by AA Abbott
“That’s strange. Marshall Jenner has been ticked off the list,” Alice replied.
“I can assure you, this really is Marshall Jenner,” his partner said, “and I should know, because I’m his wife.” Her bright dress and extreme thinness gave her the appearance of a stick of rock.
“I’m surprised you don’t recognise me,” the man said. “I’m infamous.”
His companion giggled, then busied her fingers tucking stray tendrils of dyed blonde hair into a jewel-encrusted bun. “Marshall’s a legend,” she said.
“Is my wife on your list?” the man asked. “Jeannie Jenner.”
Alice smiled. “Yes, she’s on the list with no tick as yet,” she said. “Hang on, I see Emily left a comment. She took you – I mean Marshall Jenner – to the Tower Suite, to see Kat White.”
“Who’s Kat White?” Jeannie asked, looking unamused.
“I don’t know,” Marshall said.
Ben didn’t wait to hear more. He dashed to the bank of lifts signposted from the lobby. The Tower Suite would be at the top of the building, wouldn’t it? He was sure he knew who had been taken to see Kat. If he didn’t act fast, she’d be dead.
Chapter 44.
Kat
Agony shot through Kat’s abdomen: a twinge like a red-hot knife. She opened her mouth to groan, but no sound emerged. Instead, the nausea that had gripped her constantly for three months reached a crescendo. She vomited: over the scarlet dress, the velvety carpet, and Shaun’s shoes. He jumped backwards, cursing.
For a second or two, his focus shifted from the weapon in his hand. The distraction was enough for Dee, two steps above the foot of the stairs, to spring towards him. She grabbed Shaun like a koala curling around a tree: her arms grasping his neck, her legs encircling his body. The wedding dress gathered in silky folds around her bottom.
Kat heard Dee say something about a gun. The comment was loud, conveying urgency, but hardly making sense. She was dizzy with the shock and pain of Shaun’s attack.
What was happening to the baby? She hadn’t wanted the child, but that was no reason to let Shaun murder it. If he took her life, the baby wouldn’t survive. She retched, suspecting to her horror that his onslaught had already killed the child. Why else was a cramp twisting its way through her belly?
They were all going to die, even Dee, despite her bravery. Shaun was a ruthless killer, after all. Somehow, Kat had to stop him. She staggered against his right arm, hoping he’d drop the pistol.
He flailed upwards, pushing her away, doubtless intending to shoot her but unable to control the gun properly. Dee had seen to that. Her face was in Shaun’s, screaming at him, biting him and obscuring his vision.
The gun connected with Kat’s nose, the violence of the blow so great that she lost her balance.
Shaun’s phone rang again, then stopped. Someone banged on the other side of the door to the suite. “Let me in,” a man’s voice yelled.
Shaun thrashed around, his left hand managing to unlatch the door. “Help me, son,” he gasped. “Get rid of these crazy bitches.”
Shaun’s son? She was as good as dead already, Kat thought, noting the floppy brown fringe and treacherous blue eyes of the not-quite stranger as the room began to spin.
Chapter 45.
Ben
Ben gagged on the stench of vomit and blood. For a frozen moment, he took in the bizarre scene. His father, a gun in his hand, was grappling with a blonde in a wedding dress. Kat lay still on the floor. A trickle of blood, its colour matching her scarlet outfit, snaked across her face. He was too late. His father had murdered her.
Fear, rage and despair gripped him. He howled, an inarticulate animal sound that gradually formed into words. “Why, Dad? Why?”
“Kill them,” Shaun roared. “Take my gun.”
The door was barely open. Ben pushed, and the rest of his body followed his head through the gap.
“Take my gun,” his father repeated, his left arm thrashing out and landing a punch on his opponent’s kidneys. She was entangled around him, clenching him like a vice.
The blonde screamed in pain, her legs losing their grip. She bit Shaun’s nose and attempted to strangle him.
“Bitch,” Shaun snarled, fishing a six-inch knife from his pocket and plunging it into her back.
