Scream Blue Murder: an action-packed thriller

by Tony J. Forder

  “How did you feel when you did find out?”

  “By then I’d grown close to Charlie, and no matter what you think of him or whatever he’s done, Ray was a good boss. I didn’t believe half the things I heard were true. I still don’t.”

  “Oh, they’re true. Believe me. The Dawson family are big time in and around London. Their reach extends far beyond the capital, as well. They are involved in just about every wicked, depraved criminal enterprise you can think of, including people trafficking and prostitution on a grand scale. The Dawsons are responsible for a lot of suffering and misery. And death.”

  “Like you would know. What do you do, anyway?”

  “Me?” I chuckled. What did I do exactly? Nothing worth a damn. “I’m a freelance graphics designer. Boring as fuck, but it pays the bills.”

  “You swear too much.”

  “I tend to do that when I’m fleeing from a homicidal maniac.”

  “It’s a sign of weakness.”

  I nodded. “Oh, I’ve got a hundred more of those, darling. Anyway, about a million years ago, before I quit the real world and joined the commercial rat race, I was a hard-nosed journalist for a major London-based newspaper. My speciality was crime and criminals. The underworld. The kind of stuff people commonly refer to as ‘organised’ crime. That’s where and when I learned all about Ray Dawson, his family and crew.”

  “Oh.” Melissa didn’t sound quite so sure of herself now.

  “Yeah. Oh. But like I say, that was in a previous life. A more certain one, oddly enough. Now I am living in a different world entirely, and the only thing I know for sure at this precise moment is that I am shit-scared.”

  The two of us were silent for a minute or so. Then Melissa said, “I am, too.”

  I glanced at her once more. Her face was more strained than I had realised. She wasn’t what you would call a natural beauty, but there was something soft and gentle about her that could easily draw a man. I hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a certain vulnerability about her appearance. Perhaps that was why Melissa disguised it with strength of character.

  The world outside the car flashed by in a monochrome blur. I took the A350 and headed north. Some half-remembered map in my mind thought it would eventually take us somewhere close to the M4 motorway. For a time there was only countryside around us, punctuated by the occasional small village. Nothing too built-up or industrial. One stretch took us through what felt like a tunnel of tall hedgerow and small trees, pressed up tight against either side of the road. Eventually we came to a major intersection, and a sign which revealed the name of a town I had actually heard of. I headed that way without a second thought.

  I glanced back at Melissa. She had said nothing for quite a while, but she was wide awake. “Do you still think the way forward would be clearer if we grabbed some sleep?” I asked.

  She considered the question for a while before answering. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to sleep again. But no, I don’t think anything will be clearer.”

  I nodded. Truth was, everything was perfectly clear to me: we could not risk going to the police because we wouldn’t know who to trust, and in my view the NCA officer who had murdered Ray Dawson could not afford to leave any witnesses alive. Chris Dawson would be hunting me down for what he believed I had done to his brother. The three of us were riding around in a hot car, I couldn’t use my credit or debit cards again, and I had perhaps just about enough money to buy us a decent breakfast.

  We were screwed.

  How much clearer did it need to be?

  8

  At some point, we crossed the county border into Wiltshire, and I decided to stop at the first big town we came upon. Chippenham, just south of the M4 motorway, fit the bill; a town big enough to swallow us whole, small enough to be insignificant.

  My mind was busy considering where to park up. During the day, there is never a shortage of areas in which you can leave a car without it standing out, but in the early hours of the morning, especially with dawn fast approaching, it’s a lot tougher to blend in. As we nosed into the outskirts of Chippenham, however, it occurred to me that, as is often the case, it never does any harm to draw upon a cliché to help you out.

  So we hid in plain sight.

