Page 126 of Witness 8

She couldn’t get out. And if she tried, he would shoot her.

Somehow, she had to get that gun. There was no other way.

But her arm. Bale was strong and ruthless. She looked around the car. No weapons. Nothing other than a packet of gum in theconsole. The phone wasn’t a weapon. And she had nothing on her that would work. Maybe the leather belt on her jeans, but he would see her taking it off before she could get it round his neck.

No, that wouldn’t work.

The red priest hissed and buzzed.

Bite his throat. Stab his eyes. Get the gun . . .

For the first time in many years, Ruby felt helpless. She felt utterly alone. She knew she would die.

She shook her head, closed her eyes. What was this man going to do?

He didn’t shoot her in the Jacksons’ house. That was the same MO he’d used to kill Margaret Blakemore. Plus, Ruby’s body would be found. The cops would look for a motive. They would find out she had paid a quarter of a million dollars to a care home for her mother, or they would at least search her financials and find the money coming into her account. They would trace it, working backwards, and that might lead them to Brett Bale.

Bale couldn’t kill Ruby in the house and leave her body. He needed to make her disappear. That’s why they were driving somewhere, and when they arrived at their destination, wherever that might be, Ruby knew that was when Bale would pull that trigger. It would be the end of the road for Ruby. No long days on desert highways with the wind in her hair – everything she had worked for, killed for, would be for nothing.

When she rubbed her face, her fingers came away wet. Only then did Ruby realize she was crying.

The car in front moved forward. A fat spot of rain hit the windshield of the Range Rover. Then another. And another. It was going to be one of those massive summer rain showers.

The windshield wipers activated on their own. Their car was in the left-hand lane, close to the barrier, with two more lanes on their right.

Bale moved the car forward, and then it lurched another five feet, violently, as it was hit from behind.

Bale swore and hit the brakes before he collided with the vehicle in front.

Ruby looked at the gun, but dared not make a move. In the rearview mirror, a man in a black hat got out of the car behind and made his way toward Bale’s driver’s window.

‘Shit, that’s all I need. Don’t say a word. I’ve still got this gun on you,’ said Bale, and folded his arm over it, making sure the man who was coming to the window wouldn’t be able to see it. ‘You hear me, bitch? Don’t say a goddamn—’

Ruby flinched, gasped, as glass and the front of Bale’s skull blew out through the windshield.

Ruby hesitated. She didn’t know what had happened, but the red priest was telling her what to do.

Get out! Get out! Get out!

Ruby leaned over and hit the unlock button on the driver’s door. She then opened her passenger door and swiveled and turned, both feet hitting the blacktop at the same time. The jarring motion of landing on the asphalt sent a shockwave of pain through her arm. Saliva filled her mouth and her stomach heaved. Ruby couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten, and she only wretched water and spit at her feet. She hadn’t noticed the downpour until she wiped her mouth, felt the cold rain seeping through her clothes and soaking her hair.

Mr. Christmas stood in front of her.

‘Good evening, my dear. Please switch on the vehicle’s hazard lights.’

Her door was still open. Ruby leaned back in, hit the hazard lights.

‘Thank you. Now, may I offer you a lift?’

Ruby didn’t move.

‘It’s alright, our business has concluded. You have nothing to fear. Mr. Ellis is dead.’

Mr. Christmas watched Ruby as she gingerly got into his car. He tilted his head, then raised his chin, as he examined her arm.

‘Roll up your sleeve, please,’ he said.

Ruby pulled up her sleeve, but found that she couldn’t straighten her arm. She winced, and bit down on her lip.