Revenge (42 page)

Chapter One Hundred
and Thirty-Two

Jessie woke up as the man shook her. She felt so drained, so ill. She didn’t even know where she was for a few moments; it was a while before she remembered the truth. Then it all came rushing back, and she closed her eyes in distress. She blinked back tears, looking at the man’s filthy smile which was as familiar to her now as her mother’s beautiful one, and she wondered if it would be the last thing she ever saw in this life. It was such a frightening thought. She hoped not. She hoped she would just go to sleep and slip away, that she could at least take away some of his power and die without him witnessing it. He was looking at her intently, and she couldn’t turn away from his gaze. Her legs were swollen, and they felt like they were burning. Her toes were black, and she knew she had a serious infection. She had a temperature and she was burning up, sweating like a pig. Her hair was stuck to her head, and she couldn’t concentrate any more. She just wanted it to be over.

The man was smiling at her as he said conversationally, ‘You look awful, Jessie. Really bad.’

She didn’t answer him; he didn’t expect one anyway.

‘I must tell you this.’ He was giggling like a girl, and she could see the euphoria he was experiencing – it was almost tangible. He was sitting on the bed, with his hands underneath his behind, like a teenage girl who had just found out a juicy piece of gossip about her worst enemy.

‘I want to show you a photograph. I know you will understand the importance of it. You’re a very intelligent girl. I must be honest with you, it wasn’t something I expected.’

He held his phone out to her, and she looked at the picture he showed her, as she knew he wanted her to. She didn’t have a choice – her fight was gone. She saw her nana Hannah dead or dying. There was blood everywhere. It was sickening. Her nana had died violently, for no reason other than because this weirdo had decided it was her time. Seeing her nana stripped of her dignity and left to die was so very wrong. Hannah Flynn was a woman who had brought up her child alone, who had worked every hour God sent, to give her son the best that she could. It was an awful way to die, and worse at the hands of someone like this. Jessie felt a spark of hatred threaten to erupt, but made sure that she kept her face neutral.

‘That’s my nana. I assume she’s dead?’ She was pleased with how nonchalant her voice sounded, pleased that she had taken away some of his glory. He wanted a reaction from her, and she would give him one – just not the reaction he was expecting.

The man sat upright; he was so stiff it was like he had a board up his jumper.

Jessie sighed. ‘No one liked her anyway. You did us all a favour. I bet my dad would shake your hand if he knew.’

The man was sitting on the bed, staring at her, but she knew he wasn’t seeing her – he was once more on his own private planet. What kind of person was he to kill an old lady, and show the pictures to her grandchild? Her fear of him was gone. She was dying – it was only a matter of time now. But she would die without giving this fucker another inch – she was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was frightened of him any more. Seeing her nana Hannah like that, so brutally murdered, was the last straw. As tired and as ill as she felt, she wasn’t going to let him think that he had broken her completely. Her nana Hannah deserved that much from her, surely?

She made herself laugh then, a low, deep-throated chuckle. ‘God, I bet she was surprised to see you, eh? Hannah Flynn, the hardest woman in the East End, murdered on her doorstep. It’s so ironic. You’re lucky she didn’t stab you first.’

She could sense the man was annoyed with her. He didn’t like what she was saying, and that suited her – she hoped he would do the kind thing and finish her off as well. It wasn’t as if she was ever going to leave this place alive. He had already made that abundantly clear to her.

‘Me and my dad have had more fights than Michael Tyson. We
loathe
each other. My mum hasn’t left the house for fucking years, she lives in two rooms and she’s a hoarder. I bet you didn’t know that, did you? She keeps everything, every scrap of paper, every fucking thing that someone she loves has touched. It’s mental, I tell you. She still has sweet wrappers from when I was a toddler. And I can tell you now, mister, the minute I went on the missing list my dad would have made sure my mum had more bodyguards than fucking Whitney Houston. He
adores
her – she’s his reason for living. When you deliver my body, as you promised, he will hunt you down like a dog, but not because of what you’ve done to me – he won’t give a flying fuck about that. He will come after you, because you took something he owned. It’s all about face with my dad, about front.’ She laughed again, much harder this time. She could see the bafflement on his face and was enjoying his discomfort, and the knowledge that she had royally pissed all over his fireworks. If nothing else, she was going to make sure he didn’t have the last laugh.

The man stood up abruptly, and she looked him right in the eyes. Then he punched her hard in her face. She didn’t react, she let him hit her, and even as she felt her eye begin to swell, she still didn’t say anything.

Suddenly, he was shouting at her, a deafening roar that was as unexpected at it was potent. ‘I will
not
allow you to laugh at me. I will
not
let you do that.’

He hit her again, this time on her jaw. It was an uppercut, and she felt the blow snap her head back with its power. The next punch hit her straight in the mouth; he was so much stronger than she would have believed possible. Her lip split open and it started to bleed profusely. She could taste her own blood, feel it as it dripped down her face. She instinctively braced herself for the next onslaught, but it didn’t come. She heard him walking away from her, leaving her all alone once more.

