Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1)

by Richard Harrington

  ‘Oh, alright, don’t go on about it, I’ll have you collected. So where are you?’

  ‘We’re at the phone booths by the park, but it’ll just be Tara, I need to collect my kit.’

  ‘So where is it?’

  ‘Garrison Hill, I had to hide it on a ledge, just over the gun emplacement wall.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll send a van for her, and when you’ve collected your kit, come straight here.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Frank, I mean that, you have to drop out of sight before the media circus arrives.’

  ‘I know, I’ll come straight over, I promise, cross my heart and hope to die.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  Luigi had recognised Frank from the photo, and following him from the quay, secretly watched as he made the phone call, and later, when a van collected the little girl, he stayed back far enough and followed him up the steep rise of Garrison Hill.

  Reaching the spot, Frank looked around but didn’t see anything that bothered him, and climbing over the gun emplacement, slid down the slope, and reaching the outcrop, glanced back and was surprised to see a boy staring at him, his face clear over the wall, his curls shining in the sun, eyes fierce in concentration, the snout of the automatic pistol so ugly as the boy pushed his arm out straight and level, and Frank didn’t even hear the bang when the bullet came.

  Antoinette stared hypnotised out of the window, the huge expanse of sea becoming a vague shimmering blur, and knew she couldn’t hide it any longer.

  It had been far too long.

  She looked mesmerised to the clock.

  It had been four hours since Frank had called, four hours, when all he had to do was collect his kit from Garrison Hill and take a taxi to Moon Shadow.

  Even if he’d gone to the pub for a Guinness, he wouldn’t have kept her waiting this long, not after she’d agreed to take the Goodwin girl.

  Although she had to admit he’d been right about her, and dear old Monty had been fretting over her like a mother hen ever since she’d arrived in that scary, trance-like state.

  But something was wrong, and almost certainly it was to do with that damned yacht, so had one of the crew survived? My god, had Frank been followed to Garrison Hill?

  Running out to the yard, her heart pounded as she clambered into her little Suzuki jeep, and checking the first aid box and mobile, drove off at speed towards Hugh Town.

  Driving up the hill, she got as close to the gun emplacements as she could, and checking over the wall at each of them, at last saw him, kneeling and floundering semi-conscious on a grassy ledge, just inches from the cliff face.

  Climbing over, she slid down the slope and grabbed him, just as he was about to topple over the edge.

  ‘Oh no you don’t. Now you just keep still, or we’ll both go to hell in a handcart.’

  Forcing him to lie still, she opened the box and took out the bandages, and cleaning the wounds as best she could, wrapped and dressed them.

  ‘My god, why do you always have to go it alone. This world isn’t your private battlefield you know, you stupid, pig-headed man.’

  Kissing him, she took the top off the smelling salts and wafted it under his nose, and when he came too, sudden pain made him cry out loud.

  ‘Sorry about that, but I can’t carry you, so you’ll have to help me.’

  Tugging the mobile out of her pocket, she called Jasmin, her retired doctor friend.

  ‘Jaz, it’s Annie. Now look, can you get over to the farm as fast as you can.’

  ‘The problem? Well a friend has a couple of nasty scalp wounds, you’ll need to do some stitching.’

  ‘You can leave now? Thanks Jaz, and when you’ve fixed him up, I’m going to kill him.’

  The End.

  (Of the beginning)

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my family and friends for their support and encouragement during the writing and publication of this book.

  Thanks to Lucy Beckett for her editing skills and Rebecca Emin for formatting the book and providing other publishing advice.

  I would also like to thank Design for Writers for the fantastic cover.

  Thanks also to The Beatles.