by Vanda Symon
He and Mel both jumped.
‘Now listen to me.’ I leaned over towards him as far as I could, fixed him in the eye and spat it out before he could interject again. ‘Let’s stop the stupid games and just shut up and listen. I know who killed Gabriella Knowes.’
There was an awkward silence as I glared at him and he glared straight back.
The deadlock was broken by an ‘Ahem’ from Mel.
‘OK, we’re listening,’ she said. ‘How about you sit back down, Constable, and tell us exactly what you know.’
I slowly sat down, and DI Johns leaned back into his seat.
‘Alright, then, who do you think killed Mrs Knowes?’ His voice was still full of condescension.
‘I think that Trevor Ray was behind the murder of Mrs Knowes.’
The DI laughed in my face. It took all of my self-control not to swear at him again.
‘No, don’t laugh. Come on, be fair, hear me out.’
So I told him everything. I told him that Gaby had been killed because she’d figured out, or Trev thought she’d figured out, that he had cattle infected with BSE on the farm. I told him of the burning carcasses and how it tied in with the recent spate of cattle rustling. I told him my theory on how an outbreak could have happened and how long it could have been going on. I told him my suspicions about Trev having the human equivalent of mad-cow disease, and lastly, I told him of my visit to the farm, who I’d seen there and my conversation with Cole.
When I’d finished, he sat there for a moment, taking it all in. At least he didn’t tell me I was mad. When he did speak, his attitude and his tone had utterly changed. It was serious and level.
‘You took a huge risk going back there. You shouldn’t have done that.’ He twirled a pencil on his desk.
‘I know, it was dangerous in hindsight, but I felt it was my responsibility to clear this all up. I had to sort it out.’ That, and he’d given me no choice, but I didn’t verbalise that thought.
Now I’d offered everything I knew, it felt like my plug had been pulled out. Events of the last week had taken their toll, and I felt brittle and flat.
‘If what you’re saying is true, then Mr Ray had Mrs Knowes murdered over a few head of cattle. That’s a bit of an overkill.’
‘God, yes,’ said Mel.
It was. I tried to imagine it from Trev’s perspective.
‘I suppose all he could focus on was his stock being slaughtered, losing money, losing his livelihood. He could see the potential ramifications locally and nationally, so got the vet involved – and the meat plant, transporters, the people who had a lot to lose – but on a hush-hush level. He had them all caught up in it. When he made the decision to have Gaby killed, he made them all accessories.’
‘They made themselves accessories if they didn’t come forward as soon as they knew.’ That was Mel.
‘Mad-cow disease. Shit. You do realise that if it’s confirmed, our export beef market is going to be obliterated, so the farmers are going to suffer, and the works, the town – hell, the whole country. Meat plants will close, jobs will be lost. It will be the end of some towns.’ The DI looked me in the eye. I knew exactly one of the towns he was alluding to. It was a scary thought, but not half as scary as the thought of how many people were exposed to the disease, how many could be infected. ‘That kind of thing could throw the nation into complete crisis.’
‘Trev must have known that too, which is why he tried to keep it a secret, even to the extent of killing an innocent woman,’ I said.
‘It doesn’t make sense, though. Something that big was always going to get out, and at some point, the authorities would have to get involved. It would be inevitable. And anyway, if he’d gone straight to the authorities, they could at least have had a chance to minimise the damage to the country and everyone concerned. Our world-class reputation and our clean, green image is going to be shot to hell. The foreign media are going to have a field day – young mother killed in back-country town to cover up conspiracy of silence over mad-cow disease. We’ll be seen as trying to hide it. He must have been insane to think killing her would hide it all, make it go away.’
He got that right.
‘Well, that’s the crucial point,’ I said. ‘In a way, he probably is insane. He may not even realise he’s got CJD and the awful effect it’s having on his brain and his mind, and he certainly isn’t making sane decisions.’
God only knew what else he had wrecked. I could never excuse him for what he’d done, but I was surprised to feel a twinge of pity for Trev.
