She kicked Davis from the car, the director rolling through dirty water on the ground, scattering a murder of crows into the derelict factory ahead. Astrid followed her into the industrial wasteland, pulling on the scarf in her hands. They didn’t have much time, so she had to get this done quickly.
Davis crawled through the dirt, scrambling as Astrid reached for her. She had one hand close to the director as a shout forced her to glance backwards. Laurel jumped out of the car, her arms shaking and face flushed. She stumbled towards the women, mumbling something Astrid couldn’t hear. She was distracted as Laurel tripped over a piece of wood hidden underneath the pool of water she’d stepped in.
Laurel hit the ground with a thud and rolled towards Davis. Her shoulder smacked against the concrete, letting out a loud cracking sound. The cold water covered her face, the smell of industrial waste drifting in the air. She lay between Astrid and Davis, a human barrier of crocked flesh. It was all the director needed to grab the wood which had felled Laurel, push herself upwards and strike Astrid across both knees.
Astrid’s legs gave way. An electric current shot through her knees, turning her bones to lead, before rushing through the rest of her. She peered at her reflection in the muddy water, observing the pain painted into her distorted face. She grabbed her knee as she tried to stand, finding Laurel next to her. The air around them was a stagnant engineering waste pool, with an aroma of festering grease and rotting chemicals.
Astrid grasped her legs while Davis sprinted away.
‘Shit,’ she shouted as Laurel stood and pulled Astrid with her. Davis disappeared into the shadows as if she’d never been there at all. They were the only things moving in the wasteland, surrounded by abandoned concrete structures and gloom hanging in the air.
‘Do we look for her?’ Laurel stretched down to examine her feet.
‘No point,’ Astrid replied. ‘I was only going to gag her and dump her in the boot, but now she can run to wherever she wants. She did us a favour, but I could have done without the agony.’ She was also embarrassed at how easily she’d been distracted and knocked to the ground. Her concern for Laurel when she’d fallen over had outweighed her desire to deal with Davis. ‘We need to get back on track before they catch up with us.’ A quick look at their surroundings confirmed they were in an isolated spot on the road to Worthing. ‘There isn’t anything residential here, so she won’t find a phone anytime soon.’ Astrid ignored her discomfort and focused on Laurel. ‘Are you up to driving with your bad foot?’
Laurel brushed water from her face and flexed her leg. ‘Yeah, it’s only numb. I’m more annoyed by my stupidity. How are your legs?’
They dragged each other along and back to the car, feet swimming through substantial puddles and discarded nuts and bolts. Laurel returned to the driver’s side while Astrid slipped in next to her.
‘It’s like a thousand tiny fists punching away inside both kneecaps.’
Laurel drove away, reaching the main road and searched for a sign pointing towards Portsmouth. ‘I thought you were going to strangle Davis.’
Astrid rubbed at her damaged knees. ‘Strangled like a victim of the Reaper, you mean?’
Laurel shook her head. ‘No, not like that; I know you’re not the Reaper. But after what Davis said about your niece, I saw the hate in your face. I guessed anything was possible then.’
Astrid dismissed Laurel’s concerns and returned to the death of Delaney. ‘Somebody followed us to Frank’s house.’
She tried to stretch her legs as she spoke, little twinges of sharp pain sprinting through her knees, more so on the right, which had caught the majority of the blow.
‘Not somebody; the Reaper,’ Laurel said.
‘Frank’s murder means they’re probably following us now.’ She didn’t bother to check, but Laurel gazed into the rearview mirror. ‘They’re too good to be spotted.’ Astrid tried to massage the fire from her bruised knees. ‘Let’s see if we can put enough distance between them and us, but it’s good to know they’re there.’
‘Why?’
Laurel focused on the road. The discomfort started to wane in Astrid’s knees, her back sinking into the seat.
‘Always keep your enemies nearby, and if they’re close, it’ll be easier to find them when we get to Portsmouth.’ She twisted her body in the car, struggling to get comfortable.
‘And then?’
‘I get her to confess to her crimes while you record it. We need to buy a cheap phone when we get there.’
‘Buy a phone with what money?’
