Murderer's Thumb by Beth Montgomery

tackled and punched the ball away with furious intent. Most of the others were average, or worse. Especially Snake. He had to be the worst player on the field, dropping the ball, kicking crooked and handpassing to fresh air. But no one could match his enthusiasm.
    On the way up to the showers someone clapped Adam on the back. ‘Solid work-out, mate.’
    Adam spun around. It was Mongrel. His face was scarlet and a thin vein stuck out on his forehead.
    â€˜Looks like you did a bit of running yourself,’ Adam said.
    â€˜Can run all day if I have to,’ he said.
    â€˜You’re a fitter man than me then,’ Adam laughed.
    â€˜Heard you been digging up gruesome things in the silage,’ he said, stringing out the words for emphasis.
    Adam flinched. ‘Who told you?’ he asked, immediately suspecting Snake.
    Mongrel flashed Adam a wide grin. ‘Word gets around. Small town stuff. Should come over for a beer one night. Swap a few stories, go spotlighting.’
    Adam didn’t know how to respond. Beer? This guy was pushy. What did he want? ‘I suppose…one day…yeah, right.’
    â€˜How about Friday night? I’ll come round after eight.’
    â€˜Um…OK, fine.’ The invite to drink echoed in his head. Rosemary would freak if she knew he planned on drinking. She’d probably try to talk him out of going anywhere with Mongrel if she knew. But she didn’t have to know. He had nothing else planned. And what was there to do around here anyway? Boring hole of a town. Still, the thought of spending time with a dickhead like Mongrel wasn’t inspiring.
    â€˜Great,’ Mongrel said. He jogged up the race to the showers.
    Adam and the rest of the mob trudged after him. It stank inside: a mixture of wet wood, liniment, sweat and urinals. The spit and splatter of the showers mingled with the hubbub of voices. Men huddled naked under the three outlets, or snatched for towels back at the benches.
    Adam peeled off his T-shirt, wet with sweat. Then he prised off his sneakers.
    â€˜You did all right,’ Matt said as he stripped down.
    â€˜I’m not much good, but—’
    â€˜Don’t believe it,’ Matt said. He took his necklace off and handed it to Adam. ‘L…look after it,’ he said. ‘Do you think you’ll join up?’
    â€˜Yeah.’ Adam felt tired, hot and satisfied. It was great to play footy again, to get out and run till his lungs burnt. He’d missed it for too long. Country hicks or not, it was his chance to keep playing, and in the reserves team at that! And the standard wasn’t too high, he didn’t feel outclassed.
    He looked over to where Snake was getting dressed. After Adam had told him so clearly not to spread the word, it was obvious that he’d been telling the whole football club. How could he be such a bastard? Adam would have to watch Snake, not trust him with any secrets. Adam and Rosemary had been betrayed before. Kazek would be on their trail again if they weren’t careful.
    Adam was disappointed. He’d thought Snake was friendly and honest. Now he wasn’t so sure. Snake was a good nickname for him; snake in the grass.

SEVEN
    After dinner Adam tried the key in the desk drawer. It was the right size, slotting in neatly. But it wouldn’t turn.
    â€˜Shit!’
    He sighed and unfolded the note again. The eighty-ninth key? The clue was plain. There must be eighty-eight keys. Piss off! No one has that many. He clenched the small key in his hand and willed it to reveal the answer. Nothing. He placed it on the desk in front of him. Key, key, lock, turn, open, unlock, padlock. Words floated in his mind. He jotted them down on a note pad, as if brainstorming for a crossword clue that had him stumped. Nothing came of it. He twirled the pencil in his fingers until it spun around his thumb then clattered to the floor. This wasn’t going to beat him. Adam knew from