‘Was that his punishment for sleeping with her?’ Kim asked, moving closer.
She shook her head. ‘No, it was his punishment for loving her.’
She turned, and Kim saw the emotion in her eyes.
‘You think I’d have done it had she been a quick, meaningless fuck?’
She turned back to the night sky, her fingers tapping on the blade.
‘Was it really worth it?’ Kim asked. ‘All the secrets, lies. Was it worth the murder of a young girl and her unborn child?’
‘As I care nothing for what you think, I will say yes. Laurence and I had twenty-five fantastic years together.’
‘But your daughter is dead because of what you did.’
‘My daughter is dead because of what my husband did. Graham didn’t even know about me until you told him.’
‘What about Saffie?’ Kim asked. ‘Isn’t she worth living for?’ she asked, taking another step. She was now only a few feet away.
‘We will never be close again. Not after what she knows about what I did, especially after the abortion. She wanted to keep the child, and I forced her into it. She’ll never forgive me for that alone.’
‘Why did you force her?’ Kim asked.
‘Her career. World famous concert pianists don’t travel the world with a young baby in tow.’
‘But why the importance of her glittering career? Why not just for her to be happy. Why wasn’t that enough?’
‘Because I had to show him it was worth it,’ she said, simply.
Kim suddenly understood. Hannah knew that Laurence had secretly loved Lorraine back then and had always been trying to compete with a dead woman. And that included children he could be proud of.
‘It would have been easier to compete with her if she were still alive,’ Kim observed.
The dead could do no wrong.
‘You’re probably right but I’ll never know.’
She turned to face Kim who was now standing beside her. Their eyes met and locked.
‘I told you to stay away,’ she said, tonelessly. A woman whose every emotion had been wrung out of her.
She was flat, empty, devoid of feeling anything.
‘I have nothing left,’ she said, grabbing Kim around the shoulders. ‘And it’s all your fault.’
Kim had no time to react as Hannah launched herself over the side of the building taking her along too.
Kim tried to break free as they hurtled through the air, locked in some kind of sick embrace.
Hannah’s silver gown billowed around them as they rushed towards the ground.
One Hundred Six
The ground hit them like a speeding train, but something had cushioned the impact of her chest. Kim was winded but still alive.
Beneath her lay the body of Hannah Winters.
Suddenly her senses came back to her. All of them.
She screamed out in pain as the agony travelled around her body. She felt as though every bone and muscle was screaming out in protest. She tried to move away from Hannah, take the weight off her chest. She had to try and get help for the woman even though she knew it was too late.
As she tried to move her left leg, blinding red hot pain flashes travelled around her body bringing stars to her eyes.
But she had to try and move. She placed her forearms on the ground and tried to use them to move along.
Every inch brought flashes of agony and waves of nausea.
She looked up to try and shout for help and that was when she saw them.
Her three colleagues entering the bell tower.
One Hundred Seven
‘Jesus, Dawson, slow down,’ Bryant called around Stacey to the sergeant who was leading the single-file charge up the narrow, winding stone staircase.
Bryant was sure they’d been climbing for hours. If he looked down he could see the eighty metres they’d ascended, and when he looked up he could see they were almost there.
‘Geoffrey,’ Dawson called again now they were closer.
Bryant thought he heard some kind of whimper in response.
‘He’s up here,’ Dawson called.
Bryant heard the relief in Dawson’s voice. Thank God, the kid was probably frightened of the dark and was just finding his way back to the stairs. Secretly he’d thought his colleague had been overreacting to the danger the kid was in. It had all seemed a little far-fetched to him that the kid would be at risk of death for refusing to join some kind of school club. He couldn’t wait to get back down and christen Dawson with his new nickname of drama queen. Wait until the guv knew he’d had them climb a million steps to save a boy from ringing a bell.
Oh, how he loved to tell this kid he was wrong.
He made the final few steps with a smile on his face that eased the lactic acid burning his thigh muscles.
‘Hey drama—’
‘Fuck,’ Dawson said, shining his torch into the middle of the space.
Oh shit, Bryant thought, swallowing hard. His colleague hadn’t been wrong after all.
One Hundred Eight
Stacey joined her colleagues in shining her torch into the middle of the room.
Three beams converged on the figure of a young boy rooted to the spot.
‘Don’t step forward,’ Dawson warned, aiming his beam down.
The floorboards had given way leaving the boy standing on a thin beam of wood at the very centre of the space. They’d been climbing for at least four minutes and nothing had sailed past them. Stacey had no idea how long he’d been balancing precariously on the single plank, but she guessed it wasn’t going to continue to support him for long.
‘Don’t move, Geoffrey,’ Dawson said.
‘O-okay,’ Geoffrey stuttered, hanging on to the lip of the bell.
Stacey knew that if the beam beneath him broke he would not be able to hang onto that lip. The boards beneath her own feet felt solid and stable around the outside but that was a good five feet from the gaping hole beneath Geoffrey’s feet that dropped all the way to the bottom of the tower.
‘H-help me,’ he whispered.
The fear in his voice kicked her right in the stomach.
