Whether DCI Roach was alive or dead, Rebecca couldn’t tell. Anna herself didn’t even know. But the blood caked on her hands spoke volumes. It was time to make the call.
Rebecca took out her phone again and pressed the switch at the side. It was an old phone and would take a few minutes to power up. She should not have switched it off, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Napoleon’s apocryphal words again.
‘I’m going to call someone now,’ she told Anna, keeping her voice even and soothing. She still did not feel in any jeopardy, but it didn’t do any harm to keep everything calm. This woman had already killed three people, maybe four, and Rebecca had no burning desire to become number five. Anna didn’t respond. She didn’t move. She was done.
The bars flared up to tell her she was connected to the network and Rebecca began to poke out the three nines. She managed two before she heard a man’s voice from behind her.
‘I wouldn’t do that, darling.’
She looked over her shoulder to see Scott Burke standing three feet away. It was dark, but she could see him well enough in the glow of the lighting across the canal. She could see his blond hair and his camouflaged jacket and his nasty little smile.
And she could see a gun in his hand.
59
She couldn’t expect any help from Anna, for she didn’t seem to notice that Scott Burke was there. She didn’t move when he spoke, didn’t as much as glance in his direction. All she did was stare into the dark, her mind finally lost somewhere in the deep water. Rebecca rose slowly, her eyes on the barrel of the gun, her earlier fear as she’d realised Anna was a killer now nothing compared to the sheer blind panic with which she was gripped. She wanted to run but her legs would not respond. They were like lead, cold and useless. The lapping of the water faded; she no longer felt the rain wash over her. All she saw was the little hole in that barrel and the smile behind it. She opened her mouth to speak but words wouldn’t come. The hand holding the phone dangled at her side, all thought of getting help flooding from her mind.
The barrel.
The smile.
Scott Burke.
‘You’re a wee bitch, you know that?’ His words were slightly slurred, she noticed that. Drunk? Drugged? Or was it just pure unadulterated rage? If so, why? She wanted to ask, but she still couldn’t speak. The icy terror had travelled from her legs and had clamped its frozen fingers round her throat. For God’s sake, Rebecca, say something . . .
The smile morphed into a snarl as he answered her unspoken question anyway. ‘Getting into my family business. My maw. My brother. Messing shit up. We were fine until you showed up, turning Nolan’s head so much that I cannae trust him any more. You did that, bitch. So . . .’ He twitched the gun slightly, as if in explanation.
Say something, Rebecca. Anything.
Scott looked as if he was about to speak further, then thought better of it. His mouth opened, closed. The smile, that smile, that nasty little smile, crept back.
Make him talk, Rebecca, Chaz is coming. He’ll be able to call for help.
She found her voice. It was strangled, as the glacial fingers retained their grip, but she forced it out. ‘Mr Burke, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘No? So you’ve no been shagging my brother, filling his head with shite?’
‘Did he tell you that?’
‘No, but that doesn’t mean it’s no true.’
Despite her paralysing terror, she felt relieved. She didn’t want Nolan Burke to be discussing her in such a way. ‘It’s not true.’
‘Aye – sure.’
‘It’s not. You have to believe me.’
He leaned closer. She wanted to move away, but she couldn’t. ‘I don’t have to believe anything, darling. I’m the one with the gun.’
She could see his eyes now. They were dancing, like he was on something. Christ, the guy is out of his head: a thought that did not comfort her. She darted a quick look at Anna, who was still sitting on the bench like some kind of sculpture, except now she was muttering to herself. Scott heard her, flicked the gun briefly in her direction. ‘What’s she saying?’
‘She’s sick. She needs help.’
‘That right? Maybe when I’ve helped you out of the way, I’ll put the cow out her misery.’
