by Ryan Casey
His grin widened again. He nodded at the camera, blood dripping from his knife, and from Danielle’s left thigh.
“Look closely, Blake Dent. You’re a strong man. Use your mind.”
The camera flickered out to static.
The video was over.
Martha and I sat in complete silence. I listened as cars sped past, as Martha chewed at her nails. Somewhere up the street, kids on bikes shouted at one another as they played out, cycled around, oblivious to the pain and the horror of the world.
I took in a deep breath. Tried to steady my thoughts. “How’s Twitter looking?” I asked.
“Tweets have died down,” Martha said, like she’d been planning that response for ages. “The SaveDanielle hashtag has practically ended. Everyone’s gone very quiet. It’s… it’s scared people, hun. Hose, he’s… he’s won.”
“He’s not won. We can’t let him win.”
Martha gulped. Peered at me with concern. “I hope you’re right.”
I looked up. Squinted down the street, not really looking at anything, not taking anything in. I wanted to give up. I wanted to stop this madness. I wanted to kick back on my sofa with a packet of Lockets and my iPad in hand and shop away for all kinds of new gadgets.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t, because I had a responsibility. I had someone I cared about—someone who I was committed to—that I had to save.
“Harvers Garages,” I said, taking a shaky breath in. “It’s… it’s on the hose. The wax hose in James Scotts’ studio. Harvers Garages. Can’t think why else he’d lead us there, you know?”
Martha stared at me for a few seconds. It was a defeatist look. A look my old dick of a dad once gave me when I really wanted to get into the school football team, and he just knew I didn’t stand a chance.
“Harvers Garages it is,” Martha said.
She pulled away from the kerb. Turned into the road, as James Scotts’ viral response video replayed again and again in my mind.
“You know, she’ll be so proud of you. Danielle. You’ve… Whatever happens. You’ve tried damned hard for her, hun.”
I gulped down a globule of phlegm. Breathed out. “I’m not failing this, Martha. I’m not failing this.”
As we headed down the A6 to Harvers Garages, I wanted to believe myself.
But I knew time was ticking.
Ticking, faster than ever.
TWENTY-NINE
As a rule, I’m not too fond of new places. I preferred my own comforts: my flat, my smoothie stall, the electronics shop just off of Fishergate.
So you can imagine my trepidation when Martha and I walked inside Harvers Garages, roughly the nine-zillionth new place I’d visited today.
It was a small garage that looked like it didn’t get many visitors. Smell of gas in the air, mixed with microwaved pastry. The smell of the pastry reminded me how much I needed to eat. When had I last eaten, anyway?
Shit. When had I even felt like eating?
The door creaked behind us, and a bell rang. It was gloomy in this place, the sky gone grey outside. Behind the counter, past the rows of cheap crisps and shitty car accessories, there was a chubby guy in a red Harvers T-shirt with big, bulging eyes. He didn’t even glance up from his magazine when we entered.
Great. Another hard-ass, by the looks of things.
I went to look at my watch, in light of James Scotts’ assurance that Danielle only had four hours left after my “viral video stunt.”
But Martha grabbed my hand before I could check.
She half-smiled at me. Nodded, as if to tell me that it’s better if I don’t look.
Shit. She was probably right.
I took in a few deep breaths as I approached the desk. The guy still didn’t look up, not even a glance. I stopped right in front of him. Noticed he was reading a porno mag, as the rain pattered against the glass windows.
I cleared my throat.
He didn’t look up.
“Hello?”
“Pump number?”
I shook my head. “No, I… I’m not here for petrol.”
He glanced up from his magazine ever so slightly. Peered at me, and then at Martha.
Yeah. Everyone peered a little longer at Martha. Came with the territory of being transgender, something she seemed accustomed to.
“What you want then?”
I swallowed saliva down my dry throat and tried to remember the last time I’d had a drink, let alone anything to eat. “I’m… I’m Blake Dent. I dunno if you’ve, er… if you’ve heard of me, or not.”
