‘Okay, buckle in and drive,’ he said, tossing the ignition key to me and clipping his seat belt in. Then a sideways glance to me, ’I take it you can drive?’ A pause. ‘Yes, of course, you can. Nice manoeuvring in the police car park, by the way.’
It was a pity I couldn’t tell him I only had a provisional licence. Then perhaps not. He might have been tempted to kill me there and then. I figured the longer I was alive, the more chance I had of getting out of this mess. A mess I had got myself into because I wouldn't mind my own business. Why couldn’t I walk away? I didn’t know Jenna and didn't like her from what I had seen of her. I certainly didn’t want to die for the woman, that’s for sure. The husband might have had a very good reason for getting her knocked off; who was I to judge?
My hands trembled as I fired up the engine, my stomach flipping over, which was more than the engine was doing as it stalled. Taking a breath and holding it, I tried again, success.
I moved out of the bay, following the signs for the exit, pulling up at the lights turning red. Again, I considered throwing myself out. A sideward glance at the man, he had moved his body around towards me. His eyes glanced between the lights and my face. He nodded to the weapon, assuring me there was no chance of getting out. My left leg was juddering on the clutch, and the steering wheel felt sticky under my touch as I moved with the traffic in front.
‘Right at the roundabout,’ he said.
The lights green, I slipped into the correct lane in preparation to go right at the junction. Under other circumstances, while driving, I would have been pleased with my forward planning.
I followed his directions to take the next left after the junction continuing on that road, then following Cliff Peak’s signs. He relaxed beside me, though aware his eyes still assessed me. He had questions and perhaps was sitting there framing them. It must have been annoying for him. I couldn’t speak.
‘Keep your eyes on the road,’ he said as I glanced over. ‘Nod to my question if the answer is yes, shake if no. Do you understand?’
I nodded. I wasn’t deaf.
‘Are you an assassin? Were you there to take my target out?’
I glanced at him. Out where?
‘Are you an assassin?’
What? I wished I could have answered him. Though this will sound crazy, a small part of me was flattered. The look on my face brought a smile to his lips.
‘Guess not. Were you there by accident?’
I nodded again.
‘Did you know the woman?’
I shook my head, staring at the traffic lights ahead and thinking again. Maybe if they turned red, I could jump from the car before he realised what was happening.
‘Don’t even think about it.’
I guessed I must have telegraphed my intentions in my face.
’So, some stupid tart who knows fuck all tackled me, caused me to lose my hit and made me look fucking stupid.’
I nodded.
‘Take a right here,’ he snapped. ‘Have you provided the police with my description?’
I nodded. Hoping then there wouldn’t be much point in killing me.
‘That’s a no then,’ he laughed. ‘Can read you like a book.’ He turned back in his seat, looking ahead. ‘A very thin cheap book,’ he muttered. ‘You know you can get into fourth gear now?’
He was lucky I couldn’t talk. I would have told him this cheap thin book stopped him from killing a woman. I had probably ruined his reputation. Maybe he would never work again, so there. But I couldn’t tell him. My brain was working overtime, thinking of a way to get out of this. So far, I wasn’t coming up with anything. I didn’t want to die. It was clear I hadn’t given the whole save Jenna thing enough thought. I had plans for my life: pass my driving test, get famous, marry, children, and stuff like that.
‘So, a bit of adventure for you?’ he shot me a glance, then pointed to his own throat. ‘Forgot, can’t talk. That’s good. I don’t think I could stand all the whining and begging—such a pleasant change. My second wife whined a lot, nag, nag. She died whining, and the funny thing is, I miss her in a way.’ He shot another look at me. My leg still shaking like mad on the clutch, the gear crunching as I attempted to get into fourth. Would have liked to have told him I had failed my driving tests three times, and the last two in an automatic; served him right if we crashed.
