Lost Hours

by Alex Walters

  Up to this point, she’d been acting largely on instinct and adrenaline alone, not really considering the implications of what she was dealing with. Now, presented with the undeniable fact of Hardy’s death, she suddenly realised the vulnerability of her own position.

  Hardy was no longer a threat, if he ever had been. But somewhere out here there was a killer. Presumably the same person who, for whatever reason, had been responsible for the deaths of Justin Wentworth, Keith Chalmers and quite possibly Sammy Nolan.

  Still crouched on the ground, Zoe looked anxiously around her. In the darkness and heavy rain, she could see nothing. She rose slowly and moved back out of the light, still on the alert for any sign of movement, any sound other than the beating of rain on leaves.

  She could see and hear nothing, but some instinct made her glance back towards the house. She froze, and suddenly the night felt much colder. As she watched, a figure slipped swiftly across the patio and entered through the door she’d left unlocked and slightly open. The figure was little more than a silhouette against the kitchen lights, but she could see that it was dressed in some kind of heavy waterproof coat with a large hood pulled over its head. From where she stood, it was impossible to make out whether the figure was male or female.

  Her first thought was to curse her own stupidity. She should never have come out here, and she should certainly never have come out here and left the doors unlocked behind her. She’d expected to be out here only for a few moments, and she still hadn’t really believed there was a serious threat from Hardy, but that didn’t excuse her negligence.

  She hurried back towards the house, alert for any other movement around her, conscious that the figure, whoever it was, might not have been alone. Her thin summer clothing was now completely drenched, and she was finally beginning to feel the cold. For the moment, there was no sign of the storm abating. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the low rumble of thunder.

  Zoe reached the patio and, moving more cautiously now, tried the back door. As she’d expected, it had been locked again from within. She knew the rest of the house was secure because she and Wentworth had checked all the doors and windows thoroughly. Michelle Wentworth was alone in the house with this unknown visitor, and Zoe had no means of gaining entry.

  She concealed herself as best she could in a sheltered corner of the patio and dug out her mobile phone. For an awful moment, as she struggled to operate it with her cold, numb fingers, she feared that the phone might have been damaged by the rain. But after a few moments, she managed to get it working.

  Her first call was to the operations room to update them on developments. She was assured that a car was on its way and should only be a few minutes.

  ‘I need more than that,’ Zoe said. ‘I need whatever backup we can get out here as soon as possible. I don’t know how dangerous this person is but we’ve reason to believe they may have killed at least four people. I’ll speak to DI Delamere myself.’

  After a moment’s hesitation, she decided to try Michelle Wentworth’s mobile number first. As she’d half-expected, it simply rang out to voicemail. She left a brief message, saying simply: ‘Hi, it’s Zoe. I’ll try again.’ On the remote chance that Wentworth might find some way of accessing it, it would at least reassure her that Zoe was still safe out here. And Wentworth might have the presence of mind to find some way of giving Zoe access back into the house.

  Beyond that, there was nothing else she could do until support arrived, and even then she was unsure how easily they’d be able to gain entry without this escalating into a hostage event. She dialled Annie Delamere’s number.

  ‘Annie, it’s Zoe. We’ve a problem. A pretty serious one.’ She was keeping her voice as low as possible even though she assumed there was little risk of being heard from inside the house.

  It sounded as if Annie was driving and had taken the call on hands-free. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m still at Michelle Wentworth’s. Outside it, to be more precise.’

  It took her only a few seconds to update Annie on developments. ‘There’s backup on its way, and I’ve asked them to send whatever they can.’

  ‘Okay,’ Annie said. ‘We may need armed police and a hostage team. I’ll sort that all out with Stuart on the way. Funnily enough, I was heading in that direction anyway. We’ve had a few interesting developments at this end too.’

  ‘The main gates are open. How far away are you?’

  ‘Maybe ten minutes. I can hear some sirens too, so I suspect you may have company before too long. How are you doing?’

