‘What happened with Spencer?’
‘Got greedy so I sent him home. He really did die in a car crash near Oban.’
I tried to stay in front of it all, but my head was boiling up a stormer of a headache.
‘What the hell was all that Stevie, the key and Spain stuff. What in the fuck was all that about?’
He sat back down again and took a sip of whisky.
‘I couldn’t resist. You made it so easy. When I knew you were getting out I sent in Rachel with the letter. I thought you were getting out sooner than you did but I got it wrong. It didn’t matter — you were like a rat down a drainpipe once you started on the trail. I laid down the breadcrumbs and like a bird you followed along.’
‘The code, the safety deposit boxes. What about Mallorca Security?’
‘Mallorca Security is part owned by me and Ryder. It was easy to set it all up. Maria was in on it from the outset.’
‘You’re wrong. If she was then why did she hit the alarm and save me from your goons?’
‘Stupid cow panicked. It was meant to end there and then. I’d had enough fun and wanted you back home. I thought the whole photo and code thing a laugh but enough was enough, and people were beginning to look at me in the same way they looked at you when you obsessed on Dupree. At least I recognised the signs of obsession. It was more than you did with Dupree. By the way you did well getting out of Mallorca. How did you do it?’
I ignored him.
‘Charlie Wiggs?’
‘Charlie owes me big time. I’ve kept him on as my accountant since our days. He’s into me for an arm and a leg and it wasn’t hard for me to get him to play along. ‘
‘Charlie’s friend in Mallorca?’
‘Ryder’s son or rather his stepson. How else do you think he would have got a copy of the blueprints so easily?’
‘So why let me get this close to you?’
‘I had no choice. You slipped my guys in Spain. You did it again at my house. I was in London trying to sort out the mess in Mallorca at the time. I still thought you were on the island. When you didn’t turn up on the return flight I figured you must have got home somehow so I sent some muscle to my house with orders to pick you up if you were there. You did well. Very well. But I knew you wanted to front up to Dupree. So I waited for you to reappear and reappear you did. I had lost you right up until you phoned Giles.’
‘He is in it as well?’
My voice rose a shade.
‘Of course. Once you skipped on us at Rachel’s house I figured you would come after Dupree so I put the word out to all the old gang that there was cash in it for anyone that let me know where you were. When Giles phoned I set up our little meeting. You know that all you had to do was press the downstairs buzzer. The cloak and dagger stuff was a little OTT.’
I had a million other questions.
‘So everything — prison, the warnings, Mallorca — the whole fucking lot was for your amusement?’
His grin was back big style.
‘Absolutely. And tonight is the money shot. I needed to see your face when you realised who had been behind it all. This is my special moment.’
A silence blew into the room and he downed the last of the whisky in his glass. His grin vanished and I could see his eyes glaze over.
‘But somehow it’s all a bit hollow. I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t this. I thought I would feel vindicated but I don’t. I feel, well sort of empty.’
His grin had been replaced with a small grimace and a weary look crossed his face.
‘This feels all wrong.’
Damn right it felt wrong. I stood up fast and was half way across the table when the door burst open and I was grabbed mid air before being thrown to the floor.
‘All wrong,’ he said. ‘All wrong.’
He walked up to me as the attacker picked me up and slammed me back into the chair.
‘Did Giles tell you his stupid Sainsbury’s story. The one to do with the Chelsea/Millwall game? Did he?’
I said nothing and the attacker wrapped his arm around my throat.
‘He’s told me it on more than one occasion. I always thought it a bit of a crap tale. I mean what is it supposed to mean, but you know what? I think I might know what that face looking out the window was thinking. I think that face belonged to someone that knew exactly what was going on but chose to stay in the safety of the hostel. He wasn’t a little innocent. That face had been, seen, done and bought the t-shirt and knew he was in the right place that night. Well you’re in the wrong place. I’m sorry old friend that it has to end like this. I need to get on with life and that’s not going to happen with you around.’
I tried to say something but the attacker flipped me from the chair and suddenly my mouth was full of carpet. Martin bent down.
‘If you wanted Dupree this badly then you’ll want me with sugar on. I can’t have that. So I’ll say my goodbyes.’
The bastard kissed the tips of his fingers, reached down and patted me on the head. I looked up and saw the smile leave his face.
‘So different. It should have all been so different.’
I struggled to get up but my attacker and the man from the Spanish photo were good for the game and I was pinned to the floor. The first fist caught me behind the ear — the knuckleduster slicing open my skull. Snap, crackle and pop and the second fist mashed my nose to mince.
Just the beginning. I tried to curl into a ball. Just the beginning.
The door to the room closed as the bastard left and it was time for more pain. The attacker reached between my legs and grabbed at my balls. The squeeze was so hard it felt like one of them burst. A thumb searched for my left eye socket and a forefinger for my right — fluid spurted and darkness fell.
Then they got serious.
Chapter 61
Hi I’m back. Are you still there? Of course you are. Was the diary interesting? I bet it was. Giles has done a wonderful job. Hasn’t he?
Sorry it finished in August. As you may have gathered things didn’t go well after my meeting with Martin. Not well at all. In fact it is a miracle I’m still here. Four months in hospital on account of the beating I took.
I’ve lost the sight in both eyes. The doctors have told me I’ll be blind for life. Both my legs are useless. One of the kicks — or maybe it was a couple of the kicks in Martin’s office broke my back and severed my spinal chord. I’ll never walk. I can’t even piss on my own. My left lung will never work again and the damage to my kidneys means I will need a transplant, but I’ll not be high on the priority list. My pancreas is shot and my liver isn’t much better. The doc says that he is amazed I’m still here.
I can’t use either of my arms. A stroke took care of that a couple of months ago.
Sorry I had to duck out there but everyday at twelve o’clock they take me away for a little physiotherapy. Not that it does much good but I’m hardly in a fit state to refuse.
I don’t get many visitors. Rachel came by with my stuff a while back but she said little. Giles Taylor showed up and he has been a good friend in these last few months.
He was a wonder with the digital recordings. His patience was startling. You can’t believe how much nonsense was stored away on that little recorder’s memory. He interrogated me like a good one, to add meat to the bones, and I had him read it all back to me when he was finished.
I think he should get the damn thing published.
Giles was the first new face in a while and now you are here.
But you’re not a new face.
Are you?
