The BMW was crushed against the front of a large tractor parked in the centre of the narrow road. The tractor’s loading forks were down and he could see that they had skimmed across the top of the car’s bonnet, making deep furrows, before smashing through the windscreen and impaling the two occupants.
Hobbling over to the car, Frank looked through the broken passenger’s window and saw that the driver was dead. Her eyes were wide open, as though in surprise. The long spike had completely impaled her head, from front to back. There was very little blood, and for one crazy moment, Frank thought she might be about to speak to him.
He jumped when the passenger moaned. The man had been hit in the left side of his head by another spike, which had torn a big hole in his skull. Frank could see the brain beneath and took a deep breath to stop himself from puking. The man’s scalp was peeled back and a curtain of blood had washed down his face, making him resemble one of the living dead from the zombie films Frank so enjoyed.
Seemingly sensing somebody nearby, the man opened his remaining good eye.
“Mai?” he whispered between trembling, blood coated lips.
“What?” Frank said, leaning in so he could hear what the man was saying. “Don’t worry. I’ll get help. It’ll be okay. You just hang on there. I’ll call an ambulance. Just wait there.”
The man managed to raise his arm in a series of slow jerks.
Frank froze, all thoughts of calling the emergency services gone when he felt the gun pressed against his cheek.
“Kill . . . you,” the man faltered, his voice weak, his one good eye alight with a fire that cut right into Frank’s brain.
Frank knew he was about to die. He was too frightened to move and could only stand on trembling legs, waiting for the man to pull the trigger.
Then unexpectedly, the light in the man’s eye died and his arm dropped to his lap. Frank reached in through the window and grabbed the gun, backing away from the car, his whole body trembling as though somebody was shaking him.
Bending over, he threw up on the side of the road.
Finally pulling himself together, he staggered away from the wreckage and threw the gun as hard as he could over the hedge, then collapsed onto his back, his helmeted-head hitting the road with a dull thunk.
*
Karla closed the kitchen door, hooked her handbag over the back of the captain’s chair, switched on the kettle and sat down, sighing deeply. Kicking off her shoes, she rubbed her feet. It had been a hot, hard day at the café and she was looking forward to a deep bath, laced with some of the salts Frank had bought her a couple of months ago. She sighed again as his name popped into her head.
Frank, Frank, Frank. What am I going to do about you?
The kettle switch popped and she went over to the counter, dropped a tea-bag into the cup and poured on hot water. After a quick stir, she dropped the used tea-bag in the sink and went back to the table. Not having the energy to get up and walk to the fridge, she sipped the tea black, gazing from the window but not really seeing anything.
Lucie had dropped into Brambles during the afternoon and tried to persuade her to go on a girl’s night out. She’d declined but Lucie had insisted, nearly leading to a row between them.
In the end her friend had held up her hands and pulled a face. “Okay, okay. I know when I’m beaten. Just remember Karla, I’m here if you need me.” She paused a moment, as if not sure how to continue, then squeezed Karla’s arm. “He’s really no good for you, you know that, right?”
“Goodbye Lucie,” she’d replied coldly.
Her friend glanced down at the floor, giving a barely perceptible sigh before turning away.
“Maybe tomorrow night. When I’m not so tired,” Karla called as Lucie opened the café door.
Thinking back on it now, perhaps she shouldn’t have been so dismissive of Lucie’s attempt at helping her. They’d known each other for years, had cried on each other shoulders, more times than she cared to remember - usually because of some man or other.
Nothing really changed, she realised.
Rubbing her tired eyes, she stood up. Time for that bath. Things always felt better after a bath.
A soft buzzing from her bag drew her attention and she looked across at it for a second, wondering whether to let it go through to her answering service. Pulling the bag towards her, she fished out the phone, flipped it open and held it to her ear.
“Is that Karla Lachlan?” an officious sounding voice asked.
Before she could answer, Karla heard another voice speaking in the background: “Okay that’s the air-ambulance loaded. The rescue guys are still cutting the others out of the car. We’ll clear up the mess and then you can open the road whenever you like. Should be a couple of hours I reckon.”
Karla felt a coldness well up from deep inside, tingling down her arms and legs. She couldn’t move, as though she’d been glued to the spot. Her spine arched of its own accord and goosebumps broke out along the backs of her arms.
“Hello! Hello!” she called into the phone.
“Oh yes. Sorry. Miss Lachlan?”
“Yes. What is it? What’s happening?”
“Look, there’s been an accident involving a Frank Collins. Sorry to call you out of the blue this way, but we didn’t know who to contact and your number was in his mobile.”
“Is he hurt? Is he okay?” She was almost screaming into the phone now, too frightened to ask the question she so desperately wanted the answer to.
“Is he dead?”
Chapter 39
Karla snorted, waking herself from a deep sleep. She’d been dreaming about car smashes, and was still a little bleary when she woke. The hospital armchair was soft and she reclosed her eyes, nestling into a more comfortable position, but then flicked them open again after a couple of seconds. Something had woken her. But what?
