Matt Hilton - Blood and Ashes

Also by Matt Hilton

Dead Mens Dust

Judgement and Wrath

Slash and Burn

Cut and Run

Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

Friedrich Nietzsche

Chapter 1

The clouds failed to conceal the moon. It scowled like a drunkards bloodshot eye over the rim of an empty glass. The disc was low on the horizon, bloated and red, and I couldnt help aiming a derisive snort its way. A hunters moon: how ironic was that?

Walking slowly, my hands stuffed in my coat pockets, I felt the same breeze that made ribbons of the clouds tug at my clothing. In a baseball cap, scuffed leather coat and denims, I wandered up the centre of the main street of Bedford Well, with no care for traffic. It was after three in the morning and the only things moving were the cats with which I shared the night.

There was no one around. I hadnt seen another soul since arriving in town and parking my Audi in the darkened lot of a Seven-Eleven. That suited me. Id rather be here and gone before causing a blip on anyones radar. Should any insomniac glance out of a window Id appear unremarkable, just another guy down on his luck with no real destination in mind, passing through on his way to an undetermined destiny. That suited me as well.

Three nights ago Id been on the Florida Gulf Coast and it had been warm enough for shorts and a bare chest as Id reclined on the deck that overlooked the beach. Now the leather jacket was necessary for more than concealing the gun in my belt. The wind sweeping down off the Pennsylvanian hills held a lingering nip of winter and that didnt suit me at all.

My limp wasnt very pronounced, not after three months of hard exercise to get back up to speed, but the cold reminded me that not too long ago Id been both shot and stabbed in the right leg. The pain was just a dull ache and I pushed it to the back of my mind. Pain is an ally; it confirms that youre still alive. Id been fed bucket-loads of similar psychobabble when in the military; some of it helpful, most of it horseshit. Mostly pain hurts and it slows you down. How could that be a soldiers friend? Made me wonder if maybe I wasnt fit for this line of work any more, and that the accumulation of injuries picked up throughout the years was conspiring against me. Or, like my best friend Rink often joked, age was beginning to catch up with me.

Maybe there was something in that, but I wasnt ready for the scrap heap just yet.

The limp did serve some purpose. It added to the disguise Id affected. Studying this stubble-chinned man, holding himself tightly against the chill, looking thoroughly miserable, whod ever guess I was here for a deadly purpose?

On the drive up Id questioned my motives for coming to this dead-end town and more than once had almost turned the car round and headed south again. Its a weakness, but I cant say no. I shouldve told Don Griffiths to take a hike, concentrated on getting healthy again in the sub-tropical sun. But here I was. Apparently its true: you cant teach an old dog new tricks. Ive never learned to roll on my back and wasnt about to now.

The main street of Bedford Well wasnt much more than a hundred yards of family-run stores and amenities, all shut up tight for the night. At its northern end it opened into a circle of dwellings around a central green, complete with a wishing well that explained the towns name. The well had a bucket, but no one would be able to draw water from it because a metal grille had been bolted over the top. A huge brass padlock fastened the grille to the stonework, but it was shiny and proclaimed that the well was regularly emptied of coins. The town council, it seemed, had claim on the nickels and dimes as well as peoples aspirations.

I leaned my hips against the well, dug a couple of coins from my jeans pocket and dropped them through a slot in the centre of the grille. I heard them hit bottom. They hadnt fallen very far, making me wonder if this was just a folly designed to please the tourists. Regardless, I made a wish.

Waste of money, because my wish was already redundant.

I was already here and now there was no going back.

Testament to this was the presence of the black SUV that nosed out between two stores further along the street. Two shadows filled the front of the vehicle, topped by pale ovals that were turned my way. Under the peak of my cap, I returned their casual observation until the driver hit the gas and peeled out, heading back along the street. The brake lights flared, then the SUV took a turning to the right. The grumble of the engine carried on the air until the wind shifted and snatched it away.

What was that all about? I mentally shrugged: nothing good, I bet.

I headed across the green towards an imposing house that held sway over the smaller dwellings to either side. The house looked Victorian but for the satellite dishes in the garden and the cars on the drive, a Lexus and a Mercedes SUV. For all his claims to the contrary it looked like Don Griffiths was doing OK even in this cul-de-sac of a town.

I leaned on the doorbell.

The house remained very still. As if it held its breath.

I pressed the bell again.

Beyond the door there was a shift in the darkness and a light came on above my head. I fought the urge to glance up at the light, an old habit to protect my night vision. Waited while the person inside hooked a security chain in place, then opened the door a sliver.

Don is a heavy-built man in his early sixties. He has short steel-grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard to match. The person looking out at me didnt match any of those points. She was slim and dark and no more than thirty years old.

It was more than fifteen years since Id laid eyes on her but Id have recognised Millie anywhere. She had the vivid green eyes and raven tresses of her mother, but the strong nose and high cheekbones were every inch the image of her father.

Millie Griffiths studied me for a while. I raised my head so the peak of the cap was no longer casting such a long shadow on my face. Finally Millie closed the door and I heard the unhooking of the chain. She opened the door fully this time.

Come in, Joe. Her head dipped as I stepped by her into the darkness of the entrance hall. It looked like all the rooms on the lowest floor were unlit.

Wheres your father?

Millie locked the door before turning to look at me.

It was weird standing there in the dark, staring at her silhouetted against the front-door glass, all that was evident being the soft sparkle of her eyes. When she moved past me her shoulder brushed my upper arm and it was brusque. I settled my heels as Millie walked away without comment. Then, sighing, I followed.

Without flicking on a light, Millie led the way along the hall to the back of the house. There she opened a door and a flight of stairs led down into the basement. Another door at the bottom was etched around its frame with a dim glow.

I paused before descending.

Didnt need to hear her sob to know.

Im too late, I said. I heard what happened and Im sorry.

Millie nodded: a single hard slash of her jaw. My sister died because you wouldnt believe him.

She turned away before I could reply, her tread heavy, then quickening as she fled up the stairs to a bedroom. Overhead a door slammed and I listened to the young woman sobbing uncontrollably.

Shit...

I pulled the cap off and jammed it into a coat pocket. Scrubbing a hand through my hair I took the stairs down to the basement, counting the steps. With each one it felt like I was descending into the abyss.

Chapter 10

Bedford Well boasted only a part-time police resource, and right now the two constables were conspicuous by their absence. If Millie Griffiths had telephoned to report the intruder in her home it would be some time before a squad car responded from Hertford, which was a good fifteen-minute run even on blue lights and sirens all the way.