Roadrage

by M J Johnson

  Then, and I say this in her praise, she demonstrated incredible presence of mind and hurled the drinks tray straight at me. Fortunately, her aim wasn't as clear as her intention and it mostly missed apart from a little of the chocolate spraying my left arm.

  But showing no hesitation, she turned and made a dash for the door. Needless to say, I was on top of her before she could get out of the room. I dragged her back and swung her about, shoving her hard into the door, which slammed shut behind her. I let the hammer drop to the ground. I hate to repeat myself. I drew the knife, and drove it into her chest with every ounce of force I could muster.

  The knife has an eight inch blade and it plunged in up to its hilt. She sank to her knees, gulping for air like someone drowning. She was gazing straight up at me in disbelief. I withdrew the knife and she collapsed face down.

  I assumed she was either dead, or very nearly there, when I let her fall and I suddenly realised I'd have to drag her away from the door before I could leave the room. I felt more than a little annoyed with my management skills.

  Nevertheless, I'm proud to say I still managed to call you.

  You'd have to agree I displayed remarkable composure.

  Apart from the knife, my utility belt also held a pouch that contained a recording device and some bleach wipes which I now used to clean the telephone mouthpiece. I didn't remove my mask to speak, because you can never be too careful about leaving evidence. I'd had a number of practice runs, recording and playing it back many times until I felt the sound of my voice was as clear and unimpeded by the mask as possible.

  Once our exciting little chat was over I packed my recording device away again, wiped the phone carefully, then replaced the used wipes back in the pouch on my belt.

  I'm sure you can appreciate my amazement when I saw that Kate Blatt was not only alive but actually crawling towards her husband.

  What luck! No need to drag her body out of the way after all! I tugged the cable out of its wall socket and hurled the phone away into a corner. Then I left.

  Frankly, it would only have seemed malicious if I'd finished off Kate Blatt. After all, she wasn't part of my original plan. She was just unfortunate enough to make an entrance at the wrong moment. Unlike her husband and his dreadful stories, I harboured no animosity towards her.

  Anyway, she'd lost a lot of blood, and it seemed unlikely she'd still be alive by the time you arrived to summon help. Even if she did happen to survive by some absolute fluke, what then? Approximate height or colour of my eyes perhaps? Nothing more I reckon.

  What a shame.

  10

  Within a minute of witnessing Kate Blatt's final breath, Gil had rung 999 on his mobile. It suggested a reserve of inner fortitude, that despite being deeply traumatised, he possessed enough presence of mind to act swiftly. Even so, his mental faculties were by no means functioning with anything like their normal agility. Had this been the case, his suspicions would have been aroused when an armed police officer arrived only three minutes after making the call.

  It took nearly four hours for the penny to drop.

  "I was followed, wasn't I?" asked Gil flatly; his voice expressing nothing more than the straight observation of this fact.

  "Yes," confirmed Mullings, "For your safety mainly."

  Gil immediately looked across at the Detective Chief Inspector and adopting an uncharacteristically bitter tone, replied, "But I wasn't the one in danger."

  Mullings nodded with grim deliberation. At 3.40 am he looked older, greyer, the jowls on his broad face baggier and its age lines deeper. Jackson, who was sitting alongside him on a sofa in Gil's sitting-room, remained impassive; the time of day appearing to have no ill effect on him. Also present in the room was a uniformed policewoman, who had remained with Gil ever since he'd been escorted home. She was sitting directly behind Mullings on a high-backed chair taking down notes.

  Gil had already made a statement to the police some hours earlier. Since he'd been followed, it was very straightforward to corroborate timings. It was quickly established that Felix had been killed and Kate stabbed, at least twenty minutes before Gil arrived.

  A doctor had come by shortly before Mullings and Jackson's visit. He'd examined and then talked to Gil about traumatic experience, its effect on the emotions and the impact of stress, nothing of which Gil actually took in. He'd left a couple of pills, "To help you get to sleep when the time comes," the doctor had said.

