The Betrayal

by Linda Tweedie

  “She’s probably furious that we’re in residence. Thank God the grieving rellies are gone. I don’t think I could have been civil to them one second longer.”

  “Jesus, for a family on the bones of their arse, they had some treasured heirlooms, wouldn’t you say?” Bridget smiled. “How the devil are they going to get all that back on the plane?”

  “Who knows? They must have diddled us out of the best part of half a million, and that’s not counting her clothes. What about all Diane’s cocktail dresses. C’mon, can you imagine Diane’s sisters, down at the Gala Bingo, dressed in all her clobber?”

  “I’d pay to see that. Listen, I’m not worried how much they claimed, they are welcome to it.”

  Diane’s sisters and their offspring had insisted on staying on to the bitter end, on the pretext that they couldn’t bear to leave their family’s remains all alone on foreign soil, and they were going nowhere until they found their nephew. This was all done at the expense of the McClelland estate. Lazy days spent by the pool and evenings in the Karaoke Bar ended when John and James reverted to type and borrowed a Lamborghini from one of the apartment residents. Marbella wasn’t Glasgow and two half-wits riding about in such a car drew attention. One night in a Spanish jail was enough for them. They were back in Glasgow with their spoils the following day; straight up to the pawn shop to cash in their bounty.

  On the day Bridget and Erin moved into the apartment they received a telephone call – short, but certainly not sweet.

  A raspy, quiet voice told Erin “You can tell the Big Man he’ll never see his grandson again.”

  “Who is this? What do you know about my son?” Frantically she tried to reconnect the call but the line was dead.

  Erin was amazed at her mother’s ability in dealing with the McClelland’s business; Bridget had once again come into her own. Paddy and the family had forgotten her years of experience in her father’s extensive loan outfit. She knew instinctively how to uncover hidden sources of income.

  She also recognised the cause for most of the problems between her and her husband. She was bored. Since Erin had grown up there had been nothing in her life to challenge or stimulate her.

  So, she worked steadily through the task in hand, unravelling the complex transactions Pete McClelland had been involved in and stunned at the amount of money salted away in a myriad of different accounts. One was even labelled ‘Divorce’. She deduced from the documents and a number of compromising photographs of Diane with a series of young men, that he had intended to divorce his wife and ensure she had access to only a limited proportion of his wealth. Ironically, there was a similar file with details of Pete’s goings-on and the relevant evidence gathered by Diane – happy families indeed.

  Niggling at the back of her mind was the thought that this fate could be hers and Paddy’s if she wasn’t careful. Not the stupid photographs and private investigator’s reports, but that she and her husband had drifted apart. Things needed to be sorted and soon, but first things first, they had to find Ryan.

  Her grandson was now a very wealthy young man. Please let him be alive to enjoy it, his granny prayed.

  Every morning Erin left the apartment and handed out leaflets regarding the kidnap to anyone who would take one. She then visited the various banks to check accounts that Bridget had uncovered. She and Bridget had come up with the idea that they should keep Bobby’s bank accounts live, despite objections from the bank. The mother and grandmother were convinced that whoever had Ryan was being paid and there was a chance this would eventually show up in the accounts. So far they had traced one recurring payment. The second would appear today and hopefully this would flush someone out.

  Ryan had settled in with his new family after only a few days and life for the Smiths blossomed, although their change in circumstances had not gone unnoticed. The change in their fortunes had been the source of much conjecture by the villagers. Their settling of all outstanding accounts with the local tradesmen was the cause of much delight and also suspicion.

  “He must have won El Gordo,” gossiped the fisherman.

  “Well, he must have won it twice,” joked the baker.

  “And a new baby too,” from the baker’s wife.

  “They have brought in tradesmen from Palma to refurbish the hotel,” commented another.

  “I hope they get paid up front,” replied his mate.

  “No-one from here would work for them unless they paid beforehand.”

  “I didn’t even know the woman was pregnant and suddenly she produces a six-month-old baby. What do you make of that?”

  “Maybe he gave birth to the child and that’s where all the money came from,” laughed a member of the group.

  “Everything will be explained eventually, it always is.”

  The group dispersed, most pondering the Englishman’s new wealth.

  Too many crooks around here, thought the fisherman as he got ready to make his weekly trip across to Marbella.

  Money is the Root . . .

  The two fishermen from Andratx had finished their business and were having a drink before heading home. As they waited for the barman to bring their drinks, a young woman approached their table. Neither of the men spoke more than a smattering of English, but they understood there was some problem connected with the child on the poster. The skipper nodded to her, folded the flyer and stuck it in his shirt pocket, merely to be polite.

  “David, that was the bank on the phone,” shouted Sylvia. “Something about a deposit, can you phone them back?”

  David was on the roof, assisting the tilers with the last of the repairs. In the past weeks the hotel had been fully refurbished and was now ready for guests. The wiring and the plumbing were state of the art and every room had been brought up to standard. All their money was gone, but they still had a thousand euros a month to tide them over until the first guests arrived.

