Laura was sitting down, cradling a coffee Mike had brought in. He was leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He didn’t like acting as waiter.
Laura had told Nell all about the trip to Liza’s house. Then she’d told her all about the visit during the night from the American. Laura couldn’t see, but Nell had transcripts of the 999 calls by people woken up by the shooting. It all matched.
Then Nell asked more about the American.
Laura stared into her coffee and shook her head. ‘I don’t know who he was.’
Nell moved her head in query. ‘Was?’
Laura looked up. ‘He’s dead. He got on the wrong side of Liza Radley.’
Nell looked surprised, her head cocked like a hawk. ‘Are you sure he’s dead?’
Laura laughed. ‘If he’s not, that was some trick, because his head ended up a few feet from his body, and the last time I saw him, he was covered in flames.’
Nell raised her eyebrows. ‘Where’s Jack?’
Laura took a drink of coffee, tried to think about her answer. She smiled when she remembered what had been said in the car.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied. It was an honest reply.
‘Don’t mess us around,’ Mike barked, but Nell held up her hand to quieten him.
‘Where was he the last time you saw him?’ she asked.
‘Where I was picked up,’ she said.
Nell looked at Mike and raised her eyebrows. Mike shrugged.
‘He thinks he’s wanted for Rose Wood’s murder,’ Laura added. ‘He just wanted to be out of town.’
Nell blinked. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘We’ll get the maps out.’
I was starting to lose concentration, tiredness creeping up on me, when I was jolted awake by movement.
I sat upright, my mind switched on again. It was a man. He was on the other side of the road, just emerging into view along the field that ran away from Victoria Park. It was a familiar walk. A tall man, well-built, I could see that, even from a distance. I smiled to myself. I recognised him straight away. It was David Watts. Every sports fan in the country knew that walk. And he was heading towards Victoria Park. My hunch had been right.
But then it struck me how right my father had been. Same man from the same distance. Unmistakable.
But as I looked around, I realised I only had one part of the puzzle. Where was Liza Radley?
David Watts stopped in front of Victoria Park.
He had stocked up on coke, just enough to get through, so his eyes were wild, his hand darting to his nose, twitchy, arrogant. He looked around, saw the trees, shadows, as his childhood rushed at him. The place looked deserted. It always did. But as he stared, the park filled up with noise, teenage dreams. He rubbed his eyes. It was too bright. Memories came in flashes, noises of the pack, his friends, secret cigarettes, stolen kisses.
He shook his head, tried to clear it out. There was no one there.
But he knew the answer was there. The whole of the last three days would melt away when he came out of the park. He would go back to London, maybe take some time off, but he would be back. He had to believe that.
He stepped forward, his steps nervous and slow, crossing the road, a thin grey strip, until he reached Victoria Park. When his foot touched the grass, he felt a tingle like a current as the blades crushed under his feet. He smiled. He started a slow walk, his feet pressing the grass gently, like he thought it might break. The memories came back so he began to spin as he walked, the park turning fast, his feet skidding on the grass. He laughed, the sound loud in the silence, bouncing around the park so that it came back on him and made him shut his eyes. He thought he saw something for a moment, a flicker, a movement on the edge of his vision, but there was nothing there. There was nobody there. Just trees, seats, grass. It was the same old Victoria Park.
He carried on spinning, laughing, the view blurring now, his head turning. Then he stopped. He felt a jab to his head, a flash of light. He looked up and saw it. The aviary. A broken brick cube. He gasped as he felt another stabbing pain, like the scrape of glass. His hands shot to his head. He tried to look again. He thought he saw moving shadows, blurred struggles.
He stepped back quickly. His forehead was damp now, his hands trembling. The sunlight was piercing, making him cover his eyes again. He could still see trees and grass, but he thought he could see into the shadows as well, people hiding, watching. Where was she? His nerves were cocked, waiting for the sniper’s gunshot.
He stepped forward and began to walk across the grass, turning round, backwards now, his hand shielding his eyes from the light. His mouth was dry, wrung out by nerves. He felt isolated, exposed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was coming for her. He began to curse, spitting venom. He stopped and stuck his chest out, arched his back to shout.
‘Where are you?’
The noise echoed around the park, no one there to hear him. When the sound ebbed away, he stopped. The grass was about to turn into tarmac. He waited for a reply. There was nothing. He put his head back and laughed, manic and loud, driven by drugs and panic.
