22

 

The lounge door opened and shut as Patrick came in and sat down. “It’s time we had this conversation. You’ve been changing the subject on me long enough.”

Elle shifted in the chair. Patrick watched her carefully, every sense on full alert. Her skin was pale and clammy and her arms clenched her stomach tightly. Was what she had to tell him that bad? Or was she sick from the ride home? Or because she’d been caught out? Either way he didn’t intend to let her go until he knew the truth.

He changed his tone and spoke gently. “And start from the beginning at the house party.” For some reason that seemed to be the starting point. No matter which way he looked at it, everything stemmed from the choices the two of them had made that weekend. A decision that had not only produced Abbie, but sent Elle on a path to seeming destruction, and him on one to total solitude.

“Over break, when I found out I was pregnant, I thought my life ended. Everyone was disappointed in me. Except mum, who did nothing but gloat because I’d proved her right. We moved house so that no one would know us. I’d write songs to take my mind off being sick and I’d sing them to Abbie before she was born.”

Patrick listened as she spoke. Tears glistened in her eyes and her voice was hard to make out at times. She sat on the edge of the chair, her skin a mottled white and from the way she gulped for air, she felt as bad as she looked.

“Then Dad brought home a bloke he knew from work one evening—Zeke. Got me to sing for him. Zeke took me on, became my manager. He arranged everything, or so I assumed. I started getting jobs in all these clubs. I made enough money to buy things for Abbie. Dad worked as an accountant.” Elle took a deep breath.

“Until my mum’s letter I never put it all together. We never owned a house. Always rented, moved frequently. Soon as someone recognized me, we’d move or at least that’s what Dad and Mum claimed. It was hardest on Abbie. With us constantly on the run, Abbie didn’t have time to make friends or settle into any school.”

“What about your manager, Zeke?”

“He arranged the housing. He set me up in clubs and so on. Actually this is the first time we’ve been at the same club. Before that he’d come over and visit once a week or so, hear me sing a couple times a month in the clubs. But it goes deeper than that.”

Her tale had more than unsettled him. Alarm bells were starting to sound, and he had the uncomfortable feeling in his gut that always accompanied his moment of clarity when working. The pieces were starting to fit into place and he had a horrible feeling he knew, finally knew, where he’d heard the name PJ. Lord, please, let me be putting them together wrong.

“So, if Zeke doesn’t own HC1, then who does?”

“PJ. I met him for the first time the other day. He owns a whole chain of clubs up and down the UK. Zeke works for him too, and I only ever sing in his clubs. I’ve delivered packages for him. He’s my boss. But I swear, I didn’t know what was in them. I did this, because he said if I didn’t do what he asked, I’d regret it. I found out the other day my father worked for him, for years. When I was in his office he said that being fired would be the least of my problems, and then said Numbers fourteen verse eighteen. I don’t know what that is.”

Patrick grabbed his Bible from the end table. He flicked through it.He “The sins of the father,” he said holding her gaze. “‘He punishes the children for the sins of the fathers to the third and fourth generation.’ So, it must be something that your father did, that you are paying for. You and Abbie. The question is what? How long have you been living here?” Patrick pulled out his phone and sent Shay a text asking her to confirm who owned HC1.

“Here in Headley Cross?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Four months.” She took a deep breath and at a noise from the doorway, turned. She held out a hand. “Hey, Abbie. What’s up?”

“I can’t sleep.” Abbie looked shattered, her dressing gown hanging open over her baby doll pajamas and her sling. She held her mobile phone. “Can I download a new game for it? I found this really cool one.”

“Sure, come here and show me.”

Abbie slowly crossed the room and sat down.

Patrick looked at her and then at Elle, knowing the conversation was, for the moment, paused. “So, who wants some cocoa with cream and sprinkles and a flake?”

“Yes, please,” came the answer from them both at the same time.

Patrick smiled. “Coming right up.” He stood and headed to the kitchen. His phone beeped as he pulled the milk from the fridge.

Shay’s message read ‘PJ Foster owns HC1 and twenty-five other clubs in the UK.’

‘Something’s not right’ he replied. ‘She moved every six months yet still worked for him. Why?’

After a minute the reply came. ‘Ask her, not me.’

