The Victim

by Max Manning

  He slid his hand from her mouth, smearing her lipstick across her cheek, and gripped her free wrist. She took the opportunity to speak. “I’m so sorry. I panicked. I promise I won’t try to scream again.”

  The pleading tone of her voice had the desired effect. He shifted the weight of his body off hers and stood taller. “That’s more like it,” he said. “Why would you want to make this more difficult than it has to be?”

  Gem shook her head slowly, eager to convince him that she agreed she’d been incredibly stupid. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m so sorry.” She stole another quick glance at his face. A light stubble covered his chin and cheeks. His eyes were dark slits.

  “I’m going to leave now,” he said.

  The heady rush of relief made her unsteady on her feet, and she instinctively grabbed his arm to stop herself from falling.

  He grinned. “I bet you’ll miss me when I’m gone.” She didn’t answer, and he laughed softly.

  He paused for a moment, then released both her wrists. “Get on the ground,” he ordered. “Get down and lie still until I’ve gone. Don’t make me use this.” He pulled the knife out of his pocket and stabbed the air with a twist. The blade glinted in the semidarkness. He hadn’t lied about the knife.

  Gem started to drop to the ground but hesitated. The thought of lying down made her feel sick. She’d be totally at his mercy, but then she was anyway, wasn’t she?

  “I said get down,” he snapped. “Do it now and don’t move until I’ve driven away. Until I’ve gone. Or there will be consequences.”

  Her eyes moved to the knife he held against his right thigh. Don’t give him a reason to use it, she thought. Just do as he says. As soon as she lay on her side on the cold, hard concrete, he disappeared from view. After a few seconds, she heard the thud of a car door shutting. The engine started and Gem closed her eyes, the smell of exhaust fumes filling her nostrils. She lay motionless as the car slid past, backing out of the space before speeding away.

  She scrambled to her feet, tears of trembling relief streaming down her cheeks. She was safe. It was only when the BMW screeched to a halt and started to reverse at speed that she remembered his warning. “Don’t move until I’ve driven away.”

  Her mind screamed at her legs to run, but it was too late. The car crunched into her left side, sending her spinning to the ground. Lying on her back on the concrete, she stared up into the night sky. It was murky and starless.

  Pain flamed across her chest with every breath she took. Something warm trickled down her nose and onto her lips, and she tasted blood. It ran down her throat, and she started to cough. She tried to roll onto her side to stop herself from choking, but she couldn’t move. Then everything went black.

  5

  Fight

  Gem the Warrior

  Fear flooded Gem’s body at the thought of what she was about to do, but she did it anyway. She bit down hard into his fourth and little fingers until she felt the crunch of bone.

  He snarled like a wounded animal and yanked his hand away, causing her teeth to tear through the flesh. Blood poured from the wound, and he released his grip on her to try to stem the flow.

  She turned to run but wasn’t quick enough. Stepping in close, he locked his right leg behind her right knee and wrestled her to the ground. Ignoring the pain from his wound, he pinned her down with his right arm, blood staining her jacket.

  At the same time, he stuck his good hand in his pocket. Oh God, Gem thought, the knife. She watched in despair, expecting to feel the blade across her neck any second. She squirmed frantically under his weight, causing him to lose purchase and slide to one side.

  Adrenaline surged through her veins, and her heart jackhammered. This isn’t happening, she told herself. This can’t happen to me. “Fucking no,” she yelled as she twisted her body and rammed her right knee into his hip. He grunted in surprise, absorbing the pain with a grimace.

  He pulled his good hand away from his pocket, clamped his fingers around her neck, and squeezed. Gem grabbed frantically at his hand, trying to pull his fingers away, and bucked wildly in a vain attempt to shake him off. This is it, she thought. He’s much too strong for me. Her head felt like it was going to explode. She gave up trying to rip his hand from her throat and reached for his eyes. He snapped his head back, falling for the feint. She grabbed his injured hand and clawed viciously at the wounded fingers.

  He cried out in pain, instantly releasing his stranglehold. Gem rolled away, grabbed her car keys, and scrambled quickly to her feet. Sprinting to the driver’s door, she slid behind the wheel, immediately pressing the electronic fob to lock the doors. She reached for the ignition, her hand shaking so badly, she dropped the keys. Reaching down, she scrambled around in the footwell until her fingers closed gratefully around them. When she sat up, he was there, standing in front of the car, staring at her through the windshield.

  Gem glanced over to the store. A man wearing brown coveralls and a woman holding a bag of shopping watched from behind the glass door. The man was talking animatedly on his cell phone, and Gem wondered if he was calling the police. There was no way she was going to wait for them to arrive. She started the engine and eased the car forward. The carjacker stood his ground and stretched both his arms out wide, blood still dripping from his right hand.

  Gem turned the steering wheel, but he skipped sideways to block the way. She put her foot on the accelerator, and the car surged. He dodged to one side, and she jammed her foot down harder just as he darted back. She jerked the steering wheel to the right but couldn’t avoid him, and he went down with a sickening thud.

  Gem didn’t stop. She didn’t even look back.

