The Perfect Crime? A Novel

By Lila L. Flood

Detective Kate Linville chooses to use her last weekend off before joining the North Yorkshire police to visit the spa that her Scotland Yard coworkers have gifted her as a farewell present.

When a girl appears, being pursued by a man brandishing a gun, Kate is sitting on the train headed to her destination. The bullet's course is changed by the detective's swift action, but the stranger runs away.

A mountain bike accident involving a teacher occurs a few days later as a result of a wire that was left in the road. After the young woman hits the ground, a shot can be heard.

The firearm used in both incidents may be identified by looking at the cartridges that were seized. Although the two women did not know one another and there is no obvious connection between them, the police are certain that the two instances are connected and may even be the work of the same individual. Or if?

Unaware that her life is in jeopardy, Kate Linville takes care of the investigation right away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jensen Cox
• Release date: Aug 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223685050

Book preview

The Perfect Crime? A Novel

Lila L. Flood

Published by Jensen Cox, 2023.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

THE PERFECT CRIME? A NOVEL

First edition. August 12, 2023.

Copyright © 2023 Lila L. Flood.

ISBN: 979-8223685050

Written by Lila L. Flood.

Also by Lila L. Flood

A Snowfall's Way

The Hearts King

Nora and Átila

El camino de una nevada

Une chute de neige

The Search for Love

This Life and All Others

Temporada do Padrasto

Shadow Game: Thriller & Mystery Novel

The Perfect Crime? A Novel

Jogo das Sombras: Um Romance

The Second Child: A Novel

Your affection for me is not what I desire

Table of Contents

West Bromwich,  Friday 3rd November 2006

Part One  Thirteen Years Later

Friday, July 19, 2019

Saturday, July 20

Monday, July 22

Tuesday, July 23

Wednesday, July 24

Friday, July 26

Monday, July 29

Tuesday, July 30

Wednesday, July 31

Thursday, August 1

Friday 2nd of August

Saturday, August 3

Sunday, August 4

Monday, August 5

I had to go in .

Tuesday, August 6

Friday, August 9

West Bromwich,

Friday 3rd November 2006

The agent who answered the emergency call at 5:02 p.m. had to make a great effort to understand what the voice on the phone was saying. It was a woman, and she was panting so hard that she could barely get a word out. Either he had run very fast, or he was in a state of extreme agitation; or both. Most likely the latter.

Calm down, the police said, calming her down. Breath deeply. Try to calm down, please.

The woman on the other end of the line was trying to catch her breath, but to no avail. He seemed to be at the limit of his strength.

He has...he has a girl...he has a girl with him, she finally blurted out.

-Who? And where are you calling from?

—West Bromwich. Shaw St. But the police have to go to Harvills Hawthorne. At the very end...in the industrial estate..." He took a deep breath.

Calm down, calm down, the agent soothed her again, although all the alarm lights had already come on inside her. It was evident that a girl was in danger. Still, there was no point in starting to pester her with a barrage of questions. She shouldn't upset her interlocutor, otherwise she would end up hanging up. Although at least he had already given her a vague description of the place.

There are some garages. Most empty. He is in one of them. He has a girl.

-How old is the girl?

—I don't know... three or four years...

And he's not your father?

-No. No, he has no children, he is still a child. But he is sick. He is disturbed. Dangerous. He must have taken the girl from somewhere. Please hurry up.

Yes, I'll send a patrol immediately, the agent replied. Looked up.

Another police officer who was also listening whispered:

"Half an hour ago we received a notice of a disappearance. A three-year-old girl has vanished from the front lawn of her parents' house. In West Bromwich.

The agent taking the call waved her hand and her partner nodded. He was going to immediately send the patrol that was closest to the place.

Do you know the name of the kidnapper?

—Ian Slad.

-And as it is called you?

Instead of giving her name, the woman gave a short, anguished laugh.

I can't tell you. Nobody should know. Or it will kill me.

"We will do everything we can to protect her.

-They can not.

You seem very young. How old are you?

-Does not matter.

Are you calling from a phone booth? "Some of those relics were still around. And the sound of a coin being dropped had just been clearly heard.

-Yeah.

Look, I can send someone over to talk to you and...

-No.

I think he's afraid, such a voice we could...

-Fear? she added now with a sob. Fear? I'm terrified. Perhaps he has seen me and recognized me.

