Black Widow (31 page)

It was an attack designed to evoke panic.

They broke down the door of the little house near the Albert Docks at one o’clock in the morning, storming in, shouting and screaming and brandishing weapons. They ran down the hall into the kitchen, kicking open doors into the lounge, the cellar, what had once been a dining room. They ran up the stairs, kicking open more doors, bounding into rooms, intent on mayhem, on sudden surprise, on making anyone in there freeze with fear and not have time to try to harm the girl or use her as a shield.

The one in charge stood up there in the empty bedroom, looking around him in disgust. Nothing. No one.

Fuck it.

One of the boys came up the stairs behind him.

‘They haven’t been gone long. Trash in the bin. Stove’s been used.’

A miss is as good as a mile
, thought the one in charge.

’You want us to do door-to-door round the area?

‘Yeah,’ he sighed. ‘Do it.’

‘Two days and we’ll be out of here,’ said Danny confidently.

They were in a scruffy family safe house near Epping Forest. Vita sat at the kitchen table with her watercolours. Phil was leaning against the worktop, sipping tea. They said nothing.

‘We’re nearly home and dry.’

There was no response.

‘We get the money, drop the kid off, smooth as silk. Well, ain’t you got nothing to say about it?’ Danny asked Vita, nudging her shoulder.

Vita pulled a face. ‘Just that I’ll be fucking glad when all this is over,’ she said.

‘Now
what’s bit you up the arse?’ hollered Danny. ‘Christ, you’re a moody cow.’

‘I hate this place. I’ve hated all the places we’ve been in, they’re pigsties.’

‘They
got
to be, Dumbo. What, you think we
should stay in some posh neighbourhood where people would say, who the hell are they, mooching about? And tell the fuzz all about it? It’s quiet here, out in the sticks, it’s ideal.’

‘I just want it all over,’ said Vita, dabbing at a duck’s wing with a little turquoise paint.

Amen to that
, thought Phil. The pair of them were arguing again. They were always arguing. Nutters, both of them. Talk about bad blood. Vita was half-simple but Danny was
seriously
demented. Killing that couple on the island, that had been bad. And harming the kid had been worse. He hadn’t signed up for anything like that. He looked at Danny and thought,
Mad bastard.

‘You got something to say?’ Danny asked Phil with a challenging grin.

Phil shrugged. ‘Not a thing,’ he said.

‘Well, good,’ said Danny, and poured himself some tea, thinking that really everything was working out just fine.

By Friday he would have more money than he’d ever had before, and that felt good. He might give Vita a small share, but he wasn’t planning on letting Phil have any. In fact, he was planning on giving Phil a very nasty surprise, a
terminal
sort of surprise, poor old Phil. And of course, he wasn’t going to hand over the kid. It was a pity, but after all, it made perfect sense. She had seen his face. And he couldn’t have that.

Constantine got the call at dawn on Friday morning. He was an early riser—most of the family were—so he was already up and in the study, talking to Lucco, when the conversation with his son was interrupted by the phone. Lucco listened to his father speaking and his lips grew tight. He was getting everyone working hard to help the Carter woman. Lucco knew why. Lucco had seen her and, more important, he had seen the two of them together.

‘What you got?’ Constantine asked the man on the phone.

‘We got an address. A Byrne cousin’s got a house out in the wilds near Epping. We got it staked out, from a safe distance.’ He gave Constantine the address. ‘I’ve seen two guys going in and out, no one else. What you want us to do?’

‘Hold back. Keep watch. I’m coming.’

Constantine put the phone down and stood up. ‘Got to go, Lucco,’ he said. ‘Business.’

Lucco nodded. ‘For the Carter woman, yes?’

‘For Mrs Carter.’ Constantine looked at Lucco, sitting there, pouting like a truculent five year old. ‘You got a problem?’

Lucco shrugged and stood up. ‘No, not at all,’ he lied. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

Constantine watched his son leave the room. Lucco. Dark and deep, just like Maria, his mother, had been. He had loved that trait in Maria, loved her mystery, her sensuality. Annie Carter had that quality too. You never knew which way she was going to jump, you only knew that her direction would surprise you. He liked that. He liked
her.

But shit—he’d blown his chances with her, big time.

And anyway, for today, the girl must be his priority.

Annie, Dolly, Aretha, Darren, and Ellie were having breakfast. Annie was sunk in gloom. Today was
it.
At midday the kidnapper would phone her.

Within the next hour she had to get her arse over to Constantine’s and do the deed. Last chance. Get the cash from him. Christ knew he could spare it; he was loaded. Save Layla. Or, if not, lose Layla for good.

Dolly was moaning on about Una not showing up for work again.

‘Friday’s party day. I’ve told her time and again, we need to get everything in place ready for the party, no hanging around in bed and no going out on the piss on Thursday nights with your druggie mates, but does she listen? Does she fuck as like.’

‘Hey, no sweat, I can fill in,’ said Aretha, glancing at Annie with a sigh.

