Blood Falls (41 page)

‘What if she’s at home?’

‘Lure her somewhere,’ Fenton suggested.

‘She’s not taking my calls.’

Leon snapped: ‘She must go shopping or something. Sit outside all morning if you have to. Just get it done.’

Glenn nodded miserably, perhaps realising that Leon was putting him out of harm’s way. ‘I don’t get what the plan is.’

‘We’re faking a suicide, same as with Alise. But I want Diana to think that Joe’s left of his own accord. Otherwise she’ll start making trouble, and then we’d have to deal with her.’ To make sure Glenn had got the message, he added: ‘The same goes for your ex-wife.’

Glenn’s mouth tightened but he didn’t protest; instead he exchanged a worried glance with Fenton. It happened so fast, they probably thought Leon hadn’t noticed.

Once Glenn had stalked out, Leon settled back and shut his eyes: the picture of relaxation. ‘All going nicely to plan, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘If you say so.’ Fenton sounded grumpy. ‘There are no guarantees with a faked suicide.’

‘We can learn from last time. They’re gonna drown him in the river first. High tide’s at two, so they’ll dump him just as it turns. And the currents from the Allwyn go way out into the Celtic Sea. Once he’s gone, he won’t be coming back.’ He opened his eyes, saw Fenton looking dubious. ‘With any luck, this storm will raise the river levels even higher.’

Right on cue, there was a soft thud outside: a large drop of water hitting the veranda. Then another. Then a heavy burst, drumming ferociously on the house. Leon beamed. Fenton gaped at him as though, just for a moment, he could believe that Leon had mystical powers.

The rain was so sudden, so intense that everyone stopped to listen.

Todd groaned. ‘We’re gonna get soaked.’

‘It’s good,’ Reece said. ‘There’ll be no one around.’

Joe knew precisely what they were planning, for Leon had explained it to him. First he’d been searched, relieved of his keys and his money, as well as the passport and driving licence in the name of ‘Joe Carter’. Leon had snorted as he examined the documents, as if he knew they were false.

Bruce put on a pair of latex gloves, left the room and returned with a sheet of writing paper and a pen. Leon pointed the gun at Joe’s chest.

‘Write a note for Diana, saying you’ve had to leave in a hurry. Tell her you’ve done all that you can here, something like that.’

‘She won’t believe it.’

‘All right.’ Leon gave him a knowing look. ‘Why don’t you say your past has caught up with you?’

Joe felt a coldness along his spine. Surely Leon couldn’t have found out about the Mortons?

‘I can see that’s hit home,’ Leon said. ‘Now get writing.’

No
, Joe thought.
If they knew, they wouldn’t be doing this. They’d hand me over
.

‘What if I refuse?’ he asked, with an involuntary glance at Reece.

Leon saw it and said lightly, ‘Oh, we won’t torture you. We’ll torture Diana instead.’

It wasn’t a bluff. Joe knew Diana would only be safe if she accepted his sudden departure as genuine. He had no choice but to write a convincing note.

Once it was done, Leon made him place it in an envelope, then took it off him. He said, ‘This is self-defence, remember that. Same as with Alise. You brought it on yourself.’

Joe didn’t bother to respond. Clearly irked, Leon left the room, taking the gun with him. Evidently confident that three of his men were more than capable of dealing with Joe – either that or the gun was a fake, in which case Joe would bitterly regret not having made a fight of it.

For the next stage, Todd fetched a chair and tied Joe to it, padding
his wrists and ankles with towels so the cuffs wouldn’t leave marks on his skin. The whole time Joe could feel violence radiating from Reece and Todd: it was taking every ounce of their self-control not to lash out.

Bruce was a lot more matter-of-fact. ‘I should get an Oscar,’ he declared. ‘I suckered him big time.’

It was Bruce who did the honours with the vodka, while Reece stood behind the chair, holding Joe’s head in place.

‘Little sips are fine,’ Bruce said, easing the neck of the bottle up to Joe’s mouth.

‘No hurry,’ Reece added. ‘We’re waiting for high tide.’

Joe took an involuntary nip of vodka. Thought about spitting it out but knew there would be another after that, and another; so he swallowed. He had no choice. They weren’t going to force it down his throat, because that would make him vomit. Small sips were just as effective …

Half a dozen and he felt agreeably light-headed. At least he’d be going out happy.

He fought against that idea. He had to stay sharp. Think of what he had to lose: his daughters. His wife.

