it.
MMMMMMMMMMPHNNNN!
I dropped the rolling pin, let it clatter on the table top. His hand was already starting to swell, the skin a deep angry red, blood oozing out from what was left of his knuckles.
Mmmmmmmmmmnnnph Mmmmmmmmmmnnnph Head back, eyes screwed shut, tears running down the sides of his face, breath whistling through his broken nose.
I let go of the handcuffs, and he curled his shattered hand against his chest, rocking back and forwards.
I filled the kettle and put it on the range to boil. Waited for Ethan to stop sobbing.
Michelle s still got the scars, did you know that? Three mugs from the cupboard, one tea, two coffees. Boiling water made a plume of steam in each. I saw the photos in the case file. What was it, a cigar? Too big to be a cigarette.
Mmmnnph Voice small and low, as if he wasn t really trying any more.
The only reason you re not mouldering away in a shallow grave right now is Michelle begged me not to do it. Can you imagine that? Didn t want your blood on her hands, even after everything you d done. The fridge was one of those fancy American double-door ones I sloshed milk in the tea and one of the coffees.
I wanted to carve you up like a Sunday roast. I mean, it was bad enough you moved into my fucking house, you had to pull that shit too? And I don t give a toss who your dad is: if I thought you d laid a hand on Katie, all the begging in the world wouldn t save you. Understand?
I pulled out the chair opposite and sat back down. Two coffees, one tea. I lined them up on the table, not bothering with coasters. Knew Ethan wouldn t mind.
You re going to give me your car, Ethan. You re going to tell me where the registration documents are, and you re going to sign the Merc over. Then you re going to tell me where you keep your cash. You ve got cash here, don t you Ethan?
He slumped forwards in the chair, folded around his hand. Mmnnnph
Yeah, I ll bet you do. Jewellery too. You re going to throw that in too, and you re going to be grateful I took it off your hands. Well hand.
Ethan s eyes narrowed above the gag, pink flushing his cheeks.
And in case you re thinking, Why should I give this bastard anything? Why shouldn t I call the police? I reached into my jacket and pulled out the gun. Surprisingly heavy for something so small. Only took a couple of minutes to put it back together last night. Doesn t look like much does it?
The hissing sound stopped he was holding his breath.
I hauled back the slide, racking a round into the chamber. Click, clack.
Ethan s eyes went very wide.
Beretta ninety-two G. It s French. I pointed it at his face. You want to see how it works?
Mnngh, mnnnghmmmphnng!
You re going to hand over everything, aren t you?
A nod, quick, jagged, never taking his eyes off the gun.
And you re never, ever, ever going to bother Michelle and Katie again.
He shook his head. Mnngh!
And if I think you ve breached the terms of our little agreement, you know what s going to happen, don t you?
His Adam s apple bobbed up and down. Mmmnph.
Good boy.
Chapter 25
I parked Ethan s Mercedes behind a grey-and-yellow Transit van with the Oldcastle City Council logo on the side. The back doors were secured with welded metal straps and a big brass padlock: not taking any chances in Kingsmeath.
I climbed out and plipped the Merc s locks. I wasn t taking any chances either.
My place had always looked like every other shitty council house on the street harled walls streaked with dirt, ancient single-glazing with wasp-eaten wooden frames, grass growing in the guttering, but now that all the windows were boarded up too it actually managed to lower the tone. In Kingsmeath.
The council had replaced the front door with a slab of solid chipboard. A wee man in orange overalls was nailing a notice to it.
WARNING: THESE PREMISES ARE CONSIDERED DANGEROUS AND UNFIT FOR HUMAN HABITATION. AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY. The sound of his hammer echoed around the street.
He bashed in the last nail, took a step back to admire his handiwork, then turned and squealed. Fuck s sake A hand on his chest, breathing hard. Scared the crap out of me.
I flashed my warrant card. I need in.
Nah, sorry, mate she s all locked up till they can get a renovation crew down here. Besides: place is a shitehole, you don t want in there, trust us. He picked up his toolkit and hobbled back to the van, unlocked the driver s door and climbed inside. Wound down his window.
You can give the Housing Department a bell if you like, see if they ll let you in?
He gave me a smile, a wave, then gunned the engine and drove off.
Officious little prick.
The new front door was hefty, solid. Looked like a Yale deadbolt set into it.
I took two steps back then slammed my foot into the wood beside the lock. CRACK. The sound of squealing wood. One more for luck BOOM, the whole thing burst inwards in a shower of splinters.
Gloom and darkness inside. They hadn t just boarded up the windows around the front: they d done the back too. I reached for the switch, flicked it on. Then off. Then on again. Nothing. They d killed the power.
I pulled the torch from my pocket and swung the beam across the hallway.
Holy shite
Shifty Dave hadn t been exaggerating. The whole place reeked of mould and damp, the wallpaper peeling off the grey plaster. The ceiling sagged like a pregnant cat s stomach. Both doors off the hallway were hanging off their hinges.
I went through into the kitchen. The linoleum curled under my feet. Whoever it was had ripped the doors off the units, hauled out the drawers; cutlery and tins and jars lay amongst the debris of shrapnelled plates, glittering in the torchlight.
A big patch of the ceiling had caved in, the support beams for the floor above exposed like skeletal ribs, chunks of swollen plasterboard piled up in the sink.
Lounge: the sofa torn up, everything else trashed.
Upstairs, the bathroom was a disaster area broken toilet, sink stuffed with towels, a pile of sodden clothes and blankets shoved to one side in the bath. Medicine cabinet looked as if it had exploded.
Bedroom: every drawer pulled out, wardrobe tipped over onto the bed, mattress slashed. All the paperbacks from the windowsill were bloated on the damp carpet. Clothes everywhere.
Spare room.
Fuck
All the cardboard boxes were torn open, their contents strewn around the room. Everything Michelle had hurled out of the bedroom window when she found out about me and Jennifer everything I hadn t sold or pawned was sodden and broken.
The carpet squelched as I bent down and picked up a little wooden plaque with a tiny gold-coloured truncheon mounted on it. Someone had stamped on it, breaking the plastic shape in two the dirty imprint of the boot clearly visible on the wood.
There was no way this could have been Mr Pain. OK, maybe he could have hauled himself through the house smashing things, but it s pretty difficult to stamp on something when you ve only got one working leg. I dropped the plaque. It hit the soggy carpet sending up a little splash.
