Cold Hearts

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Cold Hearts Page 19

by Malcolm Richards


  “About TEL?”

  “About me. They were discussing whether or not I could be trusted. Anya didn’t think so. Max did. Said he’d trusted me about his alcoholism and I’d never told anyone about it, that we’d worked side by side for years. They must have heard me then, but I left before they could see who it was. The next day, I went straight to Max and told him what I’d heard. That was when he told me about TEL, about the bribery. He said he’d been working with that Jason guy, that they had evidence and they were going to the press. He said he wanted to give me a heads up before the shit hit the fan. That was what they’d been in disagreement about—whether or not they should warn me.”

  Emily couldn’t hide her anger. “He was an idiot to trust you.”

  Marsden ignored the comment. “When Max showed me what they’d found, I was horrified. As a parent, I couldn’t believe what was happening—what they were willingly allowing to happen.”

  Jerome’s face appeared between the front seats. “You don’t need to be a parent to see how fucked up this damn company is. Just human.”

  “I’m under no illusion of how Valence Industries operate,” Marsden said, his chin pressed against his chest. “I panicked. We were in debt with the bank. I had the mortgage to think about, my family’s wellbeing. Max didn’t have any of those worries. He’d never had kids. He barely saw his wife. I couldn’t put everything I had in jeopardy because of his crusade, no matter how justified it was.” He shook his head, then let it hang heavy on his neck. “So I thanked Max for telling me, told him how horrified I was, that I hoped Valence got everything that was coming to them.”

  “And then you went straight to Jonathan Hunt.”

  Tim retreated further into the shadows.

  “I thought they would just fire him. I had no idea that they would... How could I have known? It’s not my fault. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “You had the choice of keeping quiet,” Emily said. “Of telling them you didn’t know anything.”

  “And what if Hunt found out I was lying? Who would provide for my family? Feed my daughter and put clothes on her back?”

  Emily turned away. “They killed Max. You could have warned him. He could still be alive. So could Jason, Evan... Josh Copeland could still have a future ahead of him.”

  In the backseat, Jerome let out a disgusted grunt.

  Marsden threw his hands in the air. “You don’t understand what it’s been like for me! Every morning, I wake up regretting what I did. Wishing I could go back and tell Max to drop everything and get out. And now I’m stuck there. I can’t leave Valence because they won’t let me. I know too much. They can give me Max’s job, they can throw money at me, but if I try to leave, I’m as good as dead. My family too.”

  Emily’s fingers hurt. She uncurled them from the steering wheel. Time was slipping away, and Tim Marsden wasn’t leading her any closer to finding Helen. But there was still another question he could help to answer.

  “What happened the night of the gala? What happened to Max?”

  “I’d been waiting for Hunt to call him in. I’d assumed he’d decided to wait until the launch was out of the way—for Max not to be there would have been a PR disaster. The only thing I can tell you is that Max had not been himself all night. He was nervous, paranoid even. I pulled him aside and asked him what was wrong. He asked me if I could be trusted.” He hung his head again and sobbed. “I should have told him then. But it was too late. Instead, I said, yes. He didn’t say anything more. Just looked me right in the eye and nodded. The rest happened the way I told you. He left, went up to his room. I didn’t see him again, I swear. The next morning, he was gone. And I knew then. I knew something terrible had happened to him.”

  “Something terrible is going to happen to Helen,” Emily snapped. “Are you going to be responsible for her death too?”

  “I don’t know where she is! Jesus, I’m putting my life on the line trying to make things right here. Do you have any idea what Jonathan Hunt will do to me if he knew I was talking to you right now?”

  “Then why are you talking to me?”

  Marsden fell silent. When it was clear he wasn’t going to answer, Emily started up the engine.

  “You’re wasting our time,” she said.

  She pulled away from the kerb and began the journey back towards Tim Marsden’s house.

  Jerome tried calling Helen.

  “Straight to voicemail.” His voice was low and solemn.

  “Try again.”

