Chain of Vengeance: Chapter Three - Part Six

6

Jack found himself suddenly reluctant to climb out of the van when it pulled up at the front of his home in Hounslow, an outer suburb of London.

He lived in an upstairs flat that was part of a Victorian house with a raised front door at the top of a short flight of steps. It was remarkable luck to have hitched a ride with a driver more than willing to drop him at home, but Crazy Geoff had enjoyed the company enough to stretch it out with a pretty major detour. Most of the journey had been a spiral retelling of Crazy Geoff’s glory days on the open road in the seventies and eighties. Jack listened to it with grateful good humour, saying thanks but no thanks to the occasional offered spliff when Crazy Geoff stopped to stretch his legs.

The journey in that heap, surrounded by such pleasantly nostalgic clutter and conversation had let Jack temporarily forget his situation. Now he was back it thumped to the centre of his conscious thoughts once more.

There were no police cars parked by the steps of his building, strobe lights flickering alternately. At first glance there didn’t even seem to be a suspicious stakeout vehicle containing a pair of heavily armed plain-clothed policeman. Having said that, the street was lined with cars as it was at any time of day or night and he couldn’t be sure.

Crazy Geoff was still talking, rounding up the latest story but rude as he knew it was, Jack had tuned out. He couldn’t focus on that now because here at last he had returned to a place where he could be found. If the police were after him – and surely they had to be by now – then this house was an open trap, either seconds or hours away from snapping shut around him, but certainly no more than days.

Should he tell Geoff to drive on; become that fugitive he had imagined? On the other hand, he was a fugitive already. These were fugitive thoughts he was thinking; the reasoning of a murderer.

He should go straight to Dominic’s; find out who was after him; but he was weary. He needed a respite, even for a little while, and more practically, he couldn’t rely on Geoff to be his chauffeur anymore; crazy or not. Before he could muster up enough doubt to stop himself, Jack thanked Crazy Geoff for the lift and opened the door.

“You have a happy life,” said Geoff, showing a smile that was missing its two front teeth.  Jack climbed out and shut the door, sending back a nod through the open window. “Thanks. You too.”

Crazy Geoff revved the engine of his hippy-mobile and flashed his eyebrows then pulled off down the street surprisingly fast. Jack stood where he was for several moments, waiting for the trap to close – for a couple of chubby men in navy blue suits and creased shirts to approach him and ask if he was Jack Catholic and would he mind accompanying them to the station.

They didn’t appear. The street was empty.

But what did that mean? That he was in the clear? Not at all. This house was still only pretending to be a refuge. Behind the bricks and windows were jagged metal teeth and a steel spring, just waiting for the moment when they would snap shut. He hadn’t tripped the trigger mechanism yet, that was all.

Again he had the compulsion to walk away; but he didn’t. He walked up the steps to the front door and flicked the key in the lock. The shadowy blackness inside swallowed him up as he went in and slammed the door.

Chain of Vengeance: Chapter Three - Part Five

5

LONDON

Anna Thorpe found her boss in the kitchenette at the end of the open-plan office pouring himself a coffee.

“Henry. Hi. I need to talk to you about Sam.”

Henry Masters had a thick, unsupple body, a bald head, hair cropped close to maintain his dignity and a thick moustache. His hands were webbed with what almost looked like fur. He was four years from retirement, and he made it very clear he wished it was more like six months. He didn’t enjoy pleasantries at the best of times and didn’t make any attempt at eye contact or a smile now. “You know I shouldn’t have to make my own coffee,” he said, spooning five sugars into his cup and stirring in the milk. “Back when I started here that was the secretary’s job. Now I’m not even allowed to call her my secretary. It’s ridiculous.”

“Do you have a minute?”

Masters looked at his watch. “I can give you until I get back to my office.” He started to walk without pausing to see if she was happy with that.

The Investigations Department took up a quarter of that floor in the Tower Insurance building. Most of the office area was open plan, a network of criss-cross passages set out like graph paper around cubicles with temporary partition walls. The path back to Masters’ office led in a straight line along the edge of the floor, open plan to the right, smaller offices of chief investigators like her and Sam to the left.

Anna lowered her voice. “I’ve been looking into some of those closed files in preparation for the audit; cases that showed discrepancies or missing paperwork.”

“I know about that.”

“Last night I spotted some incongruities and this morning I looked into it further. I think one of our investigators has been playing the system.”

Masters’ face hardened. He was listening finally. “Which one?”

“Sam Decker.”

He stopped. “Sam?”

