Marnie opened her mouth to fire another question but Conway reached down and grabbed hold of Acton’s face.
‘Your name’s Acton and you worked for the late Jimmy Rae, didn’t you?’
Acton tried to blink the rain from his eyes as he frowned in confusion. ‘What are you talking about, I—’
‘Rae’s dead,’ Conway leaned down close. ‘I should know because I was the one that killed the fucker.’
Acton tried to break free but the grip on his face tightened, strong fingers digging into muscle. Marnie eased back slightly ready to dive in should the need arise, she could see the rain dripping from Conway’s head onto the man’s upturned face.
‘Jimmy can’t be dead, he—’
‘I stuck a knife through his skull and you will end up the same way unless you tell me what I want to know.’
‘Piss off, I’m saying nothing.’
Conway slammed his fist into Acton’s face, his nose cracked and the blood spurted. When he lifted his fist again, Marnie grabbed his arm, locking it back, Tom glanced at her, he had the same look on his face seconds before he speared Rae’s brain with the blade.
‘Think of Rowan,’ she hissed.
He seemed to shake with rage but then he slowly lowered his arm, the fury still burning in his eyes like a dark fever eating the heart of him.
Marnie nodded before looming over the figure on the floor. ‘I want to know if Wold is at the house and—’
‘Never heard of her,’ Acton bit back, still trying to take in the news that Rae was dead.
Lashing out, Marnie cracked a hand across his face and he glared up at her in surprise. ‘You’ve been stitching Rae up, haven’t you?’ she said.
For a fleeting moment, she saw a look of shame flit through his eyes, he opened his mouth to fire back a denial but Marnie didn’t give him the chance.
‘We know about Clarisse Wold, we’ve been to her house and seen the cellar, a cellar decked out like a torture chamber, a cellar with children’s clothes in it,’ her voice rose in disgust. ‘Someone has been supplying information about Rae, they told them about Whitlow, and all the scams and I just bet that someone is you!’ she screamed down into his face.
‘Bollocks, I—’
‘And now we find you. On a road at night. In the pissing rain. A road that leads to another house owned by Wold. Now tell me, does she have Rowan Hall at the house?’
Acton clamped his mouth closed, his eyes still glaring up with defiance. Then Conway reached down and grabbed the Acton by the collar of his jacket and hauled him towards the waterlogged ditch at the side of the road.
‘Get your fucking hands off me!’ Acton bellowed.
Conway spun him around and thrust his face into the filthy water.
Marnie stood in the road, her natural instincts were to dash forward and pull Conway back but she remained standing in the lashing rain, hands by her side, her ponytail dripping water onto her already-drenched clothing.
Conway yanked Acton’s face out of the water. ‘Is Rowan at the house?’ he demanded.
Choking and spluttering, Acton tried to cough the filthy water from his lungs, his eyes rolled and then his face was thrust back into the freezing ditch. Ten seconds later, he was dragged free again.
‘Yes!’ Acton yelled in terror.
Tom Conway flicked him over and drove his fist into the centre of Acton’s face, a cheekbone cracked and more blood erupted as his nose crumpled and his eyes fluttered before closing. Turning, he looked at Marnie and then they walked together along the centre of the road, Marnie paused for a moment to slam her foot down on the cracked phone and then they vanished like two malevolent spirits into the rain.
96
Rowan couldn’t take her eyes off the body on the floor, his insides lay spread across the floorboards, his face coated red, his scalp a raw dome of flesh with white bone shining through the gore. Even when the woman walked into the room, she didn’t look up from the grisly sight, her young mind seemed focused on the body, unable to break the horrific spell as the image ingrained itself onto her brain.
‘I suppose you’re wondering what you are doing here?’ Wold asked, coming to a halt three feet from the bed.
Rowan could hear the voice but still she couldn’t look away.
‘I’m talking to you.’
This time, Rowan could hear the displeasure in the voice and at last managed to turn her gaze away from the body. She had met Clarisse Wold on three separate occasions, she had been there when Wold had made five-year-old Gwen Ross cry for handing her the flowers. Rowan’s dad had been doing the rounds of the hostel and hadn’t seen the way the woman ripped into little Gwen. Later on that day she had told her father what had happened and she had seen the look of anger pass over his normally calm face.
‘Leave it with me,’ he’d said. ‘I’ll have a word with her.’
‘I’m not used to being ignored,’ Wold said, her eyes narrowing in anger.
Rowan continued to look up at her, blankly, her mind still thinking of her father with his easy smile and loving eyes as they sat and looked out at the world from the treehouse they had made together.
‘Are you listening to me?’ the woman spat.
Rowan wasn’t listening at all, she was thinking of her father teaching her how to look after herself, they were in the back garden, the sun shining, the birds singing.
‘I can’t do it,’ Rowan had said in frustration.
Her dad had knelt down in front of her on the newly-mown grass. ‘Listen to me, Ro, self-defence isn’t about who is the bigger or stronger, it’s all about balance and patience.’
‘“Patience?”’ Rowan had parroted in confusion.
