He could see the police behind him. Pulling in at a corner shop, half a mile from St Declan’s, he let them pass.
Where were they off to? Surely not St Declan’s Hospital, once an asylum for the mentally insane. They had no reason to go there, had they? Closed down for ten years, as far as he knew. Crumbling in on itself until he had stumbled upon it a year ago and brought its operating room back to life. He couldn’t let them find it. Not yet. Not until he had finished. He had a job to complete.
Manoeuvring the van back into the line of traffic, he continued his short journey. He had to concentrate on the job in hand. He needed to take delivery of the boy. And deal with Eamon Carter. No loose ends.
Driving through the rusted gates of St Declan’s, he saw no sign of the unmarked garda car. He parked behind the gatehouse, switched off the engine and sat waiting for the biggest prize of all. Mimoza’s boy. Milot.
Seventy-Nine
Boyd drove around the roundabout that led to the motorway and came back down on the opposite side of the road.
‘Stop!’ Lottie cried. ‘In there.’
‘Someone will crash into the back of me in this fog,’ he protested.
‘Park the fucking car, Boyd!’
With a swerve of the steering wheel he banked the car up on the grass verge.
‘And switch off the lights. Have you a jacket I can wear?’
Boyd leaned into the back seat and found a black fleece. ‘This any good?’
‘It’ll do.’ Lottie unbuckled her seat belt and zipped up the fleece.
‘You’re not going out there alone.’
‘Stay here. You need to keep in touch with Kirby,’ she said, ignoring his concern.
‘I’m going with you.’ He opened his door.
Grasping his arm, Lottie pulled him close. ‘Listen, Boyd. I need you to monitor the phone and the radio. I have my gun.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t want it to end up like the O. K. Corral.’
‘I’m not that stupid.’
He groaned. ‘You’re the boss.’
‘This guy might have Chloe or know where she is.’
‘He might also be the same guy who has killed three girls and abducted two more.’
‘You think I don’t know that?’
Boyd held her hand. ‘Be careful.’
Lottie opened the door and stood out into the damp fog.
‘I’m coming for you, you bastard,’ she whispered into the mist.
* * *
Smothered, that was what it felt like. Lottie couldn’t breathe with the fog and couldn’t see through the darkness. She panned her arms around her like a madwoman in a padded cell. Right place for that, she thought. Her hands touched air. No walls. The only thing she felt was the ground beneath her feet.
Baby steps, heel to toe, she moved forward. Four steps. Nothing. Why was it so dark? A blackout? There was no hint of the yellow shadow from the street lights in the distance. She knew you could normally see it from almost five kilometres away. But now it was as if the town had been plucked from its foundations and spirited away in an ethereal haze. Her hands swiped down a spider web, its gossamer trail hanging from the wheelie bin to her right. She counted three industrial-sized bins with her fingertips.
Feeling a presence behind her, she paused. Held her breath. Listened. The slow hum of traffic on the N4. No other sound. I’m definitely raving mad, she told herself.
Easing her way forward, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was right behind her.
Where was he?
He saw the detective through the fog. She was close. What to do? He couldn’t let her find anything. It would be endgame for sure. He eased around the side of the building after her. She couldn’t prevent him from finishing his quest. A promise was a promise. It didn’t matter that he’d made it to himself. He had started this and he was going to finish it.
He was now so close he could smell her scent. He crept nearer. Heard her breathing, low and fast. Was she afraid? He didn’t believe that for one moment. She was a fine adversary. But now wasn’t the time to test her fortitude. He had to act.
Stealthily he edged closer, holding his breath so she wouldn’t sense him. With precision and accuracy he slid his arm around her throat, pulled her into his chest and squeezed.
Her arms flailed about, trying to dislodge his, before they fell slowly to her sides without finding a target. Feeling her head slump against his shoulder, he released her and she fell at his feet. Moving quickly, he hurried away from the bins and back to his van.
The bastard Carter had squealed after all.
Lottie didn’t know how long she had been unconscious. She opened her eyes and rubbed her throat, trying to breathe through the tightness and pain. Clutching her under-arm holster, she felt her gun. At least that was something. He hadn’t got away with her weapon. He had stolen her pride but replaced it with a dogged resolution to catch him.
Sliding her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, she saw the screen was cracked, but she could still make the call.
Eighty
‘Jesus, Boyd, faster.’ Lottie stamped her foot to the floor as if the accelerator was on her side.
‘Shut up. I’m concentrating on the road. I can’t see a thing.’ He switched the wipers on to clear the mist from the windscreen.
She swallowed hard. Her throat felt like someone had thrust broken glass down it. Boyd had seen the van screech out of the hospital grounds and down on to the dual carriageway. He’d put the car in gear and rushed over to find her fumbling with her phone among the wheelie bins. She’d insisted they follow the van.
‘I don’t know where I’m going,’ he said. ‘I’ve lost him.’
The fog was dense, the road twisty; she could hardly blame him.
‘If he turned left onto the N4, he could be heading for Lough Cullion and Monk Island. Maybe that’s where he brought Chloe.’
‘You have no idea if Monk Island has anything to do with anything.’
‘Where else could he be heading?’ Lottie said. ‘It has to be Petrovci.’
‘It could be anyone.’
She thought for a moment. She remembered the strength of the arm that had choked the breath from her.
‘I don’t know who it was,’ she admitted. But she knew she couldn’t let him get away.
The car skidded up from the main road on to the slip road.
‘It’s the wrong turn, Boyd,’ Lottie screeched. ‘Ouch.’ Her throat blazed in pain.
‘Shit!’ He kept driving. ‘I can’t go back down. I’ll cut across the link road.’
With blue light flashing and siren blaring, Boyd sped across the ring road. Lottie planted her feet firmly in the footwell and held onto the dashboard. Around a corner, past the cemetery and along a narrow road. He righted the vehicle and its lights bounced off the fog, blinding them. Red tail lights up ahead.
‘There he is,’ Lottie said.
The lights disappeared.
‘That could be anyone,’ Boyd said, and the car swerved into the centre of the road. ‘Sorry.’
‘Follow the verge,’ Lottie shouted.
He said nothing, his hands white as they clutched the steering wheel.
‘Hail Mary, full of grace,’ Lottie whispered.