by Jay Gill
She straightened the Batgirl mask she had put on, took a selfie and opened the back of the car. The young couple on the back seat began moaning and crying hysterically. Their hands were tied behind their backs, and over their heads they wore hoods.
“I’ll be back to let you go in few minutes,” promised Lyle.
She pulled out two lengths of rope and a small stepladder. Next, she pulled out a vinyl banner and fastened it to the railing before pushing it over the side to reveal its message.
Almost immediately, the first car honked its horn. Lyle smiled to herself.
Closing the rear door and opening the side door, she helped the young couple out. She could feel them trembling.
“Justin, sit there. Rachel, you sit down next to him.” Obediently, they crouched below the railing.
“Please let us go. We won’t tell anyone. Just let us go,” pleaded Rachel. “We haven’t seen your face; you can just let us go. We’re wearing hoods. We can’t see anything.”
Lyle ignored her and opened up the stepladder. She tied two lengths of rope to the railing.
“Let us go, you freak,” yelled Justin.
Lyle pressed two fingers into the back of his head.
“Don’t shoot me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, but you’ve got to let us go.”
“That earns you the opportunity of going first. Take my hand, Justin. If you don’t, I’ll shoot you in the head right here and now.”
She didn’t have a gun, but Justin didn’t know that. Slowly he got to his feet.
“Do as I say, and I’ll let you both go. Put this on. It’s for your safety.”
Lyle dropped a noose around his neck.
“Now, climb three small steps. You do that for me, and you’ll get your freedom. I promise.”
“I can’t see?” said Justin.
“I’ll help you.”
With a great deal of coaxing, he did as he was told. Lyle held his arm and helped him up each step until he reached the top. Lyle looked over at the traffic below then up at the hooded Justin.
“Can you hear the car horns, Justin? They’re for you.”
He turned his head towards her voice. “Please…”
Lyle stepped behind him and pushed him over.
He vanished over the edge. The rope around his neck trailed behind him before snapping taut, instantly crushing his neck. Justin swung under the bridge like a pendulum.
From below came the sound of cars colliding. Car horns blared.
Lyle moved the ladder to the right side of the banner.
“On your feet, missy. Your turn.”
As Lyle dropped the noose around Rachel’s neck, Rachel pushed back and tried to run.
Lyle grabbed her arm and said, “Oh, no you don’t. I need you to go this way.”
Rachel smashed against the railing as Lyle shoved her. Forgetting the ladder, Lyle squatted down and grabbed Rachel’s ankles. With considerable effort, she tipped Rachel over the railing.
She looked over the side at the couple swinging back and forth below. The traffic was now gridlocked, and people were out of their cars and gazing up. Lyle waved and watched with amusement as onlookers waved back. She blew a kiss and gave a thumbs-up to someone filming. She pointed to the banner and gave a farewell wave.
Returning to the car, Lyle started the siren and disappeared into the fast-flowing traffic.
Chapter Six
Emma stopped her car outside the house of James Hardy. She grabbed the security envelope from the passenger seat and walked as quickly as she could up the driveway.
Her boss, Etheridge, would go nuts if he found out she was once again bothering the retired detective.
As light-footedly as possible, she climbed the steps and reached for the letterbox. The door opened.
“He’s not here. And from what I understand, you’re not supposed to be here.” Hardy’s girlfriend, Monica, looked down at her.
Monica was the woman he’d changed his life for. He’d given up being a detective for her. Hardy had changed his whole life for Monica, and now Monica stood not two feet away as Emma was trying to coax him back. She felt like a drug dealer leaving a free sample for a reformed addict.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to drop this off.” She held out the envelope.
Monica took it and said, “He’s trying to put this behind him. I believe he spoke to your boss about you dropping these off.”
“I’m just looking for pointers. Anything he can offer me. If he could just take a look and let me know what I’m missing.”
