her feet came off the floor. Her eyes bulged. She let out a low gurgling moan, swatting her arms, kicking her legs uselessly in mid-air, writhing and fighting like a mangy street cat until the moment when the light vanished from her eyes and she wilted, dangling from his grasp like a rag doll, broken and loved by no one.
Kendrick went on holding her for a few more seconds, as if he had something to prove, then he opened his hand and let her lifeless body drop to the floor in a messy heap of skin and bones.
Seventy-Four
Toby had driven to the house, but the arrival of the man he assumed was Kendrick meant he couldn't get back to his car. Instead he had to detour through the manor grounds and run back to the farm. Beyond the imperative to survive, there was only one thing on his mind. Vanessa had helped him escape by attacking Craig. Despite all their differences over the years, she had sacrificed herself in order to save him.
Vanessa was Decipio.
It was obvious, now he thought about it. Even the contemptuous tone of her emails was entirely in character, and yet he'd never once suspected her. Neither had George, judging by his reaction.
Toby couldn't help marvelling at how expertly he'd been played. Vilner had gone to his death protesting he knew nothing about the massacre, and it turned out he'd probably been telling the truth.
Vanessa had her own selfish reasons for wanting the Caplans destroyed, but she'd skilfully convinced Toby he was doing it for his own benefit. And thanks to George, in the weeks since the massacre she'd had an unwitting source of information. That was how Decipio had known what Craig and Julia were up to.
If only she'd revealed her identity, he thought. They might have made a far more effective team that way.
And how ironic she had saved him, considering that tonight he had intended to kill her, before forcing George to write a suicide note confessing to his part in the massacre. Except Craig fucking Walker had been there, and then Kendrick and his thugs had turned up. He shouldn't have answered Vilner's phone earlier, he told himself. Goading Kendrick had been a serious error.
He reached the house and was about to go inside when his panic abruptly vanished. His tactical brain regained control, a small voice urging him to wait a second. Urging him to think.
Kendrick's men would come after him. The farmhouse was the obvious hiding place. Glaringly obvious.
He made a detour and found shelter in one of the outbuildings with only seconds to spare. Light washed over the yard as a big Jeep Cherokee pulled up and two men got out. Both were carrying guns.
Toby watched, delighted that a combination of foresight and good luck had once again delivered him from peril. If he had a regret, it was that he would be denied the pleasure of taking Julia's life.
On the other hand, at least it would save him a job.
Julia hid behind the kitchen door and frantically looked round for a weapon. At the back of her mind a question surfaced: why had Toby broken the door down?
Then she heard voices in the hall. Two men. For a single glorious moment she imagined they were here to rescue her, but an instinct for self-preservation stopped her from calling out. Instead she kept quiet, and listened.
When they found Vilner, a man with a strong Essex accent exclaimed, 'Look at the fucking state of him. Kendrick's gonna do his nut.'
The other man spoke with a Caribbean lilt. He sounded remarkably sanguine about the discovery. 'I don't think he'll be shedding many tears over Vilner.'
'So where the fuck is Toby?'
'I don't know. Check the house.'
Julia froze. The back door was fifteen feet away, bolted at the top and bottom. She'd never unlock it in time. Instead she shrank back against the wall as heavy footsteps approached. A muscular form leaned into the room, scanned it and retreated. She heard the creak of the stairs, and the squawk of a two-way radio.
'It's Jacques,' said the Caribbean voice. 'We're at the farmhouse. Vilner's dead. No sign of Toby yet.'
A shout from upstairs interrupted him. Conscious that she wouldn't get a better opportunity, Julia crept forward and waited for the second man to climb the stairs. She peered into the hall and saw the front door hanging drunkenly on a single hinge. That had to be the better option, she decided. But she would have to move fast: something she wasn't supposed to do, or worse still, might not be capable of doing.
There was no choice. She took a deep breath and ran.
Kendrick stood at the window, staring into the night. The wind was raging harder than ever, and with each gust the lights flickered. Craig eyed the door, trying to assess the likelihood of escape should they be plunged into darkness.
No one restrained him when he eased himself up and sat on a chair. His leg had stopped bleeding but was starting to throb. He tried to help George, but the older man shrugged him off, remaining slumped on the floor. His dull, uncomprehending gaze wouldn't be diverted from his wife's body.
'She helped him,' he said. 'She helped him kill Laura.'
Craig nodded grimly. Remembering what Vanessa had said, his mouth went dry at the thought of the question he had to ask Kendrick.
