That Summer He Died (38 page)

Alex was here.

Next to him.

He launched himself across the room, keeping low, beneath the blade of the axe.

And. . .
crack
.

He caught Alex at the waist, kept on running, ploughed him into the opposite wall. Behind him, he heard the axe clash to the ground. A scream. A flash of light as a gunshot rang out.

Then darkness.

But James could no longer see the darkness.

Only red.

Only the colour of rage.

There were no words in the struggle that followed, none that James heard anyway. Just a hissing of breath as he clawed his way up Alex’s body and hauled him down.

Then there was just the sound of his fist smacking against Alex’s face, the sound of Alex’s skull being repeatedly smashed against the cold stone floor.

Until James realised he was the only one breathing.

*

It was five days later. James was sitting in the garden at the back of Alan’s house on an old wicker chair, reading the final part of his article on his laptop:

And the inhabitants of Grancombe had been right to think that the slaughter would continue. This morning, at 12.15, two days after his BMW was sighted in a nearby car park – and only hours after a warrant had been issued for his arrest in connection with the discovery of a huge drugs cache whose whereabouts was revealed by an anonymous tip off – the body of Alex Howley was found barely yards from where Jack Dawes had been discovered a decade ago.

As with Dawes and the victims that have come between, the signature of the killer was the same: a mutilated corpse, with the hands brutally severed by the blows of an axe. And, as with the other victims, the hands have yet to be found.

James closed his laptop, leant forward, and stabbed the poker into the glowing embers of the fire and the charred, hand-written sheets of paper, watching the wind catch the sparks and carry them towards the woods. He stabbed again, pushing what looked like a gardening glove deeper into the heart of the flames.

He checked his watch, but there was no need. Plenty of time before he’d have to leave to pick Suzie up. They were going to drive down the coast to a new restaurant for dinner. It was going to be good. Like Grancombe itself, it sounded like it had potential.

Sitting back in his chair, relaxing again, he surveyed the land before him: his land. Maybe it was worth giving this place a go after all, he thought. Only time would tell.