The Broken_A gripping thriller that will have you on the edge of your seat

by Casey Kelleher

  The Broken

  A gripping thriller that will have you on the edge of your seat

  Casey Kelleher

  For Tara & Seán

  x x

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  The Betrayed

  Casey’s Email Sign Up

  Also by Casey Kelleher

  A Letter From Casey

  The Taken

  The Promise

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  2003

  A noise close behind her, startles her.

  Glancing back, Nancy Byrne strains to see through the darkness. Staring down the long, narrow alleyway that she’d just hurried down, there’s nothing there. It was just her mind playing tricks on her. The eerie silence all around her magnifying every creak and rustle.

  There’s no one there! she tells herself firmly. You’re being paranoid, Nancy. You’re a Byrne. Man the fuck up and start acting like one. She berates herself, purposely ignoring the shiver of trepidation that trickles through her as she eyes the flickering street lamp much further back. The eerie strobe effect only highlighting the dark shadows that dance beneath the thick mist of rain that pelts down.

  Cursing herself. What was she doing out here on her own in the middle of the night, walking the towpath of Brentwood lock at this ungodly hour of the morning?

  Of course there is no one else out here.

  All the sane, normal people of London are tucked up safely in their beds, asleep, it seems. Just where she should be. She is soaked through too, she suddenly realises, as she sweeps her hair out of her eyes. Strands of it sticking to her forehead, wet and limp against her clammy skin.

  When had it started to rain?

  She hadn’t even noticed until now, so consumed by her heartache and grief that she was oblivious to anything going on around her. The black tailored suit that she wore to her father’s funeral today – yesterday now – wet through, clinging to her tiny frame. She is just exhausted. She hasn’t slept for days. She needs to get home, to crawl safely into her bed.

  That thought almost makes her smile at the irony at her sudden need to get back there when, just a few hours ago, it had been the one place that she hadn’t been able to escape from quickly enough.

  Home.

  With its swarms of well-wishers and so-called friends of her father’s that had all out-stayed their welcome back at the house for his wake.

  Her father’s murder had sent shock waves across their entire community. His sudden demise changed everything, and Nancy had seen it in all of their faces. How the looks of sympathy passed between them as they repeated the same old clichéd words of condolence. As if saying how sorry they all were for her father’s sudden death, how shocked at the brutality of it all, would somehow make Nancy and the rest of the family feel less burdened by their loss.

  Then there were all the stories she’d been forced to sit through. Anecdotes of the Infamous Jimmy Byrne. Tales that even Nancy had never heard before. Each one more elaborate and embellished than the last, as if everyone was trying to one-up each other on who knew him better, who was closer to him. Every unknown tale only expanding the ever-growing gap between her and her father; so much so, that Nancy had begun to feel as if she’d never really known her father at all. She wasn’t alone.

  No one had really known her father, and that was the sad truth of it.

  All the lies he told, the secrets he kept.

  Her whole world had exploded. In just a few short weeks, everything that she thought she knew had crumpled around her to nothing.

  That’s when Nancy had escaped. That’s when she’d left them all to it. Just as the walls had begun closing in on her.

  Though out here, away from them all as she walked in the cold night air, she was feeling just as claustrophobic.

  The blackness and silence closing in on her too.

  She needs to get herself straight, she thinks. She has to, for the sake of her family and for the sake of her father’s businesses. It was all going to be down to her now and walking around London under darkness would be the least of her worries. Her father had lived his life on a knife edge. Enthralled in the danger and violence of London’s criminal underworld, he’d become the notorious Jimmy Byrne. A kingpin of a world built on crime and violence. He’d built himself an empire, together with his business partner, Alex Costa, buying out numerous properties and businesses across London.

  Nancy knew where most of her father’s vast wealth came from. She wasn’t stupid. He liked to call it his import and export business, though really they were shipping drugs. Large quantities of cocaine which were being distributed all over London. That’s what had placed her father firmly on the map as one of London’s most legendary, feared faces. He’d had an army of men working for him and he’d made sure that his family had all reaped the rewards of his success over the years.

  Nancy had been blessed.

  Living a lavish lifestyle in a big mansion over in Richmond. Herself and her brother’s education had been paramount to her father. Insisting on enrolling both his children in one of the best private schools that money could buy. Her grandparents and mother had all wanted for nothing either. Her father had set a precedent. Only the best cars, the best food, the best life for his family. Nothing was ever too much for any of them.

  That all fell on Nancy’s shoulders now, as she had known it would eventually.

