Page 67 of Worse Than Murder (DCI Matilda Darke Thriller #13)

I ain opens his eyes.

He looks around him and sees that he’s in the living room of his farmhouse. He hasn’t been unconscious for long. He tries to move, but he can’t. He’s sitting on a kitchen chair, his hands tied behind him.

I walk in front of him. ‘You’re awake.’

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he asks. His voice is muffled. He lost a few teeth when I hit him with the frying pan.

‘You’re resisting arrest. I’m making sure you’re nice and secure before Inspector Forsyth gets here.’

‘Like she’s going to do anything. She’ll want to protect her father.

And herself. I’m guessing he’s confided in her what I told him.

She’s never liked me. I’ve seen the way she looks at me.

Pure venom. When the police from Liverpool came round looking for Travis, I went over to see Lionel.

I sat in his living room, and I told him that Merseyside Police would never find Travis because I’d buried him somewhere isolated and deep.

Lionel didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. One: nobody would believe a man who’d stolen money from a dead man. And two: where was the evidence?’

I shake my head almost in disbelief. I’ve met some disturbed people in my time, but Iain Pemberton takes the biscuit.

‘Jesus, you’re sick, do you know that?’

‘If I’m sick, then it’s because my father, my brother, and Lynne made me sick.’

‘Of course. You’re blaming everyone else. I thought so. It’s never your fault, is it? There’s always someone else who’s to blame.’

‘Absolutely. Just like you’re to blame for the murder of your mother and your nephews.’

That hurt.

‘Just like you’re to blame for the shooting back in 2019 that killed so many of your colleagues. And you’re also to blame for what’s about to happen next because you’re so fucking shit at tying knots.’

Iain jumps to his feet and lunges for me again. He body slams me to the floor. With all his weight on top of me, I can’t move. He grabs a handful of my hair and cracks my head hard on the floorboards.

I knee him between the legs again. It’s all I’ve got.

He cries out and I manage to push him off me.

He rolls over and I jump on top of him. I sit on his chest and punch him hard in the face.

He’s laughing, grinning at me. I punch him harder and harder with everything I’ve got.

I can see the skin breaking on my knuckles as I hit his teeth and cheek bones.

It hurts, but I can’t stop. The rage, the anger, the hatred, the pain I feel for that fucker who killed my family needs to be released.

I’m about to throw another punch when he catches my fist. He pulls me towards him and head-butts me.

I can hear a ringing in my ears. I’m dazed.

My vision blurs. I stagger backwards and fall.

I can feel a kick to my stomach, and another.

I roll over. I try to protect my head, but the blows keep on coming.

I roll onto my front, my other side, onto my back.

I look up and I can see Iain, standing tall, looming over me.

He raises his foot. He’s going to stamp down hard onto my chest. I can see the underside of his boot coming towards me.

He’ll break my ribs. They’ll pierce my lungs. I’ll choke to death on my own blood.

No. That’s not happening. I’m not having this fucker kill me. But he’s stronger than me. I try to move back, but it’s no good. I’m wedged up against a wall. I can’t go any further. Then I see his foot race towards my face and everything goes black.

* * *

I open my eyes.

For a second I feel like I’ve been unconscious for days, but I look up and there’s Iain, staggering to his feet, heading for the kitchen. From there, he’ll escape through the back door and, if he gets to Lynne and Alison before the police turn up, who knows what’ll happen?

I’m in pain. Every part of my body hurts. I can taste blood. I can see blood. My shirt is covered in it. I bring my hands up to my face. They’re shaking. Adrenaline is charging through my body. I honestly don’t know what I’m feeling right now.

Except I can’t let him get away. I can’t allow him to leave this house.

I struggle to get to my feet. I use the wall to help me up. I’m smearing it with blood from my hands. I’ve no idea if it’s my blood or Iain’s, and I don’t care.

My head is pounding. My vision is blurred, and my legs want to give way with every step.

I’ve no idea what’s carrying me into the kitchen.

Determination, probably. I can feel myself crying.

I fall against the kitchen worktop. I close my eyes tightly shut and I can see my mum.

She’s lying in her bed at home. She’s dead.

I knew from the minute I entered her room that she was dead.

I hear Harriet screaming from the spare room.

Nathan and Joseph. They were so young. They had their whole lives ahead of them.

Celia and Jennifer. They were so young. They had their whole lives ahead of them.

I grab something.

I turn.

Iain is at the door.

‘Iain,’ I call out.

He stops and looks at me.

I’m struggling for breath. The pain mixed with the tears is making it hard for me to breathe. I walk towards him.

I want to be sick. I want to bend over and vomit. But I refuse to let him win.

‘You’re forgetting one thing about me.’

‘Really? What’s that?’

‘I’m a woman. And women never give in. Women always survive.’

With one push, I reach him. From behind my back, I bring out the knife I’d grabbed, and I plunge it into his stomach.

He falls back against the door and looks down in shock.

I pull it out.

He slaps his hand to the wound where the blood is escaping. He looks up at me.

I’m crying. And I can’t stop.

I fucking hate you.

I stab him again.

‘I fucking hate you,’ I scream.

And again.

‘I. Fucking. Hate. You.’

And again.