Her Final Hour: An absolutely unputdownable mystery thriller

by Carla Kovach

  Forty-Four

  Gina turned the volume down on the television after watching the press release. She was impressed at how efficiently it had reached the local news station and she was sure it would be in the online local’s before their paper publication day, which was Wednesday. She really hoped that someone would come forward, telling them where Ellie was. She saw the distress in Becky’s eyes when she’d spoken of Ellie going missing. She shook her head and began ploughing through the day’s notes on her laptop as she tucked into her takeaway chips. The phone rang – Briggs. ‘Hello.’ She took a swig of water and a couple of codeine-based painkillers. She needed to sleep tonight.

  ‘I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk before you left. How are feeling?’

  ‘Sore.’ She placed the plate of food onto the coffee table. ‘I feel like I’ve been beaten up.’

  He paused for a moment. ‘Do you need anything?’

  ‘I’m fine. I’m going to take a couple of painkillers and try to get rid of the aches and pains, ready for tomorrow.’ She knew he was hoping she’d invite him over but she wasn’t going to.

  ‘Well don’t feel like you have to rush in. I know you’re not feeling good and no one expects you to be rushing around. You’ve had a bad twenty-four hours and you should be taking it easy.’ She exhaled, glad he’d shifted the conversation.

  ‘I would, take it easy I mean, if we didn’t have a murderer on the loose and a missing woman. I only have aches and pains to contend with. I’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, sir.’

  Her joints began to relax, giving her a welcome sinking feeling, inviting her to close her eyes and sleep. The tablets were taking effect. She left the greasy chips on the table, turned everything off and yawned as she fell into bed. She heard the cat flap banging in the kitchen. Just Ebony returning from her night-time adventures.

  Forty-Five

  Tuesday, 17 April 2018

  The figure sat in the darkness of the moonlit room watching DI Gina Harte’s chest rise and fall. Her digital clock read five past one in the morning. It had been a long night but so worth it. The DI was a woman who needed to be taught a lesson.

  The cottage had been easy to enter. She lived in the end plot of a small row of terraced houses, in a semi-rural area. All the cottages had long gardens that were tree-lined at the end and were separated by mature hedges, as well as a fence, in between each plot. The rusty back gate hadn’t even been locked and the kitchen had been easy to enter. People were always warned about leaving keys in doors, especially when they had cat flaps. Getting the hanger in the right position had been tricky but not impossible. As the keys clashed on the tiled flooring, there was the worry that she’d stir, but she’d slept right through. Silently, the back door had been locked again and the key had been positioned back in the keyhole. The front door would be the best exit route. That way there would be no sign of a break in. The police might even think she let someone in, leading them to suspect someone she knew well. Maybe they’d even suspect a copycat killing. That would throw an element of confusion into their investigation.

  Wrapping the cord around the gloved hand, the watcher walked over to where she lay. The suit chaffed a little, making a slight brushing sound with every step, but nothing too loud. She opened her mouth and began to breathe heavily, flinching in her sleep, murmuring words that couldn’t be deciphered. Her head thrashed and she turned to face the intruder. The quilt that covered her slipped down a little as she stretched out, revealing an open nightshirt. Sweat mingled with the smell of fruit penetrated the material of the thin mask. Her hair smelled of coconut. Such sweet smells for a person who had caused so much upset. The watcher caught sight of a photo on the bedside table as the clouds dispersed, allowing a bit of moonlight to shine through the window. So DI Harte did have a family. The young women in the photo shared her eyes.

  The watcher flinched as the DI half called out. Little beads of sweat slipped down her cleavage, glistening in the moonlight as she whimpered while dreaming. Her nightmares would soon be over though.

  The thought of wrapping the cord around the DI’s neck was very appealing. She seemed so defenceless and vulnerable while sleeping. She would probably be a little easier to take on than Melissa had been.

  She began wittering away in her sleep as she turned away. Before she woke, the intruder knew they needed to loop the cord around her whole neck and pull as hard as possible, just like the other night. They might end up wrestling on the floor, but there would be no letting go until she had passed away. This would be the ultimate lesson. Shame she wouldn’t be around to learn from it.

