by LJ Ross
Phillips could still remember the sight of Ryan lying injured with his sister’s body lying in his lap; how he had cradled her head while blood pumped out of her body through the ragged gash at her neck. He would never forget the desolation on Ryan’s face and Phillips knew that he had blamed himself for her death ever since. He hadn’t known if the lad would come through it. Now, there was a risk that The Hacker would take the other woman he loved, leaving him with nothing.
Ryan would be destroyed completely.
Heart sore, Phillips hurried back into CID Headquarters and turned on the news, which was just starting to report a ‘major incident’ at HM Prison Frankland, on the outskirts of Durham:
News is just coming in…we can report that there has been what the police are describing as a major incident at HM Prison Frankland…breaking news just coming in now of an apparent prison break at HM Prison Frankland…it is believed that Keir Edwards, the man known as ‘The Hacker’, has broken out of his maximum security, category A prison…people are advised to remain inside their homes as a manhunt is now underway. Edwards is considered highly dangerous and may be armed.
The double doors behind him swung open and Chief Constable Morrison tore into the foyer. Her sandy blonde hair was wet from the rain and she wore baggy sportswear, suggesting that she had recently been to the gym despite the late hour.
Worry pinched her face and she looked ten years older than she had that morning.
“Frank, thank God you’re here. I heard from the CC down in Durham. He’s worried and so am I. The Commissioner rang me at home and he’s liaising with Durham Constabulary to put out a statement. The Warden at Frankland is beside himself—”
“How did Edwards get out?”
“Helicopter,” Morrison panted as they rushed along the corridor to her office, where more calls would be made. “He got a helicopter to land right inside the bloody exercise yard.”
“How is that possible?” Phillips stammered.
“It’s been done before, the last time was in Canada a few years ago. Apparently the Warden in Durham requested a wire roof covering to prevent exactly this kind of thing from happening but it was rejected due to lack of funding.”
Phillips swore roundly.
“Where’s Ryan?”
Morrison looked up, suddenly noticing she was a man down.
“Edwards will do everything he can to hurt him,” Phillips said. “The best way to do that is to take his fiancée. Ryan is driving across to Durham like the hounds of hell are after him. He needs to get to Anna before Edwards does.”
“Oh my God.”
Morrison sank into her desk chair and held her head in her hands. Her eyes darted back and forth while she thought of how to help.
“Firearms,” she started.
“Already on their way,” Phillips confirmed. “First thing he did was order a squad car to get down there and secure the property. He won’t rest until he’s seen her for himself.”
Morrison sent him a look of utter hopelessness.
“And if he’s too late?”
Phillips just shook his head and left her to answer the ringing phone at her desk.
* * *
The first thing that Phillips did next was to key in the number for MacKenzie. After a minute or so, he heard her soft Irish voice at the other end of the line.
“Frank? I was about to call you. I’ve just stepped out of the bath and seen the news—do you need me to come back in? It’s a living nightmare. Ryan…?”
He closed his eyes and savoured the sound of her.
“Aye, lass. Best if you do. It’s like a nuclear explosion has gone off down here,” he said, watching as officers began to filter back into the major incident unit. “Ryan’s gone straight down to Durham to find Anna. All we can do is hope and pray that Edwards hasn’t beaten him to it because, if I were him, she would be the prime target.”
MacKenzie felt tears spring to her eyes. Anna Taylor was a woman she admired and had come to love. Just last month, she had taken her to the bridal shop to pick out the ivory tulle dress Anna planned to wear at her wedding. She had been stunned and moved when the girl had asked if she would come with her to stand in for the mother she no longer had, just for the day.
“Dear God, Frank, I can’t think of it.”
“Aye, I know.”
“I’m on my way,” she said firmly.
* * *
Lowerson was one of the first to arrive back at CID Headquarters after receiving the alert. He had only made it halfway home when the call came through on his hands-free mobile and, besides, he couldn’t have missed the breaking news which interrupted every radio channel. That included the late night dance classics he had been blasting out to keep him awake until he made it home.
A quick u-turn later and he was heading back to the office.
He found Phillips in the open-plan office used by the major crime teams including Ryan’s division of staff and clocked all the usual faces.
“Where’s Ryan?”
Phillips walked over to him and set a plastic cup of black coffee in his hand.
“He’s on his way to Durham,” he replied. “Edwards will go for Anna, first chance he gets.”
“I can’t believe it,” Lowerson said, taking a scalding sip of the mud brown liquid. “Mac and I were only talking about The Hacker an hour ago.”
Phillips felt that odd frisson snake up his spine again and he grasped Lowerson’s shoulder.
“What do you mean, son?”
Lowerson frowned and the coffee sloshed a bit.
