Shadows to Ashes

by Tori de Clare

  Vincent looked at himself in the mirror and only saw the mill. Time shifted on and cars crept up about him. At dead on the hour, he fastened the top button of his black shirt and one button on his jacket. He got out of the car and everyone followed. They looked at him with eyes that asked what the deal was.

  ‘I’m here to pay you what I owe. It’s finished,’ he said. They daren’t look at each other.

  ‘Hell are you talking about, Vincent?’ A voice from the back. Chambers, mouthy as ever.

  Solomon ran his eyes over their eyes and never looked at Chambers. ‘Like I said, it’s checkmate. Over. You’re on the losing side and I don’t want you going down fighting for me. Run, hide, whatever you want. The club has changed hands. My advice is to stay away from it.’

  ‘That Hamilton whore finally screwed you over?’ Chambers yelled. ‘Or are you going soft in the head, Vincent?’

  Solomon walked forward. Bodies parted like the Red Sea until Vincent had a clear view of Chambers. Solomon pulled a gun from inside his jacket and there was a gasp. Chambers tried to stand tall, but it was more like he’d frozen like a huge oblong ice block.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Solomon said, aiming the gun down at Chambers’ right foot. Without hesitation, he fired and Leon went down screaming. If he bled to death no one would miss him. A good-for-nothing with no family at all. The gang had been his family and Solomon knew he’d fight to keep it. Solomon turned away and walked slowly back. He’d never liked the sight of blood and had no desire to watch Chambers’ seeping into the soil. Solomon felt absolutely nothing. No anxiety or remorse. He was numb. ‘Anyone else have any smart comments or shall we move on?’

  DC Juliet Knowles was white with shock. Solomon looked at her and felt nothing for her either. They were related, vaguely. She was Jimmy’s cousin’s daughter, so they shared a few childhood memories, none of them pleasant, and a set of great-grandparents that neither of them had ever known. No one she worked with was aware that she had a cocaine habit and that Vincent supplied it. Her dad – for reasons of his own – had insisted she join the Police Force and it turned out that she had a nose for detective work as well as for the stuff she snorted.

  Solomon eyed the group. With each person he had some private and detailed history which meant that he’d claimed them, marked them and made them his, ensuring that they could never walk away or betray him without losing more than they could afford. And now he was opening the prison doors, so to speak. After today, he’d never see any of them again.

  He unlocked his briefcase and handed out envelopes labelled with initials, stashed with cash. The rustling of paper was interrupted only by Chambers’ wailing.

  When he’d emptied his hands, Solomon said, ‘That’s it then. Game over.’ And slowly, bodies began to file away and leave in silence, each person stunned, keen to scuttle off.

  His second cousin hung around. Chambers was still bleeding on the ground. No one had attempted to help him.

  Juliet said, ‘What’s going on, Vincent?’

  ‘I thought you’d know that. You’re the detective.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Is that right?’ He studied her closely, looked in her eyes and through her eyes and she absorbed his scrutiny. In the end, he concluded that she really didn’t know what he was talking about. Tut tut. ‘You remember when you came to my house that time with . . .?’

  ‘Nick Dobson,’ she said. ‘How could I forget?’

  ‘Dobson, that’s right. And you were squirming while I reamed off details of your shoe and dress size.’ He almost smiled.

  ‘I could have clobbered you with a cricket bat for that,’ she said. ‘I’ve never known why you did it.’

  ‘I was distracting him, your friend Nick. When people think you have special abilities, it gets their interest. He was taking the bait. I was also testing him, drawing attention to your body, your weight and height and I was watching his response. He likes you.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m telling you. But I’d bet my bottom dollar that he’s suspicious of you too. Either he suspects you have a habit, or he doesn’t trust you, which is why you don’t know what’s going on. He’s a smart guy, Nick. You should get on the right side of him and stay there.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me.’ She shifted her weight onto the other foot and swallowed. ‘You met him once. What basis do you have for any of this?’

