by R. S. Sutton
One way led to a small flight of steps; the other ended in a coal store. Turning, she pulled the door shut behind her, then opted for the coal store. There was a little light visible from the trapdoor above the coal shoot. Deciding against looking for a light switch, she remained still for a minute, letting her eyes adjust to the low light. Stumbling towards the crack of light, lumps of coal fell to the floor, but no one came.
Fortunately, the bolt to the trap was on the inside and slid back without too much effort. Scrambling out, Valerie fell to the grass and lay looking at the stars. There were lights on in the house, but she could hear no voices, no noise. Although futile, she brushed herself down as she got to her feet and moved behind some rhododendrons. A quick glance back, as she kept off the gravel drive, confirmed it was the same house that she had broken into before.
With no money, no phone and looking utterly dishevelled, Valerie put her thumb out when a safe distance from the house. Two cars passed before a small lorry pulled up. Leaning over, the driver opened the nearside door. ‘Dear God in heaven!’ He pushed to keep the door open, then held out a helping hand.
‘Had a bit of an accident,’ said Valerie, scrambling into the cab. ‘Remind me, where are we?’
The driver pulled off his flat cap and switched on an overhead light. ‘Bit of an accident!’
To get a look at herself, Valerie pulled the large door mirror towards her. ‘See what you mean.’
The driver looked at the blood showing below her jacket as she leant over. ‘Think we’d better get you to a hospital.’
‘No, I’m fine. Where am I?’ she repeated, wanting confirmation she was where she thought she was.
‘Just past Guildford on the A3.’ Valerie pushed the mirror back into position and gingerly eased herself into the seat. ‘If you can take me into London, I’ve a boat on the Thames.’
‘That’s not a problem, Miss. But I do think you need medical attention.’
‘If you can drop me off… I’ll pay, of course. You don’t have anything to drink, do you?’ The driver pointed to a bottle of water as he slipped the lorry into gear and re-joined the traffic. Valerie unscrewed the top and took a gulp of the lemon-flavoured drink. ‘I’m okay, honestly. Just been in a bit of a scrape. You don’t have to worry.’ She pulled a piece of paper from the dash and, grabbing a pencil from behind the driver’s ear, started to write. ‘My office,’ she said. ‘Get in touch and I’ll give you something for your trouble. What’s your name?’
‘Mike,’ said the driver.
During the next half hour, Valerie only opened her eyes to direct the driver to the bridge along from the houseboat. ‘Thanks, Mike.’ She eased herself onto the road. ‘Don’t forget, get in touch. And thanks for not asking,’ she said as he drove off.
***
Ignoring the mirror, Valerie walked straight into the steaming shower cubical. She squeezed at the large tube of shower gel, throwing it over the top of the screen only when empty. After carefully sponging and rinsing for half an hour, avoiding her lower back as much as possible, she allowed herself a look in the mirror. Several seconds passed before she swore a pledge to the tortured image.
After towelling down, she sorted through clean jeans and T-shirts, unlocked the gun cabinet, and pulled the holster over her shoulders. She cringed as it rubbed against the burns. The ammunition clip checked, she banged it home with the palm of her hand and put the gun into the holster.
The Jaguar was locked away in Nigel’s garage, so she walked to the main road and hailed a taxi.
‘Blimey, Miss, that’s going to be a bit pricey.’
‘Leave the flag up and I’ll give you cash.’
The driver pulled his hand back from the meter. ‘Okay, but it’s still going to cost.’
‘It’s not a problem, just extra for you as it’s out so far.’
The driver joined the A3 and headed for Guildford. Forty minutes later, Valerie pressed a chunk of twenty-pound notes into his hand and thanked him.
‘That’s okay, Miss.’ He ducked his head through the window and gazed at the driveway. ‘Just the one way?’ he said, looking at the money.
‘Yeah,’ said Valerie. ‘Just the one way.’
There were many things tumbling around a slowly clearing brain. But thinking back to the terrifying imprisonment, only one thing remained. Everything else dissolved into insignificance as she walked between bushes and shrubs to the side of the house.
