Little Boy Blue

116

Her heel dug sharply into the turf and the ground seemed to give way beneath her. Hearing her pursuers approaching, Helen had vaulted the railings at the far end of the cemetery and thrown herself down the hill, hoping to disappear from view and confuse her pursuers. But the ground was wet and slippery and she lost her footing almost immediately, careering down the hill on her back, picking up speed as she did so.

For a moment, Helen didn’t know which way was up. Then suddenly she came to an abrupt halt, somebody punching her hard in the side. Recovering herself, Helen now realized she was in a thorn bush and the sharp pain in her side was a thick branch that had rammed into her ribs. She was winded and muddy, but as she was still wearing her leathers and helmet, was largely unscathed.

Picking herself up, she looked up at the cemetery, now a good seventy or eighty feet above her. She could still hear voices, but no one was peering over the railings in her direction. If she moved swiftly, she had a chance of evading her pursuers completely, so breaking cover she ran down the side of the hill. She moved from bush to thicket to bush, occasionally casting a wary look behind her.

Before long she’d made it to the bottom of the hill and, cutting her way along a footpath, made it back to civilization. Hurrying down a side street, she spotted Chamberlayne College, then heading left, hurried towards Weston. Spotting a bin, she pulled off her helmet and jacket and dumped them. The call would have gone out to uniform as well as other surveillance officers now, so she would have to be careful.

Her side was hurting her now, but she pressed on. She couldn’t head home and needed somewhere – a sanctuary – to gather her thoughts. Somewhere public but not too public. Suddenly a Ladbroke’s came into view and Helen ducked inside. There were a smattering of punters about, but they were far more interested in the dog racing and fruit machines than her. Buying a coffee, Helen sat down at the betting bar, a copy of the Racing Post open in front of her. She barely took in the text on the page, her brain pulsing with urgent, disquieting thoughts. Why had she been so complacent? Why had she ignored the evidence that was staring her in the face? She had seen someone in the derelict flats opposite her months ago but had dismissed the apparition as a junkie. But the person within had been watching her all the while, waiting for the moment to strike. How long had he been there? How many times had he seen her sitting at her window? How many months had he been inveigling his way into her life?

Since Max Paine’s death, she’d feared the murders might be connected to her, but she’d suppressed these thoughts. Her chat with Gardam had reassured her, but how naïve and foolish that looked now. The fact that she was summoned to the third murder confirmed to her that she was being set up and the use of clingfilm confirmed for her the identity of the perpetrator. Her sister, Marianne, had killed their parents in the same way, securing their limbs then wrapping their heads in clingfilm. She too was now dead but her son, Robert, was alive. Helen had ruined his life by accidentally outing him as the son of a serial killer. He had remained hidden for several years since that devastating moment, but had finally resurfaced. Helen had wanted to be his guardian angel but her cursed touch had brought him only misery, rejection and pain.

Now he was back for revenge.