by A. S. French
The Killing Moon
A. S. French
Neonoir Books
Copyright © 2021 by A. S. French
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, businesses, locales and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Also by A. S. French
The Astrid Snow series.
Book one: Don’t Fear the Reaper.
Book two: The Killing Moon.
Book three: Lost in America.
* * *
The Detective Jen Flowers series.
Book one: The Hashtag Killer.
Book two: Serial Killer.
Book three: Night Killer.
* * *
Go to www.andrewsfrench.com for more information.
Contents
1. America
2. Child’s Play
3. Road to Ruin
4. Police and Thieves
5. Young Americans
6. 50ft Queenie
7. Seventeen
8. Losing My Religion
9. House of Pain
10. Cry Me A River
11. She’s Lost Control
12. Kids in America
13. Private Investigations
14. A Forest
15. Hounds of Love
16. Shadowplay
17. She Floated Away
18. Down by the River
19. Neighbourhood Threat
20. House of Mirrors
21. Sons of the Silent Age
22. Absolute Beginners
23. Secret Love
24. Master and Servant
25. Head Like A Hole
26. Caravan of Love
About the Author
Acknowledgments
1 America
The beer chilled her throat, the taste reminding Astrid of the time she threw up over the neighbour’s cat. Then she smiled at her companion.
They appeared to be a loving couple, the way they held hands as the candle flickered next to them. But they were the opposite of in love. The sparkle in his face wasn’t because of desire but concentration to stop him from screaming. She’d already damaged one of his fingers as she squeezed again.
‘You can tell me where the kid is, or I keep doing this.’
‘I don’t know where she is.’ The words struggled to climb over his trembling lips.
‘You’re Daniel Gideon’s lawyer. He kidnapped his daughter from London and smuggled her into the US, and you know nothing about it?’
‘He’ll kill me if I tell you.’
His skin was like old leather against hers.
‘That’s better than what I’ll do to you.’ She pressed hard against his bone. ‘You’ll be alive, but wish you weren’t, pissing blood through a tube for the rest of your miserable existence.’
All her life, Astrid had imagined visiting the city of her childhood dreams. She’d hoped her first visit to the Big Apple would be more relaxing than this. Perhaps she’d have time later for the Bowie pilgrimage she’d been planning.
As she rubbed her skin over the lawyer’s weather-beaten flesh, she imagined strolling down Lafayette Street and into Washington Square Park. She took her middle finger and dragged her purple nail across his palm as he told her what she wanted.
‘He’s keeping her in the penthouse.’
‘Which one?’
Astrid let go of his hand. He flexed his fingers and grimaced.
‘She’s at the place on Dutch Street.’ The pain subsided in his eyes, and she watched his relief transforming into the confidence he’d had when he first met her and assumed she was the date arranged for him. ‘You won’t be able to get inside; his security is too strong.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘You need a key card and photo ID to enter the building.’
‘You’re his attorney; you must have those.’
He nodded. ‘I can get you to the elevator, but he has too many guards inside the penthouse.’
‘What security does he have?’
He took a napkin and wiped the blood from his hand. ‘Gideon always has four men around him, all of them ex-Navy Seals.’
All she had to do was get into that room, which was where the lawyer came in. Astrid grabbed him by the arm.
‘You can pay for the taxi there.’
She eased him out of the diner, keeping a firm grip on him through his expensive coat. The New York night airbrushed her face, the bouquet of the city replacing his bitter aftershave: smoke from grilled hotdogs and kebabs, traffic fumes, body odours, perfume wafting from stores and people, the scent of cheap leather goods and plastics from the street vendors, an oily, pissy smell coming up from the subways, garbage piled at the curb, and dusty air.
Astrid squeezed against him in the taxi.
I should think like a local; this is a cab.
It was a twenty-minute drive into Manhattan. On the way to the penthouse, she texted her contact in New York; without his help, she wouldn’t be able to get Chloe Gideon out of the city. First, she had to get the kid away from that building. She gave the driver a hundred dollars when they got there.
‘Keep the engine running and wait for me.’
Light summer rain cut across her face as they stepped out of the cab. Thunder rumbled overhead as she let go of him, and he stumbled forward. She followed the lawyer inside. The entrance was white and glittered like a disco ball. There were two security guards behind a desk, staring into screens and ignoring her. Another one loitered halfway down the lobby, standing next to an enormous canvas constructed of four identical portraits of Marilyn Monroe. The place stank of wealth and privilege, only obscured by the aroma of the orchids lining the far wall.
The lawyer removed his ID and a key card for the elevator. ‘We’re here to see Mr Gideon.’
The guard with the face sculptured from cracked concrete checked his details without expression, while the taller one built like a heavyweight boxer scrutinised her. They were granted admission with a grunt and strode from the desk. He swiped his card, and they entered the elevator. Astrid’s hair was damp from the rain.
