Читать книгу Black Widow - Jessie Keane - Страница 9

Inside the little villa it was cool and quiet. They had stepped straight into the kitchen, which was very simple—there was a stone sink, a stout table, an old but clean cooker. Everything was scrubbed, spotless. Inez was a good housekeeper and prided herself on her cleanliness. But to Annie the kitchen looked too clean. There was no evidence of lunch preparations on the table, no bread, no cheese, no beer or limoncello, nothing. No sign of activity.

There was always activity around Inez: she liked to keep busy. Layla loved to come up here and make a pest of herself in this little kitchen, and Annie had questioned Inez, was Layla a nuisance to her? But Inez always laughed and said, No, Señora. The bambina was no trouble at all.

Now there was no Inez bustling about, scolding Rufio with a smile, laying out food, chatting full-tilt in indecipherable Mallorquin, chopping onions and fat red tomatoes grown fresh on the vine by Rufio’s own hand. Now there was no activity at all. The finca was silent. Annie and Jeanette stepped inside the kitchen, and Jeanette pushed the door closed.

A gust of wind caught it and it banged shut.

Annie gave Jeanette a sharp look. She didn’t know what they were going to find in here. They—whoever they were—could be lying in wait, ready to spring a nasty surprise on the two women. She didn’t want any of their movements signalled ahead.

She crossed the kitchen cautiously to the wide-open parlour door. Here too the furnishings were simple. Polished marble flooring—marble was cheap and plentiful in the Balearics—and a little old couch, a couple of spindle-back chairs, and a scrubbed-clean dining table. But no Inez, no Rufio.

This was starting to give Annie the creeps.

This wasn’t normal.

This was anything but normal.

‘Where the hell are they?’ hissed Jeanette.

Annie held up a finger to her lips and mouthed: Shut the fuck up, will you?

Jeanette pulled a face but did as she was told.

Annie carefully opened the door into the hall. It was empty. Holding the gun at the ready, she crossed the hall to the bedroom and pushed the door gently open.

Blowflies swarmed out, and with the flies came the smell. Annie flinched back and Jeanette let out a cry of startled disgust.

Oh God, thought Annie. No.

Fighting the urge to gag, she pushed the door wide open and saw what was there. Rufio was tied to the chair, his head flung back, his lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. Bluebottles swarmed over his face and over the gaping wound that slit him open from neck to crotch. His own bloodstained machete lay discarded on the tiled floor.

The stench of blood hit Annie afresh and she nearly choked. And there was Inez, on the bed…

No, she couldn’t look any more.

Tied up, she thought. Your staff are a little tied up.

What sort of sick bastard could have done a thing like this? They’d been dead for hours, she could see that. For hours. While she and the others had been lazing on the terrace, perfectly relaxed, up here this horror had been unfolding, and they had heard nothing, known nothing. Annie’s skin crawled to think that the bastards who had done all this had been prowling around, and she had been completely unaware. And now…this.

She closed the door softly on the grisly scene, but she could still see it in her mind’s eye. Her guts still churned and her mind still floundered to take it in.

‘Oh Jesus,’ Jeanette moaned, holding a hand to her throat. ‘Who could do that? How could anyone do that? What—what’s going to happen to us?’

‘Fuck it, is that all you can think about?’ Annie rounded on her furiously. ‘We’re still alive. They’re not.’

But they might just be playing with you, said an insidious voice in her head. Making you really suffer before they strike the killing blow.

No, Annie told herself. They had Layla. They had Layla and that meant they were willing to negotiate. Didn’t it? But…it might also mean that they knew what would hurt Annie most, and that would be for Layla to suffer. Inez and Rufio had been tortured. Would these people draw the line at torturing a little girl?

She had to push those thoughts away. She was still alive; she had to dig deep and hold on while there was still hope for Layla. She couldn’t afford to give in to despair. She glanced at her watch and her heart seemed to stop dead.

Had they really been that long getting up here, looking around, finding that awful scene? The hour was up. Bang on time, she heard it. The phone was ringing in the main house. And she wasn’t there to answer it.

