A Pit of Embers
George Hetherington
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 George Hetherington
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*****
Chapter1
Susan Ryan was drunk, it wasn't any wonder the sudden change in temperature hitting her smack in the face caused her head to spin with a sense of dizziness, having her catch her breath as she was being forcibly removed from the warm interior of the hotel foyer, by William, her husband, out into the cold, wet night. Nearing the edge of the smooth granite steps outside the hotel, she skated to a pivoting halt in her high-heels and struggled violently to try and free herself from her husband’s tight grip of her arm at the elbow. “Let go of me,” she demanded, voicing her anger as loudly and with as much connotation in her tone to attract the attention of anyone that might come racing to help her. But when she glanced back over her shoulder to discover no gallant knight was about to intervene in her domestic dilemma, however threatening to her well-being it may have appeared, her anger intensified. There was no way she was going to let William do as he pleased with her, especially after having just made, as she saw it, a complete fool of her in front of hundreds of shareholders and business associates of his company. For that, she wanted to hurt him. And so with calculating and vengeful tactility, as much as her intoxicated state of mind was capable of mustering, she slipped the shoulder strap of her handbag from her shoulder and swung it wildly in the general direction of her husband's face.
Out the corner of his eye William caught a glimpse of the expensive Armani shoulder-bag he had given Susan for her last birthday. Loaded with an assortment of female necessities, and about to connect with his face at a considerably high speed, William raised an arm to deflect the trajectory of the bag. But he was way too slow and the bag hit him square across the bridge of the nose with a fair old whack. In an instant, his world was locked within the perimeters of pain of which there was no escaping. The impact caused the bones in his neck to crack unerringly loud as he went crashing backwards onto the deck, with the heels of his hands pressed tightly against his watering eyes.
As William lay on his back groaning in agony. he heard his wife's voice penetrating his blinding world of pain, as if she were yelling at him from a great distance. "That's right - wriggle and squirm, you prize prick!" she yelled in a fit of triumph. "With a bit of luck you just might see again. Not that I give a shit," she told him, laughing as she went into a drunken victory dance close to his head, stomping in the thin layer of rain and splashing water over him.
"You'll pay for this, you bitch!" William shouted.
The cold dampness of the rain penetrating all the way through his suit against his back prompted William to roll onto his side and struggle to his feet. It took a moment before the pain of his watering eyes eased enough for him to remove his hands and find Susan still in the throes of her victory dance, swaying to an off-beat tune only she could hear. He touched a finger to his nose. It wasn't broken, but the throbbing sinus pain darting up into his forehead was giving him the kind of thumping sensation that made it feel like his head was about to explode.
Susan continued with her verbal lashing. "You think you're so shit hot," she ranted. "Well you don't look so shit hot from where I'm standing!" She turned to make her way back to the hotel.
Before Susan had time to take a second step, William reached out and caught her by the arm, spinning her half way around and knocking her off balance. One of her legs went up and she dropped, twisting an ankle as she came down heavily on her backside.
For a brief moment Susan sat in a daze state. Then, quiet suddenly, the still silent night was shattered, by the loudest, ear piercing shriek she could muster, the effect of which jolted William like a slap in the face.
William turned to the sound of chatter to see a number of curious faces emerge from the hotel foyer to investigate. He recognized most as his employees, as he bent down and scooped Susan up into his arms.
"You've broken my leg, you maniac!" Susan yelled at the top of her voice. "Help me someone! HELP!" she hollered.
The first person to come running to Susan's hysterical cries for help, as William carried her with her arms flaying, down the steps to where she had parked the car, was one of William's newest executives in his company, David Stuart. David’s wife, Janet was hard on his heels, anxious to know what was happening.
"Can I help you, Mr Ryan?" David inquired.
"Yes, you can," Susan snapped before William had time to answer him. "Get me away from this crazy lunatic. I want the bastard locked up for assaulting me! Call the police."
"What's happened?" David's wife asked, now standing beside her husband and trying to console Susan by touching her arm.
"She simply fell over, that's all and probably sprained her ankle,” said William. “Take no notice of her."
"That's bullshit," Susan challenged. "He did it to me! He got violent and tried to kill me! I swear he did!"
William fished into his trouser pocket for his car keys. "She's sloshed out of her stupid brain. She’s talking nonsense," he told them, now dangling the car keys in his hand for David. "Just open the damn door for me will you, David. So I can get her in the car.”
David took the keys from William. “I could drive if you wish, Mr Ryan. Janet can follow in our car."
"No need for that," William said. "It's kind of you to offer, but I'll handle it from here."
David unlocked the front passenger car door and held it open. He and his wife stood by and watched as William planted Susan on her seat.
Susan shot imploring glances at both David and his wife. "Neither of you are going to help me, are you?" she asked. "You've no idea what this bastard's capable of. Will you do me a favor and call the police."
David's wife looked concerned. She clapped a hand to her mouth, but held back and didn't interfere, not wanting to jeopardize her husband's position in the company.
Midway through Susan's pleas for help William slammed the door, muffling Susan’s voice to a dead pan, low pitched protest, and took the car keys from David.
"Hope everything works out okay, Mr Ryan," David said, with a hint of apprehension in his voice.
William took time to rest an assuring hand momentarily on David's shoulder. "I appreciate your help, David. I'll catch up with you at the office in the morning." He faced David's wife. "And you needn’t look so worried. I'll see she's taken care of. Good night!"
Susan's door popped open. "For god sake, help me," she pleaded.
William promptly activated the child lock on the door and pushed it shut with his knee. "She can be persistent when she wants," he said.