  Melissa and I sat in silence for what seemed like forever, the BMW’s big engine-block ticking away like a Rolex on steroids as it cooled. The kid was stirring a little, but she had plenty of sleep left in her I thought. The street I had chosen to park on was off the main drag, but not so far that we would attract unwanted attention. The only things that might were leaving the engine running so that had been killed immediately and the combined exhalations of three people fogging up the glass. There was nothing I could do about the latter, so I decided not to fret about it. My therapist would have been so proud.

  Exhausted both mentally and physically I yawned so long and hard that I thought my jaw might crack. Both eyes felt gritty, my vision a little blurred around the edges. Another yawn made me feel light-headed.

  “Why don’t you grab some sleep?” said a voice from the back seat.

  I nodded, a third consecutive yawn catching in my throat. “I think I might try. It’ll be light soon enough, so it won’t amount to anything more than a snooze. You should try grabbing a nap, yourself. When the kid wakes up she’ll be an avalanche of questions.”

  “Speaking of which, would you answer a question for me, Mike?”

  “If I can.”

  “Why can’t you bring yourself to call her Charlie?”

  I shrugged it off. “Names make it personal.”

  “That’s sad,” Melissa said after a while. “I feel sorry for you.”

  “Join the club.”

  “You can’t be as bad a person as you like to portray. And nowhere near as awful as you think you are.”

  I laughed. “Don’t you believe it.”

  “If you were, you’d have left us behind.”

  I looked out at the street while I gave that some thought. It seemed as if we were in an older part of town, the majority of houses wedged close together like novels between two more sizeable book-ends. Simple terraced properties, probably with decent gardens and I could see small blocks of grass to the front. Thin, undernourished trees erupted from the pavements every twenty yards or so, distributed evenly along both sides of the street. A town planner’s attempt at convincing the owners they were not living in suburbia. The new and expensive Beemer was a little out of place here, but there was the odd decent set of wheels parked up amongst the neighbourhood dross. We might not be blending in, but we would not be here long enough to matter.

  I shifted in my seat, regarding Melissa closely. Her long hair bracketed her face neatly, and in other circumstances I thought I might have been attracted to her. I wanted to say something reassuring, something to alleviate her fears. Instead I asked, “What makes you think I haven’t brought you along to act as a shield? You’re the only person other than me and that murdering cop who knows what really happened, remember.”

  This time it was her turn to hike her shoulders. “Maybe you are as big a prick as you say.”

  “Ouch. That hurt my feelings. And now who’s the one using ripe language?”

  “Fuck you, Mike.” Melissa shook her head, her eyes squeezed almost shut. “Just my luck to be stuck with a low-life, I suppose.”

  I turned and closed my eyes for a moment. Her luck? If she only knew.

  “Sorry,” I said. I was, too. “Truce?”

  For a second I didn’t think Melissa would answer. But she accepted my apology with better grace than I would have.

  “Do you have family?” I asked then, something coming to mind. “I mean, I’m assuming parents? Siblings?”

  “No. Not really. My only brother left home many years ago, and we have never heard from him since, so I have no idea where he might be now. My parents live in South Africa, but we lost touch years ago. Why do you ask?”

  “Thinking is all. We’ve ruled out
contacting either the authorities or Chris Dawson. My daughter lives in California at the moment. So I was wondering if there was someone you could possibly reach out to. I know you don’t have your employer’s number, but I assumed you would have numbers in your head for family. I guess it doesn’t matter either way if they are abroad.”

  Melissa leaned forward, resting her arms on the back of the passenger seat. “So, how about you, Mike? Your daughter lives in the States, but there must be someone else in your life who you can contact. A woman? Other family members?”

  I felt a tug deep in my gut. As I always did whenever anyone mentioned family. A claw hooking my heart. I shook my head. “No, no woman in my life right now. Big surprise there, eh? I never knew my biological parents. I was adopted. They became parents to me. And I couldn’t have asked for better, more loving people to take care of me and raise me. Sadly, they are no longer with us.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No, it’s fine. I had a wonderful twenty-one years knowing I was chosen. There’s no tragedy here, Melissa. They were good and kind, and to me they were my parents.”

