by Jessie Keane
‘What did you see?’ he asked again.
‘They were in the hall, grappling with each other, snarling at each other like dogs, and then they fell in through the bedroom door, and then I saw this bloke, he had Gary on the bed, and . . . oh shit . . .’ Caroline’s voice trailed away. She wiped tears from her face with a shaking hand and looked at Annie. ‘Gary was pretty good to me. All right, he could be an arsehole, but can’t they all? He didn’t deserve that.’
‘What?’ asked Annie.
‘That man cut his throat. And I saw it, I can’t get it out of my head, I saw it! There was blood and Gary was screaming and choking, making these sounds like a butchered animal, it was . . . it was . . . just horrible. Horrible.’
For a long while the only sounds in the room were Caroline’s sobs. Then Annie said: ‘The man who did it. You saw him through the louvre doors, right? Can you describe him?’
Caroline’s hands clawed into her scalp as she nodded. ‘Yeah, I did. I saw him.’
‘What did he look like?’ asked Max.
‘Tall.’ Caroline sniffed and wiped at her nose again with the back of her hand. ‘Not as tall as Gary. And pale. White like a ghost. And grinning, sort of, while he did it.’ Caroline shuddered hard and hugged herself.
‘Anything else?’ asked Annie.
‘Yeah. There is.’ Caroline’s head was nodding like a metronome now. ‘I’ve been having nightmares about it ever since. The look on his face. Like a demon or something. Like he was enjoying it.’
‘What colour was his hair?’ asked Annie.
Caroline looked at her with haunted eyes.
‘Red,’ she said.
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They let Caroline go, and then the three of them stood in the study in silence. Finally Max spoke.
‘I’m thinking about Gina and the phone calls to the Blue Parrot.’
‘What about them?’
‘Gina knew where her brother was living, didn’t she? She must have. What if she did tell Gary? She was mental. I spoke to her, the poor old cow didn’t have both oars in the water. Raving about how you were still Constantine’s wife, not mine. Saying he was still alive. She could have said all that and more to Gary on the phone. So maybe Gary knew where Constantine was.’
It was Annie’s turn to pace the room, skirting around Tony, who stood silent, watching.
‘Sounds like Redmond did Gary,’ she said.
‘Penny to a pinch of shit,’ said Max, nodding. ‘Fucker’s a psycho.’
‘Over Constantine’s whereabouts?’ Annie stopped in front of Max and locked eyes with him. ‘Jesus, do you think Gary was playing with fire, trying to get money or something off Redmond, doing a trade? He knew that Constantine was behind the plane crash that should have killed Redmond and Orla back in the seventies. Did he give that piece of information to Redmond, maybe sell it to him, as a little taster, and then Gina comes on the phone raving about Constantine being alive and where Constantine’s living these days, and Gary thinks, I can make some bigger wedge here, better than I did before. Maybe Gary tried to milk Redmond? And maybe Redmond snapped and killed him over it.’
Max folded his arms and stared at the floor, thinking. ‘Redmond’s no fool. I don’t think he would top Gary until he had that information – if he was so desperate to get it.’
‘Caroline said he was beating the crap out of him beforehand.’
‘Yeah.’ Max’s head raised and he looked grimly at Annie. ‘So it’s possible he beat it out of him and then killed him. In which case, right now – Redmond knows where Constantine is.’
Annie considered this with a sense of dread. She considered also that Redmond could have cornered her, forced the location out of her just like he had with Gary. That he could have done with her exactly as he had done with Gary and with poor bloody Jackie. The thought brought her out in a cold sweat.
‘Why didn’t he do you?’ wondered Max, echoing her thoughts. ‘He could have.’
Tony spoke for the first time. ‘I think Redmond Delaney has a thing for Mrs Carter. Weird as that may sound.’
Annie looked at Tony in surprise. ‘Oh, really? He left me to die once. You forgotten that?’
Tony shrugged. ‘He’s a twisted, cold-blooded bastard. Who knows how his brain works? But for sure, he could have done you over and got it out of you. And he didn’t. Just saying.’
