Rider (3 page)

He raised a leg, folded the knee—it felt stiff—and someone skinned past him, knocking him off balance. He dropped his foot to the floor for support and the phone slipped from his hand. The man, in a hoodie and baggy black jeans, pushed his way into the male changing rooms at the far end.

It was him. He knew it was. The man who killed his boyfriend was in his gym.

Momentary shock gave way and Kane ploughed across the gym after him. When he burst into the changing rooms, a man with a towel round his waist was about to remove it but he stopped. He stared at Kane but Kane ignored him. He looked along each bench, down each row of lockers, in the shower stalls. But no one was there.

‘Did you see a man?’ Kane asked the towel guy.

‘What man?’

He shook his head. Daunted, he returned to the gym room and picked up his phone where it had fallen. The call was still active.

Bringing it back to his ear, Kane said, ‘Who is this?’

The woman was no longer rowing. She was standing next to the machine and stretching her limbs.

‘What the hell do you want?’ he said into the phone.

The woman stopped stretching, one hand on an elbow, arm across her body. ‘Excuse me?’

Kane hit End on the phone. ‘Sorry,’ he said. He picked up his bag and headed back to the changing room. He was losing the thread.

* * *

The late summer sun leached across the darkening sky as he pulled up outside his block of flats.

The song never remains the same.

He got out, grabbed his sports bag, locked the car and turned, glimpsing a light in the window of his flat. A shadow passed across it and the light went out.

It was almost as if he hadn’t seen it. After two steps forward, he had to stop and think. He was tired. He wasn’t thinking straight. It was the neighbour’s place. It had to be.

But what if it wasn’t?

He headed towards the entrance, his heart rate elevated, pulling out his keys and fingering for the right one without even looking down at them. As he approached, the door swung open and two men came out, hoods up, heads down. They quickly disappeared into the night.

He stood there, catching his breath, feeling a sharp pain at the bottom of his sternum from the fear. Inside, the buttons for the lift showed it was on the sixth floor. He took the stairs.

Kane’s front door was still locked, no sign of forced entry. Along the corridor, a neighbour’s voice raised and was echoed by his wife. Something smashed.

It was someone else’s light he had seen. Or maybe no light at all.

He opened the door, pushed it wide. He didn’t step in until he felt sure there was no one inside. He switched on all the lights and opened every door. He even looked under the bed like a frightened child.

Nothing.

It was only when he returned to the living room to look out of the window that he noticed the small white envelope on the coffee table.
Kane Rider
was printed in bold lettering across the front of it. His heart thumped in his chest. He didn’t know whether to open it, call the cops, or just get the hell out of there.

He thought about doing all three.

As he reached across for the envelope, he glanced around the room. Was he really alone? He tore the envelope open with shaking hands.

Inside, there was a piece of white cardboard the size of a business card. He pulled it out. Nothing else.

And scrawled across one side were the words:

Vengeance is mine, and recompense,

for the time when their foot shall slip;

for the day of their calamity is at hand,

and their doom comes swiftly.

Kane looked across at Thorpe as he talked to a forensic technician who was dusting the door for fingerprints. A couple of uniformed police officers milled around, looking, for all their sense of importance, as useless as Kane felt.

‘You’ll be getting your locks changed, of course,’ Thorpe said when he approached him. ‘And I’ll station a man outside for the rest of the night.’ He held up the small card in an evidence bag. ‘I’ll have this looked at, but if our man is clever enough to get into your flat unseen, my guess is we’re not going to find anything.’

‘So that’s it?’ Kane asked, incredulous.

Thorpe shrugged. ‘Like I said, we’ll take a closer look at this. Do you
want
a car placed outside?’

‘Do you think I need one?’

Thorpe knit his ginger eyebrows together. ‘Look, I know what you’re thinking. It’s probably not connected. All we can—’

Kane interrupted him. ‘You seriously think this isn’t connected? “Vengeance is mine”?’

‘We’re looking at the options, that’s all,’ he said. ‘Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, violent crime ends there.’

‘What about the other one time?’ Kane asked.

‘I’m not going to lie to you, Kane. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet. But without any hard evidence there isn’t a lot we can do tonight. We just have to wait for forensics to get back to us. I’m really sorry for your loss, but until we turn something up, there’s little to be done. Just sit tight until we know more.’

Kane turned away from him but quickly turned back, looking him directly in the eyes. ‘The other one time out of a hundred: does that end with the boyfriend getting killed, too?’

* * *

To wake at four in the morning and smile, to have the feeling that your loved one lies beside you, in sleep, and then to shudder in a rush of reality—the feeling is agonizing. He turned on his pillow, away from the place Ryan
should
have been lying.

He was dead.

Kane had to keep repeating it in his head, unbelieving, questioning. And then the thought of the sinister calling card, the thought that someone had gotten into his flat, his home, the thought that perhaps his own life was at risk. And why?

He could not know.

In the parking lot below, a police car loitered. A visible deterrent. The officer inside, Kane could imagine, would be drinking lukewarm coffee. Maybe he had one leg out of the open door. Maybe he was radioing the dispatch girl. Maybe he was reading a Tom Clancy.

Maybe he was asleep.

He went to the window. The car wasn’t there.

Panic set in like a heart attack. He wanted to go to the phone, wanted to stay at the window. His reflection in the glass stared back at him. Had something happened? Was the officer called away on an emergency?

And then the car came back around the corner and pulled to a stop outside the building opposite. He’d obviously been doing a tour of the block.

Kane sighed. He actually laughed.

And then his mobile vibrated on the bedside cabinet.

It only occurred to him as he lifted the phone to wonder who would be calling in the middle of the night.

He was greeted with silence. Again.

