THEN SHE RAN an absolutely gripping crime thriller with a massive twist

by Charlie Gallagher

  There was water for the kettle in a clear bottle on the floor and just enough milk in the flask for a cup of tea. She needed one. She also needed to pee. She left the kettle warming on top of the wood burner. Outside, she could see a patch of frost sparkling in the sunlight that arrowed through the trees. The sky was perfectly clear, the rain clouds completely gone, and there was a freshness that only came first thing in the morning. She’d meant to sleep only for a few hours and then head out when darkness fell. Instead, she had slept all night. She knew she had been exhausted, how she had yearned to sleep a full night in the last few months, but she’d never considered that a put-up camp bed in a wooden hut would provide her next opportunity to do so. Jenny walked over to the trees to pee. Nobody was about. The sun was low and, from her recent nights with Isobel and having seen the sun rise the previous morning, she reckoned it had to be around 5 a.m.

  She pulled up her trousers and stepped back out. The silence was beautiful. Her elevated position was crisp and clear, but a thin mist hugged the ground further down the hill towards the town like it was trying to hide it. Jenny could almost pretend it wasn’t there. She didn’t mind that she had missed the darkness. She suddenly felt better. Safer. Maybe it was the decent night’s sleep or the bright sunshine and the stillness, with gentle birdsong the only sound. She walked back into the cabin just as the kettle began to whistle. She poured out her tea. While she waited for it to cool, she tidied the camp bed away and anything else that was out of place. She pulled out some of the smaller kindling twigs and arranged them on the floor. She swigged at her tea and surveyed her work. The sticks read: THANKS. It was simple but it did the trick. Mike the paramedic had spent his life helping people; old habits died hard, it seemed. He would never know just how much he’d helped her.

  Jenny finished her tea. The mist was clearing a little, the sun burning it away as it got stronger. The town of Dover was revealed slowly. It was still early, but the traffic was moving and Jenny knew the risks of heading back down there. She had just one place to go and then she would leave. And she didn’t intend on ever going back.

  She took a more direct route back to the town. The road and the wooded path that she had come up was on her right. She hugged the tree line that ran down the left side of the cemetery for as far as she could, but then had to break away and walk back to the centre of the lawn so she could make for the gate at the bottom. The mist was all around her now. It was thinning out all the time but it was noticeably cooler. She pulled the sleeves on her top over her hands.

  Jenny made it back to the wide road. It had been choked with traffic when she had made her way up in the middle of the afternoon. Now a solitary car passed. She crossed and turned left, away from the police station. She walked past a doctor’s surgery on the right and then up a street that took her towards the town centre. She could see a large park on her left side as she walked. Already a couple of drinkers were sitting out in the early sunshine. They rested on some steps up to a platform that seemed to mark the centre of the park. One of them gestured at her with his bottle. Jenny was horrified to think that they might have looked at the state of her and assumed instantly she was in the same situation as them. To the seasoned, homeless drunk, she must look like another seasoned, homeless drunk. Jenny picked up her pace.

  She walked across the High Street and kept going. She turned right at a large roundabout past a café with delicious breakfast smells blanketing the pavement. She continued past and rounded a corner to find herself back on Dover Road. The traffic was still light. The confidence and self-assurance of early morning that had come with the warm sun on the calm hills was starting to evaporate like the early morning mist. Jenny continued along the road, across the forecourt of a petrol station and towards the train station. She knew she was coming to her hotel. She knew she had to go back in there. She knew there could be people waiting for her.

