The Killing Pit : The start of an adrenaline pumping new crime series for 2021 from the author of One Last Prayer for the Rays (A Jake Pettman Thriller)

by Wes Markin

  “She could be pulling up in the parking lot.” Jotham pointed at the door. “In less than a minute, she could be standing right there.” He reached for his rifle.

  Jake answered the call, maintaining eye contact with Jotham. “Hi, Piper. Where’re you?”

  “Home. Doris has come down with a fever, so I’m taking her shift at the Taps.”

  “Okay,” Jake said, noticing Jotham had yet to blink. “I’ll be in touch later.”

  “Yeah … fine. You okay, Jake?”

  “Yes, it’s just something has come up. I’ll call later.”

  Jotham smiled, and Jake hung up.

  “I want you out of here,” Jake said.

  “It was you who wanted me here.”

  “Preying on me in the dark? Why would I want that? Why would anyone want that?”

  “You came to me, son. Bold as you like, big dick swinging, into my world.”

  “I just wanted you to know.”

  “Know what, son?”

  “That I’m not going away until you tell me where Maddie Thompson is.”

  “I guess you’ll need to visit the estate agents come tomorrow then, because I cannot tell you what I don’t know.”

  “A fifteen-year-old girl is missing, and her family remain silent and terrified. Who else would they fear in this town?”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised. There’s a lot of bottom-feeders desperate to rise to the surface.”

  “She’s a child. Is there no part of you that cares?”

  “You have me all wrong, son.”

  “Where’s your humanity? You had three children!”

  Jotham took a sharp breath through his nose. He leaned back on the stool and regarded Jake.

  “You, of all people, know exactly what it feels like to lose so much.”

  Jotham didn’t respond. He continued to stare at Jake.

  “Can you only imagine what it’s doing to the Thompson family. If you could’ve helped your children, wouldn’t―”

  “Enough.” Jotham raised a finger in the air.

  “You’ve a choice here―”

  “Enough!” With his finger still raised, he reached for his rifle with his other hand. “If you mention my three children again, I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  Jake took a deep breath and suppressed a reply.

  Jotham stood. “Now, I’ll leave you to think on this meeting.”

  “I don’t want to go to war with you. I understand how powerful you are. But no matter how many times you or anyone else tell me it’s suicide, it won’t make any difference. I won’t be letting this go.”

  “I understand.”

  Jake could hear his heart thudding; he hoped Jotham couldn’t hear it too.

  “And I kind of admire you for it, son. Tenacity is rarer than many believe. You’re just like me. But you were right before.” He approached Jake at the door. “You can’t possibly win.”

  Jake opened the door.

  As Jotham stepped outside, he looked up at Jake. “We’re both tenacious, and we’re both fair, Jake. But neither of us are patient.” Hunched over slightly, Jotham staggered from the motel—was he carrying an injury?—and turned. “You may think what you’re doing is right, Jake, but you might want to consider whether you can best serve the world by remaining in it.” He limped toward his Honda SUV, holding the rifle with one hand.

  Jake closed the door, stumbled to the bed, sat on the edge, took several deep breaths and lay back to stare at the ceiling.

  Peter studied the photograph of Prince and ran his fingers over the lab retriever’s face. Then he threw it on the passenger seat, took another slug of Old Crow from a bottle and started his pickup’s engine. “You’re a fucking madman, Sheenan,” he said and drove back toward Sharon’s Edge.

  Along the way, he avoided glimpsing the River Skweda. His ancestors wouldn’t agree with his chosen path, and he had no time to deal with the shame.

  When he arrived at the makeshift parking lot in the industrial estate, he saw it had emptied. He wondered, briefly, if a full house would have stopped him.

  He doubted it.

  From the back of his pickup, he took a can of gasoline and his rifle. He approached the building, which no longer glowed and was eerily silent following the whooping and cheering that had sickened him to the stomach earlier. After all that Old Crow, Peter knew he should have been staggering, but a combination of adrenaline and determination coursed through his veins and straightened his gait.