Astrid squeezed a hand into her trouser pocket and pulled out a shiny plastic credit card. ‘George kept this for emergencies. There should be enough for what we need. It’s not in his name, so the Agency won’t be able to trace it.’
‘You make it sound so simple.’
‘I have many powers of persuasion.’
‘What about your father?’
Astrid peered into the darkness outside the car. ‘What about him?’
‘Davis said he’d gone missing years ago. Maybe he’s spent all this time planning this for revenge on you. You could’ve been wrong about it being a woman. All those things you said about who women would trust and the Reaper having to push the men down as they killed them could apply to an old man as well as a woman.’
Astrid’s eyes shrank as she listened to what the younger agent said. ‘You’re comparing an old man to a woman?’
‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’
Astrid clicked her knee to ease the pressure. ‘I suppose it’s possible.’
If one person in the world truly hated her this much, it would be Lawrence.
‘Are we still heading for Portsmouth?’ Astrid nodded, painful thoughts flooding her mind. ‘Does this mean the agent in Portsmouth, Anne Dvorak, is not our suspect?’
‘We can’t rule anything out, Laurel.’
‘Of course. Plus, the Reaper might be more than one person.’
Astrid closed her eyes and recalled her time with Sophisticated Annie: a fierce intellect, permanently sarcastic, with anger fuelled by volcanic lava. She had the temperament for murder, and the history, but this type of vengeance appeared beyond her. Or perhaps it was all part of some murderous artistic project she was creating.
Annie was frustrated because her creativity was unfulfilled by the world. Initially, it was the rejection of her paintings, mocked by the art world she was desperate to be part of. Astrid tried her best to console her, reminding Annie her prime purpose in life was working for the Agency. Then Annie tried her hand at writing the great contemporary novel, which also ended up in disaster and a multitude of cruel rejections. So perhaps those rejections could have tipped her over the edge. Or the blow on the head with the mini shark had brought out all her evil proclivities. But it hadn’t all been arguments and violent encounters with poorly made works of art. There’d been an attraction between them on their first meeting, staring at the Astarte Syriaca in Manchester Art Gallery before finding each other’s eyes.
‘Annie worked undercover for the Agency for a long time, so we’ll have to be careful about how we approach her.’
Astrid’s mind returned to the present as they continued along the A27, and Farlington Marshes passed them on the right; they were fewer than ten minutes from the city.
‘You don’t have a home address for her, just where she works?’
‘That was all the information George had in his database.’ Weariness seeped out of her in great waves, her voice struggling to keep pace with her brain.
‘We better find a hotel then, get some rest for the morning.’ Laurel stretched her hand away from the wheel and intertwined her fingers with Astrid’s.
‘Head towards Gunwharf Quays; the gallery is nearby, plus there are plenty of places where we can get a room for the night.’
Astrid had only visited Portsmouth a few times, but her mind hadn’t forgotten how to get to Sophisticated Annie’s art gallery. Laurel drove by the tourist sights, past the turnoff for the Mary Rose Museum, seeing the sign for an express hotel and heading towards it.
‘How long before the Agency knows we’re here?’ Laurel pulled the car into the first free parking spot.
‘They have little idea as to where we went, plus they’ll be more focused on finding Davis before getting to us. We should have enough time for some sleep and what we need to do.’
Astrid wanted it to end here, to get it over and done with so she could return to Olivia and make sure she was safe. There was no doubt in her mind she’d find this Reaper and clear her name, but she needed to rest. As keen as she was to keep things moving, she was all too aware tiredness would lead to mistakes, and mistakes would get people killed.
It was early, but as Astrid got out of the car, lethargy leaked through her legs. It was more emotional than physical, as if the sun slipping from the sky had settled onto her shoulders, weighing her down to the point of discomfort.
Laurel put a hand on her arm. ‘You need to sleep.’
She shrugged her off. ‘You wait here, and I’ll book a double room for one. There’s no need for them to know two of us are staying in case the Agency comes sniffing around.’
She stepped into the building and waited in reception. A news channel blared from the TV in the corner, and she stared at it as the camera focused on Frank Delaney’s house. She dug her nails into her palm and pushed all thoughts of his death from her mind. It was a success, but all it led to was the image of Davis scampering inside that darkened alley.