Skin and Bones (33 page)

Desperation forced her to compromise. If she couldn't bring her hands
in front of her, she'd have to leave them where they were. It didn't
mean they were useless.

She got hold of the belt, then lay still and thought about it. The
way her hands were now, she couldn't straighten her body. That
meant there was no point trying to stand up. But by rocking on her
spine she was able to build enough momentum to move into a sitting
position.

Now her hands were visible between her knees. From this position
she could get enough leverage on the buckle to work at the tape
holding her ankles. She lined up the pin against the centre of the
tape and pushed down on it. The tape bulged but held.

She pushed harder. Felt the tape resist, resist . . . and then split.
The pin burst through.

She used the buckle like a gutting knife, dragging it upwards through
the tape. Once half had been cut, the other half separated easily. Her
feet were free. She looked at them in amazement. She couldn't quite
believe she'd done it.

But there was no time to reflect on her achievement. She slipped
first one and then the other foot through her arms. Now her hands
were in front of her. She sat cross-legged and wedged the belt buckle
between her feet, using her toes to prop the pin upright.

She worked intently. The pain and fear receded. She threw all her
attention on the task in front of her, oblivious to concepts like survival
and freedom and escape. Forgot about passing time. The only thing
that mattered was
now.

It wasn't the police.

While George went to the door, Craig stretched his leg out straight
and examined the wound. The cut was about three inches long, but
not too deep. He ripped his jeans open further and pressed down on
the cut to stem the bleeding. Vanessa's malevolent gaze prickled the
hairs on his neck.

'Why did you help him?' Craig asked her.

'Fuck off,' she snarled.

George came back in, pressed between two huge men in dark coats.
Other men followed, filling the room with menace and testosterone.
There were six of them in all, their leader distinguished not so much
by his mixed-race complexion and slimmer frame, but by his unmistakable
aura of power. Even Vanessa seemed to baulk at the sight
of him.

'What's been happening here?' he said, to no one in particular.

George babbled something about needing to treat the wound, but
as he moved towards Craig strong hands pulled him back.

'Sit down, George,' the man said. He peered at Craig's leg. 'It's not
serious.'

'You're Kendrick?' Craig said, with a lot more assurance than he
felt.

'Well done.' He turned to Vanessa, noted the knife in her hand,
and tutted. 'You'd like to explain?'

She ignored the question. Kendrick took a step towards her and
she spat at him. Nothing came out except air, but it made him recoil,
and Craig sensed a fearsome rage, barely held in check.

George intervened. 'Toby was here,' he said quickly.

Kendrick spun to face him. 'I thought so. Where's he hiding out?'

George considered for a moment. 'I don't know. The farmhouse,
possibly. It's only a couple of hundred yards from here.'

'I know where it is,' Kendrick said.

He directed a sharp look at Craig, who'd been about to mention
Julia. Then he thought of Abby Clark's fate and clamped his mouth
shut.

Kendrick addressed a thin, weasly-looking man who had stepped
into view from behind a couple of the heavies.

'Jacques, go and check it out. Take Barrett. Let me know when you
find him.'

The weasel disappeared, accompanied by one of the men. Four
left, including Kendrick, who settled in the chair Craig had recently
vacated and beckoned for George to sit also. Craig remained on the
floor, holding his leg. He could feel the blood congealing, sticking to
his hand.

Kendrick acted as if there was no hurry. He plucked at his trousers,
wriggled himself comfortable. He was wearing a heavy overcoat and
calfskin gloves. He pressed his hands together and rested them against
his mouth like a child saying his bedtime prayers. Only then did his
gaze settle on Vanessa.

'It's time you explained yourself, woman.'

She met his eye with a cool contempt. She looked relaxed, at ease
with herself. There was a palpable sense of pleasure that, despite such
powerful company, she was once more the centre of attention.

In contrast, George was vibrating with tension. 'Tell me you didn't
have anything to do with it,' he pleaded.

'She was going to take my place,' she said. 'Her and her little brat.'

'Megan,' said George, sounding broken-hearted.

'Toby's not up to much. But he's family.' Vanessa's dark eyes glittered
with malice. Her voice scratched like dry straw dragged through
a pipe. 'He's
my
family. And you were going to pass over him in favour
of that bitch. It was my duty to warn him. I had every right, given
how you treated me. I told him to find a way to stop it.'

