Inferno

by Jay Gill

  Fischer couldn’t stop himself. He reached out and held Jessica’s hand. She turned and looked at him in surprise. He wanted to memorise the feeling of her small, soft hand in his. After a few awkward moments, he let go. She smiled fondly and got out. He watched as she strode away, pride welling up inside him.

  Halfway across the road, Jessica turned and walked back to the car. Fischer lowered the window and Jessica stuck her head in. “You’re probably busy, but I’m singing a week on Sunday. It’s kind of a big deal. I’m doing a gig. I’ve got quite a following and it’ll be the biggest event I’ve done. Anyway, as long as you’re still around, you can come. If you want?”

  Fischer opened and closed his mouth like a fish. “Yeah. You sing?”

  “Uh-huh. I sing and play guitar.”

  “Sounds amazing. What sort of music?”

  “Stuff I wrote myself and a few covers: Joni Mitchell, Joan Baez, Janis Joplin, Florence Welch influence. If it’s not your thing, that’s cool.”

  “We’d love to,” said Moon and Fischer together.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Fischer.

  “Cool. I’ll text you the time and address.”

  Jessica turned and walked away.

  “Thank you, Moon,” Fischer said, turning to her. “I know you want to get away, but…”

  “Don’t sweat it,” said Moon. “She’s a nice girl.”

  “Yeah. She is,” said Fischer. He puffed out his chest then felt an overwhelming sadness. “Look at her. She’s amazing. Beautiful, so beautiful. Look at what you took away from me, DCI James Hardy. I’ll never get those years back. I missed so much.”

  Fischer started the car. “It’s time,” he said. “Time to get my payback.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Seeing the car pull into the guest house car park, Mrs Fiona Crabb twisted the end of the packet of chocolate Hobnobs, put a peg on it, and put the packet back in the drawer. She swiped the crumbs off the desk into her hand and dropped them in the bin beside her desk. She straightened her hair bun and adjusted her mustard-coloured cardigan. Her fluffy slippers flip-flopped on the hardwood floor as she hurried to the front desk. Standing to attention, she waited behind the reception desk for the two men to come through the front door.

  Since the Sterling Inn, part of a national chain, had been built a mile and half away, closer to the motorway and the docks than her little guest house, bookings had dwindled. Regulars, who had been the lifeblood of the guest house’s income, hadn’t rebooked. She could only assume their employers, who made the bookings, had been seduced by the benefits of Wi-Fi in every room, modern en-suite bathrooms, the vast and cheap international restaurant menu, and beds that come with a ‘comfortable night’s sleep or your money back’ guarantee.

  With Ian gone, every day she felt more and more isolated and lonely. The guest house had been Ian’s idea and was now an albatross around her neck. While he did time for fraud, life was grim. Her idiot husband had somehow thought the building firm he did the bookkeeping for wouldn’t miss a few thousand pounds here and there. Their lawyers had thought otherwise.

  I love you. I did it for you, he’d mouthed from the back of the police car. Oddly, all she could think as he was being taken away was how large the bald spot on the top of his head had grown. He used to have lovely, thick hair.

  The only benefit to come from Ian’s incarceration was an introduction to Faye Moon. The cash from Moon to put up escapee Edward Fischer for a night or two – she felt sure she could deny knowing he was on the run – would mean she could make a fresh start. With her life turned to shit, helping Moon was a risk worth taking. What other choices did she have? The cash meant she’d be able to pay off her debts and start over. Life was suddenly feeling less bleak. At last there was light at the end of the long, dark and joyless tunnel.

  “Are you looking for a room, gentlemen?” asked Mrs Crabb. Her large, round, rosy cheeks bulged more than usual as she smiled. She tried not to stare at the large padded bandage over the skinny man’s ear; it must be sore, she thought, given the way he repeatedly touched it and winced.

  “No. A new car,” said Donny, sarcastically. “Jeez. What do you think we’re here for?”

  “Yes, please. A room,” said Barton. He winked and smiled at her before returning his attention to the leaflets for local attractions beside the front door. He pulled out one on vintage cars and then came and stood beside the skinny rude man.