  As a Vietnam soldier, he’d never needed to put himself in this kind of danger. His canine companion could always go on ahead and identify the risks. But that was another time. Those companions were long gone, following the ultimate betrayal by his own country.

  Seeing these beautiful animals suffer again at the hands of Americans was unbearable. He was under no illusions. The consequences of his actions tonight would be swift and brutal, but he was an old man nearing the end of his days anyway, and, if he could just deliver one final blow in the name of this tortured species that had saved his life on so many occasions, then so be it.

  Following his assumption that everyone had left, he was surprised and anxious to find the corrugated metal door unchained. Also, a dim light surrounded the edge of the door, suggesting someone was in the old waiting room. He set the can at his feet, readied his rifle and opened the door.

  In the center of the room, Ayden MacLeoid was lying naked on the floor. He sat upright. “What the hell? We’re closed!”

  Peter lifted the rifle, closed one eye and attempted to take aim.

  Ayden held out his palms. “Shit … What do you want?”

  Peter tried to steady his aim, but whereas the adrenaline had helped keep him surefooted outside, it was a hindrance now. He couldn’t keep the gun level.

  “Money? I can get it from the back for―”

  “Stop fucking pleading with me, you spineless shit. You’re monsters, all of you. I’m here to burn down this place, and you can go with it―” He felt a crushing blow to the back of his head. Everything flashed. He managed to fire his rifle as he went to his knees. The second blow was to the center of his back, and this sent him face first onto the solid ground. He’d be surprised if it hadn’t cost him some teeth. He looked up and saw, predictably, that his bullet had missed Ayden.

  The young man was now on his feet, wrapping the rug around himself.

  At least you’re putting your balls away, Peter thought as he spat blood on the floor.

  Someone tugged the rifle from his hands. The beanie-wearing doorman from earlier joined Ayden’s side. He didn’t bother to cover himself.

  Peter snorted then spat some more blood so he could speak. “Jesus, Ayden, what’ll Daddy think about this?”

  Ayden’s eyes widened.

  The doorman smiled and raised the rifle. “How’s he going to find out?”

  Peter laughed. “Fair point. Go ahead then, boy. Do what you got to do. There’s no integrity in leaving an old man lying on the floor in his own blood. Especially one who fought for your country.” Peter closed his eyes and waited. When the end didn’t come, he opened them.

  Ayden had pushed down the end of the rifle, and the doorman was looking at his lover. “Even though he knows about us?”

  “Yes,” Ayden said. “Even though.”

  “Still,” the doorman said, raising the rifle again, “I’d like to keep my job.”

  Ayden pushed down the rifle again. “You will. He won’t tell my father.” He nodded down at Peter. “We have shown integrity, just as you asked, you will do the same, won’t you, Peter?”

  “If you don’t kill me, you know I’ll burn this zoo to the ground.”

  “I’m not sure I care very much,” Ayden said.

  “So, let me get the gas from outside then.”

  Ayden took the rifle from his doorman lover. “Not tonight, Peter.” He turned the rifle around and stepped forward. “Tonight, I’m saving your life.”

  Peter saw the butt stock co
ming. Blackness came before the pain.

  Blake Thompson had lost his appetite the night his daughter went into the pit. At the kitchen table, he struggled to eat the clam chowder his wife had made.

  Marissa sat at the other side of the table and watched him eat. The pan of chowder was on a heatproof mat in front of her. She held the serving spoon and stirred the soup as if it was still cooking.

  It hurt to smile, but Blake offered his wife one anyway.

  She didn’t smile back. “I called my sister. Maddie didn’t make it there.”

  Blake almost choked on the soup in his mouth.

  “I’m worried about her. Do you think she’s on her way back?”

  Blake dropped his spoon in the bowl. He watched it sink and disappear into the soup. “We’ve been through this so many times, my love. She’s with Jotham. Staying with your sister in Vermont was just a lie.”

  “Jotham MacLeoid! That old rogue! You never said anything about that, Blake, dear.”

