Blood Falls (50 page)

‘Kitchen,’ she gasped. ‘Cut … cutlery.’

Joe pretended it made sense. Diana still had the wherewithal to look cross with him for humouring her.

‘Cutlery. Drawer.’

‘She said that just now,’ Ellie told him. ‘We can’t wait for an ambulance. We’ll have to take her.’

Joe agreed, but he also feared that it might be futile. She’d lost a
lot of blood, and would inevitably lose more while being carried to a car and transported to hospital.

As if she could read his mind, Diana drew him closer. ‘I want to go.’

He nodded. ‘We’ll take you ourselves, right now.’

‘No. I want …’ Her eyes closed.

Joe frowned at Ellie. Futile or not, they had to try.

They needed to rig up a makeshift stretcher. A sudden itching in his throat made Joe cough: there was a foul taste in his mouth. He glanced over his shoulder, noting with relief that Glenn was still unconscious, and then he spotted a tiny swirl of smoke drifting up from Glenn’s hair. Beyond him, the bright orange glow of embryonic fire, rapidly taking hold of the carpet.

‘Oh Christ. Come on.’

Joe pushed his hands beneath Diana, braced his legs and lifted her into his arms while Ellie tried to maintain pressure on the chest wound. Diana didn’t react to the movement, her limbs flopping under the weight of gravity. The sofa beneath her was drenched with blood.

Ellie had been protesting about the urgency until she saw the flames and understood. One of the armchairs was blistering and smouldering. She moved alongside Joe and they staggered and bumped out of the room, the smoke already irritating their lungs.

You want the house to burn
, a malicious voice told him.
It destroys the evidence
.

They’d reached the kitchen before Ellie was able to grab his arm and twist round into his path.

‘Don’t stop. What are you doing?’

‘Joe, I think she’s dead.’

Crossly he shook his head, took another step as though he might blunder straight through her. Ellie held her ground. Joe looked down
at the body in his arms. He didn’t object when Ellie grasped Diana’s arm and felt for a pulse.

‘Nothing,’ she said.

Joe carefully set Diana down on the floor. He’d known from the moment he saw her that it was probably hopeless: the kind of medical help she needed was simply too far away. There would be no helicopters available in a storm like this; no paramedics within easy reach.

They had lost her.

‘What did she mean about the cutlery drawer?’ Joe was thinking aloud, wondering if there was some sort of medicine, something that could save her.

He couldn’t find a pulse at Diana’s neck, couldn’t detect a heartbeat or respiration. But he went on searching for signs of life, while Ellie groped in the darkness and located the drawer. The cutlery was stored in a plastic tray. She lifted it on to the counter and riffled through the contents, then checked the drawer again, and Joe heard a tiny exclamation: ‘Oh.’

He didn’t ask what she’d found. He didn’t much care. It couldn’t help Diana now.

Ellie returned to him as he stood up. There was a small white envelope in her hand. She was shaking violently as the adrenalin rush subsided and shock took hold.

‘I don’t know how it happened. Glenn pushed me and …’

‘You did nothing wrong, Ellie.’ Joe held her by the shoulders, bringing his face only an inch or two from hers, close enough to see the horror in her eyes. ‘You were trying to save her. Glenn would have killed you both.’

Ellie nodded dumbly. Joe wasn’t sure if she was really hearing him. But then she said, ‘Kamila?’

‘She’s dead, I’m afraid. There was another woman in the tunnel. In a bad way, but I think she’ll survive.’

‘And Leon?’

‘Seriously injured. If he does pull through he may have brain damage.’

Another blank nod. Then a wash of light cut across the window and dipped out of view. They heard the growl of a car engine.

At first Joe was confused, as though the trauma of the past few minutes had wiped his memory. Who would be coming here now?

Fortunately the amnesia didn’t last. The answer was only too obvious.

‘Danny Morton,’ he whispered.

Joe took a look out of the back door. There was no one in sight. Around the corner of the house the engine died; above the sound of the rain he heard several doors open and close.

‘We have to go over the back wall. Quickly.’

