Inferno

by Jay Gill

  Chapter Seventy

  Donny dropped the black canvas bag containing the cash on the corner of the bed. He heard the toilet flush and then the tap running. The door opened and Barton came out tucking his black-and-white-checked cowboy shirt into his blue jeans. He straightened the large oval buffalo-motif belt buckle.

  “I didn’t hear you come in. Did you get a bottle of something? I could do with a drop of something fiery.”

  Donny didn’t answer. He stepped aside to reveal the bag of money. “I didn’t make it to the shop. I thought we could discuss this first.”

  Barton looked uninterested. “Nothing to discuss. It’s mine.”

  “Oh, it’s yours, is it? Where did it come from?”

  Barton shrugged. He pushed past Donny and checked out the window. Fischer’s car was still in the car park.

  “This is Fischer’s money, isn’t it?” said Donny.

  “Would you keep your voice down?” Barton gestured with his hands that Donny should quieten down.

  “Spicer mentioned Fischer’s money,” continued Donny. “I ignored him because our job is to locate and observe Fischer. Yet, somehow, you found it.”

  “Let’s just say it fell into my lap.”

  “You mean it fell into both our laps.”

  Barton stared long and hard at Donny. “It fell into my lap. You need to think long and hard before going down this road.”

  “The way I see it, this money is a bonus. We’re doing the job together, so any additional bounty from the job gets split sixty-forty.”

  “Sixty-forty?” Barton was now perching on a long, low chest of drawers, his arms folded and one leg raised, his cowboy boot propped on the end of the bed. “How do you see that?”

  “I’m running this operation—”

  “You haven’t run anything. In fact, you talk big and act like a pussy. You’d likely be sat in a cell, or more likely dead, if I hadn’t stepped in on more than one occasion to save your skinny arse. My advice is that you forget the money. No, I’ll tell you what: I’ll be generous. Take a grand, as a token of goodwill. After that, we’ll talk about it no more. Okay?”

  “What? Are you taking the piss? How about I mention this to Lyle? How will she react to you going behind her back?”

  Barton opened and closed his mouth. He smiled and stood up. With a chuckle, he said, “You would as well, wouldn’t you?” He turned his back on Donny and looked in the mirror. He checked his hair. He could see the grey creeping through at the roots. He hated getting old. “I guess you’ve got me. Let’s be reasonable. I did find the money. Let’s split it fifty-fifty.”

  Donny sighed and looked at the bag on the bed. “You know what? For the sake of maintaining our working relationship and getting this job completed, I accept.” He turned his back on Barton and opened the bag. He started pulling out packs of cash and dropping them on the bed. In his head he said, One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me.

  Donny never noticed Barton ease himself close. Then, in one deadly strike, like the jaws of a croc on a deer stepping too close to the watering hole, Barton’s arm clamped around his neck. The arm squeezed and tightened with a terrifying strength. Though Donny struggled, the power of Barton’s hold made the end feel inevitable. His legs weakened first; they became empty and light as the strength evaporated from them. In an odd embrace, the pair collapsed onto the bed, Barton’s grip never wavering for a second. Donny felt a bizarre intimacy as the stubble of Barton’s chin rubbed on the side of his face; his cheek grew damp with the warmth from his foul breath.

  Barton’s other hand snaked around now and smothered Donny’s nose and mouth. Lemongrass and thyme, thought Donny as the scent from Barton’s fingers reached his nostrils. He punched and kicked as best he could, but it was no use; Barton was too strong. Panic turned to a feeling of sickness and then acceptance.

  When it was done, Barton stripped Donny down to his underpants. He tucked him into bed and put his hands over his chest as though he were grabbing at his heart. He gathered the cash and zipped up the canvas bag. Made one last check of the room. Satisfied everything looked normal, besides the skinny dead guy, he exited the room.

  Barton hung the Do Not Disturb tag on the door handle and headed to reception. He checked out but extended the stay of his partner another two nights, explaining his friend was feeling unwell. “He’s complaining of indigestion; he wants to sleep if off. He’d appreciate it if he could remain undisturbed. I’ll be back in a couple of days to pick him up. I’ll be taking our car.”