Darting in front of them and picking his way over Kat’s prone body, Ben grabbed the pistol. “Stop,” he shouted. “Both of you.”
The firearm felt heavy, nothing like a video game controller or the plastic toys he recalled from his childhood. He knew what to do with it, though: point and shoot. Was it loaded? His father certainly thought so, although he’d clearly been using it already.
Ben glanced at Kat, wishing he’d arrived a minute earlier. Bile caught in his throat. He forced himself to stay calm. No one could bring her back from the dead, but he could save her friend.
The blonde’s screams rose in pitch and intensity. A bloodstain spread around the knife’s hilt.
Shaun swore. “Get on with it, Ben,” he demanded, trying to push the blonde away.
“I’ll shoot both of you if you don’t stop fighting,” Ben said, amazed at how confidently the words emerged. He edged backwards up the stairs, training the gun on both combatants.
His father stood stock still, his mouth shocked. The woman unpeeled herself from Shaun, stumbling and almost tripping over Kat’s body.
“Call an ambulance,” she shrieked, sobbing. “Please. He’s stabbed me. Look,” she pointed to Kat, “this girl’s hurt too.”
Kat needed an undertaker, not an ambulance. If Ben didn’t get help soon, the blonde would join her. He didn’t dare remove the knife from her back, despite the red circle growing around it.
He glared at his father. “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. No more killing.”
Fury consumed his father’s eyes, the mad gaze of a monster in a video game. “You’re crazy,” Shaun said, flinging himself towards the staircase, pinning Ben to the steps as he tried to seize the pistol.
When you fought a boss on a screen, you didn’t smell blood, sweat and the hot, sour breath of a smoker. Ben gagged.
Any second now, Shaun would win the pistol.
“I love you, Dad, but it has to stop,” Ben said. He pulled the trigger, feeling the pistol recoil into his hand, hearing the boom of the bullet tearing into his father’s flesh.
The rage left Shaun Halloran’s eyes. They blinked. The hand that had reached for the gun twitched once, and was still. The bloodied corpse of Ben’s father toppled onto him.
Ben howled. What had he done?
As if animated by a ghost, Kat’s body stirred.
Chapter 46.
Marty
“You look like a waiter,” Marty told Charles.
Amy’s father laughed. “I was afraid you’d say that. A rather superior waiter, I hope? Dee persuaded me into this ridiculous get-up against my better judgement. Everything must be colour co-ordinated for her big day.”
Charles was wearing a cream suit and bow tie, as were his ushers and best man. While Marty would have burst out of the tight brocade waistcoat, the groom was slim and dapper. He had an annoyingly full head of dark hair too.
A genuine waiter hovered nearby with a tray of champagne glasses. Charles took two, handing one to Marty. “Bottoms up!”
“This is very generous,” Marty said. “At most weddings, you’re lucky to have a thimbleful of cava once the knot’s been tied. I’ve never had a drink beforehand without taking myself off to the pub.”
Charles grinned, swigging most of his fizz. “Personally, I think it’s a great idea. It helps to relieve the stress. Really, it’s Dee’s way of making sure her friends have a good time. She’s an avid networker and she imagines everyone else is the same.”
“Is that why there are so many guests?”
Charles looked around the gracious room, lavishly decorated with marble columns and a richly painted ceiling. It was buzzing with conversation, oiled by copi
ous quantities of champagne.
“This is nothing,” he said. “After the wedding breakfast, we’re expecting another two hundred for the reception. Drinks, dancing, a tribute band; the full works. For now, it’s just close friends and family.”
“We’re privileged, then.” Angela appeared at Marty’s elbow.
“May I introduce my wife, Angela?” Marty said. He looked her up and down. “Your visit to the powder room’s paid off, bab. You’re twenty-one again.”
Angela, slinky in a skin-tight silver dress, a diamanté tiara adorning her short golden curls, held out her right hand. “Charmed to meet you, Charles. Thanks for inviting us. I’ve heard so much about your wedding from Amy. She’s really excited about it.”
“Me too,” Charles said.
“I saw your intended on TV earlier,” Angela said. “I’m a great fan of hers.”
