Page 25 of The Girl in the Woods

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘I got your text.’

Shit, she was sure she had deleted it. ‘Oh, I thought I’d deleted it.’

‘Clearly too late,’ she heard the smile in his voice and pictured him in her mind.

‘The chief told me,’ she said. There was silence for a few seconds.

‘He said you’re having a hard time.’

‘I’m not,’ she said defensively. ‘He had no right to tell you that.’

‘You were there for me, Beth.’

Don’t cry, she thought, don’t you dare fucking cry. ‘Anyway, he’s the chief,’ she said.

Before he could speak, she said quickly, ‘I have to dash. I’m out with my sister. It’s her birthday.’

‘I know. Wish Sandy a happy birthday from me. I’ll see you soon.’

‘Yeah,’ she said flippantly, not wanting him to hear the emotion in her voice and hung up.

Shit, she didn’t ask when he was coming. She managed to keep the tears under control until she reached the ladies’ loo, and then she let them flow freely.

‘Sod it,’ she muttered and wondered again, when did this become her life? There was a time when she was an ecstatically happy married woman whose thoughts were on a future family until the day her husband told her he loved someone else and that someone else was a man. Now, he would have the family she’d always dreamed of, but not with her. Some fucking anniversary this was.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

PRESENT DAY: MONDAY EVENING

If Needles believed no one had followed him to Jim’s garage, he’d been very much mistaken. Several people on the Ludbrook Grove estate were sick of Needles and his trail bike but were too frightened to report him. The Vigilante wasn’t afraid, and late Monday night, he took things into his own hands.

It took just a few minutes to break the lock on Joe Carter’s garage door. The Vigilante studied the bike admiringly. It was a beautiful piece of workmanship. He was not into bikes much, but he knew a good one when he saw it. He appreciated good things, not like those idiots, he thought angrily.

All they had to do was abide by the law and silence the exhaust, but did they care about others? No, they didn’t, and what were the police doing? Nothing, that’s what. Everyone had had enough, and someone had to do something, so why not him? It wasn’t right that young lads could terrorise decent, law-abiding citizens.

The law was too soft these days. Riffraff, that’s what they were, living in social housing, lazing around, and claiming benefits on everyone else’s hard-earned taxes. It was a bloody disgrace, and it had to stop. They had to be stopped. People who don’t abide by the law should be taught a lesson. The police need to be firm like they are in America. They wouldn’t put up with this crap there.

The bike was so beautiful, too. It seemed such a shame. All it needed was some care and a silencer, but no, they had to ride it through the village, risking lives and annoying nice, decent people. There were places for trail bike riding.

Well, it was too late, and it was their fault. He lifted the hammer he’d brought and began smashing it down onto the trail bike with as much force as possible.

Then, with each lift of the hammer, his rage grew stronger. Pain shot through his hand with each blow, but it was pleasurable. He was doing good. Bits of metal flew around the garage like silver confetti.

He ignored the pain when slivers of metal cut through his glove. He didn’t care. He felt exhilarated and powerful. He was putting everything to rights, and it felt good. The hiss from the punctured tyres was music to his ears.

Jim Carter, who the garage belonged to, had dozed off while watching a drama series on television and woke to a banging noise. He turned down the volume on the TV and strained his ears. It was coming from outside.

Fear gripped him, and he started to shake. They were trying to break in. Someone, probably the Nazis, was trying to get into his house.

He should phone someone, but who? He scrambled through the old sideboard drawer until he found his old address book. Written in bold letters on the front page, was, ‘In times of trouble, phone the station,’ followed by a phone number.

The station, he thought. Yes, the station should be called and warned. The station would know what to do.

‘Jim Carter here,’ he said when DC Luke Carpenter answered the phone.

‘Everything all right, Jim?’

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