Revenge (41 page)

Chapter One Hundred
and Twenty-Eight

Hannah Flynn couldn’t understand why Michael had not been around to see her for days. It wasn’t like him – he always made a point of dropping in to see her. She was particularly worried after what Josephine had told her. If her Michael had lost his temper with his wife then there was something serious going on. Josephine had never been able to do any wrong in Michael’s eyes. Now, it seemed, he had finally lost his patience, and she had found herself actually feeling sorry for Josephine. That alone had been a shock. The woman had been completely devastated by her husband’s attack on her. But Christ Himself knew – she blessed herself automatically at the use of the Lord’s name in vain – Josephine Flynn was one of the most selfish fuckers that had ever been put on this earth. Hannah sat down at her kitchen table. She was a bundle of nerves lately, she couldn’t seem to settle. What had happened to Jessie was playing on her mind. The girl always kept in touch with her nana Hannah.

She poured herself out a glass of good Irish whisky, and took a large gulp to steady herself. Then she poured herself another. She heard her doorbell, and sighed with annoyance. Few people sought her company, and that suited her. She had never suffered fools gladly. But, as she walked to her front door, she hoped against hope that it was someone with news about her Jessie.

She opened the front door, expecting to see someone she knew. Instead she saw a skinny, grey-haired man, with sallow skin and a twisted smile. She detected a sour odour coming off him. She went to ask him what the hell he wanted, but before she could say a word, he lunged at her. As she tried to step back from him, she felt a sharp pain in her chest. Looking down, she saw the handle of a knife sticking out of her breast. It occurred to her that its blade was obviously buried deep inside her chest. It had all happened so quickly. The man was still smiling at her and, as she sank to her knees, he stepped away from her casually, and began taking photos of her on his phone. All she could do was watch him. She was trying to call out, get help, but there was nothing she could do. Her mouth was slowly filling up with blood, and it made her want to vomit. It tasted disgusting, it was so thick and it was suddenly dribbling out of her mouth. She could feel its warmth as it ran down her chin. She was lying on her back now, and she knew she would eventually choke on her own blood. She could feel her heartbeat getting slower by the second, and she could hear herself wheezing as she tried to breathe. She could feel the light-headedness as she gradually started to lose consciousness, and she welcomed the oblivion. Anything was better than this battle to take a single breath.

Chapter One Hundred
and Twenty-Nine

Arthur Hellmann was a strange-looking man. He was tall, very thin, and he had deep brown eyes and white-blond hair. It was a startling combination. Whereas on some people, it would have given them striking good looks, on Arthur it just seemed to add to his general air of strangeness. He was a man who found it very difficult to socialise with other people, and who much preferred the anonymity of cyberspace.

As he walked into the office, Michael and Declan didn’t even bother to greet him, and that suited him. He liked that Michael Flynn didn’t feel the need to engage him in conversation unless it was of some relevance. Too many people talked for the sake of it, and they rarely had anything of interest to say.

He sat at the desk, and set up his laptop, before saying to no one in particular, ‘I can access most phones. As long as this one’s turned on, I can get a location on it. I can also work out where any calls were made – the area, that is.’

Michael Flynn passed his BlackBerry to him, and Arthur glanced at the photograph. It was shocking.

‘I got that about three hours ago, Arthur. I need you to try and find the sender.’

Arthur nodded. He was aware that time was obviously of the essence. ‘Well, there is one thing I can tell you straight off, this isn’t the usual cheap throwaway phone. This picture has a lot of detail, which tells me the phone used was a fairly decent model.’

Michael Flynn wasn’t even listening to the man. ‘Just try and track the fucker down.’

The phone vibrated once more. Arthur Hellmann automatically opened the text. After a quick glance at the contents, he passed the phone to Michael Flynn without a word.

Michael looked at the photo of his mother lying in her hallway, a knife poking out of her right breast, and he shook his head slowly in disbelief. For the first time in his life he felt vulnerable, frightened. His mother was dying before his eyes, his daughter was dying somewhere, tied up like a fucking animal and obviously in extreme pain, and he couldn’t do a thing. This man was taunting him. The phone in the office started ringing, and Michael Flynn knew exactly what the call would be about.

Chapter One Hundred
and Thirty

Josephine sat on her balcony with a glass of red wine, looking out over the gardens and wondering if the man who had her daughter and who had murdered her mother-in-law was coming for her and Jake.

It felt unreal knowing that Hannah was dead. Stabbed in her own home, by some mad fucker who had evaded capture. Now her home was overrun with armed men, sent by Michael to protect them. Little Jake was loving the company, bless him, unaware of the danger they were in.

