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  ‘Can you confirm that’s her, Constable, is that Maria Garrett?’

  Reid narrowed his eyes, his voice distant and disbelieving, ‘that’s her... Maria. She’s alive.’ He was moving forward, advancing towards the cordon tape. ‘Maria, Maria.’

  ‘Somebody grab him now before he gets her killed,’ Kenwood instructed.

  Two officers swamped Reid, pulling him back despite his protests.

  ‘Get him out of here.’

  Kenwood’s earpiece crackled into life, ‘Trojan 3 to Trojan 1: No clear shot, repeat, no clear shot.’

  ‘Hold position—do not engage unless there is a direct threat to life.’

  ‘Affirmative, Trojan 3, holding position.’

  Kenwood spoke again. ‘Stop where you are, kneel on the floor with your hands on your head.’

  Maria kept moving forward.

  ‘Stop now. I repeat stop where you are, now.’

  Maria ignored the request. Her pace slowed, with the end in sight, she kept heading towards the cordon tape. She wasn’t giving up now.

  ‘Trojan 2 to Trojan 1 No clear shot—target hidden.’

  ‘Affirmative, hold your position, repeat, hold your position.’

  There was no more than ten or twelve paces separating them, close enough for Maria to see their faces, her heartbeat quickened. Almost there. She began a tentative step forward, Garrett groaned as white-hot pain seared through his body. The agony sounding like a battle cry, audible over the still night air. Maria turned to him, stumbling as her ankle gave out. Garrett made a grab for her wrist as she fell forward, suspended, momentarily exposing his torso.

  Three shots pierced the night sky.

  Chapter 35

  It was a little over a week since the siege, the first time Maria had been allowed to return to the scene.

  The police officer opened the car door for her and escorted Maria through the crime scene tape past the white forensic tent, set up to conceal the spot where Garrett’s body had laid cold against the asphalt.

  She’d heard through the police liaison officer that Garrett’s remains had been cremated the day before—a low key event, just a few close friends and acquaintances paying their last respects.

  The press had gatecrashed the ceremony trying to get the inside track on Garrett’s private life, offering six-figure sums of money to secure an exclusive. The tabloids hungry like vultures for a scoop fitting of a Sunday double-page spread.

  Today marked the beginning of the rest of her life, a new epoch. She was packing up, saying goodbye to the past and moving on.

  The investigation was ongoing; the police still had questions about Garrett’s involvement with Cullen, a well-known figure in the criminal fraternity. As it turned out, the two youths picked up at the scene were little more than addicts. Scumbag skag-heads that worked for Cullen on an ad-hoc basis in return for a cheap fix. Both were now on remand in separate local prisons awaiting trial.

  Maria’s counsellor had said that a holiday would be the best option to put things into perspective. She wasn’t after all a suspect, and had cooperated fully with the inquiry, so she was free to come and go as she pleased.

  Soon the insurance money would come through, they were still married, and Garrett’s life insurance policy was worth just a little over two hundred grand, as the legal next of kin she was legally entitled to the lot.

  Maria had to play the long game—to be patient and not arouse suspicion. She was a widow, but that didn’t mean it would always be that way. In her head, she’d mapped it all out, leaving behind the grey, drab skies of England for a place in the sun. Thoughts of the Caribbean and walking barefoot along the beach at sunset, sipping cocktails in a beach hut bar, served by a handsome stranger, appealed to her sense of adventure.

  She reminded herself that she wasn’t home and dry, not yet. For now, she needed to keep Reid on side, he was still love-struck, phoning and texting her on a daily basis. She’d played the traumatised victim card, at first it had worked—initially he’d backed off but now he was becoming ever more persistent.

  Reid had served his purpose, she’d tried to let him down nice and gentle, but he wasn’t getting the message, perhaps a more direct approach was needed. A call to his superior officer might just do the trick, enough to warn him off.