Ellie nodded. Taking her hand, Joe checked that the way was clear and hurried across the lawn. Trees and shrubs loomed out of the dark, forcing them to weave a zigzag path. The squelch of their feet on the grass seemed horrifically loud. Joe urged Ellie ahead of him, trying to shield her from any attack. He couldn’t shake off the feeling there was someone breathing down his neck.

Reaching the wall, he glanced back. The garden was impenetrably dark, the house a dim outline, blurred by the thick grey smoke pouring from the chimney.

Ellie needed a boost to get onto the wall. Joe laced his hands together to make a step. She cut herself as she grabbed for the top, sucked in a breath but said nothing.

Joe hauled himself up after her, his foot slipping as he scrambled for purchase. He got one knee onto the top, and for a second he was lying flat, his other leg still dangling.
Almost safe
, he was thinking.

Almost – but not quite.

Ninety-Two

THE FIGURE JUST
materialised. A man in rain gear, with the hood up. He raced to the wall and grabbed Joe’s foot, only then looking up to see who he’d caught. That was when Joe spotted the distinctive scar on his cheek.

Danny Morton. An incredulous smile crept onto his face: he’d struck the jackpot. For half a second, neither of them moved.

Then Danny roared, ‘Over here,’ and his hand went to his pocket for a weapon. Joe tried wrenching his foot free, but from his prone position on the wall he couldn’t get enough force or leverage. Already there were answering shouts from across the garden: Morton’s men coming in fast.

Joe thought about rolling onto Danny, taking him on hand to hand. An unwinnable fight, but at least it might enable Ellie to get away. Morton’s gang had no dispute with her, after all.

He had to be quick. Danny’s hand was already coming up, now holding a gun. Then he felt Ellie step past him on the wall. She kicked out with a savage whip-crack motion, like a cancan dancer, her foot striking Danny full in the face. He stumbled back, losing his grip on Joe, who drew his leg up and rolled over the wall.

Ellie jumped at the same time, and they landed almost on top of each other. They dashed along the footpath, stumbling and splashing in deep puddles. Once again Joe moved behind Ellie, encouraging
her forward. A shot rang out. Both of them ducked instinctively; Ellie screamed but kept running. Just shock, Joe told himself. She hadn’t been hit.

Another couple of shots, way off target: Morton firing blindly into the dark.

‘Land Rover,’ Joe muttered, thankful that he’d left it unlocked. He found the key, wrenched open the driver’s door and had the engine running by the time Ellie had thrown herself into the passenger seat.

As he pulled away he saw movement on the footpath – Danny Morton and one of his men running towards them. Danny slowed, went into a crouch and took aim, but Joe floored the accelerator and steered the Land Rover away from his line of fire.

‘Are you all right?’

Nothing from Ellie. She wasn’t moving.

‘Are you hurt? Ellie! Are you shot?’

‘I’m okay. Winded.’

The promenade was directly ahead, a white sheen of spray bursting above the sea wall. Joe positioned the Land Rover for a right turn but Ellie gasped, ‘Go left.’

He took her advice. She knew Trelennan much better than he did. Having come so close and failed a second time, Danny and his men would be scouring the town. Ellie and Joe weren’t out of danger yet.

‘How do we double back up the hill?’ he asked. They were on Crabtree Lane, where he’d first encountered Alise and Derek Cadwell. He’d warned Ellie about the roadblock being set up on the main bridge, and now they needed an alternative route.

‘We don’t,’ she said, leaning towards him to peer through the screen. ‘Look for an opening on your right.’

He eased up on the accelerator as the headlights picked out the entrance to a farm track. Trusting that Ellie knew where it led, he
swerved across the road. The rain had churned the track to mud, and the steep gradient was a challenge even for the Land Rover. Realising that stealth was preferable to speed, Joe dropped to ten miles an hour and turned off his lights, rendering them invisible to anybody on Crabtree Lane.

Eventually they crested the hill, heading south-west, and passed a collection of farm buildings. Another mile and they reached a minor road that would enable them to travel east again, bypassing Trelennan completely.

As they eased out of the junction, Joe switched the Land Rover’s lights back on. Ellie slowly exhaled, inspecting the vehicle as if seeing it for the first time.

‘Where did you get this?’

‘Patrick Davy. He helped me up at Leon’s.’ Joe waited a second. ‘I might need you to return it for me. In due course.’

