Kill or Die Read online

  Julia’s reactions were swift and automatic; pure gut response. She leapt from beam to beam, gripping her weapon – the chair leg. On reaching her goal, she let her arms fly, with a perfectly executed and powerful swing, bringing the chair leg swiftly down, like a golfer swinging his club. The rotten wood exploded into a million splintered fragments against the side of Vincent’s head.

  For a second, nothing happened. He didn’t cry out, didn’t curse. Even his smile remained intact. Julia stood trembling. Had she missed? Had she hit the floor rather than his head? Was he now going to pull himself up through the floor, and murder them both?

  Mesmerised, she stared into his face, and then, his pale eyes rolled upwards into his head, until only the whites were visible. His mouth became slack, his expression vacant. Then, as if his legs had buckled, or whatever he was standing on had given way, he slid back down through the hole in the floor. The silence lasted a heartbeat, and then, came the crunch of wood and human flesh hitting the landing. “Mummy, have you killed him?” Lucy shrieked.

  Julia peered down through the hole. He was lying tangled with an old box and a chair, the same ones she and Lucy had climbed on to get up here. But, he wasn't dead. He was writhing, clutching his head, blood oozing from between his fingers.

  Sick with regret, she shook her head. “I should have, Lucy. I should have killed him, while I had the chance.”

  CHAPTER 28

  The room was spinning and a kaleidoscope of coloured stars danced in front of Vincent Webb’s dazed eyes. The pain was excruciating, blinding, and what angered him most was, it had been his own stupid fault. He hadn’t expected her to attack. He’d thought she would be too freaked out to move. He’d expected her to back off, not come at him like a maniac. He’d underestimated her. But, she would pay. She would definitely pay, this time.

  Rolling onto his back, he tried to focus on the hole in the ceiling. The spinning slowed down, and then, he saw her face peering down through the hole at him, like he was a freak in a sideshow.

  He screamed out a string of obscenities, and staggered along the landing to the stairs – or what had been the staircase. He held onto the wall to keep his balance, and stared down at Nash’s crumpled body below. The sight of him lying twisted, staring up with blank, sightless eyes, turned his stomach. He was as ugly dead as he was alive. He turned away, and began to formulate a plan.

  Revenge for the smack on the head meant he had to get downstairs. He’d finish her off, good and proper. Kneeling, he checked the landing's floorboards, to make sure they wouldn’t give way under his weight. They felt fairly sound, and so, hanging onto the edge of the landing boards, he eased himself over the stairwell, until he was hanging by his fingertips. Then, he began to swing, gauging where he wanted to land – away from Nash’s dead body, and the worst of the smashed staircase. His head was pounding, and blood dripped into his eyes, as he swung back and forth. At the right moment, he let go.

  Although he landed with knees bent to lessen the impact, it jarred his body, and another cascade of shooting stars danced before his eyes.

  When he was steady enough to walk, he checked there was nothing left in the bedrooms that might indicate they'd ever been here, and went downstairs. He was glad they hadn't gone the same way as the top stairs, although, they were loose and swaying. It wouldn't take much to make them collapse, too.

  He'd load the stolen stuff into the car in a bit, but there was something he had to see to first. And it was going to be a pleasure.

  There was no shortage of combustibles; the place was brimming with old newspapers and rags. It probably meant something to someone, at one time, but now it was all junk – or rather, fuel.

  He began his revenge calmly, but excitement swiftly took over. His movements became frantic and jerky, as he dashed around the rooms on the first landing, scattering anything flammable around the floor, then downstairs; systematically going from room to room, taking great pleasure in each tiny twinkling flame that burst from every match he struck. As the flames took hold, he started to laugh. He’d show the bitch. No one gets the better of Vincent Webb. No one.

  Despite the damp of the old furnishings, they began to smoulder. Little crackling flames burst into life, eating up the curtains, and then, the old sofa. Vincent watched with glee, as the flames sputtered and spread, and thick black smoke began to fill up the house.

  Vincent laughed, as he backed towards the door. “Burn, baby, burn.”

