Matt Hilton: Blood and Ashes

But the reason remained elusive: why did they want me out of the way?

They hadn’t just turned up by chance. They’d been watching me and waiting for my return to the deserted lot. Was there any truth in Don’s suspicions that Brook’s death was anything but a tragic accident? Had these men been involved? It was beginning to look that way.

If they were responsible for burning Brook alive then I’d no reason to regret killing them so savagely. In fact, if there was any truth in that, I’d have been happy that they were now dead and gone.

But a small grain of doubt remained.

I was running full-tilt by the time the forest opened up and I saw the town limit sign. I began to slow. If anyone had arrived at the Seven-Eleven in the interim, I didn’t want to turn up sweating and blowing and attract their attention. Better that I approach quietly, get in the Audi and drive away unobserved.

When I walked into the car park, only the car waited. I dug in my pocket and pulled out the keys, the largest still clotted with the stocky man’s blood. I grimaced, but then used the inside of a coat pocket to clean the mess. The coat would have to go, but there was no rush. The auto-locking mechanism had rearmed itself and I bleeped the locks open and climbed inside the car. As I was about to close the door, movement caught my eye.

The tomcat was sitting next to where I’d scattered the dirt over the blood. It was watching me while it lowered its head and sniffed at the floor. It nuzzled the earth once, probing with its tongue.

‘Hey!’

The cat jerked up its chin and scowled at me.

‘Are you hungry, boy? C’mon and we’ll see what we can find.’

The cat’s eyes widened and it stood up languidly. It began to pad towards the car. I held open the door and the cat came inside, surprisingly at ease with its new friend. It sat in the passenger seat and stared back at me, purring like an idling engine. Maybe the cat shared some kind of affinity with me. Maybe it simply wasn’t as feral as it looked. Or it was twice as hungry.

Holding out the back of my hand I allowed the cat to sniff it. Then it lowered its head and allowed me to rub the hair between its ears. At least there was someone in this godforsaken place who didn’t greet me with enmity. I’m a dog man and have never owned a cat — they seem too aloof and uncaring of the ways of humanity, but I saw now that perhaps I’d misjudged them. A bit like I was often misjudged.

Starting the Audi, I pulled out of the parking lot, trusting the arrival of customers’ vehicles to obliterate the proof of violence under their tyres.

The main strip was still deserted, as was the loop round the green. The wishing well, complete with peaked roof and ornamental bucket, stood proud at its centre, but hadn’t yet attracted any visitors. Not that it mattered even if there was a group of tourists hanging around. My intention of being gone from town before anyone noticed was redundant now. Even if I personally had not been expected, the two men I’d fought were proof that Don Griffiths’ house was under surveillance. Therefore it was pointless hiding; may as well drive up and park on Don’s driveway.

The tomcat allowed me to tuck it under my left arm. Idly scratching the cat’s chin I walked up the path to the front door. The cat purred louder as it enjoyed the unfamiliar contact, uncaring that I was actually scrubbing blood from its fur.

I leaned on the doorbell.

It took longer than the first time for the light to come on above me. While waiting, I peered back across the green towards the main road. No dark-coloured vehicles nosed out of alleyways this time. There was a heavy tread from within, and then the light above flicked to life. So did the one inside. The silhouette beyond the glass was too bulky to be Millie.

Don opened the door tentatively. When he recognised who was standing on the stoop, he jerked open the door and peered past me, checking all sides and then across the green. Finally he turned his attention to me. ‘You came back? You actually believe me?’

‘Something happened to make up my mind.’

‘So you’re going to help?’

‘If I do this I want something from you in return.’

‘I’ll pay you. Just name your price.’

‘I don’t want your money.’ I held up the tom. ‘Feed the cat.’

Don looked down at the ragged old thing. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I want you to take him in. The old boy needs a home.’

Don shook his head in incredulity. But he reached out for the cat.

Immediately the tom hissed, and I felt its muscles bunching as it prepared to defend itself. I dropped the cat, expecting it to make a dash for freedom. To my surprise it swerved round Don and into the house. I smiled: the cat was evidently a good judge of character, but it also knew where it was well off.

‘Probably flea-ridden and has feline AIDS,’ Don muttered. He moved back allowing me to come inside. ‘But if those are your terms, you’ve got a deal. The grandkids will love having it around.’

Glancing down I saw a gun lying on the stand next to the door. It hadn’t been there earlier; Don had obviously brought it. Don caught me looking and coughed in embarrassment. He picked up the gun and tucked it into his trouser pocket.

‘I take it you weren’t expecting me to come back?’

Don shook his head. ‘You said something happened to change your mind?’

My head went down, a shadow flitting across my features that had nothing to do with the cap’s brim. ‘I just killed two men who were watching your house.’

Don took a step back, a hand going to his throat. He tugged at his beard, pinching it between index finger and thumb. From the way he stared it was as if he was awaiting the punchline of a sick joke. When I didn’t deliver, he asked, ‘You’re not serious, are you?’

‘I don’t take killing men lightly, despite what you might’ve heard.’

Don moved for the front door, as if checking that the corpses were piled on his front lawn.

‘Relax, Don. I’ve got rid of them.’

‘Where?’

‘Out in the forest.’

‘Jesus!’ Don ran his hands through his hair. Sweat from his palms made his hair stand up. It didn’t take long for the truth to sink in. ‘So I was right all along? Hicks is after my family?’

I pulled off my cap and thrust it into a jacket pocket. ‘I killed two men. I’m just not sure that they had anything to do with whoever is threatening you.’

Like the tugging on his beard, and the chewing of his moustache, the way Don’s hand went inside his trouser pocket was an unconscious act. He folded his hand round the butt of the gun. Hopefully he’d had the presence of mind to lock the safety on. ‘Who else could have sent them?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘But you killed them anyway?’

‘It was me or them.’ There was no conviction in my voice. Don was no shrink, but he didn’t have to be to recognise the doubt in my mind.

‘Sometimes we all do things we regret, Hunter.’

I held the older man’s gaze. He wasn’t referring to the two men: he was trying to smooth over the act that had driven a wedge between us all those years ago. ‘It’s just a shame that people have to die for our mistakes.’

Don nodded slowly. No argument from him.

I touched the old man’s wrist and then gently took his hand off the gun. ‘Put that away before someone else gets injured.’

Don opened a drawer in the stand, slipped the gun inside. He locked the drawer and tucked the key into his back pocket, then searched my face as if it held all the answers. ‘What are we going to do, Hunter?’

‘Leave it to me, Don. You’ve a job of your own.’

Don had no idea what I was referring to. As a reminder there was a racket from the kitchen, a clatter of pans and dishes shifting as the cat rummaged for scraps.