Revenge

by Martina Cole

  Michael Flynn passed his BlackBerry to him, and Arthur glanced at the photograph. It was shocking.

  ‘I got that about three hours ago, Arthur. I need you to try and find the sender.’

  Arthur nodded. He was aware that time was obviously of the essence. ‘Well, there is one thing I can tell you straight off, this isn’t the usual cheap throwaway phone. This picture has a lot of detail, which tells me the phone used was a fairly decent model.’

  Michael Flynn wasn’t even listening to the man. ‘Just try and track the fucker down.’

  The phone vibrated once more. Arthur Hellmann automatically opened the text. After a quick glance at the contents, he passed the phone to Michael Flynn without a word.

  Michael looked at the photo of his mother lying in her hallway, a knife poking out of her right breast, and he shook his head slowly in disbelief. For the first time in his life he felt vulnerable, frightened. His mother was dying before his eyes, his daughter was dying somewhere, tied up like a fucking animal and obviously in extreme pain, and he couldn’t do a thing. This man was taunting him. The phone in the office started ringing, and Michael Flynn knew exactly what the call would be about.

  Chapter One Hundred

  and Thirty

  Josephine sat on her balcony with a glass of red wine, looking out over the gardens and wondering if the man who had her daughter and who had murdered her mother-in-law was coming for her and Jake.

  It felt unreal knowing that Hannah was dead. Stabbed in her own home, by some mad fucker who had evaded capture. Now her home was overrun with armed men, sent by Michael to protect them. Little Jake was loving the company, bless him, unaware of the danger they were in.

  She had a twelve-gauge shotgun by her side, and a Glock 22 handgun lying on the table in front of her. If anyone was coming here, she was more than ready to fight her end. It was odd, but she had always found handling guns very easy from the time Michael taught her to use one. She liked the feel of them, the knowledge that they were capable of so much destruction. It was the secret of guns: the weakest person in the world could protect themselves from the biggest of enemies, because a gun was relatively lightweight, and had the power over life and death.

  Even though Michael had seen fit to drown their home with his armed men, she felt much safer knowing that she was armed too. Hannah had been taken out on her doorstep, stabbed like a fucking animal, and whoever had done that also had her daughter in his clutches. If only she had been capable of passing his message on to Michael, this might have been avoided. She had been hoping that he would come to see her and, if he had, then she would have been able to show him the letter.

  It was a learning curve, she supposed – she was unable to justify her actions any longer. It didn’t mean she was going to be able to change overnight; this wasn’t a fucking film, where everything was resolved in an hour and a half, this was her real fucking life. But she could at least make a conscious decision this time to get the help that she so desperately needed. Surely that was a start?

  Jake came running into her room, hyper with excitement.

  ‘Nana, one of Granddad’s friends said he would teach me to play poker! Can I learn it, please?’

  Josephine was grateful Jake was distracted. ‘’Course you can! It’s a very tricky game, though, so make sure you listen to what the man tells you carefully.’

  Jake Flynn was dressed in his favourite Peppa Pig pyjamas – he was obsessed with Peppa, and would happily wear these until they fell apart. He was holding his favourite book which he had tucked under his arm – he adored The Gruffalo and he had read it over and over again. He looked very handsome and so vulnerable, that Josephine felt almost tearful as she looked at him. He deserved much more than she had ever given to him. She had lost out on so much of his little life.

  ‘I like playing cards. I told the man that and he laughed! He said I was Granddad’s double, and I think that’s a good thing, Nana, don’t you? Dana is going to learn with me, so that we can play poker together.’

  Josephine hugged him to her tightly. She kissed his thick, dark hair, drinking in the smell of Matey bubble bath and jojoba shampoo.

  He hugged her back with one arm, before pulling away from her. Then he noticed the gun on the table in front of her. He said solemnly, ‘Nana, you better be very careful with that.’

  Josephine could hear the underlying fear in his voice. He was six years old and already he knew that guns were dangerous. One day, of course, he would have to understand that, in the world his granddad lived in, guns were a necessity – a part of their everyday life. The charmed life that they lived came at a price, and that price was often higher than anyone realised. It was a dangerous life, and that was more apparent now than ever before.

  ‘I will, darling. I will be very careful. Now, you go and learn how to play poker. Don’t worry about anything. No one will ever let anything bad happen to you, I promise.’

  As he ran back down to the kitchen, she wondered if she could keep that promise. She remembered the night that the Cornel brothers had arrived at her door, remembered Jessie’s shock and horror at the night’s events. She could see herself telling her daughter to lock herself in her bedroom, and not to be frightened of anything. She had found an inner strength that night to protect her home, her sanctuary, from the threat of the outside world. Jessie had seen her with the gun that night, and it had terrified her. Jessie had understood the danger they were in. It had changed her daughter – she had been forced to grow up that night.

  Now her only child was being held captive, and that was harder for Josephine to comprehend than anything else in her life so far. That her daughter’s dire predicament had still not been enough to make her use a telephone, was something she was finding very hard to forgive herself for. But it was actually her Michael’s reaction that she was really worried about. She feared he wouldn’t be forgiving her any time soon.

  A part of her hoped that this unknown man would come here and give her the chance to take him out. It might be her only opportunity to redeem herself.

