by Blake Pierce
Cassie stood up and moved round the other side of the table, keeping it between them.
Every muscle in her body felt tense. Her breath was rapid and shallow and she willed herself to be strong, to keep reaching for that inner steel, because if she buckled now, it would all be over.
She moved aside a folded dishcloth on the kitchen counter.
Next to it was her cell phone; it had been in plain sight, but yet camouflaged, because she’d drawn all Trish’s attention to the hidden recorder. She picked it up and held it tight.
“The Dictaphone was a red herring,” she said to Trish. “This phone has been taping you the whole time. I’m not letting your children come home until the police have listened to it and arrested you.”
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
Trish’s scream of rage filled the room.
Cassie saw her face darken as she realized she’d been double-crossed.
“Give me that. Now!” she cried.
Cassie backed away.
Adrenaline coursed through her. She hadn’t expected Trish’s anger to be so sudden.
“No,” she insisted.
Trish paused, making a final attempt to regain control of the situation.
“Cassie,” she spat. “The police will never believe you. But let’s talk. We can work together. We never shared who else might have done it. The cleaner would be my guess, and if you and I both say so to the police, there’s a strong likelihood they’ll believe us. Come on.”
Cassie shook her head.
Trish laughed, but it was a high, panicky sound. She began babbling out the words.
“I can see you want more. That’s fine. After what you’ve been through, I’ll be happy to compensate you. Let’s sit down again and discuss it properly.”
“I’m not discussing anything with you, Trish,” Cassie insisted. “I’ve seen who you are. You deserve what’s coming to you.”
In the blink of an eye, Trish’s reasonable demeanor evaporated. Her eyes narrowed and her lips curled back.
“You bitch. If you don’t want to give me that, I’m going to make you.”
She leaped at Cassie, who jumped away in terror as Trish’s nails raked her face. The tall woman lunged toward her and got hold of her arm.
“No!” Cassie screamed. She twisted away, trying to dislodge her grip, but Trish was fighting with the strength of desperation. She could hear her breath, harsh in her ear, as her fingers clamped around Cassie’s wrist. Inexorably she started prizing the phone out of Cassie’s hand. Cassie was shocked by her wiry power.
Flailing her free arm behind her in a panic, Cassie caught hold of something and grasped it tight. She recognized the shape of the giant pepper grinder.
Clumsily, she raised it and brought it down on Trish’s head with all her strength.
Trish swore violently, staggering back, and even though she didn’t let go, her grip loosened enough for Cassie to twist away.
Trish made another grab for her and got hold of her jacket, pulling her back so she ricocheted against the table. The wooden table rocked and tilted, and the bottle and glasses smashed on the floor. Glass fragments exploded over the tiles, as wine sluiced across the floor like blood.
Trish swore again as she slipped on a piece of glass, and that allowed Cassie to break free once again.
She made a desperate run for it, glass crunching under her trainers, skidding over the wet floor as she headed for the door.
Behind her, Trish had the strength and speed of total desperation. Cassie heard her footsteps thudding, far too close.
Then something tore at her jacket, ripping it open, and as she glanced behind her, she screamed.
Trish had picked up one of the long, lethal kitchen knives and Cassie had come within inches of having it slice through her flesh. The shock gave her an extra burst of speed and she leaped ahead.
Where to go? She sped down the hallway, riding on the wings of her fear, knowing that Trish was taller and probably faster, and had more to lose.
She bolted into the master bedroom. Slammed the door. She twisted the key in the lock just as Trish flung her weight against it.
Gasping for breath, Cassie realized the door had bought her only a moment’s respite. The latch was too flimsy, and at any moment, Trish could break through.
She ran into the bathroom, closed the door—and realized in horror that there was no key.
Cassie flung it open again and saw that the bedroom door was starting to splinter.
She slid the phone under the bed. For now, it would be a safe hiding place. Then she ran to the window and forced it open.
The latch was stiff, and the hinges had been painted over and resisted her efforts to push it wide. The bedroom door was shaking and rattling with wood splinters scattering over the floor, and she guessed that on the next attempt, Trish would be inside.
Visions spun through Cassie’s head; fragments of the nightmare where the window had become a skyscraper.
Pushing the fear from her mind, she jumped.
This was less of a drop, but the impact when she landed on the paved walkway jarred every bone in her body.
She longed to flee the property, out and away, but in a car, Trish would be much faster and could also run her down.
She was out of time; she could see Trish approaching the window. She had to get out of sight at once, and in this neatly trimmed winter garden there were few options. Hugging the wall, Cassie ran around the house, hoping for a better hiding place in the back, near the sea.
The only plant that offered cover was a small, spiky-leafed bush with red berries.
She crept around it and crouched down in its shadow, crawling as deep into its cover as she could and trying to muffle the sound of her breathing, which was coming in desperate, painful gasps.
Trish would know she’d escaped through the window. There hadn’t been a chance to close it. Therefore, she must know she was hiding in the garden.
