by Marcus Alden
Jennifer hurried down the stairs and left the trolley case by the front door. She walked into the lounge and picked up a book from one of the shelves, taking out two index cards that were tucked in it. Back in the hallway, Jennifer took two scrunched up bin liners from the side and ran back upstairs. She collected the pile of clothes she had just taken off and shoved them into the black plastic sack. Jennifer raided her own bedroom like a burglar in search of cash until all her items were collected into the sacks. She carried the filled bags downstairs and tied them up by the back gate, ready for the refuse collection. The out of breath assistant checked her hair in the mirror. She took a moment to stare at her own reflection and then reached for her black coat on the peg. The coat’s cool silk lining glided over her skin. Jennifer gripped the rubberised handle of the suitcase and wheeled the case behind her out of the hall. She locked the door behind her and posted the keys through the letterbox.
‘Goodbye house,’ Jennifer said.
* * * *
Maybury swung into his driveway and slammed on the car’s brakes; the chippings churned over and flew out from under the tyres. He left the papers from the office on the passenger seat and hurried towards the house. Maybury approached the large portico and noticed the door opening. His wife looked surprised to see him. Her eyes flashed with embarrassment. Maybury looked down to what his wife held; a leather holdall and a suitcase.
‘I’m sorry you had to find out like this I––,’ Maybury’s wife said.
‘You thought you’d sneak away while I was out? You never were one for confrontation. Go then. Go to your lover who’ll romance you, and screw you, and drop you like a stone when he realises what I already know; that you’re an old hag with no backbone. Go.’ Maybury stood back against the door and held out his hand to show the way. ‘In fact, I’ll help with your case if you like.’ Maybury gripped his wife’s wrist and twisted it back till she yelped and dropped the bag. He threw the suitcase out of the porch; it bounced and skidded along the drive. His wife screamed at him.
Drew’s yellow sports car pounded into the driveway. Maybury’s wife yelled something inaudible and ran past her husband. Drew pulled the car up to her and turned off the pumping music. Drew got out of the car and picked up the case; he stared back at Maybury in disgust. Drew’s orange tanned skin clashed with the bright yellow of the car’s paintwork.
‘Get in, he can’t hurt you anymore,’ Drew said looking towards Maybury. Maybury’s wife looked back at the pathetic man that stood in the doorway of the beautiful red brick house. Her husband’s shoulders were sunken, his face drained. She turned and got in. The yellow car sped away out of the drive.
Maybury turned and shut the heavy door behind him. He noticed a note left by his wife on the side. He scoffed at it and left it untouched on the polished wooden table.
* * * *
‘It’s here, turn in here,’ Sarah said. She leant forward in between Mr. and Mrs. Finkley and pointed to Maybury’s large detached house. Mr. Finkley, who was not good at reacting to quick instructions, turned sharp into the drive. So sharp a turn that Dan and Sarah crashed into each other on the back seats. Mrs. Finkley let out a shrill cry.
‘My toffees!’ The packet of toffees spun out of Mrs. Finkley’s hand and spilled on the floor.
‘Be quiet Margaret, you can get them in a minute. You know I can’t cope with your yelling when I’m concentrating,’ Mr. Finkley shouted back to her. But Mrs. Finkley had already bent forward and had begun to pick the toffees up one by one. The gold-coloured car jolted to a stop, inches in front of a flower pot.
‘Please wait here, don’t even get out of the car. Actually, lock the doors,’ Dan said to the two in the front. The Finkleys could not stumble into Maybury’s house and carry on their antics in there Dan thought, they were far too much of a liability.
‘Ok dear,’ Mrs. Finkley said in her matter of fact tone. She tried to pick up the remaining toffees but her round tummy prevented her getting as close as she wanted too. Mrs. Finkley huffed in frustration, unaware of her environment.
Dan and Sarah leapt out from the back seats of the beaten-up car; it looked as if the poor relations were visiting the luxurious house that sat amongst mature oak trees and evergreens. Dan and Sarah slammed the car doors behind them. Mr. Finkley locked the doors as instructed and looked on with interest at the prestigious house so different from his own dilapidated hovel in Sussex Street.
