Over Your Shoulder

by C J Carver

  Not that the Saint knew that. He thought she was debilitated. He thought he’d won. How little he knew her, knew how tough a woman could be.

  Her thoughts blurred. Grey clouds seeping at the edges, threatening to envelope her in a thick blanket of fog. She pushed it back. She had come so far, she mustn’t give up.

  ‘It’s time.’

  The Saint was there. Tall, in a dark winter coat and fedora, his chisel-like face grim, he looked like a character out of one of his comic books.

  Her mind cleared as though a gust of wind had pushed the fog away. She was focused, alert. But she kept her shoulders stooped, her gaze on the ground. Defeated. Beaten.

  He took her good elbow in his hand. ‘Walk.’

  He was taking her to do the swap himself? She had to stop herself from laughing out loud. How stupid could one man be? She thought he’d be more savvy, but obviously he was blinded by revenge, not wanting his men to kill Rob, but to do it himself, make himself look big and all powerful. He was sending a message. If you mess with my family, no matter how long it takes, I will make you pay by my own hand.

  Little did he know she had the same intention. She surreptitiously eyed his other hand which held a Walther P99, a semi-automatic. All ready to go.

  She would have to be fast, superhuman fast, to grab it.

  Would it be possible?

  She’d have to ignore the pain when it came. Pretend she didn’t have a broken arm. Mind over matter. Adrenaline would help.

  He led her slowly to a small footbridge that spanned a narrow stream. It was a simple construction, three feet wide, no handrail. The Saint forced her ahead of him. The wind had dropped and an ethereal mist had settled on the ground, making it seem as though they were walking through gauze. She could hear their footsteps, soft in the mulch. The brush of their clothes.

  And then something else. A soft sucking shuffling sound. A wet sweeping. She realised it was several pairs of feet brushing through leaves.

  The Saint brought her to a halt.

  And there they were.

  Nick, Rob and David Gilder, Barry Gilder, surrounded by a bunch of tooled-up thugs. For a moment she couldn’t believe it. The Saint had brought a goddamned army.

  Her gaze adhered to Nick. He was her priority. He was ashen, but he looked okay. He stepped forward. He said ‘Susie’ in a desperate tone but the man behind him grabbed him and pulled him back.

  And then Rob stepped forward. Nobody pushed him. Nobody forced him. He moved as though sleepwalking, staring at her as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  He said, ‘What are you doing here?’

  Rob kept coming. She tensed her muscles in readiness.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

  As she uncoiled, beginning to twist so she could kick the Saint’s knees from under him, swoop her hand and grab his gun, she heard Rob say, bewildered, appalled,

  ‘I thought you were dead.’

  Chapter 67

  I heard Rob say, ‘I thought you were dead,’ but I didn’t take it in.

  I was absorbed with Susie, her eyes darkened pits of pain in a face of sheet white. She had what looked to be a makeshift bandage on one arm, and the other, which was broken, she held close to her waist.

  And then to my shock, she was twisting, snapping round so fast I barely saw what she was doing, and the Saint was surprised, overbalancing, and the next thing he was staggering to the side, toppling into the mush. Susie swarmed over him and when he raised his head, she head-butted him smack in the middle of his face. I heard gristle crunch and saw the Saint’s men racing for her – they couldn’t risk shooting her without shooting their boss – but she had his gun and she was holding it against his head and they were too far away.

  She fired.

  The shot cracked in the dead air of the forest. At point-blank range, the bullet hit him in the side of the head, just above his right ear. He was dead before his body slumped to the ground.

  Susie ducked behind Abbott’s body but before anyone fired a single shot, a man yelled, ‘It’s a trap! The police are here!’

  Everything went crazy.

  The Saint’s men began running. They ran as fast as they could. Anywhere, everywhere. A blur of jeans and boots and weapons as they pelted through the trees for cover. Running like rabbits who knew a pack of greyhounds had been released on their tails.

