by Diane Saxon
He paused before he stepped through the rickety old door, virtually off its hinges. The furthest little shed away from the house. He squinted, letting his eyes adjust to the brilliant sunlight.
Poppy hadn’t gone to the police because she thought she’d done something wrong.
And on the rare occasion when Poppy was naughty, it was in her nature to stick her head in the sand and wait until the storm was over.
He checked his phone and headed towards the huge black Dutch barn dominating the skyline. ‘Not long now, Poppy. Not long, my sweet daughter.’
He’d known the rough proximity, but not the exact location. It had just proved to be a waiting game.
The wait was over.
47
Tuesday 21 April 1600 hours
‘Oh, forthefuckoffucksake!’
Poppy whipped her head back inside the black barn, the strangled sound of panic lodging in her throat.
Daddy!
She grabbed the wooden crossbar on the barn door, digging her nails in deep to haul back on it so it closed, leaving only a sliver of a gap.
She turned and stumbled a few paces before she sank to her knees and toppled sideways, the energy she needed failing her.
Come on! Come on! He wasn’t far away, he’d be there within minutes.
She sank her cheek to the straw covered floor and drew in a breath.
Keep calm. Get up. Move.
Poppy raised her head and focused on the furthest point of the barn where she’d made her nest so no one could find her. With the knowledge she couldn’t possibly make it, she blew out a breath, pushed herself to her knees and staggered to her feet.
One foot in front of the other as her eyesight wavered while the dust motes danced on the air drawing her to the side of the barn where the edge of a piece of farm machinery poked out from under a huge black tarpaulin.
Knees buckling, Poppy reached out and grasped one corner of the tarpaulin to lift it away from the machinery. Lightheaded and dizzy she lurched forward. Dropping to her knees, she crawled under the huge rotary blades of a hedge cutter and tugged the tarpaulin back into place around her, plunging herself into the dark.
With shaky fingers, Poppy took out her phone and switched it on.
Too late. She’d left it too late.
The stale mustiness of the tarpaulin coated the back of her throat as she waited for the phone to switch on and then punched the emergency button before she even entered her code.
‘Emergency, which service do you require? Fire, Police or Ambulance?’
Poppy drew in a breath, pain radiating through her side, her body vibrating with little convulsions, her teeth chattering in her head. ‘Police.’
The soft creak of the barn door stopped the breath in her throat.
Daddy.
Daddy had come for her.
48
Tuesday 21 April 1600 hours
Mason shot a glance over to where Lee Gardner lurked and then kicked his toe in the dirt before he gave a quick scan of the area. Looked like Gardner was up to no good as usual. Lazy git, probably looking for somewhere to sit down while everyone else did the work.
As Gardner wandered off, hands in pockets, he cast a furtive glance over his shoulder that had Mason’s senses prickling with interest. He kept his gaze on Gardner until the man made his move. In the direction Jenna had taken.
They’d agreed to converge on the black barn, but this was taking the piss.
Mason sighed.
The little prick was going to have a go at her. This time, she’d probably have his warrant card from him. Hopefully, she’d give him a swift kick in the balls first.
Without a doubt, she could handle him. Mason ambled over towards the enormous black Dutch barn where Jenna had headed. She may be able to handle Gardner, but there was a possibility she’d need a witness.
Failing that, he could always give him a quick smack. Teach him not to pick on women. Because it was women Gardner appeared to have a problem with. Most of them, like Donna, he ignored. But Jenna’s authority meant he couldn’t ignore her.
He scanned around until Ryan emerged from the derelict old brick shed that he’d checked out. ‘Nothing?’
‘Nah.’
Mason jerked his head in a come-over motion. He contemplated whether it was wise to have a witness to the fact that he was about to deck Lee Gardner, but it might be just as well. For somebody to be there to say who swung the first punch. Perhaps he’d let Lee get the first one in. Mason snapped a grin – or let him think he had because there was no way Mason would let Lee land a punch, but if he took a swing, it would be self-defence.
