by J. D. Weston
Tyson slammed on the accelerator, and Harvey saw his van speed away out of the clearing. It bumped up onto the tarmac lane, scraping the trees as he over-cut the corner.
Harvey saw Julios lying in the mud.
He opened the door and checked the rear before he stepped out. His hand was pulling the handgun from his waistband before he’d even taken a step. The Range Rover door slammed shut and the car shot forward; its front end lifted from the vehicle’s huge torque.
Harvey braced his feet, his right foot planted firmly behind his left foot. He held the gun with two hands and fired at the black SUV's windscreen and radiator as its powerful engine roared to life. The wheels span briefly before finding traction and the car lurched forward with the driver crouched low into the passenger seat. Harvey continued to fire, he hit the front left wheel, but the car still roared passed. Harvey took out all the left side windows and had to change clips as the car continued on. The heavy Range Rover bumped over Julios' body, and up onto the road. Harvey continued to fire as the car raced around the sharp corner and out of sight.
Harvey ran to Julios and found the broken body of his friend; his jaw hung wildly at an angle, as did his head. The car had driven over his neck. Harvey found the two gunshot wounds in his back. One of them had torn through his massive chest. Julios would have been dead before he hit the ground.
Harvey stood and ran into the trees. He jumped the fallen log and tore blindly through the brush to his bike. A vehicle moved along the lane to his left, its headlights were switched off. Harvey stopped, and peered through the trees, motionless. Whoever it was, it meant trouble for Harvey. He waited for the vehicle to pass, then pulled away the branches that covered his bike and started the engine, letting it idle for a few seconds while he put his helmet on. Climbing on, he kicked the stand in one smooth movement, then shot out of the trees. The rear wheel span through the loose debris of the forest floor until it found the tarmac, then powered him away.
Harvey heard sirens in the distance, so he reached behind him and slipped the number plate off the bike, then tossed it into the river as he passed over the small bridge at the end of the lane. It was the reason he kept it loose, it wasn’t the first time he'd lost a plate on a getaway.
He passed over the motorway onto the entry ramp, and from the bridge, saw the white van joining the traffic below. Ahead of it was the black Range Rover, which was now in full getaway mode with a blown tire. As Harvey came down the ramp himself, the bike was shifting at eighty miles per hour around the long sweeping bend, and his knee was down low.
Harvey joined the traffic and made his way to the fast lane with adrenaline-fueled ease. The bike's manoeuvrability and speed easily found the gaps, and other drivers let off to allow the madman past; by the time anyone complained angrily, Harvey was long gone. He needed to catch the Range Rover before the police or anyone else did. He passed the van, and a large part of him wanted to stop and take Tyson down, he'd deal with Shaun another time. The man in the Range Rover had just killed Harvey’s only friend.
He overtook and undertook cars in the fast lane, often before the drivers had time to even see he was approaching, he passed them before they knew it. His leather jacket was unzipped and flapped wildly in the wind; the handgun in his waistband was visible to all who had time to see him.
Harvey rode on in the darkness. His senses steered the powerful bike, and the rear lights of cars streaked by; the only noise was the steady, reliable pulse of the bikes high-performance engine. The Range Rover was nowhere to be seen. Harvey had sat at between one hundred and thirty and one hundred and fifty miles per hour for twenty minutes. He'd weaved between the traffic as only a motorbike can and knew that if the SUV were still on the same road, he'd have caught up with it; clearly the killer had turned off somewhere. Harvey took the next exit, drove over the bridge and back onto the M11 northbound. He dropped to the speed limit and made his way back to the clearing to collect the body of his friend. He'd lost his killer, but he'd find him; of that Harvey was sure.
It was during the ride back that he thought about what had happened, and made his decision. The deal was done when the shots were fired. The money was already exchanged. Tyson had been in the Thomson's van, and Julios would have been walking back to their van. So why shoot then? And the who the hell was in that Range Rover? Harvey didn't get a look at the man’s face. He couldn't shake the image of Julios' broken body from his mind. That was it. It was over. Harvey was out. He'd finish Tyson and find the guy that killed Julios, make him suffer; then he'd take off. It was time.
