Janes sealed his lips together tight. Moisture oozed from his forehead. He panted heavily through his nose. Solomon looked down on him from a distance of a couple of metres and extended his arm – the one holding the gun pointed at Janes’s head.
‘Yes.’
Vincent edged closer. ‘That’s the correct answer. If you tell me who it was I might let you live.’
‘Might?’ his tone was weak.
‘Yeah, might,’ Vincent said. ‘Hands on the floor in front of you now.’ Janes did as he was told. ‘Don’t move.’ Solomon rested the gun on the back of Janes’s neck and applied a little pressure. ‘Who killed him?’ The usual gentle tone.
‘An oath’s an oath, you know that. I swore I’d never –’
‘Divulge? You’re willing to die for that promise are you? Right now? Tell you what, I’m going to count down from five and then you’re going to produce a name and it had better be the right one. Five. Four. Three. Two –’
‘Holloway,’ he spat. ‘Seth Holloway.’ A long pause and some panting. ‘He didn’t work alone. He had an accomplice who guarded the door.’
‘Who was his accomplice?’
‘Marcus Payne. Convicted murderer. He has a life sentence. They said there was a third person, just to cement their testimony, but it’s not true. Only Payne and Holloway present.’
Solomon continued to press the gun to the back of Reggie’s neck. ‘Is Holloway still inside, or is he out?’
‘In. Due for parole in a few months.’
‘I can’t wait that long to get even, Reggie, which has put me in a really bad mood. It might be Hamilton’s fault that my dad got locked up but it’s because of you that he was brutally murdered. Do you know what the Bible says about that?’
Janes was panting. ‘The Bible?’
‘That’s right. An eye for an eye, isn’t that what it says? God’s orders, not mine. Man’s terminology is a bit different – what goes around, comes around. So strictly speaking then, you’re responsible for a brutal murder. So what do you suppose I should do with you now?’
The back of his neck was becoming wet and slimy. ‘You said you might let me live.’
‘So I did.’ Vincent drew a coin from his pocket. ‘Let’s toss for it shall we? Heads you live, tails you don’t. Solomon flicked the coin in the air with the finger and thumb of his left hand while he pinned Reggie still with the other. Janes had his eyes fixed on the floor and didn’t move even when the coin clattered to a stop on the floor behind him. He was breathing heavily.
‘Ah!’ Vincent said. ‘Did you ever think you’d die as a result of a tossed coin?’
Reggie shook his head carefully. ‘He killed your mother,’ he blurted out.
‘Pardon?’
‘That’s what he told me, Jimmy, that he killed his wife. And the other one – Charlie’s mother.’
Vincent froze with shock. His limbs stiffened. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Your mum the artist? He had her bumped off. She was hit by a car on Jimmy’s orders. The guy got paid, your dad got a fortune in compensation and insurance money. And the other, Charlie’s mum, he poisoned her. Tiny doses every day until her heart failed. It’s the truth. He had no remorse. I lost respect for him when I found that out. Stripping kids of their mothers. Low, even for a con. You’re all better off without him. That’s why you should give Holloway a break.’
‘I intend to. Starting with his legs.’
‘He did you a favour. So did I. Pull the trigger if you’re determined to, but you’ll end up in a hellhole for nothing.’
Vincent’s finger was losing strength on the trigger. ‘If you lost respect for my dad, why are you carrying out his wishes and killing Hamilton’s pet? Makes no sense.’
‘I didn’t kill the dog. I got in the garden and found it attached to a tree by a long lead. I let him off the lead and took him over to the bins to hide. Threw down some fresh meat, and while he was busy eating, I attached the coin to the collar. Then I fastened him up again.’
‘What coin?’
‘Your dad talked about the Hamiltons a lot, what he’d do to them when he got out because you weren’t up to the job. Don’t shoot the messenger, just telling you what he said. The coin I attached to the dog had once been Henry’s. Your dad stole it from Henry when they were at school. His initials were inscribed on it. Henry would know where that coin had come from – a message from his old classmate from beyond the grave. I was hoping it’d freak him out enough to get the hell out of Manchester. That’s it. I didn’t kill a dog. Quit the violence now. Let things lie, Vincent.’
