Beyond the Blood Moon

by Vic Robbie

The lieutenant’s head came up, and he was close to tears, but he fought them back, and a hardness took over as he remembered he had a job to do. He stood and offered a hand to shake. ‘Got to get on. Anything you can do… you move in different circles,’ he held up both hands in apology, ‘that’s not a criticism, but keep your ear to the ground. You might hear something, anything.’

  His brother offered a weak smile, and with a wave of an arm left him alone.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Solo slipped into the seat vacated by the lieutenant, and for a moment, forgetting she was there, her presence took him by surprise.

  ‘So sorry,’ she said, taking both his hands in hers. ‘Didn’t take you for a father. Can’t imagine what you’re going through at the moment, but you mustn’t feel guilty about Becky.’

  Headlock freed his hands and pushed back in the chair and stared for some time at the plastic cup before taking a swig; the brandy warming his throat. ‘Yes, I suppose I am a father.’

  ‘Something to be proud of.’

  ‘Becoming a father’s easy, staying one’s harder.’

  She wondered what she could do to ease his loss. It was paradoxical that this man who had looked so self-confident was now questioning himself, his defences down and looking beaten.

  ‘When she was born, I made a lot of promises. We both did.’

  ‘Your wife?’

  He nodded, but she saw there was pain in his remembering. ‘Suppose all new parents do. You’re going to be the most loved child ever. Never want for anything. Always be there by your side to keep you safe.’ He gulped in air and swallowed the emotion. ‘Only we kept none of those promises.’

  She didn’t have to speak; her eyes asked the question.

  ‘Maybe I should have done something to stop my wife leaving.’

  ‘Why did she?’

  With an exaggerated shrug, he glanced away. The reasons were a mystery to him, he said. Obviously, she didn’t love him. But didn’t she love her daughter either? If she did, why not take her? Perhaps she left Becky as her apology for deserting him.

  She kept quiet, allowing him to explain in his own time.

  ‘To be fair, it was a tough time. After the guy died in the ring, we were targeted in the papers, social media, on television. Couldn’t get away from it. It was difficult for both of us. Perhaps I relied on her too much, hoped she’d stand up and support me. Instead, she folded and left me to face the music. One day she was there, the next, she left Becky with a friend and disappeared. No notes, no explanations, no forwarding address. She even left her phone behind.’

  He took another mouthful of the coffee and brandy.

  ‘My first thought was she’d had a breakdown and reported her missing, but nothing. Becky was only two and pining for her mommy, and Jane offered to bring her up as her own in a stable environment where she’d have an elder brother to play with.’

  ‘Must have been hard?’ She put a hand on his arm.

  ‘Yup. It was obvious my wife wanted no one finding her. My lifestyle was no good for Becky. Had to keep moving to evade those lunatics. It wouldn’t have been safe for her. She was happy with Jane and my brother.’ He caught his breath. ‘Visited as often as possible but gradually the separations got longer.’

  ‘What happened to your wife, was she safe?’

  He glowered at her as if he hoped she wasn’t.

  ‘Out of curiosity, or maybe in the vague hope she’d return for Becky’s sake, not mine, I had a private investigator track her down. Seems she was living with some bozo halfway across the country. Gave her one last chance in a hand-delivered letter, but she never replied.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  In daylight, the house appeared larger than Solo remembered. From a copse of cedar trees across the road where she hid before, she watched the comings and goings for several hours. The endless deliveries of flowers, food, and she guessed drink because of the clinking of bottles. But there was no sign of Ottomon or those who were chasing her.

  In a moment of bravado, she’d decided to demand that Ottomon explain why his men were looking for her. In her career, she found it better to tackle problems head-on rather than allow them to fester. It caused her agent sleepless nights, but many times she was proved right.

  Anyway, she was too impatient to wait while someone else sorted out her life, and she was confused following her encounter in the park with the StatPol. To her surprise, they’d said she was free to go after inputting her details in the scanner.

