The Rebel

by Jaime Raven

  The last thing he did before pulling the trigger was to close his eyes and smile.

  The bullet blew a hole through his head, shattering his brain before exiting through the top of his skull and slamming into the ceiling where it left a big red mark.

  The room was showered with blood and bits of flesh and bone. It was a horrible thing to witness, and for some seconds I stopped breathing and it felt like I was swirling in currents.

  Then I clutched at my stomach and rushed out of the room into the hallway where I dry-retched violently and felt sharp tears prick at my eyes.

  The next ten minutes passed as if in slow motion. I stood in Slack’s kitchen feeling dizzy and nauseous, while mentally rewinding what had happened.

  Drummond eventually came to join me, his face pale and drawn.

  ‘It’s probably already obvious to you but he’s just been certified dead,’ he said.

  I nodded. ‘I’d have preferred it if he’d died slowly and painfully of cancer.’

  ‘Me too. But at least he’s finally gone and the world’s a better place for it.’

  ‘His gun-toting bitch is still out there, though,’ I said. ‘And we still don’t know where she is.’

  ‘There’s something else you have to know, Laura,’ he said. ‘I’ve read Slack’s suicide note, which basically says what he told us before he topped himself. But I’ve also opened the other envelope. The one he said contained a surprise for us.’

  ‘And?’

  His expression darkened. ‘Well, it’s more than just a surprise, Laura. It’s a gut-wrenching shock.’

  73

  Laura

  I could tell that she knew. It was obvious from the look in her eyes as Drummond and I strode towards her across the office, followed by a detective and two uniforms.

  A fierce rage was burning in me, but I stamped on it, pushed it down, because Drummond had warned me not to lose the plot. But it was a real struggle because I wanted to wring her neck and tear her eyes out.

  The bitch had blood on her hands. The blood of Dave Prentiss, Marion Nash, the Metropolitan Police Commissioner and my Aidan.

  She was the one who had given Slack all our personal and confidential details. The one who’d been leaking information to him for years. The rat. The mole. The animal who, according to Slack, had persuaded him to arrange for the murder of the detective husband who’d dumped her for a younger woman.

  She should have known at the time that one day Slack would use it against her. And that it was probably the only reason he had agreed to do it.

  She was sitting at her desk and it looked to me as though she had already been crying. She stood up when we reached her, and fragments of memory flashed through my mind. The jobs we went on together, the drinks we shared, the conversations we had.

  It was painful to know that she’d betrayed me and the rest of her colleagues. And it had been the worst kind of betrayal because she’d been a party to murder.

  ‘You need to come with us, Detective Chappell,’ Drummond said, and as he proceeded to caution her she turned to me and her face seemed to fold in on itself.

  I thought she might ask what was going on, to brazen it out, but she didn’t and for me that confirmed her guilt. She probably knew that it wouldn’t take us long to substantiate the claims that Slack had made in his note. He’d stitched her up because even those corrupt coppers on his payroll were his enemies, and he hated them with a vengeance.

  ‘How could you, Kate?’ I said. ‘What you did was despicable.’

  Tears exploded at the corners of her eyes and a hot flush infused her face.

  ‘I’m so very sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘I swear I didn’t know he was going to do what he did. That’s the truth.’

  The tears streaked down her cheeks but I had no sympathy for her.

  ‘You gave Slack our names and addresses,’ I said. ‘And you stayed silent when the killings began. That makes you an accessory to murder. I hope you spend the rest of your life in prison.’

  They were the last words I spoke to her. But as she was led away I stared at her back, my eyes burning holes in the air. And I wondered how she had managed to fool us so well, and for so long.

  Several other detectives witnessed what had just happened, including Janet Dean, who stepped up to me and said, ‘Well, for the life of me I never saw that one coming. This has been one hell of a week for surprises.’

  I looked at Janet and felt a shiver of guilt for believing that she and not Kate had been the bad apple on the team.

  74

  Rosa

  She was humming a tune to herself as she got dressed. She felt deliriously happy, and the last thing she wanted to do was go out and kill someone else.

  She would have preferred to spend another day with Alice. They could have stayed in bed, or gone for a walk, or just sat on the sofa and talked about their future together.

  But it wasn’t possible, and not only because Alice had to go to work. Rosa had her own job to do and it was the only way she would get her money and keep Roy Slack and Carlos Cruz happy while she secretly put in motion the plan to shed the skin of The Slayer and begin her new life with Alice.

  It was 8am and it occurred to her that she hadn’t yet checked her messages. It was something she usually did as soon as she woke up but this morning she’d been distracted. Plus, her phone was still in her bag and her bag was in the kitchen where she’d left it last night.

  It wasn’t a problem, though, because she was almost ready to join Alice who was out there making coffee and toast.

  They had intended to get out of bed earlier, but when they awoke at six they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off one another. Their lovemaking had lasted forty-five minutes and had ended with them declaring their love for one another.

  Rosa had stayed on top of the bed, basking naked in the post-coital dream state, while Alice showered first. Even now Rosa was still feeling light-headed from the waves of pleasure that had washed through her body.

