The Trail Killer

Fifteen

For Bryan Dixon, it had been one hell of a tough morning. Not just the unfortunate scuffle at the end of his stairway speech and having to deal with its aftermath, but his general fatigue, his inability to concentrate. The pile of papers in his in-tray represented an unscalable, soul-crushing mountain.

On a sudden impulse, he lifted up the phone, tapped in his home number. Knowing that Melanie wasn't always the most reactive, he waited a full minute before slamming the receiver back down. No answer, a shame. He wasn't sure what exactly, just knew there was something he desperately needed to tell her. She was probably upstairs or out at the supermarket or some such. He'd try again later.

He attempted once more to concentrate on matters in hand. All those words and numbers there on those sheets of paper beneath him, they just didn't make any sense however. A headache-inducing swirl, that was all.

It came as a mild relief when he heard that polite, familiar double tap at the door.

"Enter!"

In stepped the petite figure of Rose the secretary, the expression on her wrinkled face tentative, uneasy.

"Hope I'm not disturbing you, Mr Dixon."

"No, no, not at all." He forced a smile. "So what it is, Rose?"

She took a moment before responding, as if uncertain of how to word things. "Given the... the, er... unfortunate circumstances of the last twenty-four hours, I was just wondering... well, how you wish to proceed with the matter of Mr Gupta's loan?"

Bryan refocused on the papers there on his desk. "What loan?"

He could sense Rose still there in the doorway, her body momentarily frozen by confusion and shock.

He turned his gaze back over to her. "What I'm saying is that I'd like you to write it off."

There was no visible sign of protest, but neither did she promise to get round to it immediately. He'd worked with her long enough to know that any disapproval of the decisions he made or tasks he delegated to her was communicated via an uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm.

"Look, I'm not doing it for him, okay Rose. I doubt Satan makes his subordinates stump up mortgage repayments down there in hell."

The subsequent nod was dutiful if not entirely convinced.

"Oh, and Rose, I'll need you to keep quiet about this of course."

Following a second dutiful nod, she stepped off away, clicked the door closed behind her.

Bryan swivelled his desk chair around towards the window, angled his gaze up towards the white late-morning sky. Tried to picture Gupta's wife and daughter huddled up together in the oppressive silence of the family home.

For them, he reminded himself. He was doing it for them.

*

There'd been no real need for Jessica to stay, but she herself had insisted. The least she could do given the circumstances, she'd said, was to make sure Shields didn't have to bother thinking about lunch.

The boys were delighted. Unlike their mother's tendency to savagely overcook, the sausages were perfectly browned and succulent, the accompanying mashed potatoes soft and buttery - a generous pinch of grated cheddar lending them a vein of heightened deliciousness. Due to their gloss of melted butter, even the side of peas was gratefully shovelled into both young male mouths - a decidedly unusual occurrence for anything green of colour, nasal content aside. Satisfied, and after a stern maternal reminder that they were to pay their compliments to Jessica, the pair scampered off into the living room to play with their Atari console.