The Retribution

Herefordshire. He had one stop to make on the way, but he had plenty of time. It was a lovely day, he realised as he left Worcester behind.

Time to make the most of it.

As usual when he was thinking, time had slipped past Tony without him noticing. He’d only realised how late it was when his stomach rumbled in protest at having missed out on breakfast and lunch. There were various tins and packets in the cupboards in the galley, but he couldn’t be bothered cooking at the best of times and today didn’t qualify as one of those. So he locked up and went ashore. He considered the pub but rejected the idea. He wasn’t ready for other people, not even strangers.

A few redbrick streets away, he found the perfect solution in a corner chippie. He hurried back to Steeler with a fragrant parcel of cod and chips so hot it nipped his fingertips. The prospect of something good to eat reminded him to hold on to the idea that not everything was shit.

He turned on to the pontoon where his boat was moored and stopped in his tracks. A familiar figure was standing on Steeler’s stern, leaning against the cabin with arms folded, thick blonde hair ruffled by the wind. For a moment his spirits lifted, grabbing at the possibility of a reconciliation. Then he made a proper assessment of her body language and accepted Carol wasn’t here to bury the hatchet and explore how they could best move forward together against Vance.

If that was the case, he had to wonder what she was here for. Standing staring wasn’t going to answer that question. Warily, as if fearing a physical attack, Tony walked down the pontoon till he was level with the boat. ‘There’s probably enough for two,’ he said.

Carol took the olive branch and snapped it across her knee. ‘I’m not planning on staying long enough to share a meal,’ she said.

He’d never got anywhere with Carol by being conciliatory. ‘Please yourself,’ he said. ‘But I need to eat.’ He stepped on board and glared at her till she moved to one side so he could unlock the door and clamber below. He’d left her with no option but to follow him if she wanted to talk.

He pulled a plate out of the rack and unwrapped his fish and chips, tipping them on to the plate. As she came gingerly down the steps, he backed into the main cabin and shoved his papers and laptop to one side so he could eat. He pulled a can of Coke out of his coat pocket and set it beside his plate. ‘Some would say this is more my style than what I’ve just lost,’ he said.

‘I heard about the house,’ Carol said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Me too. I know it’s trivial compared to Michael and Lucy, but it still hurts. So I have paid a little for my stupidity.’ He tried not to sound bitter. He could see from the narrowing of her eyes that he’d failed.

‘I didn’t come here to beat you up for letting them down.’ She leaned against the galley, arms folded, her pain obvious. So many times he’d imagined her here, daring to indulge little fantasies of them going out for a run on the narrowboat like normal people did. Who was he kidding? They weren’t normal, either of them. Even if they got out of this alive, they weren’t going to turn into the kind of pensioners who pottered around the canal system painting kettles with castles and roses and discussing which pub on the Cheshire Ring did the best steak pies.

Tony popped a chip in his mouth and gasped as the hot potato burned his mouth. ‘Wah! That’s hot!’ He chewed it, mouth open, till it was cool enough to swallow. ‘Sorry.’ Hapless grin, little shrug. Who did he think he was kidding? He’d never had the kind of charm to get out of trouble, least of all with Carol. ‘So why did you come and find me?’

She took a couple of steps forward and woke the laptop from its sleep, picking up the scribbled notes that sat beside it. The screen faded up, revealing a crime-scene photo of a cardboard box open to reveal dismembered limbs. She read aloud. ‘“Maze Man. 1996. One season on HBO. Based on novel by Canadian James Sarrono. Website www.maze-man.com. Facebook? Twitter?” And lots more of the same. What the fuck is all this about?’

He considered lying. Considered claiming he’d pressured Paula for the information because he wanted to try to make it up to Carol. But that was pitiful and one of the things he’d decided in the course of the long night was that he was going to try to do better than pitiful in future. ‘Your team loves you. They don’t want you to go. And the only thing they can think of to give you as a leaving present is a result. So even though they know you’re opposed in principle to me working for nothing, and even though they’ve probably worked out by now that I have to carry the can for your brother’s death – in spite of that, they asked me to help. Because they think I can help. And I think I have.’ He gestured at the papers in her hand. ‘I came up with Maze Man.’

‘That’s your idea of investigative help? A tenuous connection to an obscure TV series that isn’t even available on DVD? What kind of use is that, even if it’s real and not just wishful thinking?’ Her fury burned bright. Tony didn’t think it had much to do with the Bradfield killings. In normal circumstances, she’d have gone with rueful irritation and given Paula an ear-bashing later. This was anger of a different order.

He took his time, breaking off a piece of fish and eating it. ‘The crime scenes are virtually identical. The killer used the name of the star to book a motel room where he probably drowned his second victim. There’s a website which seems to have about a dozen people regularly posting on its forum. If one of them lives in Bradfield, he could be your killer. Or he could know your killer. It’s better than nothing, which is what your team had got until I suggested this.’

Carol slammed the papers down on the table. ‘How can you be bothered with this? How can you give a shit about some weird fuck killing prostitutes when Jacko Vance is out there? You’re in his sights, just like I am. You should be working with Ambrose and Patterson, trying to find Vance, not fucking about here with something that is none of your business.’ She was shouting now, her voice shaking with tears he knew she would do anything to avoid shedding. ‘Clearly you don’t care about me, but don’t you care about yourself?’

Tony stared defiantly at her. ‘Actually, you’ve got that the wrong way round. I probably don’t care enough about myself, but I really do care about you. And Vance knows that. That’s probably why Chris is in hospital right now.’ Even as the words crossed his lips, he cursed his own stupidity.

Carol looked as if he’d slapped her. ‘Chris is in hospital? This is the first I’ve heard about it. What the hell happened to her?’

Tony couldn’t meet her eye. ‘She went to fetch Nelson instead of Paula. Vance got into your flat and booby- trapped the cat-food bin. She got a face full of sulphuric acid.’

‘Oh my God,’ Carol said faintly. ‘That was meant for me.’

‘Yes. I think it was. To make you suffer more and to make me suffer too.’

‘What— How is she?’