Knife Edge (42 page)

‘Listen to me.’ He spoke urgently, shaking her as she stared blankly at him. ‘Listen! Stand behind me. Whatever happens, stand behind me and keep away from him, OK?’

She stood trembling, arms limp at her sides, her long hair a tangle of wet strands across her face.

‘
OK
?’

She seemed to hear him and nodded slightly. Harland held her gaze for a second to make sure, then gulped down a breath and turned round to face their pursuer.

Naysmith came towards them through the storm – a dark shape that grew steadily clearer as he walked calmly up the path. He stopped a few yards away from them, his body taut, the machete held in readiness, suddenly illuminated by the glow of the lighthouse as it lit up the rain.

Instinctively, Harland moved to stand in front of Kim, his arm reaching back as though to shield her.

Naysmith smiled and inclined his head briefly.

‘Detective Harland. Kim.’ His manner was calm – almost polite – as he called out to them across the wind. ‘Quite a night for it.’

The storm swirled up around the headland as the two men stared at each other. Behind him, Harland felt Kim moving backwards, tensing as though about to run. Naysmith saw it too, and laughed in the darkness.

‘Forget it,
sweetheart
,’ he called to her. ‘Ask your new boyfriend – he knows how fast I can move.’

Harland started, his mind recalling that night in Docklands when he’d chased a shadow and almost paid with his life.

‘So that
was
you then?’ he shouted across the wind.

Naysmith inclined his head once more, an oddly modest gesture that Harland found confusing. What was he so pleased about?

‘Why didn’t you kill me?’ he called.

Naysmith seemed to relax just a little, the tip of the blade dipping for a moment.

‘You weren’t part of that game,’ he replied, thinking for a moment, then adding, ‘well … not a target anyway.’

Harland nodded grimly. It made a strange sort of sense.

‘I have to know,’ he said. ‘What was the connection? How did you choose them?’

This seemed to amuse Naysmith.

‘I didn’t choose them,’ he laughed. ‘That would have been far too easy. No, they chose me.’

Harland frowned. What did he mean by that?

‘Except for the last one,’ Naysmith added suddenly. ‘You remember, the woman in Redland?’

Harland took a step back.

‘That
was
you as well?’

Illuminated again, Naysmith took a step forward, tracing lazy curves with the blade.

‘You’d be surprised at how much I’ve done.’ He paused, then fixed his eyes on Kim. ‘But
I
didn’t choose that one, did I?’

His tone was suddenly bitter, mocking. Harland whirled round to find Kim looking confused, fearful.

‘Remember, Kim?’ Naysmith continued. ‘Remember that day when we were people-watching in Bristol?’

‘What do you mean?’ She shrank back, then seemed to freeze, her face showing a terrible realisation. ‘Oh no, Rob.
No
!’

‘Oh yes!’ he snapped. ‘In fact, I think you’re wearing her necklace.’

Kim’s hand went to her throat.

Naysmith laughed at her, then addressed Harland. ‘Your poor little girlfriend picked out the Redland woman for me.
She
chose the target.’

Kim turned, clawing at Harland’s arm, staring wildly up into his face.

‘I didn’t know!’ she cried. ‘I didn’t know what he was going to do!’

Naysmith grinned, then shook his head in mock reproach.

‘You knew enough,’ he snapped, taking another step closer. ‘You knew what I was. I was
honest
with you.’

He spat the word ‘honest’ with sudden venom, almost as though it pained him somehow. But Harland was reeling, unable to take it all in as Kim stared up at him, her face stricken.

Naysmith raised the machete and pointed it at them.

‘More
honest
than you’ve been with your new
fucking
boyfriend,’ he snarled.

Harland stared at him, his eyes following the blade, as Kim began to panic, tugging at his arm, trying to pull him away. He stumbled back, a little closer to the cliff edge as stinging sheets of rain billowed over them. Somewhere far below, a wave boomed on the rocks.

Naysmith’s movements were fluid as he came closer, holding the machete confidently – familiar, comfortable with it. His face was serious now, and he seemed to be readying himself as he bowed his head briefly, then straightened.