  6

  Surrender

  Gem the Victim

  Light seeped through the thin membrane lining Gem’s eyelids as she breathed in the smell of strong disinfectant mingled with the crisp scent of clean sheets.

  Before her eyes fluttered open, she knew where she was but not why. The room was small and stuffy. A gunmetal-gray patient monitor beeped beside the bed.

  Gem’s head throbbed, and her right arm felt unnaturally heavy at her side. She tried to raise it but stopped with a gasp when a sharp pain shot from her hand to her elbow. The pain cleared some of the fog from her brain, and a series of images emerged from the murk: a tall menacing figure, the glint of a knife, the rear lights of a car speeding toward her.

  The door opened, and Drew walked in. The worry etched on his face lifted when he realized she was awake. “Thank God,” he said, smiling down at her as he moved closer to the bed. “Stupid question I know, but how are you feeling?”

  The sight of him and the genuine concern in his voice lifted Gem’s spirits. “You’re right. It’s a really stupid question,” she said, her throat dry, her voice shaky. “I’ve been better. How do I look?”

  Drew bent down and kissed her gently on the lips. “Beautiful as always. A little worse for wear, but beautiful all the same.”

  “For a lawyer, you’re a terrible liar.”

  Drew shook his head. “How on earth did this happen? You seemed fine when I called you.”

  Gem took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I was hoping you were going to fill me in. It’s all a bit hazy right now. I don’t even know which hospital this is.”

  Drew reached down and brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead. “Newham General. It’s not surprising you’re a bit fuzzy, sweetheart. You’ve got a nasty gash on the side of your head. You’ve been in a deep sleep since they brought you in last night.”

  “You’ve been here all night?”

  “Right by your side.”

  Gem closed her eyes. An image of a tall man in a dark beanie hat surfaced, and the monitor started beeping rapidly. “My car. He took my car. I was so scared.”

  Drew rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You’re safe now. It do
esn’t matter about the car. As long as you’re okay. That’s all I care about. Your arm’s broken. A pretty clean break just above the wrist, they said. You’ve got a temporary plaster cast on it.” He edged back toward the door. “I better tell a nurse or someone that you’re awake. The police are waiting to talk to you.”

  “The police?”

  “Of course. They called to tell me you’d been brought here. They’re going to want to question you about what happened. Just tell them as much as you can remember.”

  Drew moved to leave, but Gem called out for him again. “Will you be here when they come?”

  He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Sorry, but I’ve got a meeting I can’t miss, Gem. I’ve been here all night and need to shower and change. It’ll be fine, and I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

  Gem knew she had to tell him. The sooner the better. There was no reason she should feel embarrassed, but she did. “He touched me,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Pushed himself against me. I couldn’t stop him.”

  Drew’s mouth tightened, and he narrowed his eyes. “He raped you?”

  “No. Not that. He touched me. Groped me. His hand.”

  “What did you do?”

  “He had a knife. He could have killed me.”

  Drew thought for a moment, biting down on his bottom lip. “I wasn’t going to do this now, but I’ve said so many times that I don’t like you working so late.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ve told you over and over again that you don’t need to do that job of yours. I’ve never liked you driving across the city late at night. We don’t need the money. You can switch to something with more regular hours.”

  Gem wanted to protest, tell him that she loved her job, that she’d worked hard to get where she was, but he already knew that, and she wasn’t up to arguing. “I know,” she said.

  Drew nodded slowly. “I better get that nurse,” he said.

  7

  Fight

  The Detective

  Detective Inspector Elliot Day leaned forward on his desk, rested his chin on the knuckles of his fists, and watched the parking lot security camera footage for the third time.

  Opposite him, Detective Sergeant Cat Shields waited impatiently for the tape to finish.

  “You’re not going to see anything new no matter how many times you view it,” she said. “It corroborates the victim’s statement, though it’s a shame the worst of the violence is hidden from the camera by the car.”

  Day held up a hand to silence her as he concentrated on the footage he particularly wanted to see again. The quality of the film was poor, the images grainy, but Day’s gaze focused on the dark-clad figure lying motionless on the concrete as Gem Golding sped away and out of the parking lot. Slowly, deliberately, the man rolled over onto his front, pushed himself onto his hands and knees, and stood up.

  The image was too blurred to make out his facial features, but his hunched shoulders and the way he wrapped his left arm around his rib cage as he walked away suggested he was in a lot of pain.

  Day sat back in his chair. “We need a forensic medical examiner to check her out and photographs taken of the bruises on her neck. Get someone to check hospitals for anyone fitting the suspect’s description who turned up at Emergency with a cut hand and impact injuries.”

  Shields nodded, stood to leave, but hesitated at the door. “How are we treating this, Boss? A simple carjacking, attempted armed robbery, or attempted murder?”

  Day had been asking himself the same question since he’d read Gem Golding’s statement. “At the moment, all three are on the table. When we catch the lowlife, we’ll see what he has to say. She said he had a knife, threatened to use it if she didn’t do what she was told, and he choked her. If she hadn’t fought him off, she could be lying on a mortuary slab, and we would be launching a murder inquiry.”

