part0046

IF EVAN THOUGHT he’d gotten bored sitting in a graveyard watching an empty house, Lydia Strange would have told him he didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Try sitting in your car watching people go in and out of the Jerusalem Tavern all night long. So she passed the time by nursing her hatred.

She didn’t believe Guillory and her boyfriend the investigator.

How come her brother had left Guillory alive in the cabin and then gone off on an errand? One that had resulted in him getting killed. Had he forgotten to take any bullets along? Had to go back home for them? Silly me, I left them on the kitchen counter. They must think she was stupid. Which she wasn’t at all. Just unbalanced.

So she’d followed Guillory, seen her go into the bar. Before long the fat detective turned up and stuck his fat head inside the door. But the conversation that followed when she came out and sat with him in his car didn’t look to her like she was watching one police officer admit to another that she’d been in a house where a known pedophile had been viciously murdered. One that she’d previously assaulted.

Certainly not when they both got out and went into the bar together afterwards.

So. Two lies. If Guillory had been the only one she wanted she’d have waited and followed her home. Put a bullet in the base of her skull as she fumbled with her door key after all the booze she drank.

But she wasn’t. She wanted Liverman, wanted him so bad her hatred was like a bitter taste on her tongue.

Thinking about Liverman made her think about her father. Good ol’ Buck Strange. She could feel his hands on her now, the skin rough and calloused, the touch gentle. Her skin crawled. A shiver of revulsion that made her feel physically sick rippled across her skin, left it cold and clammy, as she thought about what he’d have done to her if Todd hadn’t been there.

Todd was always there. Unlike their mother. She didn’t remember very much about her. Just a child’s intuition that she despised what she had brought into the world. Things were better when Aunt Daisy, her mother’s sister, came to live with them. Daisy was a lot younger than their mother, prettier too with a better figure. Her mother said it hadn’t had the life sucked out of it by two ungrateful children.

What she remembered most about her mother was that one day she just wasn’t there anymore. They went down to breakfast and she was gone. Good ol’ Buck said the whoring bitch had run off with another man. That’s what they’d overheard him tell the police when they came to the house. It didn’t stop them from dragging him shouting and cussing to the police station.

He hadn’t come home that night while they beat him half-heartedly to see if he would crack. With just her and Todd and Aunt Daisy it had been one of the best nights of her young life.

Things changed after they released him. The sleeping arrangements mostly. Aunt Daisy wasn’t sleeping in the spare room anymore. She’d been promoted to Good ol’ Buck’s bed. From what Lydia could remember, the promotion came with a split lip and a black eye too. Daisy didn’t seem to mind.

Except that one day she wasn’t there anymore either. Only this time the police didn’t come to the house. So maybe Good ol’ Buck hadn’t killed her too which is what Todd said had happened to their mother.

That left the three of them in the house. And she was the only girl. If Lydia had been paying more attention, she might have seen a pattern emerging. From her mother’s age to the age of her younger sister Aunt Daisy and then on down . . .

She wouldn’t ever forget the night she came within a hair’s breadth of being promoted herself. Good ol’ Buck had been a lot nicer to her after Daisy had left. She got as many fatherly hugs and chaste kisses on the top of her head as Todd got slaps and punches. And that was quite a few.

It was never any more than that. Despite what Todd said he was going to try to do to her one day. At the time she’d thought Todd was only saying it so that he could put his own hand down there to show her what he was talking about. In case she didn’t understand.

She understood fast enough when it came to promotion night. She was still sharing her room with Todd at the time even though the spare was available. He said he was protecting her. She reckoned he just wanted to watch her undress even if she didn’t have much to see.

Good ol’ Buck got back later than usual from the bar. He’d taken to looking in on them before he turned in for the night. He always sat on the edge of her bed. Stroked her hair and kissed her on the forehead. She hated it, teeth gritted behind the strained smile. At least he kept his hands to himself.

Until promotion night.

Todd was in the bathroom when Good ol’ Buck came into the room and sat on her bed. She’d smelled the beer and whisky on his breath all the way from downstairs, the cigarettes too. He smoothed her hair like he usually did. His hand was rough and calloused, the touch gentle.

