by Matt Hilton
I stepped closer to the window, meeting their gaze. The boy and girl shared a glance. The girl said something and the boy sneered at me before they turned and walked unhurriedly across the green.
They look dangerous. Go after them, Hunter. Why not kill them as well?
I sighed and turned back to the room, putting the kids out of my mind. Don was walking in ahead of Millie and he was clutching a steaming mug similar to the two she carried. He also had the police file he’d shown me earlier tucked under his elbow.
‘I thought you might want to take a look at this again.’ As Don sat down he snapped the file against his thigh.
Taking the proffered mug from Millie, I said, ‘I don’t need to, Don.’ What I really meant was, ‘I don’t want to.’ ‘I’d rather see your grandchildren. And there’s something I want to show you on the way.. ’
Don caught the tone of delivery and had a good idea what the something was. ‘I don’t want to leave Millie here alone.’
‘She can come with us,’ I said. ‘She can wait with the kids while we-’
Millie held up a hand. ‘Hold on. Don’t I have a say in this?’
Don and I shared a glance.
‘I’m not a baby,’ she said. ‘I can look after myself. And I can certainly make up my own mind when it comes to where I’m going to wait. She ’s going to wait right here.’ She looked pointedly at me for my choice of words.
‘It may not be safe here,’ Don said.
‘Dad!’
‘I mean it, Millie.’
‘What’s going to happen here? Who’s going to do something in this town?’
Once again we shared a glance. More could happen here than she could ever suspect, and we both knew it. Finally, I nodded. ‘You’re right, Millie. Nothing’s going to happen to you.’ I looked at Don. ‘Leave the key for her, though.’
Don frowned, but then dug in his back pocket for the key to the drawer where he’d left the gun this morning. He placed it on the arm of his chair. ‘It’s just a precaution. You remember how to use it, don’t you, Millie?’
‘Your gun? Yes… but…’
‘It’s just a precaution,’ I echoed. ‘You won’t need it, but it’s there just in case.’
‘Just in case I get frightened, you mean?’ Millie shook her head and turned to walk out of the room without picking up the key. Before she reached the door, the old tomcat graced us with his presence. He swanked into the room, his tail held high. Millie crouched, opening her arms, and the cat immediately sprang up to be cuddled. She turned back to us, holding the cat. It stared at us without blinking. So did Millie. ‘See. I’m not here all alone. We’ll be fine while you’re gone.’
We could only acquiesce. Don grabbed a jacket and a spare for me. I shrugged into the winter coat as Don gave his daughter a warning eye. ‘Just keep everything locked and don’t answer the door to any strangers.’
Millie walked away stiffly, the cat looking back over her shoulder at us. ‘Like we see many strangers around here?’
Chapter 6
From seats in the window of Benson’s Drugstore Vince Everett and Sonya Madden watched the two men drive away in the dark-coloured Audi.
Sonya was slurping on a milkshake. She batted her mascara-laden eyelashes at the young man next to her.
‘We gonna follow them, Vince?’
With a fingertip stained by nicotine he teased a drip of milkshake that trembled on her lip. ‘No, we just stay cool.’
Sonya looked over her shoulder. The motion appeared languid but was practised. At the counter, the old man — a third-generation Benson — paid them no more attention than he did any other kid in the place. Sonya leaned towards Vince. ‘We were told to keep an eye on them.’
‘They’ll spot a tail too easy.’
‘What if we lose them?’
‘They’ll come back. Now drink your shake and shut up, will ya? I’m trying to think.’
Sonya caught links of her nose chain with the tip of her tongue and pulled it into the corner of her mouth. ‘You’re thinking about the woman.’
Vince tilted his chin her way. His hair flopped on his forehead and he rolled his head to flick it back in place. ‘Only one woman I’m interested in, baby.’
Sonya let the chain pop loose as she concentrated on pouting. ‘So you say, but I know what’s on your mind. You’re looking forward to paying her a visit, ain’t ya?’
‘A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Doesn’t mean I have to take any pleasure from it.’
‘I want to come with you.’
‘No. You have to wait outside and keep watch.’
‘I want to watch you.’ Her eyes flared at the suggestion.
Vince touched her on the tip of her upturned nose. ‘Don’t worry, baby. When I do it, I’ll be thinking about you.’ He stood up, kicking back the chair with a heel of his silver-tipped boots. ‘Wait until I’m outta here, then go on over to the well. You see those guys come back, you ring me right away.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’ She slurped her milkshake again, managing her pout around the straw this time. ‘Knock yourself out, Vince.’
He stared down at her. Then he curled his lip and held her under his smouldering gaze. She smiled, but then she hunched her shoulders, ducking her head coyly like she couldn’t bear his sexy look any longer.
All an act. But he liked it.
He hitched up his jeans and then pimp-walked out of the store looking back over his shoulder.
Sonya watched him go. He saw her head come up and the innocence vanish from her features. They loved playing their little game, but now Sonya was all business. And so was he.
