by Helen Fields
The force of Grom’s movement pushed Salter forward and down towards Gladys, full-tilt onto the out-held spike. Salter did her best to avoid the old woman, knowing as she fell sideways that something was wrong, but not what. Her first thought was that Gladys was hurt in spite of her efforts to save her, because the colour red had sprayed across Gladys’ face and the wall either side. The bloody spray had cast a line so sharp it might have been made with a ruler, only ruined when the drips began to run. Gladys screamed, then Grom let Salter go. She fell, her legs drained of strength, her hands reaching for her stomach rather than saving her face from its inevitable meeting with the wall.
‘Crazy mad bitch,’ Grom shouted, kicking Gladys so hard that Salter heard the woman’s thigh bone snap like kindling. ‘I needed her. No good now.’
And still Salter couldn’t understand what had happened. Her legs were warm and wet, Gladys and Grom’s faces appeared above hers, and at the edge of her vision black stars were fading in and out. Then Grom was gone and the room spun. A car started up outside. The pain rolled in.
Gladys was on the floor next to her, their faces hard against the filthy linoleum, seeming to slip and slide against the daylight. The old woman was clutching her chest, her face pinching, whitening. Salter wondered why she couldn’t remember the lady’s name any more. It hurt so much. Her poor stomach. There was something she had to remember. Something she needed to protect. Only it was too late.
She tried to speak. There was a name she wanted the chance to say out loud before it was too late. A name she and her husband had chosen in the small hours, holding hands in the dark and whispering about the extraordinary love they had for a tiny life not yet fully formed. But Salter’s mouth couldn’t form the word. It was all she could do to breathe.
‘Christie,’ a man said from a million miles away and yet a face appeared right in front of her. ‘Paramedics, right now!’ Then there were hands all over her, moving clothing to one side, fumbling at her stomach, what sounded like a sob. Someone picked up her head, sliding legs beneath her so she was resting on his lap.
‘There now, Salter, what did I tell you about staying out of trouble, girl?’ She willed her eyes open, Detective Sergeant Lively’s face swimming above her.
‘It’s that bad?’ she whispered.
‘What are you talking about, Constable? You’ll be back at work tomorrow,’ he smiled.
She shook her head as the world fell away, the only sound she could hear the swell and break of the waves of blood through her ears.
‘Never been this nice to me before, Sarge,’ she tried to say. It came out as the soft, slow expulsion of a breath that was too much effort. Her head slipped sideways. ‘The baby …’
‘Salter, Christie … stay with me, sweetheart!’ Lively shouted. The nail file slipped unnoticed from her sleeve to the floor.
In the noise and tumult of the fading kitchen, one paramedic made a time of death announcement.
Chapter Sixty-Six
‘This road layout doesn’t even vaguely resemble what the satnav is telling us,’ Ava moaned as Callanach performed a jolting three-point turn.
‘Most of this is industrial land. If the GPS coordinates from the car Sem Culpa hired are right, then she’s taken it off the road network,’ Callanach said. He pulled over, zooming in on the satnav screen and looking around. ‘It must be to the right of this road. Left takes us towards the dual carriageway and there are no turn-offs. If she’d parked along this road we’d have seen her car by now.’
‘Up here,’ Ava said, tapping the screen. ‘You can see the outline of the buildings but there’s no access road on the map.’
Callanach crunched the gears and the car jerked away, tyres protesting. Quarter of a mile later they made a right-hand turn onto a road that had long since ceased being used, its crumbling tarmac punctured by weeds and roots. An old signpost gave away no information, rust having eaten the words it once held. They bumped slowly down the track towards the cluster of industrial buildings that sat almost entirely out of sight of the main road.
‘These must be the right coordinates. The car hire company said they check all their GPS transmitters between each hire to avoid thefts. It’s somewhere nearby,’ Ava said.
Callanach stopped the car a few minutes’ walk from the buildings.
‘We’ll have to go the rest of the way on foot. If Sem Culpa is here, she’ll hear the engine if I drive any closer. Just let me call our position in,’ Callanach said.
‘You know, if I’m wrong we’ll be diverting units from Salter,’ Ava said.
