I got on the interstate. Tyson’s Corner was the junction I had to get off at; well, not really, I wanted the one before but I could never remember it. The moment I left the freeway I could have been in leafy suburban Surrey. Large detached houses lined the road, and just about every one seemed to have a seven-seater people-carrier in the drive and a basketball hoop fixed to the wall.

  I followed my nose to Kev’s estate and turned into their road, Hunting Bear Path. I carried on for about a quarter of a mile, until I reached a small parade of shops arranged in an open square with parking spaces, mainly little delis and boutiques specializing in scented candles and soap. I bought sweets for Aida and Kelly that I knew Marsha wouldn’t let them have, and a couple of other presents.

  Facing the shops was a stretch of waste ground, which looked as if it had been earmarked as the next phase of the development. On and around the churned-up ground were Portakabins, big stockpiles of girders and other building materials, and a couple of bulldozers.

  Far up on the right-hand side amongst the large detached houses, I could just about make out the rear of Kev’s and Marsha’s ‘de luxe colonial’. As I drove closer I could see their Daihatsu people-carrier – the thing she threw the kids into to go, screaming, to school. It had a big furry Garfield stuck to the rear window. I couldn’t see Kev’s company car, a Caprice Classic that bristled with aerials – such an ugly model only government agents used them. Kev normally kept his in the garage, safely out of sight of predators.

  I was looking forward to seeing the Browns again, even though I knew that, by the end of the day, I’d be more exhausted than the kids. I got to the driveway and turned in.

  There was nobody waiting. The houses were quite a distance apart, so I didn’t see any neighbours either, but I wasn’t surprised – the commuter belt of Washington is quite dead during work and school days.

  I braced myself; on past form, I’d get ambushed as soon as the car pulled up. The kids would jump out at me, with Marsha and Kev close behind. I always made it look as if I didn’t like it, but actually I did. The kids would know I’d have presents. I’d bought a little Tweetie-Pie watch for Aida, and Kelly’s was a handful of Goosebumps horror books. I wouldn’t say anything to Aida about forgetting her birthday; hopefully she’d have forgotten.

  I got out of the car and walked towards the front door. Still no ambush. So far, so good.

  The front door was ajar about two inches. I thought, Here we go, what they want me to do is walk into the hallway like Inspector Clouseau, and there’s going to be a Kato-type ambush. I pushed the door wide open and called out, ‘Hello? Hello? Anyone home?’

  Any minute now the kids would be attacking a leg each.

  But nothing happened.

  Maybe they had a new plan and were all squared away somewhere in the house, waiting, trying to stifle their giggles.

  Once through the front door there was a little corridor which opened up into a large rectangular hallway, with doors leading off to the different downstairs rooms. In the kitchen, to my right, I heard a female voice on the radio singing a station logo.

  Still no kids. I started tiptoeing towards the noise in the kitchen. In a loud stage whisper I said, ‘Well, well, well – I’ll have to leave … seeing as nobody’s here … what a shame, because I’ve got two presents for two little girls …’

  To my left was the door to the lounge, open about a foot or so. I didn’t look in as I walked past, but I saw something in my peripheral vision that at first didn’t register. Or maybe it did; maybe my brain processed the information and rejected it as too horrible to be true.

  It took a second for it to sink in, and when it did my whole body stiffened.

  I turned my head slowly, trying to make sense of what was in front of me.

  It was Kev. He was lying on his side on the floor, and his head had been battered to fuck by a baseball bat. I knew that because I could see it on the floor beside him. It was one he’d shown off to me on my last visit, a nice, light aluminium one. He’d shaken his head and laughed when he’d said the local rednecks called them ‘Alabama lie detectors’.

  I was still rooted to the spot.

  I thought, Fucking hell, he’s dead – or should be, looking at the state of him.

  What about Marsha and the kids?

  Was the killer still in the house?

  I had to get a weapon.