‘You just stay still,’ Dawson advised, calmly. ‘We’ll get you down, I promise.’
Stacey marvelled at her colleague’s steady voice when even she could see there was no way they could reach him. Every step forward risked both his life and theirs.
Bryant was already on the phone to the fire service. Unless they were waiting right around the corner Stacey suspected there was little they could do in time.
‘Look around,’ Dawson said, shining his torch towards the wall. ‘Look for something that can help.’
All three torch beams turned away from the trembling child, but Dawson continued to speak, to reassure the boy.
‘It’s all right, Geoffrey. We’ll have you off there in a minute. Just stay still.’
Bryant ended the call to the fire service. ‘I’ll call down to the school and—’
‘No,’ Dawson said, forcefully. ‘The last thing we need is more people stampeding up the stairs, and we sure don’t need an audience.’
Bryant nodded his understanding and began to look around for something to help.
Without moving her feet Stacey shone the torch at each wall in turn. Two arches were cut into each side of the building allowing in the night-time breeze. Her torch found initials that had been scratched into some of the stones, but it found nothing that would be long enough to reach him. But even if there was they couldn’t risk him trying to move off that beam.
‘The rope,’ Dawson said, suddenly. ‘Geoffrey, if I can swing it towards you, do you think you can catch it?’
‘I’ll t-try,’ Geoffrey whispered.
Dawson uncoiled the thick rope, pulled it back towards him and then pushed it forward. The momentum of the rope swing didn’t reach the centre of the space and missed by a good two feet. Dawson grabbed the rope and tried again. Despite him putting all his strength behind it he was
throwing something too light to gain motion. It was still a couple of feet shy before drifting back towards him.
‘Shit,’ Dawson said.
Stacey saw the fear growing in the kid’s eyes.
‘It’s okay, Geoffrey,’ Dawson reassured.
He glanced their way before he spoke. ‘I’ve got another idea. I’ll walk it over to you.’
‘Kev, no,’ Stacey cried.
‘Dawson, don’t be stupid,’ Bryant said.
He raised a hand to quiet them.
‘If I go slowly, walking the rope, I’ll be able to feel the boards beneath me. If anything cracks, I’ll jump back.’
‘Kev, no,’ Stacey protested again. He was going to purposely add weight to the fractured part of the floor. He had no way of knowing what beams had been weakened or how much weight they could take.
He met her gaze.
‘I’ve gotta try it, Stace,’ he said.
She shook her head even though she knew the kid was stressing the beam every second he stood there. It could snap at any second.
‘Don’t be a damn fool,’ Bryant said.
‘If you’ve got any other ideas, I’ll give ’em a try,’ Dawson said, removing his jacket and then his shoes.
Bryant said nothing but shook his head.
Dawson took a breath and grabbed the rope. He took a tentative step forward.
Nothing.
He took another.
Nothing.
A third and Stacey realised she was holding her breath.
He took a fourth step like someone heading towards the hole in the middle of the ice.
He took another.
A creak.
He was now a metre away. Two more steps.
‘Kev…’ she whispered.
He held up his hand to quiet her and concentrated as though walking a tightrope.
One more step.
A loud creak.
One more step.
The wood disintegrated beneath his feet.
Geoffrey grabbed the rope as the floorboards fell away beneath their feet.
Both she and Bryant reached forward.
‘Stacey, back,’ Bryant warned.
Dawson’s actions had weakened the remaining floorboards even more. They were only safe if they stayed right on the edge. She couldn’t reach him.
‘Hold on, Geoffrey,’ Dawson said, from above him as they both dangled from the bell rope. ‘Do not let go,’ he warned.
‘O-okay,’ Geoffrey stuttered.
‘Right, I need your help to start swinging the rope, okay kid?’ he said. ‘Between the two of us we can get the rope swinging.’
‘Okay,’ Geoffrey said, bravely, even though Stacey could feel his terror.
‘Right, I want us to aim for my colleague over there, and when we swing close enough he’ll grab you, got it?’
Geoffrey nodded.
‘And then on the next swing he’ll grab me, all right?’
Dawson glanced towards Bryant to make sure he knew the plan.
Bryant met his gaze and nodded.
‘Okay, Geoffrey, swing,’ Dawson said.
They both started bucking on the rope at the same time, causing a slight back and forth motion.
‘Okay, harder,’ Dawson said.
Stacey followed the line of the rope to the roof with the beam of her torch.
Where the rope fed through the metal eye the fibres were worn and frayed.
Her heart jumped into her mouth.
‘Kev, stop,’ she breathed, glancing up.
He didn’t follow her gaze because he already knew. He’d seen it.
‘Swing, Geoffrey,’ he repeated.
‘Kev, no,’
She could see the fibres fraying before her eyes.
‘Stop,’ she said again.
Bryant followed her gaze. His face lost every drop of colour.
‘Dawson, stop,’ he cried, seeing the frayed rope.
‘Swing, Geoffrey,’ Dawson called out, building momentum.
He lifted his head and met Bryant’s terrified gaze.
