The rustling seemed to be emanating from the corner of the room by the doorway. Grasping the torch, he directed the beam in front of him as he walked over to it. There was nothing there. Then his eyes fell on the cupboard in the hallway. Walking up to it, he stopped outside, his ears straining to hear. Silence, then there it was again, the faint rustling, scratching sound.
Holding his breath, he swung the door of the cupboard open. Blinking he flashed the torch around, the beam alighting on a pair of eyes. Peering out at him, they looked familiar somehow, though most of the lower half of the face was masked by the strip of duct tape. His brain raced to recall, ah yes, that was it. He’d looked into those large grey watery eyes not so long ago, when he’d been sat on a navy sofa, politely sipping tea from a Wedgewood china cup. They were the eyes of Mary Brooks.
Putting his finger to his lips, he motioned to her to shush as he ripped the tape off as quietly as he could. Wincing, she looked up at him gratefully.
“Than-” she went to speak, but she stopped suddenly as he held his finger to his lips. He saw her wrists and ankles were bound with rope, and placing the torch between his teeth, he bent his head to them, his fingers working to unfasten them. When he had finished he took the torch out of his mouth and looked at her.
“I need you to remain very quiet do you hear me Mrs Brooks?” he whispered. She nodded, her head bobbing up and down vigorously.
“He…he had a girl with him Inspector,” she said, clutching his arm, her birdlike fingers plucking at his sleeve.
“I think they’re upstairs,” she said, pointing to the ceiling, “I heard footsteps, I think he took her into Sally’s bedroom. He, he had a gun,” she whispered, her eyes wide with alarm. Nodding he looked at her, his expression serious.
“Mrs Brooks, I need you to listen to me alright? I need you to stand up and then I need you to go outside and wait on the lawn. I’ve sent a squad car, they should be here any minute. You can give a statement to one of my officers when they arrive,” he said, offering her a hand. She took it gratefully, as he helped her up to her feet.
“Who is he Inspector? Is he the man who hurt my Sally?” Her eyes were questioning as she searched his face for an answer.
“Just go outside and wait Mrs Brooks. I’ll explain everything to you afterwards,” he said firmly, not wanting to frighten her unduly.
Creeping up the stairs, he was careful to keep the beam low so as not to alert anyone that he might be coming. Still, he felt trepidation as his footsteps trod upon the stair carpet, his breath catching in his throat. So Barnes had a gun. Was it loaded or merely for show?
If it was loaded, he likely wouldn’t hesitate to use it if things didn’t go his way. He’d have to be very careful not to make any mistakes, after all there was something far more important at stake here than just bringing Barnes in. There was Doyle to consider.
If he’d only…He stopped, pushing the thought out of his mind. There was a light behind one of the doors but the door was pulled to. Barnes must be in there. He crept towards the door and pressed his ear to it, listening. Nothing.
Pushing open the door he looked about him. There she was on the bed, her expression terrified as she lifted her eyes to his, her ankles bound to the bed with rope, her wrists bound behind her.
“Hello Sarge. I’ve been expecting you,” Barnes said, looking at him sardonically from his position on the chair beside the bed.
“Let her go Barnes. It’s over now.” Barnes laughed, a hollow, brittle sound.
“Oh I don’t think so. In fact now you’re here the fun is only just beginning. Have you ever lost anything you loved Gaine? It’s quite liberating to watch it bleed out into your arms.”
A wave of panic rose in his throat.
“Barnes, let her go. This has nothing to do with her,” he said, attempting to move to Doyle, but the younger man was too quick, pulling the gun out of his pocket in a flash, and holding it to Doyle’s head.
“One step closer and I’ll take her head off.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Pain can be a very freeing experience. I’m sure you’ll learn from it. Maybe it’ll even help you to become a better copper.” So Barnes wanted him to watch. That’s why he’d told him about the medical records. He needed a witness. Everything, it had all been a set up. He’d been waiting for him. He felt nauseous as the realisation hit.
“You can’t bring her back Barnes. You killed her. Sally’s dead.” The man’s left eye twitched.
“You killed Sally didn’t you?” he pressed him. Barnes’s smirked as he eyed him.
“I don’t know, did I? You’re supposed to be the detective, Chief Inspector Gaine.”
“The print, the print on the card. That was your print not Jackson’s wasn’t it? You were Louise Randall.” Barnes face contorted.
“Back off Gaine, “ he warned, the hand that held the gun trembling. He eyed it, sizing the situation up. He could probably push his buttons a bit more but he’d have to be careful. He couldn’t risk compromising Doyle’s safety.
“She rejected you didn’t she? Sally? All those years ago? That’s why you killed her.”
“Shut up Gaine. I’m warning you I’ll blow her fucking head off.” He looked at Doyle, she was trying to hold her nerve, but he could tell she was terrified. Steeling himself, he kept his eye on the gun.
“You killed her didn’t you, opened her throat like all the others because you couldn’t have her. She didn’t want you.”
“Shut up!” Barnes screamed, his face red with rage, the hand that held the gun shaking violently.