“You know damn well it doesn’t work that way. It’s all or nothing. That’s why he doesn’t open any of the packages you deliver. You need to stop coming here. He’s conflicted and needs time to decide for himself what he wants. You do know he only just survived the last investigation he was on? His daughters nearly lost their daddy.”
Emma nodded and said, “I’m sorry. I just…” She turned to walk away.
Monica’s tone changed. “Are you okay? If you don’t mind my saying, you look like shit. I’ve watched you deliver these envelopes before. Today you don’t seem yourself. Less energy, less zing.”
“It’s just been a tough few days. As well as work, I have some personal stuff. My fiancé seems to have had a change of heart. It seems every way I turn I seem to be lacking.” She wasn’t sure why she was telling this to a woman she didn’t know. Confiding in strangers must be an indication of how crap her life had become. She needed to be careful she didn’t start seeking counselling from anyone who would listen.
“I’m sorry. Why don’t you come in? I’m a good listener. I could also use a break; I'm an English teacher and have been marking student papers all night. James is out. Alice and Faith are visiting their grandparents. It’s just me and the dog.” Monica could see Cotton was tempted. “I just opened a cold bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. I have some chilli con carne I can warm up for you. Come in for a bit. It’s been a while since I had some adult female company.”
As they chatted and sipped wine Emma could see why a man like Hardy had fallen for Monica. Not only was she beautiful, but she was one of those women who could pull off intelligent, maternal and sexy with complete ease. There was a confidence about her that suggested she had life under control. Monica had a way about her that immediately put you at ease. A casual manner and an aura that made you feel you could trust her with your deepest secrets. She felt like a friend she’d known her whole life.
Monica asked about the investigation, and although Emma couldn’t tell her much, due to it being an ongoing case, she explained the dead ends they had encountered. It didn’t take her long to get around to explaining how she thought Hardy could help. Monica listened attentively and gave nothing away about how she felt.
“You do realise I have no sway over whether he ever goes back to active detective work, don’t you?”
“I wasn’t suggesting you try to persuade him. I wouldn’t do that.”
“I know. I can see your heart is in the right place. It was his choice to leave. He did it for his daughters, Alice and Faith. After their mother died, he became increasingly concerned that if anything happened to him, they’d be alone.”
“I heard you were the other reason.”
Monica smiled a wide, beautiful smile. “The romantic in me likes to think so. The romantic in him likes to think so too. Hardy is the sweetest and most honest man I have ever met. He’s smart, dedicated, passionate and loyal to those he lets in. If you do work with him, don’t ever lie to him. You won’t get a second chance.”
Chapter Seven
Opening the front door, she felt her heart tighten in her chest. Her evening with Monica had been enjoyable, but it also emphasised how crap her life was right now. You can’t have it all, she thought, but just some of it would be nice. In her head, her mother’s voice was reminding her how being a detective was “no life for a woman,” and “You’ll get to forty, and you’ll be too old for kids.” And “You know how long I’ve dreamed of g
randchildren.”
During the drive home, she replayed the conversation with Dave over and over. She wondered whether he genuinely did just want a little breathing space. For a moment she wondered whether he had simply got cold feet. Then she scolded herself for being so stupid. There was no doubt he was seeing someone else. She’d suspected it for a while, but being so busy she’d put it to one side, hoping his indiscretion could be ignored and would pass.
Emma tried to calm herself. “I won’t cry. Do not cry.” She checked each room and could see he hadn’t been back to collect his stuff. That set her mind racing as to where he was, who he was with, why he didn’t need his clothes or any of his stuff. She pushed the thoughts away.
Watson appeared at the window and started meowing and pacing up and down. “Hello, boy. Have you come to say hello to Mummy? Come here. I need some love.”
She opened the back door and Watson padded in.
“Still refusing to use the cat-flap, I see. Still feel it’s beneath you?”