She didn’t move. She waited until she heard the door clang shut, and then she opened her eyes, glad to be by herself again. She couldn’t help feeling like she had won something. It was a small victory, but it was a victory nonetheless. She spat the blood out of her mouth. She could feel the throb of her eye as it started to close, and the stinging from the cut on her lip. She tried to pull herself up into a sitting position, but she couldn’t manage it. She welcomed the pain from her face; the fresh hurt took her mind off her other ills. She lay there, unable to move her body any more, praying to God for sleep to take her. While she was asleep she couldn’t feel pain, she wasn’t reminded of the state she was in, or the fact she was going to die chained to a bed. She couldn’t think about how she had neglected her little son, or how she had wasted her young life, and all because she had seen the dark side of her parents’ lives. Jake had been a constant reminder of her mistakes – she had always seen him as a symbol of her stupidity. Now, after this, she would give anything to turn back the clock, and do everything right – do what her father had urged her to do from the very beginning: stand up and face her responsibilities. She had fought him every step of the way and now it seemed so fucking futile. She had lain here and thought it over in depth, and accepted that she had not hurt anyone except herself.

She looked up at the ceiling. Her tears were rolling down her face – she could feel them dripping into her ears, and she didn’t even wipe them away.

Chapter One Hundred
and Thirty-Three

‘Right then, people.’ Arthur Hellmann was oblivious to most of what had been going on around him; that was his biggest failing as a human being, and his biggest asset as a computer whiz. ‘From what I can work out, the person you’re looking for is located within a one-quarter mile radius. He is in Essex, within two miles of Romford. The phone itself is registered to someone called Malcolm Briers, whose address, believe it or not, is within two miles of Romford. The address is White Farm on the Rainham Road. It was a clever fucking scam, I tell you. If I didn’t have access to every fucking mobile number on the planet, we would never have located the fucker. He was well hidden. And if he had not left his phone on, I would never have found the bastard.’

Michael was listening to the man with absolute amazement. After all this time, this fucking weirdo had actually managed to track the bastard down, when even the police couldn’t manage to do it. Michael was almost beside himself with euphoria – at last he had a fucking lead.

Arthur looked at the men around him warily. ‘Look, it doesn’t mean he’s
there
. It just means that is where it’s all registered. But the phone
was
used within that area recently.’

Michael hugged the man to him. ‘You fucking
diamond
! Whatever happens, mate, you get your wedge. At least you have given us a place to start. I could fucking kiss you!’

Declan was laughing now. He felt the same euphoria as Michael; this was a real fucking result.

Timothy Branch watched the two men as they bowled out of the room together. He felt he had failed; and of course he had – miserably. Turning to Arthur Hellmann, who was one weird-looking fucker, he said arrogantly, ‘What you just did is illegal, you do know that?’

Hellmann laughed in his face. He couldn’t give a toss what this man thought of him or his methods. If he worked within the law he would never have found out anything! No one would. Their hands were tied, Freedom of Information Acts, etc., etc. It was laughable. This was why he earned the big bucks – this man had to know that better than anybody.

Poking a finger into Branch’s face, he said sarcastically, ‘So fucking arrest me then! I
dare
you.’ Hellmann hoped that he was fifty grand up on this deal – that was the asking price for locating Michael Flynn’s daughter. He had followed the phone, followed the trail, he just hoped that he had done enough.

Chapter One Hundred
and Thirty-Four

Michael was buzzing as they drove out of East London –
finally
he was actually doing something constructive. It had been a long time coming; this mad fucker was so elusive, he was beginning to think he would never find him. It was the first time in his life that he had been unable to meet a problem head on. He had been at the top of his game for so long, it was unbelievable to think that anyone could have got the better of him. It galled him, it
unnerved
him, if he was honest.

‘I am going to kill this cunt with my bare hands, Declan. How
dare
he bring this to my door? Whatever might have happened in the past, his fucking beef was with
me
, not my family. I’m the one who fucked up.’ He laughed sarcastically. ‘Or, more to the point,
Patrick
was the one who fucked up. He knew what he was asking me to do. But what I can’t get my head round is that, of all the people I have taken out for whatever fucking reason, the only time it’s come back to bite me on the arse, is the one time I never intended to hurt a fucking soul. I would never have done that for anyone. Taking out women and children? That’s a fucking no-brainer. I would never have agreed to that.’

Declan sighed. He could understand Michael’s feelings. He kept his voice neutral as he said calmly, ‘It’s all relative. That’s in the past, Michael. All you can do now is sort out this shit as best you can.’

They were sitting in traffic at the Lodge Avenue roundabout in Barking. It was so frustrating. Michael was grasping the steering wheel with both hands, he was sweating all over, his fury and impatience intense now. He had no other choice – he had to sit there patiently until the traffic moved. There was nothing else he could do.

