Jail Bird

He reeled back with a shout of pain, clutching his jaw. Maybe she’d broken it. She hoped so. Her aim hadn’t been good, she’d been half pinioned beneath him. But she had shaken him, hurt him a little, she knew she had – and now she was loose. For a moment, only. A moment when everything seemed to slow to a crawl.

She saw Freddy half stagger to his feet and come back at her. Saw her own hand hovering alongside the fusebox, and then he grabbed her again, roaring, shrieking that she was a bitch, she’d killed his brother, and by fuck now he was going to kill her, and then her quivering fingers were yanked back, away from the fusebox and she thought: No, no, this can’t be happening.

She strained away from him, and then her fingers found what they were searching for. The lights went out for a second time. Surprise made his grip on her relax. With one last desperate effort, Lily kicked free of him, and sprinted off into the darkness.

66

She knew every inch of this house. There were fifty steps on the staircase, it was five strides to the master suite upstairs, take ten steps along the hall and there was the door to the indoor swimming pool room. She was through it, slamming it closed behind her; there was no lock. She could picture Freddy still at the cupboard, scrabbling to get the fuse back in, but he’d take time because he didn’t know this house and she did. She had dreamed of this house when she’d been in prison.

In darkness she skirted the echoing blue vastness of the pool, heading for the changing cubicle at its far end. She knew she didn’t have a choice any more. It was kill or be killed: her or Freddy. And by Christ, it wasn’t going to be Freddy who came out of this, not if she had anything to do with it.

It had to be her. If Freddy got her, then he would have to get the girls too. So fuck the Firearms Act. Fuck assault with a deadly weapon. They’d have to throw the bloody key away this time, and if they did, then at least she would know that it was because she was truly guilty, not the innocent patsy she had been before. Her girls were here, and she couldn’t let anything happen to them. She would not.

She was almost outside the cubicle, breathing fast in the humid atmosphere of the pool room, when the lights went back on. She yanked open the door and stepped in, closing the door behind her. She lifted the seat and there it was, Leo’s Magnum, taped to the inside. She tore off the tape and was straightening up to check it was still properly loaded when she heard the door from the hall open and softly close.

Shit, she thought, her heart thundering sickly in her chest. Here comes Freddy.

67

She couldn’t see him coming, but she could hear him, treading soft-footed alongside the pool. She would have to wait until he opened the door into the changing cubicle. She could hear him coming closer, closer.

Her mouth was dry but there was the sweat of sheer terror rolling down her face, making her eyes sting. Her bowels felt like mush, her heart was clattering away at a gallop.

So this is it, she thought. Shit or bust. I kill him or he kills me and the girls.

She was holding her breath.

The steps were close now, so close.

Her hands were slippery on the gun. She rubbed one damp hand down her jeans, then the other, then she tightened her double-handed grip on it and aimed at the door.

The steps stopped, right outside.

She was going to wait until he opened it and then – oh shit – she was going to blast him into the next world. Lily steeled herself, teeth gritted, concentrating everything on just holding the heavy gun steady, making the first shot count.

The handle on the door was going down.

Oh Jesus oh God in heaven help me.

She braced herself for the recoil. It would have a big kick, this gun. It was a hand-cannon. That’s what Leo had called it. A hand-cannon. And insurance. The ultimate backup plan. Now, she was going to cash in the insurance. Leo’d told her all about this gun, had told her it was so powerful that even a glancing shot could kill because it could rip a limb off.

‘And if this baby hits your mid-section your guts are going to end up in a tree in the next county,’ he had told her, and she had cringed at that.

But now she was going to have to do it. Blast Freddy fucking King to hell, where he belonged.

She was trembling, shaking, feeling that she was going to puke now.

She thought of him casually breaking Jase’s neck. She’d never forget it. That hideous crack as Jase’s neck gave way.

Focus, she told herself. She was so stressed her mind was wandering off. Shoot him now, through the door.

But she couldn’t do it. She had to look him straight in the eye, she had to know that he was dead; this was one dragon that had needed slaying for a long, long time, and she was going to make sure she did it. She had to.

The door was pushing in. She held her breath.

The door was opening.

Oh help…

Lily blinked, trying to clear the salt-sting of sweat from her eyes.

Come on then, you bastard, come and get it…

The door opened wide.

Lily’s finger tightened on the trigger, here we go, here it comes, you bastard…

And then she froze.

It wasn’t Freddy standing there; it was Maeve.

68

‘Lily? What the hell…?’ asked Maeve, her eyes not on Lily’s face but on the huge gun in her hand. ‘What are you doing?’

Lily stared at her, open-mouthed. Shit. She’d nearly blown her sister-in-law to kingdom come.

But Freddy! Where was Freddy?

‘Where is he? Where the hell is he?’ she blurted out.

‘For God’s sake! Could you point that thing somewhere else?’ cringed Maeve.

Lily looked at the gun in her hand. Shuddered. She put it down on the seat. She dragged both hands through her hair. She was sweaty with fear. She could smell the stench of it on herself. ‘Jesus, Maeve, I could have killed you.’

‘Oli phoned and we came on over. She let us in. She was in a state.’

Maeve was still watching Lily as if she might snatch up the gun again, might take it into her head to start shooting.

Can’t blame her, thought Lily. She knew she must look demented.

‘She…’ Now her voice wasn’t working. A cracked, hag-like noise came out of her mouth. She swallowed, tried to compose herself…‘She’s a good girl.’

But where the hell was Freddy?

She was living in a nightmare. Freddy was stalking about the place, there was Jase lying dead in the hall, and now Maeve was standing here looking at her as if she was crazy, which at the moment she probably was, and her girls were here, at risk, one of them pregnant with a dead man’s child, the other guilty of patricide.