by J. D. Weston
Julios drove past the coffee shop and saw that Harvey's bike was already there. He turned around in a small car park and drove back past, noticing the exhaust fumes from a parked Volvo. There was a grey-haired man in the driver's seat making no preparation to get out of the car. He was just sitting there, possibly waiting for somebody.
Julios drove back past him and the coffee shop. There was a space directly outside on the roadside, but he chose to park in the free space a few bays down.
He sat with Harvey, drinking coffee and listening to Harvey’s news on his latest target as he called them. For years Harvey had been researching individual predators, hating them and making them suffer just as he had suffered, it wasn’t healthy.
Julius could remember them all, just as he remembered all of his own, although his own were mostly paid jobs and served a purpose far greater than personal satisfaction.
He'd watched Harvey grow from a troubled kid with anger issues, into a very dangerous man; though he was now calm, mostly, and followed Julios' own patience, planning and execution rules. But Harvey still had a wild side; something was eating him inside that caused him to hunt the perverts.
He'd avenged his sister's death thirty-three times that Julios knew of. Each time ended with a trip to France, from which he'd return relaxed and with a new name to hunt, track, torture and offer a long, slow, and painful death.
Julios had been there, that first time. He’d shown Harvey the way, he’d taken the young boy and led him into the darkness. He was heading that way anyway, so it was better to learn how to stay in the shadows. Leave no trace.
Harvey’s first time was messy; the anger poured from him in dangerous, carnal bursts of emotional hatred. Julius had allowed it that one time, then he had taught him the way.
The first target was one of John’s own men, the man from the kitchen. Julios knew something wasn't right when he saw Harvey's face slip from the excited smile that he had from training to a cruel, hate-filled stare. He was just a kid, and a kid’s face doesn't lie. Their words do, sometimes, but they do not hide their emotions well at that age.
Julios had helped Harvey find the man's home and enter it. They waited in silence, which Julios had enjoyed. So much of his life he had spent waiting in the shadows, alone. It wasn't a problem, but it was good to have someone else there, in the silence that came before death.
The whole job was silent. Fear brimmed in Harvey like a pan ready to boil over, but the boy had done well; he'd kept it at bay, turned the heat down, but not off. Julios had armed Harvey with only a knife and would step in if the boy was overpowered, but he wasn't.
Harvey had reached out from the shadows as the man poured himself a drink. Harvey had stood in plain sight behind the man, knife in hand. A single lamp lit the room and flicked dancing diamonds across the walls as it shone through the cut glass tumbler that the man held. The man's name had been Jack. And Jack had switched on his record player. The turn-table had begun to turn, and the needle crackled as it worked its way through the single groove. Jack closed the clear perspex lid of the old record player and turned the large silver volume knob on the front of the wooden panelled player. The powerful first bars of Carmina Burana burst from the speakers. Jack took a sip of his drink and put his head back letting the music wash over his long day.
Harvey stepped closer until he was directly behind Jack. He seemed to study the man, from his feet, up his long legs, his broad torso and to the back of his head. Julios remained in the shadows of a side room looking on as the scene played out. Harvey crouched, reached out with his knife, and with no hesitation at all, sliced the back of the man’s ankles with one long, vicious swipe of the razor-sharp blade. Chaos joined the steady pulse of Carmina, and as the man fell backwards, Harvey stood and smashed the lamp before the guy even hit the ground. The room plunged into total darkness.
Julios stood in the shadows, a blind witness. O Fortuna had faded, and the orchestra prepared for the next act. Julios knew it well, Veris leta facies. The haunting harmonies of a choir, led by the tenor, served to complete the scene.
Julios felt Harvey moving around the room and heard the sudden cries as he stepped in silently out of the darkness to stab some random body part of the dying black shape on the wooden floor. Then he'd move away again, to attack from a new angle. Jack grunted and growled in pain and knowing. His teeth clenched hard; each wound that came from the shadows weakened his growl until the carnal moans were no longer the noise of a wild animal, but those of a whimpering child. The choir were quiet enough for Julios to hear each lunge with the knife pierce flesh, the slice of wounds, and the suck of its release.