Today he might be gone from the world, and no one who cared would ever know what had become of him.

Seventy-Four

TWO HOURS AFTER
it began the rain was still pelting down. Wishing she’d gone out earlier, Diana took the car and parked on double yellow lines in the High Street. All she needed was milk and sandwich meat from the Co-op. The shop was all but deserted, and she was back home within ten minutes.

Glenn’s Toyota was on the driveway. Diana parked next to it, turned her engine off and sat for a moment, composing herself. Then it occurred to her that he was nowhere to be seen.

As she got out of the car, the front door opened. Glenn saw her and froze. Braced against the wind, she put her head down and ran inside, forcing him to retreat into the hall. He was hiding something behind his back.

She wiped the rain from her face, then gave him the full blast of her fury. ‘What are you doing here? How the hell did you get in?’

Shamefaced, he displayed a key in his palm.

‘That’s not yours. And what have you got there?’

Slowly he brought the other arm into view. He was holding a carrier bag, bulging with clothes.

Joe’s clothes
.

A brief battle ensued. Her heart said throw him out. Her head said get some answers first.

‘Kitchen,’ she said, snatching the bag from his grasp.

But the kitchen brought another shock. A sheet of paper rested innocently on the table. Purportedly from Joe, claiming his past had caught up with him and he’d had to flee.

Diana turned on Glenn. ‘I don’t believe Joe wrote this. Not if you brought it here. And you used his key …’ She tailed off, saw the hopelessness in his eyes as he stood in the centre of her kitchen: such an imposing presence, a man she had loved and yet knew nothing about.

Glenn gave her a pleading look:
Don’t make me explain
. ‘It’s all gone to shit, Di.’

She had another insight: ‘You waited till I was out?’

He nodded. Glanced at the unit and said with feeling: ‘Christ, I need a drink.’

‘Then put the kettle on. I’m not your skivvy.’

‘I mean a
drink
.’

‘Go on, then.’ She reasoned that, by staying calm, she stood a greater chance of finding out the truth, and ultimately helping Joe.

She sat down, brooding while Glenn hunted for the brandy. Without being asked, he brought two glasses over. Poured a generous measure into each. Diana regarded hers with distaste.

‘Where is Joe?’

‘I don’t know.’ A long pause. ‘Leon wants rid of him.’

‘Rid of him how?’

Glenn sat down, drained his glass in a single gulp and poured another. ‘Just … getting him out of town.’

Diana’s eyes narrowed. She realised that even now, after all that had happened, she wanted to believe him.

‘Joe told me about Alise. What Leon did to her. It’s all true, isn’t it? Alise’s sister, and the girl Roy was looking for …’ Her voice had become too shaky to continue. She swallowed a mouthful of brandy and grimaced. ‘Were you involved?’

‘No!’ He turned away, wounded. ‘We both know what Roy thought, but there’s never been any proof.’

‘There is now. There’s Alise, beaten up and left for dead. And I want to know if you took part in that.’

Glenn shook his head. ‘I swear I had nothing to do with it. I’m guilty of lots of things, Di. Guilty of being weak, and stupid. Guilty of turning a blind eye when I shouldn’t have. But I’ve never gone near the sort of stuff Leon does.’ He shuddered. ‘Him and Clive Fenton.’

‘What about Derek Cadwell? Does he just “turn a blind eye”, or is he an active part of the conspiracy?’

‘He’s close to them. Closer to Fenton than he is to Leon, probably. But they’re all rotten. Rotten to the core.’

Ashamed, he stared at his brandy as though it could provide the answer he needed. Diana let him brood for a minute. Having initially faked a sense of composure, she now felt genuinely calm.

‘You have a big decision to make,’ she said.

Glenn went for the brandy but Diana got there first, moving it beyond his reach. He didn’t protest; just glanced at her, then hung his head again. A savage gust of wind threw rain at the house.

‘Leon’s lost the plot. He won’t listen to any of us. Yesterday he made a complete frigging disaster out of—’ He stopped.

‘What?’

‘Doesn’t matter. Just something he buggered up.’ A heartfelt sigh. ‘I’m tempted to walk out.’

‘Then do it.’

‘It’s not just that.’ Now he met her eye. ‘The past couple of days it’s really hit home, you and me splitting up. I don’t want to lose what we had.’

‘And what did we have?’

