by Jay Gill
The impact threw Phillipa to the floor alongside her husband. At first, she made no sound. She looked at the mass of blood, the gaping wound and exposed tissue and internal organs. She was unable to comprehend what she was seeing or what had happened. Even as the screams and the yelling of the panicked crowd around her filled her ears, she made no sound. Unlike in the movies, there were no tears and no hysterics. Instead she felt only complete numbness and bewilderment as she sat silently beside her dead husband.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The accuracy of the British-built L115A3 sniper rifle meant Vaughan could position himself over 1,000 metres away from Leicester Square. He could watch Ben Drummond without fear of disturbance until he was ready to take the shot. It would be days, possibly weeks, before anyone worked out where the killer shot had originated. He was in no hurry and could afford the time to carefully pack away his things and double-check the area for potential evidence before disappearing among the crowds on the streets below.
He put on a tweed cap and a pair of glasses. With the cap pulled down jauntily over one eye he walked at a fast but casual pace to the underground station. He caught the tube and walked the remaining short distance to his hotel. He smiled briefly at the receptionist then took the stairs to his room.
Vaughan opened the wardrobe and placed the tall rectangular case inside. Stickers from music venues, including the Royal Albert Hall, Boston Symphony Hall and La Scala, on the outside of the case suggested it contained a musical instrument. He pulled the heavy blackout curtains and, still dressed, lay down on the bed. He lay motionless in the darkness and silence.
His head was pounding and his face and eyes felt hot. The headaches were a nuisance; he was sure they were brought on by stress. The conflict in his mind was constant, eating away at his sanity. None of what he was doing could be justified. Not really. Any sane parent would simply have accepted they couldn’t save their child. Wouldn’t they? He closed his eyes, which for a while only intensified the throbbing in his head. By controlling his breathing, he eventually fell into a dark and sombre sleep.
The room was black. At first, he was unsure why he’d woken. Click, click. The sound of a key card unlocking the door to his room. Light spilled in as the door gently opened. Should he pretend to sleep or move? Was it the maid? He could make out the shape of what could only be a man, a big man. Vaughan would learn later that, due to his colossal size and his real name being Tom Redmond, the big man’s nickname was Redwood.
Vaughan slid off the side of the bed and moved to the same wall as the open door. He watched as the figure moved quietly into the room. On seeing the hand holding the gun, Vaughan pressed himself against the wall and slid down beside a chest of drawers. He looked around the room, considering his options. He needed a weapon. Being smaller than this man-mountain, he needed to use his speed to his advantage. He knew from combat training that size was rarely an advantage against a well-trained opponent.
On top of the table was a small flat-screen TV. He’d need to be agile if this was going to work. Vaughan sprang up, grabbing the TV as he did so. The TV ripped away from its cables as he used all his strength to bring it down hard on the interloper. With a grunt, the man lurched sideways in the darkness, stumbled and fell awkwardly over an armchair. Vaughan followed through with a rapid and relentless succession of kicks and stamps to the head. The giant’s movements slowed as Vaughan punched him repeatedly. Swiftly, he reached in and grabbed him in a chokehold, and at last the intruder ceased moving. Vaughan slumped back, exhausted and relieved.
He looked around for the man’s gun. Finding it beside the armchair, he checked it. The silencer was attached, which told him what he needed to know about the intruder’s intentions.
He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the unmoving giant. He’d been lucky, and he knew it. If he hadn’t woken, he’d most certainly be dead right now. He got up and turned on the room light. He paced up and down; the adrenaline and unanswered questions were making him restless. What the hell was going on? His assailant was face down and, out of frustration, Vaughan kicked him again. Christ, the guy was big. Huge hands and arms; well over six feet seven inches and heavy like a carthorse.
Vaughan sat back down on the bed. This had been too close for comfort, and that made him uneasy. He needed to do better. He also needed a new plan.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Vaughan eased himself up off the bed, padded into the bathroom and drew himself a glass of water from the tap. His head was pounding. He swallowed a couple of paracetamol and then walked quietly back into the room. The man on the floor hadn’t moved.
He sat on the corner of the bed again, picked up the gun and looked at the interloper. Think, Jared. This guy wasn’t the police. Someone wanted him dead, obviously, but was this oaf really the best they could do?
Maybe he should kill him. Vaughan leaned over, pressed the gun to the man’s head, sighed and sat back on the bed again. Still holding the gun in one hand, he stood, then crouched gingerly beside his visitor and checked for a pulse. Alive. He checked the big man’s pockets. He rolled him over onto his back and unzipped his jacket. In an inside pocket he found an envelope and car keys. He threw them on the bed behind him and checked the other pockets. Satisfied there was nothing else, he stepped away from him and turned his attention to the envelope.
