Throwaways (Crime Files Book 2)

by Jenny Thomson

  Why couldn’t he just spit it out? “If this is to tell me you and the fandabulous Donna-fucking-Marie are getting married, you can shove it.”

  “No, it’s not that. Why would I be phoning to tell you that?” A confused pause, then, “I know we hurt you.”

  Hurt me? That didn’t even come close to how betrayed I’d felt. All alone in a hospital with my parents dead, all torn up inside, and the one person I thought I could rely on to be there for me, decided that this would be the perfect time to tell me he didn’t want me anymore. Nah, he wanted one of my friends instead. No wonder I was fucking hurt.

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but then, I don’t know why you’d bring that backstabbing bitch to the hospital.”

  He had nothing to say to that.

  My anger was rising. I’d thought I was over their betrayal, but I wasn’t. “Get lost, Michael.”

  Before he could say another word, I’d slammed the phone back down onto the cradle.

  When the phone rang again, I didn’t answer because I was already heading out the door.

  After I’d clambered into my car, a text came through. Nettie Chambers had been called away. Our meeting would have to wait.

  Chapter 15

  “Rise and shine, Private Kerr.”

  Light screamed into the bedroom as the blinds were hauled open.

  “What?” It was a struggle to get the word out because I was groggy with sleep. Tommy’s arm, once draped over mine, had moved away, and he’d turned to face me. There was a mischievous look on his face that I might have found comical if the clock hadn’t been flashing five a-fucking-m.

  Eric’s short, stocky figure stood over the bed, body ramrod straight, encased in army-regulation trousers, trainers, and a hooded top. Usually I find Eric interesting, mainly because he hardly speaks a word and so is a mystery to me, but at that moment, he was a visitation from hell, his Freddie Mercury moustache twitching as he barked orders at me to get out of bed.

  What the hell?

  This had to be a bad dream. So I closed my eyes and tried to get back to sleep until Eric hit me with another barrage of commands and I realized, even in my disorientated state, that this was real.

  “What’s happening?” My voice sounded strangled and the pain in my tooth screamed.

  “First day of training, Kerr. Now hop to it.”

  He saw me holding my mouth and groaning. “Take a few painkillers. You can go to the dentist later. Adrenaline is great for pain.”

  Tommy snorted with laughter as he nudged me out of bed. “Better not keep the sergeant waiting. Last soldier who did that ended up cleaning the latrines with a kid’s toothbrush, wearing nothing but a pink, frilly apron and their army boots.”

  Normally I’d have laughed at the image, but I was in no mood for laughing, not when my eyes stung from being dragged from sleep without having time to wake up properly and I’d been up most of the night applying a pain relieving dental gel Tommy had got me from the late-night pharmacy.

  Tommy was wide awake and grinning at me. He was damn well enjoying this.

  “You knew about this?”

  He chuckled in reply.

  “You could have warned me.”

  If he had, I’d have booked myself into a hotel where Eric couldn’t find me and I wouldn’t have told Tommy where I was.

  “What?” Tommy said, levering himself up on the pillow with one muscular arm. “And lose the element of surprise? How would that be fun?”

  The swine. But I’d get him for this.

  Five minutes later, with Eric standing sentry in the living room, I’d emerged from the shower, wet hair tied up with a scrunchie and wearing one of Tommy’s sweaters that drowned me and a pair of leggings. The shower had done nothing to revive me. The last time I’d been this tired, I’d woken up in a psychiatric hospital, doped up to the eyeballs, with a head like a stuffed cushion and no memory of how I got there.

  With me simpering away in the passenger seat, Eric drove us to the park in his Range Rover. Springfield was miles away, which was just as well. If it’d been any closer, I suspect my new sergeant major would have made me run all the way. We drove without speaking. Whilst I sulked, Eric whistled an irritatingly happy tune. At one point, I reached for the radio, but he swatted my hand away.

