The Life and Times of William Boule.: Dead girls tell no tales. A heart-pounding action thriller...

by Max China

  Miller pulled in, switched off the engine and instructed the attendant to fill up.

  ‘Oh, goody. Looks like there’s a shop inside. I can get out and stretch my legs, go for a browse.’ She undid her belt, got out and headed for the building. He checked the telephone. There was only one bar. He tried calling, but couldn’t connect. Drafting a quick text, he pressed send, hoping it would go as soon as they passed into an area where the signal was stronger. The heat was stifling in the car; he couldn’t wait to switch the air-conditioning back on once the tank was filled and they got moving again.

  Paying the attendant in cash, he then decided it would be a good idea to visit the toilets before setting off again. He locked the car and passed Carla on her way back, laden with water and other essentials. He tucked the keys into the fold of her elbow.

  ‘You could have opened it for me ...’ she called out to him. ‘And if you’re going to use those toilets – they’re disgusting!’

  He continued across the concrete forecourt.

  When he returned to the car he wasted no time before resuming the journey. From the corner of his eye he could see her swigging suggestively from a litre bottle of Pepsi, her lips wrapped completely around its mouth. Withdrawing the bottle, she wiped her mouth and offered it. ‘Want some?’

  ‘Can’t I have my own bottle?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I’ve put the rest in the boot. Sorry.’

  He took it and drank.

  ‘It’s like kissing in a way, isn’t it? Sharing a bottle like that.’

  ‘Do you ever think of anything else?’

  ‘You know, you’re one of a privileged few to have actually had me.’

  ‘Carla, I’ve known you for a fair while now, and I’m not so sure that’s true.’

  ‘I use my body to get what I want, yes, for sure,’ she said, indignantly, ‘But I don’t give it up for just anyone.’

  ‘Oh, come on. You’d do anything for a story.’

  ‘That is so not true. What’s up with you, anyway?’

  He considered her question. ‘I haven’t heard back from Stella, thanks to you.’

  ‘Aww, now come on, it was just a joke. You can’t blame me if she’s overreacted.’

  ‘But I do blame you—’

  ‘What? Because she’s blown you out over a silly little joke!’

  ‘No, Carla, she hasn’t. I heard from her a couple of hours ago, since the photo. She apologized for doubting me. One thing I can say about her is she’s loyal and trusting.’

  ‘So, why did you just say “thanks to me” when you’ve heard from her since?’

  ‘Because I still can’t believe you did that. You’re just not rational. I mean, all that fuss about needing a new phone, and it isn’t even out of the box!’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re singling me out for a go after all I’ve been through.’

  He hesitated. ‘I’m not, but it’s an undeniable fact, no matter how you feel, if you hadn’t come here none of this would have happened. You don’t think it grants you impunity from the consequences of your actions, do you?’

  She turned in her seat without answering, and presented him with the back of her left shoulder.

  ‘Yes, it was unfortunate,’ he continued. ‘I know how guilty it makes you feel. Believe it or not, I can feel it. But you did come. And I followed. Not for you. For me. Now if you don’t mind, I want to think about what I’m going to say to Stella when I can finally reach her.’

  ‘What do you mean, you came for you?’

  ‘Nothing. End of discussion.’

  She turned to face him. ‘Don’t you like me, even just a little bit?’ Tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘You know I could make you very happy ...?’

  ‘Carla,’ he said softly. ‘Enough ...’

  She shrugged. ‘Don’t say I didn’t try. I still like you. Maybe I even—’

  ‘Enough, Carla!’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘That’s enough.’

  After a brief silence, she said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  He didn’t answer. He was in touch with a higher part of himself; he believed what she said was true, but he was now focused firmly on Stella.

  Looking out at the road ahead of him, he felt her presence.

