Inferno

by Jay Gill

John waited for Donny to elaborate and, when he didn’t, he said, “Make sure you tell Moon she’s not welcome here.” With that, he went inside and closed the front door.

  Donny looked at the address in his hand with a smug grin on his face. Wanting to make sure things didn’t get out of hand, he’d insisted Barton stay back at the hotel. And that’s how you do it, Donny thought to himself. Nobody dead. It ain’t rocket science.

  He had a spring in his step as he walked back to the car. He could have done this whole job alone; tracking Fischer was a piece of cake. When Lyle had insisted she wanted the two of them to do the job, he should have stood his ground. If he’d done that, she might have backed down, and he could have doubled his money by having Barton’s share. Still, very soon they’d have Fischer in their sights, and this job would be over. Maybe next time, once she heard his side of how the job had gone, Lyle would trust him to do a job for her alone.

  Chapter Sixty

  It was two in the afternoon, but he felt chilly. Donny turned on the car’s heater. He figured it was probably down to all the hours of driving and the lack of movement. Poor circulation could do that. He looked over at Barton, who was digging around in his nose with a tissue while staring out of the window.

  “Have you ever been to America?” asked Donny.

  “What?”

  “America. Have you ever been? You know, what with the whole cowboy thing you’ve got going on, I assumed…”

  “That again? I don’t mention your shitty taste in clothes, so how about you give it a rest?”

  “Hey, man. Jeez. We’ve been driving for hours. I’m just making conversation. What’s wrong with my clothes?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “No, come on. I’m interested.”

  “I said, nothing is wrong with your clothes.”

  “You must have meant something. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “I didn’t bring it up.”

  “Yes, you did. I asked if you’ve been to America. Next thing I know you’re talking about my clothes, calling them shitty. So, I ask again. What’s wrong with my clothes?”

  Barton sighed and looked Donny up and down. “You dress like an old man.”

  “What? No, I don’t.”

  “You do. You think the shoes are stylish, but I can see they were made for comfort. Your jeans should be Levi’s. Your checked shirt has a button-down collar. Your branded sweatshirt looks baggy in the middle and too short in the arms because it doesn’t suit your shape. You have a skinny frame.”

  Donny looked down at himself. “I like this sweater. It was expensive.”

  Barton shrugged.

  “I’ve been to America,” said Donny, changing the subject. “Vegas. Did the whole casino thing. Lost a lot of money but wow, it was out of this world. And the girls!” Donny whistled. “Of course, you’d probably want to go somewhere like Graceland or Nashville.”

  “Graceland. I plan on going there in the next five years. Everyone should go to Graceland.”

  “Definitely. You should go. After this job.”

  “Yeah.”

  Donny checked the car’s satnav. “We must be almost there.”

  The two men looked to their right at the row of large Tudor-style houses set back from the road with long driveways where expensive cars sat poised. Striped, spacious lawns, tall trees and neat hedgerows separated each house.

  Up ahead, a car pulled out of a driveway and into the road. As the car, a black Ford Galaxy, passed them, Donny and Barton looked at the passengers, then at each other. A woman was behind the wheel, and the passenger, a male, looked straight at them. He matched the photograph in the file given to them by Kelly Lyle. His hair was shorter, but it was him.

  Donny checked his mirrors for traffic and carefully turned the silver-grey Toyota around in the road. Barton sat up straight and leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the car ahead of them. “Don’t lose him.”

  “I won’t,” spat Donny.

  “Not too close.”

  “All right, all right. I know how to drive.” Donny gripped the wheel tighter than usual. His ear was sore and the side of his head was pounding; he hadn’t taken his painkillers for a few hours, but that didn’t matter right now. “You want to phone Lyle? Let her know we found him?”

  “There’s plenty of time for that. Let’s see where they go. Get a better look. Make damn sure it’s him.”

  “It’s him, all right. You remember what she said? We find him, we call her. We don’t kill him unless she says so,” said Donny. He looked at Barton to make sure he was listening.

  “I remember. Keep your eyes on the road. There’s a roundabout up ahead. We can’t lose him.”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  John Palmer sat beside his wife on their floral sofa in a large, tastefully decorated sitting room. To her right, in a large plush armchair, sat DI Cotton. I sat opposite the couple.