Ross stuck his head round the kitchen door. He was holding out a note and he looked narked.

‘Another one of these bloody things just came. For you again.’ He held it out to Annie.

What the fuck now?
she wondered, taking it. Another fifteen minutes and she’d have been on the road to Constantine’s place, all primed and ready to do the deed and bag the money.
Now
what?

‘What’s it say?’ asked Darren.

Annie looked up at him briefly.

Poor bloody Darren. His eyes looked sunken. His hair, once so lustrous, was dry. He coughed all the time now—a dry, hacking cough. No clients now. He wasn’t up to that; didn’t even look good enough to attempt it any more.

Her eyes drifted on to meet Aretha’s, and she saw her own concern for Darren reflected there. And on to Ellie. Ellie the traitor, given another chance by Dolly, who was so kind, the best friend any woman could ever have; and look at the shit Annie had brought to her door, and yet still,
still
, Dolly hadn’t turned her away.

She looked at the note from Constantine. Spread it out on the table. She was now so panicked, so completely driven by dread, that she found it hard to break the code. Possibly because he was saying something different this time.
Oh sure
, she thought. Like,
Your arse is mine.
But then, she knew that already.

She had to force herself to concentrate, to break the very simple code. A was four, B was five. She read it, very slowly, struggling with the numbers and the words this time because she was in a dark place in which her baby could die unless she complied with Constantine’s demands.

Well, she had already decided that she was going to do it. She had a second bite of the cherry, and she had to take it. She knew that.

She would read this note, and then she would go over to Holland Park, get it over with. Get the money. Get Layla. Please God, let her get Layla.

‘Come on, Annie, don’t keep us in suspense, what’s it say?’ demanded Dolly, craning over to get a look.

Annie’s jaw had slowly dropped as she deciphered Constantine’s latest
pizzino.

‘Annie?’ Ellie was staring at her. ‘What is it, what’s wrong?’

‘Come on, girl,’ urged Aretha, eyes wide with worry. ‘Tell us, for fuck’s sake. What is it? Is it…is it bad…?’

Annie looked up and her eyes were full of shock.

The kitchen was silent.

‘He’s found them,’ she said numbly. ‘He’s only gone and fucking found them. The address is right here.’

And the kitchen erupted in yells and screams, such a frenzy of delight that Ross came charging
in and asked what the
fuck
had happened now? But they only laughed. All except Annie, whose shock had deepened to nothing less than abject fear.

What if Layla was dead already?

Yes, she had spoken to her on the phone, but they could have done it straight afterwards. Killed her. Too much trouble to let her live, to deliver her back to her mother. They’d already hurt her. They were animals. Scum. Pond life.

She looked at the note again while all the others whooped and leapt around the kitchen in a mad cacophony of joy.

‘I’ve got to get there,’ she said dazedly, clinging on to the merest chance that Layla might still be in the land of the living. She stood up, shaking, and went into the hall to get her coat.

‘Wait a sodding minute,’ said Dolly. ‘If you’re going, we’re coming with you.’

‘Yeah,’ said Ellie and Darren together.

‘Damn sure,’ nodded Aretha.

‘No,’ said Annie, already in the hall, shrugging on her coat, Ross standing there looking at them all as if they’d finally flipped.

‘Yes,’ said Dolly.

Annie didn’t have time to argue the toss. She hesitated, then said: ‘Wait.’

She tore up the stairs and into Dolly’s room. Flung open the knicker drawer, took out the Smith
& Wesson, checked it was properly loaded, checked the safety was on, shoved it in her coat pocket. Then she ran back down the stairs and straight out of the front door.

They all ran after her. They barrelled up to the Jag, parked at the pavement with Tony sitting there, reading his paper behind the wheel.

Annie piled in the front, Dolly and her workers jumped in the back.

‘What the f—?’ asked Tony, dropping his paper.

Annie told him where they were going, and why.

‘Fucking hell,’ said Tony. He gunned the engine and shot out into the traffic with the Jag’s wheels screaming in protest. He didn’t even apologize for the language.

Danny was going to make the call at twelve noon, tell the Carter woman where to drop off the money, and no funny business or else she wouldn’t get her daughter back, alive or dead.

Now it was nearly eleven, and he was getting sort of nervous.

After all, it wasn’t every day you took possession of half a million pounds.

He sat there at the kitchen table and daydreamed pleasurably about what he would do with it. Jimmy would take his share and Vita would get a small cut: that was okay. But he’d need the rest, get a nice place abroad in the sun, get a car, get all the pussy he could
eat
, it would be fucking amazing.

‘Today’s the day then, yeah?’ Vita said behind him, washing up dishes, making all that bloody noise, clattering stuff about. Jesus, she was a pain in the arse.

‘Yeah,’ he grunted, looking at the pistol in front of him on the table, its clip already loaded, ready for action.

‘I’ll be glad when it’s all over,’ said Vita for about the zillionth time.

