Blood Falls (43 page)

It was over so quickly that Joe could hardly believe what he’d seen. Desperate not to suffer the same fate, Reece threw himself at Joe, clubbing and pawing at his head. Joe butted Reece in the face and wrestled him closer to the water. He was committed now. With Todd having been snatched away like driftwood, Reece had to follow.

Joe got his hands round Reece’s neck, forcing him closer and closer, but to submerge him part of Joe’s own head and shoulders were in
the water. It took all his strength to hold Reece down. Breathing was almost impossible: an occasional gulp of air that came saturated with spray and lined his mouth with salt. Reece was snarling and spitting, raw terror in his eyes because he understood that Joe was ruthless enough to do it.

Freezing cold waves broke over them. Even at the very edge, only inches deep, the outgoing tide exerted a tremendous force, tugging at their hair, their jackets, while the rain slashed down on their bodies and the slate beach seemed to writhe and shift beneath them. Joe was dimly aware that they were both screaming with desperation and rage, each knowing that it came down to nothing more or less than sheer determination: only one of them was going to survive, and it would be the one who wanted it most.

For Joe, it was never in doubt. Even with Reece clawing at his face and neck, even with starbursts distorting his vision and his blood pumping so hard that he felt his heart or head might burst; even then he knew it was going to be him.
He
wanted it the most.

At the end he shut his eyes and kept them shut. Not because he couldn’t bear to look, but because his mind had taken him somewhere else, and when he came back he was dangerously cold and the water was pushing and pulling him over the slate, teasing him closer, and Reece lay flat on his back with his head beneath the surface and his arms splayed out in surrender.

Joe shoved the body into the water, let it be claimed by the greedy sea. Then he crawled a few feet up the slope before stopping to be violently, painfully sick.

He spat bile and rain from his mouth, wiped his face and looked up to where Bruce was waiting for him on the path. He’d known all along that Bruce was the main threat, the real fighter of the three.

This had been the easy part.

Seventy-Eight

CADWELL SLIPPED THE
USB stick back into his pocket and waited to see how Leon would react. But Leon, who knew exactly what was on it, decided to say nothing.

Cadwell quickly tired of the silence. ‘So Alise survived?’

Leon nodded. ‘Joe’s spoken to her. That’s one of the reasons he had to go.’

‘That doesn’t remove the threat.’

‘Alise isn’t a threat to me.’

‘Oh?’ Cadwell said. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’

Grinning, Leon laced his hands behind his head. ‘Why? Because of that little stick of yours?’

‘Correct.’ If Cadwell was disappointed that Leon had stolen his thunder, he hid it well. Fenton wasn’t so smooth, his goldfish mouth opening and closing in astonishment.

‘You’re on that tape as well,’ Leon said. ‘The way I remember it, you were practically wanking yourself off.’

Cadwell flushed. ‘I made sure I stayed out of range. And it was recorded without sound.’

‘Lucky you. So what are you planning to do with it?’

‘Nothing. It’s what used to be called “mutually assured destruction”.’ A condescending smile. ‘You’re with me up to this point, are you?’

Leon ignored him, staring at Fenton. ‘You two cooked this up together?’

‘No. It wasn’t so calculated. The tape was originally intended for … well …’

‘Private pleasure,’ Cadwell finished for him. ‘We had no idea you’d get so enthusiastic. As you laid into her, I spotted the perfect opportunity to flush you out.’

Leon frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

Cadwell leaned forward, his beaky nose wrinkling, as though he didn’t much care for the sight in front of him. ‘I needed an incriminating tape of you because you have one of me. But do you?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Then I want to see it. Otherwise I’ll have to conclude that you’ve been bluffing all these years.’

Leon was struggling for a response when Fenton, unwittingly or not, threw him a lifeline.

‘Leon, please. Neither of us wanted it to come to this, but your refusal to countenance a deal with Danny Morton … It’s madness.’

‘He’s right,’ Cadwell said. ‘You’ve allowed your ego to get in the way of common sense.’

Leon couldn’t maintain his relaxed pose any longer. He unclasped his hands and slapped his palms on the table. ‘Whatever we did, Morton would have found a way to screw us. Maybe you’ve got your heads stuck so far up your arses that you can’t see it, but I can. And to blackmail me for something as stupid as that …’

‘No. No. Not blackmail—’ Fenton had both of his pudgy hands up in the air.