Dan felt an uneasy fear creep up on him the nearer he and Sarah got to the imposing facade. They had been so focused on getting there his thoughts had not turned to what he would say to the man who could reveal the last secrets of his grandfather’s disappearance. Maybury, he thought, would not be expecting them.
Sarah pressed the ivory button set into the faded brass bell push. They could hear the bell ring on the other side of the door and then fast footsteps on wood. Maybury opened the door. The solicitor stood motionless, confused and bewildered as to who the faces were; it dawned on him. Maybury tried to shut the door, but Dan stepped forwards and pushed it back.
‘Hello Maybury,’ Dan said. The solicitor looked at Sarah and then back to Dan.
‘What do you want from me? It’s out of my hands now,’ Maybury spat the words out.
‘I want answers, and I’m not leaving till I’ve got them,’ Dan said.
‘Fine, it won’t make any difference now. Come in, though I think we can skip the pleasantries as you’ve forced your way in.’ Maybury led them away from the entrance. Sarah shut the heavy hinged door behind her. She looked around at the interior of the house. An oil painting in a golden frame shone by the stairs and fresh roses leaked perfume into the air.
‘Don’t bother shutting that,’ Maybury said. ‘You’ll be leaving soon.’
Dan and Sarah followed the solicitor past a sweeping staircase and walked into his study. Maybury continued to gather his possessions without paying attention to them. He opened a drawer and fetched some cash from a box. Maybury threw the bound notes into a holdall that was slumped over the desk. Flustered, he moved from one bookcase to another.
‘So. Spit it out. What is it? You want me to apologise for the fact your grandfather was a cretin that couldn’t see an opportunity when it smacked him in the face?’ Maybury said. Dan said nothing. ‘Even when he was pleading for his pathetic little life he couldn’t see beyond and grasp his opportunity. He had plenty of chances to avoid what happened,’ Maybury said.
‘So, Atmore did kill my grandfather so he could build on his land! How could he do such a vile thing?’ Dan said. Maybury stood still and looked towards Dan and Sarah. He sighed.
‘I didn’t know about you at the beginning. Atmore said it was just the old man. When your grandfather wouldn’t sell the land, Atmore had to force him; nobody says no to Atmore. It was simple really. They took him one day, from the retirement village he was in. Atmore knew your grandfather was suffering from dementia and sent one of his assistants, which I’m sure you’ve met, to pose as your grandfather’s son. Of course, your grandfather was thrilled that his dead son had reappeared, but he soon realised he was in danger. Your grandfather feared for his life and used his last trump card: you, his last living relative. Your grandfather hoped it would stop them from killing him, but it didn’t work. When Atmore discovered that your grandfather had made a will that named you as the sole beneficiary he beat him up. Your grandfather was a stubborn fool, but his body obviously wasn’t as stubborn as he was,’ Maybury said.
‘Don’t you dare call him that, he was 84 years old.’ Dan jolted forward. He wanted to smack Maybury to the floor, but Sarah restrained him from doing so. Maybury carried on talking undeterred.
‘Atmore set up various times for me to visit, to try and convince your grandfather that he had to comply and sign the papers. Even when he was beaten up it made no difference; your grandfather died a few days later after I saw him. Bound to happen really, the way they beat him. They put him in a body bag and burnt him I think, cleaner that way,’
Maybury said as he pondered the practicalities of it all.
‘You disgust me. What about your part in all this? You lied to me. Tried to lull me into your plan of false money and fake care home bills; I suppose you knew I was broke?’ Dan said. His voice got louder and louder.
‘Naturally, but anyone could tell you’re penniless just by looking at you. Atmore promised it would be straightforward. I would arrange the legal side, Atmore would deal with the––.’ Maybury’s words trailed off.
‘Illegal side?’ Sarah interrupted. Maybury smiled a half-smile as if he had just tasted something sour.
‘The logistics,’ Maybury said correcting Sarah. He stopped packing things into the holdall and gave them his full attention.