Emma stroked and squeezed him and gave him a kiss on the top of his head before he wriggled free. Her eyes began filling with tears. She fought them back. She opened the fridge and took out some cold chicken. Her voice breaking, she said, “Are you hungry? Dave won’t be coming back today. We won’t need all this chicken. It’s just you and me from now on. Is that okay? You can have some.” She broke a chicken breast into pieces and put them down for Watson.
A sob forced its way out. Then another. She had fought hard, but she couldn’t hold her emotions back any longer. Tears overwhelmed her. Having let her guard down for a moment, the distress and upset, which had rumbled away inside, finally erupted like a volcano. She ran to her bed and flung herself on it the way she had done as a little girl. Unable to control her feelings, she had no choice but to let go and let them out. The rawness of her pain and her inability to control her tears surprised her. Were these feelings of loss? Or feelings of failure? Or was it the hurt of his betrayal? Her mind was dark and confused, and everything felt blurred.
Curled up on the bed, she imagined his warmth behind her and his arm around her. She could smell him on the duvet. Feel his kiss on her neck. She pushed his pillows off the bed onto the floor, turned over her own tear-soaked pillow and fell into a deep, heavy sleep.
Watson watched her for a time from the end of the bed before he too curled up and went to sleep.
Chapter Eight
Detective Superintendent Calvin Etheridge ended the call and dropped the phone in his jacket pocket. Ideally, he would speak to DI Cotton today, but he’d had enough for one day, and she appeared to have a life outside work. Lucky her. At least someone did, he thought.
Instead of working late again, Etheridge had decided to go home. Lifting the bottle of brandy from the passenger seat of the Audi and checking the car was locked, he began the short walk along the river.
These days, home was a caravan beside a half-built house on a piece of land he’d paid too much for. The Wreck, as he called it, made him feel sick to look at. It had been meant to be their dream home. He and Kate had planned on building it together; it was to be their fresh start. Instead, it was now a leering, taunting monstrosity. It represented the state of his life. Kate was gone, and the partly built house was nothing more than a constant and expensive reminder of their failed marriage.
He’d heard some couples would have another baby in the hope of rekindling their relationship. He and Kate had had the crazy idea of idea working together on designing and managing the build of a new home in which they could both grow comfortably old together.
Ironically, Kate did live in a dream home now; it just happened to be with Patrick, the site manager he’d hired. As he’d overheard one of the workmen say with a laugh, “Instead of laying bricks, Patrick’s laying the wife. He’s doing it while the poor bugger is paying him, too.”
Etheridge stepped inside the caravan. He threw his jacket on the back of a chair. It slid off into a pile on the floor. He reached into the sink for a glass and half-heartedly ran it under the tap. Without bothering to dry it, he filled the glass with brandy. He drank half the glass and topped it up. He sighed heavily and pushed the front door open with his foot. He leaned on the doorframe and looked out.
He felt lonely; drink did that to him – amplified what he was already feeling. He thought about phoning Kate. Maybe she was ready to come home. He didn’t feel ready to pick up the phone. What if she sounded happy? He didn’t want to hear that in her voice. What if Patrick picked up the phone? Could he text her? Maybe later, after another drink or two.
A voice caught his attention. He leaned out and looked back up the path he’d just come down. The footpath was a public right of way, but he’d never seen anyone else use it. He stepped down from the caravan to get a better look.
“Ruby!” called the woman. She had the brightest red hair he’d ever seen. She wore blue glittery welly-boots, blue jeans and a jacket the same red as her hair. “Ruby! Where are you?” The woman looked his way and immediately waved and called to him. “Woohoo! Hello!” She started to trot towards him. He wanted to back himself into his caravan and close the door, but it was too late.
“She’s about this big, brown, with one white foot and white down the front of her face.” The woman, who was a little out of breath from trotting over to him, was one of those very animated people who were fun when you were in the right frame of mind. She was now crouching down and using her hand to demonstrate the size of the dog. “Please say you’ve seen her. Please tell me you’ve seen my little Ruby.” She tilted her head and gave him her pleading face.
