The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  The fire engine sirens drew closer and Sutherland climbed back out of his car to wait. His brain was racing at a hundred miles an hour with every angle that he still had to cover. He needed a reason to be here in the first place and he needed to know which pathologist was going to handle the case in the event that he needed to alter any of the medical facts to fit his story.

  As the flashing lights rounded the corner, he knew that he had to get everything right. Tolanson’s campaign was far more important than any one man and this was a holy mission that he could not afford to fail. Tolanson was about to explode on a national scale and certain necessary but sensitive aspects of the great man’s life had to be cleansed. It was time to sweep everything under the carpet and then burn the damn thing.

  ----------

  Baxter Glynn pushed back from his desk and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He’d been working on the report for some time now and he knew that it wouldn’t make pleasant reading for one individual.

  It was his job to run spot checks on the expenses of MPs and one that he took seriously. While it was undeniable that the system was overly generous and open to legitimate abuse, that still didn’t stop some of the greedy politicians from lining their pockets further. One such man who had drawn his interest was Christian Tolanson.

  The young MP was somewhat of a rising star in the party and, as such, Baxter automatically hated him. A failed politician himself, Baxter was always casting a jealous eye over those elected and always found them wanting in comparison to himself.

  He scanned the computer screen again and nodded with self-congratulatory enthusiasm. Tolanson was far from the worst exponent of milking the system but something about the man just rubbed him the wrong way. Perhaps it was his youth, perhaps it was his winning smile and natural charisma, everything that Baxter lacked.

  Someone rang the doorbell and he looked up in surprise, given the late hour. He heard his wife answer and muffled voices down below that only served to annoy him further as his attention was now diverted from his task.

  He printed out the report into Tolanson’s expense claims and waited for the hard copy. There was something reassuring about holding the sheets of paper in his hands; leaked emails were worryingly easy to trace back to their source. He had a friend who worked at one of the national tabloids, a paper that would love to splash any politician’s face across their front page. Baxter knew that in the current climate even the suspicion of impropriety would be enough to torpedo Tolanson’s campaign before it got started.

  His wife called from downstairs and he ignored her calls. She was a decent enough woman but he had married for convenience and not for anything approaching love, something that he was increasingly regretting.

  Marjorie had at least been distracted by the acquisition of a small Jack Russell that loved her but was constantly snapping at him, much to her delight. But the peacefulness of his home had only been temporary. The annoying bloody mutt had wandered off yesterday and had managed to get himself lost. Marjorie had been in pieces ever since but at least he’d gotten rid of her for long spells as she combed the local parks looking for it.

  “WHAT?” he bellowed, irritated by her distant voice, which was too far away to understand.

  Her reply was another muffled cry and he slammed the paperwork down on his desk in annoyance before storming down the stairs.

  “What?” he demanded as he reached the bottom.

  Marjorie was in the kitchen. Her face was the usual mixture of self-pity and fear. He had never raised his hand to her and never would, no matter how much provocation she gave him. She barely spoke above a whisper and her timid nature irritated him more and more.

  “There’s a delivery.” She motioned towards the kitchen table.

  “So?” he barked.

  “It’s a box,” she offered, on the verge of tears.

  Baxter clenched his fists at his side and held onto what remained of his temper. He’d been perfectly happy plotting the downfall of Tolanson’s campaign but his pig of a wife had managed to drain him of even that little pleasure.

  “So why didn’t you open it?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “It’s addressed to you,” she replied meekly.

  Baxter screwed his eyes shut and felt the familiar stabbing pain in his forehead of an approaching headache.

  He barged past her and stood before the box. In fact, it was a crate rather than a box. The slotted slats were tightly pushed together but there was a distasteful smell emanating from inside.

  “Who’s it from?”

  Marjorie shrugged behind him.

  “Well who delivered it?”

  “A man,” she added unhelpfully.

  Baxter stared at the crate with a sudden feeling of unease crawling through his belly. It was a plain crate with no markings, only a small card with his name handwritten in an elegant scrawl.

  He reached out slowly and touched the wood which felt oddly cold under his fingers, fingers that he noticed were trembling slightly.

  He stared at the crate for what seemed like a long time. There was something strangely hypnotic about the box, something that he couldn’t put his finger on. The appearance was peculiar enough, especially given the late hour, and the crate had no markings on it anywhere to denote that it had been shipped by a courier. Whoever had sent it had delivered it by hand.

  “What is it?” Marjorie asked and almost made him jump as he had forgotten she was there.

  He ignored her and lifted the crate up slightly to test the weight. It wasn’t heavy but suddenly he dropped it as he noticed that his fingers were now stained red.

  “Oh, God, what is it?” Marjorie implored nervously.

  Baxter ignored her wail and refused to be intimidated by a crate on his kitchen table. Despite his fear he still grabbed a sturdy kitchen knife and slid the blade under the crate’s lid. He quickly popped the top off with sticky red fingers and a flourish, mainly because if he paused then he might run from the box.

  He leaned over and looked inside with his heart beating fast and fearing the worst.

  “Baxter?” Marjorie whined.