She said something else, but no one heard her because of the noise
George made as he fainted and slipped from his chair.

In the end she pushed so hard, the belt burst through the tape and
jabbed her wrist. Blood sprang from the wound, but Julia hardly noticed
it. She tore the tape apart and stood up, rubbing life back into her
arms. Then she buttoned her shirt, repulsed by the memory of his
touch, but relieved that he'd gone no further.

She tested the door, indulging a faint hope that it had somehow
failed to lock properly, but it was secure. She rattled the handle a
couple of times, then examined the room for something to use as
a ram. The only contender was the bedside table.

The door was composed of a solid frame with six rectangular panels.
The panels felt relatively flimsy to the touch, and so it proved. Gripping
a leg of the table in both hands, she swung it like a baseball bat at
the middle section. Shards of wood flew from the panels, and a dent
appeared in the central strut. Another four blows and there was a hole
big enough to climb through.

She hurried downstairs on legs wobbling from the adrenalin rush.
Outside the storm was howling. It took a few seconds to summon the
courage to enter the living room, where she snatched up her coat
without looking too closely at Vilner's mutilated corpse.

Back in the hall she noticed there was a phone on a shelf by the
door. She picked it up but it was dead. Probably disconnected after
the massacre.

Her next unwelcome discovery was that the front door wouldn't
open. Toby must have used the deadlock, which meant it couldn't be
opened without a key.

She didn't know it at the time, but it saved her life. The door rattled
and shook, and she realised it wasn't from the wind. For a moment
she stood transfixed, unable to comprehend that she had failed. She'd
thrown away her best hope of survival.

The door shuddered under a massive impact, and only then did
Julia come to her senses. She turned and dashed into the kitchen as
a second blow reverberated through the house and the door burst
open.

No one else went to George's aid, so Craig did it, dragging his leg
across the carpet. George was already coming round, his eyes flickering
like a dying bulb. Craig helped him sit up, feeling almost as
stupefied as the older man.

If Vanessa was in any way disturbed by her husband's reaction, she
gave no sign of it. Instead there was a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.

'You planned the massacre?' he asked her.

'No. I sent Toby an anonymous message, suggesting he do something
about the Caplans, to preserve his inheritance. It was his
decision to use Carl.'

'You didn't help organise it?'

'No.' She snorted with disdain. 'I rather wish I had.'

Craig shook his head, still unable to believe that this . . . this shadow
of a woman had presided over the murders.

'Bit of a shock, isn't it?' Kendrick's tone was one of mock gravity.
He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the revelations.

'What about the gun?' George asked Vanessa. 'The Walther with
the silencer?'

Vanessa shook her head. 'No idea. Ask Toby.'

'We will,' said Craig.

'Or ask
him
,' Vanessa said. 'The half-caste.'

Kendrick chuckled. 'Quite a mouth you have,' he said. 'I don't
know how you stayed married to her all this time, George. Not when
you had young Laura Caplan waiting in the wings.'

George refused to acknowledge Kendrick. 'We never set out to
deceive you,' he told his wife. 'Please believe that.'

'Be quiet, George,' Vanessa said. 'It's far too late.' Imperious as ever,
she grasped her walking stick and tried to stand up. 'I'd like you all
to go now,' she declared. 'It's my desire to die in peace.'

Kendrick rose and gave a little bow. 'Let me help you.'

'No,' said Vanessa, but Kendrick ignored her. He blocked her path
and grabbed the hand that held the knife, crushing her wrist until she
released it. That was when Craig understood why Kendrick hadn't
removed his gloves.

With his other hand, Kendrick clasped Vanessa's throat. It was so
swift, so effective, no one had a chance of saving her. Craig started
to move but felt a gun at his neck, one of the heavies standing over
him. George could do nothing but stare, a wild, almost delirious look
on his face, as though his hold on reality had already broken.

Vanessa can't have weighed much more than sixty pounds. Kendrick
lifted her, squeezing harder all the time, until she was fully upright.
Then he lifted her higher. Her feet came off the floor. Her eyes bulged.
She let out a low gurgling moan, swatting her arms, kicking her legs
uselessly in mid-air, writhing and fighting like a mangy street cat until
the moment when the light vanished from her eyes and she wilted,
dangling from his grasp like a rag doll, broken and loved by no one.

