All Fall Down: A gripping psychological thriller with a twist that will take your breath away (17 page)

I
n Nyman’s business
, status was everything. If you made a threat, you had to carry it out – and more importantly be seen to carry it out. Josh Turner had been warned off, but he’d ignored that warning, and plenty of people knew it. Nyman had no choice but to take action.

He wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone – and especially not to Gary – but he felt slightly reluctant. He suspected they were kindred spirits, him and this kid.

Within his own world, Josh was no doubt a smart guy. Beavering away at his degree, probably burdened with a ton of student debt, he’d spotted a chance to make some money and grabbed it with both hands. He’d rightly seen that the system was against him. Work within it and you’d be lucky to scrape five or six quid an hour at some shitty zero-hours job. Far smarter to take on the system –
beat
the system – and rake in the cash.

Josh had known there were risks, though he’d thought only in terms of being caught by the authorities. When Nyman’s men had given him a slap, the kid swore he had no idea he was stepping on someone else’s toes. That was his one big blunder, and again it was understandable – he probably came from a respectable, law-abiding background; didn’t mix with the likes of Nyman in his everyday life.

But he’d gone too far, so he had to pay the price.

N
yman was a smuggler
, but a proper one. He wasn’t interested in sneaking past customs with his contraband hidden in a suitcase or the back of a car. Nyman’s imports – chiefly marijuana, various party drugs, alcohol and tobacco – came in via a pair of fishing boats that met mid-Channel, with the stock transferred to the UK vessel and brought ashore on a quiet stretch of coast. The beach near Dungeness was his favourite spot; Nyman was rarely present at the handovers any more, but still it gave him a warm glow to think he was continuing the noble tradition of centuries: giving the finger to authority.

Earlier they’d driven into Canterbury. Ironically, Josh had been holed up on an estate where, through one route or another, a fair quantity of Nyman’s merchandise was consumed. Their arrival – in a brand new BMW 7 series – caused a little flurry of excitement, denying them the opportunity of a discreet entry. Turned out the flat was protected by a good set of locks. Nyman knew people who could breeze through a door like this, but getting them here would take time. In any case, breaking in and robbing the kid wouldn’t be enough to restore Nyman’s status.

No, it had to be face to face.

It had to be Norfolk.

O
ther preparations were
necessary before they could depart. Nyman had made private arrangements for his wife’s care, and the agency who supplied the nurses were able to organise some extra cover – for an extortionate fee, of course.

He didn’t linger over his farewell: Mary was in no state to appreciate anything he might have said, and the longer he sat there the harder it became to get up and leave. He settled for a quick press of his lips against the papery skin of her forehead, and a whisper: ‘Bye, love. See you tomorrow.’

He’d packed an overnight bag, along with gloves and masks and a few tools of the trade, just in case. He hadn’t yet decided how to play it with Josh: something to ponder on the journey.

As always these days when he left the house, Nyman was touched by the notion that he would not see his wife again. It was a feeling he remembered vividly from the early years, though back then it was because he didn’t know if he’d make it through the day, given the perils of carving out a niche in the underworld of south-east London. So much worse, somehow, that it was Mary in this predicament.

If pressed, he might well concede that his current woes were partly down to his wife’s illness. He’d been too willingly distracted, and maybe too soft.
What kind of pussy lets a university geek run rings round him
? That was the question lurking in Gary’s eyes whenever Josh was discussed.

But the really niggling worry was this woman who’d been watching the Turners. Didn’t sound like a girlfriend, from Fletch’s description – and an unhappy girlfriend would surely just confront the kid, wouldn’t she?

Handing over the address of the family’s holiday home to a stranger – and not just any stranger but a filthy old scrote like Fletch. . . that was just plain odd, and it left Nyman wondering what else Josh was messed up in.

T
hey stopped
en route at a pub in Ely and took their time over an indifferent meal. Nyman drained a couple of brandies, and rested his eyes for the remainder of the journey.

They reached the village of Branham at eight p.m. and delved into a few side roads, noting the presence of a single village store, a petrol station and two pubs; grateful for the absence of a police station or any sort of civic building. Very little CCTV anywhere, which was a bonus.

The house was actually between Branham and the next village, Burnham Deepdale, accessed via a narrow lane which petered out on the salt marshes along the shore. A one-way road, effectively, with limited space to manoeuvre. On the plus side, the property was remote, and very private.

Driving on, they passed a couple of fields before spotting an almost identical route to the coast. Bumping along the track, they reached a gravel car park on the edge of a muddy, reed-infested creek. A lot of ruts in the mud close to the water, presumably from boat trailers. Luckily there was no one around this evening.

