The Make (33 page)

Chapter 81

They decided to reaffirm their wedding vows in a small ceremony at the newly refurbished Savoy in June. George and Alfie were blissfully happy, living together in their little flat, and Suze was cruising the net for a new love. Harry and Em were out in Hong Kong, doing a lot of rooftop sunbathing, but they would be coming back to attend the ceremony. Em’s mother Jackie was going to get an invitation too.

Meanwhile, April was turning into May; all the trees were budding, the sun was shining and there was a biting north-easterly breeze blowing as Lorcan parked the BMW and walked alone into the reception area of the large unit. The weary-looking DI Sanderson, whom he’d encountered back in December of last year, was there waiting for him. They shook hands.

‘Thought you’d want to see this,’ said the detective.

‘Thanks, but I’m not sure I do,’ said Lorcan.

‘Come on.’

Sanderson led the way. Lorcan followed. There were locked gates, entry systems and buzzers. Security guards thinly disguised in white jackets to look like nurses, padding by in white coats and crêpe-soled shoes. Finally they came to a room at the end of a long hallway and were met by a bulky dark-haired man wearing a short-sleeved white tunic, like a dentist’s. The male nurse/guard unlocked the door, pushed it open, walked inside. He smiled at the man who was sitting in the chair, gazing out of the securely barred window into the small courtyard garden beyond. There were apple trees out there, blossoming in a froth of pink and white; and camellias, their blooms turned brown by frost.

The man in the chair wore a pale blue dressing gown and pyjamas. He looked up as the three men came in and Lorcan felt his guts shrivel with a tremor of dread. Deano Drax was staring up at him. Lorcan felt every muscle in his body tense. The last time he had seen this man he had been raging, threatening; a huge, blundering force of evil.

‘This is Detective Sanderson, and this is Mr Connolly,’ said the nurse, moving forward to pull the blinds back a little further. ‘Pretty out there, ain’t it, Deano? You like the garden, don’t you?’

Lorcan forced himself to return Deano Drax’s stare. Deano’s head bore heavy scars and a deep indentation.

I did that
, thought Lorcan and, although it was a sickening sight, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Extensive brain damage had been the diagnosis on Deano. Transportation to a secure mental unit had been the inevitable solution.

Lorcan felt a tremor of unease run through him at the sight of Deano. He’d inflicted the damage, but given those circumstances he knew he would do the same again if he had to.

Deano was still looking up at him. And . . . now Lorcan could see that a change had been wrought in him, a
radical
change. Deano’s eyes, once demonic, threatening, full of hatred and bile, now had the peaceful and untroubled expression of a child. They looked at Lorcan as a five-year-old might – curiously, expecting treats, toys, good things.

‘Connolly,’ said Deano, repeating what the nurse had said.

Lorcan shivered slightly as Deano spoke. Even his voice was different. But was it an act? Was it all pretence?

Lorcan swallowed hard, cleared his throat. ‘I’m married to Gracie Doyle,’ he said. ‘Her brothers are George and Harry Doyle.’

The ones you were determined to hound to the point of death and beyond
, he thought.

But Deano’s eyes were clear, without recognition.

He looked at his nurse, as if searching for reassurance. Then he looked again at the detective, and finally at Lorcan. ‘Will they come and see me?’ he asked, and his face held nothing but childish hope. New playmates might be on offer.

Lorcan glanced at Detective Sanderson. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said.

Deano’s smile drooped a little. ‘Oh.’

‘Never mind, Deano. We’ll play roulette after lunch,’ said the nurse.

Lorcan felt his guts clench hard. ‘Roulette?’ he echoed.

‘We got a little mini-roulette wheel out in the day room,’ explained the nurse with a smile at Lorcan. ‘Deano loves to play that thing, don’t you Deano?’

Deano nodded.

Finally, Lorcan began to relax a little. The Deano he’d encountered was gone. It was true. There was nothing left of the killing machine that had once existed.

Deano was looking at him. ‘Will you come back and see me?’ he asked.

Lorcan took a long breath. ‘Maybe,’ he said, although he knew he never would.

‘Will you bring Alfie?’

Lorcan felt all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when Deano said that. Holy
shit.
A thrill of deep unease crawled its way up his spine. But he looked into Deano’s eyes and saw only innocent enquiry, not malice.

Drax still remembered Alfie.

