Ruthless (30 page)

‘I. Was. Not.’

‘You sound like our Taisie.’

Rachel brushed her hair, didn’t speak.

‘Sean all right then?’ Janet said.

‘Will you leave it? Sean is fine. I am fine. My mad frigging mother is fine. We are all fucking dandy. Why do you have to be so nebby, sticking your nose in all the time?’

Janet was stung, her chest tightened. Normally she’d have tried to defuse the situation, joke about it or back off, but she’d run out of patience.

‘You need to grow up,’ she said coldly, ‘and get a fucking grip. I’ll be upstairs.’

But halfway there her phone went. Mum calling.

‘Hello?’ she said.

‘I know you must be busy,’ Dorothy said, ‘but you did say to ring …’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, Elise is in a right state. Up in her room, crying her eyes out. I asked her if she’d like me to get you.’

‘OK,’ Janet said, ‘tell her I’m on my way.’

She went quickly to the office and signed out. Told Lee she had to get home, personal business, and asked him to let Rachel know she’d have to go and talk to the Tandys on her own. Janet would check in with her later if she could.

Elise was still crying when Janet got home, lying on her bed, face red, nose and lips puffy from it all.

Dorothy made herself scarce and Janet sat down next to Elise. ‘Hey.’ She ran her hand over Elise’s head. ‘What’s to do?’

‘Holly messaged me. There’s going to be a service for Olivia, like a celebration of her life, and people are doing things, cards and poems and music and stuff,’ she gulped, ‘and I can’t go.’

‘Says who?’

‘Vivien. She said I’m not welcome. She said that to them, Mum. Olivia was my best friend, for ever, I loved her so much and I’m not even allowed—’ She couldn’t continue, she was sobbing so hard.

Janet sighed and stroked her back. ‘That’s not fair,’ she said, ‘it’s mean and it’s hurtful but that’s because Vivien is hurt and she’s looking for someone to blame and she’s picked on you. But listen to me, she’s wrong. This was not your fault, you are just being made into the scapegoat.’

‘Holly said some of them, they don’t think it’s fair and if I can’t go then they won’t either. Like a boycott,’ Elise said.

Janet sighed. ‘I don’t think that’s the answer. It’s good to know that they would do that to support you, that they understand, but then the service would become about you and who’s there and who’s not and who’s right and wrong and all the ins and outs of Olivia’s death and that wouldn’t be right, would it?’

‘No,’ Elise agreed.

‘We’ll just have to have our own private thing. I’m sure Taisie would like to do something, she’s really upset too, and your dad and I would.’

‘What like?’ Elise blew her nose.

‘Well, we can make cards, read poems, and take flowers to the cemetery once they’ve had the funeral. We could plant a tree.’

Elise pulled a face at the last suggestion.

‘You think about it,’ Janet said, ‘think what you’d like to do.’

‘OK.’

‘Have you had anything to eat today?’

She shook her head.

‘You need to have something. Soup?’

Elise shrugged.

‘Soup it is then, chicken or tomato?’

‘Tomato.’

It was vindictive of Vivien, Janet thought, demonizing Elise; perhaps in the future she would come round and see that it was unjust. The ostracism pained Janet but she took heart from the fact that some of the girls’ friends were mature enough to support Elise and want to include her.

30

Rachel pressed the entry phone at the safe house and was buzzed in. Connor was in the living room, the TV was on, loud, an action film going by the soundtrack but Rachel couldn’t put a name to it.

‘Where’s your mum?’ Rachel said.

‘Shopping.’

‘Shopping where?’

‘That Aldi you told her about.’ He seemed twitchy, scratching at his arms and his neck, his eyes glittering. Was he high?

‘Can you turn that down a bit,’ she said, ‘or off?’

‘Why?’

‘I want to talk to you.’

He nudged the volume down a notch.

She rolled her eyes. He gave a heavy sigh and snapped it off.

‘Thank you.’

‘What’s happening with me dad?’

‘I can’t discuss that with you,’ she said.

‘Why not?’ He stood and paced over to the window. ‘He’s my dad.’

‘I know. Connor, I wanted to ask you about a man called Stanley Keane. You know him?’

‘No,’ he scowled.

‘You sure?’

‘Yes, I said, didn’t I?’

‘Has anyone been to the house to see your dad since he came home?’

He groaned, hit at his head with the heels of his hands. ‘Why won’t you just get it? My dad, he’s done nothing. You’ve got to let him go.’