With his boyish enthusiasm, Ryan raced across the cracked concrete of the farmyard as Mason headed towards the barn Jenna had rounded the side of, disappearing out of view as Gardner followed.
‘What’s going on?’ Ryan bounced along with barely harnessed energy.
Mason squinted into the distance. ‘Bloody Lee Gardner decided to follow the Sarge.’
‘What for?’
‘Dunno. Don’t trust him. Let’s go see. Perhaps we’ll find this bloody phone while we’re there too.’
‘Be nice to get it before the dog handler arrives. A key find.’
‘Yeah.’ Mason doubted it. ‘It’s a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack.’
They may be able to triangulate within so many feet of the last known location. But it hadn’t been in that location. So, they’d widen the search and hope whoever had the phone, whether it was Poppy or some kid who’d stolen it, found it, whatever, decided to switch it on again.
Mason squinted as Gardner put a spurt on and disappeared around the same side of the building as Jenna had. He broke into a trot with Ryan by his side. He wanted to get closer, so Gardner didn’t get much of chance to face off with Jenna before they arrived.
With barely a hitch in his gangly, loose-legged stride, Ryan stayed abreast of him.
‘Nice couple, the Crawfords.’
‘Very nice.’ Distracted, Mason slowed down again as he reached the corner of the barn.
‘Helpful.’
‘Yeah.’
49
Tuesday 21 April 1620 hours
With a quick check over her shoulder, Jenna hesitated as PC Lee Gardner approached from the other side of the outbuildings he was supposed to be checking out. With purpose in his stride, he made straight for her. Arrogant little bugger was going to have another go.
Well, he could try. He didn’t frighten her, and she wasn’t about to allow him to intimidate her either. She raised her gaze beyond him as Mason and Ryan made their way over.
They weren’t far behind and Mason was astute enough to know Gardner was squaring up for another confrontation. If he was, he was about to get a rocket up his arse. He’d had all the chances she was prepared to give him and if he was gunning for her with such single-minded determination, she was about to hit him with another disciplinary.
When would the guy learn? He wasn’t going to put her down. She wouldn’t let him. His macho shit didn’t scare her, but it was wearing to have him permanently on the offensive.
Discipline was one option. Then again, Mason might just punch him for her. She might allow him.
She grinned to herself as she turned the corner of the black Dutch barn and came to an abrupt halt, the smile dropping from her face.
She stepped in close to inspect the broken padlock hanging loose from the huge wooden door.
Tension coiled in the pit of her stomach: iPhones didn’t break into houses and steal food all on their own, nor did they break open padlocks.
She glanced behind her. The guys had her back, they were only minutes behind her. By the time she got herself ready and carried out some preliminaries, they’d be there.
She dipped her hands into her pockets to take out the pair of nitrile gloves she had stowed that had turned out to be redundant so far for the operation. She snapped them on while she studied the door, just half an inch proud of the doorj
amb, and reached out to touch the loose padlock. The solid weight of it fell into her gloved hand.
With no evidence bag to put it in, Jenna flipped her gloves off her hands so they rolled inside out over the padlock and then tucked them into her pocket. Hardly classified as sterile she could only hope she didn’t get hell from Jim Downey for the pocket fluff deposit that would most likely compromise the forensic evidence on the item. It wouldn’t wipe off fingerprints though. There was always an upside.
She lifted the radio to her mouth and spoke just above a whisper in case there was someone there to alert. ‘DI Taylor.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘I’ve found evidence of tampering with a padlock on one of the barns. I’ve bagged the evidence.’ She crossed her fingers at the technicality of the white lie. It was pocketed, not bagged. ‘PC Gardner and DCs Ellis and Downey are two minutes behind me, I’m going in to take a look.’
‘Confirmed, Sergeant. Both the Air Unit and dog handler are on their way, ETA twelve minutes and twenty respectively.’