  “IT’S BLOOD!” he suddenly yelled, turning towards her with stained red hands.

  Marjorie screamed in panic.

  “Calm down, you silly cow; it’s just red wine. One of the bottles has a broken top, probably from when you put it on the table,” he sneered.

  “That’s not funny.” She started to sob.

  He felt a little bit sorry for her then, but not quite enough to apologise.

  “Relax, you big baby,” he said as he picked up an envelope from inside.

  He opened the envelope and found a small card. There was a picture of Winnie The Pooh and a small pig on the front cover. It looked like a children’s card to him and he had no idea who’d sent it. There was a quote on the front which read “If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

  “That’s sweet, who sent it?” Marjorie asked, reading the card over his shoulder.

  He opened the card to look for an internal message or a signature, but the inside of the card was blank. Even so, he just knew who’d sent it: Tolanson. He had no proof but his gut told him that he was right. The sweet quote on the front may have seemed innocent enough, but to him it was a veiled threat.

  “I’m going to put the bottles in the cellar,” he announced a little shakily.

  He took the two unbroken bottles and headed towards the cellar door. The wine was top quality but he knew that he’d never touch a drop of it.

  He opened the door and headed down the narrow staircase, not bothering to grasp for the hanging light switch. He didn’t need it as he had been down here a million times before; it was his sanctuary.

  He was almost at the bottom step when something wet hit his face and he dropped the two bottles in shock with a sharp expletive.

  The cellar was dark but was flooded with light when Marjorie opened the door at the top of the s
tairs and pulled the light chain. He almost managed to shout out for her not to… almost.

  The cellar was illuminated and so was the hanging Jack Russell. It’s throat had been slit wide open and its blood was now smeared over Baxter’s face. Marjorie opened her mouth to scream and nothing came out for a few seconds but then it seemed like she would never stop.

  All the while that Baxter was trying to calm her, it was Tolanson’s face that he saw and he knew that he had gotten the message.

  CHAPTER 8

  CASUALTIES OF WAR

  The funeral was accompanied by suitable damp grey weather as though Mother Nature always knew just how to paint an appropriate backdrop.

  Avery rode with Debbie’s family and sat amongst the heavy grief of her friend’s parents. They had all known each other for many years and were as close as family; it was for this reason that Avery had kept Debbie’s missed call firmly to herself. The guilt was burrowed thickly into her heart and refused to release its vice-like grip.

  The whispered message on her phone had been hard to hear and harder to understand. Debbie hadn’t elaborated on just who the “He” was that she feared, but her voice had positively trembled with fear.

  She knew that if she’d picked up the call then she could have possibly saved her friend. The truth was that she had seen the caller ID and decided that the call was more trouble than it was worth. Debbie had her eyes fixed firmly on breaking a big story to force her way into the business and seemed intent on using Avery’s relationship with Tolanson as her ace in the hole. It had been for that reason that she’d ignored the call, and now her friend was dead.

  Debbie’s mother broke into another sobbing wail as the car rounded the corner and the church reared into view. The black limo up ahead carried a flower-laden coffin and pulled up outside the church on a crunching gravel driveway.

  Their car slowed to a halt and Debbie’s mother had to be helped out by several family members. Her husband looked bewildered, as though he wasn’t exactly sure what was happening, and Avery felt herself perilously close to tears; it all seemed like such an unfair waste.

  The family procession headed inwards as extended family and friends milled around, not quite sure what to say or do. Masses of black clothing formed a shadowy line. Avery knew several of the downturned faces but many were strangers to her.

  They were just passing in through the church doors when she felt a gaze burning in the back of her head. She turned quickly and saw a man standing beyond the gravestones all alone. From this distance she couldn’t make out his face, but she could feel him watching her closely.

  She was suddenly reminded of the man who had been standing outside her apartment a while ago - a faceless figure watching and waiting with his own secret agenda. She meant there and then to run towards him, unwilling to be stalked, but then hands were tugging her incessantly into the church.

  “Avery?”

  She turned back around to see that Tolanson had suddenly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. McDere was waiting behind him in a protective pose, as always, but there was no other security.

  “Mr Tolanson, is everything okay?” she asked.

  “Of course, my dear. I’m here to see if you need anything.”

  “Please, Sir, that’s really not necessary,” she replied, overwhelmed by his kindness and momentarily forgetting her surroundings. For some reason, the rest of the world had a habit of fading away whenever she was in his company and receiving his full attention.

  Debbie’s family had now moved away from her and into the church while several other mourners were nudging each other at the arrival of the growingly famous politician.

  “Nonsense, my dear.” He smiled as he touched her arm lightly. “We are all family, Avery; we are all brothers and sisters under one god.”

  “Some god,” she mused under her breath bitterly. “What kind of a god takes a girl like my friend? She was barely more than a kid, for heaven’s sake, with her whole life ahead of her.”

  “We are told that God moves in mysterious ways,” Tolanson replied. “That we must have faith in his plans and in his wisdom, even when we cannot see the path clearly.”

  “I’m not sure that I have that kind of faith.”