Somehow, she knew it was going to be different tonight.

His hand moved down her cheek. Over her chin and onto her neck. She couldn’t breathe, her limbs frozen. Eyes wide with terror. Then his hand was under her—

‘Leave her alone.’

Todd standing in the doorway.

Good ol’ Buck rising up without a word, his face twisted with fury. His arm uncoiling, backhanding Todd across the face. Snapping his head sideways into the door frame. Todd sagged, knees buckling.

Good ol’ Buck was there to catch him. By the neck. He pinned him to the wall, fingers tightening around his throat. Lifting. Squeezing. A strangled wheezing coming from Todd’s mouth, his face red and slick with sweat.

And Lydia unable to move, lying frozen in her bed.

Then a metallic click. Todd’s hand came out of his pocket, the blade of his knife flashing in the light from the bedside lamp. Arm pumping. In and out, in and out. Burying the blade to the hilt in Good ol’ Buck’s belly and then his chest as his hands fell away from his son’s neck. Over and over until he dropped to his knees, the shock and horror on his face the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.

He fell onto his front like a wall collapsing, dust from the rug rising up into the air. Lydia was out of bed now, staring at the body twitching on the floor, mesmerized. When the blade slipped from Todd’s fingers, she snatched it up. Dropped to her knees and sank the blade deep into her father’s back, blood spurting, coating her face, her arms, as she thrust again and again.

Then into the kitchen after they dragged him down the stairs. Undoing Good ol’ Buck’s zipper while Todd had his head in the closet looking for a saw. Kitchen knife in her hand, trying to decide where she’d stick it once she’d chopped it off. Then Todd’s fingers around her wrist. Slapping her face with a force to match Good ol’ Buck any day—

Raucous laughter brought her back to the present with a jolt. Her eyes snapped immediately to the bar across the street. A group of people had just come out. She scanned the faces flushed with good times and booze, didn’t see Guillory among them. Then relaxed, her fingers caressing her cheek, the remembered slap like a fond memento to carry around with her.

And to bolster her resolve should it ever slip. Not that there was any danger of that. Because killing Liverman would be like killing Good ol’ Buck all over again.

She got out her phone, called the number for Liverman that she’d memorized. She bit her tongue to stop herself from laughing at the childish charade she was about to play when it was answered.

Which it was immediately. Followed by silence apart from a man’s breathing. She started with the first line that Todd had told her. Rolled her eyes as the man on the other end of the line gave the appropriate response. Then they ran through the rest of the stupid game together. She was surprised she didn’t have to sing a song. The line went dead.

She kept the phone in her hand, waited for it to ring. Which it didn’t immediately. That made faint alarm bells ring. Because Todd had told her that they always called back immediately. Except with all the trouble with Guillory and Garfield, it was understandable if they were more cautious than usual.

When it finally rang, it was Liverman’s voice on the other end. She knew it instantly. Not just that it sounded to her like the sort of voice she’d expect to hear offering candy to a child from the back seat of a car, the unctuous tone masking the danger beneath. But because her brother had been a cautious man. He’d recorded all of his conversations with all of his clients. Even if it hadn’t done him any good thanks to that bitch Guillory.

The amusement that she’d fought to control when she ran through the contact procedure was long gone, replaced by a cold loathing. If she closed her eyes, she’d see her father’s face.

‘Who is this?’ Liverman said.

‘Lydia Strange.’

‘Ah. You’re Todd’s sister.’

‘I’m very sorry for your loss.’

She thought then that if she hadn’t already decided to kill him, the insincerity that coated his words as they oozed down the line would have clinched it.

‘What can I do for you, Lydia? You don’t mind if I call you Lydia?’

She tried to shut out the thoughts that crowded into her head at the sound of the solicitous voice, the same voice he used when he said you don’t mind if I put my hand there? as he laid it on a trembling knee.

‘Good. And please call me Joseph.’

Not Uncle Joseph? she wanted to scream, digging her fingernails into her own knee until they turned white.