  Chapter One Hundred

  and Thirty-One

  Timothy Branch was watching Michael Flynn as the man tried to take in the news of his mother’s death; the woman had been slaughtered on her doorstep. It was unbelievable – no one could have predicted anything like this. Who would have thought that a man like Michael Flynn could ever have been game-played by a fucking toe rag like Steven Golding? Golding was a fucking no-mark. But, somehow, he had managed to get the better of Michael Flynn. He had not only taken the man’s daughter, he had also stabbed the man’s mother to death in her own home.

  It was Steven Golding’s complete disregard for the consequences of his actions that truly bothered Timothy Branch. His was the mindset of a terrorist, someone whose only aim in life was to carry out the duty required of them, regardless of their own safety. It was only about the end game. This man Golding didn’t seem to have an agenda that any of them could understand – there wasn’t room for bargaining; he honestly didn’t seem to want anything of value from any of them. He was only interested in hitting Michael Flynn where it hurt. All he seemed to want was revenge. That was the only thing this could be about – not that Michael Flynn had been very forthcoming about his dealings with the man in the past. But he had read the man’s medical reports, knew that his family had been wiped out in a fire – a fire that had been started deliberately. It didn’t take an Albert fucking Einstein to work out that Michael Flynn had been involved in that shit somewhere along the line. Branch had been around long enough to suss out what was really going on, but it wasn’t in his interests to pursue this train of thought – he knew when to leave well alone.

  ‘I’ve had your mother’s body taken to the morgue, and I have hushed it up for the moment, but you have to understand, Michael, I can’t sit on this for too long. None of the neighbours saw anything – it was very fast. And, from what I can gather, your mum wasn’t a woman who encouraged her neighbours’ friend
ships, if you get my drift.’

  Michael laughed wryly. ‘You got that right. My mother was the female equivalent of Jack the Giant Killer. She saw most people in her orbit as completely fucking useless ponces. She wasn’t known for her sparkling personality.’

  Declan Costello could detect the catch in Michael’s voice underneath his bravado. He had loved his mother, in spite of everything. She wasn’t a woman who encouraged displays of affection, but she had loved her son too.

  Timothy Branch was aware of Hannah Flynn’s reputation as a woman of limited patience; it was well known she had a tongue in her head and she used it to her advantage. He sighed. ‘Look, Michael, the bottom line is, this bloke is either very fucking clever, or very fucking lucky. In all my years on the force I have never seen anything like it. He’s obviously watched you for a while and he’s aware of your daily routine. How else could he know so much? One thing I do know, though, is he’s not that far away. I’d say that he’s operating from within an hour’s journey of your house. He has to be. It stands to reason.’

  Declan and Michael exchanged glances; at last the man was making sense. It was about time he earned his fucking keep! Branch was like all bent Filth – he wasn’t liked or trusted by the people who paid his extra-curricular wages, or the people he had to work with in his capacity as an Old Bill. They would all know that he wasn’t kosher or to be completely trusted. Word travelled fast, and that was something no one could prevent. It was a double-edged sword. He was paid a good wage to ensure that he was on their side if it ever went pear-shaped, but he was automatically suspect because he was selling out his own. Treachery wasn’t looked on lightly in either of the circles Timothy Branch moved in.

  Declan poured Michael another drink; he needed it – the man was in absolute shock. ‘Come on, Michael, sit down and drink this. You’ve had a shock to your system.’

  Michael allowed himself to be seated and took the drink offered to him. He had never felt so useless in his whole life. He kept seeing Jessie, the fear on her face, and the picture of his mother, dying in front of his eyes. No one seemed to be able to give him any information of use. He had a very large workforce, and not one of them could find out even the simplest thing about Steven Golding.

  Timothy Branch cleared his throat noisily. ‘I’ve had my blokes comb through his medical records, and there’s nothing of value, Michael. They have been to every address where he’s been registered, checked with his doctors, and not a fucking whisper.’

  Michael Flynn started to laugh loudly, but it was an unnatural sound, too high pitched and too heartbreaking to be normal.

  Declan and Timothy watched Michael laughing, warily.

  Arthur Hellmann looked up from his computer in the corner of the room and he said triumphantly, ‘I’ve got him. I think I’ve found the fucker.’

  Declan knelt down in front of Michael and, grabbing the man’s shoulders, he shook him roughly. ‘Stop it, Michael! Will you just stop laughing. Listen to me! This isn’t over yet.’

  Eventually Michael began to quieten down, and then he seemed to pull himself together. Pushing Declan away, he picked up the glass of brandy from the table, and swallowed it in one gulp. He looked into Declan’s eyes, saw the worry there and the genuine concern for his wellbeing. Michael wiped his hand across his mouth roughly; he had no choice left but to face this.

  ‘It’s OK, Declan. I’m fine. I’m OK.’

  Declan was still kneeling on the floor, shocked by Michael’s reaction. It wasn’t like him to lose the plot. The man had every reason to – it just wasn’t something he had expected. Michael Flynn was a hard man, harder than anyone Declan had ever known.

  ‘Fucking hell, Michael, you can’t lose it now. We’re so close. You need to pull yourself together, get a fucking grip.’

  Michael took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. He was aware that he needed to keep himself on an even keel. ‘I’m all right now, Declan. It’s over.’

  Arthur Hellmann was embarrassed at such a naked display of emotion, especially from a man like Michael Flynn. It was unseemly, humiliating – the man was almost hysterical.

  Declan turned to him and said angrily, ‘Well, come on then, Arthur. Where is the fucker?’

  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.