BLOOD SECRETS a gripping crime thriller full of suspense

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  Light flooded the room as Cedric stepped through the door.

  ‘Ty, are you all right? There was the most awful noise.’

  ‘Kitchen drawer under the toaster. You’ll find handcuffs, bring two pairs through.’

  Cedric vanished, his mouth open. Swift panted, keeping his weight steady. Blood was trickling from his mouth. He let it run, glancing at his jacket arm, where the knife had penetrated. It burned but he didn’t think the blade had gone too deep. The intruder tried to flex his back again but Swift slammed his knee into his spine and he groaned. Cedric was back with the handcuffs, holding them out.

  ‘Want me to help?’

  ‘Yes. Put a pair on his ankles. I’ll hold him down.’

  Once the ankles had been cuffed, Swift dragged the man to the only upright chair and slammed him into it, looping his arms over the back. He attached handcuffs to the powerful wrists and retrieved his belt. Then he pulled the mask off. Cedric had found a box of tissues and handed them to Swift, who wiped blood from his chin. He eased his jacket off and looked at his arm through his sliced shirt. There was a cut but it had already stopped bleeding. Cedric looked on.

  ‘That might need stitches.’

  ‘It can wait. There are plasters at the back of that same drawer in the kitchen.’

  While Cedric fetched the first aid, Swift righted a couple of chairs and sat on one, facing his intruder. He was small, only about five feet five but he carried a muscular bulk that indicated regular workouts. He had the flattened nose of a boxer, short wiry hair and a crust of blood forming under one nostril. He blinked rapidly, clearing tears from his eyes where Swift’s fingers had jabbed.

  ‘I’d take a guess that you’re the person behind the call-outs to the emergency services, the graffiti outside and the other stuff. What’s your name?’

  The man shrugged his shoulders, blinking again. Swift rose and stood behind him, taking care to pin an arm across his neck and reaching into the pockets of his jacket. He found a wallet with a driving licence inside.

  ‘Okay, Francis Howell. Want to tell me why you’re here?’

  Cedric came back, dabbed antiseptic on his cut arm and applied a plaster, then handed Swift a glass of water. He drank deeply, tasting the metallic blood washing from his mouth.

  ‘Who is this vermin?’ Cedric asked.

  Swift handed him the driving licence and looked back at Howell.

  ‘You need to tell me something. Start with who’s paying you.’

  Howell shrugged again and pulled his mouth down. He shifted in the chair, wincing and taking a sharp breath. Swift was glad he’d made a good connection with Howell’s genitals. His head, leg and arm were throbbing and he could feel his lip swelling. He finished the glass of water, then turned to Cedric.

  ‘I think heavy rain is forecast tonight, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Cedric looked startled at this introduction of the weather.

  ‘Good. Okay, Howell, you’d better speak to me or things might get very difficult before I call the police.’

  Howell ran his tongue across his lips and looked at the floor. Swift turned to Cedric.

  ‘You get off to bed now, it’s late. Thanks for the help.’

  ‘Good heavens, dear boy! I’m not leaving you here with this specimen of primitive man.’

  Swift looked at Cedric meaningfully. ‘Poor Howell. Whoever is paying him hasn’t told him about my previous careers. I know you’ve lived a sheltered life and what’s going to happen here might not be pretty, if you know what I mean. I don’t want to give you nightmares, my friend.’

  Cedric nodded. ‘Ah, I see. Well then, I’ll be off upstairs but I won’t be asleep.’

  Swift sat back in his chair and look at Howell’s bloodshot eyes.

  ‘I intend to establish why you’ve been doing these things, Howell. You can talk to me or not, it’s your call. I’m not going to spend time trying to talk you into it, especially as my mouth hurts. If you don’t start telling me in the next ten minutes, I’m going to gag you, drag you out to the garden and lock you to a rain barrel. You’ll get a good cold drenching overnight. Maybe in the morning you’ll feel like talking — if you haven’t got pneumonia. I can leave you out there as long as I like, come to think of it, with a nice robust gag. It’s in a spot where the neighbours can’t see you. Nobody would blame me. I’ve got a knife you brought with you and the cut where it went in, not to mention a witness. I’m going to make myself a coffee, so have a think.’