  Nice teeth and twinkly eyes, thought Mrs Crabb. Ooh, differently coloured eyes like David Bowie. Don’t see that very often. Before she could stop herself, she was looking him up and down. He was a little taller than the skinny one and looked strong. Thick forearms and big hands. She liked his unusual dress sense. A fancy black shirt, pearly buttons and a red rambling rose across his broad shoulders. He reminded her of a seventies movie star she’d seen on TV, but she couldn’t think of the actor’s name. The word ‘heterochromia’ popped into her head as she looked in his eyes; one blue eye and one brown eye. The hours of watching quiz shows and doing crosswords were paying off.

  “Certainly, gentlemen. How many nights?”

  “One night,” said Donny.

  The strong one was leaning on the desk and watching her. She could feel herself getting warm. Embarrassingly, her face went red when she was excited. She tried to concentrate.

  “Depends how warm the welcome is,” said the cowboy. He reached across the reception desk and touched her hand.

  Oh my God, thought Mrs Crabb. She pulled her hand away. She felt her heart galloping like a race horse. Her hand trembled as she picked up the pen to enter the details in the guest book. He was smiling at her; she could feel it. She placed a laminated card in front of them that showed the room prices.

  “Would you like a double room or two singles?”

  “Double.” “Singles.” The two men spoke at the same time.

  “A double room,” said Skinny.

  “Names?” said Mrs Crabb.

  “Paul McCartney,” said Skinny.

  “Knights, with a K,” said the cowboy. He held her gaze. “Randy Knights.”

  “Good grief,” muttered Donny with a sigh.

  “Don’t mind him,” said Barton. “He’s been a bit grumpy lately. Cut his ear while shaving.” Barton leaned close and spoke in a low, deep, gravelly voice. “Some men are better with their hands than others. Know what I mean?”

  “I’m right here,” said Donny. “I can hear what you’re saying.”

  Mrs Crabb could feel her face was red hot. She passed Barton the key to the room and a breakfast menu. “If you’d like breakfast, just mark your choices on the card and drop it back here before ten p.m. Your room is at the top of the stairs, first on the left. Anything you need, just let me know.”

  “Where will you be if I need you?” asked Barton.

  “I have a small private room in the back there. Just ask for Fiona – that’s me. Just press this button on the desk and I’ll come.”

  Barton gave a cheeky grin. “I bet you do.”

  “For crying out loud,” said Donny. “Excuse Lothario here. He thinks decorum was a general in the Roman army.” He snatched the room key out of Barton’s hand. “When you’re done, please go get the bags from the car.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  While Fischer slept, Moon watched the house. They’d spent the morning in the car, parked a short distance from the house with a direct view. She hummed softly to herself, some piece of classical music that was lodged in her head from who knows when.

  Her phone beeped. A message. She knew who it was. She glanced over at Fischer, checked he was asleep before answering, then went back to watching the house.

  To pass the time, she pressed a finger against Fischer’s cheek and giggled as he sleepily swatted it away. She gently put a finger in his ear and grinned as he once again waved the sensation away. Slowly she ran a finger around his nostril and nearly split her sides as he wriggled his nose and sneezed.
r />   Her phone beeped again. Once again, she checked Fischer was still sleeping before replying with a curt message.

  Moon leaned over and kissed Fischer’s arm and ran her fingers through his hair. She opened her packet of cigarettes, lit one, then took out two more and tried to balance them end to end on top of the packet.

  Finally, the front door of the house opened and out came a man. She compared him to the photo they’d found of Hardy on the internet. It was definitely him. She watched as he opened the back of a Honda CR-V then opened the rear doors for the children. Hardy was joined by a big, muscular man who went over to a sporty-looking white Mercedes convertible also parked in the driveway. Two girls came running from the house with the Labrador on a lead.

  Moon squeezed Fischer’s thigh then gave his chest a nudge to wake him. She watched as Hardy hurried the girls. He was asking them to get into the car, and they seemed to be ignoring him by doing handstands on the front lawn. This Moon found funny.

