by Alex Kane
‘He won’t go to the police,’ Roxanne replied.
‘How do you know that? He could be there right now. They could be on their way to arrest me right now.’ Arabella’s voice was high, she’d gone into panic overdrive.
‘Hey, he isn’t going to the police because he’s dead.’
Silence filled the room and the air turned to ice. After a few moments, Arabella said, ‘I thought you said you grabbed me and ran. How do you know he’s dead?’
No, no, no. Arabella was shaking her head. No, this didn’t happen. It couldn’t have. She would have remembered. She tried so hard to see into her memories. Nothing came. Not an image, not a sound. Nothing.
Arabella looked down at her hands. Her fingernails were short, clean. Frowning, she looked up.
‘I managed to get you back here, get you cleaned up. You were hysterical, crying and saying that you didn’t want to go back to prison but you were still so drunk. I finally managed to get you to calm down and you passed out on the sofa. That’s when I went back to check on him. He was dead, eyes open, staring blankly up at the sky. Blood everywhere.’
Arabella gasped, threw her hands over her eyes. ‘Oh my god.’
Oh fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.
Fear and terror crept up from her stomach and clawed at her throat. ‘Rox, how the actual fuck did I do this? I’m not a killer. Oh my god, oh my god.’
Roxanne gripped her shoulders tighter this time and held her steady. ‘Hey, look at me. It’s fine. I’ve sorted it. There were no cameras, no traffic. It was four in the morning and we were on a path off the road. No one knows anything except us. I promise, you’re going to be fine.’
Tears trickled down her cheeks as she stared into the eyes of her friend. Her only friend. She had no choice but to trust her.
‘How do you know I’m going to be fine? It’s not fine. I’ll get caught. Oh fuck, I killed someone, Roxanne. I took someone’s life away from them.’
‘Oi, he fucking deserved it. What kind of man follows two women down a dark path at four in the morning and gives them abuse? Fuck knows what would have happened if you hadn’t stopped him in his tracks.’
Arabella shook uncontrollably, her eyes unblinking and wide with terror.
‘I got rid of the rock and pushed his body down to the River Kelvin. When they find him, there won’t be a murder weapon to link you to it. It’ll look like he’s been in a fight and lost. His injuries are pretty brutal, as if he was in a fight with a guy his own size. I promise you’re going to be fine; this won’t come back to you, Arabella. But you can’t tell anyone about this. Not even Eddie. The less people who know, the better. Do you understand?’
Arabella nodded in rapid motion as Roxanne pulled her in and hugged her tight. She started to cry again, her body shaking in fear as Roxanne held her close. How could this have happened? How could she have got so off her face that she couldn’t control herself? She’d blacked out and murdered someone.
‘My clothes… they’ll have his blood on them?’ Her voice shook, the words came in a whisper.
‘I’ve already dealt with it all. I made you change as soon as you got in last night. It’s okay. I’ve got you, girl. Stick with me and you’ll be fine.’ Roxanne held her at arm’s length and locked eyes with her.
‘Thank you,’ Arabella whispered. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘You’ll never have to find out. I’ll be by your side forever now.’
Those words somehow made Arabella feel better. If she could trust anyone with this, it was Roxanne.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Stepping off the plane at Glasgow airport, Jez felt his blood run cold at the shock of the temperature. If nothing else, this was a good reason to have fucked off out of Scotland. The weather was always a let down, no matter what time of year it was. He was never homesick for his country. When he and Charlene got married after she’d had their first son and their relationship was more manageable, they’d talked about how neither of them had wanted to return to Scotland to raise their family. There were many reasons on both their parts, but most specifically for Jez; he would be walking back into a crime scene he’d left behind. Only he and Billy knew about the things Jez had done in the past; he’d never disclosed them to Charlene, didn’t feel the need to. All he’d said was that he’d left some bad omens behind and would prefer not to face them. Charlene had no reason to go back either. She’d left Glasgow to get away from the scheme she’d been raised in. Her parents were alcoholics, drug abusers. Same as Roxanne’s, she’d said. That had suited Jez; it meant he wouldn’t have to argue with Charlene about returning home. He thought about their relationship in the beginning and how after their son was born, they’d both really tried to work at it. Of course, he knew that Charlene would hold Roxanne against him forever, but he wanted their family to work, so much so that she’d fallen pregnant with their second child just two years later. It hadn’t worked out purely because Charlene just couldn’t let things go. She threw Roxanne in his face at every given opportunity, especially when he was spending a lot of time at work. The accusations of cheating were relentless and, in the end, had led directly to him being unfaithful. He was damned anyway, so he ended up feeling he might as well do what he was being punished for.