  That’s why her father had involved her in his business dealings from such a young age. Letting her run his books for him, and balance up his accounts. Showing her the ins and outs of some of the deals he made. He was getting her prepared for her inevitable future of taking over the family businesses. The infamous Byrne Legacy. Though neither of them had ever imagined that any of this would have happened so soon.

  Hearing a bird flying above her, Nancy looks up. It will be morning soon. She must have been out here for hours, she thinks. So lost in her thoughts, in her grief, that she’d completely lost track of all time. Though, she takes comfort from the fact that the night’s sky will be replaced with dawn shortly.

  The darkness is starting to freak her out. Playing tricks with her mind. Making her think that she can see and hear things that are only illusions. She’s just being silly, she knows that. Though no amo
unt of scolding herself can stop her heart from beating so wildly inside her chest. No matter how hard she tries to convince herself otherwise, she is unable to shake the feeling that someone is following her.

  Of course no one is following her. She’s just being stupid, paranoid. She’s walked the length of Brentwood’s canal towpath and hasn’t seen a single soul for miles, as if she was the only person out here tonight.

  Which she might be, she thinks warily.

  Up until now there’d been nothing but an eerie silence. Unworldly in London, she thinks, to not even hear the noise of traffic whizzing by somewhere off in the distance. Still this had been exactly what she wanted earlier: to be alone with her thoughts so that she could try and get her head straight. Only it has backfired, it seems. It is too quiet now. Walking around in the pitch-black dark is starting to make her feel anxious.

  At least earlier, when she’d strolled through Richmond High Street and up past Kew Gardens, past the pubs and late night wine bars that had long ago shut up, after turfing out the last of their intoxicated customers, there had been people around. In their droves. The noise and joviality of the people she passed had only irritated her further. Reminding her that life goes on.

  Nancy had only wanted to disappear then. To hide away somewhere on her own, to silence their loud chants and laughter. How dare everyone around her be so happy when her world had ended?

  Strolling along the canal, consumed with her thoughts and memories of her father, as she’d eyed the reflection of the moon shining down onto the water’s surface, as if following her, for a short while, she’d felt as if she had company. Being alone had helped. Only, her mind had started running away with itself. Her grief had started to eat away at her.

  She just couldn’t get her head around the fact that her father was really dead. That he’d never be coming back. This was real. He was gone forever. That image that she had of him splayed out on the cold ground of Tilbury dockyard ingrained in her mind. Murdered in cold blood.

  Death would always be tragic when a loved one was concerned, she imagined, but murder was simply soul-destroying. So unjust, so cruel. Her father’s life snatched away in a heartbeat. Her dad, just taken from her.

  There would be no grief, no mourning for her now, Nancy knew that. There couldn’t be, not until the murderer was punished for ripping her father away from her life so viciously.

  How could one action, one gunshot, rip someone’s life clean away and in turn, destroy hers too?

  Leaving her completely broken.

  Shivering, Nancy blinked back her tears. She’d vowed not to cry. Not yet. Not until her father’s death had been avenged. And it would be avenged, there was to be no doubt about that. She would see to that personally. Reminding herself of all of this, Nancy fought to regain her composure once more.

  Breathing more freely again now. Furiously, in fact, as she gulped down huge lungfuls of air, continuing her way towards the end of the alleyway, her grief quickly replaced with anger.

  More than that. A hot, burning rage inside of her. That was the most fucked-up part of all of this. Nancy knew who pulled the trigger.

  She knew who killed her father.

  Which was all the more reason why she’d needed to be alone tonight, to clear her head. To gain some clarity on all the thoughts that consumed her as she walked for what felt like miles. Alone in the dark, passing canal boats and bridges, then further along, the old abandoned warehouses. The huge piles of litter and junk that had been dumped there. Shopping trolleys, old bikes. Rubbish everywhere. It had felt a bit like a ghost town.

  She hadn’t realised how far down she’d ventured until she stood alone outside one of the abandoned depots. She remembered how her father had brought her here once as a child. How he’d told her that the Grand Union Canal went all the way from Brentford to Birmingham. Nancy hadn’t known how far that was back then, but her father had made it sound impressive.

  Unlike the reality of the canal path today.

  The run-down buildings, dark and desolate. Her eyes drawn to the broken windows. Boarded up, mostly, though some windows were smashed and exposed. Who knew what or who was lurking about in the squalor around her? Using the old buildings as crack dens or squats. Peering out at her through the pitch-black gaps that used to be glass. Who was she kidding, pretending to be all big and brave?

