Deadly Motive by Liam Hanson

Author:Liam Hanson [Hanson, Liam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-10-13T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Reece tossed and turned in yet another fitful sleep. The dream had him back in Rome, inside the cramped music shop strumming open chords on an old Blueridge acoustic guitar. The place had been such a lucky find, dark and dusty, and crammed floor to ceiling with more music memorabilia than he’d ever before seen stacked in one room. He’d returned there several times during their stay, insisting Anwen join him on what turned out to be the fateful last day of their honeymoon.

The dream’s shop owner was Carlo Collodi’s, Geppetto. The old man sat behind a counter carving wood, looking up occasionally to applaud the accomplished guitarist. ‘Bravo. Bravo.’

‘Pinocchio?’ Reece asked, muting the strings with the palm of his hand. It always began that way, innocent small-talk shared between two like-minded people.

Geppetto nodded. ‘He’ll be such a fine boy. You wait and see.’ Reece didn’t doubt the old man. The carving had come on in leaps and bounds since his previous visit.

Anwen could be seen on the pavement outside, taking photographs and practising her limited Italian whenever the opportunity arose. Reece loved her dearly and was happier now than he could ever have imagined. He spoke with Geppetto about what it took to carve a child from a large block of wood. It was worth knowing. Anwen hadn’t fallen pregnant despite more than two years of them trying. When the street outside went inexplicably dark, he took the guitar to the window, Geppetto joining him when there was insufficient light to continue his carving. The two men raised eyebrows at one another. There was a whale passing overhead, huge and grey.

Anwen was out of sight, Reece mumbling incoherent warnings to her in his sleep. When he turned to speak with the woodcarver, the kindly old man had disappeared, replaced by the bearded hulk of Stromboli. Reece shoved Stromboli away and headed for the door in an attempt to alter the course of history, knowing that no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn’t be able. He’d been there a thousand times before and failed on every occasion.

And then Reece heard it. That noise: the whine of a four-stroke modern scooter engine somewhere off in the distance. There were calls of warning from other pedestrians, Anwen’s attention fully taken by the passing whale. Reece ran, but the cobblestone pavement had since become a travellator set in reverse gear. He pumped his arms and legs, desperate to close the distance between them. It was like running under water, his limbs propelling him nowhere near the speed he knew they should. Calling to his wife, his tongue swelled to the size of the prime fillet steak he’d eaten the previous night, and as such, was next to useless.

And here it was: the man riding pillion reached for Anwen’s camera. Instead of letting go, she yanked at it, pulling the scooter and its riders on top of her. They lashed out, one of them striking just below her ribs. Anwen didn’t scream, but staggered, searching for her husband.

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