  The stench of smoke was like an aphrodisiac. He wanted to stay and watch, to hear them screaming. He wanted to see them burn. But, self-preservation told him to get well away. He might even stop down the road, and watch from a distance. Yeah, that’s what he’d do. He'd watch the whole damn place go up in smoke, see the flames licking through the roof, and know that the fire had got them.

  With one last look around, he pulled on his leather trench coat, picked up the holdalls, and left the smouldering, blistering house. He sauntered over to the car he’d stolen last night, whistling to himself. His head still throbbed, but it didn’t matter now. He’d got her. She was about to pay. She was as good as dead.

  With Nash out of the picture, whatever he got for this lot was his, and his alone. He’d be set up for life. He’d invest it; let it make money for him. He’d go abroad, maybe California, for the hell of it. See it, for his old mate. He chuckled to himself. What a joke. He was glad Nash was dead – more than glad; he was delighted.

  He threw the holdalls into the boot of the car, and slid into the driver’s seat. The car was less than a year old, a beauty. It would start. Not like that other heap of junk. He almost had the key in the ignition, when he saw what had been done.

  At first, he couldn’t comprehend it. The wiring was hanging out of the dashboard; the gauges smashed. Vandalised, wrecked, unusable.

  He felt like his head was going to explode. Confusion swamped him. “What the…” Then, it dawned on him. “Nash! The cretin must have done this before trying to attack me upstairs.” Slumping back in the driver’s seat, Vincent could almost see that ugly, twisted face jeering at him.

  Slamming his fist down on the dashboard, making another dial jump out, he threw back his head, and roared, “I’m not beaten yet. Do you hear me! You haven’t beaten me yet.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Ian was sweating and shivering, all at the same time. His gut felt like it had been twisted into a knot, and his thoughts were a mess of guilt, disbelief and terror. He tried to block out the images flashing through his head of his wife and daughter. His thoughts were driving him insane. Dear God, where were they?

  The police were still swarming around Benjamin’s house and garden, knocking at neighbours’ doors, asking questions. They’d wanted to know what Julia and Lucy’s blood types were. Grimes had said it was routine, but he wasn’t stupid. They’d clearly found blood which may not have been the old man’s.

  He’d phoned Steph last night, hoping against hope to hear Julia’s voice on the line, but it was her sister, who'd gone practically hysterical when he told her what had happened. She’d wanted to race straight round, but he stopped her. There was nothing she could do here. Better if she stayed put – in case Julia was okay. In case they turned up.

  Possibly, they'd gone somewhere else; they hadn't got caught up with someone who'd murdered their neighbour. They'd turn up at Steph's later today, and wonder what all the fuss was about.

  But, he couldn’t sit here and wait any longer. Just getting in his car and driving – searching would be better than that. This was the worst, this waiting and staring at the clock was making him go crazy with worry.

  He grabbed his coat and car keys, and slammed the front door behind him. As he turned the ignition key, O’Ryan came across the road, and stopped him. Ian rolled down the side window.

  “I can’t sit, and do nothing,” Ian blurted out. “At least if I’m looking…”

  O’Ryan remained calm. “I understand how you must be feeling, Mr.
Logan, but you’ll gain nothing by driving aimlessly. If there’s any news, we’ll hear it first.

  Ian closed his eyes, and leant his forehead on the steering wheel. “What’s happened to them, Inspector? Where are they?”

  O’Ryan shook his head. “I wish I had the answer, but we’ll hear something before long. Forensics haven't come back with definite results yet about the other vehicle. But we're checking on stolen vehicles, particularly dark blue ones. It’s top priority, Mr. Logan.”

  Why hadn’t they given it top priority twenty-hour hours ago, instead of trying to pin the crime on him? He wanted to yell at them, but there was no point. Besides, this was his fault entirely. If he hadn’t messed around with another woman, Julia wouldn’t have been forced to leave him.

  “Chief!”

  Ian and O’Ryan spun around to see Grimes running towards them.

  “Sir, we’ve got something.”

  Ian shot out of the car. “What? What have you got?”

