by Ron Chudley
“Yes. When will you be arriving? Tomorrow?”
“Nah! We need to talk tonight. Make plans.”
“Well, all right. But give me time to make the place ready.”
“For what?”
“Well, you know, for a guest. Where are you now?”
“Out and about. Some stuff I have to do before I move in with you. Hey, that’ll be a kick, eh, pal?”
“What’s that?”
“You and me—two buds—hangin’ and bangin’ and runnin’ a real cool game. Duncan is really screamin’ for a proper drugs source. Lot more fun than that shitty casino. We’ll be rollin’ in green before you know it.”
“Yes—sure.”
“But my suppliers don’t work on credit. We’re gonna need a pile of working capital. You’ve got that taken care of, eh?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Sweet. Well, just wanted to check in. See you later. Take care driving over that old Malahat. Ciao.”
The phone went dead. Greg put down the receiver distastefully. He was reminded of another communication that had come in on this same little-used landline, the message about the phony cheque that had alerted him to the theft of his ID. However, morbid meditations on that subject were curtailed by another reminder: his new cellphone, on which he’d keep in touch with Sergeant Tremblay and—very soon, he hoped—receive news that his ordeal was over, was still charging on the kitchen counter, the only thing not packed for his journey.
He added it, grabbed his bag and started out. At the door, he paused. His apartment, which had earlier taken on an unfriendly feeling, now looked so familiar and safe that he could have wept.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Now you tell me.”
He closed the door quietly and headed down to the car.
• • •
Near the top of the pass, Greg pulled in at the Malahat Mountain Inn, a restaurant overlooking a fiord-like gouge of ocean called Finlayson Arm, on the east side of the island. He didn’t stop there often. Though the food was excellent and the view spectacular, the place was expensive and usually too crowded for his taste. He hadn’t intended to eat dinner but he was hungry, and the urge to delay his arrival at the house was strong. Since he didn’t mind being seated inside, forgoing the attractions of the panoramic dining deck, there was no wait for a table. He repressed the urge for a large whisky and ordered a glass of wine, followed by a well-spiced pasta. He didn’t much enjoy the meal, but he did end up feeling more relaxed. And when, in late evening light, he arrived on Riverbottom Road, his thoughts, if not rosy, were at least upbeat. Things had gone badly, but he now had a chance to redeem himself. In a very real way, his actions would help with the rounding up of a whole bunch of criminals. Playing a tricky game with Jay for a few days was surely well worth that.
When he arrived at his gate, he found it closed. Did that mean that Jay hadn’t arrived? No, more likely he’d shut it behind him, not wishing to advertise his presence. But when Greg drove into the courtyard, he found no other vehicle. He felt relief, knowing this to be pointless. His “partner” would be there soon enough and then the act would begin. That was going to take all his cunning and ingenuity, and the sooner he got used to the idea the better.
Anyway, the fact that no vehicle was evident and the house was dark didn’t necessarily mean that Jay hadn’t arrived. He seemed to enjoy creeping around unseen. Maybe he was doing that now, waiting to give Greg a surprise on his own turf, thereby emphasizing his power and control. With that in mind, when Greg unlocked the front door and entered, he called out loudly and confidently, as if he knew perfectly well that Jay was present.
There was no answer to his greeting.
He kept moving through the house, checking first the kitchen, then the living room, finally down the hall to his sister’s old bedroom, where he deposited his bag. By that time he was pretty sure that he was alone.
What to do now? Since all he could do was wait for the inevitable arrival, which must surely be soon, he decided he’d better try to rehearse in his mind the cowed, obedient fellow that he had to pretend to be.
He went into the kitchen, his eyes moving automatically to the drinks cupboard, saddened but relieved that the whisky stash was gone. A belt of Scotch would have felt good, no doubt. But remembering where it had got him last time, and knowing he was going to need every bit of focus he could muster in the days ahead, he was happy to settle on coffee. He had just started fixing a pot when the telephone rang.
Startled, Greg wiped his hands and hurried to the phone. “Hello?”