  “I understand,” said the receptionist. Barton watched as her sparkly fingernails tapped away on the computer keyboard. Her name tag read Petra. “A package was left for you and your partner, sir.”

  Barton watched as Petra crouched down to unlock a cupboard behind the desk and retrieve the package. The neckline of her tight white top was brimming to overflowing. He sighed inwardly. It was sick to think it, but killing Donny had caused a surge of energy in his tight blue jeans that he’d love to share with Petra right now.

  Petra stood up again and passed him the package, his receipt, and a ticket for raising the barrier so he could leave the car park. She smiled politely. “I hope you enjoyed your stay. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

  “You’ll make sure my business partner doesn’t get disturbed?” said Barton. “He’s not a well man.”

  “I will. I’ve put a note on the system for you.”

  “Perfect. Thank you, Petra. Have a sunny day,” said Barton with a wink and a smile.

  He made his way to the rental car, where he climbed into the driver’s seat and discreetly opened the package he knew to be from Kelly Lyle. He instantly recognised the matte-black finish of a Glock pistol. Having decided he’d check the pistol later, he tucked the package under the passenger seat. After some time wondering what he should do next, he moved the car around the car park to better observe Fischer’s car.

  The quiet from no longer having Donny’s perpetually whining voice complaining about the state of the world, boasting about his big plans for the future and speculating on what their next move should be, was a blessed relief.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  In front of me, the road and the large paved area in front of the shops and restaurants along the quay had been pedestrianised for the weekend’s music festival. Gazebos selling food, drink, recordings, musical instruments and souvenirs, from t-shirts to glow sticks, were dotted along the waterfront. Stages and taped-off areas gave musicians ample space to perform. Inside restaurants, cafés and pubs, performers drew crowds and kept the cash registers ringing. It was the first of what the organisers hoped would become an annual event.

  Jessica was scheduled to play at 11 p.m. in front of a mix of her growing fan base, ardent music fans and casual onlookers. It promised to be her biggest gig to date. Amongst the revellers were four plain-clothed officers, DI Cotton, and me. Because of the significant police presence such music festivals warranted, it was decided to keep our surveillance unit to a minimum to avoid spooking Fischer and Moon. The large gathering of music fans made it easy for us to blend in. On the flip side, it made the job of locating Fischer and Moon more difficult.

  I waded through the sea of music fans, getting bumped and jostled. Each time I got nudged I could feel the Glock pistol concealed beneath my jacket dig into my ribs.

  I checked my watch: 10.57 p.m.

  I stepped up on a low wall and could see Jessica getting herself comfortable. She was adjusting the height of her microphone and positioning her seat. I climbed down and radioed Cotton. “DCI Hardy. I’m in position.”

  “DI Cotton. In position.”

  The four plain-clothed officers all radioed in to state they were in position. We were as ready as we could be. All we could hope now was that the man of the moment appeared.

  The audience grew quiet as Jessica began her set, effortlessly singing and strumming and picking her amplified acoustic guitar. Her voice was captivating, and from my vantage
point I could see the crowd draw closer to the stage. Fans who knew her lyrics were singing along, and others were swaying or clapping in time to the chorus. It was hard not to be enthralled. Sadly, my job this evening was to identify and arrest her father. I preferred to do that with as little disturbance as possible and preferably out of sight of Jessica.

  I scanned the faces of the crowd, working my way along methodically from figure to figure to prevent the sea of people becoming a blur. Two men pushing and shoving caught my attention. From what I could see, it was nothing more than an argument over a pint of spilt lager.

  I pressed my finger to my earphone as Cotton’s voice came over the radio. “Possible ID. Two suspects approaching the stage from the corner of Mr Gold’s Amusement Arcade. I repeat, corner of Mr Gold’s Amusement Arcade.”

  From my position I couldn’t see it; my view was blocked by the roof of a gazebo selling marijuana-themed souvenirs. Everything from cigarette lighters to phone cases and carved wooden fruit bowls had the shape of the marijuana leaf on it.