'You knew what they were doing, didn't you?'
Kendrick turned, studying him as one might study an exotic animal, slightly unsure of its ability to bite or sting.
'I knew about Toby,' he said. 'Vanessa's involvement was a surprise.'
'When did you find out?'
'Right at the start. We quickly identified Toby as a potential weakness, someone we could exploit. As standard practice, we searched his apartment and put a keylogger program in his computer. Vanessa contacted him using an anonymous email account, warning him of the threat to his inheritance.' There was some grudging admiration in his voice. 'We monitored their communications and learned that he planned to use Carl Forester.'
'And you did nothing to stop him?' Even as he spoke, Craig cursed the naivety of his question. 'Of course you didn't. You went one step further. You recruited Carl yourself.'
Kendrick's smile acknowledged the truth. There was an electronic bleep from within his coat. Turning back to the window, he produced a heavy-duty walkie-talkie and said, 'Kendrick.'
Urgent chatter down the line, but the only words Craig heard clearly were: 'Vilner's dead'. He didn't know whether to feel shocked or relieved. Was Julia there as well? Was she safe?
Kendrick said, 'Keep looking,' and listened again. There was an exclamation, clear enough for Craig to recognise Jacques's voice.
'Someone here,' he shouted. 'A woman.'
Then all they heard was the blast of a gun.
Toby, crouching by the Jeep, was astonished to see Julia run from the house. Somehow she had freed herself and got away from them. Didn't she ever give up?
A moment later there were angry shouts, followed by the flash and boom of gunfire. The front door splintered, and grit and stones flew up from the yard. Wild shots, fired as one of the men ran downstairs, judging by the trajectory.
He watched Julia pass, her face creased with pain. There was an uneven rhythm to her movement that suggested she wouldn't get far. Catching her would be easy, he decided. If nothing else, she could be useful as a bargaining chip. An insurance policy.
His plans might be in tatters, but it didn't mean he was out of the game. This was the time to show his real ability. Time to improvise.
* * *
'Who is it?' Kendrick demanded. When an answer wasn't forthcoming, the man closest to Craig raised his gun and took the safety off.
'Who?' Kendrick said again.
Craig glanced at George, whose eyes were a silent plea: Tell him.
'Julia Trent.'
Understanding dawned on Kendrick's face. 'Toby kidnapped her, along with Vilner?'
'I think so.' Craig couldn't resist a smile. 'Does that mean she's escaped?'
Kendrick turned away, ignoring Craig, and barked orders at his men. 'Moss, stay here. You two, go and help Jacques with the search. Find them both and bring them back here. If anyone gets in the way,
kill them.'
The two men trooped out, leaving just the one nearest Craig. He was about forty, well over six feet tall, a vast slab of muscle and quite obviously no stranger to violence. Craig knew these were almost certainly the men who had followed and photographed his children, the men who had killed Abby and thrown her body in the Thames. If he was going to take them on, he would have to choose his moment carefully.
He thought about Julia. She was still alive. Still fighting. No matter what happened here, he would take comfort from that.
'Come on,' said Jacques. He was first to the Jeep, and climbed into the passenger seat. Barrett made to follow, but hesitated as he opened the door.
'Shouldn't we go after her on foot?'
'No. This is quicker.'
Barrett nodded. He knew better than to question Jacques twice. He put his gun away and got in, the vehicle rocking as his bulk tipped it to one side.
'Who the fuck is she?' he said.
'Don't know. But she's a witness. We have to stop her reaching the village.'
Barrett turned the ignition and the engine fired up with a much rougher noise than usual. Before he could comment on it, he was aware of Jacques flinging himself against the dashboard in a spray of blood and gore. A dark figure rose in the rear footwell, no more than a shadow falling across his face before he heard but barely felt the first of the two shots that killed him.
Seventy-Five
Julia was halfway along the lane before reluctantly she dropped her pace. She could ignore the twinges in her ankles and legs, but not the tearing pain in her abdomen. It was similar to a stitch, but far more intense. She thought of the doctor's instructions on Wednesday night. Walk slowly. Don't run. She almost laughed.
Don't get kidnapped. Don't end up fleeing for your life.
The village first appeared as a distant scattering of lights, warm and welcoming. A lull in the wind nearly pulled her off balance, and in the sudden eerie silence she heard the vibration of a heavy vehicle, moving fast over rough ground. She turned, saw the flash of headlights and threw herself towards the verge.