‘Acknowledged.’
She left Airwaves open and dropped the radio back onto her belt.
With no handle in sight, she reached out to dig her fingers into the gap between the black-painted door and the frame. She pulled until the soft give of it persuaded the door to creak open outwards.
Jenna’s throat jammed shut. Her lungs burned hot enough to ignite a flame deep inside. Ice formed around her heart, as the man whose photograph she’d had emblazoned on her mind over the past few days stepped from the murky depths of the barn with the twin eyes of a double-barrel shotgun trained on her.
Frozen in place, Jenna stared straight ahead with wary respect for the weapon and an abiding fear of the man in front of her. Gordon Lawrence, a dead man. With nothing left to live for.
Instinct told her all along he’d murdered his family. With the body count in dispute, suspicion had hinted that he was still alive. She was hardly in a place to gloat over being proved right.
Jenna raised her gaze above the shotgun to meet the eyes of a killer. One who had every intention of killing again. Golden lion’s eyes ringed with chocolate brown blinked with the bleakness of an empty soul.
Conscious of the approach of her three unsuspecting officers, Jenna took a cautious step back as Gordon moved out of the barn into the sun. A slant of bright sunlight struck his face to make his eyes glow with an unnatural luminescent sheen. A cold stillness washed over her at the steely, single-minded control of the man.
Slow and cautious, Jenna raised one hand in appeal, palm outwards, as he approached. Death was written in his face. Her veins turned to ice with the knowledge she was about to die. Why would a man who’d slaughtered his entire family even consider not pulling the trigger? He had nothing more to lose.
Breath burned deep in her chest and her sister’s face flashed before her eyes. Fliss! She didn’t want to leave her. She never wanted to leave her on her own. She might have Mason, but he wasn’t enough. Not yet. It was too early.
Jenna parted her lips. What words could possibly make any difference to the man's decision? He was a dead man anyway. Gordon Lawrence’s life was over whether he killed her or not. What was one more body?
All she could hope for was to delay the inevitable.
‘Gordon,’ she appealed. ‘There's no need for this. There are police everywhere. Do you really want another death on your hands?’
She took another step away. Away from the gun, away from the direct shot.
Emptiness deadened his eyes as they narrowed in the late afternoon light pouring golden across the fields.
His mouth tightened with nostrils pinched and white around the edges. ‘It doesn't matter. Nothing. None of it matters any more. I’m not sure it ever did.’
About to answer, Jenna’s heart jammed in her throat as she caught a movement inside the barn in her peripheral vision and could only hope Gordon Lawrence hadn’t noticed her harsh flinch.
Seemingly oblivious, he shrugged. ‘Death is only life in another realm.’
Ice ran through her veins as the figure in the barn pushed up to crawl on hands and knees towards the door. The figure raised its head and Poppy Lawrence’s soul-destroyed eyes stared at her from a gaunt, pallid face.
Aware of the tremble in her fingers and the tremor in her voice, Jenna raised her chin. If nothing else, she could give the girl a chance.
‘Gordon, it doesn't have to be this way.’
‘Oh it does. You see, I came for my daughter.’
The dull thwack, thwack, thwack of the approaching helicopter filled the air.
Gordon Lawrence shrugged and, with a casual disregard that sent ice coursing through her veins, he engaged the lock mechanism with a double ratcheting click.
From around the corner of the black barn, Lee Gardner stormed, his view of Gordon obscured by the barn door. Vibrating with anger he’d allowed to build in his own mind, he came straight at her at the same time Poppy Lawrence staggered to her feet and stumbled out into the daylight.
Poppy lurched to a halt just behind Gordon, her long skinny legs trembled with the effort to stay upright.
Unaware of his daughter’s presence, Gordon Lawrence swung the barrel of the gun in a smooth arc to train it on PC Gardner.
Jenna’s breath burned in the depths of her chest.
