by Rae Shaw
The beefy man grinned from ear to ear. ‘He's sat in a pile of shit. Probably where he belongs.’
Julianna nodded. ‘Possibly. Let’s find out.’
25
Julianna
It was Ted’s rather tactless sense of humour that resolved the tension at Nicky's flat. By calling her a chick, then jovially accusing Nicky of turning to the dark side and cheating on him with a girl, Ted inadvertently ended the standoff. Nicky's drawn face brightened. The wall posters took on a new meaning. Nicky wasn't a gangster, he loved men on bikes. Literally loved them. His hostile stance, the antagonism towards her arrival, was a defensive response to her own aggressive interrogation. She had played him wrong.
The handbag was lowered, the strident edge to her voice softened and she explained the reason she was there. Ellen was in danger. She was unequivocal in describing the situation. If they didn't find Ellen, she would be handed over to traffickers and vanish. Nicky thrust the piece of paper at her.
‘She never told me she was going or anything about this,’ he said. The letter was addressed to him and signed, Ellie. ‘I've not heard about this man. If I'd known, I would have put a stop to it. Mark, this ass of a brother, practically told her to go. Start a new life out there. Look at what she wrote!’
Ellen's account of her conversation with Mark was terse and angry. She accused Mark of colluding with her parents while ignoring her. He had missed the signs, she wrote.
The scrawl indicated haste and she had pushed the note under Nicky's door. Nicky was especially upset that she hadn't said goodbye to him in person. Ted rested his long arm on Nicky's shoulders and gave him a squeeze. The use of the motorcycle was Ted's suggestion.
The call to Chris was scrapped. By the time Moran made it across the river, Julianna, mounted on the back of Ted's bike, would be there in quarter of the time. Nicky was desperate to help. She took his mobile number and promised to keep him up to date.
‘Stay here. If she changes her mind, you’re the person she'll come back to.’
‘I'll kill him,’ Nicky said, bluntly.
She hadn't the time to find out who he meant.
The journey to Mark's flat was exhilarating, frightening and cold. Nicky had given her an old jacket; a smaller one he once wore before he had started weight training. The sleeves were too long, but it was better than her flimsy coat. Arriving at the block of flats, she gained access with the key Mark had given her and ran up the stairs to his floor with Ted panting on her heels.
She nearly collided with her boss.
‘Baptiste,’ Jackson growled. ‘Who is this?’
‘This is Ted. Ted meet Jackson and Mark.’ Julianna said. ‘Nicky might love bikers, but he can't ride bikes. Ted brought me here. Quicker than summoning Chris. Scarier too. Boy, Ted, that was some ride you gave me.’ She thumped Ted's arm; her knuckles cracked against solid muscle. In hindsight, it was fortunate she hadn't gone up against Ted.
Seeing Mark on his knees, bewildered, surrounded by the rubbish, she wondered if an irate Jackson had tipped the lot on him. But Jackson wasn't near Mark, nor was he paying him any attention. He was focused on Julianna, and not her boyfriend, if Mark was still that. Maybe what she felt toward him was disappointment; an unpleasantly familiar emotion that reminded her too much of Alex. However, although Mark had failed to bond with his sister, he wasn't entirely to blame for Ellen's predicament. Ellen had ignored common sense and inflicted danger upon herself; those things weren't strangers to Julianna. Mark had to get off the floor, out of the shit, as Ted so rightly put it, and show some backbone.
Julianna reached into a pocket and held up a sheet of paper. ‘She wrote Nicky a letter. She caught a flight this evening and she's supposed to go to a hostel in Bray to meet somebody called Garth. I've got the address and a flight number.’
The colour drained from Mark's face. ‘She told this to Nicky?’ He scrambled to his feet.
‘I nearly punched his lights out by mistake. There was some confusion. It turns out that it’s possible to have the surname Redder and not be connected to a criminal underworld.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing, just a red herring, they happen. Give him his dues, Nicky was being cautious and didn't want to give me the address until he was sure I could be trusted. The letter paints you in a poor light. What did you say to her?’
‘I was mad at her and said things, but I didn't cut her off, honestly, her things are still here.’
