Murder Plot (A Sam Rader Thriller Book 3) Page 3

  Sam remained where she was, gripping her own glass a little tighter as Jim wiped his face with a hanky. After getting himself back under control, he turned to her and smiled, the piercing blue eyes still as aware and switched on as if he’d been a young man again.

  Jim stood and slowly shuffled towards an old-style roller desk that sat in the corner. The top of it was closed, like a shutter after sun down. He ruffled through one of the draws, Sam watching him for any signs that he might lose control again. But the old man held it together, returning to his seat a few moments later, a small envelope held in one hand.

  Sam observed as he opened one end and began pulling a number of items from it. The darkness of the room kept most of them in the shadows, but she did see a tiny book, something some might call a diary.

  “I’ve wanted to share these with you for some time. I guess now is as good a time as any.” He dropped most of the items into his lap, but kept the black book in his hand, opening the first few pages. “I often considered destroying this. Maybe I should have. But something inside me keep telling me not to, as if it had another purpose to fulfill before that day.” He closed it and held it out for Sam.

  “What is it?”

  “That is your great-grandfather’s diary, if you will. His confession. That is the closest you will ever come to knowing who he was and why he did what he did.” Sam took it, suddenly aware of her racing heart. It felt cold, despite the heat of the room. As if on cue, a chill suddenly gripped her, running down the length of her spine, like a direct jolt from Lucifer himself.

  The words stared back as Sam began to read random passages, flicking a page, then a dozen. The writing was neat and appeared carefully arranged on the blank pages, with no lines visible.

  “He’s inside me, you know?” she suddenly said, even before she knew the words were coming. Jim looked across at her and nodded.

  “Yes, I know. He was inside your mum as well. Only, she wasn’t as strong as you. I think Lucifer got to her long before she had any chance to build up a resistance to him.”

  “Why did they call him Lucifer?”

  “It was the townsfolk. The press had dubbed him the Daylesford Devil, after the town. It was probably too much of a mouthful for most. Lucifer just happened to roll off the tongue a little easier.”

  “I can’t imagine what she went through.”

  “Your mum was one tough kid. What that monster made her watch? It made grown men cry in horror. She dealt with a lot of shit, Sam. Don’t ever blame her for what she did.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Here,” he said, holding something out to her. Sam held her hand out and watched as Jim dropped something small and shiny into it.

  “I don’t know how it managed to survive, but that’s your grandmother’s engagement ring.”

  “She was engaged?” Sam looked up, surprised.

  “Briefly. Your mum’s father was killed in a road accident before anything ever really happened. It was Darren Fermaner that found the ring a few days after the…” He paused, trying to compose himself again. “After what happened. It was lying under the chipper itself.”

  Sam looked at the solitaire, noting a deep groove on one side of the band. She imagined what had made the groove, the force of the machine that had claimed her grandmother’s life in the process.

  “I can’t imagine what she went through. The horror.”

  “She saved us. If it wasn’t for her, Both Judith and I would be dead. And Darren, as well. Your grandmother saved our lives. And she made sure that Lightman would never hurt anyone again.” He looked at Sam as he spoke, sounding almost political as he finished, sure that Lightman’s misery had been ended that night.

  “But she didn’t end it,” Sam whispered, looking down at the ring again. “Lightman continued to hurt people, and still does today.”

  Jim frowned a little, only too aware that the illusion of Lightman’s demise had only ever been superficial. Despite telling himself that the horror had ended that night, the lie had never really taken hold, the truth sitting just below the surface.

  “No. She didn’t and now the horror lies within you.”

  “So, if I just kill myself, I officially end it.” Jim looked a little startled at her. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean I’m actually going to kill myself. But I do know that the nightmare ends with me, one way or the other.”

  “Yes,” Jim said. “It ends with you.” He looked down into his lap, as if accepting the finality of the lineage. “But you aren’t just the great-granddaughter of Harry Lightman. You’re also the granddaughter of Stephanie Connor. And she is the one you get your strength from. The man may have given you the monster, but it’s your grandmother that gave you the strength to control that monster. And that’s what makes you so special, Sam. Even more special than your mum. He didn’t get to you. You are untouched by the poison. Yes, it may be running through your veins, but that poison isn’t as pure as it once was. And that’s why you can use it to your advantage, just the way your grandma used it to hers.”

  Sam listened as Jim seemed to bring sense to where confusion had reigned for so long. The words he spoke opened her mind to the thoughts that had lived in the darkest parts of her mind since she was little. He understood more about her than she may have understood about herself.

  He picked up the final item, briefly looked at it and then held it out to her. Sam took the photo and gazed at the young woman standing dressed in her police uniform. Whilst her appearance may have been considered weak when compared to some of the men she no doubt worked with, it was the steely gaze Sam saw that she recognized immediately. Those eyes held all the strength in the world within them, strength she suddenly felt within herself.

  “Thank you, Jim. For everything.” Sam stood, lent down and kissed the top of the old man’s head, then followed it up with a hug. Jim reached up and held her close with one arm.

  “I think you’ll be fine as long as you remember who’s boss. Stephanie lives inside you just as much as Lightman. Never forget that.”

