Not Dead Yet

118

Gaia, in jeans and a sweat-darkened white T-shirt, her face glistening with the perspiration of fear, stood on tiptoe, a noose of razor wire around her neck pulled tight and looped around the pulley system high above the trapdoor. Blood trickled down parts of her neck where the wire had dug into her skin. A small strip of duct tape lay, curled, on the floor. The skin around her mouth looked red and raw, probably from that bit of tape that had been ripped away, Grace thought, feeling fury at what he saw, tinged with relief that she was still, at this moment, alive.

Her hands were tied behind her back. Inches from her sparkly trainers was the sign on the trapdoor that read in bold letters, DANGER – STEEP DROP BELOW. DO NOT STAND ON DOOR.

Her eyes, filled with stark terror, locked on to his. He tried to flash back reassurance. His heart went out to her, she looked so vulnerable and helpless.

Crouched beside her was an apparition, caked in make-up, dressed in female Regency clothing and wearing a huge, lopsided wig, staring at him with a strangely triumphant smile. One hand was on each of the two rusty bolts that secured the trapdoor from opening downwards – and taking them both with it, plunging through the hatch, down the forty-foot drop straight to the store room above the kitchens. On the floor beside this creature was a vicious-looking open-bladed hunting knife and a mobile phone.

There was a sudden, sharp crack, like a gunshot.

Gaia yammered in terror. The apparition’s eyes darted momentarily down.

Grace realized what it was. The trapdoor was starting to give way. His mind was racing, spinning, trying to get traction and figure what to do. The two of them were about ten feet in front of him. Three fast paces, he assessed. The bolts could be slid long before he even got close. He couldn’t take the risk, not at this moment.

There was another crack. This time the trapdoor visibly sagged a fraction, tightening the razor wire even more. The door was going to cave in at any moment.

‘Detective Superintendent Roy Grace,’ the apparition smiled, speaking through gleaming white teeth in a seductive, gravelly voice that mimicked Gaia’s. ‘I recognize you from the Argus. How nice of you to join our little private party!’

Gaia was pleading with her eyes for him to do something.

His heart was hammering so hard he could feel pulsing in his ears. ‘Eric Whiteley?’ he said. ‘Or should I call you Anna Galicia?’

He heard footsteps behind him, then heavy panting.

‘Get rid of your fat friend with the tash, hon, he’s so ugly,’ the apparition continued in her Gaia voice. ‘I’ll talk to you, but I’m not talking to any bullying thug.’

Grace hesitated.

The creature slid the bolts back a good half inch. The panic in Gaia’s eyes deepened into wild terror. There was another, smaller crack, and the apparition jolted, but seemed not to care. ‘Get rid of your fat friend or the bitch and I go. You have five seconds, Detective Superintendent.’ He tightened his grip on the bolts.

Grace turned and said urgently to the security guard, ‘Do what she said!’

The guard gave him a look, as if questioning his sanity.

‘GET OUT OF HERE! GO!’ Grace yelled at him.

It had the desired effect. The security guard turned in shock and lumbered out of the room. Grace turned back to the transvestite, thinking fast. He was trying to remember all he had been told by the indexer Annalise Vineer, who’d had researchers delving back as far as they could into Whiteley’s past. As well as all the insights he’d had from the psychologist Dr Tara Lester. But the first stage was to get a rapport going, to try to bond with Whiteley. And at the same time to make his Plan B.

‘Tell me what you would like me to call you,’ he said. ‘Anna Galicia or Eric Whiteley?’ He looked up at the wire above Gaia for an instant.

‘Very funny,’ Whiteley snapped back. It came out as a male snarl. ‘I’m not afraid to kill her.’

‘You’ve killed before haven’t you, Anna? Shall we stick with Anna?’

‘Anna will be very happy with that.’ Now she sounded like Gaia again.

A chill wave swept through Grace. It felt as if he were dealing with two totally different people in one. ‘And how about Eric? Will he be happy?’

‘Eric will do what Anna tells him,’ Whiteley said in his Anna voice.