  Shields grinned. “She did more than fight him off though, didn’t she? She mowed him down with her car. Could have killed him. A woman after my own heart.”

  She turned to leave but stopped again. “Oh, and one other thing. The victim’s boyfriend, Drew Bentley, is kicking up a fuss, wanting to know when he can take her home.”

  Day flapped a dismissive hand. “He’ll have to wait, Catherine. She can’t go until the duty doctor has checked her out.”

  Shields made a face. “I’d prefer it if you called me Cat like everybody else.”

  “I’m not everybody else though, am I? I’m your boss.”

  Shields shrugged her broad shoulders. “Suit yourself. Do what you want.”

  “I usually do,” Day said. “That’s why I’ve ended up here.”

  The detective sergeant gave him a curious sideways look before leaving the office, and Day suspected she knew the reason for his demotion, or at least one version of the story. Police gossip travels faster than a high-speed patrol car.

  Day hadn’t worked with Shields before. This carjacking was his first case since moving from the city’s eastern region murder investigation team to the Hackney Criminal Investigation Department. He was banished from homicide until his bosses decided he’d been punished enough. All those years of hard work and dedication to get to the top down the drain because of one mistake.

  Day played the parking lot footage again, occasionally pausing the video to take notes. The suspect was undoubtedly a nasty piece of work, but there was plenty of scope for a robust defense. The worst of the violence took place on the wrong side of the car, out of view of the security camera. Gem Golding appeared to willingly walk around the car with him. She said he had hold of her wrists, but it could even be argued that they were holding hands.

  The throttling hadn’t been caught on camera, and although she said he told her he had a knife, he didn’t produce it. In fact, a clever defense lawyer, and most of them Day had come across were extremely cunning bastards, could make the case that the most violent act caught on film was Gem Golding intentionally driving her car at the suspect.

  Day had no doubt that she was telling the truth. There was something about the carjacker that made him uneasy, something malevolent about the way he moved, something troubling about his stillness when he stood in front of the car. Day had a gut feeling that if they didn’t catch the suspect, they’d soon be dealing with another victim but without the benefit of a victim statement. Corpses can’t talk.

  He checked his watch. It was way past his bedtime, but the prospect of going home to an empty apartment held no appeal. He shifted his chair closer to his computer screen and ran the video one more time.

  8

  Surrender

  The Mastermind

  Con Norton lay on his sofa and stared at the fuzzy image taken from security camera footage and grinned. It was him, he knew that, but no one else would have a clue.

  He grabbed the TV remote and turned up the volume to listen to the news item.

  “Hackney police are appealing for witnesses after a woman was injured when she was run down by a man who assaulted her before driving off in her car. The incident happened outside the Shopwise store on Roman Road, Bow, at about 10:45 p.m. yesterday. Detectives consider the suspect to be potentially dangerous and say he should not be approached.”

  Norton laughed and stretched out on the sofa, tucking his hands behind his head. Potentially dangerous. That’s real funny, he thought. Potentially? Are they kidding? If only they knew what he was capable of.

  That woman should count herself lucky to still be breathing. He’d been sure she’d understood. He’d warned her there’d be consequences if she disobeyed. What more could he have done?

  But never let it be said that he was unforgiving. He’d seen the way she’d looked at him once she’d given up the idea of resisting. She was an attractive woman; no one could deny that. There had been something there, some spark, hadn’t there. He was rar
ely wrong about these things. And even when he was wrong, he could usually make it right. Whether the woman in question liked it or not.

  He had enough money to keep him going for at least a couple of months. He’d be able to pay the rent and stock up on food. He still had to collect the second installment, and that could turn out to be a bit tricky, but he’d find a way. He always did.

  Norton rolled onto his side in a vain attempt to get comfortable. The sofa was dirty and smelled damp, like the rest of the rathole. He’d been living there for three months, which was at least two months too long. It was cheap, and his arrangement with the landlord was unofficial, which meant no paperwork, but maybe, when everything was sorted, he’d move out of east London. To somewhere nobody would find him.

  His stomach rumbled loudly. He’d already decided to treat himself to a king-size meat feast pizza, but he’d have to put up with the hunger pangs until dusk. He didn’t want to go out in daylight just yet, and anyway, he’d always found the streets of London more exciting after dark.

  Gem the Victim

  Gem Golding reached for the glass of water beside her bed and took a sip. None of the hospital’s breakfast choices—oatmeal, cornflakes, or prunes with mandarin segments—had appealed, but now she was counting down the minutes to lunch.

  The constant commotion coming from the ward outside—strained voices, the clatter of footsteps, and the rattle of carts—made Gem thankful Drew had insisted that she wasn’t to be moved out of the side room.

  She settled back on her pillow, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She’d been through hell. She’d never felt terror like that before, and she didn’t want to feel it again. Ever. Despite it all, she’d survived. A bit battered and bruised maybe, but it could have been so much worse.

  Someone knocked firmly on the door, and Gem’s eyes snapped open as a tall, short-haired woman wearing a dark pantsuit and a serious expression entered.