‘So now what do we do?’ I asked.
‘I’ll be calling in reinforcements. We’ve got a fair few people to round up and question. We’ll start out at the Ray farm, see how many we can catch still there.’
I was pretty sure Cole would have gone back and told them what had happened. They would have cleared off by now.
The DI had thought of that. ‘We’ll send cars out to their residences as well, make sure no one gets by us.’ He’d stood up and was already reaching for the phone. ‘As for you, I want you to go home … No—’ He held his hand up as I started to protest. ‘Listen, you will go home, and then when I need you to come back and identify the people present at the farm I’ll send someone around to pick you up.’
I could see he would not be open to debate on the matter. He’d already moved on to the business of calling in officers.
Mel tapped me on the elbow and indicated towards the door, so I got up and followed her back out into the main hall.
‘Well done,’ she said, ‘though I don’t know that solving this case makes me any happier.’
‘No, it raises some pretty unappetising questions.’ I inclined my head back towards the room. ‘Are you sure he won’t let me tag along for the ride?’
Mel laughed. ‘I think he made it quite clear he wanted you out of the way. Go home, Sam. Someone will come pick you up when we need you.’ She patted me on the back and then headed back to the action.
Thought of home made me suddenly realise I hadn’t let Maggie know I was safe. I felt a pang of guilt: she’d be worried sick. I hopped into her car and called the home number on my cell. It went straight to answerphone. I flicked her a text message to tell her to put the kettle on, I was on my way.
All I wanted to do was get to the safety of my own home for a cuppa, some Toffee Pops and some Maggie therapy.
49
After my shit of a day I felt positively delirious driving up to what I usually considered to be our dump of a flat. Today it looked like Buckingham flaming Palace. I knew I’d get a bit of grief from Maggie for not getting in touch with her sooner, and causing her so much worry, but I’d take what came. Right now, all I cared about was her company, that cup of tea and as many chocolate biscuits as we could muster. Then, when it was a more socially acceptable hour, we could hit the wine.
I closed the front door behind me and called out as I turned back to the room.
‘Maggie! I lived to tell the tale, but you’re not going to bloody believe this.’
I stopped dead. Maggie was seated at the table – that was normal. The ropes, the gag, the gash seeping blood into her left eye were not. For a moment I floundered for something to say, some way to act, but was held in suspension by the terror that screamed from her eyes. They flicked from me to behind my right shoulder, and reflex kicked in as I threw myself in the other direction, avoiding the full impact of the human missile that charged at me. Even the glancing blow was enough to knock my breath away. I hit the ground, rolled and came up on all fours, my limbs moving in an uncoordinated frenzy to get distance from my assailant. I watched as a brown steelcapped boot attached to navy-blue drill trousers swung towards my chest.
Survival instinct made me try to jump upwards as the boot connected with skin, but the force still lifted me completely off the ground. My ears calmly noted a crunching noise before the rest of my brain logged pain and acted accordingly. My vision swirled and tunnelled, the roar of blood fill
ed my ears and my body began to succumb to the irresistible force of gravity. I hit the ground with a bone-jarring crash that I didn’t feel inclined to get up from.
I lay, face down, my lungs screaming against their broken casings.
I was going to die. It had to be easier than breathing. In fact, dying seemed like quite an attractive option for a second or two before I realised that if I was going to die, Maggie was going to die, and I couldn’t let that happen. Somehow, I had to think, and lucidly.
The man lifted me up and threw me over his shoulder, folded in half like some casually slung beach towel. My mind, off on a tangent of its own, made an uninvited comparison with being carried away by a young Arnold Schwarzenegger. The reality, of course, was far less appealing, and the pain that ripped through my torso cleared my mind like a whiff of the salts.
From this vantage point he had to be at least six foot six and hardened with muscle. My feet were too high up to deliver a blow to anywhere personal and vulnerable, but if I was outgunned for size, I was buggered if I was going to be outgunned for brains.