‘I miss her smell. God knows how much that stuff cost–left here,’ he pointed. ‘I’ve got a dog now, Maggie, a Rottweiler, and it’s a much better domestic arrangement. No nagging, no bleeding me dry. Did she think I didn’t know about her and the slick arsehole at the gym?’ another look. ‘I hope I’m not boring you… take that right, nearly there. Won’t keep you waiting for long,’ he said with a grunt. ‘And just so you know, I will finish the job. I have a reputation to uphold. Your heroics have been wasted. My only regret is you are a freebie. Still, never mind, needs must.’
We turned into a residential area where the houses stood like monuments to the well-off, large, detached homes with drives having bigger footprints than my dad’s terrace. Cherry trees in early blossom lined the road. To the right, cliffs overlooked a choppy sea. In the distance, I could see the Felixstowe port. Above, inky clouds moved across the sky. The rain got heavier, and I flicked the wipers on.
‘Drive into the car park,’ he instructed, with a glance over his shoulder while pointing ahead. I went to park, selecting a bay nearest the roadside.
‘No. Further up. Ignore the sign and go around past the bays.’ Another glance behind.
I obeyed, even though a sign warned, ‘No cars beyond this point.’ I drove until he suddenly shouted to stop. I’d got closer than he intended to the edge of the cliff. Suppose I should have worn my driving glasses.
I stopped on the grass tilted toward the edge of the cliff, a few metres away. Despite the wipers cleaning the rain every second, the screen filled again, blurring the view as the rain got heavier. At that moment, it occurred to me he would push me and the vehicle over the cliff. I was not proud of it, but I wet myself. The warm liquid ran between my thighs to the seat. And if I had a voice, I might have begged him not to kill me. I couldn’t move. My heartbeat had elevated, and I was fighting back the sickness threatening to overwhelm me.
He got out of the car. This was it. My eyes followed his progress as his tall figure walked around to the driver’s side, pausing for another check around, oblivious to the rain pouring down on him. He opened my door.
‘Get out.’
Okay, he would not push the car over. Didn’t blame him. It was only two years old. It would have been a waste. I struggled to get out, my skirt soaked and the smell drifting to my nose. My legs just wouldn’t work. And I hated myself. How dare I get embarrassed? Why should I give a shit what he thought? Too slow to leave the car, he grabbed my stitched-up arm to drag me out. I groaned in pain, losing a shoe as he pulled me from the vehicle, then with another check over his shoulder, yanked me to the edge of the cliff.
The rain hitting us full-on; we stood about half a metre from the edge. I could hear the sea crashing on the rocks below, the squawks of the gulls in the air. And the beat of my heart in my ears.
‘Sorry about this, darling. Nothing personal.’
Blinking the rain away, I looked into his eyes. He wasn’t sorry at all. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I would have liked to have told him it wasn’t because I was frightened, though I was. He was squeezing my arm so hard the blood oozed through the dressing and trickled over his fingers.
I wasn’t sure what happened next. The car behind us rolled forward. Suppose I should have put the parking brake on. As he looked back, I kicked him hard in the leg with the heel of the one shoe I was still wearing. With a cry, he let go of me, his eyes mesmerised by the car coming towards us. I threw myself out of the way. Falling on the wet grass, my fingers grabbing at the ground to prevent myself from sliding towards the edge of the cliff.
He left it a bit late, frozen for a second, before letting out a yel
l. The car pushed him over the edge. His arms and legs frayed out as the vehicle floated over the top in an almost elegant dance. He and the car gone.
For several seconds I wasn’t sure I was alive. And I was too scared to move, my feet just inches away from the edge, my entire body trembled. And I was sobbing so hard I couldn’t trust myself to stand.
My first attempt at getting to my feet failed. I slipped on the wet grass, and my legs were too weak to hold me. I was forced to drag myself forward on my belly until I was sure I could get up without sliding to my death. I was tempted to amble to the cliff edge and peer over. Reassure myself he was dead. I didn’t. Looking around, I kicked off the remaining shoe and headed towards the posh houses, hoping I could get help. I was desperately trying to stiffen the sobs erupting from my throat. The warm liquid running from my eyes washed away by the stabbing rain.
