Shadows to Ashes

by Tori de Clare

  ‘And in his wrong mind?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘An ex con?’ Henry said, not a question really.

  ‘Reggie wants money, it’s that simple. He has no family so there’ll be no one throwing a party now he’s out. He’s a loner. He was last seen in a park in Moss Side, high on the white stuff, boasting about his big plans to make a lot of money. Coincidence?’

  ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘He used to share a cell with my father, so most of what I know about Reggie, I found out through my dad. They used to help each other. I’m guessing that Reggie will know all about your family and the trouble you’ve caused mine. And I’m guessing he’ll know you’re worth a mint. He needs money to make a fresh start. The rest isn’t rocket science is it? Naomi’s been in the news a lot. He might have found out she’d be in court today, so he knew where to intercept.’

  Henry rubbed his face with both hands. ‘What if you’re wrong about this?’

  ‘Call him now,’ Solomon said.

  ‘It’s two in the morning.’

  ‘He’ll pick up. Tell him that Ozzy will do the exchange.’

  ‘Who’s Ozzy?’

  ‘My middle name is Oscar. Ozzy was my dad’s nickname for me. If Reggie Janes has Naomi, he’ll recognise the name and he’ll agree. Call him.’

  Henry’s hands were unsteady. ‘I don’t want to antagonise this guy. He has my daughter.’

  ‘Put the phone on loudspeaker. Call him now. Don’t hesitate.’

  Henry pulled up Naomi’s name and pressed loudspeaker and then pressed call. It was ten long rings before the phone was answered. No one spoke. Just heavy breathing.

  Henry said, ‘Ozzy will do the exchange tomorrow.’

  The line went dead. Seconds later a text arrived which said, ‘One person. Alone. 2 million. Don’t bore me with a name and don’t call again.’

  Henry looked at Solomon.

  Solomon studied Henry.

  ‘That’s settled then,’ Solomon said.

  ‘We don’t know that it’s Janes.’

  ‘Whoever it is, I respect his style. Succinct. Doesn’t suffer fools gladly. I may only break one of his legs.’

  17

  After bouts of ragged sleep and long periods of pacing a soulless cell thinking about Dan, Naomi sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands, praying for a way out, for both of them. She was trying to send some jumbled words through the ceiling and beyond the space above her, where a stranger prowled around on heavy footsteps. A guy whose aim was to sell her to her own family for two million. Crazy, crazy stuff. His shuffling around was muddling her thoughts and firing her temper, so she gave up trying to reach heaven from hell.

  She guessed that it was morning, but the room refused to give any clues. Her body was telling her that it was morning. She needed the toilet and was desperate to clean her teeth. She’d discovered a bucket under the bed with a toilet roll inside. She decided she wasn’t that desperate. Yet.

  Life had stopped again, or slowed to the point where she found herself counting. An attempt to pass time maybe, to move it along. Maybe it provided a distraction from Dan. That, or madness was setting in.

  One, el-e-phant, two, el-e-phant, three, el-e-phant, and on, on up to sixty, spacing the numbers ridiculously, for rhythm’s sake.

  She managed one creeping minute. Then another, and another. She really needed the toilet now. She made it up to seven minutes, counting on her fingers. She’d intended to stop at ten and use the bucket, but at the end of the seventh minute, footsteps crashed above her, nudging a faint tremor through the bed. Then a moment of quiet and suddenly the bolt was being loosened and the darkness was being dispelled by heavenly light.

  No angel descended the steps though. Just him again – Bigfoot.

  ‘Turn around,’ he commanded.

  Naomi spun away from him and heard him approach and then felt the pillowcase sliding over her head.

  Now his tone altered. ‘Morning!’

  ‘Is it?’ Naomi answered. She’d suspected as much. Her back was aching from hours of lying on a lumpy mattress.

  ‘One more day and you’ll be out of here,’ he said, taking hold of the top of her arm and guiding her towards the steps.

  ‘Where are we?’ The question brought a wave of déjà vu. Memories were being dredged up. But this guy wasn’t Dan. She’d have traded the arm he was gripping to be back at the cottage with Dan.

