He looked around once more before stepping into the betting shop. Although he had seen the weaselly features and large ears of the man behind the counter many times, when Eddy nodded at him the other man’s eyes slid away as though he didn’t recognise him. Nervously, Eddy fingered the money in his jacket pocket. A thousand pounds was a fair stake to begin with. But although he was in a hurry to get home before Luciana missed him, he had no intention of rushing. This was his moment. He was going to be rich, and no mistake. In any case, Luciana wouldn’t care about him coming home late when he told her about the bonus he had been given at work. As for the rent arrears, she would never find out about that. With a rush of wellbeing, he grinned at an old man seated at the table studying the form of the horses about to race.
‘Got any tips?’ Eddy asked.
The old man merely shrugged his bowed shoulders.
As Eddy turned away, the old man put out a gnarled hand and grabbed him by the arm. ‘Just a minute, young man.’
Eddy paused in case the old man had any useful information to share, but he remained silent. ‘Well? What is it?’ Eddy asked after a minute. ‘Oh well, I can’t stand around. I’ve got things to do.’
The old man loosened his grasp and didn’t remonstrate when Eddy walked away. He seemed to have fallen asleep. Leaning against the shelf on the far wall, Eddy studied the form of all the horses due to run in the next race. The name of one sprang out at him. He stared at it for a moment, considering, but there wasn’t time to think about it for long. The odds were good and the race was due to start. Making up his mind, he marched up to the bookie who nodded at him through the glass. Eddy placed his bet: a hundred pounds on Blue Diamond. Clutching his slip of paper, he waited, immobilised by a familiar sense of anticipation. Time seemed to stand still as he stood there, barely registering voices calling out from the screens, or the old man shaken by a rattling cough, and all the while the bookie was looking down, meeting no one’s eye yet somehow aware of everything that was going on.
A familiar feeling of sickening disappointment swept through him. He looked up. Apart from this blow to his hopes, nothing had changed. The man behind the counter didn’t react. The old man had recovered from his fit of coughing and was sitting perfectly still, staring into space. Eddy straightened his back and squared his shoulders. He had lost before but he hadn’t let that put him off. The important thing was that he wasn’t going to lose overall. He knew that he had to win at some point and when he did, he would walk away. It was just a question of putting a large enough stake down at the right time. He stared at the list of horses for the next race, trying to spot a sure winner. He had always avoided going for the favourite, because the odds weren’t good enough to make it really worthwhile. On the other hand, the favourite was most likely to win and with a large enough stake he could still clean up. If he patiently bet all his money on the favourite at each race, it might not be the single dramatic win he had been chasing, but by the end of the evening he could be trouble free. It was just a matter of time. He was going to be home late, but he’d deal with Luciana when he got there. Right now, he had some money to win.
Having decided not to worry about being late home, he went a few doors along the road to the pub for a quick beer to bolster his courage. The place was packed with rowdy youngsters all vying to be heard. The racket made Eddy’s head reel, as though he had stumbled into a wall of noise. Manoeuvring his way across the packed bar, he struggled to attract attention at the bar. Surreptitiously fishing a tenner from the bundle in his pocket, he waved the note in the air and a plump barmaid came over.
He had to yell to be heard above the noise. The barmaid’s dark eyes glinted at him as though they shared a guilty secret while she pulled his pint. Suddenly in a hurry, he didn’t even bother to look for a seat. After downing his drink as quickly as he could, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and left the pub, pulling his baseball cap lower over his eyes as he scurried along the street to the relative peace of the betting shop. This was it. With a surge of confidence in his new strategy, he strode up to the counter to hand over hundreds of pounds and then watched closely as the bookie counted the notes right in front of him, nearly nine hundred pounds. It was a surefire thing that he would walk out of the betting shop with a lot more money than he had arrived with, because he was no longer hoping to achieve the impossible, but was betting on the favourite. Once that horse romped home, he would do the same for the next race, and the one after that, until he had made as much as he needed.
