‘Hello?’
‘Ah Miss Webster, I’ve been meaning to get in touch. How are you?’
She recognised the voice immediately. She had dreamt about it enough times recently. Sometimes it belonged to the rider of a white winged horse that flew in to sweep her away from her troubles. At other times it belonged to a demon with a hideous grin that caused her to awaken to the sound of her own screams. Hearing it in the early morning sunshine only made her feel calm and she relaxed back into the comfortable driver’s seat.
‘I’m very well. And I’m also glad you called. I never had the chance to thank you.’ She surveyed the hills in the distance not really aware of what she was looking for.
‘Oh there’s no need. I couldn’t just leave you hanging there could I? How’s the boy?’
Chloe didn’t really know the answer to that, but she had heard that he was back with his mother, so she knew he was happy and well looked after.
‘Yeah, he’s doing fine. Why’d you ask?’
‘Oh you know - kids, they get to me. They shouldn’t be involved in things like that.’
‘I know what you mean.’ Chloe nodded as she spoke.
‘I need to thank you too don’t I, Miss Webster?’
‘Why’s that?’ She checked her make-up in the mirror.
‘I gather you didn’t say anything to the police about me.’
‘Ah, but how do you know that for sure?’ She was surprised that she felt relaxed enough with this gangster to tease him.
‘Well did you?’
‘No,’ admitted Chloe. ‘I guess I never got round to it.’
‘Why not?’
‘You saved my life. You saved several lives that day. I couldn’t just hand you over to the police on a plate. I reckon you’re okay really.’ She paused. ‘I read about Drabble in the local paper. Did you have anything to do with that?’
‘Me? No. I heard it was the Kirklands. They were furious with him for messing up their new business arrangement.’
Chloe smiled to herself. ‘Well, I suppose we all have our little secrets don’t we?’
‘We do Miss Webster. We have more in common than you’re prepared to admit. If you ever need any help, just give me a call. Use this number – keep it safe - and if I can help you, I will.’
‘I might just do that.’
‘Good. You take care now.’
The line went dead and Chloe placed the phone in her bag. She sat for a moment and thought about the man she’d just spoken to, and wondered who he really was.
Come on girl, time for a new start.
Bouncing her hands on the top of the steering wheel, she once again admired her new car.
Yes, we all have our little secrets, and you are one of mine you gorgeous little car. Not bad for ten thousand pounds.
She roared off the drive and sped up the hill to her new job.
* * *
Now try a preview of the next Chloe Webster thriller, available from Amazon, paperback and on Kindle.
Family Divisions
By
Alex Highcliffe
1
Gavin cursed and returned to the Google home page.
Come on, where the hell are you?
He banged his fist down hard in frustration, oblivious to the resulting pain that gnawed at his wrist. Grasping his head in his hands, he rested his elbows on the cheap wooden table. If only his mind would clear. It had been fuzzy for days, vague and incoherent, and a constant whine sounded in his ear, refusing to allow him the silence he needed to think. He couldn’t sleep, he hardly ever slept. And it was the details he couldn’t cope with. What was his first name again? John? Jim? Jake?
Damn this bloody headache.
Standing up suddenly and causing the chair to topple over backwards with a crash onto the bare floorboards, he paced over to the window and peered out through the filthy glass. The drizzle outside meant the main street was unusually quiet for the time of morning. The odd car glided over the wet road surface with its lights shining out from the misty dampness. His eye caught the dark passageway which ran down the side of the local supermarket across the road. He’d sheltered in an alley just like it on the day of the attack, cowering like a scared animal, whilst his best friend Deano lay bleeding to death out in the road, helpless and alone. As the images became too real in his mind he closed his eyes and dropped to the floor. The pain sheared through his thoughts and he pushed the top of his head down into the hard floorboards as he rocked to and fro on his knees, calling his dead friend’s name as he did so. The relentless pounding of gunfire now thumped inside his skull. Would it ever leave him alone? Why could he still hear it so long after the event?
The barrage seemed to be coming from the bedsit upstairs. How did they get up there? How long had they been there? What did they want?
He rolled under his bed, flinching as he crashed his elbows on the hard floor, curling into a ball with the aim of self-preservation. Waiting in the dust he covered his ears and closed his eyes, comforted by the darkness that swathed him.
