by J. S. Spicer
A plan formed. A risky one. He needed food. His intention had been to sneak out after dark and purchase a few supplies. It ran the risk of being recognised but Aubrey was fairly sure a strategically wrapped scarf would cover his identity. Now he had another thought. Gemma was home alone. The police had been and gone. He’d been vigilant all day and other than the visit by the policeman he’d recognised there was no other sign. He was now sure they weren’t watching the flat. Regardless, he knew a way around the back, dark and hidden and much safer than walking up to the front door. Gemma would have food; maybe he could even get a hot meal. Maybe a shower. The more he thought about it the better the idea seemed. Before long he was imagining a romantic evening at home with his girlfriend. She’d be surprised to see him, surprised and pleased. She’d greet him with open arms. They’d share a meal then share their bed.
He would have to wait for dark of course. Having some plan, some purpose for the evening, was satisfying. Aubrey left his viewing perch and made himself as comfortable as possible amongst his cardboard nest. He’d doze for a few hours; sleep the rest of the afternoon away until darkness fell and he could put his plan into action.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
She hadn’t realised how drunk she was until he arrived. Now here they were, curled into each other on the sofa, his hand up her top and his lips on her neck. She needed a drink of water but didn’t want to spoil the moment.
“I’m glad you called,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. Then he leaned back to look her in the face. “You did the right thing.” Freddy Rushton smiled down on her.
Was calling an ex-boyfriend ever a good idea? Right now she didn’t care. She’d ditched Freddy as soon as she heard about Aubrey’s release. She’d always put Aubrey first.
No more.
She returned Freddy’s smile and pulled him down onto her. She’d done enough worrying. Tonight she didn’t care. She didn’t care that she couldn’t see straight after all the whisky she’d downed. She didn’t care that Freddy had occasionally been abusive, even violent. She wanted nothing more than to lose herself in the moment. She paid no attention to the TV chattering with the latest talent show or the gate in the back alley banging in the wind. Someone must have left it open again.
Freddy was now working on getting into her jeans. Too tight for him to push his hand down he’d undone the button and was tugging at the zip. Since they both knew where this was going they may as well get comfortable.
“Come on,” she stood, albeit unsteadily, and led him by the hand to the bedroom. She staggered through the doorway, Freddie’s arms around her waist, his face buried in her neck again, nuzzling, muttering what he was going to do to her. Even in her inebriated state Gemma noticed the temperature drop as she stepped into the dark room. She didn’t remember leaving the window open.
“WHAT THE FUCK!”
She was spun around as Freddie quickly pulled away from her; too quickly. Blinking against the shadows and the booze she saw why.
Aubrey.
He’d yanked him away from her and now had him pinned against the doorframe.
It wasn’t much of a fight; an awkward scuffle in confined quarters. There was some yelling and shoving and squaring off. Neither one of them had the moral high ground. Aubrey was a wanted man. Freddie was screwing around with his girlfriend.
Mostly though it was Gemma’s reaction which prevented their altercation escalating into real violence. When she saw an opening between the two men she flew at Aubrey.
“You left. You bastard.” She held him by the scruff of his coat with one hand whilst the other pounded his chest. Tears were flowing. The alcohol, the betrayal, and bitter disappointment were flooding out.
Aubrey tried to free himself from her grasp without using too much force. He still wanted to have it out with Freddie. He should have known her ex would be sniffing round the first chance he got.
Gemma was still yelling into his face.
“You left. Now I know why. You two timing bastard!”
“What? Gem, what the fuck are you talking about?”
His question seemed to infuriate her even more. She slapped him across the face.
“He showed me her picture.”
“Who? What picture?”
“Don’t bother denying it. Some copper came here today, looking for you and for her. I knew you’d been up to something, but not this. I thought you were involved in that bank job last week. But no, you’ve just been fucking around behind my back.”
Aubrey was trying to think fast on his feet. The only thing he was certain of was that coming here had been a bad idea.
He saw Freddie’s eyes light up when Gemma mentioned the bank, then, while Aubrey was still trying to shake free of Gemma, Freddie slipped out of the bedroom.
Suddenly Aubrey just needed to leave. He tore his jacket from Gemma’s grip and headed for the front door, too angry to leave by the same furtive method as his arrival.
Halfway across the living room he froze in his tracks.
Freddie was blocking the door. And he had a gun. A pistol, pointed right at Aubrey.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
Aubrey saw the greed on the other man’s face. Freddie was an opportunist. He probably planned to turn him in, but there was no way in hell Aubrey would give him the chance.
Two strides and a swift jab with his right fist knocked Freddie Rushton backwards. It was a seriously risky gamble with a gun aimed at his heart, but Aubrey was beyond reason and beyond fear, at least beyond fear of an arsehole like Rushton. What he did fear was being sent back to prison.
Before Freddie could recover Aubrey followed up with a couple of blows to his abdomen. Freddie crumpled and the weapon slipped from his hand.
Aubrey grabbed the gun and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. He shoved Freddie aside with his foot then he left. He didn’t look back.
Moments later he was jogging down the quiet street.