  Tolanson leaned in close, close enough so that his breath tickled her ear. “Don’t worry, my child, I have enough faith for both of us.”

  Avery stood back, suddenly unsure of the man before her; his closeness momentarily seemed dark and cold and she was desperate to move away from him.

  “Anyway I won’t keep you.” Tolanson smiled sadly, his face once again a picture of paternal concern. “I would come in for the service but unfortunately my appearance might induce somewhat of a circus atmosphere that would be deeply inappropriate.”

  “Thank you for stopping by, really, it means a lot,” Avery replied now sure that her momentary fear of the man was borne of the day and the fact that she’d skipped breakfast.

  “He does build himself such magnificent houses,” Tolanson said, looking up at the church’s impressive architecture. “We should all be so lucky.”

  Avery held a puzzled expression on her face for a few brief moments before heading inside. Tolanson was a relatively young man, especially for a politician; his youth was by far his largest asset and yet sometimes he spoke with such a world weariness that it was hard to believe he wasn’t a frail and elderly man.

  He had a resonance far beyond his tender years and, as she risked a last look at her boss as he walked back to the car, he seemed to be leaning on McDere for support.

  As the church organs struck up their sombre march and the mourners filtered in, Avery was suddenly struck by an uncomfortable thought. Could the “He” in question really be Tolanson? After all, he was the only man that the two women currently had in common; it was an unsettling notion.

  ----------

  Donovan sat pensively in his office. Girls gyrated on stage below as heavy base beats thudded under his feet but his mind was full of things other than soft female flesh.

  While the pact with Tolanson had certainly been good for business, it was proving to be bad for his health, or at least for the health of his boys. Both Pryor and Wheaton were gone and he knew for sure that Tolanson or his pet ape had put them in the ground. It wasn’t that he had been close to either man but it was the principle. He knew that the street was watching him closely now: two men down and no retaliation. If he wasn’t careful then maybe one of the other crews would start to get certain ideas about his position on the throne.

  “Get you anything, babe?”

  He looked up from his desk and saw Katy or Kathy or something like that standing in front of him. He tended to pick one of the girls to spend his nights with but never too many in a row. This one was starting to get ideas above her station. He knew that he was a meal ticket for the girls; if one of them could get pregnant then he would be trapped into taking care of her.

  The girl was around 20 or so but looked considerably younger. He knew that she was of age because he always checked their IDs personally when he set them to work in the club. This was his legitimate business face and it would never get busted; he couldn’t afford for it to.

  “Drink?” she buzzed him again.

  He stared hard at her young face, a face yet to be creased and lined with the shitty realities of life when you were at the bottom of the food chain.

  “Piss off,” he said, flapping her away.

  “Oh, don’t be like that, Mr Grumpy,” she preened as she walked closer. “Let me make you feel better.” She winked.

  Donovan looked over the girl’s figure stuffed into a cocktail outfit that was intentionally two sizes too small. She had curves in all the right places and knew how to showcase them. Her mouth was round with full lips that he had put to good use several nights in the past week and he now felt an annoying strain below the belt.

  “Get on with it,” he ordered as he poured himself a shot of whisky and pushed his chair back from the desk.
<
br />   He pondered his problem as the girl worked her magic from her knees. Tolanson was a powerful man and getting more so by the day if the news coverage was to be believed. But that was only half the problem. The shit that he had seen the man do in the past five years gave him nightmares and he was not a man who scared easily. For now, the politician needed the money that Donovan made but there would come a time soon when Tolanson would need to clear house.

  He wasn’t used to feeling under anyone’s control and yet Tolanson’s noose was tighter than ever and there was no way out. The politician seemed to always know everything and Donovan knew that he would always be two steps behind the older man.

  “Stop it,” he said to the girl at his waist. “Get the fuck off!” he shouted when she refused to listen.

  “What’s the matter?” she pouted.

  He slapped her hard across the cheek, wiping the expression of entitlement from her face in an instant.

  “Why’d you that?” she whispered as she started to cry.

  “Stop that blubbering before I really give you something to cry about,” Donovan snarled, suddenly enjoying the sense of control; Tolanson had a habit of stealing it from him, even in thought.

  “This isn’t how a couple communicate,” she stammered.

  “COUPLE?” he roared in disbelief, relishing the dominance.

  He grabbed her face hard, pinching her cheeks together. “You’re two holes and a pair of tits, love, nothing more,” he spat, growing hard as she flinched under his touch. “Now do the only thing that you’re good at.”

  He rammed himself back into her and held the back of her head until he finished quickly. Once done he shoved her away and she fell to the floor, now sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Clean yourself up and get the fuck out; you’re fired,” he said calmly as he threw a metallic box of tissues from his desk onto the floor next to her.

  “You bastard,” she snivelled. “I thought that we had something.”

  Donovan just threw his head back and laughed riotously.

  The girl snatched up the metal box and threw it back at him with fiercely brewed and fresh rage. He tried to duck out of the way but he’d been rearranging his trousers and the corner of the metal box caught him just above the eye. His finger immediately went to the wound and came away bloody.