Double Blind

by Carrie Bedford

  “They’re in a manila folder with a K on the front for Kate. In the cabinet furthest from the sink, behind some boxes of coffee.” I hoped that embellishing the details would make him think I was telling the truth.

  Macintyre ran his finger along my aching jaw. He straightened up, stepped away. “Phil, keep an eye on them. We’ll deal with them when I get back.”

  With several long strides, he was gone, the metal door clanging closed behind him. I had to restrain myself from smiling. He’d taken the bait and, even better, he’d gone on the errand himself. If we had any hope of escaping it would have to be now, with only Lizardman to contend with.

  Anita’s tears had dried and she straightened up in her chair. She gave a slight nod towards me, a sign that she was thinking the same as I was. I had to do something to get Lizardman to untie me. I began to cough and convulse, the ties on my wrist and ankles digging into my flesh every time I jerked against them.

  “She’s seizing,” Anita shouted. “You have to help her.”

  Lizardman looked at her blankly.

  “Now, you idiot,” she yelled at him. “Get her horizontal, with her head turned to one side. Do it now.”

  “What the hell?”

  “You don’t want to let her die. Macintyre will be furious if you do. He’s going to need her to tell him where those notes really are.”

  “She lied? I need to call Macintyre.”

  “Later. You can call him later. Now do as I say before she swallows her tongue and suffocates.”

  Lizardman bounded towards me, knife in front of him. He began sawing through the zip ties around my wrists, freeing my arms from the chair. When he cut the tie on my right ankle, I brought my fists together on each side of his head, battering his ears. He yelped in pain, pushed away from me and fell backwards just long enough for me to aim a kick at him. It was luck, not skill, that my foot connected with his face. I heard a loud crack. Grasping the knife in one hand, he used the other to cradle his nose. Blood poured through his fingers.

  His temporary lack of attention gave me the time I needed to retrieve the Stanley box-cutter from the table, where it lay amongst a mess of make-up containers and old receipts. My fingers were shaking, but the blade was razor sharp, able to cut through the tie on my left ankle with ease. I stood up, holding the box-cutter in front of me.

  Lizardman was already climbing to his feet. When he saw the blade in my hand, he paused, but only for a second. Then he came at me, his knife raised and aimed at my chest. I knew I couldn’t beat him in a knife fight. I moved behind my chair, putting more space between us.

  Instead of charging at me, as I expected him to do, he moved towards Anita, who was still bound hand and foot. She was the easy target, of course.

  “Put the weapon down, Kate,” he said, pointing his knife at her. His voice sounded raspy and nasal as though he had a bad cold.

  I grabbed my empty chair, held it high with the legs pointing at him, and ran. The chair hit him in the torso, barely making an impact. He merely grabbed one of the legs and pulled, bringing me with it. We were close now, with just the chair between us. I whipped the box-cutter around, stabbing at thin air until suddenly, miraculously, the blade hit his upper arm. I felt it sink through the flesh and hit bone. Swearing loudly, he dropped the chair and grabbed at his arm, his knife hanging loosely in his hand.

  Behind me Anita yelled, urging me on. I picked up the chair again and swung it at his injured arm. The knife flew out of his hand and clattered to the floor. I flung the chair around again, aiming for his head. The edge of the wooden seat made contact with his broken nose with a satisfying crunch. He wavered for a few seconds before falling to his knees, his hands covering his face.

  I wasn’t thinking very clearly, but I knew we only had seconds to act. He was disabled, but not for long. I cut through the ties on Anita’s wrists and thrust the box-cutter into her hand. Skirting Lizardman, I rushed to retrieve his knife from where it had fallen.

  By the time he was back on his feet, Anita was free, and armed with the box-cutter. I stood next to her with the knife in my hand.

  “Stay back,” I said to him. “I’ll use this if I have to.”

  Even through all the blood, he smirked, which made me mad. I raised the knife, preparing to throw it. I’d thrown javelin in school one year when I was too injured to run. At this distance, he was an easy mark.

  His eyes widened. “What the…” he said, holding his good hand in front of him.

