by G I Tulloch
He remembered fighting to adjust to his new role of widower instead of husband, single instead of couple. Bel in particular struggled with their new but uncomfortable relationship. Once good friends, Bel had spent considerable time with Adam and Fran, but after her death they drifted apart. What had been their common bond, Adam's wife and Bel's best friend, now pushed them apart as the pain of common loss became too acute. Bel was asked to take Fran's old job at Bartletts. They talked about it, she took it and thereafter Adam's business contacts with John Bartlett became a two edged sword. The memories of Fran, seeing Bel and remembering past happiness often became too much. He dreaded them.
He had dismantled the house that he and Fran had spent two years adding their personalities to, sold it and renovated the two floors above the offices. The business became his life and he threw himself into it with an aggression that some found alarming but did somehow help to deal with his anger at what life, fate or God, choose what you will, had thrown at him.
He was brewing a headache, he recognised the signs. For some reason seeing Bel had made him yearn for the country, and he stood up. "Anyway, I'm going up to Dunwich to blow away the cobwebs. I'll be back tomorrow, my mobile's on."
Clare raised her eyebrows, "Much good it does you in Dunwich, it's off the mobile planet."
He waved a hand vaguely in a gesture of dismissal as he made his way out to their unprepossessing lockup garage, which had once housed the laundrette van but was now home to Adam's Lotus. It had been a birthday present and you can't look gift horses in the mouth now can you. He took off down the lane, making all the local dogs bark furiously, and minutes later he was on the A12 out of London on his way to the wilds of Suffolk.
And now the flat in London was his home. He had spared no expense on it. Ironically he had subconsciously styled it the way Fran would have liked, but it still never seemed like home. He bought a row of cottages in Suffolk. Dunwich was an unspoilt place in an unsullied part of East Anglia where peace and quiet was still a way of life.
He kept one cottage for himself and rented out the rest. Gerry teased him that he just wanted to be able to choose his neighbours and he was probably right. Most of the cottages were on long term lets, only two being holiday cottages.
He had never been in this part of the country with Fran. It sounds hard but this is where he could forget Fran and the past. This was where Adam felt he could chill.
Relaxing was something he always found difficult to do. He had an extreme aversion to unfinished business and it tended to keep him awake at nights. When he had been at school he had to do his homework as soon as it was given out, not for him the night before it was due to be handed in. He didn't see it particularly as a weakness, though some might disagree with a pitying shake of the head, but it did explain in his eyes why he still struggled to move on from Fran's death, and from Iraq. That Fran's killer had not been found still caused him profound pain.
Adam looked up and noticed the signs for Chelmsford. Don't you hate that when you drive somewhere and don't have any recollection of how you got there. Scares the shit out of me.
As he drove steadily north-east through the rolling hills of north Essex the weather deteriorated as the light faded. By the time he passed Ipswich the windscreen wipers were on and the spray was cutting visibility dramatically. The headlights attempted to pierce the gloom but increasingly the rain threw the light back in his eyes.
As he finally drove through Yoxford and down to Westleton, the heathland in the dark resembled a vast emptiness where you could hardly see the edge of the road never mind the hedgerows, and it was because of that he almost missed it.
In the blackness a dark form rose up out of the roadside ditch, large and ominous. Instinctively he swerved to avoid it. This was deer country and hitting one of these beasts could do serious damage. In this instance, accelerating to pass it, something caught his eye and he braked to a halt.
The form was human.
Chapter 6
The old abandoned warehouse was one of many still left in London's East End but they were fast disappearing at the hands of the developers. The vast hall was still strewn with the evidence of its past as a print-works. Leaflets and flyers, pamphlets and posters, advertising everything from West End shows to shaving cream. The machinery had all gone though, sold for scrap, leaving a hollow shell bereft of life, waiting for the bulldozers like a skeleton waiting for the archaeologists. The walls still displayed scrawled messages from the past industry, mixed with more up-to-date graffiti. Outside, the rain pounded on the windows and where the glass was missing small puddles formed on the floor. Outside, the darkness created an enveloping void whilst inside an electric lamp gave a dim light, indicating that the battery was badly in need of charging.