“I thought—I thought she had told you? The Solicitors Regulation Authority called us after hours because it was urgent. They’re investigating Edwards’ solicitor for serious malpractice and they’ve already discovered that the solicitor was taking bribes to hand deliver those notes from Edwards to MacKenzie.”
Phillips’ hand gripped Lowerson’s shoulder harder, but not intentionally.
“Denise.”
Lowerson scanned the room desperately but he already knew that she wasn’t there.
“Frank, I swear. We thought the threat had passed and that Edwards was still in prison. We thought he was trying to pay her back for posing as one of his penpals last year.”
Phillips remembered the hollow, dreadful sense of impotence he had felt when he and his late wife had been told she had terminal cancer. He had argued with the consultant, begged and pleaded, then privately broken down so that Laura would not see his tears and be frightened. That had been one of the worst times of his life, matched only by the final weeks before she died.
But that terrible feeling had returned to haunt him and as he looked into the terrified face of the young detective constable, he almost doubled over.
“Get a team dispatched to her house,” Phillips whispered, before thrusting him aside to run as he had never run before.
* * *
Ryan drove like a man possessed, through the darkened streets of Newcastle and across the river along the same route he had chased Conor O’Byrne only a few hours before. The roads were sodden as the rain continued to fall in almost biblical proportions. He knew that his eyes were tired, that his body was exhausted and required refuelling, but there was no question of that now. He opened the windows to feel the wind whip around him, keeping his eyes sharp and focused on his destination.
He barely glanced at the Angel of the North as he sped past.
In an extraordinary display of willpower, Ryan commanded his mind to shut off treacherous images of Anna lying dead in a pool of her own blood. He had seen Edwards’ handiwork before and his imagination threatened to go wild with possibilities.
Anna with her fingers hacked off, one by one.
Anna drugged and abused, unable to fight back.
Anna with her head separated from her body, her dead eyes staring at him.
He bit down hard and his jaw clenched painfully. Later, much later, he would be grateful for the lack of any other traffic on the roads becaus
e he could not be held responsible for his driving prowess on that long, seemingly endless journey. His fingers clamped the steering wheel like a lifeline and his foot pushed the pedal to the floor, barely lifting until he entered the outer limits of Durham city.
Anna heard the revving of the engine and jumped off the sofa to meet him as he burst into the cottage.
His eyes sought her out and he crossed the room in three long strides.
“Anna.”
He held her head in his gentle hands, kissing her face, wrapping her in his arms.
“I didn’t know—I thought—”
She heard the shudder in his chest and hugged him harder.
“I’m alright, I’m safe,” she murmured. “I heard what happened.”
Ryan buried his face in her hair and gave himself another minute to compose himself. Only then did he notice two constables from the Durham Police Constabulary sitting awkwardly on the cosy armchairs Anna had arranged around the inglenook fireplace.
“Sir,” they greeted him.
Ryan didn’t move an inch, but nodded his thanks to them both.
“We’ll be just outside,” they drained their coffee mugs and made a tactical retreat back to their squad car.
“I couldn’t get through to you,” Ryan said eventually and she sighed.
“I know, I’m sorry about that. I was in a late lecture at the university and then I got caught up with some work and took the phone off the hook while I finished it. I, ah, well your mum has been calling quite a bit lately—”
Ryan smiled against the top of her head.
“Badgering you about wedding plans, no doubt.”
“Normally, I love it,” she assured him. “But this evening I really had to push on with a paper I’ve been working on and so I took it off the hook for a little while. I guess the time ran away with me. I’m so sorry you were worried.”
Ryan continued to hold her against him and showed no immediate signs of letting go.
“It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you’re safe, here with me.”
“But Edwards has escaped? How could that happen?”
A shadow crossed his face as he thought of the damage that man would wreak. Untold horrors lay just around the corner, he was sure of it. He wasn’t proud of it but he was profoundly grateful that, if some poor woman lost their life that night, it was not going to be his future wife.
But his heart broke in the certain knowledge that another soul would suffer in her place.
“He’s cunning and he has money,” Ryan said dully. “We do everything we can to stop the contraband, to stop the corruption, but you can’t fight human nature. A part of me thinks that this was inevitable.”
“What did he do—dig a tunnel or something?”
Ryan huffed out an unexpected laugh.
“This isn’t The Great Escape, but you’re not all that far off. As far as I know, a helicopter picked him up.”
Anna stared at the wall of his chest and then drew back to quiz him further.
“Just like that?” she snapped her fingers. “He’s not a Columbian drug baron, for goodness’ sake!”
“It’s surprisingly common,” he said. “It happened a lot in the 70s and 80s and had a bit of a renaissance in the last decade. It prompted a lot of prisons to erect a sort of see-through wire covering over their outdoor areas to prevent a helicopter landing there but apparently Frankland Prison didn’t have the cash to front it.”