This was his chance. Lunging for the gun, he missed it, but caught Barnes instead, tackling him to the floor. He struggled to pin the man down as the two of them grappled, their bodies twisted in combat, each attempting to best the other. A sudden pain coursed through him, as he was winded by a hard kick to his guts. The younger man was strong, climbing on top of him and taking advantage of his weakened state quickly, but he’d not forgotten his training.
Bringing his knee upwards sharply, he caught him right under the ribs. Barnes made a noise like all the air had been sucked out of him , as he recoiled, though his right hand still gripped the gun. Grabbing for his wrist, he squeezed it as the two of them rolled on the floor, their legs a tangle as they both scrambled for the upper hand.
Somewhere he could hear Doyle shout the words, “Gaine, watch out,” and then he heard the bang. He felt strange all of a sudden and his shoulder stung. An odd wet feeling was spreading out from under his shirt.
“Gaine,” he heard Doyle say, but all he could see was that Barnes still had the gun. She sounded terrified, he had to act fast. Barnes was on top of him now, his face malevolent as he glared down at him. Reaching, grabbing upwards, he stretched for it with his right hand. The pain in his shoulder was intense.
Catching him by the wrist, he held on tightly, using his grip on the man as traction and his foot for leverage as it wedged against Barnes thigh. Bringing his other foot back, he aimed it upwards at Barnes wrist, a swift, hard kick. He heard Barnes scream out in pain as his foot connected, the gun falling out of his hand, spilling out the open door into the passageway.
He tried to get up but failed. Why couldn’t he move? There was a terrific thumping sound in his ears, and he could see Doyle’s face peering down at him, her complexion drained of colour.
Then he saw the knife at her throat. No, no, this couldn’t be happening, he couldn’t watch her die.
“Drop the knife,” he shouted, his voice desperate, why was it so hard to breathe?
“Barnes drop the bloody knife, don’t do this, “ he yelled again, but Barnes just shook his head, smiling at him.
“It’s over Gaine,” he said, drawing his hand back.
There was another loud bang, what was it? Had Barnes gotten hold of the gun again somehow? The younger man’s eyes were wide with surprise. What was happening? The world seemed to be in slow motion, he could see Doyle and Barnes but h
is vision was becoming blurry.
Just then, he saw her as she stepped through the doorway.
“You killed my daughter,” she said, her voice clear as a bell. Mary Brooks. She looked Barnes straight in the eye. Barnes opened his mouth to say something, he saw the front of the man’s shirt was red, wet. What was going on?
Barnes made as if to move, then suddenly his body went slack, slumping heavily sideways on to the bed. His own vision was becoming very dark. Frantically he looked for Doyle, where was she, he could barely make her out. Ah there she was, but her face, it seemed so very far away from him. Why was it so dark in here?
“Deacon?” He heard the voice, Doyle’s voice, but though he tried to open his mouth, he found he couldn’t respond, as his world faded into blackness.
***
“Deacon.” He recognised the voice from somewhere, it was familiar.
“Deacon,” it said, louder this time. His eyes flicked open, struggling to make sense of things. Maria? Where was he? In bed somewhere, where though? It looked like…a hospital?
She was smiling at him, her expression concerned.
“You’ve been out for quite a while. We weren’t sure if you would make it,” she said, looking down at him, an expression of concern on her face. We?
He looked over to the door. Doyle was there, looking drawn, her face pale.
“Maria,” he croaked, his voice a harsh rasp.
“Shush, don’t try to say anything not yet,” she said, putting a finger to his lips and reaching for theglass of water that was positioned on top of the small bedside table.
“Here drink this,” she said, holding the glass up to his lips, as he took it, sipping gratefully.
“Maria, I…I’m sorry if I wasn’t there enough, if I made you unhappy,” he said, looking up at her. His throat was so painful and he could taste blood in his mouth. She shook her head at him.
“No Deacon, it was as much my fault as yours. Things had been wrong between us for a very long time. But we can talk about that later, it’s not time to talk now. And besides I think if you’re going to be doing any talking it should be to your Deputy. She’s been terribly worried about you.” She smiled, turning to Doyle, who moved into the room, looking slightly unsure.
“Where am I Jen?”
“You’re in intensive care. You’ve been here for the past five days, since Barnes shot you.” He’d been shot? But how, where? Then he remembered, Barnes, the knife, Mrs Brooks. He started forward, trying to sit up.
“Barnes?” She placed a hand on his chest.
“He’s dead, gone. Mary Brooks shot him. I thought you’d seen it. They found notebooks stuffed in a drawer at his house, filled with notes on all the dead girls. And a box with gold chain links, a jewellery making kit. It’s why we could never trace the gold I suppose.”
Laying his head back against the pillows he closed his eyes in relief. Barnes was Birthstone. And he was dead, it was over. Over. Opening his eyes he looked at Doyle again.
“You had me a bit worried back there Gaine. It was touch and go for a couple of days,” she said, her blue eyes crinkling as she looked down at him. God she was attractive.
“Nah stubborn old bastard you know me. I never give in. “She grinned, and he continued, newly emboldened.
“So how about that steak and chips then?” he said, grinning back at her.
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Dead Blonde Page 25