Authors: Martin Bodenham
Once a Killer (44 page)
When he passed exit 8A for Quonset Point, Michael’s thoughts turned to last weekend and the fun they’d all had on Martha’s Vineyard, eating ice cream, collecting crab shells, and playing together on the beach. Caroline had looked as beautiful as the day he first met her. His girls were growing up so quickly, he now regretted the times he’d missed by being so focused on work—times and moments that could never be recaptured.
Chapter 64
T
WO
H
OURS
L
ATER
, Michael was north of Boston, crossing the state line into New Hampshire for a few miles. Forty-five minutes later, he left the Maine turnpike, taking I-295 toward Portland. As he approached the city, he scanned the outline of the downtown buildings. From the elevated sections of the freeway, he noticed two gray, high-rise structures. The closer he came to them, the more they reminded him of the Chicago projects in which he grew up.
His mind drifted back to his childhood and the moment he and Rondell were standing in Mr. Jackson’s apartment the day his life changed forever.
“Help me out here, Danny.” Suddenly, Rondell’s face had lost all of its usual confidence and bravado. As he stared at Mr. Jackson holding the walking stick above his head, Rondell looked like a cornered animal.
The blind old man waved the stick around. “Who else is here? Get out of my house.”
Rondell made a run for the lounge door, but he caught Mr. Jackson in his ribs, knocking him over onto his back. The man struck his head hard on the doorframe as he collapsed.
Danny ran to help Rondell, but Mr. Jackson had both hands gripped around Rondell’s left leg.
Rondell tried to pull his leg free. “Get off me.”
“You’re not taking my money,” Mr. Jackson said when the cake tin in Rondell’s hand rattled.
Rondell glared at Danny. “Please. Do something.”
The walking stick was now on the floor in front of Danny.
“Go for his arms,” Rondell shouted, pointing at the stick. “Just get him off me.”
Danny picked it up. It was exactly the same kind of walking stick his mother used to beat him. In a flash of blind panic and terror, Danny struck Mr. Jackson’s head so hard that the stick snapped. The old man writhed in pain on the floor, releasing Rondell’s leg.
Rondell climbed over the man. “Let’s get out of here. Quick.”
Danny blocked Rondell’s path. “We can’t just leave him like this.”
“Help me.” Mr. Jackson was still lying on his back, blood seeping from the deep wounds on his face. “Please, Rondell, I need help.”
“He’ll be okay,” Rondell said, holding the cake tin in his hand. “Look, we have the money.”
Danny stared at Rondell. “I don’t care about the money.”
Rondell tried to force his way past, but Danny stood his ground and held up the sharp end of the broken walking stick toward his friend. “We’re not leaving. We have to do something about this.”
Rondell took a step back. “Are you stupid? We have to get out of here before anyone comes.”
“We can’t do that. He knows who we are now.”
“He won’t say anything. He knows who my uncle is.”
Danny peered into Rondell’s eyes. “But you said my name, as well.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
In the background, the closing theme music from
Jeopardy
started playing. “I’m late now,” Danny said. “My mom will kill me if she finds out about this.”
“She won’t find out, Danny Boy.” Rondell turned to the man on the floor. “That’s right, isn’t it? You won’t say anything, will you?”
“I won’t say a word.” The old man coughed and choked.
Rondell looked at his friend. “You see? We’re okay.”
Mr. Jackson coughed again, but now he sounded as though he was struggling to breathe. “Boys, please call for some help. I need a doctor. I think I hit the back of my head.” A pool of blood had formed a circle on the carpet under his neck.
“He’s bound to talk. They’ll say we tortured him to give us his money.” Danny jabbed the sharp point in Rondell’s direction before pushing by him. “I should never have listened to you.”
“What are you doing?”
Danny crept along the corridor toward Mr. Jackson, as if in a trance. He stood over his body and held the jagged stick with both hands above the man’s face.
Rondell, now with his back pushed against the front door, shouted, “Danny, please don’t do it.”
Danny turned his head slowly and gazed at Rondell. “We can’t leave him to talk. He knows who we are.”
“Please, son,” Mr. Jackson said, choking as he tried to raise his hands. “Help me.”
“Stop, Danny,” Rondell shrieked, urine running down his right leg and soaking into his new trainer. “Please, don’t do this.”
While Rondell ran out of the apartment to get help, Danny raised the weapon high above his head. He didn’t see the helpless victim beneath him. His brain was consumed by an image of his brutal mother.
Tears streamed down Michael’s cheeks. When he looked at the speedometer, it showed he was doing seventy-five. At some point, he must have left the freeway, because now, he was careering north on the Route 1 coast road. There was no traffic in front of him, though cars were coming the other way. Suddenly, the trees disappeared and the sky seemed to fill the windshield as it joined the ocean. A sign—MARTIN POINT BRIDGE—flashed by on the right. By now, the Lexus was doing ninety-five.
Michael unbuckled his safety belt and closed his eyes.
“This is where it ends. Forgive me, Caroline.”
Jolting the steering wheel to the right, he sent the car hurtling through the steel barrier and into the water below.
The End
About the Author
Martin Bodenham is a writer of international thriller novels based around crime and the financial markets. His debut novel,
The Geneva Connection
, has been at the top of Goodreads’ financial thriller list for a number of years.
Although he lives on Canada’s west coast, he was born in England to an American father, who was in the US Air Force, and a British mother. He was educated at the Duke of York’s Royal Military School in Kent and at the University of Leicester, where he read economics.
After university, he trained as a chartered accountant, working in the UK and USA. He spent the next thirty years in private equity, working either as an investor or advisor. Most recently, he was the CEO of Advantage Capital, a London-based private equity firm. Along the way, he was an investor at 3i and Close Brothers, and a corporate finance partner at both KPMG and Ernst & Young.
More details on his writing can be found at his website:
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