“I will pay for my sins when I meet the almighty. But you, Jim. You have to find him. You have to find that monster and kill him, it’s the only way to be sure.” He gurgled again the colour now draining from his face, his time almost up. Steph knelt down beside us, her face cold with hatred.
“Does he know about me?” she asked in an almost snarl. He turned to her and for a moment watched as he considered the question. “DOES HE KNOW ABOUT ME?” she suddenly screamed, grabbing his scruff and shaking him up and down. He winced, then began coughing as she released her hold, his head dropping back into my lap. When the coughing fit subsided, he tried breathing but it sounded shallower now, the final moments now clear in his eyes. He looked at Steph again, and almost apologetically, began to nod. He tried to speak but the words were mostly just faint wisps of air, no sound accompanying the shapes being formed by his lips. His eyes suddenly opened wide, his fingers grasping mine as he tried his hardest to tell us something. We couldn’t make it out and during his final seconds, it was Steph who suddenly grabbed him again. Her question sent chills through my veins, the gravity of the question becoming clearer with each passing second.
“Does he know about Judith?” He never answered, his eyes growing wider and wider until all the muscles in his face suddenly relaxed, then receded, his body becoming limp in my lap. His eyes remained fixed on Steph but now the pupils looked vacant, almost glazed over. She screamed, as only a mother would, the cold fear hitting me like an avalanche. Steph jumped to her feet, pulling me up as she went, her strength now impossibly strong, driven by her maternal instinct to protect her child. I jumped to my feet, then remembered the note, bent back down and with a mighty heave, pulled the blade from the dead man’s chest. I slid the note off the blade, then into my pocket as I began running after Steph, her shadow already thirty or so yards down the tunnel. I saw a glimmer of shine on the table as I sprinted past it and saw a bunch of keys, the biggest with a distinctive star engraved on it. They were Levinson’s car keys. I turned, snatched them up and continued running, never breaking my stride, continuing to follow the sounds of Steph’s footfalls, now somewhere in the darkness ahead.
4.
The agony in my ribs seemed to grow with every step, then became secondary as my head painfully brushed against a rocky outcrop. I felt a warm trickle of blood run down the back of my neck as the stairs leading up to the kitchen finally came into view. Steph had already climbed them and was now pushing through the trellis. I had to steady myself as I began to climb, then felt her hand grab my arm as she helped me up. I tried as hard as I could, but still only managed one step at a time, Steph again shooting ahead when I finally pushed through into the ancient kitchen. We ran into the adjoining room and Steph ran out into the corridor, ripping the door open. It smacked the inside wall with a thud loud enough to draw comments from somewhere further up and I saw the guard standing at the end of the corridor looking at what the commotion was about.
“Call the station, ask for Chief Richards,” I yelled at him, “Levinson is dead in the tunnel, look in the pantry.” He nodded; his mouth now agape. He hesitated, then jumped when I screamed “GO, NOW!” at him. He finally bolted, as I turned and continued following Steph, already turning the corner at the other end of the hallway.
5.
“OPEN THE GATE! NOW!” She screamed at the guards as we ran across the grass. They stood there for a moment, like deer caught in headlights. She flashed her badge at them then repeated her command louder with more conviction. “OPEN IT, RIGHT NOW!” Her feet never lost momentum, her thin body squeezing through the opening gap of the huge gate. When she saw Pete standing at the small door on the other side of the wall, she only needed to yell once, the guard jumping to get the door open for her. I must have looked like a sorry sight, half limping, trying to keep up with her, blood seeping from my head, my right arm clutching my chest. To our relief, no one stopped us to ask questions, our way now clear to the car park before us.
“Take Levinson’s car,” I yelled at Steph, and she turned almost immediately towards the black Mercedes. It was unlocked and she climbed into the driver’s seat, holding her hand out for me to throw her the keys. For a brief second I wished for June Trapnell to drive us, her lead foot needed now more than ever. I flung the keys at her, then ripped the passenger door open. Steph swung herself in and started the car in what seemed one motion. Then to my amazement, Stephanie Connor dropped the clutch and punched the accelerator with such force that I was thrown against my seat, the sound of the tyres grabbing at the gravel car park and spraying a jet of rocks and sand in a long arc behind us. The car lurched hard one way then flung the opposite way as she spun the wheel, steering the nose of the car into the driveway that led out onto the main road, never slowing, the tyres screaming in protest as she swung out onto the bitumen. We missed being turned into jam by a mere couple of yards, a truck ambling its way along the road as we blasted out directly in front of it. I screamed a little, then grinned comically