Rebecca forced her legs to take her away from the bench. She needed to do something, to get the blood flowing again. She wasn’t trying to flee because putting distance between them wouldn’t help her. You can’t outrun a bullet. Not that she had any experience of bullets. She thought he might tell her to stand still, but he didn’t. She edged round Anna and onto the path. He moved with her until his back was to the bench, that gun in his hand – he was left-handed, she noticed, for no reason at all – always pointed at her. She’d never seen a gun before. She didn’t know how easy it would be to fire one. She didn’t know if he had ever done it before. Was she the first? Were there others?
She moved slowly, but her mind galloped and got nowhere. Her legs were weak, sluggish, her mouth dry, her palms damp. Her breath was a sharp jab and acid smouldered in her stomach. Talk, she decided. Keep him talking. After all, what else could she do?
‘Mr Burke . . .’
He smirked. ‘Still polite, eh?’
‘This is a mistake, you have to see that. You can’t do this. People know I’m here, I’ve got friends heading here now. This woman is very ill, she needs help. She killed Jake Goodman.’
That surprised him, and he half turned to look at Anna in a fresh way. If this had been a movie, Rebecca would have rushed him then, taken the gun from him. It crossed her mind, briefly. But this wasn’t a movie. Rebecca wasn’t a Hollywood actor. If she got it wrong, there was no take two.
‘She killed Lancaster,’ she went on. ‘She might have killed a police officer today too.’
That broadened his smile. ‘Yeah? Maybe I’ll take her out to dinner, then. Could do with someone like her working for the family.’
His words were really slurred now. He was totally gone, she realised. Nothing she could say, nothing she could do, would penetrate. Whatever he was on, he was as lost as Anna, sitting there in her own little world. Rebecca opened her mouth, closed it again. She had run out of words. Think of something.
Scott faced her again. ‘Anyway,’ he said.
Say something more.
He raised the gun slightly.
Anything.
He cocked his head. ‘Bored now.’
Rebecca’s mind froze and the hole in the gun seemed so very big as it now levelled. Maybe she could throw herself out of the way just as he fired. Maybe he would miss. Maybe she could leap into the canal, hide under the water. Maybe . . .
‘Scotty!’ It was as if the voice had stepped between them, even though it came from behind her. Scott’s head jerked in the direction it had come from, the gun thankfully dipping again. Rebecca half turned to see Nolan sprinting along the towpath on the far side, his face turned towards them. The lights of a car swung into view from the village, came to a sudden halt and Chaz leaped out, began to run towards them too.
Rebecca had never thought she’d be so glad to see Nolan Burke in her life. He was almost at the footbridge now, Chaz halfway along the path, his limp preventing him from getting up too much speed. The only thing that had been keeping her upright was tension; now, relief sapped what little strength she had and she felt her knees begin to give. She might have gone down, too, if Scott hadn’t lunged and grabbed her round the shoulders to wedge her in front of him like a shield. She struggled against him, but his grip was firm, though she could feel his body trembling, as if he was cold. The hand with the gun hung loosely at his side, but it wouldn’t take much to bring it up, place it against her temple. A little bit of pressure on the trigger and she’d be gone. She felt sick. She felt weariness wash over her. But she had to calm herself, to think, to wait for a chance. Anything.
Don’t be a victim, Becks.
I won’t be, Dad. Not tonight. N
ot ever.
‘Stay the fuck out of this, Nolan!’ Scott yelled. Nolan skidded to a halt on the bridge, recognising what Rebecca had already worked out. She was in a worse position now than before. ‘One more step, bro. One more step and I do her, I mean it.’
And that was when the gun was raised to her head.
Nolan rested one hand on the railing, raised the other in a placating gesture. ‘Easy, Scotty, just chill, eh?’
Scott laughed. It was a brittle sound and there was no humour in it. ‘I am chilled, man. Mr Freeze, that’s me. You need to chill, though, lookin’ a wee bit flustered there.’
Chaz had come to a halt on the far side. Nolan sidled across the bridge. ‘Listen to me, Scotty, this is nuts, okay? Put that thing away and let’s talk.’
‘Get tae fuck, man! What good’s talkin’? Eh? You’re no right in the head, no since this bitch came onto the scene.’
