Michael.'
She shook her head. 'It's perfect, don't you see? We just do nothing! This man - Vic - he's going to think you care because you're Michael's partner.' She grinned. 'It's an incredible situation!'
'It's not; I haven't told you everything.' He drained his beer and looked around, wondering if the wine was on its way. Then he told her about the phone call from Vic and the sound of Michael screaming. Ashley listened in silence. 'Christ, poor Michael - he--' She bit her lip and a tear rolled down her cheek. 'I mean - oh shit, oh shit.' She closed her eyes for some moments, then opened them again, staring directly into Mark's. 'How - how the hell - how did this man find Michael?'
Mark decided not to mention the visit from Grace at this moment; Ashley was already distressed enough. 'All I can think is he must have stumbled across the grave - it wasn't exactly well concealed. Hell, the boys only planned to be away a max of an hour or two. I camouflaged it a bit - but it wouldn't have been hard - a rambler could easily have seen it.'
'A rambler's one thing,' she said bleakly. 'This guy's not a ram r.'
'He's a chancer, maybe. Finds Michael, figures out from all the I and media coverage that this is the rich guy everyone's looking f- it's the chance of a lifetime. He takes him off to another location
1 sends us a ransom note - and proof that he has Michael.'
Ashley said, her voice faltering, 'How - how do - you - we )ne -1 mean - how do we know it's Michael's finger?'
'About three weeks ago Michael and I were on the boat, doing jme maintenance work on her, on a Saturday afternoon - rememIber?' 'Vaguely.'
'The heads door slammed shut on Michael's index finger. He was hopping around, cursing, running it under a cold tap. He showed me a few days later a black band right across the nail.' He paused. 'The finger that arrived has a black band. OK?' A hearty plate of avocado, mozzarella and tomatoes arrived for Ashley. And a large bowl of minestrone was set down in front of Mark. When the waiter went away again, Ashley said, 'Do you want to call the police, Mark? Tell the bloodhound Detective Superintendent about this?'
Mark churned that over in his mind, letting his soup cool while Ashley began eating. If they told the police and the man carried out his threat to kill Michael, that was one elegant solution to the situation. Except the bellow of pain from Michael had got to him. None of this had seemed quite real before. All the boys dead in the wreck. Going up to the grave and taking the air tube. Even when Michael had shouted out in the coffin, it hadn't affected him, not really. Not the way the sound of him in pain was affecting him now.
'Michael must have his Palm. If he gets out alive he is going to know that I knew where he was being buried.'
'Since the accident there's never been any question of him getting out alive,' she said. Then after a moment's hesitation added a testy, 'Has there?'
Mark was silent. His mind, normally so orderly and focused, was a messed-up jumble at this moment. They'd never intended to harm Michael with the stag-night prank - that was just the payback for all his jokes. And the original plan he'd hatched With Ashley had never involved hurting Michael either, surely? Ashley was going to many him, and get half his shares in Double-M Properties. When the ink was dry on the certificates, Mark and she would have enough votes between them to take control of the company. They would vote Michael off the Board of Directors, and then he would be a minority shareholder - and wouldn't have much option but to let them buy him out at a low price.
Why the hell had he kept quiet the night he had arrived home from Leeds and heard about the accident. Why? Why?
But of course he knew the real reason why. Pure jealousy. It was because he had never been able to bear the thought of Ashley going off on honeymoon with Michael - and the solution had fallen into his lap.
'Has there, Mark?' Ashley's persistent voice cut through his thoughts.
'Has there what?'
'Duh! Hello! Has there ever been any question of him getting out alive?'
'No, of course not.'
She stared at him, a firm, steady gaze.
He stared back, replaying the terrible screams of pain over and over inside his head, thinking, Ashley, you didn't hear them.
72
ichael lay in the bitumen-black darkness, his heart thudding, his Bad pounding, his index finger throbbing, and excruciating spikes I Of pain from his balls shooting deep up into his belly. It was - he didn't know how long ago, maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less - from when that hooded bastard had clipped callipers to them and fired electric shocks into them.
But the pain was nothing compared to the dark, cold fear that Stalked his mind. He was remembering the movie, The Silence of the Lambs, which he had seen some years back, and again more recently on television with Ashley. A girl, a senator's daughter, had been kept In the bottom of a well by the serial killer who skinned his victims. He couldn't help it; he was shivering, trying to focus his thoughts, determined, somehow, to survive.
To get back to Ashley. To take her down the aisle. That was all he wanted.
God, how he pined for her!
He couldn't move his arms or his legs. After spooning him tinned stew and bread, his captor had sealed his mouth again with duct tape and he had to breathe just through his nose, which was partially blocked. He sniffed, suddenly panicking that it was getting completely blocked. Sniffed again, harder, deep, rapid sniffs, setting his heart racing.
He tried to work out where he might be. The place smelled dank, musty, there was still a faint reek of engine oil. He was lying on a hard surface and something sharp was digging into the base of his spine, hurting like hell, getting worse by the minute.