Reilly looked down with regret at the body lying at his feet and carefully cleaned the knife with the rag that he carried for the purpose. The regret was not in the killing itself, for Reilly had killed dozens in his time, the regret was for a killing wasted.
As a young man at the height of the Irish troubles he had grown accustomed to the maiming and killing as a matter of routine, but whilst some had enjoyed the violence Reilly enjoyed inflicting fear. From the early childhood days of tormenting the neighbourhood strays to more recent times of interrogating suspected Loyalist or army informers, he had displayed an increasing delight in inflicting pain and terror for its own sake that had even sickened many of those who employed him.
This one had been a waste. Reilly hadn't managed to make him give the right answers before he died and that annoyed Reilly intensely because he considered himself an expert at getting answers.
If this man didn't know the answers then Reilly could live with that, but what he feared most was the possibility that his victim had more determination to take his secret to the grave, than Reilly had the ability to make him part with it. He considered the possibilities and decided on balance that the knowledge hadn't been there to give. Either way the death had been a necessary one, an inescapable fact in his eyes.
The knife was almost clean to his satisfaction and he turned to start obliterating any evidence of his presence when the mobile rang in the depths of his pocket. He grimaced. This was not a conversation that he was ready to have yet. He flipped the phone open nevertheless.
"Yes". Rule one. Never, never answer the phone with your name.
"Reilly." It was a statement, not a question and the voice had the same Irish intonation.
"Mr O."
"What progress have we made this evening?"
"Well, I'm thinking that it's all over. He's dead and that's a fact. And I'm convinced that there was nothing else he knew."
"What do you mean?"
"Even at his weakest, when I mentioned the papers, I didn't get a whisker of recognition out of him. He didn't know where they are, in fact I'd wager he didn't even know what I was talking about"
"You agree with Greg then?"
"I do."
"And we're no further forward?"
Reilly paused, taking care over his words.
"There can't be that many people the papers could have been left with. He didn't trust many. We know Greg hasn't got them, and this one didn't have them. They may yet have been destroyed."
There was a pause at the far end of the phone.
"I can't take that chance until I'm sure. I've got far too much at stake. You know that."
"I do. I do."
"The girl, Trent. Was she around at the time?"
"Greg says yes, but he reckons she wasn't close enough to be involved"
"Can we take the risk that Greg might be wrong?"
"I'll inquire."
"Do whatever you have to, we're running out of time. You'll get rid of the body as we planned?"
"Oh yes. I will that," replied Reilly with an uncharacteristic grin.
"Good. The next few days have got to give us answers. I need you to succeed, Reilly. I can't afford to let you fail. You know that don't you?"
Reilly frowned at the veiled threat and considered a suitable reply but the line was already dead. He wrapped the body in the sheeting he had brought in anticipation, lifted his burden with some considerable effort, and opening the door, went out into the night.
Chapter 7
With the rain still drumming on the roof, Adam reversed up. In the light of the car's reversing lamps he could now distinguish what he guessed was a woman in a hooded jacket dragging a small suitcase.
Opening the passenger door he called out over the noise of the rain.
"You seem to be in difficulties. Can I be of any help?"
A voice, from somewhere inside the jacket, shouted to him with surprising vivacity, above the noise of the rain.
"I'll say you can. I'm totally soaked and I've been in this goddam ditch at least twice. I'm completely lost and I need to get to somewhere called Dunwich."
The North American accent came as a surprise but the voice was young and female as he had guessed. "Get in," he insisted. "I'm going there myself."
"Are you sure your automobile can take the mess I'm in?"
"Sure. Don't worry." Now would he have said that if the figure had been a tramp? He dismissed the thought more easily than he anticipated. "Everything can be cleaned."
