Running Stupid: (Mystery Series) (22 page)

“It’s him,” Charles said with a nod of his head. “Definitely him.”

“Okay, now what?”

“We need to get out of here, quick. Chambers knows we are here and if he knows, it means the punters know and if the punters know …” He allowed the sentence to trail off.

“Then I get shot at again,” Jester finished the sentence for him and slowly climbed to his feet, using the wall as support.

Jester walked outside and Charles Edinburgh watched in disgust as he returned seconds later, donning a very wet hat.

“Did you steal that from the dead guy outside?” Charles asked, his voice fuelled with distaste.

Jester smiled. “Technically, I stole it from the owner of this place.”

“It’s been on his head … it’s probably still got bits of his skin on it.”

Jester nodded. “More than likely,” he agreed.

Charles watched the younger man in opened-mouth disbelief before he spoke again, “My car is parked around the back of the cabin, amongst some trees.” He dropped the mobile phone onto the floor and picked up one of the fallen assault rifles which he held unsurely in his hands. “We should take these.”

A loud mechanical sound blasted nearby and caused him to divert his attention from the gun to Matthew who was standing near the blue eyed assassin with an assault rifle in his hands. He had just finished loading the chamber. “Way ahead of you,” Jester said, loosely. In his other hand he held two magazines. “Here,” he said, throwing one of the magazines the driver’s way.

“Check him for ammunition,” Jester nodded towards the assassin at Charles’s feet.

Edinburgh did as instructed and found another magazine clip. They loaded their guns, made sure bullets were chambered, and then left the cabin and entered the dark, abysmal outdoors, where a storm continued to wash through the forest.

The wind rushed at them and threatened to knock them over. Charles pushed his hand over his temple, forming a salute to keep the rain at bay. It rushed directly at them, carried on a flight of ferocious wind.

Jester’s hands were dug deep into his pockets. His head was lowered into his chest so that the top of his head – protected by the hat – faced the rushing wind.

Edinburgh steadied the assault rifle with his right arm, aiming it ahead of him, ready to shoot at any moment. Jester’s gun hung loosely in his right hand, the butt reaching up to his bicep and down to his palm, the barrel aiming just ahead of his feet.

They found Charles’s car, a black Toyota MR2, hidden on the edge of the clearing around the cabin. Charles rushed up to the car, opened the front door and ushered Jester into the passenger side.

Jester didn’t move. “What the fuck,” he said slowly, smiling. “Mate, you drive a woman’s car.”

“What?” Charles was frantically trying to speed things up. Jester’s comment threw him off track. “Just get in.”

Jester shrugged his shoulders and climbed into the passenger seat.

In seconds, the car had pulled out of the clearing. After weaving around a few awkward mud paths, they emerged on a country road, relieved to be back out in the open.

“It’s not a woman’s car,” Charles said, breaking a silence that had lasted for a few minutes. “A lot of men drive them.”

“Yeah,” Jester nodded, “hairdressers.”

Charles laughed softly. “I’m sorry,” he said solemnly. His foot lifted slightly off the pedal, the car cruising in the rattling storm. “For everything that’s happened,” he clarified, his tone serious and empathic.

Jester removed his eyes from the road, lowering them to his lap. He nodded a bleak reply.

“It takes a lot of guts to do what you’ve done,” Charles continued. “If people really do get what they deserve, you have a lot coming to you.”

“I’ve had it all already,” Jester said sombrely, his tone still sedated. “Money, fame …” he paused and sighed. “I had a beautiful girlfriend, a perfect home. What more could you want?”

Charles didn’t reply.

“You see, I’ve already had what’s coming to me. I had the best things in life and I threw them away, all because I was greedy.” His eyes returned to the road, he looked distant. “There’s more to come though.”

Charles nodded slowly.

“Where are we going anyway?” Jester asked after a moment’s silence.

“In all honesty … I don’t know,” Charles admitted. “I just wanted to drive away. Anywhere but there.”

