She Will Rescue You

by Chris Clement-Green

  ‘She wants me to bring you straight up, but I want to have a wee chat first.’ He indicated a bench on the edge of a neat lawn that looked out over the mountains. ‘Shall we?’

  Mia thought they possibly would — at some point. The uncontrollable forces of lust and power. But her mind now grappled with the news of Ellie’s impending death.

  Alex was blunt. ‘I need to know what you’re going to do about Ellie.’

  ‘Honestly? I don’t know.’ Mia stared into the distance, her mind racing. ‘Ellie dying was not something I’d thought about — I’m not sure how or if it changes anything.’

  ‘Of course it changes things!’

  The anguish in Alex’s voice took her by surprise. She turned to look at him, watching as he ground out the roll-up; taking out his distress on the half-finished cigarette, his eyes blinking rapidly.

  You could never be certain how someone would react to an event . . . another life . . . even a suggestion, because they could never be certain. Human lives are ruled by three laws: emotional intellect, biology and the sway of change. She currently felt besieged by all three.

  Alex avoided looking at Mia. ‘Ellie’s forever telling me off about these death-sticks I leave lying about the place . . . but she’s not been outside for a fair few weeks now . . . and there’s more important things to be worrying about than litter.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Alex. My father died of prostate cancer when I was fourteen. I know all about stage four cancer.’

  ‘Yes, I’m aware.’ Alex’s tone was business-like, he didn’t want, couldn’t cope with sympathy.

  ‘You’re aware my dad died of cancer?’

  ‘Five days after your fourteenth birthday — it must have been a shit party.’

  ‘Why would you know that? What possible interest could that be to you — or Ellie?’

  ‘Everything about you is of great interest to Ellie, Doctor Langley. She’ll explain everything to you in a moment, but I needed to see you first.’

  ‘Why? What is it you expect me to do?’

  Why the fuck had she just asked that? What she did or didn’t do couldn’t be influenced by an unconvicted killer. It was as though a third party had invaded her brain as she’d driven through the gates of Mountain View.

  ‘I want you to listen to Ellie, lass. Really listen to her — without preconceptions or judgement. Can you do that?’

  ‘I’ll certainly try, but she — and you — have done some pretty terrible things, Alex.’

  ‘We’ve done terrible things to terrible people, lass, but there’s been no innocents involved, no collateral damage — on any of our ops.’

  Mia wasn’t ready for justification or excuses. ‘Are you coming in with me?’

  Alex shook his head as he continued to stare at the mountains. Raising a hand to shade his eyes from the late afternoon sun, his thumb brushed at their dampness.

  ‘No. You go. Mick’s waiting for you in the kitchen. He’ll show you up.’

  ‘I’ll see you later then?’

  ‘Aye, lass. One way or another you’ll be seeing me again.’

  Hamish had immediately taken Mia’s place on the bench and Alex’s hand found the dog’s waiting neck, giving it an unconscious but affectionate ruffle.

  Mia’s innards churned with a mixture of excitement and fear as she walked towards the farmhouse.

  The washed out sun had continued to slide and its dying rays now filtered through the open curtains of Ellie’s bedroom, bathing the plain white duvet with a triangle of pale gold. Two more dogs greeted Mia and Mick with muted interest: a three-legged Jack Russell, who Mick lifted back into Ellie’s waiting arms, and a lurcher who jumped up lightly and lay across the foot of the bed like a furry counterpane.

  ‘You must be Ellie.’ Mia refrained from holding out her hand.

  ‘I’m glad you made it in time, Doctor Langley.’

  Ellie was supported in a sitting position by several large pillows. She ignored the withheld handshake and gave Mia a weak but genuine smile as she indicated the chair closest to the bed. Her hand then returned to stroking the small dog. She reminded Mia of Blofeld and his cat, but there was nothing overtly melodramatic or sinister about this small, frail woman.

  ‘Call me, Mia . . . please.’

  ‘Mick, would you be kind enough to bring us tea and some of Gillie’s lovely homemade cookies? I expect that Doctor . . . Mia . . . is hungry after her journey from Scotland.’