He peered at me. His eyelids twitched. “You some kind of celebrity or summut? ‘Cause I can’t give you a discount. Told Mark Lawrenson that already when he comes marching in here asking for a discount. No celebrity discounts. We got a sign for that.”
He fished out a sign from under his desk. On it, there was a picture of David Beckham with a hand-drawn red cross over his face. No Celebritys! was written underneath, typo intact.
I shook my head. “I’m not here for a discount. Have you… have you heard about James Scotts? About—about the kidnappings? About… about Save Danielle?”
The checkout attendant—whose name tag I noticed as Tim—looked down at his magazine. “Only Danielle I know is this hot mama right here.” He lifted up his magazine. Showed off a photograph of a dark-haired busty woman, completely naked. Tim grinned away, showing off his yellowing teeth.
“Not that Danielle,” Martha said. “As charming as she is.”
Tim put down his magazine, disappointed. He scratched his head. “Well if you don’t mean this Danielle, then I dunno who you mean.”
I bit my lip. Couldn’t help but sigh. I scanned underneath the counter for a newspaper. There had to be an afternoon edition running this shit, right?
“This here, see,” Martha said, holding her smartphone over the counter so Tim could see. Shit—Martha one-upping me on technology. Was I dreaming some kind of bizzaro dream? This wasn’t right. Not one bit.
Tim watched intently. I heard him whistle, let out little laughs, like it was some kind of movie. “Shit. I mean, this stuff’s mad. And you’re this guy? This geezer Blake Dent?”
I nodded.
“Well man you are a celebrity. Say, mind giving me an autograph? I collect ‘um. Only got Scotty Danns’ so far, though.”
“Scotty Danns?” Martha asked.
“Yeah. From the Dead Days TV show, you know?”
“Oh yeah? Which character does he play?”
Tim shook his head. “No, not the show. From the nightclub. He chugs beer through his ass. Famous for it. Such a legend. See, here’s his autograph.”
I raised my eyebrows at the squiggle on the piece of paper as Martha gave me a sideward glance.
Shit. Time was ticking and I was standing here talking about beer chugging. I cleared my throat again. I didn’t have all day. “Tim, I need your help with something.”
“For an autograph?”
I shrugged. “Sure, for an autograph. This guy, James Scotts.”
“Crazy dude on the video tape?”
“Yeah. That’s the one. I have reason to believe he purchased a hose from your garage. A green hose. Now I don’t have a clue when, or whether you were even working, but do you… do you have any CCTV, receipts, anything like that? Just he… I think he’s trying to lead me here. I think the hose was a clue. And there could be another clue right where you wouldn’t even notice it.”
Tim tapped a finger against his chin. “Ahh, see I don’t have permission to go rooting through the office, man. I… It’s above my qualification. I’m just a pawn. Speaking of which, pass me that copy of Asian Babes from the shelf there, would you?”
Martha and I exchanged another stare of disbelief. I shook my head, and Martha crept over to the magazine shelf, grabbed a copy of Asian Babes.
“Is there anyone here who is qualified to take us for a look around the back rooms, offices, whatever they are?”
Tim scratched the back of h
is neck. A cheeky grin spread across his face when Martha planted Asian Babes on the counter. “Nah. Not for another few days. Working extra shifts, sorry. My boss might pop in tomorrow though, so—”
“We don’t have til tomorrow,” I said.
Tim raised his shoulders. He turned a page of Asian Babes. “Sorry, man. Doing what I can.”
I felt myself tightening up inside. Bloody hell. Time for Plan B, then.
Before he could turn the page of Asian Babes, I placed an envelope filled with five-hundred pounds of Fun Funds cash on the counter. Cut me deep to give Fun Funds away like this, but bloody hell—there was a person’s life at stake, so I could see the benefits.
Danielle could pay me back when I’d saved her.
Tim crinkled his forehead. “What’s this?”
