The Slow Road to Hell

by Grant Atherton

  While we talked, I unpacked the laptop from my messenger bag and set it up on the kitchen table. I booted it up and, once I'd finished the call - promising Jerry I would be back in London later that day - I settled myself in front of it and inserted the memory stick.

  I hadn't been totally convinced by Trivett's inability to recognise the memory stick. After all, his mind was on more pressing concerns right then. And if the stick contained official documents, as I suspected it might, I would need to make sure it was in Trivett's possession before I left Elders Edge.

  A number of files flashed up on the screen, most of them identified by a number.

  I opened the file marked "7".

  It took me a moment to realise what I was looking at. And when I did, my stomach heaved and a sour taste filled my mouth. I stared in horror at the images that filled the screen and my throat tightened.

  I'm not sure what I'd expected to find, maybe scanned copies of more household receipts and a mix of documents, but not this. I presumed that the figure '7' identifying the file referred to the ages of the young girls whose photos were contained in it. So many of them. A lot of them naked. And all posed in positions that, in an adult, might have been defined as provocative.

  Some of them weren't alone. Some of them ... I closed down the file, unable to look at it any more.

  I shut my eyes, and kept them shut, taking in some long deep breaths to slow my racing heart. My mouth dried, and the tightness in my throat turned to a burning sensation.

  From somewhere in the distance came the faint hum of traffic and the occasional blast of a horn as the rest of Elders Edge went about their daily lives. Inside the room, the grim silence was broken by the slow sonorous ticking of the clock on the mantle.

  I opened my eyes and took another look at the screen. One of the files was named with the initials "LW" rather than a number. I opened it with a trembling hand. It contained more images of a similar kind. But these were of just one girl. A thirteen year old. I knew that because I knew the girl. It was Laura Wainwright.

  I cried out, an involuntary squawk, and slammed the laptop shut, pushed it away, and buried my face in my hands, trying to blank those images from my mind.

  My stomach knotted, and I swallowed hard to stop the bile rising in my throat.

  It was several minutes before I raised my head again.

  There had to be some connection between what I'd found in those files and all that had happened over the past few days, and now that I'd overcome my initial shock, I thought back to those recent events and tried to place them together into some semblance of a pattern.

  Was there a Paedophile ring in Elders Edge? Was there something that rotten at the very heart of this simple and seemingly benign community?

  If so, how was it linked to the recent murders? Had it been uncovered and had someone killed to protect it from exposure? Was blackmail involved?

  Or was it just one person? A not-so-respectable member of the local population? And what part did my father play in all this?

  Dear God, please don't let it be him. Anything but that. Such a possibility didn't bear thinking about.

  And Black? What was his role?

  And what of Laura Wainwright? Had she been groomed, taken advantage of whilst still emotionally vulnerable after losing her mother? Was she still in the clutches of whoever had taken these photos? Is that why Erin Colby had died? Because she had found out?

  So many unanswered questions. So many possibilities. One thing seemed certain, someone had been desperate enough to risk discovery to get their hands on this memory stick. If it had fallen into the hands of the police and the girls identified, it wouldn't have been long before the whole sordid secret was uncovered and the perpetrators, whoever they were, brought to justice with all that it implied. No wonder someone may well have murdered to get it back.

  A cold tingle ran down my spine.

  I pulled the memory stick from the laptop and stared at it as if it could give me some answers.

  Behind me, a draught of cold air. And a floorboard creaked. A voice said, "I've been looking for that."

  A shock of adrenaline surged through me and I whirled around, rising to my feet, muscles taut.

  It was Wainwright. Standing by the open back door on the other side of the room. He must have followed me back here as soon as he'd got rid of Trivett.

  I froze. "You have a gun?" A rather inane question in the circumstances. He quite clearly had a gun. It was pointing straight at me.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Wainwright flipped the gun at me and pushed the door to behind him. "In my line of work, pest control can be a bit of a problem. All those sites to be cleared. Unfortunately, I've had to get rid of a few human pests recently."

  "You?"

  "Yes, me." Behind the beard, his face was hard set.

  "I don't understand."

  I did understand. Only too well. My life was at risk. And I needed to figure a way out of what was now a dangerous situation. I had to think fast.

  "What's to understand?" He said. "Scum like Black deserve all they get."

  "Black?"

  I was still holding the memory stick. He pointed down at it with his gun. "Who do you think took those photos you have there?"

  I slipped the stick into my pocket. "So you killed him?"

  "Damn right I did. After what he did to Laura, I have no regrets about that."

  From where I stood, there was just a chance I could move fast enough to disarm him. He'd kept some distance between us before announcing himself, but if I kept him talking while his gun was still lowered, maybe I could do it.

  "How did you find out?" I shifted my weight forward onto one foot and wrapped a hand around the narrow top rail of the chair I'd just vacated.

  He relaxed his stance, lowered the gun even more. "I followed her. I knew she was up to something. Sneaking off all the time."

  His eyes were no longer focused, his mind elsewhere.

  Now was my chance.

  Tightening my grip on the chair, I wretched it from the floor and lunged forward.