‘Logistics?’ Dan shouted. ‘Because of Atmore two men are dead! My grandfather and the reporter that had been investigating Atmore. You are just as responsible for their deaths as he is.’ Dan carried on. ‘And what about Jennifer? Did she know––.’
‘What about her?’ Maybury’s eyes flared. ‘I was foolish to ever let her work for me. The double-crossing whore has been––.’ Maybury paused.
‘Been what?’ Sarah asked.
‘You’d have to ask her,’ Maybury said. ‘I don’t know who she’s working for but don’t believe a word she says. I should have paid more attention to the bits of paper that kept moving. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s been going behind my back the entire time and feeding information to another source,’ Maybury said.
‘So, what have you got out of this twisted scheme Maybury? Money I’m guessing, you obviously need more looking at how poor you are,’ Dan said gesturing at the opulent room they stood in.
‘You make it sound so simplistic. Just because I have money––.’ Maybury sneered.
Dan interrupted.
‘I understand perfectly. You’re not satisfied with a beautiful house, luxury cars, and your respectable job. You want more, and to get that you grab it from others. You squeeze and squash those less fortunate than you. You twist the truth to satisfy your own altered perspective; you don’t need any of these things. You have lost all connection with reality. How can you sleep knowing this is all stolen from others?’
‘Alright, that’s enough!’ Maybury shouted. Dan and Sarah looked at the ranting man. ‘Yes, I did it for money, four and a half million to be precise. I needed it to retire. I don’t care what you think. I don’t have to justify my motives to you. You haven’t even got a job, you worthless layabout. You’ll get your money, not that you even know how to handle it. Now leave me alone.’ Maybury’s face was red with anger. ‘Get out, you’ve heard all I’m telling you, now leave.’ Maybury stretched out his arm and went to grab Sarah’s sleeve.
‘What? Before you call the police?’ Sarah jibed. ‘I think they’ll be here soon enough anyway, don’t you?’ Maybury’s arm went limp as Sarah stared back at him.
‘Let’s go, he’s not worth wasting any more time on,’ Dan said as he walked away. Maybury spat towards him, a blob of saliva landed on the Persian rug. Sarah brought out her mobile that had been recording since they approached the house. She held it in her hand and smiled back to Maybury.
‘Thanks Maybury, we have all we need now to take to the police,’ Sarah said. Maybury threw a paperweight towards her. It ricocheted off the door and smashed through a glass panel on the mahogany bookcase.
‘Get out!’ Maybury screamed. Dan and Sarah heard Maybury shout and break more things in a manic rampage as they walked away. Dan put his arm around Sarah and they left the house.
Chapter 19
‘We stayed in the car, just like you asked us to,’ Mr. Finkley said as Dan and Sarah got back in the car. Mr. Finkley cajoled the car out of the drive and into the wooded lane. Sarah noticed a vehicle parked up on a grass verge and saw a figure walk from it.
‘Look Dan, it’s him.’ Sarah pointed to Hawk who sauntered along the single-track road towards Maybury’s house. Dan leant over to look out from Sarah’s window and stared at the figure. Hawk noticed them peer at him as they passed. Sarah felt vulnerable at such a low speed knowing the door next to her wasn’t locked. She slid her fingers along the interior panel of the door in search of the lock as she kept her eyes fixed on the henchman. They were driving slow enough that if Hawk pulled a stunt they’d be defenceless. Sarah found a hole where the plastic stub of the lock should have been. ‘Drive faster, please, hurry,’ Sarah said to Mr. Finkley to speed up his sedate driving style.
‘It’s ok; he’s not here for us,’ Dan said touching Sarah’s arm. ‘They don’t need us anymore. Atmore is finished.’ To Sarah’s relief, Hawk walked on towards Maybury’s house. Sarah followed the thug with her eyes through the small triangular pane of glass and continued to track him from the rear window.
Hawk turned back to face the car; the fear in Sarah’s eyes met his glare. Hawk tucked his hand inside his jacket and pretended to reach for his gun. He made a pistol shape with his fingers and raised his arm to aim the invisible sights toward her face. The thug mimicked the action of a firing gun.