  “So what about friends? Do you not have anyone to turn to?”

  I cleared my throat. “I don’t think so, no. Choosing someone who would both believe my side of the story and who I would trust enough not to go straight to the police might be a bit difficult. Impossible, even.”

  She sat back heavily. Shook her head as her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips. “That just about sums you up, I suppose.”

  She wasn’t entirely wrong. There were people in my life who meant a great deal to me, but there were also issues with each of those relationships. My own fault. I am an outspoken man, and that only gets worse when I’m drunk. There was no one, not even my ex-wife, whom I really felt comfortable involving in this. A part of me hoped I was being protective towards them, ensuring their safety by avoiding all contact, but doubt was the real reason I refused to even consider communicating with anyone. Doubt and fear.

  Doubt that they would believe me.

  Doubt that they would even care.

  And fearing both to be true.

  9

  The kid woke up in a bad mood.

  I floated up out of my own light sleep, Charlie’s whining voice just about the last thing I wanted to hear at that moment. As the words slowly made themselves clear, I heard her asking for her father for about the hundredth time.

  I sat upright with a jerk, and rubbed a hand over my face. My neck and shoulders were tight, eyes gluey and sore. I drew saliva into my mouth. It tasted like shit. “Oh, Christ,” I moaned. “Does she have to make all that bloody noise?”

  That seemed to do the trick, because for a full thirty seconds no one uttered a word. Then the kid said, “He’s grouchy.”

  Melissa laughed. A throaty, dry sound. “Yes. Yes, he is. But Mike is probably very tired still, so we’ll make allowances. Okay?”

  “Okay.” It didn’t sound to me as if she meant it.

  “Good. Now then, please don’t ask about your daddy again, Charlie. In a little while, me and Mike are going to find a place where we can scrub up and eat, then over breakfast we will talk about a few things. Your daddy included.”

  It went on like that for a few more minutes, the kid never quite letting it go. I checked the clock on the dashboard. It was almost seven-fifteen, and the street had begun to get a lot busier. The sun had been up for a couple of hours, and the heat was already cranking up. We were parked directly outside someone’s house, and the three of us were likely to draw some curious glances and unwanted attention if we remained sitting in the car looking as if we had no intention of ever getting out. I told Melissa we were going to have to move on. She shrugged, which I took to be her agreement.

  Although we were ultimately heading towards the town centre, the route I took was circuitous. Not entirely aimless, and not lacking direction, either. I was attempting to steer clear of main roads as much as possible. The negative part of me which in truth is the major part these days expected to be hemmed in by a dozen police vehicles at any moment. We were exposed in this car. I was beat, feeling sluggish despite my snooze, a dense brain-fog descending on me like a cloud of desperation. I considered pulling over again to wait it out, but right at that very moment I saw exactly what we all needed.

  Roadside diners had upped their game since the reign of the Little Chef chain. AJ’s was a firm favourite during my travels around the country, and there on the corner of Bath Road and Lowden was one opening its doors to the breakfast customers. I indicated and pulled into the adjacent car park. There was one way in and out of the restaurant, the interior very much in the style of old American diners; plenty of gleaming chrome and red vinyl upholstery. I ordered drinks for each of us, then Melissa and I took turns to visit the restrooms.

  The waitress was older than many I had seen in recent years, and she was a damn sight friendlier than most. Moments after taking our order she brought across a pack of crayons and a colouring sheet, set them on the table. Her nametag read Barbara, and she beamed down at the kid and gave a wink.

  “Well, aren’t you as cute as a button, darling,” she said, her accent marking her down as a local. “You got a name or do your parents just call you sunshine?”

  Charlie just about jammed all ten fingers and thumbs into her own mouth, giggling behind her hands. I raised an eyebrow so now the kid was suddenly shy?

