29 Seconds

by TM Logan

  ‘I don’t want to dam—’

  ‘Take it off!’ he shouted.

  She began fumbling with the brooch, trying to unclasp it with shaking fingers, knowing that she couldn’t, that it would be the final confirmation of her motive in coming here tonight.

  ‘It’s stuck, I can’t get it off.’ Her voice was cracking. ‘I’ll damage the jacket. Please, Alan.’

  He stepped up to her and grabbed the little silver brooch, ripping it from her lapel, tearing a hole in the fabric. Held it in his hand for a moment, studying it close up. A tiny black wire trailed from the brooch, back into her jacket. He tugged on it, pulling her towards him.

  ‘Just as I thought: another bloody camera.’ He produced the flick knife from his pocket, snapping out the blade. Four inches of wickedly sharp steel tapered to a needle point. ‘Enough of this nonsense.’

  Sarah’s mind scrambled for options, all the while trying to fight the ball of fear at the base of her throat. She shot a glance at the clock on the wall: 7.56.

  But that’s no help: you can’t receive Laura’s call anymore.

  ‘Alan, please.’

  He ignored her, using the flick knife to cut through the wire attached to the brooch. He tossed the hidden camera into the fire, where it was instantly lost among the flames.

  He pointed the knife at her, firelight glinting off the polished steel blade.

  ‘Now then. What other concealed devices am I going to find, you devious little bitch?’

  ‘Nothing, Alan. I swear!’

  ‘Hmm. Unfortunately, there has been rather a breakdown of trust, hasn’t there? So you leave me no choice.’ He took a step towards her, towering over her as he hooked a finger into the new hole in her jacket. ‘You’re going to have to take it all off. Everything.’

  81

  She put her arms across her chest and took a step back.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know very well what I mean. Strip, right now.’

  ‘No,’ Sarah said.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said no. I won’t do it.’

  ‘You’ve misunderstood, my dear. It wasn’t a request: it was an instruction.’ He took his mobile out of his pocket. ‘If you’re unable to comply I will simply have to call my friend Detective Inspector Rayner and tell her what I just remembered about our Russian friend. I’ve got all her numbers stored.’

  Sarah felt a wave of cold panic washing through her.

  Lovelock gestured towards her with the knife.

  ‘I won’t ask you again.’

  She stared at him a moment longer, letting the anger build, then kicked off her shoes. Eased her jacket off her shoulders. Pulled her blouse over her head and then reached down and unzipped the back of her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. She stood in front of him, cheeks burning, in nothing but her bra, pants and tights.

  She felt more vulnerable and alone than she had ever done in her life.

  Lovelock regarded her with hungry eyes, a flush of blood reddening the skin of his neck and face.

  ‘Turn around again.’

  A slim wireless transmitter and power pack was clipped to the back of her bra, secured in place with a length of thin black duct tape wound around her abdomen. He unclipped the tiny electronic devices and threw them, too, into the fire. Finally satisfied that he was no longer being recorded, he picked up the black remote control and killed the jazz music.

  The silence was suddenly all around them.

  She backed away from him, around the side of the sofa. He followed her. She took another step back, moving so that he was no longer between her and the door out into the hall.

  ‘And the rest,’ he said, his voice thick now. ‘The rest of your clothes.’

  ‘No. That’s all there was. There’s nothing else to find.’

  ‘DO AS YOU’RE DAMN WELL TOLD!’ he roared.

  She flinched backwards and took off her tights, moving another half-step away from him as she rolled them down to her ankles and stepped out of them.

  He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw.

  ‘And the rest,’ he said again. His voice was breathy and hoarse now, a bead of sweat running down his cheek.

  She unclipped her bra and let it fall to the floor, then her pants, using her arms to cover her nakedness.

  This is it. This is what Laura warned you about.

  Blushing so deep she could feel her face burning, there was one overriding thought pushing all the shame and fury and hatred aside – one animal instinct ringing in her head. Get out of this room and find a door you can lock behind you. Put a barrier between him and you. Then you can worry about the next thing, and the one after that.

  Because this is how it ends.

  He took a slow step towards her, his right hand reaching for her breasts.

  She dodged away from his grasp, and ran.

  82

  The air of the hallway was cold against her naked skin. She instinctively turned to the right, running for the stairs and hitting a set of light switches on the way, bathing the wide staircase in light.

  Find a door you can lock.

  She took the stairs two at a time, fear forcing her on as she heard his heavy tread behind her. At the top was a large landing with five doors and corridors left and right. Directly across the landing was an open door, a tiled floor and the side of a bath just visible. She bolted for it, praying that there would be a lock.

  She threw herself into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. To her huge relief she saw a silver lock beneath the handle, and turned it to slot the lock home. Standing, panting, with both palms against the door as if she could hold it there through her strength alone.

  Safe. For now.

  The only thing she was still wearing was her watch. It was 7.59. She did a quick calculation in her head, wondering whether this door and its lock would be able to withstand him.