  There was nothing I could do for Kev at the moment. I didn’t even think about him, just that I needed one of his pistols. I knew where all five of them were concealed in the house, always above child level and always loaded and made ready, a magazine on the weapon and a round in the chamber. All Marsha or Kev had to do was pick up one of the weapons and blat anyone who was pissed off with Kev – and there were more than a few of those in the drug community. I thought, Fuck, they’ve got him at last.

  Very slowly, I put the presents on the floor. I wanted to listen for any creaking of floors, any movement at all around the house.

  The living room was large and rectangular. Against the left-hand gable wall was a fireplace. Either side of it were alcoves with bookshelves, and I knew that on the second shelf up, on the right, was the world’s biggest, fattest thesaurus, and on top of that, tucked well back out of view, just above head level, but close enough to reach up for, was a big fat gun. It was lying so that, as you picked it up, it would be in the correct position to fire.

  I ran. I didn’t even look to see if there was anyone else in the room. Without a weapon, it wouldn’t have made much difference.

  I reached the bookcase, put my hand up and took hold of the pistol, spun round and went straight down onto my knees in the aim position. It was a Heckler & Koch USP 9mm, a fantastic weapon. This one even had a laser sight under the barrel – where the beam hits, so does the round.

  I took a series of deep breaths. Once I’d calmed myself, I looked down and checked chamber. I got the topslide and pulled it back a bit. I could see the brass casing in position.

  Now what was I going to do? I had my car outside; if that got reported and traced there’d be all kinds of drama. I was still under my alias cover; if I got discovered, that meant the job got discovered, and then I’d be in a world of shit.

  I had a quick look at Kev, just in case I could see breathing. No chance. His brains were hanging out, his face was pulped. He was dead, and whoever had done it was so blasé they’d just thrown the baseball bat down and left it there.

  There was blood all over the glass coffee table and the thick shagpile carpet. Some was even splattered on the patio windows. But strangely, apart from that, there wasn’t much sign of a struggle.

  4

  I HAD TO make sure Marsha and the kids weren’t still here, tied up in another room or held down by some fucker with a gun to their heads. I was going to have to clear the house.

  If only room-clearing was as easy as Don Johnson made it look in Miami Vice – run up to the door, get right up against the door frame, jump out into the middle of it, pistol poised, and win the day. A doorway naturally draws fire, and if you stand in one you’re presenting yourself as a target. If there’s a boy waiting the other side for you with a shotgun, you’re dead.

  The first room I had to clear was the kitchen; it was the nearest, plus it had sound.

  I was on the opposite side of the living room to the kitchen door. I started to move along the outside wall of the room. I stepped over Kev, not bothering to look at him. The pistol was out in front of me; it had to be ready to fire as soon as I saw a target. Where your eyes go, the pistol goes.

  I mentally divided the room into bounds. The first was from the settee halfway across the lounge, a distance of about twenty feet; I got there and went static by a big TV/stereo set-up, which gave me a bit of cover while I cleared the door that led back to the hallway. It was still open.

  There was nothing in the hallway. As I moved through, I closed the door behind me. I approached the one to the kitchen. The handle was on the right-hand side and I couldn’t see the hinges, so it had to open inwards. I moved across to the hinged side and listened. Just above the sound of my breath and that of my heart thumping I could hear some bonehead on the radio, ‘Injured at work? Fight for compensation through our expert attorneys – and remember, no win, no fee.’

  My pistol arm wasn’t completely stretched out, but the weapon was still facing forward. I leaned over to the handle, turned it, gave the door a push and moved back. Then I opened it a bit more from the hinge side to see if there was any reaction from inside the kitchen.

  I could hear more of the radio and also a washing machine – turning, stopping, turning. But nothing happened.

  With the door now open just a few more inches, I could see into a small part of the kitchen. I moved forward and pushed the door fully open. Still no reaction. Using the door frame and wall as cover, I edged round slowly.

  As the angle between me and the frame increased, I gradually saw more of the room. I took my time so I could take in the information in stages. If I had to react, the fact of being 2 yards away from the door frame would not affect my shooting, and, if it did, I shouldn’t be in this business anyway. Using my right thumb, I pushed the laser-sight button. A small dot of brilliant-red light splashed on the kitchen wall.

