Authors: Clare Donoghue
‘Thank you.’
Lockyer patted the guy’s shoulder. ‘And don’t worry about the missus. Send her my way if she gives you any trouble.’ He turned and ran to his car before Geoff could respond. If the crash hadn’t happened pretty much in front of him, he wouldn’t have stopped at all. He didn’t have time for this. He put the Audi into gear as he looked at the clock on his dashboard. All he could think about was Jane waking up in one of those tombs. She had sounded confused on the phone. She should be at the hospital, not chasing down Gary Reynolds. Lockyer should have insisted she go – that he would go to the allotments with the team. He thumped the steering wheel. He needed to get there.
‘What are you doing?’ Jane asked, taking a step back.
‘I’m finishing what he started,’ he said.
‘I . . . ’ She couldn’t fathom what she was seeing. Mark was sitting on an old office chair, turned to face her, the balaclava askew on his head. He was holding a Starbucks takeaway coffee cup. It was as if she had opened the door to another reality.
‘You let that bastard go,’ Mark said, taking a sip of his drink.
‘Lebowski?’
‘Of course Lebowski. He got away with murder before. I couldn’t let him get away with it again, could I? He was so arrogant . . . He didn’t even blink when I knocked on his front door this afternoon. He certainly blinked when I knocked him out, though,’ Mark said, chuckling.
‘He’s dead,’ Jane said, her voice numb with shock.
‘Good,’ he replied, turning away from her to look at the screen. ‘You are meant to be dead too, Jane,’ he said, tutting and wagging his finger at her as if she was a disobedient child.
‘What have you done with the girls, Mark?’ she asked, taking a small step forward, her hand resting on the pepper spray in her belt.
‘They’re here,’ he said, pointing to the screen. ‘He took my child – my heart. Now I’m taking his.’
‘Your child?’
‘Amelia,’ he said.
‘Amelia was your daughter?’
Mark started to laugh. He looked at Jane as if she was losing her mind. At that moment she thought he might be right. ‘No, Jane. Amelia was not my daughter. She could have been, perhaps should have been, but she wasn’t. Gary Reynolds – I know you’ve met him. He isn’t much of a man, is he? He never was, even back then. Useless husband. Hopeless father.’
Jane rested her thumb and forefinger on the pepper spray. She should have called for backup before she opened the door. The man in front of her was not the Mark she knew.
‘I had to promise that useless son-of-a-bitch that I would find the man who killed Amelia,’ Mark said. ‘What did he care? He cheated on Liz. Not once or twice, but as often as he could manage it. Amelia idolized him. She was heartbroken when I had to tell her that her father was a waste of space.’
‘What made you think Lebowski killed her?’ she asked, taking another minute step forward.
‘I could tell by his eyes,’ Mark said, putting his coffee down next to the television screen. Jane couldn’t see the girls from where she was standing. She didn’t have time for this. ‘He was so smug. Well, you know, you’ve met him. He’s like a snake, slithering away on his lies. He wanted Amelia. He even tried it on with her. She told me. He wanted her. She was disgusted.
Disgusted.
She didn’t want him, so what did he do? He took what he wanted and then killed her.’ He spat out the words, saliva spraying over his jacket. Jane could see a bandage poking out of the top left-hand side of his collar. He followed her eyes. ‘I know. A bit of a struggle working with a duff arm, but it’s almost healed now. I trained with the paramedics for a few months in my twenties. It’s amazing what you remember,’ he said, as if proud of his achievements.
‘I . . . ’ Jane began.
Mark laughed. ‘You look confused,’ he said. ‘Well, I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. It certainly took you long enough to follow the breadcrumbs, no matter how many I threw your way.’ He shrugged, as if her inability to understand was a mere annoyance in what was otherwise a perfect evening. ‘I tried every which way I could think of to plan this without me having to leave – to leave my boys – but I knew it wouldn’t work. I know Lebowski, know how he operates.’ Mark smiled. ‘And I know you, Jane, you and Mike. I needed to create just the right kind of motivation. If you believed I was missing, presumed dead . . . ’ He shrugged. ‘Given the blood, the wipe-clean, the glove marks and powder residue, what other conclusion could there be?’
Jane didn’t answer.
‘Well, I knew as soon as Lebowski’s hidden past with Amelia came out – and, therefore, my own – you’d have all the pieces you needed to take him down.’ Mark shook his head, narrowing his eyes. ‘But no.’
She couldn’t speak. She felt as if her brain was going to explode out of her skull. There was a pain behind her right eye that was radiating down her neck and into her shoulders.