  After she pulled on her jeans she walked over to the bedroom window and gazed out over London, the city she would soon be calling home. It looked set to be another fine day, and the clear-blue sky enhanced her mood.

  It’s now official, she told herself. Alice and I are an item. She’s my girlfriend. The love of my life. The person I intend to grow old with.

  During what had been a restless night, Rosa had thought long and hard about the process of transformation from Rosa Lopez, contract killer, to Maria Rodriquez, former government tourism executive.

  Not much could happen until her work here was finished. Then she would return to Mexico, collect her half million dollars from Cruz, and add it to her savings. She’d then settle her affairs, which would include a quick sale of her home.

  She wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to tell Cruz that she was leaving the cartel and moving to London. He was bound to be angry and might even try to stop her.

  So maybe it would be best not to tell him. She could just vanish, fake her own death perhaps. She couldn’t even be sure that he would bother looking for her.

  But one thing she was sure of was that the path she had chosen to take was the right one. Alice was her future now and that future was looking brighter than ever.

  At least it was until she finished dressing and walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

  Rosa sensed straight away that something was wrong.

  Alice was standing next to the sink with a stricken expression on her face, while clutching her mobile phone close to her chest.

  She stared across the room at Rosa, her eyes shimmering with tears, her whole body trembling. It looked for all the world as though she had suffered a terrible shock.

  ‘Dear God, Alice,’ Rosa exclaimed. ‘What’s the matter?’

  But Alice didn’t respond. She seemed frozen to the spot, and this sparked an ugly fear in Rosa’s gut.

  She took a step forward, but Alice shook her head and said, ‘Please don’t come any closer.
’

  Rosa felt the blood stir inside her, a hot flush through her veins.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Why are you like this?’

  Alice’s eyes flicked to the left and Rosa followed her eyeline. Only then did she become aware of the television, and she stared in total disbelief at an image of herself on the screen.

  The news anchor’s voice struck her like a knife through the heart.

  ‘This is the woman police believe is the assassin. She was caught on a security camera at the hotel in South London where she’s been staying since she arrived from Mexico on Tuesday. Police found weapons and a motorbike in a garage nearby to which it’s known she had a key. The woman, named as Maria Rodriquez, is wanted in connection with five murders, the latest of which was committed last night.’

  A silent wail of desperation rose in Rosa’s throat, and a cold chill slid over her flesh.

  She turned slowly to look at Alice, and when their eyes met she knew that her dream of a new beginning had been shattered.

  ‘You didn’t leave your purse in the hotel, did you?’ Alice said.

  Rosa couldn’t speak so Alice carried on.

  ‘You used that as an excuse to slip away from me and murder that officer in the patrol car near the pub.’

  Rosa’s mind was thumping out of control. She screwed up her eyes, trying to stop the tears squeezing out.

  ‘I can’t believe I fell in love with you,’ Alice said, her voice breaking. ‘You’re a monster. You kill people for money.’

  ‘But I love you, Alice,’ Rosa said. ‘You must believe that.’

  ‘I don’t care. You’re not who I thought you were. And I’m scared of you.’

  ‘But there’s no need to be. I would never hurt you, Alice. Ever. You mean so much to me. We can still …’

  Alice shook her head and held up her phone for Rosa to see.

  ‘I just called the police,’ she said. ‘They’ll be here any minute. I was about to leave the apartment when you came into the kitchen.’

  Alice’s words gave way to uncontrollable sobs. Her face crumbled and she dropped her phone on the floor.

  Rosa rushed across the kitchen to comfort her, but Alice backed away, clearly terrified.

  ‘Please don’t touch me,’ she wailed. ‘I beg you. Please.’

  Rosa stopped and burst into tears herself, her mind and body racked by a crushing despair.

  But at the same time the survival instinct kicked in and a voice deep inside told her to grieve later for what she’d lost. Right now she had to save herself and that meant fleeing the apartment before the police arrived.

  ‘Please forgive me,’ was all she said to Alice as she turned and ran back into the bedroom where she collected her things.

  She picked up her bag, slipped on her coat, and rushed out of the apartment without saying another word.

  Going down in the lift she took out her phone to call Roy Slack because she was going to need his help. But that was when she saw his message, which ended with the words ‘suggest you disappear’.

  75

  Laura

  The events leading up to my confrontation with one of the world’s most prolific killers went like this.

  I was in a patrol car when the alert came over the radio. Someone had called the three nines to say that Maria Rodriquez, the woman wanted by the police, had spent the night in her apartment and was still there.

  The caller’s name was Alice Green, and she claimed she’d been seeing Rodriquez since she arrived in the UK. According to the emergency operator she was distressed and feared for her life.

  We had just left Scotland Yard and the patrol car driver was giving me a lift to Streatham so I could pick up my own car from outside Danny Carver’s house where I’d left it the previous evening. The plan was for me to then go to the hospital to see Aidan.

  But I told the driver to change course, turn on the siren, and head for Knightsbridge where Alice Green’s apartment was situated overlooking Hyde Park.

  The address went out to all units, and teams of officers headed there from across London. But the rush hour traffic was kinder to us than everyone else, and for that reason we got there first.

