by Martina Cole
Jonny Parsons was shaking his head vehemently. ‘No. Nothing. Not a word. I ain’t heard anything about her from anyone either.’
Michael turned around, and looked at Declan in abject disbelief. ‘What a fucking Casanova this cunt is, Declan. He fucks them and leaves them by the sounds of it.’
Jonny was in deep trouble, and he didn’t know what he could do to help himself. If he had any information about Jessie he would happily tell her father.
Michael shook his head sadly, and Declan knew what was coming next. The first punch lifted Jonny Parsons off his feet, and opened up a large gash in his right eyebrow. Michael watched the man go down. He collapsed on to the floor and, curling himself up into a tight ball, he tried to protect his head with his arms. Michael looked at the man for a few seconds, then used his feet and, as he kicked his daughter’s bedmate over and over again, he was glad to be able to vent some of his anger. He had sussed Jonny Parsons out, knew the man had bragged about his relationship with his daughter, had seen her as his passport into the big time. He wasn’t the first idiot to think that and, unfortunately, he probably wouldn’t be the last. But it felt good hurting him, reminding the man of who he was dealing with.
Declan watched everything with his usual calm. He had been on the other end of Michael’s anger himself, and he knew how violent it could be. Michael needed to vent his spleen – it would do him the world of good.
Declan waited until Michael’s anger was spent before he stepped in. Jonny Parsons was a bloody mess and, pulling Michael away from the man firmly, he sat him down behind the desk. Then, going to the office door, he opened it and called in a couple of the bouncers. They knew the score as soon as they stepped into the room, and they picked up Jonny Parsons without any words needing to be spoken.
Declan shut the door behind them and, turning to Michael, he said carefully, ‘Feeling better, are we? Now, we need to think about this logically, Michael.’
Michael sat forward in the old typist’s chair and, holding his head in his hands, he said brokenly, near to tears, ‘That’s just it, there’s no fucking logic to it, Declan. That’s the problem. I know in my guts that this is fucking serious. This is fucking personal. This is not about my Jessie. How can it be? You said it yourself. Who would fucking dare to touch my daughter?’
Declan could see the man’s point, but he still wasn’t convinced. Michael Flynn had the Colombians behind him; there wasn’t anyone who had the guts to take him on. He was too protected, too respected. He ran his empire fairly and squarely, and he made sure that everyone he was involved with earned so much they were loyal to him. Michael Flynn entertained some of the most dangerous men in the world. It was terrible to see him like this, so vulnerable, so worried.
‘Look, Michael, what if she’s shacked up somewhere, oblivious to all that’s going on? You know what she’s like.’
Michael looked at his old friend, and he sighed heavily. ‘I hope you’re right, Declan, I really do. But something is telling me, inside, that’s not the case. She’s in trouble. I just know it.’
Chapter One Hundred
and One
Jake was all smiles, his happiness contagious. Josephine was watching him drawing pictures and, as he finished each one, he showed them to her with a flourish.
‘That’s you and Granddad eating your dinner!’
Josephine couldn’t help but laugh – he had captured them perfectly. She looked at the drawing and saw herself and her husband sitting on her bed together, with plates on their laps. Then she saw that Jake had drawn himself on a chair all alone, watching them. He wasn’t smiling. He looked sad.
‘Why do you look so sad, Jake?’
He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I’m waiting for my mummy, of course. But she didn’t come.’
Josephine felt so sorry for her little lad. ‘I told you, Jake. Your mummy has to work a lot.’
He carried on drawing, but he didn’t answer her. She could slap her daughter sometimes for the worry she caused. And now she was missing, and it was worrying them all. She had heard nothing from her daughter for nearly four days and, like Michael, Josephine was beginning to be seriously concerned.
Dana came into the room beaming, and when Josephine saw the way that Jake reacted to her, she felt a stab of jealousy.
‘Come on, you. It’s your bath time, mister.’
Jake got up from the floor, abandoning his drawing without a thought. ‘Can I play with my toys?’
Dana picked him up effortlessly. He was a big child for his age, but Dana didn’t seem to notice that; she still treated him like a baby. ‘’Course you can! They are all there waiting for you!’
‘See you later, Nana!’
Josephine waved to him, and watched as they left the room together. She knelt down on the rug, and busied herself tidying his paper and pencils away. Then she carefully picked up his sweet wrappers – fun-size Snickers and a Milky Way – and folded both of them neatly, before placing them into one of the boxes scattered around the room.
Glancing at herself in the mirror of her dressing table, she checked over her appearance. She looked perfect, which pleased her. She picked up her lipstick from the dressing table, and ran it over her lips quickly. The action alone calmed her, made her feel better in herself. She gained a lot of comfort from doing familiar things. Her doctor said it was about control, but she couldn’t see that herself. She just liked the feeling of ease it gave her; there was a lot to be said for order, having a routine. She couldn’t cope without it.
She sat down in her chair once more and glanced around, mentally counting the boxes in her room, and running through their contents in her head.