  ‘Not important.’ She was pulled back into the present. ‘With good behaviour, you’ll be free by midnight. That’s all you need to know.’

  He led her through the kitchen to a downstairs toilet. She shut herself in before peeling the cover from her head and gratefully using the toilet. The brightness hit her pupils and they shrivelled in response. The light hurt her eyes. Sunshine was pouring through a narrow window, an illuminated sheet. Dust jumped around in it, endless tiny particles. She squinted and looked about her. It was an old house, more the place of an old person than the guy who’d brought her here. Gut instinct only. His voice was the only clue to his identity and had told her nothing really.

  When she’d washed her hands, she replaced the head cover and returned to him. Good behaviour. Whatever! Anything for a ticket out. Guided only by the bit of floor she could see around her feet, she found her way to the kitchen again.

  The sunlight changed things. With concentration, she could make out shapes. Bigfoot was in her sights now standing by the kitchen table. He was a stocky bloke. Tall, broad. She’d seen glimpses of dark hair. She imagined he was thirties, forties. The vibes from him hadn’t filled her with terror but then she’d given him no reason to turn vicious. With a promise of release, she could manage good behaviour for a day.

  Naomi looked down again and found her way to the table, stopping before he was in touching distance. He didn’t move or speak.

  ‘Is Vincent Solomon paying you to do this?’

  A swell of silence filled the small space between them and spread into the room. Her pulse had begun to throb inside her ears by the time he answered.

  ‘An odd question.’ His tone was flat and low. ‘Why do you say that?’

  She held her nerve. ‘Because I want to know.’

  ‘We don’t always get what we want.’

  ‘True. I wanted to testify in court. My fiancé is being tried for murder and he’s innocent and you prevented me from doing what bit I could for him and I now want to know who’s responsible for that.’

  He dragged a chair back and his shape dropped into it. ‘Take a seat.’

  Naomi reached out and found a chair back and sat opposite him. She expected him to speak again, to fill out the blank details in her mind. He said nothing.

  She said, ‘So do you know Vincent Solomon?’

  He said, ‘No.’ And that was it. His one word was a blizzard that tore through her assumptions and left her afraid. After a long pause, he added, ‘Does that cover everything?’

  ‘Why should I believe you?’

  ‘No reason. You asked a question, I answered.’

  ‘I’m confused now,’ she admitted. ‘I was sure –’

  ‘Don’t be sure about anything. It can be a costly mistake.’

  Meaning?

  Everything had switched, suddenly and absolutely. Not that she should rely on what he was telling her, but a few words had thrown a bitter ingredient into the pot – uncertainty. She’d assumed too much. She hadn’t even considered that this guy could be . . . well, anyone. Could be dangerous. Violent. Unhinged. At the moment, he was just a dark figure on the other side of a wooden table, drawing lines with his forefinger.

  He stood.

  ‘I’ll show you to your room.’ Said as though she might be staying in a hotel.

  She stood too. Her legs had lost strength, like all her muscles had wasted during a few brief moments of sitting. For support, she touched the brickwork of the wall all the way down the steps, back into the gloom. He deposited a plate in her hands and next t
hing, he was on the ascent again. She dragged the cover off her head, heart thudding, and watched the back of him, walking into the light like an alien entering a spaceship on a sci-fi film.

  When the trap door crashed shut and the light was gone, Naomi was alone with her thoughts again and with a new snippet of information that was churning over in her head, demanding her focus. This guy didn’t know Solomon? She was meant to accept that a random guy in the street had intercepted her en route to testifying in a high profile case? Made no sense. He knew her, she reasoned, or he wouldn’t have known that her parents were wealthy and able to cough up an outrageous sum.

  She’d asked the wrong question. She should have asked how he knew her.

  A lot of hours lay ahead of wondering and waiting, a blanket of darkness wrapped around her. She put her wool coat on and tried to stop her teeth from clattering against each other.

  One day. Just one more day.

  ***

  9 p.m.