  Gil heaved a great sigh. At that moment he saw no likelihood he'd possess the desire to sleep, with its possibilities to dream and relive experiences, anytime soon.

  "I was planning to take them out to lunch today." After speaking Gil paused for a moment to reflect, "Felix would have been eighty in a few weeks time." The words were not directed at anyone, he was merely thinking aloud. "We'd been planning a book-signing tour of the US," he said.

  "I know how hard this must be, Mr Harper, but it would help if you could answer a few more questions," said Mullings gently.

  Gil nodded, at the same time his frame went into one of the brief spasms of shaking that for the last few hours had taken control of him from time to time.

  "I'd like to know more about the voice on the phone."

  "Like I said, it was definitely a man's voice."

  "Any characteristics?" asked Jackson.

  Gil looked confused.

  "A particular accent, something memorable about the voice?" clarified Mullings.

  "Not really. There was no accent." replied Gil.

  "Was it like RP then, received pronunciation … like a BBC newsreader?" asked Jackson.

  Gil nodded. His mental confusion and general disorientation made thought seem like wading through mud. He considered the question for another moment then said, "Just as you'd expect a doctor to sound."

  Jackson helped fill in the picture, "What, calm, authoritative and clear?"

  Gil nodded.

  "Age lends weight to a voice," said Mullings, "Did the voice suggest any particular age to you?"

  "Not particularly young … over thirty, possibly older … but not an old voice," said Gil.

  Mullings pondered these facts for a moment before speaking again, "Suppose he was disguising his voice somehow, does anyone spring to mind?"

  Gil's brow furrowed deeply as he thought about the question.

  Half a minute must have passed before Mullings prompted him again, "Maybe it belonged to someone you haven't met in a while … someone whose voice sounded younger the last time you heard it?"

  Gil looked across at the Detective Chief Inspector. For a split second Mullings might have been optimistic, before Gil replied, "I can't be certain of anything … I really don't think so."

  11

  05.40 am - I'm so excited I haven't been able to sleep.

  Everything has come together beautifully. Even if I say so myself and at the risk of sounding vain, the success of this venture is all down to great planning.

  Even so, things have still gone wrong. Inevitable I suppose.

  Truth be told, I'm a little disappointed about the Blatt woman. Just can't help feeling it makes me look bad, a double killing with lashings of blood, like I was a deranged maniac!

  Simply the wrong place, wrong time. Shame.

  Anyway, I certainly feel no remorse.

  (Please read next sentence in a Californian accent! Tee hee hee!) Nevertheless, I think I can say that out of this experience, I've grown as a person and that I've attained a greater degree of humility in my life!

  As you know, I don't believe in any kind of God nonsense, salvation or universal cause for goodness. There isn't any divine retribution to fear. I won't be serving a sentence for the naughty things I've done dressed in prison pyjamas marked For All Eternity. Even so, despite my contempt for God-botherers, and those who endlessly search for spiritual meaning and rubbish like that, I'd be the first to admit that life holds a few interesting lessons.

  Which begs the question: what have you learned from this littl
e escapade Gil Harper?

  You've certainly discovered one thing at least that I knew already, that pain and life are synonymous. When I first observed you, you'd just met the bitch and the wounds from your past were starting to heal. But now you will be able to fully appreciate that for as long as you live, the pain can never stop.

  Life, pain; pain, life. Same thing, see.

  Our adventure, although not over yet, is drawing to a close. It has been, without a doubt, exhilarating.

  Ten years, or perhaps even a hundred from now, criminal psychologists will still be discussing what happened in this case. Why was one man so vindictively targeted they'll ask? Why was the perpetrator never brought to justice?

  I noticed a few newspapers yesterday were beginning to explore a link between my old victim Michael Chilvers and Russian criminals. What fertile imaginations! Isn't that precious? The conspiracy theorists away with the fairies again!