Anna realised that his body had started to shake, tiny rippling tremors that transmitted across her skin.
“Ryan? When was the last time you ate?”
He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged.
“I can’t remember. But I’m not hungry.”
“Sod that,” she muttered, and thrust a digestive biscuit into his mouth as she went to assemble an enormous sandwich.
* * *
Lowerson had really come into his own during the course of the last year and because of it he was able to override Phillips’ desire to drive the short distance to MacKenzie’s house. He bundled the sergeant inside his nifty Fiat and gunned the engine like a pro, covering the ground at speed.
Phillips sat in the passenger seat pressing ‘redial’ on his mobile phone although there was still no answer from Denise. His face was ashen with shock and he wore the distant, expressionless look of one who was living through a nightmare.
The journey from CID Headquarters to Denise MacKenzie’s house could not have taken more than five minutes but by the time Lowerson came to an emergency stop at the kerb outside, it felt like they had traversed a great distance.
Phillips sprang out of the car as soon as it reached the kerb and banged a fist on the front door. The porch lamp was switched on and shone a greenish light over his clammy, anguished face.
They had both noticed that her red Fiesta was not on the driveway where it should have been.
“Denise!”
There was no reply but his voice awakened her immediate neighbours and Lowerson noticed their windows light up.
“Denise!”
Phillips groped for the house keys but could barely see past his overwhelming fear and he swore as they fell into the shrubbery beside the path.
He didn’t bother to root around for them.
“Get back,” he told Lowerson, before planting his boot against the front door. With two hard kicks, the lock broke and it fell open.
The hallway beyond was brightly lit. MacKenzie’s jacket hung on the peg where she always left it and her tan leather satchel hung beside it.
And there on the hallway table was propped a small cream card which read:
CATCH ME IF YOU CAN
EPILOGUE
Keir Edwards thanked the taxi driver politely and made sure to give him a small tip. Not too much, not too little to be memorable, then stepped out onto the pavement at the bottom of the street. He moved lightly and, thanks to his new pilot friend, was dressed smartly in a navy suit which was only slightly too small across the chest.
He had bulked up a bit over the past few months in prison. There was little else to do and he had always been a great proponent of maintaining a healthy diet. As a narcissist, he was also preoccupied with the importance of his own image and had taken great pleasure in sculpting his new, stronger form.
Now that he was free, he could be philosophical and admit that prison had taught him a thing or two. For a start, it had given him the time and thinking space to relive his past exploits in infinite detail. He had come to the conclusion that Ryan had only managed to overpower him at the last moment thanks to a small physical advantage, probably brought on by a surge in adrenaline induced by fear. The kilos he had gained in pure muscle would compensate for that in the future and, next time, there would be no room for failure.
There was a time when the two men might have been mistaken for brothers. Both were tall and dark, both what society might consider handsome. Their backgrounds were not dissimilar, either. Both were middle class, well-educated men who had entered respectable ‘professions’.
That was where the similarity ended.
He wondered whether Ryan would recognise him on the street. Gone was the polished, expensive hair cut; it had been replaced by a short, cropped military style and he had grown a full beard. His arms were no longer lean but hard and thickly muscled, as were his legs.
He began to stroll down the street, happy as a peacock, until he found the number he was looking for.
* * *
MacKenzie replaced the receiver and quickly towelled herself off. Images of Anna lying dismembered on the floor of her cottage spurred her into action and she moved quickly around the room pulling on clean clothes. She didn’t stop to worry about hair or make-up; it didn’t enter her mind. Her feet pattered down the stairs and she tugged on her boots, eager to get back to CID where she could be of use. She was about to scoop up her car keys when there came a knock at the front door.
She automatically assumed that Frank had co
me to meet her and had forgotten his keys. Grief and worry made her careless and she opened the door.
MacKenzie recognised the eyes, which were black and filled with malice.
“Hello, Ruth. Have you missed me?”
An instant later, his hand shot out and her world went dark.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Although this murder mystery story depicts fictional characters belonging to the Catholic faith in the North East, it is important to make clear that I believe wrongdoing is a human behavioural trait and not a religious one. People of all religions, as well as people who do not identify with any religion at all, are equally capable of the kinds of deeds I have set out in this book. Therefore, no offence or slight is intended towards anybody belonging to the Catholic faith; my intention is to explore the manner in which a disturbed person could take its teachings and manipulate them for his own ends.
LJ ROSS
2nd August 2016
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, LJ Ross moved to London where she graduated from King’s College London with undergraduate and postgraduate degrees in Law. After working in the City as a regulatory lawyer for a number of years, she realised it was high time for a change. The catalyst was the birth of her son, which forced her to take a break from the legal world and find time for some of the detective stories which had been percolating for a while and finally demanded to be written.
She lives with her husband and young son in the south of England, but will always be a northern girl at heart.
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