  But I did, my love, so many, many times. Yet how could he blame her confusion? Her daughter was missing, and she was beside herself. The lie they’d given the police must have been so attractive to her—a wonderful safety net for her deteriorating mind.

  “I hope he’s treating her well. Why is she there?” She lifted the serving spoon from the pan and tipped the soup into the bowl.

  Blake told her again about their sons’ betrayal and Jotham’s revenge. He retained the lie to keep her sanity from crumbling completely. “Maddie will be returned when Jotham thinks we have been punished enough.” Which made him wonder something that caused his empty stomach to turn. Would he one day return her body to us, or do we not even get to properly bury her? He put his hand to his mouth in case he failed to keep down the three mouthfuls of soup he’d managed.

  “Those fucking boys,” Marissa said.

  They were stuck in a loop. They would be having this same conversation for days to come, because she simply would not, could not, retain this story he told her. But truth was truth, and one day, she would be forced to face it, all of it, and it would destroy her.

  “You need to go and get her back, Blake,” Marissa said.

  “When it settles down, in a few days. I assure you she’s safe.”

  Devin stepped up alongside Marissa and put a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Would you like some hot milk, Mom? Maybe an early night?”

  Marissa stood, forcing Devin’s hand to fall away, and locked eyes with Blake while one hand remained on the soup spoon. “You condescending little shit.”

  Her despair was too much for Blake, and he vomited into his half-empty bowl.

  “Dad, are you―” Devin then cried out.

  Blake looked up from the bowl to see his wife hitting their son over the head with the spoon. “Marissa!” Blake wiped sick from his chin and rose. “Stop that at once!”

  Devin raised his hands over his face, but it offered little protection as she struck him.

  Devin’s pain reminded Blake of his daughter’s final moments, and he worried he might throw up again. He circled the table, grabbed his wife’s wrist to stop the attack and embraced her as hard as he could.

  She collapsed against him. “I’m going to the police,” Marissa said between mouthfuls of tears. “If you two won’t get her back, I’ll find someone who will.”

  If you do that, he’ll feed our other children to that Hellhole, Marissa. “This is on me. I’ll get our daughter back.”

  She pulled away from him. “By tomorrow, Blake, or I’ll get her myself.” She ran from the room.

  Blake turned to his son, who was hunched over, rubbing his head. “Jesus, that hurts.”

  Blake looked at the serving spoon on the floor then at the boy who’d cost his innocent daughter her life. He kicked away the weapon before he lost control and picked up where his wife had left off.

  Peter felt as if he was waking to a massive hangover. His head throbbed, and the nausea was overwhelming. It took him a short time to orientate himself and to recall what had happened. He was in his pickup’s passenger seat, parked outside his own home. One of them must have driven me back.

  He touched the front of his head and looked at the blood on his fingers. He reached for the bottle of Old Crow on the floorboard and took a massive gulp. That would help with the hangover and the pain from the blow to the head. Then he reached underneath his backside for the photograph he’d left on the passenger seat.

  Staring at the picture of Prince, he sighed. “This isn’t over yet.”

  12

  WITHOUT OPENING HIS EYES, Jake reached for the other side of his bed. Empty. Then he remembered that following Jotham’s impulsive visit the previous evening, he’d asked Piper to stay away. He sighed. It was the right decision, but it didn’t make him feel any less disappointed by her absence.

  He sat upright in bed, reached for his phone and read a flirtatious message from Piper about how he was only allowed one night off and she’d be round after work this evening.

  He texted back, Fair enough Xx. Then he phoned Lillian to tell her about the repulsive trip to the dog fight and the equally repulsive visit from Jotham.

  Lillian sighed. “I never should have let you get this deep.”

  “This is a habit of mine. I wouldn’t go blaming yourself.”

  “You need to stop now. Enough is enough.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s my other bad habit: I don’t know how to stop.”

  “You don’t have any choice. You’re going to get yourself killed. Jotham won’t give you any more warnings.”