She ran as if her life depended on it. Forgot who could have been watching, hiding, awaiting their opportunity to pounce. She ran and was only dimly aware that the light was going now, that it was growing cooler, that Jeanette had forgotten all that Annie had said about keeping quiet and was bleating along behind her, clacking along in her high heels, silly cow, saying something, babbling and crying, moaning that she wouldn’t be left alone up there, that they were never going to get back in time anyway so why try?

But they had to try.

Annie thought of nothing except the need to be quick. Quicker than she had ever been in her life. Her heart felt as though it was bursting out of her chest, her legs were on fire. She sprinted on to the terrace, crashed through the finca’s door straight into the hallway and her hand was on the phone when it stopped ringing.

‘No!’ she yelled, and picked it up and flung it against the wall, feeling helpless, stupid, furious. Instantly she regained control. Picked the thing up, listened to the dial tone. Still working. But she had missed the call.

Be there, he had said.

And she hadn’t.

Jeanette was still prattling on.

‘What will happen? What will they do? Will they hurt Layla? We missed the call, they won’t like that.’

‘Shut up,’ said Annie.

‘They won’t hurt her, will they? Not a little girl like Layla? They wouldn’t do that, would they?’

‘Shut up,’ repeated Annie, watching the phone, willing it to ring again.

‘They won’t hurt her,’ said Jeanette shakily.

Annie’s head shot round and she glared at her. ‘I told you, shut up. I can’t think with all this yakking going on.’

Annie looked past her at the door, forced herself to think even though her guts were liquid with panic. She’d missed the call. Would they phone back? She took a deep breath. Now she felt really sick. The thought of these people having Layla. She wished Max was here. No hope there, though. No hope at all.

‘Shut the door,’ she told Jeanette, and Jeanette read her look correctly and quickly obeyed.

But then Annie thought about that and wondered if she was shutting the baddies out, or shutting them in, because they could already be here, wasn’t that a cold hard fact?

She thought of the quiet way they had moved Jonjo out of the pool, when she and Jeanette had been right here in the finca, and they hadn’t heard a thing. Four men, wasn’t that what Jeanette had said?

Four men wearing masks.

Four dangerous, deadly men. They could be in here right now, ready to spring out and do damage.

‘They’re not going to ring back,’ said Jeanette, shaking her head in rising hysteria. She was clutching herself and shivering.

Thank Christ, Jeanette hadn’t yet considered they could be shut in here with a clutch of murderers. That would really make her flip.

‘They’ll ring back,’ said Annie, although she also doubted it. ‘They’ve got a bargaining tool. They’ve got Layla. And maybe they were watching us when we went in to find Inez and Rufio. They’ll know where we were and that it was a legitimate delay.’

Legitimate, thought Annie. She was talking as though they were dealing with reasonable people here. Not people who would shoot a man between the eyes, push another off a cliff, snatch a child away from its parents, torture a harmless, good-natured woman like Inez in front of her horrified husband’s eyes.

She bit her lip, folded her arms around herself and watched the phone. Along the hallway, the kitchen door was ajar and she could see in there too. It appeared to be empty. She straightened and moved toward it.

‘Where are you going?’ Jeanette almost shrieked. She was clearly terrified of being left alone.

‘Hush,’ said Annie, and walked on silent feet along the hallway. Jeanette came mincing and clattering along behind her. Annie stopped and turned and looked at Jeanette.

‘For the last time, take off those fucking shoes,’ she hissed at the girl.

Jeanette quickly kicked off the heels. Annie proceeded into the kitchen. Empty. Silent. Cool and almost dark. There was the larder, though. Big enough for a man to hide in, easily. Annie crossed to the drawer by the sink and pulled out the two large sharp knives she knew were in there. None were missing, and that was good. That was very good.

She handed one of the knives to Jeanette.

‘Keep it ready,’ she said.

‘Jesus,’ moaned Jeanette, but she took the knife anyway.

Annie held a knife in one hand and the gun in the other and went over to the larder. She nodded to Jeanette to stand aside, then flung the door wide.

Nothing.