On the other side of the car door Susan was thumping her shoulder to try and force it open.
William bid David and Janet good night for a second time while racing around the front of the car.
Janet removed her open hand from over her mouth. "Good night, Mr Ryan," she said in a voice barely audible, bending down to stare through the window at Susan as William seated himself beside her, adding in a louder unconvincing voice, above the quiet rumble of the engine as it started. "You'll be fine, Mrs Ryan."
In reply Susan tearfully shook her head. "Like hell I will," she shouted.
The gear lever shifted in William's hand and the Jaguar moved away at a moderate pace, leaving David and his wife staring after it.
"I don't feel good about this, David."
David put an arm about his wife's shoulders. "Let's get out of the bloody rain before we catch our deaths. I could do with a stiff brandy."
"Same here," Janet shivered, hurrying back towards the hotel.
*****
Chapter2
Driving out of Wellington, Susan hadn’t stopped rambling on about the pain she was in, and the increasing size of her ankle. The weather seemed to mirror her mood and the heavy rain was making driving conditions extremely hazardous. It was no easy task for William having Susan and the weather both whipping into a right nasty frenzy.
“You’re an animal to me,” Susan whimpered. “You don’t give a shit about me being in bloody pain.
”William didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Can’t you give it a rest, for fuck sake,” he told her.
"I'd be better off without the likes of you, for all the money you’ve got," Susan wailed. "You're just a shit-house to me!"
"Shut it,” William demanded, raising a hand in a threatening manner. "Or so help me I’ll shut it for you!"
Susan cowered against the door. "Bugger you! You're a bastard - a no good, rotten arsehole bastard!"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," William muttered. "According to that excuse of a brain swimming in your head. You couldn't wait to make a fool of me back there," he told her, thinking back to when they were at the hotel where he had brought together a large group of his company's shareholders. The topic of conversation passing among them would have most certainly been centered on his ongoing marital problems, of that he was sure. While he had been trying to focus his attention on informing them of the record profits the company had made for the year he had noticed the snide whispered remarks being made as he spoke to them. A lot of the facial expressions by those he had been addressing was indication enough to tell him the personal problems with his wife, which she had encouraged to make as public as she possibly could, had appeared to be more of an interest than what he had to say. It wasn’t half obvious many had been entertained by the spectacle his wife had put on for them. He looked at her now and spoke in a menacing tone. "I swear, sometimes I could throttle the fucking living days lights out of you!"
Observing his expression, there was a glimmer of fear in Susan’s eyes which quickly became a look of challenging contempt. "Fuck you," she snapped. "You fucking gutless wonder!"
"Don't push it," William told her. "Put on another act like that in front of my people and I'll make sure you live to regret it. That’s a promise."
Lightning fractured the night.
Susan studied the man beside her. "Am I in for another one of your fucking sad-sack lectures, am I?"
Concerned more with the driving conditions than anything else that may be ready to spill from his wife’s jaws, William promptly reached down and switched on the radio. It was an instant reaction which had become habitual under the very same circumstances when he wanted to drown out Susan’s high-pitched, nagging voice.
For William, the loudness of Ringo Star’s voice, singing about when we grow old and grey, was a much welcomed intervention, going quite a way in helping to smother the impact of Susan’s drunken rambling.
On hearing the sudden rising volume of the Beatle’s voice, Susan couldn’t help herself but had to get in on the act immediately, cranking up her vocals to ride above Ringo Star. "That's all I ever get from you, you rude son of a bitch! Anyone would think I wasn’t in the car with you," she yelled. “You’re a complete ignoramus!
Refraining himself from telling his wife to shut her face, William switched the wipers onto the fastest mode. He knew if he tried saying anything further he'd have to put up with her ranting that much longer and that much louder however loud he increased the volume of the radio. On past experiences the silent treatment usually had her giving up and falling silent out of frustration.
For Susan, the business function she had come away from had been another dull event, where, as was expected of her on such occasions, she had paraded herself by her husband's side like the faithful and supportive wife of any respective billionaire. Keeping up appearances and playing the part solely for the benefit of her husband, had become a total bore for her. The only way she found herself able to put up with the charade was to indulge and accept any and every drink that was offered her. She was well aware she had a drinking problem, and had vowed to herself, on numerous occasions, to one day get around to doing something about it.
Married to William for ten years, Susan at thirty-two years of age was eight years younger than her husband. She did have everything money could buy, and indeed, it was the money that had been the main attraction to him, that, the power, and of course the abundance of over-whelming respect she always received when she was in the company of New Zealand's wealthiest citizen. The old cliché that money can't buy happiness in Susan's case proved incorrect during the early stage of their relationship, but the last four years of her marriage she had grown to detest her husband and everything he stood for. She found him physically obnoxious. Her deepest regret was having walked out on William's younger half brother, Luke, the one and only man she had ever loved.