Harvey signed the music, then turned his attention back to Jack. The small boy rolled the man onto his back; he no longer moved about the room like a banshee hiding in the darkness. Instead, he stood over the man. Julios saw him in the gloom, his childlike body seemed to feed off the man's agony. He saw Harvey, silhouetted in the window, swing his arm back, lower his body and plunge the blade deep into the man's balls. The man recoiled like a spring, but Harvey was ready with a knee to his face that sent him back to the floor. Jack lay in a pool of blood from his multiple wounds.
His whimpers had become barely audible to Julios. Blood blocked his airway, and Julios heard the familiar sound of a man choking on his own blood; his memory tasted the iron-like flavour. Harvey moved around to Jack's head, his arms were useless from the frequent random stabbings, he was no longer a threat no Harvey, he was dying. Harvey ran the tip of the blade from the man's forehead in between his eyes. Jack's eyes opened, and Julios saw them glisten in the dark.
Julios saw the knife slowly cut through skin, from his forehead, along his nose. It fell down to his lips and sliced through onto hard gum, falling once more into his mouth where it stopped.
Julios watched the boy lean forward, and put all of his weight onto the knife. He heard the frantic, final gasps and chokes as the sharp blade cut through his throat and exit from the back of his head. Julios heard the knife tip hit the hard wooden floor; he heard the crunching of gristle and the effort of the boy who twisted the blade; he heard the silence of the dead man and the calm, satisfied breathing of the boy.
Julios stepped out from the coffee shop onto the pavement. They’d used the same coffee shop for too long, and he told Harvey so before turning and walking to his car without offering a goodbye.
He unlocked his old car and habitually glanced at the surrounding cars before getting in. He noticed that the Volvo that had not moved; a momentary glint of light from the lens of a camera flashed faintly within the car.
Julios pulled onto the road and drove away from the small town. He knew that Harvey would wait before following, it was protocol. Julios made his way through the lanes and onto the broad B-road. He reached the roundabout where he knew that Harvey would turn right to head to Theydon Bois, so he took the exit. He found a small tree covered lane on the left side of the road, it was the entrance to a farm; the beginning of a long track with fields of barley on either side. Julios turned the car around and waited. He had a clear view of the road from the roundabout and was hidden by the trees to anyone who wasn't looking.
He wound down the driver's window, depressed the clutch with his foot, and selected first gear. He heard the distinct sound of Harvey's motorbike approaching, then fade away as it passed.
He saw the distinctive shape of the Volvo's headlights in the distance. The Volvo grew closer, then pulled into the side of the road. Julios waited patiently. It was like the cars were two animals. The lion lay in wait in the trees, and the timid gazelle stood scared on the open plains. The Volvo pulled onto the road again but moved slowly and cautiously. The driver had his head turned, looking behind him over his shoulder.
Julios gunned the engine. The wheels spun on the loose gravel, finding traction on the firm dirt beneath. The old Subaru jumped into life. Julios was up into third gear when the front wheels bounced onto the tarmac, and the nose of the car buried itself into the sid
e of the Volvo.
14
KEEP THE GOOD MAN DOWN
Frank felt rather than heard the silence that ensues before a collision. He had no time to react. His body arched to the left, then to the right; his head slammed into the driver's side window, smashing the glass and knocking him unconscious. The Volvo lifted up onto two wheels, and the car slid on its side across the road, it rolled onto its roof as it found the grass that lined the river, then continued to roll and bounce until it landed with an almighty splash. The front end of the car was submerged, the rear wheels sat in the thick reeds that bordered the river, and the car slowly began to sink.
Frank woke with a start, his feet were cold and wet, his head was bleeding and pounded with his pulse; blood ran into his eye.
