by Anna Smith
‘Are you eating again?’ she said to Nikki.
‘You need to taste this cake, Julie. It’s magic. I’ve made you a coffee.’
Euan gave her a thumbs up, a mouthful of cake preventing him from talking. She brought her coffee and sat on the sofa opposite Euan in his wheelchair. She was about to ask him how he was when she heard the click of the back door. Her head swam when she saw the figure appear in the kitchen. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
*
‘Morning, ladies.’
The Manchester accent sent a chill through her and she glanced at Nikki, whose face had turned white. The big, well-dressed figure with a shock of greying hair stood in the kitchen in his black Crombie coat and red scarf, icy blue eyes staring down at them. Behind him was a shaven haired minder in a padded anorak, with a slash mark from his cheekbone which spread to a wide dent in his neck that looked as though someone had taken the bolts out.
‘What the fuck!’ Julie stood up. Nikki also got to her feet.
‘Hey. That’s no way to treat a guest who’s paid an unexpected call on you . . . It is unexpected, is it not?’
‘Who the fuck are you? What are you doing in our house?’
The big man’s mouth snarled to a smile, but he kept his icy stare on her.
‘I’ll give you two guesses, love. In fact, I’ll give you one guess, and if you don’t get it right, then my boy here will break your nose.’ He raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.
Julie looked at Nikki.
‘I . . . I think I’m going to faint.’ Nikki faltered back and sat on the arm of the chair.
The minder moved forward.
‘Fucking leave her.’ Julie stepped between them. ‘I know who you are. You’re Johnny Vanner.’
‘Got it in one. You’ve wasted my boy’s morning. He likes hurting people.’
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
He sniggered.
‘Like you don’t know?’
‘Gordy will be here in a minute.’
‘Well that’ll be nice and cosy then. He’ll get a surprise too.’
‘What’s going on? He said he was giving the case to you. He said it was all arranged. What are you doing here?’
Vanner tugged off his leather gloves, one finger at a time, revealing tattoos on each knuckle. He took a step forward, then suddenly grabbed Julie by the hair.
‘Listen, you arrogant cow. Never mind what I’m doing here. Never mind about that cunt Gordy. I’m here for the case, then I’m off. So let’s not fuck around here for any longer than is necessary.’ He pulled Julie’s hair tight. ‘So if you want to stay alive, just give me the fucking case and I’m off.’
Julie looked at Nikki, and there was a flash of recognition between them that they both knew the game was up. There would be no other life, no jobs abroad where they would reinvent themselves. This bastard would kill them. He wasn’t going to take the case and walk away. How the hell did he even know they were here? He’d obviously been planning to stiff Gordy the way Gordy planned to stiff him. Except that Vanner was smarter. He let go of her hair.
Julie went into the kitchen and knelt on the floor, rummaging in the cupboard until she got to the little place at the back where she’d stashed the case. She brought it out and handed it over.
He placed it on the worktop and opened it, while his minder kept his eyes on Julie and Nikki. Vanner took out the pouch of diamonds and sprinkled them onto his hand. He caressed them, weighed in his palm, then brought out the other pouch. He went across to her.
‘You’d better not have taken any of these.’
‘I’m not fucking stupid! Just take them and go.’
He slapped Julie hard on the face and she tasted blood.
‘Stop! Leave her.’ Nikki burst into tears.
‘Shut the fuck up, you, or you’ll get your other arm torn off.’ He gestured to his minder, who took a rope out of his jacket pocket.
‘Sit on the chairs and shut your fucking mouths. The two of you. If you stay that way, I might even let you live.’
Nikki stumbled as she crossed the room to sit on the kitchen chair next to Julie. The minder grabbed Julie and tied her hands behind her back, then pressed Nikki’s good arm against her side and wound rope around her.
‘Who’s the cripple?’ Vanner gave Euan a long look. ‘Are you turning tricks for him?’
