The Winter Killings, page 27
She looked away.
‘Do I have your word?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. Two hours.’
‘More than enough,’ Riddick said.
‘This is stupid.’
‘I’ll be okay.’
‘But if you’re not okay, Paul, then what will you be?’
Dead. ‘I’m already in for a penny. Just get those kids out, okay, and give me some time? Promise me.’
Cecile nodded. ‘I guess you’ve earned the right to make that decision – I can’t think of many people who’d go to these lengths. I promise.’
Riddick helped her up, and she stretched out. He heard her bones cracking.
‘I’m sorry for what I did to you,’ he said.
She sighed. ‘You’d no choice.’
‘There’s always a choice… don’t forgive me that easily,’ he said, walking to the bedroom door.
‘You chose the children. I can live with that,’ Cecile said from behind him.
Riddick placed his hand on the handle.
‘I’ll ask those children upstairs in a couple of years if they think you made the right choice,’ Cecile continued.
Riddick nodded, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
Tommy was standing there.
67
Riddick’s eyes widened. ‘Shit—’
A sudden blow to his stomach knocked the wind from him.
He folded forward into the doorframe, so he didn’t go to the floor.
Behind him, Cecile was shouting for him to move.
He glanced up and saw the bloody knife in Tommy’s hands. A cold sensation spread over his body when he realised that the blood belonged to him.
With no real options, Riddick threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around the large man’s stomach, thrusting him against the wall. He rotated slightly as he went, so when they rebounded together, they didn’t fly back into the room; instead, the ground disappeared beneath Riddick’s feet, and the world started to spin and flash.
Disorientated, it took Riddick a moment to realise that he’d come down the stairs; then, another moment to clock the worsening agony in his stomach.
Tommy, however, hadn’t needed a moment. The bastard was already scurrying up onto him.
Tommy rose, shifting his knees to Riddick’s arms.
It’s over, Riddick thought, expecting to see the knife again that had mangled his insides.
But there was no knife. The fall must have disarmed him.
Tommy threw a punch. Everything turned white. When he opened his eyes, the fist came again. Another flash of white.
‘You think I’d be stupid enough to leave you alone?’ Tommy snorted. ‘You think I don’t know you’re pissed all the time? Yes… I’ve had my eye on you since you turned to jelly the other night.’ He punched him a third time.
This time, he didn’t have the strength to open his eyes. He prepared for another blow, and unconsciousness—
There was a loud smash. Then, the weight seemed to be lifted from Riddick. He opened his eyes. The world spun, but he’d enough sense to see Tommy had hit the floor beside him.
As his vision began to sharpen and the blurry chaos subsided, the figure before him gradually took shape. The hazy outlines solidified, and he could now discern the familiar features of Cecile standing there, holding the jagged remains of a vodka bottle in her hand. ‘You okay?’
‘No…’ He lifted his hand and pointed at the smashed bottle. ‘That was my last one.’ He spat out blood and rolled on to his side. He groaned. The pain in his stomach was worse than his face.
Cecile knelt and looked at him. ‘You need to get to the hospital now.’
‘No…’ Riddick said. ‘We stick to the plan. You get those kids out.’
‘He stabbed you Paul, there’s blood every—’
Riddick spat out more blood. ‘The plan… you promised. You promised.’
‘What if I can’t even kick the door—’
‘The left pocket of his jeans,’ Riddick hissed.
While Cecile rustled in the bastard’s pockets, Riddick looked down at his wound. It was the left side of his stomach. How long did he have?
‘Got them,’ she said, standing up above him.
‘Good… first…’ He looked up at her. ‘Get me the syringe from upstairs.’
She stared down at him.
‘Listen, you can’t risk him waking up. Think of the children. If I’d the strength to use that broken glass on him, I would, without a moment’s hesitation… but I don’t.’
She looked at the broken bottle in her hand.
‘No…’ Riddick said. ‘Don’t even think about it. This isn’t your war. Not yours to live with. Get me the syringe.’
She paled, shaking her head.
‘Now.’ He coughed. ‘Now!’
She nodded and ran upstairs.
While she was retrieving the syringe, he rolled onto his front, groaning. After getting himself to his knees, he looked down and saw that his front was shimmering with blood. He shook his head, groaning. And I always thought it’d be the booze.
Surprisingly, he’d more strength left than he’d realised, and worked his way to his feet. He reached down and, feeling the agony tearing through him, attempted to pull Tommy over the floor by his armpits.
A mistake.
He leaned over, grabbed his knees, and sucked at the air while pain surged through his body.
‘I’m here.’ Cecile was suddenly there, on the other side of him. She put the syringe on the table and then reached down for his left armpit.
Together, they dragged him to the right side of the sofa. They sat him upright against it. His head slumped forward. ‘That’ll do. It’ll see me off if we try to lift him onto it.’ He snatched the syringe from the table. Fortunately, the tube was still there from the other day. He grabbed that, too.
‘What’re you going to say?’ Cecile asked.
Say? Probably nothing, looking at the state of me… ‘I’ll think of something—’
‘What? That he was off his head on drugs and stabbed you?’
