THEN SHE RAN an absolutely gripping crime thriller with a massive twist Page 20

  ‘Turn away, Jenny,’ he growled. ‘Face out to sea. NOW!’ He pushed the solid barrel more firmly into her skull. She squealed in pain and turned away. She could just see Joseph in her peripheral vision. Jimmy was stood directly behind him. He had his own pistol and pushed it into the back of Joseph’s head.

  ‘Here we are then, Joe. Tell me where my money is and this fate is only yours. Refuse me one more time and you get to see the lovely Jenny there go first. How long can she hang onto that chain for, do you think?’ He chuckled. Behind her she could hear more laughter. These bastards would like to see that; she reckoned they were praying for it. Joseph shut his eyes. Jimmy reached down, he had big hands. He gripped the top of Joseph’s head and wrenched upwards, forcing his eyelids wide open. ‘That won’t help you, Joe. My money, Joe. Make your choice.’ Jenny’s eyes snatched to the left, the solid dumbbell attached to her rolled towards the sea. It stopped right on the edge, resting against a slightly raised lip.

  Joseph was breathing hard, but through his nose. Every breath was loud and rushed.

  ‘Fuck it, drop it!’ Jimmy called out. There was movement to her left and she took another big breath.

  ‘Wait!’ Joseph shouted. He was looking over to her.

  ‘Wait for what, Joe? I am not a patient man.’

  ‘I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you where it is. All of it.’

  Jenny felt the pressure against the back of her head ease off. The weight rolled back a couple of inches away from the edge. Another second passed before she saw Joseph gulp. Then he started talking.

  ‘You let her go. A ten-minute head start. Then I tell you.’

  ‘You bartering with me, Joe? You setting rules now? You lost that chance a long time ago. Fuck this, drop her in!’

  ‘WAIT! Okay! It wasn’t at the house. There’s a stable block on their land. I’ve been keeping it there, in a horsebox, parked up. The land is separate from the house. They don’t even know about it. It’s got nothing to do with them and it’s got nothing to do with her. You can let her go. She doesn’t even know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘Separate where?’

  ‘You got my phone from the hotel room, right? The notes section has the address for the yard.’ Everyone went quiet. Jenny heard the sound of a phone being unlocked. She strained to look sideways. The phone was being lowered to Joseph.

  ‘Yeah — that’s it. You’ve got everything you need. You got issues with me we can talk about it, but she doesn’t need to be here.’

  ‘She doesn’t need to be here? She doesn’t even know what we’re talking about, you say? Well, maybe we should educate her. Why don’t you tell, Joe? Why don’t you tell her what you’ve been doing — why she’s sat on the end of a pier? You brought this on her. The least you can do is explain.’

  ‘She doesn’t know nothing, Jimmy. She’s got nothing to do with it.’

  ‘So you keep saying!’ The man called Jimmy suddenly stepped over Jenny’s outstretched legs. He lowered himself down so he was facing her. She could see him up close now. He looked at her intently and she stared right back.

  ‘Quite a pretty little thing, aren’t you, Jenny? Wasted on this piece of shit.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘Nothing from you. You’ve done everything I needed.’ Jimmy stood up. Suddenly there was a loud bang! Jenny shook as Joseph slumped forward. He was leaking blood from the back of his head. In the dim light it was like a thick, dark shadow that quickly consumed his back. Jimmy kicked out at the dumbbell next to Joseph’s hip and an instant later she heard a splash. Joseph was moving forward, but slowly. Suddenly he jerked forward. She got a flash of his open eyes as he slid over the edge. She heard a second splash. Some of it flicked into her face. It made her flinch again.

  Jenny was flushed with panic. She was alone now. They hadn’t tied her hands, the rope already felt looser round her ankles and yet they couldn’t let her survive: the man had said his name and then murdered someone right in front of her. She was acting instinctively. There was only one way she might get away from this. She had to run.

  Her bound feet kicked out at the weight and an instant later it hit the water. Somebody shouted something — she couldn’t make out what. She leaned back so that her body was straight, her right hand lifted to her nose to squeeze it shut and she slammed her eyes tightly shut. She was wrenched forward as if the sea itself had reached out for her.

