He wasn't looking for a killer, he was sat becoming increasingly ripe for no good reason. He wasn't doing anything more valuable than sitting in the discarded packaging of processed snack foods, which now contributed to the fog of toxic stench Burnett had brewing.
'Oh, fuck this,' he said to the empty car, and opened the door.
His knees popped loudly as he stretched his legs out. He looked over at the hotel that served as a rudimentary refuge. The call of a comfortable bed was too strong. Should his psychotic murderer turn up in his room, Burnett might just let the man be done with him, so long as he didn't have to get out of his bed to die.
He entered the reception of the hotel, the gloom in sharp contrast to the sunshine outside. Candles were lit along one wall, their flickering light showing the priest sat behind the reception desk.
'Ah, Detective,' he said.
Burnett squinted through his sleep-deprived eyes. The priest wore his own dog-collared uniform. 'Your Holiness,' he answered.
'It's Father, actually,' he replied. If Burnett's slight had any impact on him he was gracious enough to ignore it.
'Sorry.'
'So, you've decided to give up your vigil, have you?'
'You saw me then?'
'I did. Very noble of you.'
'Hmm. Well it looks to be safe out there for now, and I could do with a wash,'
'I can imagine. Well there are some rooms free on the third and fourth floor. There's no hot water, but I can have someone bring you up some from the kitchen if you like?'
'Thanks,' Burnett replied. 'Give me a room on the fourth floor, facing the front, will you?'
'Of course,' the priest replied, and fished out a key.
'Thanks,' Burnett said, and started up the stairs.
In the past, Burnett would have called his room desperate, but his need transformed its wire frame bed and lumpy mattress into the height of opulence. He hadn't planned to sleep, but sleep came nonetheless.
* * * * *
He awoke to darkness and a rising panic. He sat up on the bed and saw a crack of gloom issuing through the curtains. He became aware of his own stench. It had reached a point where it was even making himself gag, so he could only imagine how bad it must be. He went to the bathroom but could only get cold from the tap. Remembering the priest's words he put his shoes on and left the room.
All was silent until he neared the ground floor, when he started to hear snatches of voices, allaying the fears that had festered in the silence. He opened the stairwell and walked straight into Tana, who gave a decidedly un-rugby-player whelp of surprise.
'Christ, Detective,' he big man said. 'You proper put the shits up me. Reverend mentioned you'd left the car. Feeling better?'
'Um, yeah, much,' Burnett mumbled.
'Not surprising, nap you've had.'
'How long was I up there?'
'Over a day,' Tana said. 'Don't you worry, I've been keeping an eye out. No sign of our man. You did miss all the excitement though.'
'What excitement?'
'Busload came in yesterday afternoon. Pretty shook up, too. I tried to question some of them, but they didn't want to talk about it. I figured they'd be best off talking to you.'
'Right,' Burnett said.
'Maybe after you've had a chance to clean up a bit though, eh?'
'That bad?'
'I'm surprised I didn't smell you coming. But, good news, we've got a working water heater now. It's not powerful enough to reach the rooms yet, but we've got hot water in the kitchens, and the showers in the changing rooms are working.'
'How did you manage that?' Burnett asked.
'Another new arrival this morning; a couple, actually. Turns out he's a plumber. Came in his van and everything. He hooked it up no bother. He said pretty much everything got knocked out in the storm, but he reckons anything not dependent on electricity or computers can be coaxed back to life, as long as there's gas in the pipes.'
'Good work,' Burnett said, impressed. 'How's it going other than that?'
'Not too bad. We're starting to get a few people who know what they're doing. We're low on food already though, and there's so many rumours and theories flying about you don't know who to believe.'
'Any problems?' Burnett asked. 'Fights, anything?'
'A few scuffles,' Tana replied. 'Nothing I couldn't handle. At the moment we've just about got enough to go around. For the most part people are happy to find a safe place. I get the impression it's pretty bad out there.'