The silence he craved suddenly filled the room once more as he stared at the underside of his bed; the only banging now came from his own heartbeat. Climbing out slowly from his hiding place he reached for the fallen chair and slumped back down in front of the laptop. He typed the surname again. And then the first name came to him in a rare moment of clarity.
Got it!
He was so used to calling him Sergeant that his name had escaped him, buried in distant memories that he’d tried so hard to supress. But he’d got it. Yes, that was it, without a doubt.
He typed it quickly into the search engine.
One more click and it flashed onto the screen before him in an instant - a newspaper story from the Sheffield Daily. He scanned the article and it told him just what he needed to know. He was in Sheffield, or at least a village just outside it. Reading on for more information, he smiled inwardly to himself.
This is gonna be so easy.
He continued to peruse the story, learning as much as he could about his target.
Clicking on a thumbnail photograph it expanded to fill the entire screen. It was a picture of that familiar face, together with his daughter. Staring at it, the rage inside him began to resurface, and as it did so the whining became unbearable and the pounding restarted as the darkness descended once more.
‘Here I come, pal, here I come!’ He was unaware of just how loudly he’d shouted the words, but this time he didn’t hear the occupant of the bedsit upstairs banging his walking stick on the floor, hoping in vain to attract the attention of his younger neighbour.
2
Chloe Webster pulled her Mini up onto the gravel parking area in front of the offices of Harrison Webb solicitors. She checked what little make-up she had applied in the mirror and retied her dark, shoulder-length hair back into a ponytail. Stepping out of the car into the late August sunshine, she stopped for a moment as she often did and gazed out across the hills and woodland of north-west Sheffield. The view changed as the seasons passed, and at this end of the summer the whole scene was an array of various shades of green. It never failed to impress her and she knew she was lucky to work in such beautiful surroundings. Having spent a period last year working in the city, she felt so much more at home in the rural setting of Cliffside. The locals spent many an hour arguing over whether it was a large village, a small town or simply a suburb of Sheffield, but whatever it was, it was a safe and friendly place which Chloe had come to love since starting work here just over a year ago. At twenty six, she knew she was getting a little old to still be living with her father, and when she did eventually decide to find a place of her own, she would certainly be tempted to settle down here.
‘Hi Chloe. Good weekend?’
‘Oh, hello Sarah. Yes, very peaceful thanks. Just what I needed. But what about you; did you get to speak to your parents?’
Sarah was several years younger than Chloe and had worked on the reception desk at Harrison We
bb since she left school at sixteen. She looked at Chloe and squinted into the sunshine, brushing her loose blonde hair to one side in the early morning breeze. She grinned from ear to ear.
‘Yes I did. And guess what? They agree with you. They think I should leave and start college this year. That means in about three weeks’ time!’ She shrieked with excitement as she spoke, eyes now wide open and sparkling. Chloe took a step towards her, bending over to embrace her. She liked Sarah and marvelled at the challenges that she’d faced and overcome in her short life. Hit by a drunk driver when she was twelve years old, she hadn’t been able to take a single step since. But she had raced cars and ridden horses and parachuted out of aeroplanes and done numerous other things which meant that the phrase confined to a wheelchair just didn’t really suit her.
‘That’s fantastic news. I was sure they’d go for it. They must know it’s the best thing for you in the long run. So it’s law, English and history A levels is it?’
‘Yes, and then on to a law degree, hopefully at Sheffield University.’
‘Oh I’m so pleased Sarah. Let’s celebrate at lunchtime. The drinks are on me!’
Chloe took hold of the wheelchair as they continued their conversation and helped Sarah up the single low step to the front door of the offices. It was an impressive Edwardian building that used to be the village school. Built of red brick with a steep slate roof, there were still obvious signs of its former use. Low steel railings formed a perimeter around the building and the word “School” was etched into the concrete lintel above the main doors. A small tower stood proudly at one end of the roof which still housed the old school bell.
Sarah glided over to the reception area and began to organise her day’s work. Chloe headed to her own office located straight down the main corridor from reception.
‘Ah good, you’re here. We have much to discuss.’ The voice was immaculate and soothing with just a hint of a West Yorkshire accent.
‘Good morning Rakesh. I’ll be with you in a second; let me just dump these things in my office.’
‘Okay, but don’t keep me waiting too long. You’re going to want to hear this.’
