by Rae Shaw
Saddler's face slowly drained of colour. ‘I told you to shut up!’ The barrel of the gun shook.
‘It’s over, Saddler. Others, beside we three, know about you. The evidence is there ready to be handed over. You won’t make it out of the street, never mind the country. The police have been called. Armed police.’ Jackson lied with his double-bluff. Tess was probably the only one who knew Saddler’s location; anybody else would take time to track them down.
Saddler’s eyes narrowed in spite. ‘Then I have nothing to lose if I do this.’
He squeezed the trigger.
The bullet went wide. Not due to Saddler’s aim; he would have hit his target had the stance of his whole body not been shifted. The bullet ended up in the wall beyond Jackson's head.
‘You bastard!’ the woman screeched. Saddler keeled forward. The blood from his cracked head splattered across her face. He came to rest by her feet. ‘He's killed my cat,’ she said, tears flooding over her eyes. ‘I came back for Delilah and he’s dumped her in the wheelie bin.’
Jackson stepped over Saddler and removed the bloody baseball bat from Mrs Saddler's hands, then eased her down into a dining chair. Julianna grabbed a handful of the clean tea towels, knelt next to Mark and applied pressure to his wound.
‘Ow!’ Mark’s eyes opened. ‘That hurts,’ he croaked.
‘Keeping telling me that and I’ll know you’ll live.’ She fought the temptation to drag him into her arms and hold him tight.
Chris rang for an ambulance and the police in that order.
Mrs Saddler stirred. ‘Is he dead?’ she said matter-of-factly. Her gaze blanked out the prone figure of her husband as if he was nothing but an inconvenient stain on the rug. The endpoint of the drama had been an anti-climax. Julianna in the end had done nothing heroic. Another wife had delivered the punch, and with an expression of emptiness, not hatred or anger. What Julianna had once feared to be was right there in front of her: a battered shell with no hope.
Jackson crouched and checked his pulse. ‘No. But he may not regain all of his faculties.’
‘I don’t care,’ Mrs Saddler said. ‘He hurt me so badly yesterday. Thought he could threaten me with this.’ She pointed to the bloody baseball bat. ‘He's been cheating on me for years and I let him. I let him do things to me... and... he killed my cat,’ she ended in a whisper, her shoulders hunched.
‘Where did you go?’ Jackson held her hand. His kindness was touching. His life was saved not by a highly trained bodyguard, but by a scorned wife.
‘I went to a cheap hotel. I should do the ironing, I suppose.’ She picked up a white shirt and crushed it with her manicured fingers. The shock turned to despair and she cried.
‘You’re a brave woman coming back here. I’ll make sure you’ll sleep in the best hotel.’
Julianna watched a once proud woman crumble. Another victim to add to the day's list. But she wasn't one and neither was Mark. The bleeding had stopped and between her and Chris, they managed to make Mark comfortable. Although white and shivering, he was conscious and lucid. The bullet had grazed his ribcage. A bloody wound, but not deep.
Chris picked up the gun with a handkerchief and removed the ammunition before placing it on the worktop.
Sirens wailed, then screeched to a halt. The evening wasn't over yet. A crime scene had been created. Jackson and Julianna had found out the truth, but it had nearly cost Mark his life. She turned her face away from him, fearful her tears might make him believe he was dying. He reached up and tilted her head back to face him.
‘It’s alright, Jules,’ he whispered. ‘It’s going to fine. We’re going to get through this; I’m not leaving you.’
46
Julianna
Beyond midnight and into dawn, the owls had given up their hooting, so the birds took over with a chorus of chirping. Julianna lay on top of the guest bed wearing borrowed pyjamas. Next to her was Mark, similarly attired in a pair of Jackson’s pjs, which hung off his shoulders. She held his hand. His wound had been stitched and the ribcage patched up with bandages. He had refused to stay overnight in hospital
‘I'm going to write to Dad. Tell him what's happened, including you. And about Ellen in Dublin. Everything. Then, he'll know he's made a difference. What he set out to do eight years ago is over. Perhaps it might convince him to plead guilty and take up Jackson's offer.’