Hearing laughter as she entered the house, she vaguely wondered why the men should still be there. They had obviously not checked the cellar. Her trainers made no sound along the hallway towards what sounded like a card game.
Playing poker around a table floating with money and beer, men sat accepting cards thrown by the dealer.
‘Hope you’re not going to bet that,’ said Valerie, nodding towards her watch.
As if frozen by a photographer’s command, the room was motionless as they all looked up at Valerie standing in the doorway.
‘What the fuck?’ On the far side, the man with the braces threw his cards onto the table. ‘Has no one been down to the cellar since Jenny left?’
‘Just waiting till she got back, were you?’ Valerie pushed the door to with her heel. ‘Going to pick up where you left off?’
‘Well, look who got all cleaned up for us, lads.’ The man to her left moved his chair back. ‘Time for a different kind o’ party, I think.’
“Braces” asked who would like to be first, just as Valerie drew the Glock from beneath her jacket. ‘I’ll have my watch first.’ The order was calm and measured.
Nervously releasing the clasp, the man with the Rolex took it from his wrist.
‘What you doing, man?’ The unshaven male opposite snorted as he bared his teeth. ‘Even if it’s real, she ain’t going to use it.’
In the small room the noise was deafening as Valerie squeezed the trigger, sending a round into the centre of the table. Money and cards flew in all directions.
‘Shit!’ The man with the watch threw it across.
‘That will do for starters,’ said Valerie, slipping it into her pocket. ‘Now my phone, wallet and ID.’
‘What makes you think you’re going to get away with this, you stupid bitch?’
‘You, just keep quiet.’ Concentrating on the loud one with the braces, Valerie did not waver from her demands. ‘I’d like my things back… please.’
Used to being in charge, he was reluctant to back down. ‘You stupid fucking cow. You’re dead, you know that? You’re fucking dead.’
‘My things,’ she repeated. ‘And you with the mouth, keep it closed.’
‘Or what?’ Getting to his feet, he leant on the table. ‘Come on, what? You—’
The Glock barked again and he fell to the floor, grasping his thigh. ‘My things,’ she said quietly as he gasped for breath.
‘You bitch, you fucking bitch!’ he shrieked. ‘I’ll bleed to death.’
‘I don’t think so,’ she said in the same straight monotone. ‘My wallet, phone and ID.’
The quietest of the four, the one who’d brought her food, stood up slowly. ‘Think they’re in the d-desk, b-by the window,’ he stammered. ‘Shall I?’ Valerie nodded and let him pass in front on his way to retrieving her things.
‘Stupid fucker,’ said the one on the floor still grasping his leg, ‘why didn’t you grab her as you went past? Prick.’
‘He’s still got his brains,’ said Valerie, ‘something you won’t have if you don’t shut your face.’
‘Who you kidding? Kill one of us and you’d go down for thirty years.’
‘My ID,’ said Valerie. ‘I lied, it’s real. Killing you would be no more than an inconvenience. I’d have to spend half an hour at my desk with a pen and sheet of A4.’
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to the see
ping blood. ‘I’m in pain here.’
‘I’ll get you an aspirin.’ She took the ID and wallet and told the “sensible one” to phone for an ambulance. ‘Right, cars out there. Keys, please.’
When the young man had finished calling an ambulance, he pulled out his own keys and carefully put them on the table with the other two and Valerie’s mobile.
‘All of you over by the window.’ She stood back slightly, pocketed the keys and let them pass before looking back at the one on the floor. ‘And you, sunshine, let’s have your keys. Ooo, Beemer, nice,’ she said, catching the keys attached to a BMW fob.
‘That’s an M5, you bitch. Put one mark on it and I’ll kill you.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I park it well away from anything else.’
***
Blue lights flashing and siren wailing, the ambulance sped past as Valerie drove off towards the city. Guessing Gillian would still be working the same shift pattern, she pulled into a side street next to the hospital. She removed the holster and gun and locked them in the BMW’s glovebox. It took just a few minutes for reception to locate Gillian and give directions to her office.
