by Susan Lewis
“Who is he?” Bridget pressed. “We need to know who you’re talking about.”
“They’re not naming him in the press yet, but it’s Dean’s dad, Gavin Foggarty,” Kian told them.
Everyone’s eyes widened in amazement.
“You mean the Archangel Foggarty?” Bridget murmured in bewilderment.
Kian nodded. “That’s him.”
“I thought they’d moved up north,” Terry said.
“They did,” Stephie told her.
“So what happened?” Liam wanted to know. “Don’t tell me—he came back after the girl.”
“And who can bloody blame him,” Bridget snorted, “when his son’s serving a sentence he didn’t deserve and that bitch who stitched him up is walking round free as a bird?”
“We need to let Kian tell it,” Jules reminded them.
All eyes returned to Kian, and Jules couldn’t help smiling secretly to herself as she felt her husband warming to his audience and beginning to speak in the melodic, natural storyteller’s way that she knew so well, drawing them all in so that they might almost have been through the past few days with him.
—
“Kian, my man, it’s good to see you,” Danny cried, emerging through the airport crowd to wrap his cousin in a boisterous hug. “You’re looking good, mate. Better than good, but I’m afraid we’ve got a problem.”
Just like that, no preamble, no chatty wander out to the car first, just straight in with “we’ve got a problem.”
Warily Kian said, “What sort of a problem?”
Danny was buzzing. “A big one, but you’re not to worry, we’ll sort it.”
Kian regarded his cousin’s round, rugged face with all its scars and ruddy good looks, and tried to remember a time when there hadn’t been a problem. “You know why I’m here,” he said darkly, “and I don’t need anything going wrong.”
“Nothing will, cross my heart. We’ve just got this bit of business to deal with, then everything’ll happen the way it’s supposed to. Come on, let’s get you to the car. I’ll explain on the way.”
Minutes later they were exiting the airport complex and heading south on the A38 toward the Somerset border. This was a journey Kian knew well, and had even been looking forward to—but now he wasn’t so sure. “I need to let Jules know I’m here,” he stated, turning on his phone.
Danny’s hand came out to stop him. “Not yet,” he cautioned. “I need to tell you what’s happened first.”
Not liking the sound of that, Kian said, “Tell me Jules is all right. Nothing’s—”
“Jules is good. She’s fine, nothing to do with her. It’s just she’ll expect to see you right away if you call, and like I said, there’s this bit of business we need to sort.”
Kian said, “Dan, if you’ve got yourself into some kind of trouble…”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got most of it sorted already, but well, it’s like this…”
Kian noticed his hands tightening on the steering wheel while his head kept turning toward Kian and back.
“I got a call on Thursday night,” he began. “I swear I thought it was a joke, I mean, he was the last person I was expecting to hear from. I didn’t even know he had my number. Not that it’s a secret, but he’s hardly the sort—”
“Who are we talking about?” Kian cut in evenly.
“Gavin Foggarty, Dean’s old man,” was the surprising reply.
Danny glanced at Kian again, registered the restrained shock, and hurried on. “Honest to God, he calls up out of the blue, like we was old mates or something, and asks for a favor. He didn’t call it a favor, he said help, and when he tells me what he needs help with…Well, like I said, I thought it was a joke, but it turns out he was deadly serious, and when I got to thinking about it, I thought, yeah, why not give the poor bastard a hand? His one and only’s rotting away in that prison for something we all know he didn’t do, and the only one who can change that is the Quentin bitch.”
The mention of Dean’s name had been enough to liquefy Kian’s insides; knowing now that Amelia Quentin was in some way involved was making him wish he’d stayed in Ireland.
Shaking off the echoes of screams and images of terrible stabbings into the most precious flesh that had ever existed, he said, “What’s happened? And whatever it is, does Jules know about it?”