  “Back on your knees,” I said.

  When he was on the floor, Anita crouched down next to him, holding the box-cutter at his neck. “Don’t think I won’t do it,” she said. “I’m a surgeon and I know exactly where your carotid artery runs.” She stroked the blade along his skin, leaving a thin red line.

  “Tie him up,” she said to me. “Check his pocket for zip ties.”

  I dug into his pocket and pulled out three ties, then sat on his legs while securing his ankles to the table legs. There was only one tie left so I bound his wrists together.

  “We need to go,” I said. “Macintyre could come back at any moment.”

  Anita nodded, still holding the blade against Lizardman’s throat. I grabbed my bag and threw all my stuff back in it, including my useless phone. Looping the strap across my body, I followed Anita to the heavy iron door, which squealed on its hinges when she pulled it open. I checked quickly but there was no lock, no way to block it. We’d just have to move fast.

  The long corridor stretching ahead was our only way out. If we met Macintyre coming the other way, we were in trouble. When we reached the wooden staircase at the other end, we paused to listen for any sounds from above. It was quiet and we had no choice anyway. We had to go up. My pulse raced. I wasn’t going to tell Anita, but her aura was still there, spinning over her head. That meant we weren’t out of danger yet.

  We reached the top of the staircase and pushed open the door that led into the spacious lobby, where I fumbled around until I found a light switch. Soft lamplight revealed wood paneling and dozens of framed paintings of horses or flowers on the walls.

  “What is this place? It looks like an aristocrat’s country house, but we’re in London.” Anita turned to look at me. “Aren’t we? I’m so confused. I have no idea where I am.”

  I didn’t know either, except that I was sure we were near the river. “We need to keep moving,” I said. As I led the way across the hall towards the front doors a table near the staircase caught my attention. It was covered in glossy brochures.

  I picked one up. “Welcome to Litton Bernhoff Hall,” I read out loud. “Now it makes sense. This place must belong to LB Pharmaceuticals. Maybe a conference center or a hospitality center where they entertain customers?”

  “There’s nothing very hospitable about this place,” Anita said, unlocking the front door. “Let’s go.”

  We ran down the steps to the gravel driveway, and past the Land Rover that I’d arrived in. “Damn,” I said. “We should have got his keys so we could drive out of here.”

  “No time to go back,” Anita said. “Keep moving.”

  An amber moon appeared from behind a bank of clouds, giving us just enough light to see where we were going. We’d walked about ten yards, when a sudden sweep of headlights in the distance made my heart pound. I pulled Anita off the driveway, finding shelter behind a thick and prickly bush. The lights soon faded, and I stood up.

  “That’s good,” I said. “We must be closer to a road than I thought. I say we make a run for it. A straight line along the driveway. Can you do that?”

  She nodded and stood up, leading the way around the shrubs back to the gravel. Suddenly a hand grasped my shoulder. I turned to see the bloody, wrecked face of Lizardman.

  “You should have killed me when you had the chance,” he said. “Because I certainly intend to kill you.”

  He swung at me, his fist connecting with my cheekbone. Pain ricocheted around my head, coming to rest at my lower temple. Staggerin
g, I fell to my knees. He seized the knife from my hand. The moon reflected in the blade as it curved towards me, aiming at my neck.

  He was so focused on me that he didn’t see Anita move behind him. She jumped up, wrapping one arm around his neck, her legs around his waist. He flailed around, trying to throw her off, the knife in his hand whipping to and fro, perilously close to my face. I wanted to move but I couldn’t; there seemed to be no muscles left in my legs or arms. Anita yelled at me to get up. As I clambered to my feet, Lizardman lunged forward, throwing Anita off. He raised the knife again, poised to stab me in the neck.

  With a scream like a warrior going into battle, Anita ran at him and stabbed the box-cutter repeatedly into his shoulder. For a second, I thought he hadn’t even felt it. Then he fell forwards in slow motion, his bloodied features looming over me before he collapsed on top of me.

  Adrenaline fueled a burst of strength, helping me to push him off so that he rolled on to his back on the gravel. Blood flowed freely from his nose, like ink in the light of the sallow moon. A puddle collected near his shoulder.