He was carrying me over towards Maggie, and it didn’t require a crystal ball to know how I was going to be dealt with. I had to find a…
My eye caught sight of the phone sitting atop the sofa and I reached out and grabbed it as we brushed past. With all the force I could muster I reached my arm back and rammed the phone as hard as I could, antennae first, towards his rectum. I felt a gratifying rip of fabric and slide before it anchored against firmer flesh or bone. I didn’t care which. He roared and threw me off, head first, over his shoulder. My legs flicked over and I landed flat on my back on the floor. I wasn’t going to get much of a reprieve, so rolled over onto my stomach and up onto my knees as he reeled around to face me, hands clutching at his arse. My mind photographed the moment: the giant towering over me, the navy zip-up coveralls, the name ‘Dave’ embroidered in contrasting yellow on the chest pocket, the close-shaven, dimpled chin, the thin lips snarled back into a grimace, the impeccably straight teeth, the neat scar beneath the left nostril, the strong but slightly askew nose, the watering and murderous green eyes.
‘You fucking bitch!’ he bellowed, and I knew in that instant that any hope of mercy had evaporated. With his right hand, he reached into his hip pocket, pulled out a flick knife and activated it in one deft movement.
‘Oh shit,’ slipped out of my mouth as I tried to scrabble up and out of the way, but I was too slow. The arm swept down in a terrifying, graceful arc, and I watched fascinated as the blade disappeared through my trouser leg and into the flesh of my thigh. I felt it slice its way through muscle before it came to an abrupt crunch against bone. The blow knocked me on my butt and I heard a scream as I tried to shuffle away from him, staring at the incongruous sight of the knife, haft high, still sticking out of my left leg. My back met wall and I leaned hard against it for support before I finally raised my eyes to see what was coming next. The knockout blow I expected never arrived. Instead he just stood there, his face a grimace, hands rubbing at his backside; his laboured breaths matched mine. The nausea I had tried to suppress ripped free, and I leaned over and threw up on the floor beside me. He stood over me, observing me wiping my streaming eyes and nose, then he walked away and turned his attention to our gas heater. He appeared to be attaching some small device, and a premonition of our planned demise flashed into my head.
‘I was going to make this painless for you, but now I’ll enjoy knowing you got to sit and enjoy the fireworks. Your friend too.’ He nodded towards Maggie, who watched, mortified, from her enforced front-row seat. ‘This is going to look like a tragic accident. I’m sure you’ll get a nice obituary.’
Maggie writhed and strained against her bonds, pushing back with her feet. Then, with a sickening thud, she toppled over backwards.
Where terror had once gripped my heart, calculated calm took control. This man deemed me as no longer being a threat, and it was his second mistake. The first had been to leave me with a weapon.
‘I suppose you worked for Telemax last week, Dave.’ He turned to look at me and curled his mouth into a chilling smile before he focused his attention back on the task at hand.
I shuffled forwards slightly to give myself space. With both hands I took a firm grip on the handle of the knife and then, steeling myself with a huge breath, I pulled. White searing heat exploded through my thigh and I cried out as a wave of nausea and giddiness washed over me. I sucked air in through my teeth and forced back the greyness encroaching on my vision.
I watched as he swung his head around at the noise, and saw him register the presence of the knife in my hand. I saw him turn and start to stride in my direction. I kept my gaze on his face as I drew back my arm and threw the knife with every ounce of strength I could muster. I watched as it flew straight and true, covering the three metres or so between us in a blink, before it buried itself up to its haft in his throat. His eyes reflected his astonishment as his hands lifted to his neck to clutch at the foreign object protruding from it. In a ballet of warped choreography, he spun around several times before landing, less than gracefully, face up on the floor, the knife in one hand, the other still clutched at his throat. I watched dispassionately as an extraordinary amount of blood spilled out onto the carpet; I wondered about how difficult it would be to get the stain out. He had probably made it worse by pulling out the knife. Now he was making a bigger mess, trying to sit up. Fool.
A sharp smell of sulphur pulled me back from my parallel dimension into this one. Gas.
