Stormfront

by R. S. Sutton

  ‘You’ve just got to be Jenny Lawson,’ said Valerie.

  The woman picked up the Glock. ‘That’s right. And you’re…’ She stopped for a moment. ‘Bet you wouldn’t have said yes to the colonel if you’d known that you’d be dead in a couple of weeks, would you? Swap for Her Majesty’s Customs and Excise right now, wouldn’t you?’

  Working out just what was happening further up the chain, Valerie nodded. ‘Think I’d have been better off chasing bad debts and divorces.’

  Lawson put Valerie’s things onto a step, next to a sawn-off shotgun and some brown packages. Then, turning to Ben, she pulled him to his feet. ‘Now, you’ve been a silly boy, haven’t you, Ben? Very silly. You’ve been paid well, but it seems loyalty isn’t one of your strong points.’ Sweat building on the back of his neck, Ben could only mouth a few incoherent words.

  ‘Leave him,’ said Valerie. ‘This is all my doing, nothing to do with Ben. All this is way above his head. He fell into something that he’d no idea about. He’s an innocent in a nasty world. Now let him go, he’ll say nothing.’

  ‘Of course he’s going to say nothing,’ said Lawson, picking up a green plastic can. She unscrewed the top and poured the contents over Ben. Choking petrol fumes filled the concrete chamber. ‘Now just how much do you hate me, Valerie? On a scale of one to ten, somewhere around eleven I should think.’ She took the Glock, pulled out the clip and removed all the ammunition. Then, checking to see it was empty, put one round back into the breach. ‘Cut her hands free.’

  ‘What for?’ said Max, raising his stick. ‘They’re both going for a swim.’

  There was undiluted menace in her voice when she spoke again. ‘Cut her loose.’

  Releasing his grip on the stick, he took a knife and cut the cable tie. Lawson took Valerie’s lighter and, standing on a higher step, held it above Ben’s head. ‘How much do you hate me, Valerie?’ She looked across to Max and handed him the Glock. ‘Give it to her,’ she said, flicking the lighter into life. ‘There’s one in there, Valerie, no tricks, one in the slide ready to go. You can shoot me if you want.’ A light crackle accompanied a small flare above Ben’s head as the flame caught the rising fumes. ‘But if you do then our friend goes up in smoke.’

  Valerie took hold of the pistol. ‘Okay, let him go,’ she said. ‘What the hell do you want?’

  ‘Nothing you can give me, Valerie. I just want to know how much you hate me.’

  Valerie lowered the gun to her side. ‘Whatever. I’ll do what you want,’ she said. ‘Just put that bloody lighter away.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Lawson, ‘you don’t get off that easily. Ben goes up in smoke whatever happens.’ Whimpering, Ben screwed up his eyes.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Shoot me,’ said Lawson, ‘and I drop the lighter. Don’t shoot me, give the gun back to Max, and I drop the lighter. Thought it was obvious what you have to do.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Valerie, ‘say what you want, must be something? Name it, it’s yours. Time to get away? Anything you want, just put that lighter down. This is stupid.’

  ‘I’m waiting, Valerie.’ Lawson had to step back as the fumes danced around the flame. ‘Shall we have a countdown?’ A light smile accompanied her childish singsong words. ‘Three, two—’

  Valerie raised the gun quickly and shot Ben straight between the eyes. He did not jolt back, nor did he spin around. Like a puppet having its strings cut, he dropped to the floor.

  ‘If I ever get out of this, there’s nowhere to hide. Nowhere.’ She threw the gun into a corner as Lawson closed the Zippo.

  Max put another cable tie around Valerie’s wrists and pushed her to the floor as the boat returned.

  ‘Get that shit cleared away, Max.’ Lawson pointed her foot at Ben. ‘And anything else here, throw it over. That goes for her too,’ she said, motioning at Valerie. ‘And make it bloody heavy. We don’t want anything floating back up again. By the way, I don’t much care if she’s breathing or not when she goes in. I’ll send the boat back.’

  Even with his injured leg, Max had the place cleared in under an hour. Then he turned to Valerie. ‘Think you owe me, girl.’ He cut the tie around her ankles then slid the penknife back into his pocket. She didn’t struggle as he loosened her belt. Instead, putting bound arms over his head, she drew him closer.