  Tim Marsden was silent and still, only moving to point Emily in the right direction. Finally, they pulled up in front of his drive. Emily kept the engine running.

  Marsden remained unmoving, staring up at his home. Soft light spilled out from one of the bedroom windows.

  “If you had the proof you were looking for, what would you do with it?” His voice came out of the shadows like a ghost.

  Emily stared into the darkness. “I’d make sure it was put in the right hands so that Jonathan Hunt and Valence Industries got exactly what they deserved.”

  “And what about the people caught in between?”

  “If they have nothing to hide, then they have nothing to worry about.”

  Tim brought his hands to his face. He nodded. “Wait here.”

  He got out of the car a second later and jogged up to his house.

  Jerome’s face appeared at Emily’s ear.

  “What a fucking coward! Seriously, Em. What is going on here? This is ... I don’t even know what this is! How the hell are we going to find Helen?”

  Emily said nothing. She watched the Marsden house, unblinking, waiting for the door to open. Jerome continued to speak, but she didn’t hear him. The porch light snapped on. Tim Marsden emerged from the house and began walking towards the car. He was carrying something. Emily’s pulse raced as she realised what it was.

  Then, Jerome said, “Who’s that?”

  Parked on the other side of the road, a black SUV had switched on its headlights. As Emily watched, the back passenger door opened and a man stepped out. He stared across the street at Tim.

  “Oh shit.” Jerome’s breaths were coming thick and fast in Emily’s ear. “What is this? What do we do?”

  Tim had seen the man, but instead of hurrying towards the car, he stood, paralysed on the drive.

  The man walked towards him.

  Emily’s heart smashed against her ribcage. She moved to open the door.

  Jerome grabbed her shoulder. “What are you doing? You can’t leave this car!”

  “I have to!” Emily shrugged him off.

  The man had almost reached the pavement. Tim took a step back. He was going to run.

  “You can’t! You need to be ready to get us out of here.”

  Of course, Emily realised. Jerome can’t drive.

  She spun around and saw the man step onto the grassy kerb.

  Then, before she could stop him, Jerome wrenched open the passenger door and leapt onto the road.

  “Jerome, no!”

  But Jerome was already racing towards Tim Marsden.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The only thought that screamed in Jerome’s head as he pelted across the tarmac and onto the pavement, was that he was going to die. But what he lacked in self-confidence, he compensated with speed. His sudden appearance startled the man, giving him an extra second of time. Jerome threw himself onto the drive and bolted towards Tim Marsden. The man raced to catch him, just as two more men emerged from the SUV.

  “Come on!” Jerome yelled, snatching Tim by the arm.

  Tim would not move. He stood rigid, terrified of the shape careering towards them.

  Jerome yanked his arm, lifting him off his feet. Tim stumbled. And then, the man was smashing into Jerome, knocking him to the ground.

  Jerome hit the drive hard, rolled onto his back. He felt the blinding impact of a fist against his cheekbone. He drew his legs up and kicked out, connecting with soft tissue. The man doubled over and f
ell. Jerome leapt up in time to see the other two men running towards them.

  He reached for Tim’s arm again, but Tim pulled away. He was defeated, his shoulders sagging.

  Jerome bellowed in his face: “For Christ’s sake, get a fucking move on!”

  The man on the ground pushed himself onto his knees. The other two reached the drive.

  Tim stared at the envelope in his hand. Silently, he held it out.

  Jerome snatched it. Giving Tim one final, bewildered look, he turned and ran.

  He tried for the car, but the running men went wide and blocked his way. Instead, he darted to the right, racing back towards the house. A path led around the side of the building. A waist-high gate stood in between. Jerome leapt over it in one fluid movement.

  He sprinted along the path, until he came to the back garden, which was large and cast in shadow, and surrounded by wooden fencing at least six feet tall.

  The men were close behind, gaining on him.

  His heart in his throat, Jerome raced across the lawn. He came up to the back fence, propelled himself forwards, and grabbed the top. As he swung himself over, he saw two burly figures bolting towards him. Then he dropped down to the other side.