  It caught against the table.

  I gasped and stumbled.

  Jonas snapped to attention and jerked the gun up again. "Nice try," he snarled. "Now get back."

  I regained my balance and hesitated. Perhaps I was close enough to risk it, go for him.

  "Back." He barked the order at me and pointed the gun directly at my head.

  My chance had gone. No point arguing. I stepped back. Now I needed to buy some time while I figured out my options. I had to keep him talking.

  "No one could blame you for what you did," I said. If I could show him I was on his side, that I sympathised with him, maybe I could help to change his mood, put him in a more reasonable frame of mind and talk him out of doing anything reckless. "Any father would have done the same."

  In response, he laughed, a harsh bitter sound. "Pity your father didn't share your opinion."

  "My father? How did he get involved?"

  "You can blame my daughter for that. She took it into her head to confess. She went to see him the following day and told him the whole thing."

  She must have watched while Wainwright beat Black half to death in a mindless rage and then throttled the life out of him. Any wonder that she would turn to my father, the person who had given her comfort and support following her mother's death. Anyone would have been traumatised by such events, let alone a vulnerable child.

  I said, "Is that how he got the photos?"

  "Yes. Unfortunately for him. He called me. Told me I had to go to the police. Wouldn't take no for an answer." He shook his head. "He should have stayed out of it. But he always had to take the moral high road, didn't he? And everything was black and white. No shades of grey. Any decent person would have turned a blind eye."

  Personally, I couldn't think of any decent person who would turn a blind eye to murder. But what would I know? Wainwright obviously moved in different circles. Probably best
to let it pass.

  "So he had to die too?"

  I surreptitiously scanned the room while I kept him talking, looking for something to use as a weapon. Anything.

  Over to my left, a small lamp stood on a side table by the main door. It was the only object in an otherwise spartan room that may have served as a weapon. I tried to judge the distance to the door. It was too far. I would never make it in time.

  At my side, to the right, a floor-standing shelving unit stood against the wall but all it contained were an empty photo frame, some glass ornaments and a few paperback books, nothing of any use.

  The only other objects that may have served were a set of cast iron saucepans hanging on a rack over the sink by the back door. But they were out of reach behind Wainwright.

  He was still talking. "I agreed to go and see him so he could accompany me to the police station and give me some support. Of course, I never intended to let it get that far. He's already called Erin to put her off coming. Some excuse about having a cold. So we weren't likely to be disturbed. And he was frail. Disposing of him wasn't difficult. He didn't put up much of a struggle."

  My blood ran cold. Wainwright had killed Black in a fit of rage. And though it had been a grisly act, it had at least been understandable. But this. This was beyond understanding. The way he described killing my father was so matter-of-fact. Almost casual. It was chilling.

  And if he could kill with such indifference, it made my own current predicament even more dangerous than I had realised. But I had to keep him talking, try to give myself some time to figure a way out of this.

  I dug the memory stick out of my pocket and held it up. "You went to a lot of trouble to get your hands on this. You could have just taken it from my father at the time."

  "If I'd know about it, I would have. I'm not stupid. Laura didn't think to tell me about it till later." He curled his lip. "It caused me a lot of grief hunting that thing down."

  "Well now it's all yours," I said and threw it to the floor at his feet.

  I'd hoped he might stoop down to pick it up, giving me a chance to go for him. But no such luck. Clearly, he wasn't going to risk being caught off guard again. He didn't even glance down. Just kept the gun levelled at me.

  I was running out of options.

  But I had an idea.

  There was a slim chance I would pull it off, but I needed to keep him occupied while I worked out my moves.

  I said, "And the argument my father had with Black? What was that about?"

  Wainwright snorted. "It never happened. When Trivett saw me coming out of the vicarage, I made the whole thing up. If I could get everyone to believe Black had disappeared after arguing with your father, suspicion would have fallen on him."

  "Clever move. And I guess it was you who sent the text message to the surgery from his mobile?"

  "Yes. And, it might have worked too if you hadn't found Black's body. Though it did have the added advantage of covering my tracks if anyone had spotted my van the previous day. I drove back to Black's with my tools later that day to dig his grave."

  Some more of the pieces fell into place.

  The vicarage porch would have obscured Giles Trivett's view of the door. So the day he spotted Wainwright stepping out of it, he couldn't have known that Wainwright had left the house itself and then passed off his visit as an unsuccessful attempt to rouse my father.

  I shuddered. Wainwright must have killed my father minutes before and yet had still managed to appear calm and controlled enough to pass off his presence there as a casual visit.

  "You had it all so well planned, didn't you?"

  "And I have no intention of letting you or anyone else screw it up now. You really shouldn't have interfered."

  It was time to act. Feigning a sudden loss of energy, I let my legs buckle under me before regaining my balance, pushing myself back to my feet, and leaning over against the shelving unit to my right.

  "Stay where you are." Wainwright followed me with the gun.

  "Please. I feel faint." I reached out and grabbed hold of one of the unit's uprights as if to steady myself. I tested its rigidity with my hand. It wobbled slightly.