'Well,' Burnett replied, 'it might be okay now, but wait until you run out of food or water, or rooms even. Once things get scarce, you might find the spirit of camaraderie only goes so far.'
Tana flashed him a dirty look. 'It beats not trying at all.'
He walked away. Burnett immediately regretted his words.
'Tana,' he called after him, 'I didn't mean…' but Tana was gone.
'For fuck's sake,' Burnett said to the empty corridor.
He trudged off in search of the shower block. There seemed to be a queue, but one look at the dishevelled detective and the crowd parted, until he found himself at the front. Burnett wondered if it was pity or self-interest, and settled on a mix of both. He wasn't about to complain, however, and soon he'd left his filthy clothes in a crumpled pile, picked up a towel and stepped into a cubicle. The shower was tepid and barely functioning, but at least the water was clean.
It took three tiny soaps before he started to feel halfway clean, and he lathered away until the stench abated. There was no shampoo for his matted hair or his bearded face, so he rubbed them with mini soaps, too, until finally he stood there, scrubbed red raw but clean.
He left the cubicle like a man taking his first steps. His dirty clothes had disappeared, replaced by a neat pile of clean underwear, jeans, a T-shirt, and a jumper.
The Reverend waited for him outside. 'Detective Burnett, I hardly recognise you!' he said, clasping Burnett round the shoulder.
'Your doing, I presume?' Burnett replied, holding up the jumper.
'I could call it divine provenance, but that might be over-egging it a bit. Don't think I've forgotten that you saved my life, Detective. Anyway, we've started pooling a collective clothing store for newcomers. So many of them are in a bad state when they get here.'
'It's much appreciated,' Burnett said.
'You're welcome, Detective, but in return I'd like a favour.'
'Oh?' Burnett said, trying to dislodge the water from his ears as he walked.
'Yes, it's nothing big. It's just, Tony told me about your, well, conversation.'
'Tony?' Burnett asked, confused.
'PC Tana,' the priest replied.
'That Tony. Right.'
'I wanted to say that I understand your concerns, I do. I share them too. But what we have here is quite fragile as it is, so…'
'So you'd rather I didn't walk the corridors spreading ill cheer and pessimism?'
'Exactly.'
'Don't worry, Father, I'll be the model of cooperative engagement.'
'Excellent. Now I understand you'll be wanting to talk to our new arrivals?'
'If that's okay?' Burnett asked.
'Of course. I'd like to know what happened to them myself, but it seems few of them are comforted by the sight of the clergy, so I think it'd be best in your hands.'
Burnett almost said something about perhaps not dressing in full priest get up, but looked into the priest's eyes and saw the tiredness in them.
'Maybe the police, or what passes for it now, will have better luck,' he said, offering a smile.
'I hope so,' the priest replied.
* * * * *
The interviews could wait. Burnett hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours, so he wandered into the kitchen. A tall moustachioed man seemed to be in charge, and he barked orders to a woman about sending out a food search party. On the stove a pot of some unknown food bubbled away, the smell making Burnett's mouth water. The man took one look at him, sloshed a ladle from the
pot, slung it in a bowl, handed it to the detective with barely a look, and launched into a list of the things he desperately needed to the woman, who hastily scribbled his instructions onto a scrap of paper.
He made his way into the restaurant, which was half-full of people sitting in little clusters, talking to each other in whispers, or sitting in silence. Burnett found a table to himself and sat. The food was an odd mix of different vegetables, tinned goods and potatoes, but it was hearty and tasty, and Burnett felt it warm him through with every spoonful. He finished it and pushed the bowl away. He leaned back in the chair and put his feet up on the one opposite. He felt the anger starting to subside, and wondered again whether the priest and Tana didn't have the right end of things, after all.
He was one man, an ex-copper for a force that no longer existed, chasing another man who may or may not even still be alive. Looking for what? Justice? What gave him the right? Wouldn't he be better off looking to make a positive impact in this fucked up situation?