Traveling through the pelting rain in the warm comfort of the car Susan fixed her eyes vindictively on the man seated next to her. Hunched over and huddling the steering wheel as he was, he appeared to her as if he was having a kinky affair with it. It didn't really occur to her that he was in fact having some difficulty in seeing the road ahead in the atrocious driving conditions. Under the dim glare of the dashboard lights reflecting onto his face, Susan's mind was in hate-William-Ryan-mode. She was thinking how fat-faced and ugly he was, and she was questioning the rights and wrongs of why and how she had stayed with him for as long as she had. She was seeing him in a different light as if she'd never really seen him before. He, in her eyes, was a monster larger than life, a monster her own mind had created, who always dropped into her life whenever a large quantity of alcohol passed her lips. Seeing him now he was grotesque, appearing uglier than she ever could possible have remembered. While dissecting and categorizing his every feature as if it were a piece of a macabre jigsaw puzzle, she came to the conclusion there was not a single feature about the man she could honestly say she liked. His bald, shiny-domed and sharply pointed head gave him a devil-minus-the-horns appearance. She'd convinced him, prior to her moving in with him on a permanent basis, that the little hair he did have on his head, consisting of nothing more than a fine hair skirt occupying a relatively small area between the top of his ears and the crown of his head, was not worth hanging onto. Where was the logic in possessing a comb, she remembered herself telling him. And when she told him, while breaking into a fit of laughter, that his hair looked totally ridiculous, the man of power crumbled without a hint of resistance and gave her permission to remove his cherished locks with a few swipes of the razor. The smart tailored suits William now wore were another markedly improved change Susan had been responsible for. Until she entered his life his sense of dress code was, to everyone but William, shocking. His miss-matched and bizarre standard of dress had for many years earned him the undisputed title of New Zealand's worst dressed man. It occurred to Susan while she sat staring across at him now, with his swollen girth of fat that was his neck and the huge belly overlapping the invisible belt holding his trousers in place, he should have been voted the ugliest man in the whole of the southern hemisphere. Bugger it, she thought, he'd qualify hands down for the title of ugliest specimen alive in the whole god forsaken universe. The thought amused her. In the blink of an eye she was holding an imaginary gun in her hand and pointing it at close range to the side of William’s head. Acting out her thoughts like she really did have a gun in her hand she pulled the imaginary trigger. "BANG!" she shouted above the last fading notes of Ringo Star's voice, as the song was coming to an end.
The role-played killing caused William to jerk back in his seat. His jaw hung, and the gob-smacked expression on his face while staring down the barrel of her wavering finger, made Susan erupt in a fit of giggles.
"Take that!" she shouted. "Bang! Bang! Fucking Bang! You're dead. I've blown your brains all over the place!"
William was not amused. He glared angrily at her and pushed her hand away. "I'm in no mood for games," he told her. "Put your finger up your arse and contemplate blasting that small pea-brain of yours swimming in shit. If I’m lucky the exercise will drain all functions your brain is capable of and you’ll lapse into a coma for keeps and give me some peace."
Unfortunately the scenario of William's wishful imagination was unable to penetrate Susan's line of thinking. In her mind's eye, she was seeing a mass of wet grey matter with splinters of bone and lashings of skin and fleshy tissue splattered and dripping from the lining of the roof directly above William's head. The vision of slaughter ignited a bout of laughing from Susan, which, from a psychologists point of view, could well have been described as a state of insane hysteria.
When Susan’s laughing continued, without a hint of abating, reverberating between William's ears like some trapped high pitched cackling demon, even with the radio as loud as it was, his tolerance level reached its peak and he turned on her and yelled at the top of his voice. "Will you shut your fucking trap!"
The impact of William's voice, and the weight of it's delivery plucked Susan's from her private movie-house in the blink of an eye. She had been in the satisfying throes of witnessing William's body slumped in his seat, with more blood that reality could provide oozing from the gapping hole in his head. The abrupt interlude of her movie had her shaking her head in an attempt to try and extinguish the vision she was now seeing - of a very much alive William Ryan beside her, larger than life with the whole of his shining bald head intact. Her dream world had been miserably shattered and the giggling ceased. For a brief moment she appeared quite distant of mind in her expression, then, slowly her mouth began to work. "My oh my!" she said. "Didn't you just make the bloody quickest fuckin recovery of all time."
William switched the radio off. "Why don’t you just shut your mouth and sleep it off," he demanded. "You don't know what you're talking about."
Susan nodded her head. "Oh yes, I do," she said, reaching over to prod William's overhanging belly with her index finger, her lips forming a sinister, half-twisted smile as she did so. "I'll shut my mouth when I'm bloody good and ready, you fat slob," she went on, punctuating her words with the stabbing of her finger.
William slapped her hand away. "Get the fuck away from me, you crazy drunken bitch!"
"You're gonna be sorry," Susan rattled on. "I'm seeing me a lawyer and taking you for everything you’ve got. Stew that over why don’t you, Mr William Ryan."
William reacted as if amused by his wife's threatened intentions. He tossed back his head and laughed. "Go for it," he told her. "By the time I'm through with you you'll wish you never bothered. I'll see it drag on for years. At the end of it you might get something if you're lucky. But you'll have one foot in the grave by then anyway. I've got all the time in the world. And if I have to I'll go broke rather than give it to you. I promise you that."
"There's no way you can do that," Susan challenged. "No way in hell!"
"If you've got the patience, which I know you don't have an ounce of lurking anywhere in that drunken head of yours, I'll do everything in my power to keep your hands off my money, if it takes me forever. I didn't get where I am for the likes of you take me down." A thought occurred to him prompting a broad smile. "I could always have you committed," he suggested. "I’m sure I could persuade the right people to put you exactly where I can keep an eye on you, where you'd be, shall we say, completely indisposed and totally at my mercy. You'd be well and truly out of the way. Your manic behavior of late is well publicized, so I don’t think it’d be too much of a problem proving you’re a head case. How does that sound? You could live the remainder of your days out of sight in a padded cell." He laughed and ended his plan for her on a dead-pan, sow note: "And if you were a good girl and behave yourself locked away on your lonesome, I could visit you and bring you some goodies, some knitting maybe to while away your gloomy hours among the loonies."
