The Devil To Pay (Hennessey.) (81 page)

Carson
stared hard at him his hand going instinctively to the right side of his head where an ear should have been then sat down suddenly deflated before saying softly but emphatically, ‘no.’

Hennessey looked at him but before he could speak
Carson said, ‘but that doesn’t mean I think what you’ve done since then is right, and I
absolutely
don’t think you’re doing the right thing with that woman.’

Carson
wondered if he had gone too far because he saw a glint in Hennessey’s eyes that he knew only too well. Not that Carson was afraid of his friend, he knew he would never hurt him; they had been friends too long, been through too much together for that. He had always been honest with Hennessey, always told him what he thought of him and what he did. And now more than ever he had to at least try to talk him out of what he was about to do. Try to persuade him that even hired killers had to draw the line somewhere. And he knew that despite what his friend said about himself he did have some principles, some morals, he had never, up to now anyway, killed a woman.

Suddenly Hennessey smiled, ‘still trying to be my conscience,
Carson? I thought you’d have given up on that by now.’

Carson
didn’t return his friend’s smile and his expression was earnest and his words sincere as he said, ‘I’ve never given up on you, Sterling, and I never will.’

Hennessey’s smile faded as he regarded his oldest and closest friend, his only friend.

He said quietly, ‘it’s not about the money, Carson; it’s a matter of principle.’

Carson
was aghast, ‘principle?’ I think you have the wrong idea about what principle actually means.’

Hennessey chuckled, ‘I don’t mean principle in the way you mean it,
Carson. I mean I’ve taken on a job, agreed to a contract, and even though there’s nothing in writing nor was it even agreed with a handshake, I have to finish it. Principle.’

Carson
stared at his friend as though he was quite mad then shrugged, ‘whatever.’

Hennessey laughed, ‘you sound like a petulant kid.’

Carson gave a huh of a laugh and Hennessey rose saying, ‘I should be going, I have things to sort out before…

‘Before you fulfil your contract and keep your principles intact?’

Hennessey just looked at his friend not angrily or resentfully but rather sadly.

He said softly, ‘take care of yourself, Carson.'

Carson stood and said, ‘I’ll miss you, buddy. Be happy, Sterling, if you can.’ He held out his hand and the two friends shook one last time before Hennessey turned to the door but once there looked back and said, ‘and FYI, Carson, what I did to those guys back in the day wasn’t the catalyst for what happened after, for what I became, it was always there.’

Carson
didn’t know what to say to that so he said nothing and Hennessey walked out the door throwing over his shoulder, ‘oh, and try to keep the scumbags out of your club, huh?’

Carson
laughed but there was no humour in it, just an infinite sadness and regret.

He stood perfectly still looking at the door for a long time.

A few minutes later Hennessey was in his truck on his way back to Gulfport; he had the perfect hideaway already in mind and was headed there. He would lay low for a while then he would finish what he had started a week ago. He had hated saying goodbye to Carson, although they saw one another only rarely the knowledge that he was always there to go to, to get drunk with, to confide in, was a comfort, particularly as he had no one else. Plus, Carson was the only person in the world who knew about him, and somehow that had always been a comfort too. But now although he would find someone to talk too, someone to get drunk with, he would never again have anyone to confide in, he was now completely alone in the world.

As he drove he thought about Adela Faraday, “The Target.” He couldn’t help but recall the look on her face when she had recoiled from him. Not that he hadn’t seen the same expression of shock and hate before on a woman’s face when he had killed their partner, or husband. Although she had been shocked and appalled, the hate had not been present only intense dislike and acute disappointment. But it was the hurt he’d seen there that had gotten to him, a deep profound hurt that had clouded her eyes.

He shook himself, well, no matter, in a short time that would be the least of her worries.

                                               ********

Adela opened her eyes and blinked against the bright sun which came through the window, she should have closed the curtains but she had been so sleepy and so drained from crying so much she had just flopped down on the sofa and gone straight to sleep. She couldn’t bring herself to lie on the bed where he had made love to her, where she had betrayed herself.

She reached for her watch on the coffee table but realised she had left it in the bathroom. Staggering slightly she got up and went into the bathroom. The first thing she saw was the  bag of clothes she had put there and intended to throw away, she felt like throwing away every single thing she had ever worn while she had been with him, but that would be childish and silly. Silly. Her stomach clenched and her eyes burned when that word came to her. She would never say that word again without thinking about him, and how he had laughed when she had.

She pulled herself up sharply impatient with herself and her stupid reminiscences. She reached down and grabbed her watch from the floor, it was 2.30p.m. She had slept for only four hours and she was still very tired but worse than that she felt numb inside.

She looked for her phone and for a moment couldn’t recall where she had put it, then remembered it was still in the pocket of the raincoat Hennessey had given to her. She steeled herself and reached into the pocket found her phone and pressed the number for the hospital which she had programmed into her phone earlier that morning.

When her call was answered she asked about Dean Maxwell, the nurse who took the call asked if she was family she said she wasn’t, but she was the friend who had come with him in the ambulance when he had been brought into the hospital. The nurse said she would find out and to hold please.

Adela did, for almost ten minutes, but the voice that eventually came back to her was not the nurse but Sheriff Taylor who very abruptly told her that it was not a good idea for her to call here. She didn’t ask why although she wanted too, instead she asked almost pleadingly how Dean was. He hesitated as if considering whether to tell her anything then said, ‘he’s all right, still a little groggy and in some pain but they're taking care of that.’

Adela asked, ‘have they said when they’ll be doing the tests on his back?’

There was a pause then he said, ‘maybe tomorrow.’ When she said nothing he said, ‘satisfied?’

