by J. D. Weston
He cut across the island, using the back streets to work his way around Millwall Dock, a large, man-made body of water that dominated the centre of the island. He came to a T-junction on the east side of the island and waited, wondering if he had been fast enough.
He didn’t have to wait long for his answer. The black Mercedes rolled into view to his right and cruised along Manchester Road well within the speed limit. Three cars followed, each of them different and none of them opulent enough to be in the same party. They were just other road users stuck behind the slow Mercedes driver.
Harvey pulled out behind the last car. Three vehicles behind was a good distance from which to tail someone. The cars crossed the bridges and joined the large roundabout at Blackwall. The summer sun was waning, and car headlights were on. Enough light remained for Harvey to keep well back and follow at a distance. They joined the A12 dual carriageway where lorries made tailing easier, but obscured Harvey’s view. He remained in the left-hand slow lane watching the exits for the tell-tale, distinctive rear lights of the Mercedes. He saw them at the M11 exit and followed. But with no cars between them, the driver would easily identify the single headlight.
The car sped up.
Harvey followed suit.
They passed the speed limit of seventy miles per hour and the driver of the car weaved from lane to lane, meandering through the cars and using the power of the Mercedes V12 engine to his advantage. But there was no way of knowing if Harvey had been spotted. He hung back, allowing the distance to grow, and he saw the car leave the motorway at Chigwell. Harvey took the exit nearly thirty seconds later and turned off the headlight. He followed at a distance as the car passed through what used to be an old village but had developed into a thriving town. The car turned into Vicarage Lane, a road known for its affluence, demonstrated by expensive houses and a range of lavish vehicles.
It slowed then turned into the driveway of a large house. Harvey killed the engine and rolled to a stop a few hundred metres behind. The house was built to a classic Essex standard: old timbers with white render and neat brickwork with latticed windows. The entire property was ringed with wrought iron fencing and two pairs of electric double gates, one of which was closed. The other remained open.
He saw the driver emerge, unfold his huge frame from the car, and open the rear door. It was the younger of the females who climbed out first. Harvey was too far away, and the sun was too low for him to see any detail. But from her stance and posture, she seemed not to be afraid.
The older of the women followed. She let the driver close the door while she led the girl up the steps. Then she knocked and waited. She didn’t look back or around her. She didn’t even look back at the driver who had locked the car with a flash of lights and stood waiting to follow them inside.
The inside of the house was well-lit. Soft music came from one of the rooms. It wasn’t the arrogant beat of modern music, but it was foreign to Harvey’s ears. The door closed, cutting the music off, and Harvey moved forward for a better view. Opposite the house were fields with tall trees. It was the perfect house to watch, in Harvey’s opinion. He jumped the ditch and waded through the long grass, then found cover behind a large oak with a fat trunk. From there, he surveyed the house.
The curtains downstairs were open, and he saw people inside moving around as if a party was in full flow. A window in the hallway gave him a commanding view of the stairwell. Two men wearing Asian clothing walked upstairs and then into a front bedroom. The curtains were closed but their silhouettes were clear. They made hand gestures as if they were in a heated debate. Then one turned to face the wall that was out of Harvey’s view. He raised his hand above his head, and he struck out.
For a moment, Harvey doubted what he had seen, thinking it must have been a trick of the shadow. He watched and waited. The man stepped back and the second stepped forward. He too raised his hand, but instead of hitting out once, he struck out a few times, in a series of punches designed to maximise pain, each blow landing in the exact same spot as the last. Then he reached down and pulled the victim up with a handful of hair.
And Harvey knew.
He knew the shape of those feeble shoulders. He knew the weak chin and slender arms and he knew the way the victim held himself away from danger.
Like a coward.
Harvey jumped the ditch. He strode across the quiet lane and into the driveway. He knocked once, softly, to see if anyone was nearby. There was no answer. So, he stepped back and slammed the heel of his boot into the door, placing it beside the lock with maximum effect. The wood splintered and the door shot back, slamming against the wall.
Nobody ventured out to see what the commotion was about. Asian music filled the space. The quarter tones and metallic drums added confusion and the steady, incessant beat seemed to swell in his ears.
He moved up the stairs, checking behind him. There were raised voices upstairs. He pulled his knife from inside his jacket and, with his free hand, he nudged the bedroom door open.
The next few seconds were a blur. He stepped into the room. He froze at the sight of Donny and Julios tied to chairs in the corner, and Donny saw him. His eyes widened with hope then faded with despair. There was a rush of air and a grunt of exertion and Harvey turned too late. Something hard connected with his forehead and his world turned black.
Chapter Forty-One
The ring of the doorbell was gentle and calm. Unlike Myers’ racing pulse. He could feel his blood pressure rising, steady like the rising tide that licks the rocks before the angry waves crash against them.
There was a time when he could just open the door and be greeted by Alison. She would ask about his day and he would reply with anecdotes from the office, some of them fabricated to mask the loneliness. He would ask about her day and she would go into great detail about conversations she’d had with people he had never met, about topics that he neither knew about nor cared for. But he’d nod, smile, and tell her what she wanted to hear.