His morbid sense of humor sent Susan scurrying back to her private movie-house. A feeling of loneliness and doom fell upon her like a dark, heavy blanket. She shrunk into herself like there was no hope of escaping the vivid scenario William had implanted in her head. A cold shiver ran over her when she saw the image of herself trapped in a corner of a room with a multitude of crazies pawing, patting and groping at her. "NOOOO! NOOO!" she whimpered, slapping the immediate space in front of her. Her hands flayed out in all directions. "Get the hell away from me! Stop it!"
William was alarmed by her actions. "My god,” he said. “You really have lost the plot!"
The sound of his voice brought Susan racing back to reality. The shear hell of what she had seen had caused her body to rapidly perspire. She was wet and clammy all over. "That wasn't nice, what I seen," she said, the words riding on her gasping breath.
William looked at her curiously. "Tell me - what did you see?” He laughed to himself. “From where I’m sitting you looked like your head was on fire and you were trying to put out the flames."
"Never bloody mind what I saw," Susan told him, trying to figure out for herself what had happened, so she could try and correct her train of thinking into some state of normality. She wondered if perhaps she might be losing her mind, or, was it because she had far too much to drink. She made a conscious effort to do something about it her problem with drink. For the moment though, she wasn’t about to own up to the fact she recognized she had a problem in any shape or form to her husband at least, not with the kind of threats he'd been making. "You wouldn't be so cruel," she told him.
The slightest tremor in her voice was enough indication to William, he had, if nothing else, instilled a degree of fear into his wife. He nodded his head and his mouth formed that familiar smile, a different smile for different occasions, occasions like now, when he knew he had the upper hand. "You can bet your sweet fanny, I would," he said. "I sure will and I won't hesitate. For you, my sweet, I'll even rush things along. I'll have you can settle quickly into your new surroundings before you can say sardines in a tin can, so you can acquaint yourself with your new crack pot buddies."
Susan could not imagine a worse fate to befall her. She felt as if a sentence of incarceration had already been handed down to her by judge and jury. She glared at the gloating face of her husband. "I'll see you in hell before you get a chance to do that to me, you creepy bastard." Her voice rose to its fullest ear-drum-breaking capacity. "You're nothing but a swine!" she yelled.
William's shoulders came up and his head went down in a cringing manner. He was gritting his teeth and wincing at the same time to deaden the blast of Susan's hitch-pitched voice, sending shock wave upon shock wave, like a knife being driven into the very heart of his nervous system. "Shut it," he called out. Or I swear, I'll.."
"Go on then," she challenged. "Stop the car!” she demanded. "Bloody-well let me out!"
The idea of stopping the car and letting her out in the middle of nowhere did have some appeal for William, but the scenario of her possibly getting herself murdered would most likely go against him in light of the spectacle she had put on back at the hotel, so he didn’t hesitate in ditching that idea. Instead he pushed down harder on the accelerator like it was a natural reflex to a pulse of anger. The car picked up speed.
Susan didn’t let up with the vocals. "I'd rather take my chances on my own than go back home with you," she snapped.
William looked across at her. "You're crazier than I thought," he told her. "Who in their right mind would want to try hitching a ride in this weather. The only ride you'd catch is a ride to the hospital with pneumonia. You're not exactly dressed for it in that garb." Privately he did relish the thought of Susan’s life being held in the balance of life and death from her own reckless actions. He nodded his head. "On second thoughts that's not a bad idea. Then I wouldn't need to go to the trouble of booking you into a funny farm. You'd kick the bucket without me lifting a finger. That'd be excellent - bloody perfect in fact,” he laughed. “Just what the doctor ordered."
"You’re talking dribble," Susan threw back at him. "Stop the fuckin car! You’re the one who can do the walking, not me. You’re the one who’ll be going to the hospital. Not me. This is my car. Remember?
"Forget it. Neither of us are getting out," William informed her. "And I don’t give an ounce of shit whose car it is. We're going home and that's an end to it."
"Fuck you,” Susan shouted. “If you don’t stop the car I'll jump," she told him, turning to face the door as if genuinely contemplating the action. But in the space of time it took her to consider the possible injuries she would no doubt sustain, if she went ahead and flung herself from a fast moving car, and the realization that the car was not slowing down, she sighed heavily and faced William. "The police'l have you locked up in no time after finding me on the road, dead. You'd be up for murder."
William seemed chuffed by the idea and began to giggle. "What makes you think it’d kill you? You’d bounce around, break a lot of bones and probably end up looking like something out of a freak show. And feel a right fool in the process. Have you thought of that? You could lose your pretty face and end up a cripple in a wheelchair for the rest of your pitiful life. Now that would be a laugh, wouldn't it?" He stopped laughing long enough to come over all serious-like. He sighed heavily. "Everyone knows you're too vain to go and damage your best feature. Lose your looks and you'd be fucked. No one would look at you. Your looks are about all you’ve got going for yourself. That's the only fuckin reason I married you, for Christ sake. Oh yeah, and there’s one minor factor you’ve obviously forgotten about. I put the children’s safety lock on. Remember? So, unless you’re a reincarnation of Houdini, you’re not going get the chance to mess up your pretty face, are you now?"
Susan's mind escaped the present and drifted back into past, to the good times she had had with a man whom she knew in her heart she had never stopped loving. She had tears in her eyes when she turned and faced her husband. "That's not the reason you married me. Why don't you come out and tell the truth for once in your life? You had to have me purely for selfish reasons, because I was with your brother and you couldn't bear to see him happy. I'll admit I didn't exactly make it hard for you. But you've got problems that go way back where Luke's concerned. You weren’t happy knowing he loved me and taking me away from him broke his heart. You set out right from the beginning to get me and hurt your brother at the same time. That’s what it was really all about. You couldn't stand seeing him happy with me. The biggest regret of my life was leaving Luke for you."