  ‘Things are happening, Juliet, and if you’re unaware of them, I’d start to worry.’

  Her eyes twitched. ‘What things?’

  ‘Game’s up, I’ve told you. The net’s closing in for me, which means you’re out of a supplier. My advice to you is to quit using. It’ll only either kill you or land you in prison. You’re a good detective, so clean yourself up and do what it takes to hang on to your job, or you could end up like Jimmy.’

  Her eyes screwed up. ‘What’s got into you?’ she hissed.

  ‘Light,’ he said. ‘Which usually comes in the form of the truth, followed by a lot of realisations.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘It’s best you don’t know. Just watch your back and cut ties with Charlie.’

  She lowered her head to her chest as if she didn’t know how to carry on from here. ‘And what do you intend to do with him?’ her head jerked in the direction of Chambers, but neither of them looked at him.

  Vincent shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I had to disable him. He’ll want to blame someone for his redundancy. I don’t want it to be Naomi.’

  ‘And you think a bullet in the foot will stop him?’ She shook her head. ‘Such a mess.’

  Vincent suddenly realised that Chambers had been moving and was very close. He reached for his gun just as Chambers lunged for his legs, toppling Vincent to the ground. The gun skidded away a few feet. Chambers produced a knife and Juliet’s training kicked in and she pounced on the gun and finished Chambers off. Shot him in the head, just like that. He slumped on the ground. Gone. She looked shocked that she’d done it. She was breathing hard. The gun wobbled in her hands.

  Vincent stayed down, waiting, weighing Knowles, not taking for granted that she wouldn’t turn the gun on him next. Frankly, it’d be a relief if she did.

  She said, ‘OK, that’s one less problem.’ But her eyes flooded and she turned away and took time to calm herself. ‘Last thing I need is a crime scene here. Do you still have enough influence to clean up this mess and do a professional job?’

  ‘Yes.’ He stood up, brushed the dirt off his trousers. Juliet’s shoulders were hunched. Her head hung low. Vincent said, ‘Look, Leon had no one. He was an unintelligent thug, an animal who ran away from home at fifteen and latched on to me three years later. To his knowledge, his mother never even reported him missing. He never knew who his dad was. My crew was his only family.’

  ‘I see.’ She sighed a big long sigh of sadness and regret.

  ‘He was a sexual predator. He’d have ended up in prison, a burden to the state, no chance of reform.’

  She nodded. ‘Where did he live?’

  ‘I moved him into Lorie’s ex place.’

  ‘You own it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Some relief. She turned. Her head lifted and her features thawed. ‘OK good. Clear out all his personal belongings today and destroy them and get rid of this. Agreed?’ She handed him the gun. ‘I need to get back to work now and root out Manchester’s murderers and drug addicts.’

  He almost smiled. ‘And I need to set free the only person who’s ever meant anything to me, unless she’s gone already.’

  ‘Saint Solomon. Nice ring!’

  ‘Look, don’t screw up now. It isn’t too late for you.’

  ‘It isn’t too late for you either.’

  ‘Yeah, it is,’ Vincent said and she didn’t find a reply, so Vincent took out his phone. ‘Got to make some calls now, dispose of him.’

  ‘Right!’ No goodbyes. Not appropriate. She h
eaded for her car, swung into a one-eighty then skidded away. And Vincent was left feeling nauseous in the company of a forgotten mill and a dead body leaking pints of warm blood.

  48

  Dusk was creeping through the north of England and stealing all the light. Vincent Solomon made his way home, relieved to have managed to tie up loose ends, fasten stray threads. It was 9:15 in the evening and he was weighed down with the dread of going home. What if Naomi was still there? What if she wasn’t?

  His house sat quietly in darkness as he drew closer, and had an air of desertion, if he wasn’t mistaken. But her room was at the back of the house. There was still a chance she was there. It was better if she wasn’t. Despite this, he hoped she was. Those illogical, senseless thoughts again! He’d told her no goodbyes.