The airport transfer bus was already full, but he managed to squeeze himself between the doors before it drove across the tarmac towards the main terminal. Nostalgia took over then as he thought about the last time he was in Glasgow airport. He was only nineteen, heading out to Majorca on a boys’ holiday. He never went home. The opportunities were too good to pass up on. There was nothing for him in Glasgow. No job prospects after leaving school with next to no qualifications. That was his own fault, he’d admit. But he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life working in a shitty, dead-end job on minimum wage.
He’d started off as a barman for one of the bars in the resort once he’d chosen to stay. He was eye candy, according to his boss. The offer of a free cocktail worked a treat almost every time and the girls always hung around a little longer. That and the fact that there was always at least one in the group who fancied their chances with him. He was happy to admit that too. After a few weeks, he became friendly with a couple of the lads who worked for some of the other bars on the strip. They were dealing on the side, another way to entice the punters in, especially the lads. They were always after a bit of coke or speed, anything they could get their hands on that would enhance their clubbing holiday experience. And enhancing their experience also enhanced Jez’s cash flow. The more he sold, the more he made. He was a popular rep, had the right kind of banter with the lads and a charm with the girls. He’d get in amongst the party-goers, lead the booze challenges, dance with the girls… Jez was the life and soul. It was where he was supposed to be, what he was supposed to do.
Before he knew it, he was climbing the ladder, making more money than he’d thought possible as a rep. A year went by and soon Jez was managing the bar he’d started off in. The owner, Rafa, had been impressed with Jez and his ability to get punters through the door. The bar’s reputation climbed, word of mouth spread and it was packed out most nights.
Only a few months in, Jez was making serious money. Then Rafa hit him with the biggest news. He was dying from cancer and with no family to leave his business to, he signed it all over to Jez. It had all happened so fast that Jez didn’t have time to think about it. It was happening and there was nothing Jez could do except roll with it. Years later, Jez had gone on to sell the place, and it had made him a shit ton of money, enough to enable him to buy more clubs, his latest being Martini Beach Club. Now, he was Majorca’s wealthiest businessman, although it hadn’t come easily. He’d had to adopt a business-like manner that hadn’t come naturally. He’d been a young lad, fresh on the club scene. Not just managing, but running things. Associates hadn’t taken him seriously at first, so Jez had had to adopt a firmer approach. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know violence, and it was useful in hi
s new line of work. People really sat up and took notice when he was able to secure agreements with the drug traders. People really knew who was boss.
Jez stepped off the air bus and made his way through the terminal towards passport control. The place smelled exactly as he remembered it. Cold air stung his nostrils and he held his nose, attempting to pop his ears after the flight. He got to the front of the queue quicker than he’d expected and glanced down at the passport scanner before placing his passport on the glass. The barrier raised above him and he stepped through.
He waited by the conveyor belt for his case. It was yet to start moving, which meant the baggage handlers hadn’t finished unloading the hold yet. Jez took his phone out of his pocket and switched it on. Pulling up the number on his phone, he called Billy. It was early in the morning, but surely he’d be up and ready by now, being a bigwig in the police and all that. Two rings later, Billy picked up.