‘Hi.’ Gillian half-turned and stood up. ‘Come for a chat?’ She leant on the desk and gestured to a tub chair.
‘No,’ said Valerie, removing her jacket then peeling off the blood-stained T-shirt. ‘I’m hoping you can help with this.’ She turned her back towards her friend.
Gillian stepped back, holding a hand to her mouth. She directed Valerie to the treatment table and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. ‘Lie face down. Jesus Christ, they’re cigarette burns. Oh, for God’s sake, Valerie. Stay there.’ Gillian put her head outside the door. ‘Nurse, quick, burns medication.’ The urgent tone of Gillian’s cry brought a nurse quickly, pushing a trolley.
‘She’s been beaten as well.’ Gripped by forceps, the nurse passed over a swab.
‘Not too worried about that,’ said Gillian, ‘but some of these burns are deep. Go and get Mr Leech.’
The adrenalin was now subsiding, bringing Valerie back into the real world that she’d left a few days before.
‘Going to tell me what happened?’ said Gillian, trying to clean some of the outer injuries. Tears glistened as Valerie flinched at each touch. Then, as if dropped into a bath of ice, she started shaking.
A few minutes later Mr Leech followed the nurse in and, after a few seconds, pronounced Valerie to be in shock. ‘Get some warmth into this room.’ The grey-haired physician pulled on gloves and began running his fingers around the burns. ‘Sorry, lassie, this is going to hurt, I’m afraid.’ Through the pain, Valerie attempted a smile at the thick, soothing Scottish accent. But she said nothing.
After an hour of careful cleaning and gentle application of gauze to each burn, Mr Leech straightened up and stretched his back. ‘No bikinis for the next twelve months,’ he said, ‘but given time they will all but disappear. I’m not sure we shouldn’t be calling the police.’
Momentarily unaware she had on neither T-shirt or bra, Valerie swung her feet around and pulled her ID from her pocket. ‘Okay,’ he said, removing his gloves and throwing them into the nearby bin, ‘hang around for a few hours, make sure you’re all right. If you need anything, call.’
Gillian passed a woollen top across, along with a couple of tablets. ‘You going to tell me?’
‘What, and get you involved? I don’t think so. Let’s just say there’re one or two people out there that I seem to have rubbed up the wrong way.’ Valerie took the offered water and washed the tablets down. ‘Painkillers?’
Rattling a bottle, Gillian nodded. ‘Some more in there if you need them.’
Although managing to get Valerie to stay for a couple of hours, Gillian got no further than cups of coffee.
As the dawn light began glowing through the office window, Valerie looked at her watch. ‘Better get going. Got a car out there gathering tickets.’
‘Oh dear, it’s a bit expensive around here. I’m afraid it’s going to cost you.’
Valerie set off down the corridor. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ve a feeling it’s going to get a lot more expensive before this morning’s out.’
The fresher air outside the room, along with the painkillers, perked Valerie up as she trotted down the stairwell. She peeled the ticket from the windscreen, tossed it onto the passenger seat and set off towards the south coast. Because of the personalised registration, it wasn’t possible to tell the age but, by the mileage and smell of leather, the car was only weeks old.
Navigating the A and B roads towards Beachy Head, it felt as if the engine and gearbox had been filled with thick Jersey cream instead of oil. She pulled up at the cliff-top hotel and walked into the restaurant, which was all but empty. With tartan carpets, hard varnished tables and exposed stone walls, it was a typical chain hotel.
Although advertising late breakfast, only one waiter took any notice of Valerie; the rest scurried about getting ready for the lunchtime trade. She took a window table that looked out on the BMW, since the Glock was still in the glovebox. She didn’t fancy explaining that, if the car was taken.
‘Damn shame.’ She took another mouthful of the fluffy scrambled eggs, along with two more painkillers, all the time keeping an eye on the deep red M5. ‘All those extras, it must be all of a hundred and twenty-thousand pounds.’
‘Madam?’ The waiter at her side inclined his head slightly.
‘Oh, just mumbling to myself,’ she said quickly. ‘Shame not being able to share such a lovely breakfast with someone.’