  I moved for Susie but I was slow, still shocked, and suddenly Gilder Senior moved past me, breaking into a run. To my confusion I saw he was running for Rob.

  Suddenly Rob swung round. His eyes were on me.

  ‘Run!’ he screamed. ‘RUN!’

  I stood frozen, uncomprehending as Rob moved.

  I saw Susie swing the Saint’s gun round and train it on my brother’s fleeing form.

  David Gilder was still racing for Rob. Head down as if he was in a rugby charge, he was running full pelt.

  Susie’s aim was steady. Aimed straight at Rob.

  She pulled the trigger.

  Her first shot caught him high, the bullet passing through the soft flesh of his neck. His head snapped back. He didn’t fall straight away but the impact made him stumble, right into David Gilder’s path. The two men collided and at the same time she fired again, hitting the retired detective above the cheekbone. The bullet drilled through his eye and into his head, bursting on the other side of his skull.

  Both men plummeted to the ground. Lay utterly still.

  Then Barry Gilder was grabbing my wrist and pulling me away.

  ‘Run!’ he yelled at me.

  I hesitated, but only for a moment.

  Susie was raising her gun. She was bringing it round, aiming it for us, seeking Barry or me I didn’t know.

  I ran.

  Chapter 68

  I raced through the forest, trying to protect myself from the tree limbs that reached into my path, whipping and snatching at me. Barry Gilder crashed alongside, both of us throwing up muddy water and leaves as we careened among the wet trunks.

  We separated at times, forced apart by twisted thickets, shrubs and bushes, but we’d soon come together again, running neck and neck.

  Once we came to a stream. We splashed through it and up the other side, slipping and sliding until we ended up on all fours, hands grabbing ferns and rushes, our feet scrambling in the mulch until we reached the top. Then we straightened and ran some more.

  I had no idea how long we ran for. It felt like hours, days, and when Barry Gilder slowed, my breath was like fire in my throat, my lungs heaving. I wanted to stop, catch my breath, but Barry Gilder shook his head.

  ‘Keep going,’ he told me.

  We went on, heads down, trying to peer through the mist, trying not to trip on tree roots. With poor visibility, we were forced to slow further, sometimes flanked by oak, then beech. My mind was numb, shocked. I couldn’t stop replaying the moment Susie had shot Rob. The way she’d been focused, intent. Her hand steady. Her eyes as calm as if she was meditating.

  My wife just killed the Saint.

  My wife just killed my brother.

  My wife just killed a retired detective.

  My wife wants to kill a DI and possibly me.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I hadn’t realised I’d spoken out loud until Barry Gilder answered.

  ‘I’m still trying to work it out,’ he panted. ‘But it’s my guess your wife has something to hide.’

  ‘She’s an MI5 officer,’ I responded. ‘She has loads to hide.’

  ‘I mean something personal.’ He glanced at the side of my face.

  I watched the mist drifting among the trees and tried to still the panic in my heart.

  ‘Like what?’

  But something inside me was already crawling, as though I had dozens of wasps in my veins, buzzing, desperate to get out. Something I already knew deep down, but didn’t want to face.

  Chapter 69

  We kept walking. I felt the hand of grief grip my heart as I pictured David Gilder running
for Rob, trying to tackle him, bring him to the ground and present a smaller, more difficult, target. Protecting his witness to the end. And what about Rob? My throat thickened and I swallowed, pushing my anguish away. It would have to wait until later. When we were safe, and when I had the time and privacy to break down, and weep, and regret not telling Rob how much I loved him, was proud of him.

  In the distance, I heard a faint clatter and as it grew louder, I realised it was a helicopter. It passed closely above, coming to hover perhaps half a mile away, above the murder scene, I supposed.

  We crossed another stream, having to paddle through it, our shoes sodden and muddy, my feet frozen, each step squelching. I heard Barry’s heavy breathing, occasionally smell the man’s acrid scent of adrenaline and fear.