“Five-hundred pounds,” I said. “All yours, if you let me take one little look in the office.”
Tim tutted and sighed. “I… I dunno, man. This is bribery. This is—”
“This could save somebody’s life. James Scotts led me here. I need to know whether he visited here. I need to see that CCTV and look at those receipts for green hoses. Because if he did visit here, it’s… I have four hours, Tim. Less than four hours to save my girlfriend’s bloody life. So please. Just a quick look. You know I won’t steal anything, or anything like that.”
Tim sighed. He rubbed his hands together, shook his head.
“One look. But… but please. Don’t tell my boss.”
I rushed around the side of the desk, Martha joining me.
“Just one quick look, I promise.”
Tim looked on as he stuffed the cash-filled envelope under his red shirt.
Martha and I jogged down the corridor. It smelled even gassier down here. There was just one door, just up on the left.
“What you hoping to find in here anyway, hun?” Martha asked. “Quite a leap of logic.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a very intelligent guy. Always one step ahead.”
“I hope you’re right.”
I turned the handle. There had to be something in this office. Some CCTV evidence of James Scotts entering the garage. Credit card receipt, which could lead us to his most recent location.
Something. Anything.
Yes, I was clutching at straws. But what else did I have?
I pushed the office door open.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
I swung around. Looked to my left.
I thought I recognised the voice when I heard it, but I didn’t understand. This… this didn’t make sense.
There was a guy standing at the end of the corridor. He was wearing a suit with a blue tie. He had the same soft, big-eyed look as in the videos, only his hair was shorter, shaven even.
“I tried to stop them, boss,” Tim begged. “I—I tried to—”
“Well you didn’t try hard enough,” he said.
He walked down the corridor while my heart pounded, my mind raced.
It was James Scotts.
And he was coming in our direction.
THIRTY
“So you’re his brother?”
Andy Scotts sat back in his office chair. It was crazy how much like his brother, James Scotts, he looked. Same dark eyes. Same crinkly grin. Only real difference was the hair—Andy’s was shorter. Andy looked a little more slight than his brother, too.
“It’s not something I boast about,” Andy said. “Water?” He opened up a bottle and poured some into a plastic cup.
“No thanks,” I said, even though my throat was dry. Martha refused too.
Andy shrugged. Sipped on his water.
I looked around his office. It was pretty warm in here, considering it was going dark outside. The walls were lined with printed spreadsheets, annoyingly spread over several pages rather than reduced to fit one or two. Another inept computer user, then.
Was there such thing as an adept computer user? Me aside?
“Not something you boast about?” Martha said. “You and your brother not get on?”
Andy Scotts smiled. Shook his head. “My brother getting on with anyone? Now that’s hard to imagine. Always was a jerk. Didn’t have any friends. Hated his family. Used to bully me when I was younger. You know, lock me in cupboards, things like that. I’d love to say I’m surprised he’s turned out a wackjob, but… well, I’m not.”
“I’m sensing animosity,” Martha said. I continued to look around Andy’s office. Look at the family photos—Andy, a blonde woman, a young girl with dark curly locks.
Andy took another sip of his water. “I didn’t keep in touch with James. Some people say family bond is all you need. I call bullshit. Why would I keep in touch with someone I can’t stand?”
“When did you last see him?” I asked.
Andy puffed out his lips. “Last week, actually.”
“Wait—you saw him last week? And yet you don’t keep in touch?”
Andy leaned forward. Intertwined his fingers. “Oh believe me, we didn’t stop to chat. One of our shop fronters reported some items gone missing. A few hoses, car batteries, things like that. I check CCTV, and lo and behold…”
“Your brother,” Martha said.
Andy nodded. “Bingo. Sneaking in, taking the stuff, leaving. Didn’t even leave a thank you note.”
“When was the last time you saw him before then?” Martha asked.