She picked up her glass of red wine from the small antique table beside her chair and sipped it, savouring its warmth. She didn’t see clutter around her or chaos – what she saw was her possessions, things she loved and needed. Today she needed the comfort more than ever. But no matter how hard she tried to calm herself and tell herself that Michael was right, she didn’t need to worry, her daughter’s disappearance did worry her – greatly. She knew that Jessie wouldn’t do this to her mother without good reason.
Chapter One Hundred
and Two
DI Timothy Branch was annoyed. He had been told in no uncertain terms to use every resource at his disposal to locate Michael Flynn’s daughter. Easier said than done – the girl had been around the turf more times than a Grand National winner.
He had put the word out, but she was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t relishing telling that to Michael Flynn – the man seemed to think he could somehow conjure the girl up from thin air. If only it was that easy. He now had the unenviable task of admitting to the man who had been paying him shedloads of money for a lot of years, that he couldn’t help him. Jessie Flynn was, without doubt, a missing person.
Michael Flynn’s minions had already questioned everyone in his daughter’s orbit – and not in a nice way. Branch’s men had been called out to disturbances by concerned citizens many times over the last few days. He had been expected to ensure that the people concerned didn’t have to deal with the police on top of everything else. Not that any of the victims were willing to press charges, but it was still very stressful. It had been a hard few days for him in particular. He had been forced to show his hand as a bent copper. He hadn’t meant it to be common knowledge. But what could he do about it? As Michael Flynn had so forcefully pointed out to him, this was what he had been paid so handsomely for – even he couldn’t argue with that.
Chapter One Hundred
and Three
When Jessie opened her eyes again, she knew immediately that there was someone else in the room with her. She tried to steady her breathing which was so loud in the darkness. Then she realised that her hands were free, she wasn’t tied up any more. She tried to sit up, but she couldn’t manage that immediately. Her legs were still shackled and she was tied to the bed. As she became more aware of her circumstances she felt relief that she had been given
at least a modicum of freedom. It took her a few minutes to finally drag herself into a sitting position; she was in a lot of pain – her arms and back felt like they had been broken.
‘Who’s there? I know you’re there.’ She could hear the tremor in her voice and she hated herself for her weakness. ‘You fucking coward! Talk to me! I can’t go anywhere, can I? I can’t hurt you, can I?’
She listened intently, trying to penetrate the darkness. ‘My dad will kill you for this. You know that, don’t you?’
She could hear the person breathing near to her, they were only a few feet away. It was a man, she knew that much, and he clearly wasn’t bothered by her words. She could feel that he was totally in control of the situation and of her. She was scared, but she couldn’t bow down, she couldn’t admit to her fears.
‘I know you’re there. I know you’re near me. I can hear you, for fuck’s sake.’ Her voice was strong, and that pleased her, even as she braced herself for an attack. But it didn’t come. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, what she was supposed to say. She lowered her voice, and said huskily, ‘I’m starving and I’m thirsty. I had one bottle of water and that’s gone.’
She was straining to hear something, but there wasn’t anything except the quiet breathing. She lay back down; she was weak, and she was wasting her time trying to get a reaction. She hoped she wasn’t going to be starved to death, just left alone to die in the darkness, that was such a terrifying thought. This couldn’t be it for her, surely? She huddled into the mattress and, as she curled up, she heard the clinking of the chains around her ankles, felt the weight of them and, for the first time in the whole of her life, she felt completely alone.
‘You really are your father’s fucking daughter.’
The voice was low, it had a cockney twang to it. It was the voice of an older man. But this person, whoever he was, was a complete stranger to her.
‘Why am I here? What did I ever do to you?’
She could hear his footsteps as he walked away from her slowly, heard the heaviness of the door as he pulled it open and, as it shut behind him, she started to cry.
Chapter One Hundred
and Four
‘I can’t believe that no one knows where she is, Michael. It’s just not possible. You’re wrong. You need to start sorting this out properly.’
Michael looked at his wife, at her perfectly made-up face, and her expensive designer clothes that she wore indoors like other people wore pyjamas. It was the middle of the night and she was fully dressed, acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be dressed like a fucking supermodel at three a.m., when it was anything but. And, to top it all, she had the nerve to question him. To challenge him about his missing daughter, as if he wasn’t even bothering to try and locate her. This from the mother who didn’t care enough to leave her home and help him with his search. He was tired, worried, and now he was also fucking annoyed. How dare she question him, when she hadn’t done anything at all to help?
‘Do you know what, Josephine? You’ve got a brass neck on you. I have been searching high and low for Jessie, I’ve mobilised the whole of the London police force, every fucker on my payroll, and I have made sure that every person our Jessie ever knew has been routed. What have you done? Other than repair your make-up, and reset your fucking hair? Oh, and let little Jake have a few minutes of your precious time with you? Playing the devoted nana, and keeping everything he touches as if it means anything to anyone else in the real world! Come on then – tell me, Josephine. I’m so fucking interested. You haven’t left this house for years. You hide in here like a fucking Nazi war criminal. We pretend it’s normal, you living in two rooms in a home that’s big enough to house a fucking army, but it’s not, Josephine, it’s not normal at all. Then you have the nerve to tell me that I’m not doing enough to find Jessie. Where the fuck do you get off?’