  Her phone began to buzz on her bedside table. The DI stirred.

  It would be impossible to take her on alone if she was awake. Being in the police, she’d know how to defend herself. She’d fight to the end. Heart hammering, the figure crawled across the bedroom floor onto the landing as the DI came round, and crept downstairs and out of the front door. She’d keep – for now.

  Forty-Six

  She felt for the phone, trying to press the answer button as she prised her eyes open. Sweat ran down her forehead as her heart hammered in her ribcage. It was a withheld number. ‘Hello. DI Harte.’

  The caller was silent until she heard a whimpering sound coming from the other end. ‘I don’t know what to do.’ A woman with a shaky voice began to sob and hyperventilate. ‘I’m scared he’ll kill the missing woman.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘He could be back any moment.’

  ‘Where are you? I can come straight there. Give me your address?’ Gina sat up in bed, almost crying out as she leaned on her bad wrist. Her sweaty nightshirt clung to her skin.

  ‘I have to help her. I must go. He’ll be angry if he knows I’ve called. I can’t do this.’ The woman cried as she hung up.

  Gina forced her aching body out of bed and stood as she called the station, knowing O’Connor was on a late. ‘It’s DI Harte. Get me a trace on a call to my phone, made at one sixteen. Then call me back.’

  She called Jacob. Several rings later, he answered. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Jacob. I just got a call from a woman. I’ve called it in and I’m hoping for a trace. It was a woman saying that she was scared that he’d kill the missing woman. I’m thinking Ellie Redfern. Someone has her.’

  Jacob cleared his throat. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t a prank?’

  She headed down the stairs and flicked the kettle on. Her head was pounding from her injury and the abrupt awakening. ‘She sounded petrified. It didn’t sound like a prank, I know what a prank sounds like. This all has to be connected. Ellie, Melissa, my attack right outside Darrel’s house.’ She stared at her back door key in the lock and noticed it was leaning out of the keyhole at an angle. Shaking her head, she pushed the key in properly. She jumped as Ebony dived through the cat flap and rubbed her body against Gina’s legs.

  ‘Guv?’

  ‘I’m still here. My cat just gave me a scare. I’m a bit on edge as you can probably tell. The woman said that he, whoever he is, would be back at any moment and that she needed to help the woman. What the hell is going on?’ Her phone buzzed. Another call was coming through. ‘Wait on the line; I have another call coming through. It’s O’Connor.’

  ‘We have a number but the phone isn’t registered, guv. What’s this about? I tried to call the number but the phone was turned off.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll call you back in a minute to report what happened. I’m just on the line to Driscoll.’ She ended the call and transferred back to Jacob. ‘The phone wasn’t registered. It’ll be a while before we get an approximate location but O’Connor’s on to it.’ The kettle clicked and the corner of the kitchen filled with steam.

  ‘Great. Do you want me to pick you up? Do we need to go to the station or are you staying at home until morning?’ She could sense that Jacob hoped that she’d tell him to go back to bed.

  ‘I’m going to stick around here for a while. I may try to grab a nap before we head back in.
Would you pick me up for seven? I’ll update my notes on the call and give O’Connor a call back.’

  ‘Will do. Try and get some rest, guv. You’ve had a rough time of it and you need to heal those wounds if you’re to be on top form.’

  ‘Goodnight, Jacob.’

  ‘Night, guv.’

  Gina poured a coffee and sat at the kitchen table, taking a moment to enjoy the warmth of her favourite beverage. She leaned over to the back door and unlocked it. She closed the door again and locked it, noticing that the key stayed firmly in the lock. She rattled the doorframe. The key still didn’t budge. How had the key ended up hanging slightly out of the keyhole?

  She stepped through the house and shook the front door by the catch. It was firmly closed. She was becoming paranoid. The codeine-based painkillers she’d taken had sent her a bit funny, giving her nightmares, and unnerving her. Between that and the strange call, there was no way she was going back to sleep. She grabbed her phone and called O’Connor as she stared through the back door, into the darkness of the trees at the back of her garden. From what she could make out in the moonlight, the gate was closed. What she couldn’t see was the figure watching her from the back of the garden, hidden in the dark shadows.