  And then I heard something. A small regular disturbance of leaves behind us. I snapped around in an instant, fear clawing at my throat.

  Barry gestured for me to move behind the sturdy trunk of a mature beech tree. When I was in place, he went to slip behind another tree.

  I was cold and wet, my nerves shredded, but I gritted my teeth. Tried to listen.

  Nothing.

  Then it came again. The small sound of leaves being disturbed in the undergrowth. A deer? A dog?

  I looked across at Barry, eyes wide.

  Barry put his finger to his mouth and shook his head. I shivered, trying to still my breathing but it was hard when my heart was thumping so hard.

  Suddenly I saw a branch flicker. Heard the sucking sound of mud.

  Whatever it was, it was close.

  And then there she was, stepping out from behind an oak tree, her shoulders back, confident and strong even with her broken arm held close to her waist. She held a gun in her right hand.

  I thought we’d be hard to see in the gloaming of the forest but we could have been lit in neon for the amount of time it took her to spot us. A fracture of a millisecond fell before her eyes went straight to mine then swept to Barry.

  They stared at each other. He didn’t look away. It was as though it was just the two of them.

  ‘Hello, Rachel,’ he said.

  Chapter 70

  ‘Why, DI Barry Gilder.’ She widened her eyes coquettishly. ‘You’ve gone and worked it out all on your own. Aren’t you a clever clogs.’

  Rachel? My mind became a whirl. I thought Rachel was Susie’s agent. The woman who’d been killed with Tony Abbott.

  ‘How long have you known?’ She sounded curious.

  ‘Not long enough.’

  ‘You’ve just put it together?’ Her face brightened. ‘Just now?’

  ‘I have to say…’ Barry cleared his throat. ‘It’s one of the best impersonations I’ve ever witnessed. Not that I knew the real Susie Fleming, of course… but I’d bet my last breath that the real Susie and you – her impersonator – are now so entwined, nobody could tell them apart.’

  She stepped forward. Stood barely two yards from him. ‘Am I prettier, do you think?’ She turned her head slightly, to show off her profile.

  I watched Barry put his head on one side as though considering.

  ‘I’ve had the kink in my nose taken out,’ Susie said. ‘My teeth have been straightened too. It’s amazing what a good cosmetic surgeon can do. I’ve duped so many people, you wouldn’t believe it.’

  ‘Even your family.’

  ‘Ha.’ She looked amused. ‘They were probably the easiest to manipulate. They fell for the whole mugging story like you wouldn’t believe.’

  My soul was shivering, unable to comprehend what I was hearing. Susie wasn’t Susie? She’d taken on another woman’s identity?

  Behind her, my eyes went to a faint flicker and then a blaze of lights erupted, turning the sky from black to brown.

  Susie turned to see what I was looking at. I saw the raw flick of annoyance on her face.

  ‘All terrain scene lights. Never mind.’ She was nodding, obviously working things through. ‘We can still contain this.’

  She brought up her weapon.

  She was going to shoot Barry.

  Trembling, petrified, I stepped out from behind the tree. I spread my hands.

  ‘Susie,’ I said.

  Distracted for a second, Susie turned her head to me.

  I walked towards her.

  She was watching me, her attention no longer on her gun, or Barry.

  And in that moment, Barry went for her.

  Chapter 71

  I saw Barry push his head down and charge for Susie.

  ‘Susie!’ I yelled, wanting to keep her diverted, keep her attention on me.

  And then Barry was on her. She fired but it went wide. The sound of the shot punched through my shock. I started forward, wanting to stop Susie, stop Barry, but Susie fell backwards, reeling from the force of his weight, clutching his arm and bringing him down with her.

  I tried to grab Susie’s hand, the one that held the gun but she belted it against Barry’s head. She hit him again, and again. She was grunting with the effort.

  Barry pushed his weight on top of Susie. Put his hands to her throat and squeezed.

  I went for Susie’s gun again but she was faster than me. Much faster.She twisted like a snake and pressed the barrel against his head and pulled the trigger.

