Speak No Evil (37 page)

Tess swallowed hard. It was like the boy had just read her mind. She gave him what she hoped was her most reassuring smile. ‘Come on, Renny, don't be like that …'

She took a step towards the boy. And that was when Renny stabbed her.

Tess looked down at her stomach. She staggered backwards. Felt another blow. And another. And another.

Tess stumbled against the wall, looked down at her front. In the darkness her blood looked wet and black, like oil. She clutched her stomach, tried to hold herself together. Her legs felt weak, numb. They buckled. Without the energy to stand, Tess slid down the wall. She was starting to panic, the blood was pumping from her body.

She could barely think straight, only fight to hang on to life. Her vocabulary failed her. She couldn't describe what was happening to her. She watched Renny walk away, tried to put up a hand to stop him, to call out.

But she couldn't even do that.

She closed her eyes.

She had no time left at all.

Renny watched Tess die. Saw the life bleed out of her. And began to shake.

The first time had been righteous, watching Calvin die, that anger informing the stabs, telling him it was the right thing to do, that Calvin was paying for what he had done. Feeling more powerful, more in control of his own life with each blow. But this time it was different. He had stabbed a woman to death and watched her die. A woman who he might not have liked but who had given him money and done him no wrong. Well, she might have done if he'd let her live. Yeah, that was it. Renny held on to that thought, clutched it to him like a shield, hoped it would stop anything else, any contrary ideas permeating through. Failed.

The shaking intensified, as tears welled behind his eyes. He was scared, really scared. He looked at the knife, seeing it as if for the first time. Like it had just been put there. It was wrong. What he had just done was wrong. He felt physically sick.

He blinked the tears back, tried to focus on practicalities. Looked round. There were plenty of people on the estate tonight. Hopefully he could merge into the crowd, drift away. He looked down at his front. Saw the blood spatters arced across his jacket.

Shit. Maybe not. He had to get away. Quickly.

He turned and ran. Straight into the arms of two uniformed police officers.

‘Hold him!' It was a woman's voice.

He turned, struggling. She was a detective, he remembered that much. The one that had come to their school after Calvin was killed. Now she was walking down the alleyway towards him. He tried to pull away but the uniforms were too strong, their holds too practised. He felt pain lance up his back as his arm was twisted almost to breaking point.

She walked right up to him, stopped in front of him. ‘I am arresting you for murder …'

He didn't listen to the rest.

He didn't have to.

He pitched forward and threw up all over his trainers.

Donovan stood before the doorway to the roof of the tower block.

‘It's locked,' said Flemyng.

‘Yeah, thanks,' said Donovan, turning the handle and pushing as hard as he could. He felt the frame give. ‘He must have locked it from the outside.' He pushed again. The frame gave some more. ‘Hardly craftsmanship, these old buildings …' He gave another shove. The door opened.

Donovan almost fell out on the roof. He managed to pull himself up, not hit the hard asphalt. He looked round. Figures silhouetted against the night sky, at the far side of the building, right on the edge. He waited for his eyesight to adjust, made out three of them, huddled together.

‘That's far enough.'

Donovan stopped moving. Haig was on the edge of the building, an arm round Abigail, Jack pulled towards him with a knife at the boy's throat. Both teenagers had their hands behind their backs. Tied presumably, thought Donovan. They both looked terrified. Jack's body was crumpled, his face agonized as if in pain. They both looked defeated. Abigail's eyes pleaded with Donovan to help her. He felt rage rise inside him. He had to do something.

His first impulse was to rush over to her, push Haig over the edge, save the two of them. He stifled it. Knew it wouldn't work. He needed to be cleverer than that.

Instead, he looked round. Saw the lights of the city centre over to the left, Gateshead and the Tyne in front of him. The sky was cloudless. He swallowed down his anger, tried to work with it. ‘You've picked a nice night for it, Tom. Bit chilly, though.'

‘I said stay where you are.' Haig looked at the third man on the roof. ‘Who's that?'

‘Martin Flemyng,' said Donovan. ‘Your replacement in Anne Marie's life. Better than you, but not by much.'

Flemyng started to complain. Donovan silenced him with a look.