“Angela’s got all her DVDs,” Marty said.
“She didn’t look nervous at all. Not a butterfly,” Angela said. “How about you? Have you got your speech ready for later?”
“I’m going to keep it short,” Charles said. “I’ll have had plenty of Dutch courage first.” He tapped his glass.
Several heads turned at the ringing sound.
“False alarm,” Charles told them. “The registrar isn’t here yet.” He winced. “My biggest fear, Angela, is that George will lose the rings. He’s bringing them down the aisle on a cushion. It’s a big responsibility for a two-year-old.”
Marty wondered why Charles had agreed to it. He supposed Dee called the shots.
“Two is such a sweet age,” Angela gushed. “Look at him, over there with Amy. She’s pretty as a picture, Charles. You must be proud.”
“Very.”
At the other end of the long room, Amy was standing hand in hand with George. Copper ringlets tumbled onto the shoulders of her simple peach sheath. Her face glowed.
Erik, chatting with Tim nearby, was gazing at his girlfriend with wide eyes.
Angela nudged Marty in the ribs. “I bet they’ll be next. When Dee throws her bouquet, you wait and see who catches it.”
“Amy scrubs up well,” Marty agreed.
George slipped out of Amy’s grasp and ran to Charles, neatly evading two dozen pairs of legs on the way. “Daddy,” the little boy gasped.
“Georgie,” Charles said, lifting the child into his arms and pointing him at a large window. “Look outside at the big river.” There was a spectacular view of the Thames. Pleasure boats were sailing past, and the London Eye dominated the skyline.
A girl in a red suit, one of the wedding planners, approached them. “The registrar’s here, Charles.”
“Do excuse me,” Charles said. “I’m needed elsewhere. Not long now.”
Angela held out her arms. “Lend him to me, Charles.”
George was perfectly willing to be passed to her.
“Look at the boats,” Angela said.
“Boat,” George repeated. “Want one.”
Amy saved the day, whisking George away for ring duty. They vanished after Charles.
The red-suited girl returned, shepherding them to a smaller adjacent function room. Chairs were arranged theatre-style, their focus on an ornate oak fireplace festooned with cream silk roses. Similar floral decorations were pinned to the curtains, hanging from chandeliers and scattered across a table in front of the fireplace.
Here, Charles fidgeted in one of the grey plush chairs, an empty place beside him. The registrar, a fiftyish woman neat in a dark bob and navy jacket, sat opposite.
Marty and Angela were directed to sit near the back. The front row was reserved for George, the bridesmaids and the best man. Immediately behind them, Dee and Charles’ parents sat with their other children and grandchildren.
Tim remained on his feet, making a beeline for Marty. “Did Amy say where Kat was?” he asked.
“No. Didn’t you arrive together?”
“She went ahead to see the bridesmaids. I was supposed to meet her ten minutes ago.”
“Amy didn’t say anything. Kat’s probably trowelling on more slap. Have you tried phoning her?”
“She’s not answering,” Tim said. Worry lines creased his otherwise handsome features.
The wedding planner gestured to a seat.
“Sorry, Alice, I’m still waiting for my girlfriend.” A true salesman, he’d remembered the young woman’s name.
“It isn’t Kat White, is it? Emily took her to the Tower Suite, I think,” Alice said. “I’ll call her.”
A bearded photographer stood in a corner of the room, video camera trained on the door. The minutes ticked past. Kat didn’t appear. Nor did Dee, George or the bridesmaids. The photographer looked at his watch. Alice spoke briefly with Charles before leaving the room.
Two fifteen approached, then two thirty. The tension in the air was palpable. Tim paced up and down. Charles’s shoulders were hunched. The happy chatter of the guests had ceased, as silence prevailed. Was Dee doing a runner?
The door swung open, heralding Alice’s return. She was accompanied by an armed policeman. They whispered to Charles.
The groom rose to his feet to address the guests. “I’m sorry. We have to postpone the wedding. There’s been an incident, and Dee is on her way to hospital. The hotel is in lockdown. Please can you all stay where you are.”