  The place that was normally full of dog walkers and runners was deserted when we got there. Daylight was making its way through the clouds, casting the landscape in an eerie light, reminding me of a charcoal sketch. It was only as we got out of the car that I noticed Eric had a whistle around his neck. Great, not only was he going to bawl at me, he was going to go whistle-crazy just like Miss Wilson in physical education. How I’d wanted to ram that whistle down her throat until it came out the other end. I didn’t find out she was doing naughty gymnastics with Mr. Allen, the married deputy head and pillar of the community, until years after I’d left or I could have used that to dodge her lessons instead of hastily forged notes from my mum.

  Without speaking, Eric parked the car at the entrance and I traipsed behind him as we headed into the park.

  “I need to get an idea of your fitness.” Eric pointed to the sodden grass—last night it’d poured with rain and the grass was spongy. “Get down on the deck. Give me twenty.”

  “Twenty what?”

  I knew what he wanted, but I was just being difficult as payback for being dragged out of my bed at five a-bloody-m. Last time I checked, I hadn’t enlisted.

  “Not ‘twenty what,’ Kerr. ‘Twenty what, sir,’” he barked. “And remember why we’re doing this,” he said as I managed two measly push-ups before I collapsed face-first into the muddy grass. At least I’d get a facial out of this.

  “Because you’re a sadistic bastard, sir?” I spat out the last word.

  A wry smile twitched under Eric’s porn-star moustache. “No, because you’re a weak, worthless piece of shit, Kerr, who needs toughened up.”

  My hands balled into fists. The cheek of him. Right then, I wanted to spin my foot round and drive it hard into his groin. But I knew he was right. I needed toughening up. Those men in the van could have killed me if Tommy and Eric hadn’t intervened. Knowing that scared the hell out of me because I didn’t want to be helpless ever again.

  I worked like a fiend for the rest of the session just to spite him.

  By the time we were almost done, joggers and dog walkers were turning up in the park. One woman, who was being dragged around by her two basset hounds, marched over to Eric as I lay flat out on the grass, struggling to get my breath back and demanded to know if “the man” was bothering me.

  “You could say that,” I said as I leaned in to her as though we were sorority sisters sharing a secret. “He’s my personal trainer.”

  Her face changed from controlled anger to mischief. “My, you are a lucky girl. Looks like Tom Selleck, that one.” With a friendly wave, she trotted off.

  “That’s us done,” Eric announced as I flopped my sweat-drenched body down on a bench. “You did all right, for a first session. But we’ve got a lot of work to do.” His features relaxed, and a smile twitched at the corners of his moustache.

  I assumed he meant we were finished for the day, that I could go back to my own place and have a well-earned snooze, but Eric had other plans. He wanted me to do more training.

  “Are you serious? I’m knackered.” I’d sniped as I’d hauled myself out of the car. Every bone in my body ached like I’d aged a hundred years. The only aerobic workouts I’d been getting recently were with Tommy.

  Eric ditched the drill sergeant routine and his eyes locked on to mine. “You got your backside kicked, Nancy. Without Tommy and me, you could have been dead in a ditch somewhere. Tommy’s lost enough as it is without losing you too on his watch. So you better shape up or forget this whack-job idea of yours finding those girls, because the next one to go missing could be you.”

  He paused to let his words sink in. “In the afternoon, I’m gonna teach you some basic self-defen
se.” He stopped to glance at his watch. “Be ready at eleven hundred hours.”

  This time there was no dissent from me, because I needed all the help I could get. That guy with the beer gut could have killed me. What use had my Taser and pepper spray been when I couldn’t even get to them?

  Tommy wasn’t there when I got in. The place was Stepford Wife tidy and there was a note on the counter saying he’d gone to speak to his police contact.

  Before I knew it, I’d fallen asleep on the stool at the kitchen table in front of a bowl of lumpy porridge. And I’d have stayed that way if I hadn’t been torn from my rest by Eric, who’d retuned wearing tracksuit trousers and a T-shirt. He must have had a key because he’d let himself in.

  “Let’s head for the sports center, Nancy. Time I taught you some self-defense.”

  “Oh goody,” I muttered.

  For the second time that day, I reluctantly got in Eric’s car.

  ***

  “When someone’s got you from behind, your first instinct is to pull away.”

  No, it’s not, I thought. It’s to boot him in the balls. It’d worked pretty well for me in the past.

