by Harry Verity
Edward tried to speak. There was so much he wanted to know. How could this have happened? Michael was guilty. Edward had seen him, he’d walked in on him placing his hands around Tiffany’s neck. And if Michael was innocent why had Liv not testified that she was with him at the time the girls were kidnapped? And Braithwaite, Braithwaite, a murderer? Edward couldn’t get his head around it.
‘Oh, go on then.’ Braithwaite strode over to Edward and removed the duct tape. ‘Ask away. We have all the time in the world. If they were going to find us, they would have by now, wouldn’t you think?’
Edward gasped for breath. His lips quivered.
Braithwaite laughed. He couldn’t control himself. ‘Mm… Michael’s brother?’
‘Oh, Phillip. Good old Phillip O’Shea. He was always a stain on Michael’s character. Wherever he went, however famous he got, Michael was always stuck with him. He may have pretended to care for him when the cameras were on but he treated his brother like dirt, yes, his true feelings came out when the cameras were off. Michael told me so on a regular basis and then when everything exploded, the dodgy shit Phillip had been looking up on his computer and what he’d done to that kid who lived down the road… Michael was livid. He decided not to fund his court case. A cynical move to get the press off his tail. Think about it. He threw his own disabled brother to the dogs, not for any great moral reason, not to teach him a lesson, not to try to get him to see the error of his ways, but so it didn’t affect his own career. So when you and Violet came calling, trying to get yourselves off the hook, you offered Phillip a chance to get revenge and he was more than happy to get stuck in, with a little bit of anonymous coaching!’
Edward’s throat was dry from both the lack of water and the sheer terror of what he was hearing. The world was spinning: everything was happening so fast.
Braithwaite seemed to sense Edward’s confusion. ‘An ingenious plan, don’t you think? Who would ever have expected it? Not you, that’s for sure. I hold you responsible, Edward. You’re as bad as him, you and your precious whore.’
Braithwaite’s way of talking about Violet was grating with him, but he knew that was the last of his worries…
Edward could not deny the truth of that statement.
He was too frightened to ask the next question. Braithwaite obliged.
‘I know what you’re thinking. Do you know why nobody ever discovered this little hideout of mine? It’s because my operation, so to speak, was mobile. Yes, that’s right, Edward, remember all those times I offered to give you a lift, how we went together to investigate Minnie’s disappearance when all along she was there, fast asleep in the boot of my car. Whenever anyone got suspicious, when the police came to search the studios, all I had to do was gather up my little cabinet of tricks, lift up the girls and place them in the back of the car. You see, before you so rudely interrupted me, I was going to take them both far away from this place and set them up with a brand-new life. As you so tactfully tried to tell me yesterday, the party is indeed over. The show has been cancelled. And I intend to leave the country…’
But there were still questions that needed answering. Braithwaite had got his way, he’d had Michael locked up, so why had he felt the need to write a book? Start his own show? There was no need for him to come back, he’d committed the perfect crime.
Braithwaite had an answer for that as well.
‘I couldn’t resist the chance to right the wrongs of Michael O’Shea, giving the public the reality show they deserved. I am the one who fixed people instead of breaking them, I am the one who deserves to be remembered, to go down in history, I will…’
‘Fixing people?’ Edward murmured. ‘And what are they? Are they fixed?’ He pointed to Minnie and Jessica. Is Thomas Mallaky fixed?’
‘Don’t talk about something you don’t understand, Edward,’ Braithwaite said, curtly.
There was silence for several seconds until Braithwaite spoke once again.
‘You know that no one will find you down here, don’t you? You’re an intelligent man, Edward, and so is your girlfriend, it’s just a shame for you that I’m more intelligent. All the tracks are covered. You were a coward, you refused to stand up to Michael O’Shea before it was too late, you were like everyone else, you could have walked away but you cared only about your career prospects and now… you will pay the price.’
Edward shook his head. ‘Michael is in prison, if you murder me and Violet, he’ll have an alibi. You’ll be prime suspect.’ Sweat trickled down Edward’s forehead.
‘Will I though?’ Braithwaite shrugged. ‘I wonder where Mags is tonight? She lives alone, doesn’t she? And, that’s right, you went to visit her, didn’t you? I can read The Lion copy now. In a fit of drunken rage, a crime of passion, the former producer confronted the two researchers who ruined her career and shopped her best mate, killing them with her bare hands and hiding the bodies… how tragic, how sad.’
Braithwaite cackled. ‘Now…’
Edward closed his eyes and tried to imagine he was somewhere else. He did not want to hear what Braithwaite was about to say next. He knew what was coming. Everything had been explained. There could be no more stalling. Edward and Violet were about to pay the price. It was time to pray.
‘Who should I kill first?’
Edward knew the answer. Of course, it was Violet. The bastard, the evil bastard.
Braithwaite strode over, rubbing his palms together in anticipation.
He stroked Violet, brushing her hair to one side and moving his way to her shoulders.
Edward could see where this was going. ‘Stop!’ he screamed.
‘Touched a nerve, have I?’