"And the sort of life style he couldn't give you in a million years, darling," William reminded her. "Let's not forget about that. You reveled in all I could give you like a fuckin cocaine addict waiting for a hit. So don't give me that garbage! You didn't give a mummy's turd what Luke might have gone through when you decided to walk out of his life for keeps. If anybody is responsible for hurting the bugger, in my books, its you."
William’s words struck a chord in Susan. She nodded and wiped at her eyes. "Yes. I know I hurt him," she admitted. “And I'm so damn sorry for ever leaving him the way I did," she cried, her voice gaining more power and volume with every word. "I should've stuck with Luke. He's a real man. He knew how to treat a woman. And he knew how to make love. Compared to him you are fucking nothing. Cold and calculating, that's what you are. People’s feelings have never really matter to you. You're only ever out for what you can get. A fat, ugly, greedy arsehole. That's what you are! You make me want to throw up every time I look at you," she yelled. "I'd rather end it now than spend another second with you," she informed him, while taking it upon herself to lower the window.
The sudden whistling rush of air coming into the car set alarm bells off in William's head. He looked across at her. “What do you think you’re doing?”
With an arm out the window and her back to him, Susan was trying to open the door from the outside. “I’m getting out,” she yelled, opening the door.
William’s foot came off the accelerator and onto the brake pedal as the car went into a bend in the road. "You crazy bitch!" he shouted, reaching across in front of Susan to grab hold of the door.
Pushing with her shoulder against the door, Susan fought to prevent him getting a hand to the door, slapping and punching at his arm, while at the same time trying to get one legs out the open door. "Bugger you," she shrieked. "Let me out!"
William managed to get hold of the arm-rest on the door and pull it shut.
Susan was enraged. She turned savagely on him and began to pummel him about the head with both her fists, in a fit of frenzied fury.
Holding the passenger door and steering the car, while under attack from his wife, was proving too difficult for William. The car crossed the center line, as he negotiated a sweeping left hand bend, and was heading straight into the blinding path of a Mercedes Benz truck, towing a trailer, loaded with cattle for the slaughter-house.
The truck's huge head-lights flooded the interior of the car.
Susan's jaw was touching her chest, her face was a chalk white mask and her saucer-wide eyes were transfixed, straight ahead. In the blink of an eye her entire life from day one passed before her. She clapped her head in her hands and screamed for all she was worth.
Just when a head on collision seemed inevitable William jerked on the steering wheel. Miraculously, he managed to steer the car from the direct path of the truck with mere inches separating the two vehicles.
The truck and trailer thundered by, leaving a slip-stream of shit-green vapor onto the windscreen of the Jaguar.
For a fraction of a second, William was driving blind. Only when the windscreen wipers had completed two shit-removing swipes, and he could see they were out of danger, on his side of the road with no oncoming traffic to contend with, did he let out a sigh of relief. He rolled his eyes. Thanks for that, he said in his head, to what ever great force that might have seen fit to allow him the privilege to live another day. If he hadn't been so angry with Susan, who'd swallowed a good dose of doomsday sobers, he’d have cried out for joy. Beads of perspiration bubbled and trailed from his brow into his eyes. The toxins in his sweat, released by the body when the probability of losing one's life is high, stung his eyes like soapy water, and the little tapping hammer, beating against his temple added weight behind the measure of air escaping his lungs. "That was too close," he said, shaking his head. "Too damn close for my liking." He closed the passenger side window and resumed driving.
In the far reaches of his mind, William could still faintly hear the reverberating echoes of Susan's screaming voice. He looked across at her now. She appeared calm, unblinking and focused on the road ahead. But the dramatic contrast in her changed behavior over the last couple of minutes worried him. She was projecting an image of someone totally unfazed by the near miss with the truck, which could have taken both their lives. Not wanting to set her off, he kept his thoughts to himself. She was out of it, drunk, he told himself. Best leave it that way and be grateful for the peace and quiet.
After several more peaceful minutes passed, William was surprised to hear Susan break out in fit of giggling.
There had been a brief moment, as fleeting as it had been, just when she had thought her life was over when she had looked over at William. In that short span of time she had seen something she had never before seen in all the years she had been with him. She had witnessed the expression of pure unadulterated fear on his face, and, having tasted this one gapping hole in the man's armor-clad superficial exterior, where nothing else appeared to penetrate, this filled her with an aching need to see the very same expression on his face again.
William was not at all prepared for her next move when she suddenly, out of the blue, reached over and grabbed hold of the steering wheel with both hands. "I want to get out of this bloody car!" she yelled, pulling down on the left side of the steering wheel.
Before William had a chance to react, the car lurched violently off the road, its wheels kicking up gravel.
"Fuck you," William shouted, fighting desperately to retain control of the car and bring it back over onto the road.
But Susan was not about to give up, even when William had managed to steer the car back onto the road and out of danger, she still had both her hands clamped tightly on the steering wheel, intent on causing an accident. "I've had it with you, you bastard," she screamed, her voice coming in short bursts with the strain of trying to over-power her husband. "We're finished! There's nothing left for me."
The effort and determination gradually began to take its toll on Susan, she was getting weaker and her chances of succeeding were quickly slipping from her grasp. William was well aware of the fact and waited patiently, with a broadening grin stretching all the way across his face. When he saw the tension leave her hands and the grip of her tired fingers beginning to slacken off, he casually removed her hands one by one and placed them upon her lap. "There's a good girl. You lay back and sleep it off," he told her. "I can see you're exhausted."