‘Get ready to grab him.’
‘Dawson, you gotta stop,’ Bryant said, unable to keep the tremor from his voice.
‘Get ready,’ he repeated.
The next swing almost reached Bryant whose arms were stretched as far as he could reach.
Stacey’s gaze returned to the rope. It was hanging by a few threads. The weight of both of them was weakening it by the second.
‘This time,’ Dawson said, giving one almighty swing.
The rope travelled further, and Bryant got hold of the kid’s jacket and hauled him to safety.
The rope swung back to the other side of the space.
Just one more, just one, Stacey prayed as Dawson swung away from them. If the rope swung once more, they could grab him. Stacey stopped looking at the rope and looked only at her colleague and friend.
The rope slowed as it swayed at the other side.
Her eyes were locked on his.
He gave her one of his slow cocky smiles as he began to swing back towards her.
‘Kev,’ she said but the word was drowned out by the snapping of the rope as it finally gave way and he disappeared from view.
One Hundred Nine
Kim sat in her office staring out at an empty squad room.
The service started in an hour, but she’d wanted to drop in at the station first. Had wanted to make sure that everything to do with the case had been squared away.
He deserved that.
Hannah Winters had been pronounced dead at the scene, as she had suspected. One act borne of jealousy twenty-five years earlier had ended and fractured countless lives in the present.
Graham Steele had been charged with the murder of Sadie Winters, Shaun Coffee-Todd, Joanna Wade, and the attempted murder of Christian Fellows. The charges for Lorraine’s death were still being worked out, but further crimes would be added to the list that would keep the counsellor behind bars for the rest of his life.
Perversely, there was a sense of relief in Graham’s understanding that he had not killed Lorraine Peters and her child. As yet he seemed not to have connected himself to the present murders, as though they were unimportant to him. His need for vengeance had eclipsed the irony that he was killing children purposely for being tricked into killing one accidentally. The hatred of Laurence had gnawed and festered over the years, spreading through him like a virus with each fresh nightmare or reminder of what he’d done. Sadie’s poem had been the catalyst for it all. Her missing backpack had been found in the boot of his car and her diary in his bedside cabinet. Kim still struggled to picture the man lying in bed at night reading the most intimate and personal thoughts of the thirteen-year-old girl.
Laurence Winters left hospital and had been swiftly charged with the attempted murder of Lorraine Peters. He had retreated into silence and refused to answer any questions on the historic crime, even though Graham was telling the whole story. There would be DNA tests to prove or disprove Graham’s account and Laurence’s involvement, but Kim believed him.
Havers had been charged with the attempted murder of Geoffrey Piggott, after three students confirmed they had seen him exit the bell tower just an hour before sending Geoffrey up there with the key. It appeared that the Spades network operated on a risk versus reward basis. Contrary to his expectation, the Spades had not come rushing to his defence, either drawing the line at attempted murder or unwilling to risk their own reputations for a sports coach. Kim was reminded of the Russian dolls. It was the elite, within the elite, within the elite, and Havers was nowhere near the dolls at the centre.
Thorpe genuinely hadn’t known that Havers had been keeping the Spades alive and had vowed to re-examine all suspicious accidents and ensure that any guilty parties were brought to justice. A lesser man would have run away from the place as quickly as possible, but Thorpe was determined to stand strong and rebuild the battered reputation of Heathcrest.
Once events had
begun to sink in Saffie had refused to visit or speak to her father. Added to her own anger was the knowledge of his actions in the past, along with her mother’s death. It would be some time before her life looked anything resembling normal again. Until it did she had chosen to remain at Heathcrest. Principal Thorpe had assured Kim that they would take good care of her, and she believed him.
The funeral of Joanna Wade had not been the sombre affair she had expected. Her colourful friends and younger brother had ensured that the service was a celebration of her life, not her death. Particularly poignant had been readings from students of both her old school and Heathcrest about what Joanna had meant to them. After the service Thorpe had revealed to her that Joanna had moved to Heathcrest for the substantial pay increase and benefits following her mother’s move into a care home. Joanna’s pension and death-in-service benefit would cover the bills there for quite a few years to come.
And so, she had read all the statements, filed all the papers, replied to all the emails.
And then she had sat and talked to an empty desk. A desk that still held his personal possessions because no one had yet found the courage to remove them.
She had pictured him sitting back in his chair, his tie loosened, his button opened and sporting a lazy smile. She imagined him rolling his eyes at Bryant when his older colleague was trying to give him some good advice.
She could visualise him winking at Stacey when needling her about her addiction to the Warcraft computer game. And her secret smile that told Kim she enjoyed it.
She pictured him tapping away on his computer with a fierce single-minded hunger in his eyes when he knew he was on to a lead.
She could see him walking the length of the office in high-heeled shoes on the back of a bet from Bryant. Which he’d won.
Hundreds of memories had played through her head as she’d stared at the space that had been his.
One memory had got hold of her and would not let her go. There was a time that they’d stood in the car park outside the station. She had laid into him verbally for disobeying a direct instruction not to use the press for a public appeal.
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