  I leaned my body over to present as small a target as possible. If anyone was in the kitchen, all they’d see was a very nervous bit of head, and that would be what they’d have to react to, not the full Don Johnson.

  The room was like the Mary Celeste. Food was still on the side in the middle of preparation. Kev had said Marsha was going to cook something special. There were vegetables and opened packs of meat. I closed the door behind me. By now the radio was playing some soft rock and the washing machine was on spin. The table was half laid, and that really upset me. Kev and Marsha were very strict on the kids’ chores; the sight of the half-laid table made me feel sick inside because it heightened the chances of the kids being either dead, or upstairs with some fucker with a 9mm stuck in their mouth.

  I moved slowly to the other end of the room and locked the door to the garage. I didn’t want to clear the bottom of the house only for the boys to come in behind me.

  I was starting to flap big-time. Were Marsha and the kids still in the house or had they made a run for it? I couldn’t just leave. The fuckers who’d done that to Kev would be capable of anything. I was starting to feel my stomach churn. What the fuck was I going to find upstairs?

  I went out into the hallway again. As I moved, I had my pistol pointing up the stairs, which were now opposite me. The last room uncleared downstairs was Kev’s study. I put my ear to the door and listened. I couldn’t hear anything. I did the same drill and made entry.

  It was a small room, just enough space for some filing cabinets, a desk and a chair. Shelves on the wall facing the desk were full of books and photographs of Kev shooting, Kev running, that sort of stuff. Everything was now on the floor; the filing cabinets were opened and paper strewn everywhere. The only thing not ripped apart was Kev’s PC. That was lying on its side on the desk, the screen still showing the British Army screen saver I’d sent him for a laugh. The printer and scanner were on the floor beside the desk, but that was where they had always been.

  I went back out and looked at the stairs. They were going to be a problem. They went up one flight, then turned back on themselves for the second before hitting the landing. That meant that I’d have to be a bit of a Houdini to cover my arse getting up there. I wouldn’t use the laser now; I didn’t want to announce my movements.

  I put my foot on the bottom stair and started to move up. Fortunately Kev’s stair carpet was a thick shagpile, which helped keep the noise down, but still it was like treading on ice, gently testing each step for creaks, always placing my feet to the inside edge, slowly and precisely.

  Once I got level with the landing, I pointed my pistol up above my head and, using the wall as support, moved up the stairs backwards, step by step.

  A couple of steps; wait, listen. A couple more steps; wait, listen.

  There was only one of me and I had only thirteen rounds to play with, maybe fourteen if the round in the chamber was on top of a full magazine. These boys might have semi-automatic weapons for all I knew, or even fully automatic. If they did, and were waiting for me, it would not be a good day out.

  The washing machine was on its final thundering spin. Still soft rock on the radio. Nothing else.

  Adrenalin takes over. Despite the air-conditioning I was drenched with sweat. It was starting to get in my eyes; I had to wipe them with my left hand, one eye at a time.

  The girls’ room was facing me. From memory there were bunk beds and the world’s biggest shrine to Pocahontas – T-shirts and posters, bed linen and even a doll whose back you pressed and she sang something about colours.

  I stopped and prepared myself for the worst.

  I reached for the handle and started to clear the room. Nothing. No-one.

  For once the room was even clean and tidy. There were piles of teddies and toys on the beds. The theme was still Pocahontas, but Toy Story was obviously a close second.

  I gradually came out onto the landing, treating it as if it was a new room because I didn’t know what might have gone on in the half-minute since I’d left it.

  I moved slowly down to the next bedroom, with my back nearly touching the wall, pistol forward, eyes watching front and rear, thinking, What if? What do I do if they appear from that doorway? What if? … What if?

  As I got nearer to Kev’s and Marsha’s room I could see that the door was slightly ajar. I couldn’t actually see anything inside yet, but, as I moved nearer, I started to smell something. A faint metallic tang, and I could smell shit as well. I felt sick. I knew that I’d have to go in.