It was pitch dark when Harvey returned to the scene. He rode slowly to make sure that the area was empty before he pulled into the clearing. Listening for movement, he parked, and looked around. He walked to the spot where Julios was killed, but the body was gone. He searched around. Julios had definitely been dead. Even the big man himself couldn't have survived those injuries, could he?
Harvey pulled the van keys from his pocket and walked to the rear doors; they were unlocked, even though he clearly remembered locking them. He opened the two doors.
The guns were gone.
Harvey pulled his gun, loaded a fresh clip and chambered a round. He ran back to his bike and shone the headlight across the muddy grass to confirm that Julios hadn't crawled off somewhere, dying. Returning to the van, he pulled the small fuel can from behind the driver's seat and doused the interior and exterior of the Ford. He lit the trail of petrol and felt the rush of the fire ignite, and reach high into the air.
He rode off slowly, with the orange glow of flames fading in his mirror.
Melody and the team sat in the VW. The rear was dark save for the warm glow of the computer screens. The front was dark save for the few ambient lights of the car park that shone through the windscreen. The team had followed the on-screen icon as Frank had driven to the lane, and waited. They had watched Frank's laptop screen like voyeurs when he’d opened his laptop. Melody had noted how he had opened the email from her several times, and re-read the message she had sent. He had pulled up the photos she’d sent that had been recovered from the flooded camera, and studied them repeatedly. She had seen him behave this way before. He had the bit between his teeth, but she had no idea what the bit actually was, which made being a step ahead of her boss, very tricky.
The team followed his icon as he came off of the motorway, had turned around and driven back the same way, then stopped. When Frank had moved from his position, she had given the go-ahead for the team to move in closer; the light was fading, and she wanted to be nearby for whatever went down.
She had seen Frank behave like this before. The last time was when he'd landed himself in hot water. She wanted to protect her boss. His habit of going radio silent was a symptom of him being onto something, possibly mixed up in something. They took the turn off the motorway and entered the country lane.
"This was where he was waiting, on the left here according to the GPS. He's currently in what looks to be a small clearing further down the lane," said Reg, matter of fact.
“Okay, let's park up here,” said Melody. The driver, a middle-aged man named Denver, stopped the van on the side of the road. The inside of the van was warm from the screens, and computers in the rear. Melody sat and listened, trying to tune out the hum of the technology to concentrate her senses on the surroundings.
“His laptop is off,” confirmed Reg, “we’re relying on his phone now.”
She heard the two gunshots in the still of the evening and looked across at the driver. "Did you hear that?" she said.
“I heard it,” said Denver, reaching for the keys.
“Wait,” she said, cracking the window. Several more shots could be heard, one gun emptying its clip, rapid fire, there was no variance in the sound or the timing of the shots.
"Right, let's move in, take it slow." She pulled her own weapon and checked the clip and her spare.
They began to pull away with the lights switched off. Headlights ahead of them paused i
n the road briefly. Melody saw the interior light of the vehicle turn on and off as though the doors opened for somebody to get in or out. “Reg, call back up, take the plate of this van and call it in for motorway police to stop them.” But before the van could move off again, lights came from behind it and overtook without slowing. The vehicle was moving fast.
"This is Frank, he's on the move, and he's not hanging about," called Reg from the rear. He was typing frantically into the computer, preparing a message to be sent as soon as he saw the plate of the van. The Range Rover rushed past, its flat tire slapping the tarmac.
“That was definitely Frank, windscreen smashed, and by the sounds of it, a tire is blown.”
“Do you want me to follow him?” asked the driver.
"No, Reg, you follow Frank on screen, I want to see where this all went down. We may have more casualties." The van moved past them gaining speed. Melody called the plate number out as it passed. "Right, let's go," she ordered.