Andy shrugged. Took another sip of his water. “Years. Mum’s funeral. Although he didn’t stay there long. Didn’t bother with Dad’s funeral. Ungrateful little shit.”
“And what about his wife?” I cut in. “If nobody liked him, then what happened there?”
Andy Scotts poured another cup of water. Offered it again, to which we refused again. “She was just as nutty as him. No family, no friends. And along comes hero James to save her from her bullshit life. Only to have hell wreaked on her. Poor dumbass.”
Martha shook her head. “It just… it doesn’t seem right.”
Andy snorted. “You’re tellin’ me. Killing another person always does have an off vibe about it, right?”
“It’s just there must’ve been something that… something that prompted this,” Martha continued. “Why would he suddenly start killing people? And leaving clues? It’s like he enjoys being chased. Like this is all one big game to him.”
Andy smirked. Leaned across his desk. “Martha, is it?”
“Uh huh.”
“Martha. One thing you have to learn about the world is that sometimes, people are just wired up wrong. The television, the books, the whole medical industry and the liberals, they try to convince the world that nobody is bad, not really. That everyone is born a blank canvas for the world to either paint with pretty colours or shit on. But that’s not true. Some people are just born evil. Some people are born craving the spotlight for all the wrong reasons. My brother is one of those people.”
I paused to mull Andy’s words over a few moments. Bloke really did have a downer on his brother.
“Frankly, I don’t care what started his spree,” I said. “As long as I can finish it in the next…” My stomach sank when I saw it was nearly 7 p.m. “In the next three hours. Where… do you know where James Scotts lived?”
“Where didn’t he live. He’s always moving around, house to house, flat to flat. Don’t they say that’s a trait of a serial killer? Itchy feet?”
“And what about jobs?” Martha asked.
Andy scratched his head. Loosened his tie. “Last I heard, he was working at some doggy day care place.”
“God help the dogs,” Martha said.
“Right.” Andy’s smile widened. The doggy day care claim matched the tweet about a few sightings of him working at Lichfield’s Doggy Nursery a few weeks back.
Andy stretched out his arms. “Look, I… I wish I could be of more help. Like I say, I’m not very close to James. Nobody is, really. And I’ve got to get back to my family. I… If you want, you can take a look at the CCTV while I’m go
ne. As long as you don’t take anything—”
“Why did you come here?” I asked. My face went hot the second I did. Not sure where those words came from.
Andy frowned. “What d’you mean?”
Shit. Had to finish what I’d started now. “The guy behind the counter. Tim. He said you weren’t due here for a while. Tomorrow, or a few days, I think he said. What brought you here?”
Andy tightened up his tie. Broke into that smile of his again. “Even a garage owner needs petrol. Prefer to contribute to the profits of this place rather than fuelling the competition.”
I wasn’t sure whether the “fuelling” part was a joke or not.
Regardless, I didn’t laugh.
“Again, I’m really sorry about your girlfriend. I wish I could be of more help. And I… I understand you not wanting to go to the police. It’s… It’s a hard ass situation to be in, no doubt.”
I nodded. “Something like that.”
Andy patted me on the back. Shook Martha’s hand, as we stood up in his cramped, isolated office.
“I’ll leave the key with you. Trust you to lock it up more than Tim, anyway. Should probably start being more careful.”
“That you should,” I said. I forced a smile of my own.
Andy shook my hand again. Nodded, walked away.
“Good luck,” he said. “And… and give that idiot brother of mine a punch from me.”
“Oh believe me, I will,” I said.
I watched as Andy rounded the corner of his own office. Listened, as his footsteps echoed down the corridor, as he chatted to Tim on the front desk.
“What now?” Martha asked.
I listened. Waited until I heard the bell of the main door ring.
When it did, I walked out of the office.
“Woah, Blake—wait. Where you going?”
My heart thumped. I wanted to carry on walking, but I felt something stopping me and realised it was Martha’s hand on my jacket.
She frowned at me. “We need to check this place out, hun. Like you said. We need to—”