  It was why I was the one who spotted The Slayer as she came tearing out of the building. I was lucky and she wasn’t. It was as simple as that.

  We were just pulling into the kerb when I saw her. She was instantly recognisable in her leather jacket and with that eye-catching mane of glossy black hair.

  The sight of her sent a chill flushing through my body. In that split second I thought about the lives the bitch had destroyed. Dave Prentiss. Marion Nash. The patrol officers in Balham and on the South Bank. The Commissioner. My unborn baby.

  And I thought about the dreadful wounds she’d inflicted on Aidan’s body and mind. Wounds that would have an impact on the rest of his life. On our lives.

  She looked anxiously about her, as though trying to decide in which direction to go. And that was when she spotted the patrol car and took flight.

  She turned left and headed east towards Piccadilly, and it threw us because the car was facing the other way and the traffic made it impossible to execute a speedy U-turn.

  There was only one thing for it and that was for me to go after her on foot. No way could I let her get away now that I was so close. So I opened the door and jumped out.

  She had a lead on me of about twenty metres. I screamed out for her to stop but of course she ignored me and ran for all she was worth.

  The street was busy and pedestrians stared at us both, startled. Those who got in our way were unceremoniously shoved aside. As I ran my face was clenched with murderous fury. I had never in my life felt so worked up. So driven. So determined.

  I was totally consumed by a visceral hatred for the woman I was chasing. I had to stop her causing any more pain and suffering. And I had to make her pay for the damage she’d already done.

  I could hear sirens shrieking from all directions, getting closer, drowning out the other city sounds.

  My breath rasped in my throat as I hurtled along the road. But I wasn’t gaining ground. The muscles in my legs burned as I hammered my feet on the pavement. The woman was fit and fast, and I was terrified I was going to lose her.

  But I knew that if I did I would never forgive myself. This might be the closest we would ever get to bringing her down. I was the only thing that stood between the bitch and freedom. If she managed to give me the slip then she would find it easy to disappear in a city with a population of nearly nine million people.

  Suddenly she veered to the right and sprinted across the road between the slow-moving traffic. A young man coming the opposite way was pushed to the ground, and a bus driver had to slam on his brakes to avoid running him over.

  Somehow I managed to keep pace with her, although it was a struggle. I could barely breathe now and my chest felt as though it was going to explode. But a voice in my head was screaming at me to keep going. To ignore the pain. For Aidan. For mum. For my dead colleagues. For Dave Prentiss’s child who would never know his father thanks to the she-devil up ahead. And for the life she had effectively ripped out of my own womb.

  After another half minute of hot pursuit my perseverance paid off when she tried to jostle her way through a cluster of tourists and lost her balance, stumbling into the road.

  Luck deserted her again because at that very moment a motorcycle was overtaking on the inside and it struck her side-on with a sickening thud. She was thrown back onto the pavement and into the group of tourists. I heard her cry out and saw her hit the ground.

  The group dispersed and I rushed forward, my wheezing breath loud in my ears. Suddenly I was looking down on the woman they called The Slayer. And I felt a pang of disappointment that she was still conscious and not covered in blood.

  She was lying on her side and struggling to breathe. Her eyes were dazed and startled at the same time, her mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. Clearly she was in pain but he
r injuries weren’t visible.

  I took out my ID and waved it in the air. ‘I’m a police officer,’ I shouted while panting for breath. ‘Stay back and give us space. This woman is under arrest.’

  As I spoke she rolled on her side and reached for her bag, which was lying next to her. It made me think that she might have a gun so I dropped to the ground and flung my body over hers.

  ‘Forget it, bitch!’ I screamed into her face. ‘Your number’s up and you’re nicked.’

  I forced her onto her back and she gave a groan of agony. She wasn’t so pretty now, or so threatening. The Slayer had been subdued and she looked pathetic. I could barely believe that she was the woman who had terrorised the city. The cold-blooded killing machine from Mexico. Her heart may have been made of stone but her body, as it turned out, was as fragile as mine.

  I searched her bag and sure enough there was a pistol inside with a silencer attached to the barrel. I had no doubt that it had been used to kill WPC Campbell.

  As she looked up at me her face curled into a frown.

  ‘I know you,’ she said. ‘You’re that detective.’

  I nodded, blinking furiously at the sweat stinging my eyes.

  ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘You tried to kill me and you messed up. You shot my man instead. And the fact that I’m the one who’s collared you has made my day.’

  She tried to lift her arm to strike me but it was obviously hurt and the pain of movement made her yelp.

  ‘You don’t deserve to live,’ I told her. ‘But you deserve to fucking suffer. And believe me you will.’

  There was so much I wanted to do to the bitch, so much harm I wanted to inflict. But I couldn’t because people were watching and the sirens were fast approaching.

  So instead I leaned over and whispered in her ear. ‘You know what’s really funny, you evil fucking cow. It’s that in the end it was a ruddy motorbike that brought you down. I find that beautifully ironic.’

  It turned out she had a broken arm and a fractured thighbone. So in that respect she was fortunate. The motorbike that ran into her could have caused so much more damage.