She caught his glance and screamed as the car mounted the grass before sliding back on to the road.
‘Jesus Christ, Boyd. Watch where you’re going.’
‘He’s getting away.’
Rounding the next corner, Lottie knew the railway crossing was ahead. ‘Dear God in heaven, whom I don’t always believe in, don’t let there be a train. Please.’
Flashing lights through the fog. Amber, amber, red.
Boyd slammed the brakes to the floor. The seat belt cut into Lottie’s shoulder and chest with the impact. The barriers slid down with a clunk in the night air.
She leapt out of the car to see the tail-lights of the van crest the hill and disappear.
‘Fuck. What do we do now?’
‘Radio for backup and wait for the train to pass.’
‘Five minutes. That’s how long it takes.’ She was helpless to stop the tears. ‘Five fucking minutes until the train passes.’
She felt Boyd put his arm around her shoulders. He led her back to the car.
‘I hope he doesn’t do anything while we’re stuck here,’ he said, resting his head on the steering wheel.
‘Hope is a fine thing,’ Lottie said. ‘He could have Milot or Chloe. Couldn’t he?’
‘He hasn’t got them, Lottie. He was meeting Carter to get the boy,’ Boyd said with a level-headedness she couldn’t manage at the moment.
She turned to look at him. ‘Then where are they?’
He shifted his hands along the oars, tightening his grip as he rowed. He never risked using an engine, but this was a time he knew he could do with one. Soft ripples swam away from the boat, a watery swish trailing in their wake. Arm muscles trembled with each heave as his journey inched along. The fog began to lift and he could see the orange shimmer of the setting sun reflecting on the small waves. He was aware of the trees surrounding the shoreline, which appeared black in the shadows, and the dock hidden through a river of reeds. He aimed straight ahead.
It had been a close-run thing with the police. The train had saved him. He’d been lucky. This time. But now he was sure they knew about his killing ground. A little water swirled beneath his booted feet, splashed in from the lake, as he squinted through the disappearing fog. Monk Island. He shivered with anticipation. Maybe this time he would succeed in a fulfilling his destiny. But without the boy. Pity.
As he docked the boat a few minutes later, he thought about the clear water. Water he’d used to wash away the impurities from the bodies. He had two more to cleanse. He hoped they hadn’t succumbed to starvation. It was a few days since he’d been here. It would be a pity if they died before he could send them on their way to redemption. He laughed out loud. Redemption? Only he could achieve it.
He jumped up onto the short wooden jetty shielded by wild shrubbery and hauled the boat astern with a thick rope. He wrapped it carefully around a stick jutting from the edge of the worn slats and tightened it in a double knot. He filled his lungs with fresh air, exhaled; repeated the exercise three times.
Ducking under the leafy trees, he followed a pathway of trodden grass. He had made this journey on numerous occasions and knew the grass suffered only the trampling of his own feet. No one else ventured to this island. He had reconnoitred it well. Church Island, two kilometres to his right, was where the indecent escapades occurred, leaving his island to birds and badgers. An unofficial sanctuary for wildlife, he was the only interloper, with, of course, his own prey.
Almost there, and he couldn’t dampen the excitement throbbing through his veins, from the follicles of the hair on his head to the tips of his toes. And for once the swelling inside his trousers comforted him.
At last the clearing opened up before him, illuminated by the rising moon, a blue haze around its rim. A bird skittered from a tree with a loud flapping of wings. He slumped to his knees. The two bundles were where he’d left them. Unmoving. No, he was wrong. He checked one, then the other. Soft, laboured breaths. They were still alive. He looked skyward and gave thanks. Slowly he unwound the tape from the first bundle, peeled back the fringed folds of woven wool. At last she lay before him.
A bruise had risen on her forehead where he had kicked her. He traced his finger over her face, pausing as he felt the indentations of the wounds on her cheek.
‘Damaged bird, your wings are broken but I can set you free and let you fly again,’ he whispered.
He unwrapped the covering from her body and marvelled at her nakedness. Allowing his finger to linger on her deepest scar, his salty tears dropped silently on to the wound. His actions had caused this and now he would heal her. Forever. He would release her from her pain and bring her peace and eternal salvation. Pity she wouldn’t be able to thank him. He sacrificed them in order to save others who paid him well for it. But that wasn’t why he did what he did. Was it? He was following in footsteps. It was ordained. And with her death, she would make the evil one pay for causing his father’s death.
Rising to his feet, he moved through the undergrowth and hauled out his steel toolbox. He took a key from his inside jacket pocket, unlocked the lid and opened it. From under a soft cloth he extracted the gun wrapped in leather. Checking the magazine was empty, he counted the bullets from a cardboard box, loading each one carefully. Then he clicked the magazine back into the semi-automatic and chambered the first bullet. One was all he required, but he liked the feel of a fully loaded weapon. Power and control.
Clouds moved swiftly across the sky and a warm mist caressed his skin.
With his gun in one hand and the silencer in the other, he turned around.
Eighty-One
When the train eventually passed and the barrier lifted, Boyd put the car in gear and set off again.
‘Where did he go?’ Lottie asked. ‘Did he keep on driving? Or did he turn off for Monk Island?’
‘Wish I knew.’ Boyd exhaled in exasperation.
‘Stop!’ Lottie shouted.
The car screeched and Boyd skewed it up on the verge. ‘What now?’
‘There.’ She pointed to the narrow slip road at the side of the rail track. With the fog lifting, the lake sparkled like molten glass beyond it. Jumping out of the car, she disappeared into the vegetation.
‘Wait,’ Boyd shouted, slamming the car door.
‘His van.’ Lottie stood beside a small white vehicle. She tried the door. ‘Locked.’
Boyd reached her side and stood with his hands on his hips, looking out over the lake.
‘There’s Monk Island,’ he said.
‘How are we going to get over there?’ she asked. The bleat of her phone broke though the air. ‘Kirby. Have you found her?’
‘Not yet, boss. But you need to get back to the station.’
‘I’m in pursuit of a suspect. I think it’s Andri Petrovci.’
‘That’s not possible.’
‘Why not?’
‘We’ve just found Petrovci attempting to get into his apartment.’
Lottie turned to look at Boyd, then let her gaze span the lake.
‘So who the hell is over there?’