“Greg! Oh, thank God, at last!”
Such was his surprise that it took Greg a moment to register that it was Lucy. “Lucy—hey! I’ve been trying to get hold of . . .”
“Greg,” Lucy cut in. “I can’t talk. I’m sorry, I just had to . . .”
There was a fumbling sound, snatching away Lucy’s words in mid-sentence. This was followed by a click, a pause—then something else entirely.
“Hello, Mr. Lothian,” the voice of Jay said quietly. “What took you so long?”
Greg heard himself gasp and tried to recover. “How—what’s going on?”
“A party! That’s what!” Jay replied.
“Party? Where?”
“Your girlfriend’s place, of course. And, Mr. Lothian—you’re the guest of honour.”
THIRTY
When he left the house, Greg broke into a run, though there was barely enough light remaining to show the path. It would have been quicker to go the long way around by car, but he’d been ordered to come on foot; there was to be no chance of anyone witnessing his arrival at Lucy’s. His other instruction had been more ominous: he was not to contact anyone in the meantime. Failure to obey would result in unspecified harm to the women. Greg had already made too many near-fatal errors in his career as a crime buster to even consider ignoring that one.
By the time he reached the end of the Lothian property, he could hardly see. Here the path left the riverbank, entering the woods that enclosed the open area in which the Lynley house stood. It was at this point that Hatch often intercepted him, but no dog appeared tonight.
As he stumbled along, cursing the fact that he’d been too flustered to bring a flashlight, the only thing thicker than the surrounding gloom was his own confusion. How could this have happened? How could Jay even know about Lucy, let alone turn up at her place? Now, it seemed, the women were to be used as some kind of leverage against him. That could only mean that Jay no longer believed he had enough control to get what he wanted. But how had such a change come about? Greg was still wrestling with that question when he emerged from the woods.
Relief that he could now see his way was countered by his rising concern. There were lights on in the house, but the shades were drawn. The porch lamp was also on, outlining Lucy’s car in the driveway, as well as a dark-coloured van that Greg did not recognize. Not until he skirted around these, arriving in the pebbled forecourt, did he get an uninterrupted view of the steps and the front door.
Sprawled on the stoop, in a pool of blood, was the body of an animal. It was Hatch. The dog’s eyes were wide and empty. The gore in which he lay came from his neck; his head was almost completely severed. Under the merciless glow of the porch light, the scene vibrated with surreal clarity.
“Oh, Jesus!”
Greg turned away, feeling his gorge rise. But a worse sensation overtook the nausea: cold fear. He stared numbly at the house, fronted by its dreadful talisman. As if on cue, the door opened and a figure appeared, a man so large that his shiny black hair flirted with the lintel. Though the angle of light made his face a silhouette, the features were clearly native. Jay had a sense of familiarity as the giant stepped forward, kicked the dead dog aside and made a curt beckoning gesture.
Greg didn’t move. Fear had coalesced into an agonizing knot in his solar plexus. But he knew he had to go in. As the newcomer beckoned again, this time with greater emphasis, Greg started to walk. Up the front
steps he went, trying to avoid the remains of the dog, past the huge native, who regarded him impassively, and into the hall. Everything here was normal except for one detail: across the polished wood floor there was a trail of blood. Blood was also spattered on the native’s pants and heavy boots. Greg was trying to ignore this, steeling himself to keep moving, when a voice was raised farther off in the house.
“That you, Mr. Lothian?”
It was Jay, sounding cheerful, almost jocular. The contrast of the tone to what he’d just witnessed was so weird that Greg felt a fresh chill. But he kept on walking, doing his best to avoid the blood, all the way down the hall.
The first thing he registered upon entering the living room was the figure of Shirl Lynley. She was lying on the sofa, in a familiar position, but though her eyes were closed, she looked far from comfortable. Her head was resting on the arm of the sofa at awkward angle, and she was very still. For an instant, Greg thought she was dead.