Susan said nothing, it was as if all the fight had gone out of her, she appeared to go limp in her seat like she was in fact content to sleep it off like William had sarcastically suggested she do.
Little did he know she was preparing herself, waiting for that second wind to kick in. When her second wind did kick in, then she would make her move. She shot William a sly glance, through half closed eyes. It aint over yet, buddy. There was a grin on her face too, but he'd never have noticed, because his concentration was focused on driving the car and getting home in one piece.
Very soon, bright lights of another, heavily laden stock truck loomed ahead of them, in the distance, on the same straight stretch of road they were travelling.
Susan began to slowly rise up in her seat from her slumped position. This is it, you bastard. This is it. She chose her moment carefully, edging herself ever closer to her husband, without him being aware. When the glaring headlights of the oncoming vehicle was roughly two hundred metres ahead and closing in fast with the brilliance of its headlights dazzling in her eyes, she turned on William. With hands raised and fingers bent like talons she viciously latched onto both sides of his face and wrenched downwards in one swift motion.
Before William's brain had even acknowledged the pain, the skin on his face came away in Susan's nails, leaving deep white furrows where his blood had yet to bubble. The shock of her actions had him instinctively reaching to protect himself. And in that brief fraction of time when his hands left the steering-wheel the car began to cross the center line of the road and into the path of the oncoming vehicle.
As the blood surfaced in the furrows of William's cheeks, Susan saw the terror on William's face and smiled. In her final brief moment of glory she heard her husband's screaming voice silenced by the impact of crushing metal.
*****
Chapter3
It was after midnight when Phillip Jenkins, the managing director of Ryan Investments had a call from security informing him two policemen were waiting down stairs wanting to speak with him on a matter of urgency. He'd been working late in his office, which were rooms of a law practice he had set up in partnership with another lawyer, Jonathan Dean.
At thirty-five years of age, Phillip Jenkins was a bachelor and a true workaholic in every sense of the word. It was not unusual for him to spend late nights at his desk working well into the early hours of the morning. He was a tall, of thin build with a receding thatch of dark hair. The lenses of his heavily framed spectacles were as thick at the bottom of a milk bottle, magnifying his eyes to double their size. Phillip lived for his work. It was because of Phillip’s double degrees, with honors, in both law and accountancy that William Ryan had sought to invite him onboard to join him and his crew in the fledgling company he’d begun. As a young a very enthusiastic assistant executive director, Phillip was hungry for every opportunity to prove himself, and keen to boost the company's profits, which he did, exceeding William’s expectations of him and more. In a relatively short time he went on to become a very close friend to William as well as a major shareholders in Ryan Investments.
Phillip left his office and went down in the lift to greet the policemen.
The older of the two plain clothed Police Inspectors introduced himself as Inspector Chris Jefferies his junior colleague, Inspector Bill Garratt. They both in turn shook Phillip’s hand.
On greeting the two Inspectors a distinct feeling of uneasiness come over Phillip. Their poker-faced expressions did little to ease the horrible feeling stirring in the pit of his stomach. Scenarios of every description were beginning to run the gauntlet of his imagination as to why they should be paying him a visit at that time of the night. The first thought that popped into his head was someone was dead. Not wanting to dwell on that line of thinking he quickly invited the pair to return with him to the comfort of his office on the fifteenth floor. His office, he felt, was the best place to hear whatever it was they’d come to tell him.
On the way up in the lift, Inspector Jefferies asked Phillip if he had heard the news on the radio or television.
Phillip waited for the doors of the lift to open before he answered the Inspector. “No, Inspector,” he said stepping from the lift. “I’ve been snowed under preparing a brief for a case.”
The two Police Inspectors followed Phillip into his office.
Phillip closed the door and went to the cupboard of a cabinet standing against the wall behind his desk. He was feeling in need of a stiff drink to settle his rattling nerves. Under normal conditions he’d never have touched a drop before midday. “Would either of you gentlemen wish to join me in a drink?” he asked, removing a bottle of black label whisky from the cabinet and holding it up for them to see. “Whisky’s all I can offer you, I’m afraid. I do have have an uneasy feeling you’ve come to give me some bad news.
“Not for us thank you, Mr Jenkins. Not while we’re on duty,” Inspector Jefferies said, declining Phillip's offer.
Both Inspectors looked on as Phillip removed the cap from the bottle and quickly poured himself a tallish shot into a crystal tumbler.
“I don’t make a habit of this, believe me,” Phillip told the pair, as he checked the time on his wrist watch. “But at this early hour of the morning I gather the news you’ve come to tell me is not going to be pleasant.”
Inspector Garratt met Inspector Jefferies’ gaze with an eyebrow raised in a curious manner before facing Phillip and nodding his head. "With regret, Mr Jenkins, you are correct in your assumption. The news is tragic, I’m afraid.
Phillip brought the glass to his lips and drained the contents in one gulp, swilling the brew around in his mouth briefly before swallowing. “You’re Australian,” he said,
“From Sydney,” the Inspector informed Phillip. “I’ve only been here a relatively short time, sir.”
Inspector Jefferies didn’t particularly want to get into where and how long his colleague had been in the country, and his direct eye contact with Garratt relayed his feeling to get on the task at hand. He waited while Phillip poured himself another tall drink. “Where here to give you the news about the Ryan's - Mr and Mrs Ryan. We have every reason to believe they had a fatal accident," he said. "Both died at the scene."
Phillip’s shoulders slumped. He dropped heavily into his swivel chair behind his desk like he’d been suddenly loaded down some great invisible weight.
