The devils mark a di gra.., p.21
The Devil's Mark: A DI Graves thriller #Book Three, page 21
Amelia spun round just in time to see Cally Buchanan swing a tree branch at her. It slammed into Amelia’s shoulder and she screamed in pain as she fell sideways, her elbow cracking off the hard ground.
‘You fucking bastards!’ Buchanan spat, her voice overflowing with hatred, her eyes wild and rabid. She swung the branch again, and it hit Amelia across the face. Amelia screamed in pain, felt blood in her mouth. The witch didn’t pause, heaving the branch up above her. Amelia rolled backwards, heard the branch splinter as it hit the pavement.
She scrambled back, pushing up onto her feet. Her shoulder and jaw rippled with agony as she locked eyes with Cally Buchanan. The woman held up the broken branch, ready to strike again. She was inching closer, looking for a chance. Amelia knew she would take it too.
The baton!
Amelia went to grab it from her belt, found it was missing. She must have dropped it somewhere. She looked around, risking taking her eyes off Buchanan. The branch swung again, whistling past her face. She jumped back in surprise.
‘You need to stop this, Cally,’ Amelia said as she tried to keep a distance from the woman. ‘It’s over. You must know that.’
‘Over? I don’t think so. He’s no challenge and you don’t have a weapon. I kill you both and voilà, I’m gone into the night.’
‘No one else has to die!’ Amelia pleaded. ‘Haven’t enough people been hurt?’ She thought she saw her baton on the ground behind Cally, but she couldn’t be sure. The street was one big puddle. She couldn’t take the chance and go for it if she wasn’t certain.
‘Oh, really? You’re not going to let me go, are you? I almost got away already tonight. Two more bodies and I can. If I don’t take you down while I have the chance, what hope is there for me? This is my story and I will show you how it fucking ends!’ Buchanan laughed, her voice high-pitched and manic.
‘You’re not a real witch, Cally – you know that, right? There’s no way to magic yourself out of this.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure it would feel like magic to cave your head in!’
Amelia could tell there was no reasoning with the woman. Cally Buchanan had nothing to lose except her freedom. That made her extremely dangerous. Amelia saw that Steve was trying to stand, but clearly it was a struggle. Buchanan risked glancing at him, following Amelia’s gaze. So fast that Amelia barely registered the motion, Buchanan jumped at him and cracked the branch across his head. He slumped onto the pavement, more blood flowing from his forehead.
‘No!’ Amelia shouted. She charged at the so-called witch. Had to. She had to end it, not Cally Buchanan. Amelia slammed into the woman and they fell, landing on the concrete with a thud and a splash. An elbow lashed out and connected with Amelia’s jaw and she felt a tooth loosen, her mouth filling with blood again. She struggled to free herself from the tangle of flailing arms and black cloak, the material soaking and heavy, threatening to smother them both.
Buchanan howled in rage, staggered up to a crouch, and swung the branch. This time Amelia grabbed it just before it hit her again. Her hand throbbed at the impact, but she pulled. The resistance evaporated suddenly and Amelia fell back, the branch spinning out across the street behind her. Buchanan leaped up and threw herself onto Amelia, grabbing at her hair and slamming Amelia’s head onto the tarmac. Buchanan twisted Amelia’s head sideways and pinned her down, trying to drown her. Spluttering as water flooded into her nose and mouth, Amelia punched out as hard as she could, using everything she had left in her. Buchanan yelped in pain and fell off her.
NOW!
Amelia shoved herself up. It was her turn to pin Buchanan down. She leaped on top of the woman, knees keeping her in place, and punched her hard in the face. Even in the rain Amelia saw blood spray from Buchanan’s mouth. The woman thrashed underneath her, bucking wildly, but Amelia punched her again. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t fail, not now. She punched again as hard as she could. She felt something in her hand crack, and she bellowed in agony. And yet still she punched again. And again.
‘Amelia, stop!’ Steve called, his voice rough and weak. It was enough to break the trance.
Amelia looked down at the woman beneath her, at her mangled face, her crushed nose, the unmistakable shape of a broken jaw pushing against skin. Buchanan’s face was a mess, blood trickling from it as the rain tried to wash it clean. The witch didn’t move, didn’t thrash. The fight was over. Amelia stared down at her and felt her breath catch again. She scrambled backwards, falling off the woman. Off the body. The body that was not moving, that lay deathly still. Amelia looked more closely.