  She turned and headed for the door, turning back a final time. Jim sat quietly, continuing to gaze into the flames that played out his memories. Sam smiled, then turned and headed upstairs, feeling a little stronger and more prepared to meet the ensuing challenges.

  3

  The cab arrived a little after six the following morning, collecting two ready-to-serve agents of Pogrom. Each felt refreshed in a way neither thought possible. After farewelling both Jim and Mrs. Tomlinson with hugs and kisses, they climbed into the vehicle, then turned for final waves as it slowly drove down the long driveway. It wasn’t until the two figures disappeared behind a thick hedge that they turned back to the front.

  The trip to the airport took almost an hour and the pair simply stared out of their respective windows. Neither spoke, the heaviness of a return to their reality weighing heavy on them. Sam, not used to vacations, struggled a little more. She had only been on two her entire life and neither had been to a foreign country. The thought of returning to her previous world felt strange after such a lengthy break.

  It wasn’t until the cab pulled in through the gates of the airport that Sam spoke the first time, asking the question that had floated just beyond the realm of importance since the previous evening.

  “Any news on the summons?” she asked, referring to John’s phone call. Tim shook his head, pulled out his cell and stared at the screen.

  “Not yet. But knowing John, he’ll wait until we’re aboard before revealing the reasons.” Sam looked out her window again, her mind staring beyond the runways and buildings.

  “Going to miss this place.” Tim nodded, following her gaze.

  “I know how you feel. The end of vacations are by far one of the hardest things to get over.” Before them, the plane stood waiting, two crew waiting by the stairs in anticipation of their passengers.

  “Game time,” Tim said as the cab came to a stop, ready to leap back into what he knew best.

 
; Just as Tim had predicted, John Milton’s call came shortly after their plane had reached cruising altitude. His smiling face appeared on the main television panel just as Sam returned from the bathroom.

  “John, hey,” Tim said, as Sam waved.

  “I’m sorry for calling you back at such short notice, but there’s important matters to discuss.”

  “Shoot,” Tim replied. Sam simply nodded, although didn’t know if John could see her.

  “Either of you aware of Bolton Prison?”

  “Sure,” Sam said. “Set in California. One of the oldest correctional centers in the state, and also rumored to be one of the worst.” John nodded along as he listened.

  “Precisely. And lately, it seems, also sporting one of the highest death rates in the country. 9 deaths in almost as many weeks. Not including those from natural causes, accidents or witnessed attacks. These 9 are mysteries in themselves.”

  “Do we know how they died?” Sam asked.

  “That’s the problem. Judging from their injuries, there’s been various reasons. The latest died from a stab wound to the chest. Another was shot. One even drowned.”

  “Drowned?” Tim asked.

  “Yah. Can you believe it?”

  “Where were they found?”

  “Various locations around the prison. In fact, anywhere except the place they should have been; their cells.”

  “So, you think someone’s been letting them out after dark?”

  “That’s what you guys have to find out. What I do know is that someone’s been murdering these men. Look into the prison itself, find anything you can and we’ll discuss things in more detail once you land. Enjoy the flight, kids.”

  Before they had a chance to respond, the feed disappeared and it was just the two of them again. Tim looked over at Sam and felt a little homesick for the life they had left behind weeks before. Regardless of how far they travelled, he knew they could never run far enough to escape who they really were.

  “You all good?” he asked. Sam looked back and he saw something in her face he hadn’t noticed before. Was it sadness?

  “Yah, all good. Think we’re going to jail?”

  “Sounds like it. First for me.”

  “Me too.” She grabbed the laptop and reclined her seat, balancing the computer in her lap. “I’ll check this place out if you want to follow up on the deaths?” Tim nodded, grabbed his own laptop and followed Sam’s cue. With close to 20 hours of flight time, there would be plenty of opportunity to get familiar with their latest assignment.

  It wasn’t until the Captain announced they were flying over Fiji that Sam finally looked up from her computer screen. She had spent most of her time getting acquainted with the people that worked at the prison, namely those in the more managerial positions. The one name she couldn’t seem to get away from was Roy Perkins.

  Whatever article she found, there he was, smiling as brightly as ever, as if the poster child of the infamous institute. It wasn’t until she began to dig into his past that her curiosity finally began to pay off.

  Sam looked across the aisle and found Tim fast asleep, the laptop sitting on the seat beside him. She couldn’t recall seeing him close his computer, too engrossed in her own research, something that didn’t surprise her. Her attention had always been one of her weak points, something others saw as a strong point. It was her father that had pointed out the downside to having such unrelenting focus.

  “Learn to separate your focus between in here and out there,” he used to say, tapping her on the temple, then waving at the empty room. “The real danger lives in both. You must understand that one can never be more than the other.”

  She picked up her cell, opened the contacts and found his name. Beside it was a photo of him in his Seal uniform. It had been taken by her mum years before and remained a favorite. Sam ran her finger across the photo, missing her family for the first time in a long time. Despite the years that had passed since her mother’s death, time refused to heal the pain, as if keeping it as an endless reminder of her own heritage.

