Deadly Obsession

by Nigel May

  ‘Not when he’s still alive, no, I don’t need to.’ Her words floored Adam.

  ‘He’s alive? You’re deranged. His face was blown off and he’s living it up with Satan. He’s probably trying to strike a deal with the devil’s helpers to see if they can melt down Beelzebub’s trident for drug money for him.’

  ‘Then why did I see him two days ago, here in Manchester?’ said Amy. ‘And not just me, Lily saw him too. Why don’t we go and ask her? Is she home?’

  Riley alive? The thought wrapped itself around Adam's throat, squeezing it dry. Who the hell was blown apart at the club then? He tried not to let it show on his face. ‘I’ve no idea, but she’s a creature of the night normally so she’ll probably be sleeping like a baby right now before heading off to whichever shit-heap she chooses to spend her time at. Jump in.’

  Adam pushed open the passenger door of the car, allowing Amy to climb inside. He pointed a remote control at the iron gates protecting the property and keyed in the code to open them. They swung open and the two of them drove up to the house.

  ‘Lily, get down here now.’ Adam was shouting up the stairs as loudly as he could as soon as he set foot inside the Rich family home. ‘Amy Hart is here to see you. And I bloody want to speak to you and all ...’ Amy could see a vein in Adam's forehead throbbing as he spoke. He was a man on the edge.

  There was no reply from above. Nothing unusual.

  ‘Stupid girl is probably wearing her bloody earphones or something. She can’t hear a damn thing when she’s wearing those great big things. Lily!’ Adam shouted again, this time a little louder, ‘Get your scrawny little ass down here now!’

  ‘Maybe’s she’s not here. Maybe she’s managed to track Riley down before me,’ Amy looked worried. ‘Just tell her I need to see her ...’

  Adam stomped his way up the stairs, shouting Lily’s name as he did so. He was used to his daughter not answering back. He turned to face Amy. ‘Well, are you coming or what? If you want to see her she’ll be stoned off her face on her bed listening to some godforsaken racket. Maybe you can talk some sense into her about your wanker of a husband.’

  Amy followed Adam upstairs.

  ‘She’ll be in a world of her own with those bloody stupid earphones on her head, you mark my words ... all she does during the day is listen to music and take fuck knows what. It’s a pity that club of yours isn’t still going, at least you gave her some sort of PR job, even if she was peddling that shit of hers. But I suppose when you’re sleeping with the boss you can do whatever you bloody well like. You know about that, I suppose, my Lily sleeping with Riley ...?’ Adam didn't really care if she didn't, half of him hopeful that he could be the one to break the news.

  Amy was struggling to keep up with Adam as he marched along the landing towards Lily’s room. ‘Yeah, I know, your skank of a daughter dropped that bombshell on me a while back. Another thing I didn’t know about Riley.’

  They both reached Lily’s bedroom door. Adam pounded his fist against it. ‘Lily, are you in there?’ Still no answer. He pushed the door open. ‘Take those bloody earphones off for Christ’s sake ...’

  His words petered out to nothing as he looked into the room. Lily was indeed lying on the bed, her earphones placed on her head, but from the look on her face it was clear that she was not listening to any kind of music.

  Lily’s eyes bulged out of their sockets, her mouth was open, her features contorted into a scream of abject fear. Her skin was almost blue. The spiral cord connected to her headphones was unplugged from her music system and had been wound tightly around her neck, looped around as fiercely as possible, rinsing the life from Lily’s slender frame. There were scratch marks across her neck from where she had obviously tried to pull the cord away as it snuffed out her existence, her fingernails digging into her own flesh.

  Amy screamed. Adam, a rasp of fury and despair rising in his throat, sank to his knees. For a man who never cried, the tears came easily.

  ‘Not my Lily, no ... not my beautiful daughter. Who would do this to her?’

  Adam looked up at Amy. Automatically she reached out to stroke his hand. Nobody deserved to see someone they loved like this. That was a lesson Amy had learnt all too well that night at the Kitty Kat when she’d looked into Laura’s face and when she’d been faced with the body she had thought was Riley.

  ‘Who would do this ... who?’ he sobbed.