‘It’s what I can do for you . . . Joseph.’

Her mouth twisted in disgust, wanting to spit. As if the name burned her tongue as she uttered it, couldn’t get it out of her mouth fast enough.

There was a long pause then. Again, it was to be expected. An unsolicited offer coming so soon after all the trouble was bound to arouse suspicion. She prayed that what she had to offer would be too much to resist, despite the increased risks. When it came, his reply was short and to the point.

‘I can deliver Guillory to you.’

There was a sharp intake of breath. As if the child he’d just touched had bitten his hand.

She was speechless for a long moment, couldn’t believe the cheek of the man. Nor was he finished.

‘His failure to complete the job has caused us a lot of unwanted and unnecessary’—he put a lot of emphasis on the word—‘aggravation.’

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Put a lot of obsequious into her voice, despite the effort it took.

‘I’m very sorry about that, Mr Liverman.’

‘So I can rely on you to make good your brother’s failure to deliver?’

‘It’s not as straightforward as that.’

There was a brief pause, did I hear that correctly? Then a great deal of indignant spluttering filled her ear, something about how dare you demand more money? She didn’t care, wasn’t even listening. Because Guillory had just come out of the bar looking very pleased with herself. If a little unsteady on her feet.

Hearing Liverman’s complaints coming down the line, an uninterrupted stream of words, the indignation now infused with self-pitying whining, she was at the point of saying fuck it and forgetting about trying to be clever and killing two birds with one stone, just ending the call and going after Guillory in her vulnerable state. She could get to Liverman any time she liked. Her gun was in her bag on the passenger seat next to her. It would be satisfying to see Guillory’s head explode as a high-velocity round from the Vanquish blew it apart, but could she really be bothered?

Just get the job done.

Guillory had turned left, was walking away. The street was deserted. Why bother even following her home? Fifty yards ahead of Guillory she saw the darkened entrance to an alley. Shove her in, put a bullet in her head as she staggered drunkenly into the dumpsters and be on her way in under a minute.

She slipped out of the car. With her hand gripping her gun inside her bag, she crept silently after her, quickly closing the gap. Just not quickly enough. Another twenty yards and Guillory would be at the mouth of the alley. She broke into a run. Then her phone rang in her bag.

Liverman, calling her back.

She had to stop it ringing.

Because if Guillory heard it, she’d lose the advantage of surprise. The bitch might be worse for wear from the alcohol but she was a trained police officer after all. It would change the dynamics, shift the balance of power the wrong way. She dropped the gun, rooted in her bag for the phone. Snatched it up and declined the call.

When she looked up again Guillory was nowhere in sight. She froze. No way she could have made it to the end of the block. If she’d been following a man, she’d have said he’d ducked into the alley to relieve himself, had forgotten to go before he left the bar. Not a woman. Some women, maybe, but Guillory didn’t look the sort.

She’d ducked into the alley for a different reason. That changed everything. She’d seen her. Or heard her running footsteps, heard the phone ring. Either way it was too risky now.

Right on cue the phone rang again. She answered it this time, head down, walking briskly back to her car. Waves of anger crackled down the line, the voice a petulant shout.

‘Nobody hangs up on me!’

She pulled the phone away from her ear, stared at it. Was this guy serious? Then common sense kicked in. Swallow your pride and let him shout. It would be a very different sound coming from his mouth soon. She was at her car now. Glancing back the way she’d come there was no sign of Guillory.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Liverman. Somebody came into the room. I had to cut the call immediately. They were still there when you called back. I’ve come outside to my car now.’

She started the car as she said it, but not because she needed to prove anything to him. In her rearview mirror she’d seen Guillory emerge from the alley. She wasn’t hitching up her clothes as you would if you’d just had to make an emergency comfort stop. Nor was she turning left, the direction in which she’d been heading. She was standing still, arms held loosely at her side. Staring straight at Lydia’s car. And despite the distance, Lydia felt the intensity of her stare in the rearview mirror. She put the shift into first, pulled slowly away, felt both relieved and stupid at how she’d almost let her impatience and anger get the better of her and spoil everything. When she looked again, Guillory was gone.

