by Amy Cross
“Don't!” Lenny hisses suddenly, grabbing my arm.
“Get off me,” I say firmly.
“You have your killer,” he continues, leaning closer to me. “Tomorrow you're gonna tell everyone in town that an unidentified drifter killed Mo Garvey.”
“The hell I am!”
“Meanwhile, Neil Bloom will have been dealt with.”
Turning back to him, I can see the concern in his eyes.
“Neil Bloom,” he says again, “will have been dealt with, Michael. By me. Tonight. In a manner that's better for everyone, and in a manner that won't cause more trouble than it heals.”
“What are you suggesting?” I ask.
“I'm suggesting that you do your job,” he continues, still holding my arm firmly, “and let me do mine. Now, I know you're not averse to bending the law, Michael. Parking tickets, people who've had too much to drink, good people who've made bad mistakes... You understand that sometimes the law is just a set of guidelines. One of the problems of the modern world is that people want to set rules for every eventuality. That's not how we do things in Railham.”
“He tortured and murdered a little girl!”
“And he won't get away with it,” Lenny replies. “Please, I'm asking you as a friend, let me deal with him. Let me tidy this mess up, and I assure you that nobody else has to get hurt. This is how Railham came to be such a happy little town. By keeping its dirty washing behind closed doors.”
He pauses for a moment, as if he's waiting for me to capitulate and agree to this insanity. After a moment, clearly realizing that I'm never going to do that, he sighs.
“Neil Bloom will not be a problem,” he continues, “not after tonight. I blame myself, I knew about his proclivities, but I thought I'd managed to set him straight. I thought he was confining himself to certain online activities. Photos, videos, stuff like that. I was wrong, and now I'm going to make up for that. Please, Michael, no good would come of letting all of this become common knowledge.”
“So you're just trying to save your own hide?” I ask, disgusted by his suggestion.
“I'm trying to do what's right for this town,” he continues. “Isn't that what you're trying to do as well, Michael? We're on the same side here and we're aiming for the same thing, we just have different ideas about how to do it. But if you ask me, we can come to a compromise. You want Mo Garvey's killer to face justice, and you want the town to be safe. Both those things are going to happen tonight. We just need to come to a common understanding about how they happen. We're on the same side, Michael.”
He pauses, as I turn and look back over at Neil Bloom. I swear, I can see fear in that lowlife bastard's eyes.
“For the good of our town,” Lenny whispers, “let me handle this my way.”
“This isn't just a traffic offense or a misdemeanor,” I sneer, sickened to my stomach by the sight of Neil. “He kidnapped, tortured, molested and then murdered an innocent girl.”
“And it won't happen again,” Lenny says firmly, as I turn back to him. “The question, Michael, is whether you want to tear this town apart with a lengthy investigation and trial, or whether you're willing to let me deal with the matter more quietly. The choice is yours, but I promise you, this isn't the first time I've dealt with difficult situations.” He pauses, before leaning closer to me. “Let me deal with Neil Bloom! Permanently. No drawn-out trial. No harrowing evidence presented in court. None of that. Just a clean end to the horror.”
“Lenny -”
“Meanwhile you get to be the man who tells everyone that they're safe,” he adds, placing his hand on my shoulder yet again. “Wouldn't that feel good, Michael? Wouldn't you like to be that man?”
***
“See?” Louisa whispers as we stand in the doorway, watching Alex sleep. “Give her an hour or two and she'll be up, but right now she's out like a light. Do you want to go in and wake her up? I'm sure she'd be pleased to see you.”
I pause for a moment, before gently pulling the door shut and turning to her.
“No,” I say finally, with a sickening, queasy sensation in my gut. “Let her sleep.”
“I'm so glad this is all over,” she continues, putting her arms around my waist and holding me tight, resting her face against my chest. “I can't believe you managed to get the monster so quickly. I know a lot of luck must've come into it, but that's not important right now. What's important is that Alex and all the other little girls in Railham are safe.”
I want to reply, to tell her everything, but my throat is dry and somehow I can't get the words out. Instead, in my mind's eye I'm replaying the moment when I drove away from the makeshift roadblock, and the moment when Lenny winked at me. I can also see Neil Bloom's terrified face, and I have a horrible feeling that another body might show up in the morning. Either that, or there'll be no body at all. Maybe Neil will simply disappear.
“We are safe, aren't we?” Louisa asks. “Tell me everyone's safe again, Michael.”
“Everyone's safe again,” I whisper.
“Tell me Alex is safe.”
“Alex is safe.”
“Tell me nothing like this will ever happen again.”
“Nothing like -”
Before I can finish, she pulls me tighter and hugs me, and after a moment I realize she's gently sobbing.
“I was so scared,” she stammers, “and the thought of what happened to that poor girl... Thank God it's over.”
“It's over,” I whisper, before reaching past her and pushing the door open again, so that I can see Alex still fast asleep in her bed. “Everything's going to be fine.”
Chapter Nineteen
Alex Roberts
Today
“Alex?”
