by Jaime Raven
When we reached the car I opened the doors and Tiny put Scar on the back seat. She was still awake and in a lot of pain.
‘Take her phone from her bag,’ Tiny said. ‘I’ll call you on her number. And don’t worry. It’s not as bad as it looks and it’s not as serious as it could have been.’
He leaned inside to kiss Scar on the cheek, and I jumped in behind the wheel.
‘Are you going to be all right?’ I said to him.
‘I’ll be fine. Just get our girl to the hospital as quickly as you can.’
I drove like a maniac to the General Hospital and crashed through two red lights. I kept talking to Scar to keep her awake, but halfway there she lost consciousness.
I stopped the car in a panic and checked that she was still breathing. She was, and the dressings Tiny had applied to the wounds were still in place and holding back the blood.
As I drove I could feel the guilt colonising my thoughts, jabbing at my conscience. I blamed myself for Scar’s condition and Ruby’s murder. Neither would have happened if it hadn’t been for me.
I was right back in my own personal hell, wading up to my neck in shit. Images from the last few hours were flying around in my skull and my resolve had turned to jelly.
Sean Delaney’s confession should have cheered me up, but he might as well not have given it. With him dead there was still no way I could prove that Joe Strickland was behind both murders.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the three of us had Delaney’s blood on our hands.
Tiny may well have shoved the knife into his mouth, but in the eyes of the law we were all culpable.
I replayed the scene on the houseboat every which way, but I kept coming back to the undeniable conclusion that we had fucked up. And now we faced dire consequences.
At the hospital I brought the car to a screeching halt outside the emergency department. I climbed out and started yelling for help. Within seconds a couple of paramedics were lifting Scar out of the back seat, and I was telling them that she’d been stabbed.
They put her on a trolley and wheeled her inside. This woke her up, and she reached for my hand.
‘We’re here now, babe,’ I said. ‘The doctors will sort you out.’
Inside a trauma team surrounded us and questions were fired at me. I told them her name and said she was my girlfriend. I explained that she’d been attacked in the street by a man who had demanded money.
‘There was a first-aid kit in the car,’ I said. ‘I used it to stop the blood.’
‘She’s a very lucky lady,’ one of the doctors said after giving the wounds a cursory examination. ‘The angle of penetration is such that the damage was confined to the fatty tissue at her waist. The loss of blood is not life-threatening and that’s partly thanks to you and the good job you did. We’ll stitch up the wounds and treat her for shock.’
The relief pounded through me and brought tears to the surface.
‘Are you all right yourself?’ the doctor said. ‘I can see there’s blood on your clothes.’
‘It’s not mine,’ I said. ‘It’s Donna’s.’
‘Well, why don’t you go and grab a coffee from the machine over there while we set your friend up in a cubicle? You look like you need it.’
‘I will, thanks.’
‘Did you call the police, by the way?’
I shook my head. ‘There was no time.’
‘Well, not to worry. A nurse is doing that as we speak. We’re obliged to report knife wounds. They’ll be here shortly so you can tell them what happened.’
The fear and dread grew inside me. It felt like a wire was tightening around my head.
What the hell was I going to do?
I walked trance-like along the corridor. There was a patient toilet next to the vending machine. I went in and closed the door behind me. It was a single cubicle so I was alone.
I was shocked at the sight of myself in the mirror. I looked like I’d been dragged through ten hedges backwards. My hair was a wet mess, and my face a sickly pallor. Even when things were really tough in prison I had never looked this bad.
I stared hard at my reflection and watched the tears slipping out of my eyes. Suddenly nothing seemed real any more. My mind was completely numb, as though it had been blasted with anaesthetic.
After a few moments I dropped my head in my hands and started to cry. The sobs poured out of me.
It was several minutes before I was able to pull myself together. I lowered my jeans and knickers and used the loo, then washed my hands and face in hot, soapy water. It did nothing to improve the way I looked, but it did reignite my thoughts so that I could put them to work on the immediate problem facing me: the imminent arrival of the police.
The stark choice was to stay and let them arrest me or leave Scar and run for it. I felt paralysed by indecision.
I told myself I needed a coffee to help stimulate my brain cells. Luckily I had enough change in my pocket for the vending machine. I opted for strong and black and I felt my blood warm as it swam through my body. I was still drinking it when a young nurse appeared to tell me that Scar was waiting for me.
‘I’ll show you where she is,’ she said with a pleasant smile.
‘Is she okay?’
‘She’s doing well.’
‘That’s great.’
‘I’ve been told the police will be here in a few minutes. A room’s been set aside so that they can talk to you in private.’
I felt an unbearable pressure building up in me. I sucked in chunks of air in a desperate bid to slow my galloping heart.
When I saw Scar I had to fight back another flood of tears. She was lying on a bed with her head raised on a pile of pillows. An IV line ran into her arm and a monitor pulsed away above her head.
The nurse explained to me that the wounds had been cleaned, and the doctor was preparing to apply the stitches. She’d been given medication to offset the effects of the shock and she was holding up well.
