by James, Peter
Then a tornado erupted from a bush a few feet behind Niall. It slammed into him, propelling him sideways. Then forward. Then forward again.
Eden heard a thud. Another thud. A grunt.
Then, suddenly, he was gone.
Vanished.
A faint, terrible, piercing scream that faded away.
Followed by complete silence.
109
Friday 13 September
‘Bex!’ Eden screamed at the figure in the hoodie and baseball cap, and lunged at her in blind, shocked fury. Rebecca stepped back, then back again, parrying her flailing arms.
‘Bex – what – what have you done?’ she screamed again.
Her lover looked at her with an expression Eden had never seen before. It wasn’t the face of the woman she knew. It was almost as if something totally alien was looking mockingly back at her. ‘I’ve done what you were too spineless to do, Eden.’ Her voice was icy and as dark as the night.
Suddenly, Rebecca lunged forward, grabbing Eden’s wrist in a vice-like grip. ‘Join him, why don’t you? If you loved him too much to kill him, then join him, have him, have him forever, he’s all yours!’
She was being propelled towards the cliff edge, Eden realized, her brain too frozen in terror to make any sense of what was happening. This wasn’t Bex, this was some kind of a demon. Pulling her towards the edge.
‘Bex! Stop!’ Eden tried to break free of Rebecca’s grip. But with one sharp tug she was propelled forward again, straight at the edge, only Rebecca gripping her wrist preventing her from falling. As Rebecca did so, she swung Eden round.
Eden screamed, convinced she was being thrown over the clifftop. But Rebecca kept her grip, swinging her in a wide arc, right to the very edge, then back round until she was now between the edge and Eden.
Eden felt the wind ripping at her. Stared back at the strange, manic expression in her lover’s face. Her lover who was now a total stranger. The cliff edge was just a few feet behind Rebecca now. But she knew that with Rebecca’s skills, if she tried a lunge, she could be flipped over her head in an instant.
Panic completely gripped her. She did the only move she could think of and threw herself backwards and sideways onto the ground, taking Rebecca face down with her. She lashed out with her free left hand, feeling pain in her knuckles as it struck Rebecca’s face, then twisted, desperately trying to break away from the grip on her wrist. She rolled over sideways and her arm came free, but she was disorientated now, as Rebecca leaped back on top of her. Rolling. Eden didn’t know which way. Towards or away from the edge? Pinning both arms to the ground now.
‘BEX! What the hell are—?’
Rebecca’s face was inches from her own. She felt her lover’s warm breath on her face. ‘You never thought it through, my lovely Eden, did you? So sweet of you to leave me everything, then join your hubby in a suicide pact. I’ll always be so grateful to you.’
Suddenly, Eden felt hands gripping her hair, pulling her even closer towards Bex’s face. So close she was now staring into her eyes, nose to nose, forehead to forehead.
‘You really fell for it,’ Rebecca said. ‘But we did have some very special moments, didn’t we? Too bad we won’t get to have any more. In a different life, I could have been really hot for you.’
Eden suddenly felt herself being jerked sharply and agonizingly upwards by her ears. Upwards. Upwards. She flailed with her arms, hands, feet, trying to get traction on something, anything. Then, in a lightning move, Rebecca released her ears and gripped both wrists. ‘This is goodbye, darling. There’s nobody here to save you, nobody’s been following us. It’s just you and me,’ she said.
A loud shout startled them both.
Eden felt the grip slacken momentarily.
‘Police! Stop right now, this is the police!’
An instant later, in a whirlwind of confusion, Eden felt herself being barged over, Rebecca’s grip broken, and she crashed to the ground. She was being dragged on her back by her coat through the wet grass, yelling, writhing her body, trying to lash out with her legs.
Finally, she was released. A man, tie askew, was kneeling over her. ‘It’s OK,’ Roy Grace said, ‘I’m a police officer, you’re OK, I’ve got you.’
