"I'm the best cock sucker on the circuit," she told him. "And I'm yours."
Peter leant heavily against the van, his chest pumping hard, his breathing fast.
What had they done to her? What could they have done to make his Susan say such a thing!
How could Peter possibly know about the sting of a hauliers strap, or the almost unbearable ache of joints bound together by the inner tubes from truck wheels. He had no way of knowing that on The Drivers circuit self preservation was the number one priority. All he felt was a sickening doubt. That he had been right all along, that his wife had tired of her older husband and had gone in search of adventure, finding it in the back of a Foden, or a DAF, or a Volvo, wherever a Driver existed to satisfy her needs.
Reluctantly he peered again into the room. An uneasy truce prevailed and the distribution of the money continued in a heavy silence. The person to break it was Dan. In an effort to relieve the strain he started up a conversation with Hell Raiser.
"Met a friend of yours tonight," he told him. "The new Driver you introduced. I had a drink with him in the Forge and brought him over."
The black man's look half said shut the fuck up, while the other half didn't have a clue what the hell Dan was on about.
"I haven't asked anyone into the group," he snarled, angry at the showdown and now this lie. Dan coughed out a nervous little laugh then turned to Jack who had kept a low profile at the back of the room.
"He knows you too, Jack. He said you told him about the job with Lincoln. He's been down there at Felix Ferries."
Jack shook his head. "What the fuck are you on about? I haven't told anyone anything."
Dan was frightened now, only too aware that it was dangerous to betray the organisation. He found himself stepping backwards towards the door as the group began closing in around him.
"You know him Lincoln!" Dan's voice was crackling and broken with nerves. "He pulled some trailers for you last week, an oldish bloke, well spoken."
Lincoln stepped forward, fully involved now.
"I know him! The bastard tried to run me off the road. That's why I had to dump the Chink tonight, I thought he was something to do with her. Colin reckons it's her old man."
He stabbed his thumb once more at Susan, and this time Jack entered the conversation.
"How old do you reckon he was?"
Dan gave it some thought. "Late forties, maybe fifties."
Jack ground his teeth and turned to Susan then back to the group.
"It's him!" he snarled.
A moment of silence fell and then, as if by some hidden signal, the whole group moved towards Dan, Lincoln in front.
"And you brought him here to the horse fair?" he said, almost with disbelief. "Some bloke tells you he's one of us and you believe him, just like that. You don't think he might be after something, trying to pry?"
Dan was backing towards the door. "But he knew your names!" he cried. "Yours, Jack's, the Hell Raiser."
"What about the passover?" Lincoln put in. "Did you tell him anything about that? Anything about Jimmy's, the date, the place?"
Dan held up his arms, seeing an opportunity to redeem himself.
"Of course I didn't," he lied.
But it was too late. Nothing could save him. The impact of a chromium spanner on the back of his head cleaved his skull in two, the gap in the bone sending blood in a scarlet crescent upon the wooden floor.
No one inside the room panicked, although outside Peter was unable to prevent a ball of vomit leaving his mouth. The Hell Raiser leant over Dan, searching his pockets as the dead man's legs kicked their last before his nerves finally died too. He pulled out the money Dan had made from the sale of his girl and threw it over to the man at the desk.
"Can you sort this out?" he asked, not expecting a negative reply.
The man folded the notes calmly into his wallet. "It looks," he said, "as if someone's going to take a swim from the ferry on the way home."
Chapter 14
There was little traffic on the road as Peter drove south towards the coast and his last chance of rescuing Susan.
This was Tuesday and Saturday would be The Drivers passover. Hell Raiser would give Susan to any Driver who brought him some other female in exchange. If that happened it could mean losing track of her for another month.
The other scenario was too unbearable to contemplate. If Lincoln managed to take another woman off the road and exchanged her for Susan, he might well carry out his threat to put her six foot under.
After fleeing the scene of Dan's murder at the fair Peter felt inadequate and humiliated, frightened too, frightened to the bone. He cringed at the memory, the way he had run and stumbled his way across the dark fields to the safety of his car and home. He had thought of telling the police but if they didn't really believe him and sent someone over to ask a few questions, it could only cause more trouble.
No, it was up to him.
But was he up to it?
He floored the accelerator in self disgust. When Saturday came he mustn't be found wanting again.
It looked very ominous from the outset.
The Chinese meal which had stained the pavement for so long had finally turned to dust and been blown away by the wind. In its place were several bottles of milk, a few minus their tops where thirsty tits had managed to break through the foil to get at the cream.
Peter rang the bell but heard no sound. When he lifted the iron knocker, he felt the shabby paint-peeled door move under his actions. He pushed it and called for Melanie. There was no reply. He called half way up the stairs, and again at the top, receiving the same answer. The remains of the door chimes lay in broken pieces on the worn nylon mat.
He made his way nervously across the small landing that led to the flat, aware of a faint buzzing sound coming from inside. The sound turned out to be flies that were feasting on the meal he and Melanie had eaten the night he'd left. The white cloth they had made love on now moved to the pulsating bodies of newborn maggots crawling everywhere. Peter waved away numerous bluebottles that landed on his skin.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it cowboy fashion around his face. The place was deserted. He passed into the bedroom and saw the sad remains of Barnie scattered about. He picked up the furry head and carried it across to the body impaled on the mirror. As he vainly tried to re-attach the two parts he caught a glimpse of someone standing in the doorway behind.
"What the Hell's going on here, mister?" The figure stepped further into the room. "The dirty cow never keeps the place clean, but this -" He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Melanie's torn underwear in shreds on the floor. Suddenly he realised something sinister had taken place and his anger was suddenly replaced with uncertainty.
When he spoke there was fear in his voice.
"Where's Melanie?"
Peter's voice was also strained. It was obvious to him how everything must look.
"I've no idea."
"I've come for the rent," the man said. "But who are you?"
It was no time to explain. Peter lunged for the door and his only way of escape, knocking over the other man who tried to block his path. Before he had a chance to recover Peter had fled from the building and was in his car and away.
He had been in town less than half an hour before finding himself back on the road and heading for home. Near Peterborough he found a quiet roadside cafe and stopped for a cup of tea and a bite to eat while collecting his thoughts and planning his next move. By the time he reached home the day would be gone and Saturday a day nearer.
He finished his tea, and resigned himself to the idea that Colin had tortured Melanie to get her to talk and then murdered her. He left his cup on the table next to the standard culinary issue of a transport stop, one red sauce, one brown and an empty salt-cellar.
It was Wednesday already.
The bedside alarm failed to waken the exhausted Peter, who slept in almost to midday. Unsteadily he found his way across the landing into the bathroom and took a long hard look at himself in the vanity mirror. He was not a pretty sight. Several days growth of beard cast a dirty shadow across his face and his eyes had that morning after look that usually accompanies a night of too much alcohol.