Murder Plot (A Sam Rader Thriller Book 3)

by Simon King

  The lead story of the night was a double fatality out on Interstate-8, two men shot dead as they pulled over to help someone faking a breakdown. The news anchor said that officials believed the killings to be gang related, but at the time of recording, had not been willing to share anymore information.

  Lucy carefully peeled back the plastic lid from her dinner tray, the steam bursting out and biting her fingers a little. As she began to stir the rice and sauce together, the second story of the night began, Lucy’s fork freezing in mid-air as her eyes looked up to the television.

  “Another death at Bolton Prison today, with emergency services called to the correctional facility in the early hours of the morning. Authorities believe the as-of-yet unidentified man had been making an escape attempt when he died. Police haven’t released the cause of death and have assured the public that they’re doing all they can to ensure the incident is fully investigated. With today’s death, the total number of inmates that have died in mysterious circumstances at the facility in recent weeks climbs to nine. Reporter Tex Watkins remains at the scene. Tex?”

  Lucy dropped her fork and focused on the television as the scene switched to someone standing outside the prison walls, rising forward in her seat a little. She grabbed the bottle of Coke in her hand subconsciously, holding it for the sake of security.

  “Thanks, Janet. Yes, another fatality out here at Bolton, now the ninth in as many weeks. I managed to speak with Roy Perkins, the Warden here, but he offered little in the way of answers.”

  The scene changed again, this time to somewhere near a front gate. Lucy wasn’t sure if it was inside the prison or out, but found neither really mattered.

  A fat man, looking far too red to be normal, fronted the cameras, offering the crowd of reporters a smile Lucy found as fake as the news anchor’s had been. The questions fired at him were a mixed haze of voices, none standing out individually. The warden held his hand up, gesturing for the reporters to calm themselves enough so he could be heard. Only when he had achieved this, did he begin to speak.

  “Folks, I know this is a mystery, but I assure you, we are doing everything we can to cooperate with authorities. We’ve had a couple of escape attempts, a few prisoner altercations, but that is all.” One of the reporters managed to yell a solitary question above the others.

  “Warden, wouldn’t you think that nine deaths in as many weeks is reason for alarm?” Perkins’s face tightened slightly and Lucy could see him trying to restrain an outburst, just like the day she had first met with the warden.

  “This is a prison and not a very nice one. There’s always going to be incidents like this. Let us do our job; let the police do their job and let us get to the bottom of things.” His face changed again, losing the seriousness and returning to the political smile he wore with experience. “Thank you, folks. That’s all we have time for.” He turned and ignored the flurry of questions fired at him in quick succession, instead walking towards the steel door immediately behind him.

  Lucy’s stomach tightened again, this time the cramping not letting go the way it previously had. The thought of her boy, her baby, languishing in that place tore into her. This wasn’t how things were supposed to turn out. He was supposed to be dating a sweet girl, working a respectable job and building for a future family. Isn’t that how it’s always supposed to be?

  She stared down at the TV dinner, instantly aware that her stomach would refuse the meal. And if she did try and eat some, it would no doubt evict whatever she forced down. With tears threatening to spill, Lucy picked the dinner tray up and tossed it into the trash with a sigh.

  When the news anchor returned and moved onto the next story, Lucy snapped the television off, relegating herself to the silence of the house once more. With Cooper no longer here, it had become the new soundtrack to her home, regardless of whether she liked it or not. She would occasionally switch on the radio, but for the most part, the silence is what hung heavy over the empty rooms that now filled her life.

  Sitting quietly at the table, Lucy tried to consider her options, Cooper’s baby picture staring back at her from across the room. The happiness of the day it had been taken felt almost traitorous in comparison to how things had turned out. It was as if life had somehow turned on her, like some kind of karma returning for something she was unaware had been done.

  Her cell vibrated and Lucy looked down to the new notification. It was another one of those damn Milton Ward advertisements, the kind spreading the exciting news about a further 20% off already reduced prices.

  Lucy picked it up, thumbed the screen awake and stared at the message, the words appearing almost foreign to her. Her finger hovered over the delete button as the company name faded out from the screen. Something was drawing her to it, like tiny fingers beckoning from another time.

  As if a sudden epiphany dropped into her lap, Lucy stood and half-ran to the hallway, flung the linen cupboard open and stared up at the top two shelves, each lined with boxes. After considering each, she reached up and pulled one down from the very top, the words “Random Stuff” written across the front in faded letters.

  Half-dropping the box at her feet, Lucy pulled the flaps back, revealing a treasure trove of assorted items from her past, items she hadn’t viewed in a very long time. There were a couple of trophies, which she carefully pulled out and set down beside her. There were folded-up posters, a teddy bear that was covered in signatures, as well as a few books. One of these stood out as being larger and thicker than the rest. Lucy instantly recognized the top third of the front cover, the familiar yellow sash still as bright as the day she received it.

  She sat cross-legged after pulling the book from the box and sat it in her lap. Class of 1986 was printed in bright silver letters across the top, the school’s famous facade beneath it. Lucy stared at the cover for a brief moment, before slowly peeling it back, revealing page after page of photos and statements and everything that had made up that year of school.

