Peter Robinson: Sleeping in the Ground

‘Calm down,’ said Annie. ‘There’s nothing we can do. Gerry’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.’

‘But what if she can’t?’ Banks said. ‘Vincent’s had survival training. He’s seen action, for crying out loud. He may be armed.’

The rain was pattering on the car roof in time with Banks’s nervous tattoo. The patrol car in front of him had its light flashing, but that did them no good. Even if they tried to jump the queue, there was not enough space to manoeuvre without ending up in the ditch.

‘There’s no reason to think he’d still be hanging around,’ Annie argued. ‘He’s probably miles away by now.’

‘She’s not answering her phone.’

‘Maybe there’s no signal out where she is. You know what Yorkshire’s like. Or maybe she can’t hear it for the rain.’

‘I don’t like it. Ah, here we go.’ The gears crunched as Banks revved up too fast and set off, almost rear-ending the patrol car in front. When they had got through the one-lane closure, both he and the patrol car pulled out and speeded up, overtaking the other cars that had been in the queue and both turning left so sharply that the lead car had to brake so fast it almost skidded into the ditch. The driver honked his horn furiously. Banks ignored it and carried on following the patrol car towards Riverview.

‘Be careful!’ said Annie. ‘It’ll do nobody any good if you drive us or the lads in front off the road and get us killed. Slow down.’

Banks drove on, but not much slower.

‘Look,’ Annie said. ‘There’s the caravan site. Shall we go in?’

‘No point,’ said Banks. ‘She was on her way to Swainsford Bridge. Gerry’s like that. She only tells you she’s going to do something dangerous when she’s already past the point of no return.’

Annie quietened down and Banks drove on. Once again, he tried Gerry on both her mobile and the police radio. Nothing.

It didn’t take him long to cover the mile and a half from Riverview to the turning for the bridge, and he slowed briefly to take in the overturned sandwich-board and the broken police tape. ‘She’s here,’ he said. ‘The only question is whether he’s here, too.’

Then he turned left and drove on.

Gerry was too weary to fight. The rain fell in her eyes and flowed like tears down her face. She thought this blurred view of the dark figure against a background of darkness might be the last thing she would see.

‘I was never far away,’ he said.

‘Don’t do this,’ Gerry said, dredging up all the energy she could to even speak. ‘Please. There’s no point. It’s over now. The police will be here any moment.’

‘Do you think I care about that?’ He moved closer. ‘Once she’s gone, I’m finished anyway.’

Gerry felt a small ray of hope that he meant he was only going to kill Maureen Tindall, and spare her . The surge of relief made her also feel guilty and ashamed, but she didn’t want to die, not like this, in the rain, covered in mud, at the hands of a mass murderer, the man who had killed Katie Shea and her unborn child.

Then she realised that what Vincent had said had merely been a figure of speech, and there was no way he was going to spare her. He had killed innocent people before, both in the army and at the wedding, and he would do it again with no compunction. Aunt Jane had told her as much.

She desperately cast around in her mind for a means of escape. There were no weapons to hand, not even a brick or a stone. Only her Swiss army knife, and that was in the depths of her pocket. Any attempt to reach for it and open it would surely alert him that she was up to something. She strained her ears and thought she could hear the sound of a patrol car in the distance above the roaring of the water below. Please let it be them , she thought. How could she keep him from killing Maureen until they got here?

‘Can you hear it?’ she said. ‘The police. They’re coming. Give it up, Mark.’

‘I can’t hear anything,’ he said, now almost so close she could reach out and touch him.

Then he did something she hadn’t expected. Maureen was lying on the edge of the bank just a few feet away. Gerry wasn’t sure whether she was still conscious, but she hadn’t moved or spoken since they had made it up the slope.

Mark Vincent walked slowly over to her and kicked her hard in the ribs. She cried out. He swung back his leg to kick her again, and Gerry seized her chance. With all the power she could muster, she thrust her leg up under his ankle, where it met the foot, and lifted it higher. As Vincent seemed to totter and lose his balance, Maureen Tindall found enough strength to swing both her legs at the shin of his other leg, whipping it from under him. He seemed to hang there for a moment, then scratched at the air as he pitched forwards over the bank.

Gerry dragged herself right to the edge and saw him sliding and bouncing down the steep slope, desperately reaching out for handholds but finding none. Finally, his head hit the stone path and he made one last attempt to clutch at something solid before he sailed over the edge. But the water and his own momentum were enough to carry him off now, and the stones were slippery with mud. He screamed as he plunged into the water and the surge carried him away. Gerry heard a loud crack as his head hit the inside of the arch, then she heard nothing more but the sound of the water and Maureen Tindall’s whimpering beside her.

She closed her eyes and felt the soothing rain on her lids. Soon she could hear the siren coming closer. She reached for Maureen’s hand and held it tight as the cars screeched to a halt and doors slammed. Then she let herself drift.

As soon as Gerry had managed to satisfy the paramedics that she was suffering from nothing more than physical exhaustion after her trip down to the bridge and up the steep bank, and that all she wanted was a shower and a good night’s sleep, she agreed to Banks’s suggestion that they should all go back to his house, which was not far away, and was safe on high ground. The thought of driving all the way back home to Eastvale didn’t appeal to Gerry at all, and she didn’t particularly want to be alone after her ordeal. Banks said Tracy had left a few of her clothes at the cottage for when she visited, and Gerry was welcome to wear them while he put her stuff in the washer. Happy to be pampered for once, Gerry thanked him. She said she would drive her own car up to Gratly to avoid messing up the inside of his Porsche with her wet and muddy clothes, but he told her not worry about it and get in. They could pick her car up tomorrow.

There would be questions, of course. Lots of them. There would have to be some kind of internal investigation into what happened at Swainsford Bridge that night, as a man was dead. Mark Vincent’s body had washed up on the edge of the Leas only a short while after his tumble into the fast-flowing river. If his skull hadn’t been cracked open, he would have drowned anyway. Naturally, Dr Glendenning would perform the post-mortem as soon as he could. Banks had talked to AC Gervaise on his mobile, and she had given permission for them all to dry out and rest before facing their questioners the following morning.

Banks phoned home on the way, and back at the house, Ray Cabbot hurried to meet them at the door to make sure that everyone was all right, giving Annie an especially big hug. Then Annie took Gerry upstairs, led her to the shower and left her to herself.

When Gerry had finished, she came out of the en suite, brushing her long wet hair, to find a selection of Tracy’s clothes laid out on the bed. Though the tracksuit bottoms were too short on her, the elastic fitted fine around her waist, and the sweatshirt was just right. Hair brushed but still wet, she headed back downstairs and was surprised at the sight of Banks and Ray in the kitchen putting together plates of cheese, cold cuts, chopped vegetables. She could already smell the curry simmering on the range. As soon as she saw and smelled the food, she realised she was starving.