He closed his eyes and thought. Somewhere along the train of thought he started drifting off to sleep, until he became aware of someone standing over him. The killer's face floated before his closed eyes for a second.
He sat bolt upright. It wasn't the killer, but rather a rotund bearded man, looking as startled by Burnett's sudden movement as he was.
'Detective?' he asked.
'Excuse me,' Burnett replied, embarrassed. 'Yes?'
'Hi, I'm Philip. I came in on the bus yesterday.'
Burnett looked him over. Experience told him this was a victim. His eyes could not meet Burnett's, his hands were worried red, and he stood slightly slouched.
'Take a seat.' The man obliged. 'The Reverend said you've had a bit of an ordeal?'
'You could say that, yes,' Philip replied.
'Tell me about it,' Burnett said.
'Before I do, I want to make sure, you are Detective Burnett, aren't you?'
'Yes. Why do you ask?'
'Because I have a message for you.'
Philip stood, and pulled a small pistol from his pocket. He raised it at Burnett, who only had a split second to react. The bang was so loud that Burnett was sure he must be dead, and he fell backwards from his chair, knocking the table sideways as he went. His ears seemed to implode and everything following the bang was a whistle.
He didn't hear the scream of the man who shot him, but as he hit the ground he saw the man's face twisted in hatred and pain. He raised the gun again and pointed it at Burnett's head.
Burnett kicked up, instinctively, knocking the gun upward. He didn't hear it go off, but saw the flare of the barrel as the man's second shot went up into the ceiling. The gun flew out of his attacker's hand, but it didn't deter him for a second. Philip fell on Burnett, his hands clasping around Burnett's neck.
Something knocked the big man sideways. Tana wrestled his attacker to the ground. Burnett scurried away like a wounded animal, watching as his partner knocked Philip unconscious with his elbow. Burnett clasped at his neck struggling for air. What the fuck could lead a man he'd never met before to try to kill him?
Chapter Eighteen
Aimless Arrow
A few weeks ago Jen might have looked at this well-tailored basement with a degree of envy, bedecked as it was with rock and roll memorabilia, an old fashioned jukebox and two sofas. Now it was nothing more than an elaborately furnished prison, the only light coming through a tiny window which showed nothing more than a dull echo of the room it once was.
Despite their many protestations to the contrary, the three of them were herded into this place for their supposed part in the defenestration of an old lady. Sam nearly managed to break free of the assembled mob of pensioners, but not quite, and so they had been hastily bundled into this cellar, from which they had listened to the barricades being erected. Since then there had been silence.
That was three days ago. They had discovered a well-stocked bar, but save for a few packets of salted peanuts and a fridge with a few bottles of pop, they had nothing tangible to survive on. The booze had kept them well entertained for the first night, but they had paid for it the next day.
At least once a day, Sam would try to escape, but the door remained locked. The window was both too high to reach and too small for even Mira to squeeze through.
Panic had set in at first, then given way to weary resignation and frustration.
'Fuck's sake, I'm hungry,' Mira moaned from the other sofa.
'I know,' Jen said.
'You think they've forgotten about us down here?' Sam asked.
'Sam, they think we're psychotic murderers capable of butchering a little old lady,' Mira replied. 'They're not going to be in much of a hurry to come down here and give us food.'
'There's always the chance that whoever killed Joan killed the rest of them and now we're stuck down here until we die of starvation,' Jen said.
'Great,' Sam said.
These three days had been awful. There was no toilet, so they had set up a bucket in one corner and covered it with a rudimentary lid so as not to stink out their prison, but to no avail. The stench of their own filth, sweat, and fear was now so strong it burnt Jen's nostrils.
Jen stared at the door again, willing it to open. She still had no clue what had happened out there, but became ever more accustomed to the idea she was going to die in this basement. Knowing it didn't make the prospect any less terrifying.
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
Jen sat bolt upright. They'd not heard a sound in days.
Another creak. A muffled voice.
They screamed at the top of their lungs.
'Help! Down here!'