She had a twelve-gauge shotgun by her side, and a Glock 22 handgun lying on the table in front of her. If anyone was coming here, she was more than ready to fight her end. It was odd, but she had always found handling guns very easy from the time Michael taught her to use one. She liked the feel of them, the knowledge that they were capable of so much destruction. It was the secret of guns: the weakest person in the world could protect themselves from the biggest of enemies, because a gun was relatively lightweight, and had the power over life and death.

Even though Michael had seen fit to
drown
their home with his armed men, she felt much safer knowing that she was armed too. Hannah had been taken out on her doorstep, stabbed like a fucking animal, and whoever had done that also had her daughter in his clutches. If only she had been capable of passing his message on to Michael, this might have been avoided. She had been hoping that he would come to see her and, if he had, then she would have been able to show him the letter.

It was a learning curve, she supposed – she was unable to justify her actions any longer. It didn’t mean she was going to be able to change overnight; this wasn’t a fucking film, where everything was resolved in an hour and a half, this was her real fucking
life
. But she could at least make a conscious decision this time to get the help that she so desperately needed. Surely that was a start?

Jake came running into her room, hyper with excitement.

‘Nana, one of Granddad’s friends said he would teach me to play poker! Can I learn it, please?’

Josephine was grateful Jake was distracted. ‘’Course you can! It’s a very tricky game, though, so make sure you listen to what the man tells you carefully.’

Jake Flynn was dressed in his favourite Peppa Pig pyjamas – he was obsessed with Peppa, and would happily wear these until they fell apart. He was holding his favourite book which he had tucked under his arm – he adored
The Gruffalo
and he had read it over and over again. He looked very handsome and so vulnerable, that Josephine felt almost tearful as she looked at him. He deserved much more than she had ever given to him. She had lost out on so much of his little life.

‘I like playing cards. I told the man that and he laughed! He said I was Granddad’s double, and I think that’s a good thing, Nana, don’t you? Dana is going to learn with me, so that we can play poker together.’

Josephine hugged him to her tightly. She kissed his thick, dark hair, drinking in the smell of Matey bubble bath and jojoba shampoo.

He hugged her back with one arm, before pulling away from her. Then he noticed the gun on the table in front of her. He said solemnly, ‘Nana, you better be very careful with that.’

Josephine could hear the underlying fear in his voice. He was six years old and already he knew that guns were dangerous. One day, of course, he would have to understand that, in the world his granddad lived in, guns were a necessity – a part of their everyday life. The charmed life that they lived came at a price, and that price was often higher than anyone realised. It was a dangerous life, and that was more apparent now than ever before.

‘I will, darling. I will be very careful. Now, you go and learn how to play poker. Don’t worry about anything. No one will ever let anything bad happen to you, I promise.’

As he ran back down to the kitchen, she wondered if she could keep that promise. She remembered the night that the Cornel brothers had arrived at her door, remembered Jessie’s shock and horror at the night’s events. She could see herself telling her daughter to lock herself in her bedroom, and not to be frightened of anything. She had found an inner strength that night to protect her home, her sanctuary, from the threat of the outside world. Jessie had seen her with the gun that night, and it had terrified her. Jessie had understood the danger they were in. It had changed her daughter – she had been forced to grow up that night.

Now her only child was being held captive, and that was harder for Josephine to comprehend than anything else in her life so far. That her daughter’s dire predicament had still not been enough to make her use a telephone, was something she was finding very hard to forgive herself for. But it was actually her Michael’s reaction that she was really worried about. She feared he wouldn’t be forgiving her any time soon.

A part of her hoped that this unknown man would come here and give her the chance to take him out. It might be her only opportunity to redeem herself.

Chapter One Hundred
and Thirty-One

Timothy Branch was watching Michael Flynn as the man tried to take in the news of his mother’s death; the woman had been slaughtered on her doorstep. It was unbelievable – no one could have predicted anything like this. Who would have thought that a man like Michael Flynn could ever have been game-played by a fucking toe rag like Steven Golding? Golding was a fucking no-mark. But, somehow, he had managed to get the better of Michael Flynn. He had not only taken the man’s daughter, he had also stabbed the man’s mother to death in her own home.