Vince Everett was a fake name, but that was all he’d allow. Everything else about him was the real deal. In the movie Jailhouse Rock Elvis Presley played the character of Vince Everett, the ex-con who became a big singing star. It didn’t matter that Vince couldn’t sing a note, or that his hip-swinging was more akin to someone taking a fit, there was something this Louisiana Cat possessed that the man whose name he’d assumed couldn’t claim. Elvis was famous for shooting at TV screens, but had he ever shot and killed a man?
Vince Everett had.
More than once.
He was also suspected of murdering a cop by beating him with the PR24 baton he’d taken off the cop’s belt. Vince had reputedly laughed for joy as the cop’s face went from stunned surprise to ground beef under the repeated whacks of the baton.
Unlike the Presley character, Everett had never been caught. He was no ex-con, and all being well things shouldn’t change.
School kids were clambering to get the best seats on a yellow bus as he walked across the green. From the misted windows a couple of older girls watched his progress. He swaggered for their benefit; but their laughter was too harsh to be appreciated. What did they know about sex on legs, anyway?
The bus puttered away, sending clouds of smoke out of its tailpipe. Vince kept walking. At the gate on to Don Griffiths’ property he paused. Back across the way he saw Sonya come out of the drugstore and walk towards the green. She was already clutching her cell phone, ready to warn him of the men’s return.
She was a good catch, that one.
He’d met her out East at one of them burlesque clubs in Greenwich Village. Not a dancer but a punter just like he was; someone who liked the archaic fashion and musical styles of bygone eras. It only took a glance and they both knew it: there was something else they shared. That night they’d danced and drunk and fucked, and things had been pretty much like that in the three months since. And twice already they’d shared their lust for violence. Sonya liked to watch him. Afterwards they’d screwed their brains out; high on the agony of the ones they had hurt.
She was probably pissed that she was going to miss out on what he was about to do to Millie Griffiths, but he’d tell her all the gory details afterwards. Right now she had to watch from a distance, keep an eye out for Don and his visitor returning. There’d be nothing to tell if Vince was disturbed on
the job, nothing to spice things up when he ripped off her clothes.
Vince wondered who the newcomer was.
Looked nothing special to him, but who knew?
The guy was older than him, heavier built, and he looked a little tense when he walked. Old and slow. Vince was pretty sure that the man was no threat.
But then he thought of the way that the man had returned his stare out of the window earlier. Something about the guy made Vince wonder if maybe he should reconsider. The man had a similar look to the one he’d recognised in Sonya’s eyes that first time in Greenwich Village. It was the same look he knew that he carried. They all had what Vince’s grandpa called ‘Cain’s eyes’ — the eyes of a killer.
Yeah, but what did Grandpa Everett know? Vince’s grandfather hadn’t recognised the killer eyes of the kid who shot him through the throat with a. 22 revolver when he’d discovered him trying to boost the cash from the till in his store.
Or maybe he had, but the shock of seeing them in his own grandson’s face had thrown him off.
Vince shrugged. Who gives a fuck anyway? If the guy comes back, Sonya will warn me. If he wants to get it on, then so be it. He’d kill the guy and see how hot for it that made Sonya.
Feeling the stirrings of an erection, Vince smiled to himself. Then he dipped a hand into the hip pocket of his jeans. He couldn’t play guitar like the King, but he always carried a spare string.
The ‘G’ string — Sonya always laughed at that, usually lifting the hem of her skirt to show him hers — had never been on a guitar and likely never would be. He’d taken the two ends and fastened them to large steel washers. The weighted ends made it easy for snaring round a throat, then gave him good handles while he throttled his victim. The string was a medium gauge, with a nylon filament and sheathed in a wound brass coil: tough enough not to break and not too slim that it cut deeply. Vince wanted his victims aware while he strangled them to death.
Chapter 7
A little under a year ago, I’d launched an assault with my friend Rink on a derelict building in Little Rock, Arkansas. We’d been searching for my brother, John, who’d been in the employ of the men inside. Though we’d both expected to be met with violence, I’d cautioned against the use of lethal force. The men inside were little more than low-end criminals and, without knowledge of John’s fate, I couldn’t reconcile myself to the thought of murder. Even when the guns started blasting, I’d reined in my instincts and hadn’t aimed to kill.
So what’s happened here?
I held back the blanket so that Don could look at the two dead men. I avoided looking at their purpling faces and their staring, accusatory eyes.
I concentrated instead on Don’s reaction to their identity. Please tell me that you don’t recognise them, I prayed.
My worst fear was that the two men were merely local punks, who, misreading my arrival in town, thought I was someone looking into their criminal activities. Maybe they were dealing dope or had an illegal cook shop hidden out in the hills and they thought I was there to upset their enterprise or even take their customers away from them.
‘I don’t know them.’
There was relief at Don’s words but only for the space of a heartbeat.
‘You’re sure? Take another look.’
‘I don’t need another look. I’ve lived here in Bedford Well for years and know every deadbeat out there. They’re not from round here, Hunter.’
This second wave of relief was tinged with the realisation that Don’s original suspicion was probably right. Someone had sent these men to watch Don’s house and to dissuade anyone from lingering there very long. It went some way to justifying my actions, but also it would be likely that more men were coming. And that could mean I might have to kill them too.
