Dead Man's Gift 03 - Today

by Simon Kernick

  As she walked down the lane to the back gate of the house, she felt one of her dark moods coming on. She’d liked Phil. Liked him a lot. He’d made her laugh, and he was good in the sack. He’d treated her better than most men too. They’d been planning to go down to Brazil for a few months when this was over, get some serious R and R. They’d even talked about marriage.

  And now it had all gone to shit, just like everything else in her life. All because of that bastard Horton not doing what he was told. She couldn’t take out her rage on Horton – he was beyond her grasp. But his little brat wasn’t. And now she was going to make him scream.

  Max heard the door open and his whole body stiffened. It meant the horrible woman was coming in. For some reason he couldn’t understand, she liked to hurt him, even though he’d never done anything to her. He was scared. More scared than he’d ever been. He just wanted to go home and see Mummy and Daddy, but when he’d asked the horrible woman when he’d be leaving, she’d just laughed and called him names. And then, when he’d started crying, she’d got angry and slapped him again and again until he’d stopped.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ said a woman’s voice he didn’t recognize. The next second he felt the blindfold being lifted from his eyes and saw an old lady with a kind face staring down at him with a worried expression. ‘You poor thing,’ she whispered as she gently took the tape off his mouth.

  ‘We have to leave,’ said Max quickly, knowing the horrible woman could come in at any second. He was always hearing her moving around. ‘I’ve been kidnapped.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you’re safe now,’ she said, untying the straps on his wrists, allowing him to sit up for the first time. He felt stiff from lying in the same position all that time, and ashamed too because he’d wet himself twice and he smelled bad. But he was excited as well, because this was his chance to escape. He tried releasing the strap on his left ankle but his hands were shaking too much and he had to wait for the old lady to do it. When she was finished, she took him by the hand and helped him to his feet.

  Max’s legs felt weak and he almost fell over but he managed to follow her out into a dark hallway. He could see the front door and freedom, and he felt a rush of joy.

  ‘Come on,’ said the old lady and they started towards it.

  Which was when Max heard the sound of a door opening behind them.

  23

  Celia yanked open the door and stalked inside. Her fists were clenched tight, and she was conscious of her teeth grinding together as rage-fuelled adrenalin raced through her body. She was good at inflicting pain without marks, but occasionally her temper got the better of her, as was happening now, and she couldn’t afford for there to be too much blood, especially as she had a razor-sharp flick knife in her back pocket, which was always a real temptation.

  And then she had an idea. She’d scald the little fuck. No mess, but pure agony. She’d take her time pouring the boiling water over him, giving him plenty on the face and between his legs, removing his gag so she could hear him howl and wail.

  She filled the kettle to the top and boiled the water, before carrying it through to the bedroom, her cold smile of anticipation disappearing the second she saw the empty bed.

  For a few seconds, she couldn’t think straight. The kid was gone. But that was impossible. He couldn’t untie himself. And who else knew he was there? It suddenly struck her that it could be the man Horton had sent, and that he could be here now, but she quickly dismissed the idea. Phil’s boss had said he’d got rid of him, and if he was here, surely he’d have tackled her?

  And then she remembered the snooty old lady from yesterday. Miss Marple. The one who’d looked her up and down. She owned this place so she had a key, and she only lived down the lane. Would she have been suspicious enough to have come in here unannounced? It didn’t take long for Celia to conclude she would, which left her with two choices. Either she could cut her losses and bail now, or she could try to retrieve the situation and make sure she kept her thirty grand.

  Which was really no choice at all.

  The old lady’s house was big, warm and welcoming. and Max felt hugely relieved as she led him inside, quickly locking the door behind her.

  ‘Come through into the kitchen. I’ve got a fire going so you can get warm.’

  ‘Can I have a drink of water, please? I’m very thirsty.’

  ‘Yes, of course, you poor thing. What happened to you?’