She wasn't convinced. ‘She thinks you’re a moron, her words, not mine.’
‘There's no time for family sagas.’ Jackson whipped out his phone and snatched the paper out of Julianna’s hand. Chris Moran was kicked into action.
‘It’s the so-called Deliverer again. He’s after Mark Clewer's sister. She is totally ignorant of the danger and boarding a flight to Dublin from Heathrow.’ Jackson paced as he briefed his security chief. ‘The company chopper? Log a flight plan from London to Dublin. Arrange transport and accommodation at the other end.’ He hung up and tossed Julianna his car keys. ‘The helipad. You drive, I've more calls to make.’
‘Me?’ She clutched the keys to her tight chest. Adrenaline was good. Strong heartbeats. Focused mind. Her father would tell her to channel the energy, not fight it.
‘You two will go to Dublin and find her. Bring her back. If you don’t find her, don’t come to work on Monday, Mark. Your family is what matters and you'll not come back until you've done everything you can to put this right.’
Mark nodded and blinked. No Ellen, no job. The threat, if it was truly that, worked. He darted about his apartment collecting things. A coat, wallet and driving licence to validate his identity.
‘Passport. Do you have yours?’ Jackson asked her.
‘Yes, sir. On me as required.’
Mark raised his eyebrows. ‘You do?’
‘I'm obliged to carry identification at all times.’ But she checked inside the deepest compartment of her handbag and ran her fingers along the textured cover to be certain.
‘Move, we’ve got to get to the helipad.’ Jackson harried them with a swoop of his arms.
Their speedy preparations had an audience of one: a bemused Ted. Mark shook his hand and winced as Ted squeezed back in reply.
‘Ted, thank you,’ Mark said, extracting his throbbing fingers. ‘Please let Nicky know we'll do whatever we can to get Ellen home safely.’
Julianna started to shimmy out of the leather jacket.
‘Keep it,’ said Ted. ‘Won't fit Nicky again.’ He grinned. Julianna could appreciate why Nicky liked that smile.
During the journey to the helipad, Jackson rattled through a string of phone calls. To his wife to say she was not to worry. To contacts he had through Opportunitas to start looking up possible leads in Dublin. As for the number Ellen had left for the hostel, Jackson cursed profusely. ‘It went straight to an answer machine. Probably a dummy number or they only answer known callers.’
Julianna pressed her foot down on the accelerator.
Moran met them at the helipad departure area.
‘The helicopter?’ asked Jackson.
‘On standby,’ Moran said. ‘A flight plan has been submitted.’
‘Good, take these two over there. I want them in Dublin as soon as possible. Put this through my private account, not the company one.’
‘When you’ve found her, and I pray that you do,’ Jackson said to Julianna quietly, ‘bring her to Fasleigh House. Not Mark's.’
The implication was obvious; Mark couldn't be trusted to look after his sister. Not now, perhaps never. Jackson had read what Ellen had written in the letter to Nicky.
26
Mark
FRIDAY EVENING
In the car, on the way to the helipad, Mark told Jackson that he would do anything to put things right. Jackson grunted an acknowledgement. With his boss in the front seat of the car, he had held back from saying anything personal to Julianna, words failed him. He had been selfish and inconsidera
te, wrapped up in his own world of misery and anger, and she deserved better.
Jackson went home after dropping them off – he had his own commitments – and he delegated his powers to Julianna. Moran reminded them that they shouldn't involve the Garda unless they had to. ‘Keep it low key as possible. In, then out. Hopefully this is a simple extraction operation and doesn't require additional specialist support.’
Mark dug his nails into his palms and pretended he hadn’t heard the frank conversation between his girlfriend and Moran. Neither of them talked about plan-Bs, such as what happened if they didn't find his sister. From then on, as they boarded the helicopter, they were on their own.
Under other circumstances, a helicopter ride would thrill Mark. The helicopter took off with an unpleasant lurch and the seat harness gripped his waist, yanking him back into the leather seat. The nausea ebbed and flowed, and his empty belly yielded a bitter taste in his throat. There was nothing to enjoy about the journey.