‘You killed Myles Royce, didn’t you. Why did you kill him?’

‘Because he was richer than me. He kept outbidding me on things I really wanted. I couldn’t let that go on. I invited him round to see my collection and then I killed him. I collected him! He was a nice trophy to have. Eric approved!’

Grace was conscious of Gaia desperately staring at him, but at this moment he didn’t want to break eye contact with Whiteley. He needed to try to find some common ground, some way to start to bond with him. And he knew he didn’t have much time. Maybe only seconds.

There was another splintering crack.

‘You’d better be quick, Detective Superintendent, we’re going down!’ Whiteley said, again in Anna’s seductive Gaia voice.

Whiteley had been clever. The wire had been wound several times around the winch in large loops, then he had bent it several times just above Gaia’s head, to take up the slack and force her on to her toes. There was about six feet of slack in those loops. If the hatch collapsed, Gaia would fall that distance, and even if her neck wasn’t broken instantly, or her head severed completely by the wire, it would be impossible to reach her. It would be equally impossible to haul her weight up by that single strand of sharp wire.

Suddenly he heard the wakka-wakka-wakka-wakka thrashing of a helicopter, roaring overhead. He saw Whiteley’s eyes dart apprehensively towards one of the dusty oval windows, and realized to his dismay he had missed a split-second chance of jumping him while he was distracted.

The sound faded away.

‘I don’t think a helicopter’s going to do you much good in here, Detective Superintendent Grace, do you?’ Anna said, then looked up at Gaia. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, know what I’m saying? About someone coming to save you? It’s not going to happen.’ Then he raised his right hand, pressed his thumb, middle finger and ring finger together and raised the other two fingers in the air. ‘Secret fox!’ He winked at her.

She stared back at him, icily and terrified.

Grace’s phone rang. He ignored it.

‘Eric says you can answer it,’ Anna said sweetly.

It carried on ringing.

‘Eric says you can answer it,’ Anna repeated.

Grace continued to ignore it. He wanted to keep both his hands free. It stopped ringing.

‘It might have been an important call!’ Anna Galicia said. ‘You are a very important man, aren’t you?’

‘Aren’t you important too, Anna?’ he replied.

‘Eric thinks so!’

Grace shot another quick glance at Gaia. Her eyes were still locked on him. He wondered what the security guard was going to do. But short of putting a sniper on the roof to take a shot through the window at Whiteley, and he did not have the time, there wasn’t anything he could think of. Down below he heard the wail of sirens, followed by a series of deep honks, then more sirens. It sounded like fire engines on their way. But that wasn’t going to help. There wasn’t time to get any back-up. The shadow of a seagull flitted past one of the windows behind Whiteley, and was gone.

Whiteley looked up at the icon. ‘How’s it feeling, Gaia? Is it nice to be with your number one fan? Is it nice to be adored? Hey?’

She tried to respond but only a gurgling croak came out.

‘Did you ever think what you would be if it wasn’t for me, and all the others? Hey?’

‘Why don’t you give her some slack, or take the noose off, so she can answer you?’ Grace said calmly.

‘Haha! Very funny, Detective Superintendent!’ Anna retorted.

‘What is it you want from Gaia, Anna?’

Grace was poised, ready, like a coiled spring. Listening. Waiting for the next crack. He didn’t know if his plan would save her but at this moment he was totally out of alternatives, except to try negotiation with the man. With only minutes, maybe only seconds, left to do it.

After some moments’ silence, Whiteley responded, staring directly back at him. ‘I want her to say sorry.’

Grace felt a tiny ping of hope. ‘Sorry for what, Anna?’

Whiteley looked up at her. ‘You know, don’t you, Gaia?’ Then he looked back at Grace.

‘Take the noose off,’ Grace said firmly but pleasantly. ‘Let her speak to you.’

Suddenly, in a very masculine voice, Whiteley snapped at him, baring his teeth in an animal snarl. ‘Anna won’t take the noose off. Stop bullying her!’

Grace stared back at him. ‘Bullying, did you say?’

