Simon Beckett - The Chemistry of Death

It was Jenny. She was moving with agonizing slowness towards what looked like a pile of feathers lying on the floor. As she struggled to pull something from beneath it, I forced myself to stare into Mason's calm face rather than at whatever she was doing. I tried to bring my knee into his groin but we were too close. Instead I raked my shoe down his shin. He gave a grunt, and I felt the weight on my throat ease fractionally. But from beside us there was a thud as the block containing the chisels fell over. I watched as Mason's fingers scrabbled like thick spiders' legs, tugging one of the chisels free inch by inch despite my hand pulling at his arm. A flicker of movement caught my eye. On the edge of my vision I saw Jenny trying to stand up. She was kneeling, leaning against the wall as she clutched something in front of her.

Then Mason had pulled one of the chisels from the block. Now instead of trying to hold his arm back I was struggling to push it away. I felt a growing panic as I realized how strong he was. My arm started to shake as he forced the chisel steadily nearer. Sweat dripped from his face onto mine, but other than that there was no sign of exertion in the bland features above me. He wore the same expression of gentle concentration as when he tended his plants.

Without warning he wrenched the opposite way, tearing his arm free. I clutched at it as he raised the chisel above my head, knowing I couldn't stop him. Suddenly he screamed and arched backwards. The arm that had pinned my throat was gone. I looked up to see Jenny swaying unsteadily behind him, naked and covered in blood. She was holding a huge-bladed knife, but it dropped from her fingers even as I looked. As it rang onto the floor Mason roared and swung his arm against her.

She fell bonelessly. I threw myself at him. We landed in a heap, and he cried out again. He pushed me off, tried to crawl away, and I saw the spreading stain of blood on his back. He was trying to reach the knife. I scrabbled over him, and as I did my foot kicked something hard. I looked down, saw the socket spanner. As Mason grabbed for the knife I snatched the spanner up and brought it down onto the stab wound in his back. He howled, and as he turned to face me I swung it at his head.

The impact hurt my hand. Mason dropped without a sound. I raised the spanner to hit him again but there was no need. Gasping, I waited until I was sure he wasn't going to move again, and then went to Jenny. She was lying where she'd fallen. I gently turned her over, feeling my heart miss when I saw the blood. She had cuts all over her body, some tiny, others deep slashes. The one in her cheek was almost to the bone, and when I saw what Mason had done to her foot I wanted to club him again. I almost cried with relief when I felt the pulse in her throat. It was weak and irregular, but she was alive.

'Jenny, Jenny, it's me, it's David.'

Her eyes fluttered open. '… David…' It came out as a whisper, and I felt my relief turn to ice when I caught the sweet chemical odour of her breath. Ketoacidosis. Her body had started to break down its own fats, producing toxic levels of ketones in her blood. She needed insulin, fast.

And I didn't have any with me.

'Don't talk,' I said, stupidly, because her eyes were already closing again. Whatever strength she'd found to stab Mason had been exhausted. The pulse in her throat seemed even weaker than before. Oh God, not now, don't do this now.

Ignoring the pain that flared through my back and throat, I picked her up. I was shocked at how light she felt. She weighed nothing at all. Mason still hadn't moved, but I could hear his rasping breaths as I carried her to the steps. Upstairs I kicked open the door and stumbled out into the trees. The rain was driving down now but it felt clean after the abomination of the cellar. Jenny's head lolled as I bundled her into the passenger seat of the Land Rover. I had to fasten the seat belt to keep her from falling over, then reached into the back for the blanket I kept as part of my emergency kit and draped it over her. I started the engine, scraping the side of Mason's van and snapping branches as I turned around and roared back down the track.

I drove as fast as I dared. Jenny had been two full days without any insulin, subjected to God only knew what, and had obviously lost blood as well. She needed emergency treatment, but the nearest hospital was miles away, too far to risk driving in her condition. Tortured by the thought that I'd had the insulin actually in my hands at the surgery, I desperately ran through my options. There weren't many. Jenny might be already slipping into a coma. If she wasn't stabilized soon she would die.

Then I remembered the ambulance and paramedics Mackenzie had on standby for the raid on the old windmill. There was a chance they were still there. I reached for my phone, ready to call for help as soon as there was a signal. It wasn't in my pocket. Frantically, I searched the others. It wasn't there either. I fought down panic as I realized it must have fallen out during the struggle in the cellar. My mind stalled with indecision. Go back or go on? Come on, decide! Abruptly, I jammed my foot on the accelerator. Going back to look for it would have wasted too much time.

Time Jenny didn't have.

I reached the end of the track and shot the Land Rover out into the road. There was insulin at the surgery. Back there I could at least start treating her while an ambulance was still on its way. I put my foot down, peering through the windscreen into the night as the wipers struggled to clear it of the water sheeting down. Even with the headlamps on full beam it was raining so heavily I could only see a few yards ahead. I risked a glance at Jenny, saw enough to make me grip the wheel and go even faster.

It seemed to take an age to make it back to Manham. Then the village was on me in a rush, suddenly leaping out of the rain. The roads were deserted in the storm, the press that had clogged the streets earlier nowhere in sight. I considered stopping at the police trailer that was still parked by the green, but immediately dismissed it. There was no time for explanations, and right now the priority was getting insulin for Jenny.

The house was in darkness as I roared down the drive. I had enough presence of mind to park at one side, leaving room for the ambulance to get right up to the door, then jumped out and ran around to the passenger side. Jenny's breathing was rapid and shallow, but she began to stir as I lifted her out and carried her through the rain.

'David…?' Her voice was still a whisper.

'It's all right, we're at the surgery. Just hang on.'

But she didn't seem to hear me. She began to struggle feebly, her eyes unfocused and frightened. 'No! No!'

'It's me, Jenny, you're all right.'

'Don't let him get me!'

'He won't get you, I promise.'

But she was already slipping away again. I hammered on the door, unable to hold her and unlock it at the same time. After an eternity a light came on in the hallway. I barged inside as soon as Henry started to open the door.

'Get an ambulance!'

He hurriedly wheeled himself out of the way, his face startled. 'David, what…?'

I was already rushing down the hallway. 'She's going into diabetic coma, we need an ambulance now! Tell them the police might still have one on standby!'

I kicked open the door to Henry's office as he made the call from the hallway. Jenny didn't stir when I lay her on the couch. Under the mask of blood her face was white. The pulse in her throat fluttered weakly. Please. Please hold on. This was a desperation measure at best. She might have already suffered kidney and liver damage, and her heart could fail at any time if she wasn't treated soon. As well as insulin she needed salts and intravenous fluids to flush out the toxins that were poisoning her. I couldn't do any of that here. All I could do was hope the insulin kept her alive long enough for the ambulance to get her to hospital.