Charity (71 page)

Rob bent his head and took a playful bite at her right breast.

‘That’s the only feast I want!’

She giggled, wriggling away.

‘Tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I just wish I was the patient you’re going to see.’

‘No you don’t.’ Rob smiled, running his hand up her. An image of the pitiful, often violent schizophrenic young patient waiting for him wasn’t one he wanted to conjure up just now. ‘Just one more kiss to keep me going?’

Charity sank into his arms, happiness welling up inside her, washing away the last grey doubts in her mind.

‘I shan’t be able to concentrate on anything.’ She sighed, kissing his eyes, his nose and his mouth. ‘I’ll be counting the hours till you come back.’

Chapter Thirty-Five

Toby didn’t even see the punch that knocked him down. One moment Jim was standing there glowering at him, the next he felt the impact of fist on cheekbone and he was flying backwards.

It wasn’t the first punch that had ever knocked Toby off his feet, but it was the only one that had been so fast he got no warning. His vision went for a second and fiery Catherine wheels spun before his eyes.

‘Where’s the real stuff, you shitbag?’ Jim yelled at him.

Toby couldn’t focus; all he saw was a dark shape leaning over him.

‘I don’t know.’ Toby could barely move his mouth to speak and the pain was as if he’d been hit with a red hot iron. ‘That’s what Hans strapped to my chest. He’s set you up, not me.’

A kick in his ribs sent him skidding two feet along the rough floor. As he scrabbled to get to his feet, Alf put one big boot on his wrist, pinning him in place.

‘Don’t hit me,’ Toby pleaded. He had never seen any similarity between the brothers before, but now he noticed the identical cruel lips. ‘This is all some terrible mistake. That’s what I was given, I didn’t even open the bags.’

‘Fix ’im.’ Jim made a gesture to his brother.

When Alf bent down and caught hold of both Toby’s wrists, he thought he was going to kill him.

‘No, please!’ he yelled, the heels of his shoes scraping on the floor as he was hauled backwards to the corner of the room. ‘I promise you I didn’t take it. Do you think I’d have the front to walk in here with talcum power when I knew you’d test it?’

Something cold was clamped to both his wrists above his head; the click that followed told him they were handcuffs.

‘Up,’ Alf said in his guttural voice, dragging Toby to his feet by pulling on the cuffs.

Toby couldn’t escape. The handcuffs tore into his skin and his arms felt as if they were being pulled from their sockets. Within seconds Alf had him secured to a length of heavy chain hanging in the corner of the room.

‘Tie ’is feet,’ Jim said, turning away and lighting a cigarette. ‘Any yelling, give ’im a whack.’

Toby was beside himself with fear, and confused. He didn’t understand why Hans had given him worthless powder instead of heroin. Jim disappeared downstairs without saying another word. Alf sat on a box, his back against a beam, calmly smoking. The rope round Toby’s ankles was cutting into his skin, and already he had cramp in both arms.

‘Look, Alf.’ Toby tried to reason with the big man, even though he suspected it was futile. ‘Those packages were still on my chest till just before I got here.’

As the words came out of his mouth, Toby saw the truth in a blinding flash.

Carla!

Every other trip the strapping had remained in place until he arrived here in the warehouse. Even when he’d broken his journey in a hotel he hadn’t taken it off.

Despite the pain in his cheek, a throbbing around his left eye and his severely kicked rib he made himself think back to where she’d been standing by her car.

A lonely stretch of road enclosed by hedges! The perfect spot for an ambush – and whoever had planned it knew the only thing that would get him to stop was a girl.

He’d played right into her hands, too.

Why hadn’t he been suspicious? How many girls would go to a hotel with a strange man in the middle of the night as readily as she did? All that bullshit she’d given him about fate! Only a conceited prat would believe that!

Toby felt sick at his stupidity.

He thought hard. How did anyone know he would be on that road, at that time?

Again he groaned mentally as he recalled a conversation while he was waiting to board the ferry in Calais.

It was just like every other trip. Dozens of cars and lorries waiting patiently on the dock for the signal to drive on. Many of the drivers were wandering around, chatting and passing out cigarettes. Although it was dark it was a hot night with scarcely a breeze; some of the drivers wore nothing but shorts and sandals.

‘Nice car!’ the man said. Stopping beside Toby, he ran his hand appreciatively over the gleaming paintwork. ‘I always fancied one myself.’