Whiteley looked up at Gaia again. Anna spoke. ‘All you had to do in the lobby of The Grand Hotel was smile and say hello. Instead you humiliated me. You snubbed me in front of everyone. You made me look a fool. You made me a Ubu, didn’t you. Useless, Boring, Ugly. You pretend to love everyone, but you’re just a greedy bully, really, aren’t you, Gaia? So how does this feel now? I bet you wish you’d been nicer to me in The Grand, don’t you?’

‘Give her a chance to talk to you, Anna.’

Whiteley snapped his head round and glared at Grace. ‘Anna’s not talking to you,’ he said in his Eric Whiteley voice.

Then he turned back to Gaia and it was Anna speaking again. ‘You see, Gaia, you’re not as special as you think. Anyone can be you if they have enough make-up on. They all thought I was you! I could have done the rest of the film and they’d never have known! You’re not very special at all really. You’re just lucky and very cruel and very ungrateful.’

Grace was looking at the wire again. And trying very subtly to signal to Gaia. He looked pointedly down at the trapdoor, at the warning sign, then jerked his eyes over to the right. She clocked him, in a fleeting, puzzled glance before his eyes went back to Whiteley.

‘You know what they say, don’t you?’ Anna Galicia’s voice asked her. ‘Be careful how you treat people on the way up, because you never know who you’re going to need when you’re on the way down.’ Whiteley lifted a hand from a bolt, and pointed at the trapdoor. ‘On the way down! Gettit?’ Anna’s voice suddenly cackled with laughter. ‘Gettit?’ he repeated to Gaia. ‘How will that feel for you in your last few seconds? Dying with your number one fan! But we won’t tell anyone, will we?’ Again he raised his hand and formed his fingers into the symbol. ‘Secret fox!’

‘Anna,’ Grace said, ‘I have an idea. If you gave Gaia your phone, she could call anyone you wanted and tell them whatever you would like her to say. She could apologize to the newspapers, the radio, television, her Twitter followers, her Facebook fans – she could tell the whole world that you really are her number one fan. That all she had been doing was testing you. Because she has so many imposters claiming to be her number one fan, she had to make sure you were the real one. And she is sure now. No one else would be willing to die with her. That is real love, Anna, and she knows that now. You can film her telling you that with the camera – put it on YouTube!’

He saw the sudden change of expression in Whiteley’s eyes. Like a cloud moving away from the sun. They shone briefly and he smiled, like a child who had just been given a new toy.

For an instant.

Grace caught Gaia’s eye again, moved his eyes to the right. She frowned. She didn’t get his plan.

Then Whiteley’s face turned to hostility again. ‘You’re lying, Detective Superintendent. This is all bullshit. You’re lying!’

‘Ask her,’ Grace said. ‘Go on!’

‘Stop bullying me.’

There was another crack. He saw the alarm on Whiteley’s face.

This was the moment.

Grace raised his voice, deliberately, in anger. ‘I am not bullying you! You are not ugly, boring or useless – that’s what they called you at school, isn’t it? Ubu?’

Whiteley froze for an instant. He looked panic-stricken. In Anna’s voice he said, ‘That’s – that’s what they called Eric. How do you know? How do you know that?’

‘I found out, okay? Someone told me. Give Gaia the phone. Let her start telling the world that you are none of these things. She’ll tell her fan club that you truly are her number one fan. You’ll be a hero! Wouldn’t it be nicer to be a living number one fan than a dead one?’

‘Anna doesn’t think so, I’ve just asked her,’ Whiteley said in his male snarl.

‘The phone!’ Grace jabbed a finger at it. ‘Give her the phone!’

Whiteley’s snarl turned to a whine. ‘You’re bullying me.’

‘GIVE HER THE SODDING PHONE!’ Grace bellowed at the top of his voice.

It threw Whiteley for an instant. He turned, almost like an automaton, reached out for the phone and picked it up. Then he froze, confused, his arm momentarily suspended in mid-air, as Grace launched himself forward.

