– Fine, play it your way.
It didn’t really matter to her, she wasn’t actually going to meet him. That would be stupid; even if he didn’t manage to kill her on sight, she would then be up for a murder charge herself. Instead she would wait for him to arrive and then would follow him back to his place. There she would kill him, and the stuff she had written to him about her house in Nottingham hadn’t just come to her mind in order to convince him that Gail Trevelly was on the level. She would make it look like he had lured her there and she had killed him in a desperate act of self-defence. Even if the police did suspect something, there would be no incentive for them to pursue it given the massive media exposure it would provoke. It wasn’t as though they weren’t already in the shit for having two senior officers responsible for a serial killing spree. She didn’t care though; she would do whatever it took to make Brandt pay for what he had done. Even if it meant that her career would be over, it would be a small price to pay for the satisfaction of watching the life fade from his eyes in the same way she had been forced to watch McNeil’s. She allowed herself a chuckle to think she may even appear on the next Celebrity Big Brother.
– So where then?
Keen not to test his patience any further, Johnson quickly accessed Google on her mobile browser and found a generic seafront bar.
– Well, I would say a landmark like The Cross overlooking Benidorm but you may think it’s too isolated. Let’s just go for Sol Beach Bar. I hear the drink prices are very reasonable.
Johnson erased the last part; it was too flippant for someone who, despite what she was claiming, must be in some fear for her life.
– What time?
Here was the kicker. For her plan to work he would have to believe she still had to fly out from England. She needed to give the impression without making it look like that was exactly what she was doing.
She gazed at her watch and made some mental calculations.
– I’ll be there by 9pm.
– Don’t be late.
Johnson put her phone on the bed and sat back for a moment with adrenaline still coursing through her system. She had thought of little else over the past couple of weeks and now it was finally going to happen. She got up, needing a cigarette to calm her nerves, but more than that, she needed to get a move on.
Whilst sitting dozing at Gatwick, waiting for the check-in desks to open in advance of the first flights of the day, she had remembered the story of the three little pigs that she had been read as a child. She bought the book for her nephew when he had been small and, on one of the rare occasions when she visited her sister, read it to him for his bedtime story. But the version she purchased was not the same as the one she had been told as a child. In her nephew’s book, when the wolf arrived at the first house, made of straw, and started huffing and puffing, he didn’t blow it down and gobble up the little pig. In this story the pig ran away to the second house, made of sticks. Then, when the wolf huffed and puffed and blew that one down, they both escaped and went to the third pig’s brick house. There the wolf huffed and puffed and was unable to blow it down. And the three pigs lived happily ever after.
Her nephew had seemed satisfied enough, but Johnson had left his room disappointed. It wasn’t so much that in the story she had been told as a child, the first and second pigs were gobbled up by the wolf as soon as he managed to blow their houses down, it was what the wolf did after he encountered the house made of bricks. Rather than just give up when he realised that no matter how much he huffed and puffed he wouldn’t be able to blow it down, he then sought to lure the third pig out from the house by saying he knew a nice field of turnips. The little pig agreed to meet up at 6am but, instead, got up at 5am and had been to collect the turnips before the wolf arrived. The rest of the story where, after being tricked again, the wolf tried to gain entry to the house via the chimney, only to fall into a pot to be cooked for the pig’s lunch, didn’t interest Johnson as she waited at Gatwick. Brandt was the wolf and she was the cunning little pig who was going to trick him by providing a false time.
As Johnson left the hotel and stepped into the baking Spanish sunshine, she headed straight for the Sol Beach Bar, only stopping off at a kitchenware store to purchase a large knife, which she concealed in her bag. Regardless of how convincing she would have been, Brandt would be suspicious of a trap and she fully expected him to scope out the bar in advance. With him believing she was yet to fly out to Spain, he wouldn’t be nearly as careful as she would tonight, and she would simply find a suitable vantage point for when he did rear his head, and then follow the wolf back to his lair.
Chapter Twenty-five
– Don’t be late.
As soon as Brandt finished typing his final reply, he opened up a new web browser to find the location of the bar. The map provided a good overview of its surroundings, but he wanted to go and see it first-hand.
Having woken after nine hours’ solid sleep, the calmness he had felt as he opened his eyes remained, even when he logged on to find that Trish’s body had been discovered. He had known it was only a matter of time and, in a way, the anticipation of it happening was worse than the reality. He didn’t even regret his decision not to check on his return last night. It wasn’t as though he would have had many options for his escape at that hour and, this way, at least he was fully rested and able to think straight.
Clearly his six-hour estimate for the length of time had been far too pessimistic. It wasn’t just the fact his door hadn’t been kicked in whilst he serenely slept; he knew the timing of the discovery meant he could effectively start his countdown timer now. Even if they had gone to the effort of erecting those huge floodlights the forensics would have needed in order to scan the area at night, it would only be in the morning that they would be able to process the prints and DNA samples. So, Brandt figured it most likely they were still doing that now and there remained the time it would take them to contact the UK police, track Trish’s movements that day, speak to the taxi driver and then begin their door-to-door search of the area where he had been picked up. It wasn’t that he was complacent, he just didn’t see the need to rush unnecessarily and, besides, he fully intended being out of Benidorm by lunchtime.