  “It came through on the radio. A fisherman out at the reservoir spotted some tyre tracks leading straight into the water. He waded in, seems he’s got those big rubber waders, and he says there’s definitely a submerged vehicle. There’s a tow truck heading there now, sir.”

  “Julia’s Mini?” Ian asked, although he dreaded hearing the answer.

  Grimes looked awkwardly at him. “We don’t know yet, sir.”

  “Right, let’s move it,” O’Ryan said, striding off towards a police car. “Reservoir’s only about five miles away.”

  “I’ll follow,” Ian said, starting his car.

  O’Ryan stopped in his tracks. “That’s not such a good idea, Mr. Logan. It might be better if you stayed put. We don’t know what we’re going to find.”

  “I’m coming,” Ian snapped.

  The officers made no more argument, and Ian followed the police car, with its sirens wailing and blue lights flashing. O’Ryan could certainly drive, Ian realised as he tailed him, praying the car wasn’t Julia’s. It had been years since he prayed, and now, he chanted our all those childhood prayers like a mantra.

  Maybe the police didn’t know what to expect, but he feared the worst, and as they sped round the winding country lanes, he’d half hoped he’d lose control, and smash himself into a tree so he could be reunited with his family, without first having to undergo the nightmare which lay ahead.

  Within minutes, they had screamed to a halt at the side of the reservoir. A tow truck was preparing to back towards the water’s edge. Two police frogmen were already in the bleak grey water.

  Ian’s courage failed him. He knew he ought to be in the water now, reaching for them. But, he couldn’t. He couldn’t face seeing them dead. Not Lucy. Dear God, not his little girl.

  O’Ryan came over to him; his face was grave. “It might be better if you waited in the car, sir. This might be very disturbing for you.”

  But, Ian was looking at the tyre tracks in the mud, and his despair lifted fractionally, faintly aware he was glad that the crazy drive here hadn’t resulted in him killing himself. “The tracks…” He got out of his car, his eyes fixed on the tracks.

  “Please stay in the car Mr. Logan,” stressed O’Ryan.

  Ian turned to him, positive now. “No, it’s alright. Look, don’t you see?”

  “I’m not with you, sir.”

  “They aren’t Julia’s,” Ian exclaimed, suddenly elated. “The wheel base is too wide for her old Mini. And the tread is nothing like hers.”

  “Actually, you’re right. That’s a bigger car altogether, and I’d say those tyres are pretty bald.” O’Ryan’s face melted into sympathy. “I hope you’re right, Mr. Logan, I truly do.”

  Silently, they stood, watching the frogmen attach the hook to the submerged vehicle. Slowly, the winch turned. Ian's moment of jubilation fragmented into terror. His family could be in the car. They could have got rid of the witnesses and the car in one go, then, taken Julia's Mini. It made sense. He stood, trembling, as gradually, a car was dragged up onto the muddy slope, water pouring from every orifice; a dark blue Renault.

  Pre-empting he was about to run and open the car door, O’Ryan grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Hang on, sir. Let the boys do their checking first. It’s for the best, believe me.”

  Ian stood there, mute, terrified of what they might find. When it was on dry land, an officer opened the driver’s door, and jumped aside, as brown water gushed out all over his feet. Another officer opened the boot. There was something in there, but not bodies. His knees buckled. “Thank God.”

  The windscreen was cracked, and there was a dent and a broken indicator light.

  “Couple of suitcases, sir,” an officer called out. “Want me to open them?”

  Ian wandered bleakly to where the officer stood holding the sodden suitcases. They were the ones they'd taken to Devon earlier that year. The look on his face was all O'Ryan needed. The hand on Ian's shoulder was no comfort at all.

  CHAPTER 30

  “Smoke!” Julia screamed. She could smell the awful stench. She clutched Lucy to her, passing on this new terror to her daughter. Oh, what wouldn’t she give to deliver her child from this nightmare. She would willingly suffer a hundred times over, if only Lucy were safe.

  “Smoke… Mummy!” Lucy’s voice rose in panic. “Mummy, something’s burning!”

  Releasing her, Julia balanced along the floor beam to the window, and peered out. Wisps of grey smoke were spiralling upwards. “Oh my God,” she murmured. “Oh my God.” Far below, she saw the car Vincent had returned with was still parked near her Mini. So, he was still here.

