Deadly Obsession (32 page)

Thoughts of Weston on his knee as a boy, riding his first bicycle, unwrapping his first Christmas present, invaded his thoughts. He made his decision.

‘Okay, you're on. I admire your reasoning, ladies. I have nothing to gain from killing you, and only some cash to lose for keeping you alive. But if you double cross me, be sure that I'll track you down. Wherever you may be in the world, there's no far flung beach resort or remote log cabin where I won't find you. As you so rightly said, I have connections everywhere.' He stared directly into Dolly's eyes as he spoke. ‘You appear to know me so well.'

‘I know your type. Blood runs thicker than water. It's all about family. What you want is peace about Weston. That's the one thing we can give you.'

A raising of the eyebrows. ‘So where is he? You tell me that now. I'll make some phone calls, and I'll have your money here, in cash, first thing tomorrow. Then you give me names.'

‘He's buried underneath the old dance floor at the club I used to run, The Kitty Kat. He was there when the club was built,' said Amy.

‘But it's not a club any more, it's the casino, Dirty Cash?' questioned Jarrett.

‘You know where it is,' said Amy. ‘You've obviously been there.' She glanced at Jimmy.

Jarrett was still digesting the information when the loud crack of a bullet sounded from the door on the far side of the room. The crack was followed by one of Jarrett's henchmen dropping dead to the floor, a sunburst of deep red blood spreading wide across his chest signalling his demise.

All eyes turned to face the origin of the bullet. Tommy Hearn, a crazed, demonic look on his sweat-drenched face stood by the door. ‘Why the fuck are you telling him that?' he screamed.

As Tommy ran towards the group, two bullets rang out. It was a sound that still haunted Amy every time she heard it, reminding her just how fragile life seemed to be and how easily it could be snuffed out. The two shots had no sooner sounded than a pair of bodies fell to the floor. Death had come once more.

C
areful not to be seen
, a lone figure walked into the Reception of the Manchester hotel where Amy had spent the last few days. A huge overcoat wrapped around their frame, and a woollen hat, some would say a little oversized, was pulled down over the person's face. Combined with a scarf pulled dramatically up over the face covering the neck and chin, the resulting strip of flesh left on show would, from a distance, be indistinguishable as either male or female.

Despite the heavy nature of the garments, the figure did not seem out of place. Most people entering through the revolving doors and into the warmth of the lobby were cocooned in a sheath of dense, heavy, woollen fabrics, protecting against the ever-decreasing temperature of the biting December UK weather. To any passing onlooker it would have seemed that the person underneath these layers had just felt the need to be incubated a little bit more.

But comfort was not the reason for the outfit, it was camouflage. This was function, not fashion. Moving to the Reception desk, the figure handed an envelope to the bespectacled lady working behind the counter.

‘Could you deliver this to Amy Hart, please?' The voice was almost inaudible, muffled by the scarf.

‘I'm sorry, who did you say ...' The woman scanned the name on the envelope and stopped. ‘Oh, it's for Miss Hart. I shall make sure she receives it. Who shall I say it's from, er ...?' She was unsure whether to add ‘sir' or ‘madam'. The figure had already turned and was walking away from the counter towards the exit so a clear look at their face was nigh on impossible.

A one word answer sounded from beneath the woollens. Again it was hard to distinguish. She thought it sounded like Tyler, or Miley ... or maybe it was Riley. She couldn't be sure.

Slipping the envelope into the pigeon hole for Amy's room, the hotel worker moved back to the counter. Turning to her work colleague alongside her, she said ‘Blimey, some people need to form their words properly. I've no idea what they said. And as for Miss Hart, I've never known somebody receive so many messages. She's a popular lady.'

Focussing on the Japanese couple standing in front of her, she carried on with her work. Not more bloody tourists flying in for Christmas, she thought to herself. Painting on her best saccharine smile, as fairy-tale-fake as it could be, she asked through gritted teeth, ‘Welcome to Manchester, do you have a reservation?'

T
he first shot
had been fired by Jarrett's henchman. The thick-necked thug may not have been much older than most school leavers, but his education alongside Jarrett Smith had meant that he had an A+ when it came to firing guns. His aim was steady, his reflexes quick, his loyalty, as ever, to his boss.

