by Naomi Joy
‘Are you going to kill Josh, too?’
He sighed, a different emotion registering on his face.
‘Poor Josh. When you came to tell me you and he were together I had to refocus. Josh hadn’t known what we shared, or the feelings I had for you, this wasn’t his fault: it was yours.’
He drew in close enough that I could smell his breath as it blew against my face. I tried to push myself as far back into the wall as I could. He drew in closer, crouched down towards me and assaulted my neck; gripping my skin with his teeth. I tried to make myself as small as possible, closing the gap between my shoulder and my jaw as much as I could, desperate to get away. But he held me in place, then, when he was done, stood back up, wiping away the moisture that surrounded his mouth.
‘You liked that the other night,’ he sneered.
I felt the dents of his teeth as I ran my fingers over my neck, tears falling down my face, mingling with the wetness he’d left behind. I wanted to spit at him. Crack his head off the wall. Tear chunks from his face. I dug my nails into the little grooves in the palms of my hands I’d already carved to make me feel alive, like I had some fight in me.
‘Josh called me when you ran off that night. I knew you’d do that, of course; Sheff was waiting in his Range Rover outside for you, he tailed you the entire way.’
I pressed my fingers into my forehead, suppressing the if only, the near miss. I’d never really paid attention to the car Sheff drove.
‘And you don’t know much about the police investigation, do you? It’s been quite the saga, darling, really, the media were furious that I’d given the police such a neat trail to follow. Though the police were convinced you’d run away, the media wanted more. I should have known, really: young blonde women always capture the imagination of the right wing tabloids, don’t they? The detective in charge just wanted an easy life, he had the evidence and anything to the contrary he basically just ignored. Oxana rode in the car with Sheff, drove your car to Heathrow once he’d taken you, she found your passport in your bag and posed as you, boarding the flight to Ireland I’d booked hours earlier, she took out some Euros with your bank card and, well, you did the rest with your erratic disappearing act in front of Josh, texting your parents that strange goodbye, so that was that really. I had to adapt a few times, change the direction of the media stories so they couldn’t focus on Josh or me. I convinced Georgette to speak out against Jade then, when she was exonerated, pulled my ace: Charlie. The reason I’d sent Oxana to Ireland was because he was from there. Did you know he went back after you broke up? That’s where Sheff found him: just outside Cork. Josh found the notes, which was helpful, it stopped me having to call in another anonymous tip. And now we’re here! The grand finale. Where justice will finally be served.’
He announced the milestone grandiosely to an invisible audience.
I met his bold stare and held it, strong and unflinching. His shoulders twitched and a glint of hard silver flashed from his belt, but it wasn’t a buckle that had caught my attention.
He was carrying a blade.
It looked like it was about ten inches long, pristine and razor-sharp.
He flicked his suit jacket open with a quick turn of his hand and the corners flew up behind him. The rise and fall reminded me of a matador’s cape, the bullfighter playing with its prey, distracting it from his weapons with the movement of the material.
The jacket open, he slid his hand round the blade’s handle, smiling as he pulled it from its shield. The tip was serrated. He held it low.
‘Sit,’ he said, as though he were talking to an animal. He was brusque now, and businesslike; he was in control again. I shuffled up to a seated position, compliant in the face of a weapon.
He squeezed the base of my jaw to open my mouth, took a large, white pill from his pocket, and slid his fingers into my mouth, between my teeth. He tasted metallic, like petrol, and his skin was rough.
‘Swallow,’ he instructed, pressing my mouth shut with his hand, the other still wrapped round the blade.
I gulped obediently
60
Josh
No answer. The cold buzz in the room amplified each of the three tones as they sounded out in quick succession, indicating that David had hung up the call. It felt as if time had stopped, that it was impossible that anything else was happening in the world, that it was totally out of the question for another event to register as even remotely important at this moment, that all efforts and all eyes should be focused on finding David. I rose from my position on the sofa, abandoning my search for Charlie, both buoyed and broken by Jade’s email. What had happened the night of the summer party and why hadn’t David, or Ava, told me about it?