A dog walker, a little distance from me, veered the other way. Didn’t blame him. I must have looked a sight, drenched, the rain dripping from my face. I raised a weak hand to get his attention, but the figure disappeared in the distance.
As I stumbled towards the houses, I contemplated the last few hours and how I got myself into this mess? What was I thinking? I had learnt a lot about myself over the last few hours. I woke this morning worrying about how I looked and as I knocked on the door of a detached house. I was still worried about my appearance. I knew if I were them, I would shut the door on me again. As luck would have it, a young girl of only about ten answered, standing there in shock as I stumbled into their hall and collapsed.
7
At last, Detective Inspector Hampton had me to himself, well besides another lady detective sitting there, whose name escaped me.
Since they had relieved me of my clothes, I sat there in a white paper bag, which was the best way to describe it. But I was alive, cleaned up and fed hot tea, and asked if I wanted to call anyone. What I wanted was to go home, have a hot bath and sleep for a week. As tired as I was, I gazed at the handsome detective, thinking naughty thoughts. I know. I pick my moments. What is wrong with me?
They wanted to know every detail—a blow-by-blow account of the conversation between the hitman and myself. I was so tired by then, and it didn’t help I had to write everything down. They asked stupid questions; did he tell me his name? Did he say where he came from?
It didn’t occur to me to ask him for a CV. I’ll try to remember next time. I was brought up to respect the police, still tempted to write it. I made a point, however, of telling them Jenna’s husband had ordered the hit, which led to how I knew this. Embarrassing with DI Handsome looking at me. But I bit the bullet and told them in writing that I had walked into the wrong toilets and overheard it.
Realising they would not get much more from me, they had me driven back home. I walked through the door and into the living room in my white paper bag, where dad sat watching a nature program on the television.
‘A new look for you?’ he said with a glance at me before returning to the screen where a lion was chasing down an antelope. I turned away. I was squeamish over such things. I knew the lion had to eat, but I was always on the side of the prey.
***
It was getting irksome, repeating myself. How I had escaped the hitman, whose body was still to be recovered; gone into the sea and presumably washed away. At least that’s what I told myself. Though I don’t mind admitting I’ve woken up in terrible sweats some nights thinking he was still alive and out there, waiting for revenge. Finding myself looking over my shoulder. My heart elevated every time I saw a tall thin figure in a rain mac. They offered me counselling, but I considered it therapy to talk to my clients at the salon. I felt safe there, under the bright lights, and I was never alone. It was at night at home I found myself double-checking the doors were locked. The catches on the windows pulled over.
Dad had ranted at me as I locked him out one night. He should have told me he was going to her’s next door. And what was wrong with texting me? Oh, that would be because he didn’t have a mobile. The man needed to get himself into the current century.
It helped to talk to the girls who were in awe of me, for a short while anyway. Every time I went through it, I would pinch myself. Why was I still alive? I relived the whole thing again and again in my head. What could I have done differently? That was easy to answer, mind my own business next time. The thought that circled in my head was that the man might still be alive. Everyone, and by everyone, I mean dad and Emma at the salon, said it would be impossible to survive a fall like that. It may be so, but I wouldn’t be happy until they found his rotting corpse. It had now been three months.
However, I was getting more work at the salon and better tips, and I had passed my driving test, so not all bad.
I’m not one of those women who thinks she must have a man in her life, you know, to make her feel complete. But it would be nice to have someone to share stuff with. I was looking at places to live. Listening to dad’s bed rocking three times a week with her next door wasn’t doing my ego any good. He was getting loads, and I wasn’t getting any. And as long as I lived with him, I wasn’t likely to.
I wanted to get back to my normal life, well, actually, to get a life. My beauty blog had taken off after the event but was now dying away—my fault since I’d lost the will to keep it up and add fresh content. And I hadn’t bought anything new in a while. The girls were telling me it was a sign of depression and I should go shopping with them. Paula suggested I could stay at hers. I still wasn’t certain about her, so I declined politely, of course.
