by AJ Adams
“I’m rescheduling.” He landed an hour later, a chopper touching down on the road outside. “Natalia! I missed you.” His arms were around me, the truncheon in evidence, but he was too worried about me to sweep me off to bed. “Ay, corazon! Good news and bad, huh?”
He understood. Of course he did.
“James called. Your suegro’s statement means we can fix everything. The warrant for Bobby's attack is cancelled. The rest will be written off as self-defence. If Smith wants to talk to you about the Twittertons, he'll have no basis to keep you.”
“I’m free to go home?” It felt unreal.
Quique hesitated. “Not yet,” he said. “In a day or two. Just in case.”
Part of me wanted to be weak, to stay a while, but I knew I had to be tough, for both of us. “Love, let’s not do this.” I put my arms around him. “I’m grateful for the rescue but this is where we move on.”
“Corazon—”
He could hardly speak. I put a finger on his lips. “I understand.” Oh those eyes! Dark and loving, gazing into mine, yet riddled with guilt. I wouldn’t push him. I remembered too clearly how raw I’d been after my marriage fell apart. “I need to get back to where I belong.” And hide the fact that it was here, in his arms.
“Natalia, I want—”
Whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by my phone ringing ‘Cry Me A River.’ “I have to answer,” I told Quique, “it’s Frank.”
It was my ex, and he was in a mess. “I’m sorry, Nats. Forgive me.”
I thought he was drunk at first. “Sure Frank, where are you?”
“I’m sober. Look, this is all my fault. I know now why you left me.”
My heart was in my mouth. “Oh, Frank!”
“I’m going to make it up to you. Just say you forgive me.”
He sounded distant, abstracted. All the hair on my neck stood up. Frank sounded suicidal. “No, I won’t.”
Frank was quiet. “Yes, I see.”
“I’ll forgive you if you ask me personally. Not on the phone.” I was talking at random. “Frank, you owe me!”
“Sorry.” The phone went dead.
“Trouble, corazon?” Quique was alert.
“Yes. Can you trace that call?”
“Of course.” It took less than a minute. “He’s in your apartment.”
“Thank God.” I called Roger. “Go to him and don’t leave him. I’m on my way home.”
By the time I turned to Quique, he was on the phone. “Jorge, just send someone to Natalia’s apartment to keep them in place and fix Smith. We’re on our way.”
We left like we’d arrived: racing to the airport and diving into a waiting plane. This time though, we waited ten minutes more, and then Kyle, Gordo and Pedro Rojo pitched up.
“This cloud hanging over you, we don’t like it,” Gordo growled.
“It stinks,” Pepe added. “We thought we’d come with you, to ask a few questions.”
“Chloe says I’m to make sure you come back,” Kyle grinned. “We can’t keep going through caterers.”
I teared up straight away. “You guys are the best!”
“What do you need?” Quique asked.
“Time to think.”
Anyone else would have asked questions, but the Zetas sat back and gave me space. I puzzled and puzzled. We were half way across the Atlantic by the time I got a glimmer of what was going on. It seemed incredible, but all the pieces fit. Also, if I were right, the entire family was at risk.
I looked at Quique who was fast asleep. He was well known for crashing instantly when on a plane, and now I was grateful for it. If my plan worked, I’d go back to my old life. It would be hard to say goodbye. Even thinking of not seeing him every day ripped at my guts.
I spent a woeful half hour throwing up, sheer nerves, and then got a little shuteye myself. It was just as well, because getting into London was like a scene from a spy film.
James turned up with an SUV and blanket security clearance, but Quique was determined to keep me safe.
“Dark glasses, hair up under a baseball cap and keep your eyes down and don’t speak,” he ordered me. “We can fix anything that happens, but it’s better not to have any trouble.”
“I thought I was in the clear?”
“You will be, but it can take months to clear warrants, especially as Smith alerted Interpol. Those pendejos take forever to update their records.”
It was nerve-wracking, especially when the crew armed up. Not just little handguns, either; Quique was carrying a gun bigger than Dirty Harry’s.