He should never have gone back to the flat, he knew that now. But what the hell had Gemma been talking about? Who was this woman the police were asking about? Carol? He paused at the corner. He ought to get back to the empty building; his sanctuary. But he needed more information. The police hadn’t been shy about putting his face in the news, maybe there had been updates released to the public.
All Aubrey’s fantasies about a cosy night at home, with food and his girl and his own bed, they’d been dashed in an instant. Back to plan A, a cautious visit to the local corner shop. Snacks and the late edition of the local paper were his new priority.
Aubrey pulled his hood up and moved on. He didn’t notice the figure watching him from the shadows.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Freddie Rushton was biding his time. When he’d followed Aubrey Davis from Gemma’s place his intention had been to pounce on the bastard in some secluded spot and pay him back for earlier. Freddie rubbed the stubble along his jaw line. It was still tender from Aubrey’s punch. As he’d snuck along in the darkness the cold air had cooled his temper. He started to think longer term.
He and Gemma had had a good thing going for a while. She could be a pain in the backside, but they still had a lot of fun together. Then she dropped him like a tonne of bricks the second Aubrey Davis was released from prison.
Maybe it was time to send Davis back inside.
He could have called the police already, but he wanted more than that. Davis’ face was plastered over the news, and not only because of the bank robbery. The police wanted to talk to him about two murders and a missing girl. Whatever the stupid bastard had been up to it looked like he was in some serious trouble. Once he was locked up he may never see the light of day again. And Gemma would run straight back to Freddie.
There was also the matter of the gun. He had to get that back, and soon.
Freddie needed to know where Davis was going. Did he have a place to stay? Was he hiding out with a friend? More importantly, where was the loot he’d stolen from the bank. Ha
d he already stashed that away somewhere, or would he lead Freddie right to it.
He had his answer less than an hour after the fight in Gemma’s flat.
Aubrey had walked a couple of miles before stopping off at a corner shop that was open late. He came out carrying a carrier bag. Freddie could see the newspaper poking out the top. Aubrey had gone out of his way to walk all the way to this shop. He’d passed other places on the way where he could have bought a paper. Freddie guessed he was being careful, just in case someone reported seeing him.
He was right. He was slightly surprised when Aubrey started heading back the way they’d just come. Was he going back to Gemma’s?
They were almost all the way back to the flat before Davis suddenly switched direction. He scurried quickly across some waste ground and disappeared into the shadows of the old industrial estate.
Freddie smiled to himself in the darkness. This was where Davis was hiding out; a stone’s throw from his girlfriend’s flat. Prick. He was making this too easy.
Still, Freddie wasn’t going to rush. He wanted to make the best of this opportunity. Hell, he might even get a chance to finish what they started in the flat before he turned the fucker in.
Freddie hurried along in Aubrey’s wake. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a total waste after all.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
Aubrey was stunned. He was back in his cardboard nest, padding himself against the cold and chomping his way through his third packet of crisps. Surprise at the contents of the newspaper laid out on the floor beside him didn’t diminish his appetite. He hadn’t realised just how hungry he was until he started eating. There were three photographs tucked in amongst the text of the article. One was of Aubrey; the same unflattering shot they’d used for the TV footage. There was also a picture of a young woman; someone else the police were keen to speak to. Aubrey recognised her. He’d watched the bank long enough to get a good look at each of the employees, and this one stood out. The article named her as Jennifer Kim but didn’t mention why the police were looking for her. It was obvious they were very keen to find her though. Aubrey would bet good money it was her picture the policeman had shown to Gemma; the one that had sparked the jealous rage that had sent her spinning into the arms of fucking Freddie Rushton. Did their search for her connect directly with the third picture, the one of Hugh Bishop?
Aubrey couldn’t believe he was dead.
He’d been sure he was the one that had killed Carol. He knew how terrified she was of him. Her fear had been palpable, surrounding her like a poisonous cloud. Her only part was to get the key. Aubrey remembered being surprised at her reticence even to do this small thing; especially since it was her safety deposit box. It was her key. Some gentle prodding had revealed that Hugh kept the key. Hugh kept everything important. Hugh controlled the money. Hugh controlled her life.
Eventually she’d agreed. It was her plan after all; her life. Then that life was snuffed out. Aubrey guessed her husband figured out what she was up to, but not soon enough to stop it. Not before Aubrey had gained access and taken the contents of that safety deposit box.
He pulled his backpack towards him, pulled open the zip and teased out the soft cloth bag. Touching it made it more real. These jewels had cost him; his freedom, his home, Gemma, all lost to him. His feelings were bitter sweet. Would he change any of it? Would he swap all this wealth for his old life back?
He lifted the bag into his lap. He liked how heavy it felt.
They were beautiful jewels. They should have brought Carol some joy, instead they’d been hidden away where no-one could appreciate either their beauty or their value. Carefully he tucked the bag back inside his backpack and fastened it up. As lovely as they were what he needed now was money. It was going to be tricky getting to his contact though with his face making front page news.
He hoped the encounter at Gemma’s flat hadn’t attracted any attention. If the police heard about a disturbance there they’d pounce on it in a flash, and Freddie certainly had no reason to keep his mouth shut. Aubrey pushed away thoughts of a man hunt with police swarming all over the neighbourhood to search for him.