  Nothing new there!

  Of course, they'll go round and round the houses, use up forests to write reams of award-winning drivel. I can imagine academics agonising over the reasons why you were chosen.

  But nobody will ever quite grasp it.

  My little project has been successful almost entirely because I had no axe to grind.

  I specifically chose you because you're nice. Because you care. You even acquired bonus points because you donate a tenth of everything you earn to children's charities, without seeking publicity or recognition. Had you been a tireless worker for some loony campaign, like Gay Rights for Vegan Hamsters, I'd probably have moved on and let you be.

  It is because of people like you, the liberals, placaters, peacemakers, moderates, appeasers, the truly permissive in society, which enables the loud-mouthed, gross, crass promoters of mediocrity to thrive. You aren't innocent or blameless. It is because of people like you, the (not so) innocent bystanders, that these peoples' contagion is allowed to breed in our midst. You may well be a decent person, even so, you are still a compliant fraction of a poisonous whole.

  I expect the moment you found your friend Felix with his head caved in and his wife stabbed, was the point of no return. I don't believe you can ever recover from it.

  It's fairly easy to imagine the nightmares you'll be having in the future … taking that telephone call again, turning up at the oast, finding them … again and again. Just like all those sleepless nights and tortured dreams after your wife's death that you describe so vividly in your diary. Each time you'll attempt to get to their oast faster in order to try and prevent the inevitable. Faster, faster, faster … over and over … night after night … trying to staunch the blood.

  Let's face it. You just aren't going to make it.

  I predict you'll revert to being reclusive. After the crash, you had your friends to draw you back from the brink. But oh dear, they've suddenly become extinct!

  So what exactly does the future hold for you?

  The bitch will probably dump you. She won't be able to bear the gibbering wreck you've become. Unfortunately, my timetable won't allow the situation to develop entirely naturally. So I'm going to be called upon to do a little string-pulling in order to assist and compound your sense of loss. Let me put it another way, your bitch's DNA isn't going to be merging with yours for too much longer.

  Not unless you're a necrophiliac that is!

  More tears ahead. Sorry.

  Poor old Gil!

  I reckon you'll be lucky (or unlucky) to be alive in five years time. Self-neglect could all too easily be the cause of your demise. There will most definitely be no more relationships for you, unless they're abusive ones. Just like that time after Julia's death when you toyed with the idea of seeking out a prostitute:

  '... to find physical comfort and warmth again.'

  How pathetic and sad!

  Frankly, I think it will all prove too much for you and you'll end by taking your own life.

  I don't really need to do any more. But then, I've always been ready and willing to go the extra mile.

  I wish you were able to appreciate the superb construction of the closing scenes I've got planned for you.

  All subject to certain conditions being in place of course!

  Before the end, I hope to give you a chance to reflect on what has happened to you.

  But long before that, just as everyone is willing to believe Michael Chilvers was bumped off by the Russian mafia, it's all got to make perfect sense. At least you and everyone else will think it does! Tee hee hee!

  12

  The dawn finally arrived. But for Gil it didn't bring those feelings of relief, hope and renewal so often associated with a new day. As the morning drew on, a stream of people attempted to contact him: friends and colleagues who wanted to commiserate, the police with still more questions, and journalists, who, not content with besieging his home from the outside, were electronically bombarding it via telephone and email.

  The young female constable who had remained with him throughout the night had batted off any unwanted phone calls, just as the police officer stationed outside had done with physical callers. During the night, Gil had undergone mental torment, constantly returning to and reliving that hideous scene. He'd been so utterly preoccupied that he hadn't even thought to ask this helpful young woman her name. In fact, it only occurred to him to ask when she was about to be relieved.

  "I'm sorry, you've been very kind … I should have asked your name …"

  The girl smiled sympathetically, "That's okay, Mr Harper. You've had quite a lot on your plate, so I'll forgive you. I'm PC Amy Shaw."

