by Jay Gill
Barton wanted to say he did, that he whined like a bitch, but he wasn’t quick enough to interrupt Donny’s flow.
“I kid you not. I was in a pub recently – I’m talking about a traditional British pub. I’d finished my local ale. It was very nice, as I recall. I’d gone to the little boy’s room. I’d taken a leak. So far, so good. Naturally, I wanted to wash my hands – after all, cleanliness is next to godliness – but there, beside the sink, was liquid soap. Mandarin and grapefruit. Why would I want to smell like mandarin and grapefruit? Like a fruit flippin’ salad?”
“Have you finished?” said Barton.
“It’s all right for you. You’re an animal,” said Donny. “You don’t wash your hands. Don’t think I didn’t notice last night at the hotel.”
Barton glared at Donny. He nodded towards Lyle.
Donny shrugged and turned his bug-eyes to Lyle. “Hygiene. It’s important. I’m sorry. Please carry on, Ms Lyle. You were saying you have a job.”
Lyle pushed two envelopes across the table. “Twenty-five thousand each now; the remainder once it’s done.”
Barton picked up his envelope and looked inside. He flicked through the notes and was about to tuck the envelope in his inside jacket pocket when Donny put out a hand to stop him. “Whoa there, cowboy.”
Donny looked at Lyle and said, “Please don’t take this the wrong way. I don’t mean any disrespect – I’m very appreciative of the opportunity. I say opportunity, but in truth, I’m not entirely clear what the job is. I mean, I know you probably want somebody dealt with. That’s a given. Who that person is – that, I don’t know. I don’t like working in the dark. I don’t agree to a deal until I’m aware of all the facts and at the very least who the intended is.” He put out a hand and gestured towards Barton. “Also, no offence to the rhinestone cowboy here, but I work best alone.”
Barton looked himself up and down.
Donny continued. “I’m not saying I don’t want the job. I’m not saying that at all. What I am saying, however, is I’d rather do this thing alone. Whatever this thing is. No offence to Wild Bill here, as I said, but I’d work better without the complications of an unquantified partner, such as the cowboy to my left.”
Barton rubbed behind his ear with his knuckle as he tried to digest everything the weird-looking fella had just said. He’d spoken so fast he was unsure whether he’d been insulted. He thought he might have been, but breaking the bug-man’s neck in the middle of a meeting wouldn’t be a smart move. He’d do it later. Once the job was done. He wanted the money.
“You either work together and do the job,” Lyle said, “or I find two others to do it. I want to be sure it’s done and done properly, which is why I want the two of you. It doubles the chances of success. I need a man found and I might want him dealt with, in a permanent way.” She looked at the two men and waited for agreement.
“Hey, I’m fine with it,” said Barton. “I got no better plans.” He and Lyle looked at Donny.
Donny’s head moved in a figure of eight while he thought about it. “Crap. Okay. One condition. I run the show. I can’t have the Cisco Kid here wrecking my reputation. I’m a professional.”
Barton shrugged.
“Is that a yes?” asked Donny. “You know, that hole in your face is for communicating. Words and like. Jesus!”
“Yes,” said Barton. He slipped the money inside his jacket.
The brunette at the bar slid off the stool and came to stand beside Lyle. She placed a report file in the middle of the table before returning to her seat at the bar.
Barton watched her. I’d love to swap places with that stool, he thought.
“No mistakes,” said Lyle to Barton and Donny. “Find him and call me. Here’s a phone with my number. Bring it back to me when the job’s complete. I don’t want you to touch him until you’ve spoken to me. Is that understood?”
Barton nodded. “Yep.”
Donny opened the file and pulled out the mugshot. The photo was of a man named Edward Fischer, also known as Edward Richter. He showed it to Barton and began to read the two-page report.
