Trail of Poison

by M. J. Richards

  “I’m under no illusion of how Valence Industries operates,” Marsden said, his chin pressed against his chest. “But I panicked. We were in debt with the bank. I had the mortgage to think about, my family’s wellbeing. Max didn’t have any of those worries. He’d never had kids. He barely saw his wife. I couldn’t put everything I had in jeopardy because of his crusade, no matter how justified it was.” He shook his head, then let it hang heavy on his neck. “So, I thanked Max for telling me, and I told him I hoped Jonathan Hunt and the others got everything that was coming to them.”

  “And then you went straight to Jonathan Hunt.”

  Tim retreated into the shadows. “I thought they would just fire him. I had no idea that they would. . . How could I have known? It’s not my fault. I didn’t have a choice!”

  “You had the choice of keeping quiet,” Emily said, leaning forward. “Of telling them you didn’t know anything.”

  “And what if Hunt found out I was lying? Who would provide for my family? Feed my daughter and put clothes on her back?”

  Unable to look at him, Emily turned away. “They killed Max. You could have warned him. He could still be alive. So could Jason, Evan. . . Josh Copeland could still have a future ahead of him.”

  In the backseat, Jerome let out a disgusted grunt.

  Marsden threw his hands in the air. “You don’t understand what it’s been like for me! Every morning, I wake up regretting what I did. Wishing I could go back and tell Max to drop everything and get out. And now I’m stuck there. I can’t leave Valence Industries because they won’t let me. I know too much. They can give me Max’s job, they can throw money at me, but if I try to leave, I’m as good as dead. My family, too.”

  Emily’s fingers hurt. She uncurled them from the steering wheel. Time was slipping away, and Tim Marsden wasn’t leading her any closer to finding Helen. But there was still another question he could answer. “What happened on the night of the gala? What happened to Max?”

  There was a long silence before Marsden answered. “I’d been waiting for Hunt to call him in. I’d assumed he’d decided to wait until the launch was out of the way—for Max to not be there would have been a PR disaster. The only thing I can tell you is that Max hadn’t been himself all night. He was nervous, paranoid even. So I pulled him aside and asked him what was wrong. He asked me if I could be trusted.” Marsden hung his head again and sobbed. “I should have just come out with it right at that moment. But by then it was too late. So I lied. I told him he could trust me. But he didn’t say anything more, just looked me right in the eye and nodded. The rest happened the way I told you. He left, went up to his room. I didn’t see him again, I swear. The next morning, he was gone. And I knew then. I knew something terrible had happened to him.”

  “Something terrible is going to happen to Helen,” Emily snapped. “Are you going to be responsible for her death, too?”

  “I don’t know where she is! Jesus, I’m putting my life on the line trying to make things right here. Do you have any idea what Jonathan Hunt will do to me if he knew I was talking to you right now?”

  “Then why are you talking to me?”

  Marsden was silent. When it was clear he wasn’t going to answer, Emily started up the engine.

  “You’re wasting our time,” she said. She pulled away from the kerb and began the journey back to Tim Marsden’s house. Inside, her heart was beating out of control. Time was ticking away and they were no closer to finding Helen. As for Marsden, she was too angry to even look at him. Valence Industries may have killed Max Edwards, but it was Tim who had provided the gun. Yes, he’d been protecting his family, but people were dead now. People he could have saved with a simple, anonymous warning.

  In the backseat, Jerome tried calling Helen again. “Straight to voicemail.”

  “Try again.” Emily spun the wheel and took a left.

  Tim Marsden was silent and still, only moving to point Emily in the right direction. Finally, they pulled up in front of his drive. Emily kept the engine running.

  Marsden remained unmoving, staring up at his home. Soft light spilled out from one of the bedroom windows.

  “If you had the proof you were looking for, what would you do with it?” His voice floated out of the shadows like a ghost.

  Emily stared into the darkness. “I’d make sure it was put in the right hands so that Jonathan Hunt and Valence Industries got exactly what they deserved.”

  “And what about the people caught in between?”