  ‘Cold, soaked to the skin. Very conscious that this is partly my fault. But other than that, I’m okay.’

  ‘Don’t start blaming yourself. We know this person, whoever they are, is dangerous. If he wanted to get to Michelle Wentworth, he’d have found a way to do it. As it is, at least you’re not stuck in there with her, and at least you’ve been able to summon help.’

  ‘I’ll bank that for the moment,’ Zoe said. ‘If only to keep myself going.’

  ‘Just keep safe, Zoe. We’ll be there shortly.’

  Zoe was silent for a second, watching the endless downpour of rain, wondering what might be happening inside the house. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Michelle Wentworth looked up as he entered. She’d assumed it would be Zoe Everett returning from the kitchen, but succeeded in concealing her surprise at his presence. After all, she’d been expecting his arrival. She was surprised only that he’d already managed to gain access to the house.

  ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Already.’

  ‘I thought you’d be more shocked.’

  ‘Hardly. It’s been obvious from the start. Who else would it have been?’

  ‘You always were the coolest of customers, but even I don’t believe that. Maybe you’ve put some of it together now I’m here. But don’t try to fool me you’ve got it all worked out.’ He took a seat on the sofa opposite her, stretching out his legs as if to demonstrate that he was making himself at home.

  ‘That would disappoint you, wouldn’t it? If even now, you can’t manage to keep one step ahead. The truth is, you were always one step behind. Always at your most hopeless when you thought you were being smart. Nearly as bad as bloody Peter Hardy. Where is he, by the way?’

  ‘He’s… outside. I’ve taken care of hm.’

  ‘Ah. Okay, I’ll give you that one, for what it’s worth. I didn’t think you’d be quite that ruthless. Or that insane.’ She paused. ‘No, that’s not right. I didn’t think you’d be that stupid. I thought you’d realise how much you needed him.’

  ‘You didn’t think he was the brains behind this? You’ve always underestimated me, Michelle.’

  ‘You’ve always overestimated yourself. Although I suppose it does make sense if you were the brains behind this half-baked scheme.’

  There was a moment’s silence. ‘It never changes, does it? Your attempts to belittle me. But I’ve got exactly what I wanted. That’s what Hardy didn’t realise. That what I wanted was different from what he wanted.’

  ‘Is that right? Hardy wanted money. Specifically my money. Isn’t that what you want?’

  ‘Not any more. What would I do with it now?’

  She gazed back at him, her face emotionless. ‘So it is true then. What I’d heard on the grapevine. How long have they given you?’

  ‘They reckon a couple of months. But I reckon they’re perhaps being generous. I can already feel it, even with the medication.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Genuinely. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not even you.’

  ‘Gracious as ever, then.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve come to terms with it. It’s not as if I’ve much to live for. And this has been – what’s the word? Cathartic?’

  ‘You tell me. You were always the one who bothered with books.’

  ‘Whereas the only books you were interested in were the company’s.’

  ‘And that’s the di
fference between us. That’s why you’re where you are, and I’m here.’ Her voice was defiant even now.

  ‘No, that’s not the difference. The real difference is that, while neither of us has long to live, I’ve finally got what I wanted. And you never will.’

  Wentworth felt a flash of fear as the significance of the words registered. ‘And what is it that I want, other than money? And look around you. I’ve plenty of that.’

  ‘That’s not really what you’ve ever wanted. That’s just an addiction. That’s like saying a junkie wants heroin or an alcoholic wants booze. It’s true. But it doesn’t tell you why.’

  ‘So you’ve taken up amateur psychology now?’

  ‘It doesn’t take much insight to understand you, Michelle. Money’s only ever been a surrogate for all the things you’ve never been able to have. Respect. Love. A sense of belonging. A sense of purpose.’

  ‘Jesus,’ she spat out. ‘Do you have any idea how pathetic you sound? Doling out this bollocks like some evangelical fucking preacher. As if you ever had the first clue what I wanted.’