‘Lie. Now there’s a good word.’
‘I’m telling the truth. I committed armed robbery years ago because I needed money for drugs. I served my time and now I don’t owe anyone anything. If you stir things up with Holloway, he’ll know I’ve talked and when he gets out, he’ll come after me. Holloway’s mum was murdered when he was a kid, same as yours. That’s why he turned on Jimmy.’
Solomon was still, his thoughts in turmoil. Jimmy had murdered his mother? And Charlie’s? He thought of the hours spent alone as a child. His dad absent. Charlie out, looking for trouble. Thought of the brutal things he’d witnessed too young. Thought of the time spent at Joel’s house – a dump of a place that was always warm and carried the scent of home cooking. He could see Joel now – a little blond kid, arms bound around his mother’s legs. And he could still picture Sandra Martin, picking Joel up, showering him with reassurance. He remembered the way she’d open her arms to Vincent and how he’d always shake his head, hang back, hating her, hating Joel. It was easier than accepting them, back then. All these thoughts fired rapidly through his head while his fingers tensed around the handle of the gun, his forefinger on the trigger.
In a decisive move, he flipped the gun over and bashed the blunt handle into the back of Reggie’s head and Reggie slumped on the floor, groaning. He’d live.
‘Bye, Reggie.’
Solomon sidestepped him and returned the gun to his jacket pocket while he made his way out of the front door and closed it behind him, carrying the firm impression as he walked briskly to his car, that he’d never see Reggie Janes again.
***
Poetry class, again. It was due to begin in fifteen minutes and Dan didn’t want to go. He didn’t have two minds on the matter, just one, firm in its view that living was preferable to dying and that in order to best preserve self, staying away from Seth Holloway was imperative. Thoughts of the class seemed to inject poison into Dan’s bloodstream, causing his muscles to twitch, interfering with his ability to do simple tasks such as sitting, concentrating. But avoiding Holloway was only postponing the inevitable – the time when they’d collide in this place whether Dan was prepared or not. Even the part of Dan’s mind that was responsible for keeping him alive and in one piece accepted that hiding was a terrible option. Plus it sent a bad message. Was there a good message to send? Not really. But a bad one? Certainly.
Which left Dan without a choice. Determined to get to the class early and select a seat rather than having to occupy the only available one again, Dan headed for the dim and joyless room that had darkened his mood for a week. His defences were wide awake, on the lookout, as if sitting on a towering chair that afforded a panoramic view, a view which was ready at any given moment to sharpen his eyesight, attune his hearing, power his muscles, speed his thinking. His skin, the outermost layer of him, was prickling, as if all the fine hairs were pushing against his clothing, an attempt to create some distance between himself and anything threatening to restrict him.
He made it to the so-called classroom only to find a note on the door which said, Gavin sick. Class cancelled. Four words had the miraculous effect of unlocking his muscles and sinews against his frame. He could return to the confines of his cell, buoyed by the knowledge that he hadn’t chickened out. It felt like divine intervention or something, a glorious reprieve. His defences blinked now, began to step down from the towering chair. Until he turned to find Se
th Holloway striding towards him. And then everything realigned, shifted, stiffened.
Dan stalled, uncertain suddenly, fearful and watchful. He’d never imagined this scene. He’d been forced to picture the situation of a small group and straining to get through the hour. But being alone with Seth had never entered even the margins of his consciousness, so he found himself without a script. His tongue felt swollen and useless in his mouth.
Holloway was closing the gap. CCTV cameras were in the communal areas, eyes on the ceiling keeping a close watch on the antics of Britain’s worst offenders away from their cells. No cameras in the showers though, which is why Dan hated them so much. He wondered if there were any in the corners of this narrow corridor. Too late to scan the ceiling now. He wouldn’t show Holloway how tense he felt. The possibility of cameras was Dan’s only comfort as Skinhead drew near. He was preparing for parole. Model behaviour was essential. They both knew it.
‘Where’ve you been hiding, Stone? I’ve been wanting a word with you.’