She stared back at him in the darkness for an instant, then all she could think of was that she was being arrested. She tried to get to her feet, but he held her down. She began struggling, shaking wildly, screaming hysterically now and lashing out like something possessed, trying to break free. ‘Let me go, let me go, let me go!’
Desperately aware of another struggle going on just a few feet away, Grace did the only think he could think of. He yelled, ‘Shut the fuck up, I’m here to help you, not nick you!’
Somehow it did the trick. She calmed down instantly, staring up at him with blinking eyes.
‘I’m a police officer, understand?’
She nodded.
He let go of her, in time to see Branson rolling around on the ground, entangled with Rebecca Watkins.
Glenn Branson felt like he was wrestling with a creature that had a tiger’s head and the body of a vicious, writhing snake. Using all his training, he tried to pin the woman’s arms to the ground, but, catching him by surprise, she shifted her hips sideways, slipping her arms free, and jammed her fingers, agonizingly and blindingly, into both of his eyes.
He’d done self-defence training back in his days as a night-club bouncer, and he realized at this moment she’d clearly had combat or martial arts training too.
He tried to log in his mind where the edge of the cliff was, and had his arms outstretched to keep her off while he regained some of his vision. But then he felt a searing pain; she’d seen the opportunity to hyperextend his straightened arm and was attempting to pop his elbow.
He flung himself sideways, breaking free, before he felt her body slam into his hip from the side, pushing him.
Pushing him where?
He couldn’t stop her. Her base was low, and she’d seized her opportunity to use his own momentum as he lunged sideways. Even though she was far smaller and lighter than he was, it was nigh on impossible to drive back against her.
His training was kicking in, his brain almost going into slow motion. Thinking. But all he could see was darkness. And from the swirling updraught on his face, he knew he was just inches from the edge, from a drop into – oblivion.
Had to get away from the edge.
Had to seize the advantage. He needed to do a move she wasn’t expecting and surprise her.
Suddenly, he twisted back towards her and, keeping low, sprang at her with every ounce of strength he had in his body. But he could not believe the almost superhuman strength that came back at him, as if she’d been expecting this move.
A second later she slammed him down hard on the ground, her weight driving into his ribs, and he heard a loud crack as the air left his body in an involuntary groan. Dazed by the blinding pain in his midriff, alongside the shock that he had just been slammed by someone half his size, he tried desperately to think clearly, to work out what to do. He was compromised, hurt and in real trouble.
Wind tore at his face. He was on his back, and she was on top of him, and suddenly had her hands around his neck. Crushing it, pushing her thumbs into his windpipe. He saw her grunting face right in front of his as she pushed all her body weight down on him to tighten the choke. Despite struggling badly for oxygen, he knew this was his chance.
He snapped his head forward and down, hard, and heard the loud crunch, at the same time feeling the pain as he smashed into the bridge of her nose. She yelped, loosening her grip. Seizing the instant, he pushed up and sideways, again with everything he had.
He heard a choked yelp of surprise as her weight was suddenly gone from his chest. A split-second later he felt a vice-like grip on his ankles and a terrific weight.
Pulling him sideways and down.
Shit. He was right on the edge. She’d gone over, he realized, and was hanging onto his l
egs. Her weight pulling him steadily over, too.
He tried to lash out with his feet, but her grip was too tight.
‘Help me!’ she yelled, her voice stricken with terror. ‘God help me!’
Glenn’s hands struggled for a purchase on the sodden grass. But they were sliding, gripping at tufts that tore away. His whole body was sliding towards the edge. Closer.
He was in agony all down his chest, and he tasted blood in his mouth. ‘Roy!’ he yelled in desperation, the wind whipping away his voice. Sliding further. And suddenly there was no longer any ground beneath his bum. He grabbed frantically at larger clumps of grass which instantly ripped free in his hands. Then he touched something hard, solid, with his right hand – a rock – and gripped it tightly. For a few agonizing seconds, his chest feeling like it was being ripped in half, it stopped his slide. Then, to his terror, he was losing his grip and he slid forward again, the woman’s deadweight still hanging from his ankles.
