Tania Carver: Choked

Mickey sprinted to the corner. A figure was running towards the middle of the ship. Male, tall, well dressed. Suede jacket. He turned back to face them. Mickey recognised him. He had last seen him sitting in the back of a police car in Aldeburgh.

Calling himself Stuart Milton.

‘Come on,’ he shouted to Anni, and gave chase.

‘No. Definitely not.’

Marina stopped walking, not believing what she had just heard. ‘No? What d’you mean, no?’

Franks stopped walking also, turned, came back to her. ‘I mean no.’

They were in the corridor outside the interview room. Stuart Milton had been left to sleep while they went about putting the circus together to ride on Wrabness. Or at least Marina had thought that was what they were doing.

‘But that’s not fair. After what I’ve just done … Gary, that’s my daughter out there. I’ve got to come. No question.’

‘I’m sorry, Marina, but you’re not. It’s my decision. I listened to your arguments and let you in there and you did a damned good job. But you’re a psychologist. Your presence on a police field operation could be detrimental to its success. So I’m sorry, but no.’

Marina didn’t know what to say, how to reply.

Franks’s features softened. ‘I’m sorry, Marina, I really am. If there was a way you could be there, I would let you.’

She said nothing.

‘You can stay here. Or you can go home. But you can’t come with us. I’m sorry. We’ll call you as soon as we can.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘With good news, I hope.’

She felt like she was about to explode. ‘I’m not some fucking grieving relative, Gary. I’m one of the team. A valued member. Or I thought I was.’

Franks’s eyes widened. Clearly unhappy with women swearing. ‘You are,’ he said. ‘Of course you are.’

‘Yeah,’ said Marina. ‘Right.’ She turned away from him, strode off down the corridor towards the reception area. Keyed in the pass code, slammed through the door. To find her brother sitting in reception. She stopped walking, looked at him.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

‘Waiting for you,’ he said. ‘Fuckers let me go. Couldn’t hold me.’

She looked at him. He looked like she felt. Dirty, dishevelled. His sweats and trainers filthy.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked.

Marina opened her mouth to tell him, closed it again. She looked round. Checked no one was in earshot.

‘Where’s your car?’

‘Outside. They brought it here. Why?’

She thought. ‘Got anything planned for the rest of the night?’

Sandro, his face lined and tired, gave her a suspicious look. ‘I have a feelin’ the right answer isn’t “Goin’ home to bed”.’

‘Dead right,’ she said. ‘We’re going to Wrabness. To get my daughter back.’

A my kept trying to squeeze the trigger, but her hand was shaking too much to complete the action. Dee could see how unhinged she was, so she tried to play for time until the Golem arrived. Kept talking. ‘What exactly did you think you were going to achieve?’ she said. ‘With all this.’

‘You know what I was going to achieve,’ said Amy. ‘Get what was mine. What’s owed to me. It’s what I deserve.’

‘So why haven’t you tried to do it before? Why now?’

She lowered the gun slightly, concentrating on her words, focusing her anger. ‘I did try. A few times. But it costs money, doesn’t it? And when you’re a non-person, when you don’t exist, you don’t have any, do you? Not that you would know.’

Dee said nothing. Her previous life flashed through her mind. She ignored it.

‘Who would believe a madwoman? No one. That’s who.’

‘But a madwoman with a convicted murderer — that’d work … ’ Dee almost smiled at her own words, knowing they would just enrage Amy further.

‘Shut up! Shut up! You know that’s not true … And we could have proved it. Graham and me. That was the plan. That’s why he fell out with Michael. Over me. Graham hated what Michael had done to me. Hated it. Oh, he was all for it at first. He was with us. One of us. He helped put the blame on Stuart, get him sent down for the killings. But he hated what Michael had done to me. And then when you came along … ’

‘He left.’

Amy smiled. ‘Yes. He hated you as much as he hated Michael. And when Michael wouldn’t give him or me any money, we came up with the plan.’

‘This plan.’

‘Yes. Graham had kept a copy of the will, after all these years. The one my father made just before he died. The one that included Stuart. All we had to do was wait until Stuart was released, have him declared sane, show that he didn’t do the killings and him and me could be cut in. Michael wouldn’t let that happen, of course. Came after us.’

‘And did a pretty good job.’

Amy didn’t reply with words. She just growled.

‘It was foolproof. Get that psychologist back, the one who said the right things about him at the time. Because she’s made quite a name for herself. She’s high profile now.’ Amy sighed. ‘Foolproof. That’s what Graham said.’ Her eyes became wet.

‘How wrong he was.’ Dee could sense Amy weakening. When the Golem appeared, that would be the end of it. Then she could join Michael and say hello to a new life. But she couldn’t resist one last gloat. ‘You failed,’ she said. ‘Failed.’

‘Shut up! Shut up!’

‘Failed.’

Amy brought the gun up once more, levelled it. Dee stopped talking, thought she had actually gone too far this time. But then she felt rather than saw movement at her side. A shadow flowed, became corporeal. The Golem appeared.

Dee smiled. Her confidence returned. ‘As I said. You failed.’

Amy stared at the two of them.

And laughed.

Mickey ran. The other man ran faster. He seemed to know his way around better too, weaving in and out of the container stacks and negotiating on-deck obstacles that Mickey had difficulty seeing until he was on them. Coils of rope. Storage chests. The man jumped and dodged, avoiding them. Or deliberately taking a route that would slow Mickey down.

Mickey began to see where his quarry was headed. The ramp. The pier. Then off and away.

He couldn’t let that happen, had to stop him from reaching it.

The figure broke cover, came running out from behind another container stack, heading away from Mickey. Mickey gave chase, jumping over a coil of rope in his path.

The fleeing man looked backwards, checked that Mickey was still with him. Mickey ran harder, gaining on him. The man turned, ducked behind another container stack. Mickey, still running, followed him.

And felt an immediate pain in his chest.

He dropped to the deck, sore and winded. When he opened his eyes, the well-dressed man was standing over him, a length of metal in his hand. Mickey’s hand went to his chest. He gave a practice breath. It hurt. A lot.

The man gave a quick look round, then brought the metal bar down once more.

Mickey managed to roll out of the way, letting his shoulder take most of the blow that had been intended for his torso. He felt something crack as he did so. Pain shot down the length of his arm. He tried to pick his arm up, move it. Couldn’t.

He was out of it.

He could only watch as the man dropped the bar, looked round quickly to see if any other police officers were in sight. There weren’t. He looked down at Mickey again. Smiled.

‘Terribly sorry, old chum. Must dash.’

Mickey tried to rise, grab him, stop him from leaving. Felt a web of pain anchor him to the deck, pull him back down again.

He gasped, groaned. Tried to get his two-way radio out of his pocket, tell May what was happening. But it hurt too much. Couldn’t even manage that. His arm dropped down again. He sighed. He could only watch as the well-spoken, well-dressed man turned, walked away.