  The room had a modern, neutral colour scheme. Tall windows were covered with heavy velvet curtains. Despite the fact that the couple had two young boys, the room looked showroom perfect, without a single toy in sight.

  John held his wife’s hand until she took it away to wipe her nose with a tissue. John was a short, well-built man who had done well in pet accessories. His business imported and supplied throughout the UK and Ireland.

  John was well aware his stammer returned when he got angry. Right now, he didn’t care. He ran a hand over his recently shaved balding head. “We’ve had enough,” he insisted. He looked over at the stairs leading to his children’s bedrooms. He lowered his voice and continued. “He assaulted Sandra. He’s a convicted murderer, for Christ’s sake. He might have killed her and our boys. The bastard came into our home and threatened to rape her unless she told him where Faye was… He touched my wife, down there.”

  Sandra winced. John hadn’t stopped ranting about it since she’d told him. She dabbed tears away with the tissue and stuck out her chin.

  “All this is new to me. Sandra has only just told me. Faye’s boyfriend also threatened to harm our boys, Philip and Max. Said he’d mow them down with his car or drown them in a lake. He’s scum – I believe he’d do it. All this because of her bloody sister Faye.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Cotton. She reached out and rested a hand on Sandra’s.

  “I want to know what the police are doing about it,” insisted John. “Why hasn’t he been arrested? It seems to me he’s able to roam freely and do whatever the hell he wants. A man like that needs arresting, castrating and executing. Bloody prison. It’s a joke. Three square meals a day. TV, probably Netflix. No financial worries like the rest of us have. While all of us are wondering whether we’re going to have enough to pay our mortgage or the rental charges on the cars, filth like him have none of those pressures. He was found guilty. Guilty of multiple murders. Now he’s out, free as you like to kill again or rape my wife. Why don’t they just hang him or give him a lethal injection? Better still, electric chair. I’d buy a ticket. I’d sit and eat popcorn while they toasted him. He’s a piece of shit.”

  “John, stop it. That’s enough,” said Sandra. John’s face reddened. He looked at each of us. He crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, his lips pouting slightly. “Fine!”

  Sandra leaned forward as she spoke. She smiled at Cotton and took her hand away. “Faye is deeply troubled. Always had a side to her I didn’t understand. A darker side. When we were children, she would go to extraordinary lengths to get what she wanted. She can be very calculating. Now I’m an adult I can see the whole person. My parents never really understood her. They just thought she was troublesome. Teachers at school only saw her as a bad child who lacked discipline. I saw close up how she behaved. I saw how she schemed and lied and bullied. Don’t get me wrong; there is a part of me that loves her – the good part of her, that is. There is a beautiful, sweet side to Faye.” Sandra smiled as she recalled it. “It’s like there are two people trapped in one body. The good part of her is being repres
sed and suffocated. My little Moon is trying to shine, but she can’t. The problem is, I simply don’t trust her or the choices she makes. I can’t have her near those I love.”

  I understood how hard it must be for Sandra to talk this way about her sibling. For the sake of her family, she was finally letting go. It must have felt like she was throwing her sister to the wolves.

  “Wherever Faye is,” I said, “we need to find her. If Edward Fischer is looking for her, she’s in trouble. Quite likely more trouble than she realises.”

  “Is it true she helped him break out of prison?” asked Sandra.

  “We don’t know all the details,” I said. I was tempted to tell her about the driver of the getaway car being found dead but thought better of it. “If she was involved, we need to understand the circumstances surrounding that. We’ll do all we can for her. Edward Fischer may have put pressure on her to help him. That will be taken into consideration. You have my word.”

  Sandra looked at her husband and patted his arm. “John and I decided to call you because we’re worried. I gave Edward Fischer the address of my godmother, Aunt Patti. I’ve called a couple of times, but she hasn’t answered. It’s where I assumed Faye would go next. Aunt Patti is someone she trusts. Don’t ask me why. Growing up, I was always found Aunt Patti stuffy and strict. For some reason, Faye always respected her.”

  John raised his eyebrow at the thought.