  Chapter 21

  I’d only just escaped from him and wound up at my biological mother’s house; it’s a long story, but she put me up for the night and the next thing I know, he’s got in and was attacking my mum. I battered him with a rounders bat; he wouldn’t get off, so I bashed him as hard as I could on the back of his head … What was it like finding out my kidnapper was my own father? If I’d known at the time all the things he’d done, I’d have finished him off with that bat.

  Eilise Stapleton, kidnap victim

  The constant drag, the wind resistance pushing against his upper body made his shoulders, neck, and arms ache. His head was swollen. As a fighter, he knew it, could feel it. The pressure of the fluid between his brain and skull increased with every heartbeat, pumped up by every pulse at his temples. His head throbbed as it expanded and filled the entire space inside the helmet. It’s felt like this before.

  Once, some lads had jumped him – more than a dozen of them. The whole thing unfolded like it had been only yesterday.

  He’d been approached by a stupid-looking, angel-faced boy who’d said nothing, but cocking his thumb beneath the cigarette dangling from his lips he’d made it plain he wanted a light. He couldn’t have been any more than eighteen years old. The rest of the group stayed back, huddled together.

  Their faces had given them away. They looked too casual; none could look him in the eye. He reached into his pocket for his lighter with his left hand, knowing what would come, but not caring.

  The kid smacked him hard, catching him on the side of his jaw. The boy was strong. It was a good punch, but not good enough.

  Retaliation was instant. He butted, his forehead crashing into the bony ridge above the lad’s eye, smashing it. At the point of impact, blood welled from a gaping wound.

  The group behind opened up as the boy hit the ground.

  Stepping over him, he took the fight to them – something they hadn’t expected. That was when he saw some of them carrying baseball bats and crowbars, but he’d committed to fight, not run. Fist, boot, elbow and head. Four more went down before they landed a blow on him. It was a coward’s strike, just like that of the girl he’d kidnapped, delivered from behind with a blunt instrument.

  He hadn’t gone down, not at first. Two, maybe three more men had been laid out by his ferocious counter-attack ... another few seconds and he’d have taken them all.

  And then it was lights out.

  He’d regained consciousness in the ambulance. The medic told him to lie still. ‘Your head’s the size of a football, mate. You’ve had a right kicking.’

  It turned out he had a fractured skull. The doctor told him it was a miracle he’d survived, and then probably only because he was a fighter and repeated concussive blows had caused the fluid that cushions the brain to thicken, giving him an edge of protection.

  The recollection triggered the realization that his ability to think straight had been impaired.

  ‘She broke your head and you never got it fixed,’ the voice rasped. ‘Serves you fuckin’ right after all you’ve done.’

  A flash of blinding pain stabbed his forehead; he felt the skin ruck up against the padding inside the helmet. ‘Come to kick me when I’m down, have you? Well, I ain’t finished yet,’ he growled. ‘I’ve got a job of work to do, and when I’ve done that, I’m going to fix you once and for all!’ He braced himself for his mother to join in. Apart from the rumbling in his head, and white noise inside his ears, there was silence.

  That’s what she’s done, he rationalized, broken the skull – and left untreated, whatever was going on in his head was getting worse. Fuck it. Shit or bust.

  He’d find a backstreet doctor in England when this was all over.

  A road sign loomed in front ..
. came and went: Tangier 150 km.

  An hour; he’d be there. In an hour.

  Carla wriggled up in the seat and stretched her arms out, yawning. ‘How much further to go? How long was I asleep for?’

  ‘First question, about half an hour: second ... not long enough,’ Miller said.

  She checked his face, gauging his expression. ‘Don’t be like that. I’m worried. What if we don’t make it out of the country?’

  ‘Pop goes your pursuit story.’

  ‘I’m not joking.’

  ‘Neither am I.’

  ‘So what am I doing in the car with you, then? You don’t want me ... you’ve made that plain. Why are you helping me at all? Why did you come out here, if it wasn’t for any of those things?’

  Met with no answers, her deductive reasoning left only one conclusion. ‘I thought you were joking before, but you’ve come here to kill him, haven’t you?’

  Still silence.