  Anita bent over him, holding a finger to his neck. “He’s alive,” she said. “What do we do with him now?”

  “Nothing. We leave him and keep going,” I said, moving my head from side to side, trying to dislodge the pain.

  Suddenly, there was a flood of white light at the end of the drive, the revving of an engine as tires gained traction on the gravel. It had to be Macintyre.

  “Help me,” I said to Anita, grabbing Lizardman under his arms. She raised his feet a few inches off the ground and we dragged him off the driveway, over the grassy verge and behind the bush where we’d sheltered before. I prayed that Macintyre couldn’t see us from the drive.

  A black Audi flew past us, the tires spitting up small stones. The second I saw its tail lights, I grasped Anita’s wrist. “We’re going to run for it. Ready?”

  She glanced at Lizardman. “We can’t leave him here. He could die without attention to those wounds,” she said.

  “Who cares? We don’t have time. As soon as Macintyre sees that we’re gone, he’ll be out here looking for us.”

  We ran. The driveway ended at a set of wrought iron gates, flanked by stone walls about six feet high. I grabbed the handle, but the gate was locked.

  “It’s on some kind of motion detector,” Anita said, pointing to a wooden post set eight feet back from the gate with a small box mounted on it. I ran back, waving my hands in front of the box. “Not enough mass to make it work,” I panted. “Now what?”

  Without hesitation, Anita ran at the wall, jumped up and gripped the ledge at the top. I followed her and held both her legs, pushing her upwards until her waist hit the ledge and she was able to scramble up on top of the wall. She leaned down to grab hold of my outstretched hands as I used my feet to clamber my way to the top. We dropped to the other side, onto a bank at the edge of a road. I pulled my phone from my bag, almost crying with relief that we had service back now we were out of the basement. I called Parry.

  “Where the hell are you?” he asked.

  “Where the hell were your men?” I responded. “Listen, we need help urgently. Dr. Reid’s killer is at a place called Litton Bernhoff Hall. I don’t know exactly where it is, but it’s close to the river, probably east of Greenwich.”

  The roar of an airplane engine drowned out his reply.

  “And I think we’re close to City Airport,” I said. As the engine noise faded, Parry told us to stay where we were.

  Help was coming, but when he clicked off, I felt nervous and vulnerable. There were no streetlights, just thick woods opposite us and the wall at our backs. If Macintyre came out, he’d see us at once. We crossed the road to the trees on the other side. Picking our way across fallen branches and through brambles, we found a clear grassy area with a good view of the road. We crouched down to wait. Less than a minute later, there was a sweep of headlights on the mansion driveway, which meant that Macintyre must be leaving. The lights stopped moving for a while, giving me hope that the police would arrive in time to cut off his exit. But then the lights came closer. Seconds later, the gates swung open and the Audi turned out of the driveway, accelerating up the road. He was getting away.

  After a minute or two, I pulled Anita to her feet. At least with Macintyre gone, we could wait at the gates for the police. Five more minutes passed before two squad cars arrived in a rush of flashing lights and wailing sirens. A WPC grabbed a first aid kit from the back of one car and tended to Anita’s cut in the light from the headlamps.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said. “You won’t need stitches.”

  While she worked, I stared at the aura that still swirled over Anita’s head. Damn, damn, damn. We’d escaped, but she was still in danger. From Lizardman? From Macintyre? Or something else I wasn’t aware of yet? She looked exhausted, and there was a bruise on one cheek that I hadn’t noticed in the gloom of the cellar. Her hair had come loose from its ponytail and hung limply on her shoulders.

  I told one of the police officers that Macintyre had gone already. He talked on his radio to someone, maybe Parry, while another officer worked out how to open the gate.

  When the WPC had finished tending to Anita, she helped us into the back of one of the cars. “The driver will take you to Detective Parry’s office now,” she said. “Take care of yourselves.”

  The back seat smelled of sweat and something musty, a vestige perhaps of a previous occupant.

