Remix (2010) (25 page)

As her arm went back, I yelled, “RIC!” and vaulted over the desk, scattering my belongings. Ric heard me and rolled to one side as the steel bar swung at his head. He didn’t move far enough - the blow connected with a thud. Anger and fear fizzed through me. Emma raised the bar to hit him again, and I shot across the room, caught my foot in a branch of the chandelier and crashed to the floor. I jumped up and lunged at her - we toppled together, with me landing on top.

I went for the wrecking bar, but Emma hung on. I grasped it and thumped it repeatedly to the ground, bashing her hand. We struggled, Emma intent on getting me off her, while I tried to put her out of action. I was fitter, faster, and better dressed for combat. I was fighting for my life, and Ric’s; she was fighting for her freedom. When her nails went for my eyes, I dumped any lingering inhibitions. If I’d had a knife, I’d have sunk it between her ribs. Her warm body reeked of expensive perfume, the cream silk slithered and tore under me. I grabbed her hair and banged her head on the floor. She got hold of my fingers and bent them back. It really hurt. I head-butted her, hoping to break her nose, but missed as she turned sideways. Part of me couldn’t believe I was doing this.

Emma got sole possession of the wrecking bar and tried to crack my skull, but with no space to swing it she wasn’t able to hit hard enough. Ric and Phil had gone quiet, but now I heard heavy breathing behind me, crisp clicks and something small and solid hitting the carpet. Someone was reloading the shotgun. I had a bad feeling it wasn’t Ric. No leisure to look. Hurry. I twisted Emma’s wrist savagely, and kneed her in the stomach. She screamed. I yanked the bar from her hand and jumped backwards, colliding with someone - aftershave, not Ric, Phil - jabbed my elbow hard into his ribs, then something went over me so I couldn’t see - his dressing gown, muffling me and pinning my arms. Frantic, I kicked back at his groin. I got him, I know I did, but while I was blind and off balance he shoved me to the floor, and Emma sat on me.

The rip of tape. My duct tape. As used by American criminals, because you can’t work your way out of it like you can with rope. I bucked, wriggled and kicked. It was no use. I couldn’t beat two of them from where I was, though God knows I tried, because Phil wouldn’t be doing this if he intended me to survive. As they got the upper hand, disbelief and dismay possessed me; except dismay is too weak a word. It was a dark triple-distilled essence of dismay I was experiencing, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. When he’d taped my wrists and ankles, with three or four layers of tape, Emma got up.

Phil’s voice, hoarse and concerned. “Are you hurt? I
had to reload in case Ric surfaced.”

“Just bruised and upset. My hand’s a bit painful.”

“My poor Emma. I’ll see to it in a minute. You were magnificent. Ric’s out cold. You hit him in the nick of time. He’d have throttled me, but for you.”

More tape ripping. He was securing Ric. I heard the safe combination click, then a faint rattle. The drugs. He was going to kill us now, inject us with a lethal overdose.

“It’s no
good
,” I said hopelessly, through folds of dressing gown into the carpet, “it’s pointless, you won’t get away with it. Bryan was manslaughter, this’ll be first degree murder.”

I could tell Phil was addressing me, as his voice was dispassionate, quite unlike the way he spoke to Emma. “First degree murder features in the Criminal Code of Canada, not this country.
Here we only have one crime of murder: that is, unlawfully killing another person, with the intention to kill or to cause grievous bodily harm. It may be, however, that diminished responsibility or provocation reduces the crime to manslaughter.
”

Perhaps the legal technicalities helped him to distance himself from what he was about to do. I tried again.

“Whatever it is, it’s just
stupid
, it’s crazy, you’ll do life for this, both of you.” Tears filled my eyes and I fought to gain control. I didn’t want them to know I was crying. “If Emma confesses to manslaughter, it’ll be a few years in prison, that’s better for her than being involved in three murders, surely? Two of them premeditated?” No response. It’s difficult to be persuasive when you are lying on the floor, tied up, with your head muffled in someone else’s dressing gown. My voice sounded strained, ineffectual, as I said, “You’re a lawyer, why can’t you see that?”