Braithwaite was like a snake, hissing and slithering. Violet pinned herself as far as she could against the wall, a fruitless attempt to resist him. Edward could see his lips just millimetres from her neck. Then he pulled away, laughing. Braithwaite pulled on a pair of latex gloves, loaded up the syringe and started to approach Violet.
Sweat ran down Edward’s face like a river. ‘Don’t!’
Braithwaite smirked and made a faster approach. ‘Goodnight, Violet.’
Edward could only watch on in horror: he tried with all of his strength to wiggle, slither and fidget his way over, desperately shuffling all of his limbs in whatever way they would move. But it was no use.
He screamed out and Braithwaite raised the syringe, licking his lips as he struck. Violet was out cold in less than a minute. Though how ‘cold’ Edward could but speculate: only Braithwaite knew if she still lived.
Braithwaite approached Edward. He knew it was his turn. Minnie and Jessica were clearly not his priority, maybe he’d gotten bored of them.
Edward struggled and screamed as Braithwaite approached him.
‘There are no drugs for you, I’m afraid.’ He pushed Edward to the floor, directly in front of his car, his legs and his arms still tied with cable wire and duct tape. ‘Now I’m going to crush you as casually and as brutally as I would a beetle.’ He twisted his neck and licked his lips once again.
Edward could not take his eyes off Violet. He searched for a sign of life but he could barely see any detail through the car window. Please be alive, he begged, silently, please don’t be dead.
‘Lie down,’ Braithwaite said, pointing to the small gap between the back of the car and the doors which led to the basement of the studios. Edward didn’t want to submit but he knew it was pointless. His brief hesitation earned him a forceful shove from Braithwaite; he was far stronger than Edward had anticipated.
‘You’re going to have to wait until I’ve cleaned up, old chap,’ Braithwaite said, imitating Edward’s well-spoken manner, pointing to the drugs cabinet and the two girls. ‘You see, we’re off to the airport. There might be space for you in the boot of course, but I might have to cut you into pieces if you won’t fit. Don’t worry, though, your bones will be broken by this point, it shouldn’t be too taxing a task.’
Edward screamed.
�
��Oh do shut your trap,’ Braithwaite said, laughing. ‘I do think we’ve heard quite enough from you for one day, in fact, I don’t think we need to hear from you ever again!’ Braithwaite taped Edward’s mouth.
Next, Braithwaite scooped up the contents of the drugs cabinet into a bag. He left one syringe and dangled it in front of Edward so he could clearly see what he was doing.
‘I best give them a top-up,’ he said, moving first towards Jessica Butler. ‘I don’t want them stirring halfway through the journey.’
How could Edward have allowed this to happen? All this time he’d been so sure that Michael was behind it all and he’d pursued him doggedly, falling right into Braithwaite’s trap: at that moment he didn’t just feel stupid and broken, he was so fraught with guilt that he felt he deserved to die.
Then everything stopped. There was shouting, footsteps.
‘Impossible,’ Braithwaite whispered. There was fear in his voice.
Then again.
The voices were getting closer. Then suddenly, unmistakable loud bangs; they couldn’t be… bullets?
Violet looked awful. The colour was slowly draining out of her skin. Edward prayed with all of his might that she wasn’t yet dead. He hoped that even if he died now, whoever was heading this way had time to save her.
Braithwaite ran to the light switch and plunged them into darkness. The seconds ticked by and then somebody tried the door handle. Edward couldn’t help himself. He was breathing so heavily. So was Braithwaite. Edward closed his eyes. He felt as if he was going to pass out and when a flash of light turned everything yellow he felt certain, relieved, that he was falling unconscious. It was only when he heard a familiar voice that he felt compelled to open his eyes.
‘My God…’
Edward had never heard Mags lost for words before.
44
Edward was sweating. All he could see was Mags with her gun, intensely magnified from the low angle of the floor. He was facing the opposite direction to Braithwaite. He couldn’t see him. He didn’t know how close he was to starting up the engine.
‘It’s over, you sick bastard!’ Mags screamed. ‘I always knew there was something wrong with you but you’ve surpassed all my expectations. Come out now or I swear I’ll do it, I’ll fucking kill you.’
‘Oh really?’ Braithwaite laughed. Mags fired at the roof, without warning. Braithwaite flinched.
‘Have you phoned the police?’ Mags asked the man standing next to her. It took Edward a few moments to realise it was Mr Griffiths. He dialled straight away.
She assessed the room for a few moments.
‘Is she dead?’ She must have been talking about Violet.
‘Who knows?’ Braithwaite hissed. Edward tried to shuffle around so that he was away from the tyres. He had to avoid the firing line and see what was happening. The best he could do was to crane his neck around one of the tyres, pushing it up against the rubber.
Edward could see Braithwaite ever so slowly reaching towards his pocket but his mouth was still gagged, he had no way of telling Mags. Braithwaite pulled out another syringe and Mags screamed.
‘Put it down!’
‘On the contrary,’ Braithwaite said, easing the syringe ever closer to Violet’s neck and Edward noticed he was shaking slightly, ‘you put down your gun and I don’t have to give her another dose. If you take her to the hospital now, she’s got a fighting chance, but another dose…’
He might have talked the talk but this time Braithwaite really was as nervous as the bumbling character he’d been playing for so long: his hands were shaking, his forehead soaked with sweat.