  Swift picked up the knife in some tissues and took it to the kitchen, where he placed it in a polythene bag and sealed it. He brewed coffee and took a couple of aspirin for his aching jaw and limbs. He rubbed his leg, wincing. It would have to be the right one, where he had been stabbed in the thigh. Moving his tongue around, he discovered a chipped back molar. He took his coffee back to the living room and sat, sipping cautiously. Howell was looking a little anxious now.

  ‘Two minutes left,’ Swift said conversationally. ‘The rain’s started. I’ve unlocked the back door.’

  He left a silence as the forecast downpour began to lash the windows. After a couple more sips of coffee, he rose and started to pull Howell’s chair with his good arm, dragging him backwards across the floor and through the kitchen. He had got as far as the back door, throwing it open, when Howell spoke.

  ‘Okay, okay! Cut it out. I’ll tell you. I might as well, right? I’ve had the payment anyway.’

  Swift let go of the chair so that Howell rocked back and forth.

  ‘Pay-off before it’s done? Very nice arrangement. Tell me more when I’ve fetched my coffee.’

  He sat with his hot drink by the table, leaving Howell in front of the open door where the cold air and rain whipped at him.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘This barrister bloke rang me a couple of months back. He was in court once, years back, when I was on a charge. He was just a solicitor then, right? He remembered me when he wanted this job done. Anyway, he said there was a bloke who’d crossed him and he wanted to teach a lesson to. Gave me your details, right?’ His voice became whiny. ‘Here, can’t you close the door? It’s bloody freezing and I’m telling you everything.’

  Swift ignored him, masking the dismay he had felt at the mention of a barrister.

  ‘What’s this barrister’s name?’

  ‘A poncy name: Emlyn Taylor. He said to cause you a bit of misery, like. Told me the kind of stuff to do and said to use my imagination. First time anyone’s paid me to do that, I can tell you. Money for old rope really.’

  ‘How much did he pay you?’

  ‘Three hundred a go. Listen, I’d checked you was out tonight, right? I wasn’t going to hurt you, just trash the place.’

  ‘Strange, carrying a knife when you don’t intend any harm.’

  Howell shivered. ‘It’s for protection, right? You’ve got to look out for yourself in my line of work. I only used it cos you came at me. It wasn’t nothing personal, mate, and I wouldn’t have touched the old geezer, like, I wouldn’t do—’

  ‘Oh shut up,’ Swift snapped. ‘What were you going to do next?’

  ‘I dunno. I’d have to put me thinking cap on. Taylor rings me after each time, the next day. He likes to hear the details. He had a good laugh when I told him about the animal gizzards through the door, and smashing up your boat tickled him — he suggested that. I don’t contact him, that’s the deal. I expect I’d have put dog shit through the letterbox, smashed windows, stuff like that. Maybe damage your mate’s car. I’d have had to be more careful, mind, now you’ve put the CCTV up.’

  All in a day’s work, his manner said. He had grown confident as he described his activities, clearly pleased with his accomplishments. Swift finished his coffee and poured another.

  ‘I suppose all the arrangements were by phone and the money paid into your account?’

  ‘Yeah. I haven’t met Taylor, if that’s what you mean. That’s it, the lot. He don’t like you, does he? Got it in for you,
that’s for sure. You must have caused him some grief to make him come after you, right?’ Howell smiled slyly, his tone a little bolder. He had sensed that he had touched a nerve. ‘Shag his missus or his girlfriend, did you? Blokes like him don’t like that, they’re used to calling the shots, owning their territory. It can turn them nasty.’

  Swift rubbed his aching chin, thinking, trying to ignore the tiredness nagging at his bones. He reflected that he was now between a rock and a hard place and that in many ways this difficult position was his own fault. Above all, he needed to protect Ruth.