Chapter Thirty-Three
It wasn’t so cold now that he’d been walking and working in the field, but James O’Neill decided he’d go back to the house and make sure the fire was well stoked for Euan. His wife was out for the morning for a hospital appointment, then she was going for lunch with his sister. He enjoyed the days when it was just the two of them, talking about the farm and the rugby. Deep down, his heart bled for his son, still the same boy in so many ways, trying hard not to show the frustration and disappointment he must feel every morning he woke up and saw his wheelchair at the side of his bed. But that was where they were now. Nothing they could do about it.
*
It was the car at the back of the cottage that James noticed. He’d not seen many visitors in the time those girls had stayed there. That big bastard who insulted Euan was the only car he’d seen before, and from this distance he could see it wasn’t that Jag. He crossed the field where he’d been checking on sheep in case the heavy rain turned the place like a swamp. Last year, after heavy snow, then the big thaw, one of his sheep drowned in a pit of mud, so he had to make the mile-long trek twice a day when the weather was like this.
The narrow pathway from the field took him out at the back of the rented house, and now he had a clear view of the car. He crept around the back of the house, familiar with every nook and cranny, knowing where to move so nobody would see him. He felt as though he was spying on the girls, but there was a niggle that something wasn’t right. He didn’t want to knock on the door after the last time, but wanted to peek in the window and see what was going on. He walked carefully around the house, and with his back to the wall, made his way toward the kitchen window. In the second he looked in, he saw enough to make him feel physically sick. Someone was tying up his son, and his face was bloodied and battered. Jesus wept! A sudden image flashed up of Euan’s head like a football on the morning he and his wife had gone into hospital after the beating that had left him paralysed. A surge of rage almost knocked James off his feet and he gripped the wall for support. He chanced another glance. The girls were already tied up on kitchen chairs, and the Julie girl had blood on her face. A big guy in a black overcoat was pointing a gun, waving it at the girls, then at Euan. James could hear his heart thumping and his mouth was dry as a stick. He slunk away, slowly at first, then ran as fast as his legs would carry him to his house. But as he did, he suddenly remembered the car he’d spotted in the layby up by the field he’d just been in. He’d seen it for the first time in the distance as he was walking in the field yesterday. He was sure it was there again today, but had thought nothing of it and assumed someone was taking a shortcut. But now, he realized that this meant there could be more of these bastards. He threw open the door of his farmhouse, his hands trembling as he grabbed the key to the old pantry.
*
Big Gordy was feeling buoyant as Terry drove the Jag out of Glasgow and onto the motorway. He’d have a pocket full of diamonds on his way back, and he planned to take the big driver for lunch on the way home as a bit of a celebration. A pocket full of diamonds. Christ! You could nearly get a song out of that. He thought of his ma and how she’d be egging him on, especially now that his mind was made up that he was chucking Glasgow and moving to Spain. But first, he’d have to deal with these two bitches who thought they’d made a tit of him. Making him sign over the club. He’d just shoot the fuckers and be done with it. Who gave a fuck how long their bodies lay there festering? The old farmer would find them eventually, but he’d be long gone by then.
Terry drove up to the front of the cottage and switched off the
engine.
‘Will I come in, boss?’
‘Yeah, you might as well. We’ll not be too long, though. Just pick up the case and then sort these birds.’
They both got out of the car and went up to the door. Instinctively, Gordy took a furtive glance around to make sure there was nobody stupid enough to phone the cops. You never knew with those two nutters inside, and he’d already seen that the farmer could be a bit of a meddling bastard. So if he came anywhere near, poking his nose in, he was getting it too. He wasn’t in the mood to piss around. He knocked on the door. Nothing. He shrugged, then rapped on it harder. He winked at Terry when he heard the lock being turned, then the door opened, and his jaw dropped to the ground. It was the barrel of the gun he saw first. And some baldy, scar-faced bastard behind it.
‘What the fuck!’
‘Shut it and get in here.’