It was nearly dark. Every minute that passed would make it more difficult to see her. If she could hide here for long enough, she might be safe. But she felt like a hunted animal when she thought of Trish; a hunted animal who was trying to escape the kill.
Cassie cringed lower as the powerful beam of a flashlight shone into the garden.
Trish had anticipated her. She’d left the bedroom and gone out of the back door. Now the darkness meant nothing and in fact would be Trish’s friend.
The flashlight beam dazzled Cassie, and she knew that behind its blinding glare, Trish was holding the knife.
She tried to hold her breath, to contain the ragged gasps, to become one with the grass so that nothing, not even her terrified thoughts, would draw Trish’s attention to her.
She watched as the flashlight danced over the flower beds. Trish was using the light, but she wasn’t moving. She was letting the beam do the work for her and staying in a place where she had the best view of the whole garden.
The light moved away from the flower beds and for a moment, it flickered over the grass.
Then it was shining right at her, through the branches, and she knew that Trish had seen her.
“Come on out, Cassie. The game’s over now.”
Trish’s voice was hoarse and breathless, but it sounded triumphant.
She didn’t wait for Cassie to obey. A moment later, she was sprinting over the lawn toward her.
Breaking from her cover, Cassie ran for her life, stumbling in the dark, because the light had dazzled her and she was temporarily blinded. Her plan had been to head to the laundry room and, from there, try to scramble over the fence into the property next door.
Terrified and disoriented, she found she was heading in the same direction she had sleepwalked—out toward the bluff.
“The phone—it’s in—the bedroom,” she gasped, turning to face Trish.
The flashlight pinned her and she flinched away, averting her eyes as the beam bobbed toward her.
“I am not interested in the phone now,” Tr
ish spat.
Cassie dove to her right, with Trish following close behind. The thought of that knife was making Cassie’s blood run cold with dread. All it would take would be one thrust of its sharp, lethal blade—and she had no doubt that Trish would put all the strength she had into that thrust.
As she was gaining some ground, disaster struck.
Her foot caught a rock and she sprawled onto the grass, falling headlong, jackknifing out of the way in case the blade came down.
But she twisted in the wrong direction.
Cassie screamed as she felt herself slip off the cliff’s edge. She grabbed desperately for purchase, hoping to find something—anything. Tussocks of grass sliced at her fingers but offered no grip.
The crashing of the sea filled her ears. Below her, she knew, was a dizzying drop to the crags. The tide was in; she could hear it. She would land broken and injured, and be swept out to sea by the cold and unrelenting waves.
Then her clutching fingers found a rocky outcrop.
The sandstone was wet and slippery and, worse still, it felt as if it was about to break loose from the cliff side.
Sandstone crumbles; she’d told Dylan so. Now this fragile hold was all that was keeping her from certain death.
Cassie grabbed onto it and held with all her might, knowing that she didn’t have much time, because her flailing legs could find no purchase, and her arms were already burning.
This had bought her a minute or two, at most. She couldn’t climb back up and when her arms were exhausted, they would release their hold and she would fall.
Her nightmares rushed back.
She remembered Jacqui’s taunting words, her face as she looked down with evil glee, ready to abandon Cassie to her fate.
Then, above her, the flashlight blinded her again.
“You’re hanging on?”
Trish gave a breathy laugh, as Cassie saw the glint of the blade.
“Not for long.”
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
Even if she was not within arm’s reach, Cassie knew she was within knife’s reach.
She clenched her teeth, willing herself to keep on holding even when she felt the knife stab into her. Even though it would slice through her skin and her tendons, ripping her flesh from the bone and opening her veins, she must still hold on. She was going to keep gripping the rock until Trish cut her away from it, or until her own strength gave out.
Then, suddenly, the flashlight veered upward.
She heard Trish shriek, and the babble of voices above, and she knew that, despite all the risks, all the things that could have gone wrong, help had arrived.
Trish would be arrested now and receive the justice she deserved.
The only problem was that it was too late for her.
Her arms were shuddering and the sweat on her palms was causing her fingers to slip.
She felt them releasing and a strange peace filled her. She felt as if Jacqui was with her, offering her comfort, and she knew that as she fell, as her bones shattered, she would not be alone.
And then, another light blazed—this time a brilliant floodlight that illuminated the entire area. Even as her nerveless fingers lost their grip, she felt two strong hands clamp around her wrists, catching her as she fell, holding her in a tight, firm grasp.
“It’s OK. You’re safe. I won’t let you go.”
Cassie stared up into the intense blue eyes of Detective Parker.
*
It took a few minutes for Cassie to be hauled up, and it was only when she was safely on the grass, lying on a blanket because her shaking legs would not hold her, that she realized the personal risk Parker had taken to save her.
He’d dived halfway over the cliff to grab her before she fell, trusting that his team would somehow be able to hold him and stop him from falling with her.
They had managed. Bruton was looking visibly shocked by the close call, and the friendly constable, who had introduced herself as Trainee Detective Chandra, was in tears.
“I’m so glad you’re OK, Cassie,” she sniffed. “Parker, you’re a hero. I can’t believe you did that.”