The nurse left us alone, and I stepped up to the bed and held Scar’s hand, caressing the fingers.
‘Thank Christ you’re going to be all right,’ I said. ‘I’ve been so worried.’
She managed a smile. ‘There’s no need to worry about me, Lizzie. You have to look after yourself. Go before the police get here.’
‘I can’t leave you,’ I said.
‘You must. They’ll arrest you and I don’t want that to happen.’
‘It’s going to happen sooner or later,’ I said. ‘We both know it. I’m in a hole and I’m not going to pull you down it with me.’
‘But there still has to be a chance to expose Joe Strickland. Tiny will help you.’
I squeezed her hand. ‘I don’t think so, babe. We had our chance and we blew it. I can’t see us extracting any more confessions.’
‘Then just go away. Abroad. Anywhere. When you’re settled contact me and I’ll come and be with you.’
I shook my head. ‘That’s not possible. I don’t have a passport for one thing.’
‘You can get round that. I know people who can help. Surely it’s got to be better than spending the rest of your life in prison. Make no mistake, Lizzie, that’s what will happen if you hand yourself in.’
Every word she spoke sent beats of sadness through me. I feared that whatever I did next would lead to the end of our relationship. How could we possibly have a future together after what had happened?
‘Please just go, Lizzie,’ she pleaded. ‘For my sake if not your own. At least give yourself time to think it through before you wreck our lives.’
At that moment the nurse reappeared to inform me that the police had arrived.
‘They’re waiting for you in the office at the end of the corridor,’ she said.
I thanked her and said I was on my way. Then I leaned over the bed and kissed Scar on the lips.
‘You win,’ I said. ‘But please don’t hate me when it ends in disaster.’
‘I could never hate you, Lizzie. I
love you more than anything. And that’s why I don’t want it all to come to an end here and now.’
‘I’ll call the hospital to check on you,’ I said.
‘My phone’s in the car. It’ll be safer if you use that.’
I kissed her again and then with great reluctance I slipped out of the cubicle before my emotions could overwhelm me.
I looked along the corridor towards the office where the police were waiting, then took off in the opposite direction.
I walked out of the emergency department without drawing attention to myself and was relieved to see that the car was where I’d left it.
I got behind the wheel and drove away from there, before the coppers who were waiting for me realised I wasn’t coming and raised the alarm.
23
I drove around aimlessly for a while, sliding around the streets, trying to compose my thoughts. It was 4 a.m., and I felt empty inside.
The city was still pulsating with the sound of sirens, but they weren’t all involved in the search for me. I saw two fire engines steaming through the streets to yet another emergency, either a blaze or a serious road accident, I supposed.
I eventually pulled over to the kerb in a quiet side street so I could have a smoke to calm my nerves. I found the ciggies in Scar’s bag and checked her phone at the same time. There were no missed calls or messages from Tiny.
I scrolled to his number on the phone and pressed speed-dial. I wanted to update him on Scar’s condition and find out where he was and what he was doing. But to my dismay the call didn’t connect. No ringing and no tone.
Shit.
I puffed on the fag and closed my eyes. An image of Scar and me in bed back at the flat flashed unbidden into my mind. I saw myself in her arms, her lips on mine, and it evoked a deep sense of loss.
Would we ever sleep in the same bed again? Would we ever make love or go shopping together or share a meal?
I couldn’t bring myself to believe that we might somehow emerge from this deep, dark tunnel and go on to survive as a couple. Too much had happened. There was little doubt in my mind that Scar would now be better off without me.
With me there was only misery and pain. A lifetime on the run from the law or years of having to watch me rot in prison. It wasn’t fair and she didn’t deserve it.
As I thought about this a silent rage built up inside me. I could feel the blood vessels throbbing at my temples, my fists clenching involuntarily.
I realised suddenly that if my life was about to plunge over a cliff then I wanted to take the person who was ultimately responsible with me. It wasn’t enough that Sean Delaney was dead. He’d been a mere cog in the wheel.
Joe Strickland was the man who had created my nightmare. He was the one who had caused all the suffering. He had got his minders to kill Ruth Benedict and Ruby Gillespie. And he had probably done something terrible to Karina Gorski.
He had also framed me for a crime I didn’t commit and ensured I wasn’t there when my son needed me most. And to cap it all he had destroyed my only chance of happiness with the woman I loved.
And all the while he thought he was untouchable. Money and influence kept him safe.
But there was no way I could let him get away with it. If my life was finished then I wanted to make sure that his was too.
I threw the stub of my cigarette out the window and started up the engine.
I now knew what my next move was going to be and it gave me a sense of purpose.
I was going to drive straight over to Joe Strickland’s house and tell him exactly why he didn’t deserve to live.
And then I was going to kill him.
The house in Chilworth was in darkness and the only car on the driveway was Strickland’s BMW. By the time I got there I felt so wired it was as though I was plugged into the electricity mains.