  ‘No need to be in a hurry,’ she said, giving him her open mouth. She felt his response through her jeans as she teasingly ran her tongue around his. Then, tenderly, she bit and nibbled before sucking his lower lip deep into her mouth. The scream ejected from his depths was harsh and sharp as Valerie clamped her teeth shut and jerked sideways. She spat the piece of flesh to the floor as blood spewed down his neck. The attempted response of foul language only resulted in unformed words tumbling from a hideous mouth as he grovelled on the concrete looking for the lost chunk.

  ‘Bitch! Bitch!’ The incoherent curse erupted with a strange disability.

  With the plastic tie biting into her flesh, she went quickly to the corner and, opening the sawn-off, checked the chambers were loaded. Then, hitting the crawling Max under the chin with the butt, she buried the barrels into his groin before pulling the trigger.

  The screams and gunshot mashed together as they echoed around the tower. With a stunned glare locked on his face, he slumped back against the wall.

  Extracting the small knife from his pocket, she nicked herself a couple of times before managing to sever the cable binding her wrists.

  ‘Reckon you have about half an hour before you bleed to death, Max.’ He pushed a hand into the bloody mess between his legs as Valerie leant back against the wall. ‘Now, you can tell me where they are going, and I’ll call for an air ambulance,’ she said, waving her mobile in front of his face. ‘Or you can lie here in silence and wait for everlasting glory.’

  Max had to speak slowly and deliberately to make himself understood.

  ‘Okay, Max,’ she said, holding her mobile. ‘Thanks.’ Although contorted by pain, he still managed a questioning expression. ‘Ambulance?’ Valerie tapped the phone lightly against her cheek. ‘Sorry, Max, battery’s dead.’ She put it away and, picking up the Glock, made her way towards the walkway. ‘Looks like you’re going to have to amuse yourself singing soprano until the angels arrive… maybe.’

  She made her way to the next tower. ‘Blood and sand, what do I do with no phone?’ She had about an hour to decide before the boat came back. Get on board and hide? Hide around the towers, probably in the water, until they gave up searching and left? Then what? With the weather still bad, it would likely be days before anyone would come near enough for her to get their attention.

  Dawn was breaking when the boat returned. Although not good, the weather had eased. Valerie had decided to stay. She slipped into the water at the foot of the ladder and was soon shaking as the sea drained the heat from her body.

  After the shouting had died and Max’s body had been taken off, Valerie was near the stern of the boat where she noticed a small boarding ladder. Clinging to the wooden steps as the boat moved off, she concentrated on anything that would take her mind from the cold churning water and her aching muscles. One thing did pass through her mind: that Trent had been hung over the back of this boat, not Sun Dancer. The turning props just below were a constant reminder not to fall off.

  After twenty minutes, the swirling wash diminished as the engines were throttled back. Valerie climbed up a rung and, seeing land close by, jumped back away from the stern. Shaking with cold, she struck off to the nearby headland.

  Struggling over the rocks to a footpath, she realised that, once again, she was in a bloody mess and miles from anywhere. The worst of the storm had passed and reverted to an early-morning breeze, so she hung her jacket and jeans over a handy bush and lay back, letting the sun bring back some feeling.

  ***

  Adrenalin that had been
surging around her body for the last twelve hours drained away, only to be replaced by uncontrollable sobbing.

  ***

  Total exhaustion forced a couple of hours’ sleep. Only the nightmare of what had happened jolted her back. For a few minutes she lay on the sand. Tears ran freely, forming tiny pools on her lips. The muscles in her chest ached from the intense crying.

  With her clothes now reasonably dry, she brushed herself down and put them on. ‘Christ knows what I look like.’

  ‘Looks fine from where I’m standing.’ She turned to see a man, a rucksack on his back, leaning on a fishing rod.

  ‘Daft question,’ she said, pushing grubby fingers through her hair, ‘where am I?’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Seriously.’ She nodded, climbing up to the path. ‘Been a bit of a night.’

  ‘Yarmouth.’

  ‘Yarmouth! Bloody hell. Can’t be.’

  ‘Yarmouth, Isle of Wight.’

