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Chapters (70)
  1. Cover
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  3. Map of Rutland
  4. Map of Oakham
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
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  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. On Borrowed Time
  69. Acknowledgments
  70. Adam Croft

She shouldn’t have thrown herself at him. She should have kept him calm, kept him quiet, kept him talking until backup arrived. There were always plenty of things she should have done but didn’t. It was the story of her life.

Now the challenge was to keep him at bay, fend him off and restrain him until the firearms officers turned up. She had a feeling there’d be a whole new battle then, but that wouldn’t be her responsibility. Besides which, that was easier said than done.

Smallwood charged at her, far too quickly for her to move out of the way, and she felt her back crush against the edge of the worktop again, sending bolts of pain down through her legs. She tried to stumble forward to throw him off balance, but her legs didn’t have the strength. They’d gone dead.

She fell to her knees and grasped at Smallwood, trying to rugby tackle him to the ground, but he’d already shifted his weight on top of her. As he turned round to push her face-down on the floor, she slammed her right elbow backwards, catching him square in the chest.

It gave her a couple of seconds of breathing space, but it wasn’t enough. In that instant, she remembered the rifle. She reached up to grab it, but saw Smallwood’s hand reach it first, before it disappeared out of sight.

His knee and lower leg came down on her back, pinning her face-first on the ground as she felt the cold barrel of the rifle press against the back of her head.

‘It wasn’t meant to end like this. I promise,’ Smallwood said, before pulling the trigger.

59

The click was only gentle, but Caroline reacted as if a bomb had gone off. A moment or two later, though, she realised she could still hear the sound of her own breathing.

A second click.

Before her brain could come to the conclusion that the gun had failed to fire, she felt a sudden searing pain as Smallwood slammed the butt of the rifle into the back of her head, leaving her wailing and writhing in agony.

The instinct to try and get to her feet hadn’t even reached her as Smallwood wrapped his arm around her neck and pulled backwards, tensing his muscles as his arm began to crush her windpipe.

A sudden moment of clarity came to her. This was how it ended. This was how it had ended for Roger and Arthur Clifton, and it was how it would end for her too. The blow to the back of the head, then strangulation.

In that moment, all she could think of was Mark and the boys, sitting around his mum’s dinner table, laughing and joking, oblivious to the fact she was about to become Howard Smallwood’s latest — final — victim.