"We can only protect her if we...

There was the sound of hanging the receiver on the cradle.

The call was over.

Part One ––––––––Thirteen Years Later

Friday, July 19, 2019

The tenant of one of the vacation apartments had notified the police.

"Shots are heard in the building. I think it's on the next floor. Please hurry!

Other residents reported to patrol officers that another shot was heard just after the phone call. A gentleman by the name of Jayden White had rented for two weeks the apartment where the shots had been fired, one that directly overlooked the beach in Scarborough's North Bay.

The officers evicted all vacationers from the building, vacated the shops and cafes on the ground floor of the complex, and cordoned off the promenade, as well as the beach area in front of the building in question. Since it was very hot that day and the holidays had also started, it was packed with bathers despite being eleven in the morning. They moved quickly to ensure everyone's safety, although a man armed and possibly ready for anything in the middle of a beachside resort was a real nightmare for officers. The criminal investigation department was informed as a precaution. No one knew how the case would evolve. No one wanted to take the blame if negligence was committed.

Chief Sheriff Caleb Hale arrived with his closest associate, Robert Stewart, who had been promoted to sheriff only two weeks before and had been rather arrogant ever since. Caleb thought that since that jump in his career, he had suddenly grown more arrogant, though others would have said he felt more self-assured. In any case, Caleb had the impression that there had been a change between them, slight and difficult to verbalize. In the next few days he would like to find a time to talk about it with Robert. But, without a doubt, that was not the most appropriate.

He slid his gaze up the front of the building. The complex consisted of two large buildings, the first semicircular. There were holiday apartments of the most diverse sizes and models, flats with one, two or three bedrooms, with views of the sea and other cheaper ones in the back. One balcony followed the other. From them they could see the sea and Scarborough Castle, which majestically dominated the neck of land that separated the city into the north bay and the south bay. Despite this, it was located right above a number of shops, cafes, a restaurant and an ice cream parlor. And about the undulating crowd of bathers. At least in summer. In winter everything was deserted. One of the policemen, present at the scene from the beginning, was next to Caleb and Robert and informed them of what had happened.

—According to the unanimous statements of the witnesses, the shots occurred in a house on the third floor. It is the one we see directly from here, over the Fish and Chips. He pointed up.

Caleb followed the extended index finger. An apartment like any other, a balcony like all the others. However, the blinds were down. Nothing moved. There was no one on the balcony. Caleb narrowed his eyes. Just a table and three chairs.

The man who rented the apartment is called Jay ­den White, the agent continued. He has traveled with his wife Yasmin and their two young daughters to spend two weeks here. The owner has not been able to specify the age of the girls. He calculates that about six and seven years.

Is this the first time they've come? Caleb asked.

—No, it's the fifth year in a row. Always in summer. The owner of the apartment says that there was a problem with Mr. White's credit card, but he did not ask for it in advance, because he knows him well and was confident that he would pay him at the end of the vacation.

Where do the Whites live?

"Near Sheffield. Mr. White has a cafeteria there.

What do the other residents say about the family? Did you have any deal with them? It was important to get an idea, but Caleb also knew he had to act quickly. Someone had shot. There were two little girls.

—They didn't have much contact with them, but according to witness statements they weren't bothersome people. A quiet, friendly and very reserved family. This is how the owner also describes it.

Did you mention a problem with Mr. White's credit card? Robert Stewart chimed in.

The agent hesitated.

—Not directly with the card. The owner has explained that in previous years he always gave him the credit card, but this time Mr. White said there was a problem, although he did not specify what it was. He said he would pay cash at the end of the vacation. Since there had never been any complications between them, the owner agreed.

I'd like to talk to him, Caleb said.

He must still be around, the agent replied vaguely, and Caleb bit back the remark that it would have been wise to keep him, not let him go.

Is there any chance of contacting Mr. White? Robert asked. Or with his wife?

The agent shrugged resignedly.

'There's a landline phone in the apartment. We have called many times, but no one answers.

Then what is it that guarantees someone is inside? Caleb asked. Upstairs it was absolutely silent. They wouldn't have deployed all that bunch of police officers to end up guarding an empty house whose inhabitants had gone swimming...

Two shots, the agent replied. This is what several unrelated tenants have declared. They are definitely placed on the third floor. The Whites' apartment is the only one where no one answers the door. All the others have been evacuated and their occupants are in a safe place. If there's been shooting up there, it can only be in that apartment.