On the other end of the line Liverman had calmed down.

‘You said things are not straightforward. Why is that?’

‘Because Guillory was in Garfield’s house before he was killed. She talked to him.’

The lack of reaction to what should have been an inflammatory remark only proved what she’d already figured out for herself. Liverman’s own men had killed Garfield. To silence him. She needed to work on his fears that they’d been too late.

‘She searched the house as well—’

‘Okay, okay. No need to go on about it. Let me think.’

She smiled to herself, pictured the sweat running out of his greasy hair and down his face, the hands that she wanted to chop off for where he liked to put them flapping nervously, pulling at his collar.

‘How much did he know about—’

‘Will you shut up and let me think.’

She made tsk, tsk noises down the phone, thought about telling him not to talk to her like that. Maybe hang up again. Fun as it might have been, she resisted the temptation.

‘How will you deliver her?’ he said eventually.

Those were the words that came out of his mouth. What she heard was how do you intend to kill me? She composed herself, stripped all the excitement out of her voice.

‘She lost an earring in the house. And I’ve got it.’

‘How on earth—’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve got it and she wants it back. And she’ll come alone.’

Then he said something that she wasn’t expecting. Although she should have, because why wouldn’t a man like him have a venal streak running through the middle of him, think everybody was the same?

‘How much do you want for it?’

How do you explain to a man like him, a man who would sell a child to another monster like himself, that some things are not for sale? You don’t even try.

‘It’s not for sale.’

The edge to her voice made him leave it there. Except he couldn’t let it go completely.

‘Why are you doing this if you’re not interested in money?’ A small titter of laughter, a strangely girlish sound, slipped out of his mouth. ‘For your brother? Revenge?’

The mocking tone made the phone flex in her hand, made her teeth grind so hard she could barely speak.

‘Yes. Revenge. For my brother.’

He heard the truth in her voice, regretted just a little that he’d mocked her. But not so much as to make him suspect that he was a large part of that revenge. Even so, he wasn’t completely stupid.

‘How do I know I can trust you?’

It was her turn to laugh then. And she did. And didn’t care what he thought because there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

‘You don’t. You can walk away from it right now if you want. I won’t contact you again. But maybe Garfield knew you’d send your thugs after him. Maybe he told Guillory what he knew to spite you from beyond the grave.’

She let her words sink in. Silence was her ally. Let his own mind do the persuading for her, the seeds of doubt she’d sowed taking root. Because it’s human nature that the motivation to avoid something unpleasant is a lot stronger than the desire to achieve something positive. There are few words in the English language more powerful than a retrospective if only . Especially if you’re sitting in a prison cell at the time in the secure wing to keep you safe from the general prison population of garden variety murderers and gangbangers.

It was a difficult line to walk, to get the balance of fear and encouragement just right. Because the last thing she wanted was for him to send his thugs to collect Guillory from her and not turn up himself. So she gave him a little encouragement, a reason to believe in her.

‘I’ve got a condition.’

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line. The sort of sound that suggests a cautious man has just had his suspicions confirmed. Things are not so good as they seemed a moment ago. Which would make him all the more trusting when his suspicions were proved wrong.

‘What condition?’

‘I want to be there when you interrogate her.’

There was a short pause while he considered her request, made a quick assessment of how he could turn it to his own advantage.

‘That shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘Good. Because I’ve got some questions of my own.’

He laughed at that, a sound that turned her stomach. It made her feel dirty, the feeling that they were in this together now. That it somehow made them the same.

‘That won’t be a problem either.’

‘There’s something else.’

Again the suspicious pause.

‘I want us’—she felt physically sick to use the word—‘to do it at the same location where you interrogated her the last time.’

That amused him too.

‘What an excellent idea. That should make her more compliant even before we start on her. One last thing . . .’

She knew what was coming, had her answer ready.

‘Will you be finishing the job?’

She had to wait for a moment to compose herself, glad in so many ways that the conversation was being conducted over the phone. He couldn’t see the revulsion on her face as they’d talked. Nor could he see the smile on it now.