I realised I didn’t have much of a plan as I left the city on nothing but a horrible hunch. The truth was, David had always been something of an enigma: despite his kindness in taking me in when my parents died, I would hesitate before describing the man himself as kind. Truth be told, I’d always felt he adopted me when my parents passed away because it was the right thing to do for his reputation, rather than the right thing to do for me. Living in David’s house hadn’t been exactly loving, or warm, and without Olivia to talk to and confide in, I wasn’t sure what would have become of me.
After university, Olivia went straight into a job at W&SP – her future had already been chosen for her – and David bought her a place of her own. It was at uni that she’d had her first taste of freedom and, along with that, her first taste of poor decision making. I was younger than Olivia so I still lived with David when her addictions started but, when I went to visit her, we’d veer off the rails together, probably in response to years of living under strict curfews and rules and regulations and, at first, David hadn’t known anything about her hedonistic lifestyle. She’d been good at hiding it. Then, when she moved to London and started at W&SP, she got lazy and sloppy, and her actions started sparking negative news coverage. David responded with a show of force, putting her on medical leave from her position and sending her to rehab. But still she persisted.
When I moved down to the city and into my own place, I spent the majority of my first months in London with Olivia and her jacked-up pals. I flitted from job to job, my life running away from me, and, it was only when I was pictured drugged-up and out-of-it alongside Olivia, dubbed ‘a bad influence’, that David had ever been outright nasty to me. He told me that I wouldn’t be left with any family, at all, if he ever saw another picture like that. I’d stopped the drugs then and there and David forgave me by offering me a position at W&SP. I’d gladly accepted and the job had been the best thing that ever happened to me: I had a steady income, independence, a purpose. Olivia, however, had battled against his wishes, her addiction growing stronger the more David told her no. When she continued to disobey him his treatment became ferocious. He’d wheel her off to institution after institution.
‘Fix my daughter’ he’d demand, not realising all she’d really needed all this time was for her dad to look after her.
I worried for Ava: had she done something to provoke him? My mind was full of the possibilities as I pulled off the main road, dropping my speed on the winding country lanes towards Taften Manor. My wheels bounced over rocks and dipped into ruts, testing the suspension of my sporty two-seater.
I noticed the bright orange flash of an indicator behind me and a large car lumbered into the rear-view mirror. I slowed my pace, it followed suit, I drove faster, it kept up, I took a few wrong turns, it took them with me and, as I idled up the green lane towards the property, I started to think the worst. I had a tail. But I had an advantage. I knew these roads and I knew there was a dirt track to the side of the property barely visible from the main approach. I increased my speed, each twisting turn throwing my body uncomfortably from right to left in the driving seat, but it was working: the larger vehicle behind couldn’t match my pace. Then I turned off my lights and screeched a hard right into the darkened track, high hedgerows on either side,
nothing before me to illuminate my path in the darkness except the glow of the moon.
Something in me told me to stop, that driving up to the gates was a bad idea, so I pulled into a slight gap in the hedges and took a moment to compose myself. Satisfied I’d shaken whoever was following me, for the moment at least, I propelled myself from the safety of the car and out into the dark. The muggy night formed beads of sweat on my brow and tree branches knotted together overhead, blocking the moonlight from reaching me.
The imposing building came into view a few minutes later, like a threat at the trail’s end, and I marched purposefully towards my destination, clouds of foggy condensation erupting from my nose and mouth as the adrenaline pumped through me, pushing me to walk faster. Out of the cover of the trees and onto the exposed driveway, the sight of the building floored me, lit by the blue of the moon it looked like a sinister Disney castle, a spectacular and majestic gem, complete with turrets and gargoyles and a partial moat that encased the back of the house. The dark grey stone hinted at its ancient past, the sparkling flecks in the granite mimicking the stars of the night sky, the perfectly manicured hedges that lined the long, unlit lane to the front drive assuring its visitors that this was no stately home in trouble. I broke into a jog, my legs a little shaky as the building’s menacing exterior drew closer. I was terrified. I prayed Ava wasn’t here. God knows how she felt if she was. I snaked down the side of the house, thankful for the blackness round me. There were a few lights on in the upper floors but the downstairs was dead. Two cars were parked in the driveway: A Range Rover and a McLaren. David’s was the McLaren. Whose was the other? Had that been what was following me?