“Really, Miss Tallis, I don’t require your approval for my plans.”

Phil pulled the dressing gown off my head and moved away. I craned over my shoulder to see what he was doing. He swept everything off the desk into a leather waste-paper bin, and picked up the things that had fallen to the floor, then walked with Emma to the door. With him he took the bin, the gun and the white box. Stupid relief that I was not to die immediately flooded through me.

Before the door shut I heard Emma say, very quietly, “What will you do?”

It worried me that Phil didn’t lower his voice as she had. “Leave it to me. You don’t need to know anything about it. I’m going to take you upstairs to bed now. You go to sleep, and in the morning they’ll be gone. Within twenty-four, maybe thirty-six hours, everything will be back to normal.”

The door closed behind them. A key turned in the lock.

Chapter

27

*

Oh God, oh God…this was my fault, I should have persuaded Ric not to come, made him ring the police, I knew Phil was dangerous. I should have run away when Phil fired the gun. Without my wrecking bar, Emma wouldn’t have had a weapon. I’d brought the tape just so Phil could tie us up with it…

Get a grip.

James would get my note in the morning. He went running first thing each Sunday - maybe as early as seven-thirty, eight o’clock. I knew he’d go directly to my flat, read the file and ring the police. They’d take him seriously, everyone knows immediately James is on the level, and come straight here, arriving…between eight and eight-thirty, with luck. It must now be around three-thirty. Four and a half to five hours - if we lasted that long, we’d probably make it. Given our current situation, that seemed an impossible length of time for us to survive.

Phil had said, “In the morning they’ll be gone.” Dear God.

I curled on my side, sat up, and shuffled on my bottom towards Ric. His eyes were shut, his lips slightly apart, a thread of blood congealing on his pale forehead. I nudged his shoulder with my knee. “Ric…
Ric
!”

His head lolled a little to one side, no other reaction. There was a soggy red mess in his hair. A hot wave of panic swept over me. Suppose he had brain damage, with pressure building up inside his skull? Suppose he was dying? He needed to go to hospital. Maybe I could pick up a bit of broken glass - my fingers could function even though my wrists were tied behind me - and cut him free - but without him directing me, it would take forever, and I wouldn’t be able to move him, nor would he be able to free me.

I tried to get my hands in front of me, threading my body through my arms. The hero of
The Danger
did this with handcuffs, but it proved impossible with taped wrists.

Get help. The phone demolished by Emma lay in pieces, Phil had taken Ric’s mobile…I couldn’t climb out of the window…then I had an inspiration.

The computer!

It was still on, humming softly, though the screen had gone black. I pulled myself across the carpet over to the desk, and knelt in front of the keyboard. I pressed Web/Home with my nose. Easy. Phil’s homepage appeared, Financial Times markets and a Google toolbar at the top; I’d Google police… No cursor. I pushed the optical mouse around with my chin, then realized I needed to left-click. Got it. I nudged it up, overshot, brought it back using the underside of my chin. Overshot. While moving it, I couldn’t see the screen. It was difficult to shift it in tiny enough increments, difficult to control my fear and impatience and make myself do it gradually, as precisely as possible.

Gah! I’m an idiot. Use Tab…

Four clicks, peering anxiously after each one to check where I’d got to, and I’d reached the Google rectangle. Yes! I typed p-o-l-i-c-e c-o-n-t-a-c-t and pressed Enter. Nose-typing was easy-peasy, except for not being able to watch the screen at the same time. Tab to Metropolitan Police Service. Enter. A reassuring royal-blue and white page appeared.

METROPOLITAN POLICE

Working together for a safer London

CONTACT US

This section provides information on how you can contact the Metropolitan Police Service when it is not an emergency.

If a crime is currently taking place and you are in immediate danger, dial 999
.

The Met care about what Londoners think and your views are important to us.