  “If they have nothing to hide, then they have nothing to worry about.”

  Tim brought his hands to his face. He nodded. “Wait here.”

  Climbing out of the car, he checked the street then jogged up to his house.

  Jerome leaned forward. “Fucking coward! But seriously, Em—what’s going on here? How are we going to find Helen?”

  Emily said nothing as she watched the Marsden house, waiting for the door to open. Jerome continued to speak, but she didn’t hear him. The porch light snapped on. Tim Marsden emerged from the house and began walking to the car. He was carrying something. Emily’s pulse raced as she realized what it was.

  Then Jerome said, “Who’s that?”

  Parked on the other side of the road, a black SUV had switched on its headlights. As Emily watched, the back passenger door opened and a man stepped out. Dressed in black, he was tall and muscular, with a shaved head and cold eyes that stared across the street at Tim.

  “Oh, shit,” Jerome said, his breaths thin and fast. “What is this? What do we do?”

  Tim had seen the man, but instead of hurrying toward the car, he’d frozen on the drive like a statue. Dipping his head, the man began crossing the road, heading straight for him.

  Heart smashing against her chest, Emily reached for the door.

  “What are you doing? You can’t leave this car!” Jerome grabbed her shoulder, digging his fingers in.

  Emily tried to shake him off. “I have to! Let go!”

  She watched as the man reached the kerb, then her eyes shot up to the driveway, where Tim was now slowly backing away. He was going to run, taking his evidence with him.

  Emily tried to free herself but Jerome’s grip was firm.

  “Let go of me!” she yelled.

  “You can’t go out there!” Jerome cried. “You need to be ready to get us out of here.”

  Emily spun around and saw the man step onto the grassy kerb. Of course, she thought with sudden clarity. Jerome can’t drive!

  “I’ll get him,” Jerome said, and before Emily could stop him, he wrenched open the door and leaped onto the road.

  “Come back here!” she shouted.

  But Jerome was already off and running, heading straight for Tim Marsden.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  THE ONLY THOUGHT that screamed in Jerome’s head as he pelted across the tarmac and onto the pavement, was that he was going to die. But what he lacked in self-confidence, he compensated with speed. His sudden appearance had startled the man in black, giving Jerome an extra second of time. Throwing himself onto the drive, he raced up to Tim Marsden.

  “Come on!” Jerome yelled, snatching Tim by the arm and glancing over his shoulder to see the man in black running straight for them, while two more men were exiting the SUV.

  Tim would not move. He stood rigid, terrified of the shape careering toward them. Jerome yanked his arm, lifting him off his feet. Tim stumbled back—just as the man in black launched himself in the air and collided with Jerome, knocking him to the ground.

  He hit the gravel hard and rolled onto his back. Before he could catch his breath, a fist slammed into his cheekbone. Momentarily blinded, Jerome drew back his knees and kicked out. His feet connected with soft tissue and the man doubled over. Another kick took him down.

  Scrambling to his feet, Jerome saw the other men dash across the road, heading straight for him. He lunged out for Tim’s arm again. Tim pulled away, his shoulders sagging with defeat.

  “For
Christ’s sake!” Jerome bellowed in his face. “Get a fucking move on!”

  The man on the ground pushed himself onto his knees, just as the other two reached the drive.

  Tim stared at the envelope in his hand. Silently, he held it out.

  Jerome snatched it, and giving Tim one last, bewildered look, he turned and ran.

  First, he tried for the car, but the men were blocking his path. Then spinning on his heels, he raced toward the house. A path led around the side of the building. He came up to a waist-high gate and vaulted over it in one fluid movement.

  Adrenaline pulsing through his muscles, Jerome sprinted down the path, then skidded to a halt in the back garden, which was large and shadowy, and surrounded by tall wooden fencing.

  The men were close behind. He could hear them gaining on him. His heart leaping in his throat, Jerome raced across the lawn and reached the fence that bordered the neighbour’s garden. He sprang forward, grabbing the top of the fence and swinging himself over, just as two burly figures appeared behind.