Mmm, Caleb mused. He was aware that errors sometimes arose regarding the identification of sounds. He peered up again, as if the smooth façade and the silent balcony might reveal something to him. What was going on behind those fully drawn blinds?

-What are we going to do? Robert Stewart asked.

Caleb wiped the sweat from his brow. It was terribly hot and down there, on the promenade, there was not a single shadow. He looked longingly at the umbrellas in a bar at the end of the row of houses. I wish all the drama had taken place there, then they could get out of the sun. Still, he didn't get the impression that the others sweated as much as he did. The cool, undaunted appearance of Robert Stewart was to be envied, even though he was dressed in a dark gray suit and formal tie. Caleb had long since shed his jacket, and yet he was melting. He shouldn't have had that whiskey at nine in the morning, when, after sitting down at his desk, he hadn't been able to think of anything other than the bottle he kept inside the tightly closed drawer, bottom right. In that heat... In general, you shouldn't have your first whiskey of the day at nine in the morning. He hoped Robert wouldn't smell it. I was very close to him.

Another agent appeared and handed him a sheet of paper.

"A girl, the daughter of the owner of the ice cream parlor, has Mrs. White's mobile number. She has taken care of the girls a couple of times when the couple has gone out at night for a drink. He has said that he was not paid the agreed amount. Mrs. White had no cash, but she had assured him that she would give it to him the next day. However, it was not.

A credit card problem and no money to pay the babysitter, Robert pointed out. Strange coincidence, isn't it? Do the Whites have financial problems?

Could be, Caleb said. All this did not look good. Unfortunately, it was often financial difficulties that upset men, and especially fathers. He picked up the sheet. I'll try.

He took out his cell phone and punched in the number. She put on speakerphone so Robert could also hear the conversation. Was he wrong or was his collaborator watching him, as if on the prowl? He decided that this was not the time to think about it.

They were taking so long to answer that she was about to throw in the towel, but then suddenly a trembling voice was heard.

-Yeah?

Mrs. White?

-Yeah. It was like a whisper.

White, this is Chief Constable Caleb Hale of the Scarborough Criminal Investigation Department. Are you currently in an apartment at the Scarborough Beach Chalets in Peasholm Gap?

-Yeah.

And the two girls too?

-Yeah.

-And her husband?

Yasmin White let out a muffled sob.

Also...he's here too.

Mrs. White, are you and your daughters being threatened?

-Yeah.

Is your husband armed?

-Yeah.

Caleb wiped the sweat from his brow. She was hoping that Sergeant Helen Bennett, who had trained as a police psychologist, would finally show up. She was better able to handle conversations like that than he was. Helen had taken the day off to spend a long weekend with her mother, who lived in Saltburn-by-the-Sea. They had managed to contact her and she had promised to arrive as soon as possible, but at that moment she was in a cafeteria with her mother and she still had to drop the old woman off at home. If he left immediately, the drive to Scarborough would take an hour or so. Most of the time it took longer because on that coast road slow-moving vehicles always got in the way.

As things were, he would have to face this situation alone.

White, the occupants of the building have heard shots. Has your husband been the author?

-Yeah.

Is anyone injured?

-No. But..." He lowered his voice even more. Caleb had to strain to understand her. You have to help us. Please. No, it's not him. He wants to kill us.

—Mrs. White, stay calm whatever happens, don't lose control. We are here to help you. Can you tell me where in the apartment it is located? In the room facing the front balcony?

-No. I am in a bedroom. At the rear. It overlooks the patio.

-OK. Are your daughters with you?

-Yeah.

And where is your husband?

-I don't know. I think in the living room.

Is there any way you and the girls can get out of the apartment?

-No. The window is too high. We can't jump.

-I understand. With a wave of his hand, Caleb directed Robert Stewart to the back of the building. Other agents had already been positioned there, but Robert had to get an idea of the situation. Caleb noticed that his breathing began to get easier from the moment his mate had moved away from his side.

Did you lock the bedroom door?

"He has kept the key.

Can you put something against the door? Comfortable? A chair?

He heard a faint sob.

-No. I would hear it.

Can't you get to the bathroom with the girls? And lock yourself in there?