‘Yeah,’ said Danny.

‘It’s been hard,’ said Vita. ‘And, let’s face it, you ain’t made it any easier.’

Why doesn’t she ever just shut the fuck up?
wondered Danny.

‘You got to admit that’s the truth, Dan,’ she went on.

Danny imagined picking the pistol up, half turning in his seat, and blowing Vita’s tiny, troublesome pea brain straight out of that window over the sink. Now he remembered why he’d left home so early. Their mum had been a nag too. In fact, all the women in his family seemed to have a talent for mindless high-pitched chatter—except Una, who was so spaced out of her head most of the time that she said very little.

Jeanette was nearly unbearable, gabbling on yack-yack-yack all day and night. She might have a good body but, let’s face it, her brain was screwed.

His poor old dad. A nag for a wife, and three stupid daughters, and just the one son, the one boy he could rely on.

Danny sat there feeling good about himself, even though reliability had never been his strong suit.
He didn’t know how his father had ever stood it, but then Dad had been in and out of the nick for most of his life, mercifully, and his stays at home had usually been brief. His father had died inside, heart attack. Well, that wasn’t going to happen to
him
, thought Danny. He was going to finish this one big job, then take the money and run as far and as fast as it would take him. Which was pretty fucking far, he believed.

‘Dan? You’re not saying much,’ said Vita, turning away from the sink to look at him.

‘That’s because I never get a fucking
chance
,’ said Danny. ‘How’s anyone supposed to get a word in edgeways with you always carping on?’

‘Hey—it wasn’t
my
idea to get into all this,’ said Vita hotly. ‘And it wasn’t
my
idea to start cutting bits off the fucking kid either. I tell you straight, Dan, I don’t like that one bit.’

‘Will you for once let that fucking rest?’ Danny stood up and loomed over his sister, his finger poking the air for emphasis. ‘If you remember clearly, Vee, it was
you
who nearly lost the kid altogether; it was you who was fucking
stupid
enough to let her see your face—and mine, incidentally, and do you think
I’m
about to throw a party over that? You’ve got no right to stand there telling me what you
do
and what you
don’t like
!’

‘Well, there’s no need to fucking shout at me like that,’ yelled Vita.

‘There’s
every
need, Vee,’ roared back Danny. ‘You know what Mum ought to have called you? Eh, Vita? She should have called you fucking
Titanic
, because you’re a bloody disaster.’

‘Well, fuck you,’ screamed Vita, hurling a plate into the sink where it smashed loudly. ‘You think I ever wanted to be part of this crazy scheme? You think I was pleased when you and Jeanette cooked this up with her fucking boyfriend, that fly bastard Jimmy Bond?’

‘Well, you were keen enough to join in when you thought about the money!’
And that’s kind of funny, because you ain’t seeing a penny of it now, you mouthy cow
, he thought.

‘I signed up for the money, sure. But not for torturing innocent people. Not for cutting kids about. Not for that.’

Phil Fibbert had come soft-footed into the room, and here they were again. Shouting and screaming. Fighting. He reckoned they’d been doing it since the cradle, and would be doing it right up until they were tucked into their respective graves. Christ, he was so
sick
of hearing them ranting at each other.

This time he didn’t hesitate.

He picked up the pistol from the table and with calm consideration he shot Danny through the back of the head. Danny’s dead body shot forward against his sister, who started screaming in earnest,
so Phil took aim and shot her too, straight between the eyes.

Silence fell.

Blissful, wonderful silence.

Phil liked silence.

He looked at the bodies, slumped on the floor. He frowned. He hadn’t intended to
kill
them, but they’d been shouting and screaming and it was all like being small again, like being the small helpless boy he had once been, watching his mum and his dad, coming back roaring drunk from the pub and tearing lumps out of each other. He had cringed on the stairs as a child, watching, fearful, unable to sleep, unable to move, afraid they would kill each other—but at least, he had started to think, if they
did
, then it would be quiet.

It was certainly quiet now.

He loved the quiet.

He looked again at the bodies, piled up there by the sink. Looked at Vita’s half-finished painting of the Mandarin ducks on the table, her brush still standing in the sludge-coloured cup of water. She’d never finish it now.

A sound made him turn, look towards the door into the hall.

Layla was standing there, looking at the bodies. Her dark hair was tousled, and her bandaged hand was at her mouth. She looked very small. Her eyes, huge and dark green, met his.

Phil sighed.

He wasn’t wearing his hood.

That
stupid
bloody Vita had left the kid’s door unbolted again.

Oh
fuck.

Now he was going to have to do it for real. He was going to make the call to the Carter woman instead of Danny, that was not a problem, but first he was going to have to kill the child. And then he’d have to get rid of the bodies, Vita’s and Danny’s—and now Layla’s too, which was a damned shame, but there it was. Bury them all out in the woods somewhere: that was the thing to do.

He turned the pistol in her direction.

But she was quick.

Layla saw the gun swinging her way, and she ran.