Declan could feel the man’s tension – it was understandable, but it was also threatening to get out of control. He lit them both cigarettes, and he passed one to Michael. Then they were on the move. Michael manoeuvred his Mercedes through the traffic skilfully and, as they edged towards Dagenham, he said with obvious relief, ‘Another five minutes in that traffic and I would have run fucking riot through Barking.’

Declan laughed with him; he felt the same way. It was dark now, and the sky was heavily laden with rain clouds. It was close, stormy, and it added to the feeling of urgency. As it started to spit, Michael put on the windscreen wipers. He was already relaxing as they passed the Ford Motor Works along the A13, and slipped into Rainham. After all this time, he finally had a fucking goal to head for.

‘Every time I think of that picture of my Jessie I feel like screaming. And my mum’s dead, Declan – I know it’s true, but I just can’t take it in. She was struck down in her own home, on her own fucking doorstep. How the fuck can this have happened to
me
? It’s like a fucking living nightmare.’ He wanted to cry again. The absolute power of his emotions amazed him. ‘My old mum, for all her attitude, was always fucking good to me, Declan. She worked every hour God sent when I was a kid, and I never wanted for anything. She would have given me the food out of her mouth, I know that. I’ve always known that.’

Michael drove past Rainham Clocktower, and out towards the country lanes. They were nearly there now, and he could feel the adrenaline starting to kick in.

‘My mum always said that Josephine was a selfish cunt, and she was right. I wouldn’t listen to her. When Josephine first started hoarding food, all those years ago, my mum said I needed to nip it in the bud. But I didn’t listen to her – I treated her like she was the fucking enemy. I just pretended that it wasn’t happening. But she was proved right. If I had put my foot down from the off, I know that all this shit with Josephine would never have got this far. I stood by as my wife gradually retired from real life. All that money I have shelled out on psychiatrists for her, and they say the same thing – it takes
time
. She is mentally ill! Well, fuck me, Declan, I don’t know about them, but I had already fucking worked that one out for myself. Hardly rocket science, is it? If it wasn’t for Dana, Jake would never leave the house. That great, big, expensive
fucking
house, situated in its
own
grounds, with its thirty-grand kitchen, and its two full-time gardeners, and my wife lives in two rooms and, it seems, can’t bring herself to make a phone call that might save her only daughter’s life. All that money I have weighed out to get her help, and she is still unable to open a letter or dial a fucking telephone. How fucking messed up is that? This new bloke she’s got on her case now – a right fucking arrogant cunt he is and all – is giving
me
lists of books I should be reading to acquaint myself with my wife’s condition. Well, I pointed out to him, in the nicest possible way, that I was paying him good money to do all of that
for
me, and there was an old saying: why have a fucking dog and bark your fucking self. I was very angry at the time, and I think he noticed that. Suffice to say, Declan, he soon got with the fucking project.’

He slowed the car down. They were on the Rainham road, and he parked in a layby. ‘We’re here. The farm entrance is down the end of this lane.’

Michael got out of the car. It was raining hard now. Opening up the boot, he took out a large handgun, and passed it to Declan. He took out a Glock 22 for himself. It was his weapon of choice – lightweight, and easy to use; it was also easy to dispose of. It could be stripped down to nothing.

‘I am so looking forward to meeting Mr Steven Golding, and blowing his fucking head right off.’

He shut the car boot carefully. He turned towards his old friend, and said gravely, ‘I will never forget how good you’ve been to me, Declan, through all of this. I really have appreciated how you’ve stood by me through everything. I know that you have talked me down on more than one occasion, and stopped me from screwing this up completely. I appreciate just how good a friend you are, Declan.’

Declan was moved by Michael’s words; he knew how hard it was for him to even say them. ‘Look, Michael, you know that I will always have your back.’

Michael grinned sadly. ‘Do you know the worst thing about this for me? The one thing that I’ve learnt from this shit is that it all means
nothing
. Everything that we’ve worked for, everything that we’ve achieved, all the fucking stunts we’ve pulled to get what we wanted from life, all that planning, and forward thinking, all those fucking years we put into it and it turned out that it was for sweet F A, sweet fuck-all. We chased the fucking dollar day and night, living the so-called dream! The leaders of everyone around us, responsible for every fucking earn, as well as the people who we allow to gather up said earn for us. And it was a fucking waste of time. We have squandered so much of our lives accumulating money, power,
things
and, in reality, neither of us has a single thing of use to show for any of it. How fucking sad is that?’

Declan shrugged theatrically, and he said with a laugh, ‘Well, when you put it like that, Michael . . .’

Michael was amazed to hear himself laughing, but he was. If anyone had said that he could have found any amusement in this situation he would have thought them mad. But Declan Costello had made him laugh, and that was something good. It felt so good to laugh, to really laugh, to find some humour at last.

They looked at each other for a few moments and then they walked side by side towards White Farm.