  She continued: ‘Here, in Morocco? Because you think you’ve more chance of getting away with it?’

  He glanced at her. ‘OK, let’s put it this way ... the thought had crossed my mind, but if I did that, I’d be no better than him.’

  She unwrapped her new phone.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m going to make sure I’ve got enough charge in this to take photos, that’s all.’

  The value of her story had just gone up.

  Chapter 22

  I’ve compromised myself. I made a few bad choices, did some immoral things, but nothing criminal. I’m stitched up so tight, I can’t breathe. I can do nothing apart from disappear for a while. Let things take their course.

  Extract from DCI Kennedy’s letter dated 3 April 2007

  Mohand’s inner ear had been disturbed by the helicopter journey, affecting his balance. He’d had something similar once after a choppy sea voyage. Mercifully, the pounding in his head had eased considerably.

  Outside the airport, he half-staggered to a bench and sat down in the shade offered up by a short grove of palm trees.

  Gathering his thoughts, he unclipped his mobile phone from its holster and called Hamed.

  ‘Lieutenant? I was beginning to think you’d never arrive.’

  ‘Tell me what’s happened since I left.’ Mohand inhaled deeply. The warm air, tainted with aviation fuel, did little to clear the nausea he felt.

  ‘The stolen motorcycle registration has been circulated. Passport control has been put on alert, but there’s official resistance to committing police time without real evidence.’

  ‘I knew that would be so. The commander here in Tangier, his father worked with my father. Perhaps I can persuade him to cooperate with me.’

  ‘And if he refuses?’

  ‘I am already alone. I will remain alone. Unless...?’

  Hamed allowed a moment to pass and then said, ‘Yes, lieutenant?’

  ‘It does not matter. I will visit my mother ... What about this German? Did we find out more?’

  ‘No, they are still checking.’

  ‘If there is anything, a sighting of the bike ... anything … you are to contact me immediately, Hamed, c'est bien compris?’

  ‘Of course, lieutenant.’

  Ending the call, he scrolled through his contact list on the phone. Some of his ex-colleagues, from when he was stationed in Tangier, were friends. If his plan worked, he needn’t involve the commander at all. His explanation, if needed, would be that he was in town, this situation arose, and he dealt with it, as any officer would have.

  He phoned his first choice from the list: Sayeed.

  After three rings, his call was answered. ‘Mustafa? I haven’t heard from you in such a long time, my friend, I swear my finger was on the delete button when you called. How did you know?’

  Mohand laughed. ‘It is the gut instinct. You know? How are you, Sayeed, my friend?’

  ‘I’m very well.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad to hear it. Look, I need some help. Are you on duty today?’

  ‘Everyone is working today. Apart from Farouk, he is sick with something he ate last night.’

  Farouk. He knew him. He scrolled down the list, sure he was on it.

  ‘Why do you ask, my friend?’

  He took a gamble and confided in him.

  ‘I’m off duty in an hour. I can meet you at the port.’

  ‘Excellent, Sayeed. I will be there.’

  He made his next call. ‘Farouk ...?’

  Five minutes later, he had another recruit.

  He considered his next move. The port, I must go to the port.

  Boyle’s backside joined in with the protestations made by the rest of his body. It had gone to sleep. He tried to move around on the seat of the motorcycle to stimulate blood flow. He couldn’t even feel his cock. Fuck, shit, bollocks!

  ‘You’re fallin’ apart boy!’

  He gritted his inward-sloping teeth. If he’d bitten someone at that moment, he’d have taken a chunk right out of them.

  ‘Get the fuck out of my head, you ain’t even real anymore. I killed you, remember? Buried you in that pond you showed me years ago. Keeping all the others company, that’s where you are. Where you belong!’