Grace took one step, then sprang off his right foot in a long-jump stance and landed with both feet exactly where he had aimed, in the centre of the trapdoor, inches from Gaia. He heard a loud crack, and felt the wood splintering instantly beneath him, his legs plunging through. But he barely noticed, barely heard Whiteley’s yelp of surprise, he was totally focused on positioning his hands on the floor either side of the trapdoor, directly beneath Gaia so his shoulders would take her weight.

For an instant he was aware of hands grabbing his right leg, sliding down it, and a deadweight that was pulling him down, with Gaia’s feet pushing down on his shoulders. He scrabbled desperately with his fingers to keep a grip on the floor, oblivious to the splinters ripping into his skin and under his nails, just concentrating in these few split seconds on stopping himself – and equally importantly, Gaia – plunging through the open hatch. His arms were being pulled out of their sockets.

He could feel the weight of her feet on his shoulders even more heavily now. She was pushing him down. He was going. His hands were stinging like hell and he was struggling to keep a grip. He was being pulled down by his right leg, his hands dragging across the wooden floorboards. He heard Whiteley screaming. The weight was pulling him further down, down, too much for him to hold back. Then he felt hands sliding down his ankle. Heard Whiteley screaming pitifully for help again. Then, suddenly, like a hooked fish that has freed itself from a line, he felt his right shoe come off, and the weight was instantly gone.

He kicked out, but was just kicking air. His feet dangling over the forty-foot drop, he was acutely aware that only his hands, which were still sliding agonizingly across the wood towards the rim of the hatch, were holding him. And Gaia’s weight on his shoulders was pushing him down. He kicked out, desperately trying to find something for his feet to grip on, in case by some miracle there was a ladder beneath him. Gaia’s feet kicked, wildly, stamping on him as she scrabbled for grip on his shoulders. Pushing him down further, his hands slipping, slipping, his feet flailing in the air.

His arms and shoulders were in agony. He tried desperately to pull himself up, but the more he pulled, the more Gaia pushed down with her full weight. His arms were starting to give way and he didn’t know how much longer he was going to be able to hold on.

Can’t fall. Can’t fall. Can’t fall. The words played in his brain like a mantra. Can’t fall. Can’t fall. Can’t fall.

He thought suddenly of Cleo. Of their unborn baby. Of all the new life that lay in front of him. He was not going to die. Not going to.

‘Gaia,’ he yelled. ‘You’re going to kill us both! Get off me, get on to the floor, there’s enough slack in the wire, trust me!’

His hands slipped further, agonizingly, across the boards.

Further.

She pushed even harder on his shoulders. She was clearly in total hysterical panic, beyond any ability to hear him.

He was going. He could not hold on any more. His fingertips were sliding over the raised edge of the rim.

Then, suddenly her weight lifted off him. It was gone completely. But he still could not hold his own body up; his fingers were slipping. Slipping. He did not have the physical strength in them, nor the grip, to hold on any more. Somehow, he had to haul himself back up through the hatch, but he couldn’t. His arms were spent. He didn’t have the energy. For an instant he thought, it would be easier to fall. Simpler. Just let go.

Then he saw Cleo’s face again. Saw the bump. Their baby. Their life.

But his fingers slipped further. His body hung from them like a lead deadweight. He felt his fingertips right on the edge. They were losing their grasp. His legs bicycling in the air below him in the hope, again, of finding something, miraculously, to save him.

Slipping.

Oh shit, no, no, no. This was crazy. This was not how it was going to end. He fought back, with every ounce of strength he had. But he slipped further.

Then, suddenly, an iron clamp closed around both his wrists.

The next instant he was hanging, swinging from his arms. Moments later he was being pulled, very slowly and very firmly, upwards. He smelled the sour breath of a heavy smoker, looked up, saw a nicotine-stained moustache and heard the voice of the security guard.

‘Don’t worry, sir,’ he wheezed, ‘I’ve got you!’

Moments later he felt a second pair of hands gripping him, securely, under the arms. Near by, he heard a woman sobbing hysterically.