  “What was going on today?” I asked the driver. “I was supposed to get police support hours ago.” I hoped I didn’t sound too whiny.

  The officer nodded, looking at me in his rear view mirror. “I’m sorry, miss. Did you hear about the bomb? We were all put on high alert.”

  “A bomb?” My mind immediately went to Simon Scott. “What happened?”

  “Someone called in a message about a bomb in central London. I think they were targeting a politician. Scott, the leader of the opposition, was due to drive right past where they said the bomb was. He was diverted.”

  “Was it a hoax or was there really a bomb?”

  “Not sure. They don’t tell us everything. If it was, they must have defused it. But it was most likely a hoax, just to make the security forces jump.”

  I leaned back in my seat, thinking. If it had been an actual bomb, who’d set it? Someone on my list, or some third party I didn’t know about? I hadn’t heard from Chris for a couple of days and, of course, we hadn’t exactly parted on friendly terms. The memory of those chemical stains on his hands stuck with me.

  I glanced at Anita. Sad to see that aura still spinning, I sank back in my seat, with my hands over my eyes. Anita didn’t notice. She was already asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Anita dozed as we sped through the outer reaches of East London, past the O2 arena, which was brightly lit for an event. The moon that had helped us find our way to freedom was completely obscured now by dark clouds. Rain beat against the windows. It wasn’t the first time I’d ridden in the back of a police car, which was surprising, given my law-abiding nature. Only sort of law-abiding, I amended. Last year, I’d almost strangled someone and tonight I’d stabbed Lizardman. It was all in self-defense, but I wondered what it meant, that I could resort to violence when necessary. Are all humans inherently violent? A propensity that, for most, remains dormant until provoked? That certainly wasn’t true of Macintyre. He seemed to need very little reason to hurt or kill. The memory of his flat, colorless eyes still made my heart pound.

  I shook Anita gently, impatient to get answers to a million questions. At first she grumbled, but then sat up straight. “I need coffee,” she said.

  “We’ll get some as soon as we reach the station, I promise. First you need to call your mother. She must be frantic with worry.”

  “You and my mum could be the same person, you know that?” she said, taking my mobile. The call didn’t last long, but I heard Mrs. Banerjee crying and yelling at
her husband that Anita was safe. Anita rang off after swearing up and down that she was absolutely fine and would see them soon.

  “Tell me more about your notes,” I said when she gave me back my phone. “How the hell did Macintyre even know they existed?”

  She stretched her arms above her head. “God, I ache all over. The notes? Macintyre saw them in my office. I feel like such a fool, but I had no idea at the time. He’d asked to meet me to talk about a blood pressure medication from Eric’s company, PharmAnew. Obviously, Macintyre wanted the hospital to replace it with the version from Litton Bernhoff. Our computer system was down for maintenance, so I dug through the notes in my drawer to check some data. He asked me what the notes were all about and I told him. He was charming and complimentary, telling me how impressed he was that I was advancing my learning, blah, blah, blah. I never gave it another thought until Dr. Reid asked me about the notes, at the same time he said he needed to meet with me. That was the day before he died.”

  “And how did Dr. Reid know about the notes?”

  “I’d often take notes when we were working together, and I’d told him why. He thought it was a good idea too. But when you and I had compared them to the electronic files, I got nervous, so I found a plastic box in the store room and hid them in the kitchen until I’d have time to go through them properly.”

  Anita turned to look at me. “Where are they now? The real ones that Macintyre wanted?”

  “In the morgue. Grace hid them in an unused refrigerator drawer.” I grabbed my mobile. “Oh, damn. I need to call her to let her know we’re okay.”

  Grace picked up as soon as I rang. I explained that we were safe and that the police were tracking down Macintyre, but I skipped the gory details of Macintyre’s threats and our escape.

  “I’ve been so worried,” Grace said. “I can’t wait to see Anita again. The morgue is all locked up for the night. You can retrieve the notes tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

  “We’ll see you in the morning. Thanks again, Grace.” I clicked off, vaguely worried that Macintyre might still work out where the notes were. But it seemed unlikely. And, even if he did, he couldn’t break into the morgue.