‘Once we’re satisfied—’ she began but he jumped in. ‘No! No!’ he shouted, stabbing his finger at her. He was off his face, wired up on something, she was sure. She could see the sweat darken his hairline.

‘You think he did those niggers, he never. He never.’ He swung away from her. The sweatshirt they’d supplied was too big for him, covering half of his hands and down to his knees.

‘We’ll see. Please, Connor, sit down.’

‘No! We won’t see,’ he mimicked her. ‘You’ve got to let him go. You haven’t got the gun, have you?’

‘What do you know about the gun?’ she said.

He sniffed, scratched the back of his head. He was stepping side to side, unable to keep still.

‘Connor? Did you see someone last night shooting at your house? You can tell me.’

He ignored her and said, ‘He wasn’t around on Friday night, he’d gone. Did he tell you that? It wasn’t him.’ He hadn’t gone far though – to Keane’s – but he was ensconced in the boozer when the murders happened, which left Stanley Keane as their key candidate.

‘We have to go by the evidence,’ Rachel said. None of which quite matched anyone. Yet.

‘You haven’t got the gun, have you?’ he said again.

‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘Connor, I can’t talk about it, but your dad is still in custody and he’ll be there as long as we require him to be. And I’ll tell you this for nothing, he’s going back inside. He’s broken the terms of his licence.’

‘No!’ he yelled. ‘Fucking bitch.’ He moved his hand quickly, behind his back, and then he had the gun. The barrel pointing straight at her. Maybe three feet between them. He couldn’t miss.

‘Put that down,’ she said, her mouth dry, sweat slicking her skin, buzzing in her ears. The gun wavered; firearms were heavy, Rachel knew. She also knew she had to keep him talking, had to engage him if she stood a hope in hell of getting out of there. ‘This isn’t going to help anyone,’ she said, ‘not your dad or you.’

‘You tell them to let him go.’ His eyes shone.

‘It doesn’t work like that, Connor.’

She was so hot, burning up, and her stomach clenched hard as rock. ‘No one will do anything while you’re holding a gun.’

He walked up to her and touched the weapon to the base of her throat. She felt the hard cold steel. Smelled oil and a hint of gun smoke, and his sweat pungent and acrid. ‘Sit down,’ he said, moving the gun away a little.

She did, trying not to betray the fear thick in her blood.

He took a step back, then another, the gun levelled at her but his hold on it unsteady. The drugs, whatever he was on, affecting his motor skills, or maybe it was the excitement.

‘We can sort something out,’ she said, her voice catching. She coughed to clear it. ‘Maybe you want to see your dad, but not like this. Think about it. I’m a police officer.’

‘A pig, yeah,’ he said, ‘two niggers and a pig. That’ll show him.’

‘Who?’

Her phone rang, a shocking blare of sound. He jabbed the gun at her. ‘Leave it.’

‘It’ll be work,’ she said. ‘If I don’t answer, they’ll be round here in minutes.’

He looked doubtful. The ringtone repeated.

‘It’s a safety thing, me on my own. They call, we answer. No answer – rapid response.’ She moved to get her phone but he said, ‘No,’ moved closer.

‘I’ll tell them I’m fine,’ she said, ‘clocking off, yeah. Done here. Then they’ll leave it. Your call, Connor, they won’t hang on for ever.’

‘You say anything …’ he threatened.

‘With a gun to my head? I’m not fuckin’ stupid.’

He gave a sharp nod and she pulled the handset from her pocket, her heart hurting in her chest, her pulse galloping. Glanced at the display, hit the green key and said, ‘Hi, Janet, everything’s OK here.’

Connor was poised, eyes locked on her, gun too.

Janet began to speak but Rachel kept on, ‘I’m going to clock off after this, nearly done, shocking migraine so I’ll go straight home.’

‘Migraine?’ said Janet. ‘Since when have—’

‘Like your Taisie, eh? Head’s banging fit to burst.’
Please please, fuckin’ get it.
‘Mrs Tandy’s out shopping so we’ll have a word with her in the morning.’

Connor began to make winding motions with his free hand.

‘What’s wrong?’ Janet said, very quietly.

Connor moved forward, the gun swinging in his hand, his face darkening.

‘Got to go,’ Rachel said.

She made a show of ending the call but immediately after pressing the button she activated the voice recorder and set the handset on the seat beside her.

So what’s the plan?
she wanted to ask him.
You stupid little shitbag. What? You kill me too? Or hold me hostage and escape in a helicopter to a boat waiting to whisk you and your dad away to a far-flung country with no extradition agreement, like some shit-stupid video game.