The door opened and Alison looked down at him. He held out the flowers he’d bought for her but couldn’t bring himself to smile.
“Peace offering,” he said. “Happy birthday, Alison.”
She glanced up the street out of habit more than concern, then opened the door fully and stood back.
“Come through,” she said, and walked to the kitchen.
All the things Myers hated about divorce and separation, he could detail in a comprehensive list. He could even order them from most annoying to mildly upsetting. Being asked to ‘come through’ in the home he’d paid for and had once loved was up there at around number seven. Maybe eight.
“Tea, coffee?” she asked. “Something stronger?”
“Coffee, please.”
He wondered if she remembered how he liked his coffee. Or if she would make it another way just to displease him, to ruin his pleasure. She set the pot and hit the button for the percolator to do its thing, then pulled open a drawer and found some scissors.
“Where’s…” Myers could remember the name of her new man. The man who saw her naked. The man who touched her body. And the man with whom she shared her deepest thoughts. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“Darren?” she prompted.
He nodded. “Sorry.”
“He’s taking a few of our friends home. Some people had a few too much to drink.”
It was only then that Myers noticed the dirty wine glasses beside the sink. A few of the rims bore lipstick stains and among them were tall glasses with decaying slices of lemon curled up at the bottom.
“A few too many G and Ts?”
“Too many for some,” she replied, and cut a diagonal line across one of the flower stems. “Not enough for others.”
“I hope I didn’t spoil your party.”
“No, but your presence didn’t go unnoticed.” She cut another stem. “Raised a few eyebrows. Prompted some unwanted questions.”
Snip.
He nodded.
“That was never my intention. I had actually forgot…”
He stopped himself from saying it, but he’d said too much.
“I can get you a spade from the shed, if you like?” she said. “You can dig yourself a deeper hole.”
Snip.
“Do I need a spade?” he said, and he offered a tight-lipped smile that wasn’t a smile.
“What is it you want, Matthew? Why are you really here?”
“To say sorry. To see you. To see Harriet.”
Snip.
“A bunch of flowers from a petrol station doesn’t really say sorry. Not in my books anyway. You of all people should know that.”
“The flowers aren’t the apology.”
“So they’re my birthday gift? Are you sure you don’t want that spade?”
Snip.
“I’ve been suspended.”
She softened. Her shoulders dropped and she adopted that sympathetic expression with her head cocked to one side that she had always done.
“Oh, Matthew-”
“I deserve it.”
She stared at him from across the kitchen work surface.
“You’re owning up to your own mistakes now?”
“Allenby said I should spend more time with Harriet. Sort myself out. You know?”
“Did Allenby say to come at eleven p.m. uninvited and with a cheap bunch of flowers?”
“I’m persistent. Too persistent.”
“Like a dog with a bone,” she said.
“That’s why you married me, wasn’t it?”
“Because you wouldn’t give up? Because if I said no, you would have stalked me and hounded me?”
“I would have done whatever it took, Alison.”
Snip.
“That ship has sailed.”
Myers said nothing but felt the sharp end of her scissors in his chest.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Sail after it,” he said without hesitation, but he knew the wind was not in his favour.
Snip.
“With your time off, I meant. Are you going to see someone? Maybe get some help?”
“Some help? I don’t need help. I just need to…”
She stopped snipping and leaned on the counter, her eyes wide and brows raised, waiting for his idea of therapy.
“I need to relax a little. That’s all.”
“Relax?” said Alison. “That’s your answer?”
“I was hoping to spend some time with Harriet at least. It’s the school holidays soon, isn’t it?”
“Three weeks away.”
“Oh. Does Darryl work?”
“It’s Darren, Matthew. And yes, he does work, and no you can’t hang around here. I’m trying to move on in case you hadn’t noticed. The last thing I need is Darren thinking...”
She didn’t need to say anymore. They both knew it.
“So it’s not because you don’t want me here, then?” he said, and smiled the first genuine smile he had in too long.
Snip.
“Take yourself away, Matthew. Find somewhere to go. Explore. When was the last time you had a holiday?”
“The Seychelles. Three years ago. With my wife and daughter.”
Snip.
“Darren will be home soon.”
“I’d like to meet him.”
“You’ll be gone before he gets back.”
Snip.
“How’s the coffee doing?”
She sighed and dropped the flowers in a heap.
“One coffee then you go,” she said, then turned and reached for a cup.
She looked good. Her waistline still was fine, and when she stretched for the cup, the outline of her bust was clear. He remembered the beach in the Seychelles. Harriet played in the ocean and he lay on a towel. Alison could never relax when Harriet wasn’t by her side. She was sitting up with her knees drawn up to her chest.
It was the same view.
“Maybe I’ll find myself a beach to lie on?”
“You should. It’ll do you good.”
“Allenby said there will be an investigation.”