  “I’ll call them when this is finished.”

  The afternoon flew past as the men endeavoured to get the job done and David forgot all about the call until later that evening. “What was the call from the bank about?”

  “I don’t know, they wanted to speak with you, did you not call them?”

  “No, I didn’t finish until late in the afternoon. I’ll call them tomorrow. The boy’s money should be in the account by now.”

  “We have stopped the payment as you requested, Miss Coyle. It is payable to a Mr D. Smith in Andratx. This is the second payment. It was set up on the 20th September for an indefinite period.”

  “D. Smith? Do you have any further information on this individual?”

  “Sorry, the account is not held at one of our branches so we have nothing more.”

  “Thank you. I want to close the account now and ensure no other payments are made to D. Smith.”

  The payments had been organised the day after she was arrested and this would have been, as the bank official said, the second instalment. Erin was sure she was on to something. She debated with herself as to whether she should contact the police or go straight to Nick the Greek. Correctly surmising that her father’s friend would act more quickly than the police, she made her way to his office.

  “But there should have been a thousand euros paid into my account yesterday.”

  “So what is the balance?”

  “Shit,” he muttered. What the hell had gone wrong? “It’s a transfer that comes from the Bank of Andalucía in Marbella.”

  “There’s nothing you can do?” He slammed the phone down on the cradle.

  David stormed into the kitchen where his wife was feeding the baby. “Well, you can stop that right away,” he grabbed the spoon from her hand. “He gets nothing till we get what’s due.”

  “What’s up? What’s the matter? And don’t be stupid, we can’t just stop feeding the child.”

  “Oh yes we can. He gets not one morsel of food until this is sorted.”

  The first contact number he had went to voicemail immediately.
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br />   The second went to voicemail after a few rings, asking the caller to leave a message and someone would get back to them.

  “The money hasn’t gone in to my account and the child will not be fed until we get paid,” he screamed. “Phone me back the moment you get this message,” and again he smashed the phone down.

  “You’re kidding?” asked his wife. “Surely you’re not going to deprive this child of food? It will be a misunderstanding, something between the banks.”

  “Well the choice is yours, your children get fed or this one, you decide, but with no money, there is no food.” And again he stormed out. David was a nice man and a good father, but his one big failing was his temper and when he was roused Sylvia and the kids shipped out until he was calm again.

  Ryan was hot, feverish and dehydrated; other than a few sips of water he’d had nothing to eat for nearly ten hours. Even the crying had stopped.

  “I don’t care what you say, he has to have something. What will happen when this gets sorted and you’ve starved the poor mite to death? A fine pickle we’ll all be in then.”

  David was beyond reasoning with. The money was three days overdue and he was desperate. Why was no-one returning his calls?

  Since Bobby’s death Canon O’Farrell had felt truly alone for the first time in his life. He was well aware that many would say he deserved it; he, himself, was sure he did, but that didn’t ease the deep sadness he felt at losing Bobby.

  He had stopped answering the phone and hardly ventured out, there didn’t seem to be much point these days. As he rose from his armchair, he was alerted by the new message alert on his mobile. He supposed he’d better answer. He picked the phone up to see over twenty voicemails from an unknown number. He listened to the messages becoming increasingly more and more threatening and knew he had to do something. He couldn’t leave Bobby’s child to die at the hands of strangers. In fact, he would go and remove the boy and rear him himself.

  As she prepared her husband’s shirt for the laundry, the fisherman’s wife came across the flyer he’d taken from the girl earlier in the day. Like her husband, she could speak little or no English, but it didn’t take much to decipher what the message was. A reward of five hundred thousand euros for a baby, just like one the English woman had brought into the shop only a few days ago. That would explain why no-one had known she was pregnant.

  She picked up the phone “Hola . . .”

  “Hello, David,” the priest spoke.

  “What the hell is going on? The money didn’t come through.”

  “I’m sorry, but Bobby met with an accident. I should have made arrangements to have the transfer done, but I quite simply forgot. I take it the child is okay? You weren’t stupid enough to carry out your threats?”

  “No, of course not,” the hotelier was beginning to panic. The child had barely made a sound this morning.

  “I’ll transfer the money tomorrow and I’ll come and see him in a few days.”

  Thank God, he had breathing space. They had to make the boy well again. His wife was right. He was stupid.

  Please God, make this right.

  “Erin, we’ve had a call from someone in Andratx who thinks she knows where Ryan is.” Bridget spoke quickly. “We have to get there now, before someone alerts them.”

  Erin was with Nick the Greek when she received Bridget’s call. On hearing the new information he immediately said, “We’ll take the chopper; we can be there in about an hour. We should meet the caller first to get our facts right. No point in going in all guns blazing if it’s the house next door, or the wrong child.”

  Meanwhile Bridget was on the phone to her husband. “Please, Paddy, come over. Things are moving and I would feel much better if you were here, or at least on your way.”

  Ryan was clammy and feverish. His breathing was shallow and he was floppy and lifeless.

