Every Second Counts

Chapter Thirty Four

IT'S ONE THING TO FOLLOW HIM to and from his dwelling. Stalking him with the hope of getting evidence as he goes about his business . It's quite another thing to take him down. I'm reckoning it's near impossible. And, if I do follow my plan and I succeed, I'm somehow going to have to work out how the hell I'm going to get the info out of him, before I hand him over to the cops. Or if I have the upper hand, do I make a deal—let him go if he tells me what I want to know? I don't know how I'm going to do any of it. Pull any of it off. I fall short in every aspect.

I need help.

A lot of help!

I ring Polly. She goes to answerphone. I don't say who I am. 'It's urgent. I've overheard Ted Lucca is going to murder his wife, tonight,' I rabble. I figure it's too involved to talk about the Man from Mississippi and his various aliases and that he's been the worst bent detective in the history of Scotland Yard. I prattle the Lucca's address and tell her , 'Get here now!' I flick a silent prayer to the universe, I guess it's really to my mother pleading that Polly gets here in time...either to save Kelley-Anne or preferably both of us.

Staring out into the darkened street, this whole situation has become so real now— we are actually facing each other, the executioner and me. I pray Polly and the back-up team arrives in time.

I scrunch down in the front seat with only the top part of my head visible. A faint glow appears in the front seat of the dark green sedan. He's lit a cigarette. He'll be working out his strategy. Going over his game plan. Making sure he hasn't left anything to chance. Well he has. Me! And I'm damned if I'm gonna let the motherfucker burn Kelley-Anne to a crisp Not so much as even one strand of her golden red hair, will get singed!

Reuben gets out of his car and ambles in the opposite direction. Christ, don't say I've got the wrong end of the stick? Is he going to wreck some other poor woman's life? But no. Reuben walks back to his car, opens the boot and gets out a canister which I guess contains an accelerant, he's not going to mess with the wiring or appliances. He closes the boot and carrying the canister he crosses the street. He flicks his cigarette butt on the pavement in front of him and starts to squash it with the sole of his boot while he checks the street. Left then right. Then his gaze rests on my car. On me. I catch my breath. I writhe in pain. It's as if his foot is on my chest, crushing me like his cigarette.

Stay the fuck focused!

Stay the fuck focused!

I hadn't realised I'd closed my eyes. But I had. And when I open them Reuben is slithering his way in the shadows to Kelley-Anne's house. I take a risk and while my head is somewhere by my belly button I extend my hands up, aim my cell phone in the general direction and click several photos of Reuben Houston steeling across the lawn in front of the Lucca's house.

I should have made Kelley-Anne listen.

I should have called The Hulk instead of Polly. Together we could have sorted this, maybe not what I have in mind, but The Hulk's way may have been the best solution. He will have several inventive ways of making a nasty piece of work like Reuben Houston talk his fucking head off. Why the hell didn't I call him?

But, I guess I know why... I still ying and yang about just who's side The Hulk is actually on. If it's not my side I could end up in my very own house fire!

I shudder when it hits me that even if Polly listens to her answer phone it will probably be over an hour before anyone gets to this suburb. Bloody hell! I should have told the police everything. But no, it could have lead them to discovering I was stalking Reuben Houston and then they would find out why. Then they may have opened the case on Patrick. They would have got me. So, what am I now thinking? That the life of the innocent Kelley-Anne is worth sacrificing to save my own sorry ass?