Startled, I immediately wipe my eyes against the sleeve of my shirt, and then I look away as Brad stops in the doorway.
“Are you okay in here?” he asks. “I didn't even know you were home. You've been so quiet.”
“I'm fine,” I stammer, desperately hoping that he won't realize I was crying. A moment later, however, he steps closer and comes around the chair, leaving me nowhere left to hide my face. I guess I should have known better than to think I could hide the truth.
“Alex, honey...”
“Nothing's wrong,” I continue, sniffing back more tears and wiping my eyes again. “Just ignore me. I'm being stupid.”
“What happened?” he asks, grabbing a box of tissues and passing them to me.
“It's just that I went into town for the first time,” I remind him, “and people were weird.”
“Did someone say something mean? Who?”
I shake my head.
“Maybe it was the same asshole who broke our window! I'll go beat some sense into whoever gave you trouble.”
“No!” Grabbing his hand, I try to smile even though more tears are running down my cheeks. “Please, Brad, just let me deal with this. No-one was mean, it was just a few nasty glances, and I can handle those. I probably overreacted. I guess I just needed to get the first trip over with. Believe it or not, the name Michael Blaine isn't very popular in this -”
Suddenly there's a loud, heavy thud from upstairs. Looking up at the ceiling, I'm about to ask Brad what happened, but then the thud returns. This time it sounds as if someone is on the landing. I tell myself that I'm wrong, but then the thud comes again and now it's very clear that somebody is in one of the rooms above us.
“What the hell?” Brad mutters, hurrying through to the hallway. A moment later I hear him heading upstairs, and I wait as I hear his footsteps rushing into the main bedroom.
“Are you okay?” I shout, getting to my feet and heading to the doorway. I stop and listen, but all I hear is the sound of him hurrying from room to room. “Brad?”
“Is anyone here?” he yells upstairs. “I swear to God, if there's anyone hiding in my house, I will goddamn beat you to a pulp!”
“Brad!” I shout. “Calm down!”
“There's no-one here!” he calls bac
k to me, “but you heard that, right? There's no way it was just the house settling!”
“Maybe a bird got in,” I suggest, although even as those words leave my mouth I already know that the suggestion is pretty dumb.
I wait, and I can still hear him checking the rooms. The rest of the house has fallen silent, however, and I'm starting to wonder whether the sound might actually have come from outside. Heading to the window, I peer out along the driveway, but all I see is the car resting in a patch of sunlight. There's no sign of any of the neighbors, and besides I swear the heavy thudding sound was accompanied by a faint vibration, almost as if the house itself shook. Whatever caused the sound, it was in here with us.
“Great,” I mutter under my breath, “that's just what I needed. The daughter of Michael Blaine comes to town and immediately -”
Suddenly I gasp as something bangs just behind me. As I turn, I see to my horror that the bookshelf is toppling over, and I watch as all the books spill out onto the floor. A couple of old glass bowls tumble from the top and smash as they hit the ground, leaving me staring in shock as I hear the sound of Brad racing down from the landing.
“Alex!” he yells. “What the hell's going on down there?”
Stopping in the doorway, he stares at the mess.
“It just fell,” I tell him, not daring to get too close. “I was over here and I heard a creaking sound, and then it just... I swear, it just fell all by itself.”
“Did you touch it?”
I shake my head.
He steps closer, taking care not to tread on any of the books, and then he reaches down.
“Be careful!” I hiss.
Grabbing the top of the bookcase with both hands, he starts lifting it up from the floor, and I watch as he puts it back into place, albeit with all the books having tumbled off the shelves. He gives it a gentle shove, then another, before turning to me.
“The legs are slightly uneven,” he points out. “I guess it's not impossible that it could have fallen down without any help.”
“Suddenly?” I reply, still too scared to step away from the window. “Why would it stand there for days and days and then suddenly fall? That doesn't make any sense.”
“So what does make sense?” he asks.
“There were some heavy books at the top,” I point out. “Maybe it was top-heavy, and maybe it was gradually slipping until it just couldn't stay up any longer.” I finally step closer, although my heart is still pounding and I'm not quite convinced by my own explanation. “It has to be that,” I continue, “doesn't it?”
I can see that he's not entirely sure, but the last thing I want is to start talking about ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night. I crouch down and start gathering up some of the books, some of which I remember from when I was a kid. Just as I'm about to start putting them on the shelves again, however, I notice one that I distinctly recall taking to school one day when I was very young, just before everything went to hell. The memory has popped into my head without warning, as if from nowhere, but it's now so crisp and fresh.
I've finally remembered something.
I know I shouldn't look, but I can't help opening the book to the first page, and sure enough I see my own handwriting from when I was seven years old. It's not easy to make out the words, but I find I remember them easily enough.
My daddy's a hero.
I remember we had to write a story about something that had happened to us during the past week. At the time, I thought my father was the bravest, most brilliant man alive, so I wrote a short story – just a few lines long – about how he'd solved a big case. The whole thing was remarkably naive, even for a seven-year-old, and I can't help shuddering as I look at the words I wrote all those years ago. It wasn't long after that day that I began to learn that my father was far from perfect, and frankly I find it hard to believe that I could ever have been so stupid. Even at seven years old, I should have been onto him. I should have sensed his evil.