  The chill of the water took her breath away. She let go of her nose; she wanted to flail her arms, to thrash against the freezing water, but she knew she couldn’t let panic take over. Somehow, in the pitch black and freezing water with an invisible force dragging her lower she managed a moment of calm.

  She reached down to her ankles. They were still tied together, she could feel herself sinking, the pressure building in her ears. She had her eyes open but it made no difference. Her hands were so cold they weren’t working properly. She couldn’t hear any sounds. The rope felt slippery. She tried to focus on yanking it upwards. It was too heavy — it just kept pulling her down. She concentrated again on staying calm. A few seconds later, she could feel the steel of the dumbbell. It was resting on the bottom. Her hands moved over it, she had seen the locking screw on the side that held the weights on the threaded bar. It ought to unscrew but it didn’t budge. She needed a breath. She tried to ignore it, tried to calm her mind. She knew that was the key. She twisted the metal again, focussing all of her strength into her grip. She thought it moved but she couldn’t be sure. She kept tugging at it. It was turning. Her panic came back in waves but she twisted faster and the screw came free. The weight was too heavy to pull off the end of the bar, she tried tipping it up but the metal dug into the soft seabed. She planted her feet and tugged it upwards with the last of her strength. Suddenly it was lighter. She was still trying to feel with her hands, then she got hold of the rope and it came free.

  Jenny’s lungs were bursting. She was a strong swimmer and she could hold her breath, but she was running out of time. She tried to focus on her swim. She pushed off the bottom as hard as she could. Her ankles were still tied together and she tried to kick the rope off but it wouldn’t budge. She couldn’t afford to panic; she would die if she did. She focussed on trying to kick with her legs together as she pulled upwards with strong strokes. She used her own desperation to power her arms.

  Her hand bashed against something firm, she reached out, it felt like stone but it was slimy with weed. It must have been one of the legs of the pier. She pushed off from it, she was desperate for a breath and could do no more to stop her mouth from reaching for the oxygen it craved. She took a huge gulp but she was still under water and it was still pitch black. She took in water — she coughed and swallowed but there was nowhere for it to go, she just took more in. She was drowning.

  She could see a flicker of light and she kicked her legs towards it. The light grew bigger — and then she broke the surface. Straight away she tried to take in the air but it still couldn’t reach where it needed to go. For a moment, she thought it was too late, that her lungs were filled, but she gagged up some water and managed to keep her mouth above the surface enough to suck in some oxygen. Her arms were flailing, and she tried again to focus on her technique. She calmed her movements, grabbed the bottom of her jumper and scooped a pocket of air like she had been taught in school. She tried to relax and lay back to float. She kicked her shoes off and wriggled her feet together. She felt the rope slipping down and her legs came free. She could hear shouts. Her return to the surface hadn’t been quiet. She had recovered enough to tread water but was still coughing as she looked around to take in her surroundings. The pier was in front of her but she had come up on the other side. She could see the tall wall and she knew the men would be behind it. She must have gone right underneath. She didn’t have much time. She looked around for an escape route. There was a pebbly beach some five hundred metres away, but they would surely make their way back there and there would be no quick or qui
et way of getting out. She had seen a sandy beach further away on the other side. The coast curved away from the pier — maybe another fifty metres — and she wouldn’t be able to swim straight for it. She would have to go round the end of the pier, giving it a wide berth, and then head for the beach, as far away as she could manage. She didn’t know if she had the strength. She was struggling just to stay afloat and it was freezing cold. She had to focus. She fixed on a point to swim out to. When she got there the plan was to turn and fix on a point to swim back to on the shore. She conjured images of Isobel in her mind, she imagined holding her again. She moved onto her front and kicked her legs.

  Chapter 23

  Stanley beamed the moment he set eyes on his daughter. To George he looked immediately like a completely different man. He finally showed some colour and some warmth.