  Max told her everything he could remember about when the horrible woman had snatched him, but it wasn’t much. ‘I just want to go home to my mummy and daddy,’ he said as he warmed himself in front of the open fire in the kitchen while the old lady handed him a glass of water.

  She smiled. ‘You’ll be going home very soon, I promise. Just as soon as I’ve called the police. Now what’s your name?’

  ‘Max Horton,’ said Max. ‘My daddy’s an MP.’

  ‘Okay, Max. Well, give me a moment.’ She picked up the phone, her back to him.

  ‘Are all the doors locked?’ he asked. ‘The horrible woman’s going to come looking for us and she’s only round the corner.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ said the old lady, walking over to the back door. ‘I’m always forgetting to lock things. It comes from living my whole life in Turville. It’s not the kind of place where anything bad ever happens.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Max saw a shadow appear in the window and suddenly the door was flung open, knocking the old lady off balance, which was when he saw the horrible woman for the first time. She was young, with a thin face and long black hair like a witch’s, and her eyes were narrow and dark. She had a knife in her hand too, and before the old lady could get out of the way, she stabbed her in the stomach. As the old lady gasped with shock, the horrible woman grabbed her round the neck, pulling her close as she stabbed her a second time.

  Terrified, Max ran out of the kitchen and tried the front door, but it wouldn’t open. Not knowing what else to do, he sprinted up the stairs and into a bedroom, shutting the door behind him. It had a lock on it and, with shaking hands he pushed it across, then ran over to the window and tried without success to get it open.

  He could hear footsteps coming up the stairs now and he was so scared he almost wet himself again. There was a phone by the bed and he grabbed it with shaking hands, dialling the only number he knew. Home.

  As it rang, he lay down behind the bed, trying to squeeze under it.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mummy,’ whispered Max. ‘It’s me. Max.’

  ‘Max. Baby. Where are you?’

  He could hear the horrible woman trying the door, and cursing when she couldn’t get in. She kicked it hard.

  ‘I’m in a place called …’ He tried desperately to remember the name of the village that the old lady had told him he was in. ‘I’m trying to remember …’

  ‘Please try, baby. It’s very important.’

  The horrible woman kicked the door a second time and it rattled loudly.

  ‘It’s Tur-something …

  ‘Turville?’

  ‘That’s right,’ he said excitedly. ‘It’s Turville. I’m in someone’s house. She rescued me.’

  The door flew open fast and Max cried out as the horrible woman came round the end of the bed, the knife in her hand, blood all over the blade.

  ‘What’s wrong, baby?’ his mummy screamed. ‘Are you okay?’

  The horrible woman grabbed him by the hair, putting the knife against his throat. ‘Don’t move an inch, you little shit. Who are you talking to?’

  ‘My mummy,’ gasped Max. ‘Please don’t hurt me. I just wanted to talk to her.’

  The horrible woman grabbed the phone off him with her free hand. ‘Listen to me, bitch. I’ve got your boy. If you call the coppers, I’ll cut his throat, right here, right now. Tell your mummy what I did to the woman downstairs. Tell her now.’ She shoved the phone against his ear.

  ‘She killed her,’ said Max, trying to ignore the pain of the blad
e being pushed into his neck. ‘She stabbed her with a knife.’

  ‘And I’ll do the same to him too if you call anyone about this,’ the horrible woman continued, snatching back the phone. ‘Do you understand?’

  Max heard his mummy’s voice down the other end of the phone, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying.

  ‘We’re going to release your boy in the next couple of hours. So just do what you’re told, and don’t try and trace this call, or do something stupid like last time, because I really will kill him.’

  His mummy was crying down the phone now and Max wanted to tell her it was going to be okay, but then the horrible woman slammed down the phone and yanked him to his feet.

  ‘Right, you little bastard,’ she hissed in his ear. ‘You’re going to pay for that.’

