“Now where is it?” Kevin demanded. “The money and the gun.”
Roger tried to shake his head. Kevin slammed his face into the floor.
“Don’t… don’t have it.” Roger sounded like he had a bad case of flu. Blood ran from his mouth and nose, splattering the tiled floor.
“What d’you mean?” A little doubt in Kevin’s voice.
“You knew... So I threw it in the river.”
Kevin snarled with frustration, and seemed unable to decide on his next move. He glared at Caitlin, who was trying not to cry.
“It’s true,” she said.
“Yeah,” said Kevin, in a defensive I knew that tone. “So what about the money? You ain’t telling me there’s not another stash.”
“Gave you… all,” Roger gasped. “All I have.”
“Fucking liar!” Kevin shouted, and once more he rammed Roger’s head into the floor.
Blackness, possibly longer this time. When Roger came round he heard Caitlin whimpering like a wounded animal. He twisted his head an inch and opened one eye. Kevin was kneeling before her, using the knife to toy with her t-shirt. He glanced over his shoulder and made sure Roger was watching, then slit the t-shirt down the front and pulled it apart, exposing her bra.
“You always thought you were too fucking good for me,” he spat. “Well, you were wrong. Once I’ve got the cash I’m gonna give you a taste of the Doyle magic. And boyfriend here’s gonna watch.”
He prodded the soft, pale skin of her breasts, almost drawing blood. Caitlin winced, but glared defiantly at him.
“Don’t go anywhere, darlin’,” he said, and sprang to his feet. He looked around the hall, then made for the office. On the way across he aimed a lazy kick at Roger’s leg, producing another howl of pain.
***
When he was done at the police station, Nick drove to his sister’s house in Seaford. He had spoken to Diana earlier that morning and briefly explained the reason for his visit. He was surprised when a very glum Patrick answered the door.
“Not at work today?”
“I’m going in late,” Pat said. “In view of what Di told me, I thought I’d better hear the rest of it.”
Without another word Pat turned and retreated into the house. Nick wondered if he resented the situation they were in, perhaps blaming Nick in some way. He shrugged to himself and went inside.
Diana was in the living room, feeding Chloe from a bottle. “Eight ounces now, greedy guzzler,” she said. She addressed Pat, who’d already sat down. “Make some coffee, will you?”
Pat started to rise but Nick raised a hand. “Just had one, thanks.”
“I haven’t,” said Diana frostily.
“Everything okay?” Nick asked, nodding in the direction Pat had taken.
“About the same,” Diana said. “No better. No worse.”
“Oh.” And then he frowned. “Where’s Ryan?”
“Asleep. He’s come down with a throat infection. He was awake three times in the night.” She yawned at the memory. “I dosed him up with Calpol and sent him back to bed.”
He tutted. “Poor kid.”
“Poor Mum, more like,” Di snapped. “I was the one that kept getting up to him.”
“Ah.” Deciding to dispense with any further small talk, Nick filled her in on this morning’s developments: principally the murder of Ted Wheeler and the decision by the police not to put out a public appeal for Alex Jones. Diana didn’t look convinced.
“It works with Crimewatch, doesn’t it?”
“Mm, but they don’t have a clear picture.” A new search of the CCTV cameras had unearthed various shots of the two women in Eastbourne, the best of which showed Alex browsing women’s fashion with Sarah a couple of hours before she died. Perhaps deliberately, Alex turned away just as the camera had its clearest view of her.
“They’ve put together an e-fit, but I wouldn’t have a lot of confidence in it. We know she can change her appearance. Just tying her hair back makes a huge difference.”
Pat brought two mugs of coffee into the room and set one down by Diana’s chair. “Still worth a try, if you ask me.”
“I agree,” said Diana. “At least she’d know we were looking for her. It might scare her off.”
“Exactly,” said Nick. “If she goes into hiding she might never be caught.”
“But isn’t that better than anyone else dying?”