‘That’s nothing to do with Rebecca.’
‘No? What is it, then?’
Nolan stepped off the bridge now. Every movement measured, his hands held in front of him, his voice even. ‘You’re right, I’m no the same. I’m tired, Scotty, that’s all. Tired of what we do, of our life. The business. I need something more.’
Scott pulled Rebecca tighter against him. ‘And is she something more? You’ve been feeding her stuff, just ’cos you want to get into her knickers . . .’
Nolan didn’t deny it. ‘I told you, nothing to do with her, mate. You’ve got to believe me, bro.’
That laugh again, like something shattering. ‘Believe you? Believe you? Why should I? You’re a fuckin’ traitor, man, nothin’ but a fuckin’ traitor.’
Nolan was close now, and Scott seemed to notice for the first time. He jerked her body slightly to the right and the gun swung away from her towards Nolan. ‘I told you to fuckin’ stay the fuck where you were.’
Rebecca knew this was her chance. Her only chance. Her Hollywood moment. She’d had enough of being threatened and thrown about.
Don’t be a victim . . .
Scott Nolan was a nutjob out of his head on drugs and she’d had enough. Her father’s voice was loud inside her mind, advice he’d given her about defending herself.
If you can, go for the soft tissue. Gouge eyes, kick them in the testicles . . .
But she couldn’t reach his eyes and she wasn’t in the right position for his groin.
But if that’s not possible, go for the joints.
She raised her right leg as high as she could and rammed the sole of her foot hard into his knee. She heard him swear as he automatically listed to one side, but she wasn’t done. She ran the heel of her shoe down his leg and jabbed it forcefully onto the bridge of his foot. She was wearing a sturdy pair of shoes and he was in trainers. She knew it would hurt, but was it enough?
It was – just enough to make him relax his grip – and she jerked free as he roared. What followed was like a slow-motion dance.
Her, whirling away from him.
Nolan, moving again.
Scott, his face contorted with pain and rage.
The gun, swinging back towards her.
Her, realising she had nowhere to go now.
Nolan, too far away.
Chaz, feet clanging on the bridge.
Scott, bringing the gun level again, ready to fire.
Clang.
Her, bracing herself, wondering how it would feel, to be shot, to die.
Clang.
And then . . .
Clang.
Anna, rising like a wraith behind Scott and wrapping her arms around him, one hand clamping over his wrist, twisting him to the side.
Chaz, on the path.
The gun, a shot, going wild.
Scott, hauled over the bench and tumbling down the bank with Anna, over and over, struggling to break free but she was too strong, she was too powerful. All his power lay in weapons and having men at his back. The gun flying . . .
And then a cry from behind her. Rebecca’s name. She turned away from Anna slamming Scott’s head against a rock. Someone on the ground.
Blood, dark and wet.
60
Rebecca knelt on the rain-slick path, not noticing the dampness seeping through the knees of her jeans as she took in the blood oozing from his chest and heard him cough softly, flecks of something dark bubbling on his lips. The immediate danger had passed, but she was still numb and didn’t know what to do as her hands hovered over the wound. Ambulance, she thought, call an ambulance.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ll get help.’
Her phone was still in her hand so she punched in the final nine, waited, told the operator she needed an ambulance. And police. An afterthought. His hand came up and she gripped it as she talked, squeezing it, reassuring him. She plastered a smile on her lips. It’ll be fine, that smile said. You’ll be fine. She wondered if he saw the terror she felt burning in her eyes.
He coughed again, blood spattering on his chin and cheeks. Rain caught them, diluted them, washed them away. Not completely, though.
Chaz was there now. ‘Jesus,’ he said, as he looked down at her beside Nolan, holding his hand, talking to the operator. His face was ashen and he clearly did not know what to do. Join the club, she thought.
She held the phone to her chest for a brief moment. ‘Check on Anna,’ she told him, surprised at how calm her voice seemed, even though her heart hammered and her mind reeled, then she placed the phone to her ear again. Chaz hesitated, his eyes fixed on Nolan at his feet, then moved across the grass to where Anna had dragged Scott towards the water.