It was Steven Golding’s complete disregard for the consequences of his actions that truly bothered Timothy Branch. His was the mindset of a terrorist, someone whose only aim in life was to carry out the duty required of them, regardless of their own safety. It was only about the end game. This man Golding didn’t seem to have an agenda that any of them could understand – there wasn’t room for bargaining; he honestly didn’t seem to want anything of value from any of them. He was only interested in hitting Michael Flynn where it hurt. All he seemed to want was revenge. That was the only thing this could be about – not that Michael Flynn had been very forthcoming about his dealings with the man in the past. But he had read the man’s medical reports, knew that his family had been wiped out in a fire – a fire that had been started deliberately. It didn’t take an Albert fucking Einstein to work out that Michael Flynn had been involved in that shit somewhere along the line. Branch had been around long enough to suss out what was
really
going on, but it wasn’t in his interests to pursue this train of thought – he knew when to leave well alone.

‘I’ve had your mother’s body taken to the morgue, and I have hushed it up for the moment, but you have to understand, Michael, I can’t sit on this for too long. None of the neighbours saw anything – it was very fast. And, from what I can gather, your mum wasn’t a woman who encouraged her neighbours’ friendships, if you get my drift.’

Michael laughed wryly. ‘You got that right. My mother was the female equivalent of Jack the Giant Killer. She saw most people in her orbit as completely fucking useless ponces. She wasn’t known for her sparkling personality.’

Declan Costello could detect the catch in Michael’s voice underneath his bravado. He had loved his mother, in spite of everything. She wasn’t a woman who encouraged displays of affection, but she had loved her son too.

Timothy Branch was aware of Hannah Flynn’s reputation as a woman of limited patience; it was well known she had a tongue in her head and she used it to her advantage. He sighed. ‘Look, Michael, the bottom line is, this bloke is either very fucking clever, or very fucking lucky. In all my years on the force I have never seen anything like it. He’s obviously watched you for a while and he’s aware of your daily routine. How else could he know so much? One thing I do know, though, is he’s not that far away. I’d say that he’s operating from within an hour’s journey of your house. He has to be. It stands to reason.’

Declan and Michael exchanged glances; at last the man was making sense. It was about time he earned his fucking keep! Branch was like all bent Filth – he wasn’t liked or trusted by the people who paid his extra-curricular wages,
or
the people he had to work with in his capacity as an Old Bill. They would all know that he wasn’t kosher or to be completely trusted. Word travelled fast, and that was something no one could prevent. It was a double-edged sword. He was paid a good wage to ensure that he was on their side if it ever went pear-shaped, but he was automatically suspect because he was selling out his own. Treachery wasn’t looked on lightly in either of the circles Timothy Branch moved in.

Declan poured Michael another drink; he needed it – the man was in absolute shock. ‘Come on, Michael, sit down and drink this. You’ve had a shock to your system.’

Michael allowed himself to be seated and took the drink offered to him. He had never felt so useless in his whole life. He kept seeing Jessie, the fear on her face, and the picture of his mother, dying in front of his eyes. No one seemed to be able to give him any information of use. He had a very large workforce, and not one of them could find out even the simplest thing about Steven Golding.

Timothy Branch cleared his throat noisily. ‘I’ve had my blokes comb through his medical records, and there’s nothing of value, Michael. They have been to every address where he’s been registered, checked with his doctors, and not a fucking whisper.’

Michael Flynn started to laugh loudly, but it was an unnatural sound, too high pitched and too heartbreaking to be normal.

Declan and Timothy watched Michael laughing, warily.

Arthur Hellmann looked up from his computer in the corner of the room and he said triumphantly, ‘I’ve got him. I think I’ve found the fucker.’

Declan knelt down in front of Michael and, grabbing the man’s shoulders, he shook him roughly. ‘Stop it, Michael! Will you just stop laughing. Listen to me! This isn’t over yet.’

Eventually Michael began to quieten down, and then he seemed to pull himself together. Pushing Declan away, he picked up the glass of brandy from the table, and swallowed it in one gulp. He looked into Declan’s eyes, saw the worry there and the genuine concern for his wellbeing. Michael wiped his hand across his mouth roughly; he had no choice left but to face this.

‘It’s OK, Declan. I’m fine. I’m OK.’

Declan was still kneeling on the floor, shocked by Michael’s reaction. It wasn’t like him to lose the plot. The man had every reason to – it just wasn’t something he had expected. Michael Flynn was a hard man, harder than anyone Declan had ever known.

‘Fucking hell, Michael, you can’t lose it now. We’re so close. You need to pull yourself together, get a fucking grip.’

Michael took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. He was aware that he needed to keep himself on an even keel. ‘I’m all right now, Declan. It’s over.’

Arthur Hellmann was embarrassed at such a naked display of emotion, especially from a man like Michael Flynn. It was unseemly, humiliating – the man was almost hysterical.

Declan turned to him and said angrily, ‘Well, come on then, Arthur. Where is the fucker?’