35

Lizzie pulled up outside her house with the haste of someone who was going off duty late with six more night duties still to do. The light was already full in the sky. She had to get to sleep as quickly as possible. Reaching for her bag on the passenger seat, she realized she hadn’t switched her phone back on since dealing with the rape victim. Better check it in case there was something from the night-duty jobs. Then she could deal with it and sleep undisturbed. She stood on the pavement, the bag on the driver’s seat, and fumbled around for the phone. When she switched it on, it pinged straight away with voicemails and missed calls. Whatever it was, she’d deal with it when she got inside. She pulled the bag onto her shoulder, locked the car. But the phone started ringing and she fished it out again. Sarah Collins! For God’s sake. She was the last person she wanted to speak to. She swiped to answer.

The voice started immediately.

‘Lizzie?’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t go inside your house.’

‘What?’

‘Are you there?’

‘Yes, just outside.’

‘Get back in your car, drive around the corner. Call me from there. I’m on my way over. Please, do it now.’

‘Hang on a moment . . .’

The voice was talking away urgently inside the phone, but Lizzie could hear nothing of what was being said. She was transfixed instead by something else: the sight of a little girl at her bedroom window. The girl was lifting the blind away from the window and beckoning to her. Lizzie talked over Sarah’s voice.

‘Skye Brannon is inside my flat. I can see her at the window.’

‘Get away from there now. We’ve got a rapid-entry team on the way. Brannon’s inside. If he thinks his cover’s blown, the shrinks have told us he’ll probably kill Skye.’

‘She’s beckoning me over. What if she tells him she’s seen me?’

‘Wait . . .’

‘She’s tapping on the window. He’ll hear it. I’m going to try to get her out of there.’

Lizzie put her phone in her pocket with the call still open and ran quietly down the path to her bedroom window. She put her finger to her lips. Skye was close up to the glass, an urgent frown on her soft white face. The window was double-glazed with toughened glass. Lizzie had had it improved against burglary and knew she wouldn’t be able to break it. But the catches were new and easy to move, if maybe not for a child. She considered entering through the front door, but didn’t dare lose sight of Skye for a second. She put her finger to her lips again, pointed to the catches and made a careful rotating movement with her fingers. Skye shook her head. Her face was stricken with worry. She cupped her hands close to the window and spoke. ‘Dad says he’ll hurt Candy.’

Lizzie answered in an insistent hush. ‘Open the window, Skye. I’ll get the dog.’ Skye hesitated. ‘I’ll get the dog. I promise.’

Skye stood up on the bed and reached towards the catches. She struggled, her little mouth twisted to the side with effort and concentration. But then the catches were free. Lizzie climbed onto the ledge and put her hands on the bottom of the window frame. She pushed it up about a third of the way before it jammed. She got her hands underneath and tried again with all her force. It wouldn’t budge. She’d never opened this window from the bottom. Still, Skye could probably squeeze through. ‘Come on, Skye, wriggle through.’

Skye’s face was anxious through the glass. ‘How are you going to get Candy?’

‘I’ll get her.’

But suddenly, it was too late. Brannon was standing behind Skye and he’d got the dog by its collar. His left hand was held behind his back.

‘Come away from the window.’

Skye turned, hesitated for a terrible moment.

‘I’ve told you, Skye. This isn’t a game.’

Lizzie began grappling with the window, desperately trying to force it upwards. There was a yelp of pain and Skye screamed. Lizzie looked up. Brannon had put the knife into the animal’s side and Skye was bending down towards the dog. Brannon grabbed her by the upper arm. ‘I told you to do what I said!’ The dog was whimpering and lifting one paw into the air. Skye held its head in her hands and started crying. ‘Candy, Candy, Candy.’

Lizzie had a moment of utter shock: her jaw was clamped, her arms by her sides.

Brannon was looking at her. ‘Look what you’ve done.’

It was ridiculous. She almost laughed.

Skye had the dog’s blood on her T-shirt and smeared on her face where she’d tried to wipe her tears away. ‘Daddy, Daddy, please. Help me look after Candy.’

‘I told you to do what you were told. I warned you.’

He seemed to Lizzie some strange parody of a disappointed, angry dad. This was a world of craziness. She said, ‘Mark,’ and put her hands up to the window in a gesture of surrender. In that instant she’d worked it all out. Even though it terrified her, she had to get in, offer herself up to him, had to let him take Skye away. That was the only way to stop him killing his daughter there and then. There was no point negotiating, no point in those offers the police had tried to make in their appeal. She spoke loudly, hoping Sarah could hear the open call in her pocket.

‘I’m coming in, Mark. Through the front door. I’ve got my key. Nobody knows you’re here. I saw Skye at the window. That’s how I know. You can take my car and get away with her. It’ll be ten o’clock tonight before I’m missed; even then they won’t send anyone round, not for an hour at least. You could be in Europe with Skye before they work it out.’

Brannon hesitated.

The dog was whining and trying to lick its side. Skye was kissing its face and weeping. It occurred to Lizzie that with treatment, the animal might survive the wound. It would certainly take a while to die. It might perhaps have been easier for her if it had died. Skye might have been less likely to do what Mark told her. But she understood fully: that dog, it was all Skye had left.

Lizzie said, ‘It’s me you want, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve been hiding here. I’m on my own. Let me come in before someone sees me and gets curious.’