Sweat trickled down his head. ‘What will you do when you get inside? They’ll all be armed, including Gideon. Being with me won’t keep you safe.’
It was a sixty-second ride to the penthouse. She considered his question, but didn’t answer it. ‘How many apartments are there in the building?’
The lawyer tried to wipe the fear from his face. ‘There’s fifty.’
‘How many where we’re going?’
He scratched at his ear. ‘Five. He doesn’t have the privacy he wants here, but he can’t live in his other properties anymore.’
Even with all her research, this was news to Astrid. ‘Why not?’
‘He owns them in name only.’ The lawyer pulled at the top of his shirt as if spilling state secrets. ‘Mr Gideon’s finances are not as healthy as he makes out in public. Several stock market losses meant he had to sell the other properties apart from this penthouse.’
That was good news to Astrid. Getting the kid away from Gideon wasn’t the biggest problem she foresaw; it was what his response would be to losing the girl. If the billionaire were having money problems, then perhaps his focus would be somewhere else once she’d completed this job. And he’d have fewer resources to retaliate with.
The door opened, and th
ey stepped on to the top floor. Rubbing his damaged finger, the lawyer rushed towards Gideon’s place. Astrid stopped him with a touch to his shoulder, nodding at the red box on the wall.
‘Smash that with your good hand.’
His eyes shrank and his mouth trembled. ‘You want me to break the fire alarm? That won’t bother Gideon. He thinks he’s invincible.’
Astrid cracked her knuckles. ‘Just do it.’
She couldn’t tell if the damp on his face was sweat or tears. He did as instructed, and the broken glass fell onto the floor. A high-pitched wailing sped around them, the screech of a banshee telling people to find safety. She pushed him towards the stairs at the end of the corridor. Gideon’s place was behind them.
‘Everybody get out, now!’ Astrid shouted.
The first residents appeared from the apartment opposite, a grey-haired couple in their seventies. ‘What’s happening?’ the woman said.
Her gaze was unfocused, moving randomly around her surroundings, her eyes obscured with cataracts so it was difficult to tell what colour they were. The man looked as if a puff of wind would blow him over. Astrid went to help them towards the fire exit, taking the woman’s hand. The skin was cold to the touch, her flesh resembling one of those turtles who live for more than a century. The couple smiled at each other as if this was a regular part of their day.
Astrid thought of all the shared memories they had.
And then you forget them all.
‘Come on; you’ll be safe once you get downstairs.’
The woman reached for her face. ‘We should take the elevator; it’s quicker.’
Astrid shook her head. ‘It’s too dangerous. Use the stairs.’
More doors opened, and other people followed as the shrieking alarm continued.
Astrid handed the woman to the lawyer. ‘Help as many as you can.’
It had been two minutes since he’d smashed the box, and there was still no sign of Gideon and his men. Every other apartment but the one she wanted had emptied.
Just when she was about to bang on Gideon’s door, it opened. The first guy out was a couple of inches shorter than her, about five foot ten, with a gut to embarrass Father Christmas.
This will be easier than I thought.
The next bloke out changed her mind. His arms were bigger than her legs, his chest you could row down the Hudson on. The other guard was slow on his feet; the second was alert and ready, searching everywhere for danger. After checking the corridor, he turned to give somebody inside a signal.
Gideon exited next. With dayglow eyes and sculpted cheekbones, he was a man who looked like he couldn’t tell the truth to his reflection. His suit was worth more than everything she owned. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his wealth she wanted; just the child he’d stolen from her mother, the daughter taken from his estranged wife.
The kid came out behind him, eight-year-old Chloe Gideon, without a care in the world on her face. Astrid froze for a second, her mind drifting back to the niece she hadn’t seen for six months: Olivia. The girl she’d put at risk from a serial killer and who Astrid had been stopped from seeing again. Later, when Astrid’s sister Courtney had calmed down, she’d relented and let them talk over Skype every night. The memory of it prompted Astrid into action.
‘Everybody out!’ she shouted again.
The other security followed Chloe from the room, and all six of them strode towards Astrid. The portly bloke at the front was suspicious.
‘I can’t smell any smoke in here.’
Astrid pointed down. ‘It’s on the bottom floor and working its way up.’ The guy turned to seek advice from Gideon. It gave her enough movement to stumble forward and bump her shoulder into his. ‘Sorry.’ She projected her best flustered clumsiness.
Gideon didn’t even acknowledge her as he dragged his daughter into the stairwell. ‘Let’s just get out of here.’
The lawyer had told Astrid there were two exits from the building, including the fire escape leading through the underground car park and into the street. There were twenty flights to descend as the other residents disappeared from her view; the old couple were quicker on their feet than she’d expected.