Cally Buchanan was dead.
CHAPTER THIRTY
He couldn’t believe it had all come down to this. He felt sick, physically weak, as he stared into the black barrel of the gun. He was already anticipating the flash, the pain, the end. Months of worry and torment, ending with a bullet to the face.
‘Please, you don’t have to do this,’ Molly pleaded, pulling Daniel’s attention back to her. The woman he had fallen for was being held hostage right in front of him. He couldn’t give in, not yet. It wasn’t just his life that was at stake.
‘Shut up!’ Greg Armstrong snapped, kicking Molly in the thigh. She hissed in pain and fell silent. He grinned at Daniel, looking pleased with himself.
‘Didn’t you hear me, Graves? Pay attention! Any last requests? Surely you can think of something witty to say in your final moments?’ Greg laughed. Daniel stayed quiet, knowing that whatever he said wouldn’t make a difference. Greg had no intention of letting either of them go, no matter how much Daniel begged.
Daniel looked down at Molly. Her tears and pain cut through him. She looked defeated too, yet there was no blame in her eyes, no anger at Daniel for what was happening. He couldn’t believe it. This incredible woman who had just a few weeks ago appeared from nowhere to change his world had chosen him. Even after all that she had suffered as a result, she felt no hatred for him. He felt tears running down his cheeks: his feeling of utter failure was hard to bear.
Molly mouthed something at him then. Three words. Three unmistakable words.
Daniel felt his heart catch as he struggled to process what he had heard. Then he mouthed it back.
‘What was that, Graves? Couldn’t hear you.’
Greg still held the gun out, his expression one of anger, all sense of joviality gone. ‘You know what, fuck it. I don’t care what you said. We’re done here.’
‘I said hit the crotch,’ Daniel responded.
He lowered the gun slightly, his aim faltering. Greg raised one eyebrow in confusion.
‘Crotch!’ Daniel yelled.
Molly swung her right arm, her fist tightly balled, and punched Greg square in the crotch. He fell backwards in pain that he had not been prepared for. Molly was free and she didn’t waste a second, scrambling to one side.
Daniel charged forward, ploughing into Greg. Together they hit the cold concrete floor. Daniel tried to pin Greg to the floor, one of his knees on the man’s arm. He punched hard, his fist connecting with Greg’s jaw, and Greg roared, the gun still in his hand.
‘Dan!’ Molly screamed from off to Daniel’s left. He saw the gun come up, rolled sideways as a shot fired. The sound was deafening, an explosion that made his ears ring and bright spots dance in front of his eyes. As he struggled to recover he felt Greg wriggling under him more. He punched again, but with little effect.
The gun went off again and Daniel jumped, panic filling him. Greg jerked up one knee underneath Daniel, pushing him off to the side. Greg was free and suddenly they were both scrambling to their feet.
Shit!
Daniel knew another shot was coming, and he hadn’t unclipped his own gun. He stumbled backwards, putting as much distance as he could between him and Greg Armstrong.
Sure enough, the gun came up.
This is it…
A scream came then. As Daniel looked down the barrel of the gun for surely the last time, Molly charged Greg, swinging a plank of wood into his arm.
Greg dropped the gun and the weapon skidded across the floor away from them. Without hesitating, Greg spun and elbowed Molly hard in the chest. Her momentum was stolen and she yelped, falling backwards.
‘You piece of shit!’ Daniel spat. He went to unclip his gun, but Greg was ready. He lunged forward and kicked Daniel. Daniel stumbled into the wall behind him. Greg kicked again but hit the wall with a thud; Daniel had jumped to the side and was already bringing up a fist, punching Greg’s upper arm.
‘Just fucking die, Graves!’ Greg hissed as he hopped back, his eyes red with fury. Daniel registered him reaching behind his back and suddenly a glimmering knife was slicing towards him. He ducked back, felt the air ripple as the blade missed his chest. Greg didn’t pause and the weapon came back, eager for blood.