Haig tightened his grip on Jack. The knife pressed harder on the boy's throat. ‘So what d'you want?'

‘What do you want, Tom? Why are you doing this? What are you hoping to gain?' Donovan moved forward slightly, hoping Haig wouldn't notice. He didn't. Donovan was shaking with fear and anger. He suppressed it. It wouldn't help. ‘Do you want to talk?'

‘About what?'

‘I don't know. But let them go and we'll talk. About anything you want. The credit crunch, the fuel crisis, whether you think David Tennant's a good Doctor Who, anything.'

He pushed the knife tighter against Jack's neck. ‘Don't fuck me about …'

‘Then let them go,' Donovan said quickly, struggling to keep his voice calm and reasonable. ‘Let them go. And we'll talk.'

Haig laughed, shook his head. ‘I don't think so.'

‘Then what? Why are you doing this?'

Haig sighed and for a second Donovan thought he was going to let them go. Just for a second. ‘I'm going to die.'

‘We're all going to die,' said Donovan.

‘Not as soon as me. Cancer.' He spat the word out, his eyes pinwheeling with rage and madness. Tucking cancer. After everything I've done for everyone else. Cancer.'

Donovan moved forward another centimetre. Haig didn't notice.

‘Anne Marie's … writing a book …'

‘She is.'

‘Why her? Ey? What's she done that's so impressive? So she killed a kid. So what?'

Donovan saw Jack tense at Haig's words, hoped the boy wouldn't do something stupid. He didn't. He was too scared to.

‘I'm sure you'll be in there, Tom.'

‘Oh, I'm sure I will. I'm sure she can't wait to put me in there for the whole … fucking … world to see. What'll they think then?'

‘I don't know.' Another centimetre forward. ‘What do you want the world to think?'

Haig pulled himself up. Abigail gasped. Donovan moved forward but Haig, brandishing the knife, his eyes wide and staring, made him stop where he was. Haig waited a few seconds then spoke again.

‘I've spent all my life … working for other people. People who didn't … fucking deserve it, people who should have been left to rot. Some of them wrote books. Got TV careers out of it. Became famous. What did I get?' He screamed his next words, like a rabid wolf howling at the moon. ‘What did I fucking get? Cancer.' He slumped forward slightly, regaining his breath. Continued. ‘That's all. They'll be … they'll be remembered … and I get cancer. Well, this way, I'll be remembered as well.'

Another centimetre forward. ‘Remembered as what, Tom? Someone who killed children?'

‘Why not?' He spat the words out in rage and hatred. ‘At least it's something. I mean, look at these kids here. They're more important than me, aren't they? Don't pretend they're not.'

Donovan didn't answer.

‘What I thought. You wouldn't have come if it wasn't for them, would you? Eh? No. You'll come to save them. But not me. Well, that's a shame. Because I've got nothing to … nothing to live for. When I've said what I want to say, when Anne Marie gets here, I'm going over that ledge. And I'm taking these two with me.'

Donovan's legs felt weak. He heard both Abigail and Jack whimper and cry. ‘Don't do that, Tom. We can talk about this.'

‘Fuck off.' Haig clutched his stomach as if a band of pain was encircling him. Got a grip. Straightened up. Thought for a moment. ‘Five, isn't it?'

‘Five what?'

‘You need to kill five people to be officially classified as a serial killer, isn't that right?'

‘I think so,' said Donovan, not liking this latest turn in the conversation at all. ‘At least five.'

Haig smiled. There was no humour in it. Only madness. ‘At least five.' He tightened his grip on Jack and Abigail. Laughed. ‘At least.'

Donovan risked another move forward. From his peripheral vision, he noticed Flemyng was moving alongside him. He hoped the other man wasn't going to do anything stupid.

‘So that's how I'll be remembered.' He stopped talking, his body wracked by a coughing fit. He kept the knife where it was. Jack closed his eyes as the blade bounced against his skin with each cough. Haig regained control. ‘Tom Haig … serial killer. Might get a book written about me.'

‘You might.'

‘Will you write it?'

‘I don't think so, Tom.'

Haig became angry again. ‘Why not? You'll write hers, why not mine? Why does, why does … she get a book and not me?'

