Fatal Act (36 page)

D
oing her best to ignore her throbbing head and aching shoulders, she began to make plans. Whoever had brought her here was intending to harm her. Of that she was certain. Before he returned, she had to locate the trap door. When he opened it she would be kneeling behind it, poised to whack him on the head. For her plan to succeed, she needed a weapon. At worst, she would have to beat him off with her bare fists. She tried to ignore the possibility that he might never come back, but in any event that danger was less urgent. If he did return, she would have only one opportunity to take him by surprise. Apart from the large bundle of sacking she had seen, the floor was bare. She began to edge towards it, feeling around in the darkness for something to use as a weapon. There might be a tool box, or at the very least a hammer, concealed under the sacking. Cautiously she crawled forwards on her hands and knees, feeling around for any irregularity in the floor that might indicate a door. Splinters stung her hands and knees. Resolutely she inched her way forwards in the direction of the pile of sacking. It couldn’t be far away, but crossing the floor seemed to take hours in the dark.

D
ragging herself across the floor boards disturbed the dust, making her sneeze. At last her groping fingers found what she was hunting for. Any desperate hope there might be a box of tools, or an object she could use as a weapon, vanished as her fingers explored the bundle. A shock of adrenaline flooded her body. Her mind cleared. She wasn’t alone. All the time someone else had been lying in the loft with her, concealed beneath the sacking. Feeling her way along the other person’s back, her fingers found a shoulder and moved past it to bare skin. Whoever was lying there didn’t stir, but wasn’t cold. Just then the room was suddenly lit up once again. In the moonlight she saw a face.

M
emory hit Geraldine like a slap, winding her. She recalled precisely who she was and what she was doing there. It felt like weeks since she had entered the building looking for Sam. Now she had found her, but she might already be too late. Her escape plans forgotten, she leaned over Sam checking for signs of life. Finding a faint pulse, she gave a cry of relief. All the same, Sam was unconscious and in need of urgent medical attention. Not knowing the extent of her injuries, Geraldine didn’t dare move her. As darkness enveloped them once more, she heard muffled footsteps below her. Instinctively she hauled herself around to the other side of the inert sergeant. Lying flat on the floor between the body and the wall she listened to a door creaking open. With a sudden crash the trap door fell back, causing the floor to vibrate. The flickering beam of a torch waved around the walls. Over the top of the sacking, Geraldine saw a man’s head and shoulders appear. She watched him heave himself up through the trap door. He had to stoop to avoid hitting his head on the sloping roof as he shone the torch around, following it with his head. Behind the beam of light his silhouette loomed. Geraldine held her breath.

O
NE
SNEEZE,
ONE
INVOLUNTARY
movement, and it would all be over. She thought about her sister, and young Chloe, excited about her imminent visit to London. Geraldine had barely considered what they were going to do. London had so much to offer: museums, galleries, shops – she hadn’t even asked Celia what Chloe would enjoy. There was still time to plan a few outings. It must be Wednesday night, or possibly Thursday. She had lost track of time. Celia was bringing Chloe round on Friday evening, by which time Geraldine would be either free, or dead. She tried to picture her sister and niece ringing her bell and trying her phone without success. Celia would be furious. She would drive back to Kent fuming at Geraldine for letting Chloe down again.

I
t was hard to decide who else would care if she died in this cold dark place, beside the sergeant who had spent her final moments carrying out Geraldine’s orders. She tried to remember the wording used on such occasions: ‘They died in the course of their duty,’ or some such stock phrase. Whatever it was would make no difference. Sam would have mourned for her, but she was going to die too. Geraldine’s oldest friend, Hannah, would be deeply upset. Other colleagues would be shocked by the fact of her death, but no one else would be personally bereft. Ian Peterson would miss her. Tears threatened at the thought that she might never see him again. With an effort she controlled her emotions and focused her attention on her situation. She wasn’t ready to give up yet. With luck and a cool head she might survive.