‘Can I ask you something?’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Why did you kill them? Victor and Lydia?’

‘To show him.’ His mouth worked for a moment then he went on. ‘He wouldn’t take me with him – said I was just a kid, a nancy mummy’s boy. To get in touch when I’d grown a pair.’ His eyes were hot with rage. ‘He’d been well impressed with the wino. But I done two, black bastards. Coons.’ Hatred livened his face.

‘I heard you knew them, used to hang out. Friendly,’ she said.

‘So what?’ he said. ‘He’s blood, my dad, he’s family.’

And he doesn’t give a fuck.

‘What about your mum? She looked after you all the time he was away.’

‘She chucked him out,’ he yelled, spittle flying from his lips. ‘She started it,’ he complained, an outraged child.

‘Where did you get the gun? Did you nick it from your dad?’

Connor laughed, making the gun swing wildly, and Rachel flinched.

‘No, off of Victor. The Perrys, they sold it to Victor for some gear. They wanted rid, after doing the alkie, I reckon. Victor was showing it off. I asked to hold it. Bare luck, wasn’t it?’ He shook his head, grinning. ‘I had a knife – that could have got messy. Victor had the gun. How good is that?’ Delight danced across his face.

‘And the accelerant?’

A sudden blast of sound sent electric shocks through Rachel’s arms. The buzzer from the entry phone. They both glanced up at the screen. Janet.

‘You fucking tricked me, you bitch!’ he screamed.

‘No,’ Rachel said, scrambling up, ‘no, wait—’

The gunshot cracked loud as a mortar. Rachel was flung back, swung round, searing pain in her upper arm, and the stink of gunpowder in her throat. She fell, landing on her back, smacking her head on the floor. Her ears were ringing, roaring, and she could just make out the noise of the buzzer sounding again and again.

‘Fuck!’ She heard him swear.

There was a throbbing in her left side, a deep ache travelled down her arm and through her back. A safe house, shot to death in a safe house. Fucking ironic, no?

She would not let him do this to her. Not some fucked-up little tosser from Manorclough adding her to his hit list, to impress his racist twat of a father. No way, mate.

Rachel felt the floor shake as he came closer, sensed him bending over her. Felt him nudge her with his foot. A move that sent pain slicing through her and brought vomit in her throat. She played dead, tried to still her breathing and cracked open an eyelid the smallest possible fraction.

She would have one chance.

‘Fuck,’ he said again.

Rachel lunged. One hand, her good hand, a vice around his ankle. Her right foot flying up, knee bent, to kick at his wrist. She heard the muffled snap as she connected with the bones, his howl and her own yelp as the agony washed through her afresh, the world spinning and darkness looming. The crash as the gun hit the sliding frosted-glass door to the kitchen, shattering it like crystal rain.

He bent to free himself from her grasp and once he was low enough she let go of his leg and grabbed his arm, using his own momentum to pull him forward and haul him off balance, yanking him down and to her side, shuffling past him. A move she taught beginners at the self-defence class.
Use the assailant’s weight and direction of movement in your favour. Work with gravity, pull, don’t push.

She scooted across the floor to get the gun.

Her left arm was useless, warm blood spread a growing stain on her blouse across her left breast, dripped down her arm. He was on his knees as she staggered upright, gun pointing at him.

Janet was still outside, visible on the screen, talking on a phone.

Keeping the gun on Connor, who was getting up, Rachel edged over to the intercom. Using her right elbow to press the buzzer, she missed, tried again and heard the crackle. ‘Janet,’ she said, ‘we’re coming out.’

‘Shot fired,’ Janet told Gill before the connection was lost.

Gill acted immediately, calling for help. ‘Gill Murray here, I’ve an officer under threat, possibly injured, shots fired at a safe house. I want an armed response unit there now. A second officer outside the scene can update you on arrival.’

‘Will do.’

Immediately that call was over, Gill rang and requested a hostage negotiator. She also rang the contact in witness protection who had allocated the safe house to the Tandys. ‘The safe house, how do we get in?’

‘Only one entrance, at the front,’ she said. ‘Do you know whereabouts in the property they are?’

‘Not as yet, why?’ said Gill.

‘We have a back-up procedure. Access through the house next door, via the basement, which leads up to a locked storage room adjoining the kitchen at the rear of the property or via the first-floor stairs near the entrance hall.’