  “I had an aunt who never judged me and listened to my point of view,” said Cotton. “Growing up, having someone like that, who isn’t a parent, can be important.”

  “You might be right,” said Sandra. “At the time, I didn’t understand it. As a child I just got jealous. Accused her of wanting Aunt Patti’s attention and money.”

  “We all live with regrets,” said Cotton. “It shapes us into who we are.”

  Sandra produced a slip of paper and held it out. “Aunt Patti’s address.” I went to take the paper, but before she released it, she added, “Promise me you’ll do right by Faye.”

  “I give you my word. I’ll do all I can for her,” I said. “My sole focus right now is stopping Edward Fischer. He’s destroyed too many lives. Caused too much misery. One way or another, I’m going to stop him, I promise.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cotton’s head spin to look at me. I ignored it. I shouldn’t be making promises; I knew that. I’d let down my guard, and my personal feelings had bubbled to the surface. I needed to keep that in check. I tucked the address in my jacket pocket as we got up to leave.

  “In reality, Faye will end up serving some sort of prison time, won’t she?” said John. “I mean, she helped a man break out of prison, and if her parole officer is concerned enough to come here looking for her, she must be in some sort of violation of her parole, wouldn’t you say?”

  Puzzled, Cotton and I looked at John. “Her parole officer came here?” asked Cotton.

  “What did he look like?” I asked.

  “Um, he was tall. Very slim. His eyes were, I don’t want to be rude, but I suppose you’d say they were bulgy.”

  I looked at Cotton. This was a similar description to the private detective who had visited my neighbour, Ms Montgomery. “Was he alone? Was he with another man?”

  “No,” said John.

  “Are you sure?” said Cotton.

  “Yes. He also had a bandage. Here.” John pointed to his right ear. “He said it was an ‘occupational hazard.’”

  * * *

  Cotton and I sat in her car outside Mr and Mrs Palmer’s home. My heart was pumping; it felt like we were closing in on Edward Fischer and Moon. “It has to be the same man who visited Ms Montgomery. He tells her he’s a private investigator, then he tells the Palmers he’s Moon’s parole officer.”

  “Who is he, do you think? Why was he alone when he visited the Palmers?” said Cotton.

  “I don’t know. I bet you anything you like that the second blood sample found at the murder scene of Timothy Spicer is that of our man with the bandaged ear.”

  “You think they killed Spicer?”

  “I do. I think they’re looking for Edward Fischer and Faye Moon, just like we are. They also seem to be one step ahead of us.” I pulled Aunt Patti’s address from my pocket. “Shall we?”

  “Let’s go.” I passed Cotton the address and she punched it into the satnav. “I’ll drive, you navigate. You know that satnav of yours doesn’t like me.”

  Cotton shook her head. “Yeah, yeah. Blame the satnav for your poor navigational skills. Just don’t turn until she tells you to and you’ll be fine.”

  I tried to keep our conversation light to counterbalance how I felt inside. But the closer we got to Edward Fischer, the more I worried about what I was going to do. Kelly Lyle was expecting me to kill him. If I didn’t… well, I didn’t want to think about the possible consequences.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Jessica had taken two buses and walked ten minutes to get to Coffee, Cake ’n’ Shakes. She’d been angry at him the whole journey, but at the same time felt drawn to seeing him again. She couldn’t understand it. Most of her life she’d not thought about him; she’d just got on with the day-to-day. Yet, she realised now, he’d always been there like a mote in her mind. He was an unshakeable question she’d carried with her until now.

  And as soon as she saw her dad waiting for her, the anger melted away.

  The three of them sat in a booth, Moon stirring her banana chocolate chip milkshake and Fischer nursing a milky coffee while Jessica sipped her whipped-cream-topped hot chocolate. She dabbed the cream with a long spoon as she listened to Fischer repeat himself.

  “Is everything okay, guys?” The waitress smiled and tilted her head like it was heavy on one side. “How’s your shake? The banana choc chip is my fave.”

  “Really good. Thank you,” said Jess.

  “Don’t I know you? You play guitar, right? You’re a singer?”

  “I am, but it’s unlikely you’ve heard of me. I’m still pretty small-time.”

  “I knew it. I’m Bryony Chase. Bee for short.” She pointed to her name badge, which read “Bee.”