“Uh-huh. Why do you want him dead?” asked Donny when he had finished. When no reply came and he sensed the chilly silence, he looked up. Lyle’s unblinking eyes were stone cold. He cleared his throat. “You know what? That doesn’t matter.” He closed the file. “Consider it done. My new partner and I will call you as soon as we find him.”
“Inside, you’ll find details of his last known location,” said Lyle. “I’m in touch with Fischer’s girlfriend, Faye Moon. She’s been keeping me abreast of their movements, but she’s proving to be unreliable.”
“Don’t worry, we’ve got this,” insisted Donny.
“For your sake, I hope so. Don’t fuck this up,” said Lyle.
Barton got up and walked around behind the bar. He grabbed a bottle of tequila and poured two shots. He passed one to the brunette. When she ignored him and continued reading the news on her phone, he took the shot back and drank it, then drank his own.
Donny got to his feet. “Lovely to meet you, Ms Lyle. We’ll be in touch.” Passing the brunette on his way out, he gave his best smile. “Miss.”
Barton followed Donny to the exit, carrying the bottle of tequila he’d opened and a second unopened bottle under his arm. He saluted and bowed and backed out of the bar.
Donny reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to his rented silver-grey Toyota Avensis. “Stop screwing around. Let’s get the fuck out of here. You’re going to get us both killed, behaving like a prick, showing no respect. You clearly have no idea who she is. I can’t believe I’m saddled with you. I’m going to wind up dead or worse. That bitch in there is psycho. You know that, right?”
Barton shrugged. “She seemed pleasant enough. You worry too much. I sense that about you: you’re a worrier. I’m sure anything you think you’ve heard is bullshit.”
“That might be so. But even bullshit is founded in truth. Let’s be smart and err on the side of caution. Let’s do this job and go our separate ways.”
“I’ll drive,” said Barton.
“’Christ’s sake! Get in. I rented it. I drive it.”
Chapter Nine
I woke with a jolt. I felt like I was suffocating. My heart was pounding, and my body was covered in sweat.
Monica sat up and switched on the bedside light. She squinted at me through heavy eyes. “Are you okay? Is it another nightmare?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Can I do anything?”
I reached out and held her soft hand. “I’m fine. Thank you. You go back to sleep. I’m going downstairs to get a glass of water.”
“They’re becoming more frequent,” said Monica.
“Perhaps.” I climbed out of bed and put on my dressing gown and slippers. Not wishing to wake the rest of the house, I crept downstairs. I filled a glass with water and went to my study.
I sat behind my desk and looked at the wall where I pinned photos, notes, leads and ideas. Everything faded into the background except the photo of Edward Fischer, the man behind the murder of Helena. The man whom the psychopath, Kelly Lyle, wanted me to kill. Fischer and Lyle were the cause of my recurring nightmares.
“You okay, buddy?”
“Christ ’n’ Jesus! You scared me.” I whirled around and took a deep breath. It was Rayner.
“Awfully jumpy, mate.” Rayner sat his mountain-sized body down in my favourite well-worn comfy chair. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I said, unconvincingly.
“Doesn’t sound like nothing. Doesn’t look like nothing either. Want to talk?”
“What time is it?” I looked at the clock on the wall. “Why don’t you go back to bed? You’re on holiday. Besides, you don’t want to get into this now.”
Rayner looked at his watch. “It’s just before six. Now is the perfect time to get into whatever’s going on with you.”
I looked again at the
photo on the wall and my heart sank.
Rayner followed my eyes. “In the last few weeks you’ve had to deal with the sudden loss of your father. You’re just getting over the shock of rescuing your daughter from that psycho bitch, Kelly Lyle, and learning that the man who really killed Helena has escaped prison. Dealing with just one of those things is going to take its toll. Yet, you’re trying to process all of it without talking. Bottling it all up isn’t going to do you any good. We’ve both had enough Met counselling over the years to know that.” He turned back to me. “Talk to me. I know there’s something more. I know you as well as anybody. Whatever it is, James, it has something to do with him.” Rayner pointed to the photo of Fischer on the wall.