Find out how to pass on a suggestion, compliment or make a complaint.

I don’t want to pass on a suggestion, compliment or make a complaint! On second thoughts yes I do, I want to suggest that they have an emergency EMAIL FOR HELP section for when you are tied up with only a computer and no bloody phone so you can’t bloody well dial 9 9 bloody 9, and I want to complain that they haven’t sodding got one! And I definitely don’t want to pay them any bloody compliments when I’m about to be murdered and I can’t get hold of them because their sodding website is NO BLOODY HELP AT ALL.

The Samaritans. They do a twenty-four hour service, maybe they have an online messaging facility for the desperate. I qualify, I’m desperate. I Tabbed towards that little white rectangle, overshot and backtracked by using my tongue on the Shift key while pressing Tab with my nose. How long had I got before Phil returned? Emma must be asking lots of questions, he’d be trying to pacify her; then he’d be making preparations of some sort. I didn’t want to think about that.

The soothing green of the Samaritans’ home page; I scanned it hurriedly.

Volunteers offer support by responding to phone calls, emails and letters.

I moved to emails, pressed the down arrow to scroll and read:

How long does it take to reply to an email?
If you email we try our hardest to get back to you within 24 hours. If you need immediate support you can pick up the telephone at any point and speak to a Samaritans volunteer.

No good.

The minutes were slipping by, second by second. I couldn’t see my watch and fear had swallowed my sense of time. Phil probably hadn’t been gone for five minutes. Think, think. Someone who knows me, who’d take me seriously and not assume it was some silly prank. Facebook! But which of my friends would be awake and on a computer at this hour? Okay, then, a site where there is always someone sensible and sober online. That’s IT! Tab to Google box, type, carefully now: g-o-o-g-l-e-q-u-e-s-t-i-o-n-s… An advert: Ask Experts a Question. Enter.

JUST ANSWER

170 experts are online now.
This looks good…

Select your expert
: Let’s go for
Health Expert
, they’ll be intelligent.

Jenny, Nurse

Dr Limberg, Doctor

Smiley photos of the white-coated professionals who were going to get me and Ric out of here, please God… Tab a total of thirty-eight times, checking at intervals, sometimes taking ages to spot where I was: at last, I’m in the big white rectangle.

Type your question here
.

Right… p-l-e-a-s-e h-e-l-p m-e t-h-i-s i-s n-o-t a j-o-k-e i a-m t-i-e-d u-p a-t- My whole body tensed. Was that footsteps in the hall? p-h-i-l… The key turned, the door knob rattled, no, I’m so nearly there - s-h-a-r-

A quick glance told me it was Phil, dressed now in jeans and a navy polo shirt. I thought my heart had been racing before, but it hadn’t even laced up its Reeboks. Frantically I jabbed at the keys with my nose: o-t-t i-n c-p-p-k- Damn! I need the location, quick, backspace… Firm hands landed on my shoulders and pulled me from the keyboard. A bonfire smell lingered on his clothes; I guessed what he’d been doing. The evidence of Emma’s lies about Bryan’s death now existed only in our minds. Phil’s right eye was puffy where Ric had hit him, almost closed, and I could see red marks on his neck. He studied the page coolly, then clicked it off; went to Start, and shut down the computer correctly. He picked up the mouse, and left the room, leaving the door ajar.

He thinks I can’t use the computer without the mouse!

I nosed the On switch, then the tiny button that turned on the screen. The computer whirred into life and began the start-up routine, taking its time. Would it be better to attempt to reach another room and find a phone, now the door was unlocked? No, I’d be slow and might bump into Phil. Stick with the computer. Seconds trickled by like sand in a timer as the screens sequenced to the sign-in page. Hurry…yes.

Phil’s password: 2-7-c-l-u-b

Homepage

Google

Just Answer

Select Expert

It was still Jenny and Doctor Lindberg, smiling at me like old friends.

Thirty-eight Tabs, count carefully, it’ll be quicker this time. Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, Enter…