-No. No, it's too dangerous. We would have to go all the way down the hall. It was obvious that fear paralyzed her. Caleb could imagine her huddled somewhere in the bedroom, with the two girls pressed tight against her, not breathing and not moving.

We'll get them out of there. Keep calm.

There was a click, ending the call. Yasmin White had hung up. Perhaps she had heard her husband approaching. Or simply nerves had taken over her.

Robert Stewart reappeared.

"You have to go around an underground car park and then through the gate to the courtyard. All very nice, with plants, and there are also balconies. But not in the Whites' apartment, their balcony faces the front.

And the flats next door? Are there balconies through which the bedroom can be reached?

Robert shook his head.

-No. They are too far. If we send someone to the apartment, they can only enter from above. You will have to come down with a rope from the roof. In my opinion, it is less dangerous and much more realistic.

If at least this way we can get the girls out... The cell phone rang. The screen read Yasmin White's number. He answered instantly. Mrs White?

I'm Jayden White. You have spoken to my wife.

"Yes, Mr. White, this is Caleb Hale with the criminal investigation department. I'm glad I could talk to you. I'm very happy to hear it. Rarely had he missed Helen so much. Without a doubt, she would do much better.

What did you call my wife for?

I wanted to know how you were. And how were his daughters? The two little girls.

They're all fine. Jayden White spoke in a monotone, with no highs or lows. At least at that moment.

Caleb guessed that wasn't her normal way of speaking. He seemed unaware of reality. Or be in shock. She covered the device with her hand and whispered to Robert:

We need a psychologist. I'd say he's in a trance.

"Helen is on her way.

"It will take too long. Try to find someone else!

Robert rolled his eyes slightly. Caleb ­handed over the message: Come on, boss, you can do something like this yourself!

Mr. White, do you want to tell me what happened?

Nothing has happened.

The neighbors heard a...

And shit they heard! Jayden also said this without changing her tone of voice. Shit! Let them mind their own business.

"Mr. White, I fully understand your reluctance to share your private affairs with your neighbors. That's why I suggest you talk to me. Let's both talk. You and me alone.

And what do I gain with that?

Talking always helps. Things look clearer.

No one can help me.

I'm sure we can do it.

He got no reply.

Are you still there, Mr. White? Caleb asked.

-I'm still here.

How about letting your wife and daughters out? It's a great day, they could go to the beach. I'll meet you later. Just me, no one else. And we talk quietly.

—My family does not leave this floor!

-OK. But can I enter?

Again a long silence.

It doesn't make any sense, Jayden finally said. He was breathing hard.

Whatever your problem is, we'll find a solution, Caleb insisted.

She was aware of the urgency that emanated from her words. I had to be prudent. If Jayden felt pressured, his condition could worsen. In a situation like this, where both he and his family were in danger, chances were he was already under terrible pressure, between a rock and a hard place.

If you wish, he added.

He remembered what Helen had once said about a kidnapper, and in a way White was: Let him know he has a choice. Give him some leeway. That he does not feel at all that you are suffocating him ».

There's no way out, Jayden insisted.

That seemed to be what had taken root in his head, in his consciousness, and what would answer everything Caleb proposed, said, or asked: that there was no solution, that there was no way out, that nothing made sense, that everything was over. .

I know nothing I say will matter to you now, Caleb pointed out. But please, trust me, it is not easy to put an end to life, even in difficult situations. Give yourself and your wife, and especially your daughters, the chance to stay alive. You're not the type of man to do this. Who shoots a woman and two little girls.

You have no idea, Jayden replied.

Hoping he wasn't making a mistake, Caleb decided to mention the only topic of interest he could think of from the information he had.

If perhaps you are experiencing financial difficulties, Mr. White, I think...

I don't have financial difficulties, Jayden replied.

Then much better...

I'm in the middle of an economic tragedy, Jayden said.

hung up

Half a minute later several shots were heard.

Saturday, July 20

––––––––

1

The London North Eastern Railway train had left London's King's Cross Station promptly at nine and was now heading north. Outside, cities gave way to towns and to meadows, forests, and farm fields. A canicular sun fell on the earth. Not a single cloud was visible in the deep blue sky. It was a day to sit on a terrace, go biking to a lake or go to the beach with a towel and a picnic basket.

