by Jessie Keane
‘Oh fuck,’ bleated Jeanette, dissolving into tears again. ‘It must be true! What would they make it up for?’
Again that almost unstoppable urge to strike out, to stop Jeanette uttering another word. ‘I don’t know,’ said Annie through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t understand any of this. But we’ve got…’ she glanced at her watch. God bless Rolex. Still working, despite the blast, despite the water. ‘…three-quarters of an hour to get up there and back again. It’s time enough.’
‘But…should we go outside?’ asked Jeanette fearfully.
‘Maybe not. But we’re going to, all right? Because if they’d wanted us dead too, then I’m guessing we’d be dead already.’
Jeanette nodded dumbly.
‘Right. Let’s go,’ said Annie. ‘We’re going to keep under cover as much as possible, and we’re not going to speak, okay? You’re going to follow me, step where I step, and keep your fat mouth shut for a change, got that?’
Another nod.
Annie lifted the gun, slipped off the safety catch, and opened the door on to the poolside terrace. She looked out. The wreckage of the pool house was still smoking. The sun was still shining.
‘Jesus God,’ shrieked Jeanette.
Annie’s stomach flinched with fear. All the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
Jonjo’s body was gone.
‘All right, shut up. Shut up!’
Jeanette was off again, shrieking her head off, signalling their precise whereabouts to anyone who cared to listen. Annie turned in the finca’s doorway and whacked her a good one across the face. She was putting them both at risk; it had to be done. Jeanette reeled back and thumped against the wall and was instantly silent. Annie held a finger to her lips and her eyes told Jeanette to shut it, right now, or she’d get another one.
Someone was playing mind games with them. Someone had left them alive when they ought to be dead. Someone was here, right here, noting what they were doing, noting their reactions. Perhaps just toying with them until they felt like doing the deed. But perhaps not. Maybe there was a faint grain of hope to be found here, for them and for Layla too.
Annie had to cling to that. She was used to standing alone against the odds. A drunken mother, an absent father, all kinds of rucks after she had betrayed her sister Ruthie, all kinds of battles to be fought. And she had fought them, and somehow she had won through. Where there was life, there was hope.
She put any thought of Max aside with ruthless firmness now. She tucked all that away in a box in her mind marked PRIVATE. She would look in there later. But for now, she was alive, she had a chance. She was not going to throw it away. And there was Layla. She owed it to herself, but more than that she owed it to Max’s daughter. If she had to beat this poor dumb idiot to a pulp to shut her up, she’d do it; and Jeanette saw that resolve very clearly in Annie’s face.
‘We’re going to get Inez and Rufio,’ said Annie, slowly and clearly, as Jeanette stood there with tears streaming down her bruised face. ‘If I hear another sound out of you before we get up there, I’m going to make you pay for it. You got that now?’
Jeanette nodded and swallowed. Annie looked capable of anything. She looked scary.
‘You draw attention to us again, I’ll just knock you unconscious with this.’ Annie held up the gun. ‘You’d better believe what I’m saying.’
Jeanette nodded. ‘I do,’ she said weakly.
‘Good. Now let’s go. Keep right behind me and keep checking behind us as we go, okay? You see anything, tap my shoulder but say nothing. Got it?’
Another nod.
Annie looked down at Jeanette’s feet. Why had she put high heels on?
‘Take those bloody shoes off, they’re too noisy.’
Jeanette kicked off the shoes and held them sheepishly in her hand.
‘Shut the door behind us, quietly. Okay?’
Nod.
‘Good. Come on then.’
And Annie was off, keeping close to the finca’s wall as she skirted the terrace, stepping off and into beds of hibiscus. She paused as she hit the driveway, keeping close to the rocky edge of the drive where they would be concealed from anyone hiding out on the scrubby rock face behind the property.
She looked back at Jeanette, who was nervously looking all around them. That was good. Fear was making her alert. Annie felt fearful herself, and exposed, all her nerves jangling, her skin crawling.