‘Mate, how’s it going?’ Jez asked, keeping his voice low.
‘Good. I take it you’re back in Scotland then?’
‘Just waiting on my case now. Fancy a beer later?’
‘Not a good idea, mate. Sorry, you know how it is. I can’t get mixed up in your shit when I’m running an investigation.’
Jez gritted his teeth. He respected his old friend and the fact that he was doing the right thing for his career. But that didn’t mean he liked it.
‘Look Billy. Aside from the reason I’m here, we go way back. It would be nice to catch up, for old times’ sake?’
Jez listened as Billy hesitated. The alarm above the conveyer belt rang and it started moving.
‘Okay, fine. I’ve got a few hours free later. Meet you in the old place at two?’
‘I’m surprised that place is still standing,’ Jez laughed as he pictured his old local.
‘I’ve heard the place looks the same. Still old Evans that owns it but his boy runs it now, apparently,’ Billy replied.
Jez smiled. ‘Great. I’ll see you then.’
He hung up the phone just as his case appeared. Heading out of the airport, he climbed into a taxi and headed straight for his hometown of Clydebank. It had been a long time since he’d last seen the place. It would be interesting to see what, if anything, had changed.
As the taxi drove across the Erskine Bridge, Jez took in the scenes to his left and to his right. He could just about make out the path which led up Dunmuir Hill towards the Dunmuir Loch. A place he and his mates used to go as teenagers to drink their cider so they wouldn’t get hassle off the police. To his right, he saw the old schemes. He couldn’t help but smile at the memories of dodging the police by jumping the garden fences at the back of the golf course when he was fifteen. If someone had told him then that he would grow up to become one of the most successful club owners in Spain, he’d have laughed in their face.
As the taxi pulled onto the A82 and headed for Clydebank, he passed the cemetery on the left and bowed his head. Both his parents were buried in that place. His home life had been decent up until that point, before death tore it apart. He’d had normal, hardworking parents. It was why, he supposed, he went off the rails as a teenager, ending up in all sorts of trouble. He hadn’t been back since his mum’s funeral. If it hadn’t been for Billy and his family, Jez would have ended up in the system. When Jez got to Spain, he didn’t want to remember anything from his life in Glasgow. And up until this point he’d had no reason to come back.
The taxi continued on its journey, passing his old primary school on the left hand side just a mile or so up the road. It looked exactly the same as it had when he and Billy had attended in the late eighties, early nineties. As did the street running adjacent to it. The old car garage had changed though, that was now a funeral home.
Passing the village of Dunmuir, Jez quickly glanced across at the old grounds of the hotel and pub which he used to frequent when he was underage. It had been knocked down and replaced by flats and new houses. That was some pub back in the day, Jez remembered. But it was also always the place that rival schemes would meet to have their weekly brawls. Jez was often involved in those. Another reason he had to get away from the place. Too many bad omens.
After another ten minutes of travelling, the taxi pulled up outside the Beardmore Hotel and Jez paid the driver before stepping out onto the pavement. Pulling his case from the boot, he walked along the path towards the main entrance and into the lobby.
He checked in quickly and made his way up to the top floor where his luxury suite was waiting for him. He wanted to have a shower and a sleep before he started on his quest to find Cole Woods. That fucker had one hundred grand of his hard-earned cash, had treated him like an idiot. Cole Woods might have been a bigshot back in his day, but he was nothing compared to Jez. He wondered if Cole knew that and that was why he’d done a runner with the cash. He must have known that if Jez ever did catch up with him, he would end up dead. Did one hundred grand seem worth that to Cole? Perhaps it did.
Jez slid the key card into the lock on the outside of the door and let himself in to the suite. It was a decent size with a good view of Erskine across the water. Not that he gave a shit about the view. The only thing Jez wanted to see was Woods staring down the barrel of Jez’s gun, pleading for his life. Apologizing for taking his cash. Not that it mattered. Not now. Jez had already made up his mind that once he found Cole, once the money and his mum’s ring were safely back in his possession, he would kill him anyway. No one got away with taking the piss out of Jez Kennedy.