  I stepped back up onto the low wall as Cotton’s voice came through again. I lowered my head and pressed the earpiece to better hear over the noise of the crowd. “Negative. I repeat, negative. It is not Fischer.”

  I looked up and scanned the crowd again. As I did, I made eye contact with Jessica. She immediately looked away and focused on the neck of her guitar. As I watched her, I noticed an almost imperceptible movement of her eyes. Bingo.

  “Excuse me,” I said over and over as I moved along the wall to get a better look at where she had glanced. I reached a lamp post and scrambled around it. On the other side were a pair of bins. I stepped up onto them as best I could, using the lamp post as cover.

  I scanned the faces in the area where I had seen Jessica look. I felt sure she had been looking at someone she knew. Perhaps I was mistaken, or perhaps it was a fan or friend she recognised. But perhaps not. My eyes picked out face after face, discarding each one that didn’t fit the profile of Fischer or Moon.

  A woman in a wide-brimmed hat caught my attention. Behind her, a short, stocky man with a shaved head and chest-length beard, wearing a black leather biker’s jacket, was complaining to his companion. From what I could tell, he was annoyed that he couldn’t see Jessica because of the hat. I watched as he tapped the woman in the hat on the shoulder. She looked around, and the bearded man gestured towards the hat. She answered him and looked back towards Jessica. Whatever the woman in the hat had said immediately shut him up. Beard Man looked at his companion, frustrated and open-mouthed. Together, they pushed through the crowd to find a better position, but not before grabbing the hat from behind and launching it, like a frisbee, into the mass of music fans.

  Shocked, the woman twisted around looking for her hat. As she briefly faced my way, I recognised Faye Moon. I examined the faces nearby. Fischer wouldn’t be far away.

  “Cotton, this is Hardy,” I said into my radio. “Faye Moon is at your two o’clock. She’s wearing a red t-shirt, a silver-grey scarf and a denim jacket. Her hair is shoulder length, dark brown. Do not arrest her. I do not have eyes on Fischer. Repeat. Do not arrest her until we have Fischer.”

  “I see her,” said Cotton. “She’s wrapping the scarf around her head.” I watched as Cotton moved calmly through the crowd to get within touching distance of Moon.

  “That’s her. You got it. Cotton is staying on Faye Moon,” I said to everyone on the team. “Fischer is not far away. He’s here somewhere. Let’s sweep through the crowd and flush him out. If we don’t get him now, he could be gone forever. Let’s find him.”

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  As Jessica started her last song, I found myself in a stream of people moving past the stage. I sidestepped a couple of times to move back into the audience. As I turned around to push back towards the centre of the crowd, I spotted a plain-clothed officer from the team, Detective Sergeant King, in an altercation with a young man. “DS King?” I said into my radio. “DS King, what’s going on?” King was silent. “King? DS King?” I looked over again, but I’d lost sight of him.

  “Pickpocket, sir,” said King, finally. “Right under my nose.”

  “Forget that,” I said. “That’s not why we’re here. Focus on the job in hand.”

  “Yes, sir,” said King.

  Jessica’s last song came to an end. She stood up on stage, waved and bowed. The crowd went wild with applause and cheers. She put down her guitar and took the microphone from the stand to address the audience. “It’s a few minutes to midnight and the end of my set.” The crowd booed. “Thank you, thank you. The end of my set also marks the end of today’s music festival.” The crowd booed again. “I know, but there will be more amazing live music tomorrow.” Jessica threw her arms up in the air and the crowd cheered. She checked her watch. “In less than a minute there will be fireworks to celebrate all of today’s incredible music and to thank you all for turning out to make this event such a fantastic success.” The crowd cheered again. Jessica laughed. “I love you guys. See you all back here again tomorrow!” The crowd roared. “Here we go – let’s all count down together: ten, nine, eight…” The crowd joined her and the chant became almost deafening. “…five, four, three, two, one!”

  A shower of colour burst into the sky as firework after firework exploded and crackled overhead. I watched the rapt faces of the audience, bathed in light as they oohed and aahed.

