Chain of Vengeance: Chpater Three - Part One

1

 

SOMERSET

 

Jack considered what his next move was as he made his way across a grazing field toward the road he’d seen.

It was a beautiful sunny spring morning. There were few clouds. The meadow was speckled in dandelions. He walked through the long forgotten grass, taking his time to give his clothes the chance to dry off in the sunshine, thinking about the fall from the bridge and the unconscious drift miles downstream. It was a riddle which gave no clues away in the question.

Did the police already know he had murdered Lucy? Did they know his name? Would they be waiting for him at his home to drag him away to a prison cell? Perhaps he had been kept alive only to answer for what he had done and be punished; or to allow his pursuers the gratification of revenge.

As he approached the raised up road he spotted the rectangular top of a red phone booth: another happenstance that defied probability. If he was lucky there would be a lay-by: an ideal spot to get cars to stop to hitch a ride and he had the funny feeling, before climbing up, that there would be. The only question was which way to go? Back to Bristol, to walk into a police station to answer for his crimes, or home, to London?

Standing over Lucy’s body, suicide had seemed his only option. Now, with perspective, he saw things differently. It was weak. It was an escape. He wasn’t going to try that again. He didn’t know what he was going to do but he wasn’t going to kill himself.

The phone booth was a welcome sight. He had already checked his wallet. What few notes he had were sodden but he had change enough for a call. As soon as he made out the booth in the distance he was gripped by the desire to call Dominic: his mother’s elderly brother: far more friend than uncle. Not to confide in him about what had happened – that was a horror Jack didn’t relish and didn’t want to accelerate – but so much had occurred. He wanted to hear a friendly voice saying welcoming words.

He reached the fence at the foot of the slope that climbed to the road. The phone booth was no longer visible but he knew it was approximately above him. Jack gripped the top rung of the fence in both hands, took a half step back then vaulted over, his legs tightly together, then he started climbing the slope on the other side, wondering if his photograph was already being shown on the news. If Dominic knew about Lucy already, the words he was hoping for would not be so welcoming. Without an explanation, Dominic would see the murder as abhorrent; but Jack wouldn’t blurt out excuses or beg for absolution. Lucy was the only one who could grant that and she was dead.

If his picture had been on the news then any driver that picked him up might recognise him. What would happen then? Would he fight to escape? Would he kill again?

No. No he wouldn’t. Never again. Whatever happened.

Jack paused for breath at the top of the bank. He’d judged right. The phone booth was close. The road was single carriageway – more minor than he’d thought at first. Traffic was light. He wondered what time it was. Too early to call Dominic?

He opened the door to the booth, filled the slot with change and then dialled the number.

The first ring came, teased out into something long and drawn. In the split second before the next, Jack’s brain invented and played back the entire content of what Dominic might say if he already knew about the crime. He imagined the condemnation and disgust.

It rang one more time then Dominic answered.

“Hello?”

“Dominic? It’s Jack.”

“Jack!”

“I didn’t get you out of bed did I?”

“At this hour?” Dominic laughed. “I’m an old man. I’ll be sleeping at ten o’clock in the morning on my death bed but not before.”

He didn’t seem to know anything. That was a relief, but it made Jack feel bad all the same because he had wanted to come clean. He didn’t want to conceal his deed, especially from his uncle.

“Jack, I’m glad you called. Where are you?”

He hesitated. “On holiday.” He said no more than that. He still didn’t know what he was going to do next.

“How’s Lucy?”

Jack lowered his head. His throat narrowed. “She’s fine.”

“Good. Good. A man’s been here asking for you.”

“What?”

“This morning. Asking questions.”

The first thing Jack thought of was the police. “Did he say who he was?”

“He’s been trying to get in touch with you for some time but couldn’t find out where you lived. You aren’t on the electoral register.”

“What did he want?” It couldn’t have anything to do with Lucy. That wasn’t possible.

“Jack. I don’t think we should talk about this on the phone.”

“Why not? What’s going on?”

“It’s not something you should hear about like this. We should be face to face.”

The pips went to say there was no more charge left for the call. Jack patted the outer surface of his pocket but he knew that was all the change he had owned.

“Dominic, tell me what’s going on. Who was he?”

“Come and see me when you get back to London.”

“Why won’t you tell me over the phone?”

“Make sure you come today. You need to hear this now.”

Jack started to ask why but the phone went dead. He looked at the receiver, at the empty little holes in the ear piece that no longer made a sound. He checked his pockets more thoroughly for change in vain hope.

Then he set the receiver down and went outside.