Her dad had nodded. ‘You have to learn to wait and watch because I can promise you that, sooner or later, everyone makes a mistake and you have to be ready when they do.’
‘Look at me!’ Wold’s voice rose into a virtual screech.
Rowan blinked twice, the sunny memory of the garden and her father vanished and she was back in the stinking room with the body on the floor and the woman standing in front of her with eyes ablaze.
The fear came sweeping back, only this time she managed to stop the onslaught as her dad’s voice whispered in her ear.
‘Sooner or later, everyone makes a mistake and you have to be ready.’
Rowan held onto her father’s promise and waited to see what would happen next.
97
Marnie broke into another run then stopped and glanced over her shoulder, Tom Conway looked like death, he was staggering along, his face ripped with pain, almost bent double as he tried to keep will himself forwards.
Marnie hesitated, her internal clock racing away the valuable seconds, her body shaking with the need to make use of the adrenalin that surged through her system.
Conway approached and looked up at her through the rain. ‘Don’t even think it,’ he walked straight past and carried on walking. Marnie sighed and followed, the road curved left to reveal another short stretch of road before it veered right and vanished into the darkness. She fell in at Conway’s side, shortening her stride, both of them concentrating on battling through the howling wind. As soon as they rounded the next bend Marnie could see the house in the distance, a solid block against the darkness, a solitary light shining in an upstairs room, a black saloon car and a larger Land Rover parked on the drive.
Conway broke into a jog and Marnie was taken by surprise as his speed increased, she set off after him, at last the adrenalin had an outlet and she caught up with Conway in a matter of seconds. She could hear his breathing, ragged and strained, but kept her narrowed eyes on the house, her heart beating fast as it loomed out of the darkness.
When she felt Conway plucking at her sleeve she slowed down from a run to a jog and then a brisk walk.
‘We can’t risk going for the front door.’
‘In case it’s locked,’ Marnie knew he was right, if Rowan Hall was still alive then the last thing they wanted was t
o be banging on a locked front door.
Conway cut left and Marnie followed as he stuck close to the stone wall that circled the property. They ran in a crouch, the trees overhead dripping water onto their sodden clothes. Marnie broke to the right and sprinted through the barren remains of a flower bed before reaching the side of the house. Glancing over her shoulder, she waited for Conway to emerge from the darkness.
Reaching her he gave her a sharp nod and Marnie moved forward, the gable end was devoid of windows, no doubt in an effort to keep the elements at bay. At the end of the building, she flattened herself to the brickwork before risking a quick glance into the desolate garden. A tall wall circled the perimeter. In one corner a derelict greenhouse stood forgotten, broken panes twinkling in the patchy moonlight.
Slipping around the corner she made her way to the first window on the right and looked into the gloomy kitchen. Conway touched her shoulder and she moved past the window in a crouch.
Reaching the large back door, Marnie tried the handle and scowled in disappointment as she found it locked. The final window showed another section of the huge kitchen and she felt the frustration building as Conway moved past her to the corner of the house.
She looked left in time to see him vanish from sight, a gust of wind blew and she wiped the rain from her face before rounding the corner.
Tom Conway was standing outside a door and Marnie saw his eyes widen as he turned the handle and pushed it open, before she could say anything he vanished inside.
98
Williams opened the front door and lit a cigarette, his face strained as he took a gulp of smoke. Then he pictured Acton walking down the lane in the pissing rain and the image brought a smile to his face. He had no doubt that Rae’s henchman wouldn’t go the course, the woman would use him and then she would give him the nod and Williams would get to work with the machete. It had happened before on two occasions, she had mastered that fine balancing act of keeping people just where she wanted them – in a perpetual state of fear at what she may do. The fear that they were being blackmailed and that Wold would toss them to the wolves was always at the forefront of their minds but they never saw the real threat of Williams paying them a call, blade in hand, until it was too late. Through the woman, he had come to learn that wealthy people seemed to have a strange notion that they were immune to sudden death, as if their money somehow separated them from mere mortals. He took another swallow of smoke as the rain increased, a downpour that put all others to shame, the view from the open front door vanished until all he could see was the rain hammering down in a black sheet. He could hear it cascading from the rotten guttering above and hitting the flagged floor in a never-ending barrage of sound.
In a strange way he was glad of the noise, it was no doubt helping to block the sounds of screaming from the upstairs bedroom. He had no real idea why the woman had put these strange wheels in motion. When she had first explained about Jimmy Rae he had merely thought that Rae was another member of the exclusive club who had somehow displeased her, yet now, he wasn’t so sure. When she had asked him to kill Hall and take the girl, Williams had done it without a second thought, even though the demand had seemed out of character for Clarisse Wold.
Now, he stood and smoked and tried to fathom what it had all been about. He had delivered the letter to the house just as she had asked, though he had no idea what was in it and no clue as to who lived in the small, newly-built property. Perhaps none of it was linked, God knows the woman was as crazy as a box of snakes but he also knew that she would have every angle covered, every nuance would have been thought through with painstaking patience.
Sometimes, he would watch her when he knew she wasn’t looking, see the smile curl her lips, her eyes shining with some internal hatred for the world.