  Heavy footsteps reached the door and the handle turned as Lovelock tried it from the other side. The door stayed shut. Sarah held her breath, expecting him to start hammering on it, but instead his footsteps retreated away across the landing. Her eyes scanned the bathroom wildly, looking for something with which she could cover up. There was a pile of large white bath towels on a wooden chest in the corner, and she grabbed one, wrapping it around herself.

  What else? Escape route? The row of small windows were locked shut, the key nowhere in sight. Too small to fit through, anyway.

  Weapon? She pulled open the bathroom cabinet, praying that there might be razor blades inside, or scissors, or something. No such luck. Instead she snatched up one of the electric toothbrushes and pulled off the brush head, leaving only an inch-long spine of steel. It would penetrate flesh if wielded with enough force.

  The heavy footsteps returned, stopping on the other side of the bathroom door. She turned to face it, quickly checking her watch again. One minute past eight o’clock, just over thirty minutes since she had sat down in his lounge. She felt as if she had aged ten years.

  There was nothing but silence from the other side of the door. Silence throughout the house.

  She backed into the corner of the bathroom, holding her makeshift weapon down by her side. Fighting back the undercurrent of panic that was creeping back in to replace the little beat of reassurance when she had turned the door lock. Only a small spine of metal, but it was all that stood between her and him.

  As she stared at it, the door lock began to turn.

  Before she could react, before she could even move, the lock clicked and the door swung open.

  Lovelock filled the doorway, a long screwdriver in one hand, whisky glass in the other. He leaned against the frame and gestured at her with the screwdriver. It was almost a foot long and tapered to a shiny blade.

  ‘Easy enough to open up what is locked,’ he said, ‘if you have the right tools.’

  ‘Don’t come any closer,’ she said, trying to keep her voice level.

  ‘So, you cam
e to my house, tried to trick me, tried to entrap me with a recording. It was an interesting idea, a valiant effort. Clearly, I underestimated you, my dear.’

  ‘I think you’ve been underestimating women all your life.’

  His face turned hard.

  ‘But you failed. And now it’s time for you to start making amends. What’s it going to be? Are you going to play the game like a big girl?’

  She clutched the towel more tightly around her.

  ‘Just let me leave. I promise I won’t tell anyone what’s happened tonight.’

  He tutted and shook his head.

  ‘No. I don’t think so. I think we’re a bit past shaking hands and calling it quits, my dear. A long way past. Time to prove whether you’re more than just the little housewife playing at academia.’

  ‘Please, Alan.’ She hated hearing the pleading tone in her voice. ‘Don’t do this.’

  ‘I like to hear you beg,’ he said, his eyes running up and down her. ‘Now take the towel off.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said, fumbling for his belt. ‘If you’re really, really good in bed tonight, I might decide not flush your career down the lavatory.’

  ‘You can’t do to me what you did to Gillian Arnold.’

  ‘On the contrary, my dear: I can. I win, you lose. That is how tonight’s game ends.’

  She stared at him for a long moment, her father’s words echoing through her mind.

  The third option is the toughest, Sarah.

  ‘So, I’m going to ask you one more time, for the last time.’ He blinked once, twice and took another deep slug of his whisky, emptying the glass. His face was shiny with sweat. ‘What’s it going to be?’

  She stood, drawing herself up to her full height, gripping her makeshift weapon in a white-knuckled hand. Feeling all of the surrender drain out of her, all the reason, and logic and common sense, all the worry and concern. Drawing on all of the frustration and anger of the last year, drinking deep of all the fears that had kept her awake for months on end, letting the emotion rage through her body and focusing it all on this man, this man who had kept his true self hidden from so many people, until he had climbed to the top of his profession.

  It had to stop, one way or the other.

  She felt the rage boiling in her veins, the blood pounding in her neck. Marie’s words coming back to her. If you go to war with him, only one of you will be left standing at the end of it.

  ‘This is where it ends, Alan. You want my answer? Here it is.’ She brandished the steel point in her right hand, pointing it towards him. ‘You can go to hell.’

  83

  Sarah finished marking the paper and moved on to the next one. She had left the lights off and the door closed, so the office was gloomy and only half-lit from the window’s weak winter light. But this was how she liked it now. Quiet. Alone. Almost invisible. Keep your head down, don’t cause any ructions, just get on with the job for as long as possible.

  She had come to terms with what she had done and she was ready to face the consequences when the time came. She had done her best, and that was all anyone could do, wasn’t it? She had made a choice, and she would have to live with it.

  It was as simple – and as complicated – as that.

  There was a small sense of relief that a decision had been made, a path chosen, that she had shaken off the paralysis of doubt and made a choice. Perhaps the only choice.

  She stood up and went to the window. It was one of those overcast December days when it never seemed to get light properly, heavy grey clouds low in the sky. She’d grown to love this view over the two years she’d occupied the little room, a second-floor office at the end of the building, looking across the parkland campus towards the lake and the clock tower. There were students wandering to lectures, perhaps heading towards the union building for an early lunch, some looking as if they had just crawled out of bed.