  “That’s all right, honey,” Barbara said, her smile widening. “If you don’t want to tell me your name, you don’t have to. It’s yours and you get to choose who knows it.”

  I felt compelled to say something. “This is Charlie,” I told the waitress. I looked at the kid and smiled. “Charlie, say hello to Barbara.”

  But the kid shook her head and played dumb again. I did not want to drag this out any longer than necessary, so I was relieved when the waitress ruffled the kid’s hair and threw me a wink this time. “I’ll be back with your drinks in a few minutes. Maybe Charlie here will be more talkative when I take your food order.”

  I hoped not. The less she said right now the better. The kid watched the heavy-set waitress bustle away, then got stuck into the colouring. Every few seconds her attention would skip to me, then the restroom door, before returning to her sheet of paper.

  “Melissa will be back before you know it,” I told her. “You can stop fretting and just enjoy colouring-in.”

  The kid considered me for a moment. Then she nodded. “I like bright colours,” she told me.

  “Me, too. Yellow and orange are good together.”

  She didn’t respond, but immediately put down the green crayon and picked up the yellow one. I smiled. Children bemused me, but to observe them was one of the genuine wonders of life.

  Barbara came back to the table and dished out the drinks: black coffee for me, the Earl Grey tea was Melissa’s, leaving a glass of orange juice for Charlie.

  “Thank you, Barbara,” Charlie said, which seemed to just about make the woman’s day.

  “Oh, you are so welcome, honey.” She grinned at me and said, “You have a lovely daughter here.”

  Precisely the conversation I had hoped to avoid.

  “Oh, he’s not Charlie’s father,” Melissa said, stepping in to save the day. I had not seen her return from the toilets, but I could have hugged her right now. Melissa slipped into the booth alongside the girl. “Neither of us are her parents, actually. I take care of her. Mike here gets to drive us around.”

  Barbara appeared impressed. “Hmm, fancy. Well, no matter. Charlie there is just a sweetheart.”

  I took the opportunity to excuse myself, thinking I might blow it if I sat there much longer. “It’s been a long night and I need to freshen up,” I said. “We’ll order breakfast when I come back.”

  Having taken care of my bodily needs, I cupped some running water and splashed it over my face and the back of my neck. I dabbed myself with a paper towel. The man peering bac
k at me from the soap-spotted mirror looked like a much older version of the man who had set out to gain a contract the previous day. My hair, cut pretty close to the scalp, now had unruly clumps sticking up from the crown. My eyes lacked lustre, and were red-rimmed. The virtually permanent five o’clock shadow that usually plagued me was now a growth of stubble. If not for the clothes, it could be an old tramp standing there.

  Get a grip, Mike, I told myself. This shit is anything but over.

  We ate well. Melissa and I had pooled our cash before entering the diner, and together we had come up with thirty-three pounds plus some change. It was evident to both of us that we were going to have to resolve our situation sooner rather than later. As I pushed my empty plate to one side, Melissa patiently explained to the kid that her father had been called away for a few days on business, and had arranged for Melissa and myself to take care of her until he returned. The kid started to complain, but Melissa pacified her by promising several treats.

  “Any suggestions as to where we go from here?” I asked a few minutes later. Charlie was busy drawing on the reverse side of the colouring sheet, alternating between orange and yellow. It seemed as good a time as any to try and make plans.

  “Not really. I’m too tired to think clearly. I’m scared, and I’m still very confused about everything.”

  I felt the same way. I wanted to climb back into the car, drive home and throw myself at the mercy of my local constabulary, hoping to convince them of my innocence. But the nagging thought of what the murdering cop might have said and done to further implicate me in the shooting, made me cautious. Ours was a tough place to be in, tougher still to extricate ourselves from, and our next move had to be the right one for all of us.

  “I suppose we could buy ourselves some thinking time,” I suggested. “Rest up somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “I saw a sign on the way here for the library. Somewhere like that might be good. We could thrash this out while the kid does her thing in the kids’ book section.”