“Fischer,” I said. “Edward Fischer.” I wanted to tell Rayner the truth. I’ve known him since we were children; he’s like a brother. He and I joined the Met together.
The trouble was, he was still a serving detective inspector and I was retired, or at least I was supposed to be. The truth would put him in a moral predicament. How could I tell him that, in exchange for getting my daughter back, Kelly Lyle’s price was that I kill Edward Fischer? How could I tell him that a part of me wanted Fischer dead and that I wanted to be the one to do it? That I wanted to squeeze the life out of him for leaving my children without their mother?
At the time of her kidnapping, I could see no other way of getting Alice back and so I’d made the deal. Kelly Lyle swore that if I reneged on our agreement, she’d rain hell down upon my family, promising she’d murder every single one of them. And I didn’t doubt she’d try.
I had to move our conversation away from my agreement with Lyle. “There’s nothing more. I’ve been having nightmares. They’re incredibly vivid. They’re flashbacks to when I was searching for Alice. In the nightmares, I find my little girl drugged and half-dead in a water-butt behind the farmhouse Lyle was hiding at when I tracked her down. What if I hadn’t reached her in time? What if I hadn’t been able to get the lid off the water-butt and she’d drowned right in front of my eyes?” I choked on the words.
“You saved her. That’s all that matters.”
“And what effect might an experience like that have on her? She’s a child.”
“She’s doing great. She’s still the Alice I’ve known since she was a baby: super-smart, full of fun and the spitting image of her mother. Helena would be proud.”
I tried to smile. “I suppose. She does look like Helena, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, she does,” said Rayner. “There’s nothing more?” He studied me. He was like a bloodhound that had picked up a scent and was in pursuit. I could feel him looking for signs of what I was hiding. I got up and walked over to the corner of the office, took the milk from the small fridge, smelled it, and made us both coffees. I handed my friend a steaming cup.
A half-truth might throw him off the scent. “There are a few loose ends I’m trying to process, that’s all.”
“Let me help.”
“No,” I said a little too sharply. Too many sleepless nights were catching up with me. “Thank you. I’m working with Emma Cotton,” I lied, again. I hadn’t spoken to Detective Inspector Emma Cotton for a few weeks. She’d checked in with us a couple of times after we got Alice back, but since then, she was giving us space.
Once again changing the subject, I said, “You’re on holiday. Let’s figure out what we’re going to do today. Monica and I were wondering whether you and Jenny would like to go to Lyme Regis beach and do some fossil hunting with the children. We can take a picnic. You can practise your parenting skills. If Jenny’s not up to it, we could do something closer to home. What do you fancy?” I looked out the office window. “It’s still early, but it’s going to be another sunny day.”
The big man eyed me while sipping his coffee. “Fossil hunting sounds great. I’ll see how Jenny’s feeling.” Rayner got up and walked to the office door. “When you’re ready to talk, I’m here for you.”
“I know you are, mate. Like I said, there’s nothing. Thank you.” Inside, I was crying out for help. I needed to answer the question of what the hell I was going to do when Lyle demanded I make good on our deal.
I hated myself for repeatedly lying to my best friend, but the fewer people I involved the better. For the time being, I just had to hope Lyle would move on and leave us alone.
Chapter Ten
Moon and Fischer were in what the guest house described as the Lavender Honeymoon Suite. A four-poster bed, white bed linen with lavender-coloured silk edging, and a couple of heart-shaped red satin cushions were all meant to suggest the room was tailored to newlyweds. Water stains on the bathroom ceiling from a recent leak, a carpet long past its best, mismatching furniture, chipped paintwork and an inharmonious colour scheme would disappoint even the most ardent couple.
Plates and empty beer bottles were on the floor in the corner of the room after a large steak dinner, delivered to the room by the amiable landlady.
