Leave Her Hanging: A Noir Thriller

Chapter Thirty-Three

Two minutes later, as I cut down an alley off Karangahape Road, the adrenaline started to wear off. That was when I realised how badly cut up my feet were. Knives shot up my legs every step I took. I dropped down behind a row of green wheelie bins and listened. Cars driving past, talking, sirens somewhere in the distance. No yelling. I peeked out past the bins and squinted down the dark alley for a few seconds. Nothing. I’d lost them. For now, at least.

I was tingling all over. I checked each foot in turn. I wasn’t at risk of bleeding out, but my feet looked like they’d been attacked by wild dogs. I dug a couple of slivers of glass out of the wounds. There were probably more, but I’d need better light to find them. I wriggled into my clothes, then gritted my teeth and pulled on my socks and shoes.

I turned the hard drive over in my hands. It felt useless. That had been my last chance—I wasn’t going to be able to sneak in again. Maybe I had evidence that would hurt Malcolm and the others, but that didn’t do me any good unless I could find out who the hell killed Ella. Damn it. I shoved the hard drive into my bag. I’d have time to bitch to myself later. For now I needed to get out of sight.

My feet still hurt, but it was better with shoes. I abandoned the robe and started walking.

My breathing was easier now. Traffic was light, hardly anyone else walked the streets. If I cut through to Williamson Avenue and looped back around I’d be able to get home. I came to the corner of Crummer and Pollen and stepped off the curb.

Tyres squealed, headlights blinded me. For a moment I froze like a possum. Then a fresh wave of adrenaline slammed through my veins and I broke into a run.

I sprinted along the footpath, past a homeless guy sleeping on a bench. The car revved its engine and came alongside me. There were a row of shops along my left side, the car blocking escape to the right. I ran, but I was flagging. I was exhausted, my feet were in agony, my head pounded. The car window rolled down. I caught a glimpse of Malcolm Barker in the passenger seat. His hand flashed.

I didn’t realise he’d thrown something at me until I was falling. My knees and palms scraped the concrete, fire tearing through me. The car squealed. A door opened. I tried to scramble to my feet, but something hit my spine, throwing me down. Hands grabbed my arms, dragged me up. My head was swimming in jelly. Malcolm threw me into the back of the car, my forehead slamming into the doorframe on the way. I felt Malcolm piling in beside me. Then the engine roared again, and we were moving.

I blinked back the static. When I saw the look on Malcolm Barker’s face, I wished I hadn’t.

“Did you find it?” the driver said. It took me a moment to place the voice: the bald guy who’d been behind the counter at Deepest Desires the other day.

Malcolm tore my bag off my shoulders and started rummaging. He came up with the hard drive, tossed it into the front seat. Then he grabbed me by the collar and threw his fist into my cheek. My vision went black for a moment. I tasted blood.

“Who are you?” he yelled at me.

My head was spinning so hard I couldn’t remember. He tagged me in the side. Pain exploded through my abdomen.

“What did you want with the hard drive? Why were you there?” He slammed me backwards and my head smacked into the car door. “What the fuck did you want? Were you trying to blackmail us?”

“Search him,” the bald-headed man said. “Make sure the little fucker doesn’t have anything else on him.”

I heard Malcolm rifling through the backpack, then felt his hands in my pockets. I wasn’t up to doing much about it. The streetlights flashing overhead as we drove were keeping me plenty distracted.