CHAPTER Five

CHAPTER FIVE

Sam closed his apartment door then slumped against it. Jimmy, already in the hallway, turned and caught his eye.

No words were necessary. More passed between them in that look than either could have spoken aloud. Sam felt a cold shudder move through him as he came down from the drug . It was wearing off and so was the adrenalin that had kept him going till now.

“I’m going to go grab a shower,” Sam said, trying to keep his voice from breaking into a sob. He had to hold it together in front of Jimmy, had to be strong for him. He knew how much Jimmy needed that right now.

The scalding hot water couldn’t stop Sam from shivering as he stood beneath it and wept. Images of the footage raced through his mind, mingling with the sounds of Ashkan and his men being butchered. He wanted the water to penetrate his skull and wash them all from his brain. With each powerful sob that escaped him, he admitted the weight they exerted on his soul and how indelibly they’d marked him. He would never be rid of them.

He pulled the tie from his man bun and lathered his hair with shampoo, working it into the thick clumps of dried blood that clung to the back of his head. It dripped down his shoulders and over his arms, but it seemed to disappear before it reached shower floor. Sam told himself it was the chemicals in his shampoo, but he didn’t really believe that.

After changing into clean clothes, Sam walked from his bedroom to the living room where he found Jimmy, perched on the sofa, with his head in his hands, staring at the closed laptop on the coffee table. Jimmy’s eyes were red and his cheeks were wet with tears but he wasn’t making a sound.

Sam placed a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “You need a shower too.” He helped Jimmy to stand and he guided him to the bathroom. Jimmy was sinking into himself. Sam had known him long enough to know this wasn’t a good thing. He needed to break the spiral, or Jimmy would go under and sink into a deep depression. Sam always took control when it came to practical matters. It was his role in their relationship and, at the moment, concentrating on someone else’s troubles, helped take his mind off his own.

Sam told him to leave his clothes outside the bathroom door and collected them while Jimmy washed. Sam carried the soiled clothes out to the balcony and dumped them in the barbecue he kept out there. Already the blood stains looked old and were beginning to fade. Sam dowsed both their clothes in lighter gel and set a match to them.

As the flames consumed the clothing, Sam gazed down at Regents Canal beneath his balcony. Houseboats drifted lazily and couples walked hand in hand along the tow path, smug and content because they could afford the house prices in this part of town.

“The fuck you doing?” said Jimmy, standing at the french doors with a towel round his waist.

“What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re burning my three hundred quid jeans!”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Sam glanced over the balcony to make certain he wasn’t in earshot of anyone, then lowered his voice. “They’re covered in blood.” Jimmy stared at him with mounting fury, not saying anything. “Blood that could link us to the lock up. If the police find a way to tie us to that we’re fucked.”

“Three hundred quid they cost me.”

“You can buy more jeans.”

“I don’t own anything that cost more than those jeans.”

“Well what were you doing spending three hundred quid on a pair of jeans?”

“You’re a fine one to fucking talk.”

“Okay, you can take a pair of my jeans, or whatever else you want. You’re going to have to borrow something of mine to get home anyway.”

“How am I going to fit into a pair of your jeans, you tall, skinny fuck?”

“Fine I’ll buy you a new pair of jeans, happy now? A three hundred quid pair of jeans that aren’t covered in blood.”

“They were a limited edition. Besides that’s not the point, I could have washed them.”

“No you couldn’t, they’ve got tests and stuff. Forensic science that can find traces in the fibres and shit, even after they’re washed.”

“It probably wouldn’t even be there tomorrow. I mean it was already . . . ”

“What?”

Jimmy shook his head. Neither of them was prepared to talk about the way the blood was slowly disappearing. It was one thing too many to dwell on, or even admit.

“We’re going to have to get rid of that laptop too.”

“What?!” Jimmy’s furrowed his brow, fury building to outrage. “No way, no fucking way!”

“We have to, it’s the only other thing that connects us to the lock up. If the police find it we’re fucked, game over.”

“Why would the police find it?”

“Cos they could get a warrant and search both our places.”

“But why would they get a warrant? We didn’t commit those murders.”

“No but our DNA is all over that lock up, clothes fibres, hair, all sorts of stuff.”

“So what? You’ve just burned the clothes and our DNA isn’t on file anywhere, why would they link any of this to us? No one saw us leave or enter the place. There’s nothing that puts us in the frame.”

“There’s that laptop, with footage of three other murders on it. What if they find that and think we’re Henry Lee Lucas, massacring people and making snuff movies?”

“They won’t find it. They’re not going to investigate us!” Jimmy’s tone was becoming more and more shrill.

“But what if they do, we can’t take the chance.”

Jimmy looked for a second like he was going to reply, but chose instead to pick an earthenware table lamp off the bookshelf and throw it out the french doors with an angry scream. The lamp shattered as it hit the barbecue and knocked it over, scattering the contents. Before Sam could gather up and put out the flaming clothes, Jimmy began to sweep DVDs, Blu-Rays and books from the shelves, many of them signed collectors’ items.

Sam had only seen him like this once before, after the whole business with Jennie. He’d been angry with himself then, full of self-recrimination and he’d trashed his student digs. This was different. He’d been kidnapped, drugged, mentally tortured and was a witness to an atrocity neither of them could explain. He’d been pushed too far. They both had.

Sam made no effort to stop Jimmy. In a way he was relieved to see Jimmy snap. It meant he didn’t have to. It was as if Jimmy was having an angry breakdown for both of them. It meant Sam didn’t have to deal with what he was feeling. He could let Jimmy vent and pick up the pieces afterwards, like he always did.

Jimmy kicked over the sofa, then sank to his knees and started to cry again, but not silently this time. The laptop sat, like a brooding presence on the coffee table, miraculously unharmed. Sam knelt down next to his friend and put an arm around his shoulders.

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll keep the laptop, we’ll make the movie.”

“I need this.”

“I know.”

“We both do.”

Sam held his friend as the anger drained from him.

“This is gonna sound really strange,” Jimmy said after a pause. “But I feel like we’re supposed to do this. Like we don’t have a choice. Like it was waiting for us.”

“The laptop?”

“No the footage on it. It’s like a story that’s waiting to be told, waiting for us to tell it.”