The figure dropped gratefully into the passenger seat whilst Adam dropped the suitcase onto the floor behind them, and with the door closed conversation became markedly easier. Adam turned the heater and the air conditioning up to cope with the increased damp and perused his new passenger. It was difficult to determine much under the layer of mud that seem to cover most of her clothes and face but some Chinese background was evident, although probably several generations ago going by the accent. Adam realised with a start that she was also now scanning him.
He turned off the interior light and made to move off.
"You smell terrible." Great opening line with the ladies had Adam.
"I know, I guess there are loads of pigs around here, yeah?"
"Yeah. Introductions I think. I'm Adam Lennox. I think in the circumstances I'll shake your hand later if you don't mind."
"Not a problem. Anna Low. Originally New York state but lately of London courtesy of First National Bank."
"Welcome to Dunwich, Anna Low. How come you're in the middle of Suffolk falling into ditches at this time of the night?"
"Your great transport system. I've rented a cottage in Dunwich and came up from London by train to Darsham. Someone told me there'd be a cab but it was so late by the time I got there that they locked up the station behind me and there wasn't so much as a push-bike in sight. They said it was walk-able to Dunwich so I started out on foot. Big mistake. Realised it was a bad idea the first time I fell in a ditch."
She paused and smiled at the thought and her face seemed to suddenly light up. Adam let in the clutch and pulled away.
"Where is this cottage?"
"I have no idea. It's called something weird like 'End of the Queue'.
"'Last in Line'. I know it." He paused and then continued, "In fact I own it."
Her eyes reflected the surprise that echoed in her voice.
"You own it? Well, how about that."
"I live some of the time in the cottage next door to it."
"You own both?"
"Well in fact I own the whole row, but I have an agent looks after them for me." He paused to negotiate a bend in the road. "I think I'd better let you clean up at my place. There won't be enough hot water ready in yours."
"Well I'm keen to get this mess off of me, so whatever you think is best, I'm game."
In very short time they came to a stop outside the cottages although they could as easily have been a block of flats for all you could see of them in the dark and pouring rain, but Adam appeared to know what he was doing. They ran quickly across the small garden and passed the hanging ivy into Adam's cottage.
In the proper light of the cottage Anna's plight became all too apparent. She was indeed covered from head to toe in ditch water laced strongly with pig, and from self protection Adam wasted no time in showing her the bathroom, the shower and every available fragranced soap he could lay his hands on.
It was only when he could hear the shower running that he realised that the events of earlier in the day had receded from his mind. That's the effect Dunwich had, he thought, or was something else responsible?
Ten minutes later, having deposited Anna's case in 'Last in Line', Adam returned to see Anna coming back down the stairs, a caterpillar turned butterfly. He had to admit that the bathrobe looked better on her than it did on him.
"Wow. You clean up really well, you know that?" And Adam meant it. He surveyed the long black hair, now gleaming, and the bathrobe revealing a neat figure with curves in all the right places. She bore no resemblance to the muddy figure that had disappeared gratefully into the bathroom fifteen minutes earlier.
They stood and surveyed each other for a minute, weighing up what they saw before them. Anna seemed to give Adam a thorough examination, but an onlooker would have observed that she was more interested in his face than anything, as if assessing what was going on behind it. Adam found it mildly disconcerting, whilst he on the other hand, regarding her figure, was experiencing feelings that he had submerged since Fran died, and try as he might they just wouldn't go away.
"Can I get you a drink or something to eat?"
"Coffee, I need coffee."
Adam smiled. "Brazilian or Kenyan? Black, latte, americana, cappuccino or intravenously?"
"Listen Adam Lennox, if you know what's good for you, don't mess with a New Yorker low on caffeine. Just give it to me any which way."
Adam took the hint and they moved briskly into the kitchen, all oak and country utensils, where the coffee maker sprang into life, much to his relief. He didn't want to find out what happened when a New Yorker's caffeine tank showed completely empty.
