Road Kill

by Hanna Jameson

  The dead guys in the kitchen had been real.

  The Ormus capsules had been real. Eli’s ear had healed miraculously.

  Cathal was gone now, of his own accord or not, but he had been real.

  Trent was gone, and I wasn’t sure if he’d existed.

  I put the spoon down and stared at it for a while.

  ‘Ron, dinner yo! Eli’s here!’

  Even through a closed door his voice grated on me.

  My phone vibrated and it was a text from Noel, and that grated on me too.

  Luiz’s voice had been welcome, even in this alien surrounding. It took me back to something familiar.

  I picked up the spoon again and put it in my pocket. I almost didn’t want to get someone to test it; it was nicer to pretend. It was better to believe I could show my kids something a human had transformed into gold.

  Later, when I asked Eli about Melissa over dinner he went very quiet, and started talking to Rachel about the political situation in Burma. I didn’t try asking again. He’d either murdered her or he hadn’t. I supposed it was none of my business.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Daisy

  Edie was in the office. I knew because it was the first fucking day since what felt like the dawn of time that Noel had decided to spend the morning there, and he’d texted me almost immediately.

  I arrived about an hour later, around ten, with last night’s make-up still gluing my eyes together.

  Only Edie was there, making herself a coffee.

  ‘Hey, where’s Noel?’

  ‘Morning to you too. He said he had to go out for… something. I think he just doesn’t like to have the boss under his feet. You want anything?’ She gestured at the machine. ‘I’ll get out of your way, I have some stuff to go over upstairs.’

  ‘Are you selling?’

  As I’d been rehearsing it in my head, I’d added a preamble to try and drag some information out of her by stealth. But standing in front of her now, it seemed childish. She’d appreciate a direct question more than being interrogated by an amateur.

  ‘Let’s talk about this upstairs, shall we?’

  My heart started beating uncomfortably fast. I felt safe stood with the bar between us. Any closer and I thought I might have a panic attack.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ I said.

  I followed her upstairs, eyeing the bar and wondering if I could get away with downing a shot of anything on the way. But I left it.

  When Edie was here, the office was as far from the minimalist boy-space as you could get. There were photos on the desk for a start. BBC 6 Music was playing. A couple of coats and jackets were strewn over the sofa and the backs of chairs like decorative throws.

  ‘So did Noel put you up to this?’ she asked. ‘Ronnie?’

  ‘Neither actually.’

  ‘But they know.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. But then they haven’t been around so… maybe it wouldn’t be as apparent to them.’

  ‘I haven’t said yes, you know.’

  ‘Yeah…’ I sat down slowly, while she remained standing. ‘But then instead of saying no and laughing it off you’ve called me up to your office and started quizzing me about which guy knows what.’

  ‘True.’ She half-smiled. ‘There’s a reason Ronnie’s come back from the US with new muscle. You must have noticed, you’re not stupid.’

  ‘Eli’s a fucking psycho and Ronnie’s following suit like it’s infectious.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘He doesn’t even talk about his kids any more. You never used to be able to shut him up about them. Now I wish he’d just say something to make me think he’s the same guy.’ I paused. ‘You have kids too, right? Could anything make you stop caring about them?’

  ‘Kid.’ That was all she said, correcting me. ‘Look, you don’t have to worry about this. Your job is secure.’

  I swallowed. ‘I think I might have to worry. In fact, I think you should be worried because you don’t seem to get how bat-shit Eli is. If Ron has brought him back then he must be prepared to put people in the fucking ground, that’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And?’ I spread my hands, feeling like I could scream. ‘I don’t see any fucking muscle here!’

  ‘I don’t need muscle. I’m not scared of Eli and the new owner will take care of everything.’

  ‘And who are they?’

  ‘This can never leave this room.’

  ‘Obvs. Who is it?’

  ‘Why should I tell you?’