“This is London, not Nuevo Laredo.”
“It’s security protocol,” Quique growled.
“Well, try not to shoot anyone.”
I called Roger. “Nats, Frank is sober, but it’s like he’s possessed! I think he’s suicidal.”
“Remind him he can’t get my forgiveness till I see him.”
“It’s what’s stopping him. But Nats—”
I interrupted him. “Call the family and tell them to come round to the flat. I’ll be there in an hour.”
“What? You’re here?”
“Just landed.”
“Are you insane? What if Smith finds out?”
I suppressed the retort that he’d need a platoon to arrest me. “Don’t tell anyone I’m back. Just tell them Frank needs to talk to them. We finish this today.”
Quique was watching me, his eyes turned black with tension. “What’s the plan?” He didn’t like it. “Too many things can go wrong.”
“I know, love. Which is why I need you.”
He listened, argued and finally shrugged. “Okay, bruja. Your family, your plan.” But he was tense all the way into London.
The family were waiting, and tense wasn’t the word for them.
“What going on?” Roger hissed. “Why are the Zetas here?”
Scott was there, too, sitting next to Frank. “Really, Natalia! Armed guards? Have you gone insane?”
“Sit down and shut up,” Jorge snapped. “Show some respect!”
Jorge gave me a hug, then Matu, Lencho and Paco followed, all smiling, "Hey bruja! Good to see you again!" The family saw and quieted, worrying.
“They took our phones!” Millie said. “And why's Frank saying it’s all his fault?”
“This is intolerable!” Scott was shaking, white-faced with rage and fear. “Are you out of your mind, Natalia?”
I looked at the pinched lips and balled hands. “You’ve been with Frank these last few weeks?”
Scott shrugged. “Someone had to help him. He was on the verge of a breakdown. I got him into a clinic.”
“He doesn’t seem right at all!” Millie cried. “What have they done to him?”
Scott was blank-faced and tense. “I think Frank should tell you,” he said quietly.
Everyone stared at Frank, sitting there pale and shaking but stone cold sober. “I did it. I tried to kill Dad.”
“You? Why?” Millie wailed. “I don’t believe it!”
“I just went to talk to him! The things he said to Nats were just—” Frank was trembling just thinking about it. “She rescued the pub, kept us all safe, and he acted like she was poison!”
Normally Bobby would be on his feet and raging, but this time he just sat there in a miserable huddle.
“He was drunk,” Frank said dully. “I tried to be reasonable but he started screaming. He said… he told me about—oh Nats! I’m so sorry!”
And then he started to cry. It was the most god-awful sight ever. I was over there, hugging him as everyone stood there, gawping at him.
“It’s okay, love. It’s not your fault.” I patted the heaving shoulders. It was time to tell the truth.
I turned to face the family. “Three years ago Francis Duke raped me in revenge for Frank and Bobby ripping him off.”
There was a thunderous silence. The family were all staring at me.
“Oh no, Nats! Oh no!” Millie was in tears.
“Why didn�
��t you tell us?” Roger asked. “Is that why you left Frank? Ohmigod, Nats! You should’ve said!”
“Don’t you see?” Frank was furious. “She was protecting me! She knew the guilt would kill me!”
“It was my fault,” Bobby said quietly. “It was my idea to steal those fags. I knew Francis Duke's security was shit. Frank just did what I told him.”
“How did you find out?” I asked.
“I met Duke's cousin in lockup. He told me, boasted about it.”
“You hit him. And were put in solitary.”
“I put him in hospital,” Bobby shrugged. “I’m sorry, Nats. When I saw you, I was just crushed by guilt. And like the fucking idiot I am, I took it out on you. I should’ve been on my knees, begging your forgiveness.”
“What’s wrong with people?” Millie whispered. “What makes men think they can rape us? Do they think we’re possessions? Like cars that can be keyed? Or windows that can be broken?”
There was a dead silence.
I broke it by turning to Frank. “So the night Bobby was attacked. Tell me, he was yelling, and then what happened?”