  We were in the gym surrounded by thick blue-cushioned mats, and Eric was in his element. He gave me a stoic stare. “Or to aim your knee backwards to catch him in the groin area.”

  Damn, he gets me.

  He must have spotted the smile curling at the edge of my lips. The man misses nothing. “This isn’t a joke, Nancy. What I’m telling you could save your life.”

  I tried to look suitably serious as he carried on. “As I said, your tendency is to struggle, to pull away. But that’s the worst thing you can do. Instead, you should lean in against your attacker and go limp. It’s much harder to control someone when they do that because you can’t use their own weight against them.

  “Now, let’s try it. I’ll grab you from behind, and I want you to do what I told you.”

  “Okay.” I pretended to be walking along, and he grabbed me from behind, putting one hand across my windpipe and using the other to try and drag me along. I was going to do what he’d said, honestly I was, but I thought I’d have some fun instead.

  Throwing my head back in one fast, fluid movement, I heard a squelching noise as my skull connected with his nose.

  “Fuck,” he hissed, and the hand across my throat fell away.

  When I turned round, he was holding his nose, his hand covered in blood.

  Shit. I’d only meant to surprise him. Show him I wasn’t a poor, defenseless woman. “Eric I’m sorry.” I’d known that I would catch him, maybe stun him a bit, but I hadn’t expected to break his nose.

  When he removed his hands from his face, he didn’t look angry; he looked surprised. And there was something else—admiration.

  “It’s okay. It’s not broken.” He spoke the words the way you tell someone when the next bus is due.

  Digging into a pocket, I took out a hanky and handed it to him, suppressing a smile when I realized it had flowers on it. It was the only ones the corner shop sold. He took it and used it to stop the blood.

  “Where did you learn to do that? I’ve never had someone stick their head in me like that.” He sounded impressed.

  Shrugging my shoulders, I beamed. There was a wee flutter in my chest; Eric was proud of me, which made me feel funny because I hadn’t even realized I was seeking his approval.

  “Aw,” I said, “it was just instinct.”

  “Well,” Eric said, “keep using that instinct. That’s what’ll keep you alive. In a fight for your life, you’ve gotta learn to fight dirty, use everything you have at your disposal, and never think you’re going too far.”

  For the rest of the time in the gym, I did things Eric’s way. Once we were done, I was confident that I could handle myself under most circumstances. But Eric had chilling words for me.

  “Sometimes there’s nothing you can do, Nancy. You’ll be hurt badly, or you will die.”

  A cloud passed over his eyes, and wherever he was, it wasn’t in that gym with me.

  Diane had no idea where she was. She’d no memory of being brought here. The last thing she remembered was getting into that car. The punter had seemed okay. He was old, at least forty. When he’d offered her a drink, she’d taken it. She needed something to take the edge off.

  Taking that drink was a big mistake. It must have been drugged. How could she have been so dumb? The teachers at her school were right—she was a dunce.

  Was it even still summer outside? Alone in this room with nothing but a filthy child-sized mattress, she had little to stave off the cold that gnawed at her bones. The stone-cold floor chilled her feet, and the scratchy blanket he’d given her did nothing to warm her.

  She wanted to cry, but she’d no tears left. All she had was a golf-ball-sized lump in her throat over the thought of never seeing her little girl again. Closing her eyes, she pretended to be in bed at home. Any minute now, Kyra would climb into bed beside her, crying about seeing “monsters,” and she’d tell her that monsters weren’t real, even though she’d always known only too well that they were.

  Chapter 16

  I was making my way back from the gym after yet another punishing session with Eric—where amongst other things he’d taught me how to deal with a knife-wielding attacker—when the tall, dark figure of Michael appeared.

  Although he and Tommy were both tall and dark, that’s where the similarities ended. Where Tommy’s hair was curly, Michael’s hair was poker-straight, and if he didn’t get it trimmed at his favorite salon every six weeks, he ended up looking like one of the Beatles—after they’d been marooned on an island. He had delicate features, including a snub nose, whereas Tommy had strong, manly features and a nose that had been broken twice.