As soon as Tommy had started to run towards the group, the henchman had known that he had to react. He'd just seen his colleague, an equally young and just as delinquent man, have his short life wiped out by Tommy's bullet and he was determined that he would not be dealt the same fate. Neither would Jarrett.

His shot hit Tommy squarely between the eyes, his death instant and painless. His eyes were still open as he landed on the floor. As he did so, the jolt of his body against the hard, dust-strewn concrete caused his fingers to squeeze, as if in spasm, against the trigger of the gun. It was that which caused the second shot.

The bullet flew through the air, its target unknown. But everything has to land somewhere. If Tommy Hearn had somehow managed to cheat death and keep his body alive for another half a second he would have seen the bullet slice through the fabric of Jarrett Smith's trouser leg and land with a satisfying bone-crunching crack within Jarrett's kneecap and watch on as Jarrett fell to the floor in agony. But he didn't. The last thing that went through Tommy's mind was the thought that maybe he would be seeing his wife, Jemima, again very, very soon and that maybe Winston Curtis would be by her side.

A
my stared
at the broad back of the doctor disappearing out of sight from Jimmy's hospital room. It reminded her of Grant and of the countless scenes she'd watched on
Ward 44
, as his character, Dr Eamonn Samms, saved yet another life before strutting heroically from the room and doubtless into the open arms of another more-than-willing-to-please female character. But that was fiction, and this was most definitely real life. Horrifically so.

The doctor in question here – she checked Jimmy's records at the end of his hospital bed for the name – a Dr Aston, had diligently tended to Jimmy's wounds, patching his bruises and cuts, stitching any open wounds and generally, in true Humpty Dumpty style, trying to put the young casino-worker's body back together again. He'd told Amy that Jimmy was indeed lucky to be alive.

In the aftermath of the shooting, it had been Jarrett, writhing in agony from his bullet wound, who had somehow taken control of the situation.

He'd demanded that the henchman still alive take Amy, Dolly and Jimmy away from the premises and drop them, to quote him ‘in the middle of nowhere'. He explained, in between his gurning throes of agony, that Dolly and Amy would be furnished with their money the next day, as would Jimmy, but the trade-off was their information about Weston's killer, plus complete secrecy about the death of Tommy Hearn and about how Jimmy had come to end up in such a state.

The henchman grabbed the two women, both in shock at the loss of lives around them, and untied Jimmy. The three of them were driven away from the warehouse and dumped, as instructed. Amy had phoned for an ambulance to take Jimmy to hospital, telling officials that she and Dolly had found him beaten up by the side of the road. It was an easy story to believe as the area of Manchester they'd been dumped in was one of the roughest.

The henchman had then returned to Jarrett at the warehouse, who was still jerking in agony with a handkerchief pressed to his knee, trying to stem the blood flow.

‘You take me to the hospital, leave me outside the main entrance and then come back here, making sure no-one follows you. You then dispose of these bodies,' said Jarrett, surveying the two corpses in front of him. An idea came to him. ‘In fact, torch this place, with them in it. I want them, especially him ...' He signalled Tommy, ‘... unrecognisable. Then arrange for the money to be brought to me at the hospital. You do it, or you'll be joining these two in a fiery hell. I'll make the arrangements for the cash, just get back to London and get it to me at the hospital for first thing tomorrow.'

Jarrett was being admitted to the hospital, citing a drive-by shooting – always a convenient story – and the henchman was halfway back to London to fulfil his boss's wishes by the time the fire service turned up at the warehouse to try and fight back the inferno of flames razing the building to the ground. By morning all that remained was a pile of ashes, housing the secret of two lost lives.

D
olly walked back
into Jimmy's room carrying two cups of machine tea. She handed one to Amy. ‘How's the patient? Poor bastard.' She shivered as she stared at the swollen, distorted face staring back towards her from the bed.

‘Dr Aston says he looks worse than he is. A few days and all of the swellings should go down and the marks should start to fade. Apart from his ear, which it's too late for, he should be as good as new. They should be able to do some kind of surgery to make it look as normal as possible though.'

‘Has he regained consciousness yet?' asked Dolly.