  But it wasn’t until she reached the point where all of the individual student photos were lined up that she began to stare in earnest, searching for a single face in particular, one she knew might be the answer to her prayers.

  2

  “Is there anything better?” Sam asked, as she gently pulled on the reins. Silky, her horse, stopped completely as the low-lying waves continued to lap at the animal’s hooves. Tim pulled up beside her, his eyes drawn to the ever-sinking sun. She followed his stare, caught up in one of nature’s ultimate displays.

  “Beats sitting in some rank apartment,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the horizon. For a moment, both watched, as the sun sank lower and lower into the sea. The beach was completely deserted behind them, just as it had been each time they had made the trek to the foreshore during the past week.

  Jim Lawson’s farm sat on the very edge of the foreshore, prime real estate considering the surrounding suburbs. The Mornington Peninsula was one of Melbourne’s most affluent areas, but back when Jim had hit the best-seller list with two of his books, had managed to purchase a few hundred acres. The area had been considered remote back in the 50s, giving the man a large chunk of the foreshore for a reasonable price.

  Sam’s horse bowed her head slightly, as if acknowledging the heavenly body’s slow decent. Tim’s ride neighed briefly and nodded.

  “Think they get it?” Sam asked, giving Silky’s neck a rub. Tim smiled.

  “I bet they do. Horses are a lot smarter than people give them credit for.”

  “I can’t imagine going back and…,” she began, then paused. Tim looked at her, watching curiously as her words halted halfway. He knew the ending to the sentence, feeling the same way.

  “I know what you mean,” he finally added, as the final sliver of the sun disappeared into the ocean. The sky glowed with the passion of the day, a fiery orange hew hanging suspended above them.

  It was perfect. Just like the previous three weeks had been. The break had included everything Jim had promised
them, the perfect escape from the horrors that made up their lives.

  “This is what it’s all about,” the old man had told them the first day, looking out across the valley with the ocean lying behind the tree line. “The freedom for people to enjoy the fruits of their labour. Free from the monsters that want to take our very souls.”

  “I could stay here forever,” Sam finally said, a long sigh chasing the words. Tim began to laugh, swung his horse for home and gave it a gentle nudge with his boot heels. Shadow responded without hesitation, trotting along the water’s edge before breaking into a canter. Sam nodded, took a final look at the remnants of the sunset and loosened her grip on the reins. Silky didn’t need encouragement, the animal already chasing her stablemate. And as the water began to kick up around her, Sam’s laughter echoed across the sands, the moment one she would never forget.

  It was almost dark by the time the pair rode back through the front gate of Jim’s farm. Sam could see the glow of the old man’s pipe as he sat and puffed in his usual rocking chair on the porch.

  “How was it?” Jim called out.

  “Perfect,” Sam replied, dismounting and leading her mount towards the stables. Once the horses were taken care of, both Tim and Sam returned to the house to find Mrs Tomlinson already setting the table. The owner’s caretaker was moving back and forth between the kitchen and dining room like a woman possessed.

  “Think you guys have just enough time to freshen up before dinner. Just don’t keep her waiting,” Jim said, as the pair climbed the porch steps.

  Mrs Tomlinson was more than Jim’s cook. She was also his nurse, caretaker and occasional listening post for all things work related. She knew about Pogrom and all the things the old man was involved in. It meant there was no need for whispering and made conversation simple around the home.

  “I’m good,” Tim said, dropping into the chair beside Jim.

  “I won’t be long,” Sam uttered, as she gave a wave and headed upstairs for one of her lightening fast showers.

  “She’s going to have a pretty tough time going back and leaving all this behind,” Tim offered, watching as Jim continued puffing on his pipe.

  “I can totally understand. That’s how I feel whenever I have to leave this place.”

  The sky had lost all of the raging colors as the two of them gazed across the land, night finally swallowing all that had remained of the day. Apart from a lonely magpie giving a final goodnight song from somewhere in the distance, the evening rose silently around them, the peace and harmony seeming to float on the very air itself.

  There were some moments in life that required no narration and Jim was impressed to find that Tim was one of those people smart enough to know when to shut up. He nodded slowly from his chair as he watched the younger man simply rock slowly back and forth, appreciating the moment for what it was.

  The moon slowly rose somewhere behind them into a clear sky as the stars twinkled brightly above. It was the perfect sliver of time, like a calm before an approaching storm, a storm both knew would eventually come to take them back into the reality of their world.

  Dinner was just as it had been each and every evening during their stay, perfect endings to perfect days, with a near smorgasbord of delights to dull their cravings. Mrs Tomlinson was Korean, despite her very English name. She had married an Australian back in the late 80s and after his death, took the job on Jim’s farm.

  Her cooking abilities were indescribable and one of the few things John Milton had warned the duo about before sending them off for a well-deserved break. The cooking itself was enough to take the pair’s minds off their lives, if only for a brief moment.

  They ate heartily, Sam always surprising the others with her appetite. She’d never been one to hold back, loading up her plate time and again as both men watched her, a little envious of her ability to keep on enjoying the delights.