‘Actually, Clive, I beg to differ,’ Cadwell broke in. ‘Maybe it didn’t start out that way, but it’s blackmail now, and why not?’ He squared up to Leon again. ‘It all comes down to the tape you claim to have. If you do, then prove it.’

‘Or what?’

‘Or you step down from your little empire and cede control to a
new holding company, run by Clive and myself. You’ll be retained in an advisory capacity, providing you cooperate fully.’

‘Piss off,’ Leon spat. ‘I’ve been eating twats like you for breakfast since I was a kid.’

Fenton looked pained. ‘Leon, please. From our perspective—’

‘Forget it, Clive.’ Still focused on Cadwell, Leon said, ‘What do you think you’re gonna do, take that tape to the cops? Go ahead. I’ll talk my way out of it.’ He gave a sly smile. ‘But I don’t think you’d risk it. Not when you just buried that extra body.’

Cadwell produced a matching smile. ‘Your Mr Smith isn’t buried anywhere. He’s being stored safely, at an undisclosed location, for just such an eventuality as this.’

As Cadwell spoke, Leon concentrated on Fenton’s reaction, saw him suppress a gasp, to which Cadwell responded with an angry glare.

Leon pounced. ‘He’s taking you for a fool, Clive.’

Fenton started to speak, but a sudden deep rumbling brought an end to the conversation. The whole room shook, as though a bomb had gone off close by. Leon’s chair jerked an inch or two across the floor. A document tray toppled off the desk, and pictures fell from the wall.

As the noise subsided, the divisions between them were temporarily forgotten. Fenton had dived to the floor and now lay panting like a beached whale. Cadwell was gripping the arms of his chair as though on a roller-coaster ride. Both men turning to Leon for an explanation – and the most obvious one was also the most outlandish.

They were under attack.

The water was like some kind of miracle. Something she had prayed for, but had never expected. If you didn’t believe in God, how could He possibly answer your prayers?

Jenny had given up the fight. Her body was shutting down, taking with it her will to resist, to survive.
You should be dead by now
, the voice inside her kept saying.

She had been so stupid. Bewitched by the prospect of escape, she had blithely used the waste water to soften the plasterboard, never suspecting that she might need it to assuage her thirst. Back then the very idea would have appalled her: inconceivable that she could ever stoop to such depravity.

She knew differently now.

It was in a dream that she smelled it. She hadn’t known that water possessed a smell, but her eyes opened and made out a dull gleam on the floor of the cell. She had been lying unconscious by the door and now, somehow, there was a tiny moist patch just an inch or two from her head. Any further away and she might never have known it was there.

The energy to move, the craving, was immediate and extraordinary. It occurred to her as she lowered her head and scraped her tongue on the concrete that she was an animal now: a mindless, primitive creature who existed, but barely lived.

And she didn’t care. Lapping water from the ground, weeping with the knowledge that this might only prolong her agony, she didn’t care how it looked or what it made her. Nothing mattered except this.

You should be dead by now
.

But she wasn’t. She was alive, and her body rejoiced. She licked the floor dry, rested, still desperately thirsty, then lowered her mouth to the ground and found more water. The puddle had been replenished.

Jenny gasped. And drank again.

Truly, a miracle.

Seventy-Nine

BRUCE WASN’T STUPID
; at least, not as stupid as his late colleagues. He didn’t even attempt to descend the slope. He was in a winning position and had no need to relinquish it.

Joe was trapped. If he tried moving left or right Bruce could easily intercept him. A direct assault was almost impossible: he had no weapons, and just climbing the bank would require all his concentration. But if he stayed where he was, he would quickly succumb to exposure. He was already shivering uncontrollably, his body drenched by rain and seawater.

He began to climb, using his hands and feet for better purchase on the slippery grass. Every couple of paces he looked up at Bruce and tried to think of a way past. And every time he came up blank.

Bruce stood on the edge of the path, arms folded, water streaming down his face. An intimidating sight, like a massive tree that had to be felled by hand.

Closing the gap to a few feet, Joe stopped. ‘You should let me go,’ he said, yelling to be heard over the crash and roar of the storm. ‘Don’t make the same mistake as those two.’

‘I haven’t,’ Bruce shouted back. ‘They were losers, the pair of them.’

