‘She was trying to get money out of you, wasn’t she? Taking the book to you before taking it somewhere else. And you didn’t want that, did you?’ Rose moved in closer to him, the blade dancing before him. ‘Did you?’
Glass swallowed. ‘No.’
‘No. That’s right. So you tried to kill her. What the hell, eh? Another dead whore, no one would lose sleep over her. Put much effort into looking for her killer. Just another punter that got a bit too handy, right?’
He said nothing.
‘Except she ran, didn’t she? Got away from you and ran. And if those two cars hadn’t been coming round the corner when they were, she would have got away, wouldn’t she? Exposed you to the world.’
Glass’s eyes didn’t leave the blade. He licked his lips.
‘How am I doing so far?’
A flicker of a smile. ‘Pretty good. Not everything, but not bad.’
‘Enough, though, eh?’ She nodded. ‘Enough to implicate you.’ She laughed. It hurt her ribs, but she didn’t notice. ‘Give it to the headcase to investigate. Couple of days of getting nowhere, then it could be all dropped. And that would have been that.’ She brought the blade up close to him. ‘But it didn’t work out like you planned, did it?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘it didn’t. But there’s still time to remedy the situation.’
While she was still wondering what those words meant, Glass reached out, twisted her wrist with one hand, grabbed the knife with the other. Rose screamed, tried to get the knife back. Glass was too quick for her. And too strong. Before she could make a grab for him, he had pushed forward with the knife, stabbing her.
She looked up, surprised. He pulled the blade out, did it again. And again. And again. Face a mask of hatred.
Donna screamed.
On the stairs behind her, Ben screamed too.
Glass turned to the pair of them, the blade swinging before him.
Donna stood up, calculating the distance between herself and the front door. She knew she wouldn’t get there in time. She still had her coffee mug in her hand. Not stopping to think, and trying to ignore the knife, she stepped up to Glass, swung the mug into the side of his head. Caught him behind the ear. He sighed, went down.
She turned to Ben.
‘Come on, run… ’
He raced down the stairs and the pair of them were straight out of the door.
Behind them, Rose had her arms stretched over her stomach.
‘No… no… no… ’
She watched, fascinated, as the blood pumped out of her. Cradled her own glistening innards.
She didn’t have time to cry.
Didn’t have time to feel anger or injustice at what was happening.
All she had time to do was die.
75
Grabbing Ben’s wrist, Donna ran. She didn’t know where; just as far away as possible from what was happening behind her.
She reached the end of the road. Two men stood blocking her way.
She stopped running. Recognised them.
‘Oh no… no… ’
The two men from the car. The ones she had injured.
‘No… ’
They were on her.
The one with the bandaged face smiled. Grabbed her tight.
‘Now we’ve got you,’ he said.
Donna wanted to scream, cry, fight.
But she didn’t.
She just stood there.
No fight left in her.
76
The circus had arrived at the hospital.
Police cars, incident support units, the full works. The only things missing, for obvious reasons, were ambulances.
The car park had been taped off, the front of the building likewise. Samuel’s body was still lying there waiting to be examined.
Don and Marina got out of their car, ran to the front doors. Phil was sitting on the steps. Marina sat down beside him.
‘Phil?’
He just stared straight ahead. Didn’t even acknowledge she was there.
‘Phil, it’s me. Marina… ’
She held his hand, stroked it. Nothing. She glanced back at Don, a look of mutual concern flashing between them. She tried again.
‘Phil… ’
No good, she thought; he was catatonic with shock.
Don sat on the other side of him.
‘Phil, it’s me. Don. Phil, son, are you… are you there?’
Nothing.
Marina kept stroking his hand. She leaned into him.
‘Marina… ’ His voice small, as if coming from the far end of a long, dark tunnel.
Marina squeezed his hand harder. ‘Yes, Phil, I’m here.’
He turned to her. And she saw something in his eyes she hoped she would never see again. Pain. Hurt. And a total lack of hope.
‘He’s real, Marina. The man from my dream. He’s real. He was here… ’
She held his hand even harder.
‘Oh God… oh God… ’
Not letting him go.
PART THREE
WINTER KILLS
77
It was the first time Brian Glass had ever killed anyone. He had been responsible for deaths, but not directly.