While he waited to hear the result of the race, he glanced around the room sizing up the other people in there. He would have to be careful. If anyone spotted his haul, they might try to relieve him of it once he was out on the street again. He would probably be wise to take a taxi home. God knows, he’d be able to afford it. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost missed the announcement. In the act of turning to the bookie with a broad grin on his face, he froze. It took a few seconds for the reality to sink in. He had come out with a thousand pounds in his pocket; he had lost it all.
36
Since the bookie had flatly refused to give Eddy any more credit he had been wandering the streets, hoping for a miracle. He had managed to cadge a pint from a sympathetic bar girl but the manager had sent him packing when his credit card was declined. As a consequence he was only slightly drunk, and utterly desperate. It was getting late and he could see no way out of his predicament. He considered going back to his stepmother and begging her for more money, but she had made her feelings clear when she had handed over the thousand pounds. She had accused him of cleaning her out, as though that came even close to the truth while she was still sitting on a tidy fortune, apart from living in the big house Eddy’s father had left. When he had pointed out that she could sell the property and move to a smaller place, he had actually thought she was going to hit him. She had as good as thrown him out and he had been glad to go, with the thousand pounds safely stashed in his pocket.
If he had thought he might persuade his stepmother to relent, he would have gone back and thrown himself on her mercy, but there was no chance she would have changed her mind so soon. Besides, she had probably gone to bed and wouldn’t appreciate his knocking on her door so late. There was nothing else he could do but go home and face Luciana. Wracking his brains over what to say to her, he made his plans. Somehow he had to fend off her questions until he started working for Abe. Meeting him had been a stroke of luck. After the first job, there were bound to be others, and with the additional income Eddy would eventually be able to sort out his money worries. It wouldn’t have been his first choice, but he was running out of options.
Luciana came bounding down the stairs, calling out his name, as soon as he closed the front door.
‘Eddy, where the hell have you been?’
He tried to explain that he had been held up, but she interrupted him.
‘Why didn’t you phone? I thought something had happened to you. Where have you been? Eddy?’
A host of ideas flew through his mind, many of which he had thought up while he had been walking the streets, none of which now seemed even vaguely sensible. He kicked his shoes off and leaned back against the wall, gathering himself together.
‘Are you pissed?’
He shook his head. ‘No, no, I’m not pissed.’ He laughed bitterly because he was too skint even to get drunk. ‘I’m pathetic, Luciana, that’s what I am. Pathetic.’
She was in the hall now. He could smell her shampoo. The thought that he might lose her was like a knife stabbing him in the guts. To his dismay, he felt tears in his eyes. That was hardly going to win her round.
‘I’m pathetic,’ he repeated feebly. ‘But I’m going to make it up to you.’
‘Come on, love. It can’t be that bad. What’s happened?’
He shook his head.
‘What’s wrong, Eddy? Tell me. Are you ill? Are you in pain?’
He shook his head, unable to speak.
; ‘What happened? Speak to me, Eddy.’
As he confessed he was having a few financial difficulties, she drew back with an exclamation of annoyance.
‘You’ve been at it again, haven’t you?’
‘What?’
‘You know what I’m talking about. Have you been gambling?’
‘No!’ He hoped he hadn’t overdone his outrage. ‘Of course not. But we’ve been overspending.’ He talked quickly before she could challenge what he was saying. ‘But don’t worry. I’ve been offered a job –’
‘You’ve already got a job. I thought you liked working at the builders’ merchants?’
On a roll now, Eddy explained that he wasn’t planning on leaving his job any time soon, but he had found an extra source of income.
‘This one’s just an occasional job, to begin with at least. But it’ll be cash in hand, and there could be quite a lot of it!’
Although he had resolved not to increase his funds by trying his luck again, it was reassuring to know he had that option if it turned out to be necessary. But he didn’t mention that to Luciana. She was asking him about the job and he could tell she was still suspicious. If he refused to say anything about it, she was bound to think he was gambling again.
