Holy Island Trilogy 03 - The Final Countdown (11 page)

A cock-up was the last thing Rafferty intended for herself. A distant cousin of Earl Simmonds on the Irish side of the family from Dublin, she knew she was a small cog in a big wheel and had to work hard to earn her keep. But she was family loyal, and would do anything, anything at all in their name.

Anyhow, she thought, that was Cox off her back regarding the Brodzinski brat. All she had to do now was find out where she and that Shelly Monroe bitch had flown to. Weird how they had both more or less dropped off the radar together. Rising, she went over to a steel filing cabinet, opened the top drawer and took a brown folder out. Removing a few sheets of paper, she quickly shredded them, all of the time looking over her shoulder in case someone walked in.

She finished destroying all trace of Annya Brodzinski. Not that anyone should even think of her, once I’ve dealt with her interfering nosy old grandfather. It will be as if the brat has never even existed. He’s lived too long anyhow.

 She returned the empty folder to the cabinet and, picking up the phone, requested a driver to be out the front at once.

Five minutes later, blonde police driver Susan Cleverly pulled up outside the entrance door where Rafferty waited for her.

‘Took your time, didn’t you?’ Rafferty snapped at her, then tutted as she brushed imaginary fluff off the car seat before climbing into the back of the car.

‘Sorry, the water for the wipers needed topping up,’ Constable Cleverly said, in her usual quiet unassuming manner.

‘Take the road to Holy Island. But first, as it's on the way, call at Mr Brodzinski's. I have something to tell him.’

‘Yes, Sergeant Rafferty.’ She started the car and eased slowly into the morning traffic.

Behind her, Rafferty studied the constable's profile in the rear view mirror. Cleverly was a pretty young woman, with natural blonde hair and large blue eyes, and a tiny mole on her right cheek.

There’s something about this one that needs watching, she thought. Never really noticed it before, but when I come to think about it, she always seems to be there when something’s going on, sort of on the sidelines.

She narrowed her eyes. Going to have to check this one out. There’s more than one driver in the pool, that’s for sure. But whenever I ask for one, it’s always her.

Too much of a coincidence!

Who’s she really working for?

Reaching Mr Brodzinski's house, Cleverly pulled to a stop outside. Getting out of the car, Rafferty ordered her to stay where she was.

Cleverly glared at the other woman’s back as she walked up the path to the old man's house, praying that he wasn’t in. She had a feeling that Rafferty meant to kill him, and felt helpless. There was no way she could blow her cover.

Rafferty banged on the door. She waited a moment and banged again, so loudly that even anyone who was troubled with deafness would hear her. That included the woman next door, who opened her own door and glared at Rafferty.

‘He’s not in. And is there really need to bang on somebody’s door like that?’

‘You sure he’s not in?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. Who are you, like?’

Stupid question, Rafferty thought, seeing as there’s a police car at the gate. Rafferty took her badge out, flashed it with a superior look on her face, and the woman shrugged.

‘Whatever. He’s still not in.’ With a toss of her head, she slammed her front door.

Cleverly hid a smile as, obviously foaming with anger, Rafferty got back into the car. ‘Holy Island,’ she snapped.

They reached the causeway, which was clear of the sea apart from a few lingering puddles, and a few minutes later they were on the island. Rafferty told the driver to pull over into the car park and wait for her there.

Getting out of the car, she headed up towards the village, passing a fruit and veg stall with a smiling proprietor, whom she ignored with her usual disdain. She walked on past a large hotel, giving it the once over, and the same to a café on the corner, where a dozen or so tourists were eating.

 Turning left into the main street, she went on down past a few cottages and the Lindisfarne Scriptorium shop. Carrying on past The Ship, she turned left into Sandham Lane and, pleased to get out of the way of the many tourists heading towards the castle, walked along the road to Aunt May’s cottage.

She’d been surprised when the message had come through that she was to check out Mike Yorke's Aunt May’s cottage, and to deal with a certain detective who may or may not be there. Having only met Mike’s Aunt May the once, she’d had her down as nothing more than a nosy old crow of a woman, who she hadn’t liked on sight. But her eyes had been bright and clear, and she remembered at the time thinking that this one was a lot sharper than people would ever give her credit for. It had felt at the time as if the woman had been looking right through her.