  It would be so nice to be there again, she thought. Eighteen years old, no responsibilities, no expectations on you to do anything apart from what you felt like from one day to the next. In charge of your own destiny, free from all the things that gradually encumbered adults as they grew older. She wondered if she would make the same choices, if she had her time again. If she knew those choices would bring her to this room, this place, this situation. This turning point in her life.

  It was an easy question to answer now.

  At the turning circle in front of the building, someone – most likely a member of the rugby club, she thought – had climbed up the statue again and placed a bright yellow Afro wig on Neptune’s head and a wastepaper bin over his trident. Another job for Mr Jennings, the porter.

  She wasn’t sure how long she stood there. She was about to go back to her marking when a car appeared from behind the row of trees and turned into the arts faculty car park. An unremarkable saloon car, with a man and a woman in the front. It was followed by a police van with the words ‘Scientific Support Unit’ on its side. They pulled to a stop in front of the statue, directly in front of the faculty building’s main entrance. Two uniformed officers got out of the van and the two detectives Sarah recognised as DI Rayner and DS Neal emerged from the unmarked saloon.

  The figures all gathered around DI Rayner for a brief conversation, heads leaning towards her as she spoke to them.

  Sarah studied them. She tried to summon up some feeling but there was nothing – not fear or despair, not anger, not sadness. It was as if all the emotions had been scoured out of her, leaving her blank and empty and exhausted.

  What would be, would be.

  After a minute or so, the four police officers turned and headed into the main building, with DI Rayner in the lead. They disappeared from Sarah’s sight.

  She went back to her desk.

  Quickly, she stacked the essay she had been marking in the pile with the others, placing all the papers together in a desk drawer before locking it and putting the key in her pocket. She capped her pen and turned off her PC, went to the hook by the door and put her jacket on, then sat back down at her desk, and waited.

  The police were here again. They were here in numbers.

  And this time, she thought, they would be making an arrest.

  FOUR WEEKS LATER

  84

  Sarah sat back in her seat, trying to get comfortable. They were packed in tight, her and the others, these strangers who surrounded her.

  Grace and Harry were far away now. She couldn’t remember the last time she had spent more than a few nights away from them. The thought of her children made her feel weak and strong at the same time, a dizzying mix of emotions that left her terrified and exhilarated, now more than ever. She would tear down mountains for them, she would stand up against any danger and shield them with her own body, until she had nothing left to give. She was more proud of them than she was of anything in the world.

  She hoped that one day they would know that.

  It had been a crazy day, waking early in an unfamiliar bed, without her children, away from home. Waiting in endless queues, and then more queues, and security everywhere. Uniforms and radios, metal detectors and pat-downs and weapon searches. Then more waiting and walking and standing in line.

  She would need to get used to it. This was the path she had chosen, the choice she had made with one phone call, and she would have to cope with the consequences. That was just how life was.

  She thought back to how she’d been as a teenager. What would that seventeen-year-old think, if she could see her older self now? She would be shaking her head in disbelief – never in a million years would she have thought her path would lead her here, to this.

  The nerves were there again, just below the surface. That was only natural, she supposed: she was going to a strange place and didn’t really know what would be waiting for her at the end of the journey, more importantly, who would be waiting for her.

  What would they be like? Would she cope? Could she do this? Was she toug
h enough to see it through?

  There were so many unanswered questions.

  But she knew she would do it. For the simple reason that she had to. Because what other choice was there?

  Should probably try to get some sleep, she thought. This is going to be a long day.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to shut out the strangers packed in around her. Life had become complicated in the last couple of weeks – there was a lot to think about, a lot to stay on top of. But deep down in her heart, in her gut, she felt like she was going to be all right. She could make it. She could do this.

  As long as she remembered the Rules.

  The new Rules.

  85

  And just like before, the new Rules were simple enough.

  Never talk about the night at Lovelock’s house. Because according to everyone apart from him, it had never happened.

  Never mention the custom-mixed cocktail of drugs that Sarah had slipped into his whisky when he went to answer the door a few minutes after she arrived.

  Never refer to the ‘courier’ who had distracted him for those vital seconds – a young Russian named Mikhail with a particular talent for computer hacking.

  Never talk about what Mikhail had added to the hard drive of Lovelock’s computer that night.

  The grey-haired lady across the aisle from Sarah was engrossed in a copy of the Daily Mail. The front-page picture was a familiar face, snapped as he was led out of the arts faculty building in handcuffs. He looked like he’d been caught off-guard, his mouth half-open, his face a mixture of fury and alarm as he saw the long-lens photographer a second too late.

  Alongside the picture there was a headline in heavy black capitals, ‘BBC SACKS STAR PROF IN PAEDO PROBE’.

  Sarah tilted her head to read the first paragraphs of the story.

  TV academic Alan Lovelock has been dropped by the BBC after detectives launched a wide-ranging child porn investigation.

  Professor Lovelock, 56, was the star of BBC1 show Undiscovered History and patron of a number of children’s charities. The BBC has confirmed that the rest of the current series will be pulled from schedules and filming of the new series has been halted indefinitely.