I SHALL FIND YOU Read Online Free

passed a bridge and reached the town. Two girls in short mini-skirts and high stilettoes gestured for a lift. When he did not stop they swore and stuck their middle fingers in the air. Fifty yards on his right a large flashing purple neon sign above a door advertised a popular nightclub. A long queue of young men and girls waited to get inside. He drove uphill before turning into his road. A late-night takeaway was open.
    “Good morning.”
    “Hello, mate,” the shop-owner said. “Coming from work?”
    “Yes.”
    “You worked late.”
    “Yes, got caught up in a traffic congestion which stretched for hours.”
    “The one on the M25?”
    “Horrible. Saw it on the news.” They all looked at the TV screen on the wall. “It’s still the main news. Strange thing about life. Think of those people that died. Never knew it was their day. You leave home, kiss the wife and kids. Don’t know you’ll never be back.”
    “True. May I have the usual?”
    “Sure.”
    Godfree paid. The man heated chips, grabbed several pieces of chicken, barbecued ribs and wrapped them in a package.
    “I added extra and another large drink as you’re a good customer.”
    “Thank you.”
    He stepped out as a shorter and broader black man met him at the door.
    Godfree froze as his heart missed beats.
    Comrade Moto!
    Time seemed to stand still as they stared at the other for several seconds.
    “Morning.”
    Godfree did not answer. The man moved past him and entered the shop. Godfree walked to his car and got inside, a pensive look on his face and watched him. When the man drove off he followed. After several turns and streets the man parked, stepped outside the car and locked it. Walked past a gate to a house and entered. Godfree drove past the house to the end of the road, turned into a left road and parked. Waited for a time.
    Had he made a mistake? That man’s accent was African. But how could Comrade Moto the notorious ruling party activist who had tortured him and killed Aaron be in England? Did he stay in that house? It could be someone else.
    He drove home past the house. This time a light was on upstairs. Godfree’s home was two miles away, the last house at the end of the street.
    After a long day he entered the lounge, clicked on the light. A familiar scent of sofas, carpet and books hit his nostrils. Several letters lay scattered on the carpet. Just the usual water, electricity and phone bills, and a letter from a bank he did not know inviting him to apply for credit. In the kitchen he washed and dried his hands, plonked himself on the sofa and dug into the food. After eating he took a bath. His bedroom was upstairs. He had left it neat, the bed made up as usual. After changing into his pyjamas he got into bed and stared at the darkness.
    Could he be mistaken about the man he had just met?
    He had never forgotten that opposition party rally years ago. Moto had arrived with trucks packed with armed ruling party supporters who wielded sticks, truncheons, whips, rocks and preceded to beat people. Opposition party members fought back. Several of Moto’s men surrounded Godfree. Despite bringing several down he was outnumbered. They would scatter but more joined. Something hard hit him on the head. Kicks and punches rained on him. He passed out. When he awoke he was naked, with a splitting headache, tasted blood, and tied to a table. Aaron was on the next one.
    Torture awaited both.
    Aaron never left that room of torture alive.
    Moto had instructed people to leave the beaten opposition party victims in the stadium. They should not be taken to hospital. Six people were killed. The government newspaper reported unruly opposition members had disrupted a peaceful ruling party rally, beat, killed people and went on a wild rampage burning and looting.
    Was Moto living in Stones now?
    Suppose that was him? How many times had he imagined meeting him again and taking his revenge?
    Tossing from one side to the other he fell asleep, only to wake