The water was rising, most of the car was in the river, and it began to pour into the broken driver's window. He unbuckled his seatbelt and painfully brought his legs around to the passenger seat before he reached out of the window and pulled his body through the open space where the glass had been. His weight on the side of the car caused the balance to shift, and the old Volvo sank lower, tipping up as he pulled himself through until he was completely submerged. His feet slipped through the gap as his head broke the surface and he watched as the car rolled fully into the river. Large bubbles of air formed where the car had been, and when they finished, there was no trace of the Volvo.
A fisherman stood on the river bank calling to him, “Grab the net.” Frank was disoriented and searched for the voice along the far side of the bank, “Mate, this way, grab the net.”
Frank turned and reached out. His frozen fingers were barely able to grasp the hoop, so he used both hands, and the man carefully dragged him closer to the grass. The fisherman helped Frank from the water, then called the police while Frank sat shivering on the bank.
“Did you see anything?” Frank asked.
“Na mate, I just heard the crash, looked up and saw your car skidding across the road.”
“Did you see the other driver?”
“No, his cars a mess, it span off into the trees, but yours was in the river, so I came to help.”
“Check the other car.”
"Mate, take it easy, you're bleeding, my mate has gone to the other car. There's an ambulance on the way, just sit tight, let's get that wet jacket off you, you'll catch your death of cold."
‘I’m fine,” snapped Frank, “I just need to stand, help me up.”
“You’re in shock, stay down, mate.”
“I’m police, help me up.”
Frank stood on shaky legs and walked to the edge of the road. He saw the ruined Subaru a hundred yards away, mostly hidden by trees; it was burning.
A man walked towards him on the side of the road wearing dirty old clothes, the other fisherman. Frank was joined by the man who had saved him, who helped him out of the water; the other man shrugged and called, “No-one in it.”
“That’s Pete, he’s with me,” said the fisherman, nodding at his friend.
Frank scanned the road both ways, “Were there any other cars? Did anybody else come?”
“He’s a policeman,” explained the first man.
“Oh right, I never saw anyone else,” said Pete, “I came to your car with Trev then when we saw you’d got out, I ran over to the other car, but it was already on fire. The driver was gone. I checked the bushes in case he was thrown from the crash, but didn’t find anyone.”
Frank stepped away from the two fishermen. He moved to the middle of the road, and looked as far as he could in both directions, but knew he wouldn’t see anything. In the distance, the wail of an ambulance grew close. Frank suddenly felt cold and began to shake with both shock and the wet.
Frank leaned on the back of the open ambulance. A thick blanket hung from his shoulders, and he sipped a hot tea donated but the fishermen, who were being questioned by the police. A heavy recovery truck arrived and parked in front of the fire engine, where three firemen doused the flaming Subaru, which was charred and smashed beyond recognition.
An EMT slammed the passenger door of the ambulance and walked around to Frank. "How are you feeling, Mr Carver?” she reached up and lifted the corner of the bandage on his head. "You'll need to have that cleaned and checked for any more broken glass in the hospital, we're just waiting for the all-clear from the officer in charge, and we'll be on our way. Is there anyone you'd like to call?"
“I am the officer in charge, and I won’t be going to the hospital, although I do appreciate the help, you’ve been extremely professional.” Frank pulled the blanket from his shoulders and offered it to her.
“I’m afraid you’ll need to come with us, Mr Carver, we can’t have you walking about with a head wound like that, you’ll need to be discharged.”
“I don’t think-”
"I understand fully, Mr Carver, but the regulations state that we are not to release a casualty with a head wound. The doctor will examine you, and you'll be released when they agree that you do not have a concussion or symptoms of anything else."
“Excuse-”
"Mr Carver, it's no good raising your voice at me. I'm doing my job. Now, would you like help into the back? Or can you manage it on your own?"