“Good God, no!” Danny exclaimed. “No one knows, and they can’t, not yet anyway, because we haven’t finished sorting it out. I thought it would be done before you got here, but things haven’t gone quite the way we expected and I thought…Well, I said to myself, if anyone can handle this, our Kian can.”
Certain he didn’t want to handle anything, Kian said, “Go on.”
Danny’s glance was part hopeful, part grateful. “So, it’s like this,” he continued. “Gavin had this plan—well, that’s a bit generous because it wasn’t any sort of a plan at all, but the basic idea was sound. He wanted me to help him get to the girl so he could persuade her to tell the truth about Dean, so his lad can go free. Obviously I had no problem with that; why would I when none of us is happy about what happened to the boy? And I thought, at the same time we were having a chat with her, I could do my bit in persuading her to get the hell out of Dodge, so to speak.”
Kian’s eyes turned to the passing countryside, seeing only a blur, feeling far too much as he realized where this was going. “So you’ve had a chat with her?” he prompted.
“We have, a few times, and I’m afraid it’s not going well.”
Wishing he didn’t have to ask, Kian said, “How are you getting her to speak to you at all?”
“Ah, well, that’s where the difficult part comes in, and to be honest, I don’t think I should tell you too much about that, because you weren’t involved and you wouldn’t have wanted to be, knowing you, so it’s best we keep it that you didn’t know anything until you got here this morning.”
“Which is true.”
“Which is true, so you can’t have been a part of taking her.”
Kian’s head came round. “Taking her? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“What do you think it means? We took her from her house.”
“Jesus Christ, Danny!”
“Cool it. It needed to be done.”
“Says who?”
“Who cares? It’s happened, we’ve got her, move on.”
“How the hell did you get in? That place is a fortress.”
“Not for my boys. They figured out a way in and out that couldn’t be detected, waited till they knew she was inside on her own, then delivered her to me and Gavin for our little chat.”
Kian’s eyes closed. Danny was right, he really didn’t want to know how they’d done it; this scant detail was already too much.
“The problem we’ve got now,” Danny ran on, “is that she’s still refusing to admit it was all down to her and Dean played no part. I swear to God, if I was running the show I’d have let her go by now, but Gavin’s having none of it. He’s not letting her go anywhere until he’s got what he came for, and if he doesn’t get it he says he’s going to kill her.”
Kian’s eyes widened with alarm. “He doesn’t mean that,” he murmured.
“You haven’t seen him. The guy’s lost it. He doesn’t care what happens to the girl, or to him; he just wants his son out of prison with his name cleared. And here’s the real rub: he’s managed to get himself a gun.”
Kian turned to him incredulously.
Danny’s hands went up. “Don’t ask me where it came from, I swear it had nothing to do with me. I had no idea he even had it until after my guys delivered the girl.”
“Delivered her where?”
“Foggarty’s old house on Felham Street. You know the one, on its own at the far end of the lane, behind those iron gates.”
“Yes, I know it. Didn’t he sell it when they moved?”
“I guess not. Maybe it belongs to his church. They do that, them sort, don’t they, have communal
property? Or some of them do, I don’t know…Anyway, that’s where they are now, and he’s saying if anyone turns up, other than you and me, he’s going to use the gun before they can get inside.”
Stunned by just about everything he was hearing, Kian found himself saying, “Are you sure the gun’s loaded?”
Danny’s head swung round. “Do I want to find out the hard way?” he demanded meaningfully.
Accepting that he obviously didn’t, Kian tried to make himself think rationally, as if there were anything rational about this at all, and he definitely didn’t think there was. In fact, it was totally stark raving crazy. Yet, on the other hand, how could he not understand Foggarty’s desperation? Hadn’t he frequently imagined himself in the exact same position, doing anything, trying everything to make sense of what had happened? And if it would bring Daisy back to him, wouldn’t he want to force Amelia Quentin to speak the truth?