  If that didn’t work and he became a bigger problem, she’d make trouble for him. It wasn’t in either of their interests for it to come to light that they’d been having an affair, or that in his head at least they were going to set up home together. Those kinds of allegations could end his career.

  Chapter 36

  Helen observed from the balcony of her rented villa in St Lucia. Maria was in place, drink in hand—entertaining for the third night in succession. She noted that this one was older than the others, a heart attack victim waiting to happen, maybe that was her plan.

  Helen pushed the thoughts aside. She had to talk to her, one way or another she had to know the truth—to get to the root of it. Perhaps it was her journalistic natural instinct for a story, but something was amiss. Talking to the British Police had proven to be a fruitless exercise, and she didn’t hold much hope for the local constabulary’s efforts either.

  She’d known Garrett for most of her life, so she owed him this much at least. In truth, she’d never really taken to Maria, she’d always tried to drive a wedge between them. Then there was her job, spending nine or ten months of the year covering foreign assignments made staying in touch near impossible.

  At first, Maria seemed to tolerate their friendship, but her jealousy soon became evident as she schemed to destroy their bond little by little. What Maria had failed to grasp was that long before she was on the scene, Garrett and Helen had secrets only the two of them would ever be privy too, and now that he was dead she’d take those secrets to the grave.

  Helen owed Garrett more than she could ever repay. That night in the pub would always haunt her, but Garrett had promised her he’d find those responsible and make them pay, and he was true to his word. Where the police failed her, Garrett had not.

  It was part of the reason she’d turned to journalism, finding strength and focusing on stories of women around the world, raising awareness of violence towards women in all cultures. For that alone, she’d make Maria tell her the truth, she might not be able to prove it in a court of law, but at least she’d know for herself. She couldn’t fathom how a man like Garrett could be guilty of domestic violence. That wasn’t the man she knew and loved.

  Using the cover story that Maria was an old college friend she wanted to surprise for her birthday, Helen had bribed the night staff with a hundred dollar U.S. bill, enough to convince them she should be allowed to deliver the room service champagne to Room 44.

  Helen had made her way up the stairs to the fourth floor. Arriving at the door, she knocked and waited, sweat dripping from her forehead.

  True to form, Maria had ordered a fresh bucket just after 11:30pm, right after her latest conquest had disappeared into the night, scrabbling his way along the hillside back to his unsuspecting wife.

  It seemed Maria was adept at playing the merry widow, developing a penchant for rich, expat middle-aged men, of which there seemed to be an abundance on the island.

  Maria’s inebriated tone instructed Helen to enter. She obliged, pushing down on the handle, the cool breeze blowing in from the balcony.

  ‘Just set it down on the table and pour me a glass would you? There’s a ten dollar tip on the side for you on the way out.’

  Helen stood watching as Maria swayed against the cool, tropical breeze, looking out in the direction of the bay. The clouds had masked most of the half moon, the local weather reporting that a storm was making its way inland, due to hit some time in the next couple of hours.

  Helen took the bottle from the ice bucket, and advanced through the chiffon veil to the balcony.

  ‘I think maybe for one night you’ve had enough—don’t you?’

  Recognising an English a
ccent, Maria whipped her head round, but still couldn’t comprehend how in gods name Helen Travis was standing in her hotel room. ‘How the fu...?’

  ‘Time for a chat, Maria—wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘Get out—now. I’ve nothing to say to you. You chase me all the way here looking for a story, is that what this is about, you wanting a bloody scoop?’

  ‘No story, Maria, just the truth, you and me. One on one. No voice recorder, not even a pen and notepad. I just need to hear it from your lips.’

  ‘What, you want to hear how your beloved Garrett beat me, tried to kill me?’

  ‘Why don’t you start with your policeman friend, PC Reid. He’s quite the talker, especially after a couple of beers.’