Frank saw it was no use arguing. He heard the loud warning beeps of the recovery vehicle reversing and saw the large truck backing up to the river. A policeman in a bright yellow high-vis jacket guided him and stopped him well clear of the river. The tail end of the Volvo was visible through the reeds, its tow bar just below the surface.
“Okay, but wait a few minutes, I’ll come with you.”
"Glad to hear it, Mr Carver, thought I'd have to wrestle you in," Frank put the cup down on the floor of the ambulance and walked towards the rear of the truck, "you wouldn't be the first," he heard the EMT call out after him. The driver of the truck pulled a yellow console from a sliding compartment near the wheel arch and plugged one of the long cables into the winch that was fixed near the bulkhead. He pulled the hook of the winch and activated the console, the winch slowly but surely issued its cable. A heavy-duty nylon strap was thrown over the Volvo's tow bar and fixed to the hook. The operator began to wind the cable in. The Volvo's back wheels found the river bank and bumped up onto the grass, and before long the front wheel did the same. Murky water spilled from the cracks of the doors until Frank opened one to let the full body of water wash out onto the ground and over his feet. The footwells still contained a substantial amount of water, so Frank put his hand in the passenger side and immediately found what he was looking for.
He pulled the camera out and turned it over in his hands, letting any residual water leak out; a little did, but it wasn't much. He walked back to the ambulance and picked up the cup, before turning and handing it to the fisherman. "Thank you, both, for your help," he said, genuinely. "Good luck with the fishing, I hope you catch."
"Not much chance of that now, mate," said Trevor screwing the cup on the top of his flask, "hope you catch him." He nodded farewell, and the ambulance door closed as Frank sat on the stretcher and dialled a number on the EMT's phone, "What hospital?"
“We’ll be going to St Margaret's, in Epping.”
Frank put the phone to his ear, he heard it ring twice before a familiar voice answered, “Mills.”
“Melody, it’s Frank.”
Frank was in the hospital reception waiting to be discharged when Melody Mills stepped through the door. She wore tight jeans and a loose-fitting top that showed ample chest and shoulder but only teased at anything else. Her hair rested on her slender shoulders and moved gently with the rhythm of her strut through the automatic doors.
She carried a man's sports bag in one hand and a binder in the other. Car keys dangled from her little finger. Her big eyes appeared larger still through her wide glasses that sat on the bridge of a delicate nose. Frank watched her walk and thought that underneath that cute, bookish exterior, lies something wild and untamed. He wondered if any man had ever tried to tame her
. It would take some doing. She had been asked on dates from countless men in the building, from various departments, and she had declined them all. Her private life was private, and she rose quickly. Frank had asked the chief, to bring her into his team, and she had responded well. She was his eyes and ears and knew everything before anyone else, apart from the Thomson debacle. Nobody knew about that.
“My saviour,” said Frank as she approached him.
“Hello, sir. Everything you asked for is in the bag, and the file on the suspect is in here.” She handed him the folder, bag and keys. It was thin. He opened the flap and flicked through.
"Thank you, Mills. Take this and see what you can get from it," he said, handing her the flooded camera. She flicked the power switch but no lights came on, and the little LCD screen remained blank and dull. She pulled a smartphone from her pocket and handed it to him.
"I set you up a new phone, and restored the profile from a backup; you should have everything you need. It might be missing anything you received since you last plugged it in and backed up, but let me know, and we'll see what we can do."
“That’s great, Melody. How are you getting back to the office?”
"I'll work it out, call if you need anything else. There's a Range Rover out front, hit the alarm button on the fob, and you'll find it." She walked away and cruised back the way she came. The same heads turned, and the same eyes followed her gentle and confident bounce through the out-patients foyer.
Melody left the building and climbed into a black Volkswagen Transporter van. Denver Cox pulled the vehicle away from the hospital slowly. In the back was Reg Tenant whose face was lit by the laptop on his lap and the screen that sat on a small bench in front of him.