  She stayed on the opposite pavement to the hotel. Her head was up; she was looking for any movement, checking every parked car for seated occupants, every window of every shop, house and flat. Trying to be careful. If the people that were after her — who’d come after Joseph — if they had known about that place, then why hadn’t they come to the room? When they’d all been asleep, maybe? Jenny was still trying to piece together the events of the previous forty-eight hours, but she was sure of one thing: nobody had tried to hurt them until they’d left the hotel. The more she’d thought about it over the last couple of days, the more she’d convinced herself that they’d been watching the car. That was the first sign of trouble: when Joseph had moved it. Whoever it was knew about the car; they didn’t know about the room. That meant she had a chance at least. The room was booked out until the end of the week. That gave her another night and a day. She didn’t intend on staying there, it was too close to where it had all begun, but she needed her phone. It had all her contacts, people who could help, who could finally take her and Isobel away from here. And she might find some answers. Joseph’s stuff was still in there, too — including the things she had never been able to look at before and that had never been any of her business. The bits that when she had asked Joseph about them had always invoked the same reply: You trust me, Jenny, right? It’s best that you don’t know. You just have to trust me.

  Well, now there was nothing left to trust in.

  The Dovorian Hotel was opposite her. She ducked into the frontage of a large townhouse and peered out. There was nobody on foot, no cars at that point and all the curtains on the hotel looked closed. It was deceiving from the outside: a square of dull grey with bits cut out for windows and with no redeeming features, made all the more drab by the layer of grime from the typically busy road in front. But Jenny had liked it inside: it was neutrally decorated but colourful; the rooms were spacious, the beds huge and comfortable. She could see the window to her room from where she stood. The blackout curtains were drawn across. She couldn’t remember if she or Joseph had opened them, or if he had just turned on the light. She couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter. She was going to have to go in anyway. What else could she do?

  She stepped back out onto the pavement and moved further up the road, past the steps that led down to the train station; far enough until she felt she could cross without anyone from any of the other hotel windows being able to see her. She reached the other pavement and turned back on herself. She brought her chin down onto her chest, her eyes lifting so that she was still looking forward, out from under the curve of her hood. She had to cross a junction; a road rose steeply up to her right, past the side of the hotel and beyond. The side entrance to the hotel was halfway up. She pushed the door open. A long carpeted hall with a repeating pattern was laid out in front of her. She strode along it. The lifts were right next to reception. It was manned twenty-four-seven but there was a back office. Whoever was working that morning had to be in there. The desk was empty. Jenny was glad, she pressed the button to call the lift and the doors parted immediately. The three back walls were mirrored. She selected the third floor. The door shut and she took a moment to take in her reflection. Suddenly it made sense that she might be beckoned over by street bums. She turned away from herself in disgust. The doors parted. She stood still for a second or two, trying to use the two mirrored sidewalls to see out, to see if anyone was hiding just outside the doors. The angle was wrong; she had to step out.

  The hallway was empty. She turned right. She felt in her pocket for the key card, it was still there. She pushed it into the slot below the handle. She pulled it straight out. A light flashed green and it clicked. The door pushed away from her. She knew the room layout: there was a short hall; the bathroom was off to the left; the main room opened up beyond that, a large window on the far side, the wardrobe and TV units down the right side. The door opened enough that she could see the bathroom door. It was pulled closed. Again, she couldn’t remember if she had done that or if it had been like that when she left. She stepped over the threshold and pushed the door a little more. She
could see a pair of Joseph’s shoes left untidily in the middle of the floor. She remembered vaguely that he had been fiddling with them, as if considering changing the ones he had on. The blackout blinds were pulled right across and the room was dark. She could see more shapes and bundles littering the floor. As she pushed the door completely open she could see through to the big bed — it had been made. There was a fresh set of towels on the end of it. The maids had been in and had done their bit. They’d left assuming the occupants were out. Jenny’s confidence was back. No one knew she was here. Not the police; not the people who were after her. No one.

  The door pushed itself shut behind her. She moved through to the body of the room, reached for the curtains and pulled them apart. Light flooded in.

  ‘Get on your fucking knees!’

  Jenny spun like she had been stung. A dark clad figure leant on the TV unit. Even the balaclava covering his face was a thick black material. Jenny attempted to speak but all that came from her was a rushed whimper.

  ‘I said, get on your fucking knees.’ The voice was a suppressed growl, full of strength and menace.