‘He likes playing cat and mouse with people,’ said Annie with a heartfelt shudder.
‘So what now?’ asked Max.
‘We get someone over to Redmond’s place. See if he’s there. He won’t be, I’m sure of it, but we should check. And then . . . ’
‘Then what?’
‘I have to get up there,’ said Annie. ‘If Redmond knows, then he’s going for Constantine.’
‘And I’m supposed to care about that?’
Annie looked at him in exasperation. ‘He’s Alberto’s father, and if Alberto suffers then so does Layla, have you thought about that?’
‘So you ride to the rescue? Redmond’s had a day’s start. He’s probably whacked Constantine already. And frankly, do I care? OK, once he and I, we worked together. We had a mutual respect. But that sort of went for me, when he fucked my wife.’
‘I thought you were dead. And so did he.’
‘Yeah, yeah. And not content with that, you’ve been flitting back and forth to Scotland whenever you’ve come back here, visiting that shit and not telling me. No, I hope Redmond has done the business on him. I’d like to pat that fucker on the back over this.’
‘I explained that,’ said Annie. ‘You know I did. Fuck’s sake! I’ve got to get up there and I need some back-up with me. Steve and Tone.’
‘And me,’ said Max.
Annie looked at him, startled. ‘No,’ she said firmly.
But Max was determined. ‘Look. If we’re right, Delaney’s already there and he could finish the job off properly. He could do you too, if you pitch up – even if you think you have got a free pass where he’s concerned. Don’t kid yourself. The man’s a psycho. You don’t know what he’s going to do.’
‘Max . . .’
‘Don’t “Max” me. You’re not going up there without me.’
Annie stuck her hands on her hips. ‘I’m not going up there with you.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because you want Constantine dead. Because even if Redmond doesn’t finish the job, you will. I know you. You’ll kill him.’
‘I’d be doing the cunt a favour, holed away up there, losing his fucking faculties in a five-star prison. But Delaney’s probably already sorted that problem out for me.’
‘Christ, Max . . .’
‘Forget it. I’m coming too.’
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Annie made the call and they took off five hours later from the heliport in the usual six-seater Agusta 109 Grand helicopter. The pilot, a big ice-cool Yorkshireman, knew her of old; he’d worked for ‘David Sangster’ for years. The chopper’s two lines of three passenger seats were camel-coloured, butter-soft leather armchairs, each with its own drinks holder and headphones that piped soothing music. The cabin was lined to prevent too much noise, in a toning shade of cream.
As the rotors began to spin, Annie looked across at Tony and Steve, who were both plugged in to Chopin. Max had drafted them in, in case there was trouble. She was sure there would be, if Redmond was involved. One of Steve’s security boys had been out to Redmond’s place, and she’d been right: the house was deserted, not even that weirdo heavy Mitchell was there. The place was shut up tight, everything dark.
But even now, they could be wrong; Redmond could be anywhere, not at Constantine’s. Annie hoped that was true, she really did. But at the back of her mind, she doubted it.
As the craft lifted into the air, Max, sitting beside her with one spare seat to his left, said:
‘There’s no way to get a message to him? To Constantine – or Alberto, if he’s in no fit state?’
Annie shook her head. ‘They con
tact me. It’s never the other way round. I have no telephone numbers, no email addresses, nothing.’
‘How many times have you done this trip now?’
‘Too many,’ she told him.
‘And who owns this damned thing?’ Max waved a hand, taking in the luxurious cabin interior. ‘Or is it rented? Must cost a fucking mint.’
‘It’s owned by Constantine – or rather, “David Sangster” – through a network of corporations that winds up in Liechtenstein or the Caymans, somewhere like that.’
Annie took a breath, glanced over at Steve and Tony sitting there like a pair of overlarge bookends, headphones on, arms folded and eyes closed. ‘Redmond’s going there to kill him, isn’t he?’
Max looked grim. ‘Well, let’s put it this way. If Redmond hasn’t done for the bastard, then I will,’ he said. ‘That’s a promise.’
