Chapter 18

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Makepeace remained completely motionless for a count of sixty.

The counting concentrated her mind whilst ensuring that Greg was well and truly gone.

The hardest thing, after regaining consciousness had been to prevent herself from shivering. She had forced herself to relax and stay calm but it was no mean feat, tied up, gagged, her head aching and fearing for their lives.

At last, Makepeace dared to open her eyes.

She was afraid – genuinely scared out of her wits. Greg – or Andrew Levant as she now knew him to be was a psychopath.

From where she lay on the floor at the foot of the bed she could see her handbag, its contents scattered around it on the beige carpet. A lipstick; her little black elasticated notebook, house keys, car keys, a mirror compact, the electricity bill she had received in the post that morning, an apple, her purse and a packet of mints. She always tried to keep what she carried to a minimum, one reason being the weight and the other, ease of access to her stock-in-trade handgun and cuffs.

Both of these items were missing from her inventory.

Of course it was possible they were both inside the bag, possible but far from likely. She had made sure it had been only partially zipped before she entered the flat so the gun was easily retrievable but now it was gaping wide.

Greg had complete control.

Flexing her wrists behind her back, she tested the strength of her bonds. Given time, she would be able to work them loose quite easily. But then what? James and Toni were incapable of helping themselves, let alone her, that the bedroom phone would be out of commission was a certainty and she wasn't convinced her negotiating skills with American loony tunes extended beyond those she practiced on her partner. And they were five floors up! She couldn't shout down to passers-by …nothing would bring Greg back in here faster. Maybe she could throw something from the window to attract attention, something she could attach a note to asking for help, just so long as it wasn't seen as a prank. At the moment though, it seemed to be her only viable option.

Makepeace struggled up into a sitting position, a task made much harder than it should have been by the stiffness of her cold limbs. Then she utched around to Dempsey's side of the bed on her bottom, stopping dead, her heart racing when she hit a squeaky floorboard. She had no idea how loud that would sound outside the room or if it could be heard at all. But there were no repercussions and so she carried on shuffling closer to the bed.

She could see Dempsey now although his head was turned away. She refused to let the panic take a hold of her –he was alright, just asleep, that was all.

Leaving herself sufficient distance, she brought her knees up and rocked forwards in order to lever herself up to standing. It took several attempts and when she finally managed it, she fell against the bed with a small grunt.

Makepeace righted herself and her eyes fell to Toni lying beside him. It was a shock to see her looking like she did; waxen, her lips white, so obviously close to death. Since her brief visit earlier in the afternoon, she had degenerated considerably.

And then she turned her attention to her partner.

Thankfully her cry of horror was stifled by the necktie that gagged her mouth. It wasn't just the blood soaking his t-shirt that bothered her (she had seen him with all kinds of injuries including bullet wounds), it was the fact that, like Toni, he bore the awful corpse-like pallor.

She lowered her head down to his and butted her forehead against his cold cheek in an effort to rouse him.

He couldn't be dead – he just couldn't

Her eyes welled with tears and she angrily blinked them away, rubbing her face hard over his, the gag chafing against his skin. She couldn't prevent the guttural moan that rose up from within her and filtered out into the icy air.

'Don't you be dead… don't you dare be dead' she screamed inside. 'I won't let you leave me, you bastard!'

Again, she tried to stir a response, leaning in close to push him with her shoulder. Tears of frustration spilled from her eyes and she let herself fall against his chest, bringing her legs up onto the bed and curling against him. She lay still for a few moments, her heart pounding hard as she fought against the possibility that her partner was dead.

She was too late. She hadn't acted fast enough. Every instinct had told her something was seriously wrong and yet she had procrastinated. Andy why? For the sake of decorum. Because she had shied away from intruding into Dempsey's personal life. Because she had refused to yield to her feelings for him. Etiquette had forbidden her from crossing over the line and acting upon the prickling instincts and now this was the result.

It was so cold. All she wanted was for Dempsey to wrap his arms around her and keep her warm.

Two things happened simultaneously then, tiny miniscule events that under normal circumstances would be totally insignificant. Harry felt the shallow rise and fall of his chest against hers and felt his hand flop loosely upon her back.

She raised her head awkwardly and watched as his eyes flickered open. The pressure of his fingers increased just a fraction as he whispered her name.

"Harry."

Pure elation surged through Harry and she slewed her legs back off the bed and twisted her body upright.

There was a chance now that she could get them out of this alive.

She maintained eye contact with him and nodded enthusiastically, her only way of conveying her sheer relief whilst she worked at loosening the ties that bound her wrists.

After a couple of minutes, Dempsey, his eyes fixed upon the lower half of her face murmured, "Here."

Makepeace complied, knowing exactly what his intention was. She leaned over and waited whilst frail fingers pried the gag from her mouth.