Donovan realized by now that Haig was totally unhinged. He had to say or do something to bring him back to rationality.

‘OK, Tom,' said Donovan, ‘I'll write your book.'

Haig looked at him suspiciously, eyes narrowed, expecting a trap. ‘Really?'

‘Yeah. Really.' Donovan swallowed hard. ‘Just … just let them go, come over here and we'll talk about it. Yeah?'

Haig seemed to be mulling over Donovan's offer, his expression clear and open. Then his features changed, his face twisted once more. ‘You fucker,' he said, panting for breath at the energy behind the vehemence of his words, ‘I nearly believed you then. Give these up—' He squeezed the knife tighter against Jack's throat. Jack gave a whimper. ‘—let them go … you think that would work with me? Eh?'

Donovan had no answer. He doubted there was anything he could say that would reach him, affect him, make him change his mind from what he had planned. If words weren't going to work, he would have to stop him any way he could. He risked another couple of centimetres. Flemyng did the same.

Haig was still ranting. ‘Bastard. And I nearly believed you … So tell me. Why should she be … be famous for, for … what she did?'

‘Because Anne Marie has suffered,' said Donovan. He was exhausted. He didn't know how long he could keep this up for. ‘Suffered. Her whole life. Her mother, prison …' He gestured to both Flemyng as well as Haig. ‘The bad choices she made with men … all of her life. Nothing but suffering. She needs release.'

‘Bullshit. She killed a kid.'

‘When she was a kid herself. An angry, damaged kid. She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't know right from wrong or life from death.'

‘So what? Boo fucking hoo. She's not the only one who had a bad childhood.'

‘She was just a kid,' said Donovan. ‘You were old enough to know what you were doing.' He risked another centimetre forward. Haig spotted it.

‘What are you doing? Get back! Now!'

Donovan stopped moving. ‘I'm trying to talk to you, Tom—'

‘You're trying to fucking grab me! Now get back!' He waved the knife in the air before him.

Donovan noticed Jack tense. Not just from pain. He hoped that because the knife had been moved the boy wasn't going to try anything. He had to stop him. ‘Jack,' he called out, ‘stay where you are.'

Haig looked quickly down, put the knife back in place against Jack's throat. The movement caused Haig another bout of pain. It showed on his face. Donovan kept calling.

‘Don't move, Jack, stay where you are.' He risked another step forward.

Haig looked between the pair of them, pain and madness in his eyes, tracing arcs through the air with the knife, his control slipping. ‘I'm warning you, stay back …'

Donovan moved further forward. ‘Tom, put the knife down. Jack, stay where you are, don't move.'

Haig looked between the two of them, confused now. Donovan moved again, as did Flemyng. ‘Jack, don't … Tom … put it down …'

Haig, pain clouding his vision, didn't know where to look.

Then there was a sudden noise behind Donovan. He turned. Peta had reached the door, kicked it open, and come on to the roof. She saw what was happening, stopped dead.

Haig looked over to her, confused as to what was now happening, who she was. The knife dropped, pointed downwards in his hand as his concentration fell and the pain took him over.

And in that moment, Flemyng was on him.

‘Flemyng …!' shouted Donovan.

Flemyng ran forward from where he was standing next to Donovan and, before Donovan could stop him, was on top of Haig, his left hand outstretched to grab Haig's knife.

Donovan rushed forward also. He heard the sound of footsteps behind him, knew Peta was joining him. Jack and Abigail, freed from Haig's grip, stumbled out of the way, on to the roof, away from the edge of the building.

Donovan grabbed Abigail, Peta Jack. Donovan looked up. Flemyng and Haig were on the edge of the building, fighting for the knife. As he watched, Haig took a step backwards, unbalanced himself. Flemyng, rather than pulling him back, pushed him. Haig grabbed on to Flemyng for balance but only succeeded in pulling the other man with him.

‘No …' Donovan tried to make a grab for Flemyng, missed. As he sailed over the edge of the building, Donovan was sure he had smiled at him.

Peta and Donovan went to the edge of the building, saw the two bodies hit the ground. They heard sobbing behind them, turned. Donovan moved towards Abigail, enfolded her in his arms. Peta did the same to Jack. Abigail kept sobbing.