  Moon knelt on her seat and leaned on the dashboard as Hardy and the big man laughed together. After he’d called and called the girls and they did eventually come, they passed the dog’s lead to Hardy and, instead of jumping into the family car, got into the big man’s Mercedes.

  A middle-aged woman, who Moon assumed to be Hardy’s girlfriend, came out. She was followed by an older woman who Moon guessed was Hardy’s mother. There was lots of toing and froing until finally the front door was locked.

  Moon gave Fischer a shake. “Wake up.” When he didn’t respond, she gave him a prod. “Wake up,” she said again. Then a firmer punch and shake. “Wake up. They’re leaving. This could be it,” said Moon.

  Fischer sat up and stretched. “At last. I thought they’d never leave. Why didn’t you wake me?”

  Moon and Fischer watched as the two vehicles reversed out of the driveway, turned and headed away. The pair of them smiled at each other.

  “This is it,” said Fischer. “We do this, watch Jess’s gig and then we’re out of here for good.”

  Moon gave him an excited kiss and squeeze.

  They waited a few minutes then got out and went to the back of the Ford Galaxy. Fischer lifted the back, where two petrol cans sat. He looked at Moon. “Before we do this, go knock on the door and ring the doorbell, just to be sure the house is empty.”

  “C’mon, we just saw them leave not ten minutes ago,” said Moon. Knowing Fischer wouldn’t back down, Moon quick-stepped over to the house. She knocked on the door and looked through the letterbox. The house was quiet. She shrugged and raised her hands. See? Told ya!

  Fischer mimed the pressing of a doorbell with his finger. Moon pressed the doorbell to satisfy Fischer. When nobody came to the door, she turned and ran back to the car.

  “Happy now? Let’s do this,” said Moon.

  Fischer and Moon crossed the road and casually walked up the driveway. “You put yours through the letterbox and I’ll go around the back of the house. I’m going to need to break a window and pour it in. Let’s do this quick and get out of here.”

  Moon undid the lid on the petrol can and unscrewed the spout. Resting her knee against the door and placing the heavy can on it, she poured most of the petrol through the letterbox. She then poured the remainder over the front door and the doormat and splashed the last few drops over a flowerbed under the bay window.

  Fischer made his way along the side of the house. Around the back, he could see that the patio door had been repaired since their earlier visit. He moved to the far side of kitchen window and peered in. The house looked empty. He looked around for something heavy to break the window. Seeing nothing obvious, he put down the fuel can and set to work kicking off a brick from a low retaining wall beside the patio. A few blows with his heel of his boot and a couple of bricks came away.

  He covered his eyes with the crook of his arm and, with his other hand, smashed a small window with the brick. Lifting the can to shoulder height, he poured the petrol through the window. It spilled over the kitchen worktop and onto the kitchen floor.

  He set the can aside, took a sharp breath, lit a match and tossed it in. The flames caught immediately. He watched as they ran over the worktop, raced up to the kitchen cabinets and engulfed the dark pine kitchen table.

  Fischer ran to the front of the house, where he met Moon. “Light it up.”

  Moon took the box of matches, lit one and flicked it at the doormat. The petrol-soaked mat and surrounding area immediately exploded into flame. Fischer and Moon stood back as the heat warmed their skin. “Woohoo!” yelled Moon. “Burn, baby, burn.”

  “Now, just like me, Hardy is going to have to start his life all over again. Just like me, he’s got nothing but the clothes on his back and a few quid in his pocket.”

  Fischer took the can from Moon and the pair made their way to car.

  Moon looked back at the house and could see the fire had spread inside and the curtains at the front windows had caught light. She cast her eyes upstairs to one of the windows, where she thought she saw movement. In a brief moment of panic, she wondered if she’d actually heard the doorbell ring. She’d pressed the button for sure, but what if it wasn’t working? What if it didn’t make a sound? She looked again at the upstairs window. Nothing. She was mistaken; there was no movement.

  From the car, Moon watched thick, black smoke billowing from the house.

  “Shall we go?” said Fischer. “I’d love to stick around and watch the show, especially later when he returns. It’s only bricks and mortar, but a man’s home is his castle, and we just hurt Hardy in a way that is hard to imagine. That’s what I call payback.”