Looking over at Frank, she saw that he was still laying in the same position as she’d last seen him - shoulder and hand bandaged, a line snaking from his forearm to a drip stand. He was breathing quietly and still seemed unconscious.
Getting up, she yawned and walked to the window. The sky was black, the clouds hanging low. A large car park stretched away in front of the window, security lights picking out the herringbone lines of the parking bays. Like her mood, it was desolate and empty. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was almost three-thirty in the morning.
Licking dry lips, Karla decided to go down to her car and fetch the bottle of coke she’d left on the back seat, recalling that she might just have a bar of chocolate in the glove-box as well.
*
When he heard Karla leave the side ward, Frank snapped open his eyes. He’d been awake for some time, listening to her gentle snores. Easing himself into a more comfortable position had rattled the stand holding the drip and woken her.
Not wanting to talk, he pretended to be asleep - perhaps she would go home now that she was awake. He prayed she would. His head was pounding and right now, he had nothing to say to her.
Keeping perfectly still, he followed the sounds of her movements as she crossed the room and stood by the window. She stayed there for a bit, then abruptly turned and left.
A wave of relief washed over him and he opened his eyes. The darkness outside told him that it was late at night, probably early morning. A dim bulb glowed over his bed, giving just enough light to see by, and as he eased himself upright, he wondered what day it was, how long he’d been out.
Footsteps squeaked in the corridor outside and his heartbeat rose. He expected to see Karla walk back through the door at any moment . . . but the footsteps passed by and receded.
He relaxed again. Just a nurse doing her rounds, he guessed.
As he leant back against the pillows, the memories flooded back, and with them the feelings of helplessness and terror that had overwhelmed him when the gun had touched his face.
They’d tried to kill him - run him down - and when that failed, shoot him! The scene replayed over and over
in his mind, and as it did, the helplessness was slowly replaced with a deep, resentful rage.
His breathing deepened and his jaws tightened. They had set him up and tried to kill him. What the hell was going on? But wasn’t it obvious? It had to be connected with his visits to London and the girl-running gang. They must have sent someone up here to shut him up . . . permanently.
Frank slid the tip of his tongue across the scar on his upper lip, thinking hard, rolling the drip line between thumb and forefinger as he considered what to do. He knew the police would be all over him when they realised he was awake. That thought brought him upright, straining to see through the small glass window next to the door.
Was a policeman sitting outside the ward right now, ready to cart him back to jail? God, he couldn’t deal with the thought of that happening again.
*
“Oh, you’re awake then? Good. How are you feeling?” Karla hurried over to the bed and gave Frank a perfunctory kiss on the forehead. “They were worried that you might have suffered more than concussion. They said they’re taking you up for a scan in the morning. Oh hang on a minute.”
Karla put the coke and chocolate on the night stand and pulled a chair closer to the bed.
Frank looked at her and smiled. “Hello Karla,” he said.
“Sorry,” she replied, sitting down and picking up his hand.
He winced and she could see that she’d hurt his injured shoulder.
“Sorry,” she said again.
“No, it’s okay,” he said placing his other hand on hers.
“How do you feel?”
“Yeah, okay I think. My shoulder hurts, my hand hurts, my skin feels like somebody’s tried to peel it off, and my head is thumping like a drum . . . but yeah, apart from all that, I’m fine.”
Karla wasn’t sure whether he was being serious or not, but when he chuckled, she smiled back and clasped his hand in hers.
“Whoa,” he said, “that’s the hand that hurts.”
“God, sorry,” she said yet again, dropping it quickly.
“So many apologies in one day,” he said with another chuckle.
“So what happened?” she asked, trying to stem her flood of apologies. “The police said you’d had some kind of accident on your bike, but won’t tell me anything else at the moment. I expect they’ll be back to talk to you in the morning, now that you’re awake.”
“Expect so,” he said.
Karla could see that he was tired and disorientated.
“Look,” she said, “why don’t I go and let the nurse know that you’re awake, and come back in the morning?”
“You been here all night?”
She nodded.
“Thanks,” he said.
*
After Karla left, Frank had to put up with a young doctor prodding and poking him. Then answer a barrage of questions while a penlight was flashed in his eyes.
Frank had a few questions of his own, but the doctor knew very little, or was keeping stumm about what he did know. However, he did let slip that the tractor driver had been knocked out for a time. Apparently he’d received some spinal injuries, but had managed to call the police on his mobile before passing out again. And no, he didn’t know how the tractor driver was at the moment, only that he was in Intensive Care.
The doctor outright refused to answer any questions about the occupants of the car.
When the doctor had gone, Frank thought back over the whole incident again, starting with the phone call that had led to him being in the lane. He’d have to check the address and see if that booking was genuine.
Somehow he didn’t think it would be.
Chapter 40
It was three weeks since Frank’s accident. He was healing well and was fit enough to ride his bike again, something he’d missed while recovering from his injuries. He hadn’t been out running yet, and had put on a bit of weight, but that was next on his to-do list.