Brannon put his arm around Skye’s neck and pulled her to her feet.

‘Get down from the fucking window then. Move to the front door. Be quick. Don’t call anyone. Do exactly what I tell you, or I’ll kill her.’

Skye whimpered and Brannon wiped his hand across her face in a consoling gesture. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ve got to take charge for both of us. We’ll look after Candy afterwards.’

There was a craziness in his words, but something still remained of the Mark Brannon Lizzie had known. He was a dark exaggeration of the man she had first met, the man who had said he loved his family.

‘I’m going to the front door. Just don’t hurt Skye.’

Lizzie delayed, fumbling the key into the lock, but she dared wait no longer. The hallway was empty except for the dog, which was lying panting on the floor. There was the stale smell of cooking, of the confined dog, of a flat that had not been aired.

A low shout from the living room. ‘Shut the door. I want to hear the lock click.’

She could hear Skye sobbing.

‘Skye, are you OK?’

‘She’s OK. Shut the door or she won’t be.’

For the first time, Lizzie feared for herself. With a reluctant look at the pathway beyond, she pulled the door shut so that the lock clicked. Then she held the lock firmly in her left hand while she slowly twisted the catch back and bolted it open. It would probably make no difference to a rapid-entry team, but every second might count.

The hallway was empty. She scanned around for anything that might work as a weapon and stepped into the bathroom. There were nail scissors in the cabinet. They wouldn’t do much harm, but she could hurt him with them if she jabbed them in his face.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror, had a sudden intimation of the other life tucked secretly inside herself.

Brannon spoke. ‘Come into the living room.’

She put the scissors into her right front pocket and stepped into the hall. ‘The dog, can I just help the dog. I’ve got a first-aid kit in the bathroom.’

Skye cried out. ‘Daddy, Daddy, please let her help Candy, let her help Candy.’

The sound of a slap. More sobbing. ‘Get yourself in here.’

She felt inside her pocket. She’d be able to show empty hands but could grab the scissors easily, just slide her hand down and take them out.

‘I’m coming.’

She was afraid he would be waiting to cut her throat as she stepped into the sitting room, but he was opposite her, in the kitchen area, holding the knife casually by his side. He was shaven, wearing a clean shirt. Skye was lying down, handcuffed to the radiator. The curtains were drawn against prying eyes. The stove top was filthy. The cupboard doors open. The sofa covered in dog hair. One of her armchairs was draped in a sheet. It was here, she realized, that he had shot the video.

‘Throw me your car keys.’

She tossed them across the space. He caught them easily and put them on the kitchen worktop.

A strange sort of calm had descended. Lizzie understood what, in his mind, had to happen. He had to kill her so he could get away in her car. She glimpsed also how he had persuaded himself of the sanity of his plan. There was no alternative that included surrender.

She knelt down next to Skye, intentionally turning her back to Brannon, and showed her the loom band threaded round her wrist. ‘Look, I’ve still got it. I told you I’d treasure it. I don’t want you to worry about anything.’

Skye’s eyes were looking past her towards her father, full of fear. Lizzie wished so hard she had some way of undoing the cuffs, of getting the little girl out of the flat. She was thinking, thinking. Perhaps if she said she was pregnant, he might show mercy. But her police brain warned her not to. It would be like throwing a hand grenade into the room. Why should she have a family and he not? She squeezed Skye’s hand. ‘I’ve let your dad have the car so he can drive you to safety.’

She felt Brannon’s arm on her shoulder, the knife a sharp point against the back of her ribcage. A shudder of fear passed through her.

Skye sobbed. ‘Don’t hurt her!’

‘Don’t tell me what to do, Skye. You don’t understand any of this.’

He pulled Lizzie against his body and she yelped as she felt the point of the knife press harder.

Skye whimpered. ‘Daddy, please.’

Brannon hissed into Lizzie’s neck.

‘You wouldn’t leave us alone. You were trying to send me to jail, trying to break up my family.’ He jabbed, and she felt a wetness spreading down her back. He was still talking. ‘I’ve had nothing but grief from you lot. I had a good relationship with Georgie . . .’

Skye sobbed. ‘Daddy.’

‘I did everything for her, provided for her, bought them a dog.’

Lizzie could feel tears of fear running down her face, but she tried to keep thinking, tried to hold on to the most important thing she had learned in officer training. Never give up. ‘All right, Mark. All right.’

‘I didn’t want to hurt her. I didn’t want to.’

He jabbed again and she sobbed in spite of herself. The wetness was spreading. She felt her right hand down to her pocket, to the hard little handle of the scissors.

‘All right. You’ve got the car.’

‘I told you I was coming to get you. I warned you. You’ve done this to me. You’ve made me like this . . .’

He had started to drag her out into the hallway. Skye was pleading. ‘Daddy, Daddy, please, please, please.’

He said, ‘Pull the door shut.’

Lizzie reached out with her hand and pulled the door to.

He was dragging her backwards. She slipped her hand into her pocket, to the nail scissors. The dog was lying with its head on its front paws, still panting. She hesitated for an idiotic, terrified moment. Then she jabbed backwards with all her force.

With a gasp of pain Brannon lost his grip and reeled back. But almost immediately he was standing upright. There was a wound below his eye, but he still had the knife firmly in his hand.