Gordy recognised the voice coming from inside the house, and a chill ran through him. Johnny Vanner. In the name of fuck!
They both stepped inside slowly, the gun pointing at them all the time. He knew Terry was tooled up, and so was he, but a lot of good it was going to do them now. Fucking Vanner! That wee Paul had done this. Bastard! He was choking with rage and could feel sweat inside his shirt, and the hairs on his neck standing up. Get a grip, he told himself. Think fast. There has to be a way out of this.
‘Johnny! What the fuck is this, man?’
‘This, my friend, is why I’m the kingpin down south and you’re just a pile of steaming shite from Glasgow.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about? We have a deal here! I was getting the stuff for you. Did you think I was going to do you over?’
Vanner shot him a sardonic smile.
‘Aw, don’t insult my fucking intelligence, mate. I know exactly what you were going to do, even before that little cunt Paul told me.’
Nikki looked at Julie, shocked.
‘Paul’s a fucking wee grass, Johnny,’ Gordy protested. ‘I knew he’d done something and was going behind my back. I knew he’d phoned you. That’s why I plugged the cunt the other day. But I did it to protect us all. I was going to tell you about it. He was a loose cannon. Couldn’t be trusted.’
‘Paul? You killed Paul?’ Nikki’s voice trembled.
‘He was her husband,’ Julie said.
‘I know he was,’ Gordy spat. ‘Who gives a fuck! He’s a wee troublemaker. A wee rat’s bastard . . . Hey, come on, Johnny. Let’s just calm the fuck down here. Put the heavy metal down and let’s sort this.’ He glanced at the case. ‘Come on. You’ve got the stuff. We’ve got a deal, pal.’
‘I’m not your fucking pal.’
‘So what you going to do here? Eh? Bump the fucking lot of us off? Even the bastard cripple in the wheelchair?’
‘Shut it!’
*
‘Get off my fucking land.’
Rosie’s eyes were closed and for a second she imagined she’d dropped into a dream when she’d rested her head back to break the monotony of waiting for Julie’s text. But no, this was really happening. There was a single barrel shotgun pointed at her window.
‘Oh fuck!’ Matt said. ‘Where the hell did he come from? I nodded off.’
‘Sssh. Jesus Christ! It’s the farmer!’ Rosie turned her body towards the window, a pleading look on her face as she raised her hands in surrender.
‘Get off my fucking land.’
‘Look, mister! Listen! Let me just roll the window down a second. Please. We . . . We’re not here to do you any harm. Sorry. We got lost.’
‘Liar. Who the fuck are you?’ He took a step back as Rosie slowly lowered the window.
‘Rosie. Just tell him, for fuck’s sake. He might use that thing,’ Matt muttered.
She heard it, but ignored him. She couldn’t tell him who they were. Not right now. Who knows what he would do? It was too hard to explain. Too long a story when you’re looking down the barrel of a gun. But she’d better say something – and fast – because the click of the gun being cocked made her heart miss a beat. Jesus! This silver-haired, middle-aged man, who wouldn’t have been out of place selling his homegrown produce at a farm shop, had a deranged look in his eye.
‘Okay.’ She glanced at Matt and muttered at him to start the engine. ‘We’re going. We’re nobody, honest. We don’t want any trouble. We’re going right now.’
‘You’ve got three seconds to tell me who you are.’
His finger wavered over the trigger, ready to squeeze.
‘Look. Actually . . . Er . . . We’re journalists. We . . . We’re from the Post. We’re on an investigation. The girls in your house—’ Rosie hated herself for saying it, but right now she had no choice.
‘Them girls have got a gun pointed at them right now in my house. But my son’s in there. What the fuck is going on? Who are these bastards?’
‘I . . . I don’t know. And that’s the truth. But if you’ve seen someone with a gun in the house, then I think we should call the cops.’ She showed him her mobile.
He pushed the gun into the space on the window almost touching Rosie’s head.