She poured the coffee with her back turned, said nothing, then walked to the fridge for milk. She stirred in the milk then turned and slid the cup across the kitchen surface, handle first. She had always done that. He’d never noticed before.
“Are you being charged?”
“I doubt it. But it’ll go against me. Promotion might be a way off.”
She collected the flowers and the scissors from the counter.
“Harassment,” said Myers, answering the question she would ask next.
Alison shook her head. “Should I ask?”
“You wouldn’t want to know the details.”
“Have you finished your coffee yet?”
It was a prompt for him to hurry. He sipped at the drink. It was just how he liked his coffee. She stared at him, knowing the coffee was just right.
“I’ll say hi to Harriet before I go.”
If Myers could have stopped time and written down how he thought Alison would react to the statement, he would write something along the lines of, ‘Alison will sigh. She will drop her head and close her eyes, then tell me to leave. I can see her tomorrow’.
She sighed and dropped her head.
“Be quick,” she said.
Myers nearly coughed his coffee up. He waited for her to continue.
“Before I change my mind,” added Alison.
“I’ll be quick. I just want to say hi.”
He crept up the stairs. He had to admit, he did like what she had done to the place. The colours were natural, and the light woods gave a sense of space. And the house smelled nice. Alison had always liked scents. Sandalwood was one of his favourites.
He knocked on Harriet’s door and noted the sliver of light on the carpet that shone from inside. Three knocks, light but firm. There was no answer.
He glanced along the hallway to the bathroom. The door was open, and the light was off.
“Harriet?” he called. “It’s me. Your dad.”
He waited. No answer.
He opened the door. The lamp was on and her room was neat. Her large double bed was untouched.
He sensed rather than heard Alison behind him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. She must have read his body language.
He turned to face her and saw the horror sully her pretty eyes.
“She’s not here.”
Chapter Forty-Two
The sound of a man sobbing, Harvey considered to be as, if not more, disturbing than nails on a chalk board. It was the first sound he heard when he opened his eyes, and before he’d even worked out where he was, he knew that Donny was behind him.
Even with his hands tied behind his back and to the wooden chair, he could feel his own pulse in the swelling lump on the side of his head. A dull ache had formed while he’d been unconscious, and his eyesight had narrowed as if he was staring into a dark tunnel.
The room he found himself in was the front bedroom of the large house in Chigwell. That much he knew. Three of the walls were covered in a raised, floral wallpaper of white and green design, and the fourth wall was covered by a row of built-in wardrobes. Some of the doors were mirrored and he saw Donny watching him. His eyes were red and swollen and his face was bruised with traces of dried blood around his mouth and nose.
Beside him, Julios slept as peacefully as a bear in winter. The room was large. The three chairs that Harvey, Donny, and Julios occupied were on one side of a large double bed with plenty of extra space.
Harvey craned his neck to see behind him, but all he saw was a pair of dirty feet with cracked, brown skin in an old pair of sandals. He checked the mirror and leaned to one side to see who the feet belonged to.
“So, you’re the man I’ve been looking for?” said the man’s voice. He was Asian and if he was with the men Harvey had already encountered that day, it was a safe bet to assume he was of Pakistani origin.
Harvey didn’t reply.
“My name is Rashid Al Sheikh. Perhaps you know of me?”
Harvey said nothing, and Rashid continued.
“We have a saying in my country. Retribution, though late, comes at last.”
Again, Harvey didn’t reply.
“So, you’re the silent man, are you?” He laughed and muttered something unintelligible. “I wonder, was Asif as strong as you?” The man gave it some thought then drew his own conclusion. “I think Asif was stronger. Asif was a passionate man.”
“Asif is dead,” said Harvey.
“I know. He was my cousin. He never failed me. We both knew that one day he wouldn’t return.”
A hundred different things sprang to Harvey’s mind. Verbal attacks that might provoke the man into venturing closer or that might aggravate him. With his hands tied, all Harvey had was his voice and his mind. The key to winning a verbal fight, according to John, was similar to winning a physical fight. Agitate them. Build the opponent up to a point where emotions take over. Make them lose control.
But somehow, even in his predicament, Harvey couldn’t bring himself to say anything against Asif. He had taken his own life and had shown courage beyond which Harvey hadn’t witnessed in a long time.
“Have you nothing to say?” asked Rashid.
Harvey didn’t reply.
“You have killed many men. Good men. Loyal men. In my country, you would be treated with honour. With respect. But we are not in my country. We are in the free world. But, my friend, it is no longer free for you.”
He stretched his feet on the bed and put his arms behind his head as if he was preparing for a nap. He found Harvey staring at him in the mirror.
“I’ve been looking for you for some time. I pictured somebody very different. I wondered what the man might look like who could do all those terrible things. Surely, he is a powerful man. Yet here you are. An ordinary man. There’s nothing special about you. I wondered what kind of man could do those things. Faisal, Abdul, Amir, they all died at your hands, didn’t they? Along with Hamid, Ghulam, and Ejaz.”