Chapter Twenty-Four
Confronting a Killer
Nadine pressed down hard on the horn and cursed the driver ahead of her. The windscreen wipers were going full out as torrential rain battered the roof of the car. Though it was not yet dark, visibility barely reached three yards ahead of them.
Jason tried Marc’s number again. It rang, and rang, before switching to voicemail.
“Shit,” he swore through gritted teeth. The car came to a complete halt. “What now?”
“Red light,” Nadine said.
At a standstill the force of the rain sounded like it was going to cave in the roof.
“He’s not picking up,” he groaned with frustration.
“Could be this storm,” Nadine said.
He checked the screen on his phone. “Nah, I’ve got a signal. It’s weak, but it’s there.”
“He’s on the other side of the city. Maybe it’s worse.” She glanced in her rear-view mirror. “Shit.”
“What?”
“Ambulance. ”
Jason looked behind. Through the rain-streaked window he saw the flashing lights. Nadine and the other cars in the line attempted to edge aside to make room for the vehicle to pass. It seemed to take an age to make its way along the road.
Jason took up the phone again and called emergency services. “I’m going to try the police. They’ll probably get there sooner than we will.” After Jason requested police from the initial call handler, the phone rang. It continued to ring the whole time they sat waiting for the traffic to clear. “They must be inundated because of the weather,” he said.
The sound of sirens was right on top of them. The car was filled with the blue flash of the beacons.
Nadine took a deep breath and said, “Hang on.”
As soon as the ambulance passed them, she jerked the wheel to the right and stepped on the accelerator, pulling into the road behind the emergency vehicle, following in the path it had cleared. Horns blared angrily around them. In other circumstances, Jason would have been furious at another driver behaving so recklessly. Not tonight. Whatever it took to reach Marc was fair and reasonable.
At the lights, the ambulance continued straight ahead, but Nadine turned left. Thankfully the road ahead was clearer.
The line to the police continued to ring.
“You’re wasting your time,” she said. “We’ll get there before they even answer.”
Jason swore again. He hated feeling this inadequate.
“Do something more practical,” Nadine said. “Look up this Chantelle woman. See what you can find out.”
He clicked through the search options. There was a profile page on Archer’s website titled Meet the Team. “ Chantelle Readymarcher,” he said, skimming the bland biographical details. “Friend of Soloman and his wife. Former campaign manager. Blah, blah, blah. Now his PA and responsible for running the Blyham field office.”
He widened the search field and found an obituary for her husband. “Eddie Readymarcher, successful businessman. Married Chantelle in 2005 and adopted her son from a former marriage, Stefan.”
“Did she kill the husband as well?”
“No,” he said, continuing to read. “Cancer. There’s no evidence that she’s ever been involved in anything suspicious.”
“Apart from working for the shithouse MP,” Nadine muttered, tearing around a corner and narrowly missing an oncoming car as she veered into the opposite lane. She pulled to the left just in time to avoid a collision, slamming Jason against the door.
He gasped at the pain as the seatbelt locked against his injured ribs.
Nadine sped ahead on the clear road.
Jason glanced at the photographs of Chantelle Readymarcher. A woman in her mid-fifties, beautiful, immaculately groomed with lustrous honey-coloured hair and wide blue eyes. There was a clear resemblance to the images Blake had shown them of Stefan. The son who had taken his own life less than a year ago.
Was this respectable, conservative woman capable of murder?
The chill in Jason’s spine gave him the answer.
* * * *
Ryman lay in a heap at Chantelle’s feet. The efficiency with which she had killed him had been abhorrent. Six sharp and powerful strikes to his back. Ryman’s face had contorted, then spasmed in agony, before slipping into an expressionless mask before he fell to the floor. Chantelle didn’t flicker. The execution of a man—two men—hadn’t caused a ripple of emotion.
In contrast, Marc’s blood pounded through his body and sounded like thunder in his ears.
She gazed at him across the desk. Her eyes were stony. It appeared to Marc that she was dead behind them. The knife was in her right hand, held beside her thigh. Ryman’s blood dripped from its lethal blade.
“I’d be correct to assume you didn’t come here without telling someone else where you were? Your investigator chum.” She sounded like a politician herself. Going on TV to announce a new policy or trade deal. Utterly emotionless and insincere.
Jason would surely come looking for him. Marc’s phone had already rung twice in his pocket. It was set to vibrate so she wouldn’t have heard it. He would need to take her by surprise in order to stand a chance. “Jason is on another case. I haven’t spoken to him all day. Ryman has taken over the investigation.”
“For a smart businessman, I’d have expected you to be a better liar. So, he’s on his way now? Or can I expect him to turn up later?”
“I don’t understand… Who are you? Why?”
In another political trait, she ignored the question. “I intended to kill you and Jason. If I’d been more on my game, you’d be in cold storage already. But Soloman, and this guy”—she jabbed Ryman with her toe—“they didn’t have to die. You pulled them into this and now these two are all on you.”
He trembled in disbelief. “Says the woman holding the murder weapon.”