By his tone Adela knew he wasn’t asking whether she was satisfied with his answer but satisfied that she had gotten Dean into this mess in the first place. She answered simply, ‘yes, thank you, Sheriff Taylor.’

The phone went dead.

She stood looking down at it for a moment as tears filled her eyes again but this time she straightened her shoulders and raised her head and didn’t give way to them.

She went to put the phone back on the table but paused the phone still in her hand and stared down at the raincoat. She picked up the coat, it had blood on it, Dean’s blood. She reached into the pocket and took out the card Detective Leyton had given to her and was about to fold up the coat and take it into the bathroom to put with the other things she would throw away when her eyes were drawn to a label sewn into the inside of the collar, it was too big to be a maker’s label and that’s why it had caught her eye. She looked more closely at it, it said simply, D. Blakemore. The words swam before her eyes; D. Blakemore who was that? And why did Sterling Hennessey have another man’s coat in his car.

She began to press a number on her phone then once again paused and stared down at the phone then the raincoat then quickly finished dialling. When her call was answered she said, ‘Detective Leyton? This is Adela Faraday; I have something you might find useful.’

                                                      *********

Hennessey meanwhile had reached his destination and hidden the truck out of sight of any poachers or hunters, although he had no fear of anyone passing and even if they did he had a good story with which to fob them off. But if on the off chance the story wasn’t good enough, or they turned out to be nosier than he would like, well, there was always his trusty Glock wasn’t there. But he had no real fear of anyone passing by, this place was off the beaten track and if you didn’t know about it, completely hidden from sight.

He unlocked the door of the cabin; he smiled at the incongruity of the word “cabin.”

It had once been a nice place once upon a time but now it was run down and dirty, nothing more than a ramshackle hut really, but it would suffice for his needs.

He flicked on the light switch, nothing, not to worry he had come prepared. He checked the faucet and was surprised when water came out only cold admittedly and that wasn’t really safe to drink, it was a good thing he’d planned ahead and brought supplies including bottled water.

He unpacked everything and sat down to clean his weapons, first his Glock then his Smith and Wesson then his Sig. When this was done he set to cleaning the place as best he could. She had been a cleaner and as he had discovered carried her work over into her home life, she liked things clean and tidy and who was he to disappoint her, he would make her last hours in this country as pleasant as possible, if she cooperated that is.

Adela didn’t hurry to open the door but rose slowly to her feet and just as slowly walked to the door. She looked through the peephole then took off the chain and turned the key in the lock. When she opened the door Detective Leyton took in her pale face and red eyes and said, ‘
Miss. Faraday, are you all right?’

She looked at him without replying only opened the door wider to allow him to enter.

He did and followed her into the cabin. With her back to him he noticed a huge bruise on her right elbow, obviously as a result of being pushed to the ground by Hennessey. Before he could comment on it she asked, ‘is Detective Sullivan not with you?’

‘No, he’s working on another aspect of the…case.’

She nodded then said unexpectedly, ‘he doesn’t like me?’

His eyebrows arched in surprise but he managed a smile, ‘Pat likes very few people, especially women, and that includes two ex- wives and an ex- wife in waiting.’

The corners of her mouth twitched but more in gratitude than humour. She said, ‘maybe it would be more accurate to say he doesn’t altogether believe my interpretation of the events.’

His smile vanished, ‘it’s his job to be sceptical.’

‘But not yours?’

He looked away not liking this line of conversation.

But she took him by surprise when she asked, ‘would you like some tea, or coffee?’

His relief at the change of subject embarrassed him but he a smiled and said, ‘tea would be most welcome, thank you.’

She turned and went into the kitchen. He had never been fond of tea but it seemed appropriate somehow to choose it at this moment. He watched her as she filled the kettle and began preparing the tea. He noticed she made it in a teapot, apart from his grandmother who had come from Scotland many years ago and still adhered to the customs, he knew of no one else who made tea in a pot these days. And Miss. Faraday was certainly no grandmother. She was wearing blue jeans and a white short sleeved blouse with a frilly neckline and small multicoloured flowers on the front. Her hair was piled up on her head and secured with a purple and white scrunchie and two big silver combs, she looked pretty, sad, but pretty.

But there was something different about her today, of course yesterday she had been in a state of shock, she had witnessed a violent act against a man she considered a friend by a man she had considered to be a nice charming gentleman, a man she had spent time with and obviously liked very much, maybe even more than liked. Yesterday she had been edgy and nervous and defensive, except when she had left the room at the end of the interview with her back straight and her head high, and they had seen the strong, resolute woman she could be.

And today she had that same bearing but with a difference there was a coldness to her expression and a hard stoicism in her eyes that had not been there the day before. She seemed remote and disconnected. And she had disconcerted him with her honest appraisal of Sullivan…and himself. She had been right; Sullivan wasn’t entirely convinced that she was completely innocent of any involvement in what had happened to Maxwell. But he had told the truth when he had said that Sullivan was naturally mistrustful, especially of women, who could blame him when two of his wives had cheated on him. But he also had to admit that Sullivan had been right in his suspicions on more than one occasion, he seemed to have an intuition for these things. But he, Leyton, did not think he was right this time.

He looked around the room, everything was neat and tidy and it smelt clean, very clean, as though she had scrubbed and washed everything in sight. Maybe she had, maybe she wanted to rid herself of the presence of Sterling Hennessey, erase him from her cabin if not from her mind and her heart. His eyes strayed to the bed and he wondered if she had stripped it and washed the bedding too. He turned to find her watching him and those big green eyes conveyed that she knew what he had been thinking. He tried to keep her gaze but found himself looking away again.