He grinned and punched in Shay’s number. He tucked the phone under his ear, making the cocoa as it rang. “Hey, figured this would be easier than texting. I did ask her. Her mother insisted it was because she was Lisa Bellamy. Every time she was recognized they’d move.”

“Being recognized comes with the territory of being famous, surely. I mean, Hiram Davies gets it all the time, but he doesn’t move house constantly.”

“Exactly. And Hiram Davies doesn’t work two jobs to make ends meet. Something else is going on, but not sure what. She quit her job at the club tonight.”

“I bet that went down well.”

Patrick stirred the cup and added the cream. “That’s putting it mildly. Dig into PJ Foster. His name set off alarm bells in the back of my mind. He’s got something on her, said if she didn’t deliver the packages he’d make sure everyone knew. I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt as far as the drug connection goes, at the moment. I’ve got a feeling it’s the bloke DI Nemec is after. Same surname, same first initial.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Just check. There has to be more to us protecting her than she’s letting on.” He glanced towards the door and smiled as flute music drifted through the hallway.

“…Are you listening?” Shay sounded irate.

“Sorry, got distracted. Can you say that again?”

“I asked if you want me to ring DI Nemec now.”

“Yes please. This PJ has sent out some pretty big messages. But he’s never threatened her life. He owns the clubs and she works for him. He doesn’t want her dead. She’s had near misses, but these guys don’t miss. At least, not unless it’s intentional.”

“Got you.”

Patrick set the microwave going to heat the milk for the last cup. “He quoted the sins of the father verse at her and how the children pay to the fourth generation.”

“But why threaten to kill Elle? Like you said, that makes no sense.”

“Did you see the actual letter she came in with? I don’t remember it being in the file.” Patrick added a flake to the two cups and set them on a tray.

“It wasn’t. Hang on…the sins of the father. Maybe it’s nothing Elle did at all. Maybe it’s something her father did.”

“My thoughts exactly. Dig up what you can on Elle’s father.”

“Will do.” Shay paused. “How are things going other than that?”

“Just making cocoa, then planning on an early night. Have to be at the hospital at four tomorrow afternoon.”

“You got enough back up for tonight?”

“Yeah. Nigel is in his car out the front. Martin should be here in the next half hour. Abbie and Elle are in my room same as last night, and I have the couch. We’re fine—”

Shattering glass resounded in the other room. Patrick dropped the phone and the cup. The cup spun on its edge for a second, then tipped, spilling cocoa all over the table.

“I need back up...now.” Patrick raced to the lounge, as Abbie’s scream pierced his soul.

“Nooooooo. Patrick….” Elle’s cry struck him in the heart.

He pulled his gun from its holster, as he ran. “Elle…”

Abbie screamed again.

Elle’s voice echoed. “Don’t hurt her. Leave her alone.”

The anguished cry had him pounding the hall and bursting into the lounge, gun drawn and held in front of him in both hands.

Two masked men stood in the middle of the room. One held Abbie, the other Elle. Elle had a gun pointed at her head. Rain and wind poured in through the shattered front window.

Adrenaline and terror filled him. The personal and professional sides of him battled it out for an instant before the professional won.

“Put the gun down,” Patrick ordered.

“I don’t think so.”

There was a swift arm movement.

A flash and a bang.

Pain spun him around, as he got off a shot of his own.

“Patrick…”

As he fell, he saw the men back out of the room, dragging the two girls with them. He struggled upright, gripping the gun in blood soaked fingers. “Elle…”

He ran into the hall, turning his ankle. He cried out involuntarily, getting to the door in time to see a car pull off the drive and screech off into the darkness, leaving a cloud of exhaust behind. He memorized the plate. Lord, God, please protect them. Forgive me for failing.

Where was Nigel? Why hadn’t he stopped them?

He limped over to the car on the grass, his stomach plummeting as he registered Nigel slumped over the wheel, covered in blood.

Pain, guilt and stomach turning nausea churned inside him. He clutched his arm and limped towards the front door. He needed to get to a phone and call this in. Salt burned his eyes. He’d failed them.

Screeching rubber and brakes came from behind him. He spun around, gun up and ready to fire. They weren’t going to take him without a fight.