The news of losing a friend and boss left him momentarily speechless. This can not be happening, it’s a nightmare. He shook his head and pushed his glass at arms length away from him on the desk where he left it and slapped the palm of his hand to his forehead. "You’re absolutely certain about this?” he asked, removing his hand from his forehead to reveal furrowed brows. “There’s no way you might be mistaken?”
Inspector Jefferies nodded his head. "Well, I wish I could give you a more definite answer on that, Mr Jenkins, but the fact is right now all I’m able to tell you is we are ninety-five percent certain it is them. The identities have yet to be confirmed because up to this stage we do not have a next-of-kin to positively identify the bodies. That's what brought us to you, sir. We'd like to know if you can help us locate Mrs Ryan's sister, Sally Curtis. All efforts to find her have been fruitless. I understand, because of who she is, her exact whereabouts has been a kept a secret.”
Inspector Garratt carried on from where Inspector Jefferies left off. “And that goes the same for William Ryan's brother, Luke. We haven't yet been able to locate him either. It occurred to us you may be able to help us find person so we can get down to the business of positively identifying the bodies."
While the Inspector was speaking, Phillip was preoccupied with his own trouble thoughts and he duly excused himself for his obvious lack of attention. "Please forgive me, gentlemen," he said, fixing his gaze on the photograph directly in front of him on his desk. It was a photograph of William Ryan and his wife taken the day of their wedding. "I'm not really thinking as clearly as I’d like at this present time, as you can well understand. This has come as a terrible shock to me.”
"Of course, sir,” Inspector Jefferies said. “We do understand how you would be feeling right now. And of course by the same token you can understand our urgency in having the identities of Mr and Mrs Ryan cleared up without undue delay. So if you could help us get in touch with Sally Curtis, that would be very much appreciated, Mr Jenkins. As you are not aware, the media are already onto this, given Mr Ryan's high profile. For the moment, at least we have managed to persuade them not to release any details to the general public. But, as we all know, the media, always hungry for a story, especially of this high caliber, cannot be totally relied on to remain silent until the next-of-kin have been notified."
Phillip could not have agreed more with the Inspector’s assumption of the media having had dealings with the press on many occasions. He nodded in agreement with them. "You are right of course,” he said. “It would be no surprise to me if they let something slip out.”
“So, you’ll be as keen as we are to get hold of Sally Curtis or Luke Ryan then, Mr Jenkins?” asked Inspector Garratt.
Phillip nodded, reaching for his drink. He picked up the glass, eyed the contents ruefully then drank it down. He studied the empty glass momentarily before he spoke and placed it on the desk. “There will some difficulty getting Sally Curtis here at short notice, I’m afraid gentlemen. If we can confirm it is in fact the Ryans who have lost their lives, I will have to insist on the loyalty with which I hold in highest regard in respect of Mr Ryan wishes. For that reason I am unable to give out the whereabouts of Sally Curtis to anyone, unless of course I am ordered to do so by the court. I suggest you concentrate on locating Mr Ryan’s brother. You shouldn’t have too much difficulty. I understand he has a flat somewhere here in central Wellington.”
“We’ve carried out a quite extensive search for him already, Mr Jenkins, but to no avail,” said Inspector Jefferies. “From all accounts the man appears to be something of a loner. One friend of his, a character by the name of Swampy, told us he hadn’t seen Luke for a few days. He thought he might have gone off on a drinking binge. He told us Luke was never out of the scene for more than a couple of days at a time. If he catches up with Luke he said he’d get him to contact us immediately.
“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Luke Ryan,” Phillip informed the Inspectors, taking his time to pour himself another drink, this time not quite so large. “So I can’t really tell you anymore about him than his friend. Mr Ryan never discussed his brother’s affairs with me. I assume he wanted his brother’s life to remain private.”
Inspector Jefferies was showing signs of becoming inpatient and he made that quite clear by the tone of his voice. “Seems to me you are our best bet then, Mr Jenkins,” he said, trying to prevent that line of conversation dragging on longer than necessary. “We really need to move on this one, as you can understand, Mr Jenkins. It looks like you’ll have to be the one to accompany us down to the morgue for the positive identification of the bodies in the mean time. If you are agreeable?”
Phillip shrugged his shoulders and was about to give an answer, when Inspector Garratt’s butted in. “Being new to this country, maybe you could put me a little bit more in the picture about William Ryan?” he asked, directing his question at Phillip.
Inspector Jefferies faced Garratt. “William Ryan would be somewhere in the same league as Australia’s Kerry Packer, but on a smaller scale. Isn’t that right, Mr Jenkins?”
Phillip shook his head. “You may be close, Inspector. But those details are strictly confidential.”
“I heard there’s a bit of mystery surrounding their daughter. Is that right, Mr Jenkins?” Inspector Garratt inquired, anxious to know more.
Inspector Jefferies butted in on the conversation, not wanting Jenkins to think he was completely in the dark. “It all goes back to the time of the attempted kidnapping of the girl when she was just a baby.”
“That is correct, yes, Inspector,” Phillip said. “And since that day Mr Ryan saw to it that every precaution possible was taken to ensure nobody could ever again try to get anywhere near to the child to try a repeat attempt. Mr Ryan took measures, he thought necessary to ensure the ongoing protection of his daughter, placing her into the sole care of his wife's sister, Sally Curtis, on a property chosen for its inaccessibility where she’s been living for the past 10 years. Mr Ryan left explicit instructions in his will that under no circumstances was the locality of the property to be revealed, even under circumstances we are faced with at this very moment, in the event of a tragic accident that could have taken both their lives.”