‘There’s nowhere to run, Kim.’ His voice was stern. ‘Nowhere to go, but back to me.’

He stared past Harland, holding her gaze.

‘Time to choose, my love.’

Harland backed away another step, his arm held out protectively as he turned to look at her, a small bedraggled figure, forlorn in the downpour. She stared up at him, pale skin bleached white by the glare of the lighthouse, blinking the rain – or the tears? – out of her large eyes, then bowing her head.

She murmured something he couldn’t quite hear as the gale howled along the clifftop, then moved to one side. He tried to put his arm around her, but she shrugged it off, stepping out from behind him and picking her way unsteadily across the grass, drawing the sodden cardigan around herself against the wind.

Harland stared after her, then sagged as the despair came crashing in on him – it had all been for nothing.

A weight seemed to have lifted from Naysmith’s shoulders. His eyes were alight, exultant, as he watched Kim walk through the billowing grass towards him.

The bastard.

Harland glared at him and felt the familiar flicker of hatred deep inside. Here, at the end, his anger was all that remained – all he had left. Glancing over his shoulder, he measured the distance to the precipice. Ten yards, maybe less. There was nowhere to run, but he knew now that he would go down fighting. He would go down hard, and maybe take this fucker over the edge with him.

Gritting his teeth, he stood up ready, defiant, watching as Naysmith held out a hand to Kim and she reached out and took it.

Fuck them. Both of them.

He was determined to make a good end, to show her that he wouldn’t break, no matter what happened to him.

Taking Kim’s hand, Naysmith smiled in triumph, drawing her close to him as the rain lashed down, staring past her at Harland. She hesitated for a second, then silently put her arm around him.

And there, as Harland glared at him, he seemed almost to stumble, though he had been standing still. Naysmith’s features tightened suddenly in a mixture of pain and puzzlement and he made an odd sound that stabbed through the wind, like a gasp cut short. He tried to move away from Kim, but she held onto him tightly, swaying with him as he staggered and the machete dropped from his hand.

Harland’s training kicked in and he launched himself forward, desperately trying to cover the ground between them before Naysmith could stoop to retrieve it.

But Naysmith didn’t bother with it. Or him.

Leaning back, he choked out an unsettling laugh, then struggled to peer down at Kim, who still had one arm around him as she gazed up unblinking into his eyes. And now, as the light flared again, Harland could see her other hand, the wet gleam of metal between her and Naysmith, the dark stain that bloomed out across both their clothing, and the trickle of red on the pale skin of her hand. And still Kim wouldn’t let Naysmith go.

‘Kim!’ Harland cried, hesitating as he stooped for the machete. ‘Oh God!’

‘It’s all right.’ Her voice was calm, soothing almost. He wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or to Naysmith.

Harland took the long black blade from the grass, then stared at the two of them, locked in a bitter embrace. He suddenly felt terribly alone, like a stranger disturbing an intimate moment. They stood without words as the rain poured down until Naysmith tensed, bowing with great effort to plant a single kiss on Kim’s upturned forehead. The light flared again. As he drew away, Harland could see the drops of blood his lips left behind, like red tears running down between her eyes.

And then, when she couldn’t hold him up any more, he crumpled down to his knees, the handle of the kitchen knife still jutting out from between his ribs. Kim stood over him sadly, one arm red with blood.

The spell broken, Harland moved quickly to her side.

‘Kim! Are you all right?’

He wasn’t sure what to do, hesitating before awkwardly putting his arm around her shoulder. For a moment, she didn’t move, then one small hand crept up to hold his wrist.

‘What the hell happened?’ Harland gasped. ‘Where did you get the knife?’

She looked up at him, her face calm.

‘I brought it from the house,’ she said simply. Something in the way she spoke bothered him, but what was one more doubt when everything was wrong?

‘OK.’ He took a breath, trying to think straight. ‘We need to get back to the cottage, phone this in, get an ambulance—’

‘No!’ Suddenly she was alive, her voice urgent. ‘Please, Graham, don’t!’

Harland stared at her, confused.

‘But he’ll bleed to death,’ he told her.

She stared up at him and nodded sadly.

‘Yes.’