  ‘If all you wanted was money, you’ve had more than enough of that for years now. And yet you’ve still continued to chase it, regardless of the consequences. Too much was never enough. Doesn’t it strike you that there’s something psychotic about that?’

  ‘Given you’re presumably responsible for – what is it now? – four deaths and counting, I’m not sure I’m the psychopath.’

  ‘You still don’t get it, do you? I didn’t kill those people. They were already dead. Or they might as well have been. They were just people you’d used for your own ends. Even poor bloody Justin, who was just your way of fulfilling your social-climbing fantasies. As if he was ever going to be accepted into the elite. He was just a dumb yob with pretensions.’

  ‘A yob I bailed out more than once.’

  ‘Only because you were afraid it would damage your own social ambitions. You’re utterly transparent, Michelle. You think you’re so smart, but we can all see right through you. You use people. You suck them dry and spit them out. It’s what you did with Keith Chalmers. It’s what you’ve done with Peter Hardy. It’s what you were going to do even with poor Sammy Nolan—’

  For the first time, she felt a real flare of fury. ‘Don’t. Just don’t go there. You bastard.’

  ‘Ah. So what was it with Sammy Nolan, I wonder? What had you seen in him? Another protégé? A surrogate Justin? There’ve been a few over the years, haven’t there?’

  ‘You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh, I think I do. I’ve kept an eye on you over the years. I know exactly what you’ve been up to. Every step of the way. I’m the only person who knows how to hurt you.’

  ‘Is that right? And you think I’m the one that’s addicted?’

  ‘Like I say, Michelle, the difference between us is that, in the end, I’ve got exactly what I wanted.’

  ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘Just one simple thing, Michelle.’ He leaned forward, smiling now. ‘Revenge.’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Zoe shivered. The storm still showed no signs of lessening. The rumble of thunder had grown closer, and she had seen the occasional crackle of forked lightning through the rain-washed night.

  The cold was beginning to get to her now. The night was still mild, but her soaked clothes clung to her skin, draining the warmth from her body. She had looked around the patio, hoping to find something she could wrap around herself, but found nothing.

  She’d checked along the front of the house, trying to find any point that would enable her to see what might be happening inside. The blinds over the patio doors had been closed, presumably by Michelle Wentworth. The kitchen was empty. Wentworth had also lowered all the remaining blinds in the living room while they’d been double-checking that the windows were closed and locked, so it was impossible to see if anything was happening in there.

  Zoe made her way around the house so she could be ready to greet either the patrol car or Annie on their arrival. She turned the corner of the building – and stopped.

  Along the side wall of the house, there was an open ground-floor window.

  How was that possible? Between them, she and Wentworth had checked all the doors and windows. Could the intruder have opened it for some reason? She guessed it was possible, perhaps to allow access to another person.

  She moved cautiously closer. The window was that of Wentworth’s office. The room was in darkness, but there was a ring of light around the door at the far end, suggesting it had been left slightly ajar. It was Wentworth herself who’d checked this room, Zoe recalled. Was it possible that she’d somehow missed the open window? It seemed unlikely.

  Zoe hesitated, then dialled Annie’s number. The call was answered almost immediately. ‘Zo. All okay? We’re about five minutes away.’

  ‘All fine with me,’ Zoe said. ‘But I’ve just found an open downstairs window. I’m wondering whether to go in to see if I can get some idea what’s going on.’

  There was a moment’s silence at the other end of the line. ‘I’d rather you stayed safe, Zoe. We don’t know what you might be heading into.’

  ‘It’s my fault that this all has happened. I shouldn’t have left the door open.’

  ‘Look, we’ll be there in a few minutes. Wait till then. I’m not prepared to take any further risks until we’ve had a proper opportunity to see the lie of the land.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘This isn’t a request, Zoe. I’m telling you. Wait for us.’