She hung back a little, trying to get behind Gideon’s crew, but the final two were having none of it. They stared at her, and then moved forward. The last of the group coughed as his fingers twitched towards his weapon. He was an ungainly figure, hospital-thin, unsteady on his legs as he grasped at the handrail. She glanced into his haunted eyes, recognising he was the weakest of the four, before kicking his knee. He crumbled on to the stairs and fell into his colleague. It happened so fast the others didn’t see it.
As the third guard buckled under the force hitting him in the back of his legs, Astrid swung her elbow and caught him in the throat. The blow knocked him into unconsciousness, and he rolled down like a bowling ball. There was no escaping that.
The four ahead of her turned at once. Gideon was perplexed, his daughter’s face full of excitement. The chubby guard fumbled for a gun he no longer had, while the second one froze. The delay was their undoing.
She had the weapon in her hand, the one she’d slipped out of chubby’s jacket when she’d bumped into him. She cracked the second guy over the head with it, and he slumped against the rail. Astrid grabbed him to make sure he didn’t tumble over. She was tempted to let him, but eased him on to the stairs. Then she spoke to the kid.
‘Can you run down these steps, Chloe?’
The kid smiled at her and nodded. She took Chloe’s hand and turned to Gideon, who hadn’t uttered a noise during the chaos; until now.
‘You don’t know who you’re dealing with, girl.’
Astrid suppressed a laugh. Her girlhood was long behind her, buried deep inside the shadows of her mind. She gripped on to the gun as she spoke.
‘You think none of this matters because you’ll retake Chloe whenever you want.’
His smile reminded her of Antony Hopkins in Silence of the Lambs. Or perhaps it was Anthony Perkins in Psycho.
‘I don’t know who you are, but soon enough, I’ll have her back, and you’ll be dead.’
He said all the right words, but didn’t convince her. She leant in close so only he would hear.
‘If she weren’t here, I’d have thrown you over the rail by now.’ She glared at him. ‘You come near her in the future, or if anything bad happens to Chloe or her mother, I’ll drop you from a larger height than this. But only after you’ve suffered, and you’ll beg me to end it.’ She turned from him and held on to the kid’s hand. ‘Your mother’s waiting for you, Chloe.’
The girl smiled. ‘Good. I don’t like it here.’
They jogged down the stairwell, past broken and confused security, until hitting the exit at the bottom, then ran around the corner and into the cab.
‘885 2nd Avenue,’ Astrid said as she got her phone out and dialled a British number. By the time they reached their destination, Chloe had spent a long conversation reconnecting with her mother. Astrid touched the gun in her pocket. She had to get rid of it before getting her flight back to London.
As they stepped out of the cab, she stared at the kid speaking on the phone. Astrid had an hour before she could talk to Olivia.
It had been a good night’s work.
2 Child’s Play
His handsomeness was unnerving; hair shorter and greyer than the last time she’d seen him, but he still possessed the glint in his eye which could disarm anyone’s libido.
‘Sorry about the extra security. All embassies now have to go through more stringent checks because of the electronic attacks we’ve had.’
‘Attacks from whom?’ Astrid thought she’d better show some interest since he was doing her a huge favour.
‘Oh, you know, the usual suspects: the Russians, North Koreans, the Chinese, virtually everyone in the Middle East; and probably the Americans, even though we’re supposed to be partners with a special relationship.’
‘Is the kid g
oing to be okay?’
‘We’ve got Chloe settled into one of the guest rooms upstairs. I’ve organised her flight home, and spoken to her mother.’
Roger Taylor, working at the British Embassy in New York, offered her a drink. She declined. She hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in six months, not since that last heated confrontation with her sister. Astrid wouldn’t be able to relax until Chloe was home in England, but most of the tension had seeped out of her. She stared at the row of bottles behind Taylor and told herself she deserved at least one glass, especially when she saw the unopened bottle peering at her.
‘I’ll have a double gin and tonic, Roge, if the offer’s still open.’
She knew he hated the shortening of his name, but he appeared unmoved as he poured her the measure. The ice clinked as he handed it to her.
‘I’m surprised the Agency has you rescuing kidnapped children. I’d have thought such a thing was way below the remit of the great Astrid Snow.’
The glass was cold to her touch as she lifted it to her lips. The gin was bitter and electric; as soon as it slithered down her throat, she understood it wouldn’t be the last of the night. He continued to smile at her, and she remembered why she didn’t like him. But, he was the only person who could help her get Chloe safely out of the country without her father knowing. He may have lost some of his wealth, but Gideon still had influential friends worldwide.
‘I’ve left the Agency. This is a favour for a friend.’
The last bit was a lie. Astrid only had one friend in the world, and that wasn’t Chloe Gideon’s mother. The reason she was in New York was too quell the yearning in her heart for the kid she couldn’t see.