Blood for Blood Page 14

‘Do you know anyone with a limp?’

  ‘No.’

  The Donavan sisters’ funeral might provide the answers I was seeking. If the man on the film was a relative, his gait would single him out from the cortège.

  Of course to take this a measure further, there was my own position to consider. Weak, yes, but strong also. Whatever the nature of his involvement, I had been instrumental, and, indeed, it had been made abundantly clear was to be of further assistance in bringing his as-yet-unknown aim to fruition. If profit it be then surely I was deserving of my rightful share, as it were, of the take. After all, had not his evidence against me been rendered somewhat academic? I now had similarly damaging evidence against him. Were I to be apprehended, police analysis equipment would enhance his image. If he continued to blackmail me, I could counter by threatening reciprocity. He could not turn me in any more than I him. Any further participation on my part, therefore – participation, I might add, which had already been requested, but which I had had occasion to withhold – would have to be remunerated. Fair’s fair.

  ‘My apologies, Lucille, for having cast aspersions on your grandfather.’

  ‘My grandfather?’

  ‘He is not responsible for the deaths of your great-aunts, because he and your mother are to meet a similar fate.’

  ‘Oh God, please don’t harm my mother, please … I’ll do anything you say. Please …’

  Lucille had undergone a rather distressing experience and was in a state of shock. Had I not returned when I did and dispersed the rats with a blazing torch, she might not have survived.

  The rats had eaten their way through the crate. Her weight on a makeshift ladder she had constructed had made the wood cave in, smashing the timber they’d been gnawing through. She had done it to herself. She had been so determined to break out through the ceiling that she hadn’t noticed until it was too late, and I found them biting into her. She had tried to climb up this ladder to get away from them, to get a hold on the small opening she had made in the floorboards so she could hang from the ceiling, but they had jumped up onto her, and she couldn’t shake them off. Clinging onto her clothes in such numbers, their weight brought her back down. She was covered in a feeding frenzy of teeth. When she screamed they went for her open mouth. They tore at her hair, her dress … there were too many to fend off. When she tried they went straight for her face. When she covered her face, the rest of her was exposed. They were between her legs, under her arms, locking their jaws into her fingers to get at her eyes …

  I had placed her in the adjoining room, replicated conditions prevailing, minus the replacement timber.

  ‘Thank you for uncovering the weakness in my security measures, Lucille.’

  RED DOCK

  Time to have another talk with ‘Apropos’. The bastard had double-crossed me by the way. He was supposed to deal with Anne and Conor, but he just drove off.

  I’d an idea what he was up to, so I got online and typed in ‘Nice work, Cornelius.’

  No response.

  ‘You’re not coming through.’

  Still nothing. Strange, he was definitely at home. I was along the road from his place. Maybe he was in the jacks. He wasn’t. He was in a huff.

  ‘Gratuitous and unnecessary treatment of helpless animals’ came back.

  I was right – the bastard was an animal lover. Why would anybody give a fuck about a couple of farm animals? Fuck me, the things you have to put up with from serial killers. I ignored him.

  ‘Nothing gratuitous or unnecessary tonight.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Two down, two to go.’

  ‘I think not.’

  I think not? Jesus, don’t tell me his conscience was getting to him. ‘We have an agreement, Cornelius.’

  ‘Ah, my remuneration.’

  I knew it. He’d refused to sketch Anne because he was sticking his arm in. I let on I didn’t understand. ‘What remuneration?’

  ‘My fee.’

  ‘Your fee? Me keeping my mouth shut about you’s your fee.’

  ‘We have gone beyond that juncture. Thus far I have assisted you in your endeavours. Were I to find myself apprehended, the authorities would investigate those who stand to benefit from the deceased. You.’

  He was up to something.

  ‘Only one of two people, save my guest, whom you ignored, could possibly know my identity,’ he typed. He’d removed the camera I’d fixed to his laptop. It didn’t matter: text would be just as damning when the time came. ‘And one of them, Greg Swags, is in custody. Which leaves you.’

  Yeah, but there’s no way you could know who I am.

  ‘Therefore,’ he typed on, ‘since it is in both our interests to keep silent about the other, and because it is likely that you are acting for monetary gain, am I unreasonable in wishing to share in your good fortune?’

  Bit of a money-grabber that Picasso. I wouldn’t fancy standing at a bar with him – he’d let you buy all the drink.

  ‘What have you got in mind?’

  ‘Unless I am very much mistaken, you have in your possession evidence which could be used to compromise Gemma Small’s gentlemen friends, apropos their families, in return for payment?’

  He was bound to have worked out that a blackmailing scam was on the go.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Since you are as yet unable to avail of what I surmise to be your “windfall” at the riding stables, I propose that you overcome the little matter of my advance fee by furnishing personal details and video recordings of two of Gemma’s clients.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I can then apprise them of my understanding of their current vulnerability.’

  The bastard wanted to blackmail them. Smart lad, that Picasso, even if he was a bit pompous. The ‘windfall’ remark wasn’t important. He’d obviously been trying to make sense of what I was up to and had come up wrong. It didn’t matter. If giving him a few punters got me what I wanted, fuck it, who cares?