  Sam closed her eyes, held the cell in her lap and thought about the reason for her mother’s suicide. A brief smile crossed her lips as her mother’s beaming face filled her mind, then slowly faded as another face crept into view, one she had fought hard to keep in check. Harry Lightman stared back at her, a grotesque grin on the face Sam had only ever seen in an old black-and-white newspaper. His was the face of a monster, a monster that had destroyed her past and now threatened to destroy her future.

  “You’ll never win, you son of a bitch,” Sam whispered into the plane’s cabin. Inside her mind, Harry Lightman began to laugh, a low-scowling cackle that screamed its contempt at her. “Never,” Sam repeated.

  “Hey kiddo. Wake up,” Tim repeated, giving Sam a light shake. She slowly opened her eyes, then squinted as the bright afternoon sunshine streamed in through the window.

  “Where are we?”

  “Pilot said we’re about to fly over the Hawaiian Islands. Hungry?” She nodded, then sat up a little as the smell of freshly-cooked bacon hit her.

  “Starving,” she said, her stomach growling a little.

  The attendant waited for Sam to raise her seat, then set a tray across her armrests, the meal staring back looking incredible.

  “Thank you,” Sam said, a yawn suddenly gripping her tightly. She tried her best to stifle it, but it only served to increase its ferocity, leaving Tim giggling back at her.

  “Geez, need some more sleep?”

  “I must have died. Seriously, I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

  They ate in silence, the food too good to spoil with conversation. Freshly-squeezed orange juice was the perfect companion and Sam had her glass topped three times before her food had disappeared. Tim stared dumbfounded at her.

  “Where the hell do you put it? Hollow legs?”

  “I’ll never tell,” she said, before taking the final sip from her glass. “Did you find anything interesting?” Sam asked once the trays were removed again and they were left alone.

  “Interesting to say the least. John wasn’t wrong when he said things were weird at that prison. One of the prisoners had in fact been found dead in the prison kitchen, drowning listed as the cause of death.”

  “Surely authorities are investigating these deaths?”

  “Some, yes. But with no camera footage, eye witnesses or substantial evidence, a lot of them seem stalled. I can see why John wants us in there. Someone is playing with these men’s lives, someone who definitely doesn’t have their best interest at heart.”

  “Certainly an interesting one. I wonder how we go in?”

  “I dare say I’ll be an officer.” He paused, smirked a little, then baited Sam. “You could always work in administration. You know, as a typist or something.”

  “Hey,” Sam yelled, taking the bait. “Fuck you. Just because I’m a girl, doesn’t mean,” she began, but Tim held his hands up in surrender.

  “Always the biter,” he quipped, then ducked as Sam launched a pair of pillows in his direction. As if to drive home her disgust in his sexist remark, she launched a third pillow, catching him off guard. It him square in the face and fell into his lap.

  “OK, OK. You win. Poor taste.” He picked up the pillows and sat them beside him. “Prison is not somewhere I ever thought I’d find myself.”

  “Just look on the bright side,” Sam said. “At least you’ll be on the right side of the fence.”

  “You’re going in as a convicted felon,” John Milton said later that evening. Tim looked up from the sheets of paper Mumma had laid before him, confusion written across his face.

  “Felon?”

  “Yes. We need eyes and ears on both sides of the fence and, well, Sam isn’t quite up to the standards of an inmate in a men’s maximum-security facility.” John sounded matter of factly, missing the surprise in Tim’s voice.

  “But I thought we were going in as officers,” he began, but John lowered his ow
n sheets and stared back across at him.

  “Look. This isn’t how I ever imagined running an operation, but something is very wrong at Bolton Prison. It wasn’t until a phone call from an old friend that I even knew anything to be wrong at all. The staff at that facility have done an amazing job of keeping things out of the media.”

  “It’s true,” Mumma added. “Nothing showed up on my radar, and I make it a habit of finding these things.”

  Tim groaned, sighed, then sipped his coffee. Sam peered at him from across the table, for the first time feeling nervous.

  “What about me?” she asked. John looked back at her and dropped the papers on the table, removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes for a long time. The others sat silently as they watched him, sensing the man’s internal battles. When he finally looked back up, his eyes were red from rubbing, resembling a kind of fatigue Sam knew all too well.

  “I’m not even entirely sure I want to go through with this at all.” He looked at Tim, then Sam, pausing as he met each of their gazes. “This is not going to be easy. For a start, there’ll be very limited communication, especially from Tim. As a prisoner, you won’t have the benefit of an earpiece or cell phone. We can’t risk you being discovered with sophisticated coms in your possession. You’ll be on your own for the most part, listening and getting into the main population.”

  He paused again, as if giving Tim an opportunity to ask questions. But Tim simply sat and stared back, his face as blank as the television screen on the wall. John nodded slightly, then turned to Sam.

  “I considered sending you in as an officer. It would be a great cover, but...”He stopped, finishing the final word on a high, then continued. “But as an officer, you’d be limited with the hierarchy. They would essentially control your movements around the prison. I had another idea, something maybe considered a little left field.”

  “Left field?”