‘Max, I told you. He’s old now. He’s old and he’s confused and he’s scared. He doesn’t deserve it.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘And what about me, then?’
‘What?’
‘Where does that leave me? Where does it leave us?’
Max looked away. ‘Christ knows,’ he said, and fell silent.
Annie gazed out at the black sky, the rushing lights skimming by beneath them, and felt sadness engulf her.
He wouldn’t forgive her.
Yeah, they’d made love. Hot, passionate love.
But really?
It could have been for the very last time.
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Half an hour later, they were there. Against the purple-dark night sky lit only by a dazzling full moon and a sprinkling of stars, they could see the castle’s towering black outline as the helicopter sped over the sea toward it. At the last moment the craft lifted, and they could see the lights outlining the circular landing pad in the courtyard within the castle keep.
The pilot guided the helicopter down on to it, battling a fierce headwind that was coming in off the ocean. It touched down with barely a bump. Steve and Tony ditched the headphones, and everyone unfastened their seat belts. The rotors slowed, and stopped, then the pilot came and opened the door, helping Annie down. She stood there, her hair whipping across her face in the breeze, and looked around at the castle’s tall forbidding walls and wondered with a shudder of foreboding where Redmond was, right now.
‘There’s a door,’ she told Max. ‘Over here.’
‘Does someone usually come out to meet you?’ he asked.
‘The housekeeper, Mrs McAllister.’
‘Then where is she this time? She must have heard us arrive. And supposing Delaney’s here, how the fuck would he get in? This place is a fortress.’
‘There’s a path up from the beach below the headland,’ said Annie. ‘It’s a slog, but it’s no trick to get in. You ring the bell, and Mrs McAllister opens the gate down there or . . .’
‘Or what?’ asked Max when she hesitated.
‘Redmond could afford to hire a helicopter. You saw his house. My guess he’s got a lot of gang money stashed away, so this would be no big stretch for him. Maybe his pilot landed round the headland, or even right here in the courtyard. Maybe Mrs McAllister thought it was me or Alberto coming in, came out to meet us, and got the shock of her life.’
Steve and Tony were alighting from the helicopter. Annie led the way over to the door Mrs McAllister usually emerged from. But she wasn’t there this time, and that was odd. Max was right about that. Annie felt a threadworm of fear crawl up her spine. But it was too late now for second thoughts. The pilot was getting back behind the controls, firing up the rotors. Within a couple of minutes, the helicopter had lifted off the ground, spun around, and was gone, away into the night sky.
‘So, no welcome party,’ said Max as they stood beside the door.
‘I hope she’s OK,’ said Annie.
‘She’s probably not,’ he said, and gave a nod to Tony, who twisted the circular handle on the old door. It opened, and Tony pushed through, into the body of the castle.
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Now Annie was glad she had taken the time on previous visits to familiarize herself with the castle’s layout. They climbed the steep flight of stone stairs that were so old the centre of each step was worn away by several inches. Wild, kilted highlanders with small ceremonial daggers, sgian dubhs, tucked into their socks would have climbed them in centuries past. Now, it was her and Max, Steve and Tony.
At the top of the flight a corridor opened out, stone flags on the floor, suits of armour lining the long in-curving wall. They walked silently on, then Annie indicated a left-hand turn, down more steps; Max pushed open the door and they stepped into a brightly lit and modern kitchen.
In the middle of the room, gagged and tied to a chair, was Mrs McAllister, her eyes wide with panic. When she saw Annie, she started making noises. Annie held a finger to her lips. Quiet.
The woman stopped making noises. She stared as Steve appeared, then Tony, and her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw they were holding guns. Moving stealthily, Tony went to the left side of the room, Steve to the right.
Annie looked at Mrs McAllister and mouthed, Anyone in here?
Mrs McAllister nodded frantically.
Shit, thought Annie.
Max moved forward. Where? he mouthed at the terrified woman.
