She sighed. Forgot to tell Cox to look into Rafferty as well, and about the missing email that could or could not be lost. Too tired, she thought, as she massaged her temples.
‘Time for bed.’
Only a few minutes had gone by since she’d closed the door on Cox, and as she spoke out loud she heard a quick, sharp bang. With a puzzled frown, and her mind notching up a gear, she went to the window. Her back against the wall, she carefully opened the curtain from the side and peeked out.
She frowned. What the--?
Cox’s car was still parked outside the house. The night was damp and slightly foggy, with a mist from the north sea which had closed in earlier in the day, but with the aid of the street lamp outside her door she could just about see him through the misted-up car window.
Hmm, she thought, what’s he still hanging about for? There’ll be hell to pay when he gets home, and that’s a fact. Cox’s wife is the one who wears the pants in his house alright.
Suddenly she froze. Was that a sound close to her front door, or was she just imagining it?
No, definitely not, I’m hearing things. She half-convinced herself. But again, a moment later she thought she heard something. The flesh on the back of her neck began to tingle, and a slight flush of fear ran down her spine.
Why hasn’t Cox moved?
What the hell is going on?
The sound, which was hard to identify, but which she imagined was a bit like someone furtively trying the door handle without much success, happened again.
OK, the door handle is stiff and quirky, but did I lock the door?
‘Shit!’ she muttered, thinking back to when she closed the door after Cox and realizing that no, she hadn’t locked the door behind him. She quickly looked around for a weapon, something, anything she could use to defend herself with.
If there really is someone creeping about.
If I’m not just imagining it.
There’s nobody there.
Of course not.
But why hasn’t Cox moved?
Bet he just fell asleep, it’s this whole fucking business, got me spooked to high heaven.
And then she heard the sound again.
Her breath caught in her throat.
CHAPTER TWO
Mr Brodzinski walked to the crossing at the end of the road where, after a white van went speeding past, he crossed over and made his way towards a small café. Bright green neon lights in the window advertised the café’s name, Marco’s. It was a few doors down on the opposite side of the road to Kristina’s house.
He ordered coffee and a piece of chocolate cake, then went and sat in one of the window seats. The seats were wooden but had comfortable lemon cushions with white stripes on them, which matched the walls and the lemon and white checked table cloths.
What to do now? He was thinking, as the coffee and chocolate cake were placed in front of him by a young woman with a smile that sadly reminded him of his grand-daughter. He added cream to the coffee and picked up the fork to eat his piece of cake.
‘My Annya is not dead,’ he muttered, the cake halfway to his mouth, his lips barely moving, unheard by the two young girls sitting at the next table, heads and mobile phones together, doing their own brand of muttering.
He stirred the coffee and took a drink, relishing the taste and loving the smell. He smacked his lips. Ah, this was good coffee. He took another sip and looked out of the window, watching as a car he recognised pulled up outside the detective’s house. His hopes lifted as he saw his friend Cox get out of his car.
Detective Clancy must have phoned him.
Perhaps they are going to sort it together.
Cox did promise me he would do what he could.
With a feeling of excitement stirring his blood, he swung his head round to the clock on the wall, then to a notice board next to the clock for the opening times.
Hmm, half an hour left before closing.
He would sit it out, wait as long as he had to until their business was finished, then when they came to the door, go over and confront them. Even if he had to stand outside when the café closed, for however long.
My Annya is not going to be forgotten!
CHAPTER THREE
Kristina’s eyes fell on a set of ornamental swords that she’d told her grandmother to hand in to the police station a few years ago, which of course the lovely awkward old bugger never had. Kristina had been meaning to, ever since she’d moved back down here, only she kept forgetting. Quickly she crossed the room and pulled the top sword out of its sheath. She judged it to be not quite a meter long, quite heavy and looked rather sharp. She had a very quick mental picture of her grandmother sharpening the blade.
Just the sort of thing she would do, even though they’re illegal, thank God no one had been stupid enough to break in they would have met a worthy opponent in grandma alright. Kristina thought as, light-footed, she ran to the cream leather settee along the wall beside the door. Jumping up, she stood and took a moment to steady herself. One knee bent, one bare foot firmly planted on the arm of the settee and the other on a cushion, she raised the sword above her head with both arms. Making sure she had the balance right, she waited, straining her hearing. It had gone deathly quiet. She could hear nothing.
If there is someone there, they’re good!
The door handle slowly began to turn. Kristina puffed the air out of her cheeks then, taking a deep breath, she held it in, pushing her worries for Cox and Mike to the back of her mind as self preservation kicked in and she gripped the handle of the sword even tighter.
The door opened, and the first thing Kristina saw was the gun. Gathering all her strength, without hesitating she brought the sword down in a quick slanted movement. Her aim was not to kill, but to knock the gun out of whoever’s hand it was, and to disable the bastard and put herself at the advantage.
The gun flew up into the air, and to Katrina’s horror it took her would-be assailant's thumb with it. As the gun spun over and over, droplets of blood spread in a wide arc, splattering the walls and furniture. Then gravity took over, and the gun fell in a direct line to the floor. The thumb landed at the shocked man’s feet a second later, tip first, then falling over.