Chloe smiled and pushed her office door open gently with her elbow. The sun was streaming in through the window, spreading a gentle light across the room. It was neat and professional with just enough personal touches to make it feel welcoming. The temperature was already beginning to rise and the old school building might have been quaint, but it certainly had no air conditioning. She nudged the window open and then flicked the blinds closed, removing her jacket and hanging it on a peg behind the door. She scanned her computer for emails, and checked her phone messages. Once she was satisfied that nothing urgent required her attention, she wandered up the corridor to Rakesh’s office. She knocked once and entered, aware that he was expecting her.
‘Hi Rakesh. How are you today? It’s so hot in here again isn’t it?’
‘Oh I’m fine thanks. Just fine.’
She stared at him. He was a young looking thirty eight and extremely athletic. He cycled everywhere and looked after himself very well. She always found him engaging, but on this occasion he was also quite giddy. It was such a contrast to the sharp-suited cool guy that he usually was.
‘Are you okay Rakesh? You’re like a kid at Christmas.’
He laughed and pointed to a chair.
‘Well sit down and I’ll tell you.’
3
Mrs Willard took in the views over Damflask reservoir and breathed in the fresh air, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun on her face. Several canoes tore through the water as the young rowers from the boat club went about their morning training sessions. This was the first day of her retirement and she felt as fit as a fiddle, her lungs seemingly working to their full capacity. Her husband was at work of course, still having another fifteen years or so to go before he could retire. It wasn’t that he was younger than her. In fact, he had just turned fifty and she wouldn’t reach that age for a couple of years yet.
She closed her eyes as the tears pricked in the breeze. The truth was she would never reach that age. She could still hear the doctor’s voice as if it were yesterday.
I’m sorry Mrs Willard, but the cancer has spread and there isn’t much more we can do for you.
Or words to that effect; she hadn’t really heard anything after he’d confirmed that it had spread. Her worst fear had come to fruition; the cancer was in her lungs and this time it was here to stay.
She continued to stroll along the water’s edge. Her senses seemed so much more acute these days. She could smell the vegetation around her and hear the water lapping on the bank. She guessed that she had always been able to sense such things, but now she was aware of them; aware of how precious they were and how lucky she was to be here.
She thought about her husband, and knew that he’d be okay without her. They’d never had a particularly wonderful relationship and she often wondered whether their marriage would survive until they both retired. Now she’d never know. And despite all those years yearning for a child and yet never being lucky enough to be blessed with one, part of her was glad that she wouldn’t be leaving any behind. Of course, there was Tinker, but the old spaniel might be gone before she was.
At the thought of her dog her mind returned to the present.
‘Tinker!’ she called, looking around for her faithful companion, shielding her eyes from the low sun as she looked further afield. He never strayed too far away. His age meant that he couldn’t chase after rabbits now, but he still liked to poke around in the hedgerows.
‘Tinker! Here boy!’
The first nagging thoughts of doubt started to creep into her mind. He must have lagged behind her and found something very interesting for him to ignore her.
And then the barking started. Now that was unusual. He didn’t even bother to bark at other dogs or visitors to the house these days.
Oh Tinker, what on earth have you found?
Mrs Willard began to retrace her steps along the bank, looking into the thick shrubs which loved the moisture-rich soil around the edge of the water. She drew level with where the barking was coming from and peered into the thick undergrowth standing between her and the reservoir, in an attempt to catch a glimpse of what all the fuss was about. She shouted into the darkness.
‘Tinker, come on boy, we need to get home soon!’
But the dog continued with its ferocious barking. Mrs Willard sighed, zipped up her lightweight coat for protection and eased her way into the bushes, feet sinking into the mud. A twig scratched at her face as she carefully made her way down the banking. The last thing she needed was to slip and end up in the lake. She could now make out the shape of the spaniel, standing very still but barking loudly. She pushed herself out onto the small strip of boggy land between the bushes and the water and looked at her beloved pet.
‘Now what is all the fuss about? Why have you dragged me all the way down here…’
Her eyes traced from the dog to the body lying a couple of yards away. Covered in wet mud, it hadn’t been instantly recognisable as a human corpse. The initial shock kept her silent for a moment or two, but when the full horror of it hit, her scream echoed down the length of the reservoir.
For the Sake of the Children: The first Chloe Webster thriller (Chloe Webster Thrillers Book 1) Page 22