  “Let’s go,” said Moon. She was checking her phone. More messages. She deleted them.

  “Are you okay? You seem a little quiet.”

  Moon put on her seatbelt. “I’m fine. Let’s move.”

  “Okay, Moonbeam. We’ll celebrate tonight and pack up our stuff in the morning,” said Fischer. “We lie low from now on. Catch Jess’s gig, then it’s goodbye Blighty. We’re outta here!”

  “Hasta la vista, baby!” Moon said.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Bartholomew Hall is a picturesque seventeenth-century country house in Dorset with surrounding gardens and a yew tree maze. It’s a favourite with Alice and Faith, who were excited to spend the afternoon racing their way around the maze with Rayner.

  Unfortunately, Jenny’s pregnancy sickness was leaving her debilitated. She’d insisted we all go and that she’d be just fine on her own at the house.

  Part of the day’s excitement for Alice and Faith was to take a spin in Rayner’s Mercedes cabriolet with the top down. Rayner being Rayner, and not wanting to disappoint, had gone a short part of the journey with the girls in the car. Then we all pulled over at a petrol garage for the girls to get into my car and Rayner to turn around and head back to be with Jenny.

  Alice and Faith climbed out of the Mercedes.

  “Can we go out in the car again tomorrow? I like it with the roof down,” said Faith, patting her hair. “My hair’s gone all over the place.”

  Alice rolled her eyes at her sister. “Rayner needs to look after Jenny. Just be grateful he took us out today. He didn’t need to.”

  “Mind your own business. You’re always trying to be so grown up. Rayner doesn’t mind. Do you?”

  “Well… let’s see how we get on, shall we? I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep.” Rayner crouched down, put out his huge arms and hugged the two girls close to him. “Bear hug! We’ll go out again as soon as possible, but the last thing I want to do is disappoint my two favourite girls.”

  Alice put her head on Rayner’s shoulder. “I wish I could’ve stayed behind with you to look after Jenny. Tell her to try eating ginger biscuits, and I’m going to look online to see what else I can find to make her better.”

  “I will. You’re a star. We might need to hire you to be our nurse.” Rayner straightened up then picked up Faith and held her over his head. “And as for
you… You’re nothing but trouble.”

  Faith giggled and said, “I’m going to make Jenny a get-well card. Do you think we could go in the car later? What about when we get home?”

  I rescued Rayner before Faith’s negotiations went into overdrive. “Faith,” I said sternly. “Stop hustling Rayner. He’s an amateur against you, and you know it.”

  Alice and Faith said a last round of goodbyes and hopped into the back of my car alongside Mum, aka Nana Hardy, who was holding onto Sandy’s collar. Monica was in the front seat, and she turned to listen to the girls’ excited chatter.

  “We’ll be out most of the day,” I said to Rayner. “We’ll eat out this evening, which will give you and Jenny some space. Help yourself to whatever you want in the house. The fridge is well stocked. Call me if you need anything. I hope Jenny feels better soon. She really is going through it, poor thing.”

  “Hopefully, it’ll pass. Usually, the sickness and vomiting lessen in the afternoon. If it does, I’ll try to get her out for some fresh air.”

  “Is that your phone?” I asked.

  Rayner touched his pockets and then realised he’d left his phone in the car. He leaned into the car and checked who the caller was. He said over his shoulder. “Speak of the devil, it’s Jen.”

  Wanting to make sure everything was okay, I waited for Rayner to answer the call. He turned and looked at me with a cheeky schoolboy grin as he answered. He spoke in a sexy Sean Connery voice. “Your amazing one-in-a-million husband here.”

  Then his demeanour changed. He straightened up and looked at me with fear in his eyes. All the colour drained from his face and his eyes narrowed. “Open the windows. Every window. If you can’t get out, stay close to the window and as low to the ground as you can. Call the fire brigade. I’m coming now. I’m on my way, sweetheart.”

  “What is it? What’s going on?” I couldn’t fathom what could be so wrong.

  “The house. Your house. It’s on fire. Jen’s trapped upstairs. She can’t get out. I’ve got to go.”