Etheridge hid the glass of brandy behind his back. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been home long. I’ve only seen you. Sorry – I didn’t mean you’re a dog.” He smiled with amusement, but she seemed oblivious to his poor choice of words.
He watched as this wacky woman started looking behind and under the caravan and the surrounding area. It was like she was moving in fast-forward while talking incessantly. “I’ve never walked this way before. It’s a beautiful walk. So secluded. No other dog walkers. I thought it would make a change for Ruby. I can’t believe I came out without my phone. Poor little Ruby. I’m sure she must be lost. She must be frightened. I hope she’s not hurt. She’s only just back from the vet. Cost me a fortune. The only time I don’t have my phone; can you believe it? I love little Ruby to bits. Do you have pets? I’ve always had a dog. My whole life. I can’t imagine life without one.” She started calling again. “Ruby! Ruby! Ruby!”
Etheridge thought about it for a moment then said, “Would you like to use my mobile phone? You won’t get a signal here, but we could walk back up the path together.”
“I don’t want to be any bother, but…” Her face was beaming, and for a fleeting moment Etheridge thought she looked familiar. “I’m at my wits’ end with worry,” she insisted. “I can phone my husband and children. They can help me search. Ruby couldn’t cope alone out here at night. She might be eaten by foxes or badgers.”
Etheridge felt sure foxes and badgers wouldn’t attack and eat her dog but said nothing. “Give me a second. I’ll just get my phone.” He stepped inside the caravan, bent over to pick up his jacket then called out over his shoulder. “Do you live very far away? Perhaps Ruby went home.”
When he turned and straightened up, she was there in front of him. Uncomfortably close. “Oh, you’re there. I thought you were still outside. Sorry, the place is a mess.” He smiled awkwardly. She smiled back. He watched as she pulled off the red wig. He searched his memory for where he’d seen her before. Holy shit. As he lurched forward, she fired the taser. Every muscle in his body seized. He let out a pitiful groan before collapsing to his knees. He fell sideways, his head bouncing off the chair on the way down. She shocked him again and again. Everything went black.
Chapter Nine
Etheridge touched the cut on his head. He was on the floor. He tried to sit up. His body ached and he felt bruised. He got to his hands and
knees and threw up beside the armchair. His head was spinning as though he were drunk. The room was moving uncontrollably. He was trying to remember what had happened. He pulled himself up onto the armchair. On the worktop next to the sink he could see the red wig. The woman. Kelly Lyle. The Mentor. Where was she? And what was that smell? Gas? The air was thick with gas.
He put out a hand to steady himself. Leaning heavily on the armchair, he pushed himself up to his feet. Stepping forward, he knocked against something metal on the floor. A saw. A surgical saw. Where had that come from? Had she left it? Had she intended to use it on him?
He needed to get out before she came back. He’d seen the sick and bloody things she’d done to her victims. Etheridge lunged forward and nearly fell flat on his face. He was chained around his ankle. What the fuck? He kicked his leg, and the chain rattled. It was short, like a leash. There wasn’t enough chain to reach the kitchen area to turn off the gas. Could he even reach the door?
His head was pounding. The cooker hob hissed. His vision was blurred. The room swayed. He needed to move. He must open the door. He needed fresh air. Oxygen. He got down on his belly. Staying low, he crawled to the door. He reached up for the door handle. He pulled the handle. His fingers slipped. He reached again. The handle didn’t move. The door was locked. She’d locked him in. Shit. What now?
Etheridge looked around for ideas. He turned to the window behind him. It was locked. The key was gone. He grabbed a dining chair and smashed it against the window. Not even a scratch. The thick, modern insulated window wouldn’t break; he knew that. She knew that. He was caught like a rat in a trap. Etheridge’s eyes scanned the room. They eventually fell upon the key hanging from the handle of a kitchen cabinet. The key was so far beyond his reach it might as well have been on the far side of the moon.
There must be a way out. Think!