  ‘Because I hate Eli and anyone who’s going to get him out of the picture is fine by me.’

  ‘So you don’t have any loyalty to Noel or Ronnie?’ She stared at me, tapping one of her nails against the desk.

  ‘Well… as long as Noel doesn’t get hurt.’

  She seemed pained by the idea. ‘I like Noel. I’ve known these boys for years, you think I don’t feel affection for them? But they’re both off the goddamn rails. Noel’s… Noel just needs help. And Ronnie’s dangerous. You know he is. You think he wouldn’t kill you to make his position more secure?’

  ‘I didn’t think so before.’

  ‘We’re women, Daisy. We need to protect ourselves. You know we’re more likely to be killed by a man than anything else on the planet? You know what kills men most?’

  ‘I don’t know, sharks?’

  ‘Heart disease.’ She sipped her coffee and grimaced. ‘Christ, that coffee machine is awful.’

  ‘Who’s the new owner?’ I asked again.

  ‘His name is Paul O’Connell.’

  I hesitated. ‘O’Connell. So… Ronnie’s…’

  ‘Father.’

  ‘Does Eli know?’

  Edie nodded. ‘He’s known from the start. The reason Ronnie took so long coming back was because Eli was keeping him busy. Eli’s not here for Ronnie, he’s here for Paul.’

  I wasn’t sure I bought it, but she sounded so sure.

  ‘So you’re banking on Ronnie not wanting to start anything with his own father. That’s fucking harsh, but I kinda like it.’

  ‘Paul’s flying here tomorrow.’

  ‘Does his brother know? Eamonn?’

  ‘No. As far as I can tell he’s irrelevant anyway.’

  I felt a pang of something like guilt and wasn’t sure why.

  ‘So where are you going to go?’ I asked.

  ‘Probably to Manchester; I have places up there and they’ve been making more money anyhow.’ Another sip of coffee. ‘You know, if you wanted to come up, start afresh, send me a message.’

  I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to give two months’ notice either way.’

  ‘What makes you think Ronnie won’t just kill us both?’

  ‘Because he knows there’s not enough fatherly love in his family to keep him alive if that was the case.’ She smiled her fluorescent perfect smile. ‘That’s what I was counting on. Paul O’Connell would do anything for a good deal.’

  ‘Was all this your idea?’

  A glimmer of pride. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, this thing with Seven—’

  ‘I couldn’t give a shit about Seven.’

  Anything else I was going to say was held back. Telling her about Katz would only throw another snake into the pit. I’d keep it between me and Nic, for now. Regardless of what Ronnie or Noel wanted, it was bigger than their grievances.

  ‘I need to go… work.’ I stood up, hoping it looked purposeful. ‘Thanks for filling me in.’

  I needed coffee.

  Out in the corridor I shook my arms out, taking deep breaths as I went downstairs—

  And straight into Eli.

  I stopped, dead.

  ‘Morning,’ he said, with a nod.

  Oddly, he stopped as well.

  I was on the higher step, but it didn’t make much difference. He still matched my height.

  ‘Just opening up,’ I said, arms folded. ‘Edie’s upstairs.’

/>   ‘Oh, is she.’ He smirked a little. ‘Great. You know if the machine’s on downstairs I could really do with a—’

  I shoved past him and it was like scraping against cold stone. ‘Go to hell.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Ronnie

  What was the expected demeanour of someone after they brutally murdered their ex-wife? I supposed it would inflict a kind of sadness alongside the bravado. But Eli didn’t really do sadness. Either way, I wanted to know. I had to know if the names on that list had meant anything. I had to meet the voice on the phone.

  I asked Nic to track down an address for me and it took him less than nine hours to get back to me by text.

  That boy was always worth his fee. I had no idea what kind of fucked-up computer system he and Mark had access to, but it always came good.

  Rachel asked, ‘Are you home tonight?’

  ‘No, I’m working.’

  ‘Of course.’