  Neither answered, but they both had the same name in mind. Jarrett Smith.

  59

  Now, 2015

  * * *

  The murder of Lily Rich sent shockwaves through the seedy underbelly of Manchester. Nobody stepped forward to say that they were behind the slaughter, but nobody needed to. For those connected, even through the most tenuous of links, to Lily and the Rich family business, the word in every gutter, at every after hours gambling den and at every canal side warehouse, was that it was Jarrett Smith’s doing. A tsunami of terror seemed to sweep through each and every district of Manchester, causing a battening down of hatches. Nobody spoke Lily’s name, scared that word would get back to Jarrett. People linked her death to that of Jemima Hearn’s. Even those who had heard that the casino owner’s wife had taken her own life were suddenly making up their own minds and deciding that maybe the two deaths were connected.

  Lily’s funeral was a quiet affair, perhaps ignored by many, people seemingly scared to be seen mourning one of Jarrett’s victims. Adam and Caitlyn sat at the front of the crematorium, both stony faced as the coffin containing their daughter disappeared into the furnace. Tommy chose to stay away, saying the death was too soon after that of his own wife, who was only just fresh in the ground herself.

  Amy had phoned Grant, who had been stunned at the news. Again he chose to stay away. Being seen at the funeral of such a notorious killing was not deemed good for his image. Instead he sent a huge spray of wild flowers and berries, a riot of rich purples, sunshine yellows and bright whites. ‘Lily was such a colourful person in life, it just seemed rather fitting for her funeral.’

  Amy would never like Lily after what she had confessed to her about Riley, but the sight of her lying dead was an image that obliterated thoughts of Lily and Riley together. Amy knew it was a callous thought but at least now there was never a chance of reconciliation between them.

  One person who did choose to go was Genevieve Peters. She had been fond of Lily and saw a lot of her own feistiness and spunk in the young woman. Genevieve had been lying low for a while, spending time with baby Emily and forcing herself away from the booze. She needed a clear head, especially if what she was hearing on the Manchester grapevine was true, that Riley Hart had been seen alive. If he was then maybe more payments could be coming her daughter’s way, feathering her nest for the future, although like everyone else who had heard the rumour about Riley, she couldn’t help but wonder who had actually been killed if it wasn’t Amy’s husband.

  Genevieve could only imagine the heartache that losing a daughter would bring. Lily’s death made her think about how she would react if Emily was ripped from her. The thought destroyed her. She would go to the funeral to pay her respects. It was the least she could do. Plus, she had a sneaky suspicion that Amy might be there too and she had something she needed to share with her.

  After the service, as the few mourners in attendance migrated away from the crematorium, Genevieve made a beeline for Amy as she walked along the pathway to the entrance. Amy had been expecting it ever since she’d spied her underneath her veil of black organza.

  Genevieve got straight to the point. ‘Is it true, then? Riley’s alive?’

  Her tone was a clipped hybrid of hope and disbelief.

  ‘This is hardly the time or the place, Genevieve, is it?’ snapped Amy.

  ‘I would have thought the timing was perfect. As one life is put to rest, another seems to come back from the dead. Have you seen him?’

  Amy sighed. ‘Yes, I have. But not to talk to. What’s it to you? Think you have a chance
with him again, do you? I didn’t realise you were as good at undressing people as you are at dressing them.’ Amy couldn’t hold herself back. She wasn’t going to let Genevieve have the pleasure of serving her poisonous affair with Riley to her with the ultimate shock factor. ‘I know you two had an affair so if you’ve come here to try and start a slanging match then it’s too late.’

  The revelation knocked the wind out of Genevieve. ‘That’s not why I’ve come here. I came to pay my respects to Lily. I liked the girl.’

  ‘Even if she was shagging Riley too? Maybe you all had some Kitty Kat three-way behind my back. Or is her tawdry little affair news to you?’

  Amy could tell from the wide-eyed shock on Genevieve’s face that it was.

  ‘I had no idea, but I suppose if a man strays from his wife in the first place, then there’s more than a likely chance that he’ll stray from the mistress too. A hiker never walks just one path after all,’ vented Genevieve.