  “You stupid, stupid man. God knows what they’ll do to you if he dies, and I’m damned sure he’s not far off it.”

  “The young bloke is dead, some accident or another. It’s only the old one left and he’s no problem. We’ve got until the end of the week to get the boy sorted.”

  The sound of a helicopter passing overhead drowned out the rest of the conversation.

  Payback

  While Bridget and Erin were away from home, Paddy had taken to dropping into his mother’s most days around tea-time. He hated being in the house on his own and he visited on the pretext of checking in on the old biddy. She had taken Sean’s passing hard and seemed to be half the woman she had been. Nothing Paddy could say would lift her sadness.

  Over the past day or two he had been aware of young Tommy Reilly hanging about Lomond Gardens. He was a fair distance away from his usual pitch and there was an air of insolence about the way he had swaggered away from Paddy without acknowledging his presence.

  “Here, boy, I want a word with you,” Paddy called to him.

  “You want a word with me? Well, I have nothing to say to you, Mr Coyle,” the young lad brazenly called back.

  “What did you say, you young cunt? Get over here this minute.”

  “Or what? You’ll do me in? Fuck off.” Tommy knew he must have a death wish, but so what? The Coyles could go fuck themselves. All of them.

  As Paddy walked towards the young lad, he noticed a deep gash all along the side of his car.

  “How did that happen, Tommy?” He pointed to the damage.

  “No idea. Maybe somebody doesn’t like what you Coyles get away with?”

  “Listen, boy, there’s only so much disrespect I’ll take and you’re getting close to the edge.”

  “Just like my little brother? Was he close to the edge with your little brother? I know he murdered Billy and I also know the big guy who worked for you did the twin in. I saw him leaving through his bedroom window.”

  “You know nothing and saw nothing, if you know what’s good for you. Don’t play the smartarse with me. I feel sorry for your ma. It’s a terrible thing to lose a son and if you behave and keep your mouth shut, I’ll help make things better. Not because my brother had anything to do with it, but to help the family out.”

  “Fuck off! We don’t need your help,” the young dealer spat back.

  “Tommy, I could put you out of business with one call, so behave yourself. Take what I’m offering and help your mother out.”

  “Like I said, fuck off. Do your worst. You can’t hurt us anymore.” Tommy Reilly walked away from Paddy with his head held high.

  There would be trouble there. He was worth watching, Paddy thought to himself.

  Recovery

  The entire village was agog at the sight of the helicopter landing on the beach and a couple running from it, across the sand, to meet with the skipper’s wife. What could she have to do with people who rode about in helicopters? Curiosity was buzzing like electricity in the air as the strangers made their way towards the hotel, the one owned by the Englishman.

  “Where’s the child?” demanded Nick.

  “What child? Our children are all down at the beach, looking at your machine.” Smith was brazen. If he had known who he was talking to it might have been another story.

  Nick pulled out his gun and addressed Sylvia. “Get the child or he’s a dead man.”

  “Don’t harm him,” Sylvia pleaded. “I’ll take you to him.” She led them to the boat house where Erin saw her son for the first time in months. It looked like they were too late as the young mother collapsed, grief-stricken.

  Nick picked up the child from the makeshift cot. “He still has a pulse, Erin.” He shook Erin’s shoulder roughly. “Come on. No time for tears, we need to go.”

  Erin stood up, wiping her tears away, and followed Nick, who was already racing towards the chopper. The nearest hospital was just ten minutes away. Perhaps there was a chance?

  Seeing her son wired up to so many machines, battling to stay alive, was almost more than Erin could bear. Paddy, Bridget and she took turns keeping vigil at h
is side, day after day, with no change in his condition. On the fifth day the little boy opened his eyes and gave a lusty yell. He was back. He still had a long way to go, but he was back.

  The nurse who had been caring for Ryan came in to check on her charge. “It was the priest who saved him,” she told Erin.

  “Priest? What priest? And when? We’ve never left this room unattended.”

  “He comes in from time to time, usually when you are asleep. He even administered the Last Rites.”

  “What does this priest look like?” Paddy asked.

  “He’s very old, black and has a strange accent,” she replied. “It was definitely him who saved your baby. As soon as he left last night, Ryan’s breathing improved. You should remember him in your prayers.”

  It was fortunate the nurse couldn’t see Paddy Coyle’s expression, it was murderous.

  By the end of the week the little boy was off the ventilator and breathing on his own.

  “At no time is he to be left unattended,” Erin insisted. “I’ll get Nick to station one of his men outside.”

  “Don’t you think Nick has done enough? We can’t keep depending on him to come to our rescue,” answered Paddy. There was that green-eyed monster again.

  “He won’t mind, I’ll ring him and get it arranged.” Erin was quite confident that Nick would help her out.

  “Paddy, its Nick. Meet me outside my office at ten tomorrow morning. I have some cargo you might be interested in.”

  Christ, this was it, payback time. What the hell was he going to have to do for all the favours this man had bestowed on his family? There was no such thing as a free lunch. Whatever Nick wanted him to do, he would, without question; he was honour-bound.