  “Where the hell do you put it all?” Tim asked as Sam took another helping of the bbq pork. That dish was his own favorite, the plum sauce just perfectly balanced, like a culinary seduction. Sam looked back at him, confusion on her face.

  “Huh?” she asked. “I don’t know.”

  Just as Tim was about to follow up, the phone rang, breaking the moment. Mrs Tomlinson came in from the kitchen and answered the call, the phone located out in the hallway. Both Sam and Tim had found that one of the appealing things about Jim and his home. A lot of tradition remained, like where the phone was located, despite cells and all the other convenient technologies available.

  “Mr Lawson, it’s Mr Milton.” Jim looked up, waved a thank-you at her and slowly rose from his chair. The change in the room was instant, both Tim and Sam only too aware of what the call was about. They watched as the old man shuffled towards the doorway before disappearing into the hallway. Once he was gone, they exchanged a glance, neither needing words to convey what they both already knew.

  Despite the faint murmur of his voice floating back to them, Jim’s words were unintelligible. Sam continued eating, though slowly and with less enthusiasm. They both had known this moment would eventually come and now that it had, felt a little uneasy about it.

  “Guess I don’t need to tell you what that was about,” Jim said, as he slowly made his way back to the table. Watching him move pained Sam, his age more than visible by his slow and lethargic steps. He did have a wheelchair at his disposal, but stubbornness was not something that faded with age. If anything, it only increased.

  “Is it urgent?” Sam asked, but didn’t need the answer revealed to her. Jim simply nodded as he dropped back into his chair.

  “With John, it always is. A taxi is coming first thing in the morning to take you to the private airport in Moorabbin. The Milton Ward jet will be waiting for you.” He picked up a lamb chop, looked at it, then dropped it back on the plate. The mood for eating had left him and Sam wondered whether there was a pinch of loneliness within him.

  “Hmm, if that’s the case, I might get an early night,” Tim said, wiping his mouth and dropping the napkin on his plate. “The horses wore me out today.”

  Jim barely looked up, giving the younger man a cursory wave. Tim rose, walked past Sam and gave her a kiss on top of her head. She reached up, hugged his head, then let go.

  “Good night,” she said as he headed from the room.

  As if on cue, Mrs Tomlinson came from the kitchen and began to clear the table. Sam, always the helper, rose and began to stack some of the plates together.

  “No, please child. I do,” the older woman said, her thick accent barely legible. Sam returned her smile and sat back down. She looked across the table to where Jim sat, his head down and staring at a notepad beside his glass of water.

  “Are you OK?” Unsure of whether he heard her, Sam rose and walked to the other side of the table.

  “Hmm? What’s that?” he asked, looking up at her.

  “Is everything OK, Jim?” she repeated.

  “Yes, of course. Just a little tired. Would you mind joining me for a goodnight drink in the living room? I think I have a little cognac left in that cupboard over there.” He pointed towards a wall-unit Sam knew to contain some of the finer selection’s of Jim’s spirit range.

  “Sure,” she replied and went to get the bottle.

  With the cognac in hand, Sam followed Jim through to the home’s largest room, a huge living area that had an entire wall made of glass, giving the occupants a gorgeous view across the bay during the day. If the room lights were dimmed at night, one could see the lights of the homes in the distance. But tonight, they were switched off completely, only the fireplace giving off its usual warming glow.

  Jim dropped down into his chair and began to gently rock to and fro. His eyes glazed over a little as the flames consumed him, the attention of the man drawn deep within himself. Sam sat the bottle and two glasses down on the table, poured, then sat in the adjoining rocker, feeling the soothing warmth of the flames on her face. The old man reached for the glass and barely shi
fted his gaze.

  “I miss her,” he suddenly said, catching Sam off guard.

  “Who?”

  “Your grandma. She was an amazing woman, Sam. An incredible police officer.” He took a sip from his glass and nodded to himself. Behind them, Mrs Tomlinson finished clearing the table and disappeared back into the kitchen in a crescendo of rattling dishes. Sam heard the door close before the silence of the flames resumed, sending the occasional crackle into the room.

  “I wish I could have met her.” She sensed Jim’s sadness and understood the moment for what it was. Having her here, in a way had a knock-on effect for him, almost as if her grandmother had been here herself. Sam sipped, feeling the heat of the liquor linger in her throat.

  “It has been almost sixty years, and I can still smell the wood chips as if it was yesterday.” He gazed long and hard into the flames, as if alone in the room. “Sixty long years to remember a night that should never have happened. I often wonder if changing anything could have saved her. Could have prevented what can only be described as a nightmare.” He sipped again, his face hardening as he swallowed, taking on the exterior of a brick. “Fucken Lightman,” he snarled, so suddenly Sam jumped in her seat.

  As if seventy years younger, Jim suddenly sat upright, gripped his glass tight and flung it into the fire. The glass exploded into the flames, a cloud of sparks briefly billowing up and out as the alcohol ignited. Sam looked from the fireplace back to Jim and watched as he began to cry, long slow sobs that sounded gut wrenching. She went to stand, but he held a hand up, beckoning for her to remain where she was.

  “Please. Please don’t. I’ll be all right. Just let it get the better of me, that’s all. I’ll be all right.”