  Solomon had emptied his safe and uncovered all the dark places in his house that concealed cash. He was in his study now, blinds tightly closed, surrounded by heaps of fifty and twenty pound notes. He counted out fifty thousand pounds, then recounted, twice. Total counting time, forty-two minutes. He bundled it neatly and stacked it carefully in a bag and locked the rest away.

  His phone rang. It was Lorie again. She’d tried to call him seven times that day and he’d blanked her. She was becoming a nuisance now.

  Time to get changed.

  He moved swiftly to his room and pulled out a pair of trousers he’d worn a handful of times. He’d bought them from a website that sold ex-police gear. How authentic the trousers were, he didn’t know or care. They were advertised for fancy-dress use. Point was, they had a slim inside pocket that reached his knee, and in it he could conceal a weapon. And he had one that he’d dug out of another dim corner of his house. It was an old police baton owned originally by a great uncle who’d given it to Vincent’s father, who’d then wrapped it for Vincent’s sixteenth birthday.

  It was seventeen inches long, a relic from the forties, but it was made of ebony and was tough and deadly. The surface shine had grown tired and it had minor scrapes and scars, but it was effective. Vincent couldn’t imagine any substance resisting its blow, except stone or steel. Certainly not bone. It had a shaped handle, out of which grew a leather loop. At the other end, it swelled into a round and perfectly finished tip.

  Solomon picked up the baton, pushing his hand inside the strap. He whacked it against his opposite palm a couple of times and sliced it through the air. He never got tired of the sound. Then he slid it inside his long pocket and wondered about a gun. Things could turn nasty. On the other hand, for multiple reasons, guns were always risky. He’d been considering it all day, but in the moment of decision he was leaning toward no gun. If this guy was who he thought it was, a gun would not be needed. If.

  10:30 p.m. and the night was growing bitterly cold. Solomon strode into his walk-in wardrobe, one of the many hidden folds in his house. Small and windowless as it was, it was one of his favourite places. His clothes were his skin. He layered a dark wool jumper over his shirt. Then he turned to his outdoor coat rail. The coats were in colour order, lightest to darkest. From the far end of the rail, he selected his darkest jacket. It had a hideous hood (all hoods were hideous), and numerous pockets, all of them secure. He was repulsed by the sight when he put it on and stood in front of the mirror.

  He sighed. ‘Why!’

  Functional, that’s why. Even fools knew that function was the enemy of fashion. Months of being starved of Naomi and he might see her tonight. In this jacket! That aside, he couldn’t honestly imagine a more thrilling or romantic scenario. A meeting at midnight with everything to play for. The dark king fighting for the queen with the white knight off the board and out of the game. It was a while since his pulse had ticked over quite so playfully.

  Darkness, danger and delivery. A delicious blend, and all of someone else’s making. His original plans had been scrapped. Didn’t matter at all now. This was better. He found he was smiling, and then he noticed he was wearing the ugly jacket with the hood and moved away from the mirror. His outfit was hardly central, all things considered.

  In his room, he unplugged his phone from the charger and noticed another missed call from Lorie. His answering service was indicating she’d left a message. He zipped his phone inside a front breast pocket. For added security, he took a spare phone. With an essential transaction to complete, he’d have to have a working phone and was taking no chances.

  From a high cupboard in his room, he pulled out a favourite toy, his monocular thermal camera. He’d made sure it was charged and ready. Light and powerful and easy to use with one hand, he could see anything in the dark that radiated heat. Animals and people were visible from long distances. Anything living would glow white or red, user’s choice. An essential tool. Tonight, he was going to corner the guy who’d held Naomi and hurt him before he let him go, even if it was his dad’s old friend, Reggie Janes.

  He secured his thermal cameral in one of his many pockets and left his room. The baton bashed the length of his right thigh as he hurried down the stairs. Its presence and weight was reassuring. He collected the bag of cash and sent a text to Henry Hamilton, who he hoped had been tortured with anxiety. ‘Setting off now. Stay put. I’ll call when there’s news.’

  Henry sent a message right back. ‘Just please bring her home.’

  Solomon collected his car keys and left the house at exactly ten-fifty p.m.