Xenia Paget sighed, knowing that once she got to Leeds neither of those options would be open to her. And not just because near Bramhope, where she lived, there were no beaches or lakes, but at least she had a garden and a terrace. But because, unfortunately, her husband would consider it unforgivably lazy for her to enjoy a couple of hours in a hammock after spending almost three days away. During his absence, surely he had not started the vacuum cleaner or the washing machine, nor would he have watered the plants. He would have left everything to her. And he would be waiting for him to start fulfilling his tasks as soon as possible. Xenia leaned back in her seat. Better enjoy the ride. At least it had been a little foray into freedom. It would take a long time to get another opportunity like that.

If it weren't for that guy, sitting diagonally across the aisle from her, who kept staring at her... He couldn't take his eyes off her. From London. She looked out the window, looked up at the ceiling, looked at the book, sent a ­WhatsApp message to her friend Maya, whom she had visited... but every time she looked ahead, she met those eyes. Some black eyes. Very dark and very empty. Very disturbing. He was a fairly young man, in his early twenties, and he sure as hell wasn't interested in her. A thirty-seven-year-old woman, overweight, in a loose hippy dress whose heavy fabric tried to hide her exuberant forms. They weren't at all looks of desire that she was directing at him. They were too steady. threatening.

Who was he and what did he want?

He had been looking for another place in the car, but he couldn't see any free places to move to. He had gone to the bathroom and took the opportunity to investigate other options, but found none. The train was full. Besides, she didn't dare go too far from her suitcase, so she hadn't gone all the way through all the carriages. Nor did he see himself capable of taking the suitcase without further ado. It would have drawn too much attention. Something told her that this guy was going to follow her when he realized she wanted to change seats.

Well, they weren't very far from York now. There he would connect with the train to Leeds. It was unlikely that this strange man would want to travel there. Given the case, she would be more adept at finding a place. It was a bright day, nothing could happen to him. In Leeds, her husband would be waiting for her at the station. Normally this did not bring him great joy, but this time it suited him.

She closed the book and put it in her bag. After all, he couldn't concentrate. He looked up warily. The guy had his eyes on her. It seemed evil. lurking. Aggressive. Sick, I'd say. Totally disturbed. He shuddered. If she had any more confidence in herself, she would stare at him until he felt uncomfortable. Or I would openly rebuke him. But he lacked courage, as always.

She looked up at the ceiling, and then she heard the woman sitting next to her groan in shock. Xenia instinctively turned her gaze to the stranger. The young man held a gun in his hand. Suddenly.

Xenia did not doubt for a moment that she was going to use it. Nor that she was his target. She grabbed her bag, jumped up, and ran off.

––––––––

Such a beautiful summer day, and I have to spend hours on this air-conditioned train! Kate thought. She was tired and in a bad mood, but she knew she was overreacting. The journey to Leeds was two and a half hours, including the change at York, so she wasn't going to be stuck on the train all day. And spending a weekend in a spa hotel in the Yorkshire Dales, as a parting gift from his Scotland Yard mates, was no tragedy, at least for a normal person. But self-critical as she was, Kate sometimes suspected that she wasn't quite normal. Shouldn't you feel like enjoying a weekend (just Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning) in a nice hotel, eating well, getting massages, smeared with mud and cucumber slices on your face? ? With hay baths and other strange treatments that would do her the world of good? I had never done anything like this. It was feared that he would not last more than half an hour.

On Thursday afternoon, with two cases of champagne and a catering buffet, he had thrown a small party to say goodbye to his co-workers. She knew that in her department she had always been considered peculiar, and that the attributes of closed, introverted, or impenetrable were the kindest labels used to refer to her. The truth was that for twenty years at Scotland Yard she had been, until the last moment, an outsider and that, despite her high percentage of professional successes, she had only reached the rank of sergeant. Superiors used to propose to their subordinates that they pass a test in order to acquire a higher rank, and encouraged them to apply. His never had. Kate self-initiated the tests, feeling insecure, and had the feeling that the others were criticizing her and thinking things like, Arrogant little thing. Without the backing of the boss. And yet, Kate was not arrogant, not in the least, and, on the other hand, it was precisely her lack of self-confidence that she was most often criticized for. A vicious circle. No logic and no way out.

He took a deep breath and looked out the window. One chapter had ended and a new one opened before her. The question was whether this would be better.

"A horrible crime was committed in Scarborough yesterday. Horrifying.