“As long as it’s not the police station,” Matthew said. “And don’t stop at any farm houses around here either,” he warned.

“Why not?”

“Because they’re all fucking crazy,” Jester explained. “If you see any fucking farmer, you just run the bastard over, okay?”

Charles raised his eyebrows and then nodded anyway, deciding against probing into Jester’s absurd comments.

“You should rest.” Charles turned his attentions to the tired features of Matthew. “You look ill. Some sleep would do you good.”

“Thanks,” Matthew said sarcastically, “but no thanks. I can’t sleep ...  not until this is over.”

“It may take days before all of this is over.”

Matthew nodded slowly to himself. “Good point,” he reasoned. “I’ll try to get some sleep.” He propped his arm up against the side door, rested his head in his hand and closed his eyes. Within seconds he had fallen asleep; his body shutting down as soon as his eyes saw black.

***

A noise floated through a dense thickness, filtering through layers of noise before it descrambled itself in Matthew’s ears: the words, “Matthew, wake up.”

He opened his eyes, startled. He was in his bedroom, a thick cream duvet covered his lower body. He could feel silk sheets underneath his naked body.

“Are you awake?”

The room was filled with the fog of morning. Matthew’s eyes slowly adjusted to the drastic light changes – from midnight to morning – and he began to recognise more of his surroundings.

To his left, at the edge of the bed, was his cabinet. A glass of water sitting on top of it. He stared at the glass momentarily, a flash of something odd disturbing his sense, a touch of deja-vu. A feeling of something that shouldn’t be.

“Earth to Matthew.”

He had only just become alert to the voice. He shot a glance in its direction, distressed. “Jennifer,” he said slowly, playing with each syllable.

On the windowsill, cigarette in hand, the sun catching glints in her hair, sat Jennifer Wilkinson with a smile on her face.

“Good morning,” Matthew said, smiling back.

Jennifer’s features changed, her smile disappeared. She turned her attention to the window, her face devoid of expression.

Matthew scrambled out of bed and felt the need to stretch when he stood, extending each of his muscles to relaxation point. “I had the weirdest dream,” he said yawning loudly.

Jennifer turned to him. “What was it about?” she asked.

Matthew opened his mouth, began to explain, but no words left his lips. He couldn’t remember what he was going to say.

“It was so weird that you forgot it already?”

“Apparently,” Matthew conceded.

He walked over to Jennifer and embraced her, something he felt an unusual urge to do. “I love you,” he whispered into her ear, his eyes closed as he hugged her closer.

She didn’t reply.

He opened his eyes and looked at the top of his girlfriend’s head. He planted a kiss on her soft hair, tilting his head until his eyes met hers.

Her eyes were empty, blank. “Jennifer?” Matthew asked, worry in his voice. “Jennifer?” he repeated. She didn’t answer. She merely sat, her eyes staring into nothingness, her body limp in his grasp.

“No …” Matthew backed away, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

He woke again. He was back in the car. Next to him, Charles was looking concerned. “Nightmares?” he asked.

“Sorry?” Matthew was still muddled with the world of his dreams and the sudden onset of reality.

“You woke with quite a start,” Charles explained. “Are you okay?”

Jester turned his attention to the road through the front windscreen. Rain was still falling heavily, streaks of lightening lit up the horizon, thunder crashed the skies and wind rocked the world.

“I’m fine,” Jester said solemnly. “How long was I out?” he asked after the car rolled around a tight bend, its headlights on full beam but barely penetrating the rain sodden darkness.

“Not long,” Charles said bleakly. “I didn’t even know you’d dropped off.”

Jester shook his head. “I’ll sleep when this is over,” he affirmed, the image of Jennifer’s cold, dead eyes prominent in his mind’s eye.

Charles could only nod, deciding against asking Jester any further questions.

“We need a plan,” Jester spoke, turning in his seat so he faced the driver. “Where are we going to go, what are we going to do, et cetera, et cetera.”