Thinking of Freddie sparked a burning hatred somewhere down deep. Freddie was a low-life. Gemma was far from perfect but spending time with that guy would drag her into the gutter. And where the hell had he got his hands on a gun? And, more worryingly, why did he have it?
Aubrey hated guns. He didn’t have a violent nature, but the bruising on his knuckles gave him a sense of satisfaction where he’d got the better of Freddie Rushton. Aubrey had hidden the gun in the back of his van, stuffed it beneath some tarpaulin with his few tools. He’d get rid of it soon enough.
As he opened another bag of crisps he looked again at the picture of the woman, Jennifer. What part did she play in all of this? He lay back on his makeshift bed and thought back to his days spent watching the bank, trying to remember everything he could about her. Whatever his flaws Aubrey had a damned good memory.
Suddenly he sat bolt upright. The weird guy; the one who also seemed to be watching the bank. At the time Aubrey had been worried he had some competition. He’d paid attention. The guy was up to something, but he hadn’t interfered with Aubrey’s plans so once the job was complete he never gave him another thought. But he thought about him now. He’d noticed him at various times, but most often in the mornings, just before the bank had opened. With the staff all arriving at pretty much the same time Aubrey hadn’t thought much about it, but now he remembered that Jennifer Kim had been the last person to enter the building prior to the appearance of the mystery watcher. He’d seen him one lunchtime too; again he appeared just after Jennifer had returned from her lunch break. Was that it? Was this guy the key to what was going on?
It would be easy enough to find out. Aubrey smiled to himself in the dark office, for once thankful for his own paranoia. His concern at the time had prompted him to take steps, just in case anything happened. He’d followed the watcher, tailed the guy all the way back to his home.
He knew where he lived.
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
It was about three in the morning when Aubrey arrived at the quiet street tucked amongst the suburbs of east Blackbridge. He hadn’t risked the van; too easy to get stopped. It had been a long walk from his sanctuary on the edge of the industrial estate, but it had helped clear his head. The closer he’d got to his destination the more he felt it was a waste of time. Just because some loser was hanging around near the bank it didn’t mean it had anything to do with the death of the Manager or the disappearance of that girl. Still, he hadn’t turned around and gone back, just ploughed ahead. It was good to have a destination of some kind, of any kind, even if he was just grasping at straws. His anger and humiliation from the scene at Gemma’s flat had fizzled out, but the earlier injection of adrenalin had made the thought of sleep impossible. So, here he was, strolling down a street on the other side of town in the wee small hours.
He halted some way from number 36. The street had a cramped feel. The road was narrow and full of parked cars. The houses loomed on either side with little in the way of front gardens; certainly no room for driveways. It was the kind of street built with another time in mind, a time when each household didn’t have three cars at least to their name. It was unlikely anyone was looking out of a window at that hour but Aubrey was cautious anyway. He’d already pushed his luck once today. A gap between two properties gave access around the back; a muddy track just wide enough for a car which led to handy gateways and carports at the bottom of the long gardens.
Aubrey counted the houses first. Number 36 was the eighth one along from the entrance to the back alley. Satisfied he could find it from the rear he silently slipped into the shadowy track and made his way along it. He moved slowly, the darkness so utter he couldn’t see where he was putting his feet. Some would have found it creepy, felt scared, outside, alone, in the darkness at that hour. But Aubrey had been living for days with the fear of capture, of exp
osure and returning to prison. Gliding silently past the back gardens of all those sleeping souls he felt relief. Here, for this short span of time, he was perfectly safe.
Like many of the properties number 36 had access from the alley to the garden via a set of double gates. Large, wooden, but warped and mouldy from time and weathering.
Aubrey fumbled in the dark, running his hands along the rough wood. He tested the gates with a gentle tug. They swayed drunkenly at his touch. Where the two gates joined there was a gap just wide enough to slide his fingers between. He felt up and down. Near the top he struck metal, a sturdy bolt on the other side held the gates shut. He checked all the way down but there were no other fastenings. The lower part of the gates flapped lazily as he probed, anchored together only by that one bolt.
On his tiptoes Aubrey reached up and over. He quickly found the bolt again. It was stiff but thankfully not padlocked too. He jiggled until he felt the bolt begin to move. The action was far from smooth. The bolt was stubborn and groaned sharply as metal grazed against metal. This gateway wasn’t in regular use.
Once the bolt was free one side immediately swung outwards with a creak of triumph as though eager to be free. He halted its progress, guiding it open slowly until it leant crookedly against a nearby hedge. Before him the garden stretched away in shadows upon shadows, but near at hand was a large rectangular structure; a shed or garage taking up space at the end of the garden. Aubrey moved closer. The garage had double doors secured shut with a heavy padlock. He moved on. Brambles snagged his jeans as he made his way along the side of the building. Even in the dark he could tell the garden was overgrown with weeds engulfing what was once a pathway. Feeling his way along Aubrey came across a window. Through the grubby glass something shiny caught his eye. He pressed his face close to the glass.