Then his focus shifted to take in the room’s other occupants. Lucy was behind the sofa, frozen in the act of reaching for her mother, as if she wanted to touch her but did not dare. Jay was off to the left, watching Greg with a small smile.
In his hand was a blood-covered knife.
“What the hell’s going . . . ?” Greg began, but he was interrupted by a small explosion of sound.
“All right, you bastard,” Lucy snapped, swinging on Jay. “Greg’s here! Now, for God’s sake, let me get my mother back to bed and give her her insulin.”
Shirl winced and her eyes opened, which Greg noted with relief.
After a pause, Jay shrugged and nodded. Lucy came around the couch and, simultaneously, the big native moved in from the door. They reached the older woman together. But Lucy stepped into the man’s path, glaring ferociously. “Don’t touch her,” she cried. “Don’t you dare lay a hand on my mother again.”
The features of the big man didn’t appear capable of much expression, but he did look questioningly at Jay, who shrugged again. “Whatever.”
The native stepped away. Lucy leaned down to her mother. “All right, Mum,” she said, her tone painfully tender, “it’s okay. We can get you back to bed now.” She put her mother’s feet on the floor, then, stooping and taking most of the weight, was able to get the frail old woman upright. Greg anxiously watched the two shuffle forward. Reaching him, they paused, Shirl swaying while Lucy fought to keep her steady. Lucy’s head turned, her angry eyes meeting Greg’s. “This is your fault,” she whispered fiercely.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how . . .”
“He killed poor Hatch. Had his goon drag Mum out of bed, then he cut the poor dog’s throat in front of us. To show he meant business, he said. And the next one . . .” She gave a swift glance of awful significance at her mother.
“No!”
“Yes! He even said so. But you’re here now. So it’s got to be over. I don’t know what this crazy man wants. But whatever it is—do it.”
“Believe me, I will,” Greg spluttered.
“And for God’s sake—get them out of here.”
After the women had departed for the bedroom, Greg turned back to find Jay regarding him calmly. The young man had seated himself in an armchair. From that angle, Greg could see a detail he had not previously noticed: a small but deep indentation at the hair-line forward of Jay’s left temple. Shot in the head, Sergeant Tremblay had said, thereafter becoming a “regular oddball.” Lucy had called him crazy, which right now seemed more appropriate. Jay was looking at him with his odd smile. “Wow, Mr. Lothian,” he chuckled. “I can see I was dead right with this call.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re sweet on that bitch, admit it.”
Rage made Greg throw away all caution. “You damn animal!” he snapped. “How dare you break in here! How dare you threaten these people! Whatever the hell you think you want from me, just leave the women alone.”
In reaction to this outburst, Jay just stared. Then his hand, which had been hanging out of sight, rose up, still holding the bloody knife. This he plunged into the arm of the chair with such force that the blade vanished almost to the hilt. Using the handle as a lever, he sprang to his feet. “It’s your fault, you double-crossing prick,” he spat. “Even the bitch could see that. Whatever I’m doing, it’s all because of you!”
Greg was so appalled, he could barely whisper. “What are you talking about?”
“You and that fat-assed cop!”
Greg gaped. He aware of blood rising in his face. Far too late, he said, “What cop?”
Jay hissed in almost comic exasperation, and began working his knife free from the chair. “Are you completely stupid? Didn’t those pictures I took of you and Molinara tell you anything? I follow people, you asshole. That’s what I do. I’ve been checking on you ever since that first night. Didn’t you think of that?”
In fact, Greg had thought of it. Not seriously enough, apparently. Glumly, he waited, as Jay got the knife free and wiped the blade on the chair.
“I’ve got a big investment here,” he continued angrily. “Did you really believe I’d rely on a few pictures to keep you in line? Do you think I’m that dumb? Whatever else, there’s still seven hundred grand at stake here. You seemed like pretty much of a wimp to me, but hey, I thought, maybe I’m wrong about that, eh? Maybe I’d better have a Plan B. So I keep following you, waiting and watching. I see you’ve got this girlfriend next door, with her crip mommy, and the three of you are real thick. I also follow you in town. And what do you know? Pretty soon you’re heading for the Victoria fuzzhole. Then you and this fraud-squad dickhead, who I’ve seen around before, meet up in an old-lady hangout, where you think you won’t be seen together. What does that tell me? Dickhead cop and asshole partner are planning to set me up.”
