Love, Honour & O'Brien

by Jennifer Rowe

  ‘Don’t you get it, Fen? The little prick knew where to come! That means he’s mixed up in this. McNish must have used his pest extermination setup to wash the money. Offered him a cut. He won’t have called anyone.’

  ‘Yes he will!’ Holly burst out in frustration. ‘You’ve got it all wrong! I don’t know how he found us, but he’s got absolutely nothing to do with—’

  ‘Shut up!’ Skinner and Fen yelled together.

  ‘Trevor!’ screamed Leanne, sighting the van and suddenly coming to life. She twisted and struggled violently, punching and clawing at Moonie with vomit-smeared hands.

  ‘Get off!’ yelled Moonie. ‘Stay still! You’re getting it all over me! Aargh!’ He started to retch, but gamely held on to the back of the blue overall as Leanne plunged and strained like a dog on a short leash.

  ‘Shut the gates!’ Skinner shouted at Una.

  Una folded her hands around the remote control and stuck out her bottom lip, her small eyes glittering. At that moment, Holly thought, she looked exactly like the portrait of her father.

  ‘Bernie, get the remote!’ roared Skinner.

  Bernie lunged for the steps.

  Instantly, Una Maggott dropped the remote control in front of her right wheel and ran over it. There was a sickening crack.

  Bernie and Skinner gaped at her. She bared her teeth at them, reversed, and ran over the shattered plastic again.

  Two batteries, the only survivors of the ruin, rolled slowly to the edge of the verandah and started bouncing down the steps. Bernie regarded them silently as they passed him. Then he looked back at Una, and suddenly a knife was in his hand. He took a step up.

  ‘No!’ Holly screamed. ‘Don’t hurt her! She doesn’t know what she’s doing!’

  ‘Shut up!’ hissed Fen, but she could tell that his heart wasn’t in it.

  ‘Let it go, Bernie!’ said Skinner in a level voice.

  The tall man looked back over his shoulder, his face as expressionless as ever.

  ‘Let it go,’ Skinner repeated. ‘We might need her later. You go on in and get McNish. We’ll handle the cretins in the van.’

  The knife disappeared. One minute it was in Bernie’s hand, the next minute it wasn’t. Holly shivered—shivered all over. Bernie stalked past Una, ignoring her completely, and disappeared into the gloom of the house. A few moments later the stairs began to squeak.

  Holly shut her eyes and concentrated with all her might on Sheena, on sending a message to Sheena. Hide! Hide and ring for help! Ring for help! By the time she opened her eyes, the green van had almost reached the gateway.

  ‘It’s that rat man again,’ said Una Maggott, scowling. ‘What’s he doing back here?’

  ‘Fen! Get up there and keep the old loony under control. Moonie—’ Skinner glanced around, obviously made a snap decision that the gagging Moonie had his hands full wrestling Leanne Purse, and turned to face the gates alone.

  ‘Ms Cage, who are these men?’ Una demanded as Fen dragged Holly up the steps. ‘What do they want?’

  ‘Andrew,’ said Holly dully. ‘And the money he owes them. They’ve been using him to launder cash for them, apparently. Drug money. Or the haul from a robbery. Whatever.’

  Una hissed something in French. It sounded like a curse, and probably was. Her face was suddenly mottled with red, ugly with rage.

  ‘He didn’t tell me he was involved with criminals,’ she hissed. ‘If I’d known that I would never have . . .’ She clenched her fists.

  If you’d known that you’d never have taken him into your house, Holly thought. You’d probably have gone right off him, like you went off Lily when you found out she was a member of a coven. Which is exactly why he didn’t tell you, Una. Just like he didn’t tell you about me.

  She found that she was furiously angry too. Angry with Andrew for being such a shallow, selfish, dishonest slime-ball. Angry with Una for being taken in. Angry with herself for being taken in. And, most of all, angry because she had been so stupidly blind to the fact that her movements were being tracked, so that everyone she came in contact with, from Abigail to Leanne Purse, had been smeared with the mess Andrew McNish had left behind him.

  ‘Bastard!’ she said aloud.

  ‘Shut up!’ Fen ordered, digging the barrel of the gun harder into her ribs. ‘And you!’ He glared at Una. ‘Fold your arms! Fold them and keep them folded!’

  Scowling, Una obeyed.