“Kian, the bloke’s a nutter,” Danny was telling him. “He’s not listening to anyone, and like I said, he’s not caring what happens either. I’ve been trying to talk him down—”
“When exactly did you take her?” Kian interrupted, needing to get things straight in his mind.
Speeding up as they joined the M5, Danny said, “It was last night, about nine. I wasn’t there myself. I thought it was best not to be.”
“Did anyone hurt her?”
“No, not at all. I mean, I guess she wasn’t any too thrilled about being tied up and gagged, but she’s none the worse for it. Mad as hell, but I suppose that was only to be expected.”
Moving past that, Kian said, “Has anyone reported her missing yet?”
“Not that I’m aware of. As soon as anyone does, one of my guys will notify me.”
“At which point you intend to do what?”
“I have to be honest, I’ve no idea. Actually, I thought that was where you could come in.”
Feeling a painful throbbing in his temples, Kian pressed his fingers to his eyes to try to ease it. It wasn’t that he felt any sense of protection toward the Quentin girl; quite the reverse. She could rot in hell as far as he was concerned. He just didn’t want to be a part of sending her there. “If Foggarty’s got a gun, we should be calling the police right now,” he stated.
“That’s just it—it’s because he’s got a gun that we can’t. Unless you want to risk him using it the minute they show up. If you ask me, he’s crazy enough to shoot us all.”
“If we ring the cops now, while he’s alone with her…”
“He’ll shoot her the instant he sees anyone but us, or that’s what he says. Not that I have a problem with it, but if it gets out that I was involved in taking her…”
Wishing he didn’t care about any of it, Kian said, “So what’s supposed to happen now? We go back there and…what?”
“And you use your expert diplomatic skills to persuade her to give Foggarty what he wants. Or, just as good, you talk him into letting her go. Either way we get out of there in one piece.”
Having no such confidence in his fantasy diplomatic skills, Kian said, “Or we wait until the bloke’s asleep and get the gun away from him?”
Danny nodded eagerly. “That’s definitely an option too,” he agreed. “Yep, I’m liking the sound of that.”
Still not liking the sound of anything, Kian turned to stare out of the window again. Though he desperately wanted to call Jules, certain she’d handle this far better than he could, he was afraid that if he involved her, something would end up going horribly wrong, for which she could pay the price.
By the time they arrived in Kesterly, taking a lot of back roads to get to the shady suburb of Risley, where Felham Street meandered through a scant woodland to a handful of large, gated residences at the end of the cul-de-sac, Kian had already received two texts from his mother wanting to know if he’d arrived safely.
“Give it a while before you text back,” Danny advised as they pulled up in front of the Foggartys’ Victorian-Gothic manse. “It shouldn’t be long before we get this sorted, then you can send all the texts and make all the calls you want.”
Convinced they were handling this all wrong, but unable to come up with an alternative plan, Kian got out of the car and followed Danny to the gabled front door. In the entry hall they were greeted by an ominous painting of the Good Lord gazing solemnly down from the cross, a sad, despairing observer of the wrongdoings taking place under this roof. Kian averted his eyes and looked around. There were no windows and so much dark wood paneling that they were only able to take in the oppressive gloom of the place when Danny turned on a light.
“Dean used to live here?” Kian murmured incredulously. It was no wonder the boy had spent so much time at the Mermaid. If he’d known Dean’s home was as bad as this, he’d have tried to adopt him.
“They’re up there,” Danny whispered, pointing toward a solid oak staircase. “Or they were when I left. With any luck he’ll have talked her round by now and they’ve gone. I’ll go find out.”
As Kian watched his cousin climb the stairs he felt sickened, unsettled by the horrifying prospect of being under the same roof as his daughter’s killer. Unless something had changed while Danny was away, the girl was up there right now, being held hostage by a man who hated her every bit as much as he did. The bizarre, unthinkable reality of it was affecting him deeply, threatening to unleash all the hatred and rage he’d struggled so hard to control since his daughter died.