  Jenny dropped to her knees. She raised her arms, pushing her palms out towards the figure, fighting with herself to speak.

  ‘Put your hands on your head. And face away.’

  Jenny took a few moments. The instructions weren’t sinking in straight away. She turned round and dropped to her knees. She faced the window. The sunlight was strong in her face. ‘Put your hands on your head.’ She could feel her own pulse pounding in her ears. She lifted her hands to the back of her head. She heard the man step closer and felt something solid on the back of her head, pushing firmly enough to nudge her head forward.

  ‘Please . . .’ she managed. There was so much more she wanted to say: how unfair this was; how she knew nothing at all about how she had got there; about how she had a daughter that she wanted to hold tight. Oh God, Isobel! What she wouldn’t do to hold her just one more time.

  ‘Please . . .’ she uttered again. Her chest was so tight that she struggled to take a breath. The object was pushed firmer into the back of her head. She knew it was the barrel of a gun. She hadn’t seen it; she had been too busy staring at the dark eyes peering out from the balaclava. But she knew.

  ‘Begging isn’t going to be enough, Jenny.’ His voice was closer to her ear. His mouth was so close she felt her hair move as he spoke. She screwed her eyes tightly shut and held in her breath. This was it. This was how it ended. She didn’t think it would hurt, she felt almost thankful for that.

  ‘Are you ready to die?’ The voice was a little further away; the barrel was now pressed hard enough to hurt. She rocked forward on her knees. He kept the pressure on her head. She felt a warmth and a dampness between her legs.

  ‘You remember how scared you feel. You remember that, you understand?’ The voice was back in her ear. She heard footfalls, they were moving away. She heard something bump against the wooden unit. She still leant forward, her eyes clamped shut. She didn’t know what was going on, she didn’t want to antagonise him.

  ‘You can get up.’

  The same man’s voice. He was much further away. Jenny dared to open her eyes. She stared down at the carpet and moved her head slightly to one side. She couldn’t see the man, couldn’t see anyone. She took in a rushed breath where it had been held for so long. ‘Why?’ It was all she could manage.

  ‘Why aren’t you dead?’ The man called out. ‘Because I don’t want you dead. You remember that. You do as you’re told and that might not change. Step out of line and I won’t hesitate. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’ She sobbed the word, her body slumped forward as the tension ran out of her.

  ‘Now, get up.’

  Jenny took her hands off her head. She put a palm flat on the ground and shifted her weight to stand. Her legs were numb and shaky, and she struggled to get to her feet, but then she stood straight, still facing away from where the man was.

  ‘You can turn around.’

  She turned slowly. The man sat back on the television unit. His hands were in his lap, his right hand held an evil-looking black pistol pointing casually towards the floor. He swung his legs like a sixth former in a common room. He’d taken his face covering off. She immediately snatched her head away.

  ‘I don’t want to! I don’t want to know who you are. I don’t care.’

  ‘Too late for that, Jenny. Now you’ve seen me.’

  ‘I haven’t — I mean, I didn’t.’

  ‘Come on, Jenny. Let’s not be silly. I need to know that you understand your position. I know you’ve had a rough couple of days. That wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to be dead a long time ago. But you’re not. Unfortunately your death was in the hands of a bunch of amateurs who somehow thought real life should be more like a spaghetti western. You can’t roll up into a town and start shooting off guns — or, if you do, you need to make it count quickly and you need to get out. And yet, here you are.’

  ‘So you’re here to do it?’

  ‘I was. Plans change. Seems you’ve had yet another escape, Jenny. Seems you have another job besides dying.’

  ‘What? What could you possibly need from me?’

  ‘I don’t know too much, Jenny. I get paid to kill people. Taking people is not really my thing.’

  ‘So you’re kidnapping me?’