Annie leaned against the door and got her breath back. The kitchen was clear. She rechecked the back door lock and the shutters at the tiny window. Left the larder door wide open, so if anyone got in there she’d know about it. Then she ushered Jeanette out of the kitchen and back into the hallway.

‘Have you ever used a gun?’ Annie asked Jeanette.

Jeanette shook her head, no. She was pale and sweating.

She’s cracking up, thought Annie. She’s taken nearly as much as she can take, and she’s gonna blow.

‘When that phone rings again, I’m going to answer it and you are going to watch our backs with this.’ Annie handed her the gun. It was easier to shoot someone than to knife them. Easier and much more effective, and hey! You could do it at a distance. Triple benefits, no less.

When Annie found herself thinking this way she wondered if she was becoming hysterical too.

‘No,’ said Jeanette numbly. ‘I can’t do it.’

‘Oh yes you can. Think of what they’ve just done here. Now hold it steady. That’s it. Never point it at me or at your foot or anything bloody mad like that, you got that? That’s a hair trigger, it’ll go off at the merest pressure. We’ve checked this end and the kitchen’s clear. So all we have to watch is the doors off this end of the hall, and the main door. If anyone opens that main door, or any of the other doors, don’t hesitate. Just shoot. Aim for the torso.’

The torso was the biggest and the safest target, that was what Max had always said.

Jeanette was gazing in dumb horror at the gun in one hand, the knife in the other.

Annie grabbed her arm and gave her a little shake.

‘Come on, Jeanette. You want to get out of this, I need your help. Okay?’

No answer.

Annie gave her another little shake. ‘Come on, Jeanette. We can do this. Okay?’

This time Jeanette took a gulp and nodded.

‘Good girl.’

The phone started ringing again and Jeanette dropped the gun. The shot was deafening in the enclosed hallway and a bullet thudded into the wall, throwing up a spray of plaster dust.

Nerves jangling, Annie snatched up the phone. ‘Hello?’

She looked at Jeanette, who was whimpering and wailing and bending to pick up the gun as if it was going to bite her. As Jeanette straightened, Annie mouthed, Shut up you fucking idiot at her. Jeanette fell silent.

‘You missed my call.’ It was the same voice, unmistakably Irish and low and menacing.

‘I didn’t mean to,’ said Annie, trying to place the accent. Definitely Southern, she thought.

‘If it ever happens again, the girl will pay.’

Annie swallowed hard. ‘It won’t happen again.’

‘She’s a pretty little girl.’

Annie was silent.

‘A pretty little dark-haired girl.’

Annie said nothing.

‘You haven’t asked the question yet,’ said the voice.

‘What question?’

‘You have to ask “What do you want?”’ he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice; he was enjoying himself here. ‘You asked it last time, not this. What’s changed?’

‘All right,’ said Annie. ‘What do you want?’

‘It’s too early to say.’

He was playing with her. This was a game.

‘Money? I can get it.’

Could she? She wasn’t sure how much Max kept here, but she knew it would be little more than small change. She’d never had to think about money: Max took care of all that. There was no safe here, no cashbox. She felt a shiver of apprehension crawl up her spine.

‘I have jewellery,’ she said hurriedly when he didn’t reply. ‘Expensive jewellery. You can have it.’

Now he was laughing, the bastard. Was he the one who had done that to Inez, to poor harmless Rufio?

‘Check your jewellery case, you’ll find I’ve already got it.’

Christ! Annie looked at Jeanette and nodded at the gun. Her eyes said, Keep watch. Like your life depended on it.

They’d been inside the finca, probably when she and Jeanette were up finding that horror in the smaller building. Annie watched Jeanette. The hand holding the gun was shaking and she had tucked the knife into her waistband. She was eyeing the outside door as if a troop of marauders were about to burst through it.

And maybe they were.

‘So I’m asking the question,’ said Annie. ‘What is it that you want?’

‘Maybe more than you can deliver,’ he said.

‘Anything’s possible. All you have to do is ask.’ Annie’s brain was spinning, but she took a deep breath and said it. He wouldn’t like it, but what could she do? ‘Listen, there’s no money here.’

