Hidden River (Five Star Paperback) Read Free

some.
    The apartment. You produced the copy of Victoria’s key that you’d had ample time to make. You turned the lock. You applied the bolt cutters of the Leatherman multitool to the security chain. The chain snapped. You listened for a sound. Nothing. You opened the door.
    You went into the apartment.
    It wasn’t your first time here.
    It would be your last.
    You closed the door behind you.
    Smooth. Very smooth. You took out the revolver—hopefully that wouldn’t be necessary. You’d shot Alan far from anyone on Lookout Mountain. You’d probably met him there once before so that he wouldn’t be suspicious. But even a .22 would make noise. Still, if you had to use it again you would. A superb gun. Handmade by Beretta in Italy, “from CM to AM with love” engraved in gold on the butt. Incriminating, to say the least. They’d never find Houghton, but even if you didn’t have to use it on Victoria it would be safer to get rid of it.
    You reached in your pocket and found Hector Martinez’s driver’s license. You dropped it near the door.
    You took out the knife. Adjusted to the darkness.
    The lights were off, but through the living room window you could see the storm had started up again. You walked across the living room. Opened the bedroom door. The humidifier glowed in the corner. The fan whirred. Victoria slept. So beautiful. Peaceful.
    The knife glinted.
    Victoria.
    Breathing.
    Closer.
    Closer .
    Her golden neck exposed to the ambient light. Victoria’s carotid artery pulsing slightly. You gripped the knife tighter. A slash rather than a stab.
    Closer. But something happened. A loud noise. Maybe you stood on something, a stuffed animal that moaned and played a bar of “Beautiful Dreamer.”
    Victoria sat up, opened her mouth to scream. But didn’t scream. Instead maybe she smiled and said in a half question:
    “Amber?”
    The .22 flashed. A single bullet wiped out that pretty face forever.
    * * *
    I shivered. Suddenly woke. Looked around. The last of the rain drizzling down the portholes, weaving patterns and rivulets. The boat moving up and down against the dock. The halyards gently clanking against the metal mast.
    “I’m going to be late for school,” the girl said.
    “School or college?” I said.
    “School.”
    “Oh, God.”
    “I told ya last night,” she said.
    “How old are you?” I asked.
    “Seventeen.”
    “I could go to prison,” I groaned.
    “Also for possession of cannabis resin, peddling controlled substances to a minor, criminal trespass, breaking and entering, theft, and a couple of other things,” the girl said, getting up and lowering herself onto the floor.
    She had red hair, curly, long, pale skin with freckles, and she looked a lot younger in the cold light, et cetera.
    “How old are you ?” she asked.
    “Twenty-four, almost twenty-five.”
    “You look older.”
    “Thanks. So do you.”
    “Yeah, but you really look older.”
    “Aye, well, I’m a bad lad, hard living,” I said, and fumbled for the smokes.
    “Yeah right,” she said, putting on her blouse. “Here, you want some coffee?”
    “Sure. What time is it?”
    “Just after ten. I’ve study until eleven, so no one will miss me,” she said.
    “Your parents?”
    “Said I was staying at Jane’s before I left.”
    “So you went out looking for trouble?”
    She didn’t reply. She went to the range and hit the gas. Struck a match on a ring, found some distilled water, put it in a pot. I got up on my elbow, swung my legs out.
    “How do you know all the law stuff?” I asked.
    “Read a book, Introduction to English Law. I was thinking of doing law at uni, either that or journalism.”
    “ Was thinking?”
    “Bored with A levels, school, load of rubbish, going to become a singer,” she said, finding a biscuit tin and opening it.
    “I went to Queens,” I said. “And coincidentally I was a law student. Best time of my life, seriously, you should suck it up, do your A levels, get to college. It’s