‘Fuck off, Braithwaite!’ Mags screamed. ‘The boys in blue are coming, you’re not going to get away with this, by fuck you’re not and don’t think I won’t blow your brains out if I have to.’
Apart from his head – about the only movable part of his body – Edward remained still on the floor as his former colleagues drew ever close to one another.
‘Drop the syringe,’ Mags said.
Braithwaite held his ground.
Mags fired another warning shot at the floor, being careful to aim away from Edward, and Braithwaite flinched.
‘Coward!’ Mags screamed and then the faintest of noises reverberated through the room, unmistakable noises which signalled to everybody that show-time was almost over. The sirens grew louder and louder, now there were boots on the ground, in the underpass and banging on the garage door from the other side.
‘POLICE, this is the police.’
‘It’s over!’ Mags shouted.
Braithwaite didn’t think so. He pushed in the syringe. Mags fired the gun. Edward screamed out and the room erupted with armed policemen…
45
Edward was supposed to be asleep. That’s what the doctors had told him he needed and yet over the past few days, he’d got barely any at all. The events of the past few months played over and over in his mind even more vividly than they had in the garage. How could he have let this all happen?
Nobody had come to see him.
The police wanted a completely untainted, corroborated account of what had happened, so that meant no contact with anybody until they’d had a chance to talk to him, not even his parents…
When the officers finally attended him at his bedside, he related everything he could, his heart beating as he went, as he wondered whether he should leave out any details, soften his account; potential charges of criminal negligence had crossed his mind.
As the officers got up to leave, promising to be in touch again, a thought that sent shivers down Edward’s back, he wondered where he went with his life from here. Braithwaite had died at the scene, Mags from fatal wounds several hours later. When the police entered the garage they were just in time to see her firing her gun at Braithwaite and their first reaction was to disarm her, in any way they could.
Violet had survived the ordeal, the drugs he gave her were only lethal in larger doses. If Braithwaite had been allowed to finish injecting the syringe…
A few moments later the nurse came to see him.
‘You’re free to go.’
‘Oh?’
‘Gather your things and keep taking these…’ She handed him a prescription. ‘To help you sleep.’ she explained and pretty soon his travel bag was packed, his bed was being stripped and his name was in the process of being wiped from the board behind him.
As he left the hospital and walked down the long corridor towards the exit, he caught a momentary glimpse of two girls in adjacent beds, asleep. He lingered outside the door for a moment when he realised he wouldn’t be seen. Jessica Butler and Minnie Jenkins were both still hooked up to drips with the colour drained from their faces and he couldn’t help but notice the tight bandage around Minnie’s knuckles where a thumb should have been. Jessica’s bedside cabinet was rammed full of flowers, chocolates and get well soon cards. Minnie’s table was empty…
As Edward headed to the driveway outside the hospital to wait for his parents to arrive and pick him up, he saw Violet lingering by the bus stop. He walked over.
She was heavily engrossed in a video game on her phone.
‘New habit…’ she said.
Edward saw his parents pull up on the kerb, on the other side of the road. There was an awkwardness as Edward, and clearly, Violet too, wondered what to do. In the end, she said, ‘Goodbye, Edward.’
Edward feigned a smile. He wondered if she’d already started searching for a new job. He had decided that television was not for him. He wanted out, he might even go back to university. It seemed unlikely that he’d ever see her again. And they never had gotten together, properly.
In the distance, a hooter sounded and Edward knew it was time to go.
‘Bye, Violet.’
In the end that was all that he could muster.
46
He had avoided newspaper headlines since he had been released. And he may have missed this one had it not been for the vendor practically shoving The
Lion into his left hand as he climbed down the steps of the Tube station.
Handing over the twenty pence, he read:
O’SHEA: ‘I’LL RUN AS MP’
Just a few weeks out of prison, tough-talking chat show host Michael O’Shea talks exclusively to The Lion and announces a sensational new plan to bring his no-nonsense agenda into our lives, by forming his own party and running for parliament.
‘A lot of people stitched me up, good and proper, that much is clear.’ Indeed, Michael was exonerated after serving time inside for child sex crimes he did not commit. ‘Those people obviously thought that prison was the back of me but they are wrong. My show may have been cancelled – we’re already in talks with rival channels, by the way – but prison has fuelled my fire, toughened me up. I’m going to run as an MP for my own party and the campaign starts today. We’ll bring back the death penalty, no more benefits, life sentences for anyone caught dealing drugs and we’ll reform the court system. No one should have to go through what I went through. Those f***ers out to get me will pay the pr…’
Michael O’Shea smirked to himself as he necked back his cider, his third can of the day. His dark sunglasses and hoodie were clearly working miracles on the wider public; nobody had yet rumbled who he was, even though his face was plastered right in front of their very eyes. The time would indeed come when he would return, when his glorious public would once again come a-flocking and he would feel truly vindicated. But for now, at least, he had other demons to battle…