He would be completely over the edge in seconds now. He could feel the bottom, way below, drawing him, reeling him in.
I’m going over, I’m going to die.
It was no good, he couldn’t fight it any more.
He would go over the edge and the 500-foot sheer drop. To oblivion.
‘ROY!’ he screamed in his last gasp of desperation. On the very verge of plunging. ‘ROYYYYY!’
Then hands clamped on his wrists, trapping his scream in his throat.
Grace’s voice shouted, ‘I’m here, mate, I’m here. I’ve got you.’
‘Help me!’
Branson’s body, hanging from his arms, swung backwards into the hard edge of the cliff face with a jarring crash and he screamed with pain. The woman still hanging on his ankles, the weight was stretching him out. Racking him and yanking his rib cage down as agony tore through his torso. He could feel her hands slipping. On his boots now.
Roy Grace lay on his stomach, half blinded by the wind and stinging rain, holding on to Branson’s slippery wrists. But the weight was getting too much for him. His arms were being pulled out of their sockets. The massive weight was pulling him steadily forward towards the edge.
Trying desperately to think what he could do, he kicked the toes of his shoes hard into the soft soil, getting a momentary purchase before they were dragged free. Then they stopped against something hard and solid – a rock or a stone. He kicked his toes again hard into the soil, trying desperately to dig in deeper and get a better grip. His feet held, but the strain on his arms was getting too much.
I can’t hold you, mate, I can’t hold you, he thought, his brain racing, his arms agony. His clutch was starting to weaken.
‘ROYYYYY! HELP ME!’ Branson screamed again. Then, suddenly, he felt the weight drop from his ankles. It was accompanied by a faint cry. Then just the wind.
Instantly, to Grace’s relief, Branson felt lighter. He was no longer sliding forward. Looking down into darkness, at the silhouette of Branson’s head, smelling the fear in his perspiration, he was now having to hold just his deadweight. But, even so, his hold was still slipping. His right hand felt Branson’s massive palm.
‘Grip me with your fingers, interlock them!’ he yelled down.
And, to his relief, felt Branson’s strong fingers entwining with his own.
‘Get me out of here, Roy, oh God, please don’t let me fall,’ he pleaded.
‘I’m not letting you fall. Just keep holding on!’ he gasped, trying with everything he had to lift Branson up, but he couldn’t even manage a few inches.
And now the stone he had his feet jammed against was starting to move, to lift out of the ground.
Oh Jesus. Glenn, his mate – his best friend in the world – he was holding his life in his hands. Somehow, he had to save him, he couldn’t let him fall to his death. Had to do something. But his strength was sapping with every second. He was weakening.
‘Stay calm!’ he yelled down. ‘Stop wriggling, you’re pulling me over.’
‘Roy, I can’t hold on much longer, my arms are going.’
The stone was moving more and more. Any second it would come out of the ground and—
Grace could feel the grip on his fingers slackening. Slipping. Was this how it was going to end? No way could he let him die. His mind was a chaos of thoughts. He dug his toes in again, digging, digging, digging in desperation.
‘I can’t hold on!’ Branson called, his voice sounding weak. ‘I’m going, mate.’
‘You fucking hold on!’ Grace yelled back.
‘Tell Siobhan and the kids I love them?’
‘You tell them yourself!’
‘I mean it. I’m going. I’m going.’
The fingers were letting go. Grace stopped them, clenching his hands even tighter. Seconds from having to make the decision whether to go over with Glenn or release him.
He kept on gripping his hands. Somehow. His arms felt as if they would rip free of their sockets at any second. Christ, if he didn’t let go he was going to fall with him.
Then a shout.
Voices behind him. And, suddenly, bright lights flashing all around.
Strong hands were gripping Grace’s ankles. Pulling him backwards, as he still gripped Branson’s hands, but Branson’s deadweight had suddenly lessened.
‘You can let go, sir!’ a female voice said. It was Sharon Orman. ‘Mark and the others have Glenn. I’m going to help them.’
