Chapter Seven #2
“Doesn’t change the fact they’re dead and you’re alive,” Andrew said. His eyes were narrowed and his shoulders drawn up. He hated injustice, he hated murderers, and this was his moment to balance the scales.
“Yeah, whatever.” A nasty laugh scratched from his throat. “They couldn’t pin any of it on me.”
“And you lied about diminished responsibility; you hadn’t been taking your prescription drugs when you’d broke into that farm, had you?”
“So what?” He frowned at me. “And who the fuck have you been speaking to about that?”
“Doesn’t really matter.” My finger tightened on the trigger, just a little. Any moment now, Andrew would give the signal. We had the remorseless fucker, and he’d admitted it.
Suddenly, Archie swung his hand up, grabbing Andrew’s gun. It was a slick, fast movement that ended with the gun aimed at Cillian.
“Think you’re so fucking hard, huh?” Archie's eyes flashed with madness.
Fear gripped me.
Fury stormed through my body.
I pulled the trigger.
My bullet hit Archie’s temple, spraying his brains onto the wall.
“Fuck.” Andrew caught his gun as it fell from Archie’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
Cillian swallowed, his eyes were wide.
“Hey, mate.” I squeezed his shoulder. “Come on.”
“I froze.”
“No you didn’t, I just reacted quicker.” I shoved him toward the door. “Come on.”
To my relief, he followed Andrew. I turned and grabbed the wads of cash on the bedside table—it’d come in useful in funding Rose Cottage—then I raced down the stairs.
“We gotta go before someone comes to see who’s been shot,” Andrew said, then leaped the fence, adrenaline clearly giving him a boost. “That’ll have been heard.”
Cillian and I raced outside, bandanas still in place. We didn’t go the way we’d come, we shot down an alley, leaping over an old supermarket trolley, and out toward the river.
The path was heavy with weeds, the river thick with bulrushes, and we kept our bandanas up until we saw some fishermen, then we passed them at a walk, heads turned away. Three guys wearing masks would stick in their memory, three silent walkers, not so much.
“Fucking hell,” Andrew said, “did you see the slippery bastard move?”
“Yeah, he was going to have a go, that’s for sure.”
“Asshole,” Cillian muttered.
We passed a moored boat and then a pair of swans.
“I got this, though.” I flashed one of the wads of cash.
“Good move,” Andrew said. “We owe Jamie some, he overpaid last month, and the new girl, Lizzie, was talking about doing a computer course, that will pay for that.”
“Yeah, Grant will be pleased to balance the books.”
Cillian nodded. “All in a good morning’s work, right.”
“Always when the scales of justice are balanced. That asshole didn’t deserve to live another day,” I said. “And it’s fucking fate we found out about him.”
“I agree,” Andrew said. “And the rest of Galahad will too.”
* * * *
An hour later, we were back in the kitchen at Rose Cottage.
Jamie had turned up and was sitting with Phil and Grant.
Jamie was the posh one of the group, private education, wealthy father, massive villas all over the place.
He was a great guy, moral compass due north, well, if you didn’t count the fact he was a great hacker and happy to syphon some of Daddy’s cash our way.
Grant was a bank manager, took care of our finances, and was someone I could rely on big time when the shit hit the fan. He’d had a spat with Andrew recently, had to step up after a job went wrong, but thankfully, that seemed to be history now and he was well and truly back at the table.
“So you just went over and took him out?” Phil said as he munched down on a chicken wrap.
“No time like the present,” I said.
“I guess not.” Jamie shrugged.
“Means the world is a better place all the sooner,” Grant added but didn’t even glance up from his phone.
“I hope there’s coffee.” Mitch wandered into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and wearing just his sweats.
“Yeah, in the pot,” Cillian said, sipping his own coffee. “Busy night on the beat?”
“Not too bad for a Friday.” Mitch grabbed a big mug and poured.
“Anything of interest to us?” Andrew asked.
“Nah, a skirmish at Red Leather when they kicked out at five, and a few drunk and disorderly warnings. The usual.”
I glanced at Cillian. We’d seen a drunk, too, but had handled him ourselves.
“Oh, and some poor woman being stalked, terrified, she was.” Mitch went on, “We turned up at the house, and she’d locked herself in the bathroom, waiting for us. Son of a bitch had been in her bedroom, and she didn’t know if he was still there or not.”
“Fuck, that’s awful.” Jamie shook his head. “What a violation.”
“I know, right.” Mitch sat down with his coffee. “Nice part of town, too.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked. “Where?”
“Hardacre Court.”
Cillian straightened.
I did the same, my heart racing.
“What she look like?” Cillian asked stiffly.
“Pretty, long dark hair, curvy and in a hot tight dress, said she was a lawyer.”
“What the fucking hell in God’s name…” I stood, banging the table and knocking over a bottle of ketchup. “That’s our woman?”
“Your woman?” Andrew asked with a frown. “Didn’t know you had one.”
“We have.”
“Rebecca Saunders.” Cillian stared at Mitch. “That was her name, right?”
“Yeah, I reckon so.”
“Jesus Heaven and Earth.” I ran my hands through my hair. What a fucking nightmare. Rebecca. Stalked. This was not going to end well for some asshole. In fact, it was going to end up with every bone in his body being broken.
“We left her outside her home last night,” Cillian said, also standing. “We’d just taken her for dinner and seen her home.”
“She must have gone into the house and then straight away had to call the cops.” Anger had me nauseated. I clenched my fists.
“I reckon so.” Mitch was studying us closely. “You didn’t go inside with her?”
“No, she said she had rules about first dates and all that.”
“Fair enough.” Mitch shrugged. “Would have helped not to have that rule on this occasion, though.”
“We should go, make sure she’s okay,” I said to Cillian.
“Yeah, come on.”
“You won’t find her there,” Mitch said.
“Oh no? Why not?”
“We took her to her friend’s house, Grantchester Apartments, number eighteen, I think.”
“And her friend’s name?”
“Amy.” Mitch paused. “Energetic little thing, pixie-like.” He smiled, which was rare since his bitter divorce. “Say hi to her for me.”
“Sure thing, Mitch. But who is this prick?” I stepped toward the door. “Who’s stalking her?”
“Yeah, he needs gutting,” Cillian added. “Just for scaring her.”
“No idea,” Mitch said, “and she doesn’t know either.”
“She doesn’t have an inkling?” Andrew chipped in. “She must have.”
“A few past clients,” Mitch went on, “disgruntled that she didn’t get them off their charges. That’s her best theory.”
“Ah yes, could well be.” Andrew jerked his head at me. “Go check your woman, and then let us know if you need help sorting this stalking bastard out.”