  He parked the car mechanically, locked the garage, made his way to the front door. The house was warm as he walked in. There was a gushing sound snaking down the stairs. Running water. She was here – in the shower. He’d have sworn his heart elevated its position inside his chest. She was here!

  Steady, Vincent.

  Still lots to do. The business of death, so complex. He snatched a bite to eat and made some coffee and took it to his room. The shower shut off five minutes later and the house snapped into silence, sudden and severe. But he was aware of her, two doors away, stepping out of the shower, binding herself in a towel, and an extra one for her hair. He couldn’t not picture her naked because she was, two doors away. He couldn’t not imagine the pleasure of peeling the towel away. Of unwrapping her, his gift.

  An hour passed and he could do little but absorb the noises from her room. In his imagination and piecing the clues together, she was dressed now, hair dried and styled and she was gathering her things and preparing to leave forever. The shuffling continued. Zips were being pulled, he thought. The air was becoming thinner in his room. Soon, she’d be gone.

  It was 10:45. He didn’t want to hear her door open, her descent down the stairs, the dreaded closing of the front door marking her departure from his life, so he hid himself in his control room, hoping for one final glimpse of her. He got it. She’d vacuumed the downstairs for him that day, and dusted all the surfaces. Pity there was no point. Something close to emotion rose inside him as he watched her, willing her to look right at him, at the camera. Just once, so he could see her eyes. She didn’t, of course. How could she?

  He left his control room and walked to his bedroom window. Darkness had spilled ink all over the heavens. A half-moon was swimming in it, masked by strands of cloud. Vincent lowered his blind, drew his curtains. It was 11:30 when he lay down on his bed, fully clothed, shoes on, and wondered if he’d missed her exit.

  He flicked his lamp off and tuned in. Vision was only a diversion and he wanted no distractions at all. A small disturbance and relief rushed through him. She was still here, shifting quietly about her room with her fresh-smelling hair, her clean nails and skin. He closed his eyes and locked his fingers across his chest and suddenly, her door opened right in that moment, when he least expected it.

  He half sat up, a reflex action over which he had no control, and strained to listen. He heard nothing at all. No closing of the door. No footsteps. Disappointment was ready to crush him when he heard a gentle tapping on his door. Three knocks. Suddenly, he couldn’t speak because his heart was in his mouth. No words required. He got up as if in a trance and made it to the door. He twisted his key and opened up and found nobody there. One step outside and he was shrouded in a cloud of perfume. The one he’d bought her in Venice. Naomi was a few steps in front of him, glancing over her shoulder, leading him to her room.

  From the shards of light stabbing through the landing window, he could see the length of her hair down her back. She wasn’t dressed for flight, she was hardly clothed. Just a short nightdress with tiny straps on the shoulders, bare legs.

  His head was lighter than his footsteps as he followed her down the corridor, stepping on her shadow. She vanished inside her room, leaving the door ajar. He shed every worldly concern in those eight steps and left the weight of the day outside her door. No thoughts of anything now but what awaited him inside.

  Her room was black and the wondrous scents of everything he’d imagined from two doors away, spiralled up his nostrils. He filled himself with the smell of her and breathed her in. No time to wonder where she was. An arm reached past his shoulder and gently closed the door. He grasped hold of her by the waist and connected with bones beneath silk and flawless curves. She coiled her arms around his neck and pressed the more fleshy parts of her against him, silk on cotton. He felt her rise onto her tiptoes and they were nose to nose, breathing, suspending time because it had ceased to matter, neither one in any rush to move. Just the necessary job of breathing the same air.

  She smelt of mint, of fruit and cream and the perfume he loved and all things new and clean and irresistible. They were still breathing, still holding on to the exquisite sensations of anticipation. Slow motion. He wanted to savour every micro moment. Whether he deserved her or not, his paths had led to this. Control was exhausting him. It had for years. He surrendered now. His eyelids closed and his head dropped to the side in perfect synchronisation with hers. Or had she followed his lead? Then the past folded away and the future was a bore and the present was all there was, and she opened up to him, mouth first.