“Who’s to say she won’t come back, maybe months or years later?”
Diana shook her head. “This is horrible. It’s the kind of thing that happens to other people. I just can’t…”
Nick saw tears forming and sensed she wanted to say something about Dad, but the words wouldn’t come. They both knew that in his dark exhilarating world, Eddie qualified as one of the ‘other people’.
“You see what I mean?” he asked softly. “We have to hope she hasn’t gone away, as terrible as that sounds. It also means we have to be very careful.”
“Oh, don’t worry. She’s made me paranoid already.”
Pat grunted, and Diana shot him a scornful glance.
“I still can’t believe she killed Sarah and then had the nerve to approach you. The idea that she was inside your house.” She shuddered, and Chloe clawed at her bottle, startled by the sudden movement.
“It shows how devious she can be.”
Pat said, “You’re sure it’s the same woman who’s done all this?”
Nick shrugged. “We can’t be totally sure until she’s caught. But all the evidence points to it.”
“What about letting us have a copy of the e-fit, so we know who to look out for, at least?”
“I’ve got copies in the car. I meant to bring one in.”
As he stood up, he was aware of his sister’s heavy gaze on Pat, and the air was virtually crackling with tension. Glad to escape for a moment, he went outside and checked his phone for messages. Nothing from Caitlin yet.
He took a copy of the e-fit from the back seat, and then on impulse rang her mobile, but there was no answer. Deciding not to leave a message, he sent her a brief text, hoping her meeting with Roger had gone well. While he was cursing the predictive texting, he looked up and saw Diana at the window, her face etched with concern and perhaps something else. Something almost accusatory.
***
Caitlin tugged on the rope around her wrists, trying to ignore the pain. However much this hurt, it was nothing to what lay in store when Doyle returned. She could hear him trashing the bedrooms, issuing a torrent of obscenities as his search proved fruitless.
She’d been terrified when he was in the office. She listened to him battering the desk, pulling folders from the shelves, smashing the PC. When he came out she half- expected to see him brandishing the gun, but it was obvious he had been unable to find it. He cast a scornful look at Roger, then leered at her.
“Won’t be long now, gorgeous.”
He clutched his groin and thrust it in her direction, then stomped upstairs.
When he was gone she began to call gently to Roger. He wasn’t moving, but thankfully she could hear him breathing. At the same time, she tested the rope and felt movement. Hardly daring to believe there was hope, she worked frantically, using her palm to push the rope over the widest part of her other hand. The skin burned as it was scraped off, and the throbbing agony of it made her nauseous.
There was a moan from Roger, and his head moved slightly.
“Ssshh,” she urged him. “He’s upstairs. Don’t attract his attention.”
Another moan, and then his head moved slowly in her direction. One eye was covered in blood, but the other was open, struggling to focus on her. “Cait…”
“Lie still. I might be able to —”
Movement on the landing above her. She heard Doyle muttering and pressed herself against the newel post, praying he wouldn’t notice that she’d almost worked one hand free. He jogged down the stairs and approached Roger. Gave him an almost playful kick in the side.
No response. Another kick, and then he turned away in disgust. Caitlin said nothing. Kevin moved on to the dining room, then the living room, giving them only cursory attention. Caitlin began to work on her restraints and was nearly caught out when he reappeared.
“Garage. The fucking garage.” He knelt down and searched Roger’s pockets until he found a set of keys. Then he hurried through to the kitchen, sweeping some crockery to the floor on his way, and went outside.
Caitlin took a deep breath and wrenched her hand free, blinking away tears at the pain. This was her chance. Her only chance to save them both.
She turned and pulled the knots apart, freeing her other hand. She’d planned to phone the police, but suddenly understood it would be pointless. A patrol car wouldn’t get here for at least ten or fifteen minutes.
Roger stirred again, trying to rise on his elbows. She went to his side and winced at the extent of his injuries. His face was swollen and encrusted with blood.