“Effective, isn’t it. I should have just used this on you in the first place. It was over-ambitious of me to think I could get two for one with the hit-and-run. This”—she raised the blood-streaked knife—“has a far more successful hit rate.”
Her voice hadn’t modulated in tone or volume. It was like she was stating the most mundane fact.
“You killed my brother? You were the hit-and-run driver?”
She licked her lips and gave a short nod. “If I’d known then how much I enjoyed the knife work, I’d have finished him that way. But at the time, I needed it to look like an accident to avoid suspicion.”
Marc was incredulous. She spoke without a scrap of remorse. There was no connection between the words and their meaning. Despite having just watched her murder Ryman, and standing before the corpse of Soloman, he struggled to make sense of what she said. “Why Theo? Surely not because of him.” He gestured to Soloman.
“Him?” She seemed genuinely surprised by the question. “I couldn’t give a shit about him. If the media found out what he got up to with those whores, that was his problem. I’m good at my job and would have lied convincingly on his behalf, but I wouldn’t risk my own freedom for the sake of Soloman Archer. His wife might have killed him if it got out, though. Marianne knows exactly what he gets up, but as long as it doesn’t reflect badly on her, she’s fine with it. ”
Marc’s muscles quivered with anger, and heat radiated all through his body. “Why did you kill my brother?” He slowly enunciated every word.
Chantelle cocked her head. “Why? Your brother was a vile, manipulative piece of shit. Your shitty sibling is the reason my son is dead.”
He shook his head. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She showed the first flicker of emotion as her jaw clenched. When she spoke, her words were full of cold anger. “My beautiful son. He was a wonderful boy. He wanted for nothing and could have achieved anything with his life, until Theo corrupted him and dragged him into his sleazy affairs.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t suppose you do. Isn’t that how you handled your brother? Sticking your head in the sand and pretending not to notice what he was up to. The porn. The prostitution. It embarrassed you, so you ignored it. Even now, this pathetic investigation you’ve been running was to protect your own reputation, was it not? Theo was filth. You know it as well as I do. Everything he touched was tainted. And eventually, that included my son. Your brother corrupted him.”
She stepped around Ryman’s body and paced the floor. The fingers of her free hand flexed repeatedly. She was losing that inhuman control.
As the room was illuminated by a flash of lightning outside. Chantelle didn’t react. Marc doubted she’d even noticed it. She was lost in her head.
“Stefan died of an overdose. The damn coroner claimed it was suicide, but she knew nothing. Stefan would not have touched drugs if he hadn’t met your slut of a brother. He needed them to numb the pain. For the shame of what he had done. Of what he’d become. A whore. Theo took someone wonderful and pure and dragged him into the gutter.”
Who is this Stefan? The name had never once come up in all the time he’d been investigating. He couldn’t remember Theo ever mentioning him. Neither had any of his friends or collaborators.
“I’m sorry for what happened to your son,” he said. His voice was abnormally calm, given the situation. “I didn’t know him, but whatever happened, does it really justify the murders of five other men? Shit, if any of what you’re saying is true, Ryman and Soloman won’t have even known him.”
There was a sheen of sweat on her face. “Ryman, okay, yes. Soloman, I’m not so sure. I haven’t found any evidence, but with all the other shit he’s into, I wouldn’t put it past him. He might not have known Stefan was my son. I doubt it would have bothered him anyway.”
“You’re mad. Can’t you hear how insane this sounds?”
“Mad? Is it mad for a mother to love her son? To want to protect him from corrupt abusers, Soloman and your brother?”
“You seemed happy enough to have turned a blind eye to what Soloman’s been up to all these years. Is it only abuse when it involves someone that you love?”
“I don’t take any pleasure from what I have to do.” She had regained her confidence. She stood straight and defiant. Her features composed. Even her eyes had lost their madness, replaced by steely determination. “I only ever wanted justice for my boy. Your brother and those disgusting friends of his, they would have been enough. If you hadn’t gone snooping in things that don’t concern you, no one else would have had to die. ”
Her knuckles tightened around the handle of the knife, and her tight-lipped smile sent a chill through Marc that went all the way to his soul.
* * * *
“Pull up at the end of the street,” Jason said. “I don’t want to tip her off that we’re here.”
“I’m coming in with you,” Nadine argued.
“No,” he said firmly. “I need you to keep trying the police. And watch the office. If she comes out without us, follow her.”
Nadine seemed on the verge of disagreeing, then closed her mouth and nodded. She turned the car into the terrace and pulled up to the kerb, four properties down from Soloman’s office. The rain made it just about impossible to see, but through the rapidly wiping blades, he made out a light in one of the upstairs windows.
“What are you going to do?” Nadine asked. “She got the better of you once before, remember.”
“She took me by surprise. This time I have the advantage.” He put his hand on the door. “Keep calling the cops, okay. We’re going to need them.”
Nadine already had her phone in hand.
Jason stepped out. A surge of water washed clear over the gutters. This was the worst storm he could remember in years. The river Bly would burst its banks if it kept up for much longer. He pulled his jacket up to his throat.