“Any news of Kat?” Tim’s face was pale.
“She’s going to hospital too,” Alice said, concern filling her eyes.
Chapter 47.
Kat
“Kat, Kat!”
Who could it be? It was a male voice she didn’t recognise. A bright light was shining in her eyes.
“She’s with us,” the same voice said.
Kat blinked. The light receded. Stars danced before her eyes, then she saw the man in the hi-vis jacket. He was holding a torch.
She tried to sit up. Her body felt heavy, as if she couldn’t breathe. When she moved, pain raced from her belly to her head.
“What happened?” She’d barely whispered the words when too many memories came flooding back.
“You’ve had a shock. I’m taking you to hospital to check you over. Your friend’s gone there already.”
A policeman loomed like a black and chequered skyscraper above them. “We need to question this one.”
“You’ll have to do it later,” hi-vis man, obviously a paramedic, said. “Send one of your team in the ambulance with her.”
A cramp did a devil dance through Kat’s abdomen. She screamed. “My baby!”
“Hush,” hi-vis man said. “We mustn’t jump to conclusions. We need to get you to hospital. If we can save your baby, we will.”
It had to be a miscarriage. She’d never felt so ill in her life. Nor had her spirit ever been so crushed. Kat whimpered, keening to herself.
“Let me in!” Erik was shouting somewhere in the distance.
“I want to see my girlfriend.” Tim’s voice was even louder.
There were sounds of a discussion. “Back off. You’re not allowed in there.”
That was a small relief. Kat couldn’t bear to see Tim. How could she look into his eyes, and tell him his dreams of fatherhood were over? She was flaky, treacherous and worthless; she’d attracted a murderer to her child.
“Shaun?” she asked, guessing and hoping that the police presence was bad news for him.
“Is that the older man’s name?” the paramedic asked the policeman.
“Yes.”
“He’s dead. His son called the emergency services, but there was nothing we could do for him.”
At least she was free of Shaun Halloran, but at a price that was far too high. She tasted salt, and realised it was her tears.
Chapter 48.
Vince
Having been up at stupid o’clock, hared to Broxbourne and back, and pulled strings to secure Shaun’s passport, Vince was exhausted. There was no speed, coke or even coffee in his flat, and he couldn’t be bothered to go out to get a
ny. He went back to bed.
The constant hum of traffic on the High Road didn’t disturb him. He expected his wake-up call would be the ringing of his phone once Ben had found his father. Instead, it was an insistent knocking at his door.
“Open up! Police.”
They must have found Shaun again. Vince rubbed his eyes, and threw off his duvet. It was still light outside. He was dressed in the jeans, white shirt and black cotton waistcoat he’d been wearing that morning.
The knocking became a pounding. The lawmen were putting some heft into it: the wooden door was beginning to splinter near the hinges. Vince stuffed his phones and wallet in his jeans pocket, and considered his options. His studio flat had no fire escape. Its only window was a Velux giving onto the roof, and he didn’t rate his chances of abseiling down the four-storey building. His eyes lit upon the loft hatch above his bed. Although the tiny apartment was a converted attic, the apex of the roof remained an unused void. Vince remembered Shaun, who boasted of breaking into a hundred houses by the age of sixteen, telling him that burglars never bothered with lofts. Perhaps the filth didn’t either.
There was no time even to hide the three cannabis plants on a shelf below the Velux. Swiftly, Vince punched the square hatch upwards and to one side, then pulled himself into the cavity above. He replaced the hatch, crouching on the wooden framework around it, just as the door below crunched open.
Gradually, Vince’s eyes adjusted to the space around him. It wasn’t pitch-black, as he’d expected. Chinks of daylight emerged between the roof tiles. At their highest point, he could kneel, but couldn’t stand. The floor was covered with fluffy insulation material, topped with a layer of dust. This dispersed in a cloud as Vince prodded it, hoping to find boards underneath. There were none, simply a lattice of wooden joists a couple of feet apart. He balanced on one of them, stifling a sneeze as dust assailed his nostrils.