Glenn heard the coolness of her tone, and seemed surprised by it. ‘I don’t …’

‘It was a happy coincidence, was it, you seducing me just as Roy made a nuisance of himself?’

‘Who put that idea in your head?’ He snorted. ‘Joe, I suppose?’

‘Tell me the truth. Was it Leon’s idea?’

Glenn gazed longingly at the bottle of brandy. Diana had it clutched in her hand as though ready to club him with it.

‘He suggested that I should … get to know you. But I fell for you, Di. Honestly. Hook, line and sinker. Leon wasn’t happy about that. After Roy died he told me to end it, but I refused.’ To her dismay, he couldn’t resist injecting pride into his voice.

‘I betrayed my husband in the worst possible way, and now I find out the whole thing was engineered by
Leon bloody Race
.’

‘I’m truly sorry. But my feelings for you were genuine. Would I still be here if they weren’t?’

He reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. Diana found that she didn’t have the strength to push him away.

‘You can’t let this happen, Glenn. You have to do the decent thing.’

He grunted. ‘I’m surprised you still think I’m capable of that.’

‘So am I. Maybe it’s the brandy talking.’

‘You’ve hardly touched yours.’ His fingers tightened around hers. ‘We did have some good times, didn’t we? Best relationship I’ve ever had.’

‘Then do what you can for Joe,’ she said. ‘For the sake of a fresh start.’

Glenn stared at her for a long time. ‘You mean that?’

She nodded. He checked his watch, and Diana automatically looked at hers. It was twenty to two.

‘I need to make a phone call,’ he said.

Seventy-Five

THEY FED HIM
the vodka, slowly and patiently, for what seemed like hours. Joe had no choice but to submit to it. Any hope of survival he had lay not in violent resistance, but in the skills he’d perfected in his former life.

An undercover cop is essentially an actor, and Joe had prided himself on his ability to inhabit a character, living as a criminal among criminals, for days or weeks at a time. That had often meant drinking heavily, matching his associates pint for pint, but in a situation where any slip-up could be fatal he’d developed a strategy to avoid becoming hopelessly drunk.

During the first stage his surface persona would exhibit the full effects of the alcohol, while underneath the real Joe remained sober and sharp. To achieve this, he set himself memory challenges and conducted mental arithmetic, even as his eyes lost focus and his mouth became slack.

He’d had a bacon sandwich for breakfast, plus two cups of coffee with milk. Not a bad intake in terms of fat and protein to line his stomach, though a fry-up would have been better still.

With just an inch of vodka left in the bottle, Bruce fetched a box of paracetamol and a mortar and pestle. He began to grind the tablets into powder, whistling like a busy chef.

Reece objected. ‘It’s too early. He could be dead before we get there.’

‘So what?’

‘That’s not the plan.’

‘Ask Clive?’ Todd suggested, after the other two had spent a long minute glowering at each other.

Reece sloped away and returned looking smugly vindicated. ‘We’ll give him the last bit once we get there.’

Joe was glad to hear it. He had a method for fighting the booze, but not pills.

‘I need a piss,’ he declared, his voice slurred, but not too slurred. When playing drunk, he knew the tendency was always to overdo it.

‘Fuck off.’ Reece consulted his watch, and told the others: ‘We’re about ready to go.’

‘Imeanit,’ Joe said, lolling his head slightly. ‘Gotta go now. Or wet myself.’

Bruce groaned. ‘I don’t want him pissing in the Range Rover.’

‘What if he tries something?’ Reece complained.

‘What?’

‘We should keep him cuffed.’

‘So how’s he gonna …?’

‘I ain’t holding it for him,’ Todd said quickly. ‘Or going in with him.’

Bruce took the lead. ‘For Christ’s sake. As long as he can’t get out the window. There’s three of us. Better to let him take a leak so we don’t have to clean up the car.’

Reece nodded reluctantly. He kept a close eye on Joe as the other two removed the cuffs and hauled him to his feet. Joe felt his head spin and realised he was quite genuinely inebriated: never mind the performance. And yet there was also the sober core of him, perhaps half in control: like a car being operated by a learner driver and an instructor at the same time.

* * *

They led him into a bedroom with an internal en-suite shower room: no windows, no escape route.
One up to them
.

Being macho men, none of them wanted to get too close to the doorway after they shoved him inside. He stumbled back against the door, flicking his heel to make sure it shut while giving the impression it was down to clumsiness.