‘Oh, thank you, madam, I’ll let Chef know. Always a pleasure to serve an appreciative customer.’
‘Can you get me a taxi?’ she asked the receptionist on her way out. ‘Fifteen minutes should about do it. Take me to the station.’
‘Madam?’ The girl looked at her enquiringly.
‘Taxi?’ Valerie smiled. ‘Please.’
The receptionist looked over her shoulder towards the M5, and then back to Valerie. ‘A taxi… madam?’
‘Please,’ said Valerie, exiting the main door. ‘Fifteen minutes.’
Still retaining a quizzical look, the girl picked up the phone. ‘Certainly, madam.’
Valerie drove away from the gaze of the reception window, pushed the Glock into the holster, stretched it around her back and zipped up her jacket.
Cruising a few hundred yards along the high coast road, she turned off onto the thinly grassed cliff-top. The M5 sat on a narrow strip of land that bent down to the sharp drop, the engine idling in neutral. She took a small USB from her pocket, put it into the hi-fi system and lit a cigarette. With “Wheels on Fire” pouring from the speakers Valerie released the handbrake and walked back to the hotel.
Twenty-One
‘We think there’s something going down in the next few days,’ said Dennis as Valerie walked into the arts department.
‘You’re getting into modern word speak, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘Something going down. I’m sure you weren’t taught that at Harrow. More likely Latin.’
‘Yes,’ said Dennis, ‘Latin. And Rugby, actually.’
‘So, what’s to do?’
‘You need to meet up with your boyfriend.’
Valerie, unsure of who to trust anymore, queried the suggestion.
‘We’ve had a little whisper from the east,’ Dennis continued. ‘We think that’s where our last joker came from, and he could be on the move again. Our contact is as sure as he can be.’
‘And you think David could be the one in charge?’
‘Don’t know, but—’
‘Oh, good bloody grief, what are you turning me into, Dennis? An assassinating hooker?’
‘You don’t have to go that far, do you?’
Valerie watched as he nervously pulled his shirt collar away from his neck. ‘And what do you suggest?
Sorry, David, but you’re going to have to put it away, I think I’ve left the iron on?’ She followed him into the inner office and looked around. ‘By the way, where’s the colonel?’
‘Liaising with the other big noises. They’re all getting a bit edgy. The last thing we want is someone else going the way of McCain. I’ll be more in charge here for a while.’
‘You’re the man now, are you, Dennis? Le grand fromage.’
‘Suppose.’
Valerie thought it sweet that the young man, who’d had all this responsibility dumped on him, blushed. ‘Better start by calling me Valerie… Chief. And if I ever come out the other side of this in one piece, it’s going to cost.’
‘Taken as read, Miss… Valerie.’
‘By the way, I need to draw some more ammunition.’
‘Crikey,’ said Dennis. ‘You been using that thing already?’
‘Don’t worry, just had to teach some guys the meaning of rubbing me up the wrong way. No one’s hurt… much.’
He sat back in the boss’s chair, pushing a pencil from side to side between his two index fingers. ‘If it all gets a bit, you know—’
‘Heavy is the word I think you’re looking for, Dennis.’ With the colonel out of the office, she went no further than just fingering the cigarette packet in her pocket. ‘And I think it’s gone beyond heavy.’
Dennis pressed the button on his desk. ‘Sergeant, a box of nine millimetre, please.’
A few minutes later, Simonds came in. ‘Sergeant’s on the range.’ He handed over a cream and red box with 9mm stamped at each end. ‘Heard you’d had to use it,’ he said, producing a receipt. Seeing the slight surprise on Valerie’s face, he added, ‘We hear the dramatic down my end of the building long before it filters down the official wire.’
‘Better fill Dennis in then,’ she said. ‘He seems to know nothing about it. By the way, he deserved it.’
***
The only way to play it was low-key, which meant not contacting Preston; it was better to wait for his call. And that was about as far as any deliberation went. She didn’t even want to think about how to keep her injuries from him, whether he was responsible directly, indirectly or not at all. All that became academic when he called and she agreed to meet up across the Thames from Westminster.