‘Okay. Fine.’ Her turn to pause. ‘Where are we going now?’

‘Bristol. I know someone there who’ll help us. We can clean up, get a change of clothes.’

Ellie looked down at herself. Like Joe she was wet and muddy. The rain had washed some of Diana’s blood from her arms, but there was a huge dark stain on her cardigan.

‘I suppose the longer we’re away from Trelennan, the better.’ A tiny gasp as a thought struck her. ‘Will I go to jail?’

‘It’s unlikely. My advice is to say nothing. Danny Morton won’t be putting the fire out. By the time anyone reaches the house I doubt there’ll be much forensic evidence left.’

Then a sombre silence: both of them reflecting on Diana’s fate. Joe sensed Ellie wrestling with the morality of not coming forward.

‘What about Patrick Davy?’

‘His version of events should be supported by Jenny, the girl we found. And I suspect Clive Fenton will be only too happy to blame Leon and Glenn for everything.’

Ellie nodded. The mention of her ex-husband’s name made her shiver.

‘I had no idea what he was doing,’ she said. ‘I want you to know that.’

‘I believe you.’

‘Not everyone will, though.’ She sighed. ‘Maybe I’ll move back to Oxford.’ A glance at Joe. ‘Where will you go, after Bristol?’

‘I have no idea.’

They stopped to refuel near Launceston, close to the Devon border. Used the restroom to clean up as best they could. Joe dug a couple of sodden ten-pound notes from his jeans and stretched them out under the hand dryer for a couple of minutes.

Back in the Land Rover, Ellie brought out a small white envelope. It was the one that Diana had urged them to find. Inside was a sheet of thick, expensive notepaper, folded in half. Ellie opened it, frowned, then passed it to Joe.

He recognised the handwriting at once. The note was addressed to Diana, but the most important address – that of the note’s author – was absent.

The message was brief:
So very sorry that we haven’t been in touch for so long. I wish I could explain, but life has become unbearably complicated. Please don’t show this to anyone, or tell anyone about it. I know how much you must miss Roy. We’re all thinking of you today. With love, Helen, Joe and the girls
.

Joe read it again, and then a third time, before he could tear his gaze away. Then he remembered the envelope. He took it from Ellie and studied the postmark. It was smudged and faded, but it seemed to have been sent from the Gatwick mail centre in December 2008.

The anniversary of Roy’s death, Joe realised. By that point he’d been living apart from Helen for more than two years. And yet she
had chosen to include him in the message, creating the illusion that they were still together, still one happy family.

Had that been for Diana’s sake, he wondered, or for Helen’s?

Sensing Joe’s excitement, Ellie gently took the letter from his hand and examined it carefully on both sides.

‘Tunbridge Wells,’ she said.

His head snapped up. ‘What?’

‘There’s a watermark. Look.’ She held the notepaper up, tilting it to catch the light. In the bottom right-hand corner Joe could make out a line drawing of an elegant colonnade. ‘That’s the Pantiles, in Tunbridge Wells.’

‘Really?’

‘I think so. Just the sort of area where you’d buy expensive stationery.’

He took the letter back, stared at it for a long time. Ellie smiled, enjoying his obvious delight. Finally she nudged him. ‘Are you going to tell me what it means?’

Joe looked up. ‘I don’t know if it means anything. But it’s a place to start.’

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to my editor, Rosie de Courcy, who helped immensely in improving my working practices and thus getting this book finished in record time! Thanks also to Nicola Taplin, Trevor Dolby, Nick Austin, Justine Taylor, Louise Campbell, Kate Elton, Rob Waddington, Jennifer Wilson and Andrew Sauerwine.

At Janklow & Nesbit, I’m indebted to my agent, Will Francis, as well as to the great team there: Rebecca, Kirsty, Tim, Claire and Jessie.

The usual thanks are due to family, friends and first readers: particularly Niki, Claire and Tracy, and not forgetting James and Emily. And a very special thank you to Andrea Best.

The town of Trelennan is entirely fictional, but one of its landmarks was inspired by the genuine and quite extraordinary Shell Grotto in Margate, Kent. For more information, visit
www.shellgrotto.co.uk
.

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