‘The rest of the team will be there with Salter. They won’t let her down. But if you’re right we’ll need backup and paramedics,’ Callanach said. He made the call, gave a lights and sirens off command, and asked for all units to be notified that they were in pursuit of Thorburn and Swan’s killer. No one who attended the scene was to be left in any doubt how dangerous the target was. Then they began to jog towards the closest of the vast grey buildings.
’I can’t see the four-by-four.’ Ava looked around.
‘She wouldn’t have left it in plain sight, and we’re still two buildings away. If it were me, I’d have driven round the back, even if I didn’t think I was being tracked.’
It was a short run to the large red-brick building, several storeys high, that was partially masked from them by newer but equally abandoned buildings. An attempt at commencing demolition had been made then stopped halfway through, leaving tangled piles of steel and concrete rubble. The first sign of activity was the hum of the generator.
‘Someone’s here,’ Ava said, switching her phone to silent and pulling a taser from her pocket. They rounded the final corner before the four-by-four came into sight. It had been reversed up to a building, its rear door left open and a large tarpaulin lying on the ground as if the contents of the boot had been tipped out in a hurry.
‘You weren’t wrong,’ Callanach said. ‘Stay here. I’ll find a way in at the front. Give me exactly two minutes then move. Okay?’
Ava nodded, then Callanach was gone and she counted down the seconds on her watch, inching closer to the side of the building. Inside, the noises were industrial – clanging, buzzing, dragging – then a voice. It was female with inflection not dissimilar to Callanach’s, and a laugh that made Ava recall a statement about Sim Thorburn’s murder. Some Dutch woman in the crowd had talked about laughter, noted its quality as – Ava struggled to remember the exact word – malicious. That was it. And here, Ava was sure, was the woman who had danced through that crowd with a blade as sharp as the mind who’d conceived the killing.
Thirty seconds to go. Ava ducked low and edged closer to the rear door, crouching down on one knee as she peered through the crack left by a thick hose pipe that ran inwards from an outside tap. A few leaks were visible along the length of the hose, the puddles drying out quickly in the evening sun. The light was dying too, and as the last few seconds passed before Callanach was due to be in position, a flood of beams was cast out from inside the building, blinding Ava’s view of what she was walking into. Ava set her left foot against the door, kept the taser in her right hand and moved in.
It was Callanach’s face that stopped Ava in her tracks, the sheer horror on it.
‘Stay where you are!’ Ava shouted, struggling to make sense of what she was looking at in the glare of lights.
Sem Culpa – no mistaking her given the circumstances – had obviously overcome her own shock at being discovered. The smile on her face was as much information as Ava needed to see how the situation was going to play out.
‘Two of you, then,’ Sem Culpa said, releasing the rope in her hand a bit, causing a sack suspended from the ceiling to sway. Ava followed the line of the rope upwards to where it was fed through a winch mechanism, at the end of which was a rope sack. Ava took a step forward, straining her eyes to figure out what was inside it. ‘You want a closer look? Come on in.’ Sem Culpa, wearing combat trousers and a strappy black T-shirt, unh
olstered the gun she’d had at her side and waved Ava forward into the ring of lights. From there, everything became clear. Inside the rope sack was a woman bundled freakishly into a naked shivering ball. Steaming beneath her was a vat of water, a throwback to the days when the tannery used to process animal skins. The smell was still in the air, caught forever in the fabric of the building, reinvigorated by the water vapour.
‘We’ve already called reinforcements,’ Callanach said. ‘You’re under arrest. Stop now. Make it easier for yourself.’
‘Oh, fuck off,’ Sem Culpa said. ‘The camera’s running and I have limited time, so call your friends and tell them to stay away, or I’ll shoot both of you as well as little miss whiny up there.’
To illustrate her point, she let the rope drop even further. Alexina screeched and jolted in the rope sack. Neither Ava nor Callanach touched their radios, staring at each other across the ring of lights and rigging.
‘Okay then, this is what will happen every time you don’t do as I say,’ Sem Culpa said, pointing the gun at Callanach’s head. ‘Watch.’