Adam pulled out the largest mugs he had. "So how long have you been in England?"
Anna sat on a high stool and polished the work surface with a well-manicured nail. Adam made a mental note to have the home help come in more often.
"This time around, eight months. Third visit. Like the people and the history, not too fussed about the weather." She looked pointedly at the pile of muddy clothes by the back door and they both laughed.
"You have family Stateside?" Smalltalk expert. Adam had been to night-school, passed the tests.
"Just the old man left. Mom died when I was eleven. I had a brother, two years older than me. Died seven years ago in July. Dad retired to LA last year."
Adam wasn't good at sympathetic noises so left silence to do the job for him.
Anna broke it. "So what about Adam Lennox. What's in his background that causes him to go around saving maidens in distress, or in ditches for that matter."
Adam hesitated. "You really want to know?"
She nodded and smiled. "I really want to know."
Adam poured the coffee and passed the larger mug to her, just to be on the safe side. He sat on a chair by the table.
"Born to well off parents. Educated at public school, rebelled, lived on the streets for several years, joined the army, left when I decided that I wanted to live long enough to receive a pension, dossed around for a while until I discovered I had a talent for publicity management. Started my own business. Spend my spare time rescuing beautiful maidens in distress." Some CV.
"Well I appreciate the way you spend your spare time, Adam Lennox." She rose and moved across to Adam and sitting on his lap gave him a lingering kiss full on the lips, her long dark hair brushing his cheek, whilst the bathrobe slid off her shoulders. "You know, if we went upstairs to your bed I guess I could show you the full extent of my gratitude."
Now this was definitely new territory and Adam did a double take whilst a maelstrom of mixed emotions surged through him.
He looked away from her. He struggled as images of Fran flashed through his mind. His continual dilemma of what to d
o with Fran's memory when it came to relating with other women returned once again to haunt him, causing guilt, anger and confusion to dominate the moment. One instant he was sure that Fran would have understood, the next he could imagine the hurt expression on her face and doubt his love for her. He turned back to the semi-naked, very attractive woman on his lap.
"I'm sorry, I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
He held her gaze. "Can't."
She raised an eyebrow. "Don't like girls?"
"No, nothing like that. My wife died three years ago." Oh come on, he thought, get over it. Move on. Visions of Bel and Clare flashed before him unbidden and took him by surprise.
"So when was the last time?"
"Three years ago."
"Wow. You really do need to move on."
Adam hesitated. She couldn't know Bel, could she? Or could she?
"It's too complicated. No reflection on you. And no offence meant."
"None taken."
She slid off his lap and without embarrassment moved around the kitchen finishing her coffee.
"Well I'm bushed. I guess I need to sort myself out and then turn in."
"No problem. You can return the bathrobe anytime."
"Actually I wanted to ask a favour. Can I hitch a ride tomorrow to someplace I can get a rental car. I didn't realise this was so far out of town."
"Sure. I need to leave for London at ten. I can drop you off on the way."
He watched Anna disappear out into the darkness. It had been one hell of a day. On reflection, he was warming to these American women he thought. Adam Lennox, fully qualified basket-case.
Chapter 8
As often happens in that part of the country, after a night's rain the next morning gave way to a pale blue sky reflecting the sun off the sea. The sound of waves on the shore was just discernible as was the call of wood pigeons in what remained of the old forest opposite the cottages. Here and there the bright yellow of gorse in bloom on the heath was evident, adding a splash of artist's palette to the scene.
The jog to the beach was a short quarter mile, down to the beach car park and the Fish cafe. The sound of diesel engines and the smell of exhaust plumes filled the air as the vividly coloured fishing boats were being winched ashore, high onto the shingle bar that separated beach from marsh. Already some fish were being sorted and some chalkboards displayed the day's prices on the fishermen's huts, with Southwold and Walberswick visible along the shoreline to the north.