I stopped for a moment and considered what to do next, but the various permutations of the next hour were too many to consider in full. I had to rely on instinct. If I knocked on the front door it would give David time to cover up what he might be doing. If I wanted to catch him I’d have to sneak in and get him red-handed. I selected a stone from the driveway. It was jagged and heavy and I stalked round the perimeter with it like a panther. There was a gate about twenty yards from the front of the building which led to the back gardens; it was closed and padlocked, but scaleable. I reached the metal posts and hoisted myself up and over the gate in one flowing movement, wincing as the spikes took my weight. Once over, I carried on, hurrying through the back garden to find a suitable entry point. A long, single-paned French door came into view. I tried the handle. Locked.
I pressed my face up against the glass first, my nose leaving a smudge on the pane, and checked what I was about to burst into. It was one of the little-used drawing rooms: elegant sofas, goose-down cushions, a gilded fireplace. I took the rock and smashed it against the handle, which dutifully fell to the floor, and stuck my fingers into the mechanism within, as though I knew anything about unpicking locks. Nothing gave way, so I forced my body weight into the door instead, trying to barge it open. Nada. Time was of the essence. I had to make a decision. I knew there weren’t burglar alarms here, and the house was vast; what were the chances he’d hear me if I smashed the glass open? On the other hand, if he did hear, my element of surprise would be ruined.
I decided I didn’t have a choice.
What use was surprise if she was already dead?
I hurled the rock as hard as I could at the glass pane. A crash cut through the air and I backed away as it made contact. It smashed immediately, shards exploding as though the stone had been a bomb, the reflective splinters falling haphazardly round their former home. I took a breath, the view to the room beyond was visible and I stepped carefully over the sharp edges and forced my body through the gap I’d created. My heart was thumping now, a new surge of adrenaline pumping ferociously through me, and I ran as quickly and quietly as I could through the room and along the corridor it linked to.
61
David
There’s been an unexpected interruption.
A noise from downstairs.
An intruder?
You will have to adapt fast, you will be tested now.
You need to make a decision: leave the girl and investigate, or stay and chance that the sound was insignificant?
You cannot leave things to chance, cannot trust that Sheff will act on the threat without your say so. You can’t just leave it. You change the direction of the knife and head out of the room.
62
Josh
I glanced down at the expensive watch on my wrist. A present from David for my 21st birthday. My heart twinged as I remembered the look on his face as he’d presented it to me.
‘It used to be your dad’s,’ he’d told me.
What if I was wrong about this? What if he wasn’t the evil megalomaniac. I’d convinced myself he was on the drive up here? He’d be furious. I’d lose my job, certainly, and him. As well as Olivia and Ava. I’d have no family left. I tried hard to remove the emotion from the situation, thinking only of the possibility of finding Ava here, however small, and carried on tracing my way through the corridors. I didn’t know the place well, had only been here once or twice, so I let my gut instinct guide me, allowed it to turn me left down the corridor and towards a lift.
I went to press the call button, but my body froze as it illuminated before I could make contact. Somebody else had pressed it. I watched the numbers above the lift climb and stop at level five. I heard a robotic voice telling the passenger the doors were opening.
Shit.
I had to hide.
There was a doorway about fifty feet away. I raced towards it.
I could hear the lift mechanisms working and thanked God that David hadn’t upgraded it since my last visit. I had time to get there.
I hurtled into an industrial-sized kitchen, presumably where the catering team would come ahead of events like the summer party, comprised entirely of stainless steel and overhead racks hung heavy with a variety of pots and pans. The force of my momentum brought me to my knees as I attempted to stop. I shuffled behind the door, leaving it open a crack.
I wanted to poke my head out of it, to look down the hallway, but I knew I couldn’t take any chances. He’d be on the prowl, his senses heightened.
