‘How did you? Where did you get it?’ he said, lifting the shotgun and aiming it at her.
‘The bandage you gave me, had a pin attached to it,’ said Beth. She was filthy and shaking, but there was scorn in her voice. Then she tipped her head back and spat in his face. He blinked in shock, and she ran through the wooden door into the larger part of the Oast House.
Chapter Eighty-Seven
John had finished his tea with the farm workers, and they were just about to go back to work, when he heard the police sirens in the driveway. By the time he’d hurried back to the house, there were several cars in the driveway, and Grendel was going mad barking. He went to the back door, which was hanging open.
A tall blonde woman and a black man were in his kitchen, and Mary lay on the stone floor. She was still, and there was blood on her head.
‘Who are you?’ demanded the blonde officer. She held up her ID and identified herself as Detective Chief Inspector Erika Foster, and the other officer as Detective Inspector James Peterson.
‘John… John Bradley. I own this farm… Mary, what’s happened to Mary?’ he said, moving to her and kneeling down.
‘There a pulse, but she’s got a nasty head injury,’ said Erika. ‘An ambulance is on its way.’
He looked bewildered, and took his wife’s small hand in his, which was large and calloused.
‘Mr Bradley. Your son. Where is he?’ asked Erika.
‘Down the field… I just saw him running down the field…’ He looked back at Mary. ‘Have we been burgled?’
Erika looked at Peterson.
‘Where was your son going?’
‘Down the field… I don’t know.’
‘What’s down the field?’ asked Peterson.
John was now in tears, his face red, and he was stroking Mary’s face.
‘The lake, erm, fields… the old Oast House.’
‘Stay with them,’ said Erika to one of the uniformed officers, and she and Peterson set off towards the Oast House.
* * *
It was still raining when Erika and Peterson rushed down the yard and past the outbuildings. They came to the gate and climbed over, landing in mud on the other side, which oozed up and over their shoes.
‘DCI Foster, Erika, are you reading me?’ came a voice over the radio.
‘Yes, reading you!’ shouted Erika over the roar of the rain.
‘Suspect’s father says his shotgun is missing from the house. I repeat, the shotgun is missing. Suspect could be armed. We are calling for backup. Do not proceed without backup. Do not proceed without backup.’’
Erika looked at Peterson.
‘Acknowledged,’ she said.
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Beth was backed into a corner in the main building of the Oast House. She was shivering and streaked with blood. The straw felt prickly under her bare feet and the wooden rafters stretching away above her. Darryl stood a few feet away from her, the shotgun trained at her head. They had been standing there for several minutes. At first she’d closed her eyes, expecting him to pull the trigger, but when it hadn’t come she’d opened them again. She could see he was sweating, and his face was breaking out in a strange rash.
‘Why don’t you just do it?’ she said hoarsely.
‘Shut up. SHUT UP!’ he cried. He gripped the shotgun on his shoulder, and stared at her down the barrel. His finger twitched on the trigger. The rain hammered down on the roof with a roar.
He had his back to the open door, and behind him, Beth saw Erika and Peterson appear. The rain masking the sound of their entrance. They were both soaked and covered in mud. Beth’s eyes widened, and she forced herself not to react.
Erika saw the situation and looked at Peterson. They glanced around inside, then Erika put her finger to her lips and indicated that Beth should keep Darryl talking.
‘What do you, um, what is this place used for?’ asked Beth, saying the first thing which came into her head.
‘What?’ said Darryl, momentarily thrown.
Beth’s eyes involuntarily flickered to where Peterson was about to move back through the door.
Darryl followed her gaze and turned with the gun. ‘What the hell?’ he shouted, and he fired the shotgun.
Peterson went down onto the straw clutching a rapidly growing red stain in his stomach.
‘No!’ cried Erika with horror, rushing over to him. Darryl kept the shotgun trained on her.
‘Get away from him!’ he shouted, and then he started to panic, turning it to Beth and then back to Erika. ‘You stay there and you, do you hear me, get away from him!’
Erika kneeled over Peterson, who lay in the straw in shock. She looked down and saw the red stain on his white shirt was spreading
‘Oh my god, the, the pain,’ said Peterson, grimacing. He put his hands up to his stomach.
‘No! This is not going to happen,’ said Erika. Darryl was now moving towards her with his shotgun, but she didn’t care. ‘Here, press hard, down on here, you need to put pressure on the bleeding,’ she said, taking his hand and pressing it against the wound.
He screamed in agony.
‘You get away from him,’ shouted Darryl, advancing on her and aiming the gun at her head.
Beth suddenly ran at him from behind, and managed to knock him off his feet.
Erika had tears in her eyes as she pressed down onto the top of Peterson’s hand. Blood oozed between their fingers. She took out her radio. ‘This is Erika Foster. I have an officer down; I repeat, I have an officer down. He’s been shot and he’s losing blood fast…’
Darryl was now back on his feet, and he had the gun aimed at Beth. ‘Get over there, with them,’ he said.
Beth moved towards Erika and Peterson.
Erika suddenly got a grip of the situation. ‘Beth, I know you’ve been through so much, but please can you help?’ she said.
Darryl trained the gun on them, as Beth, despite being hungry, cold and terrified, nodded and moved to Peterson and pressed her hands onto his wound.
‘Pressure, it needs pressure, even if it hurts him,’ she said.
Peterson was now in shock, lying back with wide eyes.
‘Why are you all ignoring me!?’ screamed Darryl. ‘I have a gun!’
‘Let them go,’ said Erika, turning to him. ‘Let them both go. I’ll stay here with you.’
Darryl shook his head and trained the gun at them, unsure who to concentrate on. Peterson was moaning as Beth pressed her hands, slick with blood, onto his stomach. An incredible calm came over Erika, and she stood.
‘It’s over, Darryl,’ she said, moving toward him with an outstretched hand. ‘We know about them all: Janelle, Lacey, Ella, your mother…’
Darryl shook his head. ‘My mother? No.’
‘Yes, your own mother… Darryl, where is there left to go?’
Erika heard the far-off sound of helicopter blades. Backup was almost there. She looked over at Peterson, who was fading fast.