  Mick nodded and closed the door softly behind him.

  Mia went for off-hand. ‘I suppose you know all my movements?’

  ‘We’ve had a tracker on your car since you visited Johnny’s yard.’

  ‘Johnny Claybourne did that?’

  ‘No.’ Ellie smiled at the hurt on Mia’s face. ‘One of my boys snuck in while you were in the tack-room. I keep my rescue and revenge operations completely separate and you must do the same.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I’m relying on you to take over both my rescue and revenge operations.’ Ellie’s stare was steady. ‘Mick and Craig will cover the day-to-day running of the shelters and I’ve accountants and admin people looking after the finances, but I want you and Alex to continue with our dark-ops.’

  ‘The beatings and killings! What the fuck makes you think I’d do that?’

  Both dogs pricked their ears as the F word exploded into the sick-room.

  ‘Please.’ Ellie’s already drawn face tightened. ‘Don’t play the violence virgin with me, Mia. I haven’t the time or the patience for false indignation.’

  Mia remembered Alex’s plea and swallowed a bubbling retort.

  Ellie’s eyes softened. ‘When you were just seven years old you tried to kill a boy with an air rifle.’

  Mia stared at the skeletal woman. She was like a Dickensian ghost, dragging up a buried childhood memory — hard evidence of wrong doing.

  ‘You know about the accident?’

  ‘Keep calling it that if you want, but I’ve spoken to the boy — well, the man — and he remains convinced you were aiming for his head.’ Ellie’s smile edged into smugness. ‘You don’t think I’d leave over £90,000,000 to someone I haven’t checked out thoroughly?’

  ‘Ninety million?’ Where Ellie’s voice seemed to strengthen as she spoke, Mia’s was stretched and thin.

  Ellie’s smile widened. Income always overrode indignation. ‘Money seems to breed money. However much I spend, interest and investments keeps it rolling in. I’m sure that aspect will appeal to your love of designer wear and all the other good things in life that can be bought.’

  Mick returned, carrying a tray with a cup and saucer and an adult-sized, double-handled, porcelain sippy mug. The tray also held sugar and a plate of choc-chip cookies, the sight of which made Mia’s stomach rumble. Was Ellie always right about everything?

  Mick made a space for the tray on the bedside table and handed Ellie her mug with a tenderness Mia found startling. He then left without saying a word; as though he knew what had already been said and was left to be said.

  Mia stirred a heaped teaspoon of sugar into her tea — she needed the sugar rush. Ellie’s knowledge of her own act of vengeance was a small link between them which would be hard to ignore. She’d only been a kid, but she felt the moral high ground give a little.

  ‘And shooting the boy who shot your cat is not your only foray into violence is it, Mia? Suspended from school for fighting — stabbing a girl with a compass I believe, for what? Taking your boyfriend? You and I have a lot more in common than you’d think. Although, where you’ve always had trouble keeping your men, I’ve never been able to attract them in the first place — even with all this money. But then I don’t look like you.’

  The white-hot rages of Mia’s childhood had been pure, untainted by compromise and ethics. She suddenly remembered what it felt like. The fury, the feel of the hard metal under her pudgy index finger, the surge of power she’d experienced as that finger pulled back on the trigger and, finall
y, the immense sense of satisfaction at the look of horror on the boy’s face, the sight of his seeping blood and his scream of shock and pain. It had been the same with Tracy and the compass.

  ‘I think there’s been a sort of destiny between you and me, Mia. Ever since you pulled that trigger and I found a lottery ticket.’ Ellie held her cup with both hands as she took a sip of tea. ‘I believe it’s what’s brought us together at this time in your life and my death.’ She kept her gaze on the cup and her expression and tone remained neutral, matter-of-fact, as though she was discussing the contents of a shopping list or menu.

  Mia’s eyes dropped to the plate of biscuits and she reached for one. She chewed it slowly, giving herself time to think. In the last few weeks her world view had been shifting and in the last few minutes it had received several violent kicks, but things were also beginning to make more sense. She looked directly at Ellie.