Kendrick went on holding her for a few more seconds, as if he had
something to prove, then he opened his hand and let her lifeless body
drop to the floor in a messy heap of skin and bones.

Toby had driven to the house, but the arrival of the man he assumed
was Kendrick meant he couldn't get back to his car. Instead he had to
detour through the manor grounds and run back to the farm. Beyond
the imperative to survive, there was only one thing on his mind. Vanessa
had helped him escape by attacking Craig. Despite all their differences
over the years, she had sacrificed herself in order to save him.

Vanessa was Decipio
.

It was obvious, now he thought about it. Even the contemptuous
tone of her emails was entirely in character, and yet he'd never once
suspected her. Neither had George, judging by his reaction.

Toby couldn't help marvelling at how expertly he'd been played.
Vilner had gone to his death protesting he knew nothing about the
massacre, and it turned out he'd probably been telling the truth.

Vanessa had her own selfish reasons for wanting the Caplans
destroyed, but she'd skilfully convinced Toby he was doing it for his
own benefit. And thanks to George, in the weeks since the massacre
she'd had an unwitting source of information. That was how Decipio
had known what Craig and Julia were up to.

If only she'd revealed her identity, he thought. They might have
made a far more effective team that way.

And how ironic she had saved him, considering that tonight he had
intended to kill her, before forcing George to write a suicide note
confessing to his part in the massacre. Except Craig fucking Walker
had been there, and then Kendrick and his thugs had turned up. He
shouldn't have answered Vilner's phone earlier, he told himself.
Goading Kendrick had been a serious error.

He reached the house and was about to go inside when his panic
abruptly vanished. His tactical brain regained control, a small voice
urging him to wait a second. Urging him to
think
.

Kendrick's men would come after him. The farmhouse was the
obvious hiding place. Glaringly obvious.

He made a detour and found shelter in one of the outbuildings
with only seconds to spare. Light washed over the yard as a big Jeep
Cherokee pulled up and two men got out. Both were carrying guns.

Toby watched, delighted that a combination of foresight and good
luck had once again delivered him from peril. If he had a regret, it
was that he would be denied the pleasure of taking Julia's life.

On the other hand, at least it would save him a job.

Julia hid behind the kitchen door and frantically looked round for a
weapon. At the back of her mind a question surfaced: why had Toby
broken the door down?

Then she heard voices in the hall. Two men. For a single glorious
moment she imagined they were here to rescue her, but an instinct
for self-preservation stopped her from calling out. Instead she kept
quiet, and listened.

When they found Vilner, a man with a strong Essex accent
exclaimed, 'Look at the fucking state of him. Kendrick's gonna do his
nut.'

The other man spoke with a Caribbean lilt. He sounded remarkably
sanguine about the discovery. 'I don't think he'll be shedding
many tears over Vilner.'

'So where the fuck is Toby?'

'I don't know. Check the house.'

Julia froze. The back door was fifteen feet away, bolted at the top
and bottom. She'd never unlock it in time. Instead she shrank back
against the wall as heavy footsteps approached. A muscular form leaned
into the room, scanned it and retreated. She heard the creak of the
stairs, and the squawk of a two-way radio.

'It's Jacques,' said the Caribbean voice. 'We're at the farmhouse.
Vilner's dead. No sign of Toby yet.'

A shout from upstairs interrupted him. Conscious that she wouldn't
get a better opportunity, Julia crept forward and waited for the second
man to climb the stairs. She peered into the hall and saw the front
door hanging drunkenly on a single hinge. That had to be the better
option, she decided. But she would have to move fast: something she
wasn't supposed to do, or worse still, might not be capable of doing.

There was no choice. She took a deep breath and ran.

Kendrick stood at the window, staring into the night. The wind was
raging harder than ever, and with each gust the lights flickered. Craig
eyed the door, trying to assess the likelihood of escape should they be
plunged into darkness.

No one restrained him when he eased himself up and sat on a
chair. His leg had stopped bleeding but was starting to throb. He tried
to help George, but the older man shrugged him off, remaining
slumped on the floor. His dull, uncomprehending gaze wouldn't be
diverted from his wife's body.