  Forty-Seven

  Ellie’s head felt like lead against the pillow. She tried to force her eyes open but they were barely responding. She remembered back to the warmth of the alcohol sliding down her throat, then she’d fallen into a deeply satisfying slumber. She dreamed of being in Combe Martin with Becky. They’d been sitting on a bench, staring up at the stars. The stars had descended from the sky like fireworks, a display for their eyes only. Becky had been smiling and holding her tightly on that cold night as they shared a flask of hot chocolate.

  ‘Hey. Wake up.’ A woman was calling her. That wasn’t Becky’s voice. ‘We haven’t got much time.’ The room filled with sobbing and wailing, and kept repeating itself. ‘Wake up.’ Her head began to swim. She needed to sit up, drink a glass of water – shake off the heaviness that was weighing her down. She’d had a drink. She wasn’t meant to drink again, ever. Why had she accepted a drink? She closed her eyes, they were too heavy to open and sleep was welcoming. She hadn’t finished her dream. She tried hard to be back in Combe Martin.

  Her mind flashed back to the night of her attack. ‘Go away,’ she tried to say. ‘Leave me alone.’ She wanted Becky and Combe Martin back but she wasn’t in control of this dream. It was like she was reliving what had happened to her all over again.

  ‘Wake up,’ the woman called as she shook her. She felt her hand drop beside her, followed by her other hand. Her legs, she couldn’t move them. She prised an eye open and saw the wild-haired blonde woman messing around with her feet. She tried to move them again, they were free.

  She pulled herself up in the large metal-posted bed. It was all coming back. How could she have slept through all that was happening to her? The thought of waking up in a pub car park, before a judgemental stranger, now seemed like the better option.

  ‘You need to go before he comes back.’ The woman tried to drag her by her hands to a standing position. She was free from the bed that she’d been tied to. His wife, Natalie, was helping her to escape.

  Pain flashed through her head as her gaze momentarily met the moving light bulb that dangled from the ceiling, causing shadows to dart around the room. The visual noise was too overwhelming. She needed a dark room in which to nurse her hangover. Holding her arm over her eyes, she tried to stand but her legs buckled. ‘Help me,’ she said as she grabbed the woman’s arm to steady her balance.

  ‘We don’t have long. Hurry.’ The woman helped her to the bedroom door, one step at a time.

  Her throat was like sandpaper. She tried to swallow. Her jeans felt cold and damp. Had she urinated? She was sure she had. She had no recognition of the landing and had no idea how she’d ended up in the bedroom, tied to the posts. An image of her rapist forcing her to eat toast and drink whisky filled her mind. She remembered almost gagging as he kept telling her to swallow it. The woman dragged her down the stairs and she slipped down the last few, landing with a thud onto her bottom.

  ‘Get up.’ The woman ran to the window, shaking as she checked for signs of life outside. ‘You don’t have much time. He could be back at any moment,’ she called, wiping her runny nose with her sleeve.

  ‘Thank you.’ Ellie grabbed the stair rail and pulled herself up. With each step along the hallway, her legs wobbled then she finally stumbled out of the open door. Linking her arms in the woman’s, she took a step outside, almost buckling again. The world was spinning and her head pounded. She was so familiar with that feeling. Why were her stupid legs like jelly?

  ‘I can’t help you any further.’ The woman fell to her knees and began to hyperventilate as she gripped the doorframe. ‘Go.’ The woman’s sobs filled the night air. The security light came on as Ellie staggered through its trigger zone. The path was long. She had to keep going. She tripped over the uneven block paving and hurtled forward, into a pile of slimy moss. ‘Get up. You have to hurry,’ the woman yelled as she clung onto the door.

  Her life depended on her getting her act together. Her legs were beginning to wake up as more blood flowed through them. Standing, she went from a slow walk to a slight jog, weaving her way down the long driveway.