  She’d felt foolish then and scared suddenly, walking around out here all alone in the dead of night. The place seemed so sinister. Unsafe. If anything happened to her, she’d thought, no one would hear her screams. No one would even know she was here. So she’d turned off the towpath; she’d taken a short cut through the long, narrow passageway that led back out onto the main London streets.

  Only now she is here, she can’t shake the feeling that she isn’t alone at all.

  She is being followed.

  Picking up her pace as she continues, Nancy wills the daylight to come. Walking so fast that she feels out of breath, her lungs tightening inside her chest.

  Looking up, even the moon has abandoned her now. Nowhere to be seen. She hopes that it is still up there somewhere, hiding in the night sky behind the tall wraiths of the trees that thickly line two towering walls either side of her. Still floating along beside her.

  That was a joke. As if the moon was going to bring her any real comfort.

  It is just her now.

  Or is it? she thinks as the noise comes again.

  Louder this time. Nearer.

  A creaking behind her.

  She moves quicker, not bothering to turn and look behind her. She doesn’t need to: what she needs to do is get the hell out of here and fast.

  She is almost running. Out of breath, her chest burns but it isn’t her pace making her lungs constrict inside her ribcage. Concentrating on her heels clicking loudly against the cold concrete beneath her, she homes in on another noise behind her then. There is no mistaking it this time.

  Footsteps.

  Recognising the crunch of a stone underneath a heavy footfall. This time the sound directly behind her, she is certain of it.

  She turns, half hoping that she can berate herself once more for being so weak and pathetic. Only, shaking her head, as if doing a double take she homes in on the large dark silhouette of a man just a few yards behind her, and she realises she isn’t being paranoid at all. His huge frame is lit up by the flickering street lamp further back. Dressed in black, a hood pulled up around his face.

  He was so close now that he could almost touch her. Hurt her?

  Catching a flash of his steely glare as he lurches towards her, she recognises the malice there.

  Nancy runs.

  Her heart thuds so loudly inside her ribcage that it feels like it will explode out of her chest. Stumbling unsteadily in her heels, she silently curses herself for not changing into something more comfortable before she left the house tonight, as she fights to stay upright on the uneven pavement beneath her. Her feet are swollen and sore from walking for so long. Though, in hindsight, she hadn’t foreseen being chased down a dark alley by some scary-looking madman.

  Ahead of her, she can see the break in the wall of overgrown bushes and trees that line the alleyway. She is almost there. Almost back out on the main road. Back out in civilisation, and the well-lit Brentford High Street. Only another thirty yards or so to go. She’ll be safer out there, she can call for help. Only, she is out of breath and her assailant is gaining on her. The pounding rhythm of her heart thuds inside her ears, matching the footsteps that pummel the concrete behind her.

  SLAP SLAP SLAP.

  Whoever it is, they are so close now that she can almost feel them. She can hear them breathing. Panting.

  When the blow that she has been dreading finally comes, it floors her, slamming her body down onto the cold, wet pavement. Nancy lets out an almighty scream as the air explodes from her lungs with the force of the impact. Her face is smashed against the uneven ground, a hefty thud as her head makes contact with the pavement,
the pain making her cry out once more.

  Desperate to get up, to get her attacker off her, she realises that she can’t move, weighed down by the enormous, heavy bulk of the man on top of her, pinning her down to the ground as she struggles for breath. She turns her head to the side, fighting for air. She licks her lips, feeling the warm liquid streaming down into her mouth from her nose, recognising the metallic tang of blood.

  Another pain then, searingly sharp as her head is yanked back. Screaming once more, as her attacker wrenches her up by a large clump of her hair that feels as if it will rip from her scalp.

  ‘Get off me.’ The words leave her mouth as a threat, an order, but spoken out loud, they sound more like a desperate plea. A whimper. Before a large hand clamps firmly over her mouth, silencing her.

  ‘Shut the fuck up and listen, you stupid little bitch.’

  Bristling at the venom in her attacker’s words, the real threat that lingers there, Nancy does as she is told, shunning the instincts telling her to fight back, the feeling of wanting to claw at this fucker’s face, and scratch his beady evil-looking eyes from their sockets.

  But there is no point in even trying. She is no match for this man, overpowered, crumpled beneath him, bleeding and hurt. She can barely move, barely breathe. He is four times her size and, by the sounds of it, he knows exactly what he is doing.

  Instead, she realises, she’ll have to play along. Try and be smart about her next move. The last thing she wants to do is antagonise her attacker any further.