Everything was quiet, only the rising wind in the palms and the faint rush of the sea making any noise at all. At any moment she expected someone to come at them, to finish the job, but she walked on, cat-footed, creeping along the edge of the drive, watching, walking…it seemed endless. But finally they were there, stepping on to the back terrace where in summer a huge bougainvillea trailed papery magenta blooms over a rickety pergola. Stepping into deep shade, Annie stopped at the closed blue-painted back door.
Annie was aware that she was wet through with nervous sweat. Runnels of perspiration trickled down between her breasts, and her T-shirt was sticking unpleasantly to her back. She had to keep blinking sweat out of her eyes.
This was stark, consuming terror of a type she had only experienced once before, when Pat Delaney had come after her with mayhem and murder in his twisted mind. It was horrible, making her bowels feel loose, making her want to puke. But if Jeanette saw her losing it, then she would lose it too—and then where would they be? She reached out with a shaking hand and tried the handle. It gave and the door moved inward. She braced herself. Looked back at Jeanette. Jeanette nodded. No one about. Annie brushed the sweat from her stinging eyes with the back of one hand. Found she didn’t want to open the door at all. Felt afraid. Horribly, mortally afraid.
She pushed the door open anyway.
4
Inside the little villa it was cool and quiet. They had stepped straight into the kitchen, which was very simple—there was a stone sink, a stout table, an old but clean cooker. Everything was scrubbed, spotless. Inez was a good housekeeper and prided herself on her cleanliness. But to Annie the kitchen looked too clean. There was no evidence of lunch preparations on the table, no bread, no cheese, no beer or limoncello, nothing. No sign of activity.
There was always activity around Inez: she liked to keep busy. Layla loved to come up here and make a pest of herself in this little kitchen, and Annie had questioned Inez, was Layla a nuisance to her? But Inez always laughed and said, No, Señora. The bambina was no trouble at all.
Now there was no Inez bustling about, scolding Rufio with a smile, laying out food, chatting full-tilt in indecipherable Mallorquin, chopping onions and fat red tomatoes grown fresh on the vine by Rufio’s own hand. Now there was no activity at all. The finca was silent. Annie and Jeanette stepped inside the kitchen, and Jeanette pushed the door closed.
A gust of wind caught it and it banged shut.
Annie gave Jeanette a sharp look. She didn’t know what they were going to find in here. They—whoever they were—could be lying in wait, ready to spring a nasty surprise on the two women. She didn’t want any of their movements signalled ahead.
She crossed the kitchen cautiously to the wide-open parlour door. Here too the furnishings were simple. Polished marble flooring—marble was cheap and plentiful in the Balearics—and a little old couch, a couple of spindle-back chairs, and a scrubbed-clean dining table. But no Inez, no Rufio.
This was starting to give Annie the creeps.
This wasn’t normal.
This was anything but normal.
‘Where the hell are they?’ hissed Jeanette.
Annie held up a finger to her lips and mouthed: Shut the fuck up, will you?
Jeanette pulled a face but did as she was told.
Annie carefully opened the door into the hall. It was empty. Holding the gun at the ready, she crossed the hall to the bedroom and pushed the door gently open.
Blowflies swarmed out, and with the flies came the smell. Annie flinched back and Jeanette let out a cry of startle
d disgust.
Oh God, thought Annie. No.
Fighting the urge to gag, she pushed the door wide open and saw what was there. Rufio was tied to the chair, his head flung back, his lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. Bluebottles swarmed over his face and over the gaping wound that slit him open from neck to crotch. His own bloodstained machete lay discarded on the tiled floor.
The stench of blood hit Annie afresh and she nearly choked. And there was Inez, on the bed…
No, she couldn’t look any more.
Tied up, she thought. Your staff are a little tied up.
What sort of sick bastard could have done a thing like this? They’d been dead for hours, she could see that. For hours. While she and the others had been lazing on the terrace, perfectly relaxed, up here this horror had been unfolding, and they had heard nothing, known nothing. Annie’s skin crawled to think that the bastards who had done all this had been prowling around, and she had been completely unaware. And now…this.