‘So what are you getting out of this?’

‘I’m not interested in avenging them.’ Bruce spat a mouthful of
blood in Joe’s direction. ‘When I kill you, it’s gonna be for my own enjoyment.’

Movement along the path caught Joe’s attention. He turned his head, frowning.

‘Fuck off,’ Bruce shouted. ‘Oldest trick in the book.’

But then he sensed it, too. Risked a glance and saw a big Toyota truck thundering down the track towards them.

Glenn.

Bruce was disappointed, and Joe guessed why. Mobile phones wouldn’t work out here. Any change of plan and Leon would have to send someone in person.

‘Gonna help me up?’ Joe said, half joking, extending a hand towards Bruce.

Bruce ignored him, waiting until the Toyota pulled up behind the Range Rover and Glenn got out. He was alone, wearing jeans and a short quilted coat that wasn’t going to keep him dry for long. That suggested an urgent mission.

Bruce must have thought the same. He took a couple of steps back from the edge and turned towards Glenn. ‘Don’t say he’s changed his mind?’

Glenn cocked his head, trying to decipher the words before they were lost in the wind. Then he nodded grimly, leaned close to Bruce and said something that Joe couldn’t hear.

In response, Bruce swept out his arm to indicate the churning river mouth. ‘Drowned ’em both,’ he cried, turning towards Joe. There was a flash of silver and a spray of blood and Bruce staggered away, dropped to his knees and collapsed onto the muddy track.

Glenn stared at the body, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he had done. He was holding a large adjustable wrench. He didn’t move until Joe had taken the last cautious steps onto the path. They regarded each other warily for a moment, and then Glenn offered a hesitant smile.

‘Glad I made it in time.’

‘Why did you come here?’

‘To save you.’ Another rueful look at Bruce. A dark puddle of blood spread out from beneath his battered skull. Glenn shuddered, turned away and hurled the wrench into the sea.

‘Was this Leon’s idea?’ Joe asked.

‘Diana’s.’ Glenn sighed. ‘Leon would kill me for this. He’d kill us all.’

Leon ran to the comms room, barely registering an unfamiliar draught of cold air as he crossed the hall. Wishing he’d arranged for Venning or Kestle to return sooner, he examined the bank of monitors. There was no movement at the front of the house, no unfamiliar vehicles on the drive. The side cameras showed nothing wrong, although the one above the rear decking must have come loose in the storm: the image was slanted at an angle, tight up on the corner of the building.

Fenton eased past him and brought up a different selection of cameras. ‘The north-east corner is out.’

‘That’s the kitchen,’ Leon said. Had somebody tried to break in at the back?

He was first into the room, but didn’t notice anything amiss until Fenton pointed towards the adjoining utility room. Part of the ceiling had come down. Chunks of plaster covered the washing machine and tumble dryer. There were cracks in the outer wall large enough to put your hand through. Rain was already blowing inside.

‘What the hell did this?’ Irrational or not, Leon couldn’t get the idea of an explosion out of his mind.

‘I don’t know,’ Fenton murmured, ‘but I have a horrible feeling …’

‘What?’ Leon asked.

Fenton said nothing, just hurried back out and made for the basement. Leon caught up with him on the stairs. There was a lot more damage down here: big cracks in the ceiling and the outer wall. The movement had been enough to shatter the TV screen. Leon groaned when he saw it.

‘Subsidence,’ Fenton said. ‘The foundations must have been undermined.’

Leon was already crossing the room, casting uneasy glances at the ceiling. Looked like the whole thing could give way at any moment. In the toilet, the puddle from earlier had covered the floor and was creeping over the threshold.

‘Fucking Glenn. He swore it could never flood.’

Leon turned, suddenly aware that Cadwell wasn’t with them. He rushed upstairs and found the funeral director emerging from a room they used for storage.

‘More cracks in there,’ he said. ‘This is very serious.’

As Fenton caught up with them, Leon said: ‘Get Glenn over here now.’

Cadwell shook his head. ‘A jobbing builder isn’t much use. You’re going to need structural engineers. Experts in underpinning.’

‘This is Glenn’s problem,’ Leon said, ‘and he’s damn well gonna put it right.’

The three men returned to the office. Cadwell made for the doors to the veranda. ‘We’d better check the river level.’