They parked up to wait for dusk. The sun had fallen out of sight and the sky was a deep shade of blue. Nyman opened his windows and breathed the salt air, listened to the hoot and squawk of sea birds and tried to experience every sensation as profoundly as Mary might have done. Mindfulness – or some such bollocksy term they had for it nowadays.

Gary paced the car park and chain-smoked like an old-time expectant father. He was a man who craved easy solutions; the Turner kid had riled him by mouthing off, and now Gary was itching to make good on the threat that the next punishment would be on a different level.

By nine the light was dimming but not gone.
About right
, Nyman thought. Too dark and they’d be on their guard, might not come to the door.

He called to Gary, who ditched the last cigarette. ‘Time?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Brilliant.’ Gary opened the back door, stretched for something beneath the seat, then moved round to the front. Settling behind the wheel, he handed Nyman a Glock semi-automatic pistol. ‘Brought this, for extra persuasion.’

T
hey’d eaten later
than planned, because Rob and Wendy had gone off to the pub. ‘Thanks for inviting us,’ Evan had muttered sarcastically, but Josh said, ‘First-night reprieve – and we deserve it, eh, Squirt?’

Georgia had shrugged. ‘Dunno. What’s “reprieve”?’

Both of them were making an extra effort to be nice, which freaked her out – Evan because of all the horrible stuff this week, Josh because no one should be this chilled when they were in such big trouble.

Georgia had made the decision to stay off social media for the entire time they were up here, so she wouldn’t know what was said about her in BitchWorld – and she wouldn’t care. That just left the weirdness today, and the woman who seemed to be the same one from the café. In the end she decided to go with Dad’s explanation that they were all feeling paranoid and stressed-out, which made a lot of sense.

He and Mum had returned in a funny mood. Georgia fled the dinner table at the first opportunity, only to be called back by Wendy: ‘Where are you going?’

‘Getting something,’ she lied.

‘All right. But come down soon, please. We agreed to spend the evening together.’

Georgia felt sick to her stomach: somehow she just knew.
They’re splitting up.

She’d been reading the signs for months, deciding it was either divorce or a terminal illness that they were keeping from her. But if it was an illness there’d be hospital appointments – and Rob and Wendy would have got on better, putting aside any differences in the time they had left.

The tears came in a rush and she threw herself down on the bed, burying her face in the duvet. Her old life had been just like this – scary, confusing, uncertain. The new life was supposed to be better.

She was getting hot, couldn’t breathe. As she flipped on to her back there was a sudden flash of light through the window. Car headlights, it must be.

She got up and moved to the window, puzzled by the fact that the lights had now vanished. Had a car turned into the lane, then reversed back out again?

She opened the window and immediately heard an engine, soft and purring. She glimpsed the dark rectangle of its roof, passing between a dip in the hedgerow. It seemed to be slowing down, so perhaps that was why the lights had been switched off.

But the only house along here was theirs.

So its destination had to be. . .

‘
Here
,’ Georgia whispered.

E
van and Josh
were washing up. Wendy and her relatives had agreed that they should do without a dishwasher here, on the basis that sharing out simple chores would help them to savour their downtime all the more. Josh regarded this as illogical, and Evan, too, made a show of protesting, though secretly he approved.

He slipped a couple of plates into the hot water. Josh, on drying duty, was methodical but painfully slow. They could hear the murmur of voices from the lounge. ‘Big family conference coming up,’ Josh had predicted earlier.

In the light of this morning’s conversation with his mother, Evan thought he could guess what was coming, but he hadn’t expected Josh to have a clue. Maybe his brother was finally learning to pay a bit more attention to the world around him – he’d certainly asked plenty of questions about last Sunday’s incident, though he had no better theories than anyone else as to why it had happened.

‘So tell me about this Ruby,’ Evan said. ‘Sounds like you’ve got the hots for her.’

‘Absolutely. It was infatuation at first sight – on my part, that is. She barely knew I existed until the importation business got underway.’ He paused, and the plate he was holding squeaked as he dried it. ‘Turns out that girls really do go for the bad boys.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ Evan said. ‘And you got lucky, did you?’

Josh gave an enigmatic smile. ‘I can neither confirm nor deny. . .’

Before Evan could take the piss, there was a strange exclamation from his dad. Evan caught only part of Mum’s response: ‘. . . at this time of night?’

Josh turned and said, ‘What’s up?’

‘Dunno.’ Evan saw Rob come into the hall and head towards the front door, with Wendy just behind him. ‘Think we might have a visitor.’