“I’ve found a series of cases that don’t add up under scrutiny.” She opened her shoulder bag, leafed through the files inside and pulled one out, cracking it open. “Look: life assurance case; woman apparently dies, her husband rings up to claim the money. We pay out the claim: two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”

“Where’s the incongruity?”

“The woman rang up the other day, alive and well. She was calling about something else; it was a fluke she called. Around the time of the claim she received a bogus letter from us telling her that her policy had been closed due to unavoidable reasons and she was getting a pay-off of twenty thousand to cover it. That’s why she stopped paying her premium. There’s a call on record changing the address of the policy holder several weeks before her falsely reported death. That was where the check went out to. But that’s a dead end.”

Masters rubbed at the light grey stubble on his cheek with his middle finger. “What about the death certificate?”

“A fake. I’m telling you Henry, Sam Decker made the false claim on this policy then made sure he was the investigating officer. Then he covered it up and walked away with a quarter of a million pounds.”

Masters started walking again. “I don’t believe it; not Sam. He’s a friend of mine. We’ve worked together for eight years; it isn’t possible.”

“There are other cases,” said Anna, struggling to fit the file back into her bag as she kept up. “Arson, car insurance… Some of them stolen claims, some based around completely fabricated property. And I have a feeling that the cases I’ve discovered so far are the tip of the iceberg. I think Sam’s been playing us for years, building up a fortune on the sly so that he can get set for life. Then he’s going to leave the country and jet set for the rest of his days.”

“Look Anna, I know you and Sam don’t see eye to eye.”

“This isn’t about that.”

“You’ve been on my back to get rid of him for the past three years.”

“Henry; this isn’t personal; really. I was following your instructions when this came to light. If it wasn’t for the audit, it would have gone unnoticed. I’m not just trying to pin this on Sam because I don’t like him. There’s evidence.”

“What evidence?”

She had been afraid of this question. “So far nothing absolutely concrete. A whole series of cases with question marks over them like the one I mentioned and Sam the investigating officer on each. If he was on the up and up he would have noticed the oddities; you know how anal he is. And he’s the only one who was in a position to cover it up.”

Masters halted abruptly. Anna overran and had to back up. “So you don’t have any definite proof; is that what you’re saying?” He didn’t want to listen. He and Sam had been friends for too long. But she wasn’t going to give up that easily. She was sure of herself and if that bastard was finally going to get what was coming to him, she wanted to be in on it.

“I’ve got enough for an investigation to be opened and enough to call in the police.”

His face was stern, expression closed. “I don’t want you to waste anymore time on this. Sam Decker is one of the kindest, most conscientious men I have ever known. There is no way he could be involved in the illicit activity you’re describing. I think you’re allowing your personal vendetta to cloud your approach to your work. I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

Masters turned away and continued walking.

“Henry wait.”

Masters stopped ten yards away but didn’t present his face. “What is it?”

“We’re talking several million pounds of the investors money. Several million pounds; I don’t know how much. We can’t afford to let this disappear; not with the audit review coming up.”

In the open plan area to the right, heads were turning. Masters walked back to meet Anna. “All right. Investigate it and keep me posted but we keep it in-house. No police; understand?”

Anna nodded. “No problem.” When Masters turned away she smiled, watching him lumber back toward his office. He may have been wrong about Sam but he was right about one thing.

This was a vendetta

Chain of Vengeance: Chapter Three - Part Four

4

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Crazy Geoff. “You look like you been swimming or something.”

They were on the M4 now, speeding away from the outskirts of Bristol, heading east.

“Yeah,” said Jack.

“Don’t recall seeing any swimming pools out there in the middle of nowhere when I picked you up.”

“No.”

Geoff laughed. “Obviously a subject you’re itching to talk about.”

They drove silently for a while. Jack looked across at Crazy Geoff then back out the front window. “You aren’t going to believe this,” he said. “I jumped off Clifton Suspension Bridge last night.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I survived the fall and got carried downstream. I woke up twenty minutes before I met you, lying in the mud on the riverbank near where you picked me up.”

“Is this a lead-up to a joke?” said Geoff.

“No.”

“I don’t like being lied to.”

“It’s not a lie. Forget I said anything.”

Geoff scrutinised him. “I don’t know much about Clifton Bridge but I had a cousin who was a daredevil back in the seventies. He went off the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco as a publicity stunt and killed himself. Clifton’s taller than that.”

Jack didn’t try to defend himself.  

“Let’s just imagine you’re telling the truth for a second,” said Geoff. “Do you know how fast you’d be going by the time you hit the water?”

Jack shrugged.

