“William Reinhart, the Chief Commissioner,” I finished for her.
“Exactly. Arsehole knows he’s protected. Everyone is too fucking scared to say boo to him.”
“That’s why he was on the phone to the chief almost as soon as we left,” I said. She nodded, agreeing with me as she drew one last puff from her cigarette before dropping it into the dirt and ending its life with her boot heel. “Do you think he had something to do with that girl’s death?”
“Nah, I doubt he would have the balls for anything more than raising his voice in protest. Although he was a persistent shit, his courage failed him when the girl would fight back, like telling him where to go.” She was leaning against the car, her hat sitting on the bonnet, her long dark hair hanging loosely around her shoulders. I found her almost distractingly beautiful, but didn’t want to acknowledge it to myself for exactly that reason. Something was telling me that this event was only just beginning, and once it gained traction, would take some clear heads to contain, if not stamp out completely. I needed my focus to be 100%, not distracted by some gorgeous girl with amazing curves.
“Let’s go,” I said, walking around to my side of the car.
“Where are we going?” she asked, opening her door.
“Anywhere. I think clearer when I’m moving.” And with that, she started the car, drove out of the parking lot, and headed south, back towards the centre of Cider Hill.
9.
I asked Steph to drop me and my baggage off, somewhere along the main street. I wanted to reacquaint myself with some local hangouts I hadn’t seen in such a long time, keen to see which were still going strong and which had fallen by the wayside. I was given a lovely surprise almost immediately after Steph left me standing at the kerb, when I saw that Mrs. Homestead’s Home-style café was still bright, cheery and definitely open, the chorus of voices reaching out to me through the door. The atmosphere inside the establishment was leaking through the open windows in bouts of chatter and giggles. My stomach gave a low grumble as a familiar smell drifted into my nostrils, the unmistakable smell of Mrs. McNorton’s beef pies. Mrs. McNorton was old when I first arrived in the town over twenty years ago and I doubted whether she would still be behind the counter. To my amazement, not only was she still serving behind her counter, she remembered me the minute I walked through her door.
“Jim!” she cried out when she saw me push through the strip blind, the long strings of beads getting caught around my hat. She looked old, at least 80, but moved with the grace of a lady in her 40s. She came bounding around the side of the counter, wiped her forehead with her apron, then hugged me tightly around the neck, pulling my face down to hers so she could kiss my cheek. It had been routine back in the day to pop in to this café at least once a day, for either a beef pie or a tuna and salad sandwich, both handmade and tasting divine.
“Hello Mrs. McNorton,” I said as she released me from her hold, feeling my cheeks flush as other customers eyed us from their tables.
“Beef pie or tuna sandwich?” she asked, grinning a little.
“You know, it’s been so long, I might just have both.” She laughed at this, walked me to a table and sat me down. She returned not a minute later, carrying a cup filled with hot coffee. I thanked her, took a sip and smiled. Black and one, just as I liked it.
My lunch arrived less than ten minutes later and tasted just as good as I had remembered. A delicious tuna and salad on soft rye bread as well as a beef and potato mash pie. I practically wolfed the sandwich down in 2 bites per half, then savoured the taste of the pie, the rich gravy still tasty enough to remind me of a Sunday evening roast with all the trimmings. When I finished, I made my way back to the counter, paid and left my hostess a tip for remembering at which she laughed.
“I haven’t lost the workings of my brain, yet, Jim.” I thanked her again and headed back out.
Once back on the street, I saw the old Railway Hotel still sitting a bit down the road, its high tin roof visible over the feed shop that sat beside it. I needed a place to stay and as I knew of its more than adequate accommodation, decided to call it home for the next few days. If I needed longer, then I could always move to one of the many boarding houses around town, or even rent a small cottage if one was available. For the time being however, the pub would suffice.
I was just beginning to cross the street when I heard a loud squeal of tyres and a roaring engine approaching me from behind. Looking over my shoulder, it surprised me to see that it was Steph, her face flushed with concern. I could see genuine fear in her eyes as she came to a screeching halt in front of me, her voice sounding scared.
“Steph?” I asked, but she cut me off.
“There’s been another one.”
Chapter 2: A Horror Revisited
1.
As I sat in the passenger seat, Steph punching the throttle, my thoughts were taken back to the night of Lightman’s arrest, and the terror I felt discovering my partner hanging from that rope with the knife embedded in his chest. It was a feeling I have never been able to forget, the fear and the adrenalin that coursed through my body. The total helplessness that overwhelmed me at not being able to do a God damn thing; his executioner still out there somewhere, ready to kill another. It was also a feeling that I had never felt again, save for that one moment on that one