  ‘No, but some paths are definitely older and have been trodden more than others!’ retorted Amy.

  Genevieve could feel little pinpricks of anger rising on the back of her neck. She had not come here for a catfight, even if Amy seemed to be itching for one. ‘Look, what happened between me and Riley is history. He went back to you didn’t he? That must tell you something. I just want what is rightfully mine.’

  ‘Which is what exactly?’ growled Amy.

  ‘Look,’ said Genevieve, trying to calm the situation somewhat. She could sense other mourners around them, including Caitlyn Rich, beginning to stare over at their heated exchange. A bitch fest at a funeral would do neither of them any favours. And the last person she would want to upset was Lily’s poor mother.

  ‘Can we meet? Away from here? There’s a park I know on the other side of Manchester, near my mother’s house. Can we meet there? There’s a coffee house. I could meet you this afternoon, at say, two o’clock. It’s important.’ She handed a slip of paper to Amy, the location of the park written upon it.

  Amy knew she didn’t really have any choice. Genevieve obviously had something to say. ‘I haven’t spoken to Riley, you know, Genevieve. I don’t know where he is. I don’t have anything more to say to you.’

  ‘No, but I have something to say to you. Something you need to know. Will you meet me?’

  ‘Okay, I’ll be there.’

  ‘Fine ... and thank you.’ Amy didn’t get the chance to ask what she was being thanked for as Genevieve turned on her heel and disappeared out of view, the sound of her heels clipping against the crematorium pathway tarmac.

  60

  Now, 2015

  * * *

  Jarrett Smith loved the fact that people were talking about him. It caused his chest to swell with a sense of pride, his ego to inflate with the joyful knowledge that yet again he was the main man.

  What was it that his late mum, Violet, the silver-haired matriarch who had ruled over Jarrett and his dealings with a hard face and an even harder attitude, used to say? ‘Jarrett, if someone spends a week talking about you and a week thinking about you then they’ve done a fortnight’s fucking good work.’ As far as Mother Smith was concerned all press was good press.

  Violet had also instilled in him the belief that no task was beyond completion, that there was no problem that could not be solved. And for the last few years Jarrett had lived with one baffling conundrum that kept rising to the surface of his thoughts like a dead goldfish in a bowl of disease-ridden water. What had happened to his son, Weston? Violet wouldn’t have stopped until she’d found out exactly what fate had befallen her grandson, no matter who she had to cross, trample over and snuff out to get there. It was another thing that Jarrett had learnt well. Which is why he’d taken action ...

  * * *

  Standing outside Dirty Cash, Jarrett knew he had to be quick. In, out, in the car and off. That was how it was to be. Two of his most promising specimens, protégés from his team back in London, had joined him and the three of them had headed to the casino together. The two men, eager to please, flanked Jarrett as he walked through Dirty Cash’s foyer and into the main gaming area. All three men knew what they were looking for ... or rather, who. It was Jarrett who spotted him first.

  Jarrett motioned to one of the men to return to the car, while he and the other headed over to their prey. The casino was relatively quiet, just a few die-hards playing at the machines and tables. Jarrett was careful not to draw attention to himself, his movements as stealth-like as possible. He felt for the gun in his pocket and withdrew it, drawing it into his palm, his finger slipping expertly around the trigger. It was loaded, ready to use if need be.

  Within seconds, like a trap-door spider springing forth from its burrow ready to devour the most innocent of baby birds, Jarrett was upon his target.

  He jammed the gun into the man’s ribs and whispered in his ear. ‘You make one noise, one false move and this gun blows your insides all over that far wall, you get it?’

  The terrified yelp from the man’s throat told Jarrett he did.

  ‘Now, just come with me and do as I say if you want to live to see another Christmas, okay?’

  Jarrett’s henchman pushed the petrified soul towards the door. He knew it was his cue to walk. A tight knot of fear gripped him as the two men, Jarrett’s gun still jammed into his side, made sure that there was no way he could stray from their chosen path. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, any attempt to fill his lungs with air becoming stuck, as if barbed, within his throat.