After Phillip finished explaining his position, and emphasizing the importance that the first priority was to make contact with Sally Curtis and inform her of the situation before he could make a visit to the morgue. That way it would give the police more time to find William Ryan’s brother, Luke, and then he could deal with the positive identification of the bodies. If, by the time they had not located Luke Ryan, he told them he would pay a visit to the morgue himself and identify the bodies.
The Inspectors agreed with Phillip and left him with the task of making contact with Sally Curtis to let her know what had happened.
Quite some considerable time had gone by since the police had left Phillip in his office during which time he had sat alone contemplating how he was going to break the news to Sally Curtis. Although nothing had been positively confirmed, he didn’t feel it was an appropriate time to be phoning her, preferring instead to wait until a more suitable hour, giving her time to wake up at least. In the back of his mind he’d also been toying with the notion that the police would eventually locate Luke Ryan, and therefore he’d not have to face the grisly task of identifying the bodies himself. He knew for certain he could not run the risk of bringing Sally Curtis all the up from where she was by helicopter to Wellington. Not only did he have to consider the Ryan’s daughter, Suzy, whose whereabouts could most definitely be jeopardized, but also there were Sally’s children to consider. They would have all had to come to Wellington because there was no one else on the property that could look after them that he could depend on to guarantee their continued safety. Besides, apart from considering the aspect of having to move everyone about under such tight security, there was also the added responsibility of his having to personally identify the bodies of William and Susan Ryan himself. Identifying dead bodies, no matter who they were was in itself a task he would do anything to get out of going through with. As far as he was concerned the longer he held off visiting the morgue, the less likelihood of him having to do it, period.
Several hours later, and several drinks later also, Phillip had still not picked up the telephone to make that important call to Sally Curtis. By this time it was approaching eight o’clock in the morning and he was abruptly stirred out of his transfixed state of mind by the loudly excited voice of Jonathon Dean, Phillip's junior law partner, as he came barging into his office, appearing noticeably distressed.
"Phillip,” Jonathan wailed, on see him sitting perplexed at his desk with a drink in his hand. “For God sake have you heard the news?” His eyes searching Phillip’s face for the answer. Not aware if Phillip knew or didn’t know. “Everyone I’ve bumped into on the way here’s telling me the Ryans have been killed in a ghastly car accident. Seems they'd heard it on the news broadcast over the radio."
Jonathan’s revelation caused an immediate response of anger from Phillip. His hand came away from the half filled glass of whisky, he made a fist and slammed it into the palm of his hand, with enough velocity to cause Jonathan to involuntarily flinch. "Damn the cursed media," he shouted with equal gusto. “This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen!”
Jonathan approached the front of Phillip’s desk, his jaw hanging in disbelief. "So it’s true," he said, staring down into Phillip’s eyes.
The expression on Phillip’s face confirmed the stories he had heard on the way to the office. "My God,” he said, turning from Phillip to seat himself on one of a pair of matching leather chairs occupying the space against the wall. “And here's me thinking it was someone's sick idea of a joke," he added.
Phillip dragged the telephone across his desk and picked up the receiver. "My intentions were to pay Sally Curtis a visit and give her the news in person, but that's now out of the question. I just hope she hasn't heard it like half the country already has," he said, dialing Sally's unlisted number and pressing the receiver to his ear. “The worst part about all this is the bodies haven’t yet been identified as far as I am aware,” he told Jonathan, with the palm of his hand clamped tight over the receiver to prevent Sally Curtis overhearing should she come on the line.
*****
Chapter 4
Sally Curtis was 32 years of age, blonde and blue eyed. She was a solo-mother with two young blonde headed sons, Billy, aged 10, and Steven aged 13 years. She had a bubbly and an easy going personality. And like her identical twin sister Susan, she was exceptionally pretty, slim, and large breasted for her height of five foot three. Sally’s greatest passion was country music.
When Sally's peaceful night's sleep came to an abrupt halt, due to sharp abdominal pains in the early hours of the morning, her first thought was her appendix was giving her bother. After the pains settled down, her thoughts went back to a time when she had experienced the exact same pains. She and her twin sister, Susan were aged 18. At that time Susan had been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance for an urgent appendectomy. Having those very same pains left Sally in no doubts at all that her twin sister was in trouble. And, as much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, she knew as sure as the sun would rise in the sky later in the morning, Susan must be suffering. The pains lasted no more than fifteen minutes and in place of them she was left feeling quite nauseous in the tummy, and that horrid feeling had remained with her, even when she had rose from her bed some five hours later. At the onset of the pains she had tried numerous times telephoning her sister, to no avail, getting the answer phone each time and repeating her message on the answer-phone for her sister to phone her back as soon as she could. The longer Sally’s calls were not acknowledged the more anxious and concerned she’d become as the morning wore on.
By eight thirty in the morning, Sally had still not had word from her sister. She wanted to postpone the maths lesson she had prepared for the children but decided against it to keep her mind occupied and try as much as she could to not appear too worried about what may have happened to her sister. But all the while from the beginning of the maths lesson the nauseous feelings she was experiencing in her tummy for so long appeared to get worse and worse, until she reached a point where she couldn’t hide her discomfort from her observant niece, Suzy Ryan.
When 10 year old Suzy noticed how uncomfortable her aunty was she left her text book and shuffled forward from her position on the floor where she’d been sitting on her knees beside her cousins, Steven and Billy. Her dog, Patch, a fox terrier her mother had bought for her as a pup two years earlier, crawled after her and lay down beside her leg in front of Sally. The little dog was like Suzy’s shadow, never very far away from her side. Patch was all white except for a large brown patch surrounding his left eye.