  But, surely, he wasn’t still lurking on the next landing, forcing them out by setting fire to the building She thought she’d heard him downstairs, moving about. No one in their right mind would remain behind in a burning house. However, Vincent was not in his right mind.

  “We have to get out, Lucy. Now. Through this window.” She grabbed what was left of the chair. “Don’t look, Lucy. I’m going to smash it, and make a hole for us to climb through. Turn your head away, darling.”

  “Mummy, I’m frightened.”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart…” She took aim. Using all the strength she possessed, she smashed the chair through the window. The glass shattered easily, and Julia banged away at the rotting wood framework and shards of glass, until there was a clear hole to squeeze through. Cold air swept in, bringing with it the acrid stench of smoke. “Lucy, we have to be very brave now.”

  The child’s face was ashen and solemn, but her blue eyes were wide and full of trust. She nodded.

  Helping her daughter to the window, Julia went first. Squeezing through the tiny hole, her eyes locked onto her daughter's terrified face, as she lowered herself onto the sloping roof five feet below. To her horror, she could feel the heat from the blaze through the roof tiles. Out here in the open, she could hear the crackling, and the roaring of the fire, as the flames took hold. Her eyes smarted, as choking black and grey billows of smoke swept past, forming a great ugly pillar in the white sky.

  Doubts filled her head. Would they have been better off trying to get down the stairs? Although, judging by the amount of smoke, the lower floors must be well ablaze by now. They'd had no choice. Steadying herself on the sloping apex, she held up her arms to Lucy, who was standing at the broken window. “Come to me, darling. It’s perfectly safe. Lucy, please…”

  “I can't!” the child cried, stricken rigid with fear. “We're too high. We'll fall off the roof.”

  “Lucy, you must,” Julia pleaded.

  “I can’t!” she wailed, sobbing hysterically now.

  It broke Julia’s heart to be strict now, but it was the only way. Sternly, she snapped, “Lucy Logan, you do as you’re told right this minute, or…”

  The child disappeared. She vanished from the window back into the attic.

  Julia’s heart lurched. “Lucy!” she screamed, trying desperately to scramble bac
k up the wall and though the window. “Lucy!” But, she couldn’t hoist herself up. There was nothing to lever herself up on, she didn't have the strength. “Lucy, get back here, Lucy!”

  The little girl’s face suddenly reappeared, and Julia crumpled with relief. “Oh God, Lucy, you gave me such a fright.”

  “I forgot Mister Brown,” the child explained, wiping her eyes, and tucking the teddy inside her jumper, as she scrambled out of the window.

  Balancing precariously, Julia reached upwards to her daughter, hauling her through the hole, and into the safety of her arms. She gripped her fiercely, terrified in case she slipped and fell.

  Lucy's face was smudged with tears. “Mummy, it’s hot.”

  “I know, darling,” Julia murmured, getting her balance, trying to acclimatise herself to the predicament. She felt as if they were perched on the edge of the world. Looking down at the sheer drop, her head began to spin. Great gusts of smoke spiralled upwards, choking and blinding. Her eyes stung cruelly.

  “I can’t see any way down,” she breathed wretchedly.

  “We could climb down that drainpipe,” Lucy suggested.

  Julia looked to where her daughter was pointing. There was a drainpipe leading from the gutter down to the main roof, then down to the ground. But, whether it would hold them, she didn’t know. Yet, she couldn't see any other way down.

  Between clouds of billowing black smoke, Julia glimpsed fields. There was a farmer and his dog rounding up sheep. At first, the sight made her want to weep, and then, in desperation, she shouted at the top of her voice. Lucy joined in, both coughing and spluttering, as the wind fanned the smoke into their faces. Finally, the intense heat warned them there was no time to lose. If the flames had taken hold of the bedrooms, then, the lower roof could cave in at any moment. This was their one and only chance.

  She gasped out instructions to Lucy. “We’re going to slowly slide on our bottoms down this little roof to the drainpipe. Then you’re going to climb down first…”