‘Bang,’ Hawk mouthed as he stared straight into Sarah’s eyes. Sarah turned back in her seat and nestled next to Dan as they drove away. Hawk entered Maybury’s drive.
* * * *
The familiar dusty book smell of the cathedral hung about in the air. Will’s nerves started to bubble inside him; his solo, the solo, he had practiced for months neared its ultimate performance.
‘William, head up. Don’t stoop. You need to engage the audience not put it to sleep. Tobey, stop grimacing you look like you’re in pain.’ The young chorister corrected his supposed stoop and over compensated it to show his teacher he was paying attention, not that he noticed. He continued to find flaws with every boys’ stature or voice in search of the perfect performance.
‘Good, good,’ the pedantic man said. ‘Much better, much better.’ The boy next to Will leant over and whispered to him.
‘Are your parents coming tonight? Mine are.’ Tobey smelt of cheese, Will thought.
‘I don’t know,’ Will whispered back. He hadn’t even thought about it. Will was used to being on his own, but Tobey had just reminded him that his parents would not be there to show support. They never come, Will thought. Not all the parents would attend, but it seemed as if his held the record for nonattendance. They should be made to come just as I am made to perform. If I didn’t turn up I’d have my hands cut off. Not literally, but I would––.
‘William! Why are you singing the same line over and over?’ the teacher said and snapped his fingers at him. ‘Stop, stop, everyone stop,’ the man cried out; the music stopped. ‘You don’t get rehearsals in real life.’ He addressed the whole group. ‘Now everyone, have a break and then whatever isn’t fixed will have to stay. Remember, we have a live audience.’ The man sounded irritated. The muffled sound of feet echoed in the hallowed space. The choir boys filed away out of view.
Visitors ambled into the cathedral; some took photos on their mobiles while others stood with arched backs peering at the vaulted ceiling. A middle-aged woman with a wicker basket sat down with her husband. Her friend, having noticed her, called over to them. A group of noisy Dutch teenagers rambled in led by two tutors and were ushered to sit down and be quiet. A trio of Asian girls, all with knitted bobble hats on, giggled and pointed at the architecture and clergy they spotted. The choir waited in the wings out of sight. The hum of the audience was like a concert in itself; vague noises of chairs scraped across the floor, coats rustled, and the occasional cough reverberated around the space. Most of the people silenced with the arrival of the red gowned choir.
The few people that still talked were drowned out as the music began. Sound boomed from the organ. The entire space filled with the opening of Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus. The audience sat spellbound by the performance, watching the notes unfold.
Will stood in the front row and bellowed out his words. His nerves dissipated, or maybe it was that he was distracted, so he did
n’t notice them. The music built to a crescendo and, as it did, it was as if the sun had timed itself to coincide with the singing. The stained glass fused with the sunlight and catapulted into the cathedral. Vivid greens and blues shone. Flashes of red and yellow poured onto the aged stone. The ancient space felt alive, visceral, as if it were breathing. The music teacher had a serious look on his face as his hands darted back and forth, though at the corner of his mouth a smile tried to escape. The organ was faultless, the voices in tune and time; his work had paid off.
A lone figure crept up from one of the front rows. It was a woman in a black coat holding a glowing phone. Will noticed her straight away. The woman silhouetted against the stone and tried to move unnoticed as she walked behind the pillars, but Will could see her.
Jennifer looked at her phone; the files had been uploaded. Harrier had done what she’d asked. She moved to her right, away from the chairs towards the south transept. Jennifer quickened her steps; her low heels skimmed the hard, uneven surface of the stone floor. She headed for the prayer board. The prayer board was the place where people submitted their humble requests to God with paper and pins, and where Jennifer would leave her part of the bargain. Candles that had been lit by loved ones in remembrance flickered with a gentle draft in the air. Jennifer looked around for Harrier. She had told him not to approach, but she didn’t trust him. Jennifer saw neither of the thugs, so walked on to the prayer board. She first noticed the board when she arrived to work for Maybury and visited the cathedral as a tourist.