  A woman in running gear and bright yellow tights emerged from the house with a small yapping dog on a leash and turned left out of the drive and jogged downhill. She’d make it to the bottom of the hill before sending for a car to drive her back.

  The longer she waited, the more she thought her decision to confront him was rash. She would be putting herself in danger because the tycoon could do anything he wanted. No one would stop him. This wasn’t like her usual rows with photographers and creative directors where it could screw up a day’s photoshoot if she stormed off the set.

  The news about Headlock’s daughter and how he and his brother handled it had affected her more than she could have imagined. There was little she could do to help, but it made her more determined to take control of her situation.

  She’d no idea where Ottomon’s house was located as she’d inhaled too many Qs to pay attention to the route they’d taken. All she remembered was driving up the hill overlooking the city and the higher they climbed, the greater the incomes rose in strict ratio to the decline in morality.

  Only her agent Jerome who arranged her attendance at the party could give her the information she needed. His office off the city’s main shopping strip was a plastic and steel palace where no items or even an elbow might rest, giving the impression no one worked there. Or if they did, not a bead of sweat was expended. Maximum minimalism. They even demanded the staff never display a crease in face or garment lest it scarred the pristine appearance.

  She’d swept in causing motes to swirl in her wake, much to the chagrin of Jerome’s ultra-efficient secretary Jennifer whose sole role in life was to act as her boss’s gatekeeper. That included saving him from time-wasting visitors, and she took it upon herself to bar even those he wanted to meet.

  ‘What’s the hurry, young lady?’

  ‘Jerome? Want to speak to him.’

  Jennifer crossed her arms and viewed her with disdain. ‘Want doesn’t get,’ she said as though talking to a child.

  ‘Now.’ Solo whirled on her. ‘My life could be in danger.’

  ‘Broken fingernail, is it dear?’ She played with the pearl necklace resting on her bosom.

  Deferring to her authority often worked, so she lowered her tone with a wheedling, ‘Please.’

  ‘Neither of them has been in today,’ she replied, referring to Jerome and his righthand man.

  ‘He sent me to some godforsaken party last night. Lost an expensive diamond bracelet there, and I must get it back. Just borrowing it, and if I don’t return it, I’ll be dead meat.’

  ‘What’s stopping you? There’s a taxi rank right across from this building.’

  ‘Don’t have the address.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘If it’s lost, I’ll bill Jerome as he sent me there.’

  Jennifer appraised her. ‘Too many Qs, as usual, I suppose, dear?’

  She nodded an apology.

  ‘Your host was Mr Ottomon, you must have heard of him. Everyone has.’ Jennifer sauntered over to a desk and, taking off her gloves, picked up a tablet and ran a hand over it. ‘There, the address is on your phone. Now let the adults get on with their work.’

  ‘Haven’t got a phone.’ Solo tried to look helpless.

  ‘You’re losing everything.’ Jennifer raised an eyebrow as if implying more. ‘That’s careless of you.’ She glanced around. ‘Has anyone got a goddam pen?’

  A co-worker scrambled in a drawer and brought one over.

  Jennifer seemed unsure how to operate it and made a
writing gesture in mid-air and then grabbed her arm and wrote in black ink on her skin. ‘There, you won’t lose that.’

  She couldn’t tell if Ottomon was in the house and she doubted his staff would let someone come in off the street. She glanced at her watch and worried she might be of more use helping Headlock than wasting time on a wild goose chase. But knocking on his front door might work.

  It’s now or never.

  As she started out from the cover of the trees, a black Packard growled up the hill, and she stepped back into the shade. The car wound its way up the drive and squealed to a halt in front of the mansion.

  Two men in dark suits got out of the vehicle with a man who didn’t appear to be there of his own free will.

  She recognised them as the men searching for her after the party. But they weren’t the focus of her interest. It was the man they ushered into the house that made her catch her breath.

  I’ve seen him before.