Riddick grinned and winced as he took the tube and the syringe from the table. ‘Nobody is stabbing anyone on this dose.’ He looked down at the blood leaking out onto the floor. ‘I’ll say that he stabbed me before… sat down to watch me die while he enjoyed himself on too much of his own product.’
‘Your blood is everywhere, though.’
Riddick nodded and knelt. He felt dizzy and knew he needed to get a move on. ‘I took pity on him… crawled over to attempt to save him.’
Cecile shook her head. ‘Christ… you’re a card.’
He tied the tube around Tommy’s arm.
‘No…’ Cecile said.
He looked up at Cecile. ‘It’s all right. Trust me. It’s on me. You were never involved—’
‘I just can’t watch while—’
‘Don’t. Get the children.’
Tommy stirred.
Riddick slipped the needle into a vein.
Tommy opened his eyes as Riddick snapped the tube off.
‘What’re you doing?’ Tommy moaned.
‘Putting things right,’ Riddick said.
Tommy looked down, then up. His eyes widened. ‘Shit… no…’
But it was too late.
He shook his head, pushed Riddick away, who slumped back to the floor. ‘How much… how much did you give me?’ His voice was losing strength.
‘How much does it take to kill a child-trafficking monster?’ Riddick asked.
‘You bastard…’ His eyes rolled back. ‘No… you bastard.’ He reached out.
Riddick slumped back on the floor as Tommy mumbled incomprehensibly.
‘Cecile… please,’ Riddick said. The world was spinning now. ‘Go. Get…’ He closed his eyes.
He felt a hand on his face and opened them again. Cecile was close to him. ‘Keep your eyes open.’
‘I will… I promise.’
‘Promise?’
‘Okay… yes… you keep yours, and I’ll keep mine.’
And he kept his promise.
Right until he saw Cecile leading the children out the front door.
Then he closed his eyes and smiled at the thought of his wife and children.
68
Heart pounding in her chest, hand throbbing from the deep cut, Gardner put a gloved hand on the top of Cecile’s Lexus, coughing.
Cecile?
She turned a full circle again, observing the rows of terraces.
Anywhere! She could be bloody anywhere!
She hoisted her phone out and looked down at the picture sent by Cecile several days back of Riddick, sitting on a wall outside a house that looked very similar to many of these others.
Coughing again, she backed away from the car, knowing that she’d have to call it in.
What choice do I have? I can’t wander these streets, hoping that this terraced house will just jump out at me.
Never going to happen.
After calling it in, she leaned on the car again, feeling sick to the stomach over what she’d set in motion.
Have I cost Cecile her life?
If she had, there was no coming back from it. She’d demand punishment. With Collette, they’d waved away her cries to be held responsible. This was different. There was no way they could overlook this.
No. She’d pay. She’d have to.
Blinking back tears, she saw a small huddle of people in the distance heading her way. She cleared her vision with her sleeve as they came closer. They were moving at great speed.
She pushed herself back from the car, eyes widening.
No. Her eyes were surely playing tricks on her. It can’t be.
She moved to meet the group as they came nearer, unbelieving of what she was seeing.
‘Cecile?’
‘Yes,’ Cecile replied, her voice weak and strained, yet filled with relief.
‘God… Cecile… thank God. Thank God.’ The words tumbled out of her mouth as she darted in and embraced her pale, dishevelled friend. She could feel Cecile trembling in her arms, her body fragile and exhausted. ‘What’s happened? You look awful—’ She broke off to cough, turning her head to one side, her lungs still raw from the smoke.
‘So do you,’ Cecile said.
‘I was caught in a fire. Who are these?’ She looked over at the four children, who clung to each other, their eyes wide with fear and confusion.
She looked back at Cecile, who was choking back tears. ‘What’s happened? Talk to me,’ Gardner urged, her brows furrowed with concern.
‘I’m sorry, Emma…’ Cecile’s lips quivered.
‘Sorry for what? What’s happened?’ Gardner’s voice grew more insistent.
‘You need an ambulance. You need an ambulance now. It’s Paul.’ Cecile’s words came out in a rush.
Gardner took a deep breath, her jaw clenching as she fought to maintain her composure. ‘What’s happened to him? What’s he done?’
‘I’m sorry, Emma.’ Cecile’s voice cracked.
‘What’s the house number?’
‘Emma—’ Cecile began, but Gardner cut her off.
‘Cecile!’ Gardner’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding.
Cecile gave the house number, her hand shaking as she pointed at the children behind her. ‘He got these out. He got me out. But Emma…’
Gardner thrust her phone into Cecile’s hands, shouting the passcode as she did so. ‘Call the ambulance.’
Then, without waiting for a response, Gardner turned and ran, her heart pounding in her chest, her mind racing with the possibilities of what she might find. Her feet pounded against the pavement, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she pushed her damaged lungs to the limit, desperate to reach Riddick.
69
Gardner didn’t get far.
The smoke inhalation had her.
Leaning against a wall, she coughed her guts up, sucking in deep breaths when she could. Eventually, the attack subsided, and she made it to the house at a more realistic pace. The front door was open. She burst in, shouting for Riddick.