“It’s getting late,” Charles said, his eyes flickering across the time display. “And this weather is difficult to drive in.” He leaned forward and looked to the heavens as if to exemplify his point. The sky was black – rain-filled clouds, storm damaged air and an ashy fog decorated the gothic atmosphere – the sun had gone into hiding. “It’s nearly seven,” he said. “And it’s going to get darker.” He paused to contemplate. “If that’s possible.”

“You know any places we can go around here?” Jester quizzed.

“We passed a bed and breakfast a couple of minutes ago,” Charles began. “Well, we didn’t actually pass it,” he corrected himself, “we just missed the turn off. I’ve been there before, with my wife.” A tone of nostalgia entered his voice, a warm smile crossed his face when he mentioned his wife. “We could turn around and head back,” he said, a ‘
but
’ ready and waiting on his lips.

“I don’t think we’ll be welcome,” Jester said, taking the words out of Charlie’s mouth. “I have a ten million pound price tag on my head. Finding a welcoming place isn’t going to be easy.”

Charles nodded to himself, seemingly lost in thought. After a few moments of silence he spoke again. “When,” he began, stopping himself for a correction, “
if
… we find a place to spend the night, then what? Finding shelter is the least of our worries.”

“Let’s just take things one step at a time,” Jester said calmly.

Charles sighed. “We can’t just drive ...” A light bulb flickered on over his head. “I do have a place we could go,” he said, his voice unsure enough for Jester to question his intentions with a simple look of anticipation. “There’s a caravan park …” he paused. He lip-synched a round of numbers and locations, miles and landmarks, speed and distance. “About thirty minutes from here,” he continued. “I bought a caravan there recently. I was going to surprise Julie for our anniversary next month, take the caravan on the road, do a little mini-tour of England, maybe France …” He allowed his words to trail off.

“She doesn’t know about it?”

Charles shook his head, with his right hand he worked the glove box, popping it open for Matthew to explore. “In there,” he said, motioning towards the open compartment. “I have the keys. It’s parked in a small secured lot. Only the owners have the keys to get through the main gate.”

“How big is the caravan park?” Jester asked, removing a set of keys from the glove compartment.

“It’s a decent size. About the size of a couple of football pitches. It’s all fenced off and well-guarded.”

“How many caravans? How many owners?” Jester wanted to know, holding up the keys. “How many people have access to the gate?”

“Ten caravans,” Charles said bluntly. “Including ours. Ten people will have the key to the main gate, plus any security personnel, maintenance men, onsite workers, et cetera.”

“Security personnel?” Matthew quizzed. “Are the gates staffed?”

“Occasionally,” Charles said. “I’ve only been there a few times to clean up and do a spot of decorating. I’ve only seen a security officer onsite once. Just hide in the back and pretend to be asleep if there’s one on duty. He won’t check as long as we have the key, then they won’t mind.”

Jester nodded. “Okay,” he said. “To the caravan it is.”

Outside the English country manor owned by billionaire oil tycoon Ahmad Fadel, in the luscious gardens, underneath the shading branches of an elm tree, Ahmad Fadel carefully played croquet. The evening had closed. The air was fresh from the rain showers that had cleansed it through the afternoon.  The stormy conditions hadn’t ventured this far south.

Ahmad Fadel stood, legs slightly apart, with his facial features set deep on concentration mode; his tongue hanging out of his mouth slightly, caressing his upper lip. Behind him, waiting with a bottle of isotonic sports drink, stood Fadel’s personal servant. He watched the billionaire playing croquet with awe in his eyes.

Inside the mansion, watching out of one of the back windows, Dennis Maloney laughed. He was staring at the Arab – who was wearing his full golfing gear, down to the ridiculous striped socks – and laughing in disbelief. “What next?” he asked.

Behind him Mark Chambers puffed slowly on a fat cigar. “Have you ever played?”