  Before Zoe could respond, she heard the sudden sound of raised voices from within the house. Then the much louder sound of a woman’s voice, a scream seemingly pitched somewhere between terror and fury. ‘Something’s happening in there,’ she said. ‘I’m going in.’

  ‘Zoe—’

  She didn’t end the call, thinking it might be important for Annie to hear what was happening, but she pushed the phone back into her damp pocket. Then she scrambled, as quietly as she could, through the window into the room.

  Once inside, she stopped to listen. The house seemed silent and she could detect no signs of movement. She moved to the door and peered through the gap. She could see from here across the hallway into the open door of the living room, but her vision was severely limited by the angle.

  Zoe hesitated for a moment, then cautiously opened the door and stepped out into the hall. She could hear something now. Something she couldn’t quite make out. A strained muttering as though someone was struggling to speak. Then, unexpectedly, an almighty crash and the sound of breaking glass.

  She stepped forward and peered into the living room. Michelle Wentworth and the figure in the waterproof were struggling on the ground. The figure still had a hood pulled up, the face concealed, but there was no question now that he was male. He was larger and heavier than Wentworth and was pressing her back on to the carpet, holding one hand firmly across her mouth while his other hand fumbled in the pocket of the waterproof. Wentworth’s glass-topped coffee table lay overturned on the carpet beside them, presumably knocked over in the struggle, the glass shattered into countless pieces.

  Zoe rushed forward, grabbing the man by the shoulders, trying to pull him away from Wentworth. He twisted and, without removing the hand from Wentworth’s mouth, struck out savagely with his other to drive Zoe away. Zoe dodged and tried again. She had no idea how she could stop him, and no other thought except to try to buy some time till Annie could get here. She looked desperately around for something she could use as a weapon.

  The man gave a sudden cry of pain. Michelle Wentworth had managed to reach one of the glass shards from the table, and jabbed it hard towards his face. He swore and drew back, loosening his grip on Wentworth. She tried to slash again with the glass, but the man raised his head, easily avoiding her flailing hand. There was blood running from a gash in his cheek, but he seemed barely to notice. He reached back into the pocket of the waterproof a
nd this time produced a large steel spanner. He raised his arm, with the clear intention of bringing the spanner down hard on Wentworth’s head.

  Zoe grabbed his arm, clutching tightly to prevent him completing his intended action. The man clawed at her arm, trying to free her grip, then reached down with his other hand and grabbed another piece of glass. Zoe could see the blood seeping from his palm as he gripped the jagged shard tightly in his hand, but he seemed oblivious to the pain. She pulled hard on his arm, forcing it back, trying to drag him away from Wentworth. Zoe could see that he was preparing to use the broken glass to force her to free her grip.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw that Wentworth had extricated herself from beneath the man and was pulling herself backwards towards the sofa, reaching for something beneath it.

  The man thrust the piece of glass towards Zoe’s hands. She flinched instinctively, closing her eyes, waiting for the inevitable contact, the agony of the cut. It was only in that moment that he turned fully towards her and she finally saw his face.

  Then there was an explosion, the deafening noise of gunfire in an enclosed room, and she felt the man falling away from her.

  She opened her eyes, and there was blood everywhere.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  ‘You’re happy to talk now? You wouldn’t like a solicitor present?’

  Michelle Wentworth gave a wan smile. ‘My legal advisor’s lying dead in my garden. I’m not concerned about finding another one, just at the moment.’

  Annie exchanged a glance with Jennings. Zoe had been taken into hospital for checks, but she’d seemed to be physically unharmed. Following her arrest, Michelle Wentworth had also been kept under observation overnight, but had not been well enough to be interviewed until now. In view of the rumours already beginning to leak to the media, Jennings had decided to involve himself directly.

  ‘But you appreciate that you’re under arrest, charged with manslaughter?’ Annie had carried out the formal arrest procedure at Wentworth’s house but, at the time, hadn’t been clear how much Wentworth had been taking in.