‘He'll be out for a while now as the doctor's sedated him, but he did come round earlier. We had quite a conversation. How do you apologise to someone for nearly getting them killed and ruining their life?'

‘And giving him £50,000. That's not exactly a bad pay off. How did he take it? Is he okay with it all?'

‘What do you think? He's a normal lad from North Wales who's hardly ever seen a £50 note, let alone £50,000 cash. He's owed every penny after what he's been through.'

‘If that shark stumps up the money,' said Dolly. ‘I don't believe any man until he delivers exactly what he's promised, especially one who's just been shot in the leg. He could have bled to death for all we know.'

‘I have a horrible feeling Jarrett Smith is virtually indestructible, don't you? He's like a cockroach, and just as nasty.'

‘But even cockroaches would have a job to survive a raging fire, wouldn't they?' said Dolly, her face suddenly distracted by a TV wall-mounted in the corner of the room. The image on the screen was silent where Amy had muted it earlier but the story was clear to see. A disused warehouse on the outskirts of Manchester had been burnt to the ground. The picture being aired was the location where Tommy had been shot the night before.

‘He's torched the place, with Tommy and that other bloke still inside,' stated Amy, contemplating the fact that she was becoming more astute in guessing the moves of hardened criminals with each and every day. ‘Jarrett Smith will have been long gone and on his way to safety by the time the match that started it was even ignited.'

A voice sounded from the doorway. ‘Yes, all the way to this hospital. And I don't think he'd be overly keen on being called a cockroach, especially when he's gone to all the trouble of calling his banker for you both.' It was Jarrett's henchman, red-eyed and unshaven. The two women could see that he'd been up all night and just like them, was wearing the same clothes as the night before.

‘You what?' questioned Amy.

‘You two are not overly easy to track down, but I guessed you'd still be at a hospital somewhere with him.' He pointed at Jimmy. ‘It was going to take more than a couple of plasters to put him back together.'

‘And Jarrett Smith is here?' asked Dolly.

‘Two floors up and one bullet lighter. And he said to tell you that he's ready to be more than five hundred grand lighter if you're still prepared to name Weston's killer.'

‘Oh, we're prepared,' said Amy, a now ever-present defiance in her voice. ‘Just lead the way.'

I
n theory
, the last twenty-four hours should not have ranked as anything even remotely near a success for Jarrett Smith. His kneecap had been virtually shattered beyond use and he was on the verge of handing over a major chunk of money to people he didn't give a rat's arse about, but as he lay in his hospital bed, his eyes shut, all he felt as he stared at his self-made blackness was happiness. Finally he would be able to take revenge on the person or persons responsible for taking his only child away from him. The thought that he would never see Weston again formed a bolus of misery in the pit of his gut which he knew would never leave him but the idea that finally he, the gangland god Jarrett Smith, would be able to do what every criminal in the land had expected him to do for years, gain his revenge against his son's killer, turned him on immensely.

His eyes automatically opened as the knock on his hospital room door punctured his thoughts. Dolly and Amy were standing there.

‘Ladies, please come on in. I can see from your empty hands that you haven't brought me flowers. How heartless.' His welcome to them seemed overly jovial and slightly creepy and immediately put the two women on edge. Gingerly they walked to his bedside. Unsurprisingly it was Dolly who plucked up the courage to speak first.

‘Let's just got on with this, shall we? You know we're not here to sign your plaster,' she said, nodding towards the cast encasing virtually the entirety of his leg.

‘What a pity. I was just going to ask someone to fetch me some crayons. You could write down the name of my son's killer.'

‘The money comes first. We've told you where Weston's buried, so now you need to cough up.' Amy could feel her voice beginning to crack as she spoke, a fusion of tiredness and deep-seated fear.

‘All in good time,' sneered Jarrett. ‘How do I know you're telling the truth? Weston's underneath the floor at Dirty Cash, you say?'

‘Yes.' The two women spoke as one.

‘Owned by Tommy Hearn?'

‘Yes, until you killed him last night. Unless he's part undead I suspect his days of checking the winnings from the blackjack table are well and truly over. I assume his body was part of the little barbecue you arranged at the warehouse too.'

‘What can I say, Amy? If you start playing with the big boys you're bound to get more than just your fingers burnt. It was his doing, not mine. My men were merely defending themselves.'