E
ven with so many thoughts and emotions spinning in her head, she had been constantly aware of him moving around. The light from his torch wobbled up and down, round and round, searching the shadows, looking for her. Fear threatened to sap her remaining energy. Only her desire to protect Sam drove her to control her physical trembling. If she could manage to stay out of sight until he reached Sam, she might be able to take him down. He was stronger than her, and possibly armed. Nevertheless, she could be in with a chance if she managed to surprise him. Sufficiently startled, he might drop his torch and lose his balance. Lying motionless, straining to hear the slightest sound, she played through possible successful outcomes in her mind. Tripping him up was her best chance, especially if he hit his head in falling and knocked himself out. Realistically, she might at least cause him to stumble and lose focus, buying her enough time to hit him anywhere she could hurt him. If she managed to grab his torch, she could use that as a weapon. Otherwise, she would have only her hands and feet. The prospect made her tremble with terrible anticipation. Kicking a stranger might be the last action she ever carried out.

S
hielded by Sam’s body, she tensed her muscles, preparing to leap. It sounded as though his shuffling footsteps were creeping closer. If she waited much longer he might hear the pounding of her heart.

When he spoke, she almost yelled aloud, she was so startled.

‘Over here!’ he shouted. ‘More light! Get the paramedics up here now. Holy shit, they’re both here.’

Trembling, Geraldine hauled herself off the floor.

‘She’s in a bad way,’ she said, indicating the body lying on the floor between her and Nick.

‘You’re not looking so hot yourself.’

He shone the torch in her face, making her squint. ‘What the hell happened here?’

‘Where’s Darius? Have you got him?’

‘He won’t get far. We’ve got the whole area covered, two choppers sweeping the streets, every road blocked off, armed response unit, half the Met forming a cordon, the streets are being cleared. Nothing moves out there without our say so. There’s been a bit of flack from local residents, but we’re not taking any chances this time.’

Geraldine frowned. She wouldn’t feel safe until Darius was locked up.

P
aramedics appeared, accompanied by a couple of constables carrying a strong light. One by one they emerged through the trap door. A doctor examined Geraldine despite her assurances she was fine.

‘With respect, you don’t look great,’ he replied. ‘I can’t find anything too worrying, but I’d like you to go along to the hospital for a check up.’

‘It’s nothing a shower and night’s sleep won’t sort out.’

The doctor insisted, and she was too tired to argue. As she walked over to the door, Nick caught up with her.

‘It’s over, Geraldine,’ he said gently. ‘It’s all over.’

She glanced at Sam and hoped his reassuring words wouldn’t prove to have another meaning altogether for Sam.

‘Here,’ he went on, handing her the phone and purse Darius had taken from her. ‘And mind you don’t lose them again.’ He grinned, as though he had cracked a joke, before he turned away.

A
police constable took Geraldine’s elbow to steady her as she climbed into the ambulance.

‘Are you all right now?’ he asked.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she answered brusquely, embarrassed at needing help to climb the ramp, but shaking too violently to manage unaided.

Inside the ambulance a nurse was tucking a cover onto the bed. She slipped smartly to one side to allow her patient to pass. Geraldine sat down and fell backwards onto the pillow. Her eyes closed gratefully. She was dimly aware of the nurse gently lifting her legs onto the bed to make her more comfortable, and a blanket being tucked in tightly around her so she could hardly move. A moment later she heard the door click shut, and the vehicle jolted into motion. Geraldine wanted to sleep but every inch of her body ached. When she swallowed, it felt as though she had sand in the back of her throat. She asked for a drink of water and heard the nurse moving quietly beside the bed. She opened her eyes.

D
arius was leaning over her, wearing an ill-fitting nurse’s uniform and a blonde wig. Thinking she must be dreaming, Geraldine closed her eyes. When she opened them again, he was still there.

‘It’s not a terribly good disguise, is it?’ he said, with an apologetic shrug, ‘but it did the trick. Got me out of there. That’s all that matters in the end. The place was crawling with filth. Of course they couldn’t catch me.’ He grinned.

Without answering, Geraldine rolled onto her side. Lying with her back to Darius, she struggled to move her arm beneath the blanket. At last she succeeded in slipping her hand into her pocket, tensing with anticipation as her fingers rummaged under the blanket for the phone Nick had given her.