I needed to get back into the swing of things; buying a dress from the catalogue and telling the girls I had shopped for it wasn’t a good start. I was more interested in following the case against Jenna’s husband, who had confessed to hiring the hitman. Jenna had been divorcing her husband. Then did a hundred and eighty degrees turn around, supporting the man who had tried to have her killed, having reconciled their differences. It was going to be some time before he got out of prison to see how that worked.
I kept thinking about the yummy detective. I didn’t even know what his first name was. I had gone to call him several times or the station to contact him. Then lost my nerve. I was just a job to him, thinking he wouldn’t even remember who I was. Who was I kidding? Of course, he would remember, which was the problem. Shame, even so, I had these fantasies about him. The problem was, he may be married for all I knew. I’d tried looking him up on social media, no luck. In the end, I decided I was punching above my weight. And to focus on flat hunting, get my independence, take charge of my life. Then go after a man I could have.
8
Vincent watched as his Vauxhall floated for several seconds before sinking before him. Faced by a chalk cliff, the high tide lapping at the base, and the English Channel behind him, nowhere to swim to. He struggled with his mac dragging him down in the water. With some effort, he slipped his arms out of it, letting it sink with his phone and weapon in the pockets.
He was now treading water. Desperate to keep away from that wall of white cliff and the rocks that laid beneath as the waves swept him ever closer. Above him, the dark clouds were letting their cargo loose. The only good news was he still had the light. He tried to glance at his watch; it was no good it had stopped at six-thirty. He calculated he had about an hour of light left. If he couldn’t get out of this mess by then, he was dead. But damned if he was going to drown, it couldn’t end like this. Not today. Not because of some stupid bitch.
He would have hard choices to make if he survived, knowing the agency would have him blacklisted. He had missed a paid hit, and he was certain Jenna’s husband would give him up. He should have stuck with agency work. If he survived, the only good outcome that might save his life, the agency would assume him dead. He hoped. If not, he didn’t fancy his chances and all because of that woman.
Turning himself around and spitting the salty water from his mouth, he looked out onto the open sea. There he saw hope. A small boat bobbed i
n the waves loaded with orange life jackets; it floated past. Summoning up the strength he had left, he swam towards it through the waves washing over him. It was his only hope.
As he drew closer, he could see at least eight individuals in the boat, including women and children, huddled together in terror as the sea rocked the boat. It was a child who pointed him out to the others. The sound of Vincent’s cries lost as the rain beat down and the roar of the water surrounded him. His body couldn’t stand much more. He was cold, his legs like led, and he was struggling to keep himself afloat.
The voices were getting closer and calling out to him in a language he didn’t understand. He prayed they didn’t sail past; it would be the end. He had nothing left. His head sunk below the waves. With the last of his strength, he pushed himself back to the surface, where he glimpsed the boat. They were steering towards him.
It was an effort since he was so tired and uncertain whether his leg was broken, the shooting pain dulled by the cold water.
Hands from the boat dragged him in. The same hands turning him on his back were eight pairs of eyes, including two children, stared down at him. Vincent gratefully accepted the water from a bottle pressed to his mouth. A man was saying something in broken English, but Vincent passed out.
A short time later, Vincent didn’t know how long; the light was almost gone. Something was happening as the voices were shouting around him. Lifting his head, the welcome sight of the shore was coming to meet them. Further up, a promenade lined with beach huts. Still early in the season for visitors, so deserted except for the dog walkers. It wasn’t rocket science; Vincent guessed if they hadn’t already been spotted, the group of illegals soon would be. Before that happened, he needed to distance himself from them.
The men jumped out of the boat and dragged it onto the shore. The individual men, women, and children then scattered off the beach, leaving him there alone. In the distance, he could hear sirens. A broken leg or not, he had to get away from there as soon as possible. The last thing he needed was the border patrol picking him up.
Kim & The Hitman Page 4