‘Can we have the money now? £250,000 each for us and £50,000 for the poor bugger fighting for his life under this very roof,' interrupted Dolly, her patience running thin. ‘He'll live, but no thanks to you. His pay-out will make life a little easier every time he looks in the mirror at his disfigured features though. So we'll just take our money and leave, okay?'

‘Fair enough.' Jarrett clicked his fingers and the henchman hovering behind Amy and Dolly pulled out two briefcases from a cupboard placed at the side of the bed. He handed one to Dolly.

‘There's two hundred and fifty grand in there. You tell me who killed Weston, you take the money and then you fuck off out of my sight – I never want to see either of you again.'

Dolly opened the case and looked inside. It was packed edge-to-edge with bank notes. For a moment she could feel her nipples harden at the thought of finally having her own substantial mass of money.

‘It's all there,' said Jarrett. ‘So who killed Weston?' He gazed towards Amy. ‘You receive this case when I hear the name. There's £300,000 in here for you and your little boyfriend down the corridor. And just like I said to your mate here, I never want to see you again. If I do, I'll kill you, get it?'

For a moment Amy hesitated. She thought of Riley and the destruction his shooting had caused, his betrayal of her with other women, his lies about his career and his secret love child with Genevieve. She thought about Tommy and Jemima, now both dead, about the duplicitous Lily barely cold in her grave, and about Grant nearly losing his life in some Manchester backstreet. She thought about Laura's last breath in her arms. Should she be accepting money to try and improve her own existence as a consequence of all of this misery? Not that long ago she wouldn't have even dreamt of doing so, but now ... The thought disappeared as soon as it had arrived. She was a different woman. She held out her hands for the briefcase.

‘You'll never see me again. I've seen more than my fair share of low-lives over the past few weeks.'

‘So ... who was it?' asked Jarrett.

Amy suddenly found Caitlyn Rich's face papered across her thoughts. She liked Lily's mum. A final word of bargaining needed to be actioned. She looked straight into Jarrett's eyes. ‘You promise me that you'll just do what you need to with the person we mention and nobody connected with them? An eye for an eye, not a matching pair? Just one name and you go after that person only.'

‘I promise.' Jarrett's answer was both swift and, Amy thought, believable. She could ask no more.

‘Adam Rich,' stated Amy. There wasn't even a heartbeat of regret as she spoke Adam's name. Dolly was right. He'd killed enough people in his time and it was he who'd pulled the trigger on Weston. If Amy had just signed his death warrant then so what? It was no more than he deserved.

Jarrett gave a sharp intake of breath as she spoke the name.

‘Thank you Miss Hart. Here's your money.' He nodded for the henchman to hand Amy the other case. She looked inside. Again it was full of bank notes. It was the first time she'd felt financially secure in months. Surely she deserved this money after everything she'd been through.

‘What will you do to him?' She spoke out loud before even asking herself if she really wanted to know.

‘Have vengeance, Amy, what else is there? Not that you'll ever know. Neither will he. Mr Rich will rue the day he crossed paths with my son. Vengeance should always be unexpected and it should rarely be public. Vengeance is patient. It can wait a lifetime if necessary, but vengeance never dies. But Adam Rich will, of that you can be sure.'

‘Let's go, Amy ... we're done.' Dolly was moving towards the door, the case tightly gripped in her fingers.

Amy wasn't quite ready. ‘One more thing ... why did you kill Lily Rich? Did you think Adam might be behind Weston's death? She didn't need to die. She was young. She had nothing to do with Weston's death.'

‘I don't have to answer that, but seeing as I'm not exactly able to run off given my condition, then I'll tell you.' Jarrett was smiling, but not in an amicable way. ‘Everybody has been talking about who killed Lily. How it must have been me. London gangland leader turns up in Manchester and one of the north's biggest criminals finds his daughter dead in his home. Put two and two together and what do you know, Jarrett Smith strikes again ...'

He paused before adding, ‘... but there's just one problem in all of that. Despite what everyone is saying, I didn't kill her. Hands up, honest guv'nor, it wasn't me.'

Something inside Amy told her that he was once more telling the truth. Which left her with another burning question, one which Jarrett couldn't answer ...

‘Then who the hell did?'