Such had been the extreme nature of his obsession with the boy, Alfie’s name – and maybe also Alfie’s image – had become lodged in the shattered remnants of Drax’s brain. Lorcan felt a stirring of pity for the man then. Somehow, in his twisted way, perhaps Drax had
loved
Alfie. But, being so damaged himself, he had blundered through life damaging others, perhaps unwilling to change the pattern, perhaps unable to.

Lorcan cleared his throat, shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I won’t be bringing Alfie.’

Sanderson stirred at his side. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Bye then, Deano,’ and they were ushered from the room, led back along the long hallway and out to reception.

‘Happier now?’ the detective asked him.

‘Yeah,’ said Lorcan, feeling like someone had just lifted a huge weight from his shoulders. The old Deano would have kept coming forever. But that Deano was dead.

‘We won’t meet again,’ said the detective. ‘Goodbye, Mr Connolly.’

‘Bye. And thanks.’

They shook hands. Lorcan went outside, and got into the BMW. Gracie was there in the passenger seat, staring at him anxiously.

She could have gone in there, seen Deano, if she’d wanted. But the very idea had made the flesh creep off her bones. She was relieved that – apart from the remaining nightmare that was Deano Drax – everything was starting to settle down at last and make sense. The insurance was going to pay up on the fire damage, now that it was clear that Drax’s people had started the fire at Doyles and not her. The frontage had been rebuilt, and Gracie had met with Brynn to let him know that she wasn’t coming back to work there.

The news had saddened Brynn, but it meant that her marriage was back on track, so he was pleased for her and happy to take over as general manager. She’d been standing at the door of Doyles, just before she’d been off to the estate agent’s to put her flat on the market, saying goodbye to Brynn, when she had a thought about something Lorcan had said.

‘Brynn, there’s something I want to ask you,’ she said.

‘Go ahead.’

‘Lorcan pays some boys a skim, for protection.’

‘Right.’

‘We don’t do that. Do we?’

Brynn was silent. Staring at the ground.

‘
Do
we?’

Brynn’s eyes lifted and met hers.

‘Shit,’ said Gracie. ‘We do.’

‘Paddy let them take the skim right up until he died,’ said Brynn. ‘Kept it out of your way ’cos he thought you might disapprove. Then I just took over. They come to the count room, take their wedge and leave. No problems. They still do. Sorry, Gracie.’

So Lorcan was right. She
was
like a babe in the woods. She hadn’t had a
clue.

‘They didn’t protect us very damned well, did they? We had the fire,’ she pointed out.

‘Yeah, but I thought about that. Probably they had business connections with Drax. Couldn’t step on his toes too hard.’

Gracie sat in the car now with Lorcan, thinking about Drax’s filthy tentacles reaching out across the country to touch her, hurt her. It was a gorgeous day, but just being here and knowing Drax was near blighted it.

She shivered, reached out, grabbed Lorcan’s hand.

‘Come on, tell me,’ she said anxiously. ‘What’s he like?’

Lorcan looked her straight in the eye.

‘It’s over, Gracie. He won’t be a danger to anyone any more.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yeah.’
But he remembered Alfie.

What else might Drax one day remember?

‘Thank God,’ said Gracie, and leaned over and kissed him.

Lorcan kissed her back, running his hand lovingly over the small, perfect bump of her pregnancy. Whatever happened in the future, he was here for her and for their child, to protect them and love them.

‘Come on then,’ she said against his lips with a warm smile. ‘Let’s go home.’

[END]

Acknowledgments

A whole host of people helped me in many ways to complete this book – if I’ve missed you out, forgive me – you know what I’m like. Thanks to old friends and new – to Lynne and Steve for just being there; to Karen and Paul; and to Albert and Rosie for teaching me, for the first time, to love dogs. To Louise Marley for endless email encouragement, and Sue Kemish for the laugh-out-loud doorstep chats. To Sarah Ritherdon for her kindness, incisive editing and that lovely sunlit lunch at the River Cafe, and to Judith Murdoch for . . . oh, just about everything, really.

About the Author

Jessie Keane is the bestselling author of
Dirty Game
and
Black Widow. Scarlet Women
, the third in the Annie Carter trilogy, shot straight into the Sunday Times bestseller list. Her most recent novel is
Jail Bird
. Jessie lives in Hampshire.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

Also by Jessie Keane

Dirty Game

Black Widow

Scarlet Women

Jail Bird

Copyright © Jessie Keane 2011

Jessie Keane asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978-0-00-734939-5

EPub Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780007332922

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.