‘No! No cops! Someone’s got a gun pointed at my son. No fucking cops! I’m dealing with this, you just get off my fucking land! Now!’
‘Okay. No cops. We’re going. We’re going right now. Come on, Matt. Let’s move.’
Matt reversed the car a fraction so he could get back onto the tight road and the farmer stood back.
‘I’m sorry. Really. Sorry. We’re going. We won’t phone the cops. I promise.’
Matt’s wheels kicked up mud at the farmer as they spun and he tried to control the car as they took off.
‘Christ! There’s mud all over him. I hope he doesn’t shoot,’ Matt said, looking in his rear-view mirror.
‘Just drive, Matt. Let’s get as far away from here as we can.’
‘You going to phone the cops?’
‘Shit! I don’t know. Something’s gone seriously tits-up in that house, but if I involve the cops right now, they’ll all get done – Julie and Nikki as well.’
‘But if someone’s already got a gun pointed at them, they might all get killed, Rosie.’
Rosie bit her lip and looked out of the side window, trying to peer across the field to where the two farmhouses stood side by side. She could see the big black Jag that she knew belonged to Gordy MacLean. What the hell had gone wrong?
‘Matt. Listen. I think we should park the car somewhere and go on foot.’
‘What? Into the fucking line of fire? Are you serious? How many guns do you need pointing at you, Rosie, to tell you the fucking game’s up?’
‘I know, I know. But if we could get close enough to see, but far enough to be hidden. You know what I mean? That wee outhouse at the bottom of the road. We could park there and nobody can see us from the house. We just have to cross a bit of the field and then we can see.’
‘Then what, Rosie?’
‘We might be able to witness it. You might get a great picture. Come on.’
‘Fuck! This is fucking reckless! Totally crazy. We might get killed.’
‘We won’t. They won’t be able to see us. We were even thinking about parking down there when we did the recce, if you remember, but thought it was too close to the main road up to the house. But we could make it on foot. The farmer won’t come back now. Let’s just dump the car down there.’
Matt shook his head and gritted his teeth as he made his way down the bumpy road. He pulled in and picked up a camera – the lightest one he had.
‘Right. Come on. But when this is over, I might actually punch you right in the face, Gilmour.’
Rosie said nothing. She opened the door and stepped into the road. They went towards a fence and climbed over into the field, their feet immediately sinking into the mud and slush.
‘Fuck me, go gently,’ Matt said. ‘We could get swallowed up by a bog.’
‘Come on, we’ll be fine. We’ve only fifty yards to go till we get to the outhouse.
We can hide there.’ Rosie’s feet squelched and sank in the mud as she struggled to walk.
*
James was at the back of the house, sliding along the wall towards the porch. He’d considered just going to the front door and blasting it off with the shotgun. If Euan hadn’t been in there, he would have. But who knew what would happen if he did that? It was risky now trying to creep in like this, but he knew every corner of this house like the back of his hand. He could get in quietly, slip down the back hall and just appear from the kitchen. That’s where he needed to be. Slowly, he eased open the handle of the porch door and he was in. He stood for a second next to the washing machine and chest freezer, barely breathing. He could hear shouting and arguing. One voice had a Glasgow accent and the other one was from somewhere in the north of England. Whoever these guys were, they were arguing over money, and he thought he heard someone say diamonds. What the hell had he done renting his house to these two women? They’d looked like ordinary girls to him, and his wife had thought maybe they had been beaten by their husbands and were getting away. He never should have allowed them in. And he should have phoned the cops. But he couldn’t. Only he knew why he could never do that, and he would take that secret to his grave. Just save Euan, he told himself. The rest are scum. Like the bastards who left his son for dead that night. They got their comeuppance and these bastards would too. Just a few more steps. Then he was in, silently standing in the kitchen. He clicked on the gun and everyone in the room froze. They looked at him as though he were a ghost. Euan’s face was grey and bloody, and the sight of him sent such a shock through him he had trouble stopping himself from firing the gun.