“Next?” He looked blank. “Well, I hit him. It was me that did it.”
“Ohmigod, and then you both let us all think Nats did it?” Suzie whispered. “I can’t believe it!”
“It wasn’t like that,” Frank protested. “I didn’t remember at first.”
“Frank went to therapy,” Scott said pompously. “Recovering the past was an important step of rehabilitation. So’s atoning.”
“I was going to kill myself,” Frank said dully. “Scott talked me out of it.”
“Suicide is a sin, but Natalia must be vindicated,” Scott intoned.
“But he’ll go to jail for life!” Roger said horrified. “That’s no bloody good, is it?”
“It’s worse than death,” Bobby said shakily.
I put my foot down. “Frank isn’t killing himself or going to jail.”
“But Nats,” Millie said, “you can’t keep taking everything on your shoulders!”
“I won’t let you,” Frank agreed.
“We should discuss this rationally,” was Scott’s contribution.
Time to get to the bottom of it all.
I shushed the family and turned to Frank. “Okay, love. Where was Bobby standing when you picked up the cricket bat?”
Frank blinked. “I don’t remember.”
“What was Bobby wearing?”
“Jeans and the new shirt mum bought him. Blue with red stripes.”
I saw Quique’s frown. The truth was dawning on him. Behind him, Kyle and Gordo were looking similarly eager. I was on the right track.
“Two of you in the pub, Frank—you almost killed your dad, yet you can’t remember it. But you do know little details like who was wearing what and who said what.” There was a dead silence. “Don’t you think it a little odd that you remember everything except for the attempted murder?”
Scott shifted impatiently. “Shock, probably. I don’t see that it matters. What’s important is that we cover this up. As long as Bobby sticks to his story, you can come home, Natalia.”
I looked at the earnest face, listened to the pompous tone. “You’ll help, won’t you, Scott?”
He smiled at me. “Of course! Anything for you!”
“I suppose that if I’d listened to you earlier, none of this would’ve happened.”
“Exactly!” Scott was holding my hands, his fingers gripping mine. “You need someone to look after you! Your family won’t do it, but I can! You know I look out for you. Always!”
“I remember.”
“You’ve always pushed me away. That was wrong!”
“Even though you tried very hard to convince me.”
“Yes. You’re too stubborn for your own good.”
“You trashed my door. Left that dead rat on the mat.”
Scott blinked. He waited, thinking it over. Behind him, the family were putting it together. Scott looked at them and finally managed, “You’re crazy!”
“No. I didn’t connect it to you at the time, but it fits. Taggers use bright paint and fancy letters. Vandals would’ve done the whole stairwell, not just one door on the third floor.”
“Nonsense!” But Scott was licking his lips nervously. “You’re insane.”
“You live upstairs. The grey paint was primer. Vandals don't use that. You probably used it to refurbish something in your flat. You called me a bitch for not wanting a second date and a whore when you knew I was seeing someone else. That’s motive, opportunity and means.”
“I just wanted to show you that you needed my protection!”
There was a silence, and then Frank whispered, “Jesus, Scott, what were you thinking?”
At that, Scott broke. “You chose that dago crook over me! A Guatemalan greaseball. How could you?” Scott was so angry that he was spitting mad. “Do you know what people were saying?”
“Yes, I do. They all called him a Mexican, but you’re always correct, aren’t you? That’s what interested me about the notes.”
"What notes?" Millie asked.
"Anonymous trash, telling me to stay away from Quique."
As one, every eye was on Scott again. Predictably, he reared up and defended himself. “Someone had to tell you!”
“And it didn’t help either, did it?”
“You’re shameless, utterly possessed by the man!”
“I rejected you, and when your paint and notes didn’t send me screaming into your arms, you found a way to punish me.” Scott was silent, and for once the family were, too. “You saw me that night, and you knew something was up. You didn't go for a walk round the block; you went to the Black Horse.”
Bobby was sitting up, colour coming back to his face. “He was there? Then why didn’t he call an ambulance?”
