‘It’s all right, Geoffrey. We’ll have you off there in a minute. Just stay still.’
Bryant ended the call to the fire service. ‘I’ll call down to the school and—’
‘No,’ Dawson said, forcefully. ‘The last thing we need is more people stampeding up the stairs, and we sure don’t need an audience.’
Bryant nodded his understanding and began to look around for something to help.
Without moving her feet Stacey shone the torch at each wall in turn. Two arches were cut into each side of the building allowing in the night-time breeze. Her torch found initials that had been scratched into some of the stones, but it found nothing that would be long enough to reach him. But even if there was they couldn’t risk him trying to move off that beam.
‘The rope,’ Dawson said, suddenly. ‘Geoffrey, if I can swing it towards you, do you think you can catch it?’
‘I’ll t-try,’ Geoffrey whispered.
Dawson uncoiled the thick rope, pulled it back towards him and then pushed it forward. The momentum of the rope swing didn’t reach the centre of the space and missed by a good two feet. Dawson grabbed the rope and tried again. Despite him putting all his strength behind it he was throwing something too light to gain motion. It was still a couple of feet shy before drifting back towards him.
‘Shit,’ Dawson said.
Stacey saw the fear growing in the kid’s eyes.
‘It’s okay, Geoffrey,’ Dawson reassured.
He glanced their way before he spoke. ‘I’ve got another idea. I’ll walk it over to you.’
‘Kev, no,’ Stacey cried.
‘Dawson, don’t be stupid,’ Bryant said.
He raised a hand to quiet them.
‘If I go slowly, walking the rope, I’ll be able to feel the boards beneath me. If anything cracks, I’ll jump back.’
‘Kev, no,’ Stacey protested again. He was going to purposely add weight to the fractured part of the floor. He had no way of knowing what beams had been weakened or how much weight they could take.
He met her gaze.
‘I’ve gotta try it, Stace,’ he said.
She shook her head even though she knew the kid was stressing the beam every second he stood there. It could snap at any second.
‘Don’t be a damn fool,’ Bryant said.
‘If you’ve got any other ideas, I’ll give ’em a try,’ Dawson said, removing his jacket and then his shoes.
Bryant said nothing but shook his head.
Dawson took a breath and grabbed the rope. He took a tentative step forward.
Nothing.
He took another.
Nothing.
A third and Stacey realised she was holding her breath.
He took a fourth step like someone heading towards the hole in the middle of the ice.
He took another.
A creak.
He was now a metre away. Two more steps.
‘Kev…’ she whispered.
He held up his hand to quiet her and concentrated as though walking a tightrope.
One more step.
A loud creak.
One more step.
The wood disintegrated beneath his feet.
Geoffrey grabbed the rope as the floorboards fell away beneath their feet.
Both she and Bryant reached forward.
‘Stacey, back,’ Bryant warned.
Dawson’s actions had weakened the remaining floorboards even more. They were only safe if they stayed right on the edge. She couldn’t reach him.
‘Hold on, Geoffrey,’ Dawson said, from above him as they both dangled from the bell rope. ‘Do not let go,’ he warned.
‘O-okay,’ Geoffrey stuttered.
‘Right, I need your help to start swinging the rope, okay kid?’ he said. ‘Between the two of us we can get the rope swinging.’
‘Okay,’ Geoffrey said, bravely, even though Stacey could feel his terror.
‘Right, I want us to aim for my colleague over there, and when we swing close enough he’ll grab you, got it?’
Geoffrey nodded.
‘And then on the next swing he’ll grab me, all right?’
Dawson glanced towards Bryant to make sure he knew the plan.
Bryant met his gaze and nodded.
‘Okay, Geoffrey, swing,’ Dawson said.
They both started bucking on the rope at the same time, causing a slight back and forth motion.
‘Okay, harder,’ Dawson said.
Stacey followed the line of the rope to the roof with the beam of her torch.
Where the rope fed through the metal eye the fibres were worn and frayed.
Her heart jumped into her mouth.
‘Kev, stop,’ she breathed, glancing up.
He didn’t follow her gaze because he already knew. He’d seen it.
‘Swing, Geoffrey,’ he repeated.
‘Kev, no,’
She could see the fibres fraying before her eyes.
‘Stop,’ she said again.
Bryant followed her gaze. His face lost every drop of colour.
‘Dawson, stop,’ he cried, seeing the frayed rope.
‘Swing, Geoffrey,’ Dawson called out, building momentum.
He lifted his head and met Bryant’s terrified gaze.
‘Get ready to grab him.’
‘Dawson, you gotta stop,’ Bryant said, unable to keep the tremor from his voice.
‘Get ready,’ he repeated.
The next swing almost reached Bryant whose arms were stretched as far as he could reach.
Stacey’s gaze returned to the rope. It was hanging by a few threads. The weight of both of them was weakening it by the second.
‘This time,’ Dawson said, giving one almighty swing.
The rope travelled further, and Bryant got hold of the kid’s jacket and hauled him to safety.
The rope swung back to the other side of the space.
Just one more, just one, Stacey prayed as Dawson swung away from them. If the rope swung once more, they could grab him. Stacey stopped looking at the rope and looked only at her colleague and friend.
The rope slowed as it swayed at the other side.
Her eyes were locked on his.
He gave her one of his slow cocky smiles as he began to swing back towards her.
‘Kev,’ she said but the word was drowned out by the snapping of the rope as it finally gave way and he disappeared from view.
One Hundred Nine
Kim sat in her office staring out at an empty squad room.
The service started in an hour, but she’d wanted to drop in at the station first. Had wanted to make sure that everything to do with the case had been squared away.
He deserved that.
Hannah Winters had been pronounced dead at the scene, as she had suspected. One act borne of jealousy twenty-five years earlier had ended and fractured countless lives in the present.
Graham Steele had been charged with the murder of Sadie Winters, Shaun Coffee-Todd, Joanna Wade, and the attempted murder of Christian Fellows. The charges for Lorraine’s death were still being worked out, but further crimes would be added to the list that would keep the counsellor behind bars for the rest of his life.
Perversely, there was a sense of relief in Graham’s understanding that he had not killed Lorraine Peters and her child. As yet he seemed not to have connected himself to the present murders, as though they were unimportant to him. His need for vengeance had eclipsed the irony that he was killing children purposely for being tricked into killing one accidentally. The hatred of Laurence had gnawed and festered over the years, spreading through him like a virus with each fresh nightmare or reminder of what he’d done. Sadie’s poem had been the catalyst for it all. Her missing backpack had been found in the boot of his car and her diary in his bedside cabinet. Kim still struggled to picture the man lying in bed at night reading the most intimate and personal thoughts of the thirteen-year-old girl.