‘I haven’t been hiding,’ Dan barked, more defensively than intended. He softened his tone. ‘I’m here aren’t I?’ He pushed a hand through his hair and found that his forehead was clammy. ‘Anyway, class is cancelled.’ He was trying to look cool and unruffled and was certain he was failing.
Holloway nodded carefully, didn’t appear to be thinking about the cancelled class at all. Dan wondered if he’d been the last to learn that class was off. No surprise registered on Holloway’s face at all. He fixed his eyes on Dan, a jade stare full of menace and threat. His head shone beneath the glare of strip lighting. Dan confessed to himself, grudgingly, that Holloway’s agenda here had little to do with poetry.
Holloway shuffled closer to Dan and said quietly, ‘Can’t let things lie, Stone, not the way they were left.’
This comment made Dan’s biceps solidify. He wanted to leave, but he’d have to barge past Holloway to do it. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean you know stuff, which puts me in a bit of a position.’
‘Only if you’re guilty.’
‘What is it with you? You’ve been in this place five minutes and you’re causing waves. No one needs waves, man. Calm waters needed for my ticket out.’
‘I’m no threat,’ Dan said. ‘I’m not going to talk.’
‘You are talking. You’re asking questions, poking around.’
‘I’m done, OK? Just wanted to know how Jimmy had died and now I know. End of.’
Holloway shook his head. ‘You enter an oath of silence with Payne and me. Slash your palm and join blood with us, then we know we can trust you.’
Dan hesitated, looked over Holloway’s shoulder. The end of the corridor was a few metres away. Dan was sure that a shadow shifted on the floor where the corridor went into a ninety degree turn, yet nobody appeared.
‘I’m a doctor.’
‘So?’
‘So doctors know that it’s bad practice to mix blood with other people. I don’t know your history, or Payne’s. I’m not entering any oath that way. You’ll have to take my word instead and I’ve told you, I’m not going to talk. I’ve no interest in stirring trouble. I’m just trying to do my time, same as you.’
‘That right? Except one of the lads in here, mate of mine, has a mobile phone. I’m not saying who in case you grass him up. Guess what I just found out?’ He paused. Dan barely dared to blink. ‘Got a text earlier to say that Reggie had a visit from Vincent Solomon who drew a gun and threatened to kill him. News travels fast doesn’t it? What do you make of that?’
‘How should I know?’ Dan lied, voice raised as if he was outraged. He was finding it hard to keep still. All his instincts were screaming at him to get away, return to his cell, lock himself in. ‘So Solomon wanted to track Reggie down and he found him. What’s that got to do with me?’
Skinhead was almost smiling, but his eyes were full of hate. ‘Exactly what I was wondering. All I know is that everything was ticking over nicely before you came in here, and suddenly –’
‘Everything was fine in my world before I came in here too. I’m innocent, remember? Falsely accused. If my appeal fails, then I’ll do my time and get out. I’m no threat to anyone, right?’
‘Wrong. I’d be a fool to trust you. I’m no fool.’ He stood taller, spread his feet, a road block in front of Dan. No way out. Dead end behind him. No right turn beyond Holloway. The shadow shifted again at the end of the corridor. Dan saw it slink across the floor. Someone was just around the corner. Dan instinctively knew that it was Payne. The thought occurred to him and then Skinhead said, ‘Marcus is here.’
‘Course he is,’ Dan said, conscious of the need to blink, but straining not to.
‘Last chance, Stone. You going to make an oath with us?’
Dan didn’t answer. His mind was calculating distance now, the gaps either side of Holloway, the sudden impulse he felt to charge forward. Left or right? Holloway wasn’t going to let him go this time, so it was all about timing now. And Payne was keeping guard right round the corner. Dan was standing stock still, eyeing Seth, careful not to look where he intended to go while simultaneously concluding that the element of surprise was his best hope. With that thought, he bolted forward, opting for the narrow gap to Holloway’s right.
The next few moments were a blur. Dan hurled himself into the space, which Holloway tried to block, but somehow he lost balance and clawed at Dan’s top, halting his flight. Next second, they both hit the floor. Dan kicked free and scrambled to his feet, but Holloway was just as quick and he was up too, right behind, issuing threats. There was about a ten, fifteen metre stretch to the end of the corridor. Payne’s head appeared round the corner. Dan was sprinting towards him and there was only one way to turn at the end, left, directly into Payne’s path.