"Because at that point, you didn't need one." You could've heard a pin drop. “The Black Horse was busy that night. I came in, and you threw a glass at me less than two minutes later. I left, and Frank came in, knowing the place was closed for business but that you would still be there. Your fight with him took no more than a minute or two."
"I guess not," Frank frowned.
"So what happened?" Bobby asked.
"When you told Frank what had happened to me, he didn’t look behind the bar and reach for the bat; he just took a swing. Frank doesn’t plot when he’s mad, he just goes in with his fists flying.”
Frank winced, but I ignored him.
“Bobby, you were so drunk, you went down and passed out. Frank left, and then Scott came in.”
“I was getting to my hands and knees.” Bobby was connecting the dots. “I thought Frank hit me from behind.”
“No, Frank belted you once and then ran off. Scott saw you on the floor and realised he had an opportunity to stir up trouble. He was wearing gloves, because it was cold. He got the bat and swung, knowing it had my prints.”
“Because he saw you take it out the week before,” Roger cried. “Ohmigod! When you threatened to bash me!”
“Right. He expected me to be arrested. He didn’t figure on my being rescued.”
Everyone looked at Quique, quiet but giving Scott a measured look that spelt death. Everyone looked away as one, thoroughly frightened.
“Scott was furious, but then he realised Frank had been there, too. So Scott played the family friend, putting him in the clinic and visiting every day, dripping poison.”
“I told him I took a swing,” Frank was dazed. “He said I must’ve blacked out and picked up the bat.”
“But why?” Millie asked me. “Why would Scott do such a cruel thing?”
“Because I rejected him.”
“I don’t understand,” Millie said bewildered.
“Scott knows I’d not let any harm come to the family. He knew that pushing Frank into confessing to a life sentence would have me come running. Then he could have me thrown in jail or worse.”
“Worse?”
&n
bsp; “Yes, if we listened to Scott and covered this up, we’d all be guilty of perverting the course of justice. That earns us a few years in the slammer, and the kids would end up in care.”
“Ohmigod,” Millie moaned.
“It's the perfect blackmail. Scott would own all of us, forever.”
“Christ,” Frank looked sick. “He said he’d take care of you, Nats.”
“Yes, he would have total control over me by threatening all of you.”
We all looked at Scott. He was his usual prissy self, dressed in casual black trousers and an Argyle sweater. He looked perfectly normal, yet he was a monster.
“You can’t prove a thing.” Scott looked smug. “It’s your word against mine.”
“Is that true?” Millie asked me.
“Yes.”
"I'm a respected banker, and you lot? Well, some of you haven't been to jail, but let's face it: Trueloves are not noted for their honesty."
There was a dead silence as we saw Scott's prissy exterior stripped away, revealing the monster underneath.
“Whatever did happen to Francis Duke?” Scott smiled gleefully. “Did you kill him after he raped you, Natalia? Frank’s worried about what happened to the Twittertons, too. Delicia was at a sex-and-drugs party with them, wasn’t she?” He frowned. “I must have a nice long chat with my good friend, Detective Sergeant Smith."
I shrugged. "That wouldn't be a good idea."
"Oh, I think it is. My bet is that they'll start by talking to Delicia."
“No!" Millie wailed. “Scott, you can’t do that! They'll take her away! Put her in care! It would kill her!"
"Yes, I think it would," he sneered.
"But we’re friends, for God’s sake!”
“Are we?” Scott’s face was a blank. “And yet, I’m not getting what I want.”
There was a deadly hush, and then I brought out my ace. "Remember Liz, the girl at work who Scott fancied?"
"Sure," trust Millie to remember. "Scott was sweet on her, but she was interested in someone else."
"Liz was later caught for theft. Scott was the one who uncovered the evidence. Thanks to his find, she went down."
There was a sudden stillness. "Jesus," Frank whispered. "Scott framed her?"
"Yes, and she killed herself."
"You can't prove a thing!" Scott snapped.
I got to my feet. "You're right. Come on, Scott, let’s go for a walk. By the river.”