  "Thank you for your help, Amy," he said with genuine gratitude.

  Patrick Small heard about the double murder in the middle of the night from journalists. He in turn had rung Megan and had broken the news to her with a great deal more sensitivity than he'd been afforded by the press. She had driven round to Gil's at once.

  It was Megan who contacted Sally, who in turn called Klaus Williams to explain why she must suddenly desert the production. Sally then drove from Manchester, without making any stops en route, and got to Sevenoaks by midday.

  Gil sprang to his feet when she arrived and they clung to each other in a long embrace. Sally sobbed. Gil shook. He felt completely numb.

  "Oh Gil, Gil … Felix … Kate … you poor thing!" she wept.

  He lowered his head onto her shoulder.

  Gil felt like an observer rather than an active participant. He wanted more than anything to comfort her, but didn't seem to have any of the right words. He patted her gently on the back but the gesture felt empty, impotent and futile.

  13

  Throughout the days ahead, true to her nature, Megan made herself useful. She contacted everyone Gil needed to communicate with and skilfully kept at bay pack-hunting predators, like the tabloid press. To assist in this, she helped formulate a statement on Gil's behalf, which was released via Patrick Small's office. Like Sally, Megan was terribly worried about Gil. Both women feared he might easily crack from the intolerable strain he was under.

  Gil was of course both grateful and glad that Sally had abandoned her busy schedule to be with him. However, any ability to express how he felt either by word or deed now seemed to abandon him. At times, he was rather tetchy with Sally, even though he had never meant to be. Occasionally, he gave the distinct impression that she was superfluous, even crowding his space.

  Four days on from Kate and Felix's deaths, gloom, despondency and an indescribable tension seemed to pervade the house. Even Spike spent these days curled up at Gil's feet, silent but for an occasional sigh.

  On Monday morning, Sally burst into Megan's office sobbing, "I just w-wanted to be with h-him … but he doesn't seem to w-want me around …"

  "Of course he does," placated Megan, "He's undergone a dreadful experience and his mind's been thrown into confusion. Believe me he cares about you a very great deal."

  Amongst her many other roles over these unhappy days, Megan had become Sally's confidante a
nd counsellor, "He just needs time to assimilate all that's happened. Let's face it, we all do … but he was there, he found them …" Megan was unable to suppress an involuntary shiver as she thought about the sight that must have met him.

  "I know, I know. I'm just being selfish," Sally began upbraiding herself, "Thinking about myself and my own feelings, not how much Gil must be hurting."

  Megan shook her head, "Now you're just putting yourself down … there's no need, it's not easy for you either."

  "It's just that it's hard to watch that lovely man looking so desperate," said Sally, beginning to cry again.

  Sally had cried so much. As indeed had Megan privately, often disappearing into the loo when her tears could no longer be held back. The house had seemed awash in tears. The majority of Gil's friends who had come to offer sympathy had shed a few before leaving. The sheer brutality of the crimes seemed to exert a powerful effect upon everyone. Throughout these visits, Gil had been present physically, but certainly not mentally or emotionally. Nevertheless, he somehow managed to maintain a polite impassivity; but inside, he remained altogether numb. And despite the grief and sadness being openly expressed around him, Gil discovered himself unable to shed a single tear.

  "I know he'll get through this," consoled Megan, "He's far stronger than people give him credit for. A lot thought he'd never recover after Julia, but he did. He bravely plodded on through some very dark years. He got quite depressed at times, but he clung on, continued to work. His world lightened a little, then he met you and his spirits really began to lift. You made him truly happy once more."

  "And look at what I came with … nothing but bad luck!" wept Sally.

  "Don't say that," scolded Megan, "Whoever was behind this, had nothing whatsoever to do with you." She paused momentarily before going on, "He may give the impression of ambivalence towards you … but that's only because he's feeling so dreadful. You must surely know how much in love with you he is?"