Josephine was white-faced at this attack on her, and she wasn’t able to answer her husband. His anger was so painful and raw. She had never seen him like this before. Somewhere in her head, she recognised he was telling her the truth, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear.
Pulling herself upright in her chair and, squaring her shoulders, she gathered her pride. Looking at the man she had married, and who she still loved with all her heart, she said coldly, ‘I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me about my life, Michael. I am the one who has to live it, and I live it to the best of my ability.’
For the first time ever her words didn’t have any effect on him; he didn’t care about her problems or her needs. ‘Oh, blow it out your arse, Josephine. It’s not about you for once, is it? It’s about Jessie, and where the fuck she might be. Because I don’t think this is her usual old fanny. I think this time she might really be in serious trouble.’
Chapter One Hundred
and Five
Jessie woke up to find a stone-cold McDonald’s and a large bottle of water on the end of her bed. She was relieved there was finally some light, albeit not that bright, but at least she could peruse her surroundings. There wasn’t much to see. As she gobbled down the food left for her, she didn’t notice anything of use; the walls were concrete, badly rendered, and there was no furniture in the room other than the bed she was tied to. The smell of her urine was disgusting, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that. She just hoped that would work in her favour – whoever this man was, he wouldn’t want to rape her. She stank like a fucking polecat. But he’d already had his chance for that.
She finished her food and drank a deep gulp of the water; she had never been so hungry in her life. She had a feeling the man was sedating her with the water he allowed her, but she had no choice – she had to drink it. It was better to be asleep, if truth be told. She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Her arms were aching from being bound for days and, as she tried to flex her legs to get some feeling back into them, she saw a bundle of clothing on the floor beside her bed.
Grabbing the clothes eagerly, she noticed that he had left her a cheap wraparound skirt that was suitable for the beach and a tracksuit top; it was an ugly grey colour, but at least it looked warm. As she stripped off her clothes, she was ashamed to see just how soiled and dilapidated she had become.
She slipped off the end of the bed, and stood up unsteadily. In the dim light she could make out two thick metal plates fixed into the floor, and these were what held her captive. The chains themselves were tight, and they were very heavy. She couldn’t remove them without a weapon of some kind, or the keys to her ankle chains, of course. It was a terrible feeling, being held captive like this, left to lie in her own stench, her own urine, like a fucking animal. But she wasn’t going to let this man know how much that affected her. He’d not harmed her since that first night, when he had knocked her unconscious, but she could still feel the pain from where he had hit her. If he had hit her like that once, he wouldn’t care about having to do it again.
She dressed herself quickly in the fresh clothes, pulling the skirt she’d been wearing over her head. Her underwear was filthy but she couldn’t remove it with the chains. At least the clean clothes gave her a feeling of power and reminded her of how strong she could be if necessary. She could not allow herself to think otherwise; if she gave in to her fears, this man would beat her, and she was determined that she would never give up without a fucking fight. She had fought her father, the big dangerous villain, tooth and nail, so she was fucked if she was going to let anyone else get the better of her now. She forced herself to concentrate on the predicament that she was in, reminding herself that, no matter what might have passed between her and her father, he was the only chance she had to survive; if anyone was capable of finding her, and rescuing her, it was her dad.
She saw how stained the mattress was with her own bodily functions and, using all her strength, she finally managed to turn it over. It was difficult and exhausting, but it was something she needed to do. This was about her refusing to let the man who was
holding her captive demoralise her completely. She climbed back on to the bed, pleased at what she had achieved for herself.
She still felt filthy, though. She could smell her own urine and body odour. Her breath was rank, her skin felt greasy, oily and grubby. She could feel the large scab on her scalp – from where the man had beaten her unconscious – which had bled quite badly. She still felt pain whenever she moved her head around.
She pulled the blankets from the floor and, even though they were dirty, she used them to cover herself. She felt the sting of tears again and for all her certainty that her father would come for her, she began to wonder if he was even looking for her yet. Why hadn’t he found her already? He was the hardest man in fucking Europe! Why had she been taken? This couldn’t be a kidnapping – if it was, surely she would have been forced to make a tape of the kidnapper’s demands? Or talk to her father to prove she was still alive? Her father would insist on that. He wouldn’t pay a penny until he was assured she was still in one piece. So what the fuck was this about? She still had her very expensive Rolex, and it gave her the time and the date. It was five days since she had been abducted, and the man who was keeping her chained up didn’t seem to be bothered about anything. There was no urgency about him, or his movements – in fact, he was a bit too laid back. The food, the light and the clean clothes, though, made her think that maybe he wasn’t going to leave her to starve to death. Maybe he did have a hidden agenda. But what that might be, she couldn’t even hazard a guess.
Chapter One Hundred
and Six
Dana O’Carroll was in her late thirties and she knew she wasn’t a beauty. She was a heavyset woman with a flat face, heavy lips, and deep brown eyes. She had worked for the Flynns since three months before Jake had been born, employed to look after the child and also Josephine. She was a state-registered nurse, and she had taken this place knowing that she would stay for the duration – the lure of a newborn baby had been too much for her to resist. Jake Flynn was the child she would never have. She absolutely adored him.