  She had to tell Headlock as soon as possible, and she set off down the hill, walking fast but unable to stop herself from breaking into a run. There had to be a taxi around here. But there was no sign of a cab, and she ran about fifty yards before stopping.

  A black SUV with blacked-out windows, similar to those used by the StatPol, cruised towards her as though the occupants were searching for something or someone. So as not to arouse suspicion, she continued to stroll, hoping she’d look like a local out for a breath of fresh air.

  Be natural.

  As the SUV drew closer, her heart pounded. What excuse could she give for being in this area? Determined to ignore it, she kept her head down, but out of the corner of an eye, she saw it halt opposite her. She sensed a presence behind her and turned to see two StatPol cops in full riot gear blocking her retreat. A knot tightened in her gut. She’d been in similar situations before and didn’t want to repeat it.

  Two cops got out of the SUV and marched towards her. An attempt to change course proved futile as they closed in and grabbed her arms. A second vehicle pulled up, and a man in a dark suit emerged and watched as they forced her into the back of their SUV.

  ‘You can’t do this,’ she protested, and when one cop responded, his reply was muffled by his visor. The cops climbed aboard either side of her, pinning her arms and blocking her view.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ she demanded, trying to keep the fear out of her voice as she remembered her previous imprisonment and the days of torture.

  Her chip had revealed her location, but what did they want from her? She had done nothing to warrant their attention. ‘What do you want?’ But they weren’t listening. The only consolation was that they hadn’t so far used cattle prods or injections.

  The drive lasted almost thirty minutes, and the abnormal posture caused her to cramp. Perhaps it was her meeting with Dring in the park, and this was a follow-up. But had they arrested him and what had he told them?

  What was that old mantra they’d chanted at school? ‘Every action has a consequence.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  With a hissing of hydraulic brakes, the SUV ground to a stop and they dragged her out, bruising her knee. They pushed her through a heavy metal door and escorted her down concrete steps and into a room.

  Solo had been here before, years ago, when they prodded, injected and tortured her before releasing her without charge, never explaining why she’d been arrested.

  The only light in the room emanated from the walls, rippling in waves. And she was convinced the woman with soulless eyes sitting behind a large wooden desk was the one she’d encountered before. Wearing a green uniform, her lank hair was cut like a man’s, and her lips were a slit. The woman gestured for her to sit across from her, and a cop stepped forward and shackled her arms to the chair rests.

  ‘Name?’ The woman forced out the words as if it was an effort to speak.

  You must know.

  ‘What do you want?’

  The woman remained impassive. ‘No questions, only answers.’

  ‘To have answers, you need questions.’

  ‘Where did you come from?’

  ‘You know.’

  ‘Answer.’

  ‘Your scans will tell you. You knew where to find me.’

  The interrogator touched a keyboard on the desk and frowned.

  ‘Will somebody tell me what’s happening?’ Her voice was not as forceful as she’d intended and came out as a plea rather than a demand. And her legs were cramping, and she couldn’t reach to massage them. ‘Who are you?’ But the woman was emotionless.

  A movement behind caused her to turn her head, and a man spoke quietly, ‘Calm down. If you help, there’ll be nothing to worry about.’ The man, who had watched her being apprehended on the street, stepped closer. He was tall, his enquiring eyes looking down at her, and his long thin fingers, like the claws of a lizard, played with a pocketknife.

  He nodded to the woman behind the desk, and she rose and brought over a scanner which she pointed at Solo’s left arm. The machine beeped and they turned as pages of data flashed up on the wall, except for her current location which showed as ‘restricted’.

  The man’s face contorted into what could have been a smile, and he sat on the edge of the desk. ‘Good, the chip’s still working. That’s interesting.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded. ‘And who are you?’

  ‘Trenton. But just because you’re connected don’t think you can use it against me. It won’t do you any good.’

  ‘Tell me who you are.’

  ‘A humble servant of the Bureau of Interrogation. No more, no less.’