She closed the door softly on the grisly scene, but she could still see it in her mind’s eye. Her guts still churned and her mind still floundered to take it in.
‘Oh Jesus,’ Jeanette moaned, holding a hand to her throat. ‘Who could do that? How could anyone do that? What—what’s going to happen to us?’
‘Fuck it, is that all you can think about?’ Annie rounded on her furiously. ‘We’re still alive. They’re not.’
But they might just be playing with you, said an insidious voice in her head. Making you really suffer before they strike the killing blow.
No, Annie told herself. They had Layla. They had Layla and that meant they were willing to negotiate. Didn’t it? But…it might also mean that they knew what would hurt Annie most, and that would be for Layla to suffer. Inez and Rufio had been tortured. Would these people draw the line at torturing a little girl?
She had to push those thoughts away. She was still alive; she had to dig deep and hold on while there was still hope for Layla. She couldn’t afford to give in to despair. She glanced at her watch and her heart seemed to stop dead.
Had they really been that long getting up here, looking around, finding that awful scene? The hour was up. Bang on time, she heard it. The phone was ringing in the main house. And she wasn’t there to answer it.
She ran as if her life depended on it. Forgot who could have been watching, hiding, awaiting their opportunity to pounce. She ran and was only dimly aware that the light was going now, that it was growing cooler, that Jeanette had forgotten all that Annie had said about keeping quiet and was bleating along behind her, clacking along in her high heels, silly cow, saying something, babbling and crying, moaning that she wouldn’t be left alone up there, that they were never going to get back in time anyway so why try?
But they had to try.
Annie thought of nothing except the need to be quick. Quicker than she had ever been in her life. Her heart felt as though it was bursting out of her chest, her legs were on fire. She sprinted on to the terrace, crashed through the finca’s door straight into the hallway and her hand was on the phone when it stopped ringing.
‘No!’ she yelled, and picked it up and flung it against the wall, feeling helpless, stupid, furious. Instantly she regained control. Picked the thing up, listened to the dial tone. Still working. But she had missed the call.
Be there, he had said.
And she hadn’t.
Jeanette was still prattling on.
‘What will happen? What will they do? Will they hurt Layla? We missed the call, they won’t like that.’
‘Shut up,’ said Annie.
‘They won’t hurt her, will they? Not a little girl like Layla? They wouldn’t do that, would they?’
‘Shut up,’ repeated Annie, watching the phone, willing it to ring again.
‘They won’t hurt her,’ said Jeanette shakily.
Annie’s head shot round and she glared at her. ‘I told you, shut up. I can’t think with all this yakking going on.’
Annie looked past her at the door, forced herself to think even though her guts were liquid with panic. She’d missed the call. Would they phone back? She took a deep breath. Now she felt really sick. The thought of these people having Layla. She wished Max was here. No hope there, though. No hope at all.
‘Shut the door,’ she told Jeanette, and Jeanette read her look correctly and quickly obeyed.
But then Annie thought about that and wondered if she was shutting the baddies out, or shutting them in, because they could already be here, wasn’t that a cold hard fact?
She thought of the quiet way they had moved Jonjo out of the pool, when she and Jeanette had been right here in the finca, and they hadn’t heard a thing. Four men, wasn’t that what Jeanette had said?
Four men wearing masks.
Four dangerous, deadly men. They could be in here right now, ready to spring out and do damage.
‘They’re not going to ring back,’ said Jeanette, shaking her head in rising hysteria. She was clutching herself and shivering.
Thank Christ, Jeanette hadn’t yet considered they could be shut in here with a clutch of murderers. That would really make her flip.
‘They’ll ring back,’ said Annie, although she also doubted it. ‘They’ve got a bargaining tool. They’ve got Layla. And maybe they were watching us when we went in to find Inez and Rufio. They’ll know where we were and that it was a legitimate delay.’
Legitimate, thought Annie. She was talking as though they were dealing with reasonable people here. Not people who would shoot a man between the eyes, push another off a cliff, snatch a child away from its parents, torture a harmless, good-natured woman like Inez in front of her horrified husband’s eyes.