‘Where the fuck are you?’ he shouted again, and began to spin on the spot, the shout dying, the world screaming past in greens and blues and whites, a blur of daylight.
He stopped and jumped back when he heard the shot, a loud crack smashing the silence. He heard the soft smack of something slamming into the grass near his feet. He looked around, sank to his knees, couldn’t place where it came from. There were too many hiding places and he was exposed. ‘You crazy bitch,’ he hissed, his eyes flicking around the park. He couldn’t see her.
Then his phone rang.
He stopped in disbelief. The ring tone was deafening. He jabbed his hand into his pocket, his palms damp, and pulled it out. The screen told him everything. It was her. He looked around again, let the ring tone bounce around. He swallowed and then pressed to answer.
Her voice filled his head, seemed to fill the air around him, that metallic deadness.
‘Get to where you left her.’
His hand gripped the phone, his knuckles white, his teeth clenched.
‘Fuck you,’ he replied in a snarl.
‘Get there now,’ her voice continued, sharp now, ‘or I’ll take the top of your head off. You’ve got ten seconds to move.’
He screamed ‘fuck you’ into the phone and then pulled his arm back to throw it away. He heard it break against the aviary. As it clattered to the floor, he stood there, his arms by his side, breathing heavily, his eyes dark and brooding.
His breathing slowed down and he put his face in his hands. He felt the heat from his skin burn up his fingers, felt fresh tears cool them down again.
He went to his knees and sank backwards, his hands on his hips, and looked up to the sky. All he could see was blue, flecked with white and dotted by wheeling birds, the colours bright and full of summer. It seemed to rush along, as if he could feel the earth turn. He looked at the floor, tried to snap away the nausea. He could see his knees in the grass.
He put his head up again and hauled himself to his feet. He had no choice. He wasn’t on his own.
His steps were heavy, dragging along the grass. He looked down all the way, watched every step, saw the blades wrap around the front of his shoes as he went, watched as he saw the green of the grass change to the black of the tarmac. Every step was soft and quiet, the only sound he could hear.
The grass turned to dust again and he realised he was there, by the aviary. He stopped at first, not wanting to do all he was asked, but then he remembered how many people had died, how willing she was to kill people. He stepped forward and felt himself rise onto the raised concrete. He closed his eyes, clamped them shut, felt tears break through again. His fists were clenched, his nails cutting into his hands.
He thought he heard something so he snapped his eyes open and looked down. He gasped. He could see black hair spread over the floor, thrashing around, sweeping the dust. His hands clasped his ears, blocking the sound. He could hear something. It was a cry, an echo, someone screaming, filling his head. He shut his eyes again, the screams making him gasp, but they were still there. He sank to his knees and put his head down, rocking, trying to shake off the noise. His fingernails dug into his skin, pulled down his head, drew blood, made deep scratches. Sticky wetness crept around his fingertips so he opened his eyes again. The black hair was still there, thrashing around, but there was no face, no form. He could feel her fingernails in his face, scratching at him, gasping, kicking. His fingers scraped down his face.
He closed his eyes again and all he could hear was her struggle. She was crying out, screaming, sobbing, trying to get out a last breath. He was breathing hard, inside her, pressing hard with his hands, pushing her head back onto the ground, feeling her fight, driving him on.
He gasped and then shouted out, his eyes flicking open. She was still.
He looked down. There was no one there. His face was wet with perspiration, with tears, with blood from fresh scratches. He shuffled round on his knees. It was silent again. He was on his own.
Then he spun round as he saw movement across the park. There was someone walking towards him, the figure blurred through his tears. As the person got closer, David recognised her. He gasped as he saw her and tears flicked onto his cheeks. It was Emma. She was coming towards him, her head down, looking scared, wary.
His eyes travelled the fields, trying to see where Emma had come from, but he couldn’t see anyone else there.
He put his head down and covered his eyes. He shook his head, but when he opened them again, she was still there, nearly at him, her eyes wild with relief.
He smiled.
‘Emma, you’re okay.’ He sank back onto his knees. ‘Thank God, thank God.’
He put his head down and let the tears fall. He was waiting for her to sink to the floor with him. He was waiting to feel her arms around him, holding him, her head in his neck, warm, safe.
It didn’t come. He lifted up his head to open his eyes. As he looked, he saw she was unharmed, but there was something not right. It was the look in her eyes, measured and cold.
And then he looked closer. He saw that she had a gun in her hand. And as he looked, his eyes trying to work out what was going on, he saw that she was pointing a rifle. And she was aiming it right at him.