  ‘But I ain’t there anymore, boy! You never read that book properly, did you? They found me when they dredged it, when them kids died. Didn’t you know about that? Didn’t you listen when I told you not to overfish the same place? Course not, you divvy piece of shit! You went back and chucked me in. Should have stayed away ... me and that Chinese girl ... brought you bad luck. Brought it on yourself, all of it. Don’t think I don’t hear you blaming me. You blamed me for the death of your mother, but it was you that killed her with your evil ways. I heard you say it. “I’m worse than you, Dad ...” We’ll see. I’ll be seeing you.’

  Did he really just have a conversation with his father? It was all in his fucked-up, broken head. Pieces of bone, forcing their way into his brain, depressing the parts ...

  What if my memory goes? Then everything would have been for nothing. What good the thrill, if he couldn’t play it back in the cinema of his mind?

  He dropped his speed considerably, but still whipped past the slower vehicles, switching lanes constantly as the traffic became denser on the outskirts of town.

  As he overtook one vehicle on the inside, he did a double take. A snapshot taken from the periphery of his vision, picked apart and reassembled, flashed a match in his brain.

  He slowed down. Looking in his rearview mirror, he was now convinced of it. Her!

  A dark shadow passed to Miller’s right. For a split second, he thought it was an alert to danger, the return of an ability that had lain dormant since the Sister had taken it from him.

  A motorbike shot past. The red glow of his brake light caused Miller to touch his own pedal.

  The angle of the biker’s head indicated that he was looking in his mirror. And then he noticed the cowboy hat gently slapping the rider’s back.

  Carla had seen him, too. Terrified, she shrank into the seat and whispered: ‘Boyle.’

  Chapter 23

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ Carla spoke in hushed tones, as if Boyle might hear her.

  ‘Keep calm,’ Miller reassured her. ‘He can’t do anything here. We keep going. He can’t get us now, there are too many witnesses.’

  ‘What about my passport? How are we going to sort that out with him following right behind ...?’

  ‘That’s going to be more difficult,’ he said, and flicked his eyes up to glance in the mirror. ‘We’ll have to lose him.’

  ‘Miller?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m glad to hear you saying “we”.’

  He didn’t bother to answer.

  The sun flared, gleaming off the windscreen and preventing him from getting a look at the driver. A rental car! Should have guessed that was another possibility. The filthy slag probably dipped at the roadside like a prostitute. Good-looking woman like that, it
was obvious she wouldn’t have had to pay a taxi ride.

  Brief images formed of her opening her legs to the cabbie in exchange for the fare. Swiftly moving on from that, another scene arose in his imagination in which he was the driver who’d picked her up. She got in with him, knowing who he was and not caring, blowing him with those lush lips of hers while he was driving.

  His cock throbbed. This was too good an opportunity to miss. He slowed down. She looked out from behind the car window, eyes wide as he raised his visor, showing her his face. Terror or desire?

  For the second time on the journey warm fluid dribbled into his pants.

  He slowed down and tucked himself in behind them.

  ‘Did you see that look on his face?’ Carla said. ‘He couldn’t have made it plainer what he was thinking.’ She shuddered. ‘Jesus! I think I now know how Stella felt, when he had her at his mercy.’

  Miller shook his head. ‘Somehow, I doubt that. She was alone and terrified ...’ He flashed back to the scene he’d been met with when he’d burst into the room. Stella tied up and naked, barely conscious, an empty syringe in Boyle’s hand ... It was just a few months before, yet it seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Why didn’t you kill him then, and have done with it? One expertly delivered strike while he had him down and unconscious ... There wasn’t a jury in the land who wouldn’t have believed he’d acted in self-defence against such an assailant. He hadn’t only himself to think about, though. Stella would have died if he hadn’t acted when he did, rushing her to the hospital. Things happen for a reason, and sometimes things have to happen no matter what, in order for the next thing to happen.

  It was meant to be this way. He was convinced of it.

  Carla adjusted the wing mirror so she could keep a watchful eye behind. ‘Hey! Where’s he gone?’

  Miller scanned the mirrors. ‘He’s on my side. No wait ... What’s he doing? He’s dropping further back.’