  She didn’t even turn it into a discussion, having lost any shred of interest in what I was doing with my time. This wasn’t something we’d experienced before. Apathy was a step down from anger, I knew this. It was much worse to have stopped caring rather than feel the need to fight. Fight meant hope, hope for change, for something better. Without that we had nothing.

  I looked at my car keys on the coffee table, thought, Am I really going to do this? Am I going to overstep this mark?

  I picked up the keys and left the house without any further planning, other than to type Melissa’s address into my satnav. Every night here had been so quiet, a post-apocalyptic amount of traffic in the road as if everyone knew something I didn’t and had already fled the population centres.

  Turning the radio on, I couldn’t find any reception. I hit it a couple of times, but nothing.

  End times.

  It took me twenty-five minutes to reach Melissa’s road, near Finsbury Park. I downed the window to get a better look at the house numbers, and heard live guitar on the wind, some gig, the murmur of several thousand people slurring and cheering in unison.

  ‘You have reached your destination.’

  I looked for a place to pull over and there wasn’t one, so I rounded a corner and left my car at the foot of someone else’s driveway. I was only planning to look through one of the windows, see a body and then go home. That’s the only thing I could do. Just leave the body there and go home.

  There were lights on in the house, maybe upstairs. I could see them through the glass.

  I leaned away to eye the window to my immediate right, but saw nothing, so I knocked.

  I looked the white terraced house up and down. It’d be hard to access the back windows on a street like this. It would probably involve leaping the fences of a dozen gardens. But I had to know. There had to be a body.

  The door opened, on a chain, and Melissa de Ehrmann asked, ‘Yes?’

  I stared at her.

  Say something.

  Definitely her.

  ‘I’m Ronnie,’ I said, showing my hands and staying a good four feet away. ‘Ronnie O’Connell.’

  She was either a fantastic actress, or my name meant absolutely nothing to her.

  ‘We spoke on the phone.’

  ‘I think you might have the wrong house? Who are you looking for?’

  ‘Melissa…’ It definitely was her. ‘It is you, right?’

  ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘Melissa de Ehrmann?’

  ‘Yes?’

  This time she sounded concerned.

  ‘We spoke on the phone, loads. You don’t remember?’

  She glanced back into the house.

  ‘We spoke about Trent!’ I couldn’t help but raise my voice. ‘Trent Byrne, you were telling me about his niece and how he tried to sue God before she died and…’

  It was as if I was speaking Mandarin.

  ‘You really don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?’

  She shook her head, a little uneasy now. ‘I haven’t heard anything from Trent for years. Last I heard he was teaching. Are you a friend of his?’

  I must have been looking at her like a crazy person, but I couldn’t help it. It was so far from the exchange I’d been envisioning. I didn’t understand the genuine lack of recognition.

  ‘No, I’m not a friend of his, we were looking for him. He disappeared, years ago. You said—’

  ‘Trent lives in… Lincolnshire.’

  ‘What? But he can’t. He got fired in St Louis and… Wait, he lives in Lincolnshire?’

  The thing in the tunnel.

  The thing lying at my feet.

  The thing, clawing with sharp faecal hands.

  The face in my beam of light.

  I frowned at her, put my hand in my pocket and pulled out my phone, as if showing her our method of communication would suddenly jog her memory.

  ‘We talked on the phone.’

  Hard eyes. ‘I promise you, we didn’t. Look, my boyfriend is upstairs—’

  ‘No, you misunderstand me, I don’t want any trouble.’ I waved a hand, ran it through my hair, trying to find some answer in her face. It was definitely her face, her hair, the same voice… ‘Did Eli come to see you? Did he put you up to this?’

  A pause.

  The road, impossibly silent.

  Nothing crossed her face. Nothing.

  That was why she had married Eli, I realized. They shared that blankness of expression. She didn’t want to answer the question, so she didn’t.

  ‘I think you should go,’ she said.

