Page 62 of Into the Fire

Now she heard her accuser stalk back into the hallway.A moment’s hesitation, then Leyla began to mount the stairs, the boards creaking ominously as she stomped up, up, up.Terrified, Viyan scanned the room, realizing she was now only seconds from disaster.She had two options, the wardrobe or the bed.She took a tentative step towards the former, but immediately the floor squealed in protest, so retreating, she dropped to the ground.Outside, she heard Leyla crest the landing, so scrabbling over the dusty floorboards, she slid underneath the bed, pulling her feet in just in time.

The door swung open, cannoning off the wall, as Leyla burst in.

‘Viyan?Viyan?’

Her angry cry echoed off the walls.

‘You’d better not be up here …’

Leyla took a step closer to the bed, then another.Viyan stilled her breathing, knowing that she would not survive discovery, that she would pay a terrible price for her trespass.Still Leyla came, eventually halting right next to the bed.Viyan could hearher mistress’s breathing, could almost smell her anger, but she dared not make a sound herself.Dust continued to dance around her, creeping up her nose, a sneeze surely only moments away.Was this it then?Was she going to fall at the final hurdle?

‘I haven’t got time for this bullshit …’

To her enormous relief, she now heard Leyla move away, the coat hangers in the wardrobe jangling wildly as she roughly extracted some item of clothing, before heading from the room and away down the stairs.Only when she heard the front door slam did Viyan dare to relax, the tension flooding from her body as she greedily sucked in oxygen.Sliding from her hiding place, she limped from the room, stumbling down the stairs, before making for the back door.She would have to invent some story about finishing her chores early, make her peace with Leyla and take whatever punishment was coming to her, but it mattered little.Her plan had worked.She had the means, the resolve and the opportunity to make her escape from this blighted country.

Now she just needed to seize it.

Chapter 66

There was no question about it.She was living on borrowed time.

Quickening her pace, Charlie tried to ignore her vibrating phone, knowing full well who was calling.Chief Superintendent Holmes had been messaging, emailing and calling her all morning, impatient for an update, for some signs of progress.As yet, Charlie had none to give her, so was grateful when the call now rang out.Before the tell-tale voicemail alert could ping, raising her stress levels even further, Charlie plucked her phone from her pocket, switching it off.Seconds later, DC Malik’s phone started ringing, but a swift shake of the head was sufficient steer for her colleague to ignore the summons.

They had raced to Highfield and were now marching along Rochester Road, taking in the beleaguered assortment of pound shops, convenience stores and takeaways that decorated the shabby street.Thirty yards ahead of them, the Exodus pub, once a working man’s boozer, now a metal hangout, stood out loud and proud, a large black monolith at once depressing and intimidating.Hastening to the front door, Charlie tugged her warrant card from her jacket, determined and purposeful.

‘Ready?’she queried.

‘You bet,’ DC Malik replied, gamely.

‘Then let’s do this.’

Taking a breath, Charlie hauled open the door and stepped inside.The interior was gloomy, but familiar, the long wooden bar and wrought iron fixtures reminiscent of Victorian pubs up and down the land.The smell also struck a chord, a mixture of stale beer and citrus bleach, as did the sticky floor, smoothed by a thousand footfalls and marinated by numerous spillages over the years.There, however, the familiarity ended, most of the tables having been cleared to make space for dancing in front of a wide stage, the walls festooned with posters for bands Charlie had never heard of, bands whose names had aggressive, violent, often Satanic themes.It all seemed so childish to Charlie, but she wasn’t here to quibble about the music: she had a job to do.

Walking up to the bar, she slammed her bag on the counter, causing the manager to look up.He had barely responded to their arrival, seemingly engrossed in his rota, but now ambled over.He was not your usual management material, a huge barrel of a man with a thick beard, unruly hair and a healthy beer gut only partly concealed by a threadbare Metallica t-shirt.

‘Help you?’he drawled, suggesting he wanted to do anything but.

‘Southampton Central CID,’ Charlie responded with a smile, proffering her warrant card.

The burly manager looked at her photo, then up at Charlie’s badly bruised face, but said nothing.

‘I’m sure you’re busy,’ Charlie continued, ‘so I’ll cut to the chase.Do you recognize this man?’

She held up a copy of Clint Davies’ work photo.

‘Not sure,’ he shrugged.‘Get a lot of dockers in here.’

‘His name’s Clint Davies, we think he might be a regular of yours.’

‘And?’

‘Well, we’re not after him for anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.He’s dead actually, died two days ago.’

The manager looked shocked, so Charlie was swift to follow up her advantage.

‘We’re trying to trace his last movements.We think he might have met someone here on the morning of Friday 16th.Were you on shift then?’

The curtest of nods.

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