PC Gardner turned his head in slow motion, only just aware of another presence.
Skin florid from anger, he screwed up his face, his mouth a vicious twist.
‘Put the fucking gun down now!’
Arrogance and ego burst from him in a torrent of fury and sealed his fate.
Gordon raised the gun.
Poppy rushed forward. ‘Daddy!’
50
Tuesday 21 April 1640 hours
BOOM!
Gunshot exploded, filling her head with nothing but roaring thunder.
Jenna slammed her eyes closed, instinct making her whip her head away, but not before the hot gush of what she could only imagine was blood and grey matter hit her and splattered its hot, wet slime over her skin.
The unmistakable metallic taste of blood filled her mouth as a jelly-like substance slithered down her face and clogged her nose. Her breath jammed in her throat. Her world spiralled down to slow motion as every muscle, sinew and tissue turned to water.
Boneless, Jenna flung her arms around Poppy and dropped. She knocked the child to the ground, covering the girl’s smaller body with her own. Her forehead slammed into the stony ground. With only a vague perception of the pain burning through her knees as numbness engulfed her, taking her down, down into a blooming white fog of amnesia.
Eyes screwed shut, the outside world crumbled away, spiralling as white noise consumed her, fizzing through her brain to blanket every coherent thought.
With vague awareness, Jenna gave an instinctive jerk as another loud bang followed the first in quick succession. The only noise to penetrate the gushing flood of water filling her head.
Nothing compelled her to move as she slithered, stretching herself full out to protect Poppy from the next gunshot.
With distant consciousness of voices barking out commands, Jenna held on to the one link with the outside world. She kept count. One, two.
It was important she hung on to the connection. They’d want to know afterwards. They would ask her questions. The echoing thunder made her doubt what she’d heard. Two gunshots, possibly three.
She screwed her eyes even tighter shut to stop the image of PC Gardner’s head exploding in a Catherine wheel of blood and bone and matter. Not yet ready to face that image.
51
Tuesday 21 April 1645 hours
Jenna tucked her face into the top of Poppy’s head and breathed in the dust as it rose in a furious cloud around them. Unprepared to open her eyes, she clenched her fingers into the child’s hair and pushed it back from her face not sure whether Poppy had been hit or not in the spray of shot from the gun. Frozen beneath her, Jenna could
only be reassured by the vague tremor that vibrated through the child’s body and the heart-rending whimpers like a beaten dog.
Rough hands slapped at her to try and get her to move, but numbness invaded every muscle so even her head was too heavy to lift.
‘Fuck.’ Gruff tones pushed through the fog.
‘Where’s she hit?’ The concern in the voice nudged at her.
She was okay. She needed to let them know she was okay. She’d not been hit. She simply didn’t have the wherewithal to drag herself up from the wallowing clouds that grabbed at her, trying to haul her under.
‘Is she hit?’
She had no idea who was talking, their voices a muffled wash of words sliding into each other. Did they mean her, or Poppy?
‘I don’t know. She’s in shock.’
Who was in shock? She took in a sip of air.
‘Fucking A, she is.’
She let out a light snort and opened her eyes to meet Mason’s. The colour had leached from his face, leaving him a pallid shade of yellow. For an instant a glassy-eyed Ryan popped his head into her vision, before he was gone.
She had to pull herself together. Nothing had happened to her. She wasn’t the one who’d been shot. She was uninjured.
She filled her lungs, aware her erratic breathing needed to be slowed down. She held onto the breath until her chest burned and then let it out in a soft whoosh. Too fast. She tried again.
Breathe in. Two, three.
Out. Whoosh.
In. Bam! Bam! Two shots.
Her body spasmed.
‘Fuck, Jenna. Fuck.’ The urgency in Mason’s voice reached her and she clawed her way back to the surface as Poppy lay still beneath her. Safe. Protected. And damned if Jenna could move off her. She clung to her. A lifeline. Aware she needed to move.