She bit her lip, folded her arms around herself and watched the phone. Along the hallway, the kitchen door was ajar and she could see in there too. It appeared to be empty. She straightened and moved toward it.
‘Where are you going?’ Jeanette almost shrieked. She was clearly terrified of being left alone.
‘Hush,’ said Annie, and walked on silent feet along the hallway. Jeanette came mincing and clattering along behind her. Annie stopped and turned and looked at Jeanette.
‘For the last time, take off those fucking shoes,’ she hissed at the girl.
Jeanette quickly kicked off the heels. Annie proceeded into the kitchen. Empty. Silent. Cool and almost dark. There was the larder, though. Big enough for a man to hide in, easily. Annie crossed to the drawer by the sink and pulled out the two large sharp knives she knew were in there. None were missing, and that was good. That was very good.
She handed one of the knives to Jeanette.
‘Keep it ready,’ she said.
‘Jesus,’ moaned Jeanette, but she took the knife anyway.
Annie held a knife in one hand and the gun in the other and went over to the larder. She nodded to Jeanette to stand aside, then flung the door wide.
Nothing.
Annie leaned against the door and got her breath back. The kitchen was clear. She rechecked the back door lock and the shutters at the tiny window. Left the larder door wide open, so if anyone got in there she’d know about it. Then she ushered Jeanette out of the kitchen and back into the hallway.
‘Have you ever used a gun?’ Annie asked Jeanette.
Jeanette shook her head, no. She was pale and sweating.
She’s cracking up, thought Annie. She’s taken nearly as much as she can take, and she’s gonna blow.
‘When that phone rings again, I’m going to answer it and you are going to watch our backs with this.’ Annie handed her the gun. It was easier to shoot someone than to knife them. Easier and much more effective, and hey! You could do it at a distance. Triple benefits, no less.
When Annie found herself thinking this way she wondered if she was becoming hysterical too.
‘No,’ said Jeanette numbly. ‘I can’t do it.’
‘Oh yes you can. Think of what they’ve just done here. Now hold it steady. Tha
t’s it. Never point it at me or at your foot or anything bloody mad like that, you got that? That’s a hair trigger, it’ll go off at the merest pressure. We’ve checked this end and the kitchen’s clear. So all we have to watch is the doors off this end of the hall, and the main door. If anyone opens that main door, or any of the other doors, don’t hesitate. Just shoot. Aim for the torso.’
The torso was the biggest and the safest target, that was what Max had always said.
Jeanette was gazing in dumb horror at the gun in one hand, the knife in the other.
Annie grabbed her arm and gave her a little shake.
‘Come on, Jeanette. You want to get out of this, I need your help. Okay?’
No answer.
Annie gave her another little shake. ‘Come on, Jeanette. We can do this. Okay?’
This time Jeanette took a gulp and nodded.
‘Good girl.’
The phone started ringing again and Jeanette dropped the gun. The shot was deafening in the enclosed hallway and a bullet thudded into the wall, throwing up a spray of plaster dust.
Nerves jangling, Annie snatched up the phone. ‘Hello?’
She looked at Jeanette, who was whimpering and wailing and bending to pick up the gun as if it was going to bite her. As Jeanette straightened, Annie mouthed, Shut up you fucking idiot at her. Jeanette fell silent.
‘You missed my call.’ It was the same voice, unmistakably Irish and low and menacing.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ said Annie, trying to place the accent. Definitely Southern, she thought.
‘If it ever happens again, the girl will pay.’
Annie swallowed hard. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘She’s a pretty little girl.’
Annie was silent.
‘A pretty little dark-haired girl.’
Annie said nothing.
‘You haven’t asked the question yet,’ said the voice.
‘What question?’
‘You have to ask “What do you want?”’ he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice; he was enjoying himself here. ‘You asked it last time, not this. What’s changed?’
‘All right,’ said Annie. ‘What do you want?’
