Simon Beckett - The Chemistry of Death

'Wake up! Wake up!'

The face looming in front of her swam into focus. Oh. Not David. The man's features were contorted with anger and disappointment. She felt like crying. So she wasn't going to die in time, after all. That seemed so unfair. But already she was beginning to drift away again. She barely noticed when he let her drop, even the pain of her head striking the hard earth only a minor irritation.

Suddenly she was jolted back into herself by a shock of freezing cold. For an instant her heart seemed to stop. She struggled to breathe, her diaphragm spasmed to stone. She clawed in one breath, then another, blinking away water to see him standing over her. He held an empty bucket, still dripping.

'Not yet! You don't die yet!'

He let the bucket fall, roughly seized hold of her foot. In a few swift motions the knot that had been holding her was untied. Still wheezing for breath, Jenny was hauled to her feet. He half-dragged, half-carried her to the far end of the cellar. There was a brick partition here. He dumped her behind it, onto a hard and unyielding floor. Through blurred vision, Jenny looked above her and saw a rusting tap jutting from the wall. And then she noticed something else, something that penetrated even the insulin-starved fog. Next to where she was lying was a circular iron drain, and with sudden intuition Jenny realized what was going to drain down it.

He'd brought her to the killing ground.

He reappeared now, carrying a sack. Untying its neck, he upended it, spilling out a bundle of feathers close to her head. Jenny found herself staring into the terrified yellow eyes of an owl.

He was smiling down at her now. 'Wise bird. For a teacher.'

Knife in hand, he reached down and grabbed hold of the owl by its feet. They were tethered, Jenny saw, but as he lifted the bird there was a sudden burst of movement. For a moment the owl seemed fastened to his hand. The knife clattered on the concrete floor as its wings beat wildly, then he dashed it hard against the wall. It fell to the ground in a soft explosion of feathers. He stared mutely at the wound on his palm, blood dripping from where its beak had ripped into his flesh. Good, a voice thrilled in her, as the room began to ripple out of focus. Then, as he sucked at the gouge, their eyes met. Not yet. Just a little longer. Then I won't care what you do, she thought, seeing the intent blossom in them.

But he was already coming towards her. 'You're on the owl's side, aren't you? Poor owl. Poor little owl.'

He stood over her, his expression thoughtful. Suddenly he tilted his head, listening. Through the grey fog clouding her vision, she saw surprise blank his face. A moment later, filtering through the cotton wool enclosing her, Jenny heard it as well. A heavy bang, coming from above them.

Someone was upstairs.

A hundred and fifty years ago, the old windmill had been the pride of Manham. It was a wind-powered pump rather than a corn mill, one of hundreds used to drain the marshes across the Broads. Now it was a decaying husk that bore no sign of its former glory. All that was left of its stately vanes was a gap in the crumbling masonry where they'd once been set, and nature had once more reclaimed the land around it. Over the years the waterlogged ground had been steadily taken over by scrub woodland, until now the crumbling tower was all but hidden.

But not unused.

I was able to piece together what happened from what Mackenzie told me later. The plan had been to launch raids on the windmill, the Brenner house and the cottage where Dale Brenner lived all at the same time. The intention was to seize both men without giving either them or their family chance to issue a warning. Even though it would take longer to set up, it was thought that would give the best hope of recovering Jenny alive. If everything went according to plan, of course.

I could have told them that nothing ever does.

Mackenzie went with the tactical teams that would target the windmill itself. The day was settling into dusk as the cars and vans carrying police officers in body armour neared the target. An armed response unit was among them, as well as paramedics and an ambulance, ready to rush Jenny and anyone else to hospital. Because the only route to the windmill was down a narrow and overgrown track, it was decided to park up on the edge of the woods and make the final approach on foot.

At the windmill they stayed in the treeline while teams were sent to cover doors and windows around the back. As he waited for them to get in place, Mackenzie studied the ruined building. An air of abandonment hung over it, and in the fading light its brickwork seemed to soak up the gathering dark. Then his radio hissed and a voice told him everyone was in position. Mackenzie looked at the officer heading the tactical teams. He gave a short nod.

'Go.'

At the time I was unaware of any of this. I was aware only of the agony of having to do nothing but wait. I knew Mackenzie was right. I'd seen enough botched police operations to know they had to be planned properly. That didn't make it any easier, though.

It was obvious I wasn't welcome at the police trailer, even if I had wanted to stay. But I couldn't bear the frustration of waiting there, trying to guess what was happening from the sombre faces. I went back to the Land Rover and called Ben. He'd be waiting to hear what had happened. My hands shook as I dialled his number.

'Look, why don't you come and wait over here?' he said. 'Help me finish the whisky. You don't want to be alone right now.'

I appreciated his concern, but declined. Alcohol was the last thing I wanted right now. Or company, come to that. I ended the call and stared out of the windscreen. The sky above Manham had dulled to the colour of burnt copper, and still darker clouds were rolling in. The air was pregnant with the promise of rain. With percipient timing, the heatwave was finally ending. Like a lot of other things.

Abruptly, I jumped out of the car, intent on appealing to Mackenzie again, to try and persuade him to let me go with them. But I stopped before I reached the trailer. I knew what his answer would be, and I wouldn't be helping Jenny by getting in the way now.

And then the solution suddenly came to me. I might not be able actually to go with them to the windmill, but they couldn't stop me from waiting nearby. I didn't need to ask Mackenzie's permission for that. I could take some insulin with me, be ready when they found Jenny. It wasn't much of a plan, but at least it was better than doing nothing. I'd already lost Kara and Alice. I couldn't just stand by idly while Jenny's fate was decided.

I didn't carry insulin in my medical kit, but we kept a supply in the fridge back at the surgery. I ran back to the car and drove to Bank House, leaving the Land Rover engine running as I dashed inside. Evening clinic had finished, but Janice was still there. She looked up in surprise as I burst in.

'Dr Hunter, I wasn't expecting… I mean, have you heard anything?'

I just shook my head, in too much of a hurry to answer. I rushed into Henry's study and tore open the fridge. I didn't look around as Henry wheeled himself in.

'David, what on earth are you doing?'

'Looking for the insulin.' I scrabbled through the bottles and cartons. 'Come on. Where the hell is it?'

'Calm down, tell me what's happened.'

'It's Carl Brenner and his cousin. They've got Jenny at the old windmill. The police are going to raid it.'

'Carl Brenner?' He took a moment to absorb the news. 'So why do you need insulin?'

'I'm going out there.' The insulin was staring me in the face. I grabbed it and unlocked the steel cabinet for a syringe.

'But won't they have an ambulance with them?'

I didn't answer, stubbornly continued looking on the shelves for the disposable syringes.