The police had interviewed him three times since the crash and he wondered whether they were showing so much interest because he was out on licence for murder. It would be no surprise, after all, nothing much happened in such an isolated village.
The police hadn’t mentioned finding the gun, which surprised him - but then he supposed that there had been no reason for them to be looking for anything beyond the scene of the accident. The bullet had only grazed his shoulder, and being one of many such injuries he gotten that night, hadn’t been of any special significance as far as the hospital was concerned.
Frank was relieved that there was no awkward questions from that direction.
All in all he’d been extremely lucky, and thought it best to stick to his story of just being on a routine delivery for the present when the accident had happened, and see how it went.
Yes, he’d agreed with the police when they’d questioned him, perhaps he had been going a bit too fast. He’d been late for his next pick-up, and the headlights had blinded him as he came around the bend - what else could he have done? Other than that, he couldn’t remember anything about the accident and had no idea where the car had come from, or who’d been in it. Finally they seemed satisfied with his story and left him alone to recover.
After a couple of days in the hospital, Frank was discharged and went home. It took a lot of arguing to persuade Karla that he didn’t need her help and was quite capable of coping on his own.
He could see how hurt she was by his persistence, but stuck to his point. He knew that anyone close to him right now might be in real danger, and he wanted her well out-of-the-way until he’d taken care of the situation.
The first thing Frank did when he could get around, was check out the address he was picking up from on the day he was attacked. As he’d suspected, it had been a set-up. The old lady living there had no idea what he was talking about, adding weight to his theory about why the attack had happened, and who might be behind it.
He should have gone to the police then, but still held back. Someone had tried to kill him, but more than that, had killed Mandy. If there had been any doubts left in his mind about Chantelle’s story, they’d been swept aside.
No, helping lock up whoever had done this for the next twenty years wasn’t an option - no way good enough. An eye for an eye. The man had to die, just as Mandy had.
On the way back from talking with the old lady, Frank searched the field for the gun he’d thrown over the hedge. It took him a couple of hours to find it because it was half-buried in a deep wheel-rut. Finally spotting it, he eased it free, wondering who had taken over the running of Hugo’s farm now that the poor sod was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life - another reason to settle the score with Conrad Hunter.
There was no doubt in Frank’s mind any longer. Conrad Hunter was behind all this!
Rubbing thick mud from the gun, Frank took up the stance, holding the weapon out in front of him with both hands, just as the detectives did in all those American cop shows he so avidly watched, fantasizing about how he was going make the bastard kneel in front of him and beg for his life.
Yes. Payback was going to be sweet. Oh so sweet!
*
Karla was sitting at Frank’s kitchen table, a cup of tea steaming in front of her. She looked down at the page again, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Picking up the ballpoint pen, she twiddled it between thumb and forefinger, so quickly that it became a blur.
What to write? What to write?
She needed to call an end to the relationship - if that’s what it was. Frank had pushed her away for the last time. Lucie was right.
Karla knew how she felt, but couldn’t find the right words to express it. Sighing, she pushed back her chair and walked to the window. The rain had stopped and the horizon was shot with red. The fading light stained the sky a dark mauve. It really was a beautiful sunset.
What to write? What to write?
Returning to the table, she sat down and picked up the pen again.
Dear Frank, sh
e wrote, then scribbled it out.
Frankie,
Yes, that was better.
Frankie, I’m writing this letter because somewhere I once read that it helps to sort out your feelings if you express them in writing.
Good, that was a good start.
I’m leaving the key to your cottage with this letter, as I don’t want to see you again.
Was that too harsh? God yes, far too harsh. Crumpling up the page, she pulled out her notebook and tore a new one from it.
Then she sat staring at a white blankness that was only relieved by faint blue lines.
A sharp rapping on the front door pulled her attention from the letter and she pushed back her chair, popped the notebook and pen back in her purse and went to answer it.
*
Karla doubled over in pain.
She couldn’t breathe; couldn’t speak; couldn’t think.
The blow had caught her completely unawares and it was all that she could do not to throw up. Never having been hit in the stomach before, she was taken aback by how disabling it was.
The man who’d hit her, shouldered his way into the small hall, catching her by the neck with one hand, his fingertips pushing deeply into her muscles like steel claws. The pain was incapacitating, but she managed to rake her nails across his wrist, trying to free herself.
Slammed backwards against the wall, Karla’s skull bounced off the wood panelling with a bang that made her head ring.
“Don’t say a word,” the man growled. “Just nod if you’re here on your own.”
Karla nodded, still trying to free herself from the man’s grip, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
Suddenly spun around, she was pushed against the wall and her hands secured behind her back with tape.
She managed to get her breath back and began begging her attacker not to hurt her: telling him that her money was in her bag in the kitchen; that he should take it and go.
Karla got as far as the first word, then found herself spun around again as the man secured a large piece of tape across her mouth. Eyes wide with terror, nostrils flaring as she tried to draw in enough air to breathe, she was pushed into the lounge and tied to a chair.