  “Yes, he implied as much.”

  “Do you even know that he’s responsible for this missing girl?”

  “I’ve no doubts.”

  “The chief called me last night after you visited him.”

  “Well, we knew that’d happen. He told you to stand down?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you need to do what he says.”

  Lillian laughed. “You’re unbelievable. You’ve just snubbed the same advice from me!”

  “You’ve got a job to hold onto!”

  “I’m not sure I want to hold onto it.”

  “I’m going to the station to see Jewell this morning. You need to steer clear of me. I’ve taken you far enough. I don’t want to be responsible for what may come next.”

  “I’m a big girl.”

  “I know, Lillian, so you know I’m right. Goodbye, and thank you.”

  While he waited for this morning’s heavy dose of painkillers to kick in, Jotham sat on a stool and watched Ayden train Bo. Ayden had offered to fetch a deckchair, but any pressure, even from the thinnest of materials, on his mangled back right now was an unbearable prospect. He took a mouthful of strong coffee from a tin cup. It did little to shake the fatigue. Last night had been the worst sleep of his life. If it hadn’t been the pain in his back waking him up, it’d been the dreams of his lost daughter.

  Usually, Bo spent every morning on a heavy chain to build her upper body strength, but because she was fighting this evening, she’d been attached to the lighter chain so she could preserve her energy. The focus today was only on building Bo’s aggression so she could win with ease this evening and take the accolade of grand champion. Then she would be well taken care of in her retirement. He didn’t believe in using his retired dogs as bait dogs; there was no integrity in that. He trained them to be the strongest and to survive, not to be sacrificed when they had reached those levels.

  Ayden had tied five rabbits to pegs that circled Bo. Bo’s chain would only allow her to travel within several inches of these animals. There, she would bark furiously and try desperately to wrap her jaws around the bait. Throughout the day, Ayden would slacken the rabbits’ ropes one by one so they could be mauled. The aim was to make the rabbits achievable for Bo, to keep her enthused; leave it too long and she might succumb to failure, and her aggression would wane.

  While Bo darted back and forth between the unreachable rabbits, Ayd
en walked over and stood close to his father so he could hear over the barking. “I can go tonight, Dad, if you’re not feeling the best.”

  “And miss Bo’s defining moment? She’s been on a fine journey, and I want to finish it with her. Besides, I need the distraction.”

  Ayden took several steps backward.

  Jotham assumed he was about to say something that could potentially irritate him. He didn’t need to worry. He was too stiff and uncomfortable to risk beating the little shit this morning.

  “Do you think it’s time for us to speak to Chief Jewell?”

  Jotham stared up at his son. “You want me to dignify that with a response?”

  “We can’t find her, Dad. We’ve tried.”

  “That sounds like defeat to me.”

  “Your reward is generous, Dad. Your people have knocked on nearly every door in Blue Falls. There isn’t a sign of Kayla nor a single clue as to where she might have gone.”

  “Then knock on every door in Sharon’s Edge, and then every door in New Lincoln. If she isn’t on this property, she’s somewhere.”

  “She could have left the state, for all we know.”

  Jotham closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. “I asked you to help set up the training, Ayden, not make me feel any worse than I already―”

  “Jewell has resources, Dad. We could be wasting time. She could be in trouble―”

  Jotham’s eyes snapped open. “That man is a pedophile. What could he possibly know about caring for a child? He will approach the hunt for Kayla in the same way he has approached everything in his twisted little life—with perversion. No. We keep this among ourselves.”

  Ayden sighed.

  “And do you have a problem with that, son?”

  “No, Dad.”

  He nodded towards Bo and the rabbits. “Good, now release one.”

  Ayden slackened the rope on the smallest rabbit.

  Jotham leaned forward on his stool and watched Bo tear the young animal to pieces.

  “Well, here we are again, Mr. Pettman,” Gabriel said from behind his desk, ignoring Jake’s opening question. “Must be the commitment to our shared profession that keeps drawing us to one another?”