  As the pyrotechnics continued, people began to move slowly away from the stage area and closer to the water’s edge to get a better look. Jessica took her chance to step off the stage, and as she did, I saw a look of surprise and then delight cross her face as a man wearing a panama hat took her hand and helped her down. He kept his head down and I couldn’t see his face. It must be him, I thought. I had to wait to get visual confirmation. They embraced, and as they did, his hat pushed back slightly, revealing his face. “It’s Fischer,” I said into the mic. “Fischer is at the back of the stage with Jessica.”

  Cotton didn’t waste any time. She and one of the plain-clothed officers moved in on Faye Moon. Cotton stepped up close behind her, grabbed her arms and cuffed her. Moon’s face was full of desperation and panic as she called out for Fischer and fought Cotton to get away.

  One down, one to go, I thought as Cotton led her away.

  As I ploughed my way through the throng of people, I watched Jessica urge her father to leave. She’s warning him, I thought. I watched as she spoke into his ear and pointed behind him. He turned to see Moon being escorted away, and his expression turned to surprise, then distress and rage. He then looked my way and saw me fighting to get to him. For a moment we locked eyes. He turned and gave Jessica a kiss and a firm hug before melting into the crowd.

  The last of the fireworks splashed their dazzling colour across the night sky, and the crowd started to disperse. If I didn’t do something fast, I was going to lose him. I got back on the radio. “All officers. Make yourselves visible to the suspect. He is wearing a panama hat, a light-blue shirt and a dark-coloured waistcoat. Make it clear you’re looking for him. Be obvious and loud. Engage any uniformed officers you can. We need everyone’s assistance to drive Fischer towards the water. Create a perimeter and corral him towards the water. I want him left with nowhere to go.”

  I moved to the edge of the quay and hoped my plan would work, that Fischer wouldn’t be able to slip away amongst the thinning crowd. I paced up and down, my head flicking from left to right as I frantically watched the number of music fans dwindle. Where was he? I wondered. Had he somehow vanished?

  I watched as two female uniformed officers dealt with a group of drunken lads. A young woman, equally drunk, yelled and bawled into the face of one the officers. Behind them, Fischer stepped out from behind a gazebo that was being dismantled. He hadn’t seen me. He kept his hat pulled low and his face turned away from the two female officers. He moved briskly, keeping close to the front of the shops and pubs and cafés. I was about to get back on the radio wh
en, suddenly, he froze. He was looking at a man leaning against a wall at the entrance to an alley. The man straightened as Fischer approached, and they stood still, facing each other in some sort of standoff.

  I started walking towards them. My view of the second man was obscured, but I could make out he had black hair and wore a tan suede jacket and blue jeans. He looked to be well built and tall. He opened his jacket slightly and revealed something to Fischer that I couldn’t see. Whatever it was, it was enough to make Fischer turn and run. Dodging through the crowd, Fischer first went left up the pedestrianised road, then, seeing police officers, he turned and looked wildly around. He took a step and then froze again as he spotted the officers who had been dealing with the rowdy group and were now walking towards him. Hoping that he would run my way and towards the water’s edge, I stepped back out of view behind a van that had been selling Mexican burritos.

  A sound beside me made me turn. A man with white hair and beard, wearing an Aran jumper, was walking down the steps to the jetty below. He glanced at me, shook his head, and continued towards the boats.

  I turned back and saw Fischer. I pressed myself against the van. He was directly in front of me now, about thirty metres away, and coming my way. I melted into the shadows. As I did, the van’s engine started and it began slowly moving away.

  The sound of the van’s engine caught Fischer’s attention. He looked over and saw me. As soon as he did, he turned on his heels and ran. I had no choice but to go after him. I spoke into my radio. “I’m in pursuit of the suspect. Fischer is headed along the quayside towards the bridge.”

  He had a good head start, but I was catching up. Coming towards us from the opposite direction I saw Cotton; she was moving fast. Fischer saw her too. He looked towards her and then towards me. Realising the net was closing on him, he turned to face the water. He grabbed his hat and tossed it aside.