Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(108)

Tristan’s knuckles were white as he gripped the door in the back of the police squad car. The sirens and lights were blaring. The river Thames flew by on their right-hand side, the dark water reflecting the lights from the cranes above. They had been joined by four other squad cars from the Met Police and an ambulance, who followed close behind. Varia Campbell sat in the passenger seat with John Mercy driving. Tristan had never been to London before, and this mad dash to the warehouse in Nine Elms Lane was the weirdest, most terrifying introduction.

“The turning is on the next right,” said Varia, shouting above the sound of the sirens.

Two things had alerted them to the location where they thought Kate and Jake had been taken. The cash machine outside the surf shop had caught an image of a tall red-haired man arriving in a white van whose number plates had been reported stolen. Varia had also received a message from Alan Hexham about Keir Castle-Meads being incorrectly named.

The white van had been caught on a CCTV camera heading into London. The rest had been Tristan. He found the open book Kate had dropped on the floor in her living room, containing the photo of the Castle-Meads family. Once they’d identified Joseph Castle-Meads, reports had come in that Peter had been broken out of Great Barwell, and it had all fallen into place. Tristan had asked Varia to check out the London locations of each murder committed by Peter Conway, and they discovered the location of the first murder was now occupied by a warehouse owned by CM Logistics.

They turned off Nine Elms Lane with a screech of tires and into the empty car park of a huge warehouse.

As they pulled up to the loading bay, a large door started to roll back, and a woman came running out, barefoot and covered in blood, carrying a teenage boy with his arms and legs tied.

“That’s Kate and Jake!” shouted Tristan as the squad car came to a stop flanked by the other cars and the ambulances. Tristan didn’t wait. He jumped out of the car and ran toward them.

“Oh my God, where are you injured?” he shouted.

“It’s not me. I’m fine,” said Kate, wiping the blood from her face. She was crying, and so was Jake as he clung to her robe. The paramedics from one of the ambulances rushed over to Kate, Tristan, and Jake.

“Peter Conway and Joseph Castle-Meads,” said Kate breathlessly. “They’re inside. Peter is injured . . . I bit him.”

Tristan ran with the paramedics and police officers into the warehouse. He saw the crazy tableau of the bedroom set, with a camera on a tripod.

Beside the bed, Peter Conway lay on the concrete, holding his hand to his neck, which was pouring blood. In his free hand he had a knife. On the floor beside him was Joseph, barely conscious and tangled up in Taser wires.

“You come any closer and I’ll kill him. I’ll slit him open!” Peter cried, holding the knife at Joseph’s throat.

“Throw the knife away from your body, or we shoot you,” came a voice through a megaphone. Four officers from the armed response team had entered behind Tristan; they wore protective gear and helmets and held guns. Varia appeared with DI Mercy, and they pulled Tristan away and back to the doorway.

“I’ll kill him! I’ll fucking end him!” Peter cried. He pressed the blade against Joseph’s throat. “And I’ll bleed to death!”

The line of armed officers moved closer and circled Peter and Joseph, their guns trained on him. The blood was now slick down Peter’s right side, pouring through the fingers of his right hand, still clamped to his neck. The knife began to shake in his left hand. “I’m, I’m bleeding to death!” he said, his voice faltering.

“Drop the knife, or we’ll shoot you,” came the voice from the megaphone again.

Peter looked up at the armed response team and the police cars and ambulances waiting outside the warehouse.

“Fuck it, fuck you all,” he said. He pulled the knife away from Joseph’s face and threw it away from him. It landed on the concrete floor with a clatter.

Joseph started to come round and attempted to get up but slipped in the growing pool of blood and landed on his backside with a strangled cry.

Two of the armed officers broke away from the circle and grabbed him.

“I need help! I’m bleeding!” cried Peter, collapsing back onto the floor. The third armed officer quickly checked Peter for weapons and picked up the knife.

When they were satisfied, they called in the paramedics, who started to work on Peter, applying a pressure bandage to his neck.

Varia and DI Mercy went over to Joseph, who was now conscious.

“Joseph Castle-Meads, I’m arresting you for the murders of Emma Newman, Kaisha Smith, Layla Gerrard, and Abigail Clarke, and PC Rob Morton . . .”

“Turn the camera off!” Joseph screamed, wild-eyed, as DI Mercy handcuffed his hands behind his back.

“I’m also arresting you for the abduction of Kate Marshall and Jake Marshall, and for aiding the escape of a known criminal. You don’t have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence,” finished Varia.

“Turn the camera off.” Joseph was now crying. “This wasn’t what was meant to happen!”

He was dragged away by DI Mercy and two uniformed officers. Peter had now gone still and quiet, just staring bleakly ahead. The paramedics working on him had a large pressure bandage over his neck and an IV line in his blood-caked arm, and they were loading him onto a stretcher.