‘Who is this?’

He thought he heard something in the background, but it could have been the blood pounding in his ears. He looked towards the window. Could he attract the officer’s attention from up here?

‘Hello?’ he said again.

He was about to end the call when someone spoke. ‘Mr Rider. I do hope I didn’t wake you.’

‘Who is this?’ he repeated.

‘I see you have some company outside. Nice to see you’re not lonely. Do you read the Bible, Mr Rider?’

‘What do you want?’

His throat was tight.

‘I’m an acquaintance of someone you know. Oh, I’m sorry. Someone you
knew
.’

‘What?’

‘Please, Mr Rider, you know who I mean. Did you get my note?’

‘What note?’ Kane went back to the window and stared down at the stationary police car below. ‘What do you want from me?’ he asked.

‘Your friend owes me something. I’ll be in touch. And don’t bother telling your nice police friends. I’m sure you realise what I can do to you. Goodbye.’

* * *

He was pacing and he couldn’t stop it. His head hurt, his ribs felt like they were contracting around his lungs. With every step towards the window, he tugged at the curtain. The police car was still there. The driver sat in darkness.

He had the distinct feeling that he was being watched, that no matter what he did, where he went, he would be seen. If he went downstairs and told the cop, they’d know. If he phoned Thorpe, they’d know. Was his phone tapped? Could they do that?

They say a madman doesn’t know he’s mad. Kane began to wonder if there were microphones hidden behind books, if there were tiny surveillance cameras in tiny discreet corners. Was Jimmy Stewart watching him through a zoom lens from a window across the way?

None of it was making sense. Ryan had been stabbed. Someone had been in Kane’s flat. Someone had just threatened him. And for all he knew, there was absolutely no reason why.

Your friend owes me something
.

He glanced out the window again.

I’ll be in touch
.

And then someone knocked on his front door. He hesitated, looked at the phone that was still in his hand, and cautiously entered the living room.

When the knock rasped again, he called out, ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s the police, Mr Rider. Officer Richards.’

He unlocked and opened the door, leaving the security chain on so that the door could only open a couple of inches. When Officer Richards flashed his badge and his best smile, Kane let him in.

‘I saw your light was on,’ he said. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Uh, yeah,’ Kane said. ‘I mean…’ He didn’t know what to say to him.

‘It’s stifling outside. I don’t know how anyone can sleep in this heat. Do you mind if I use your toilet?’

Kane eyed him suspiciously and Richards smiled again.

‘Toilet?’ Kane asked. ‘Yeah, sorry, it’s that way.’

Richards could tell he was agitated. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘It’s just…been a long night. Can’t sleep.’

‘Too hot,’ Richards said.

‘Yeah.’

He nodded sympathetically and headed towards the bathroom. He left the door open and Kane could hear him urinating.

‘Look,’ Kane said, ‘I’m not going to sleep any more tonight. Do you want a coffee or something?’

From the bathroom, Richards said, ‘I should probably get back to the car.’ The toilet flushed. ‘But why not?’

* * *

Officer Richards stood by the window, inattentively scuffing the toe of his shoe in the carpet. Kane offered him another coffee, noting the tiredness on his face. He yawned, accepted, and toyed with the curtain.

Kane stood next to him, his hands cupping his elbows, coffee cooling on the windowsill, and stared out into the ocean of buildings and late-for-work faces below like rats racing.

Richards blew on his coffee before sipping from the mug, thin tendrils of steam pushing out towards the window. ‘You want a lift to the hospital this morning?’

Kane sucked on his upper lip and shook his head. Instead, he said, ‘How long have you been—?’

‘Sitting outside people’s houses?’ Richards said, smiling.

‘A police officer.’

‘Twelve years. Used to be a milkman, but all those early starts, you know?’

‘So now you sit outside people’s houses all night.’

‘Yeah.’

It was small talk. Kane had nothing to say to him—nothing he
dared
to say. Even though he wanted him to stay, he also wanted him to leave.

When the phone rang, Kane’s pulse quickened, his eyes darting between the phone and Richards.

‘You want me to get that?’ Richards asked.

Kane just looked at him. After another ring, the officer moved and picked up the receiver. Kane held his breath.

‘Hello?’ Richards said.

There was a pain in Kane’s chest.

‘No, I’m not Mr Rider. Who’s calling?’

Kane clenched his jaw.

‘I’ll just put him on,’ Richards said. He held the receiver to his chest. ‘Margaret,’ he whispered.

Kane breathed again and took the phone. The officer stepped back to the window and his coffee. Margaret was back in
Belfast
and ready to meet Kane at the hospital. David, she said, was still in
Spain
. She had insisted he stay there to close whatever important deal it was he needed to close.

When he sat the phone back down, the officer looked at him questioningly. ‘Ryan’s mother,’ Kane told him. ‘She’s meeting me at the hospital.’

Richards nodded and finished his coffee. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Shall I show myself out? I’m sure you have things to do.’

He hesitated. Perhaps Kane’s face revealed his fear.

‘You have Detective Thorpe’s direct number, right? Just give him a call if you need him. For anything.’

He shook Kane’s hand and turned to leave.

‘Officer?’

He stopped. ‘Yeah?’

‘I…Well, thanks.’

He was going to tell him about the call, but he could hear that voice threatening him. Would he know? Kane’s eyes were pleading with Officer Richards but he couldn’t verbalise his pain.

‘No problem,’ Richards said. ‘Goodbye.’

Kane locked the door behind him and went back to the window. He watched as Richards exited the building and walked to his car, got in and drove away. With his breath fogging the windowpane, he stared at the police car is it turned a corner and disappeared.

Your friend owes me something. I’ll be in touch.