R
ob couldn’t remember
the last time he’d felt as nervous as this. On the way back from the pub they’d discussed the timing of the announcement, and Wendy had suggested leaving it a day or two. She’d been taken aback when Rob flatly rejected that idea.

‘The kids aren’t stupid – they’ll soon realise something’s up.’

Then she admitted that Evan had virtually said as much this morning, in the café. Wendy had avoided giving him a straight answer. ‘I didn’t think it was right to tell him without everyone being present.’

Rob wondered if there was a different reason – that Wendy wasn’t as committed to the decision as she made out. To her it must have seemed like a pretty cheap tactic on his part, to go from pleading for more time to urging her to get it over with. Perhaps there was some truth to that, but his main desire was to avoid prolonging the agony.

His insides were churning throughout the meal. He kept expecting Wendy to say something, but found he couldn’t find it in him to prompt her. Afterwards Georgia made her usual dash for freedom, and the twins agreed to wash up.

Taking refuge in the living room, Rob poured himself a brandy.
Breaking out the hard stuff
would be the usual joke here, but neither of them said it.

‘Pour me a small one, would you?’ Wendy said.

Rob nearly dropped the bottle when someone knocked on the door. They had no close friends up here, no neighbours to speak of. . .

‘Who’d be coming round at this time of night?’ Wendy asked, and they both looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was nine fifteen.

Rob kept hold of the bottle as he marched into the hall. The front door was solid timber but there was a pane of glass in the panel to the left, partially frosted, with just enough clarity to get an impression of the person standing on the front step.

It was a man, of medium height and build, and possibly quite old. He appeared to be alone.

‘Think it’s all right,’ Rob said. Probably someone whose car had broken down on the main road.

His hand was on the latch when the twins burst from the kitchen. Josh started to speak but the words didn’t form quickly enough, and Rob’s brain simply wasn’t capable of responding in time.

What he realised later – for all the good it did – was that Josh had been trying to shout:
Don’t open the door
.

N
yman had used firearms before
, but he scrupulously avoided having them in his possession. It was a sure route to a prison cell. For security at home he was content to rely on baseball bats, knives and reputation.

‘Got it earlier, it’s clean,’ Gary assured him. He was almost panting, like a dog that expected a reward.

‘We won’t need that here.’

‘You don’t know. Look how often it’s the soft jobs that go tits up.’ He registered Nyman’s expression, then scowled. ‘All right, I’ll keep hold of it.’

‘You will,’ Nyman agreed. ‘And you’re staying in the car.’

‘What?’ Gary’s face went slack with disappointment. ‘That fucking kid—’

‘I want a quiet chat, one on one.’

‘But he didn’t listen before—’

‘He thought he could hide from me. This proves he can’t. I’m gonna make it clear that it’s his family who’ll suffer from now on.’ He slapped Gary on the shoulder. ‘Keep a close watch on the house. Stop anyone who comes out. I’ll shout if I need you.’

He sounded calm, and he genuinely was. Very little fazed him any more, and why should it? Compared to what Mary was going through, nothing mattered a damn.

He opened the gate, frowning when a security sensor bathed him in light. There was a bell, but he preferred to knock. Within seconds a shadow moved in the window beside the door. Nyman expected them to check him out, so he’d opted to wear a crisp white shirt and a dark blazer. Golf club casual: prosperous and reassuring.

Now the door was opening.
Here goes
. . .

R
ob faced
the man in the doorway and saw at once that this was no stranded motorist. There was an intensity to his gaze that spoke of a serious purpose, and Rob would have guessed, even without Josh’s intervention, that this was John Nyman.

He was in his sixties, tall and lean, with short grey hair and green eyes. Smartly dressed, he stood with his hands loose at his sides. No sign of a weapon.

The man was giving Rob a similar appraisal, could probably see that Rob wasn’t in bad shape for his age – but equally could have been better.

‘I’m here for Josh,’ the man said, just as Rob felt someone move alongside him.

It was Josh. The man nodded at him, then saw Evan, hovering just behind, and gave a laconic grin.

‘Twins, yeah? Well, I never.’ He studied Josh. ‘Nice makeover.’

Rob growled, ‘Are you Nyman?’ just as Josh said, ‘I can handle it, Dad’, and Wendy yelled: ‘You attacked our son!’

Nyman stood his ground; if anything, he looked faintly amused by the commotion. Rob shifted closer to block the doorway and spotted a BMW in the lane. There was a man at the wheel.

‘Who’s that?’

‘My driver. He’ll stay there, while you and I have a chat.’