  He was in another garden. Light from the house illuminated flower beds and children’s toys. Clutching the envelope, he ran forwards.

  Behind him, his pursuers hit the fence and began to climb.

  Jerome skidded to a halt, swung his head left and right. There was no side path like the Marsden house. He headed left, towards the hedgerow that separated this garden from the next.

  He hurdled over it, caught his foot, and landed at an awkward angle.

  Pain shot up his leg. Not waiting to see if the men were behind him, he pressed forwards. The next hedgerow came up to meet him and he vaulted over it.

  Somewhere in his unconscious, thoughts were trying to formulate. Where was he going? How would he find his way back to Emily? What would happen if the men caught up with him?

  He cleared another hedgerow. Then another. He slid to a halt.

  He’d reached the last house of the row. Like the Marsden house, there was a side path which led to the front, and there was a gate. But this gate was at least seven feet tall. And it was padlocked and topped by wooden panelling, which reached high above Jerome’s head.

  Lungs heaving, Jerome spun on his heels and ran back to the garden. He could hear the men in the adjacent garden, tearing across the lawn.

  He looked up at the wall that bordered the street. Shards of broken glass were glued along the top; a nasty deterrent for any would-be thieves. Frantic, he looked back towards the garden. He was cornered. There was no way out.

  To his horror, he saw the men vault over the hedgerow, one after the other, then thunder towards him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Time slowed down. Emily saw Jerome snatch the envelope from Tim Marsden’s hand, then disappear around the corner of the house. Two of the men chased after him, while the third staggered to his feet. Tim stood still, his limp body that of a man who had nowhere else to run.

  Blood rushed in Emily’s ears. She wondered if she should get out of the car to help him. But her hands and feet would not detach themselves from the steering wheel and pedals. She watched as the remaining man took Tim Marsden roughly by the arm and frogmarched him to the waiting car. He was pushed into the back seat, and the door was closed behind him.

  Then, his assailant turned towards Emily and broke into a run.

  She watched him race towards her with clenched fists and burning eyes. Instinct took over. Her fingers shot from the wheel and hit the door lock button. Then, as the man reached the driver door, she shifted the car into reverse and slammed her foot on the accelerator. Tyres screeching, the car shot backwards. The man lurched forwards. He chased her a few metres, then slid to a halt.

  Emily had to take her eyes off him. With cars lining both sides of the road, she was in danger of a collision. And reversing was not her strongest skill. As she zipped backwards down the street, house lights began to light up the dark. Hopefully, someone would witness what was happening and call the police.

  Emily unpeeled her eyes from the rear view mirror to see the man had returned to the SUV. Swivelling her head towards the rear window, she saw that the road was bending. She turned the wheel sharply, clipping her wing mirror against one of the parked cars.

  More cars lined the street. But the street was coming to an end and merging with a crossroads. Keeping her direction as straight as possible, Emily took her eyes off the mirror again and searched the pavements. Where was Jerome? Her phone sat in the cup holder behind the gear stick, but there was no way she could take her hands off the wheel. Besides, finding Jerome was not her only problem.

  Tyres screeching, the SUV skittered around the bend and, with headlights on full beam, bulleted towards Emily.

  Squinting, Emily floored the accelerator, bounced off a parked car, then entered the crossroads.

  The SUV was coming up fast. Crying out, Emily reversed right, slammed on the brakes, shifted gears, and hit the accelerator.

  The car lunged forwards. The SUV entered the crossroads and swerved, putting itself in Emily’s path. She spun the wheel to the left, then screamed as her wing mirror smashed into the side of the SUV and was torn off.

  She was dazed, disoriented, in the midst of a panic attack. Adrenaline pumped through her veins like a jackhammer. She had to get out of the car. She had to stop driving before she killed herself. But glancing in the rear view mirror, she could already see the SUV catching up to her.

