TWO

CONTRACT KILLER

Isabelle scanned the search results on Google with a frown.

This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever had.

She stared at the links for HITMAN and shook her head. The websites listed on the page were all about a video game.

Sighing, she sat back in her chair and rubbed her eyes before glancing back at the screen.

Okay, think. What would you search for if you wanted to hire a killer?

She rolled the wheel on the mouse back and forth for a moment. Then she leaned forward and clicked on the search box before typing in: CONTRACT KILLER. She hit enter and then studied the results.

Her hopes sank as her eyes flicked over the results. There was a wiki page about contract killers, some pages about software of the same name and a couple of fan sites about the subject. For the most part, anything that was actually related to contract killing appeared to be expert definitions about the term.

She sank back into her chair, staring at the search results. Apparently, finding a contract killer on the internet wasn’t just a click away.

Shaking her head at how naïve she was, she closed her eyes for a moment.

What, did you think they’d have a website called ‘Hits R Us’? Are you sure you even want to find one?

Goosebumps popped up on her skin at the idea of meeting a killer. In her mind, she’d imagined justice, but it wasn’t until she’d begun looking for a killer that she’d considered what that would mean. She’d have to meet a person who had no problem with taking a life. She’d have to be in contact with someone who could snuff out another life without conscience. She rubbed her bare arms and stood up, walking away from her desk.

As someone who felt guilt when she killed a spider, she couldn’t even imagine killing a person. The idea was appealing of course, to take down the person who had killed her mother, but she knew that the reality would not be so easy. She knew that reality was messy, emotional and real. Wasn’t her quest for justice just a fantasy?

Her eyes wandered across to the police file on her desk. She flipped it open to read it one more time. She hitched her breath as it opened at one of the crime scene photographs, pictures that she had avoided looking at so far.

She clenched her jaw in anger as she stared at a photograph of her mother slumped against a grimy wall, dead. Her eyes were thankfully closed, and if not for the hole in her forehead and the wash of blood on the wall behind her, you would think she was sleeping.

She flipped the page. The next photograph was of the back of her mother’s head, which was a mess of blood and brain matter. She quickly closed the file as bile rose in the back of her throat, trying to delete the image from her mind. The person who did this needed to pay. They needed to die.

She abruptly stood up, trying to ignore the rage that was welling up inside her. She paced her small room, listening to the sounds of students laughing in the halls outside as the preparation for Christmas break began. It seemed like a cruel joke to her. People were getting festive outside, but she was shrouded in darkness as she tried to find a way to exact justice for her mother’s murder. She couldn’t even think about Christmas. She didn’t believe she’d ever be happy again, not until her mother’s murderer was brought to justice.

I need to make them pay for what they did. There has to be a way to—

She lost her train of thoughts as her cell phone buzzed on her desk. She glanced at it as it vibrated a few inches across the surface. The screen lit up with another new text message from Lisa.

Guilt flooded in, thankfully blocking out all her other thoughts. She’d screwed up Lisa’s project too, and she hadn’t had the guts to tell her yet.

I can’t think with all this happening at once.

She slowly exhaled.

Sort your shit out, Marshall.

Gritting her teeth, she snatched the phone off the desk and tapped out a message to Lisa:

I screwed it up. We’ve got nothing. I’ll leave the card in your mailbox. I need to sort out some personal stuff, Sorry. Have a good Christmas.

She sent the message. At least Lisa would have enough time to throw something together for her project. Isabelle’s project wasn’t getting done at all. She had bigger problems to deal with, like bringing her mother’s killer to justice.

I can’t deal with uni and this at the same time. I need to get out of here and do something about it!

She turned off her phone and threw it into her bag. Then she slung her bag over her shoulder. She glanced down at the open file on her desk, her eyes resting on the location of where her mother had died.

If the internet wasn’t going to be of any use, then she would investigate the scene herself. Maybe some fresh air would help clear her head?

Even though her rational mind was trying to tell her that this whole venture was a bad idea, it was the anger inside her that was driving her. She clenched her fists and turned toward the door before leaving her room. Whatever happened, she was determined to avenge her mother.

Isabelle studied the cracked wall of the alley with narrowed eyes. According to the police report, this was the place where her mother had died. She glanced down the alley. It was narrow and dark with abandoned industrial buildings on either side of it.

She frowned at the rusty dumpsters and littered alley.

This was the last thing Mum saw.

She scanned the graffiti that was scrawled across the dirty red-brick walls. Gang names and profanity were mixed in with protest art and random words. She tightened her fist around the bunch of lilies she had bought on the way over here as tears pricked the back of her eyelids. It was an awful place to die.

Closing her eyes, she knelt at the spot where her mother’s body had been found. The images of her mother’s body from the crime scene photographs were now burned into her memory. They flashed in her mind every time she closed her eyes.

She placed the flowers near the wall, and then she lowered her head.