  24

  Scope was parked up in the shadow of a warehouse five minutes west of the hospital, trying once again to think of a plan that might somehow save Max Horton’s life. But the truth was that he’d lost Bale, and now the kidnappers had no reason to keep Max alive. On the radio, they were reporting a constant stream about the blast in the committee room meeting. There were few definite facts available, but one of them was that one of the MPs on the committee (already identified as Tim) had left his seat and made a dash for the exit just before there’d been two loud explosions. Reports were coming in of multiple casualties and at least one fatality, but the whole thing was still very sketchy. Scope was sure Tim hadn’t survived, though, and was even surer Max wouldn’t now he was no longer needed.

  He decided to drive to Bale’s house in the hope he might have gone back there, but before he did, he picked up his mobile and dialled the Hortons’ landline. Diane would probably still be there and it was essential that she now got the police involved. He’d give her Bale’s name and tell her about his involvement. It was a risky manoeuvre, but right now he couldn’t think of a viable alternative.

  Diane answered on the second ring, her voice heavy with pain as she said hello.

  ‘Diane, it’s me, Scope.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, what have you done? Why did you get involved?’ Her words were spat out like bullets.

  ‘I’ve found out who’s in charge of the kidnappers but I’ve lost him,’ he said calmly. You need to call the police and let them take over.’

  ‘I can’t talk to you. They’ve got cameras in here.’

  ‘They won’t be watching now. They haven’t got the resources.’

  She let out a long moan. ‘I can’t involve the police. The kidnapper said she’d kill Max if I do. I’ve just spoken to her.’

  Scope frowned. He hadn’t expected a woman to be involved. ‘She may well kill him anyway. You have to call the police.’

  ‘She sounded so evil, Scope. Max managed to get away and he phoned me just now. He said he’s somewhere in Turville. It’s a village near here. But she’s got him again now.’

  ‘And what did this woman tell you to do?’

  ‘Wait. She just said wait, and she’ll release Max in the next couple of hours.’

  Scope thought fast. This didn’t sound right. ‘But they’ve already got what they want. Have you seen the news?’

  ‘No. I’ve been sat in this room. Is Tim … ?’ She left the sentence unfinished.

  ‘I think so. Listen, if you’ve got a location for Max, you’ve got to call the police. They can flood the area.’

  ‘No, it’s too big a village. And if the kidnappers get wind of it, they’ll definitely kill him.’

  Scope took a deep breath. There was another way. ‘I know the car the chief kidnapper’s driving. I’ve got a feeling he could be going out to Turville too, especially if the woman told you to wait, and I’m only just behind him. I could locate the car and then …’

  Diane was silent on the other end of the phone. He could hear her breaths coming in short, tight gasps.

  ‘We haven’t got much time, Diane.’

  ‘Do it,’ she said at last. ‘Find my son and get him out alive. Please.’

  Scope ended the call, put the coordinates for Turville into the sat nav, and pulled out into the road, knowing he was going to have to drive like the wind to catch up with Frank Bale.

  25

  Celia took a last angry drag on the cigarette and stubbed it out on a plate in the kitchen. She was no longer bothered about leaving behind evidence of her stay here, not after what had just happened. She was still on a high after knifing the old lady, even though it could potentially cause her problems. Celia had been DNA-tested before, and though she hadn’t left much evidence of her presence at the nosy old bitch’s house, and had got her before she’d called the coppers, she couldn’t be sure that the bastards wouldn’t find something to tie her to the scene when they finally got round to searching the place. It was already midday, and she needed to get hold of the money she was owed, and get away fast.

  The problem was she didn’t trust the man coming to see her now. Celia was no fool. She knew she was better off to this guy Frank dead than alive, especially now that Phil was gone. But she still had a few aces up her sleeve. The brat, for one. He was currently locked in the walk-in store cupboard next to the kitchen and keeping quiet after the slaps that Celia had given him on the way back here. There was something else too. An item she’d never had to use until now, but one that she’d always thought might come in useful some day.

  As she went into the spare bedroom to retrieve it from her belongings, she heard the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway.