  ‘Like I said, it ain’t nothing personal. Taylor’s behind it all. I suppose you’re going to call the cops now,’ Howell said in a hard-done-by voice.

  Swift stood abruptly. Howell flinched.

  ‘No. I’m going to let you go. If you come anywhere near me again, I’ll make sure you suffer and not just through the courts. Your knife will be kept safe. You won’t be receiving any more business from Mr Taylor.’

  Howell looked surprised but evidently knew when to shut up. Swift unlocked the ankle cuffs and told him to get up. He groaned as he stood, pressing his knees together. Swift pushed him roughly to the front door. Howell stood on the doorstep, holding his cuffed wrists out behind him.

  ‘Don’t forget these.’

  ‘That’s okay. You can have those on me. A little keepsake.’

  Howell turned. ‘What? How am I going to get them off, you bastard?’

  Swift shrugged. ‘Not my problem. I’m sure you have friends who can help.’

  He shoved Howell out into the deluge, slammed the door and locked it. He leaned against the wall for a moment and sighed. Cedric appeared on the landing, in his dressing gown and slippers.

  ‘Are you all right? You’ve let him go?’

  ‘I’m okay. Yes, he’s gone.’

  Cedric started down the stairs. ‘But surely you’re calling the police?’

  ‘No. I know why Howell’s been targeting me and I can deal with it. It’s best that way. You get some sleep. Thanks for your help, Cedric. Howell won’t be back. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Cedric went to speak, looked carefully at Swift’s determined face, then nodded and returned to his flat. Swift looked at the mess in the living room and decided it could wait. He locked the back door, made himself another strong coffee and sat at the kitchen table with his phone. He looked up Emlyn Taylor and found a landline number. He made a note of it, then sat drinking and considering the conversation he needed to have with Ruth’s husband. Hopefully, Taylor would now feel honours were even.

  Chapter 8

  Swift had borrowed Cedric’s car again for the journey to Cambridge. By seven a.m. he was heading out of London, fuelled by strong coffee and painkillers. He had slept fitfully, waking in a sweat several times, thinking of the previous stabbing when his thigh had been sliced open. He had checked the cut on his arm. It wasn’t too open and didn’t seem deep. He drenched it with antiseptic and put a fresh plaster on. It would have to do for now. His top lip was puffy and livid where Howell had landed the punch. He used a strong mouthwash, wincing as it stung. By the time he’d finished he smelled like a pharmacy.

  Once he was on the M11 he stopped at a service station. It was eight fifteen and he gauged that Ruth would have left for work. It was a mild, sunny day so he got out of the car and sat on the bonnet as he dialled Taylor’s number. It rang for a while and he was about to give up when it was answered. The voice was deep, musical.

  ‘Emlyn Taylor.’

  ‘This is Tyrone Swift.’

  There was a pause. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m calling you about Mr Howell.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Let’s not play games. Francis Howell broke into my house last night. I persuaded him to tell me who had asked him to carry out various damaging acts against me. He told me. Three hundred a go, he said. Reasonable rate.’

  Taylor coughed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have no wish to speak to you.’

  ‘We can either do this now, by phone, or I can come to your house. I’d rather Ruth knew nothing about it but that’s up to you.’ Swift had no intention of going anywhere near their home.

  ‘How gentlemanly of you to consider Ruth’s feelings.’

  Swift took a breath. He needed to keep this calm and straightforward.

  ‘Francis Howell attacked me with a knife and injured me. I have the knife and a witness. Pretty open-and-shut case. I don’t want to involve the police. I let him go and told him he won’t be hearing from you again. I won’t contact you further if you guarantee you’ll back off. If you don’t I’ll go to the police today. They have a log of all the previous incidents. It wouldn’t do your career or your reputation much good.’

  ‘I see. Have you suffered at the hands of that idiot? I do hope so. It was certainly my intention. He may not be sharp-witted but he has a certain way of crafting his work that is quite admirable.’

  Swift swallowed an angry response and kicked a tyre, sending needles of pain up his bruised leg. A car drew up beside him. He walked to a line of trees where there was a picnic area and stood beneath one, a hand on the rough bark.

