“What are you going to do to me?”
Roger flew at Anthony, driving his fist into the mirror at the side of his nephew’s head, smashing the glass. “Answer my question!” he shouted, so loudly and so severely that Anthony moved his head and tried ducking.
Roger caught him and slammed him back against the mirror, holding him by the throat. Once he seemed satisfied, he let go and retreated to the six feet mark.
“Answer my question,” he repeated.
Anthony was aware of the silence. The song had not started again.
“We didn’t mean to.”
Roger nearly climbed the walls again. “Didn’t mean to! You’ve all said you didn’t mean to. You must have meant to do something to them. No one sets up a meeting at midnight, armed to the teeth to just talk.”
Roger moved in closer. Anthony squirmed, his legs weakening, not to mention his bladder. His mind was a complete jumble of thoughts. What could he do? What was Roger going to do? Were the police in here; would they come to his rescue?
“It wasn’t me,” blurted out Anthony. “I didn’t want any part of it.”
“That’s something else you’ve all said,” continued Roger. “You’ve all blamed each other. According to your statements you were all driving the car. How is that possible? There’s only one driver’s seat, you couldn’t all fit in it.”
“It was Zoe,” shouted Anthony, “all Zoe’s idea. She was the mastermind.”
“Rubbish,” said Roger. “Stop blaming the dead when they’re not here to defend themselves. No one person masterminded this little operation. And even if they did, you were all in the car. You were all responsible. What I want to know is, why?
“After everything they did for you. They looked after you when your parents died. They steered you in the right direction, helped you become the successful businessman that they thought you were. David even set up a meeting for you with his bank.”
“Fat lot of good that did,” said Anthony.
Roger’s expression changed. “What are you trying to say; that because the bank turned you down, made a bad decision – in your opinion – my brother was held responsible and eventually killed?”
Anthony couldn’t answer, though he knew it was part of the reason. DPA wanted to hit back at the establishment: the banks, the government, everyone who yielded some sort of power over the small businessman. He never intended to kill anyone. That was an incident beyond his control.
“That was it, wasn’t it?” said Roger. “One knock back from the bank started you lot off on a life of crime.”
“It wasn’t one knock back, we were all knocked back, more than once.”
“So what?” shouted Roger, moving to within two feet of Anthony, who slid down the mirror, ending up on his knees, his hands covering his head.
Roger leaned in and whispered into his ear. “How pathetic. Thirty-six years of marriage wiped out by the stroke of a pen. You held a negative decision against my brother when he had nothing to do with it, and you nurtured that grudge for so long that you eventually took his life, his wife’s, and countless others, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Anthony was sobbing but somehow found enough bottle to direct his anger back at Roger.
“We were no different to you. How many countless lives have you taken?”
Roger suddenly grabbed Anthony’s hair and lifted him up, once again slamming him back against the mirror.
“I was fighting for my country, you moron, protecting scum like you. There was no comparison.”
“You weren’t fighting for your country when you took the lives of my friends, were you?”
“No, sunshine, I was fighting back.” Roger left Anthony and stepped away.
Anthony sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “What did you do to them?”
Roger’s expression was one of confusion. “Why is that important?”
“They were my friends. You’ve wiped them all out.”
Roger’s expression grew even darker. “What’s wrong with you? Jesus Christ, do you see no wrong in anything you’ve done? You killed my brother, you’ve cheated God knows how many people out of God knows how many millions of pounds, you’ve killed other people along the way, changed your identities, lied to the police. Is there a crime you haven’t fucking committed?”
Anthony didn’t answer. His head was a bigger mess now than when he’d walked in here. Considering everything Roger had done to the others, what in God’s name did he have in store for him?
“What are you going to do to me?”
“He’s not going to do anything to you, son,” said a voice behind Roger. “That’s down to me.”
Chapter Sixty-four
Sean Reilly stepped into the battlefield. He was about to speak when he heard the sirens of more police cars and, hopefully, ambulances. As bad as he felt about leaving his partner, he had given Paul Benson and Patrick Edwards strict instructions to stay with him until help arrived, whilst he sorted out the mess inside the building once and for all – his way!
“Where’s your partner, Sean?” asked Roger Hunter.
“Someone had the good grace to put a needle into him. Know anything about that, Roger?”
“I don’t, but he will,” he replied, pointing at Anthony.
Outside, the sirens stopped and doors slammed, and Reilly heard voices in the distance, asking for directions.
“One of you better had,” said Reilly, pointing to Anthony Palmer, “I know he hates clowns, but what’s with the mirrors?”
Roger glanced at Anthony. “He doesn’t like them, either, or the music; absolutely shit-scared of it all. Has been since he was seven years old when he had an unfortunate incident in the hall of mirrors.”
Reilly glanced around. “Hence the reason for all this shit. Sounds like you know more about him