Jay had been pacing. Now, passing the large native who had been immobile near the door, he indicated the man with his knife. “Oh yeah, this is Trev. You may remember him from the casino? We went to school together. He’s pretty pissed with his buds in the band right now. Looking for money to get out of here. If you want to find out what he’s prepared to do to make that happen, try double-crossing me again. Trev didn’t kill that fleabag mongrel, but he was real happy to hold your girlfriend while I did. And he’ll do it again—if I have to teach anyone else around here a lesson. Are we on the same page now?”
Greg didn’t answer. What he’d been listening to sounded like a scene from a bad movie. But it was real. The man truly was mad. And this final situation was his own fault. Were it not so frightening, it would have been ironic.
Jay was shaking his head. “Now I’ve found out I’m being double-crossed, I say to myself, ‘Okay, Jay, don’t waste time being pissed. On to Plan B.’ So that’s what I do—and here we are.”
Although he’d rather not have known, the question had to be asked. “What’s this Plan B?”
Jay shrugged. “You’re looking at it, buddy. This is where I’m going to hang out from now on. Well hidden, with the two bitches for insurance. Meanwhile, you’re going to phone your cop buddy, tell him there’s no sign of me but you’ll keep him posted. Then you get me that seven hundred grand. All of it.”
“What if I can’t get it?”
Jay swung around to the big native, Trev, giving him a brief nod. Without expression, Trev left the room, returning presently with Lucy. Just inside the door, he stopped, his prisoner writhing in his grip. When she began to cry out, Trev put one huge hand over her mouth. There they remained, Lucy’s eyes wild, Trev’s face patiently blank.
“Listen carefully,” Jay said. “Back east, I’m wanted for some stuff that could pretty much get me prison for life, okay? So I’ve got nothing to lose. Killing that mutt was just to get your attention. This is what you need to know.”
He strode over to Lucy, held securely by Trev, and raised his knife, holding it an inch from the woman’s throat. “If, for any reason, I don’t get that money,” he said quietly. “Or i
f I get the smallest smell of a cop . . .”
Jay made a slashing movement with his knife, so fast and close that, for a horrified instant, Greg was certain the worst had happened. But no mark appeared, no grisly spurt of crimson erupted; though tense and quivering, the pale throat was unharmed.
Greg’s own gullet had contracted and his heart pounded. Slowly, he lifted his gaze from Lucy’s mercifully intact neck to her terrorfilled eyes, finally making himself look at Jay.
“Well, Mr. Lothian?” Jay said.
“I understand,” Greg’s replied, voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry. I’ve been stupid—but no more. No one will ever know you’re here. And that money, I promise —I promise —I’LL GET IT.”
THIRTY-ONE
“Lucy, I’m just so sorry,” Greg said. “Are you all right?” Lucy, who was looking flushed and dishevelled but little the worse for her ordeal, nodded grimly. “I’ll live. It’s Mum I’m worried about.”
“Nothing more will happen to either of you. I promise.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because—you heard me—I’m going to give him what he wants. This is just a ransom situation now. Once Jay’s got the cash, all he’ll want to do is get out of here.”
“And you won’t tell the police?”
“Of course not. I won’t do anything that would run the risk of harming you.”
“It’s an awful lot of money. Can you really get it?”
“Yes.”
“How long will it take?”
“I’m not sure. The funds are in the account. But it’s a small branch, so I doubt that they’d have that much cash on hand. A day or two at the most. Will your mother be all right for that long?”
They were in Lucy’s room, where, with Trev standing guard, they had been permitted a short time together. “I have all her meds, and there’s plenty of food in the house. Mum will be okay.” Lucy indicated their stone-faced jailor. “As long as that brute doesn’t start manhandling her again.”