Still, the odds of this particular book ending up in my hands must be slim. It's almost as if something wanted me to find it again.
“What've you got there?” Brad asks, already putting some of the other books back on the shelves.
“Nothing,” I reply, getting to my feet and hurrying to the door. “Back in a moment.”
Once I'm outside, I toss the book onto the barbecue and douse it with some of the liquid that's used to get a fire started, and then I light a match. As soon as I toss the match onto the book, the liquid ignites and the pages go up in flames, along with my childish, handwritten testament to my father's so-called bravery. I know it might be petty to do something like this, and I'm not exactly a fan of book-burning, but the last thing I want in the house is a reminder of the way I used to worship that man.
Then again, it wasn't just me. For a while, my father was the hero of Railham. He had us all fooled.
Chapter Twenty
Sheriff Michael Blaine
20 years ago
“Do you have a name for the killer yet?” another reporter asks.
“I'm afraid not,” I reply, as more cameras flash all around me. I'm on the steps outside the station, and I swear this must be one of the largest crowds our sleepy little town has ever seen. Outside of the beer festival, anyway. “Preliminary DNA searches haven't given us a match,” I continue, “but we're working on that part of the investigation. If you guys could spread the photo far and wide, we'd sure appreciate that. Someone out there has to recognize his face.”
“But you're confident that he's the killer?” a different reporter asks.
Swallowing hard, I realize that I have no choice but to answer a direction question with a direct answer.
“Yes,” I say, trying to ignore the ripple of guilt in my chest. “We're very confident.”
“What about the circumstances surrounding his death?” a third reporter adds. “How exactly did he come to be hit by a car in the middle of town?”
“That's another part of the story that we're still trying to figure out,” I explain. “We -”
Before I can finish, I spot Lenny standing at the back of the crowd, watching me with a faint smile. For a moment, I feel as if he's almost proud of me for these lies, and I start to feel nauseous. A few seconds later, however, I spot Louisa, and I realize that I have to keep going. I've chosen my course now, and everybody here is relying on me.
“As I explained at the start,” I continue, “we still have some way to go in this investigation. But I called you here today so that you can start getting the word out. It's safe for the people of Railham to let their kids play outside again.” I take a deep breath, but I feel like I need to add something else, something that'll really ram home the point. “It's safe,” I stammer finally. “All safe. Everyone's safe.”
***
“My daddy's a hero!” Alex shouts excitedly. “My daddy's a hero!”
“Hey, not so loud,” I reply, but she's already rushing over to another of her friends from school.
“My daddy's a hero!” she continues with a huge grin. “Did you hear? My daddy caught a bad guy and now everyone's safe because of my daddy! That means he's a hero!”
I open my mouth to tell her that it's not quite like that, but then I feel somebody nudging my arm and I turn to find that Louisa has come over with some water.
“Let her be proud of you,” she says, handing me a glass and kissing the side of my face. “We're both proud of you. I wish this whole awful thing had never happened, but at least it's over now. Imagine if that monster was still at large.” She shudders. “No, wait. Don't imagine that. It's too horrible to even think about.”
Forcing a smile, I try to focus on her words, even though I still feel as if I did the wrong thing. At the same time, as reporters file their stories all around us, I can feel the mood already shifting in town. There's a palpable sense of relief that the nightmare is over, and I've heard several people today admit that they're relieved the perpetrator wasn't someone lo
cal, that evil didn't blossom right here in our midst. Railham has always been a happy, confident town, and it's those qualities that seem to have rebounded this morning now that the news is out. I still can't bring myself to believe that Lenny's methods were correct, but at least I can't argue with the outcome.
I just have to live with my decision.
“What's wrong?” Louisa asks.
I turn to her. “Nothing.”
“I can see it in your eyes. You're still worried about something.”
I shake my head.
“What is it, Mike?”
“I'm just thinking about this afternoon,” I tell her, even though it's sort of a lie, at least by omission. “I still have a lot of work to do, so just look after Alex, okay?”
“But -”
“Don't bug me!”
Pulling away before she can ask more questions, I start making my way through the crowd. All around me, people are congratulating me on my work, and thanking me for making sure that our little town is safe again. Each smiling face, however, just seems to offer an even deeper reminder of the doubts that are knitting together in my chest. I want to stop and shout out the truth, to tell them that Neil Bloom was the killer and that he was essentially taken out into the forest and dealt with like a dangerous animal. I want to tell them that justice took a dark course. By the time I reach the station and head inside, my heart is pounding and I feel as if I'm about to explode.
Stopping at my desk, I lean down for a moment and try to pull my thoughts together. I can still hear the crowd outside, and it's almost as if today is turning into a kind of celebration. And then, as the sense of panic continues to grow, I realize that I should go back out and apologize to Louisa for snapping.