She nudged closer. Parts of her ached from fatigue and injury, parts of her ached for Mark. She had to be patient and wait for him to be ready. ‘And Ellen?’
‘She's in Scotland with Brett. I think she's actually going to be happy.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I'm happy for her.’
Julianna's eyes drooped. ‘I'm so tired. It's like a bomb has gone off in my head. How's the pain?’
Mark exhaled a gentle snore in reply.
By Sunday noon, they were both showered and dressed. Luke had already taken Sophia home. Hettie and the children were eating lunch in the kitchen. Jackson was ensconced in his study.
‘Jackson wants to see you both,’ Hettie said, spoon poised in hand while her daughter banged her grubby hands on her feeding tray. Hettie rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t worry, he’s quite himself again, which is important, don’t you think?’
She meant the status quo. Life needed normalising and quickly. No more wishing for adventure. It wasn’t how the journey was supposed to be any more. Routine day-to-day things would become important again, like driving Hettie to the gallery. Whether Hettie needed protection was irrelevant; Jackson would always provide it.
Jackson wore a different uniform: grey pleated trousers and a light blue polo shirt, which was monogrammed with gold lettering. Seated behind his desk, laptop open and an earpiece positioned ready to take calls, he looked every bit the chief executive again. The father and genial host had been put aside – Julianna had no doubt they were paying a visit to their boss.
‘Please, take a seat.’ Jackson pointed at two chairs positioned on the other side of his desk. He removed his earpiece. ‘You two look much better.’
‘Thank you,’ Julianna said. Mark was still pale and dosed up on painkillers, but she was free from discomfort – the iciness within had melted and the warmth had returned to her veins.
‘In the last forty-eight hours numerous arrests have been made, here and abroad,’ Jackson explained. ‘In this country a dozen women and girls plus two boys have been removed from forced prostitution. Many others hopefully will follow. His big mistake was going to the farmhouse to see you in the flesh – he broke his own rules.’
‘The two women held with me?’ Julianna asked.
‘They both would like to thank you in person, especially the family of the younger Portuguese girl who was taken from a train station not long after she arrived in London. They’ve been frantically trying to trace her.’
‘I’d like to meet them.’
‘Good. Saddler isn’t in a good shape: comatose with major bleeding on the brain. I admit I underestimated his role in Zustaller's organisation. The assumption me and Chris made was that he was being blackmailed or manipulated in some way.’
‘I still can’t believe it. I wish I had been more curious about those girls vanishing. You assume it's the nature of their lives and the lack of stability. We’re too complacent and uninterested sometimes.’
‘You’re being hard on yourself. Sophia is feeling guilty, too,’ Jackson said. ‘You can’t be everyone’s guardian angel.’
He slid his laptop to one side and leaned on his elbows, narrowing the distance between him and Julianna. ‘Things are going to change for you, Julianna – it’s unavoidable. Both Chris and I agree that you can't work as a protection officer any longer.’
She hadn't expected to be stripped of her bodyguard responsibilities. After all she had done for Haynes, the wealth of skills she had demonstrated, she was once again worthless. As she shifted to the edge of her seat, Mark rested his hand on her thigh and pressed her back down.
‘I don’t understand. Why
?’ she demanded.
Jackson held up a placating hand. ‘You’re too close to my wife. The role requires impartiality and no emotional attachments. Empathy taints judgement.’
‘I don’t think that’s the case, sir,’ Julianna said sharply.
‘This isn't something I've decided lightly. My opinion was shifting before your abduction, and now it’s immovable. You’ve been threatened by violent people, you’ve shot a man, and had your driving skills put through an extreme test. Your post-trauma status will require professional evaluation. I don’t want you driving my wife, Julianna, or being her bodyguard. This is no disrespect to your powers of recovery; it is my personal decision and there is no negotiation.’
His points were horribly valid. Jackson the executive decision maker was back in residence. She slid backwards on her chair. ‘Very well, sir. I respect your decision.’