  He hit the concrete, almost landing on a child’s toy car. He swung his head from side to side, looking for an exit. There was no side path back to the street like the Marsden house, but there was a hedgerow separating this home from the next. Behind him, his pursuers hit the fence and began to climb.

  Jerome raced on, hurdling over the hedgerow. He landed awkwardly, twisting his ankle and staggering forward. Pain shot up his leg, but there was no time to stop. The next hedgerow came up to meet him and he vaulted over it, landing on his uninjured foot.

  Somewhere in his unconscious, thoughts were trying to formulate. Where was he going? How would he find his way back to Emily? What would happen if the men caught up with him?

  He cleared another hedgerow, then another, his ankle complaining and slowing him down.

  Then he slid to a halt.

  He’d reached the last house of the row. Like the Marsden house, there was a side path that led back to the street. But unlike the Marsden house, there was a tall gate that was padlocked and topped with wood panelling that reached high above Jerome’s head.

  Lungs burning, he spun on his heels. He could hear his pursuers tearing across the adjacent garden.

  He stared wildly at the end wall that bordered the street, at the shards of broken glass glued on top; a nasty deterrent for any would-be thieves. Frantic now, he glanced down at the envelope in his hand, then back at the garden.

  He was cornered. There was no way out. And now the men were leaping over the final hedgerow and heading straight for him.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  TIME SLOWED DOWN. Emily saw Jerome snatch the envelope from Tim Marsden’s hand, then disappear around the corner of the house. Two of the men chased after him, while the third staggered to his feet. Tim stood still, his limp body that of a man who had nowhere else to run.

  Blood rushed in Emily’s ears. She wondered if she should get out of the car to help him. But her hands and feet would not detach themselves from the steering wheel and pedals. She watched as the remaining man took Tim Marsden roughly by the arm and frog marched him to the waiting SUV, where he was pushed into the back seat, the door slammed shut and locked behind him.

  Then his assailant turned to face Emily and broke into a run.

  She watched him racing toward her with clenched fists and burning eyes. Instinct took over. Her fingers shot from the wheel and hit the door lock button. Then as the man reached the driver door, she shifted the car into reverse and slammed her foot on the accelerator. Tires screeching, the car shot backward. The man lurched forward. He chased her a few metres, then slid to a halt.

  Emily had to take her eyes off him. With cars lining both sides of the road, she was in danger of a collision. And reversing was not her strongest skill. As she zipped backward down the street, house lights began to light up the dark. Hopefully, someone would witness what was happening and call the police.

  Emily peeled her eyes from the rear-view mirror to see the man had returned to the SUV. Behind her, the road was reaching a bend. She turned the wheel sharply, clipping her wing mirror against one of the parked cars.

  More vehicles lined the street. But now the street was coming to an end and merging with a crossroad. With the car reversing in a straight line, Emily tore her gaze from the mirror again and searched the pavements. Where was Jerome? Her phone sat in the cup holder behind the gear stick, but there was no way she could take her hands off the wheel. And finding Jerome was not her only problem.

  Tires screeching, the SUV skittered around the bend. Dazzled by its headlights, Emily floored the accelerator, bounced off a parked car, then skidded into the crossroad.

  Her body on autopilot, she reversed right, slammed on the brakes, shifted gears, and hit the accelerator. At the same time, the SUV entered the crossroads and swerved.

  Emily screamed as the sides of the vehicles grinded together, tearing off her wing mirror. Then her car shot forward, leaving the SUV behind.

  She was dazed, disoriented, in the midst of a panic attack. Adrenaline pumped through her veins like a jackhammer. She had to get out of the car. She had to stop driving before she killed herself. But glancing in the rear-view mirror, she could already see the SUV catching up to her.

  Emily drove on. She had no idea where she was going and every street was identical. For all she knew, she was driving in circles in an endless rabbit warren of suburban streets. And Jerome was out there somewhere, with two of Hunt’s men in pursuit.

  As the SUV’s headlights grew larger in the rear-view mirror, Emily spotted a turning up ahead on the left. She spun the wheel and the Mazda skidded around the corner, then barrelled along the street between rows of parked vehicles.