Although, on second thoughts, there’s nothing to worry about. A nosy old crow's probably all she is, anyhow. But orders are orders, she thought, looking at the flower-covered cottage with a scowl.

I suppose, seeing as she likes the pathetic cow who calls herself a detective, that she’s nosy enough to get involved. ‘Well, God help the old bat!’

Back at the car park, Susan had her mobile phone out and was listening intently to whoever was speaking on the other end.

After a few minutes she closed her phone and looked towards the village. She’s never been on Holy Island before, and wished she’d come with better company. Locking the car up, she followed the route taken by Rafferty.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Although Kristina had been slightly panicked by the word "NOW", she’d been so exhausted that, when she sat back to think things through, and without meaning to, she’d somehow fallen asleep and slept right through the night.

Waking up, she stretched, yawned and glanced at the clock.

‘Friggin' hell.’ She gasped in shock. She’d slept ten hours straight.

‘No way.’

Giving her head a shake, she hurried up to the bathroom. After using the toilet, she washed her hands then splashed cold water on her face before running back downstairs. Grabbing the letter up from the floor, she studied it for a minute again, only then noticing the picture of a fish scrawled on the bottom. Then it dawned on her just who Aunt May meant.

When she and Mike Yorke had been an item, they had gone sea fishing a few times with an old friend of Aunt May’s. She and Mike had often wondered if the fisherman and Aunt May had once been more than just friends. Well, if she was honest, it had mostly been she who had done the wondering. Mike had been totally adamant that they were just good friends. Of course, in Mike’s eyes, and Tony and Brother David’s, Aunt May was a saint.

‘And so she is,’ Kristina muttered with a smile, as she quickly put her coat on and grabbed her bag.

She was just about to turn the handle on the front door when someone banged on the other side. Jumping in shock, she then froze for a moment, wondering what to do.

It could be anyone. The milkman?

Does Aunt May get her milk delivered?

Is there even a milkman on the island?

Or it could be someone else.

Someone she didn’t want to see.

Who even knows I’m here?

The banging came again, galvanising her into action. Quietly, she ran upstairs to look out of the bedroom window. Gently easing the curtain along, she peered out. For a moment she was taken aback to see Sergeant Rafferty standing there, glowering at the door.

‘Shit.’

What to do?

Like Brodzinski, Kristina didn’t trust the woman either, and this call after what happened last night... How does she know I’m here? Should I let her in, or make a run for it?

The Island must have been cut off for most of the night, thank God, she thought, shuddering at the thought of how vulnerable she’d been. To run was her best, and probably only, option. Especially as Rafferty, as if she’d heard Kristina’s thoughts, moved her head to look up at the bedroom window.

Kristina quickly dropped the curtain and leaned back against the wall, praying the woman hadn’t seen the curtain twitch.

Time I was out of here.

Quietly she hurried down the stairs, through the sitting room and into the kitchen. She reached the back door and lifted her hand to the handle, hoping that someone had finally oiled the annoying squeak that had been there when she used to visit before.

Slowly she lifted the old latch. For a very brief second, there was a barely discernible scraping sound, then the latch lifted to its full and the door started to swing open.

Well, thank God for that! she thought.

NORWICH

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

 The door handle turned slowly, ever so slowly. Mike watched anxiously, a frown on his face, wondering if his tormentors had come to gloat, or to bring him another beating. Never before in his whole life had he felt so vulnerable.

 It opened to reveal a dark-haired young woman who looked slightly familiar. I’ve seen her before, but where?

 She closed the door behind her and crossed the large room in moments. Reaching his bed, she looked down at him, her eyes missing nothing. Then, with a sarcastic sneer, she said, ‘Well, hello, brother.’

Brother! Mike gulped. No wonder I fucking well thought I knew her, I look at virtually the same face in the mirror every day. Lost for words, Mike could only stare at Lovilla.