Inside he found surveillance photos. Images of McPherson in his car, leaving his home. Brannon outside a hospital, leaving church and at a petrol station. Drummond entering a supermarket, leaving a Costa Coffee shop and walking through a town square with a mobile phone pressed to his ear. More photos showed location shots of where the killings had taken place. He opened a typed letter. A part of it read,
…since leaving my unit and returning home, I have failed you and our little Becky. In my unit I had a job to do and I did it. Back then, I faced an enemy I recognised. Now I’m home I’m facing the hardest battle. Saving my baby girl. Seeing her fade is too much. I’m angry and filled with resentment and frustration. The world seems black to me now. You’re better off without me…
A knock at the door startled him. He tucked the handgun into his waistband and looked through the spy hole. A receptionist. Vaughan opened the door slightly.
“Hello?” He rubbed his face and tried to sound sleepy.
“Is everything okay?” the young woman said. “We got a call from one of the other rooms. They heard crashing and banging.”
“Oh, that. It was me. I’m sorry. I woke up and forgot I wasn’t in my bedroom at home. I walked into the coffee table and fell over. Everything’s fine.”
“That does happen a lot. You’re okay, I hope?”
“Yes, fine. Feeling a bit stupid, that’s all. Thank you.”
The receptionist was obviously keen to get back to whatever she was doing. With a sympathetic smile she disappeared back along the long hallway. Vaughan closed the door with a sigh. He needed to get out of the hotel and put as much distance between him and his visitor as possible. He opened the wardrobe and put his case on the bed. He grabbed his holdall and looked around the room. He couldn’t go home yet; it wouldn’t be safe for any of them.
Catching his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he realised his face was red and beginning to bruise. He half-filled the sink and washed his face with cold water, hoping it might reduce the swelling. He grabbed his toothpaste and toothbrush along with the complimentary soap and shampoo from the bathroom. He looked at the towel and decided he should take that as well; he might need to sleep rough for a few days.
He turned and stepped out of the bathroom, where he was met with a thick fist in the face. The force of it threw him backward against the sink. The intruder was on him instantly, grabbing him around the throat and pressing him backward. Vaughan twisted away, only to be greeted by a fat elbow to the side of the head. He collapsed to his knees. The man pulled him up, spun him around and forced his face into the sink. It held only a few inches of water, but that was all he needed.
Vaughan pressed down on the edge of the sink and then on the taps. Frantically, he tried to lift his face from the water. It was no use. The brute was too strong and too heavy. He had his full weight over him and was doing all he could to stop him moving. Vaughan felt himself trapped, as though he was being crushed under a ton of bricks. His mind was telling him to give up, that it was futile to resist.
The man began to laugh. “As you may have worked out, I’m here to arrange your suicide, you sneaky little fucker. I guess I’ll have to improvise. How about I slit your wrists in a bath full of water? We’ll need to account for the water in your lungs. Stop wriggling.” Vaughan felt the water start to rise around his face as his assassin turned on the taps. “A deal is a deal. You know, your mother should have told you that when you say you’re going to do something, you do it. Otherwise you make people unhappy. People just like my boss.”
Vaughan stopped struggling. He relaxed. He let his arms fall to his side.
“There, there. Good boy. Easy does it. No point fighting it. We’re almost done.”
Vaughan eased one hand up to the front of his jeans and pulled out the gun. He reached swiftly behind him and fired twice into the man’s side. He staggered back with a cry of surprise and outrage. Vaughan spun around, raised the gun and shot him twice in the chest and twice in the face.
“Mother also said ‘The bigger they are, the harder they fall,’ asshole, but my favourite was always ‘Don’t take shit from anyone.’ That I’ll always remember.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
My first date with Monica wasn’t at a fancy restaurant; it wasn’t at any restaurant at all. I had wanted to take her somewhere nice and romantic, but she insisted we stay home. She needed to talk and thought it made sense to just have a night in.
Alice and Faith had been whisked away by Mum and Dad and were having a sleepover at their house. That gave Monica and me the house to ourselves, and I was doing my best to make a good impression. I’d bought a bottle of Chardonnay and was putting the finishing touches to what I hoped was something close to a romantic meal. I was out of practice and certainly out of my comfort zone.
The seafood risotto smelled good, and I was about to pan-fry some scallops for starters. I had hot-chocolate sauce ready to be heated and poured over summer fruits and Amaretti biscuits. Not the work of a master chef, but I hoped it would impress.
Monica sat at the kitchen table and watched me. I could see she was fighting back the urge to help. I played up my incompetence a little to get a rise out of her; I loved to see her laugh.
“How do you like your scallops? Burned one side or two?”
“Surprise me,” said Monica. “You seem to be full of surprises this evening. Thank you again for the flowers; they’re beautiful. You didn’t need to go to all this trouble, James. It is very sweet of you. The food smells amazing.”
“I may have overreached a little, but let’s see how it tastes. If it’s a disaster we’ll order pizza.”
“Promise?” said Monica with a grin. She had a wicked sense of humour, which I loved.
“I promise. Don’t forget, you brought this on yourself. I was all for going out. It was you who insisted I poison us both with my attempt at a Gordon Ramsay dinner.”
Monica looked serious for moment. “I wanted to be alone with you. I didn’t want to have to share you with anyone else. This is nice, just you and me. It means we can talk without interruption.”