  A phone call and a meeting; that was a lot of effort for him. What the hell does he want?

  “How’s Donna-Marie?”

  The words stuck in my throat, but I managed to get them out because “How’s that predatory, backstabbing bitch?” might have come across as confrontational.

  Michael gazed at his shoes. “She’s fine, busy building a nest, you know. Obsessed with baby things.”

  The look I gave him could have melted steel. “She’s pregnant.”

  Whatever I’d expected it hadn’t been that. This was the guy who didn’t even have fish because they needed “too much looking after.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. He didn’t look too happy about it, but then he wouldn’t be happy about anything that stopped him from being the center of her world.

  His unease made me giggle. The thought of a baby puking and pooping all over his designer furniture, including that damn Charles Rennie Mackintosh coffee table, made me happy.

  “For goodness sake, Nancy, can’t you be an adult for once instead of a bitter bitch?” He spoke to me as though he was the aggrieved party. It took all my restraint not to slap him. Not one of those girly, light slaps across his face but in a Zorro motion, every slap like the slashing off a blade.

  “You’re one to talk. You left me in a nuthouse. Left me for fake blonde hair and torpedo tits.” Despite my simmering rage, I spoke clearly and calmly as nearby an old woman in a duffel coat fed the pigeons that squabbled and gobbled down bread as if it was their last meal. She turned her head in our direction, but I doubted she could hear us above the cooing of the birds. “Do not lecture me on being a grown-up.”

  Michael took a step back and eyed me with concern. Maybe deep down a part of him was sorry for how he’d treated me, but it was probably more to do with the fact that he’d ended up becoming a dad, which he’d never wanted to be. Throughout our four-year relationship, the only time he mentioned children was when he was complaining about “sniveling brats” ruining his meal at a restaurant.

  “I know.” He swallowed. “I’ve been a right bastard. That’s why I want to make amends.” He paused. “I’ve heard you’re with someone else.”

  My hackles were up. �
�� I fail to see what my life has to do with you.”

  “I still care about you, Nancy.”

  Yeah, right. You cared so much you jumped into bed with someone else.

  The vein in my forehead started to throb. “What do you want to tell me?”

  Michael squinted up at the sun, then made a small play of looking behind me, as though what he was going to say was top secret and he was worried someone could hear. Then his gaze rested on me. “It’s that guy you’re seeing.”

  “That’s got nothing to do with you.”

  Michael frowned. On him, a frown looked like it belonged to a toddler who’d been told by his mammy that he couldn’t get any more sweets. “He’s not what he seems. He can’t be who he says he is. Tommy McIntyre’s dead.”

  My whole body stiffened. Was he for real, telling me this crap?

  “You are un-fucking-believable. Your Barbie doll’s pregnant and you’re annoyed that her main priority won’t be you anymore. So you’ve come up with this pathetic lie to screw up my life. Honestly, even for you this is pretty low.”

  As I turned to leave, he put a hand on my shoulder, and I shook it off. The touch I’d once longed for repulsed me. My face flushed, but something made me stop and turn around and face him. “Why would you say that?”

  “I’m looking out for you, Nance.” His gaze met mine. He believed what he was saying. Or did he? Knowing him, this could be a lie to get back at me for moving on.

  “What? By concocting this lie?”

  He held me in a steady gaze. “It’s not a lie. Why would I make this up?”

  “Because you think I’ll come crying back to you.” As I said it, I realized how ridiculous it sounded. Michael had left me. He didn’t want me anymore. Staring at him, looking for any evidence he was spinning me a line, I asked, “How do you know this?”

  “You remember Kyle?”

  Unfortunately I did. He was one of Michael’s circle of pals, a flash git in a designer suit who’d put his hand on my knee at one New Year’s party we’d all gone to and nearly got it broken off. Kyle Cafferty was chief reporter for the Daily Scot newspaper and the most arrogant man on earth. When I thought about it, a lot of Michael’s pals were like that: brash, loud, arrogant, and loaded. They loved to splash flash the cash and talk down to people. That’s why I’d positively encouraged their boys-only nights—I’d wanted to spend as little time as possible in their company.