‘It’s a driving job,’ he said vaguely, ‘driving some posh bloke around in the evenings.’
It was partly true. He was going to be driving.
‘So does that mean we can book a holiday?’
He paused, reluctant to reveal the extent of his debts. But there was no hiding from the rent arrears, or the fact that the television was still missing. It was sheer luck that Luciana had been out when the bailiffs had called round the first time, but the chances were she would be at home when they returned. And if he didn’t sort this out, they would certainly be back. At least she was in a reasonable mood. He chanced it and mumbled that he was behind with the rent.
‘It’s nothing I can’t sort out,’ he added quickly. ‘We’ll be able to talk about booking a holiday soon. Just give me a few weeks.’
He nearly asked her to lend him some money, just enough to place a quick bet that could solve all his problems, but he stopped himself in time. It was just as well, because she launched into one of her rants.
‘You had me worried there, when you came home so late. Still, as long as you’re not gambling again.’
‘You know I wouldn’t do that. Didn’t I promise you? Don’t you trust me? Listen, we’ve got a situation here and we need to contain it. As things are it’s barely manageable, but we can just about pull things back from the brink and avoid a complete disaster if we’re really careful, for a few months. And with the extra money I’m going to be earning, it might not take that long. Trust me.’
That much at least was true. All he needed to do was have a little run of luck with his first payment from Abe, and he could turn this around. Within a week they could be rich. He had a good feeling about it. Just when he had been really down on his luck Abe had popped up, like a genie from a magic lamp, with an offer of easy money.
He smiled at Luciana. ‘Yes, don’t you worry. I’m going to take care of everything.’
37
It was still light by the time Charlotte walked back to her car, her prescription sleeping pills in her bag. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep without them after her argument with Eddy. Preoccupied with thinking about her stepson, she heard the soft purr of an engine before she looked around and noticed a van driving slowly along the street beside her. She told herself she was being needlessly paranoid, and the van couldn’t be following her. Nevertheless, she picked up her pace. When she reached her car, she stopped to get out her keys and was relieved to see the van drive past. Fumbling in her bag, she heard a squeal of tyres as the van reversed rapidly alongside her. Drawing level with her, it screeched to a halt and a figure leapt out of the driving seat. She barely had time to gain a confused impression of dark eyes glaring at her from behind a balaclava before the man flung himself at her, and slapped a hand across her mouth. Forcing her head back until she was gasping for breath, he lifted her off her feet, snatched her bag and flung her inside the van, slamming the door on her.
Winded and stunned, for a few seconds she was too shocked to react. By the time she recovered her breath enough to call out, the van had shuddered into motion and they were roaring down the road. The whole incident had taken no more than a few seconds. Jolting along in a strange van, Charlotte tried to understand what was happening. She appeared to have been kidnapped. In a sudden panic, she crawled over to the metal wall that divided her from the driver, and began banging on it as loudly as she could, yelling out for him to stop. The van swerved abruptly causing her to slide across the floor, hitting her head on the side of the compartment. The sudden pain of the impact startled her and she burst into tears, confused and terrified.
While the van rattled on through the streets, stopping and starting as the traffic allowed, she tried to calm down and work out what was going on. All she knew was that she had been seized in the street and thrown into the back of a van, in broad daylight. Her best hope of rescue was if someone had seen her abduction and reported it to the police straight away. It might even have been caught on a mobile phone. At the very least, she hoped someone who had witnessed her capture had made a note of the van’s registration number. Even though it was unlikely the van would be registered in her captor’s name, there was a chance the police had already been alerted and were looking out for it. She tried to reassure herself that a woman couldn’t be grabbed in the street in broad daylight without anyone seeing what was happening, but she had an uneasy suspicion that the incident had been carried out so quickly, it could have escaped notice.