  With a cry, Emily slammed on the brakes. The car skidded in a half circle and slid to a halt. The road had ended in a cul-de-sac. The only way in was also the only way out—and it was now blocked by the SUV.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  THE MEN CAME over the hedge and hit the ground. Jerome had two choices—to hand over the envelope or to escape over the glass-topped fence. Neither was going to end well.

  His reflexes made the choice for him.

  Clamping the envelope between his teeth, he turned and dashed toward the fence. Propelling himself forward, he jumped and grabbed the top with both hands.

  Blinding pain ripped through his nerve endings as thick shards of glass sliced into his palms and fingers, opening the outer layers of flesh. He screamed through clenched teeth and almost let go.

  A hand wrapped around his ankle and yanked his leg. The glass sliced deeper, making him scream louder. But Jerome didn’t let go. Instead, he thrashed and kicked until he was free. Then it was as if he had left his body and was floating above it, watching it work of its own volition as it hauled itself over the fence and swung over to the other side.

  Indescribable pain brought him rushing back. He landed on the pavement, stumbled, and rolled. The envelope slipped from his jaws.

  Lungs heaving, Jerome pushed himself to his feet. His hands were on fire. Pain shot up from his palms to his elbows. He staggered forward. The men hadn’t followed. Glancing back at the fence and its row of vicious glass teeth, he couldn’t blame them.

  Jerome’s gaze dropped from the fence to the glistening, black trail on the ground. Horrified, he followed the trail until he was staring at his hands. Blood was pumping from his shredded flesh and raining down on the pavement. On his left hand, the glass had sliced through an artery.

  Crying out in shock and pain, he clamped the hand to his chest, then turned on his heels and stared down the road. He had no idea where he was, or how far he had run, or where Emily was right now. But he had to keep moving. It wouldn’t be long before those men double-backed and came for him.

  Wincing, he stooped to pick up the dropped envelope with the finger and thumb of his less-damaged hand and tucked it under his arm. Then with both hands now pressed to his body, he took off down the street. Terrible images flash
ed through his mind. What if Emily had been caught by the men? What would they do to her?

  He hobbled along, blood soaking his T-shirt, the envelope pressed against his ribs like a brand.

  There were lights on in houses. He knew he should knock on a door and ask for help, but he couldn’t help wondering how many people would rush to the aid of a bleeding black man, late at night in quiet suburbia.

  But now he was feeling light-headed. And had the temperature dropped? He stopped outside of a house with its downstairs lights on. He was about to bang on the door when his phone started to ring. Slowly, carefully, he fished it out of his pocket with two fingers. Blood dripped on the screen and he wiped it clean against his T-shirt.

  Emily was calling.

  “Are you okay? Where are you?” she whispered, her voice stricken with fear.

  “I have no idea. I got away from them, though. And I have your envelope.” The street tipped slightly as if Jerome were a ship on a wave. “You need to come and get me!”

  “I can’t. Are you sure you’re okay? They didn’t hurt you?”

  Jerome took the phone away from his ear for a second and glanced down at his body. The front of his T-shirt was black and sodden. “Nothing I can’t handle. What do you mean you can’t come get me?”

  “Whatever’s in the envelope, you have to keep it safe. Take it to the police.”

  “Just tell me where you are—I’ll find you.”

  “There’s no time.”

  “Jesus, Emily! Stop being so dramatic!”

  Through the receiver, Jerome heard a car door open and close, followed by scurrying footsteps and Emily’s frightened breaths. The line was quiet for a second. Then Emily whispered, “I’m on Steven’s Close. But go for help, Jerome. Don’t come here.”

  “I’ll be five minutes.”

  “Jerome, don’t —”

  Wiping more blood from the screen, Jerome hung up. He opened the phone’s map application, and with what appeared to be his only wound-free finger, tapped in: Steven’s Close. He waited, feeling dizzy and faint. The map zoomed in. Steven’s Close was three streets away, but there was a short cut just up ahead through a series of connecting alleys.