He appeared to be a lorry driver, thickset, around forty, in a grubby shirt, big boots, and with half an inch of stubble on a weatherbeaten face.

There was nothing unusual about the man, or his friendly interest. Just a working man stretching his legs and having a smoke and a chat while he waited to drive on. Toby told him amongst other things that he was intending to stop overnight in Canterbury.

Now Toby came to think about it, he hadn’t seen that man again on the ferry; if he had he might have bought him a drink. Maybe he didn’t even have a lorry at all. He could have followed him all the way from Hamburg for all Toby knew, then once he knew Toby’s plans he nipped off to a phone and relayed the message.

But to whom? No one knew about this trip other than Hans in Hamburg, Alf, Jim and Stubbs.

Except for Weasel.

But he couldn’t know details of times and places. And why should he do it anyway when he stood to be paid off?

Jim came back up the stairs and waited in the doorway.

‘Jim, listen to me,’ Toby pleaded, taking the silence as a slight change of heart. ‘I didn’t –’

‘Don’t come out with all that crap again,’ Jim cut him short, striding towards him and punching him in the ribs as if he were a punchbag in a gymnasium. ‘I’ve rung Hans in Hamburg and he’s assured me the bags he gave you were kosher. I’ve known him for years, he wouldn’t stitch me up.’

The punch winded Toby, making him swing helplessly on the chain.

‘Jim, listen to me,’ he gasped, ‘I’ll tell you everything that happened, just undo me!’

‘You’ll tell me tied up,’ Jim roared, slapping his fist into his other hand. ‘Come on, spit it out!’

‘There was this girl in a broken-down car,’ Toby said haltingly, his eyes running with the pain in his ribs and belly. Even as he told the story he knew Jim wouldn’t just accept it. He was all set to distribute the drugs that night, wanting to turn his investment around fast. Men like him didn’t take kindly to any hitches.

‘You stupid bastard,’ Jim snarled as Toby finished the story, punching him yet again. ‘You think I’m gonna believe that load of drivel?’

Alf came lumbering across the room.

‘Want me to take over, bruv?’ he said, his big face contorting into almost a smile.

Toby felt sick as he saw Alf pull a knuckleduster from his pocket. It was dull gunmetal, with protruding lumps as big as thimbles. He slid it over his big fingers, his eyes glinting with malice.

‘Give it to ’im.’ Jim turned away, a sly smile playing at the corners of his lips. ‘I reckon ten should get the truth.’

Alf stood in front of Toby and braced himself. The muscles in Alf’s neck and shoulders stood out like hosepipes, but it was the cruel look in his eyes that made Toby’s bowels turn to water.

He didn’t appear to put any effort into the first blow, just his elbow lifting slightly and the fist coming forward as his other hand reached out to grab the belt on Toby’s jeans to hold him still. But the gentle movement had all the force of a bus doing sixty miles an hour and Toby heard a rib crack on impact.

‘No!’ Toby yelled, but before the pain even registered, another blow followed it, then another. Each hit a different spot till it seemed his whole abdomen and chest was stripped of flesh. The pain was too great to even think and by the fifth blow he wasn’t just crying, but screaming in agony.

‘Six,’ he faintly heard Jim say. Toby looked down to see blood spurting out through his shirt. He willed himself to pass out, but no welcome blackness came. Instead he felt warm blood running down his arms where the handcuffs dug into his wrists and to his further shame, he wet himself.

‘Peed our pants, ’ave we?’ Alf grinned, spinning him round to strike out at his back with even greater force. ‘You’ll shit yerself too before I’m finished with you.’

If Toby had known anything more he would have told them.

‘Stop!’ he screamed. ‘I’ll give you anything. Just stop!’

By the tenth blow Toby was beyond screaming. He was twitching as if he was wired to the mains, his body screaming out that it could take no more.

‘That’s a taster,’ Jim said from across the room. ‘Now let’s ’ave the truth.’

‘I’ve told you,’ Toby sobbed. ‘There
is
nothing more. Ring the hotel, they’ll tell you about the girl.’

He didn’t see Alf lift his boot. Just a crunch in the knee, the sound of splintering bone and more intense agony.

‘I’ll give you anything,’ Toby pleaded. ‘I’ve got money coming to me. I’ll pay you double what you’ve lost.’