  ‘Louise! Did you come all the way back just to see me? You shouldn’t have bothered.’ Stan’s voice was hoarse. To be expected. Hopefully Stan’s throat was just swollen and not damaged.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Dad. When I heard you were in here I couldn’t stay away, could I?’ Louise chuckled; it was nervous and awkward but Stan didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘What’s all this about then, Louise? What am I doing in here and where’s your mother? How come you can make it from all the way over in Italy and she can’t pop up from home?’ Stan was still smiling, waiting for the reasonable explanation. Like maybe she was out getting the teas in. Louise chuckled again. She made eyes at George.

  ‘Well, you know she’d be here if she could, Dad. She’d love to be here.’

  Stan’s face suddenly creased in confusion. ‘Is she not here?’

  ‘No, Dad, but the police are here. They need to talk to you. We all need to know what happened, you see. What went on. This is Inspector George Elms. You’ve met him, Dad, but you might not remember.’

  Stan peered over at George. George stepped forward, he didn’t want to, but he had no choice. ‘Hey, Stan. I’m glad to see you’re awake. You gave us all a bit of a scare there.’

  ‘A scare? What are you talking about? What happened to me, Louise? Why are the police here?’

  ‘They need to talk to you, Dad. I’m going to let them talk to you. I’ll be right outside. I’ll come back in when they are done. I’ll get us a drink, okay?’ Louise moved out of the room. She was quick on her feet, her head down, her hand over her mouth. George could tell she was breaking down. He stepped out after her.

  ‘Louise! Are you okay?’

  ‘No, not really, George. I’m sorry. I can’t talk to him. I can’t tell him about Mum, about what happened. Can you do it, George? Can you tell him — please!’

  She turned away. She didn’t wait for an answer and then she was gone. George stepped back into the room. ‘I’ll leave you to it, sir.’ Paul Bearn had been stood in the corner. ‘I don’t want to add to the confusion.’

  It was just George and Stan now. Stan shuffled in the bed. He grimaced and struggled to sit up a little straighter. George walked over to him and stretched his arms out to help. Stan shooed him away.

  ‘I can manage. What’s going on here? Why isn’t anyone talking to me?’

  ‘I’m here to talk to you, Stan. Your daughter is a little upset. I think she’s had a long day. Like I said, you had us all worried.’

  ‘Well, I’m fine now. What happened to me anyway? You’re police, right? Why the bloody hell are the police here? And where’s Janice?’

  ‘Stanley, you called us. To your home address in the early hours of Sunday morning. A couple of days ago, now. You had intruders at your home. They were there to steal from you. You put up a good fight. Do you remember any of what happened, Stan? Does any of this ring any bells with you?’

  ‘Intruders? No! Is Janice okay? Is she injured too?’

  ‘You weren’t injured as part of the robbery. Your wife, though, Stan . . . I’m so sorry. She suffered a gunshot wound and there was nothing that could be done for her.’

  Stan’s head twitched suddenly, like the information was stuck on the way in. ‘She’s not here? My Janice?’

  ‘Stan, she died on Sunday morning. You were with her. She died in your arms. We’re doing all we can to find the people that did this. You can really help us . . .’ George trailed off. He had given bad news any number of times; it was never easy. But it had never been this hard. He could see the man in front of him changing again. He was already confused from oxygen starvation and his mind was processing the information slowly. George could see it sinking in; he could see the colour draining.

  ‘My Janice . . . she’s . . . gone?’

  George was right up close to Stan now. He fidgeted in the bed, his hand rose to his neck where an angry red slit ran through his leathery skin. It was already turning blue with the bruising. His expression was pained as he swallowed too. It was obviously causing him pain.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Stan.’

  ‘My neck is so sore, Inspector. I did this, didn’t I?’

  George pursed his lips and nodded. ‘Are you remembering? What happened?’

  ‘Not really. But I remember this pain. That’s why I did it, isn’t it?’

  ‘Grief, Stan . . . it can overpower any of us.’ George took hold of Stan’s hand, as he had done forty-eight hours before. Stan’s watery eyes lifted to meet his. ‘Stan, the people that did this . . . we think they knew you. Or at least they know who you are. Well, enough to know your name and that you might have something of value at your house. Do you have any idea who might have that information and might be linked to criminality? Or maybe vulnerable to information being extorted? I know it’s hard to think right now but I need your help, Stan, if I’m going to catch these bastards.’