“Stay still. He’s outside.”
“Go…” he managed to say. “Go.”
She shook her head. “Where’s the gun?”
His body gave a violent shudder: the only way he could express his fear for her. “No. Get away.”
“I’m not leaving you, Roger, and I don’t believe you got rid of it. Now tell me.”
There was a crash of breaking glass, and Caitlin let out an involuntary yelp. It came from outside, but sounded too close to be from the garage. Then more commotion in the kitchen.
He was back inside.
“Please, Roger. Where is it?”
“Fucking fucking liar!” Kevin emerged from the kitchen.
“Coat… overcoat…” Roger said.
Caitlin frowned, then saw Roger trying to incline his head towards the front door. There was an old-fashioned hatstand on which three or four coats and jackets hung. One was a full-length cashmere overcoat which Caitlin had ridiculed. Said it made him look like a mafioso.
There wasn’t time to question him. Kevin was only a second or two from the hall. She dashed over and grabbed the coat, lifting it to see if the weight of the gun would reveal itself.
And then a voice behind her: “What the fuck…?”
***
Roger’s heart lurched at the sound of Kevin’s exclamation. He wiped at the blood in his eyes, desperate to see if Caitlin had understood. There was a bolt of agony as he shifted some weight on to his left leg. Now he could see her rifling through the coat, but Kevin was already moving fast, raising the knife to shoulder height.
“Cait!” The scream emerged broken and feeble as Kevin skidded to a halt only three or four feet from her, his large body blocking Roger’s view.
Then he took a step backwards, and Roger saw Caitlin gripping the gun with both hands, trembling as she raised it level with Kevin’s chest.
“You don’t know how to use that,” he sneered. He advanced slightly, as if testing his proposition.
Roger shut his eyes. This had been a terrible gamble. If Kevin overpowered her, he would kill them both.
But Caitlin sounded remarkably composed. “I’m an actress, remember? I’ve used replicas just like this.” She slipped off the safety catch and cocked the hammer. “Drop the knife.”
Kevin held his ground, nervously rolling the knife blade between his fingers while he weighed up the situation.
“I mean it,” Caitlin said. There was barely a wobble in her voice, but she needed both hands to keep the gun steady.
Kevin nodded. “All right.” He bent his knees and began to crouch, lowering the knife to the floor.
Roger frowned. It wasn’t like Doyle to do anything carefully. He opened his mouth to warn Caitlin, but at that moment Kevin leapt forward, swinging the knife at her face.
Caitlin stumbled backwards, into the hatstand, and went down in a mass of jackets. Before she hit the floor, there was an explosion which punched Kevin across the hall. He landed heavily and gaped in disbelief as his white shirt bloomed red. For a second he didn’t move, and Roger feared he would leap up and resume his attack.
But Kevin only blinked like a startled rabbit and peered at the wound in his chest. He looked disbelievingly at Caitlin, still lying in a tangle of coats.
“Fuck it,” he said.
And then he died.
***
Nick was getting worried. He couldn’t rid himself of the idea that Caitlin was in trouble.
All morning he had rued the decision to let her return to Roger Knight. He should have offered her the spare room on a more permanent basis and then accompanied her to Knight’s to collect her belongings. Putting aside Caitlin’s view of Roger, what Nick knew about him was all bad: the nephew of a criminal, a man who was masterminding a large scale fraud and associating with some very violent men.
Diana could tell he was getting restless when he checked his phone for the third time in five minutes. Pat had taken a look at the e-fit and then made his excuses, heading upstairs to get ready for work.
“I take it this is about your new friend,” Diana said bitterly. “Caitlin, is it?”
He grunted, which was all the acknowledgement she needed.
“And what do you think people will say, when you suddenly produce a girlfriend only a few weeks after your wife is killed?”
“Who do you mean by people?” he demanded.