I’ll find the people who did this, and I’ll make them pay for it. I promise.

She sighed, unsure of how she was going to make anyone pay. She knew very little about the mob or hitmen. She exhaled.

Why didn’t the police do anything?

Shaking her head in frustration, she frowned when a crack in the wall caught her eye. It was half-covered with moss. She reached forward and brushed the moss away to reveal a bullet hole.

Eyes wide, she stumbled back, the real life evidence that still remained stunning her. Even after ten years, she could see the proof that it had happened here.

Ice formed around her heart when she realized that the bullet must have gone through her mother’s head and embedded into the wall. The crime scene photographs had shown in graphic detail what a single bullet in the head could do to a person. It must have shattered through the back of her mother’s skull.

Bile rose in her throat at the thought of it. The reality was harsher than anything she’d ever experienced before. Someone had shot her mother’s brains out all over this wall as if she was an object, not the loving person that was locked inside Isabelle’s memories.

She swallowed as she finally lost the battle with her own rage. Someone had taken her mother’s life right here. Someone had ruined Isabelle’s life right here. She knew that her life would have been different, better, if she hadn’t lost her mother at such an early age. That shy girl, who had been an outcast at school, would never have existed if her mother had survived.

Her grandmother had been a nice lady, but she hadn’t been a mother. Growing up without anyone she could confide in had made her feel isolated and alone. That had been her life without her mother.

She narrowed her eyes.

I’d have been someone else. I wouldn’t have been a fucking doormat that was lied to about everything.

Anger burned the back of her throat as she steeled herself for what she planned to do next. Fantasy or not, she was going to get justice for her mother and for herself if it was the last thing she did.

She knew that Manchester had its fair share of criminals. She just needed to find one who would work for her.

Clenching her jaw, she turned on her heel and stormed down the alley, pausing once to glance back over her shoulder at her mother’s final resting place.

I’ll avenge you. I’ll avenge us both.

She faced ahead as cold resolve calmed her racing pulse. She was in Longsight, which was considered to be one of the rougher neighborhoods in the city. The area had a long history of mob affiliation. It was the perfect place to begin her quest for a contract killer.

After entering one dive after another in Longsight, Isabelle was exhausted. So far, other than someone trying to steal her bag and a drunk who tried to grope her, she hadn’t met any criminals at all. She’d been laughed out of the local working man’s club which had been home to some seriously shady characters, none of whom were interested in anything she had to say.

She glanced up at the sky as a spot of rain splashed her forehead. The dark clouds above her sent down a few more drops before thunder cracked in the sky and a torrential downpour soaked her and the streets.

Great.

Regretting the fact that she’d stormed out of her room without a coat, she rubbed her bare arms as she hurried down the street, looking for somewhere warm to wait out the storm. She located a pub a few yards away and headed toward it, eyeing the swinging sign above it that was labeled: The Golden Bull. The sign creaked as a blast of wind hit it. She glanced at the smoke-stained windows before entering. The pub’s interior was dimly-lit.

Containing a shiver, she debated about going into this place. It looked spooky as hell. She glanced down the street. It was deserted. Searching for a killer was fine in a crowded area, but a desolate pub in the middle of nowhere didn’t seem like a wise choice.

Goosebumps roughened her bare arms as rivulets of rain rolled down her face, dripping onto her already drenched camisole.

Why didn’t I bring a jacket?

Screw it. I’ll just go in until the rain stops. No one will notice me.

She pushed open the door, groaning when she heard a small bell jingle above her.

So much for not being noticed.

She hurried inside and scanned the dark room.

A group of men with shaved heads turned to glare at her as she stepped into the pub.

She averted her eyes, taking in the dark mahogany interior while her shoes stuck to the beer-sodden red carpet as if they had suction cups on them as she headed toward the bar. The place seemed to only have male patrons, baring a drunken, fifty-year-old woman, who was cackling in the corner booth.

The smell of ale became more intense as she neared the bar. She faced the old barman, who was polishing a glass. A cigarette hung from the side of his mouth, and he was surrounded by a cloud of smoke.

Didn’t they ban smoking in public areas?

Deciding against mentioning it, she smiled.

“What do you want?” he snapped.

“Um, just a Coke, thanks.”

He grunted and then put down the glass he’d been polishing. He turned around and reached into the fridge behind him. After rummaging around for a couple of seconds, he turned back around holding a dusty bottle of Coke Cola. After swiping the dust off the lid with his cloth, he popped it open and dropped it on the bar. “Ice and a slice?”

“Er, what?”

He scowled at her. Then he dropped a glass on the bar beside the bottle and threw some ice and a slice of lemon in it. “Anything else?”

Even though her instincts were telling her to keep her mouth shut, she ignored them, feeling reckless and exhausted as she poured the contents of the bottle into the glass. “Yeah, I don’t suppose you know where I can find a hitman, do you?”