Jen screamed until her throat hurt. They stopped as one and stared at the door. Jen thought she could hear muffled voices from the other side, but over the hammering of her heart, it was hard to tell.
There was a scraping sound, wood dragged across floorboards, and the sound of a key turning in a lock.
They had no way to defend themselves against whatever might come through the door, but Jen was so desperate to get out of the basement that she was willing to accept the devil himself as her liberator.
The door opened, and a face edged through the doorway. He was dark skinned, in his forties, Jen thought. His hair was thin, and the area under his eyes was several notches darker than the rest of his face. He wore the hangdog wearied look of a broken man, and his didn't strike her as a face she ought to fear.
The smell hit his nostrils and his face wrinkled. He saw the three of them and his face fell.
'Jesus,' he said. 'What happened to you lot?'
They made no answer, but trudged up the steps, not taking their eyes off the man, who in turn stepped back from them with a look of uncertainty. At the top of the stairs they stepped into the corridor, where a woman stood, looking even more anxious than her partner. Jen guessed she was the one arguing not to open the cellar door. She couldn't blame her, although she was glad the bitch had lost the argument.
'You guys must be starving,' the man said, trying to feign a cheerful hospitality.
'Water,' Jen said. The man scurried off and came back with tall glasses of tap water. Jen gulped hers down, her companions doing the same.
'Thanks,' she said to the man.
'What were you doing down there?' the woman asked.
'Do you mean what did we do to get barricaded in a cellar?' Jen replied, unable to hide the annoyance at the woman's tone from her voice. 'Absolutely nothing. Where is everyone else?'
'There's nobody else here,' the man replied. 'The village is deserted.'
'What about the body?' Mira asked.
'What body?' the woman asked.
'There was a body outside,' Sam said. 'It was… not in a good way.'
'We didn't see any bodies,' the man said. 'In fact, we were remarking on how this seemed to be the cleanest place we've seen so far.'
Jen nodded. 'There were people here before. Good people. We came here a few days back a
nd they welcomed us with open arms. Something terrible happened to one of them, and with us being the newcomers, they assumed it was us. That's why they locked us down here.'
'They must have taken Joan down and buried her, then left,' Mira said.
Jen nodded.
'I need something to eat,' Sam said, and went into the kitchen.
Jen looked them over. They looked like a couple, like the kind of people who seem to morph into one entity when they start seeing each other, with their matching generic clothes.
'So what about you two?' she asked.
'What about us?' the woman replied, curtly.
'I'm Nadim, this is Tanuja,' the man said, uncomfortable with the tension in the air.
Either that or he's used to having to cover up for his wife's bullshit.
'Hi,' she said. 'I'm Jen, this is Mira, and that's Sam in there.' She offered her hand out. Nadim took it enthusiastically, Tanuja gave as derisory a handshake as possible. She looked over Mira with a questioning look, but said nothing.
'We've had a tough few days of it too,' Nadim said. 'Maybe not as bad as you three. We were on a coach a few days ago, but it came under siege from looters. It was, well, it wasn't nice. We decided to go it alone after that.'
'You two married?' Jen asked.
Nadim nodded. Tanuja ratcheted her glare up a notch.
Are you jealous because this stuck-up cow got to keep her man when the storm left yours dead against a radiator?
'Well I think we'd better be on our way,' Tanuja said.
Nadim nodded.
'Thanks for letting us out,' Mira said.
The woman gave her a half smile and headed for the front door. She was halfway into the street when the arrow struck through her left eye, sending her flying backwards through the open doorway and back into the house.
Mira and Jen froze, but Nadim reacted with a wail and rushed towards his wife before her lifeless body had even hit the ground. Jen saw the back of the arrow protruding from Tanuja's skull and knew there was no hope.
Nadim reached his wife. He barely had time to lift her torso to cradle her head when the second arrow came through the open doorway and pierced his neck, cutting off his wracking sobs.
Blood on the Motorway, #1 Page 14
