BooksBarbecue
Back Bad Apples Save as PDF
Chapters (65)
  1. 1
  2. 2
  3. 3
  4. 4
  5. 5
  6. 6
  7. 7
  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. 12
  13. 13
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 17
  18. 18
  19. 19
  20. 20
  21. 21
  22. 22
  23. 23
  24. 24
  25. 25
  26. 26
  27. 27
  28. 28
  29. 29
  30. 30
  31. 31
  32. 32
  33. 33
  34. 34
  35. 35
  36. 36
  37. 37
  38. 38
  39. 39
  40. 40
  41. 41
  42. 42
  43. 43
  44. 44
  45. 45
  46. 46
  47. 47
  48. 48
  49. 49
  50. 50
  51. 51
  52. 52
  53. 53
  54. 54
  55. 55
  56. 56
  57. 57
  58. 58
  59. 59
  60. 60
  61. 61
  62. 62
  63. 63
  64. 64
  65. Acknowledgements

I leave the town behind and start my descent. Even with studded tyres, my truck slides and slips. The rain from earlier has created pockets of black ice in the dips and flatter stretches. Ice that’ll dump you straight off the road into a ditch or a pine, or off a ten-metre granite cliff.

It’s just before six. I’ll get to the cop shop, leave the tooth, then get back to take care of little Dan for an hour. I’ll cook him, fuck knows, whatever’s in my fridge. Or I’ll take him to the drive-thru. His mamma can’t complain see’ns as I’m getting paid nothing for my trouble. And then a talk with Noora. A proper talk. Set the record straight and make up. I’ll play that song she likes. The French one I can never remember the name of.

My phone rings.

Someone’s whispering, but I can’t make out the words. Either a bad connection or a prank call.

‘I can’t hear you,’ I say. ‘Speak up.’

Still nothing. Heavy breathing. I can’t make out a single word.

‘Call me back,’ I say, and then I end the call.

Two seconds later my phone rings again.

‘It’s me,’ says a small, breathy voice. ‘Julia.’

The tiniest of whispers.

I slow to 10kph.

‘What’s wrong? You okay?’

‘Help.’

I slow down even more. I can’t pull over just here, so I increase the volume of the call.

‘Where are you, Julia? What’s wrong?’

‘The old train tracks,’ she says. ‘He’s here. Watches…’ Her voice breaks up. ‘I’ve called the police but they’ll take too long. Help me, Tuva,’ she whispers, her voice cracking with fear.

‘Train tracks? Where exactly?’

I hear her gasp and then there’s a deeper voice in the background.

‘He’s coming back now,’ she says, her voice cracking.

‘Train tracks north or south of the road? How far in?’

‘I don’t know,’ she whispers. ‘I don’t know. About a mile. North of the road, I think. Please, hurry. Help.’

‘Hans Wimmer has you? Has he hurt you?’

‘Not Wimmer,’ she says. ‘It’s Emil.’

50

Emil?

How is that possible?

I think about his candy bracelets. About his clumsy flirting. His head bouncing off the pavement as he was dragged away screaming on Halloween. How did I get this so wrong? What the hell is he trying to do with Julia? How many people are involved in this?

A flurry of snow blows in from the side, and the surface of the road is painted with diagonal, white stripes. The wind pushes and pulls at my truck.

I see the train tracks ahead as I head down the hill. The barrier that is no more. The clear corridor free of pines to each side of the road. I slow down and indicate. I turn right.