Helicopters might be on Julianna’s bucket list for all he knew – she showed no signs of sickness. He couldn't bring himself to ruin her fascination by talking. Only as they approached the city lights of Dublin, did she tear herself away from the skyline. She grasped his hand and he looked at her. Her expression exemplified pity.
He pulled his hand away. She said something, but the whirr of rotating blades drowned her out. She activated a mic and her voice arrived in his headphones. ‘You’ve been irresponsible with Ellen, but it wasn't your intention to harm her.’ There was nothing subtle in Julianna’s sharp tongue.
‘Why didn't I just listen to her? I treated her like a child because I only knew her as a child. I took her to a nightclub, a dinner party, stuff you do with a girlfriend, things I should have done with you. She refused to talk about our parents; I really could have tried harder to find out why. I’m a piece of shit...’
‘It's not your fault. The chances of you going to work for Haydocks, the connection it had to your father—’
‘Oh, please, don't make this one of those profound karma things. It isn't like that.’ Ellen had her secrets and he had one too. He had been too ashamed to mention it to Jackson.
The helicopter lifted, rattled by invisible air currents. Mark drew himself up in his seat. ‘I didn't always ignore my father's advice.’ Before deciding to shred the correspondence, he had a read a few of the earlier ones. Bill had written every month or so, and when Mark was in his final year at Oxford and hunting for jobs, he had taken keen interest in his choice of degree, unlike Deidre.
‘Dad suggested Henderson.’ He watched Julianna’s face for a reaction. He hadn’t lied, rather because it happened a long time ago, he hadn’t appreciated the significance until that afternoon.
The helicopter tilted and Julianna lost her balance; she slid and collided against him. She steadied herself using her hand on his leg.
‘Your dad knew Henderson?’ Julianna righted herself, but left her palm resting on his thigh.
This time, he didn’t push it away. ‘Surprising, I know, given Dad kept most of his ill-gotten gains in secret stashes.’
‘Who gave the name to him?’
Mark shrugged. ‘I've been wondering about that ever since Jackson told me about Haydocks and Zustfaller, whatever his name is.’
‘Why didn't you tell Jackson about your dad and Haydocks?’
Mark smirked. ‘I think he already guessed, don't you? Why the interest in me and my father if it wasn't about the money? It's always about money. In any case, I've destroyed the letter. I suppose it counts as more evidence of my father's guilt.’
‘Bill gave you Haydocks.’ The piece of information was filed away, she understood the significance. Mark was a pawn. But whose?
Mark frowned. The obvious thoughts were racing through his mind. ‘Most large accountancy firms have hundreds of clients. Only a handful of Haydocks' were involved in illegal activities and Henderson managed those accounts. The only obvious way Dad would know about a bent accountancy firm was from another crook. I just find it hard to believe that it's a coincidence.’
‘See, don't knock karma.’ She squeezed his leg. The weight of her hand was reassuring.
Maybe he and Julianna still had a chance to come out of this intact. A partnership of some kind even if it meant starting afresh. The more he thought about Ellen's desperate bid to be an archaeologist, the more he appreciated why. Scraping away the dirt, uncovering harmless objects, she was safe. The things she found, no matter their original purpose, would not threaten her. Julianna craved something different, a more visceral approach to digging up the past and finding the truth. Alex's deceit had been a cruel blow and it had knocked her confidence. Yet, here she was, giving up her time and energy to find his sister. She'd proved herself to him, and hopefully Jackson. Her ambitions lay somewhere and he fancied she wanted in to Opportunitas itself. Whatever her original motives for spending time with Mark, whether self-serving sex or raw ambition, she’d rediscovered herself.
‘You've not lost it,’ he said softly, covering her hand with his.
She furrowed her eyebrows; his words were lost to the engine noise. However, she smiled. The first one in a while. ‘We're coming in to land. Pop your ears.’
27
Ellen
Ellen arrived at the hotel by taxi. ‘Is it a hostel or a hotel?’ she asked the driver. The sign outside blinked, “Vacancies”.
The driver continued to roll his cigarette. ‘Depends. If you were told it's a hostel, it's a hostel. It's not my kind of place. But they say it's better than most for what you need.’ He took her money and drove off.