'She helped him,' he said. 'She helped him kill Laura.'

Craig nodded grimly. Remembering what Vanessa had said, his
mouth went dry at the thought of the question he had to ask Kendrick.

'You knew what they were doing, didn't you?'

Kendrick turned, studying him as one might study an exotic animal,
slightly unsure of its ability to bite or sting.

'I knew about Toby,' he said. 'Vanessa's involvement was a surprise.'

'When did you find out?'

'Right at the start. We quickly identified Toby as a potential weakness,
someone we could exploit. As standard practice, we searched his
apartment and put a keylogger program in his computer. Vanessa
contacted him using an anonymous email account, warning him of
the threat to his inheritance.' There was some grudging admiration
in his voice. 'We monitored their communications and learned that
he planned to use Carl Forester.'

'And you did nothing to stop him?' Even as he spoke, Craig cursed
the naivety of his question. 'Of course you didn't. You went one step
further. You recruited Carl yourself.'

Kendrick's smile acknowledged the truth. There was an electronic
bleep from within his coat. Turning back to the window, he produced
a heavy-duty walkie-talkie and said, 'Kendrick.'

Urgent chatter down the line, but the only words Craig heard clearly
were: 'Vilner's dead'. He didn't know whether to feel shocked or
relieved. Was Julia there as well? Was she safe?

Kendrick said, 'Keep looking,' and listened again. There was an
exclamation, clear enough for Craig to recognise Jacques's voice.

'Someone here,' he shouted. 'A woman.'

Then all they heard was the blast of a gun.

Toby, crouching by the Jeep, was astonished to see Julia run from the
house. Somehow she had freed herself and got away from them. Didn't
she ever give up?

A moment later there were angry shouts, followed by the flash and
boom of gunfire. The front door splintered, and grit and stones flew
up from the yard. Wild shots, fired as one of the men ran downstairs,
judging by the trajectory.

He watched Julia pass, her face creased with pain. There was an
uneven rhythm to her movement that suggested she wouldn't get far.
Catching her would be easy, he decided. If nothing else, she could
be useful as a bargaining chip. An insurance policy.

His plans might be in tatters, but it didn't mean he was out of the
game. This was the time to show his real ability. Time to improvise.

* * *

'Who is it?' Kendrick demanded. When an answer wasn't forthcoming,
the man closest to Craig raised his gun and took the safety off.

'Who?' Kendrick said again.

Craig glanced at George, whose eyes were a silent plea:
Tell him
.

'Julia Trent.'

Understanding dawned on Kendrick's face. 'Toby kidnapped her,
along with Vilner?'

'I think so.' Craig couldn't resist a smile. 'Does that mean she's
escaped?'

Kendrick turned away, ignoring Craig, and barked orders at his
men. 'Moss, stay here. You two, go and help Jacques with the search.
Find them both and bring them back here. If anyone gets in the way,
kill them.'

The two men trooped out, leaving just the one nearest Craig. He
was about forty, well over six feet tall, a vast slab of muscle and quite
obviously no stranger to violence. Craig knew these were almost certainly
the men who had followed and photographed his children, the men
who had killed Abby and thrown her body in the Thames. If he was
going to take them on, he would have to choose his moment carefully.

He thought about Julia. She was still alive. Still fighting. No matter
what happened here, he would take comfort from that.

'Come on,' said Jacques. He was first to the Jeep, and climbed
into the passenger seat. Barrett made to follow, but hesitated as he
opened the door.

'Shouldn't we go after her on foot?'

'No. This is quicker.'

Barrett nodded. He knew better than to question Jacques twice. He
put his gun away and got in, the vehicle rocking as his bulk tipped it
to one side.

'Who the fuck is she?' he said.

'Don't know. But she's a witness. We have to stop her reaching the
village.'

Barrett turned the ignition and the engine fired up with a much
rougher noise than usual. Before he could comment on it, he was
aware of Jacques flinging himself against the dashboard in a spray of
blood and gore. A dark figure rose in the rear footwell, no more than
a shadow falling across his face before he heard but barely felt the
first of the two shots that killed him.