Over at King’s Park, Cara had to drive up and down a few streets before abandoning her car on a corner of a street one back from where Bill Gadd lived.
The security door was open. Unusual. Should she be concerned? Taking a step back she looked up at the first-floor windows. Both were in darkness. That was odd. She looked back down the street. Left and right. There. She squinted. That was Paula’s Range Rover, so she was here.
Then why were the lights off? The layout of these houses were similar to many tenement flats throughout the city. The front-facing rooms were living rooms and bedrooms. Kitchens looked out over communal backyards. Might they be chatting in the kitchen, after all that’s where the best parties always ended up? The wording of Paula’s text, however, suggested this would not be much of a party.
Something in Cara’s gut turned over – a warning. She’d leaned on her instincts many times over the years and they were rarely wrong. This was definitely iffy.
Hand on the door, she pushed it open, stuck her head inside and listened. Nothing. Her breathing seemed to echo in the stone-clad space.
Then a scream.
A fist-clenching, hair-raising, face-slap of a scream.
And she was sure it was coming from Paula Gadd’s lungs.
Without a thought, she made for the stairs, ran up them two at a time and on the first-floor landing came face to face with the man from the Mondeo.
He smiled in recognition. A smile that promised much in the way of pain. ‘You,’ he said. His body was relaxed, expansive. He was king of this particular castle. ‘They should put you in Bond movie and call you Miss Badpenny.’ At Cara’s lack of response he gave a little grimace. ‘I never understand you Scots and your sense of humour.’ He set his feet as if getting ready to attack. ‘No worries. I was coming for you anyway.’
Cara stood loose. He would be strong and those massive hands could cause real damage.
He reached for her as if expecting her to stand in place and take her punishment.
She danced out of his reach.
He made a low noise of appreciation, twitched his head.
The landing area was small so there was little space to manoeuvre, which would work to his advantage. She didn’t want to reveal too much to him too soon, so she pretended to be even more scared than she really was.
‘Please,’ she said, hands up. ‘I just want to speak to Paula.’
He tried to rush her again, but she ducked and moved to her left, almost getting pinned against the banister, but moving out of his space just in time. She felt a surge of adrenaline. And fear. That was close.
‘Come on, little girl. Why you dance away from me?’
‘Just let me go, mate,’ Cara said. ‘I’m a nobody. I’m no risk to you.’ She considered her options. She was used to fighting a bigger, stronger opponent, but that was in a dojo under accepted rules of engagement. Sure, she’d been in tricky situations where she’d had to be able to look after herself, but never before with someone who looked like they wanted to kill her.
She pushed that thought to the back of her mind. A scared mind was a beaten mind, and she couldn’t afford to let this man win.
But while she was thinking this through, he rushed her again. She darted to the side, but his right hand caught her shoulder and sent her spinning towards the Gadd’s front door.
She was in completely the wrong place to get out of here. He was now between her and freedom. And what about Paula? What state was she in that made her scream like that?
‘Stand still, little girl and this will all soon be over. I will be gentle on you,’ he said.
It was time to give him something to think about.
She sprang within his reach. Aimed a punch at his throat. But he swung and caught her a glancing blow to the side of the head.
Ear ringing, she ducked back and then realised just before it was too late, that she was right at the top of the stairs she had ran up just moments earlier. She had to get this over with soon. His superior size and strength could cause her a lot of damage.
But it could also be his weakness…
She feinted, and he closed in to grab her. She allowed his movement, sacrificing her safe space with a prayer that what she was about to do would work. She fell onto her back, grabbed his jacket, planted her right foot in his midriff, and his momentum and weight meant he went flying over her head.
He tumbled down the stairs, grunting his surprise, heels over his head, as if in slow motion.
Cara jumped to her feet, hoping he’d broken something important. She was disappointed to hear him groan. This was far from over. The minute his head cleared he’d be back up those stairs, furious he’d been thrown by a woman. She had to do something decisive.
Cara leapt down to his side, picked up his foot, placed it on the bottom step and, telling herself she had no choice, jumped on his knee.
His scream of agony echoed in the hall.
‘Stay down,’ she told him.
She ran back up the stairs, shouting Paula’s name.
The door at the top of the stairs was open. From inside she heard a crash and a muffled scream. Without worrying who else might be about, she ran inside. Saw movement to her right and entered the living room.
She saw one man motionless on the floor, one woman on a chair hands behind her back as if they were tied there. Judging by the size of her this would be Daphne and judging by the lack of movement from the man, and the large stain on the floor beside him, he was dead.
Paula was also on the floor, tied to a chair that had been upended, a stretch of duct tape over her mouth.
‘Oh, thank God you came,’ Daphne cried from her chair. ‘That man was going to kill us all.’
Cara ignored her and made for Paula. Bending down she grabbed the chair and pulled it up onto its four feet so that Paula was upright. Then she set about releasing Paula from the tape.
‘Can’t find the end of this,’ she said, anxiously feeling for a rough edge. Paula mumbled from behind the tape, becoming bug-eyed and bucking in the seat.
She heard a creak of floorboard, sensed someone move behind her and spun away from her position. As she did so, she had the presence of mind to bring a block into play. And there she saw Daphne, a long blade jutting from her hand.
With her right forearm, Cara kept the knife at bay, and brought her left fist up in a swing into the woman’s gut. It seemed to go in forever and felt like hitting a cushion, but judging by the squeal that came from her mouth, Daphne felt it.
And then Cara reached back with her right and struck again.
Daphne tumbled, as she did so she dropped the knife.
Cara lunged to pick it up, and seeing Daphne groan on the floor, hand over her face, she realised the threat was over.