Kate shuddered and turned to the person sitting next to her. Colin Blair. Perhaps his only friend, although the concept of friendship was excessive. Rather, both of them formed a kind of emergency group, they were two people who couldn't solve their problem with social relationships and who got together on certain weekends so as not to be completely alone. Two years earlier they had met on an internet dating site. The spark had not arisen between them, they had not fallen in love, but their lonely souls had created some kind of bond. Kate didn't even know if she really liked Colin at all. But at least I understood. And he had the impression that the same thing happened to him with her.

The parting gift from his co-workers was for two people. Kate kept wondering if it was naivety or a perfidious way of rubbing his loneliness in his nose again. Everyone knew that there was no intimate relationship in Kate's life. Neither friends nor partner or husband. Where was she going to get someone to accompany her for a weekend to a spa hotel ? In fact, only Colin had occurred to her and she had invited him in the end with the sole purpose of surprising her colleagues. Well yes, there was someone in his life! She would secretly pay an extra sum to give Colin his own room and no one would know. His companion Christy McMarrow, to whom he had brought her cat Messy the previous afternoon to look after him in his absence, had been quite surprised.

—Come on, are you seriously going with someone? she had asked, perplexed.

Yes, Kate had replied, "I'm going with a friend. And it had left Christy speechless.

In return, now she had to carry Colin, although with two of them, perhaps the hay baths would be more bearable.

Colin, who had been concentrating on his mobile the entire trip, had come across some interesting news.

-A crime? Kate asked. In Scarborough?

"A man has killed his entire family. To his wife and two daughters, who were very young. Neighbors heard shots and called the police. So they were still alive, the man had just fired into the air. From there, your new boss negotiated with him over the phone.

Caleb Hale? Kate had applied for a position in Hale's department and been accepted. It was something that no one around her understood: a Scotland Yard official, from one of the most famous entities in the world, going to the North Yorkshire police, to the Scarborough criminal investigation department. In the North East of England, so underdeveloped, already a body no one had ever heard of or mentioned. It did not matter. Kate knew why she did it. She and Caleb had solved two cases together. He was perhaps the only person in the entire British police apparatus who considered her a brilliant investigator.

Yes, Caleb Hale, from the criminal investigation department. But he couldn't help it. That guy ended the phone conversation and immediately killed his two daughters and his wife. He executed them," writes the Daily Mail . Colin shook his head. How strong!

Did he kill himself too? Kate asked. It was a horrible story, but it was not such an unusual phenomenon. Men who saw no point in their lives, who felt overwhelmed by the burden of their problems and wanted to put an end to it all, tended to include their family in their own suicide. The kamikaze drivers who went onto the highway the wrong way and killed people who had nothing to do with it were also often men. In fact, among women this happened on very few occasions, in general they limited themselves to committing suicide, without involving anyone else.

No, Colin said, "he hasn't. They say that they arrested him and that he explained that he also wanted to kill himself, but that he was not able to. Oh my God. What a coward!

Awful, Kate said. It is creepy.

A press feast, of course, Colin pointed out. A dead woman. Two dead girls. And the police all the time in front of the building. Did you intervene too late?, they ask here. They're going to crush Caleb Hale.

Kate nodded. She too was afraid of it. In cases like that, a culprit was always needed. Undoubtedly, the culprit was the father of the family, but surely they would find mitigating measures for him. It was much better and more bombastic to accuse the police. Anyone felt entitled to speculate. And, of course, assessing a situation after the fact was always much easier. If the police had broken into the house and children had died, there would have been an avalanche of criticism. In this case, Caleb Hale, the head of operations, had bet on negotiation and, despite everything, girls had died. Criticism would rain down on him, too. In such an event, an evidence that Kate considered as sad as it was accurate and unchangeable would always be denied: that sometimes there were situations in which a happy ending had to be ruled out. No matter what was done or how it was done.

Caleb will have to resist, Kate opined. But he will make it. It's part of your job to deal with criticism and attacks.

The reproaches he would make to himself would be even worse. A helpless family cruelly murdered in their own bedroom. He, with his agents and a few meters away, had not been able to protect her. Kate knew him and knew how much the images would haunt him, how many times he would be tormented by the question of whether the operation had failed because of him. Unfortunately, she also knew how he reacted to stress, crisis, and self-doubt: he was an alcoholic. For many years. He had undergone a detoxification course at a clinic and has defined himself ever since as a dry alcoholic. Which, as Kate well knew, was not true. It had been a long time since he had relapsed. The question was how much longer he would last if he continued like this.