Instinctively Daniel raised an arm, then screamed in agony as the knife plunged through his left forearm. He staggered backwards, feeling blood trickling down his wrist. He looked down at his arm, saw the knife stuck there. It looked almost comical, fake, but the pain was very real. Greg laughed. Kicked out again. This time his boot hit Daniel squarely and he felt his breath escape him as he catapulted backwards, hitting the floor hard.
He heard Molly yell out and rolled his head to the side. He saw her on the floor not far from him, one hand clutching her chest, the other reaching for the wooden plank she had hit Greg with. She wasn’t giving up either, but she was struggling. Daniel looked back to Greg, who loomed over him.
‘Oh, Graves, it’s been good fun, I have to say. And you put up a decent fight. I couldn’t have asked for more.’ He kicked Daniel hard in the side. Daniel growled in pain as the impact reverberated through him. His body ached and his arm felt somehow hot and ice cold at the same time.
‘Time to snuff you out and send you to your namesake,’ Greg said with a smile. Suddenly he was on top of Daniel, his face close to Daniel’s. His breath was hot and his eyes gleamed. As Daniel stared up at him, Greg smiled. Then his hands were around Daniel’s throat.
‘Fight him, Daniel!’ Molly begged as she tried to get to her feet. Greg saw her move and tightened his grip. Daniel started to choke. Black spots began to form around his vision and he realised that the last thing he would see was the grinning face of Greg Armstrong. He felt his body sag as his oxygen supply faded.
Then suddenly Greg’s grip released. Daniel gasped, sucking in air, his lungs burning as he tried to understand what had happened.
Molly stood there, plank in hand.
‘You stupid bitch,’ Greg spat at her, one hand to his head as he moved to get up off Daniel, blood trickling between his fingers.
Weak and dizzy, Daniel spotted his chance. He gripped the handle of the knife that jutted out of his arm, and pulled it out. He hissed in pain. He flipped the knife in his grip, pushed up off the floor, ignoring the pain in his bleeding arm, and stabbed the blade straight into Greg Armstrong’s neck. Greg’s head snapped back to Daniel in shock, his eyes wide, a stark white of horror. Daniel wrenched the knife through a forty-five-degree angle, slicing through flesh. Blood spurted everywhere – an artery had been severed. Without hesitation Daniel pulled the knife free and stabbed Greg again, the knife slicing through his already red police shirt into chest muscle. Daniel felt it connect with bone. Again he pulled it out and stabbed once more, using every ounce of his remaining strength.
Blood poured from Greg’s mouth and neck, covering Daniel’s face, arms and chest. Then he was gone. His body fell back.
Daniel slumped onto the floor, supporting himself with his good arm, looking at the knife in Greg’s chest.
‘Holy shit…’ he managed.
Molly hurried over to him as he fell backwards. She was the last thing he saw before he passed out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Sitting in the task force room, Daniel watched Charlie, Amelia and Ross take down the photos, notes and pins from the wall, depositing them in various folders and binders.
He grabbed the box of painkillers on the table in front of him, popped two out of the packet and swallowed them with a gulp of Red Bull.
‘You know, you can help us,’ Charlie said with a frown.
‘Nah, the doctor said I shouldn’t use my arm for at least another three weeks,’ Daniel answered with a deliberately smug smile.
‘Your left arm, yes. There’s nothing wrong with that one,’ Charlie said, nodding towards Daniel’s right arm.
‘But you’re doing such a good job, Charlie. I don’t want to deprive you.’
‘Fuck off.’ Charlie laughed. ‘It’s probably for the best. Got to save your energy for tonight.’
Daniel groaned.
‘What’s tonight?’ Amelia asked. Neither Daniel nor Charlie said anything for a second, then Amelia gasped. ‘Oh my God, your double date!’ She giggled. Both men groaned at her.
‘What’s so bad about that?’ Junior Sergeant Ross Hayes asked. Before Daniel or Charlie could answer, or stop her, Amelia was explaining everything.
‘Well, Daniel hates Charlie’s girlfriend. You know Kelly Malone, the reporter?’
‘Oh shit…’ Ross muttered.
‘Exactly. But Graves has decided to give her a chance. And since Superintendent Hobbs had agreed to ease Kelly’s ban from attending most press conferences, in light of her good behaviour and poor Charlie here having been kidnapped, I expect they’ll have lots to talk about! Oh, to be a fly on the wall.’
‘You’re categorically not invited,’ Daniel said.