‘Don’t kid around with me, sweetheart, I don’t like it.’

‘I’m not kidding. There’s no money here.’

‘For fuck’s sake!’ he roared. He sounded furious.

‘Wait!’ Annie started talking fast. She didn’t want that anger being directed at Layla. ‘Wait. Just because there’s none here doesn’t mean I can’t get any. I can. I can get anything, any amount you want, in London.’

‘Fuck it,’ he said savagely.

Annie flinched.

‘Are you bullshitting me?’ he demanded. ‘Because I warn you—’

‘No! I’m not feeding you bullshit. This is the truth, you hear me? You’ve been in here, in this finca, didn’t you check? I bet you did. There’s no safe here, nothing. But look. My husband owns clubs in London. He has property there, business there; that’s where the money is. Give me a chance and I’ll get it for you.’

Silence.

‘So tell me,’ said Annie. ‘Tell me what you want, I’ll get straight back there and I’ll get it for you. It’s not a problem.’

She really was going to vomit in a minute, talking to scum like this, trying to persuade him not to just lose it and hurt Layla, trying to persuade him that she could do it, she could come up with the goods.

Could she though?

He was silent again. She was sure he was just going to put the phone down again, leave her dangling in limbo for God alone knew how much longer.

‘Come on, talk to me!’ she pleaded desperately. ‘We can do a deal. You know we can do a deal.’

He was going to put the phone down. There was a silence again, an unnerving silence, and then he said: ‘You can get money there? Straight now, no bullshit? Because I warn you…’

‘It’s not bullshit.’

A silence again. A long, long silence, eating into her soul. Then: ‘Where will you stay there? Give me the address.’

Annie thought fast. Cursed inwardly. Gave him the address anyway.

‘And the phone number.’

She gave him that too.

‘Now tell me what you want. Tell me and I’ll get it sorted, okay?’ said Annie.

‘Later. I’ll call you again when you’re back in London.’

‘What?’

‘Go back there, I’ll get in touch.’

‘Wait!’ The protest burst out of Annie without thought. Suddenly she knew she couldn’t leave the island, couldn’t leave Max. Couldn’t believe he was dead, and so couldn’t leave, couldn’t accept any of this. And Layla! Layla was here. She felt sick with fear. She might never see her again if she went back to England and left her here, in the hands of these animals. ‘No, wait!’

‘No?’ There was no laughter in his voice now. ‘You listen to me, you fucking jumped-up tart. You fly back there tomorrow morning and you don’t ask questions or tell me no because I don’t like that. You got it?’

Annie took a steadying breath. ‘All right.’

‘Good. When I get off this phone, you get on it and book a flight out for you and the girl with you. No police, don’t even think about that, or your little girl goes right here and now, got that? No more messing about.’

The line went dead.

‘What did he say?’ asked Jeanette.

Annie took the gun back off her before she shot one or both of them by mistake.

‘We’re flying back to England tomorrow morning.’

‘We can’t! What about Layla?’

‘We have to,’ she told Jeanette. ‘They want money, and the money’s there.’

But if it wasn’t, if she couldn’t raise whatever these people wanted, then what the fuck was she going to do? She told herself it had to be there. It had to be.

‘But tonight! We can’t stay here tonight!’

‘Yes we can. We’re going to barricade ourselves in here, and ship out in the morning, okay?’

‘No,’ said Jeanette, her voice wobbling all over the place. ‘No!’ She made a chopping motion with her hand and then lunged across and grabbed the phone. She started to dial with shaking fingers.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m calling the police,’ said Jeanette. ‘It’s what we should have done in the first place. We can’t cope with all this, we can’t—’

Annie thought of the phone tinkling as she passed by it after the blast. She grabbed it off Jeanette and smashed it back on to the cradle. ‘No police,’ she said.

Jeanette had finally flipped. She grabbed the phone again. Annie yanked it off her and Jeanette came at her ready for violence. Annie raised the gun and pointed it at Jeanette.

‘Back off,’ she said.

‘What the…what the fuck are you doing!’ yelled Jeanette.