  The green van swung off the road and, like an exhausted horse making some final, gallant effort, puttered through the gateway. It came to a shuddering halt behind the Mazda. Both doors burst open and Trevor Purse, Abigail and Mrs Moss spilled out.

  The sight of her husband was too much for Leanne. Screaming his name, she made a frantic lunge towards him. The buttons of her blue overall popped and flew through the air like bullets. Wild-eyed, Leanne wriggled out of the overall sleeves and took off. Moonie toppled backwards, clutching a vomit-covered blue rag to his chest as she flew into her husband’s arms, her plump breasts and little round belly bouncing under the shiny pink fabric of her camisole and half-slip.

  ‘Leanne!’ moaned Trevor Purse, staggering slightly under her weight. ‘Oh, Leanne!’

  ‘Holly!’ cried Abigail, starting forward. ‘Are you all—?’

  ‘Freeze!’

  It was Skinner. He was talking like a movie character again, and looking like one too, with his gun held in both hands, at arm’s length, aimed at the group by the van. His Adam’s apple was wobbling up and down. His hair was standing up in a ridiculous little quiff. He looked like a skinny turkey pretending to be tough. It should have been funny, but it wasn’t.

  Abigail stopped dead. Mrs Moss gave a little scream. Trevor and Leanne stiffened, locked in a spellbound embrace.

  ‘Check them out,’ Skinner snarled at Moonie, who had crawled to his feet and was fruitlessly trying to de-vomit his pants and shirt with Leanne’s unsavoury overall. ‘For fuck’s sake, Moonie, get your act together, will you?’

  ‘I hate sick,’ Moonie said sullenly. He dropped the overall and walked unsteadily to the group by the van. Mrs Moss wrinkled her nose fastidiously as he patted her over, but Abigail merely stared sightlessly over his shoulder, her face dull with fear.

  Moonie moved to Trevor and Leanne. After a moment he held up Trevor Purse’s wallet, a key case, a roll of breath mints and a clean white handkerchief.

  ‘Now the van!’ snapped Skinner.

  The van yielded Mrs Moss’s wallet, the empty chip bag, the van keys, and Purse’s mobile phone, which appeared to be very much the worse for wear.

  ‘It was on the floor,’ said Moonie, showing Skinner the phone. ‘Display’s all smashed in. Looks like one of them trod on it.’

  Trevor Purse shot Mrs Moss a reproachful look. Mrs Moss tossed her head and shifted uneasily in her high heels.

  Skinner’s lip curled. ‘Moonie, truss them up to something. Those light poles at the sides of the house’ll do—we only need half an hour.’ His eyes slewed to Trevor Purse. ‘You first! You and the old girl. Don’t try anything or your wife gets it.’

  Leanne gave a sort of howl as Moonie prised her husband away from her. Mrs Moss showed signs of defiance but as Abigail nudged her, murmuring urgently, she seemed to think better of it and allowed herself to be hustled with Trevor to the light pole on the right side of the house.

  ‘Better not do their mouths,’ Fen called from the verandah, as Moonie sat his prisoners back to back against the pole and set about securing them with lavish amounts of duct tape. ‘They might chuck up and choke on the vomit.’

  ‘Shut up, you moron!’ Skinner snarled. He flapped his hand in front of his nose as Moonie, retching helplessly, shuffled past him to repeat the duct-tape performance with Leanne and Abigail on the other light pole.

  Inside the house, the stairs shrieked. A moment later, Bernie appeared in the doorway and stood watching the activity below with no appearance of interest. Holly tried not to look at him, but couldn’t resist s
neaking the occasional glance. Bernie was so still, so self-contained, that he could have been a statue. It was impossible to tell what he might have been thinking, or indeed if anything was going on in his mind at all. Fen must have known he was there but made no sign of it except for a slight tensing of his muscles. He preferred to leave the management of Bernie to Skinner, it seemed.

  Skinner at last looked around and noticed the man standing there.

  ‘Got him, Bernie?’ he asked eagerly.

  Bernie gave the slightest possible jerk of his head and went back into the house. It was an obvious summons, and an imperious one at that.

  Skinner checked to see if Moonie and Fen had noticed, and seeing that they had, forced a tolerant grin.

  ‘Old Bern’s feeling lonely in there,’ he said, and sauntered to the steps, ostentatiously taking his time.