Ryman’s car was parked farther along the street. They were still here, then. Talking to Soloman? Or had it been a trap orchestrated by his PA ?
Jason reached the front door. He tried the handle, relived to find it unlocked. He couldn’t remember whether there was a bell to alert the office upstairs whenever someone entered. Damn it . He’d have to take the risk. Opening the door, he rushed inside and closed it behind him. To his relief, it didn’t appear rigged to an alarm.
He pressed his back against the wall and waited, listening. Even without a ringer, it was possible anyone upstairs would have heard the increasing noise from the storm as he made his way in. He counted slowly to ten.
Nothing.
Jason advanced. On just the balls of his feet, he went up the stairs.
As he approached the top, he flattened himself against the far wall, to give him the widest view as he came up. The reception area was empty.
He heard voices and immediately recognised Marc.
The light he’d seen from the street came from an office at the front of the building.
He proceeded carefully. The top step creaked as put his weight on it.
Jason froze. Waited.
After another few seconds, when there was no movement from the office, he crept into the reception room.
There was no one at the desk. He checked behind it, in case somebody should be lurking there. It was clear. Whoever was in the building, was in that front room.
Was he overreacting? He hoped so.
It would be a relief to open that door wider and find Marc and Ryman chatting around the desk with Soloman .
Instinct, combined with years of experience, told him otherwise.
Breathing shallowly, Jason moved across the floor. He strained to hear.
“Did your son ever talk to you about any of this?” It was Marc’s voice. There was something off about it. A note of false bravado.
“Of course he didn’t.” Chantelle. So, their suspicions were correct. “He would still be here otherwise. His problems wouldn’t have seemed so bad if he’d confided in his mother.”
The door was open by just over a foot. He could barely make out the room beyond.
Jason edged closer.
Marc was on the far side of the desk. His hands were raised before him in surrender.
Where the fuck is Chantelle?
“Those other boys all had mothers too,” Marc said. “Theo, Dan and Tyrone.”
“No. They were sons of fucking bitches. Stefan was better than any of them. And their mothers deserve every agonising second of grief they suffer, and it will never come close to my own pain.”
From the sound of things, she was a metre or so in front of the door, still out of sight.
Where was Ryman? Jason couldn’t see or hear anything of him.
He weighed up the options.
Rush in, in the hope he could tackle her. Surprise was on his side. His injuries might prevent him from fully overpowering her, but with Marc and Ryman’s help, she wouldn’t be a problem. But what about Soloman? Was he in there too? Was he on her side?
Fuck .
If he knew the cops were on the way, he could just walk in and say so. They should be able to contain her until they arrived.
But in this weather, with the roads as bad as they were and services stretched all over the city, he couldn’t count on it.
Surprise was the greatest weapon that he had.
From his current position, it was his only option.
He fixed himself, took a deep breath for fuel, then charged at the door, flinging it wide.
Chantelle stood across the desk opposite Marc. As she turned in surprise, Jason was already pounding towards her. He had speed and trajectory just right. He would take her down.
She raised the knife.
He was still on track to stop her.
His foot touched the floor and as he powered forward, he slipped. The wooden floor was wet. Jason’s feet went out from under him, and he lost momentum. Chantelle ducked aside and he hit the front of the desk with full force. He roared in agony as pain from his injured ribs tore all through his body.
Jason dropped to the floor.
The world became a kaleidoscope of crazy images. As he hit the ground, he looked straight into the slackened face of his partner. There was blood all around them. Survival instinct impelled him to move. He rolled onto his back.
Chantelle was right above him. Her lips moved but he couldn’t understand a word.
Her knife drew back, and she was coming at him.
Jason couldn’t get away. This time the pain was too great .
He prayed Marc would use the distraction to escape. If this was the end, it would be a consolation to know he got away.
Chantelle came closer and the knife bore down towards him.
Then another movement. Marc was right behind her. He swung hard, smacking her across the head with his plastered arm. She was lifted clear off her feet.
Jason’s vision dimmed. He fought against the blackout.
Marc was above him. Tapping his face, shaking his shoulders.
“…up.”
Jason winced. His sight and hearing were woozy, but were returning.
“Where is she?” He tried to sit up, which triggered another rush of darkness. He paused a moment before continuing. The pain in his chest was agony. Probably broken another rib . “The knife.”
“I’ve got it,” Marc said, helping him to lean against the desk. “She’s gone. But I think she’s locked us in.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Marc said.
Despite their situation, Jason felt a sudden lightness of relief. He gripped Marc’s good hand, wanting to hold him. Needing a moment of stillness to let it sink in. He raised Marc’s hand to his lips and kissed it. When this was over, he wanted to hold him and never let him go.
“Can you stand?” Marc asked. “If she’s locked the door, we’re not out of trouble yet.”
Jason nodded grimly. He gritted his teeth and when Marc counted to three, together they managed to get him to his feet. Jason sucked in a great mouthful of air .
It was then that he smelled burning.
Looking towards the doors, he saw grey tendrils of smoke creep under the bottom.