Against the Clock John Carson (thriller books to read TXT) 📖

She looked at him for a moment. ‘Give me the gun.’

He sniffed and looked at her. ‘What?’

‘Give me the gun.’

He handed it over. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to take the girls. Start a new life.’

‘No, please! Let me have Ashley. She’s seventeen.’

Agnes sucked in a breath and pulled the trigger, blowing a hole in her husband’s chest. She swung the gun round as Sparky went into a rage.

‘Keep back. I have more ammo. I will kill you all.’ She circled round them and headed for another doorway, then stopped at the threshold. ‘Get out of here, Marshall. Run. You know the way; they don’t!’ She stepped through and slammed the door shut.

Mann turned to the other door, about to do the same and lock them in.

Muckle slipped Sparky’s lead off. ‘Radge!’ he shouted.

The dog flew at Mann, grabbing his arm. He fell as Muckle and Vern rushed forward, but Mann managed to kick the door shut. There was no handle on the inside.

‘Sparky!’ Muckle shouted, utter panic gripping him now.

‘Open doors, does he?’ Mann shouted from outside the door, then they heard a scream.

Then the door opened.

Harry McNeil was standing there.

As was Mann’s wife, dressed in her white gown. She was holding a large knife, blood dripping from it. Blood was pouring from Mann’s mouth.

‘Sparky! Leave!’ Muckle shouted, and the dog sensed there was no more threat and let Mann go.

His wife dropped the knife and looked at Harry, before turning and running back to where the flames were licking round the corner and the smoke was getting thicker.

Muckle rubbed Sparky and clipped his lead back on.

‘We need to get the hell out of here,’ Harry said as Vern untied Shug.

‘The exit’s blocked by the fire!’ Muckle shouted.

‘That one is. The other one’s not. The one Jimmy and Stewart took. And Agnes Morton.’

They started running.

Forty-Two

There was something different about Ashley. What had they been doing down there? Agnes Morton thought as she slowly walked into her kitchen. Her breaths were still coming fast, but it was under control. Ashley was standing at the sink.

It’s time for you to go, Agnes thought, putting the shotgun down. I wish things could have ended better. She had a short piece of rope in her hand. She knew she could never start over again with the girls. They would hunt them down. It would be a massive manhunt. Better they all go together.

She stepped forward, lifting the rope, and Lillian O’Shea turned round, putting up a hand, and grabbed the rope.

‘Ashley’s safe. They all are,’ she said as Robbie Evans grabbed Agnes from behind and threw her on the floor.

Jimmy Dunbar and Calvin Stewart burst in, followed by what seemed like hundreds of uniforms.

‘We saw her running along in front of us,’ said Dunbar. ‘Harry diverted. We followed her up through that secret door in the garage.’

‘Did you see Vern?’ Evans asked, a worried look on his face.

‘No, son. Smoke was starting to pour out and we can see the house is on fire now.’

‘Jesus.’ Evans pulled his phone out and dialled Vern’s number. ‘Oh God, I was worried.’ He looked at Dunbar. ‘They’re all out.’

‘Thank Christ for that,’ Dunbar said. He went outside to wait for them. It was starting to rain when they got there, five minutes later.

‘Fire brigade’s on their way. The airport lot too,’ Harry said. ‘We got well away in case something goes up.’

‘Agnes Morton is being taken away now. That was nice timing, seeing her running out of there. She led us right here. Thank Christ we had those blueprints or else we would have got lost coming from Mann’s house.’

‘You’re not out of breath, are you, Jimmy?’ Vern said.

‘Don’t you start. I’ll hear enough of it from Robbie.’

Evans came out and Sparky wanted attention first. Evans petted him before giving Vern a hug.

‘Where’s my hug?’ Stewart said, coming out. Evans let Vern go and turned to the boss. ‘Touch me and I’ll rip your fucking bollocks off.’ He sidestepped Evans, who just shrugged, and Stewart hugged Vern. ‘Good job.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Now we just have to come up with a report for the procurator fiscal,’ Harry said. ‘But we should go and interview Agnes Morton first.’

Harry stood next to one of the multiple police vehicles strewn across the road, their blue lights flashing. He took his phone out and dialled a number.

‘Hi. I figured you’d still be up. I just wanted to tell you I love you.’

‘I love you too, Harry McNeil. Did you complete the job?’ Alex asked.

‘We did. It went almost according to plan. But we have to get Agnes Morton booked in and interviewed. I’ll be a while yet.’

‘I’ll be here.’

Forty-Three

There was no arrogance about her, like Harry had thought there would be. Big, tough Agnes Morton, child killer. Now, sitting across from him and Jimmy Dunbar, she just seemed like a shrivelled-up little woman.

She knew she was being recorded, but none of it mattered anymore.

‘Everything was ticking along nicely,’ she said. She was wrapped in a blanket because she felt cold inside. Her hands were wrapped round a hot cup of tea. ‘We were one big happy family. Until the day Marshall decided that he needed Yvonne to drive the kids to the beach. She hadn’t been feeling well, like a cold was coming on, and she’d taken cold medicine that made her drowsy. But Marshall had his eyes on a seventeen year old he’d met. He told Mike that later. So Yvonne drove and fell asleep at the wheel. She lost control, the car burst into flames and she had half her face burnt. The kids died.’

‘They were twelve, ten and eight years old at the time?’ Dunbar asked.

‘Yes. After she got out of hospital, Yvonne couldn’t face the world. And they lived in that little cottage, so it wasn’t as if she had neighbours next door to help. She didn’t go out at all. Ever. She wanted to die. Then