He shook his head.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said. That I should try as hard to save her as I had done to lock her up. You’re the one who made me take that risk.”
“But how did you know where she was? We’d planned to search the house first!”
Parker frowned.
“Did you not hear her? As soon as I got out the car, I heard her screaming.”
He turned to Cassie. “You were yelling, ‘Jacqui! Jacqui! Help!’ I didn’t know who was screaming, I just followed the sound.”
“I was?” Cassie asked, amazed. She hadn’t thought she’d said a word.
“She was?” Chandra asked with equal surprise. “You must have very sensitive hearing. I was only a few steps behind you and didn’t pick up a thing.”
Before Cassie could ask Parker anything more about this weird coincidence, she heard a whisper from behind her.
It was Trish’s bitter voice, and she looked sharply around.
“How did this happen?”
Cassie was glad to see Trish was safely restrained. Her hands were secured behind her back and she was in the firm grasp of a uniformed police officer.
Cameras flashed around them, as the detectives recorded the scene. The discarded flashlight, and the kitchen knife that the police had ripped out of Trish’s hands.
“I made a plan with Harriet,” Cassie told her.
She couldn’t tell Trish what it had taken. How Harriet had sped straight to her house, stopping only to pick up a Dictaphone on the way. They’d planned together, nervous and desperate, knowing that their entire scenario relied on multiple factors beyond their control—as well as misdirection.
“The Dictaphone was a red herring,” she said. “But when I told you I was recording everything, that also wasn’t true. I called Harriet as soon as I heard you arrive, and left my phone on the counter. She recorded everything on her side, and contacted the police right afterwards.”
The children were still at Harriet’s house. She’d reassured Cassie they were holed up in her tiny family room, with junk food and cable TV, and that they’d be safe and happy for the evening, while Harriet waited in her bedroom—where the cell phone signal was strongest—for events to unfold.
Cassie knew she owed Harriet a massive debt of gratitude.
Bruton sighed.
“Next time you ladies plan a sting operation, please inform us beforehand and not during, or after, the fact. It’s always safer. But you acted with great bravery, and thanks to your actions, we can nail the perpetrator on a variety of charges. Murder, attempted murder, perjury, resisting arrest. She won’t get bail, and will be in prison a very long time. A life sentence, for sure.”
Cassie couldn’t imagine a worse fate, or a more fitting punishment, for the woman who’d so ruthlessly orchestrated her life and reputation to suit her own needs.
Trish stared at her, stony-faced, and although she didn’t speak, Cassie could see the defeat in her eyes.
“The van’s here. You can take her straight into custody,” Bruton told the arresting officers. “We’ll be along later, as soon as we’ve finished interviewing Ms. Vale.”
To Cassie’s astonishment, Parker handed her a white envelope.
“This is yours.”
Her passport was inside. Cassie stared down at it, not believing her eyes. Then she looked back at Parker.
“Are you really giving it back to me? You’re sure?”
He nodded.
“But—what about my visa?”
Bruton spoke.
“Your working status is not relevant to this murder case. We don’t intend to pursue the matter, since the person who supposedly hired you is now deceased. Now, we need to take your statement and do this interview.”
The friendly constable cleared her throat.
“The kitchen’s a disaster zone, love, but
once you’ve walked the detectives through the scene, and we’ve finished photographing, we’ll get a clean-up crew in so that it’s all in order by tomorrow. Meanwhile, we’ve had an offer from the guesthouse across the road. They will allow us to use their dining room for the interview, and the proprietor invited you to stay the night in one of the rooms at no charge, if you’d be more comfortable there.”
“I would,” Cassie said, gratefully. “Please tell her thank you very much for the offer.”
Hopefully, word had spread in the village that she’d been the innocent party all along. Even though she knew loyalties ran deep and not everyone would believe the truth, at least it meant she was no longer the local pariah.
“I’m going to go to Harriet’s house now,” the friendly constable said. “We’ve decided the children should go straight to their aunt’s for the night, so I’ll organize things from that side. Could you help me with a change of clothes for them, please, and I can take a bag through?”
After she’d walked the police through the fight scene in the kitchen, Cassie hurried through to the master bedroom.
There, under the bed, was her phone and she felt filled with relief that it was still working. A corner of the screen had been cracked in the melee but it was still usable.
Heading back down the hall, she packed toiletries, pajamas, and a change of clothes into a bag for the children.
At the last minute, she tore a page off the pink notebook in Madison’s room.
“I love you both,” she wrote. “Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She added the note to the bag.
Then, grabbing her toothbrush, her meds, and a spare shirt, she walked with the police to the guesthouse for the final interview.
Her arms were aching, her hands in agony. Her fingers felt bruised and her palms were lined with shallow cuts. Clutching at the rock had left raw grazes on her wrists. Somewhere along the line, the sleeve of her jacket had torn, and when she took it off to shake the grit out, she stared in horror at the deep slice down its back.
Trish had come within inches of opening up a lethal flesh wound.