  It wasn’t long before he needed more of her, before restraint felt burdensome again – the only time he could remember when losing control felt more natural than it did neurotic. This experience was entirely new.

  He slid his hands up her sides until her neck was cupped in them and he could feel the barrier of her necklace and her quivering pulse. Kissing her all the while, his right hand folded itself around the golden cross and he balled it in his fist and snapped it from her neck and threw it down.

  She didn’t flinch. She was kissing him on the inside of his mouth now and his head was drifting away, and with it, he caught the tail end of an arbitrary thought that this was the purest form of art. It was creation! He began to shuffle her towards the bed. Behind closed eyes, there was colour and light and, finally, the magic of losing the power to think.

  ***

  Without contacting him once, Charlie had been systematically tracing Joel’s movements for weeks. She’d fitted his car with a GPS tracking device when he’d been drunk and unconscious in her spare room. Then she’d kept a safe distance, intently watching his comings and goings, waiting for him to return to Manchester. His strategy had been to fly to Mummy Sandra in Newcastle and leave Annabel behind. Did he think he was protecting Annabel this way? He’d never been the smartest. To perplex and disorient him, Charlie had neither followed him to Newcastle nor attempted to approach Annabel at home.

  Charlie’s focus was the baby now. Just him. She’d dreamt about him to the point where she’d wake up confused that he wasn’t there. She’d pictured him a hundred times, blond, blue eyed. Entirely perfect. She imagined dressing him. Holding him. Naming and nurturing him. How could Joel think that Annabel was in any danger while she was carrying a child? A Solomon. If ever she was safe it was now, while she was the surrogate mother.

  The gestation period had been long and testing, but it had given Charlie room to plan and prepare. The waiting was almost over and, by the looks of things, the baby was coming early. With a fluttering tummy, she’d followed Joel’s journey that day from Newcastle to Alderley Edge and then to Oxford Road, central Manchester. All without leaving the house. The visit to the hospital was too late in the day for a check-up.

  If this was it, Charlie wasn’t quite ready. As desperate as she was to see and hold that baby, she needed Vincent to come good on his promise. She needed ownership of the club for financial security, and the takeover hadn’t happened, and it would never happen if Vincent caught her anywhere near the Hamiltons. She was nail-bitingly close to getting the club now. She didn’t intend to keep or manage it. It equalled money, that’s all. She’d sell it, m
ove away, start another life. Just the legalities to sort, he’d said.

  Relying on Reggie for money wasn’t safe. Expecting him to finance two extra lives was a big ask. She wasn’t even convinced he was on board with the whole baby thing. Never wanted to talk about it. Truth was, she was prepared to lose Reggie if it came to it. She could get another bloke in a heartbeat. Babies were another matter.

  Charlie looked at Reggie, on a chair opposite the TV, watching basketball, his long legs stretched out in front of him, fingers woven together. They’d had to move all her stuff out of her house and into his garage and she’d crammed all her clothes into four huge suitcases, three of which were lying unopened in his spare room. The house was cluttered and dirty compared to hers. Needed a feminine touch. Not that she intended to be here for long. She was pushing Reggie to spend his money on a luxurious place. His excuse for holding back? He was just out of prison and was keeping a low profile. How dodgy would it look if he moved into a mansion suddenly? Whatever!

  Charlie was waiting to hear from Vincent now, about the documents. Unable to keep still, she leapt onto the floor and did two dozen press-ups and twice as many sit-ups, just to spend some energy. This pulled Reggie’s attention away from sport.

  ‘What are you doing now?’

  ‘Firming my abs and biceps.’

  ‘Why not chill out for a bit?’

  ‘You don’t get a body like this by chilling out.’

  He looked her up and down. Nodded appreciatively. ‘Granted. But everyone needs to switch off sometimes.’