They pulled into the clearing and found it empty apart from a second van. Melody got out and swept the area with her weapon raised in one hand and her Maglite in the other. She heard the motorbike start somewhere close by, in the trees maybe; it whined off into the distance.
Then she saw the body on the floor.
“Man down, call it in, Reg.”
“Ambulance?”
“No, he’s too far gone, we’ll take him. Open the back and help me get him in.”
The rear doors opened, and Reg got out slowly. He stretched his legs and moved over to Melody.
“Pulse?”
"Nope, he's dead, grab his legs." They half lifted and half dragged the large man to the VW then manhandled him inside. "It's Edgar Parrish, Frank just took down a wanted man. My guess is that whoever is on that bike is now after Frank. Reg, find Frank on the GPS, guide him to somewhere safe before the bike catches him, get him off the main roads. Denver, check that van." The driver got out of the VW and wandered slowly over to the cab.
“Nothing in the cab, it’s brand new.”
“What’s in the back?”
Denver walked around and tried the door, but it was locked. "I'll need a second." He pulled his multi-tool from his belt and had the door open in a few moments. He reached in and pulled the blanket back. "Holy crap."
Frank sped from the scene. His flat tire tugged the vehicle to one side, but the run-flat tire allowed him to get away. He screeched around the ramp onto the motorway, spending more time looking in his mirrors than in front. The flat tire barley gripped, but he manhandled it around at speed, grabbing the steering wheel firmly. In the distance behind him, he saw the Thomson van joining the motorway. His phone rang, caller unknown. He answered, but the noise of the road through the missing windows and smashed windscreen made conversation difficult. "Carver."
“Sir, take the next exit, turn left and stop.”
“Who is this?” he shouted, “I can barely hear you.”
“Next exit, turn left, then stop,” said Reg.
Frank disconnected. He could see the signs on the overhead gantries but the shattered windscreen made reading difficult. The next exit came along, and Frank pulled across at the last minute and drove up the ramp. He kept his eye on the mirror behind him to see if any other cars made a similar last-minute move, but none did.
Frank turned left, stopped and got out the car. He packed his laptop into the sports bag and stepped away from the ruined SUV. The adrenaline was wearing off, and Frank felt the familiar burn of emotion pulse through his body. He recognised the feeling each time he took somebody’s life. He hadn't killed many men, and certainly, nobody that didn't deserve it, but he had killed, and knew the sensations. He felt the stab of guilt in his gut.
He needed to have the body removed. Proof that he’d nailed a wanted criminal after thirty years. He pulled out his phone and dialled.
“Mills.”
“Melody, Frank.”
“Sir, how are you?”
“Fine, the hospital released me yesterday. I need a hand, I have a mess to clean up, where are you?”
“Right now, sir, Reg and I are loading Edgar Parrish into the back of a van, and Denver is moving the MP-5s. You want to tell me what happened?”
“Edgar Parrish?” asked Frank. “How do I know that name?”
“Not sure, sir, but I’m pretty sure it’s the man you just shot. He matches the photos you took of him and Stone yesterday. Reg ran some facial recognition and his file was picked up, been on the run for twenty odd years.”
“How the-”
“I was worried about you, sir. I had you tailed.”
“He’s dead?”
“Parrish? Yes.”
“Edgar Parrish, Mills, was wanted for many murders, but nobody could ever nail him. In particular, a double homicide back in the day. We had him bang to rights, but he just vanished. Never been seen since.”
“Well, he’s back, but he wont be doing much more after tonight.”
“Any other mess?”
“Just the van, I presume the guy on the bike will be back for that and the guns.”
“The guy on the bike?”
“Yes, sir. Soon as we got here, we heard a motorbike start up nearby; it shot off in the direction you went. That’s when Reg called and told you to get off the road.”
“You’re a smart girl, Melody, I owe you all a drink.”
“Sir, you want me to stay here, in case the biker comes back for the van?”
