The Devil To Pay (Hennessey.)

by Marnie Perry

  Lando said scathingly, ‘so you met Hennessey and he swept you off your feet with his charm, so what happened then?’

  Her head snapped up the hurt look swiftly replaced by a haughty one. ‘We all make mistakes, Mr Lando…don’t we.’ She finished pointedly.

  He gave that eyebrow raise again taken aback by her sudden burst of spirit, then he scowled. She felt awful and rushed on, ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Lando, it’s just that no one likes to be reminded of their stupidity, and I’ve been stupid enough for all of Alban put together.’

  He was surprised by her apology he had deserved her rebuke, but he said nothing and she added, ‘I fell for his charms yes, I believed him, trusted him and paid for it.’ She took another deep breath and told him, tentatively at first, what had happened, how he had sneakily extracted a promise from her to tell her secret. She lowered her eyes when she told him this part, ashamed of herself.

  She told him how she had gone to Dean Maxwell’s shop and caught Hennessey beating Dean and her subsequent interrogation by the police.

  So that was who Dean was he thought, an innocent caught up in this little web of deceit and lies and violence.

  She told him that she had given Detective Leyton the raincoat Hennessey had loaned her and how excited Leyton had been because of the name that was in it. Duncan Blakemore.

  Lando who had been sitting listening intently and impassively suddenly sat up abruptly as though she’d upped and slapped him. He barked, ‘what?’

  She was surprised and a little frightened at the expression on his face, a cold almost threatening look and his voice was stone hard but low as he demanded, ‘what name did you say?’

  ‘Duncan Blakemore.’ She replied nervously not liking the look he was giving her.

  He could not hide the shock he felt and he stared at her incredulous.

  He swore under his breath and looked away across the room as if trying to see something that wasn’t there. He stayed that way for a long time and for the first time she saw actual emotion on his face, repulsion, pain and hate, he looked dangerous.

  Eventually his eyes returned to her as he snapped, ‘what else did Leyton tell you?’

  ‘Nothing, only he seemed very interested in, and excited about, the coat.

  ‘What did he do with the coat?’

  ‘He took it with him for forensic examination so he said.’

  Lando nodded and Adela told him that Detective Leyton had told her that Hennessey had

  used credit cards in various names.

  But Lando did not seem to be listening; he seemed very preoccupied with his thoughts so she waited.

  Lando had no television or radio and never brought newspapers or mixed with the locals in Alban or anywhere else come to that, he did however pay periodic visits to Montgomery and there caught up with the news of the day so he knew about Blakemore’s murder.

  For the first time in a long time he had almost laughed out loud when he had seen the news bulletin. How many times had he wished that guy dead and out of this world, put six feet under when he could harm no more kids with his drug dealing and child porn rings? He had secretly hoped that Blakemore’s killer would never be found. He knew as a cop, or even an ex- cop he shouldn’t think this way, a man had been murdered. Still, he wasn’t a cop any more so he could think what he damn well liked. But in all probability he had stood face to face with Blakemore’s killer.

  He wondered now what he would have done if he had known.

  CHAPTER 35.

  Adela watched Lando’s face as it flitted from shock to interest to something like satisfaction. She wondered if he had known Blakemore, Lando had been a cop after all so maybe he had had dealings with him. He looked distracted and thoughtful and she had the idea that he was no longer interested in her story, that he had even forgotten she was there, so she sat studying him.

  She had been correct before when she had thought him handsome, he was, but the tight lines around his mouth and the hardness of his features somehow made one miss that. He looked tired and fatigued yet his eyes were bright and wide awake. They were very dark brown, so dark you could not see the iris, they were hard eyes you could see that immediately. But on closer inspection you could see something else there too, sadness and heartache. So engrossed in her study of him was she that she jumped when he spoke rather abruptly, ‘did Leyton tell you anything else?’

  It took a moment to bring herself back to their conversation. She said, ‘No. But later Hennessey told me that he had killed Blakemore, he did not seem at all concerned, on the contrary he seemed very proud of himself. He also told me that he had killed another man who was reputedly Blakemore’s partner, a man called Stanton.’

  Again he raised his eyebrows and said, ‘Stanton?’

  She nodded, ‘yes.’

  ‘Hennessey told you this?’

  ‘Yes. He said that his client had got two for the price of one on that particular assignment. That’s what he called his killing sprees, assignments.’ She finished with distaste.

  He looked away as if thinking about this his mouth set in a grim line then said, ‘I’m surprised that Leyton would tell you about Hennessey’s fake names.’

  She wondered if he didn’t believe that Leyton had told her anything, he might think that she was involved somehow, just as Hennessey wanted.

  She said, ‘he didn’t want to but I insisted. I told him I needed to know as much as I could about Hennessey.’

  He could understand why she might want to know, the worse Hennessey looked. The more heinous his crimes the sooner she would see him as he really was, a criminal, a killer. And the worse he looked the easier it would be to stop thinking of him as a charming, attentive lover and the quicker she could get over him and move on. But why a detective would impart important information to a witness like that he didn’t know. But then maybe this Leyton thought that she knew more than she was telling, that Hennessey had told her something, maybe inadvertently. Or perhaps he thought she was in on it with Hennessey. His gaze was considering as he said, ‘so after Leyton left what happened?’