  I played along. ‘I’ll send you one now, and one when you’ve earned it.’

  ‘One might prove risky. Two would reduce the possibility.’

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘I think not.’

  Wonder what he had in mind?

  ‘OK, two.’

  ‘Appreciated. Naturally I shall require two who are of sufficient funds.’

  ‘Done.’

  ‘Following their receipt, I shall then await your instructions.’

  I sent his laptop what he wanted so he could record it onto videotapes himself. It took a fair bit of time to transfer, but I could hardly deliver it by hand.

  PICASSO

  Having given the matter further consideration, I quickly came to the conclusion that my position was tenuous after all. Enhancing equipment might provide a better image but of whom? I would have no name, no address, merely film of an unknown man leaving the riding stables. Hardly proof of culpability with which to threaten him. Also, what if he did not attend the Donavans’ funeral. His identity would continue to remain a mystery.

  In short: I had decided to prolong our association. I would have more time to, as it were, flush him out. And the longer I was of use, the longer it would be before his evidence against me would be handed over to the authorities.

  Furthermore, I had sensed an opportunity – one which I was determined to exploit.

  Blackmail: the ‘drop’ – the appointed place to which the blackmailee delivers payment – posed no obstacle. However, the ‘pickup’ – the point where the blackmailer takes possession – carried with it the risk of apprehension, the police closing in and so forth. I therefore undertook its execution with care and diligence.

  Personal security, as you will no doubt appreciate, often resides in anonymity. Mine being precious to me for reasons other than this foray into extortion, I had to ensure that I did not become compromised. I circumvented this by insisting on footage of Gemma with not one but two of her clients, a Mr Agnew and a Mr Webb, as it transpired.
Each was worth in excess of a half a million pounds. Ten per cent seemed a fair amount to request, plus expenses.

  I then availed myself of a battered green free-standing municipal waste bin, which I had found against a hedge bordering a field on a narrow country road. In my cellar I cut off the lower part of the back of the bin, fitted hinges to it then screwed it back into its original position, effectively creating a flap door. In the bottom of the inside I placed a metal box with a split, self-closing lid (I had made this myself), attached to it a long length of thick catgut then returned the finished item to where I had found it. I removed enough of the bottom of the hedge to allow the box to pass from the bin through to the field and from there across the grass to where I would be waiting to take possession of its contents.

  I then rang Mr Agnew to acquaint him with my proposal.

  ‘Mr Agnew?’

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘Permit me to introduce myself. I am the man who forwarded you a copy of your good self with a young woman in the Top Towers Hotel.’

  ‘Just who do you think you are?’

  Odd – I thought I had just informed him. ‘May one ask if you have had an opportunity to view the merchandise on offer?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m enquiring as to how you rated your performance.’

  ‘Are you trying to be funny?’

  ‘Merely interested in those with whom I conduct business.’

  ‘I’ll call the Guards.’

  ‘How very kind. But, unlike yourself, I am not fond of handcuffs. Gemma seemed quite attached to them though. I see you enjoyed her in the traditional Christian praying position. And in the praying-to-Mecca position.’

  ‘What the hell do you want?’

  ‘To assure your peace of mind.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Shall we say £60,000?’

  ‘Are you fucking mad?’

  ‘How thoughtful of you to ask. Now, I do hope seven o’clock this evening does not inconvenience you. Deliver your donation, wrapped in a black bin liner, to the first roadside waste bin you come to past the Horse and Jockey public house going south on the Wexford road out of Dublin. Good morning.’

  I then rang client number two.

  ‘Am I addressing a Mr Webb?’

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘Mr Webb, are you at liberty to converse on a matter of some delicacy?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Is it safe for you to speak without the risk of being overheard?’

  ‘It is. Who’s this?’

  ‘One who has your good name at heart. I feel it is my duty to apprise you on a matter which has come to my attention concerning a girl with whom you spent some time at the Top Towers Hotel.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I quite understand. Let me preface that which I am about to divulge by assuring you that I seek not to profit from this exchange. Suffice it to say that your liaison with the girl was secretly filmed.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘To inform you as to where the evidence can be retrieved.’

  ‘In return for?’

  ‘Not a thing.’

  ‘I don’t understand. You wouldn’t be telling me this without wanting something.’

  ‘I will leave the item for you taped to the inside of a waste bin.’ I instructed him accordingly. ‘Arrive this evening at eight o’clock sharp, and you will find it waiting for you.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Call it my good deed for the day. Goodbye.’

  Now for those of you who might be wondering why I had gone to these lengths, the explanation came in the form of Mr Agnew at the appointed hour. He put the package into the waste bin, its own weight then carried it down through the false floor to the box which I had constructed and the split lid sprang back, reinstating the base to its original position. He took a moment or two to furtively reconnoitre the surrounding area, perhaps in the expectation that I might put in an appearance, then drove away.

  An hour later Mr Webb arrived and removed a videotape which I had taped behind the lid of the bin then departed unencumbered. Which told me that Mr Agnew had not involved the police. Had he, they would have assumed that Mr Webb was busying himself in the bin’s interior to extract the cash and that he had perpetrated the incident.