  “We used to go to the same school. I was a couple of years in front of you. I heard you sing at school concerts a couple of times. I’ve seen your stuff on YouTube – it’s amazing. I heard you were doing really well. Got a record deal. Your name’s Jessica Walker, right?”

  “That’s right. I mean about the name. Not the record deal. No record deal. Not yet, anyway.”

  “I know it’s a bit cheesy, but can I get a selfie with you? You know, before you leave. Not now. Don’t want to interrupt.”

  “Of course. Now’s fine. If you really want to?” said Jess.

  “Yeah, definitely. That’d be great.” She leaned in next to Jess, held up her phone and snapped a couple of photos. “Thanks,” she said, straightening again. “Anyway, I’d better get back to it. Just holla if you need anything.” Bee moved to the next table, where she collected the cups and wiped it over.

  “You’re famous, Jess,” said Moon. “You’ve got fans and everything. You’re going places.”

  “I’m so proud of you, Jess,” said Fischer. “My little girl.”

  Jessica lowered her head and jabbed at her hot chocolate with the spoon.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Jess,” said Fischer. “I promise I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “I don’t care anymore,” said Jess. “You burned a man’s house down. The woman might die.”

  “I’m sorry. It was stupid. It’s difficult to describe the hatred I feel for that man. I lost everything because of him. When you’re in a prison cell twenty-three hours a day, it’s easy to lose sight of what’s important. I needed someone to pay for the time I lost. I hadn’t meant to hurt anyone.” Fischer reached out and held his daughter’s small hand. “I thought hurting him would help me heal. All it’s done is push you further away. I don’t want to leave the country without you knowing that not a day goes by that I
don’t think of you and wish our lives could have been different.”

  A smile escaped and crept across Jess’s face.

  “I’m going to be at the gig,” insisted Fischer.

  “What about the police? I’m sure they’ve been watching me, expecting you to turn up,” said Jess.

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” said Moon.

  “I’ll find a way,” said Fischer. “Now, let’s order some cake. That carrot cake at the counter looked amazing. Let’s get double helpings.” Fischer put up his hand to get Bee’s attention.

  At a small table in the corner next to the door, a stick-like man caught Fischer’s eye. The man sat alone nursing his drink. A white bandage was taped over his ear and he looked ill at ease. It was the second time Fischer had looked over at him, causing the man to avert his eyes. It could have been just a coincidence, Fischer thought, but then again, he couldn’t take that chance. Not with Jess around. If the lone man was here for him, he needed to find a way to draw him out so Jess was safe.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  From the car park he could see Donny inside Coffee, Cake ’n’ Shakes. To look less suspicious, Barton had argued a little when Donny insisted he wanted to go inside alone. It worked; the skinny idiot had thrown his track record of violence and unsocial behaviour back at him. Barton had backed down and watched Donny lollop victoriously over to the restaurant.

  Towards the middle of the restaurant, he could see Fischer with the woman he knew to be Moon. He was surprised she was still alive; if any woman of his had even thought about stealing from him, she’d find herself trying to claw her way out of the boot of a burning car. The third person, a teenage girl, he didn’t know.

  Barton got out of the car and removed the tyre iron from the back of the Toyota. He pushed it up his sleeve and gently closed the boot. To conceal himself, he walked around behind their Toyota and across the car park to the Ford belonging to Fischer. The car had been parked around the side of the building, away from passing vehicles. Barton checked all the doors. The car was locked. He let the tyre iron drop from his sleeve into his hand. He gave the passenger side window a couple of firm taps and the glass shattered. He reached in and opened the door, then leaned in and checked the footwells and under the seats. Nothing. He moved to the rear of the Ford and opened the boot. He pulled a canvas bag towards him and unzipped it. Clothes. Damn. Barton looked up at the sound of a car pulling off the main road into the car park. He was about to walk away when he decided to lift the boot mat. There, in a storage area under the mat, was another canvas bag. He pulled it to him and unzipped it. Inside, under a couple of shirts, were bundles of fifty-pound notes. Bingo, thought Barton. Easiest money you ever made. He zipped up the bag before closing the doors and heading back to the Toyota.