Kristina was just as shocked as the man, whose face had drained of all colour as he clutched his wrist tightly with his left hand, and stared at her in utter disbelief.
Overcoming her shock and moving quickly, Kristina jumped for the gun. She landed on her knees. Her fingers were closing round the handle when the first kick hit her ribs.
‘Bitch!’ he screamed. ‘Fucking bitch!’ His face creased with pain, he glared at her through thick dark-rimmed glasses as his whole body began to shake.
Rolling with the kick, she managed to grab the gun, but she wasn’t quick enough to avoid the next kick. It landed at the base of her spine, right on her tail bone, sending spasms of pain all the way up her back.
Screaming, but without hesitating, she quickly rolled over and, still on her knees, aimed the gun at his crotch, just as his foot raised and he was about to kick her again.
‘Freeze, you bastard!’ she yelled, pulling herself up from the floor by gripping the settee arm with her right hand, and managing to hold the gun steady with her left.
‘Not much else I can do, is there?’ he said with a sarcastic sneer. ’The odds, as they say, are in your favour.’ The overwhelming smell of garlic as he spoke turned Kristina’s stomach. But she guessed he was babbling to stop himself from screaming. Professional to the end - if a tad sarcastic.
‘Take your trousers off, scumbag.’
‘What?’
‘You heard. Drop them.’
‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ He looked at her as if he still couldn’t believe what had just happened.
‘Deadly. Now drop them.’
Holding his right hand, which was bleeding heavily, tight against his chest, he loosened the belt buckle on his dark grey trousers with his other hand and, with a sneer, pulle
d his zip down. His trousers dropped to his ankles.
‘OK. Step out of them, then drop the underpants.’
‘You for fucking real, or what?’ Again he glared at her in disbelief.
‘Just do it now. And don’t for one minute think I don’t know how to use this.’
Outside, Kristina appeared calm and totally in control of the situation, but inside she was terrified. Knowing that no way could she let him see just how frightened she was, she waved the gun at him. ‘Move it.’
Grinding his teeth in anger, he slowly rolled his underpants down and stepped out of them.
‘OK, get the rest off. Oh - and that’s nothing special down there, by the way. Really nothing to be proud of.’
Kristina could have bitten off her tongue when she saw the anger on his face.
Shit! Shouldn’t have said that!
But it was her way of dealing with danger. It was how she kept control. And it wasn’t every day, even in the police force, when you were faced with a semi-naked, heavily bleeding, thumbless man.
‘Kick the trousers over.’
‘I’m bleeding to fucking death here, bitch, and you want to play fucking bedroom games?’
‘With you? Er, that’ll be a big fat no. Kick ‘em over, scumbag.’
Kristina had never considered herself as foolhardy, or a hero. Well aware that the incident with the thumb had been a freak accident that could probably never be repeated in a million years, she walked slowly backwards, her eyes locked steadily on the man’s, until her hip made contact with the phone table. Finding the phone blindly by scrabbling around with her free hand, she picked it up and quickly dialled 999.
‘OK, sit,’ she said, after putting her call through.
His jaw dropped, and he blinked repeatedly as he said, ‘Aren’t you even going to phone a fucking ambulance for me, you stupid fucking ginger cow?’
‘Nice! There’s an ambulance on the way, prick, you heard me ask for one. Though I doubt you would have phoned one for me if things had turned out the way you expected them to.’ She waved the gun again. ‘Now fucking do as you’re told, and friggin' well sit down now before I lose it altogether.’
The man, who had made no attempt to remove any more of his clothing, sat down quickly, swearing under his breath.
Heart pounding, wondering if she was doing the right thing, Kristina put the gun on the table beside the phone. She hurried over and pulled his belt from his trousers, watching him closely and praying he wouldn’t suddenly make a move.
‘At least light me a cigarette up, they’re just in my top pocket.’
‘Do you think I’m stupid?’
He frowned at her as she went on with a slightly shaking hand. ‘Hold your hands up.’
The frown turned to a smirk as he sensed that she wasn’t quite as in control as she’d have him believe. He raised his hands little more than an inch, and spat at her contemptuously, ’I can take you any time, bitch.’
‘Move them now, or else,’ Kristina yelled. Trying to convince herself that she was in charge, she was thinking, if you coulda, you woulda, mate!
She noticed that he was using his left hand as a tourniquet for his missing thumb, not that it was doing much good the blood was running fast. Staring at her with more than a touch of hate in his eyes, he raised his hands another six or seven inches. Quickly she wrapped the belt around his wrists, and pulled tight, knowing that she really should have tied his hands behind his back, but fearing he might bleed to death. And this bastard needed to be brought to justice. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the belt even tighter, helping to slow the blood flow to his hands.
As she leaned in closer, he moved his head forward, trying to nut her between her eyes and just missing her nose.
‘Bastard,’ he snarled.
Kristina jumped out of his reach, and back-pedalling to the table she grabbed the gun.