He couldn’t describe how he felt, how he had felt since he had woken up and found himself naked and chained to the bed, rehashing the night before. To go from orphan status to having a father, brother and now a sister overnight, when he’d always thought he was alone in the world, was a complete shock to his system, especially finding that said brother was nothing more than a callous, selfish bully.

How many more fucking relatives were going to come crawling out of the woodwork? he wondered.

He’d had dreams when he’d been a child, as any parentless kid had. That he was a lost prince who would one day claim the throne of England, had been only one of them. Grand dreams, but commonly shared by children who find out they are adopted. Then he’d grown up, and reality had kicked in. He had no blood ties with anyone. That was, until now.

It had been hard as a kid, especially when another kid had tried to bully him by shouting 'Bastard!' every time he passed in the school corridor. In the end he’d fairly lost it, and the kid had ended up in hospital. The shame of it was, the kid had been the same age as he, nine, and must have heard his stupid parents talking without taking care that small ears were listening. But with the help of Aunt May, Tony and Dave, he had made it. He knew that without them he would have been nothing.

He looked this new sister up and down, pretty much the same way she had looked at him.

‘Sister, eh...’ Mike shook the hand that was tied to the bed. The handcuffs rattled. ‘OK. Gonna do the sisterly thing, then, and get me outta this mess?’

Lovilla laughed. ‘I doubt it. Me, help an outbreed?’ She looked down her nose at him with unconcealed contempt. ‘As if!’

Mike frowned. ‘What do you mean, an outbreed?’

She tutted, then as if explaining the sex life of bees to a small child, she carried on. ‘An outbreed, or an illegal, is either a son or daughter born to one of the families out of wedlock and to a common peasant. You’ - she emphasised the 'You' with a curl of her top lip - ‘are one of thousands. Nothing more than an ugly subhuman, really. Probably stupid as well.’

Well, that’s me put in my place, he thought, but said, ‘Yeah, well, the jury’s out on that one, sis. So, you have a name? Or do I just call you "your Highness"?’

She glared at him for a moment, then snapped, ‘What? How dare you use sarcasm on me!’

‘It wasn’t hard.’

 Stepping closer, she laid her hand flat on his chest. ‘Have you any idea at all just who you’re dealing with, peasant?’

‘No, but I just bet you’re gonna tell me.’

Angrily, her fingers closed and she grabbed a handful of his black chest hair. She twisted hard, then quickly yanked it out.

It hurt, and Mike winced but, gritting his teeth, he refused to give her the satisfaction that it actually more than hurt. His chest was on fire, and he felt like screaming. Instead, he smiled at her.

Even more angry that she had not got the reaction she wanted, she jumped away from him and snapped, ‘Peasant bastard.’ Then, turning away, she stormed towards the door.

‘Some sister,’ Mike called after her, thinking she had been just short of stamping her feet like a small child.

Turning back, she snarled, ‘I am no sister to a filthy outbreed. I don’t know who the fucking hell you think you are, but news flash…you are nothing. And God knows what they are planning for you, but expect no help from me. Or my brother.’

‘Him, I’ve already met.’

‘Then you’ll know what he’ll do without me having to tell you.’ She laughed, tossed her head and slammed the door behind her.

Guess I know where I stand with her, then, Mike thought ruefully.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, wondering again how the hell he was going to get out of this.

LONDON

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Danny stepped down from the plane. The flight had been smooth and quiet, as the man who had pulled him into the car at Berwick, and practically pulled him out of the car again at Newcastle airport, had barely spoken a single word the whole time - even though Danny had done his best to question him.

He was a youngish man with fair hair, and a face that only a mother could love. His dark blue suit looked at least two sizes too big for him, as if he’d recently lost a fair bit of weight or borrowed it from an overweight friend. And he had totally failed to reassure Danny that he was not one of them, replying to his questions time and time again with nothing more than a series of grunts.

Sure, Danny was thinking as they slowly made their way through customs, he hasn’t said that he is one of them, but he hasn’t really said that he’s not one of them either.

Which leaves me where?