“I mean your family, your friends. The police. The media.” She was spitting out the words, and it reminded him of their fearsome adolescent conflicts: doors slamming, hateful things said, arguments that sometimes simmered for days or weeks at a time.
He made an effort to keep his voice neutral. “You’re jumping to conclusions about Caitlin. But even if we were seeing each other, I couldn’t give a toss what people think.”
“You’re just like Dad, that’s your trouble. No consideration for anyone else. Ruled by your bloody libido.”
“Hey, before you lecture me on relationships, how about giving yours a bit more attention? You and Pat aren’t exactly a shining example of wedded bliss.”
In the shocked silence that followed they heard noises above them. Diana struggled to her feet, Chloe asleep on her shoulder. “That sounds like Ryan.”
“Can’t Pat see to him?”
“He’ll be off to work in a minute. I think you should go too.”
“Di, we can’t afford to fall out. Not at a time like this.”
She gave him a measured look, and then her expression softened. “No. I’m sorry.”
“Me too. Now take care, okay?”
Outside he tried Caitlin again and then, with a certain amount of trepidation, he rang Roger Knight’s home number. Supposing Roger answered, he thought. Supposing he and Caitlin were happily reunited?
But after seven rings the answering service kicked in. Trying not to imagine them in bed together, he gave up.
***
The phone rang, and was ignored. With the danger past, it was tempting just to lie on the floor. Despite the pain from his leg and his face, Roger felt he might be able to drift off to sleep, and blissful oblivion.
It was Caitlin who gave him the will to keep going. She crawled to him and they shared an awkward embrace. Then she sat up and regarded him solemnly.
“We have to get you an ambulance. And call the police.” Not waiting for a response, she stood up and took a wide detour around Doyle’s body, making for the phone in the office.
“No!” he called. “Wait. Come back.”
She hesitated, fearful of what he might suggest. “We have to call them, Roger. We have no choice.”
“I agree. But not you.”
“Why not?”
Instead of answering directly, he heaved himself into a sitting position and reached out for her. “Help me,” he said, and gingerly wriggled an inch or two towards the door.
She took as much of his weight as she could bear, while he used his arms and buttocks to shuffle and drag
himself over to the fallen hatstand. He picked up the gun where Caitlin had left it and aimed at the wall beyond Kevin’s body.
“Cover your ears,” he said, and fired a shot into the wall.
“What are you doing?” Caitlin asked, although she was beginning to comprehend.
“Forensics,” he said, setting the gun back down. “I need to have fired it.”
“Oh, Roger.”
“Wipe the newel post and take the rope that he used to tie you. When you get to your friend’s, have a bath and destroy everything you’re wearing.” He chuckled, then winced. “You’ll have to manage the suitcases on your own.”
“But what about you?”
“Get the phone. I’ll ring for help as soon as you’ve gone.”
Caitlin was distraught. Now she understood only too well.
“They’ll arrest you,” she said.
“I brought it on myself.” He suddenly felt clear-headed and surprisingly cheerful. A complicated situation had been rendered simple. “I don’t want you involved. It’s not fair.”
She took his hand and squeezed it. “You’re willing to go to prison for me?”
“Self-defence. I might be lucky.”
“You’ll need a good lawyer.”
He nodded, and they said in unison: “Not Barry Harper.”
Feeling wretched, she dragged her suitcases out to the car. Then she got the cordless phone and knelt beside him.
The kiss goodbye was long and deep, and when it ended they were both in tears.
“Thank you,” she said.
Roger gestured at the body across the hall. “You saved my life. This is the least I can do.”
He listened to the front door closing behind her, the gruff acceleration of her car as she drove away, and then all he could hear was birdsong, the tiny noises of a house at peace, and his own ragged breathing. Into this calm came a renewed throbbing from his leg, and he knew he must decide soon.
He passed the phone into his left hand and picked up the gun with his right. He knew now that he loved Caitlin, but he was glad he had let her go. It felt like the only decent thing he’d done in years. Noble, perhaps.
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