  ‘The one with the knife’s a psychopath,’ Una Maggott said to Holly in a piercing whisper. ‘You can tell by his eyes. He probably murdered Sheena and Lily when he found them. Dulcie and the boy too, very likely.’ She didn’t sound very sorry about it.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Fen, who by now must have been feeling like a broken record. He waited till Skinner had gone past them into the house and Moonie was on the steps behind him, then slowly moved the muzzle of the gun from Holly’s ribs to her back.

  ‘You push the chair,’ he said. ‘Take it slow. Do anything stupid and one bullet will do for the two of you.’

  Oh, very dramatic, Holly thought, but she knew she was whistling in the dark. Her knees felt like marshmallow as she turned the wheelchair and pushed it into the house. How has this happened? a voice blared in her head. As if things weren’t bad enough! Now you’re in danger of getting shot, and all these innocent people are too, and it’s all your fault!

  Andrew McNish’s fault, in fact, her common sense told her, but she found it difficult to take much comfort in the thought.

  The entrance hall seemed very dim after the brightness outside. The chains dangling from the ceiling jingled softly together as Moonie shut the door and turned the key in the deadlock to seal the house completely.

  ‘I’ll take that key, Moonie,’ said Skinner’s voice. ‘Give it here.’

  He and Bernie were standing together at the bottom of the stairs. They were looking down at a row of people sitting with their backs to the wall under the portrait of Rollo Mag-gott: Lily. Sheena. Dulcie. And a plump teenage boy with a sulky mouth.

  At Bernie’s feet, like the spoils of war, lay four mobile phones, a crochet hook and a tangle of bright pink wool, a tube of craft glue, and a can of lavender air-freshener. Holly’s last hope gave a final quiver and died.

  ‘Jeezus H Christ!’ gasped Fen, surveying the prisoners in amazement. ‘Where did they all come from?’

  ‘You tell us,’ Skinner said, deftly shifting the blame for faulty surveillance onto the last person to reach the scene.

  Bernie, who seemed to be literal-minded, cast his eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘They were all upstairs,’ Skinner translated. ‘Bernie got the kid first, so the rest of them came down like lambs. No problem.’ He paused. ‘No problem for Bernie, that is,’ he added, and laughed sycophantically.

  No one else joined in. Holly had a vision of Bernie’s knife at the boy’s soft throat, and felt sick.

  ‘The kid was the only one who’d heard us,’ Skinner went on, still trying to lighten things up. ‘He was in the linen cupboard, trying to hide his stash. Thought we were the cops!’ Again he laughed. This time Fen gave a token chuckle in response, and even Moonie brightened.

  The boy on the floor glowered.

  ‘Drugs!’ Dulcie breathed. ‘Oh, Bastian!’

  ‘It’s only weed, Mum,’ Sebastian muttered. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘Marijuana?’ Dulcie pronounced it as it was spelled. Her tear-stained face was bright red.

  ‘So where is it?’ Moonie asked Skinner eagerly as he handed over the front door key.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The stash! Where is it?’

  ‘Bernie’s got it.’

  Moonie’s face fell. He glanced at Bernie, who returned his gaze stonily.

  ‘Forget about the stash!’ Fen broke in. ‘What about McNish?’

  Again Bernie’s eyes flicked to the ceiling.

  ‘One of the bedrooms is locked,’ said Skinner. ‘McNish’ll be holed up in there, with the cash. Has to be. Bernie reckons the other rooms are clean and there’s nothing in the attic except a few dead rats.’

  Moonie gave a low moan and looked even sicker than he had before.

  ‘Andrew’s not in that room!’ Sheena said sullenly. ‘He’s nowhere! He left on Tuesday night, and he took all his things with him! How many times do we have to tell you?’

  ‘Shut up,’ Fen said automatically. Holly felt him flex the muscles of his powerful shoulders. ‘So we break the door down,’ he said, sounding as if he relished the idea no end.

  ‘Right,’ said Skinner. ‘Your department, Fen.’

  ‘No!’ Una Maggott snapped.

  Bernie’s dead eyes swivelled in her direction.

  ‘Those are good cedar doors up there,’ Una said, shrugging off Holly’s warning hand impatiently. ‘I don’t want one of them smashed in for nothing.’

  Holly waited for her to say Andrew McNish was dead, and to start raving about sniffer dogs, but, as usual, Una surprised her.

  ‘The key’s in my desk,’ Una said. ‘You can have it.’