  This was the part she did not want to talk about; she looked away from his intense gaze and tried to gather her thoughts and her courage. He watched her make a monumental effort to pull herself together. She swallowed deeply then began to tell him about the night Hennessey had abducted her in her cabin, how they had fought, about the journey and the shack. She told him how Hennessey had told her that he was an assassin and that she was his target, how he had interrogated her about Olivia.

  Her voice faltered when she told him how he had threatened her with the stun gun, how he had left her in the dirty room and how from there she had escaped. She left out certain details, such as how much Hennessey was paid, she still had the thought that so much money was tempting for anyone, even Jonas Lando, who didn’t seem to care about such mundane things as money. But maybe that was because he didn’t have any, he might feel differently when faced with five million dollars.

  When she had finished she was shivering and sweating more than ever. He sat there his face impassive, through the entire story not once had he shown any emotion. He stood up suddenly and went into the kitchen coming back with a glass of water which he put into her tremulous hand. He sat down again in the exact same position looking at her in the exact same way as though he had never moved. She was thinking that maybe he was used to hearing stories such as her own, maybe he had heard them so many times that he was now anaesthetised to them, he had of course probably heard far worse.

  Lando was not so unmoved as he was making out. Her whole story was incredible, he had called her crazy and stupid and maybe she was for getting involved with that girl in the first place, how many people would do what she had for a stranger? Not many. And he himself, would he have? Well, the answer was sitting right across from him looking pale and ill and scared to death. The difference was he had not wanted to get involved; he had resented the intrusion on his quiet, peaceful life, she had gone in with her eyes wide o
pen knowing that she might be in danger. And she wasn’t a cop, or an ex -cop, she had probably been cosseted and protected all her pampered life, yet still she threw herself into the fray with gusto, spent her time and her own money to see the girl safe. But fuck, to confront those two men in a dark alley at night, what had she been thinking?

  He couldn’t decide whether she was the craziest person he’d ever met or the bravest, maybe a bit of both. But brave or not she should have given the girl the money and sent her on her way then told the two goons she had no idea where she had gone, just as he would have. Wouldn’t he?

  But this last part of the story, this was something else; that guy had kidnapped her from her home, subjected her to a terrifying ordeal, threatened her, humiliated her and frightened her half to death and yet still she had defied him and concocted a…he had to admit...quiet ingenious method of escape.

  He realised now why she had not sat in the nearest chair at the table and why she had paled as she had, it must have been a similar chair to the one Hennessey had tied her to. He knew from his time as a cop, and from personal experience, that it was the small things such as that that would affect her for a very long time. But what she must have felt when she had sat there and Hennessey had told her that he was an assassin didn’t bear thinking about. And when she had told him about the stun gun and how he had rendered her unconscious he felt his stomach clench and his throat tighten. His face gave away none of these feelings, he had learned to hide them long ago, he had been quite successful at it as a cop, but he sure as hell had become an expert as a con.

  He studied her, she looked so small and fragile, so frail and delicate, and yet she had proved that she was as tough as his old leather boots and as cunning as that damn coyote that snuck in here at night and tried to kill his animals. There was more to this English woman than met the eye. And yet for all that she had fallen for a man’s charm and flattery, just like… no, she was nothing like Adrianne. She had had no compassion, no tender feelings, no pity, she would not have done what this woman had done for that girl, she would have given her up to Hennessey in a heart beat and probably wound up splitting the fee with him.

  Thoughts of Adrianne made his tone brusquer than he had intended as he said, ‘you left out one very important piece of information.’

  She frowned, ‘oh?’

  ‘Yes, who paid Hennessey to get the information about the girl and to kill you?’

  She looked even more frightened than when she was telling her story and looked away from his penetrating gaze. Her tone was a whisper as though to say the name out loud would conjure him up like some kind of Demon. ‘Glissando, his name is Dashiel Glissando.’

  His voice seemed to come from deep in his throat as he said, ‘Hennessey told you that Glissando had hired him?’ She nodded wondering if he knew Glissando too.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She looked offended now, ‘of course I’m sure, I’m hardly likely to forget the name of the man who did what he did to Ol…Desi, or hired a man to kill me.’

  Adela could see he was struggling to believe her, which he was. He watched her face closely looking for any sign of deceit, there was none. But he had been fooled by a woman’s innocent, open face before. He knew women could look at you with that guileless look whilst all the time plotting and planning to deceive you. Though he knew even as he thought it that men could do the same too, he knew that better than anyone. But being deceived by a friend was supposed to be easier to swallow and a hell of a lot less painful than being betrayed by your wife wasn’t it? Still this woman wasn’t his wife was she?

  She broke into his thoughts by asking, ‘why, do you know him?’ He didn’t answer but continued to regard her with mistrust until she snapped, ‘it’s the truth, everything I told you is true and I don’t care whether you believe me or not.’

  He looked taken aback but narrowed his eyes as if weighing up her words then said, ‘why would Glissando want this girl back so badly?’