‘How’d you do it, Hunter?’
I allowed the blanket to drop back in place. The smell coming off the corpses wafted out of the interior of the SUV, and we moved away hurriedly. When I didn’t immediately reply, Don added, ‘I didn’t see any bullet holes. How’d you take them out?’
In the worst way imaginable.
‘Does it matter?’
Don shook his head. Then he planted his fists on his hips and looked around. The forest encroached on all sides, and an outcropping of limestone jutted across the trail, hiding the SUV from anyone who might travel up the service road. But it wasn’t exactly the middle of nowhere.
‘They’ll be found sooner or later,’ he said.
‘Let’s hope that it’s later then.’ I closed the door and sealed the men in their tomb. It would stop the wildlife from getting at them but wouldn’t deter the insects for long. ‘You OK with that, Don?’
‘Not really. I was a cop and I have to admit that this really goes against the grain.’
‘I hear you. But now you’re just a father looking out for his family.’
‘Exactly.’ Don rubbed his hands over his face, the bristles of his beard rasping against his palms. ‘That’s why I’ll keep this secret. If they were here to hurt my family, well, I’m glad that you killed the bastards.’
But what if they weren’t?
I mentally shook myself. Enough worrying about the identity of the two I’d killed; they were punk criminals and given the opportunity they would have killed me. They got what was coming to them. That was all I had to keep telling myself.
We’d left my Audi a short stroll away on the main service trail and we walked back to it in silence. It gave us the opportunity to clear the fetid breath of decomposition from our lungs. I started the engine and threw the car into reverse. Driving back down the trail until I found an area flat enough to turn on, I then directed the Audi down towards the road.
We had to wait until a yellow school bus had passed before nosing out on to the road and following in its wake, allowing enough space between the two vehicles that no one would recall anything about the car seen leaving the scene of the body dump. Sooner or later the corpses would be discovered and I didn’t want a group of school kids carrying tales to the cops. Kids noticed much more than they were given credit for.
‘I guess I’d best warn you,’ Don said.
Concentrating on the road ahead, I merely flicked Don a glance.
‘Adrian isn’t happy that I’ve called you in.’
I’m not happy either, I thought. ‘Why not?’
‘He has just lost his wife. He has come to terms with the police findings and won’t accept that her death was anything but a tragic accident. He might be a little… difficult.’
‘Yeah.’ Better and better. ‘When all comes to all, he’s the children’s father. If he doesn’t want me there I don’t see what I can do about that.’
‘ No. Whatever he says, he’s wrong. I won’t have my grandchildren put at risk.’
‘He’s their father, Don. He decides what’s best for them.’
Don shook his head adamantly. ‘He doesn’t realise the enormity of the threat.’
Maybe he does and has realised that you’re just a paranoid old man. But I had to bite down on that thought. If Don was misguided, then what did that make me?
Don was chewing on the end of his moustache. His eyes were fixed on a spot only a couple of inches from the end of his nose. Suddenly he turned towards me, quivering in anger. ‘Apart from when I was a policeman, Adrian knows little about my past, what I did or what I was involved in. He doesn’t understand what kind of enemies I’ve made. And anyway, he does not have a final say on what happens to the children.’
‘I think you’ll find that he does.’
‘No, he doesn’t. I’ve asked you to look after my family and even he won’t be able to do anything about that.’
‘He’s their father, Don. He has every right in the world to tell me to sling my hook.’
Don snorted. ‘Adrian has no say where Beth or Ryan is concerned. He was married to my daughter, yes, but he isn’t the kids’ biological father. They’re my blood, not his.’
I was surprised by this a
nnouncement but didn’t let it show. If the truth were known, I’d already suspected that the children weren’t Adrian’s. Brook and Adrian were dark-haired, with green and brown eyes respectively. In the photographs dotting the living room of Don’s house, both kids were blond with the palest blue eyes I’d ever seen. There were often anomalies in birth, but the difference was a bit too dramatic to be explained by ancient DNA reasserting itself.
Then there were the dates.
Beth and Ryan’s births both pre-dated their parents’ wedding. Not unusual in this day and age, but enough to have placed doubt about parentage in my mind.
‘Who is their dad?’
Don shook his head, unprepared or unwilling to answer.
‘It may be important, Don.’
‘You think that this has something to do with him; a waste-of-time drunkard who left her with two small babies when the going got too tough for him? No, Hunter, you can forget that line of thinking. I’m telling you: this is all Hicks’ doing.’
Up ahead the school bus was a yellow stain in the steamy haze rising from the road. Then it was gone and I realised that we were approaching the intersection where the mountain road joined the main highway.
‘Take a left,’ Don said.
Don had already informed me that Adrian and the children lived in a house in its own walled enclosure, but had been a little vague on its location, saying that he’d direct me when we were on the road. So it was a distance from the city of Hertford where the school bus was heading to? Good and bad. Cities made things difficult if I had to respond in kind to violence: the cops were too close by and that severely hindered my options. But out in the wilds a house was exposed and difficult to defend. It was beginning to look like I was going to have to call in back-up.