The larger man on the sofa was still and had foam coming out of his mouth.
Her eyes fell to the figure on the floor.
‘Paul,’ she gasped.
As she moved forward, she slipped. There was a lot of blood on the floor. She was forced to use the wall to steady herself, and then lowered herself down next to Riddick.
His face was pale, and his eyes were closed. She was certain she could see the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
Wishful thinking?
She checked for his pulse.
Weak. But there.
His eyelids lifted slowly. He formed a weak smile. ‘Emma.’
She touched his face, forcing back the desperate urge to cough. ‘Rest. An ambulance is coming.’
‘Did they get out?’
‘Yes,’ Gardner said. ‘You got them out.’
‘Good.’ Still smiling, he closed his eyes.
‘Open your eyes,’ Gardner said. She turned her head to the side to cough. When she’d finished, she looked back and saw that his eyes were open.
‘I’ve missed you… Emma.’ Riddick’s words were barely a whisper, but they struck Gardner like a physical blow. Her heart clenched, and she felt a wave of emotion wash over her.
‘I’ve missed you, too,’ she managed to say, her voice thick with unshed tears. The words felt inadequate, but they were all she could offer in this sea of overwhelming emotions.
This time, when he closed his eyes, she couldn’t get him to open them again.
EPILOGUE
CHRISTMAS DAY
Gardner stopped the Christmas playlist.
Along with the mulled wine, it’d served its purpose in steering her through the laborious food preparation, but she’d now reached her limit on these pop classics.
She stood for a moment, enjoying the sound of her children in the other room constructing a train track. She’d invested in wooden toys, rather than plastic this year, and was glad to hear that she’d made the right call.
Then, she moved into the dining room, lit a few candles, so the room was bathed in the flickering lights, and thought of the house fire that had claimed the lives of retired architect, Nigel Beaumont, and James Sykes’ murderer, Elizabeth Sykes. Barnett had endured a raw deal with third-degree burns on his legs. Gardner had paid a smaller price with mild smoke inhalation and stitches in her palm.
Gardner sighed. She often thought of Elizabeth’s refusal to be saved, and those last words again:
It’s inside of me. Of us. Let it burn.
What was she referring to? Evil? Madness? Both, perhaps?
Who could ever know for sure?
One thing was certain, though. Elizabeth’s last act in trying to kill her biological daughter was not a sane one. Elizabeth had had her demons. And they’d driven her to the edge.
And yet, even in her insanity, she’d orchestrated the unearthing of the truth so meticulously for the world. But then, didn’t they say that sometimes genius and insanity often came hand in hand?
Gardner had kept a keen eye on Jess Beaumont. She’d struggled at first and couldn’t make peace with her parents for what they’d done. That they’d bought her, or rather stolen her, from another was unforgiveable. Imagine discovering that about the people you’d spent your whole life adoring?
Where could you go from there?
However, she’d forgiven Elizabeth for what she’d tried to do.
Gardner had been helping Jess find a new place. Nigel’s money would ensure there’d be no problems financially. Emotionally, would be a whole different ballpark. Especially considering she was already vulnerable. Gardner had wanted her to come to Christmas dinner today, but she’d refused. Still, she’d check in on her later all the same.
She took a deep breath and turned to the Christmas table. She moved her eyes over the bronzed turkey at the centrepiece, the plates and the crackers.
Then, one glance at her watch told her that her guest was due any moment.
She moved to the seat her guest would occupy, ensuring that the cutlery was straight.
Gardner was so desperate to make this a day to remember.
Maybe, if she did so, then it’d herald in a brighter year. One marked with less trauma and tragedy.
The doorbell rang.
Excitedly, she ran to get Rose and Ana, who weren’t too keen to leave the train set, but did so after a stern motherly stare, and they assembled at the front door.
Gardner opened the door to her younger colleague, who was in a festive red dress and holding tinfoil topped ‘O’Brien World Famous Christmas Pudding’. It looked massive!
Her children screeched, ‘Merry Christmas, Lucy,’ loud enough to wake the dead, leaving O’Brien and Gardner to laugh in a fitting introduction to the day’s celebrations.
Barnett limped around the dinner table to refill his father’s mulled wine.
He’d deliberately laid off the painkillers today so he could have a drink himself. With everything that’d happened, it seemed like a long time since he’d last enjoyed himself, and so he wanted to give it a shot today.
Also, it helped with the nerves. There was a special guest arriving shortly.
‘Thanks, son,’ Richard said, lifting his filled glass.
When he sat down and reached for his glass, he noticed his father still had his glass raised. ‘A toast. To my son, the hero.’
Barnett lowered his head.
‘That girl is alive because of you.’
Barnett raised his glass but didn’t make eye contact. ‘Thank you.’
‘Do you know how that makes me feel, son? It makes me feel proud.’
Awkward as this made him feel, Barnett held back on telling his father to stop. He was glad for his father’s happiness.
Richard looked up and raised his glass in that direction. ‘And she’ll be so proud, too.’
