Sweet Revenge thriller

Chapter Seventeen

AND ONCE AGAIN, the blood in my veins course through at great knots—the excitement of tracking down the Careless Whisperer overrides everything.

Someone knew something and that someone has inadvertently told someone else. Someone close to my parents? Who? Their neighbours? Their work colleagues? Their Accountant? Their Solicitor? Who else did they know? Who came into their little circle?

I write everyone's names down on my laptop.

Ryan Thompson, Betsy Harrington. Major James Crimp and another work colleague whose name escapes me, Bert and Florence Heslop and two other friends called Gena and Cliff or Clint or something similar.

I rack my brains for anyone else who was in my parent's lives and then it occurs to me they had in fact a very narrow world. When The Fixer pops into my head, I add his name. But then I delete it. I'd better not bother The Fixer with more questions, but I wonder again just why my father had his phone number in his diary, apart from of course a new identity for him and my mother. But, that would have been over 30 years ago. Would The Fixer have been in business then? Again, the ugly man swirls around in my head, a fat cigar placed between his fat red lips!

As soon as I met The Fixer I knew what his business was about. His name said it all. He fixed what mere mortals cannot fix. Obviously, the first time I met him, I had no inkling of what he could have done for my father. Now, I know better.

* * *

Ryan Thompson is responsible for my families legal transactions and he is the biggest gossiper I've ever met. Everyone says so. I have often wondered why my Dad insisted on using his services. Sure, he's a nice guy, but OMG he doesn't shut the fuck up! If Ryan knew something about my parents background, I am sure he wouldn't disclose it to anyone else. But, what if it was a silly little fly-away comment, which was overheard.

I reckon I could put money on the Careless Whisperer being Ryan Thompson. And surely there would be something in my parents files to give me a clue?

No thinking, no planning and no fucking strategy in place or consideration that it is nearing midnight, I grab my bag of house breaking tools (courtesy of the kid living next door to my parents years ago who picked the lock of our home, which was no ordinary feat compared to other homes, ours was locked up like Fort Knox! I now know why! But at the time, I'd told the kid I wouldn't grass on him if he showed me how it was done. Not only did he show me step by step, he gave me a replica tool.)

I am in my car within ten minutes heading toward Ryan Thompsons offices. The old Victorian house he runs his business from has been beautifully restored and he shares it with another legal firm. I park my car on a side street and walk back with my hoody pulled up. Although there are no vehicles parked as far as the eye can see, it's a popular area and several cars trundle past. I wait until the street is empty and then slide in through the gate. The moon peeps out and I jump back to the safety of the shadow of an old Oak tree. I wait until clouds engulf the moon before I slink around to the back of the building.

I hope the lock on his back door is standard issue so I can prise it open. So, it comes as a surprise to find the door is not locked at all. If they get burgled tonight—and I don't mean by me—heads are gonna roll in the morning. I wouldn't like to be in Carol's shoes when Ryan discovers his place has been ransacked!

Quietly, I open the door and slide into the darkened storeroom which I had played in as a kid while waiting for my father to finish his business. A deep breath then I scuttle toward the door to the reception area which is slightly ajar through which the faintest of light glimmers. Then I hear a voice.

Christ, a burglar really is here!

I am just about to take off at a hell of a pace when I hear the softest of giggles. A woman.

I pivot. Curiosity kills! But I had the upper hand. I knew she was there. She didn't know I was. I creep down the hallway toward murmurs. I now know there are two people. A woman's voice and a male and they are in Ryan's office. The occupants are up to no good or they would have the lights on. I should call the police. But, as I say, curiosity is a hard emotion to flick. It takes me a few moments to focus my sight when I peep through the key hole to Ryan's door. Bloody hell! Ryan Thompson is naked apart from his boxers which are around his ankles and amid moans he is having sex with a woman who is spread eagled on his desk. It is quite a feat to step back from the keyhole without making a sound. And I'm not sure how long I stood in the hallway outside my accountants office...in shock! Like, hand over my mouth, the works!

I recoup my senses and am just about to make myself scarce when I hear Ryan say ever so clearly, 'God Carol, you make my life worth living, you little witch,' and then Carol's familiar giggle. Carol? Carol and Ryan? Both married to other people, forever. I've heard them both yabbing on about their wonderful partners.

Whether I like it or not getting at my parents file is not going to happen tonight. When I turn on my heel to leave, that's when I hear Carol speak. I damn near choke. Like, who wouldn't when you're somewhere you shouldn't be, seen something that no one ever should see...Christ they must both be over sixty years old...and then you hear them talking about yourself?

'I saw Athena today, she was at the supermarket. She didn't see me. Whenever I see her, I feel pretty guilty. Athena should be told, you know that, don't you?' Carol says.

'It's not going to help her now. Far too late. No, we keep quiet,' Ryan answers.

Amid my thoughts whirling into a jumble—what do they mean? Tell me what? How can I get it out of them?—I can hear them fumbling about, probably getting dressed. I gotta get out, and quick.

Retracing my steps quietly is paramount and I think damned near impossible to do as I am sure the beat of my heart is so loud it is echoing throughout the old villa. What should Ryan tell me?

The cool air is welcome when I slide out through the back door and close it shut. I want to hightail it off this property, but instead, I march to the old oak tree and slink behind it hoping that when Ryan and Carol leave the building they'll walk right past me and just maybe will say a little bit more. What do they know? And is it anything to do with my parent's deaths? I'm leaning against the trunk, completely camouflaged from both the street and the pathway and sure enough, Ryan and Carol move silently down the pathway. But they say nothing. He opens the gate and they separate, both heading in a different direction. I wait for several minutes. And when I think it is safe to leave I emerge from the shadows.

The slightest of noise...a twig underfoot alerts me. I turn. Like me, the figure is dressed in black. But unlike me, they are much larger.

I have enough time to raise my fists to protect my face.

My assailant throws himself at me and I don't stand a chance.

WHACK!

Pain explodes in my head.

'One warning! Stop poking about.' The gruff voice filters into my semi-conscious just before I succumb to darkness and hit the dewy grass on the hard ground.

* * *