Nolan’s fingers tightened and his body trembled as a spasm ripped through him. The operator told her to stay on the line, so she clicked it to loudspeaker and set it down on the path. The rain wouldn’t do it any good, but she didn’t care.
Nolan pulled her closer to him. ‘Scotty,’ he said, his voice thready.
‘Chaz is checking on him,’ she said. Frankly, she didn’t really care what had happened to Scott. She was more concerned about Anna. And Nolan.
There was an almost imperceptible nod. ‘You okay?’
‘I’m fine. I’m not hurt.’
That nod again. Just a small one. ‘Good,’ he said.
Chaz limped back. ‘Scott’s out for the count. Still breathing.’
‘What about Anna?’
‘No sign of her.’
She was going to question him further, but she felt Nolan’s fingers relax in hers. She looked back down to him, saw his eyes flutter and then close. His body sagged, seemed to deflate.
The rain wept.
The breeze sighed.
‘Nolan?’ she said. ‘Nolan?’
He never heard her call him by his first name.
61
The child swims.
Out. Far out. As far as it can go. Far out in the cold water, arms straining, legs kicking. Slow, easy. Have to keep going. Not escape, though. There is no escape, not from the past, for it follows. It lives in the air and exists in every breath. It waits, it lurks, it repeats. It bides its time. For most people, time is just a measure, but for the child it is a sentence.
For a time it had been almost happy. At least, what passes for happiness. But it was merely marking time. Doing time. And time had caught up with her.
And so, she had to bring it to an end.
The child swims and the adult swims with her, guiding, encouraging, even though the cold seeps into bones and freezes muscles.
Have to keep going, says the adult. Until it’s time to stop
When will that be?
You’ll know.
When the time comes.
And they swim together into the west.
62
Rain thundered outside Elspeth’s office. It rattled against the window like a visitor demanding entry. And it was cold, despite the heat radiating from the glowing electric fire oscillating in the corner. Rebecca was still enveloped in the thick woollen coat she’d pulled on that morn
ing without thinking, the collar up, her hands wrapped round the mug of coffee Elspeth had made. But she could not seem to keep the heat in her. She hadn’t felt warm since the previous afternoon. Ordinarily she would have feared she was coming down with something, but she knew that not to be the case. She was chilled, but not by a bug.
She hadn’t gone to work that morning. Her phone had rung three times, the office number flashing on the screen, but she had ignored it. She knew she was in for a bollocking after walking out the day before, but she didn’t care. Not today. Perhaps not ever. Elspeth had said nothing about it, but Rebecca knew her old boss understood.
‘So,’ said Elspeth slowly.
Rebecca sipped her coffee but tasted nothing. It was hot, that was all that mattered, and perhaps it would thaw the cold knot in her guts. ‘So,’ she said.
‘You okay?’
It was what people asked, wasn’t it? Are you okay, hon? Twitter, Facebook, whenever someone wants to draw attention to themselves. Sadfishing, it was called apparently. A comment – I’m so fed up – and the responses – You okay, hon? Rebecca was not okay. She had listened to a woman she liked, who might have become a friend, outline how she had killed three people. She had been threatened with a gun. She had watched a man die on the wet ground, his blood merging with the rainwater and creeping away to sink into the earth. It could easily have been her, or Chaz. But it had been Nolan, who had once asked her out in an awkward fashion. Brought her flowers. And read The Guardian. And was a drug dealer and a violent man, and had died helping her. And the cold had soaked its way into her body and into her soul, and she didn’t know how she felt about his death or whether she would ever be okay again.
‘I’m fine,’ she said.
Elspeth gave her a look that told her she believed she was fine as much as she believed aliens built the pyramids. ‘Have you heard how DCI Roach is?’
‘She’ll live,’ said Rebecca. The police officer had lied to Anna about Rebecca. That was something she wouldn’t forgive.
‘Was she really put out of action by a book?’
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