  ‘Thank Christ for that. You going out or returning?’

  ‘Returning,’ he said, waving a string of mackerel.

  Valerie held up her phone. ‘Got to get this charged.’

  ‘Okay, I’m just over the rise there. Looks like you could do with a cuppa as well.’

  ***

  The fisherman’s place had once been a pretty cottage. Now, with a modern whitewashed extension stained with algae, it was in a sorry state. Broken and slipped tiles sat above small windows sick with rot. It stood there unloved, waiting for the building industry’s equivalent of Dignitas.

  The man pushed at the composite door and ushered her in. The room was both kitchen and diner and in little better condition than outside. A chair croaked its resistance as he dragged it across the stone floor and offered it to Valerie.

  Even though she had done her best to keep water out of the mobile, she was still surprised to see it light up when plugged into the mains with a borrowed charger.

  ‘Hungry?’ The man of about sixty held up the catch of fish.

  ‘Not really a mackerel person, if I’m honest.’

  ‘I’ve not much else, I’m afraid, not been shopping.’ He held one up. ‘It was swimming around a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘So was I,’ she murmured.

  ‘Sorry?’

  He started gutting the fish before throwing the first one into a pan of smoking hot butter. Receiving no answer, he carried on. ‘I’ll put plenty of lemon juice on. That will cut through the oiliness. And some parsley.’

  The fish smelt good and she wanted to like them, but even with loads of lemon and a pile of parsley they did little more than stop the hunger.

  ‘Better than I thought they would be,’ she said, washing the taste away with a mug of tea.

  With the phone still charging, Valerie called Claude to apologise for the shambles and asked if someone could pick her up.

  ‘You get around a bit,’ he said. ‘No wonder we were twiddling our thumbs up some ruddy creek, if they were cruising into the Solent. I’ll come myself.’

  She felt rather guilty waving goodbye to the host whose name she did not even know. Especially after taking the last of his hot water for a shower.

  Twenty-Four

  Claude unconsciously eased his foot from the accelerator as Valerie filled him in with the details of the night before. Just before reaching the ferry back to the mainland, he pulled over. The inspector kept a firm grip on the wheel as they both sat in silence for a while.

  ‘Nothing you could do. It’ll be with you for a long time, but you just have to keep remembering what I said. You had no choice.’ He turned around and pulled her face to his. ‘You had no bloody choice,’ he ground out between clenched teeth. ‘It had to be done.’

  Tears ran down Valerie’s cheeks as her shoulders started to shake. ‘Thanks, Claude.’

  She did not tell him where they could be found. With freezing hands, and muscles locked in cramp, she’d sworn a solemn oath while clinging to the stern of the high-speed launch. Not caring if she spent the rest of her life in Holloway, she’d see Lawson dead. But if Claude were there…

  ***

  ‘Want a lift to the Exe?’ she asked Preston on the phone.

  ‘With you? Love to. But why the River Exe?’

  ‘I’m afraid the Golf’s down there collecting parking fines. I’m in the car park behind your apartment.’

  ‘Well, hello, where’ve you been?’ he said, appearing a few minutes later. He gave her a kiss and put his jacket behind the seats. ‘I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to get a ride in this.’

  ‘Course you were,’ she said, throwing him the keys before sliding into the passenger seat. ‘Just remember, wrecking it’s a capital offence.’

  ‘Ruddy hell,’ said Preston, carefully guiding the long bonnet across traffic lights, ‘it’s like trying to thread a bloody needle.’

  ‘Stop before you put it into first,’ she said as he crashed another gear. ‘It’s the original box and first has no synchro.’

  ‘Beginning to find that out.’

  He grew in confidence as they headed along the embankment, smoothing out each gear change with a double declutch.

  ‘Jesus, just look at everyone. Can’t take their eyes off.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Valerie, pushing her cigarette end into the ashtray, ‘it never fails to turn heads.’

  ‘Not sure what it is, you, the car, or both.’ He gave her a quick glance. ‘Of course, this time that’s mixed with the men cursing me.’

  Valerie made appropriate noises during the journey, but the major part of her brain was churning around like an unbalanced concrete mixer. Unable to keep it to herself, she asked Preston to pull in to a pub car park.

