Listening to what the caller had to say Bridget handed the phone to Paddy, “You better hear this.”
Paddy was silent throughout the call, his face thunderous. It had been a long time since Bridget had seen that expression.
“Mrs Gavin’s gone. She packed up and disappeared in the night. Paddy, she’d lived at St. Jude’s for nigh on twenty years and all that was left was a note.”
“What did it say?”
“Tell Paddy Coyle if he wants to see his daughter again, phone this number.”
“Christ, we’ve just had a call from Spain saying she’s disappeared along with a young kid.”
“You know what that means? They’ve got another consignment, but why involve Erin?”
“God knows,” was his reply as he dialled the number.
The phone was answered on the first ring. Whoever it was had been waiting for the call.
“You got my message then, Coyle?”
“You know you are a dead man?”
“I know where your precious daughter is and I’m willing to sell this information for the contents of the safety deposit box.”
“Where are you?”
“Spain, that’s all you need to know for now.”
“Fuck’s sake, man, I need to book a flight.”
“Alicante. Ring me when you arrive.” The line went dead.
“Paddy, there are no flights from Glasgow today and it would be standby only tomorrow.”
“Forget it, I can’t sit about in an airport when my daughter is in danger. Get me Ritchie. He owes me a favour and I’m calling it in.”
Paddy had known Ritchie Scott for years, since not long after the young fella got his pilot’s licence. He now owned a small air courier business, operating out of Glasgow and was doing well for himself. That hadn’t been the case a few years ago when he had unwittingly been used to courier drugs to and from the continent for some seriously heavy villains. Thanks to the intervention of Paddy, the courier wasn’t found floating face down in the River Clyde.
“Hello Ritchie, Paddy Coyle here. I need a favour.”
“Hi Paddy, what’s up?”
“Ritchie, I need to get to Spain right now. All the commercial flights are full and I’m desperate. The clock’s ticking and believe me, every second counts.”
“Okay, where exactly in Spain?”
“I need to get to Marbella.”
“A private landing strip or commercial?”
“Private, and as near as possible.”
“How many passengers?”
“This leg just two.”
“Nothing illegal being carried?”
“No drugs, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Firearms?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Okay, I didn’t hear that. What about return flights?”
“Tomorrow. Hopefully with three other passengers.”
“Do you need a car?”
“Yep.”
“When do you want to leave?”
“I can be at the airport in twenty minutes.”
“No problem, I’ll take you myself. See you in half an hour or so.”
Bridget had already called Michael and he was on his way to the airport. Paddy’s bag was packed; he filled Sean in on what was happening and what business needed to be taken care of. From the call to being airborne was a record ninety minutes.
They arrived in Spain just over three hours later and the two men headed straight into town to see Erin’s companion.
“You must be Carol?” Paddy addressed the tear-ravaged young woman. “Tell me everything you know, do not miss anything out. My Erin’s a resourceful girl. She’ll be fine and your daughter couldn’t be with anyone better.”
Oh how Carol wished she believed this rhetoric.
She described her first encounter with Erin in the department store and how the girl had been in a terrible state. About their meeting the following day and how Carol had begged her to tell her family, she herself having once been in the same predicament. But Erin had been adamant she had to deal with this herself. Her plan had been to confront the father and take it from there. Everything seemed so childish when relating it to this huge man, but at the time it had been a reasonably coherent plan.
Carol had little or no information other than the bare details concerning the potential father, and as she had been completely bedridden since their arrival, where they had gone or who they met was a mystery. All she had was the scribbled note saying ‘gone to meet Bobby, taking Amy, wish me luck.’
Paddy tried to get her to remember anything about the time they had arrived, when Erin had gone for medication, anything she could recall, but she drew a blank.
“Now, I want you to stay here in case she phones or comes back. This is my number if you hear anything or remember anything. Phone me and I’ll keep you up to date.”
Carol felt slightly better knowing that Erin’s father was on the case, he would find them. Please God, don’t let it be too late.
Paddy’s next stop was to meet with two of the Costa’s main men: Charlie Taylor and Philip the Greek Manson. He’d had a few dealings with both men over the years and though reluctant to put himself in their debt, he had no choice. Within five minutes he had the name, address and heads up on the Bobby fella. It seemed he was a serial player in the resort. Young, good-looking, flash, and his father owned one of the hottest clubs in the town.
“I have to say, Paddy, not a family I would have thought would be mixed up in our world,” said Phil the Greek. “The man is no mug and runs a good gaff, but he seems as straight as.”
“I always thought the wife wore the trousers in that partnership. Some gal is Dianne Mack, balls of steel,” laughed Charlie. “Up for anything, she is, and she’s warmed a few beds around town.”
Paddy Coyle looked like he’d been slapped. Pete and Dianne? No way. Mack! That was some coincidence. Christ, how many times had he and the family holidayed here in Marbella and all that time his worst enemy was operating right under his nose? That and the bastard O’Farrell, what a team.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Michael quizzed Paddy.
“Too much of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?” replied his brother. “Thanks, gentlemen, you’ve been a great help and I owe you one.”
“It’s on the house, mate. Good luck.”