  They would have closed in. When they did not, I, as an extra precaution, went to the far side of the field, having waited for the cover of darkness and drew on the catgut, which pulled the box out of the bin and across to where I was happy to take possession of its contents.

  I then rang Mr Webb.

  ‘Mr Webb, I’m afraid I owe you an apology.’

  ‘I don’t see how.’

  ‘Alas, the information I gave you was incorrect.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Have you had the opportunity to view the tape?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Then I must inform you that a copy will be delivered to your wife.’

  ‘What? But you said you didn’t want any money.’

  ‘An administrative error. Kindly place £60,000 in cash in the same waste bin tomorrow evening at seven sharp. Good night.’

  I then rang Mr Agnew.

  ‘Mr Agnew, I trust you are well.’

  ‘Uh?’

  ‘I neglected to leave you the master copy.’

  He sounded suspicious. ‘Eh?’

  ‘Return to the same waste bin tomorrow evening at eight o’clock and you will find that it has been taped to the inside of the lid. You may take possession and conclude the transaction. Goodbye.’

  The reverse now applied. If Mr Webb decided to alert the authorities, they would then have been in a position to observe Mr Agnew’s eight o’clock appearance. He would have been seen as the perpetrator. You will be delighted to hear that Mr Webb deposited the cash into the bin, Mr Agnew later retrieved his so-called ‘master’ copy and I took into my bosom the second £60,000. I’d received £120,000. I was not displeased.

  RED DOCK

  Corn doesn’t take any chances. He got those two punters of Gemma’s to pay him by playing one off against the other in case the law turned up. Crafty bastard. I might use that trick myself sometime. I’d tailed him to see how he’d do it. He was in the vicinity, they made the drops then he disappeared into a field before heading off. Alternative uses for waste bins. Anyway, his fee had been well paid – that was the main thing. Time to make him work for it.

  I got on to his laptop and told him to get his scalpels sharpened.

  Then I went to visit my family – what was left of it. I was gonna get Corn to deal with Conor as well as Anne, but I was wise to the bastard: he’d only do one then demand a couple more of Gemma’s punters before doing the other. I wanted it over with, so I decided to do Conor myself.

  The same method of thinking applied. This would later seem like Lucille’s handiwork.

  I parked along the road and cut up through the fields to Conor’s place. I didn’t tell him his brother was coming home to see him or anything; wanted it to be a surprise. Family members are always surprising one another, or so I’m told. I only know about families from what I’m told, and from what I’m told, I’m glad I only know what I’m told.

  Not that Conor would see it like that. After I’d finished with him, he wouldn’t be seeing anything. I’d brought him a little goodbye present: formaldehyde and potassium permanganate.

  He goes around checking his stock, y’see, before calling it a night. He was turning the key in the tack room when I commenced my homecoming.

  ‘Well, brother,’ I said, ‘how’s it going?’ The ‘brother’ bit didn’t register. He thought I was using it in the colloquial sense. Startled the shit out of him though, me stepping out from behind his horsebox, but he didn’t say as much; just a quick check of the old composure, then a ‘Who
are you?’ Marvellous, isn’t it – all these years and not even as much as a hug.

  ‘Inside.’ This startler worked better: it was made of iron and fired bullets. Though, as with Skeffington, I’d no intentions of shooting him either. But again, he didn’t know that. Information technology, y’see – you can’t beat it. He hesitated though, looked me up and down. I doubt he was considering having a go – there was twenty feet between us. He’d never’ve made it. Besides, maybe I’d just called to warn him about something not shoot him. Bullshit of course. But people’s minds start calculating all sorts of possibilities in a situation like this, all to persuade themselves that the trigger won’t get pulled if they cooperate. I’d say Conor was doing much the same. He’d probably no wads of cash lying around, no one was after him for anything illegal, he’d nothing to be blackmailed with. A nice clean life. He probably thought I’d got the wrong guy. If he’d known what I had in my head, that tack room was the last place he’d have gone into.

  ‘So how’s life treating you, Conor?’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Red Dock. I introduced myself to you twenty years ago. Don’t tell me you forgot. And surely the word “brother” must’ve given you a clue.’

  ‘What brother? I have no brother.’

  ‘Ah, I see, so you indulged yourself in a bit of selective memory. Common enough in this game. It’s amazing what people’s consciences’ll let them forget.’

  ‘Look, I don’t know who you are or what this is about, but I have no brother and I don’t know you.’

  ‘You didn’t know me the last time I was up here. Oddly enough, watching you that day gave me the idea of how to pull this off. I wasn’t relative to you then either, so you wouldn’t remember. You were lunging a horse. I was impressed by the way you had it rearing and boxing. A foot closer and it would’ve hit you a dig in the mouth. One punch’d’ve done it. It would’ve trotted off – no hoofprints taken, no charges brought. Most people wouldn’t look at it like that of course. I seem to be always on the lookout for ways to make the law see things the way I want them to, though it took me years to figure out how to get a horse to hit someone a dig in the mouth. My sister, as it happens. Sorry, mustn’t forget you in this – “our” sister.’