  ‘I’ve been inconvenienced, angered, worried, put out of pocket and the knife wound hurts. Also my jaw, where I was punched. Does that satisfy you?’

  ‘It does. It gives me enormous satisfaction. I enjoyed listening to all the details. I could almost hear the boat splintering. I found out from Ruth’s text messages that she was seeing you. I thought something was going on while she was in London so I checked her phone. So obvious and so stupid of her not to cover her tracks, but she probably thought my brain was deteriorating along with my body. She was different when she came home. It’s hard to conceal deception, even when you think you are.’

  She managed to deceive me efficiently about you, when she was seeing you, Swift thought but stayed silent.

  ‘I enjoyed my revenge on you,’ Taylor continued, ‘even though it was risky. Thing is, when you’ve become a cripple in a wheelchair and your wife is cheating on you, you don’t feel as if you have much to lose.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘I was going to pay Ruth back by telling her to pack her bags. I might have told her about Howell too, just to make sure she understood cause and effect. Then she told me a couple of days ago that she’s pregnant again. I’m delighted. I want to be a father. I’d decided to call off Howell anyway, now that life is going to take a new direction.’

  ‘I see. Well, congratulations about the baby. Ruth and I finished seeing each other a while back, if it’s any consolation.’

  ‘Not particularly. I don’t trust her now and I probably don’t even love her any more. But in my position and with a child expected, I have to compromise. Howell has given me the consolation I wanted. Stay away from us and I’ll stay away from you.’

  ‘Fine. Agreed.’

  Swift shoved his phone in his pocket, cursed and ran his hands through his hair. He bought a coffee and croissant and sat in the car with the door open. He felt grubby after the conversation with Taylor and sorry for Ruth, wondering what kind of future she would have. A man with a progressive disease was always going to occupy the moral high ground. He recalled that Ruth had said her husband was beginning to be subject to mood swings. He wondered if Taylor’s judgement was being warped by the illness. He winced as he forgot to chew the croissant on the undamaged side of his mouth. He phoned his dentist and secured an appointment for the following afternoon, then drove on to Cambridge.

  * * *

  Judith Saltby opened the door. A tiny baby was strapped to her chest. It was to stay there, sleeping, for the duration of his visit. She looked startled when she saw him.

  ‘Have you had an accident?’

  ‘Sort of. Probably looks worse than it is.’

  She led him through the hallway of her small terraced house, past a folded pushchair into a bright kitchen, painted white, which was very warm and full of baby paraphe
rnalia. Wet wipes, creams, bright plastic toys, nappies, small suits and bibs lay all around.

  ‘You’ll have to forgive the mess,’ she said, moving a box of nappies from a chair for him. ‘Samuel is just three weeks old and I’ve discovered that a tiny human can overrun a house. My husband says it’s like having a benign version of Attila the Hun move in.’

  She was a petite woman with neat features, her hair coming loose from a hastily arranged bun. Despite her wrinkled T-shirt and jeans, there was an elegance to her movements. He watched as she put the kettle on, finished loading the dishwasher and tipped coffee into a cafetiere, asking if decaff was okay. She had the wild-eyed look of someone sleep-deprived but she smiled constantly. It was a smile of sheer joy. Swift regarded Samuel’s pale, sleeping face. Babies seemed to be everywhere at the moment — born, expected, longed for. He suddenly remembered the tiny yellow cardigan he had found in Sheila’s chaotic room, carefully hidden away. He thought it might be important, but had no idea why.

  They sat at the kitchen table with coffee. Swift refused a ginger biscuit, pointing at his mouth. He explained about Rowan Bartlett contacting him and his enquiries.

  ‘How is Teddy?’ Judith asked. ‘I must visit him one day.’

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘Eleven years ago, just before I went to Canada.’

  ‘I’ve seen him recently. He has to have special care.’

  ‘He’s never regained any speech?’

  ‘He can’t communicate.’

  ‘So no one knows if he remembers what happened that day but just can’t tell anyone?’