I had to admit she was right. We’d both dressed up, she looked stunning, and I was really enjoying being alone with her. Equally, I would have enjoyed the feeling of walking into a restaurant with her by my side. That was a feeling I still had to look forward to.
The meal wasn’t a complete disaster. The risotto was a little overcooked, but I think I got away with it. I poured us both another glass of wine.
“Are you ready for dessert?” I asked as I began to clear the plates.
“Not right now. There’s something we need to talk about. I can’t leave it any longer.”
I put the plates on the side and sat back down. Monica looked concerned, and I was worried she’d had second thoughts about us. My throat went dry as I tried to read her expression. Was she ending this before we’d even started?
“Okay,” I said. “Is this about anything in particular?”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“I’m not quite sure where to start, so I’ll just come straight out with it,” said Monica. I could feel my chest tighten and my heart begin to pound. I took a sip of wine and sat back to listen.
“This is really bad timing; I know that. For a long time, I’d wondered whether you and I might turn into something. Eventually, I decided I was being selfish and that I needed to move on with my life. I needed to plan for the future.
“Don’t get me wrong. I love Alice and Faith, you know that. I love them more than anything else in this world. But for a long time, I’ve felt I was living in a kind of fantasy and that one day that fantasy would end. I’ve decided the best thing for all of us is for me to find my own way.
“I want to help you heal, and I’m worried you might never do that. Helena will always be a big part of your life. I don’t see you truly moving on, James. You can’t let go. It’s like she’s still here – and that’s fine. Don’t misunderstand me. That is absolutely fine. Maybe it’s as it should be for you and the girls.” Monica took a deep breath before continuing. “But it’s time I moved on, to give you space to find who you are now. I have a new job and I will be leaving. I’m sorry. This isn’t how I had expected it to be when I told you.”
I was stunned. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “I thought this is what we both wanted. I’m not sure what to say.” I felt hurt; I felt stupid. I felt like I’d missed my opportunity to feel love again. My chance of happiness was being snatched away from me before it had even begun. “You make it sound like this is final and we’re over before we start. Where are you going? We can still see each other, surely?”
“I do want to see where we might go. I still do. I just wonder whether you need to find yourself first. And that is fine.” Monica reached out and held my hand. “I’m not asking for anything. It’s simply time for change, and it has been for a long time. I just didn’t want to face it before now.”
“What are you saying? I want to make this work. I want to give it a try. I may have taken my time but I am ready now, for us. I’m confused. This is your home, Monica. I work here. The school is right on the doorstep. The girls grew up here; we all have memories here. It was Helena herself who invited you to stay when you needed a refuge from Scott. Doesn’t this feel like your home too? This is your home.” But even as I said it, I knew she was right. All the examples were about me or the girls. In truth, she would always feel like a guest. My mind was going so fast I was finding it difficult to separate emotion from logic.
“I’ve been offered a position at a school in France,” Monica said. “I’ll be teaching English to French children. It’s a private school for the children of wealthy French families. It’s very well paid and a terrific opportunity. I think it’s for the best, James. I think it’s best for the both of us.”
I was reeling and frantic inside. My thoughts tumbled over each other. I couldn’t lose her. Why did I have to understand my feelings too late? What were these feelings? Why hadn’t I considered that Monica wanted a life and that life might not include me? I felt foolish. I’d taken her for granted, something I had vowed I’d never do, and now it was too late to tell her how I felt about her. I wanted to say so much, but instead I was overwhelmed by a feeling of loss.
“When do you leave?” was all I could manage.
“They would like me to start as soon I can. They are just waiting for me to sign the agreement.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Three months initially, and then, assuming everything goes well, the agreement is for three years.”
I’
d hoped for an evening of surprises, just not a surprise like this. I needed time to let it all sink in. “Does anyone else know?” I said numbly.
“Not yet. Only you.”
We sat in silence for a moment, both thinking the same thing: how would we tell Alice and Faith?
“I’ll speak to the girls,” I said. My voice sounded like it was coming from another room.
“Why don’t we talk to them together? It might be easier.”
“Yes, that would be nice.” My head and my heart were in turmoil. I needed to feel happy for Monica, but how could I? I wanted to say so much, but I couldn’t think. I was so shocked I couldn’t form a sentence. Instead, I asked inane questions about accommodation and which part of France and the working hours. Deep down, I knew this was a good opportunity for Monica, and I could tell she’d thought a lot about it. Was I being selfish? Probably, I thought glumly. Monica was a strong, independent woman, and she’d put her life on hold for us. No matter how much it hurt, I needed to let her go.
“Is this what you really want?” I said, trying not to let my voice break.
Monica squeezed my hand. “I think it’s best for all of us. Yes, it’s time to start over.”
I reluctantly held up my glass. “To starting over.”
“To starting over.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“The hotel manager found the body when she came to check the rooms. The fire alarms went off around four this morning. When checking the bookings list, she discovered a guest was missing. Guests also believe they heard gunshots right before the alarms went off.” Rayner pushed open the bathroom door to reveal the slumped body of the big man.