‘We want the stuff.’ Jim barely lifted his head as he lit a cigarette, but his voice held terrifying menace. ‘And we want names of people in with you.’

‘Weasel’s the only person who could’ve done something,’ Toby said weakly. The room was swirling and growing dark. His chest and back were on fire and his leg felt as if it was dipped in boiling jam.

He tried to explain how he owed Weasel money, but the words sounded incoherent, even to him. He didn’t know if he was really telling them about paying the man to kill his uncle, or if it was just a nightmare.

Jim looked at the prone body on the floor then back to his brother.

They had taken Toby down when he blacked out and laid him on the floor. His T-shirt was congealed with blood; more was seeping out through the knee of his jeans.

‘I reckon he’s told us the truth,’ Jim said in a low voice. ‘I’ll ’ave to ring Guv.’

Jim Tooley didn’t like many people, and he’d disliked Toby Stratton the moment he clapped eyes on him. When the boss had insisted he was the perfect courier, reluctantly Jim had agreed. But he never had got to like him; in fact every trip when Toby tried to make out he was some kind of hero, he found himself resenting the cocky bastard still more.

Just looking at Toby made him want to puke. Even with a swollen eye, his shirt congealed with blood, he was still handsome.

‘Whatcha reckon the governor will do?’ Alf cupped his big hand round a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Although Alf was the older of the two, Jim always made the decisions because he was smart. He never discussed who they worked for, but Alf was bright enough to know that big money was riding on this deal. A whole chain of people were waiting for their cut and they weren’t going to be happy when they knew they’d been cheated.

‘Blind ’im, cut ’is balls off,’ Jim said almost cheerfully. ‘Reckon he’ll send us after this Weasel too, but I’d better go on down and phone ’im.’

Jim came back up the stairs some twenty minutes later looking troubled. Although he knew Stratton deserved the injuries they’d already inflicted on him, he hadn’t expected Stubbs to insist they finish him off.

Violence was in Jim’s blood; he came from a long line of bare-knuckle fighters. But giving someone a caning for stepping out of line was one thing – cold-blooded killing was something else.

‘What’d Guv say?’ Alf’s big face registered equal concern. His body was taut with anxiety, wide shoulders hunched, hands braced on his splayed knees.

Checking that Toby was still out cold, he moved over to his brother.

‘We’ve got to get him out of ’ere,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll carry ’im down to the van. You can drive it. I’ll take ’is car.’

Alf looked up questioningly, making a slashing sign across his throat.

Jim nodded glumly. Wasting an army officer wasn’t like tossing some thug in the Thames; the whole police force would be on to it. But as Stubbs said, there was no alternative. Stratton knew too much. If he’d been one of the lads, capable of keeping his trap shut, they might have taken a chance. But he’d squeal, loud and clear, and the whole set-up would be blown right open.

Jim’s main anxiety right now was Alf. His simple-minded brother would do whatever he was told unquestioningly and he felt a deep sense of shame that he was dragging him into this.

‘The word’s gone out to pull in this bloke Weasel too. Guv knows who he is. All we gotta do is get shot of ’im –’ Jim inclined his head towards Toby.

Jim had a rough plan, but he could see great gaping holes in it even before he put it into action. Stratton’s MG was the sort of car people remembered, especially in an area like Wapping where sports cars were as rare as unicorns. But if he drove it back down towards Canterbury, with a bit of luck the police wouldn’t ask questions around here.

Toby groaned as they lifted him up to carry him down the stairs.

‘It’s OK,’ Jim said brusquely. He was holding Toby’s thighs while Alf had his shoulders and it was quite obvious Stratton’s knee was shattered. ‘We’re taking you somewhere to get you fixed up.’

Toby heard the words as if from a great distance but the intense pain of being moved blotted out all thought or the ability to speak. Each step the men took brought on fresh stabs of agony which seemed to be centred around his leg, and he could feel tears scalding a raw place on his cheek.

‘He’s gone again,’ Jim remarked as they laid him down by the black transit van garaged in the bottom of the warehouse. ‘Get us a couple of those old blankets to lay him on.’

The ground floor was gloomy, the only light coming through a window up on the stairs and small grilles high up on the double doors. Around the van in the centre were stacked cardboard boxes and tea chests of secondhand household equipment, evidence of the brothers’ legitimate house-clearing business. The smell of spice was strongest here, overpowering the mildew. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and a thick layer of black, gritty dust covered everything.