  ‘I told you, he believes she belongs to him, he’s insane.’

  Still the scepticism was obvious in his eyes and she said sarcastically, ‘if I ever meet him I’ll ask him. Or maybe we could ask Sterling Hennessey, because he’ll come here you know, he won’t give up easily. He brought me back to Alabama for a reason; he knows his way around these parts that much was obvious from the location of the shack he kept me in, it was quiet and isolated and off the beaten track. He might track me here, you’re in danger, Mr. Lando, and the longer I stay here the more that danger increases.’

  He noticed how she kept referring to the danger he was in and not her own which was far greater than his.

  He said, ‘one thing you haven’t told me, how did you find this place?’

  She looked away then back at him, she certainly wasn’t going to tell him that she heard voices talking to her in the woods, voices that they had forced her to go on when she had all but given up and was just waiting for death to claim her.

  She said, ‘I wandered around in the woods for, oh so long I don’t even know. I was about to give up again when I saw the stream, it looked familiar then I realised it was the same one in which I had,’ she looked away, ‘I had first seen you. So I knew that your place could not be far, I just kept walking until I found it.’ She looked at him and said earnestly, ‘but I didn’t lie before, not about that, I really couldn’t remember how I got here, it was only when I…when I was running away from you that I heard water then I remembered.’

  He looked at her in an odd way, she wasn’t sure if he believed her or not. Eventually he said, ‘what time did you leave the shack he held you in.’

  She was surprised by the question, ‘I don’t know about 10.30.’

  He looked at his watch, ‘and you arrived here at 12.30 this morning, two hours that means the shack could not have been too far from here, unless it’s very close by and you went round in circles for an age.’ She knew he was thinking about the time she had done just that and had run into him.

  She said, ‘no, not 10.30 last night, 10.30 yesterday morning.’

  He looked at her a stunned expression on his face then the amazement turned to disbelief, ‘Jesus Christ, lady, you’re trying to tell me that you walked around in the swamp for twelve hours in the height of summer without water? I just don’t buy that.’

  She stiffened at being called a liar but said calmly, ‘I didn’t say I had no water.’ She told him about the bottle. He still looked disbelieving as he studied her face looking for the lie she knew.

  He was in fact thinking, I’ll either have to review my earlier opinion of her and say she’s the best liar I ever met or she’s telling the truth. In that case she had done what a lot of people, including himself, might not have done, survive the swamp for fourteen hours in the height of summer with just one bottle of water. But then she had been desperate and desperation caused people to do things they would not otherwise be capable of.

  He looked at her annoyed and hurt countenance and felt bad for showing his scepticism but he would reserve judgement on this strange woman. Then she took him by complete surprise when she said sternly, ‘and please don’t blaspheme.’

  He stared at her in open mouthed astonishment, one, that she had endured his profanities but had told him off for what she called blasphemy. And two, that she had told him what to do in his own home, the cheek, the audacity. He snapped, ‘excuse me?’

  He expected her to look embarrassed and she did but no where near as much as she looked stern. She said, ‘I…I don’t like it, it’s insulting to…to God.’

  He regarded her with amazement then said sarcastically, ‘well thank you for teaching me how to be a better Christian, Ma’am.’ His aggressive look gave the lie to the words.

  Her face reddened but she held his gaze defiantly.

  He treated her to an icy glare before eventually saying, ‘I think the best thing to do would be to get the police involved and they’ll contact the FBI. Even if this Hennessey guy is not Blakemore’
s killer, they’ll still be interested in the kidnapping; he took you across state lines, that’s a federal offence.’

  She had heard nothing beyond, “Get the police involved.” She sat up straight and leaned towards him, ‘no, no, Mr. Lando, you can’t do that, you can’t,’

  The suspicion was back in his eyes as he said, ‘why? I would have thought they’d be the first people you’d want involved. They’ll protect you from Hennessey or anyone else who wants to harm you; they’ll escort you to the airport and see you safely home. What about that Leyton guy? He knows you and you him; you seemed to have quite a rapport going with him.’

  She ignored the obvious sarcasm because she was desperate now; she stood up and looked down on him her dismay a palpable thing, ‘no! He might be…no, Mr. Lando, no police.’

  He stood up too towering over her and demanded, ‘why? Just tell me that. You’ve been kidnapped, terrorised, you’ve got a hit out on you, you barely escaped with your life so why don’t you want the police involved.’

  ‘Because…because he,’ her shoulders slumped, ‘Hennessey, he made it look as though I was involved with the attack on Dean and that I helped him to escape from Eden. A police officer watching my cabin was injured, he maybe dead I don’t know. But Hennessey made it look as though I had attacked him, he left something of mine close by the…the officer. He took my purse with my passport and credit cards, he even brought a ticket to Brazil in my name, everything to make it look like I had gone with him willingly. But I didn’t, Mr. Lando, I didn’t.’ She stressed this last word her eyes pleading for him to believe her.

  He stared at her in astonishment, this Hennessey guy was something else, not only had he subjected her to a horrifying ordeal but planned it so that the police would look for her as his accomplice. Why?