No one.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Arabella closed the door behind Roxanne, locked it and headed straight for the bathroom. She needed to throw up, to get rid of the dread and fear inside her left over from the hangover and the knowledge that she’d murdered a man the previous night. A murder that she couldn’t remember taking place. There was no evidence on her, no blood spatters, no scrapes or signs of a struggle. Nothing.
Arabella turned on the cold water tap and splashed her face. She needed to wake up from this nightmare. But it wasn’t a nightmare. It was real.
As she glanced at her reflection in the bathroom cabinet, the sight of the dark circles under her eyes and pale complexion made the nausea feel even worse. She stepped back, pressed her shoulder blades against the wall behind her and felt her legs give way as she let out a cry that sounded like a wounded animal.
Just out of prison, just free. And now it looked like she would be going back there because of what she’d done. She’d read somewhere that thirty-seven per cent of offenders were likely to reoffend within the first three years of release from prison. Surely a few weeks out of prison was a record.
A memory came to her then, of that time in the school playground. She hadn’t meant to hurt the girl so badly; it was just that a red mist had descended and she couldn’t stop herself, like someone else had taken over her body. That was when she was just eight years old. The violence was in her then. It hadn’t taken much to provoke her; a few stupid comments. At least she could remember that, even though it was twenty years ago. Last night, however, was an entirely different situation. Now she was an adult, she should know better. She’d tried hard to get her life on track, to steer herself in the right direction. After going to prison, she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t let anything get in the way of her freedom again. Already she’d compromised that.
Gathering herself together, Arabella got to her feet and took a breath, glaring at herself in the mirror again. No. She wasn’t going back to prison. She trusted Roxanne with her life. She’d looked after her in prison, stayed by her side the entire ten months. They’d bonded in a way that Arabella had bonded with no other. She hadn’t had friends like Roxanne when she was in school. She was always the outcast, always the one to take the flak when a window was smashed, or someone was caught with alcohol in the common room. Roxanne wouldn’t throw her under the bus like that. Never. She’d proven that by getting rid of the evidence of Arabella’s involvement in that man
’s death. She’d gone above and beyond to protect her. It was possible there would be no one else on the planet who would ever do something like that for Arabella other than Roxanne.
A key scratched on the front door of the flat and Arabella froze. Her fear quickly faded at the sound of Eddie’s voice.
‘Hi,’ he called out. His voice was groggy and Arabella looked down at the time on her watch. It was ten in the morning. How had she not noticed he’d been gone for so long?
She opened the bathroom door and looked at him. He looked like shit. The dark circles under his eyes almost matched hers. Standing just a few feet away from him, she could smell the alcohol as it wafted in her direction.
‘Where have you been?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
‘Casino and then back to Jake’s flat,’ he replied, rubbing his hand over his face and stumbling a little. He steadied his stance and turned his attention back to the front door to close it.
‘You were at Roxanne’s?’ she asked. If they’d just gone back there instead of her own place, then that guy would still be alive and she’d have been with Eddie, blissfully happy and drunk. Instead, she was about to keep the biggest event of her life from the man she loved. The man who had waited for her, bought her a business and stood by her side while she served her time.
‘Aye. What happened to you and Roxanne?’ He slipped his jacket off and hung it up on the coat rack.
‘We ended up back here. You just missed her. I can’t remember much from last night actually. I was pretty wasted.’
‘You and me both,’ he replied, heading to the kitchen. He barely looked at her. He hadn’t noticed how wound up she was.
‘Good night?’ Arabella called through, taking one last look at herself in the bathroom mirror to check that she didn’t look as though she’d been crying before following him into the kitchen.
‘Er… aye, it was alright.’