  Emily drove on. She had no idea where she was. Every street was identical to the next. For all she knew, she was driving in circles in an endless rabbit warren of suburban streets. And Jerome was out there somewhere, with two of Hunt’s men in pursuit.

  The SUV’s headlights grew larger in the rear view mirror.

  A turning was coming up on the left. Emily took it, skidding around the corner. The Mazda barrelled along the road between rows of parked vehicles. Then, with a cry, Emily hit the brakes. The car skidded in a half-circle and slid to a halt.

  The road had ended in a cul-de-sac. The only way out was the way that Emily had come in. And now, the SUV was turning onto the road and heading straight towards her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The men came over the hedge, hit the ground, and ran straight towards Jerome. He had two choices—to hand the envelope over to them, or to make a break for it by going over the fence. Neither was going to end well.

  His reflexes made the choice for him.

  Clamping the envelope between his teeth, Jerome turned and ran at the fence. He leapt up and grabbed the top with both hands.

  Blinding pain ripped through his nerve endings as thick shards of glass sliced into his palms and fingers, opening up the outer layers of flesh. He screamed through clenched teeth and almost dropped back down. A hand wrapped around his ankle and yanked his leg.

  The glass sliced deeper. He screamed again. But he did not let go. Instead, he kicked himself free. Then, it was as if Jerome was outside of his body, watching it work of its own volition, as it hauled itself over the fence and swung over to the other side. Indescribable pain brought him rushing back. He landed on the pavement, stumbled, and rolled.

  The envelope slipped from his jaws. His lungs crackled. His hands were on fire.

  Jerome pushed himself to his feet. Pain shot up from his palms to his elbows, making him shout. Wincing, he picked up the envelope with finger and thumb, and then tucked it under his arm. He staggered forwards. The men had not followed him. Jerome didn’t blame them. He glanced back at the fence and its row of vicious glass teeth. Then, he dropped his gaze to the glistening, black trail on the ground.

  Horrified, Jerome stared at his hands. Blood pumped from his shredded flesh and rained down on the pavement. On his left hand, the glass had cut through an artery.

  Crying out in shock and pain, he clamped the hand to his ches
t. He turned on his heels, then looking wildly up and down the road. He had no idea where he was, or how far he had run, or where Emily was right now. But he had to keep moving. It wouldn’t be long before those men double-backed and came for him.

  Keeping his hands pressed to his body, Jerome took off down the street. He could already feel blood wetting his t-shirt. Terrible images flashed through his mind. What if Emily had been caught by the men? What would they do to her? He hobbled along, the envelope pressing into his skin like a brand.

  There were lights on in houses. Perhaps he should knock on a door, and ask for help. He wondered how many people would rush to the aid of a bleeding black man at this time of night in quiet suburbia.

  Blood seeped through his t-shirt and dampened his chest. And now, he was starting to feel light-headed. And had the temperature dropped? He stopped outside of a house with its downstairs lights on. He was considering knocking on the door when his phone began to ring.

  Slowly, carefully, he fished it out of his pocket with two fingers of his right hand. Blood dripped onto the screen. He wiped it clean on his t-shirt. Emily was calling.

  “Are you okay? Where are you?” Her voice was stricken with fear.

  “I have no idea. I got away from them, though. And I have your envelope.” The street tipped slightly as if Jerome were a ship on a wave. “You need to come and get me!”

  “I can’t. Are you sure you’re okay? They didn’t hurt you?”

  Jerome took the phone away from his ear for a second and glanced down at himself. The front of his t-shirt was black and sodden. “Nothing I can’t handle. What do you mean you can’t come get me?”

  “Whatever’s in the envelope, you have to keep it safe. Take it to the police.”

  “Tell me where you are, I’ll find you.”

  “There’s no time.”

  “Jesus, Emily! Stop being so dramatic!”

  Jerome heard a car door open and close, then Emily’s frightened breaths and scurrying footsteps. The line was quiet for a second. Then, she whispered, “I’m on Steven’s Close. But go for help, Jerome. Don’t come here.”

 

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