The Family

'I'd hardly be looking for him now, would I, if I had anything to do with his demise?' Jonnie Piper couldn't believe he was now having to defend himself.

'But that's just it, Jonnie. I mean, think about it, you would be looking for him, to take the suspicion off, like. I just assumed he'd gone on holiday or something, it never occurred to me that some sort of skulduggery might be afoot. You're the one who brought all that to my door.'

Phillip turned to Declan and asked quietly, 'Did you see the said Bantry out in Marbella? In fact, did you see anyone even resembling him while you were there?'

Declan had to laugh. Phillip was acting like Miss Marple – raised eyebrows, pursed lips, the lot. He could really take the piss when it suited him, and he was taking the piss now, of that there was no doubt. Everyone in the room was embarrassed for Piper; even the boys were finding it hard not to smile, and they were only kids. This was a story that would be told, and told frequently by Phillip for laughs.

Declan played the game, as he knew was expected of him. 'Not hide nor hair, Phillip. But then his own wife ain't seen him, so he could be off with a bit of strange. Billy always liked the young ones.'

Jonnie Piper saw he was beaten. He'd just about had enough of this man. Admittedly he had been having him over with Bantry since the off, but it still rankled. And now there was the added worry of exactly how much Phillip knew about the situation. If he had outed Bantry, and of that there was no doubt in Jonnie's mind, he must know the real score. Declan out in Marbella could mean only one thing – the euro scam. Jonnie needed to regroup, rethink, and decide on his course of action. Which basically meant he had to kill Phillip Murphy before Murphy killed him.

So he changed tack and smiled widely. 'I expect you're right, Phillip. Billy's a fucker though, just going off like that.'

Phillip opened his arms wide, the big, benevolent friend now. 'He went off once for a wedding in Newcastle, and didn't come home for over three weeks. Turned out he had fucked off to Thailand with a local rugby team he'd met on the stag night. You'll get used to these strange southern ways, Jonnie, I'll make sure of that.'

Everyone laughed, but no one thought it was funny.

Chapter One Hundred and Twelve

'Mrs Murphy – Christine – I know something is bothering you. I really think that if you would just share it with someone, you would feel a lot better.'

Christine looked at this kindly woman and stifled the urge to laugh out loud. Florence Cartwright was her therapist in rehab and she meant well. Christine just wished she could say that the main thing that was bothering her was the fact that the woman wouldn't wear a bra, or deodorant. She hummed, as the boys would say.

Christine quite liked this rehab, it was nice. She felt safe here, safe and calm. Lovely rooms, quiet time, making your own bed. She liked the people here too, all friendly, all from good homes and backgrounds. People who, like her, had secret problems that drink and drugs assuaged. But unlike her, those people could explore them, whereas she couldn't. Daren't. She could just see this stupid woman's face if she did decide to share, if she leaned forward in her chair and said confidentially, 'Well, you're right, Florence. It's my husband, see? He is a murdering bastard, nearly murdered his own sister once, but I stopped him. Because, you see, for some reason, he likes me. Loves me in fact. Well, you already know that – you keep telling me how lucky I am to have his support. He arranged for the abortion of his grandchild, while celebrating the news of another child for himself. A child I was determined would never get a glimpse of him or his hate. He is a terror to his sons.

Either ignores them shamefully or suffocates them with his attention. His whole life revolves around criminal activity which, as you can imagine, he doesn't like me talking about. He would call it grassing, see, not talking, or self-expression, just plain old grassing, so stop writing everything down if you don't want to disappear – for disappear you will. Into the big ovens he had installed on our humungous farm. Unless he wants to make an example of you, of course, to the other therapists here, then your body will be found. Stabbing is one of his favourite modes of murder – more personal, like – and then your poor family will have to live with what had happened to you for ever. Believe me, I know. He even killed his mate once, his really good mate. My Phillip is an equal-opportunities killer – he doesn't care who it is – woman, man, friends, family, strangers. He also has most of the police, or Filth as he calls them, in his employ, so they aren't much use either. I am trapped in a marriage that I hate, and I can't leave, you see, because no one leaves my Phillip. He would take that as a personal insult and it would really annoy him, and believe me, Florence, you don't want to annoy him. So what do you suggest I do, Florence? What's your take on the situation?'

But of course she wouldn't say a word, she wouldn't ever say a word to anyone. Christine was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. It was strange, but since she had been here, and been off the drink and the drugs, she felt better in herself, but she was also able to think more clearly. Maybe it was the environment, knowing she wasn't going home yet, maybe that made her feel safe enough to think properly. Or it might just be that she was straight for the first time in God knew how long. She had at least a few more weeks of not having to deal with the house, and her family, and that included the boys. They were his now, she could see that more and more on each visit they made. It was Dad this, and Dad that. They were even working for him. Even her baby, her Timmy had changed from a nice, likeable lad, to a thug who even her own father thought was some kind of hero. What chance did she have against all that? What chance did any of them have?

Christine turned her attention back to her therapist. 'I wish you'd stop saying all this to me. I just like a drink, that's all. I got used to the tranqs, liked the feeling they gave me, so I took more than was good for me. I had three private doctors at one time prescribing me everything I wanted. You know, Florence, everything doesn't have to be profound, or deep. Some people, like me, are just weak, love. Weak.'

Florence Cartwright looked at this lovely woman and sighed inwardly. Christine Murphy was being eaten up inside and, whatever it was, until she dealt with it, she would never be cured. She had seen this time and time again – women who were unable to cope with their lives so they disappeared inside a bottle. But there was something deeply disturbing about the way this woman kept everything inside herself. She would blow one day and, when she did, the blast would be heard from Land's End to John O'Groats. It had to be something like childhood abuse, probably from someone she trusted. Florence had ruled the father out, there was genuine affection there, nothing untoward at all. Whatever this was, it was consuming this woman like a cancer; you could see the terror in the back of her eyes. Feel the fear that emanated from her at any mention of what might be the root cause of her self-abuse. One thing Florence knew though, she would keep trying to help her. She would talk to the husband again; he was such a nice man, and his obvious love for this broken woman was almost painful to observe.

Christine lit a cigarette, and sat back in the chair. She liked Florence, but God knew, for all her so-called education she was as thick as shit where the real world was concerned. Phillip had given her the usual old flannel he reserved for what he termed posh birds. He made sure he hung on her every word, and agreed with her wholeheartedly, whatever she said. Florence, of course, had loved it. Phillip had charmed her, as he charmed everyone. As he had once charmed Christine herself.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen

'Do you think Mum's getting better, Dad?'

Phillip nodded but he was distracted. He was making sure the industrial furnaces he'd installed in the big barn were running at the peak of their capabilities. He loved it in this place, it was a real buzz just to walk in here and know what had happened there and relive it. He could almost assuage his need for violence by coming here. Many a night he strolled up to the barn, with a glass of Scotch and a nice cigar, and he would sit quietly and reminisce alone about the people he had fed into the flames. 'She's on the mend, mate. You know your mum, always liked