Chapter Forty-Four

 

Emma decided to leave her car at Bradley's house and walk over to Margaret's. As she moved away from the crime scene, she saw that there was no one about. She approached the traditional green gate, with her head full of what she'd just been through in the house. The emotion of the last few hours had left her hollowed out. On the one hand she desperately wanted to put all the pieces together. She was sure there was a link that existed somewhere between Gregory Watts and Jeremy Bradley, even if his mother couldn't see it. And if Emma could prove that, then it'd be a short route from there to linking Watts to Callum Frost.

On the other hand, she knew that she was already on thin ice with her private investigations into Gregory Watts. She was only here to let Margaret know what had happened and to try to calm tensions. But she wasn't at a stage yet where she wanted Watts to know that she was talking to his mother. She was one step away from a formal complaint as it was.

Her reverie was broken when she heard a door open. She knew that it was Margaret Watt's door immediately. The immaculate form of Gregory Watts was turning from his mother who was holding the door open.

'It was lovely to see you, Gregory.' The words floated over to Emma across the still air. 'It's so good of you to come over every week.'

'Really, Mum, it's no bother at all. It's family and that's important. You're important to me. I'll give you a call in a couple of days, see if I can get Kaycie to bring Jayden over and I'll definitely see you next Saturday.'

He turned and started up the path. His mother closed the door behind him without noticing her other visitor. Emma took to opportunity to observe Watts while he thought no one was looking. He looked smug and content – everything in his world was right. Then he caught Emma watching and his entire face darkened. He stopped mid stride and stalked off to the side of the house.

Emma stood there for a moment, indecisive. One hand was still resting on the gate. Should she go after Gregory Watts? Or continue with her original plan to visit Margaret? Or simply call off the whole idea and go back to her car and get to the station to start interviewing Jeremy Bradley?

'Are you still here? You can't be here, you're not allowed.' Gregory Watts was back, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger.

Something in Emma reacted to Gregory's antagonism. She was a constable who was at work with a job to do. She forgot for a moment that she was just going to see a friend, a simple mission to calm tensions on the estate. Instead, she saw a man interfering with her life.

Her anger reached a deeper level. She was a woman and here was a man who would tell her where she could and could not to go.

'I am a police officer and going about my business. It's not up to you to tell me where I can and cannot go.' Despite her annoyance, she kept her voice level. Long experience had taught her that calmness was the best way to defuse a situation.

'But this is my family. You can't be involved with my family. I forbid you to speak to my mother.' He glared at her hand, still resting on the garden gate.

'I can investigate where I want to, when I want to. You may not have noticed but the world is changing. Women have had enough of men telling them what to do.' She pushed the gate open with her hand.

He moved to block her way. 'Don't make me do this. I have to protect my mother. If you pass that gate then I won't be responsible for my actions.'

The earnestness in his voice gave her cause for a momentary pause. Should she call for help? She didn't like the way that Watts was getting into her space and she didn't want to be alone with him.

She reached for her radio and unclipped it – she didn't want to be leaning her head down to talk which would make herself vulnerable. But as soon as she had hold of it, he slapped her hand and the radio flew upwards. In any other situation it would've been comical, the sort of thing that starts a fight between children. But here they were deadly serious. Slapping at each other's hands, they fought for control of the radio, until it slipped from her fingers and he batted it to one side, where it landed on the lawn. Firmly inside the territory of the Watts family.

Right, Emma thought, that's it. A line had been crossed. A line marked assaulting a police officer. It might be a slap on the hand but in law that was as much an assault as a punch or a kick.

'That's enough. Not only are you impeding an officer in the course of their duty but you've just committed assault.'

'Assault! You are deluded. I barely touched you – there's no mark. And it's all your fault. You came here to disturb my family. If you'd done what I'd said, left me alone, none of this would've happened.'

For just a second he sounded so reasonable. She had been relentless in her pursuit of him and had driven him into this corner. Unable to find any evidence she'd gone after his family and pushed him over the edge.

Then common sense reasserted itself. Gregory Watts was bad, from his grooming of schoolgirls through to stopping her doing her job.

'Give me back my radio, right now, and we can stop this before it goes any further.' While Emma was talking, her left hand crept towards her pocket, towards her mobile phone. But she didn't take her eyes off Gregory Watts.

'I won't be doing that,' he said with a flat voice.

'Well then, I'm arresting you for assaulting a police officer.' Her left hand curled around her mobile phone.

'I told you that wasn't assault!' Gregory shouted.

She brought her phone out to call for backup. In her peripheral vision she saw him bend down to retrieve something from the side of the path.

She looked at her phone, about to unlock it but her hand stung and the phone flew out of her hand. At the last moment, she managed to tilt her hand and her phone went behind her and onto the road.

He held a short length of pipe in his hand and had a smug look on his face. Without thinking, she took one step back, setting her feet into a fighting stance.

Realising now that it was about survival, not technicality and making arrests, she unclipped her baton. In one smooth movement, she swept it upwards and connected with his hand. The pipe was knocked clear and landed soundlessly on the grass.