Ava took half a step forward as the rope slid through Sem Culpa’s hands. Alexina screamed again, sobbing hard as the sack came to a halt.
‘Don’t do this,’ Ava said. ‘You were played. The man controlling that website set the whole thing up. The woman in the sack up there is his wife. You don’t have to give him what he wants.’
‘Wesley?’ a small voice croaked from deep within the tangled sphere of human limbs.
‘They’re lying,’ Sem Culpa shouted in the direction of the writhing sack. ‘Your husband? A middle-class man, living in a suburban house, with a wife and a greenhouse and flowery goddamn curtains! Your husband did not conceive this.’
‘It was all about money,’ Callanach said, taking a step in. ‘The O’Rourkes have a prenuptial agreement which means he’ll get nothing from a divorce. Alexina was about to donate a multi-million pound inheritance fund to charity. Her husband wanted her dead before that happened. He needed an alibi for the murder and circumstances where we wouldn’t even think to investigate his private life. He used you and Grom to guarantee the police wouldn’t consider him a suspect.’
Sem Culpa didn’t flinch as she aimed the gun towards Callanach and shot just centimetres in front of his toes. The impact sent rubble flying off the floor towards his face. His feet scrambled, his body off balance, and he went down hard onto his back. He screamed. Sem Culpa kept the gun pointed at his head, tied the end of the rope around the winch handle and strode over to where Callanach was writhing on the floor.
‘Get up,’ she said. ‘I need some security, and you appear to be injured. I like that.’
She pointed the gun directly at Callanach’s forehead and kicked his chest. He rolled over and stood halfway up. His coccyx was a burning line of pain from the base to the top of his spine. It was all he could do to stagger.
‘All right,’ Ava said, keeping the hand with the taser in the air and slowly withdrawing her mobile with the other. She speed-dialled the station. ‘This is DI Turner. All units to remain outside the perimeter of the site,’ she said. ‘This is an active hostage situation. No one is to approach. Confirm order.’ The control room confirmed.
‘Good,’ Sem Culpa said, pushing Callanach to his knees between the camera tripod and the water vat. ‘Now throw in your phone,’ she told Ava. The water hissed as the plastic hit it, sending up a spray of boiling spit and steam. ‘The taser, too.’
‘No chance,’ Ava said. ‘If I’m going to throw it in the water, I might as well take a shot first and see what I hit.’
Sem Culpa laughed, looking into the camera that was flashing red for the live broadcast. With a finger on the trigger of the gun that was pushed into Callanach’s head, she began to unwind the rope from the winch handle and let the rope sack glide towards the water.
‘No, no, no,’ Alexina O’Rourke began to screech, her hands grasping the upper ropes of the mesh, doing all she could to defy the gravity that was pulling her towards the scalding water below.
‘Hold that rope or I’ll use the taser,’ Ava shouted.
‘Taser me, my muscles will spasm and I’ll drop the bag anyway. I will also squeeze the trigger involuntarily. You’ll be killing your own colleague, and I shouldn’t want to damage such a pretty piece of flesh. Are you screwing him?’ Sem Culpa asked, letting the rope slide another foot before catching it again. ‘I would be if I were you.’
‘Please, please no, please don’t,’ Alexina screamed.
‘Then there’s the possibility of the sack dropping into the water and you missing your target. I wonder what would happen if the taser ended up in the water with the woman. I hadn’t thought of that …’
‘We can get you out of here,’ Ava said. ‘Safe passage, a helicopter, whatever you want.’
‘You know what I really don’t like?’ Sem Culpa smiled. ‘Being lied to.’
The rope slid, Ava dropped the taser and ran forward reaching desperately over the edge of the vat. Callanach pulled his head up to watch and was met with the whip of a gun barrel across his cheekbone.
Ava held her breath. There was a fragment of time filled with sounds that belonged only in a kitchen, of raw food meeting hot liquid, the popping, sizzling, crackling of flesh broiling. Alexina O’Rourke gave voice to the monstrous agony that was eating away at her legs.
Ava had to back away. The splashing water from Alexina’s desperate kicks was burning Ava’s face and hands.