Fischer was sprawled out on the bed in just his boxer shorts, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other. His lap held a teacup, which he used as an ashtray. He stared into space while blowing large clouds of smoke into the ‘non-smoking’ room.
Moon wrapped her hair in a towel as she came out of the en-suite bathroom. She finished tapping out a message on her phone.
“Who’s that?” asked Fischer.
“No one,” said Moon. “It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.”
Moon perched on the bed beside Fischer. Her eyes wandered over his lean, inked body. “What’s next?” asked Moon.
Fischer passed Moon the packet of cigarettes and lighter from the bedside table. He enjoyed watching her deftly light a cigarette. “First thing tomorrow,” said Fischer, “we get out of here. It’s not safe to stay in one place for too long.”
“Okay. Then what?” Moon reached over and took the bottle of beer from Fischer, took a swig and handed it back.
Fischer knew what Moon was getting at. He’d promised her that as soon as he was free, they’d vanish. Go somewhere tropical and start over. “There hasn’t been a single day that’s passed where I haven’t thought about three things.”
Moon flicked ash from her cigarette into the cup ashtray. She enjoyed listening to him speak. He was the smartest man she knew. She’d missed the sound of his deep, rich voice while he’d been locked up. Moon sucked hard on her cigarette and pressed it out in the teacup. The certainty in the way he spoke made her feel secure; the rhythm and tone comforted her.
Fischer rubbed out his cigarette and continued, “One: you. Every day, before I even opened my eyes, I thought of you. Every single day. And not just that sweet body of yours. You. Being away from you was the hardest part of doing time.”
“Aw! Eddie. That’s so sweet.” Moon scooted down the bed, put her head on his chest and wrapped an arm around him. Fischer finished his beer and let the empty bottle drop down the side of the bed. He put his arm around Moon and squeezed her and kissed her shoulder. He ran the fingers of his other hand over her soft skin as he spoke. “Two: getting free and as far away from this godforsaken island as is humanly possible.”
“Now you’re talking,” said Moon.
“Three: Detective Chief Inspector Hardy.”
Moon lifted her head and looked at him.
Fischer pushed her fringe aside with his fingers so he could look into her eyes. He added, “I want compensation for time served. That bastard put me away. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t deal with that.” He shook his head. “Before I go anywhere, I want to make sure I hurt him in a way that he’ll remember forever.”
“That sounds like fun,” said Moon. She was up for a bit of excitement before skipping the country for good.
There were actually four things he’d spent most days thinking about, but he couldn’t tell Moon the last one. It didn’t feel right. How could he explain to Moon he had the urge to see his daughter? He figured she must be about sixt
een years old by now. A young woman. She was in first school the last time he’d seen her. He’d driven past and watched her mother kissing her and sending her in through the school gates.
“Listen, baby,” said Fischer. “You’ve done so much for me. I’m not sure what I’d do without you. I understand if you want to sit this one out. What I’m saying is, you could go ahead to wherever we decide to go while I finish up here.”
Moon sat up on the bed and crossed her arms, her face like thunder. “Are you saying you’ve had enough of me already? I do all this for you – kidnap a fucking kid, blackmail his bitch mother – so you could drop me at the first fucking chance you get? Are you fucking joking?” She punched him hard in the chest.
Fischer cracked up and brought up his knee to protect himself from her fist. The teacup spilled ash over his boxer shorts and the white bed linen. He loved it when Moon threw a tantrum in that little-girl way she did. “Ouch! Not a chance,” insisted Fischer. “I’m just saying, I understand if you want to bow out of this one. Hardy and me is personal.”
“Screw you.”
“Yes, please.”
“You’re such an idiot.”
Fischer pulled Moon to him and tried to kiss her. She brushed him off.
“I’m not going anywhere without you. I’ve been twiddling my thumbs all the time you’ve been inside. If you’re going after Hardy, I’m coming too. He didn’t just screw up your life, he screwed up mine as well. I want to make him pay as much as you do.”