  ‘I was aiming for his eye.’

  ‘An eye for an eye — exactly what we’re about!’ Ellie relaxed back into her pillows, gazing at the ceiling, relieving Mia of any further pressure; a reward for making the right decision.

  Years ago, Ellie had studied with a horse whisperer. He’d taught her how to keep chasing a horse away with a long rope until it showed signs of submission by lowering its neck and making chewing motions with its mouth. This said I want to be part of the herd again and, when it happened, you could stop chasing and walk away. The horse would now approach you and, if true ‘join-up’ had been achieved, it would continue to follow you. Once join-up occurred you’d never need to chase that horse again, they’d follow you anywhere. Ellie slid her gaze back to Mia and smiled as she watched her slowly chewing on a second biscuit.

  ‘I’d be grateful if you could stay for a while, Mia. There’s a lot to discuss but I tire very quickly these days. Mick will show you to your room and we’ll talk again after dinner.’ Ellie closed her eyes, effectively ending the conversation and dismissing Mia.

  ‘You can’t just assume I’ll take the job — that I’ll say yes!’

  But Ellie’s eyes remained closed and Mia’s indignation had nowhere to go. She could hardly shake awake a dying woman.

  Fine! Let her assume. It’ll help me to get a proper handle on things –you’re not the only one who can play games, lady.

  Alex was waiting outside Ellie’s bedroom. ‘So, lass, are you to be my new boss?’

  The question ignited a new set of fireworks in Mia’s frazzled brain. ‘I think the drugs are making that woman delusional.’

  ‘I think it would be good if you said yes.’

  ‘You think? And what if I say no?’

  Alex’s face remained passive. ‘Accepting the use of so much money is a big deal, lass.’

  ‘You know about her offer?’

  Alex raised an eyebrow. It was a stupid question. ‘You can find yourself writing a blank cheque against your soul . . . Ellie did.’

  ‘What about your soul, Alex?’

  ‘Don’t confuse souls with morals, lass. My soul is still my own — it was my morality that got lost in the Afghan mountains.’ He entered Ellie’s bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.

  Mick was waiting at the top of the stairs with her overnight bag. He showed her to a large, elegantly furnished bedroom with floor to ceiling windows that took in the panorama of the mountains.

  ‘This is a well named house,’ she observed.

  Mick nodded.

  ‘You’re a man of few words.’

  He smiled.

  ‘How long have you known Ellie, Mick?’

  ‘Long enough to know she’s got a large heart and a generous soul.’

  ‘Towards animals—’

  ‘Towards me. Ellie Grant is the kindest person I have ever met and if I could take her place, take her cancer; I would do it in a heartbeat.’

  ‘Do you know about her dark-ops?’

  The question was met with a blank stare.

  ‘Do you know she has just offered me her millions, to take over from her when she …’

  ‘We’ve discussed . . . everything.’

  ‘So you do know about her dark-ops!’

  ‘Dinner will be at seven — in the kitchen. I’ll leave you to settle in, Doctor Langley—’

  ‘Mia, please.’

  Mick nodded and left.

  What the fuck had just happened? She needed a drink, but this was no hotel room — this was a house full of murderers. She was mad to have come here on her own. Why? Why had she done that? Why had she kept Mark in the dark? She could just phone him now. Get backup, but instead she sank into a yellow satin-covered armchair and took in the view.

  Ellie as a person no longer seemed important. The justice system would grind too slow to have any impact on her, and when she died her crimes would die with her. Alex, on the other hand, was what she had always been about: a world of what-ifs and maybes wrapped up in a body she desperately wanted to possess and be possessed by. She would have to decide, and decide quickly — was he a murderer she needed to bring to justice, or the cherry on top of a £90,000,000 cake. She could do a lot of good with £90,000,000. She could carry on Ellie’s good work and prevent all of the bad. She could make a difference . . . but in comfort. She had a lot to think about.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  It is a rare thing to live unbruised.