“No, I want you to take the guns and get out before he sees you. I have a feeling that whoever he works for will be making themselves known when they don't get their guns. Good work, Mills.”
“Okay, sir. We have your location and will be with you in approximately twenty minutes. Sit tight.”
17
A Light in the Tunnel
Harvey woke with a start. He'd managed to get small bursts of sleep, but his mind was plagued with the visions of Julios. It was over, he was dead. There was an unshakeable sinking feeling in his gut; his friend was dead. Julios was the only man he could talk to. He was the only one that knew about Harvey's targets, and he was the man who had shown him the way when Hannah had died.
Harvey’s face burned with the anger that swelled inside him. He needed to burn some energy. He needed clarity. The dark room felt close, his mind felt smothered, and he felt out of control; he didn't like it.
He'd been trained to control his emotions and was very good at it. But this was different. This outweighed ordinary feelings. Not only was Harvey seeking the answers to his parent's deaths, and searching for the other man that raped his sister, but now, someone had killed Julios. There was a reason he'd been taken, the deal had gone down well, it was over. Did Julios know something? He was good at secrets. Harvey knew that Julios knew more about his parents than he let on. He was keeping a secret for somebody, John most likely. But why would someone take Julios out right then? It didn't add up.
Harvey stood, dressed and stepped outside into the fresh morning. He ran to the gate, onto the lane and down the hill into the village. Normally he'd ride his bike to the forest for his morning run, but his bike had been fairly exposed the previous evening so he kept it hidden, at least until he could get new plates for it.
He took long strides, but not fast ones; he entered the village in less than ten minutes and ran across the green. People went about their day. Elderly ladies crossed the road to get to the shops; two mums pushed prams across the grass while their dogs sniffed everywhere. Swanky cars pulled out of the side streets, driven by men in expensive suits. Theydon Bois was a peaceful retreat from the city and only thirty minutes away by train. This made it very suitable for brokers and city workers, people with regular jobs.
Harvey continued to run, he thought about what Julios had done for him the day before the drop. He'd risked his life and written off his car to protect Harvey. Where had Harvey been when Julios had needed protecting? His eyes welled up as he ran. The release of energy signalled the res
t of the body to do what it needed to do, and he found himself choking back tears. Harvey wiped them away, but they returned. His nose began to run, and he bit his lip. He ran faster and spat the phlegm to the floor, but again his throat clogged, and his eyes filled. He crossed a side street without stopping to look and somewhere in the far corners of his clouded mind he heard the screech of brakes.
The car’s bumper stopped precisely where Harvey had been stood. He stepped back and watched the wide-eyed driver’s mouth fall open. Harvey rested his hands on the bonnet, he was panting, not from running but from the excitement of understanding. It was a moment of clarity. All this time he’d been searching the shadows, clawing at a web of lies, trying to reach higher ground to look down, to look around and see clearly, and it had gotten him nowhere. He knew the problem now. It was because he was inside it. He was part of the web. He couldn’t see the top of the problem if he was a brick at the bottom, and he couldn't climb higher if he was tangled in a web.
He had struggled to see the wood for the trees and now it felt like long bony hands gripped his ankles, dragging him down. He climbed the tree in his mind but a thick tangle of vine stopped him, and the tree grew higher and higher above.
“You alright, mate?” A middle-aged man stood at the open driver side door of the car, “Mate, do you need an ambulance?”
Harvey stared at him. A grin slowly formed across his face. The man kept his eyes on Harvey but slowly sank back into the car.
“Never been better, mate.”
Harvey stepped off his motorbike and walked directly to the office door.
He climbed the stairs while removing his helmet and entered John's office without knocking or acknowledging May, who was sat sipping tea at her desk.
“Here he is,” said John in welcome, “how did it go?” John stood from his desk.
“It’s over, I’m out.”
“Whoa, what do you mean you’re out?” replied John, sinking back down. “What’s happened?”