  Maria’s eyes narrowed at hearing his name.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry; he didn’t mention you by name. Nothing that could be used in a court of law, but enough for me to get the bare bones. Like how you’d both met, the fact that you were in a loveless marriage with an alcoholic who liked to slap you about. You certainly fed him a line didn’t you, Maria. Dressed it up. Had him eating right out of the palm of your hand.’

  ‘I’m calling security.’

  ‘Be my guest, and while you’re at it, get the call patched through to Inspector Lowry, I’m sure he’d love to hear your version, I mean the real story.’

  ‘What’s this really about? Money—is that what you want, think you’re entitled, that you were the real true love of his miserable life?’

  ‘I’m not here for money, just the truth.’

  ‘The truth, hmm—I don’t think you can handle the truth, Helen.’

  ‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?’

  ‘You think you’ve got it all worked out don’t you? Look at you—all smug and self-righteous. A right little Miss Marple. Well, I’ll tell you this, Helen Travis, Miss Big Shot award-winning journalist, you know nothing.’

  ‘I know you wanted him dead. That you couldn’t wait any longer, and that you already knew about his illness. Your golden ticket really, wasn’t it? Bide your time, wait for the insurance money to come through. And just in case, you took up with the dashing PC Reid, a little extra insurance if plan A failed to materialise.

  Maria drained the remains of her glass. ‘He never wanted to be with me you stupid cow, he wanted you. Do you know what that’s like to live with day in day out? Knowing that your husband secretly desires his childhood crush. He never wanted to have kids—not with me anyway, but you already knew that, didn’t you? He confided in you, Helen. You were always bloody well there, in the background, someone for him to run to in his time of need.’

  ‘Maria, listen to me, Garrett not wanting a family wasn’t anything to do with me, he was scared, he didn’t want to turn into his own father. So if you’re looking for a scapegoat, blame Stan Garrett.’

  Maria teetered as a gust of wind whipped up, causing her to push back against the railing. ‘Yeah, that’s what he told me too, and I went along with it. Even believed him, for a little while at least. Then he blurts it out one night, pissed as usual, only time he ever spoke the truth. Guess what he said.’

  Helen looked on in silence.

  ‘No, I’ll tell you shall I? He said, she’s only ever been the one for me.’

  Helen stood silent, absorbing the information.

  ‘I’ve carried that one around in my head for the last two years, finally got the truth out of him.’

  ‘We we’re only ever friends—nothing more.’

  ‘Not in his head, turns out he had a thing for you, love, and the only thing that stopped him was knowing you were damaged goods after those two blokes had their way with you all those years ago.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Helen, did you think it was yours and his little secret pact. Well if it makes you feel better, I found it in a letter he’d written to himself expressing his undying love for you, but realising that you two could never get it on—due to your, what shall we call it...? Issues.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  Maria smiled through her drunken stupor. ‘Am I? Well, I guess you’ll never know for sure. Not now he’s gone—good riddance to bad rubbish as my mother would say.’

  Helen lunged, smashing the Chateau Margaux in to the side of Maria’s face, opening up a three-inch gash running across her forehead.

  Maria held a hand to her ruined face. ‘You cut me, you lousy bitch.’ She launched herself at Helen, the attack vicious but clumsy. Being sober, Helen fended off the razor like talons with relative ease, and shoved her back against the wooden balcony railing for a second time. ‘You will tell me the truth, as God is my witness,’ she said, grabbing Maria by the hair. ‘Tell me, now,’ she screamed.

  Helen didn’t hear the creak of the old colonial wood as it finally gave way, all she could do was watch in horror as Maria tumbled backwards to the rocks below.

  She took a moment to catch her breath, looking down at Maria’s smashed and mangled body lying broken amongst the jagged outcrop. There was nothing more she could do. Garrett had taken their secret to the grave and she would do the same, her debt to him paid in full.

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  More by Mark J Newman

  Crime Syndicate series:

  Book 1: Violence In The Blood

  Book 2: In For The Kill

  Book 3: Walk Amongst The Dead

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