  "It will all be over soon," he said, raising the gun. "I didn't want to do this. But you have only yourself to blame." He took aim.

  It was now or never. Using every ounce of strength I had, I pulled the rickety shelving around towards him and slammed my shoulder hard against it, sending it hurtling in his direction.

  The flimsy shelving crashed to the floor in front of him, it contents flying in all directions.

  Wainwright jumped back instinctively, narrowly avoiding the unit and ducking away from a glass ornament that smashed into the wall. He fell against the sink unit behind him, grunted, momentarily winded, and dropped the gun.

  Now was my chance. Pushing back on one foot, I threw myself across the room. I landed, full length, on the wooden floor and reached for the gun.

  A few inches too short. I stretched out, straining to reach the weapon, my hand clutching spasmodically at the air.

  Not close enough.

  The steel-capped toe of a boot struck my shoulder hard, knocking me, yelling, across the floor. My head slammed against the table by the main door.

  Bursts of orange light filled with searing pain blinded me as I rolled over and pushed myself to my knees. I raised my head and, through the pounding pain, stared up into the barrel of Wainwright's gun inches from my face.

  "That wasn't very bright," he said.

  "You won't get away with this. Someone was sure to have seen you come here."

  He shook his head. "Once I'd spotted your car outside, I parked up around the corner and came through the woods at the back. No one saw me. I made sure of that."

  He stood back, stretched out his arm, and took aim again.

  "I didn't want to harm anyone," he said, "but I'm not going to let Black ruin my life. Why should I have to suffer for what he did?"

  "You don't have to do this." I kept my voice calm and even. I had nothing left now but words and all I could do was try to persuade him not shoot me. "No one could blame you for what you did to Black. And everything that followed could be explained by your state of mind. I've been involved in enough court cases to know the score in situations like this. You were of unsound mind. It would be a viable defence."

  Wainwright's shook his head and sneered. "Maybe I could get away with killing Black. But not your father. And certainly not Erin."

  My breath caught in my throat. "You killed her too?"

  "Once I'd figured Black would have copies of the photos on his laptop, I went back for it. She found it. Thought it was Laura's. She thought she'd be doing me a favour checking Laura's emails and files. Keeping tabs on her. Big mistake. She called me at work."

  That must have been why she called me. For advice. When she couldn't get through to me, she must have called him instead. If I'd been able to take the call, she might still be alive.

  "She broke away when I went for her," he said. "Panicked and made a run for it. Just my good luck she'd come over in her car. Made it so much easier."

  There was no emotion in his voice as he spoke. It was as if he were relating some ordinary everyday event.

  "There's still a chance of pleading a good case. You can still beat this."

  Of course, I knew he couldn't. He'd gone too far down that slow easy road to hell, abandoning all sense of morality bit by bit along the way. And what had started as the frenzied but understandable murder of someone who had violated his daughter had ended as the callous calculated murder of innocent people. He must have known that too. There was no argument I could make to persuade him otherwise and, in that moment, I knew that my death was inevitable. There was nothing more to say.

  It was strange how calm I felt, knowing my life was about to end.

  So this was to be my final resting place. This cold hard floor. No doubt I would share Black's fate and be buried somewhere in the woods.

 
I stared up into the barrel of the gun and waited for the inevitable.

  His finger pressed against the hammer.

  "Don't be a fool, Wainwright."

  A movement in the doorway.

  It was Nathan.

  He stepped into the room over the shattered remains of the shelving unit, his eyes fixed on Wainwright.

  My first reaction was one of overwhelming relief. I'd never been so glad so see him. Till it occurred to me that his position here was no less perilous than mine. This could end badly for both of us.

  Slowly, I pushed myself up from the floor. My head still throbbed. I rose to my feet.

  Wainwright backed away into the corner of the room, putting some distance between both of us and himself, and pointed the gun first at me and then at Nathan. He waved it toward me. "Move over there. I want you standing together."

  Nathan stood his ground. "I'm going nowhere. This is over, Wainwright."

  "Not for me it's not. But it is for you. You're not going to take me. And what difference does one more body make now." He raised the gun and pointed it at Nathan.

  Talking was over. Nathan was about to die. And I wasn't going to let that happen. This was the man I loved, the man whose life meant more to me than my own. Even if I'd been destined never to see him again, I would have been content to know that he was safe and living a full and happy life.

  But not this. Not this.

  And with one long anguished cry, I launched myself at Wainwright.

  He whipped around to face me, his eyes wide with surprise. But it wasn't enough to slow him. The distance between us was too great.

  He raised the gun and fired.

  A blinding flash, and my world was filled with raw unbearable searing pain. I fell to the floor. The last thing I saw was Nathan struggling with Wainwright. And then darkness closed in and the world went away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  "You fucking stupid bonehead. Were you out of your fucking mind?"

  Never one to mince his words, Nathan was as forthright as ever. And he was blazing. But for once I couldn't respond; I was too shocked. He was a mess. The usually strong firm face was pale and drawn. And dark circles beneath red-rimmed eyes betrayed his lack of sleep. I bit my lip and shook my head.