  She sat at a garden table while he disappeared through French windows into the bar. Looking around the flowers and neatly clipped lawn, it was all a million miles away. All so peaceful, all so normal. Hard to imagine this was the same planet, let alone the same country that bred the filth she was chasing.

  Setting off with two bottles of Pepsi, a man held the gate back for Preston.

  ‘Hey, mate,’ he said, putting the palm of his hand to Preston’s chest, ‘drop-dead good-looking woman, I can live with that. Just. And black beauty out there in the car park,’ he nodded across to the Jag, ‘I can live with that. But both! Now that’s just bloody obscene.’

  ‘Haven’t got the one,’ he murmured, ‘and not too sure about the other.’

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Valerie as he sat down.

  ‘Oh, just admiring the car. That’s all.’

  ‘I’m ninety-nine per cent sure Alan’s not dead. And I’m just as sure he’s at the top of something very dirty. I’m telling you only because I’m sure about you being straight.’ She sat back, taking a sip of Pepsi while waiting for him to say something. Which he didn’t do straight away.

  He made several efforts to reply. ‘When we first started…’ He stopped and asked if she had a cigarette.

  ‘You don’t smoke,’ she said.

  ‘Used to, and need one now.’

  ‘Sure?’ He nodded and Valerie pushed a pack and Zippo across the table.

  ‘When we were approached by the guy to help in his business… you remember me telling you?’ She nodded, and after lighting the cigarette he carried on. ‘Well, when he got into trouble… or to be more correct, when I thought he was in trouble…’ He stopped and dropped the cigarette to the floor. ‘What the hell are those?’

  ‘An acquired taste.’ She leant back, watching butterflies about their business on a nearby buddleia. ‘But carry on. What about Alan?’

  ‘Never told anyone. People told me, including the guy we lent the money to, but I didn’t believe them. He was my brother and I trusted him. The rumours were that Alan cheated and threatened him out of his own company. I think he must ha
ve sensed that I wouldn’t have anything to do with that sort of thing and got me away on overseas ventures. Straight, honestly, my side is straight.’

  Valerie nodded. ‘Well, if you’re bent then everything else is off to hell in a handcart. Come on,’ she said, ‘let’s go and get your wheels before those penalties get into four figures.’

  ***

  Leaves blew around her ankles as Valerie stepped from the Jag. By the side of the harbour, the car park felt cold and remote, the little VW a forlorn object in the corner.

  ‘You know where they are, don’t you?’ he said, looking at the bunch of tickets on the windscreen.

  ‘Yup.’ She helped him remove the notices and threw them onto the passenger seat. ‘Sure do.’

  ‘I’m coming with you.’

  ‘No bloody way,’ said Valerie firmly.

  ‘Why? And don’t say it’s too dangerous.’

  ‘That’s very sweet, David, but I signed up for this. It’s not your call.’ She took his jacket from the car and put it on the Golf’s bonnet, along with the keys. ‘And besides, there’s no way you’re going to approve of what I have in mind.’

  ‘You’re going now, yes?’

  Valerie nodded, taking a Disque Bleu from the pack. ‘Right now.’ She shaded both cigarette and lighter from the rising breeze. ‘While my blood’s on the boil.’ The wind pulled at her hair and put a flush in her cheeks as the cigarette smoke flew across the car park.

  ‘Then I’m coming. And no guff about I can’t. That’s a bloody good car you’ve got, Valerie, but you can’t outrun the R.’

  She wound up the curving road away from the coast, the little VW behind in faithful attendance. With little fuel, she pulled into a service station.

  ‘I’ve enough petrol, I’ll wait.’ Preston folded his arms and leant on the car door. ‘Besides, I wouldn’t put it past you to fly off, leaving me at the desk with nothing more than a red face.’ Going off to pay, Valerie mixed an innocent smile with a half-curtsy.

  After an hour she turned off the headlights, and with a near full moon managed to follow a narrow, winding road up to a wooded knoll. The flickering stop lights shone in front of two stone pillars, before she slipped the car out of sight behind thick shrubbery. Guided by the Jag, Preston shut off the Golf’s lights and quietly parked to the other side. The door closed with a smooth clunk as he gently pushed it with his knee.