  ‘Why am I here?’

  ‘You must have been taught that to ask why is irrelevant. That word is no longer in the lexicon. We don’t need reasons to interrogate citizens.’

  So, it’s random, and I’ve won the prize.

  ‘If you were innocent, you wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘Innocent of what?’ Her anger rose and she bit her tongue. They could keep her here for as long as they liked, forever if they chose to. But she was desperate to get the information about the man she’d seen at Ottomon’s to Headlock. If he was who she thought he was, it could help find Becky.

  Trenton ignored that. ‘As you’re connected, Miss Blue, we must follow certain guidelines; otherwise, questions might be asked.’

  Connected?

  ‘To what? To whom? I don’t understand.’

  ‘If you don’t know, I can’t tell you. That’s the law.’

  Her arms still shackled, Solo wriggled forward in the chair. ‘If you don’t tell me, how can I help?’

  Still playing with his knife, Trenton pointed to her left arm.

  ‘Tell me about your chip?’

  ‘Like all citizens, I have a chip.’ She shrugged. ‘So what?’

  ‘What do you think of someone without a chip?’

  ‘They’re criminals and should be punished accordingly.’ The sooner she gave him what he wanted, the earlier she could get to Headlock.

  ‘Would you ever remove your chip?’

  She hoped she wasn’t showing her thoughts as she understood where he was going.

  ‘Dr Dring was of interest to us. On the day we apprehended him, you were in the same park, and we scanned your chip. That’s quite a coincidence.’

  His greedy eyes crawled over her as though sucking the truth out of her. ‘You know this man?’

  ‘We met someplace before, and we just bumped into each other by chance. That’s not illegal, is it?’

  The man’s expression grew more serious. ‘Perhaps not. But this was no chance meeting, you went there to meet him.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘If you’re innocent, why deny it?’

  Not understanding, she said nothing.

  ‘We talked with Dr Dring, but unfortunately, he died before we completed our interrogation.’

  Bastards!

  Her intake of breath caused him to pause.

  ‘We believe he
has removed chips in the past for those who wanted to go rogue. Unfortunate! What is the sentence for removing a chip?’

  ‘Deletion,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Speak up.’ He slammed the knife into the table top and the blade quivered.

  ‘Deletion,’ she shouted.

  As if he’d made his point, Trenton relaxed and sat back on the edge of the desk.

  ‘But I haven’t had it removed.’

  ‘No, you haven’t. Perhaps you didn’t want to, but for the moment I’ll overlook that as I require your help. I’d advise you to cooperate as your crimes are mounting.’

  ‘What crimes?’

  He stared at her, implying she was aware of them. Ignorance was never a defence. ‘After the coincidence of you and Dr Dring being together in the same park, we monitored your movements. Several times your chip didn’t respond to our scanner, so we couldn’t pinpoint your location. That’s never happened before. Why did it happen?’

  ‘It malfunctioned?’

  ‘That’s impossible. A malfunctioning chip means you’ve broken the law.’

  ‘If it’s in my body, there’s nothing I can do about that.’

  ‘Ah, but we can. If we allowed that as a defence, many would try it. And that’s not your only crime.’

  Wondering what was coming next, she looked down at the ground.

  ‘Our scanners caught you in the company of an unchipped man leaving City Hospital. Look.’ He pointed to the wall where a video showed the back view of her and Headlock battling through crowds to the taxi. ‘This man was unusual with abnormally long hair.’ He touched his bald head as if expecting to find a phantom growth. ‘An unchipped terrorist. You keep strange friends.’

  ‘He’s no friend of mine,’ she said with false outrage. ‘He took me as a hostage when he escaped from the hospital after being involved in an explosion. He’d a gun in his pocket and threatened to shoot me.’

  Trenton glanced at the woman behind the desk as if about to ask a question. But her expression didn’t change. ‘So, that’s another crime.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Not reporting a crime is a criminal act. Where did he take you?’