Page 95 of The Unforgiven

Back to the door, I pushed it open, taking out my phone and using it as a torch. At the back of the garage, on a blanket, lay the woman I’d spoken to that morning. There were no scrubs now, but skinny jeans and a coat, her head tipped at an uncomfortable angle and her eyes closed. I remembered how Evelyn had been drugged, probably tied up, and now I knew how, because Sophie – unless she was already dead – was the same.

I scuttled to the side of the garage, the side that wasn’t lit by the open door, keeping in the shadows, walking sideways so I could see anyone who came in, until I’d got to Sophie. I found a neat pile, carefully stacked - tarpaulin, a suitcase, the sliver blade of a single-edged, with a serrated upper third designed to tear rather than slice. I knew whose DNA we would find on it; knew it would match Charlie Mason’s somehow too.

A beat against my fingers when I pressed them against Sophie’s neck told me she was alive. I crouched down, turning off the torch on my phone and going into my favourites to call Vinny.

“I’ve found - ” I stopped, dropping the phone, a silhouette at the door blocking the light.

Tall, slim, hair tied back, I recognised her outline. Her face was in darkness, the light gone, going further when she closed the door.

We both moved to where the knife was at the same time, the same thought occurring to us both. I was quicker, but she was more familiar with the space, our bodies clashing in the dark, the knife the prey before it became me.

I didn’t overthink. I didn’t consider Sophie, unconscious in the corner, or the fact that my phone was still – hopefully – connected to Vinny’s. I didn’t think about the time when I’d been overpowered, eliciting a freeze response, I forgot to get lost in my head.

I punched, kicked, kneed, grasped, not relying on the light to see where Justine was, but feeling for her, feeling the air change, the air charged.

She would kill me to get out of here.

My fist met her jaw and I knew she’d stumbled back. I didn’t wait for her to respond, moving towards her, knowing what the distance was between us, knowing she had a longer reach than me, knowing I had trained for this.

I needed to floor her, that was the only goal right now, that and to keep her away from the knife.

“Daniel said you were a fighter. He said you had issues.” She caught the side of my head as I dodged. Her back was now against the wall, the knife behind me, a glittering prize.

As soon as she stepped away, she was going to try to get to it, I was certain. If she had the weapon, despite my years of training, she would have the advantage. That knife was her only way out now.

I thought of the story Sophie had told me, Kelly-Anne being locked up in cellars by those girls. Being trapped or locked in would be her worst fear. Prison wasn’t an option.

She had everything to lose here.

I backed away, edging towards the knife, waiting for her to come at me, my eyes not leaving the spot where she was, even though it was almost impossible to see her in the darkness.

She would want to finish what she’d started. She’d want to kill Sophie and then me.

I said nothing, desperate to ask her questions, focusing only on her and which way she’d move.

More stillness. More waiting. And then –

She flew at me, charging, her body in motion. I dipped my head and ran at her, conscious she could take a sidestep towards the knife, which she did. That gave me momentum, barging into her side, a rugby tackle, and we fell to the floor, wrestling on the ground, her trying to leave my grasp to get the knife.

She was taller than me, but thinner, probably still struggling with her relationship with food. I was strong and used to being hit, kicked, bit – I felt her teeth sink into my arm, so I pushed her head backwards, grimacing with the pain, and then she was on her back and I had control, her arm stretching out, reaching for the knife that was still just out of reach but only by centimetres, the glint of light that spilled in from the slightly open door illuminating it like some holy grail.

I battled with her arms, my shins over her thighs, hands now on her elbows, pressing her down and hoping for the cavalry, never having wished to see Vinny as much as I did right now, or even a nearby patrol car.

She tried to sit up, forcing her head up in an effort to headbutt me, but I was heavier than her and trained in this. My heart rate steadied, still high on adrenalin, my sympathetic nervous system had calmed. I could be like this for another five or ten minutes, and I wouldn’t fatigue, but Justine had. She would rally soon, some energy would kick in, the need to survive, the need to get out of this, the desire to finish what she’d started.

I saved my words. I didn’t want to hear hers. We didn’t need a confession; we didn’t need her words. Everything would be in this space, this dark, damp space that was acrid with the stench of death and pain.

She spat at me, a glob of saliva hitting my shoulder. Her body tensed underneath mine, trying to work out a way to move me off her, but I had her pinned.

Silence, apart from our breathing and the faint sound of birdsong, wrapped around us, a shroud.

It was then I heard it, footsteps, the sound of running, cars on gravel, my name being called repeatedly. I didn’t shout back, knowing they’d find me, not wanting to release any of the tension I was applying on Justine, on Kelly-Anne. Then the door opened and the space was coated in light. I saw her face clearly for the first time, the shadows lifted away.

She was pretty, young, her eyes determined, her face full of hate.

“You should’ve gone back and killed him, you know.” She spat the words at me. “You shouldn’t have let him get away with it.”

I didn’t answer, Vinny was there with two other officers, ready with their cuffs and her rights, paramedics swarmed in, heading for Sophie, and I sunk back on my heels, my muscles slackening, the adrenaline exiting, leaving me hungover and shaky.