  When the West Midlands SIO saw the black turkey feather placed on the heart of the first victim, he immediately contacted the NCA. Thanks to force helicopter hopping, he was joined at the scene by Mark Johnson within hours. The local man knew him from various CID courses.

  ‘You’ve done well for yourself,’ Ron Duncan observed as Mark walked towards him. ‘NCA, hey? What’s it like?’

  ‘Fucking brilliant!’ Mark grinned as they shook hands. ‘But I’m only on secondment ’til this bloody woman and her merry men are caught.’

  Ron handed him a white CSI suit and face mask. He was already attired in the same get-up with the mask pulled up on his forehead.

  ‘Solve this one, mate, and they’ll be begging you to stay.’

  ‘You’ve never hankered after the bright lights of London?’ Mark stepped elegantly into the paper suit.

  ‘Too long in the tooth — only got nine more months before I cash in my lump sum for a world cruise and a life of lie-ins.’

  Mark smiled again, and then adopted an expression he could tolerate seeing on the TV that night. As they approached the police cordon outside Mandela Towers, the large press pack shouted questions and jostled to get pictures of him and Ron in action. Ducking under the police tape that separated the crime scene from both the professionally curious and the passerby, they gave their names to the uniform bobby recording everyone who entered and left the scene. A barrage of camera flashes illuminated the grey morning sky, but as soon as the men stepped around the huge blue plastic sheets screening the Volvo, the cameras and questions fell silent.

  Mark followed the metal plates that marked the forensic safe route to the vehicle, before squatting and peering through the open off-side rear door. The younger male was curled up on the floor behind the front passenger seat. There was enough room for him to do this because the seat had been pulled well forward. The lad was bent double, as though crouched over an imaginary toilet suffering from severe stomach cramps. Mark wondered if his foetal position hid some sort of wound, although he couldn’t see any blood. The older man had obviously been sitting behind the driver, but he was now slumped across the back seat with his upturned head near the lad’s body. His grey-blue eyes stared at the vehicle’s stained roof, his mouth frozen open in contorted agony. The black turkey feather had been placed across the man’s heart and Mark assumed a second feather would be found somewhere on the younger man when he was eventually removed from the car.

  Mark looked across at Ron who was squatting at the opposite rear door. ‘Odd positions — likely cause of death?’

  ‘We’re thinking poison of some sort. There’s no obvious signs o
f a beating and no blood from gunshot or stab wounds. But there does appear to be some burning around the mouth.’ Ron’s latex covered index finger circled the dead man’s blue lips.

  ‘No containers I suppose?’

  ‘Nope. Apart from the bodies and feather, everything else has been wiped clean or they were wearing gloves.’

  ‘Well, they certainly appear to be expanding their repertoire.’ Mark stood up. ‘Let me know the times for the PMs, will you — I’d like to be there.’

  Ron nodded and signalled the CSI officers over, telling them they could start the slow process of removing the bodies. It would take hours as each movement would need to be videoed and photographed and any loose evidence, such as black feathers, bagged and tagged. The unmarked undertaker’s van was waiting, but the driver and his assistant knew the score. They remained in their vehicle drinking coffee from a flask and consuming homemade sandwiches as they waited for their walk-on part in this national drama.

  Mark was already pulling off his CSI suit as he headed for the cordon. Where the hell was Mia when he needed her? He’d left several messages on her mobile but had still not heard from her which, in the circumstances, was bordering on the unprofessional. She couldn’t have been without a signal for so many days. Even if reception was poor in the Highlands, you’d think she’d at least check in on a landline. Despite his best efforts, images of her ‘otherwise engaged’ in some tartan-themed hotel room, kept floating into his over-tired brain. He was thinking about Mia a lot — too much. Her absence from the London incident room was so noticeable that every time someone walked in he’d found himself looking up, hoping it would be her.

  Due to the black feather, the post-mortems were conducted that afternoon. Mark initially felt sad that the two men turned out to be a father and son; there was always something a bit more tragic about family members being murdered together. But the sadness vanished when Ron updated him on local intelligence.