‘That being said, you’re not out of job. You'll be given special investigations to carry out. You won’t be working for Chris’s team or in Mark’s department. You will be working for Opportunitas full-time. We’ve rescued many women, recently and hopefully in the coming weeks. They’re not all British, some are deeply traumatised, others are unable to trust anyone. Regretfully some are also mentally impaired. There are also families searching for missing loved ones. You will be tasked with tracing relatives for the women and children in the refuges. Also repatriating those who wish to go home. How does that sound to you, Julianna?’
Emotions, especially joy and relief, battled with incredulity; this was where she wanted to be – a woman with a valued role. ‘It sounds a worthy job. Would that have been the option prior to my abduction?’
‘It was one of two. The other was to give you more managerial responsibilities. But somehow I don’t think that will appeal to you.’
She laughed. ‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘Good.’ Jackson leaned back in his chair. ‘Ellen’s staying up in Scotland, according to Derek. So, Mark, don't ignore your sister. Family is everything.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Mark said.
Jackson chuckled and rose to his feet. ‘Stop calling me sir, at least outside of work. Hettie counts Julianna as one of her friends, which by default, means I am too. We share everything, as good partners do.’
Mark stood up and came over to offer his hand to Jackson. ‘Thank you, Jackson. For everything you've done for me and Ellen. For helping me see my dad in a different light, for introducing me to Julianna. I’m very grateful to be counted as your friend.’
Jackson came over to a rather overcome Julianna and crouched down in front of her.
She finally found her voice. ‘Strange world, isn’t it? I thought you chose me because of Alex. I've struggled to let people into my life since him. So, I hope I can do this friendship justice. Thank you for finding me, for all you’ve done.’
‘Julianna, you found yourself. Both in your remarkable escape and beyond. Don’t judge yourself harshly. You’re an amazing, resilient and confident woman and I can’t think of anyone better to have about me and my family.’
Mark coughed awkwardly. ‘We should go home then.’
A phone trilled and Jackson reached over to pick it up. ‘Wait! Yes? Good, let them through.’ He replaced the handset. ‘Right on cue,’ he said mysteriously.
He led the couple to the front door, calling out for Hettie at the same time. She appeared with Evey on her hip and Noah running about her legs, his chin plastered with vanilla ice-cream.
The door opened and Julianna was blinded for a moment by the bright sunshine. She shaded her eyes and peered at the car pulling up in front of the house. She recognised the make and registration plate.
She bounded down the stairs just as the car doors opened. There at the bottom step, she paused, disbelieving, and flung her arms wide open. ‘Mum, Dad! You’re here!’
47
Julianna
AUTUMN
It had been a few years since she had been in a prison and back then, it was usually a remand centre to interview a suspect in the company of another police officer. Not alone, like this morning.
Bill Clewer had Mark’s eyes and, beneath their wrinkled shadows, Ellen's full lips and narrow chin. The composite of features blurred around his nose and eyebrows, which were thick and wiry. Neither of his kids had his rebellious hair, which coiled around his neck and poked out of his ears in spikes. He was something of a hairy gorilla, which was how Ellen had described him once. As he scraped his chair across the floor and under the table, he bunched his arms into a bundle and leaned forward. If she had expected a handshake, he wasn’t forthcoming. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to touch him, anyway.
‘So, you're Mark's girlfriend,’ he said, the smile creeping up his cheeks. ‘Can I call you Julianna? Or Jules.’
She stopped him there with a frown. ‘Julianna is fine.’
‘So.’ His voice rumbled in his throat. ‘You've come to check me out?’
They were alone in a room, the privilege of special status afforded by the witness protection program. Bill was being constantly moved until his parole began. Then, he would disappear and not even Mark or Ellen would know where he had gone.
‘I've come to ask a question.’ She settled her hands on the table and wove her fingers together into a knot. Her back was upright, knees together and feet firmly flat on the floor. She wasn’t afraid of him, but the defensive posture helped.
‘Ask away.’ He leant back in his seat and stretched his legs out. There was plenty of room under the table for his long legs.
‘Mark is okay, by the way.’
He hauled his feet back and straightened. ‘And Ellie?’
‘They're both okay. Things have settled down, we hope. For you too, now that... he's gone.’ She still shivered when she thought of them both mangled in the smashed car.