I had abandoned all hope of getting out of the mess I was in and had convinced myself that killing Joe Strickland could not possibly make things any worse. I was going down and determined to take the bastard with me.
I parked across the road and looked around to make sure there was no one about. The street was empty, no sign of any cop cars. But that did not mean the property wasn’t under surveillance. For all I knew there were security cameras I couldn’t see that would be monitoring my every move.
But my state of mind permitted me the luxury of ignoring the risks. I was in a place I’d never been before – resigned to a gruesome fate while at the same time detached almost from reality. It was like being spaced out on drugs.
I climbed out of the car and walked across the road and onto Strickland’s driveway. It was then that it dawned on me that I really hadn’t thought this through. I didn’t have a weapon and I had no idea how to gain access to the house.
Did I just ring the doorbell and attack him with my fists when he answered it? Or did I make him suffer first like I’d made Sean Delaney suffer? And what was I supposed to do if someone else answered the door? His wife? Or his daughter? Jesus, it was getting complicated.
I reached the BMW and paused to draw a breath. My legs felt like spaghetti and there was a dull, deeply embedded ache behind my eyes. But while standing there an idea came to me. The BMW would almost certainly have an alarm. If I set it off then it was bound to draw Strickland outside.
I tried opening one of the doors. It was locked, and the alarm didn’t go off. I then resorted to kicking the side of the car as hard as I could, and it did the trick. The car exploded into life, lights flashing, alarm blaring.
I hurried over to the big rhododendron bush and stood behind it as the lights went on in the house. Then I watched as the front door opened and Joe Strickland appeared wearing a dressing gown and carpet slippers. He looked around before walking over to the car and silencing the alarm with a key fob. Then he shook his head and strode back towards the front door.
I waited until his back was to me and broke cover. I sprinted across the grass and reached the door just as he was about to close it.
I shoved him as hard as I could, and he went tumbling forward onto the hall carpet. I pushed the door shut behind me and then let fly with an almighty kick that landed smack in the middle of his face.
He went out like a light, and I stood there looking down at him, rigid with shock and astonished that he was already at my mercy.
As I stared down at Joe Strickland I felt that I was losing my mind; my sanity was slipping away.
It made me realise why people snap and carry out atrocious acts of violence. They’re driven to it by events they have no control over.
That was how I’d come to be here inside the house of the man whose life I was about to end. He was responsible for unleashing my demons, the demons that lie dormant in every human being from the moment of conception.
I had been pushed too far, and they’d emerged to seek retribution on my behalf.
Bless ’em.
Strickland only remained unconscious for a few seconds. Blood dribbled from a cut my shoe had opened up below his bottom lip.
I watched as his eyes fluttered open, and a groan escaped from his mouth.
I knew I had to act quickly before he came to his senses so I reached down, grabbed the collar of his dressing gown and rolled him onto his front so his left cheek was pressed against the carpet.
Then I snatched the car key from my pocket and stuck the pointed end against the back of his neck.
‘Can you hear me?’ I said.
He didn’t answer, but he did groan a few more times.
‘It’s me, you bastard,’ I said. ‘Lizzie Wells. Can you hear me?’
He moved his head so that he could see me.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he managed to utter.
‘I’m holding a very sharp hunting knife against your neck,’ I said. ‘If you don’t do exactly as I tell you then I’m going to shove it right in up to the hilt.’
‘Are you fucking crazy?’
‘Right at this minute I am. And it’s b
ecause of you. So trust me, I won’t hesitate to do it.’
He closed his eyes while his mind processed what I’d told him.
I wasn’t sure what I was going to do if he called my bluff. I could only hope the key felt like the tip of a knife and that my sudden appearance had shocked him into submission.
‘What do you want?’ he grunted.
I want to kill you in the most painful way imaginable.
‘I just want to talk to you,’ I lied. ‘There are things I need to know.’
In other words I want to hear you confess before I send you to fucking hell.
‘This is insane,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t have come here.’
‘I tried talking to you at your bar,’ I said. ‘But you called the police.’
‘I told you, I’ve got nothing to say.’
‘Well I have because I know everything now.’
‘Is that so?’
‘I know you got Delaney and his cousin to kill Benedict and Ruby Gillespie. And for the second time you fixed it so that I was in the frame.’
He started to respond, but I told him to shut up. I needed to concentrate on how to get him into another room, preferably the kitchen, where I could get my hands on a real knife. Here in the hall there wasn’t much I could do except stab him with the car key.
‘Get up,’ I said.
I kept pressing the key against his neck and pulled on his dressing gown. He struggled up and I made sure he had his back to me when he was standing.
‘If I apply slightly more pressure the blade will go through your neck and cause a lot of damage,’ I said. ‘So don’t give me a reason to if you want to live through this.’
The hall was short and bright, with painted walls and a plush brown carpet. There was a staircase and three doors leading off it.
‘Where’s the kitchen?’ I said.
‘The door at the end.’
‘Is there anyone else in the house?’
‘No.’
‘What about your wife?’