  ‘No, I will. I…’

  I was already backing away before she shut the door on me.

  Walking back to the car, I stopped in the middle of the pavement.

  No fucking way.

  I turned back towards the house, not entirely sure what I wanted to do. The front door didn’t look strong, but then none of them were really. If they had the conviction, pretty much anyone could kick a door in. Any man anyway. Four walls weren’t going to mean a damn thing to someone who wanted to end you.

  Without checking if anyone was watching – because let them fucking watch – I braced myself against the wall either side of me and donkey-kicked the thing – once, twice – damn near off its hinges. It swung open like it was welcoming an old friend, like this was my house. In a way it was, now.

  A scream. ‘What are you doing!’

  Assessing the layout in a second – living room to my left – I saw her stand there, staring at me, and then disappear.

  I sprinted into the kitchen after her…

  She was tearing a knife from the magnetic rail on the wall…

  And I grabbed her around the waist, pinning her arms.

  ‘Drop it!’ I snapped.

  She kicked and thrashed, barely making a noise, barely making a dent.

  ‘Drop it!’

  And she did, eventually. It clattered down next to my feet.

  I carried her through to the living room and dumped her on the sofa. She writhed, like a cat, as I turned her over and pinned her there. As the thought crossed my mind – the thought – I could rape her and no one would even fucking know, she started laughing, throat heaving under my grip, laughing right in my face.

  ‘What the fuck is going on here?’

  And as quickly as it had appeared, the thought disappeared. Because she was too much like Eli.

  She kept laughing.

  ‘Who’s Trent?’ I shouted, pinning her harder, until she began to choke. ‘Tell me where Trent is!’

  She went quiet and still, for long enough to make me loosen my hold enough for her to say, ‘Which one?’

  ‘Which what?’

  ‘Which question do you want me to answer?’ She started laughing again.

  ‘Shut up!’ I slapped her, not hard, but enough to stop the hysterics.

  ‘Or answer your questions? I can’t do both.’

  ‘Who’s Trent Byrne?’

  ‘He’s exactly who you think he is.’

&nb
sp; ‘No. Is he the guy we were following around the fucking States?’

  She looked up at me, sullen. ‘Maybe. Is he the guy you found in Staten Island? No, he’s not.’

  ‘You know about Staten Island? So you and Eli have talked.’ I frowned. ‘Are you still married?’

  ‘Not technically.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘It didn’t make much difference to us either way.’

  It didn’t seem to bother her, conducting this conversation from beneath my knees.

  ‘Did you call me? It was you who I was talking to? The things you told me about Trent, they were true?’

  ‘They were true.’

  I didn’t understand. I didn’t even know which questions to ask.

  I settled for, ‘Aren’t you afraid Eli’s going to kill you?’

  ‘No more than anyone else should be.’ A tiny smile. ‘Actually, less so. I don’t think anyone else understands him. He knows that. In another life we might have been two halves of the same person.’

  ‘I’d have thought Eli would jump at the chance to kill himself without killing… himself.’

  ‘Maybe. But he finds himself too fascinating. Looking at me is the only time he can observe himself in action.’ A slight roll of the eyes. ‘He told me that once. I don’t psychoanalyse my husband for sport.’

  Feeling that I’d probably spent enough time on top of her, I stood up and let her straighten herself. We sat side by side on the sofa. I took the moment of calm to observe the house. There was something very young about it. Nothing in frames but all leaning and tacked, arranged like stuffed toys on all the surfaces. There were also books everywhere, overspilling onto the floor at the edges of the room.

  ‘How did you and Eli end up married?’ I asked.

  ‘I was never shocked by anything he said.’ She fluffed her hair. ‘He likes to say things to shock people or to scare them, and I just never found it impressive. I always used to say something worse. I think he used that to try and convince himself that I was maybe as insane as he was, but I’m just good with words.’

  ‘So you married him, even though you knew he was insane.’