Now he'll have you by his side, Colin pointed out. Nothing can go wrong anymore.

She smiled at him. Sometimes Colin managed to be extremely charming.

He checked his watch. In a few minutes they would reach York station, where they would change trains. Got up.

I'm going to the bathroom for a second. Can you watch my bag?

Sure, Colin replied.

Kate made her way down the aisle between the red-lined seats of the carriage. He was almost to the bathroom door when he heard footsteps behind him. Someone was running down the hall. Kate turned around.

A woman rushed at her. He was panting. His face glistened with sweat. His eyes were wide open. She stumbled when she had almost reached Kate and only managed to stay on her feet because Kate grabbed her arm very quickly and held her.

-My God. Help me. Please help me!

-What's going on?

It's... it's back there! He pointed down the hall.

Kate looked over there. The corridor was empty.

But who is it? calm down.

I don't know, the woman whispered. Do not know him. He carries a weapon.

Kate was about to calm her down and look for her relatives or friends, believing that she was psychotic, when the automatic door that led to the carriage opened. A man appeared. He then fired and the bullet missed them by a hair's breadth.

The stranger screamed.

-No! No!

Kate, still holding the woman's arm, shouldered open the bathroom door and pushed the traveler inside. She went behind, closed the door, and bolted it. Outside there was a second shot. The woman started screaming like crazy. Kate pulled her into the blind spot behind the door and stepped in front. His fears were justified: a minute later a bullet burst through the door.

-Calm calm. Kate took the passenger's hand. What's it called?

The woman stared at her with panicked eyes.

—Xenia.

"Okay, Xenia. My name is Kate. Here we are safe. calm down.

The next bullet also went through the door. The shooter couldn't directly hit the two women in the corner where they were huddled together, but one bullet ricocheted off the opposite wall and nothing could save them.

Two discharges occurred in a row.

Kate looked at the clock. They were two minutes from York. The train was slowing down. People would be crowding in the hallways to get to the doors and downstairs. One could only hope that they had already heard the shots and that no one would appear in the corridor, in front of the bathroom. It could be a disturbed man who would shoot anything that moved. Kate rummaged in the pockets of her jeans and groaned as she remembered that her cell phone was in her handbag. She had left it on the seat next to Colin. Impossible to contact anyone.

Another shot. Xenia was shaking like a leaf.

Xenia, do you have a cell phone?

"I lost my bag while I was running on the train. It was in a wagon at the very bottom... I don't know where I left it. -She started to cry.

-No problem. calm down. Of course it did. They were locked in the bathroom and there was an armed man outside the door. They couldn't call for help over the phone. But at least the train would stop at any moment. And the other travelers must have heard the shots. Perhaps they had already notified the police.

Kate slid her gaze out the sliding window that looked out of the carriage. He didn't know if it could be opened, but it was worth a try. In doing so, he would make himself a perfect target for the madman outside. If he fired, it would hit him right in the back. But he had to prove it regardless.

Keep quiet! she whispered to Xenia. Don't let him find out that I've left our corner. I'm going to try to open the window.

Xenia immediately grabbed his hand.

-No Please. Stay here please.

I open the window and then we both climb out of it.

Xenia trembled even more, but agreed. Kate scurried as small as she could to the window. There were barely two steps in that tiny space. To the left was the stainless steel sink and above it a small mirror. Right in front of her, the toilet. Above, the window. Behind her, in a straight line, the door with the armed criminal behind it. Kate noticed that she was starting to sweat. Luckily the sound of the wheels was loud enough to drown out the noise the window might make. Kate picked up the supports and yanked on them. Indeed, the glass slid without making a sound and without great effort. But it only opened a little. And nothing more.

A breath of warm summer air drifted inside. Gentle.

I refuse to die, Kate thought. I categorically refuse to die."

He looked at the narrow opening of the window. She herself could pass through the hole with some difficulty, she was small and very thin. But Xenia had no chance. She was chubby, to put it nicely. There was no way it could slip out.

Xenia also realized what the problem was.

"Please don't leave me alone. Please!

-Of course not. —I was clear. Kate was a policeman, even though she wasn't on duty at the time: she'd only left Scotland Yard two days. And I would start working in Scarborough in August. He was in a