  Out in the cold open air, his panic rose as the door of a car opened, its engine already purring, a cone of dark grey erupting from the exhaust pipe. His head was pushed down roughly and he was forced into the back seat. The man with the gun joined him, making sure that the weapon never lost contact with the young man’s casino uniform.

  The other man slammed the door and ran around the car to sit in the front passenger seat. He was barely seated before the word ‘go’ was bellowed from the man in the back. As the car sped off, a screech filling the air and the rapid movement of the tyres blackening the road, the young man knew that he was in deep trouble. Dread gripped him in every pore of his body as he looked into the eyes of the man alongside him. They were eyes without mercy. Even a naive lad from North Wales whose closest brush to danger before now had been recklessly defying a lifeguard and swimming in stormy Irish seas could see that. They were dark, soulless eyes without any hint of compassion.

  * * *

  Jimmy could feel the coppery, metallic taste of blood running into his mouth as yet again the force of one of Jarrett’s henchmen’s fists slammed into the side of his face. It diluted with the tears that had been freefalling from his eyes.

  Jimmy had no idea how long he’d been tied to the chair he was sitting on, his hands roped behind his back, his legs bound equally tightly at his ankles. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, it could have been days for all he knew. He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness so often that he barely knew his own name any more.

  ‘I’ve told you, I don’t know anything about your son, I don’t.’ His pitiful sobs had been on repeat, as had his story, ever since he’d first started being interrogated. He stared around at the brick walls surrounding him. A warehouse, he guessed. The dilapidated walls, a mass of chipped white paint and natural brickwork, reminded him of the municipal swimming baths in Llandudno where he’d grown up. A place where he’d been able to laugh, to splash around, to play with his friends. It was a happy place. How ironic that he should think of that now, when he was sure that the room where he sat was the place where he was certain to die.

  ‘Then I’ll ask you again, until you tell me the truth, won’t I?’ barked Jarrett, walking around Jimmy, circling his victim like a vulture over a rotting carcass. ‘My son disappeared in Manchester, I’m sure it had something to do with your employer, Tommy Hearn, and Riley Hart, who just happens to be the man who was married to your lunchtime date, Amy, recently. You can understand w
hy I might think that you know more than you’re letting on, Jimmy.’ Jarrett’s voice became more deafening with every word, his usage of Jimmy’s name as he spat his words portraying more than a hint of exasperation.

  ‘We can stay here all day and all night if we have to. You’re not going anywhere until you tell me everything you know. As long as there’s breath in your body, Jimmy, then there’s breath to tell me the truth, isn’t there?’ He cracked his knuckles as he talked, the noise magnified within the room.

  Jarrett stopped directly in front of Jimmy and crouched down onto his heels so that his face was directly in line with his quarry. ‘It’s such a pity too, isn’t it?’ Jarrett placed his hand on the boy’s bloody chin and rotated his face from side to side. ‘Such a handsome lad, I thought that when I followed you from that sandwich shop. You’d have broken a lot of birds’ hearts in the future. Pity you became mixed up with the wrong one. Such a fucking shame.’ His eyes narrowed in mock pity as he spoke. ‘Now, tell me again, what did Amy Hart say to you about my son?’

  Jimmy had told Jarrett and his henchmen all that he knew. He had no more to say. ‘I don’t know her that well. She came into the casino for a job she said, but she was thrown out by the bosses. She came back to see me and asked me to keep an ear to the ground about things that went on there, but honestly I don’t know anything. I swear to you. I fancied her, what can I say, she’s a good looking girl and I thought I was doing her a favour ...’

  Jimmy’s words were cut off as another crack landed squarely, this time a punch aimed at his stomach. It was Jarrett who had delivered it, having risen to his feet for maximum force. ‘A favour!’ Jarrett’s face was twisted with rage as he spoke, flecks of spit flying from his lips. ‘A favour! She’s done you no favours, sunshine. Far from it. She’s put you slap bang in the middle of one of the biggest fuck-ups I’ve ever known. Somebody has taken my son away from me. Somebody connected with the woman doing you a favour. I can’t rest until I know exactly what’s happened to him, and if you’re able to point me in the right direction then I am going to keep torturing you until we’ve pulled every last detailed piece of info out of you like a winkle from its fucking shell!’