It was dark inside the van. Crawling around blindly, she felt her way cautiously. The floor seemed to be covered in twigs and dry grass, and it stank of rotting vegetation. Apart from the fragments of plants, the interior of the van was empty. Feeling her way along the walls, which felt cold and greasy, she inched her way along to the door at the back. Crouching on her knees and one hand, she moved her other hand sideways across the door, trying to find a way of opening it. Apart from the impulse to escape, she wanted to inhale some fresh air before she suffocated in the stuffy van. With the tips of her fingers she found where the two doors met, but there was no gap between them, and she could find no handle. Resigned to being unable to open the door from the inside, she sat down, leaned against the side of the van, and tried to make plans. If she could somehow lure her captor into the van she would leap out, slam the doors and walk away, leaving him trapped inside. With a shudder she wondered if that was the fate he had planned for her, to die alone in an airless dark space. She scrabbled frantically at the doors again but they wouldn’t budge.
At last the van jolted to a halt and she heard the driver’s door clang. He was coming to let her out. She held her breath and crouched, ready to leap out of the van as soon as the doors opened, and throw herself at her captor. Only by catching him by surprise would she have any chance of overpowering him. The doors creaked open letting in a wave of light that threw her off balance, momentarily blinding her. Instead of flinging herself at her captor, kicking and scratching like a caged tiger let loose, she cowered back, covering her eyes and whimpering as he reached in and grabbed her by the wrists. She tried to pull him forwards, in a vain attempt to drag him inside the van so she could jump out and shut him in. As he dragged her towards him, she shouted at him to stop, and began kicking out as hard as she could. When her foot connected with the side of his head, he swore and yanked one of her arms so violently behind her back she thought he was going to dislocate her shoulder.
‘Stop it, you’re hurting me! Please stop!’
‘If you don’t shut up, I will hurt you.’
His voice was so hoarse, she wondered if he was trying to disguise it. Terrified, she abandoned her attempt to resist, and allowed him to pull her out of the van. Before her feet touched the ground, he threw her over his sh
oulder in an awkward fireman’s lift and ran across a paved yard towards the front door of a dilapidated house. From filthy window frames to a weed-covered front yard, everything about it was in need of maintenance. As her captor half turned on the front step, she raised her head and saw a high hedge surrounding the front yard, beyond which lay the street and freedom. Before she could wriggle free, her abductor opened the front door and the opportunity slipped away. With a sinking feeling she heard the front door close behind them.
When he turned to bolt the door, she managed to squirm out of his grasp and landed on the floor with a jolt. She drew away from him. With her back pressed against the wall, she began to scream. At once he spun around and slapped her, hard. She was so shocked she stopped screaming.
‘There’s no point in shrieking like that. No one can hear you,’ he growled.
From inside his balaclava his dark eyes glared coldly at her, seeming to bore into her head. It was impossible to see anything more of his face which was completely concealed. Dropping her gaze, she tried to suppress a whimper but she couldn’t help crying out when he yanked her roughly towards him. Seizing her by both elbows he held her tightly, propelling her forwards along the hall.
‘No, no! Let me go!’
With one of his arms around her neck propping her upright, and the other clamped over her mouth, he pushed her ahead of him and into a back room. Pulling aside a dirty rug, he wrenched open a trap door and forced her down a flight of steep wooden steps. As she descended, a fetid stench hit her, mingled with a whiff of stale sweat which might have come from her or her captor. They were only halfway down the stairs when he shoved her in the small of her back, so that she stumbled and slithered helplessly down into the cellar. Twisting her ankle as she landed she cried out, momentarily forgetting everything but the excruciating pain in her leg. As she came to her senses, she saw that she was standing in what appeared to be an old coal cellar, a narrow strip of a room with filthy brick walls. Only a faint light reached her from the open door at the top of the stairs, but after being locked in darkness even that was welcome, until she saw what faced her in the cellar.
Death Rope Page 15