Instead, I took a particularly shiny pan from the rack and angled half of it towards me, the other half down the corridor.
I watched in its blurred reflection as an enormous man exited the lift and looked right. It wasn’t David.
His fists were like barrels.
Biceps like boulders.
Fury on his face.
I turned to ice.
I realised then I’d just run willingly into mortal danger and my head spun. I’d made a mistake coming here: it was rash and impulsive and stupid. I should have told someone, the police, DI Crow, anyone.
I put the pan down on the floor silently and shuffled on my hands and knees towards the back of the kitchen; I had to hide properly. Was this who had been on my tail? Was his the Range Rover?
I could hear the sound of his footsteps drawing nearer, they crescendoed and reached a fever pitch as his heels struck the rubber lino of the kitchen floor. Easy to clean. That’s what he’d be thinking. Although, maybe he was one of those ex-SAS types capable of killing me with two fingers. No blood, guts or gore.
At least make it difficult for him, Josh; at least make yourself a nuisance. I felt him draw closer. He was barely breathing, but mine was fast and frantic, and, if I could hear it, he would too. I crouched down behind the set of counters that lined the left side of the room, and, judging from sound alone, he was inspecting the cupboards round the kitchen island, moving towards the back. Towards me. I had to move. One more step that way and I’d, probably, with the element of surprise on my side, be able to reach the door before him.
Three, two, one!
And, with that countdown, I lunged, moving with the explosivity of a sprinter out of the blocks, towards the door.
He shouted out but I barely heard him, my attention completely focused on the exit.
Something else cut through the air and a pocket knife thwacked into the wood of the door frame, missing my head by inches, his shouts building louder as he realised he’d missed.
My palm latched round the door handle and I flung it open, propelling myself through the threshold and down the corridor.
It wouldn’t take long for him to extract the knife and chase me.
The lift.
The lift was right ahead.
I sprinted as fast as possible and jabbed the call button, using the lift frame to stop the momentum of my body. It opened instantly and I clambered inside. I heard his footsteps pounding the floor towards me.
I pressed for level five.
If he reached the lift before the doors closed, I was a goner.
If he managed to get a fingertip into the doors before they closed, would they reopen?
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
I felt sick.
I’d made the wrong decision.
Why would I risk the lift when I knew how old and cranky it was?
The doors were closing, inching closer together, teasing me with how slowly they were moving.
I rapidly fired my finger over the ‘close doors’ button.
His gravelly voice echoed off the walls as he drew level.
The doors closed.
I heard his finger depress the button outside, calling the lift, I heard his knife scrape through the door, saw the tip of its blade as I ascended away from him.
Mercifully, the doors stayed shut.
But, he knew I was going to floor five and he’d probably beat me up the stairs.
The lift doors creaked open at level five just as the doors to the stairwell directly opposite were ripped apart by the giant man pursuing me. I didn’t have time to think about what to do, it just felt obvious: attack is the best form of defence. I careered towards him, bellowing, a guttural, primal sound accompanying my action, borne out of a desire to protect Ava, channelling all my pent-up frustration in not having found her on this man. He looked surprised, the speed of my approach disarming him for a split-second long enough to have an effect. I wrapped my arms as far round his thick waist as I could and my head thumped him square in the ribs. He grunted, and bent double, as we fell through the doorway together. He retaliated fast, swinging his fists in wide arcs, raining blows on either side of my head. An impending concussion drove me to act faster, forcing all my might against him, still at an advantage as long as momentum was with me. I pushed him toward the stairs, then roared mightily as I gave him another shove off the edge. His last punch, sure to knock me out, missed my temple by inches, and he stumbled backward on the top stair, forced to retract his arms and use them as balancers. I wrestled my own arms from round his waist and, when he linked his hand round my forearm, took my inspiration from him and unleashed a lunging left hook to the side of his face. His eyes widened. My fist made contact with his skull. Spit and blood sprayed out, covering us both. His grip loosened and his legs crumpled under him as he fell backwards down the steep, iron staircase, his head cracking open as it made a catastrophic impact with the metal below.