Free Terror's Reach by Tom Bale

cleaning up blood, but at the idea
of cleaning.
'Lousy job, eh?’ he said.
Priya rinsed her paper towels in the bucket. She didn’t speak until
Liam had turned away.
'My mother was always cleaning. She probably still is. On her knees,
scrubbing floors. Demeaning herself in the service of others. I swore
I’d never do that.’
The bitterness in her voice cut short Liam’s intended quip.
Presumably her mother had never had to mop up the blood of a man
she’d just killed?
Then, as he pictured the scene again, he realised what had been
bothering him. The blood spatter across her jeans was too low. It
meant the estate agent must have been on the floor when Priya slashed
his throat.
That called into question how much resistance the man had put
up. Or even whether he had resisted at all.

Once on the mainland, Joe followed the road north through several
miles of wetlands. To his left he could make out the reed beds and
the glitter of water beyond. To his right was a bumpy landscape of
bracken and gorse and ancient coppice woods. There were several
parking areas with picnic tables, nature trails and bird-watching hides,
but hardly anyone was around today. Too hot, maybe.
Sofia quickly fell asleep, while Jaden occupied himself by playing
on his Nintendo DS. The baby tended to sleep more soundly with
background music, so Cassie had chosen the Mamma Mia! soundtrack.
It was a running joke that the songs had been imprinted in
Sofia’s DNA , given how often her mother watched the movie. Joe had
once found her smiling through tears as she gazed at the giant plasma
screen in the living room.
'Can you imagine being as happy as that?’ she’d said, almost to
herself.
Joe had watched the dancing, joyful women for a moment. Rather
than imagine, he believed he knew exactly how it felt to be that
happy, though increasingly he feared his recollection was becoming
contaminated by nostalgia. Nostalgia and raw longing.
But he hadn’t told Cassie that. He’d said: 'It’s just a movie. A feelgood
movie.’
'Even so, there must be people somewhere who have everything
they could possibly want.’
'I guess there are,’ he’d agreed. 'But I bet most of them don’t know
it until it’s too late.’
Cassie had nodded sadly. 'That’s what I thought.’
Now, as she and Jaden quietly sang along to Our Last Summer, Joe
reached the A27 and joined the eastbound dual carriageway. It was
four-thirty. Even with a clear run it would take a minor miracle to
reach the centre of Brighton within an hour.
He considered Cassie’s allegation that Valentin wanted her out of
the way, and he went on puzzling over the identity of the bald American
in the Cadillac. That Valentin would go to the expense of chartering
a yacht suggested it was an important meeting. It was unusual enough
for Valentin to conduct business on the Reach, so he must—
    His train of thought juddered to a halt. The bald American. How
did Joe know he was American . . . ?
The obvious explanation was that Joe had been present at some
prior meeting between Valentin and the other man. If so, he couldn’t
recall the occasion. And yet he retained a persuasive image of the
man speaking. He could recreate the dry Southern drawl in his head,
and a particular phrase that had made him smile: Got ourselves another
clusterfuck . . .
He felt certain the memory was genuine, and that it predated his
period of employment with Valentin. That meant the American was
probably someone from his old life. The life he had fled.
    It took the best part of twenty minutes to clean up the blood thoroughly
enough to leave no obvious trace. In places the bleach had
lifted the protective coating from the hardwood floor, leaving odd
patches where the wood was noticeably lighter. Liam wasn’t unduly
worried. In the long run it shouldn’t matter too much.
While Priya went upstairs to shower and change, Liam took his
netbook from the kitbag and carried it through to the kitchen. He
powered it up, found himself a glass and