‘You don’t look too good, Jane,’ he said, cocking his head on one side. ‘Head injuries can be nasty.’ He gestured to his injured arm. ‘I’ll admit that doing this hurt like hell.’
‘Mark,’ she said, holding out her hand in what she hoped was a passive gesture. She hoped he couldn’t see that she was shaking. ‘I don’t understand any of this.’ If she could keep him talking, keep him calm, she might be able to get close enough to spray him.
‘Of course you don’t,’ he said, his tone indulgent, soothing. ‘I gave you everything you needed and it still wasn’t enough.’
Jane steadied her back against the door to the shed. She had to spray him soon. She wasn’t sure she could stand up for much longer. ‘I didn’t have enough to hold him, Mark.’
Mark stood up, shoving the chair across the room. ‘How?’ he said, staring at her. ‘Let’s look at the evidence, shall we? Lebowski was dating the victim. He was having sex with a student – or should I say
another
student.’ He scoffed. ‘He had intercourse with the victim hours before she was buried. He drugged her. He attacked her on her front doorstep. He buried her in a tomb that only he knew about. He buried her in the same way he buried that boy years ago.’ He was holding up his fingers to demonstrate each piece of evidence that Jane had failed to utilize. ‘He studied taphophobia, for God’s sake. I gave you his research. And I was missing, most likely dead.’ He moved forward, forcing her to back out of the doorway. ‘That should have been enough, but you still let him go.’
She took a deep breath, trying to hold her hands still. ‘Mark,’ she said. ‘How do you know about Maggie Hungerford? How do you know she was drugged? How do you know she was attacked outside her house?’ Mark stared at her, his eyes black. ‘And, Mark, how do you know about Kieran?’
‘Doh,’ he said, mimicking Homer Simpson. ‘How do you think?’ he asked, as if she was missing the obvious. ‘I waited for Lebowski to kill again. I knew it was only a matter of time. When I saw what he did to that boy, I called and called. I even tried to talk to Lockyer about it, but no one would listen to me. I wasn’t a DCI any more. I had retired for all of five minutes, and all of a sudden there’s no respect. I told them that he had killed again, but they wouldn’t listen. I was just some nutcase with a grudge against Lebowski. It should have ended then, when he killed that boy, but no one would listen. Tell me,’ he said, opening his hands to her in a supplicant gesture. ‘What should I have done?’
‘You killed Maggie?’ Jane said, feeling an icy chill run down her back as she started to feel the pieces of the puzzle shift and come into focus.
‘Well, yes – I had to,’ he said. ‘She was the key. I had to get you to reopen the investigation into Amelia’s death.’
Jane didn’t know what to say. He was explaining away Maggie’s murder as if it was nothing, as if it didn’t matter. ‘You murdered an innocent girl, Mark.’
He seemed to recoil from her words. ‘I did not,’ he said, breathing hard. ‘I would never hurt Amelia.’ Jane took another step back as he stumbled forward. He held onto the side of the shed. He was hyperventilating. ‘I didn’t kill her. Lebowski did. It was him: he wanted her, but she refused. She refused him, so he killed her. Then, when he knew I was onto him, he killed that boy. He was laughing at me. I knew he would kill again. I watched him. I waited, but he thought he was too clever for me. When I saw him with the girl – with Maggie – I knew what I had to do. He would have killed her, Jane. He couldn’t help himself. He’s sick.’ Mark put his head in his hands as he started to cry.
Jane pulled the can of pepper spray from her belt and held it behind her back. ‘Victor Lebowski didn’t murder Kieran. He died because of an experiment that went wrong. Victor didn’t mean for Kieran to die. He left him there, yes. He covered it up, yes. But he didn’t murder that boy.’ She swallowed. ‘And he didn’t kill Amelia, either, did he, Mark?’
He looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot. He shook his head.
‘It was
you
who wanted her, wasn’t it, Mark? It was
you
she rejected. You killed her, Mark, didn’t you? You killed Amelia.’
Before she could react he was out of the chair, barrelling into her stomach. She crashed to the ground, the wind pushed out of her lungs by the weight of his body on top of her. She tried to pull her arm from under her, but he was too heavy. He put his hands around her throat. Thousands of white lights burst behind her eyelids. She opened her mouth to scream. His fingers pushed into her neck. She writhed and kicked, but she couldn’t take a breath. Her head throbbed. She looked up into his face, into the face of a killer. She could feel the darkness taking hold, pulling her under. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She bucked her head one last time, and then there was nothing.