‘Not too fast, we need visuals,’ Sem Culpa said, hauling the rope downwards in order to raise Alexina’s legs up out of the water. The flesh was crimson, almost glowing in the harsh lighting, her skin hanging off in flayed strips. Ava was grateful that Alexina was now unconscious. Her head was lolling to one side, her lips crushed against a strand of the rope so her tongue could be seen bleeding and swollen where she’d bitten through it.
‘Get her out of there,’ Ava said. ‘You’ve proved what you’re capable of. No more.’
‘One step forward and I shoot his head off. She’s going to die anyway and you’re boring me.’ Sem Culpa stared into the camera. ‘Enjoy,’ she whispered, unwinding her hand from the rope for the last time, holding it only with her fingertips as she moved back, keeping her face out of range of the oncoming scalding splashes.
The man appeared from nowhere, flying in from beyond the ring of lights. Sem Culpa tripped forward, her knees colliding with Callanach’s back, dropping the gun as she crashed into the side of the vat. The rope slid from her hands and the sack containing Alexina O’Rourke went into free fall towards the inevitable death waiting below. Callanach jumped for the end of the rope as Ava leapt to get her hands on the weapon skittering across the floor. The rope was disappearing too fast, slipping through his hands. Callanach put one foot on the ledge of the vat to give his body a prop for the force he needed to grasp the rope. At his feet, Sem Culpa and the unknown man continued to fight oblivious.
‘I can’t hold it!’ Callanach shouted to Ava. She gave up her search for the gun and sprinted towards Callanach, jumping onto the ledge and grabbing the rope. He steadied her legs, too aware of what few centimetres she had to balance on with the weight of the sack working against her.
‘Don’t let me go,’ Ava breathed.
‘Who is he?’ Callanach shouted, staring at the bodies writhing viciously on the floor.
The man was massive, his back rippling like a bull trying to throw an unwanted rider. As he turned, Callanach could see a multitude of stab marks across his face and chest, the dagger responsible for them clutched in Sem Culpa’s hand.
‘Luc, I can’t hold her,’ Ava shouted.
There was a roar from the male who had grabbed hold of Sem Culpa’s feet and was dragging her towards the vat of water, babbling in a language Callanach couldn’t understand, staring into the camera as he hauled her writhing body.
‘That’s Grom,’ Callanach said. ‘You’ve got to hold her, Ava. Just ten seconds more.’
‘Luc, no, don’t let go of me …’ Ava’s upper body tipped forward as Callanach released her legs. He sprinted into the darkness. The rope began to slip though her fingers as she shifted her weight to secure her position. Then Grom barged shoulder first into Ava’s lower legs and Alexina headed for the boiling water.
Ava jumped upwards from the ledge, catching the end of the disappearing rope in her already slippery hands, burning her palms on the bristly fibres, clinging on for Alexina’s life. The rope sack stopped half in the water, with Alexina screaming as she regained consciousness, clambering upwards, lifting her body out of the water as she choked on the scalding steam.
Grom, dripping with blood from Sem Culpa’s knife work, took her by the hair and thrust her head downwards into the vat as he shouted into the camera.
‘You want show? Here – stronger always win – is me! I win!’ he yelled, bringing Sem Culpa’s head up for a second before plunging it down into the water again, this time ensuring he finished the job by planting his elbow in the nape of her neck.
Ava, swinging in mid-air, clung to the rope, her body weight insufficient to raise the sack more than a couple of feet above the water. Sem Culpa’s arms and legs thrashed, then twitched, and finally lay still and useless.
‘Raise your hands slowly, keep your feet still,’ Callanach said, holding a gun to the side of Grom’s head, ‘you’re under arrest.’
‘No need be scared. I not fight,’ Grom said. They could both hear the smile in his voice. ‘I beat her.’
‘On your knees,’ Callanach said once Grom’s hands were where he could see them. He called in the units standing by, their sirens echoing like a crying toddler through the darkness as they approached. ‘Hold on Ava,’ Callanach said. ‘Just don’t move.’
‘Not going anywhere,’ she whispered.
Suddenly there were police officers everywhere.
‘Get DI Turner down, and make sure that rope’s secured. The woman in the bag needs paramedics immediately.’