  Her first shot hit him in the jaw, drilling through his mouth and out the back of his head. The second tore through his forehead. Soft brain tissue and blood sprayed everywhere. He slumped on top of her, his weight pinning her to the ground.

  I wanted to go for her gun again, but she was already sweeping it round, the barrel coming my way, so I did the only thing I could think to do.

  Run.

  Chapter 72

  I charged through the forest like a wounded buffalo, bewildered and terrified, making enough noise to deafen the dead, but adrenaline can only last so long, and soon it had faded from my blood and my legs softened, exhausted and leaden.

  I nearly fell to my knees at one point, and the temptation to stop and rest was almost overpowering, but I forced myself to keep walking. I didn’t know in which direction, or where I was going, I was just walking to get away, to try to think and somehow, survive.

  My wife wasn’t Susie Fleming. She was a woman called Rachel Daisley. Susie had said Rachel Daisley was her agent in the Mayfair Group. That Rachel was a cleaner. Undercover. But Rachel had been my Susie all along.

  Had killing Tony Abbott been an MI5 operation?

  I couldn’t understand how Rachel had joined MI5. They had personnel checks and security verifications, records, DNA…

  ‘No,’ I said out loud. I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t. But then I remembered her raising the gun and shooting the Saint, shooting Rob and Barry Gilder. I’d seen how her eyes had been empty pools of black. As emotionless as ink.

  I kept walking, remembering things that had been lurking at the corner of my senses, things that had disturbed me only a little at the time, that I had talked myself out of. Things that now took on a different light.

  Susie’s father. The pain in his eyes as he spoke honestly to me.

  I tried my best, hoping the little girl I loved was going to get better and come back to me. But that’s not how it works with traumatic brain injuries. It’s like they have a complete personality change. It’s not their fault. They think they’re the same person, but they’re not. I couldn’t cope with it. I felt awful, but when the doctor said we should return home, I was relieved.

  Susie’s mother.

  She looks the same, but different. It’s like everything’s just a bit off, you know? I know she had to have her face rebuilt, along with her jaw and teeth, but she’s still not the same. She can’t remember anything about when she was young. She used to love playing dress up with my clothes. All that’s gone.

  Dear God, how were they going to handle knowing their daughter wasn’t their daughter? The next thought came crashing through like a freight train.

  If my Susie was Rachel, then where was the real Susie Fle
ming?

  I stumbled to a stop.

  I was picturing the woman who’d been shot with Tony Abbott, her face bludgeoned into pulp. I could hear Susie’s response when I showed her the photograph, her decisiveness that it was Rachel.

  Yes, it has to be her. Same height, nice figure, great tits. Whoever did this to her was really, really angry. This wasn’t someone in full control of their emotions. They went berserk. They wanted to obliterate her. Smash her to pieces. Literally.

  Had my Susie obliterated the other Susie’s features so she wouldn’t be recognised? So she could take on her identity? Rachel’s body had never been found. The Saint had taken it, in order to protect his family, and disposed of it, God alone knew where.

  Rachel, I guessed, then slipped into her role as the real Susie as smoothly as milk being poured into a glass. She’d made up the mugging to explain away her cosmetic surgery bruises, and invented her brain injury to cover her memory loss and personality change.

  My muscles and joints had begun to stiffen in the cold and as I shifted slightly to walk again, hearing my shoes suck in the mud, the squish of liquid, another squelch came from close by.

  ‘Nick,’ she said.

  Chapter 73

  ‘I won’t hurt you. I promise.’

  My thoughts and emotions became a twisted blur. I was exhausted and cold and my brain seemed to have ceased functioning. Right now, it was screaming run! but I didn’t think I’d get far. She’d tracked me all this way, and would continue to track me. She had a broken arm but that hadn’t stopped her. She was indefatigable, my wife.

  My wife?

  ‘If you’re Rachel Daisley,’ I said, ‘does that mean our marriage isn’t legal?’