However, things had changed when he checked his email. It would seem his phantom messenger had worked as quickly as the authorities. He had thought she was just bluffing as to his location until he got her to suggest their meeting spot. He wasn’t sure whether she was on the level, but it did give him an alternate plan. He had come to Benidorm to hide in plain sight, among the people who would know more about his exploits than anyone else. Now that he had made his false travel plans to Torremolinos, as long as he made his villa look like he had left in a hurry, he reasoned that the last place they would expect him to be was still in Benidorm. The other advantage of this plan was that it would give him the opportunity to find out whether what the woman was saying was true. He didn’t know how she had made the connection between him and Benidorm so quickly after his crimes had been reported, but he was now absolutely certain that she wasn’t acting in conjunction with the police. There was no way they would let her send a message that could have seen him running for the hills if they were so close to catching him.
With the only thing Brandt possessed of true value being his laptop, which he needed to leave behind as part of his subterfuge, he packed lightly before arranging the rest of his items around the villa in the necessary way. He had known the risk of accepting the owner’s terms of three months’ rent up front but, as he closed the door for the final time, the money he had wasted galled him. Sauntering down the road, leaving the trail from Trish’s caravan behind him, he contemplated whether he should find his alternate accommodation before or after he had checked out this Sol Beach Bar. His bag was light, and he was enjoying the sunshine so much he settled on the latter. He was in no rush to get there, though, and headed straight for the seafront where he removed his shoes to enjoy the warm Mediterranean water as
he paddled along the seafront in its direction. He even stopped occasionally to watch the various water skiers zipping back and forth sufficiently far out not to interfere with any of the swimmers.
His slow pace meant that there was no visible alteration to his demeanour as he neared his destination. Behind his dark glasses, none of the sunbathers would have detected the change in his eyes as they flicked from side to side searching for what he required.
And there it was, exactly where he expected to find it. Not outside the bar, or even anywhere directly in front of it, but a discreet distance further down the road, and with excellent lines of sight. The very place he would have chosen in fact. But he would have come better prepared, especially if he were choosing to go it alone like she clearly was; any notion of police back-up notable by its absence. There was nothing Brandt would have been able to do about the need to turn the lounger away from the sea but, he would have given the impression of not wanting to face the sun, by at least wearing sunglasses. Awkward as it may have been, he would also have picked one next to a family so, at a glance, he would appear as part of the group rather than stick out as one of the few loners on the beach. He tutted as he observed her bag, thinking that it wouldn’t have taken much instead to lie out some clothes next to her as though her companion had nipped off for an ice cream or a quick drink.
Brandt continued to look at the bag and wondered as to its contents. Whilst she may have needed to keep it with her because she had yet to check-in anywhere, he considered what it might be concealing. A knife perhaps. Brandt pondered whether, if his own bag contained a knife, he would be able to creep quietly up the beach and run its sharp blade across her throat before she even realised someone was behind her. With her choking on her own blood, and unable to call out, he reckoned he could slip away before anyone noticed what had happened.
But he didn’t have one. So, after a quick sigh of what might have been, Brandt turned and started retracing his steps along the shore front. ‘Goodbye DCI Johnson,’ he whispered under his breath.
Chapter Twenty-six
– What happened to you?
Johnson still clung onto the prospect that her plan hadn’t failed. She had spent the whole day squinting through the searing hot sunshine at that fucking place. When he hadn’t surfaced within a few hours she reasoned that she may have been so convincing in her messages that he hadn’t felt the need to scope out the location in advance, but still she remained there; determined not to miss her opportunity. As the sunset caused people to leave the beach, she moved to another location; keeping her line of sight throughout. She had started to fear the worst when he didn’t arrive by 9.30pm but had stayed there, alert, for a further hour; just in case.
She had chosen her words carefully once she returned to her hotel room, not daring to hope that the reason for his no-show was because he had been arrested, but he may have a good explanation and the last thing she wanted to do was blow her chance by becoming abusive. She had even resisted the temptation to text, believing that an email would seem less pushy.
– I’m sorry it was a wasted trip.
The ambiguity of his reply was deeply frustrating. Was it an apology for not having met up as agreed, or him implying that he would never meet her?
– I wanted to help you.
All she could do in the circumstances was try and remind him of what should motivate him.
– And you did. You made me realise I need to be more careful in future.
– Because I made the connection?
Johnson hoped he was just referring to how she knew it was him that had committed the murders in Benidorm.
– You could say that.
If she didn’t already despise him, this smug response would have tipped her over the edge.
– Where are you? Time to stop playing these stupid games.
– Oh, come now, you’re smarter than that.