"Everything's going to be fine, James," she whispered with as much conviction as she could force into her voice. And then she put her lips to his forehead, sealing her promise.

"There's a doctor on his way. He'll be here any moment."

But what good would that do? Greg, or Andrew, whoever he was, he wasn't about to let him in, he wouldn't let him anywhere near. Their only hope was SI-10. She had assured Chas she would phone in by the end of the day and when she didn't, alarm bells would ring.

The knot she had been worrying at with the nail of her index finger was finally coming loose and she was able to hook her fingertip right under the loop. It came free but she was met with another, even tighter knot beneath. Painfully aware of time passing, Makepeace turned to Dempsey who although still awake, was breathing shallowly.

"I need you to untie me," she told him quietly.

He was slow to respond. "Huh?"

"Untie my wrists, Dempsey," she said firmly, backing towards him.

She felt his fingers brush against her own and heard him take a laboured breath.

"Can't."

"Yes, you can!" she hissed. "Now focus."

She was being harsh but she needed him to be alert, for his own sake if nothing else.

Giving him this task would keep him conscious and hopefully hasten their escape.

Her heart bled as she listened to the strain of his lungs and felt his strength waver as he tried repeatedly to free her.

When at last she felt the bindings give, she wasted no time in untying her ankles too. How much time did she have? Greg had left them alone for a good half hour now – how much longer had they got? Two hours or two minutes?

"Harry?"

She threw the tie aside and got to her feet, gingerly feeling around the broken skin on her scalp as she turned back to him.

"Toni?" he asked, moving his head to get his friend in view.

Makepeace realised she had been quiet for some time now and was willing to fear the worst.

She reached across and took Toni's wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was there, faint and insubstantial but she was alive.

"She's alright… she's okay."

Dempsey's eyes closed as he murmured, "Think I might be done here."

It felt like a punch in the guts hearing him talk that way.

"Oh, don't be so bloody ridiculous, Dempsey," she choked, forgetting in her blind panic the need for quiet. "They'll pump your stomach and send you home. Talk about making a drama out of a crisis!"

She dashed angry tears away with the back of her hand and went to crouch down on the floor, picking through the fallout from her handbag. The plod notebook was far too small to write an S.O.S message on and a ballpoint pen not eye-catching enough to write it with. Instead, she took an eyeliner pencil from the inside zip pocket of her bag and wrote on the reverse of the utility bill, "PLEASE HELP. KIDNAPPING IN FLAT 102. CALL POLICE NOW"

She was shivering quite badly now, partly from the cold and partly from nerves.

The soft kohl pencil tip was blunt already. Did it get the message across powerfully enough? And how was she supposed to convey this message to street level?

She looked quickly about the room, doing her best to avoid looking at Dempsey. She needed so desperately to stay strong but just the sight of him reduced her to a useless wreck.

Her eye settled on the jug of water still sitting on the bedside cabinet. That would surely work.

She loosely rolled up the sheet of paper she held before pushing it down into the jug where it began to absorb water from the five remaining inches. Hopefully it should weight it just enough to stop it flying away on descent. The glass would smash into a million fragments, a terribly dangerous hazard for pedestrians but dangerous drew attention and right now that was exactly what they needed.

"Message in a bottle," she said in hushed tones, holding the jug up triumphantly for Dempsey to see, "by The Police."

A ghost of a smile flickered at his lips and he nodded briefly.

Going to the window, Harry leaned out. It was a long way down. There was no one in the street directly below but across on the opposite side, a young couple ambled through the snow hand in hand and several yards ahead, a man, head down and hands in his coat pockets walked purposefully, concentrating on keeping himself on his feet.

Harry waved her arm around, hoping to attract their gaze but it was pointless really. So she let the glass jug go, watched it sail through the air, the water streaming out in a wide arc. It landed and she saw it break but the sound was muffled by the snow and ice. However, the man glanced across, hearing the deadened thud.

Harry waved frantically and although the man saw her, he clearly miss-took her for some kind of a nut job because he quickly returned to studying the path ahead of him.

The eye-linered message hadn't unfurled properly from how it appeared looking down. If anybody bothered to pick that up it would be a minor miracle.

"Makepeace!"

She turned away from the window sharply.

"The element of surprise, ha?" He coughed torturously.

It took a second to catch on to his train of thought but then, as it always did, her mind synced with his.

Wordlessly, she crossed to the bed and adjusted the quilt so that it tucked in over their shoulders. Then, she kissed Dempsey's forehead again. She couldn't help herself; it was almost like saying goodbye – just in case.

Swiftly, she collected up the neckties and retreated to the end of the bed again where she proceeded to very loosely retie her bonds.

"The element of surprise," she repeated before gagging her mouth with the black tie she remembered Dempsey had probably last worn at the funeral of fellow detective, Tom Bishop. Assuming her previous position, Harry lay down and silently prayed there would be no more funerals to attend.