‘He’s coming back up,’ Taylor shouted. ‘We’ve got him!’
‘Shit, you’re a heavy bastard!’ Smudger grunted as they dragged Branson safely back onto the grass.
Grace struggled to his feet, hurried across, then knelt and stared down at his friend’s face, Branson’s eyes blinking against the bright torchlight. He was bleeding from lacerations in several places and panting hard. ‘You’re safe, mate.’
Branson mustered a pained smile. ‘Yeah, but what about my threads? This suit – it’s brand new!’
Grace looked down at him, feeling a surge of relief flooding through him. ‘I think you’ve lost a button, mate. Get over it,’ he said, his face creasing into a smile.
110
Friday 13 September
Veins of pink streaked the pre-dawn sky through the windscreen as Roy Grace finally turned into his lane, the Ford bumping along the unmade track. Every muscle, tendon and ligament in his arms and upper body ached like hell, and his heart was heavy at what lay ahead, and behind him, and the terrible tragedy that had so nearly happened out there on the clifftop.
He honestly didn’t know how much longer he could have held on. Seconds at most. He shivered at the thought of what might have been.
Halting the car outside the cottage, he switched off the engine and just sat there for some moments, feeling the early morning breeze through his open window, too drained to even get out of the car.
In the distant farmyard, he faintly heard a cockerel crowing. The car clock showed 5.53 a.m.
He felt in turmoil. His dearest friend had so very nearly died. He wondered how, on top of the tragedy of Bruno, he could ever have lived with that. And he was shaking at the knowledge that he himself might not have been alive to see this dawn. To see Cleo and Noah and their unborn baby. He tried to blank that from his mind, but he couldn’t.
He’d insisted that a loudly protesting Glenn Branson be ambulanced to hospital for a check-up, while he waited at the scene for the Coastguard’s air-sea rescue helicopter to arrive. The crew radioed that in its searchlight they had seen the body of a man at the bottom of the cliffs. Presumably Niall Paternoster, but they wouldn’t be sure until after the body was recovered later in the morning by the lifeboat. Roy then phoned the control room to make the necessary arrangements for notifying the IOPC.
Rebecca Watkins had been lucky. She’d crashed through a tree and dense shrubbery onto a ledge twenty feet below the top of the cliff. Just a short distance to the right or left and she’d have missed it, joining Niall on an unsurvivable drop onto rocks at the bottom.
She was injured, just how badly Grace wouldn’t find out until sometime tomorrow. She’d sure been more fortunate than Niall – or maybe not completely so, depending on her injuries, and depending on what happened after she’d stood trial for murder. But that was for another day.
After the helicopter had winched her to safety, he’d gone back to HQ with the rest of the team for a quick debrief, where he learned that Eden had been arrested by a member of the Surveillance Team while attempting to flee, and was now detained at Brighton custody centre.
Grace then cleaned the mud as best he could from his clothes, face and hands, before driving to the hospital at Eastbourne, where he waited while Glenn was being X-rayed and checked over.
The A&E doctor reported, after a long wait, that the Detective Sergeant had suffered two cracked ribs, and they were keeping him overnight for observation. It wasn’t until the doctor had assured him that his friend was OK, and not in any danger, that Grace had finally left the hospital.
Utterly all in as he finally entered the front door, he was glad that Humphrey hadn’t come trotting over for his usual hug and pat – he wasn’t sure he had the energy even for that. It took everything he had just to take his clothes off and brush his teeth, before crawling into bed as quietly as he could so as not to wake Cleo.
But she was awake.
‘How did it go?’ she murmured.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘It was – you know – OK. Sort of – thing—’
He was sound asleep before he could finish what he was going to say.
111
Friday 13 September
‘Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead!’
Roy Grace opened his eyes to see Cleo standing over him. Although the curtains were still drawn, the room was light. He blinked several times. ‘Hey.’
‘Any idea what time it is?’
He shook his head. He had no idea at all.
‘Midday!’