She had barely read it when another email came through.
– Although perhaps, Miss Johnson, not quite as smart as you think you are.
Her blood ran cold. She felt sick to her stomach. Most of all, she felt afraid. She didn’t know how he knew it was her, but she suddenly felt as vulnerable as when she had regained consciousness in her house to find herself tied naked to her bed. Certain that he must be waiting outside her room at that very moment, she leapt up and pushed the cheap wooden dresser in front of the door, doubting it would be strong enough to keep him out indefinitely, but she would be waiting, knife in hand. He may ultimately win but she wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Johnson was woken up by the sun streaming through the gap in her curtains. She took a few moments to consider where she was; she didn’t recognise the room, nor did she understand why she was sat up on the bed. The sight of the large kitchen knife in her lap brought everything immediately back to her. Staring at the door with the dresser still where she had moved it, wasn’t enough for her to believe that Brandt hadn’t somehow got in whilst she slept and was hiding somewhere; waiting to pounce. She had no doubt that it would be much worse this time, and not just in terms of how it would end. If the mocking tone in his last email was anything to go by, he would take even more pleasure in her suffering, and he would know there was no one to save her this time.
Despite checking every inch of her room and gingerly pulling back the shower curtain in the en-suite, she never felt truly settled. The rational part of her brain told her that, with people heading out for breakfast and staff starting to service the rooms, he would be mad to still be outside. Nevertheless, she waited until the cleaner, having first knocked, used his swipe card to enter before she ventured out. Hunger drove her down to the buffet restaurant where she struggled to find food that hadn’t been deep fried. Feeling heavy with carbohydrates, she wanted nothing more than to leave and hail a taxi back to the airport but convinced herself it would be better to wait a little longer. Keen to avoid the confines of her room, she made her way to the poolside bar where she proceeded to chain smoke whilst consuming cup after cup of poor-quality coffee.
Feeling sick from the combined effects of the fatty food and too many stimulants, Johnson made her way back to her room. The paranoia of last night had faded and she felt no fear as she opened her door. Sitting on her bed contemplating whether to take a nap or just get on with packing for the airport, the sudden ringing of her mobile phone startled her. It was DSI Potter. He wanted to inform her that they had traced Brandt, but he had absconded before they could get to him. The lack of any specific details suggested a reluctance to offer information that Johnson didn’t bother to challenge, given she knew what he was referring to. She detected a somewhat apologetic tone, but he never came close to admitting she had been right about him fleeing to Europe. With the message passed on, Potter was keen to draw the conversation to a close with only a superficial query as to how she was faring. Nevertheless, she welcomed his lack of warmth because, much as she resented the way he had treated her recently, she didn’t feel comfortable lying to the man she had spent many years working with.
With the immediate threat having gone, Johnson experienced a mixture of emotions. Chief among them was humiliation; not at being outwitted by Brandt but that she had allowed him to gain such control over her by giving in to her fear. She had worked so hard to get to the stage where she could confront him but, because it would not have been on her terms, she had shrunk away from it. During the night, in the long hours until she could no longer resist sleep, she had thought of many messages to send him. Now she was pleased she hadn’t, for they all would have added to that power; seeking as she would have done to gain reassurance that he wasn’t waiting for her.
Partly through shame but mostly through a sense that she couldn’t leave until at least she had tried to wrestle back some of the power that had been abandoned so easily last night, she began writing a new email. It was feeble, petulant even, but it did feel good for the first time not to write something subservient.
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– Running scared, are we?
As she waited for a response, she contemplated what he would read into it. Would he take it to mean she was aware that the place he had been staying at had been stormed by the police? Perhaps he might even think that, rather than cowering in her room all night, desperately clutching her knife and waiting for her barricade to be burst open, she had hunted the town for him. Even the mere chance that he might get that impression whilst he fled like the coward he was, made her start to feel better.
It was fleeting though, to be replaced by the knowledge that to allow something so petty and in the context of things infinitesimally small to give her a boost, only made her wonder what she had become. Perhaps Potter had been right in refusing to put her back on the case. That she was sat here trying to score points against a man, a cold-blooded serial killer in fact, proved that she was too emotionally involved to act rationally. But what else could she do? Just return to England and to the station as though she had been on a nice little holiday? Pretend she didn’t mind what bullshit investigations she was placed on, whilst DI Fisher got the good stuff, because she was simply happy to still be alive and in the process of rebuilding her life? Enter the office each day and smile warmly at the people around her who were fucking up finding the person responsible for the death of the only man she had ever really cared for?
Johnson sat there for hours thinking about the futility of her situation and waited for an email that never came. Whatever connection she had managed to establish with Brandt yesterday had been severed. Not only had she blown her chance to get him, her intervention had served to tip him off that he was close to being caught and would only have caused him to be more careful in future. With all hope of exacting the righteous retribution she craved gone, but unable to accept that she could somehow seek to move on, at that point she had never felt more lost; more alone.
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