First stop was the Marbella Princess, but apart from a couple of cleaning staff there was no sign of their quarry.
“Look, Paddy, don’t go in like John Wayne. Let’s suss the place out first,” Michael pleaded on their arrival at Mack’s villa. “We’ve got the edge on them, there’s no way they’re going to have a clue we’re in town already. They probably think we’re still standing in the Globespan queue, waiting to check our bags in. I reckon they’ll think they have at least another five or six hours before we arrive, so let’s use it.”
The Dark
Fighting through the layers of blackness, Erin tried hard to come to. She knew instinctively this wasn’t normal, this wasn’t just sleepy. How long had she been like this and more to the point, how the hell did she get like this? She needed to concentrate, but still she floated in and out of consciousness.
Everything was jumbled, but at least the angry voices had gone. Could that mean she had been dumped and left on her own? Which was worse? My God, she felt like she’d been hit by a truck. Was that it, had she had an accident? Nothing made sense.
The pitch black weighed down on her, but she could hear breathing and small whimpering noises, like an animal or a small child. Amy, it must be Amy, somewhere in this darkness. How to reach the little girl? Erin could barely move, she was bound tight. Who would want to keep them prisoner? All these unanswered questions. Panic was beginning to kick in.
At first the blackness seemed impenetrable, but her eyes were growing accustomed to the dark and she could make out shapes. She seemed to be in a storeroom and was pretty sure she was on a mattress. Her foot touched something
and Amy gave a little grunt. The little girl obviously hadn’t come to yet.
She recalled Canon O’Farrell going to get Bobby. He had left them in a little cabana by the swimming pool, but that was all she remembered. Except for all the shouting. But who had been shouting and why? She hadn’t a clue. Where was the canon? Had something happened to him, was he in here too? She could only hear one other person breathing, so what did that mean?
The only thought in her head was to get free, but whatever her captor had used to bind her was tearing her poor wrists to bits, at even the feeblest attempts to break free, She could feel the blood trickling through her fingers. This was no good; she needed something sharp, or to free Amy. If only she could reach her and get the little girl to understand what she wanted her to do.
Amy was regaining consciousness. She was very distressed and sobbing uncontrollably for her mum. Erin edged her way over to her, but the closer she got the further away Amy shrank from the figure in the dark and the louder her screams became. Desperate to comfort the child, but unable to communicate, Erin backed away from her, hoping she would realise who it was and not some bogeyman. Although she herself wasn’t so sure the bogeyman wasn’t waiting behind the door for them. What could she do to get free?
Erin tried to get near to Amy once more and set the poor child off into another wave of terrified shrieks. This was useless and might bring their captors all the quicker. Whatever the reason for their kidnap, they stood a far better chance untied than bound like Christmas turkeys. What could she do to make the child understand?
Over the years since she had lost her voice Erin had tried and failed at every attempt to make a noise. The only sound she had ever accomplished was a most peculiar and bizarre method of whistling. It was so much of a hit or miss that she’d long since given up on it. There was nothing else for it, so with all her concentration, she managed a few blows. Amy stopped crying for a few seconds, long enough for Erin to cover her entire repertoire of sucks and blows and weird noises.
Total silence. No crying, just silence and then there was the tiniest chuckle. Erin edged her way over to Amy’s corner and with a gentle prod the child threw her arms round Erin’s neck. Now the hard bit, she thought. How the hell do I get her to understand what I want her to do? But this was one smart four-year-old. Sitting back to back Erin managed to loosen Amy’s bonds and without too much pain set her free.
It took some time for the nimble little fingers to pick the tape undone, and all in the dark, but eventually both girls were free. Terrified, Erin opened the door and cautiously peeked outside. The pool area was deserted and she grabbed Amy by the hand. They sprinted across the terrace and into the scrubland beyond. They were met with an insurmountable high wall topped with barbed wire. No way out there. The two escapees stealthily worked their way round the edge of the property, petrified of being discovered, but hoping for some means of escape.
“I’ll go and check on them in a few minutes.” Pete was busy making up a new batch of juice. “They’ll be coming round fairly soon and I have to be careful how much I give the kid.”
“We should be hearing from Coyle shortly. By my reckoning he should arrive in the next hour or so. By the time he clears customs and gets into town, that batch should see us through. I take it the cruiser is primed and ready for the off?”
“Of course it is, what do you think I’ve been doing for the past hour, sitting on my arse?”
“No need to get antsy, I was simply asking.” The last thing O’Farrell wanted to do was piss off Pete. He knew he was treading on very shaky ground.
Just talking to this old fucker made his blood boil. Whatever the outcome of this night, Canon Francis O’Farrell would not see another dawn. Pete had had enough. Win or lose he was finished with him. Having spent most of the morning and early afternoon preparing for the coming visit, as far as Pete was concerned Paddy Coyle’s comeuppance had been a long time in the making.
“They’ve gone,” he roared at the priest. “They’ve fucking escaped, you old goat. How could you be trumped by a four-year-old and a fucking mute? I do not believe it.”
“Don’t be stupid, they can’t have gone. They must be here somewhere, check again.”
