‘Who? Who did it? Barrington Daley? I want that bastard’s head on a plate.’
‘It wasn’t Barrington.’
‘Then who?’
‘It was . . . it was a family.’
‘A f—What do you mean, a family? Do you mean like the mafia?’
‘No. An ordinary family. They’ve got this kid. He’s not all there.’
‘You mean a retard?’
‘Yeah. It was an accident.’
‘Ronan, lad, what the fuck are you talking about? Joey was accidentally killed by some window-licker?’
‘Yeah. That’s about it.’
‘Really? Then how come my son ended up in a dozen pieces on a landfill site? Are you going to tell me that was an accident too?’
‘No. They tried to cover it up. They didn’t want the lad to get into trouble.’
‘Yeah, well that worked well, didn’t it? Because now he’s neck-deep in shit. What did you do to them?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘These people who murdered your twin brother. What did you do to them?’
‘Nothing yet. I’m looking at them now. I’m in their flat.’
‘I see. So you’re having tea and cake with them, is that it?’
‘Mam, don’t be like that. I’m trying—’
‘Like what? How should I be? You’ve found the people who murdered Joey and they’re just sitting there? What’s the plan here, Ronan?’
‘That’s why I’m ringing you.’ He lowered his voice even further. ‘I don’t know what to do with them.’
She sighed. ‘Do I have to state the bleeding obvious, Ronan?’
He wondered how bad it would be. Broken bones? A long stay in hospital? And who? All of them? Or just make an example of the son?
He really didn’t feel comfortable with beating the shit out of a disabled lad, even one built like a shed.
‘They owe me,’ his mother said.
‘What?’
‘You heard. Joey started out with twenty-five grand’s worth of product on him. I want it back. Ask them what they did with it. Go on, ask them!’
Ronan lowered the phone as he walked over to the sofa. He pointed the gun at Scott again.
‘The stuff that was in Joey’s bag. The money and the bags of powder. What did you do with it?’
‘We . . . I threw it away, along with . . . along with everything else.’
‘Liar! All that money, and you just threw it away? I don’t fucking believe you.’
‘Please! It’s the truth. We thought it might be traceable. Plus, we didn’t think we should make money out of what happened. It wouldn’t be right.’
Wouldn’t be right, Ronan thought. Listen to him. Wouldn’t be right. Like anyone else would give a shit about right or wrong when they’re holding that much cash in their hands. It just shows how screwed-up this whole situation is.
Ronan returned to his corner of the room. ‘Did you hear that? They tossed it.’
‘Doesn’t change anything.’
‘What do you mean? They haven’t got—’
‘I’m not interested! I want it back. I don’t care how they get it, but I want my money. They owe me.’
Ronan wanted to puke. This was no longer about Joey. It was about money. That was the only thing concerning her. Maybe it always had been.
He hung up. Went back to the family. The family that looked as though they hardly had two pennies to rub together.
‘You owe me.’
They looked at him blankly.
‘The cash and the drugs. Twenty-five grand’s worth. I want it back.’
‘We can’t,’ Scott said. ‘I just told you. We got rid of it.’
‘That’s your problem. I want my twenty-five thousand back. How you get it is up to you.’
‘That’s crazy!’
Ronan thrust the gun towards him, and he backed down.
‘Look around you,’ Scott said. ‘We don’t have anywhere near that amount of money.’
‘You should have thought of that before you killed my brother.’
‘Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for what happened to your brother. But what’s done is done, and—’
‘No! It’s not done. Not until you pay for what you did. Now, either you get me my money or I tell the police exactly what you and your son did. Your choice.’
‘Please! We haven’t got money like that.’
‘Take out a loan. Remortgage. Sell your car. Rob a bank. I don’t give a shit what you do as long as you pay up.’
‘We can’t get a loan for that amount. And the flat is rented. My car isn’t—’
‘Shut up. What’s your phone number?’
‘What?’
‘Your phone number. What is it?’
Scott told him, and he typed it into his contacts.
‘You’ve got twenty-four hours,’ Ronan said. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, and I’ll tell you where to meet me with the money. If you don’t show up, I’m tipping off the cops.’
‘No. Please. I—’
‘Twenty-four hours. Don’t let me down. If you really want to protect your lad, you’ll do what I say. And if the name Joey Cobb still sends shivers up your spine, then wait till you see what Ronan Cobb can do.’
And then Ronan left, a sour taste in his mouth.