‘Maggie,’ I called out. ‘Hang on, I’m coming.’ I tried to stand, but couldn’t put any weight on my leg without it collapsing out from under me. I set out on hands and knee, dragging the other leg behind me, trying to ignore the stabbing pains that shot through my chest.
The man’s movements had slowed down somewhat, but I had seen enough movies in which the ‘should-be-dead-by-now’ villain had miraculously leaped to his feet and had another shot at the hero. I wasn’t about to take any chances, and skirted around the far side of the sofa. I had no idea of the extent of Maggie’s injuries and was desperately afraid for her, especially now, with the thick stench of gas. Somehow, I had to find the strength to get us both out.
The graunch of the forcibly turned door handle and the crash as the front door slammed back into the wall made me jerk my head up in terror. The door swung back so hard that the handle went through the wall.
What the hell now?
Cole stood semi-silhouetted in the doorway.
All hope sank. I knew I was beaten. I couldn’t fight him too – I just didn’t have anything left to give. I felt hot tears spill down my face as I watched him survey the scene: Maggie, unmoving, on her back, still strapped to the chair; the gigantic man clutching the knife, twitching and bleeding all over the carpet; and me, at the end of a trail of blood, trying to crawl across the floor towards my friend.
Swiftly, and with no hesitation, Cole strode over to the man, drew back his leg and delivered him a sickening, full-blooded boot to the side of the head. The head whiplashed to the other side, and all movement stopped instantly. He kicked the knife away, and then he was at my side. His hands tried to pull me up.
‘Sam, Sam. Are you alright?’
Of course I wasn’t alright. What a stupid bloody thing to ask. I wanted to hit him, and to fully inform him of how stupid that question was, but a vision of impending doom filled my mind. There was someone else who needed his help more than me.
‘Get Maggie out, get her out now. He was going to blow up the house. Can’t you smell the gas?’ He hesitated, so I screamed at him: ‘Go!’
He leaped into action, reached Maggie in a few bounds, shoved the table out of the way, picked her up, chair and all and made for the door. I turned myself around and scrambled towards the door with the speed that only fear could impart. I dragged myself down the steps and across the driveway towards where Cole had laid Maggie down on her side. He was about to leave her to come back for
me, but I waved him away and kept up under my own steam, spurred on by the mental image of the blast I knew had to be coming.
At last, I was at Maggie’s side, at what I hoped was a safe distance from the house. I tore at the last remaining bonds around Maggie’s shoulders while Cole pulled away the chair. Then I ripped the gag out of her mouth and wept as I felt her breath on my cheek, her pulse sure and steady under my fingertips. I ran my hand through her hair and could feel an egg-sized lump on the back of her head. It must have happened when the chair fell over. The gash above her eye was deep; the glistening white of bone peeked through the tissue and gore.
I was about to lean over and kiss the top of her forehead when the explosion finally came.
Knowing that it was going to happen did nothing to prepare me for its magnitude. It overwhelmed my senses; the shock wave threw me forward as I tried to shield Maggie with my body. Even at this distance, I felt the shrapnel of shattered glass rain onto my back. The blast reverberated in my skull long after the silence of its aftermath descended.
I realised then that Cole had tried to shield us as well, and the mere fact that he had touched us sparked back to life the maelstrom of hate and anger within me. I shoved him away, hard. A look of hurt and surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by resignation as he leaned back and sat on his heels.
‘Get away from me, Cole,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry.’
I said nothing and kept staring my contempt.
He shifted uncomfortably before he continued. ‘Honestly, I never thought … never meant for you to get hurt. I tried to warn you, keep you away from Trev.’
‘When? When was that, Cole? I don’t seem to recall you saying, “Hey, he’s a murdering bastard, watch your back”.’ As I spat out the words, and saw the feeble expression on his face, something clicked into place. ‘Oh, you’re kidding. That was your idea of a warning – a few nuisance phone calls. Oh, my God, and the fucking rabbit?’