'You fucking bitch! You hit me! How dare you?' Gregory Watts crumpled down to a crouch. 'Fuck. I think you've broken my wrist! I'll sue you for this. You'll never work again.' He was cradling his wrist in his other hand.

Emma breathed out and relaxed. She put her baton away and reached around for her handcuffs as she approached. His wrist was already swelling so she'd have to consider how to cuff him safely.

She got to him and said, 'Gregory Watts, I am arresting you for--'

He sprang up like a jack-in-the-box, launching himself at her. She was taken off guard and staggered back through the gate.

There was a sharp pain, just above her right hip, followed by a deeper ache that signalled something wrong. Gregory was still close to her, holding something that had stabbed her. Her clothes were lifted as he leant forward, using his weight to drive the blade in. She could feel her stab vest being tugged. Emma didn't know what she'd been stabbed with but he had managed to get it up and under the edge of her protective vest.

Gregory Watts stepped back at the same time she took a step back. She caught the edge of the kerb and staggered slightly. He brandished a long screwdriver at her, held in his left hand. Its shaft was black and glistening with her blood. It must've been up his left sleeve and the whole broken wrist act was just a feint.

She wobbled slightly and her vision blurred. Her side was now burning and tears were coursing down her face. Everything was getting more distant, less important to her now. Vaguely she saw Gregory drop the screwdriver and grab his wrist in the other hand.

Dizziness swept over her in another wave. She had to get back to her car, retrieve her phone, find a radio, something. Gregory Watts was watching her. His expression was fascinated, exactly the same look that a small boy has after pulling the wings off a fly and waiting for it to die.

She could feel the blood running from the wound. It tickled and was warm. Strangely intimate, it followed the contours of her hip and thigh, tracing its way ever downward. When it reached her sock and started pooling in her shoe, she realised how much trouble she was in.

The pain was there, a constant companion, throbbing in time with her heart. With each beat more blood, more life, left her body.

She turned to go, not caring that she'd expose her back to the enemy. She had to leave now, while she still could. As soon as she shifted her weight to start the turn, her legs buckled. With effort of will, she lowered herself to the floor, struggling to stay in control but still falling the last few feet to the pavement. Lying on her side was better, and she took a deep breath.

She blinked and cleared her vision. She was cheered because she now had a view of Watts' shoes. He had built-up heels to make him appear taller. His weakness, and now she knew it. Next to his heel was the green metal post that secured the gate, sunk into concrete. She could also see the first bush in the hedge. She was happy with this vision. Her head swam and she felt sick, still with the constant background pain in her side. Why was she happy that she could see the gatepost? Her head cleared for a moment, and she realised why.

With infinite slowness, battling the waves of tiredness that threatened to overwhelm her, she reached for her cuffs where they had dropped. Her fingers touched them. The leather and metal were reassuring in her hands. She dragged them closer, then closed her fist around them. So many times, in training, she had snapped them open and secured them one handed. Now, she had to rely on that muscle memory. This time it was vitally important.

With a deep breath, she reached out. Snap, one link around his ankle. Snap, the other cuff around the gatepost. She placed her hand flat on the ground and put in the biggest effort she'd ever called on her body to give.

Like a dying fish, she flopped over, just as Gregory Watts lashed out with a foot but couldn't reach her.

'You cunt! You fucking cunt! Do you have any fucking idea who I am? Unlock me right fucking now!' He was literally screaming at her, spittle flying from his mouth. 'Ha! No, you can't, can you? Because I fucking killed you! That'll show you! You can't fuck with me! I'll just watch you die, in your own blood, like a fucking dog in the street!'

Emma watched the clouds float above her. She let her head flop to one side, so she wouldn't die looking at Gregory Watts. A small crowd had gathered on the other side of the street to watch the spectacle.

A thin child, maybe eleven or twelve, right on the cusp of adolescence tugged at her mother's sleeve, pointed to something on the floor. In complete clarity, Emma saw the emotions pass over the mother's face. She looked at Gregory Watts with disgust, finally understanding what he was really like. Anger and disappointment also chased across her face. Then the woman's eyes showed deep pity and empathy when they dropped to look at Emma lying on the floor.

Emma looked straight at the unknown mother. Mouthed, 'Help me, please,' the words were little more than a croak. She had no idea if the other woman had heard her.

The mother leant down and whispered something to her daughter. The girl skipped across the tarmac and bent to retrieve something. Then she approached Emma, carefully, as she would a wounded animal.

She laid her mobile next to her head. On speakerphone, a tinny voice drifted to her. 'Emergency, which service do you require?'

'Ambulance and police. Officer Angel, number ten forty-nine, injured. Wingfield Road, Seaview, Bradwick.'

Emma breathed out. She had done it. All the energy she'd expended was worth it. She could feel the cold and the dark encroaching. But that didn't matter because she had climbed her mountain. Gregory Watts was immobilised and she was out of his reach. Help was on its way and now she could rest. She closed her eyes and struggled for another breath. Maybe a nap would be all right. Just until help arrived. She drifted off as she waited for whatever end to her pain would come.