  The man called Frank had arrived.

  Frank Bale eased his soft bulk slowly from the Jaguar, resisting the urge to scratch at the fiery patch of eczema in his belly fold.

  He looked round, taking a deep breath of fresh, clean air. Frank had always liked the countryside. It was peaceful and quiet, with none of the filth or human scum of the big city. One day, he’d retire to a pretty cottage in the woods like this. Not with the wife, though. In an ideal world, he’d be well rid of her, probably off a cliff in some far-off place where the local cops didn’t ask too many questions, and then hopefully he’d be wealthy enough to attract a half-decent-looking Eastern European bird who wasn’t too fussy about what her old man looked like, and they’d live happily ever after.

  A man can but dream, he thought as he knocked on the front door.

  He had to wait a good thirty seconds before it was opened by a tall, hard-faced woman with a bony, almost malnourished face and very dark, flinty eyes that didn’t look like they missed much. This was Celia. She’d probably been pretty once, but too much hard living had sucked the youth right out of her and left something unpleasant and bitter in its place.

  She gave him an icy stare and stepped back to let him in, without saying anything.

  ‘Where’s the kid?’ he asked, noticing she was already wearing her coat.

  ‘Where’s my money?’ she answered as he followed her down the hallway.

  ‘I don’t make a habit of carrying thirty grand in cash about, believe it or not.’

  ‘When were you planning on giving it to me?’ she demanded, turning round to face him as they entered the kitchen.

  ‘When all this is done, you come with me and we’ll collect the money together.’

  She didn’t say anything, her eyes probing his.

  Frank could tell she didn’t trust him. In her shoes, he wouldn’t have trusted him either. But it meant he was going to have to be careful with her. ‘We need to go,’ he said, breaking the silence. ‘Get the kid.’

  She nodded and unlocked a door next to the Aga before disappearing inside. When she emerged a couple of seconds later, she was holding seven-year-old Max Horton, who was still wearing his ridiculous, Billy Bunter-style prep-school uniform. The kid looked petrified, but that was no great surprise. Not only did Celia bear a strong resemblance to one of those wicked witches he’d doubtless heard about in bedtime stories, but she was also holding a bloodstained knife to his throat. When she looked at Frank, there was a
malignant gleam in her eyes that made his balls tingle, and not in a good way.

  ‘I told you. I want my fucking money,’ she hissed. ‘Now give it to me or I cut the little brat’s throat and let him bleed out all over the place.’

  The kid whimpered, and Frank noticed his knees were shaking violently. ‘It’s all right, son,’ Frank told him. ‘You’ll be going home soon.’ At the same time, he drew the gun he’d used to kill Orla with from inside his jacket, hoping that the sight of it with the suppressor attached might encourage Celia to see the error of her ways. ‘I told you,’ he said, half raising the gun. ‘I don’t carry that sort of money.’

  ‘Well then, you’d better fucking find it, hadn’t you?’

  ‘I’m the one with the gun, darling.’

  ‘And I’m the one with the kid. I’m serious, Frank. I bet you were the one who rented out this place. Even if you’ve done it through a company, if they find this brat’s blood all over the floor, I bet they’ll be able to trace it back to you eventually. So, are you willing to take that risk? Because I reckon it’d be easier just to pay me.’

  Frank reckoned it would be easier just to shoot her, but he held back. Luckily, he’d planned for this contingency. ‘All right, I’ll get your money. I actually did bring it, you’ll be pleased to know.’

  ‘So why didn’t you tell me that?’

  ‘Because I don’t like being threatened.’

  ‘So where is it?’

  ‘In the car. I’ll go out and get it. Then we leave here together, do what we need to do, and part company.’

  ‘No, it don’t work like that, Frankie boy. You’re going to give me my money, all thirty grand of it, and then I’m walking. Because I’ve got to be honest, I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you, and when you’re the size you are, that ain’t very far at all. So bring the cash in, let’s count it and then we can all be on our way.’