He could have killed her, could have put an end to her madness, yet Williams had never found the nerve to take the risk. After all, just because you cut off the head it didn’t mean that her power ceased. He closed his eyes momentarily and pictured a huge bloated spider sitting in its intricate web, feeling for the slightest movement in the threads. That was how he had come to see Clarisse Wold, she had a thread that attached to everyone she knew or came into contact with. Long before anyone was offered to join the club she knew all about them and Williams knew that he would be no exception. She knew all about their sordid lives before they were approached. Phelps, the slimy solicitor, had no doubt thought himself a clever man, someone who had made his living through deceit and lies. Yet he had never spotted the truth, while he had been busy building his empire, Wold had been learning all about him. In the end the fact that Phelps was childless had proved his undoing. Wold worked on the theory that families and children equated to leverage. Those who lived a solitary life had a limited shelf life and long before they became a risk Wold would dispose of them.
Williams sighed and flicked the cigarette out into the rain, trying to comprehend when his quota of usefulness would expire and what, if anything, he could do to postpone that inevitable day.
99
They moved forward in a crouch, eyes fixed on the back of the man who stood by the open front door. Marnie blinked the water from her eyes as they moved silently forward. Passing a door on the right she risked a glance inside, the room looked barren of furniture, a black maw of twisted wood and crumbling plaster.
With every furtive step the tension mounted, Tom Conway moved ahead, although she couldn’t see his face Marnie had no doubt it would be blazing with fury, the killer glint in his eye as he closed the man down.
They were fifteen feet away when the figure tossed the cigarette out into the wind and rain and stepped back. Marnie quickened her pace as he started to turn, then Conway dashed forwards and she saw the shock appear on the man’s face. He opened his mouth just as Tom Conway barrelled into him propelling him back against the corner of the open door.
Conway threw his head forwards and smashed his forehead the man’s cheek.
Marnie was six feet away when the scream erupted from above, bringing her to a gut-churning halt.
She saw the look of hope mingled with terror in Conway’s eyes as he whipped his head towards her.
‘Rowan!’ he gasped. ‘Help her!’ he said, driving his elbow into the side of the man’s head.
Marnie didn’t hesitate as another scream blasted down the stairs, spinning right she dashed upwards, taking them two at a time, her wet ponytail lashing across her face.
She reached the top and spun left, the landing stretched away to a closed bedroom door and the memory of running through the burning house towards a similar closed door, the monster on her heels, burst into her mind.
Reaching up a hand, she grabbed her dangling hair and yanked down hard, then she was moving forwards, her fury seething, searching for an outlet, an outlet she knew was waiting beyond the closed door.
Williams tried to pull the blade free from the inside of his long coat but the fucker slammed another fist into the side of his head, stunning him and for a moment everything went dark, then he snapped back to the present and tried to shake the man who was all over him like a fucking rash.
Mustering his strength, he managed to lunge forwards, thrusting his attacker away before snatching the machete from his coat, he could feel the blood running down from the split in his forehead, his head still ringing.
Then he smiled as he saw the man stagger back, his arms clawing at the air for balance, when he fell he landed hard and the smile on Williams’s face grew wider.
‘I’m going to cut off your fucking arms and legs for making me bleed,’ he said as he strode forwards.
Tom felt the pain in his guts start to climb through his body, taking everything with it, everything except the hatred for the man who closed him down.
‘I don’t know who you are, pal, but I can take a guess you’re a friend of the cunt I killed in the garage.’
Tom knelt on the wet floorboards, his teeth clamped against the agony, the fury writhing inside
as he listened to what the man was saying, each word fed the flames of revenge as he thought of John, sucker-punched by this piece of shit.
‘The girl is upstairs and although you won’t be around to hear it, I can promise you she will scream right up until the end.’
Tom let his head fall forward but his ears were attuned to every sound, the rain hissing, the wind howling. And the heavy footfall of the man who moved closer. At last he heard the figure breathing a quick inhale and exhale, he looked up as the man stood before him – still smiling – the heavy blade hanging from his right hand.
‘Tell me what’s it like knowing you’re going to die, knowing you’ve failed?’ he asked as if genuinely interested.
Tom didn’t waste the energy, he merely sat there and waited, his eyes fixed on the man’s face, watching every tick, watching his eyes, the way his mouth moved.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ Williams said, as the blade swept up.
Tom Conway released the fury, the pain vanished and his hand shot to the sheath strapped to his ankle, his fingers closing around the handle of the knife. Then he lunged forward and drove the four-inch blade into the man’s gut, he bellowed out his fury as Williams screamed in agony.
Tom watched in satisfaction as the man staggered back off the blade, his right hand opened and the machete clattered to the floor.
Both his hands were clamped to his stomach, blood sprayed out, patterning the wet boards in a Pollock-like style.
Tom pushed himself upright, staring as the man sat down with a thump, his face suddenly devoid of colour, his eyes screwed shut against the never-ending pulsating waves of agony.
Conway staggered forward and Williams cracked open his eyes, just as he felt the blade swipe across his throat.
Cut The Threads Page 32
