“Bryan?”
“She made me give my set back.”
“Do you still have your key, Sinead?”
“Of course. I’ve got all her things boxed up,” she said, a touch indignantly.
“I’m going to have to look at whatever you have—I hope you understand,” Helen said.
Sinead looked at Helen for a moment—it was clear that handing over the treasured keepsakes of her daughter would be hard—then she rose and headed upstairs with McAndrew, sense finally prevailing.
“Were there any burglaries? Break-ins?” Helen continued, turning back to Bryan.
Bryan shook his head.
“Did she mention anyone hanging around? Did she ever have to change the locks? Or express any fears for her security?”
“No, nothing like that,” Bryan replied. “She was okay.”
“I’m going to need you to write down the names of everyone she was in touch with,” Helen continued as Sinead rejoined them. “We’ll need to check them all out, see if anyone had reason to want to harm Roisin.”
The pair promised to help, for once singing from the same hymn sheet. Helen rose, thanking them for their time, and headed for the door. She paused in the hallway to look at the boxes of possessions—three of them—that now encapsulated Roisin’s short life. Helen was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness—for her, for her son—and was pleased to make her excuses and leave. As she walked away, she turned to look once more at the bereaved family through the living room window. Bryan was getting ready to leave, Sinead had her head in her hands and beyond them playing happily on the sofa was Kenton, utterly oblivious to it all.
87
There she was—slumbering as usual. Snapping the wicket hatch shut, he drew the bolts and unlocked the door. He was still scrupulous about security, despite the thawing in their relations, and never hung around. He had paid the price for carelessness before.
“Summer?”
Shaking his head, he shut the door, locking it quietly behind him. Summer had never been a morning person. Sometimes it irritated him; other times he found it entertaining. Today he was in an indulgent mood.
“Time to get up. We haven’t got much time, but I can get you something nice for breakfast if you like. I can do pancakes...”
Pancakes had always been her favorite. Why shouldn’t he spoil her now and again?
“Summer?”
He hurried over to her. He had reached her bedside and now leaned over her.
“Talk to me, Summer. Are you unwell?”
He pulled back the sheet—but discovered only a rolled-up blanket underneath. Before he could process this, he heard footsteps coming up fast behind. He started to turn—but too late. The hard metal bit into the back of his head and he collapsed heavily to the floor.
He tried to raise himself but was reeling with shock. Ruby didn’t hesitate, bringing the long metal strut crashing down on his head again. It was heavy and normally she would have struggled to lift it, but fired by adrenaline she wheeled it freely now, bringing it down on the back of his head for a third time. This time he hit the floor and didn’t get up.
Dropping her weapon, Ruby fell to her knees, thrusting her hand into his trouser pocket. A creature of habit, he always kept the keys in his right trouser pocket. But he had fallen forward and they were trapped underneath his body. Ruby was suddenly panicking. Why hadn’t she thought of this? Could she be frustrated by something so stupidly obvious?
He groaned, lifting his hand to the back of his head. Summoning her strength, Ruby put her shoulder under his thigh, levering his body off the floor. He was heavy—heavier than she’d been expecting, given his slight frame—and for a moment the pair hung in suspension, wobbling ridiculously to and fro. Then with a savage grunt, she rolled him over. Thrusting her hand into his pocket, she found the keys—tearing them from him.
Now she was heading for the door. Her hand shook as she tried to slip the key into the lock. Her captor groaned once more. Closing her eyes, Ruby willed her hand to be still. This time the key found itsgroove and slid inside. She turned it hard to the left. But it wouldn’t move. In desperation, Ruby tried the other way, twisting it as hard as she could. But still it refused to budge. Looking down at the key ring, Ruby suddenly realized that she had chosen the wrong key.
She tugged at the offending key—but it was jammed in the lock now. Her captor was starting to move—Ruby could hear him behind her, slowly pulling himself up off the floor. Ruby felt paralyzed—sheer terror robbing her of the ability to move. He was cursing and spitting, fury replacing his disorientation and shock. If she hesitated any longer...
Ruby pulled at the key with all her might and suddenly it came loose, sending her stumbling backward toward her captor. She felt his hand grasp her leg, his fingers scrabbling for a proper hold on her. Kicking him roughly away, she hared back to the door.
Selecting the second key, she slipped it into the lock. She twisted it hard, but the lock was old and stiff, resisting her endeavors stubbornly. Using both hands now, screaming in desperation, she forced the key counterclockwise and... finally the lock turned. Ruby hauled the door open.
Her first instinct was to bolt, but she caught herself, turning back to remove the key from the lock. If she could lock him in, then she would be safe. She tugged the keys out quickly, but as she did so, they spilled from her grasp, landing only a few inches from her captor. She took a couple of steps toward them, then stopped dead. He was already on his hands and knees, scrambling toward her. Snatching up the keys greedily, she turned and ran for her life.