  Stan stared out beyond George and his eyes appeared unfocussed. George thought he had lost him. He let go of his hand and stepped away. He looked over at the door, considering if now would be a good time to get Louise back in the room. The news would sink in over the next few hours and they’d be back to square one, but at least they still had him. ‘I’ll go get Louise, okay, Stan? You think over what I said. I’ll talk to you again later.’ George moved towards the door. He was overwhelmed with tiredness — emotionally drained.

  ‘Joseph,’ Stan said.

  George stopped at the door. ‘Sorry, Stan?’

  ‘Joseph. This will be about Joseph. My son.’

  ‘Your son?’

  ‘Yes. Did you talk to him yet? We don’t talk so much, Inspector. We haven’t talked since . . . well, since he made clear that he’d chosen his path.’

  ‘No . . . I mean we haven’t had a chance yet . . . we can’t seem to locate him, Stan. What path is that?’

  Stan sniffed. His voice came back weaker. ‘He’s a bad man, George. Me and his mother fell out about it a lot. She still helps him — I know she does. But some people you shouldn’t help, no matter what they are to you.’

  George was leaning on the door when it was pulled suddenly open and it made him jump. Louise bustled back in. Her dad was in tears, his hands covering his face. She locked eyes with George and mouthed a thank you. George smiled back. She walked over to Stan and they embraced in a deep hug. Paul looked to move back into the room but George stood in his way.

  ‘Louise, we need to get back to work. Are you going to be okay from here?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been told I can stay here. They’ll be keeping Dad in for the night at least. Tomorrow I’ll get something sorted for us both.’

  ‘Very good. You have my number. But I do expect to come and talk to you both again tomorrow.’

  Louise nodded. She was leaking her own tears. She went back into an embrace with her dad. George walked away and Paul caught up.

  ‘I take it we’re not going to get much out of him tonight, George.’

  ‘He’s already said more in the last five minutes than he has over the last two days, Paul. We need to get to the house and do a quick search. I need to find the details of their son.’

  ‘Who
se son?’

  ‘The Wingmores’. It would appear they may have a criminal for a son.’

  ‘And you think he’s the link.’

  ‘I don’t know, Paul. But it took our Stan to be confused and emotional to even admit his existence. There has to be a reason he didn’t tell us about him. Then he tried to take his own life. I know he’s mourning, but I didn’t have him pegged as the type.’

  ‘Did he give you a name? For the son?’

  ‘Joseph. That’s all he said. We could assume Wingmore for a surname, but you know me and assumptions.’

  ‘Yeah, I think I do. I think it means another long night.’

  George gritted his teeth. ‘You don’t have to come along, Paul. I can handle this. It’s not like I’ve got a family to get home to.’

  Chapter 24

  It was just before 9 p.m. when George pulled into the rear yard of the police station. He and Paul Bearn had found a search team at the Wingmore house who had been happy to talk about their finds. It hadn’t taken long at all. Even so, they cut tired figures as they crossed the dark expanse to the side door. The lift was waiting for them. George sighed as he leant back on the glass.

  ‘You could have retired, George,’ Paul said. ‘Walked away.’

  ‘I’d miss it too much,’ George said. They both chuckled. The doors parted just two floors up and they walked into the Major Crime office. The main part of the room was in darkness, the meeting room lit brightly in contrast. George could see Whittaker pacing the floor. He looked much the same as when the job had first come in. He could see DS Melanie Richards and DS Jason Carter too, sat at the table with Emily Ryker. Melanie looked like she was making notes. Ryker made a shh gesture at George as he walked in and she pointed at the odd-shaped phone that was in the middle of the table. George recognised it immediately as the conference phone. It looked like a squashed star. A voice emitted from it. John Whittaker stopped to hover over it.

  ‘Well, be sure to give me an update after you speak to George. I will be on the phone until late now anyway. I have a number of calls to make before I get to stand down from this incident. If it goes straight to voicemail then please keep trying, John. I want us to talk again.’