He turned his eyes from the stairs, as though this might in some way detach him from the evil instincts he could feel seeping into his soul. He made himself focus on the stench of must and something else he couldn’t—didn’t want to—define. He began asking himself what the heck sort of a life poor Dean had led, growing up here. It was as though he’d swapped one prison cell for another, and yet that wasn’t true, because at least he’d been able to come and go from this one. His parents had never tried to stop him being friends with Daisy, or taking part in all their projects. And maybe this place hadn’t been as bad when the family was actually here. After all, they’d been gone for over two years now, and by the look of it no one had been inside—or outside—since.
Hearing the sound of voices from above, he felt his heart contract. Apparently Foggarty at least was still here, so presumably the girl was too. He tried to make himself think straight. It had never entered his mind that he’d walk into something like this the minute he got back to Kesterly. In fact, if he’d had any idea it was happening, he’d never have come. However, he was here now, and there was no way he could leave Danny to deal with things alone when he was clearly in over his head with Foggarty. And his cousin’s motives, though skewed, couldn’t really be faulted, since the reason he wanted Amelia Quentin gone from Kesterly was more for Kian and Jules than himself—and didn’t they all want the girl to be paying a real price for what she’d done, and Dean to be freed?
So whether he liked it or not, he was going to have to do whatever it took to bring about an outcome that didn’t end them up in prison, or worse, and the sooner he got on with it, the sooner he could get out of here and home to Jules.
—
It was Saturday evening, the sun was starting to go down, and what remained of the light was making it through the trees to cast warped and eerie shadows over the Victorian manse.
Kian was in the kitchen, where he and Danny had made coffee and sandwiches an hour ago with the supplies Danny had got one of his people to bring in. Whether Amelia or Foggarty had eaten, Kian had no idea; he’d simply watched Danny carry up a tray and come back down a few minutes later, empty-handed.
He hadn’t been up there himself; Foggarty had to think, apparently, and would let them know when he was ready to talk.
“This is crazy,” he muttered to Danny. “Does he reckon we’re going to sit here all night like a pair of morons waiting for bloody Godot?”
“Who?” Danny asked.
Kian waved it away. “If he won’t talk, then I can’t see how the h
ell we’re going to get out of this.”
“I’ve already said that to him,” Danny responded. “Trouble is, I don’t know how much he’s hearing. He’s just sitting there with his gun, mumbling some sort of shit…Maybe he’s praying.”
“And what’s she doing?”
“Sitting on the bed watching him.”
“Doesn’t she need to use the bathroom?”
“He lets her, but he goes in with her.”
Kian’s eyes closed in disgust.
Foggarty had their phones up there with him; like fools they’d handed them over when he’d sent down instructions for them to take out the batteries and bring them upstairs unless they wanted something to happen to Amelia. In any sane world Kian would have told him to do what the hell he liked to the girl; the problem was they clearly weren’t in a sane world, and he didn’t want Foggarty’s actions hanging around his conscience as he and Jules tried to get on with their lives.
“I’m going up there,” he declared, getting abruptly to his feet.
Danny shrugged. “Just don’t make him mad,” he warned, “or we’re all going to end up sorry.”
Wondering if Jules knew he was in Kesterly yet, and angered by how worried his mother would be that he hadn’t texted back, Kian climbed the stairs two at a time.
“Foggarty! Open this door,” he shouted, hammering it with the side of his fist. “There are other ways of achieving what you want, this is only going to end you up in trouble.” So much for his diplomatic skills, but what the hell was he supposed to say?
And what was he going to do to the girl when he saw her?
“She knows what she has to do,” Foggarty called back. “Once she’s given us the confession we can all go home.”
Biting back his exasperation, Kian cried, “Come on, man, you’ve got to know things don’t work like that. No one’s going to act on something you’ve forced out of her. It’s called coercion.”
“I know what it’s called, but I’m not leaving here until she’s admitted she’s a liar, and neither is she.”
“Right. So we all sit and wait.”