  ‘No. But you are coming with me and if you don’t then I will kill you. If you make a noise or a scene, I will kill you. If you try to escape from me, I will kill you. If you make me run, I will kill you twice. But you can change out of those wet trousers, use your shower, take what you want of your things. I assume that’s why you came back?’

  Jenny shrugged.

  ‘You came back for something.’

  ‘I had nowhere else to go.’

  ‘I’m very good at working out when people are lying, Jenny — no, that’s not right . . . I’m very good at making people bad at lying. I think it’s the gun, Jenny. What do you think? Do you think you could lie to this?’ He lifted the gun, pointed it directly down her line of sight. She stared back. The eyes beyond were cold.

  ‘No.’ She was aware she sounded weak. She didn’t care.

  ‘Get your shit together. You can shower and change. I don’t want to take you out like that. You’ll draw too much attention. You don’t have long.’

  The man lowered the gun. Jenny found she could breathe again. He moved to the bed and picked up the television remote. The television switched on. He suddenly turned to look at her.

  ‘Tick-tock,’ he said.

  Chapter 15

  ‘Andy, thanks for coming out,’ George said.

  ‘I don’t recall you giving me much of a choice, George.’ Andy McGuiness looked slimmer than George remembered. Slim enough to verge on unwell perhaps. His face was gaunt, his cheeks more sucked in, tighter against his cheekbones. He had bags under his eyes — eyes that looked red and tired.

  ‘There’s always a choice, Andy.’

  ‘I’ll definitely be remembering that the next time Emily Ryker phones me up and asks me to do her a favour.’

  ‘Ryker? She’s one of the best, Andy. If this force was full of Rykers I reckon the criminals would all up and leave.’

  ‘I get a source compromised — or worse — killed, George, and all our snouts will get up and leave. You have any idea how damaging that might be?’ Andy’s voice was a whisper but it was forceful and it carried genuine anger. He leaned back suddenly as someone walked past their table. It was a short man with slick, dark hair. He was gliding a mop over the tiled floor and he greeted both men with a smile and a ‘good morning’ in a heavy Eastern European accent.

  George had called Andy and asked to meet him. He had given him a choice: meet him at a motorway services on the outskirts of Canterbury or George’s next call would be to Andy’s sergeant, when he would request the information he needed via formal channels. The sergeant would know that Andy was giving out informa
tion against their strict protocols and he would immediately lose his place on the team — maybe worse. It wasn’t much of a choice, if George was honest, and Andy was right too: ultimately the protocols were in place to stop people getting killed.

  George had ordered them both a strong coffee. They sat at a table that was far enough from the counter. The rest were empty. There was a trickle of foot traffic already, but they were generally tradesmen joining the queue for McDonalds. All of them had their heads down, as was to be expected at 6 a.m. The cheerful man with the mop had moved far enough away.

  ‘The only dead person I’m concerned about is some pensioner lying in her own kitchen who answered her door to help somebody and got a shotgun emptied into her stomach for her trouble. I want the bastards that did that, Andy. I want them bad enough to fall out with Emily Ryker and to fall out with you too. But I don’t need to. I came here to explain why you should help. This is why you’re in the source unit. You and I both know there are plenty of serious crimes out there — murders, rapes, robberies — that would go nowhere if it weren’t for you and your team. This is your opportunity to be the key part in putting another job to bed. I’ve been up and met the husband, Andy. Let me tell you, mate . . . this fella deserves us to bend a few rules.’

  Andy was already shaking his head. ‘I joined this unit because the hours are eight to four, Monday to Friday. Most weeks, at least. I joined this unit because I got serious health problems — serious enough that I couldn’t be doing the shift work no more. I couldn’t be out rolling around on the floor outside the nightclubs at 1 a.m. This job is perfect for me. I’ve really picked up. And I still get to do the job . . . I still get to work. I can’t lose my place on this team, George. Please don’t be a part of that.’

  ‘Andy, I need your help. Just a few words. I’m sensible, one thing I do know is how to keep people out of trouble—’

  ‘With respect, George, your reputation says different.’