  A car squealed down the country road and turned into the drive. Dazzled by the full beam headlamps, Ellie was blinded. She went to dive onto the grass but just before her body landed, she wheezed as the car caught her hips and legs. Pain seared through her body as she half rolled over the corner of the car and landed in a heap, unable to catch her breath. All she heard was the sound of the engine humming and Natalie’s piercing cries coming from behind her. ‘Let her go.’

  Pain ran through Ellie’s whole body. She tried to shake her legs but they were so stiff. Reaching down, she felt a wetness spreading from her knee. Blood covered her hand and she yelped as he dragged her towards the boot of the car. ‘You shouldn’t have come back.’ He stood above her, his shadow elongated over the full length of the overgrown lawn. After fumbling in a briefcase in his car, he grinned as he dangled a length of blue washing line in front of her.

  ‘Get away from me.’ She tried to shuffle away, further towards the back of the garden but she was too weak and he was too fast. He leaned over her and began to wrap the cord around her neck. Batting his arms out of the way, she struck his throat, causing him to gasp and cough. She had to get away. She dragged her body closer to the hedge, hoping to find a gap and hide but he’d regained his composure.

  His face had reddened and it almost looked like the veins on his neck were close to bursting. Wasting no time, he soon caught up with her. Within moments, her breath was being stolen by the cord cutting off her airflow. She grabbed for everything and anything but there was no point. He was strong. As little blotches of light teased her vision, she cried, knowing she was never going to see Becky again. She wondered if Becky would forever think that Ellie had chosen a life of drink over her. That hurt more than the thought of death. Hurting Becky was more than she could bear. Her vision deteriorated further and her body lost its rigidity. As she slumped, she shed her last tear for Becky, their wedding and the future she’d been so looking forward to.

  Forty-Eight

  Natalie’s stomach turned as she watched her husband. The pleasure on his face as he gripped the cord around Ellie’s neck told her everything she needed to know. As she trembled in the garden, he ran over. ‘Get in the house. Now!’ She went to speak but she couldn’t utter a word. She couldn’t scream, she couldn’t reason with him, all she could do was remain mute. ‘Did you hear me?’

  She nodded as she looked away. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her across the drive and flung her into the hallway, slamming the door as he left. Natalie crawled on her knees across the floor. She stared through the letterbox as the man she thought she loved dragged the body into the back of their son’s car. She shook
her head. It wasn’t real. Just something else she’d imagined. She checked again. It was real. He jogged towards the door with a look of rage on his face and placed his key in the lock. She ran to the living room as he let himself in. She had to get her phone and call the police. If he could kill once, he could do it again. As she grabbed her phone, he was upon her, twisting her hand until she dropped it. ‘Bruce, please, you’re hurting me.’

  ‘How do you think I feel? My own wife, about to betray me.’ He gripped her arm, pinching the skin. ‘Get up,’ he yelled, dragging her across the carpet, through the hall and along the drive.

  ‘Please. Stop it. You’re hurting me. I don’t feel well.’

  ‘You brought this upon yourself.’ He shoved her into the passenger seat of the car. ‘One movement or sound from you and it’s game over.’

  As the car rumbled off the drive, her heartbeat went into overdrive. The dark outside seemed to be shifting in position every time she moved her head. Disorientating her. Teasing her senses. One minute, the fields ahead looked like dark mounds, the next, they looked like they were growing in height and were about to suffocate her like some biblically proportioned land tsunami.

  As the car rumbled over the country lanes, Natalie sobbed and gasped for air. He put his foot down, almost speeding along the lanes. Where was he taking her?

  All she could hear was her hammering heart. She wanted to kick him, tell him to stop the car and shout, but she was incapable. Was she imagining everything? After all, her memory had been playing up something rotten. She’d lost keys, boxed bathroom items with kitchen items, failed to remember how her husband liked his coffee. She’d lost things and had no recollection of where they had gone, not even after a while. Bruce had been nothing short of understanding as he’d cared for her, encouraged her to rest and brought her food and drinks to bed when she was feeling ill.