‘Get him,’ Holloway said from behind Dan.
There was no thinking time, yet everything seemed to slow for Dan. One metre before the turn in the corridor, Holloway hot at his heels, Dan suddenly knew not to round that corner and take on Payne. Instead, Dan lunged sideways, flattening himself against the far wall dodging Holloway, wrong-footing him. Next thing Dan knew, Payne had rounded the corner and Holloway went crashing to the floor, a knife lodged in his chest.
Payne froze, shock twisted his features. Dan, back to the wall, didn’t move. A stream of blood flowed away from Holloway. Holloway was groaning on the floor, writhing in a scarlet pool. Payne was wearing white plastic gloves, Dan noted. No prints on the knife. Payne took in the scene, glanced from Holloway to Dan, then turned and ran.
Dan sidestepped the incoming tide.
‘Help me,’ Holloway wailed from the floor. He was trying to stand. ‘Marcus!’ he yelled. ‘Marcus!’ But Marcus had gone.
Holloway was wildly swiping at the knife, trying to yank it free of his chest. Dan lunged forward and fell to his knees, immersing himself in blood, grabbing Holloway’s arms to restrain him. ‘Leave it,’ he shouted. ‘Pull the plug, you’ll die. Somebody help us,’ Dan hollered, top pitch.
‘Marcus!’ Holloway screamed.
‘He’s gone.’
‘To get help?’ Holloway wailed.
Dan was struggling to hold Holloway still. Course Marcus Payne wasn’t going for help. He was saving his own skin. Still, Dan said. ‘Yeah, yeah for help. Be still, Seth. Breathe, OK? You’re going to be fine.’ Dan looked up. The corridor was empty. ‘Somebody help us,’ Dan spewed, the pit of his stomach straining with the effort of yelling. He could do nothing to treat Holloway while he was still writhing beneath him. Then he heard hurried footsteps and a guard rounded the corner, followed by another.
‘Hang in there, Seth.’ Seth was losing the battle, muscles slackening, his body becoming a dead weight in Dan’s arms.
‘You’re going to pay for this, Stone,’ Seth Holloway spat at Dan, a moment before his eyes closed and he passed out.
45
Solomon’s head was in a mess. He hated it this way. Past. Present. Future. His though
ts were sliding back, lurching forward. Driving home would test his concentration. He needed space, semi-silence, scope to move – not the collision of head traffic and signs, diversions, complications. It was as though there wasn’t enough room in his mind for all the things he was trying to process, which gave him an instant and acute headache.
At the same time, a lot was beginning to add up, make sense. He’d sort all the mental junk and retain the gems given time, but he needed to be alone. He needed to sleep.
He’d discovered that sleep, if he was lucky enough to find it, helped manage the traffic. His subconscious mind, a magical and mysterious realm, had the freedom to begin the job of restoring order again. Occasionally, he’d manage to resurface during the golden moment that his subconscious mind was delivering an important sermon. Some colourful image, an abstract scene and he’d have a slim opportunity to grasp hold of a personal parable and hang on. Or the window would shut and something precious would be forever lost.
Solomon dropped into his car. It was automatic. So were his movements as he robotically ignited the engine and drove home.
About the last person he wanted to see was Charlie, yet here she was, sitting in her car on his drive, obstructing his entrance to his garage. And Naomi was at the window, peering out. Vincent flooded with rage and blasted a string of expletives at his empty car. He was feeling a loss of control and with it, a brand of fury that he resented. How dare Charlie come here, reveal herself like this under Naomi’s glare and simultaneously expose him?
He pulled up centimetres from her back bumper and got out of the car. She got out of hers.
‘About time.’ She was glaring at him icily.
Giving her no eye contact, he marched past her, pointing his remote at his garage door. It began to lift. When it was half open, he ducked underneath and Charlie followed soundlessly in her trainers. Without acknowledging her, Vincent lowered the garage door and moved swiftly to his keypad in the far corner.
‘I want to talk to you.’ Charlie was shadowing him, every step.
Shadows to Ashes Page 40