Charlie laughed again. ‘It’ll be fine, you’ll see. And if you’re a dick, at least Molly will surely be a pleasure.’
Daniel couldn’t help laughing too. He really didn’t want to chat to Kelly, in all honesty. He had not forgiven her for her numerous indiscretions, but for some reason his friend seemed to love her, so he was willing to make an effort. Plus, now that she was allowed to attend official police press conferences again he knew he would be seeing more of her, so it would be better if they could at least be civil. He just prayed she had learned her lesson, that she would no longer be the ruthless hunter of headlines that he knew her to be.
‘I can’t believe they thought they were witches,’ Amelia said as she looked at one of the photos. ‘I mean… witches. Were they just delusional? And why did all those women pay for bogus rituals to try and make themselves feel better? Alistair Watts’ ex-girlfriend is stunning and successful. What did a woman like her need to feel better about? And Antoni Kowalski, that drug dealer and wannabe crime boss who used Buchanan and Hastings to kill the first victim, the one who owed all that money – what was he thinking? That witchcraft would be a good cover, keep him out of the conversation?’
‘I guess, like Angelica Okeke, most of the people who sought out our trio of killers wanted to gain some control, and these women offered them a way to do that. You’d be surprised what people will believe when they’re desperate. Only Kowalski knew that he was signing a death warrant, having already had dealings with Natalie Hastings’ ex-boyfriend and sleeping with her occasionally too. Given his history, she apparently thought it was okay to tell him what she and Cally were planning, and he saw an opportunity. He admitted that Gallagher’s murder was financially motivated. He thought the witches would distract so much his name would never come up. But he’s been charged with good old accessory to murder. As for our killers, I think both Cally Buchanan and Natalie Hastings were very disturbed women. They fabricated this whole narrative around being witches to excuse their behaviour, to give them a justification for killing, although it seems that Sarah’s boyfriend Mike just happened to get in Natalie’s way. For every other victim they used that, and the perverted belief that they were delivering justice, to allow themselves to tap into primal, frankly horrible desires. Beatrice Hastings has suggested they were actually using EnchantedWomenLDN to try and find possible new women to point them towards new victims. Natalie and Jessie were never at the centre, but she said she’d seen Cally talking to several women there. But maybe they did buy into the witchcraft thing too. Certainly Buchanan seemed to have. I mean, the flesh bag she left at Sarah Boyd’s house to show Natalie which was the right property to attack? That was sick. Apparently witches used charm bags, but clearly Buchanan thought of a fun new twist on that. Novel and gross, all in one. And trying to burn people at the stake at Smithfield, the site of one of the most famous witch trials in London? That was designed to send a huge message.’
‘A pretty disgusting message,’ Ross said. ‘I didn’t realise people could be that… messed up.’
‘They sure can. You saw all the crime scene photos. The rib effigies to connote man, the mix of symbols to signify their own strength or the downfall of their victims. Molly said it seems they were literally picking from numerous different dark crafts to compose each scene, to suit their own narratives,’ Charlie responded, sitting next to Daniel and taking one of the cookies Amelia had brought in.
‘Sure your gym routine allows for that?’ Daniel smiled.
‘I got in a workout this morning, I’m definitely allowed.’ Charlie ate the cookie in three swift bites.
‘Wow. I guess I’m in for a treat, then,’ Ross said as he plucked a printout from the wall.
‘Comes with the job, I’m afraid. You’ll never get used to it but you will, in a weird way, come to understand some of these people. Not sympathise, of course, not usually, but with some of them, you’ll get why they do what they do,’ Daniel said.
‘Does that apply to Greg Armstrong?’ Amelia asked, doubt on her face.
‘My feelings on him are a little more complex, I suppose, but he also wanted revenge. I do understand that.’
After all, I killed him so he couldn’t hurt Molly again. But Daniel knew the thought wasn’t the whole truth. It really wasn’t that simple, and he felt guilty every day that he had been forced to take a life, a repeat of the horribly familiar feeling he’d experienced when he was a teenager. He also knew that Molly was at least partially the reason he had refused to let Greg Armstrong get away. Something primal in him that night had refused to let the man escape with his life. Not unlike Buchanan and Hastings. It was a dark realisation, and Daniel had decided to keep it pushed down as far as he could.