She turned her head and indicated a door. A walk-in larder, Annie knew. Big enough to conceal a man, easily. The door was slightly ajar. Tony went in close, and Steve crossed the room quickly.
Annie held her breath.
Tony nodded to Steve, then threw the door open and dived inside, Steve right behind him.
There was no one in there. Steve shook his head at Max. Max moved over there while Annie stepped forward and quickly ripped the tape from Mrs McAllister’s mouth. The woman winced and opened her mouth to speak, and Annie held up a hand urgently: Shush. Quiet!
Inside the larder there were stacks of provisions, canned and jarred goods; nothing else. There was a tatty old strip of carpet on the floor. Tony threw it back. They were looking at a closed circular trapdoor with a disengaged bolt on one side.
‘Where does that lead?’ Annie whispered to Mrs McAllister, busy tugging the ropes that bound her loose.
‘I don’t, I couldn’t, he came in here so fast and I didn’t know what to do . . .’ she babbled.
Having freed the ties, Annie came round to the front of the chair and grabbed Mrs McAllister’s shoulders. ‘You’re safe now. Where does it lead, that trapdoor?’
‘Down into the cellars. We use them as wine cellars now, but once upon a time they were dungeons.’
Max looked at Mrs McAllister. ‘One man. Just one. Sure?’
She nodded shakily.
Steve reached down and flicked the bolt shut. ‘Well, he won’t come up that way,’ he said.
‘But there’s got to be another route up from the dungeons,’ said Annie. ‘Mrs McAllister, when this man came in here and tied you up – how long ago was that?’
‘About half an hour, I suppose.’ Mrs McAllister was a tough old bird, but she was choking back tears. ‘It seemed longer. He came in a helicopter, I thought it was you . . .’
‘And you’re sure he was alone?’
‘I didn’t see anyone else.’
‘So he could be anywhere in the bloody castle by now,’ said Max.
‘What did he look like, this man?’ asked Annie.
Mrs McAllister drew in a sobbing breath. ‘Pale. Sort of smiling. He looked crazed. And he had red hair,’ she said.
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They left Mrs McAllister in the kitchen. The trapdoor was bolted shut and she was strong enough to shove a largish butcher’s block across the kitchen door when they’d gone back out into the corridor, so she would be out of danger there.
Wish we were out of bloody danger, thought Annie as they went on along the corridor, Tony and Steve throwing open doors on either side of it, stepping in, stepping back out. The silence in here wa
s eerie. And now they were fast approaching the hall where Constantine had wined and dined her over the years – and an assortment of high-priced hookers too – while he still had wits left to do it.
She hoped Constantine wouldn’t be in there. She didn’t think he would be, but if he was, then Max would shoot him, beat Redmond to the draw. Once, she had hoped that Max could have let it go, the animosity he felt over her relationship with Constantine; now she knew he never would.
Steve was reaching for the door handle, and Annie’s stomach was crawling with dread. Don’t be in there, please don’t be in there . . .
Steve opened the door, dived inside. Tony followed, then Max, then she walked in too – and there he was.
The breath caught in her throat.
Constantine, sharp-suited, narrow-hipped, broad-shouldered, wearing the silver-grey suit to match his silver hair. He was standing in front of the roaring fire, facing away from them, staring into the flames.
Then she turned and saw the gun in Max’s hand.
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Hearing the commotion in the doorway, the man standing by the fire turned and looked at the four interlopers.
‘Stepmom?’ he said to Annie.
Of course it wasn’t Constantine. Constantine wasn’t like this any more, he wasn’t the Silver Fox, he wasn’t the Don. The man who stood before them now very definitely was.
It was Alberto, Constantine’s youngest son.
As they all stood there staring at each other, two massive Latino men in dark suits emerged from the shadows at the side of the room, pointing guns at them.
‘It’s OK,’ said Alberto quickly, raising a hand to them. They stopped moving, kept watching. ‘It’s Annie Carter. And her husband Max.’
Annie hurried forward and hugged Alberto. ‘Christ, you gave me a fright. For a minute I thought it was your father, standing there. Thought I was seeing things.’