‘Will she come and see me? Ellie?’
Julianna shrugged. His grey flecked eyebrows drooped before she answered. ‘Maybe. She's happy where she is. In love, too. I'm sorry, Bill, but she doesn't need you. Don't you think that's a good thing?’
‘I suppose,’ he said. ‘And Mark?’
‘Mark will. He'll come and say goodbye.’
‘Goodbye? I suppose.’ He stared at his hands and sighed heavily, then looked up. ‘Deidre is divorcing me.’
It was news to Julianna, and probably to Mark. His mother hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, ever since the police had knocked on her door asking awkward questions about her supplying cannabis.
‘She's not following you?’
He chortled, obviously not too upset. ‘Deidre? No. She's not keen on the idea of disappearing at all. Once I turned into a supergrass, she gave up on me. The final straw, I suppose. I'm not the man she married.’
Was she now the woman he had married? Julianna didn’t ask.
‘So what's your question?’ He relaxed into his seat, happy to clear up the family issues with a few brisk question and answers. Prison drained people into empty shells, then left them waiting for life to start over again – parole was edging closer for Bill.
‘Thank you for seeing me,’ she quickly said.
He shrugged. ‘I'm always happy to have visitors.’
‘You see when Mark last came here, he was vague about something and it bugs me, a little.’ A lot, really, she nearly said. ‘He's moving on and I'm the kind of person who likes tidy ends.’
Bill rubbed his rough chin. ‘Sure.’ He rolled his eyes northward, seemingly impatient, as if he was sick of interrogations.
‘How did you know about Haydocks?’ she asked.
He presented a revealing, knowing smile. ‘Ah, Henderson you mean.’
‘You met him?’
‘Yeah. He and I used the same bookies. That's where we met, years and years ago. Chance encounter. He liked a flutter. Dogs, though, not horses.’ He grinned. ‘Won a few in my time.’
‘And that's how you found out about Haydocks?’
His versatile eyebrows melded into one bu
shy line as he wrinkled his forehead. ‘You mean the money? Nah.’ He leaned forward, closing the gap slightly. On the other side of the door was the prison officer, ready to dash in if she needed him. She had flatly refused to have company. She could take care of herself.
‘But you suggested Mark work for him?’
‘I did. Mark, well, he's bright. He reckons it comes from me, but I'm honest enough to know I'm not that clever. It's that grandpa of his, Deidre's dad, who had the nous between the ears.’ Bill tapped his temple. ‘Having Mark go to Oxford was Deidre's goal, not mine.’
‘She wanted him to be a lawyer.’
Bill laughed. ‘She did. He's a numbers man. So I tell Henderson, the fat git,’ – he patted his belly— ‘nice on the surface, not so, underneath, but, I didn't know that at the time. I tell him my son is keen on the accountancy side, going to study numbers and stuff, and Henderson says, send him to me when he’s ready, I'll make something of him.’
Julianna smiled. ‘But not what he planned.’
‘Aye.’ Bill smirked. He scraped a fingernail noisily along the edge of the table. He wanted to say something, she was sure of it.
‘And the laundering?’
Bill's cheeks went a little red. ‘Didn't find out till I got the sentence. Totally out of the blue. I hears this name floating ‘round the clink, how good Henderson is at hiding money, and blow me, I'd only gone and sent my son to work for him.’
She knew it! ‘Coincidence? You set Mark up with Haydocks by accident?’
He nodded, sheepishly. ‘Ironic, yeah? I thought I was giving my son a clean slate with Henderson. Though to be honest, I might have done it anyway, if I'd known whose money it was. But it was a surprise. I never told Mark when he came to see me; I made out it was intentional, kind of. Do you think he minds, not knowing the real reason?’
She had thought the sequence of events had originated with Ellen tumbling into the online grooming club run by Zustaller. Then, maybe it was Mark bumping into Hettie in the bar, or his sister in the cafe. He had a remarkable knack for finding women accidentally. All preposterous encounters, but none of them more so than Bill and Henderson betting on the same dogs long before either Mark or Bill had heard of the Deliverer.