  Skinner’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Over there,’ said Una, jerking her head at the door across the hall. ‘Top left hand drawer. Help yourself.’

  ‘Moonie, go and have a look!’ Skinner ordered. ‘But watch yourself. It might be a trap.’

  ‘A trap!’ jeered Una. ‘Funnel-webs in the drawer? A needle tipped in cyanide? You booby!’

  ‘Shut up!’ Fen growled. ‘If you know what’s good for you,’ he added, as a variation.

  Moonie showed the whites of his eyes and moved out of Holly’s line of sight. She heard him trudging across the entrance hall, the rubber soles of his shoes squeaking on the marble tiles. There was a creak as the door was pushed open, and a sudden yelp of shock.

  The gun pressed to Holly’s back jerked slightly. She winced.

  ‘Shit!’ muttered Skinner, staring through the open door.

  ‘There’s a bloody snake in here!’ Moonie yelled. ‘A bloody huge—’

  ‘It’s in a cage, you moron,’ snapped Skinner, recovering. ‘Don’t worry about it. Get the key.’

  In a few moments Moonie was back. He handed the key to Skinner, his hand shaking. ‘I hate snakes,’ he said, with a sidelong glance at Bernie, who remained expressionless.

  Skinner looked at the key with satisfaction. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘We’re in business.’

  ‘Bit too easy, isn’t it?’ Fen said, clearly disappointed to have lost his chance to star. ‘The locked room might be a blind. McNish might be hiding down here somewhere, waiting his chance—’

  ‘His chance to what?’ barked Skinner. ‘He can’t get out of the house.’

  Fen stuck out his bottom lip. ‘I still say we should look down here before we go up.’

  Bernie made a slight growling sound. It could have indicated agreement, or he could have just been clearing his throat.

  Skinner wet his lips. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘We’ll look down here first. Now, here’s the plan . . .’

  21

  After some discussion, which included angry recriminations against Moonie, who had used up all the duct tape on the Purses, Abigail and Mrs Moss, it was decided to put the unexpectedly large group of hostages in the library for safekeeping. Una’s room, with its lockable door, would have been a more obviously secure holding cell, but the pale and reeking Moonie, who had been appointed the captives’ guard on the grounds that at present he was incapable of anything else, had refused absolutely to enter what he called ‘the snake room’ again.

  The captives sat around the lo
ng table, eyeing one another grimly, sullenly or hopelessly according to temperament, like the ill-assorted board members of a company that 273 was not doing well.

  Holly and Sheena were on the far side of the table, facing the bulbous sideboard that stood beside the door to the entrance hall and supported a statue of a naked woman with a stopped clock in her stomach and a glass case of stuffed birds. Lily, Dulcie and Sebastian, on the other side, had a view of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Una sat in her wheelchair at the head of the table, with her back to the barred windows, scowling like an ill-tempered chairman.

  Moonie had been given Fen’s gun, and now leaned against the door, covering his prisoners shakily enough to ensure that none of them felt like making any sudden moves. He looked irritable and extremely unwell. Every now and again there were dim sounds from the other side of the door—the sounds of Skinner, Bernie and Fen searching the ground floor.

  Predictably it was Dulcie who finally broke the tense silence, her feverish need to tackle her son over the confiscated stash overwhelming her fear of the gun.

  ‘Where did you get it, Bastian?’ she hissed. ‘Who gave it to you? Tell me! It was Eric, wasn’t it? I always knew he was a—’

  ‘No one gave it to me,’ muttered the boy. ‘I wish.’

  ‘Quite!’ said Una. ‘I daresay whoever sold it to you got a very good price.’ She glanced coldly at Lily, who widened her eyes, the image of outraged innocence.

  Una snorted and turned back to Sebastian. ‘And what I’d like to know is, where did you get the money from, boy? Out of your mother’s purse, was it? Two hundred dollars must have bought you enough to go on with.’

  Holly’s heart gave a great thump as she saw Sebastian’s heavy eyelids flicker.

  ‘Bastian!’ wailed Dulcie.

  Sheena laughed. ‘And here we were blaming poor old Andrew,’ she said. ‘Well, well.’

  Moonie stirred. ‘What’s this about McNish?’ he asked thickly.

  ‘Mind your own business!’ Una snapped.

  Moonie blinked, then seemed to remember who was holding the gun.

  ‘McNish is my business,’ he growled. ‘Our business.’