‘Try that again, mister.’ She waved the gun at him. Wiping the blood off her own hands with his trousers, she flung them to the far corner of the room, then picked his underpants up and threw them into the opposite corner, figuring that if he did manage to escape, every second taken up would be a bonus.
‘I’ll look forward to cutting your tongue out, woman,’ he said, as Kristina headed for the door.
Intent on getting away, she grabbed her black coat and her handbag from the coat stand and went quickly through the door, She was shrugging into her coat as she reached the car, and Cox. She shoved the gun quickly into her pocket as fearing the worst, her heart pounding, she opened the car door.
Cox, who had been leaning on the door, slumped to the side and was in danger of falling out. He was either unconscious or dead, she didn’t know which, but his face was covered in blood. Slowly, as if in slow motion, his body slipped further out of the car.
‘Cox! Cox, wake up. Please wake up.’
Kristina gave a small sob, although the thought that Cox might be dead, killed by the semi-naked man in her house, had crossed her mind. Facing with the truth of what she had feared rocked her to the core. A moment later she froze, when she heard the sound of sirens in the distance.
‘What the--’ She had been adamant, when she’d phoned in, that under no circumstances at all were there to be any sirens - not even from the ambulance, in case they alerted anyone who was with the gunman, hiding in the area.
Quickly, aware that every second counted, she pulled Cox from the car, and placed him in the recovery position. His mobile phone fell out with him and hit the side of the kerb. Kristina picked it up and shoved it into her pocket, alongside the gun, figuring that he must have been using the mobile when he’d been shot.
If only he hadn’t sat outside for those precious minutes to talk to whoever he’d phoned, he might be alive now.
She was muttering over and over, ‘Sorry, Cox, sorry.’ As gently as she could, she kissed her middle and forefingers and placed the kiss on his cheek. Thanking God that the keys were in the ignition, she jumped in the car and, engine screaming, reversed up the street in the opposite direction to the sirens.
It killed her to leave Cox without knowing if he was alive or dead, even though she strongly suspected the latter, but she had to get away, and quickly. And she had to find Mike.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mr Brodzinski starred in horror as Kristina screeched up the road in Cox’s car. He’d watched Cox come out of the house and get in his car, and had been about to cross over the road, cursing himself for not going over sooner - he’d really wanted to catch them both together, and get a solemn promise from both of them. Then just as he’d been about to step off the path, another man had approached the car. He and Cox seemed to be talking for a moment or two, but Brodzinski's eyesight was not what it had once been. He’d seen the man in the thick rimmed glasses point at Cox with a newspaper draped over his hand, then jumped a second later when he’d heard the muffled bang. He'd frowned in puzzlement when the man dropped the paper, but was still holding something in his hand as he ran up the half-dozen steps to the house.
Brodzinski strongly suspected it was a gun, but shied away from the fact. That sort of thing only happens in films, or books! Besides, if he believed what his eyes were telling him, it meant that the man had shot his friend. Cox might even be dead!
Staring over at Cox in the car, Brodzinski didn’t know what to do. He was still debating with himself when Kristina had burst out of the house as if all the devils in hell were pursuing her.
And now Cox was lying on the ground across the street. This time he was faced with no choices. For some reason, his friend was lying there, and there was only one thing he could do. He stepped into the road just as the first police car came flying round the corner. Quickly he put his foot back on the path and quietly stepped back into the shadows, trying to ease his conscience with the thought that the professionals would know better what to do than he ever would.
Something strange was going on, though, he knew that much. Another police car, followed by an ambulan
ce, came round the corner, and the scene was lit up with red and blue flashing lights. But it was something he certainly didn’t want to get involved in. His first duty was to his grand-daughter. He stepped further back until he was hidden from the road by the hedge.
He really hoped his friend was all right. Cox was a good man, and a good friend but his time was precious. He needed every minute for Annya, and getting mixed up with whatever this business was, would be no help to her.
Unless it was all connected?
He watched silently as Cox, who hadn’t moved, was put onto a stretcher, and the ambulance pulled quickly away. He breathed a sigh of relief and tried to shrug the guilty feeling away. Though if Cox was dead, he would feel guilty that he had not done his bit to help, for the rest of his life.
Then the man in the thick glasses, who had been talking to Cox before he went into the policewoman’s house, was helped by a policeman, with his hand on his arm, down the steps and into a police car which took off with all lights flashing.
Was that blood all over his clothes?
Puzzled as to what he’d witnessed, and knowing it hadn’t made much sense - the man, Brodzinski was sure now, had definitely been bleeding heavily - he hung around for another fifteen minutes, just in case the man with the glasses had a friend come looking for him and pounced on anyone around.
Finally satisfied that no one else was coming, he left his hiding place and headed home.
LONDON
CHAPTER FIVE
Two hours had passed since Smiler had run from the safe house, two gruelling hours in which he had endured pure torment. With the gait of an old man, shoulders hunched, head dropped, and heart aching so bad it was a real physical pain in his chest, he’d stumbled past houses, shops, parks, and ended up in this draught-ridden doorway. He’d tried to piece together everything Rita had told him. And he still couldn’t get his head around most of it.
Holy Island Trilogy 03 - The Final Countdown Page 2