The suitcase weighed a ton. She'd carted it through bus terminals, airport lounges and the taxi rank. The flight unnerved her because she'd only flown once before and that was to Jersey for a rare family holiday prior to the downward spiral of Bill's criminal life. Throughout the flight to Dublin, she'd gripped the armrests, turning her knuckles white. The man next to her played on his tablet. She'd none of those kinds of luxuries. She kept her phone turned off to conserve the battery life.
The skinny guy at the reception desk didn't raise an eyebrow at the time – a little past ten o'clock. He shook his head when she asked if a Freddie Zustaller, or the other names she'd been given, had left a message. After signing the registry book and snatching the key out of his spidery hand, she wondered if Freddie had given her the wrong address.
‘Money?’ He kept his hand out – dirt was etched into the creases of his palm. ‘The deposit. Twenty Euros.’
She fumbled in her purse and handed him the note. ‘Is there a kitchen?’
‘At the end of the hall. No room service.’ He chuckled. ‘We don't provide anything but you can use it. There's Sammy's cafe a street away if you're wanting breakfast. It's popular enough.’
‘I guess I'll wait for the morning.’ She hadn’t the energy to tackle an unknown kitchen.
He jerked his head at the entrance. ‘I'll keep an eye out for your friends. Send them up when they come, shall I?’
‘Thank you.’
A creepy grin split across his face. The hostel couldn't be more than a stopover. Freddie said the dig was in Wicklow to the south and there was a chance to live somewhere closer. The receptionist said something else to her, but she ignored the unpleasant sentiment and gesture.
The feeling of wrongness was heightened when she entered the musty bedroom. The wallpaper had curled away in places under the cracked coving and a threadbare patch of carpet was stained with heel marks. If the mattress served any useful purpose, sleep wasn't it. It creaked as she rested the suitcase on the bed and groaned when she moved it back off again. There was nowhere to hang her clothes and only a chest of wobbly drawers. Abandoned in the back of one was a dusty Gideon New Testament dated 1987 on the inside jacket. The room might have been cleaned, but not with anything that left a sheen. She winced at the salmon pink bathroom, its grouting decorated with black ribbons of mould. Having peed without sitting on the seat and was
hed her hands in the cracked sink with a squirt of liquid soap she carried in her handbag, she decided to email Freddie and seek some advice. The lack of both signal and wi-fi stymied the idea.
She lay on the bed with her hands pressed to her sides and chewed her lip. The ceiling was stained with yellow rings of cigarette smoke. She tasted the lingering tobacco on her tongue. Trying hard to dismiss the nagging worry that she'd misunderstood Freddie's plans, Ellen closed her eyes and hoped the morning would cast the room in a friendlier light.
She wasn't the slightest bit sleepy. A surprising level of cacophony impinged: stomping footsteps; giggles, then a shriek; the hoot of a car horn; a door slamming. She burrowed her face into the stale pillow. More footsteps running, this time along the corridor. A knock. Whispering. More doors closing; their latches clicking. The percussive sounds rumbled on until a woman screamed, the cry muffled by doors and walls. Ellen shot upright, held her breath while her empty stomach churned. She expected something in response to the rumpus: a siren.
An unearthly silence was born, and it stretched on and on. She waited for something to puncture it, reassure her that she wasn't in a dump of the worst kind. But she was. The hostel was a shit-hole. Freddie had picked the cheapest place for her because he knew she was on a shoestring budget. If he had checked it out first, he wouldn’t have allowed her into the place. All those lectures on personal safety and Freddie had broken his own rules. Without him to guide her, she had to make her own decision; she would leave in the morning and find somewhere more suitable.
She curled into a ball under the musty counterpane. Shivering, her teeth chattered. She couldn’t contemplate undressing, and the decision had nothing to with temperature and everything to do with fear. A deep yawn forced her eyes shut. She hovered in an in-between place.
Hammering stirred her semi-slumber. She slipped her feet onto the carpet and crept towards the door. There wasn’t a peephole. She chanced it – hoping for a late visit from Alicia or even Freddie. Perhaps he would take her someplace else. And apologise, too.