Annie stared at her. The hand on the gun did not waver.

‘I’m shooting you dead,’ said Annie, ‘if you touch that fucking phone again. You silly cow! There could be a tap on this line. The man said no police. If you went ahead and phoned them, they could kill Layla.’

Jeanette stepped back, shaking her head.

‘I didn’t think…’ she faltered.

‘Well think on this, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm: if you go near this fucking phone again I swear to you that what little brains you have are going to be decorating this hallway—do you understand me?’

‘I understand,’ said Jeanette, going pale under her tan.

‘Now here’s what we’re going to do,’ said Annie.

What they were going to do was this. Phone the airport and book the flights. Make another call, one that Annie thought she would never have to make, one that the kidnappers would find entirely acceptable, so no worries about the line tap there. Then they were going to check out the finca from top to bottom.

They did all that, and by then it was nearly dark and the shadows were deepening, making them both jumpy.

‘What do we do now?’ asked Jeanette, her eyes going in all directions.

Now Annie explained that they were going to barricade themselves into the bedroom with water and a bucket overnight.

‘I don’t want to stay here,’ moaned Jeanette, trailing along behind her like a pathetic baby bird waiting for its mother to feed it. They didn’t have any food. Annie knew this was an oversight. They should have picked some up when they were up at the little gatehouse. There was nothing in the kitchen here. But who the fuck could have thought about food at a time like that?

‘We have to stay here,’ said Annie flatly.

‘It’s horrible. With Jonjo dying out there in the pool, and the servants just up there rotting…’

Servants. That was, strictly speaking, what Inez and Rufio had been. But they had also been good friends and helpers, cooks and chauffeurs, life-support almost. And now they were dead. Annie’s guts churned at the thought.

‘The dead ain’t going to hurt anyone,’ she said. ‘It’s the living you have to fear.’

She went on, checking room to room, gun in hand.

Jeanette followed her, thinking that Annie was fucking scary. The woman’s child had been snatched and her husband killed, and here she was, ice-cold, ready to shoot anyone who came near.

I’d be in bits if this happened to me, thought Jeanette, not realising that Annie’s rigid control was all that stood between her and madness.

Satisfied that the finca was clear and secured, Annie filled a large jug with water and grabbed two glass tumblers and a bucket and then ushered Jeanette into the main bedroom, the room she had always shared with Max.

Max.

Heart-wrenching grief gripped her, stifling her as she thought of him. Once more she shook thoughts of him aside, and with Jeanette’s help she levered the heavy wooden dresser over the bedroom door.

‘What we’re going to do is this,’ she told the girl, pulling down a suitcase from the top of the wardrobe. ‘We’re going to take turns sleeping. Two hours on, two hours off. One stands guard, one sleeps.’

Jeanette nodded shakily. ‘Okay.’

The windows were barred, the shutters closed, the only door into the room blocked off. Annie assessed the situation. For the moment, they were safe.

Safe, thought Annie. Sure they were safe, unless someone was really determined to finally kill them. These people had blown up the pool house, why not blow up the bloody finca too? Her ears felt suddenly oversensitized, as if every tiny sound were a threat. She took first watch while Jeanette lay down on the bed, protesting that she would never be able to sleep. Within minutes, she was snoring gently.

Annie sat up in a chair with the gun held ready across her lap. The old building creaked and groaned as it always did, the rafters shrinking and popping after the gentle warmth of the day. Was it that? Or was it someone coming to finish them off?

She didn’t know.

She had to hold herself in readiness, just in case. Their plane tickets were booked; Annie had packed a few bits into a suitcase. In the morning they would take Rufio’s battered old car and Jeanette would drive them to the airport.

Until then all Annie had to do was wait and think. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, although she knew she had to try and rest, to keep strong so that she could cope with all this. So she would try not to think about what could be happening to Layla right now.

She thought instead about Max. Annie Carter, who never weakened, never cried, sat there amid the wreckage of her life and let the grief take hold of her. She let the tears stream unchecked from her eyes, and silently swore that the death of the man she loved would be avenged.