  18

  Annabel was slouched on the sofa with Joel, limbs intertwined. She’d barely seen her parents all day and guessed they must have gone to bed. She sat, flicking through TV channels. She couldn’t fasten her concentration on anything. She yawned. Joel yawned too. He had a hand on her belly.

  ‘The baby’s moving,’ he said, sitting up, smiling.

  ‘He never stops, especially this time of night. Bad sign.’

  ‘He?’

  ‘I think it’s a he. Perks up whenever I want to sleep. Got to be a he.’

  Joel grinned. ‘I think it’s a she.’

  ‘As long as one of us is right, it’s fine by me,’ Annabel said. ‘Listen, Joel, I know I said I didn’t want to know the sex, but at my scan next week, I might ask. I think I’d rather know what clothes to buy etc.’

  ‘Whatever you want, babe,’ he said, kissing her forehead. ‘Are we ever going to agree on a name?’

  ‘When you stop suggesting stupid ones we might. Knowing the sex will help. Otherwise, it’ll probably be known as Guy or Doll before we legally have to come up with something.’

  ‘I quite like Doll.’

  Annabel rolled her eyes and laughed. ‘You’re a nightmare.’

  They settled in each other’s arms. The newsreader bleated out a story about terrorist alerts in London, which had Annabel thinking about Naomi and how she should be living there now, with Dan. Happy. Married. Which only dredged up the whole messy subject again and made her feel heavier than she already was. She panted.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Usual. Naomi and Dan.’ Joel stroked her arm with the tips of his fingers.

  ‘Aye, I know.’

  Even her thoughts weighed her down. She wanted to sleep them away. ‘I must have tried her phone fifty times. She’s never blanked me like this. Even when we fell out as kids, we still talked. We’re different, but in the most important ways, we’re the same. We look out for each other and there’s always been loads of love. Sounds cheesy, I know.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’

  ‘Being an only child, it must be hard for you to imagine, but my relationship with her isn’t the same as any other. It’s the bond.’ Annabel stopped. She could feel a sweep of emotion and paused to push it back. She cleared her throat. ‘Which is why I can’t understand her contacting Mum and Dad and not me. It’s so unlike her. We don’t work like that, you know?’

  Joel kissed t
he top of her head. ‘You’re a team?’

  Annabel nodded.

  Joel said, ‘Stressed people do strange things.’

  ‘But she was determined to stand up for Dan. When Naomi’s determined, things get done. You should see her face when she’s at the piano. She doesn’t even hear you enter the room, and she has this expression. I call it her piano face, but she’s lost, lips clenched together, totally focused. And she was focused on Dan and I just can’t understand –’

  ‘Don’t try.’

  Annabel struggled free. ‘But something feels really wrong.’

  Joel took hold of her hand and played with her fingers. ‘You’re tired, babe.’

  ‘I’m worried.’

  ‘Pointless worrying.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you be worried if your sister was tangled up with a gang? We don’t know who this Solomon is or what he might do, but Naomi’s always said he’s dangerous and she was sure he wouldn’t rest until –’

  ‘Annie, come on,’ Joel said, pulling her to him.

  Annabel couldn’t see his face anymore. ‘We don’t know what this guy’s capable of.’

  ‘Calm down. It’ll be OK.’

  ‘I just want to see her. I want this feeling to go away.’ Annabel held still and listened. ‘Your heart’s racing like mad,’ she said.

  Thud, thud, thud, right in her ear.

  ‘It’s the effect you have,’ he said, laughing, stroking her back, his pulse refusing to quieten.

  Thud, thud, thud.

  ***

  The bridge was a twenty-minute drive and the roads were gloriously clear. So by 11:15 p.m., Solomon had parked his car on a rough track and was walking towards quiet woodland. A congregation of trees stood dead ahead, their stark branches like black fingers against a moonlit sky.

  Solomon was alert to sounds from the ground and from above it. The woods were as alive by night as by day. He took out his thermal camera, set it on red hot and paused to glance through it at a flurry of activity. Tiny scurrying creatures were everywhere, which gave him the impulse to scratch his skin and tuck his trousers inside his socks. Even the trees were emitting energy.