  As I inched round the door frame, I got my first glimpse of Marsha. She was kneeling by the bed, her top half spreadeagled on the mattress. The bedspread was covered in blood.

  I sank to my knees in the hallway. I felt myself going into shock. I couldn’t believe this was true. This was not happening to this family. Why kill Marsha? It should have been Kev they were after. All I wanted to do was throw my hand in and sit down and cry, but I knew the kids had been in the house; they might still be here.

  I got a grip on myself and started to move. I went in, forcing myself to ignore Marsha. The room was clear.

  The next job was the en suite bathroom. I made entry, and what I saw made me lose it, totally fucking lose it. Bang, I went back against the wall and slumped onto the floor.

  Aida was lying on the floor between the bath and the toilet. Her five-year-old head had been nearly severed from her shoulders. There was just 3 inches of flesh left intact and I could see the vertebrae still holding on.

  Blood was everywhere. I got it all over my shirt and hands; I was sitting in a pool of it, soaking the seat of my trousers.

  Turning my head away and looking out of the en suite, I could now see more of Marsha. I had to hold back my scream. Her dress was hanging normally, but her tights had been torn, her knickers were pulled down and she had shat herself, probably at the point of death. All I saw at this distance of about fifteen feet away was someone I really cared for, maybe even loved, on her knees, her blood splattered all over the bed. And she’d had the same done to her as Aida.

  I was taking deep breaths and wiping my eyes. I knew I still had another two rooms to clear – another bathroom and the large annexe above the garage. I couldn’t give up now because I might land up getting dropped myself.

  I cleared the other rooms, and half collapsed, half sat on the landing. I could see my bloody footprints all over the carpet.

  Stop, calm down, and think.

  What next? Kelly. Where the fuck was Kelly?

  Then I remembered the hiding place. Because of the threats to Kev, both kids knew where they had to go and hide in the event of a drama.

  The thought brought me to my senses. If that was where Kelly was hiding, she was safe for the time being. Better to leave her there while I did the other stuff I had to do.

  I got up and started to move down the stairs, making sure that, as I moved, I had my pistol pointed. As I descended I could see the blood I had left on the wall and carpet where I’d sat. I was almost willing the attackers to appear. I wanted to see the fuckers.

  I got a cloth and a bin liner from the kitchen and started to run round the house, wiping door handles and any surfaces where I might have left fingerprints. Then I went over to the patio sliding doors and closed the curtains. I didn’t want anybody to discover an alien set of fingerprints before I was well out of it, hopefully on a plane back to London.

  I took a quick look at Kev and knew I was back in control. He was now just a dead body.

  I went back upstairs, washed the blood off my hands and face, and got a clean shirt and pair of jeans and trainers from Kev’s cupboards. His clothes didn’t fit me but they would do for now. I bundled my own bloodstained stuff into the bin liner that I’d be taking with me.

  5

  KEV HAD SHOWN me the ‘hidey-hole’, as he called it, built under an open staircase that led up to a little makeshift loft stacked with ladders. If ever Kev or Marsha shouted the word ‘Disneyland!’ the kids knew they had to go and hide there – and they were not to come out until Daddy or Mummy came and got them.

  I started making entry into the garage. Pushing the door slightly, I could see the rear of the large metal up-and-over doors to the right. The garage could easily have taken three extra vehicles besides Kev’s company car. ‘Fucking thing,’ I remembered Kev saying, ‘all the luxury and mod cons of the late Nineties in a car that looks like a Sixties fridge.’

  The kids’ bikes were hanging from frames on the wall, together with all the other clutter that families accumulate in garages. I could see the red laser splash on the far wall.

  I moved in and cleared through. There was no-one here.

  I went back to the area of the staircase. Chances were she wasn’t going to come out unless her Mum and Dad came for her, but as I moved I started to call out very gently, ‘Kelly! It’s Nick! Hello, Kelly, where are you?’

 

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