‘I’m not boasting,’ Darius went on. ‘I’m just saying it how it is. I really do have a gift for theatre. No one ever appreciated it, of course.’

S
he found the phone and fumbled with it, trying to switch it on. She hoped there would be a signal in the ambulance.

‘Well, I suppose I’d better sort you out before we get there.’ Darius’ voice had lost its conversational tone and become sharp. ‘I should have dealt with you when I had the chance,’ he added under his breath.

‘Wait,’ Geraldine said, turning to face him.

He was holding a pillow in both hands. She felt pathetically vulnerable, lying down. Once he had the pillow over her face, she might not stand a chance, however hard she hit out. Desperately she tried to free her arms from the bed cover.

‘Y
ou might need my help to get away.’

‘Why would you want to help me?’

‘Look,’ she said, staring intensely over his shoulder.

She scarcely dared hope he would fall for such a childish trick and look round. He didn’t turn his head, but he hesitated. It only gave her a second. In one rapid lunge, she flung the blanket from her and hurled herself from the bed. The pillow dropped from his hands as he staggered backwards in surprise, hitting his head on the side of the vehicle as they fell to the floor in a heap. She was on top of him, pummelling his face. Snarling, bloodied and enraged, he gripped her under her arms, lifting her up with an almost irresistible strength.

S
hrieking with terror, she looked around frantically for something she could use as a weapon while her arms thrashed wildly at him. Summoning the last vestiges of her energy, she swiped at his face with her left hand. Her nails ripped through his skin. Momentarily distracted by the pain, he didn’t notice her reach for an oxygen cylinder. He was yelling, ‘Not my face!’ She was aware of the danger the cylinder might explode, possibly engulfing them both in flames, but there was no time to stop and assess the risk. With a final burst of energy, she brought the cylinder down on his head. Thinking of Sam, she hoped she would crush his skull. As she rammed the cylinder down as forcefully as she could, the ambulance braked. Instead of hitting him directly from above, the blow glanced off the side of his head.

H
is hold on her loosened, his eyes glazed over and he went limp, but he was still breathing. She raised herself cautiously, observing the gentle rise and fall of his chest, afraid this was another performance. Apart from his bleeding nose and battered face, he could have been asleep. A single thread of blood trickled down his temple from where the edge of the cylinder had caught him. She held his wrists to the floor, leaning on them with all her might, praying that he wouldn’t stir before the ambulance reached its destination.

S
he didn’t register when the engine stopped, or hear the door open behind her. She clung on to Darius’ wrists, even when a voice cut through her whimpering.

‘What the hell’s going on?’

A
PART
FROM
SOME
NASTY
bruises and a mild shoulder sprain, Geraldine was unharmed. As she had promised, she looked a whole lot better after taking a shower. An amazing quantity of dirt washed off her. The water literally flowed black down the plug hole. Standing in the hot shower, her muscles relaxed for the first time in hours. It felt as though she had spent weeks keeping still, crawling awkwardly, crouching out of sight, or tensed to pounce. In fact only a few hours had passed since she had walked into Darius’ flat. Her skin stung where she had grazed herself or been pierced by splinters, and her shoulder ached, but such minor scrapes and bruises would soon heal. Meanwhile, the severity of Sam’s injuries was still under investigation, her recovery uncertain.

D
espite her anxiety about Sam, Geraldine slept well on Thursday night. On Friday morning she discharged herself from the hospital with the doctor’s guarded approval. First she had to give an undertaking that she would visit her own GP the following day, and go straight back to the hospital if she felt at all unwell. After a shower, a thorough examination to confirm that she hadn’t suffered any serious injury, and a night’s sleep, she felt almost back to normal. Only her aching shoulder and her constant worry about Sam reminded her of her ordeal. As soon as she had checked out, she went to see how Sam was doing. The sergeant was stable and making progress, whatever that meant, but she hadn’t yet regained consciousness. There was nothing Geraldine could do for her friend, so she left.