And suddenly he knew what she was asking. Her steady gaze suddenly seemed unsettling and he turned away from her, looking back down the path to the waiting lights of the cottage. How many relatives needed closure? How many police investigations needed a result? Naysmith might be the key to numerous unsolved cases …

He turned back, ready to argue, but as he did something seemed to pass between the two figures before him, and Naysmith raised his head slightly, a painful smile on his face. Kim looked up mournfully.

‘
Please
, Graham.’

And he understood. This was her chance to be free of him, really free. No technicalities, no indecisive juries, no parole. Really
free
. He took a tentative step forward, peering down at Naysmith, noting the amount of blood that had soaked out across his clothing, then stepped back and looked at Kim. She held out a bloody hand and, after a moment, he took it.

‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

They stood there as the storm blew itself out. Naysmith spoke very little, but did raise his head briefly and beckoned Kim close to him as the wind dropped. She knelt beside him as he struggled to speak.

‘My car,’ he told her. ‘Parked on a farm track. On the right … at the bottom of the hill.’

She watched as he took a difficult breath, then continued.

‘Get rid of it.’

She stared at him for a moment, then her eyes filled with tears as it dawned on her what he was saying.

‘We’ll find it,’ she nodded gratefully.

Harland stood silently, staring down at them.
He was telling her how to cover her tracks – how to get away with killing him.

He realised that Naysmith was looking up at him, grinning.

As the clouds rolled on along the coast and stars winked out against the clearing sky, Naysmith’s breathing became ragged. He was pale now, haggard-looking. Kim started to cry again, but the sound seemed to rouse something in the dying man and he opened his eyes.

‘Well played,’ he whispered, then fell silent.

Harland wondered who he’d said it to.

Harland stepped out of the small glass shower cubicle, gripping the bathmat with his toes as he felt the uneven lie of the floor. The air was cold on his skin after the spray of warm water and steam, but he didn’t care about the cold. Not tonight.

He wrapped one towel about himself, tucking it in so it would stay up, then rubbed his hair dry with another. His muscles felt stiff now, tired after the exertions of the previous hours, and he stretched wearily before padding through to the bedroom.

They looked at each other for a moment, a brief flicker of eye contact, before Harland moved round to his side of the bed and sank down onto the duvet. He leaned forward for a moment, bowing his head as he rubbed his hair once more, then sat back to rest against the headboard, the towel round his shoulders.

Kim hesitated, then leaned across, one bare arm slipping out from under the covers to hold him. After a moment, she moved closer, resting her head on him, her hair still damp, cold against his chest.

And now, only now, in the quiet of dawn, his mind replayed the events of the night, trying to piece things together, to fill in the gaps. He stared unseeing at the far wall while his memory ran after her, following her out of the lounge and through to the kitchen, where she’d slipped around the table and wrenched open the back door …

When had she picked up that knife?

It had all happened so quickly.
Too
quickly.

He frowned for a moment, then looked down at the top of her head.

‘Kim?’

She stirred slightly but didn’t look up.

‘Yes?’

He was going to ask her about the knife – the knife she’d never had time to pick up – but his mind had raced ahead and was already waiting with another, more important question.

‘How did he find us?’ He waited, listening as the silence yawned like a chasm between them. ‘How did he know we were here?’

She remained still for a long time, then finally squirmed her body around so that she could turn and look up at him.

‘I told Sarah.’ She held his gaze, waiting for him to react, to register some surprise, but there was none. He’d just wanted to hear her say it. ‘I knew they were talking, gossiping about me …’

‘… and that she would tell him,’ Harland finished. ‘He would have suspected if you’d called him yourself.’

‘It was the only way,’ she murmured.

She had planned it. Not so much self-defence, more an execution. Premeditated. Murder.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked, a few moments later. Kim gave him a long, steady look, then turned away.

Stupid question. There was no way she could have told him. He’d never have gone along with it – he’d have wanted to go through the proper channels. And she’d tried it his way already, without success.

‘No, I suppose you couldn’t,’ he mused. She’d done what she had to. And he’d played his unwitting part. ‘You couldn’t ask a police officer to help you kill someone, even someone like him.’