Lockyer pulled up behind the squad car. He looked around him at the quiet street. Where were they? It was then that he noticed the alleyway on the other side of the road. He climbed out of the car and shoved his radio into his trouser pocket and jogged towards the entrance, continuing on down the path. There were six-foot fences on both sides. As soon as he came to the end he spotted Sasha and Aaron, both crouching behind a three-foot-high white picket fence.
‘What’s going on?’
They both jumped.
‘DS Bennett’s gone to check if Gary Reynolds is here,’ Sasha said in whisper.
‘She’s done what?’ Lockyer asked, not even bothering to lower his voice.
‘It’s all right, sir,’ Aaron said. ‘She’s got Sasha’s belt, pepper spray, baton and cuffs. She just wanted to check he was here, so we wouldn’t waste any time.’ If he meant to insinuate that Lockyer’s tardiness had wasted their time, he didn’t show it. ‘She said she wanted to see if he was here and, if he was, try and talk to him first. DS Bennett felt confident Gary didn’t really want to cause harm to Lebowski’s kids.’
‘Oh, did she?’ Lockyer said, wanting Jane to be here right now so that he could strangle her. ‘So far today Gary Reynolds has assaulted and killed Victor Lebowski, kidnapped two children and attacked a police officer. I think it’s fair to say he’s past the talking stage, don’t you?’
Aaron and Sasha looked at him like scolded schoolchildren.
‘When did she go in?’
Sasha pushed her sleeve up and looked at her watch. ‘Nine minutes ago, sir.’ As she spoke he could see her thinking what she and Aaron should have been thinking five minutes ago. It didn’t take nine minutes to ascertain whether Gary Reynolds was here. It didn’t take nine minutes to know whether or not she would need backup. Either way, Jane should have radioed them.
Without speaking, Lockyer shook his head, pushed open the gate leading into the allotment and started to run.
The mud and gravel from the path were sticking to his shoes. The moon had come out enough for him to be able to see where he was going. He swerved to avoid a low fence. He could see a light up ahead. He pushed his legs faster and squinted to make sense of what he was seeing. Someone was lying on the ground. They weren’t moving. He jumped over another squat fence and landed on his knees at Jane’s side. It took several seconds to make his hands move, to do anything but sit there and look at her. He felt for a pulse, pushing his fingers into her neck. She was alive. He positioned himself at her side, interlocked his fingers and placed them on her chest. He was about to start compressions when he was knocked sideways, rolling over several times in the dirt.
Without time to think, he jumped to his feet like a surfer mounting his board. He turned, crouched and ready to pounce. When his vision cleared he was staring into Mark’s face. Mark stared right back at him. The moment of indecision was enough. With a keening sound like a wild animal, Mark launched himself at Lockyer, sending them both sprawling back into the dirt. He sat on Lockyer’s chest, hitting him over and over again, but his punches were weak and misplaced. With a grunt of effort Lockyer lifted his knee between their bodies and pushed Mark away. He rolled and managed to pin Mark face down. Lockyer twisted Mark’s arm behind his back, pushing his knee into the other man’s spine with every ounce of strength. With his left hand he held Mark’s face down in the mud.
Everything seemed to stop. He could see Jane lying a few feet away. She wasn’t moving. He held firm until Mark stopped struggling. He could hear voices. Aaron and Sasha were speaking, both at the same time, neither one registering in Lockyer’s mind.
As he pushed himself off Mark’s body, he saw Aaron pumping hard on Jane’s chest, counting. Sasha was on her radio, shouting instructions. Everywhere around Lockyer there was noise, but Jane was still. He stumbled over to the shed and rested his shoulder against the damp wood for support. He saw the flickering television set. Without knowing what he was looking at, he walked into the shed and stared at the screen. Two bodies. Two little girls. Adrenaline rushed into his system, awakening his brain. He looked around the shed, saw the hatch and lunged for it, pulling it up and open in one movement. Instead of a hole there was mud, a smooth, flat layer of mud.
‘I need a spade. Someone get me something I can dig with.’ He didn’t know if Sasha could hear him, if she understood what was happening, but he didn’t have time to waste. He reached forward and started pulling at the earth, gouging out huge handfuls of loose mud. He threw it over his shoulder and kept going, burrowing, pushing, pulling – anything to get it out faster. He looked over at the television screen. Neither of the girls was moving. ‘Petra, Poppy,’ he shouted, yelling into the ground. He shouted their names over and over again as he redoubled his efforts and threw every inch of himself into clearing the hole. His hand came crashing down on something solid. ‘There’s a door,’ he shouted. ‘Petra, Poppy,’ he yelled again. ‘I’m coming, girls. Hold on.’ He felt as if he was screaming. His muscles ached, his tendons straining as he scooped more and more mud from the hole.