He was addressing Josh, who nodded and tried to ease Rob aside. ‘It’s okay, Dad. Mr Nyman and I will talk out here.’

‘No way,’ Rob said. ‘We’re not leaving you alone with him.’

‘I’d better come in, then.’ Nyman indicated the bottle in Rob’s hand. ‘Courvoisier, is that? Don’t mind if I do.’

Rob couldn’t help himself – he lunged at Nyman but was restrained by his sons, both of them pulling him away. He was vaguely aware of Wendy moving in the other direction.

‘Dad, don’t interfere,’ Josh shouted. ‘I’m not a child. I can fight my own battles.’

Nyman smiled at that. ‘There doesn’t have to be any trouble,’ he said quietly. ‘But your boy and me, we have business to discuss.’

‘We know,’ Rob said, and Evan, at his shoulder, told Nyman: ‘You’re outnumbered here. Try anything and you’ll have us all to deal with.’

‘There’s going to be no fighting,’ Wendy declared. She held up a phone. ‘Tell me why I shouldn’t call the police, right now, and have you thrown in jail?’

Nyman hooked his thumbs behind his belt and rocked back on his heels as he thought about his answer.

‘Because I doubt if you want your boy thrown in jail beside me. A bright lad like that, he doesn’t want to be starting adult life with a criminal record.’

W
endy was shocked
to hear it spelled out, but still didn’t think they should be giving this man the time of day. And yet, at Josh’s urging, Nyman was soon installed in their living room, sitting in the centre of one sofa while the four of them were grouped around the sofa opposite. Josh kept insisting he could speak to Nyman alone, but Rob and Wendy flatly refused.

‘This it, is it?’ Nyman asked, once Josh had made the introductions.

‘Yes.’ Wendy jumped in before anyone could contradict her. She was praying that Georgia had heard enough to stay quiet, hidden away upstairs.

Rob flinched suddenly. ‘Is the back door locked?’ he asked Evan.

‘I’ll check.’ Evan was gone for a few seconds, and Wendy heard what might have been the scrape of the knife block. She tensed, horrified by the thought of a knife being used, even in self-defence. But Evan when he reappeared was empty-handed.

To draw his attention away from her sons, Wendy told Nyman, ‘You’re a bully. A bully and a coward. And I
will
call the police if there’s any aggression whatsoever.’

Nyman regarded her as though she were no more than a tiresome pest, some harmless insect to be swatted away. He seemed so neat and placid – nothing like the image she’d formed from Josh’s description – and yet there was an air of suppressed violence about him, a sense that his true nature would soon come to the fore if needed.

A hint of that menace appeared when he said, calmly, ‘If I’d wanted him badly hurt, there’s no way he’d be standing here now.’

Wendy gasped, and had to grab Rob’s arm to keep him from launching another attack. Nyman was unperturbed.

‘The punishment he had was about right for what he’d done. It was meant to scare him off, send him looking for a safer way to earn a few quid.’

Josh went to speak, but Rob got in first: ‘You’re demanding ten grand. How the hell he’s supposed to find that sort of money, if he can’t sell the tobacco?’

Nyman looked baffled. He regarded Josh, whose face, Wendy saw, had gone bright red.

‘He was meant to stop once he’d paid me. I got the money a few weeks back, but then I heard he was still selling. And that, I’m afraid, is taking the piss.’

Wendy felt the shock run through Rob’s body, just as it did through hers.

‘You mean. . . there isn’t a debt?’ she asked.

‘Not any more. But a lot of people know that some smartarse college kid muscled in on my operation, then ignored the warning to get out. Acting like he’s untouchable. I can’t have that.’

In unison they turned on Josh. Rob said, ‘What the hell are you playing at?’

‘I need money for next year, all right?’ Josh’s voice was high-pitched, defensive. ‘A few more days and I’d have reached my target.’

Wendy let out a sob of frustration. ‘You lied to us, Josh!’

‘So what, Mum? People lie all the time.’ His eyes narrowed at her, almost maliciously. ‘You and Dad aren’t as pure as the driven snow—’

‘Don’t talk to her like that,’ Rob yelled, and at this Nyman jumped to his feet.

‘Save the family bust-up for later,’ he growled, jabbing a finger at Josh. ‘Here’s the deal. You’re gonna give me all the merchandise you got stored at your flat, then you piss off home and never come back.’

Josh seemed calmer dealing with Nyman than with his parents. Shaking his head, he said, ‘I have to complete my final year, but I am prepared—’

His attempt to negotiate was interrupted by a sudden high-pitched scream, choked off almost immediately.

Georgia.