Pete couldn’t make up his mind whether to fucking brain the idiot or go and check again for the two hostages. Fuck it, he’d do both, but the pool house was nearest so he’d keep until later. Amidst the chaos, neither man noticed the silver Mercedes draw up and park opposite.
The runaways had managed to squeeze through the tiniest of holes into a neighbouring property. They could hear dogs, big dogs; the breed of dogs that patrol grounds and would attack anything that strayed into their territory. No way could they go back and if they went closer to the house they would be savaged. Erin needed to find them somewhere safe to hide. Crawling cautiously along the extreme perimeter of the neighbouring garden, so as not to alert the beasts, they made their way down to the water’s edge. Miracle upon miracle, there was an old battered rowing boat bobbing about. As quick as they could they both climbed in, pulling the tarpaulin over their heads. They would wait until the hue and cry had died down a bit and then make their getaway.
In for the kill
There was no doubting who Pete Mack was; it was like turning back the clock. Paddy had to admit the years had been good to McClelland. He was tanned, distinguished, and from the look of the villa, certainly not short of a bob or two. A far cry from the piss-poor ragamuffin who ran alongside Paddy on the rob, or who had spent twelve months in Polmont Young Offenders only to come out and stitch his best mate up well and truly.
Paddy couldn’t believe how seeing McClelland after all these years still affected him. The bile rose in his throat, his hatred was almost palpable. He wanted to rip his fucking head off. To think that yet again this bastard may have harmed his only child. Well, this time there was no reprieve, no mercy; he would finish him off with his bare hands.
“Did you get a look at him?” asked Michael, interrupting Paddy’s thoughts.
“Oh, I did that, bro. Him and his bum chum. That fucking little weasel, poncing about like something from Hawaii Five O. I can’t wait to get a grip on that one,” snarled his brother.
“There’s something up though, Paddy. Look at them, they’re running about like bloody headless chickens, look.”
Sure enough, the two men appeared to be searching for something or someone and were bitterly arguing between themselves. They entered the small building at the end of the terrace.
“Perfect,” whispered Paddy, “let’s go, Mikey.”
The brothers positioned themselves on either side of the entrance. First one out was O’Farrell, who they caught completely by surprise. He didn’t know what had hit him as he slumped to the ground.
Still ranting and raving, McClelland followed, stumbling over the inert form of O’Farrell and cursing even louder. A glimpse of his assailant confirmed yet again that he had underestimated Paddy Coyle.
Michael secured the two men using the same ligatures that had been used on his niece and Amy. There was no way either of them could escape. Meanwhile Paddy searched the villa from top to bottom, but no sign of either girl.
First to regain conscientiousness was Pete, looking down the barrel of a gun.
“Well, Paddy, long time no see. You’re looking well,” said Pete at his smarmiest.
Paddy couldn’t help himself. He smashed McClelland across the mouth, dislodging some very expensive bridge work and at the very least dislocating the man’s jaw.
“That’s just for starters,” he snarled. “Now where is my daughter, you piece of shit?”
“Would you believe me if I told you truthfully, I don’t know?” came the reply.
“Fucking truthfully? You don’t know the meaning of the word. I’ll ask you again, where is my daughter?”
“And again I’ll tell you truthfully, I don’t know.” This reply resulted in even more work for the orthodontist and most definitely his jaw was broken.
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br /> During this interlude O’Farrell had come to and having quickly assessed the situation, he knew instinctively that if Coyle thought that they didn’t have the girl, or didn’t know her whereabouts, then they were both dead.
“She’s not here, Paddy. You don’t for one minute think we’d keep her here? Now, let’s be adult about this. I have no reason to harm Erin and she’s of no use to me, so you produce the money and we’re quits.”
“Erm, am I getting this right? You’re telling me what you’re prepared to do? Has the fact that you’re my prisoner slipped your mind? Neither of you are in any position to bargain.”
“Oh, I think you’re a bit out on that score,” said the old man. “We all know that you’re not likely to let us walk from here so what have we got to lose? Why should we tell you where your daughter and her little friend are? All I will say is they won’t last more than a couple of hours. At which point the tide will come in and they might last five or ten terrifying minutes before leaving this mortal coil. Neither, I might add, as good Catholic girls, having received the last rights. Now that really would upset Bridget and Lizzie.”
Michael had to physically restrain Paddy as he pummelled the old priest relentlessly. “Tell me where she is, you old bastard. Tell me now,” but O’Farrell had again passed out.
McClelland had toughened up over the years, but he was still no match against a fighting machine like Paddy Coyle.
“Don’t listen to that stupid old fucker,” his ex-best mate pleaded. “I’m telling you, Paddy, we don’t have them. They got away. Hard to believe? A four-year-old and a mute got one over on us. But they did, that’s how you were able to capture us. We were more interested in finding them than in your arrival.”
Paddy walked over to where Michael was standing guard. “What do you think? Could they really have got away?”
“Christ man, she’s your daughter and no matter how much cotton wool you wrap her up in, she’s still going to come up trumps. The girl’s a survivor. I say we finish this pair off, not that it will take much for our beloved canon, and go look for her. She can’t be far. What the fuck is up with those dogs? You don’t think . . .?”
The Silence Page 15