“You’d be going near… You’d be going maybe seventy five/eighty miles an hour! It’d be like someone sticking a brick wall in the middle of the fast lane here.” He pointed to the speedometer. “You see that. You see how fast we’re going? It’s impossible.”

“People do survive though don’t they?” asked jack.

“Off Clifton? Fucked if I know. Off the Golden Gate it’s like two in a hundred. Probably less and like I say… I’m pretty sure Clifton’s higher than that.”

They drove in silence again for a while then Crazy Geoff looked back across at Jack. “Are you joshing me about this?”

“Not at all.”

“You serious?”

“Yeah. I’m serious.

“Man! That’s a miracle is what that is! You should be proud!”

Jack didn’t reply.

“And you were carried downstream? Unconscious?”

“Yeah.”

“How far is that?”

“No idea. A long way.”

“You are the luckiest guy I ever met, you know that? You don’t look like you’ve got a scratch on you. It’s a miracle!”

“I don’t know about that.”

“It is man. That is the genuine article; not just one miracle but two, back to back like that. It’s a sign is what it is.”

“Of what?”

“Search me.”

“I think you’ve got it wrong,” said Jack. “I’m not sure I deserve a miracle.”

“Well you got one. You got two! What you’ve got to start wondering about is number three!”

“Huh?”

“Everything happens in threes. You never heard that before? You keep your eyes open. One miracle, that’s nothing; just a coincidence, right? A second one: that’s when you start thinking maybe something’s up. If a third comes along then you think of me. I’m telling you; if that happens you know something’s going on. You’re being kept alive for a reason.”

“Give me a break,” said Jack.

“You can be sceptical all you like. Look at me. I’m more sceptical than anybody… till I see it with my own eyes. I’ve only got your word for it anything happened at all; but keep on the lookout. If anything else happens then that’s a sign. You’ve got a purpose.”

“What kind of purpose?”

Crazy Geoff shrugged. “You tell me,” he said.

Chain of Vengeance: Chapter Three - Part Three

3

SOMERSET

“You looking for a lift?”

Jack looked up startled. There was a van parked in the lay-by, not far from the phone booth. It was a home-painted monstrosity with designs all over it: standard hippy emblems for the most part along with a few more obscure sigils. It was as endearing as it was gaudy. Dominic’s wife, Auntie Gill would have loved it if she’d still been alive. In her words, it would have been “too bleeding gaudy to resist.” A wiry middle-aged man with long grey hair and rainbow-coloured clothes was leaning against the back doors, smoking a joint.

“Sorry, what?” said Jack.

“You a hitcher?” he gestured down the lay-by. “You don’t seem to have a car. I’m only asking because I don’t mind dropping you somewhere. I’m kind of bored. I could use the company.” He twisted his spliff so he could see the end and blew on it. “Long as you don’t mind me finishing this first.”

Jack looked back at the call box, along the empty road then to the hippy with the van. “Sure. I guess. That’d be great. I didn’t see you drive up.”

“Must have been using silent engine mode.”

“You have silent running? That thing looks a hundred years old.”

“Just kidding.” He rapped the painted side. “This beauty drives like I sound when I get up in the morning.” He gave a fake cough to illustrate what he meant and batted his eyebrows. “Where you headed?”

Jack hesitated. He thought about Lucy lying dead in the grate then about the conversation he had just had with Dominic. “Which direction are you going?”

“Up onto the M4 at Bristol then down to the capital.”

Bristol or London. To turn himself in or to go back home and find out who was trying to track him down.

“I’m going to London,” he said.

“Fantastic. Here let me put this out. I’m not sure I fancy it after all. Get in.”

Jack walked round to the passenger door. The man got in, reached across and unlocked it. There were signs that the van had been on the road even longer than the great man himself. The inside was matted with stickers and badges, keepsakes from towns all over Europe stuck wherever there was a free surface. A pair of children’s-size clogs had been nailed to the ceiling over the passenger seat. There was a beret hanging from the rear-view mirror along with a little plastic map of Germany.

“Friends call me Crazy Geoff,” said the man, offering his hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Jack.”

“You ready for the ride of your life?”

Jack laughed. “As long as you get me there in one piece.”

“I’m not making any promises,” said Geoff.  He started up the engine. It sounded exactly as he’d described. It was amazing Jack hadn’t heard it pull up. He revved, brought her up to power then started off with a lurch. He stuck his hand out as an indicator and pulled onto the road.

Jack thought briefly about the man Dominic had said had been trying to track him down since before Lucy was killed and tried to conjure a reason Dominic might have for not explaining over the phone. Then he thought about Lucy, and just briefly, about her brother.