I made you come. Wind tried to tear the door from my hand as I climbed out. Rain crackled against my back.
Jesus it was cold. I clumped across the car park, through the broken gate, across a glass-strewn concrete path, and under one of the walkways linking Millbank East and North.
The double doors to Millbank North were propped open, one pane of glass spiderwebbed through with cracks, criss-crossed with duct tape. I walked into the eye-stinging reek of bleach and disinfectant, the tiles wet beneath my feet. Graffiti tags covered the walls. A drift of soggy takeaway leaflets slumped in one corner, dumped by some delivery boy that couldn t be arsed delivering them. Probably no point trying the lift, but I did anyway.
Waited.
A groaning creak, a clunk, then the lift doors squealed open. A baking urinal stench slumped out into the hallway.
Screw that.
I took the stairs.
According to Katie s friends, Noah McCarthy was seventeen and lived on the fourteenth floor with his mum, a nurse at Castle Hill Infirmary. That was lucky, because her little darling would need some medical intervention by the time I d finished with him.
Katie wasn t even thirteen till Monday, and the bastard was seventeen.
I took the stairs. They opened out onto a featureless concrete balcony on each floor, cold morning air diluting the stench of stale piss. I kept going. Climbing higher, lungs burning in my chest.
When I reached the fourteenth floor I stepped out onto the balcony. Wind whipped along the concrete walkway, turning the rain into shotgun pellets that raked the flats front doors.
I counted my way along the row: Fourteen-Ten, Fourteen-Eleven, Fourteen-Twelve, Fourteen-Thirteen, then around the corner. The wind died down, blocked by the building s bulk. Fourteen-Sixteen was almost dead centre, looking out over the concrete quadrangle between Millbank East, North, and West. Rain hammered the walkways below.
The sound of something cheery came from next door, a woman s voice singing along with the radio inside.
I took a couple of steps back, until I was up against the balcony railing, then kicked number sixteen s door off its hinges.
BOOM.
Deep breath. NOAH MCCARTHY: GET YOUR ARSE OUT HERE, IT S FUCKING JUDGEMENT DAY!
In. I hauled on my leather gloves. No one would bother running DNA for a wee shite like Noah McCarthy. As long as he was still breathing.
The hallway was just big enough for two doors on either side and one at the end. The nearest one burst open and a spotty young man staggered out, pulling up a pair of baggy jeans over his boxers.
Bow-legged, big red trainers that weren t laced up properly, tartan shirt with the sleeves torn off worn over a Korn
Issues T-shirt. Shiny black hair, ring through his eyebrow, another through his nose. He looked me up and down, teeth bared. The fuck you think you re doin, old man?
You Noah?
He buttoned his fly. Gonna unleash a world of fuckin hurt on you, Grandad, comin in here His mouth fell open. What did you do to our fucking door?
It was him the voice on the phone pretending to be Ashley s father. The prick who told me they d stayed up late eating pizza watching Freddy Krueger slash his way through central casting.
Where is she?
That s our door! Mum s gonna go mental when she finds out.
WHERE IS SHE, YOU LITTLE PRICK?
He backed up a step. She s at work?
Not your mum: Katie. Where s my daughter?
Oh fuck He turned and ran, back into the bathroom, slammed the door behind him. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck
A little clunking noise, like a teeny bolt being slid home.
I opened the nearest door on the right: small kitchen, the surfaces littered with pizza boxes and discarded remains of microwave meals, a pyramid of empty lager cans arranged on the floor.
Next door: a double bed littered with clothes, a small dressing table turned into a shrine to face cream, perfume, and makeup.
The door at the end opened on a living room with a big telly in one corner, a brown sofa, and a coffee table a heaped ashtray sitting next to a pack of Rizla, a pouch of rolling tobacco, and a half-inch block of Moroccan.
Another bedroom lurked behind the fourth door, smaller than the first, the walls adorned with the same kind of posters as Katie s. Only Noah didn t have a Disney s Little Mermaid, she d done him a zombie Tinkerbell instead. Rumpled duvet cover, jeans, T-shirts, socks, and boxer shorts were scattered across the floor And a pair of red panties with little white skull-and-crossbones on them.
I checked the wardrobe no Katie.
Back to the bathroom.
A muffled voice came from inside. Denny, you fuckin spaz: answer the fuckin phone!
The bathroom door came off its hinges even easier than the front one. It crashed down into the bath, ripping the shower curtain from the rail.
He squealed, scrabbled back until he was standing on the toilet lid, mobile phone clutched against his chest. As if that was going to save him.
Noah McCarthy?
I Whatever she told you, it s a fuckin lie, OK? I never
She s twelve, Noah. You re seventeen, and my little girl is twelve. AND HER PANTIES ARE IN YOUR FUCKING BEDROOM!
A medicine cabinet was fixed to the wall above the sink. I grabbed it and pulled. The whole thing creaked and rattled, then pop the rawlplugs holding it to the wall gave and everything slid around inside. Heavy enough to do some decent damage. I hurled it at him.
Aaaaaaagh! Noah ducked, arms covering his face, as the medicine cabinet smashed into him. The door flew off, pills and toothpaste and cotton buds going everywhere.
I took a handful of his baggy jeans and hauled.
He crashed down against the cistern, the back of his head leaving a smear of red where it bounced off the tiles above the toilet.
Noah struggled, but I didn t let go: I twisted his leg halfway around and shoved it against the lip of the bath. Leant my full weight on it till it snapped. Another scream. A kick in the balls shut him up. Then a knee in the face. Stamping on his ribs till I felt a couple of them break. Then all the fingers on his right hand.
I staggered back, breathing hard.
Noah slumped on the floor against the toilet, blood trickling down his face from a broken nose, right hand curled against his chest, left leg bent in a way nature never intended. Sobbing.
Good.
Where is she?
Ah God
How does it go, Noah? After forty days and forty nights, he sent forth a dove to see if it could find land. Something like that? I grabbed his other leg the unbroken one and pulled.
More screaming.
Out into the hall. He snatched at the doorframe, but I stamped on his elbow. It did the trick. He cried and moaned and pleaded all the way to the front door.
I dragged him onto the balcony, then flipped him over onto his front. Took a hold of his collar in one hand and the waistband of his trousers in the other. Katie s twelve, you raping paedo piece of shit. TWELVE.
I m sorry, I m sorry, I didn t
I shoved his head forward, banging it off the concrete railing.
