Chapter 8
DAY TWO
Phillip and Branwen’s house sat on a private road, high above the village, with a view down the valley, guarded by a high fence and electric gates with an intercom and cameras.
Happily, Phillip and Branwen weren’t smart enough to conceal the entry code for the gates, or not from family, anyway.
Deryn had watched his sister as she put the birthdate of her firstborn in to unlock her phone so often that he was certain it would also be the code for the gate.
He entered the numbers and heard the click.
He had driven over here alone, without explanation, fuelled by his resolve, leaving Murphy behind.
Deryn had always thought it a ridiculous house; too many bedrooms and bathrooms, a kitchen the size of a tennis court, a heated swimming pool in its own building and a hot tub in the garden.
It was furnished with items chosen — in Deryn’s opinion — because they were expensive, rather than because Phillip and Branwen actually liked them.
At least the kids used the swimming pool, and no doubt the adults spent plenty of time watching the sixty-inch television in the room referred to as the snug as opposed to the family room, which had a not much smaller screen, and where children were allowed.
He could hear the hum of traffic from the road far below and smell the newly cut lawns surrounding the house.
Inside, he knew it would smell of expensive scented candles, and underneath that, a pervasive odour of weed – a reminder of what had paid for all this.
A house built from other people’s misery, no better than a coal owner’s mansion.
Phillip’s silver Jag was parked outside the triple garage, so Deryn climbed the five wide stone steps to the oversized dark wood front door and leaned on the doorbell until it was answered.
“What the fuck do you want?” Phillip said.
His brother-in-law was wearing jeans and a Wales rugby shirt, which failed to conceal his growing belly.
Growing fat on the proceeds of crime. On his feet he wore expensive loafers without socks.
He was all of a piece with the house, cost over style, and it made Deryn despise him even more.
“I want you to tell me where you took Mason Abruzzi.”
“Who the fuck is Mason Abruzzi? I don’t know how you got in here, but you can fuck off out again.”
“I hope the children aren’t in. I’d hate them to hear your language.
” Deryn smiled as his brother-in-law stepped forward and raised his hands, with the intention of pushing him down the steps written all over his face.
“I don’t think so,” he said, and kicked Phillip’s ankle.
Hard. On the bone. Before Phillip could do more than yelp and spit out a curse, Deryn pushed him back into the house and into the oversized kitchen.
“Now then,” he said, “why don’t you sit on one of those stupid bar stools, take the weight off your sore ankle and tell me where to find Mason Abruzzi? ”
For a moment it appeared that Phillip would comply, but only for a moment.
“Listen to me, little bro. The only reason I haven’t told everyone and his dog that you dress up as a girl is that I need a tame copper, and you’re it. Push it, and that could change.”
“Tell,” Deryn said. “Then you won’t have a tame copper. Because I’m done with your threats. Sorry and all that.”
“Sure you are. How long do you think you’d last round here if they knew about you?”
Deryn shrugged. Standing up to Phillip meant standing up for all of himself, Deryn and Dee.
He felt a smile begin to form and didn’t bother to suppress it.
“It may come as a surprise to you, but there are other places I could live. Unlike drug dealing, cross dressing isn’t actually a crime.
Just saying.” The smile broke through as he felt lightness in his chest and the weight of lies lift from his shoulders.
He winked at Phillip, or possibly that was Dee.
Phillip lunged for the knife block on the top of the marble breakfast bar and spun round to face Deryn with the knife held out in front of him.
It was one hell of a big knife; a long slender triangle of gleaming steel reflecting the sun from the window and sending the light skittering round the vast space.
But he wasn’t holding it with confidence.
Phillip paid other people to do his thuggery and he was badly out of condition. Deryn wasn’t.
“You’ve forgotten how to use that, if you ever knew. You may as well put it down and tell me what I want to know,” Deryn said.
“Wotchu going to do if I don’t? Hit me with your handbag?”
Deryn could almost admire his brother-in-law’s determination not to realise things had changed. Almost. It was the same determination to deny he had anything to do with leaving baby Joe an orphan.
Rage blazed in Deryn’s body. He clenched his fists, wanting to see his brother-in-law’s blood on the shiny tiles, his face smashed, his bones broken.
A telephone started to ring, and Deryn realised it was his. The stupid tune, drilling into his head, pulled him back from murder. He breathed slowly and uncurled his fists. Phillip’s knife hand sagged a little.
There was a torch on the twelve-seater glass table behind Deryn, of the sort issued to the police: a foot long of shiny metal.
He picked it up, rolled it in his hands, and waited for Phillip to make his move.
He didn’t wait long. Phillip ran at him with his knife hand outstretched.
Deryn stepped out of the way and jabbed the metal cylinder into Phillip’s kidneys.
Then he jabbed it into Phillip’s right shoulder, hard enough that Phillip dropped the knife.
Deryn kicked it out of the way and hit Phillip across the face with the torch, slicing through the skin of his cheek.
Blood bubbled out of the wound, smearing onto the gleaming white tiles, making them slippery.
But Deryn’s muscles were moving as if oiled.
The decision to stop complying seemed to have released something inside — anger, yes, but something else, something bigger.
He might be smaller than Phillip, but Deryn knew he would win the fight.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Phillip gasped. He was still on his feet, and Deryn didn’t like that, so he kicked him in the balls, and as he crumpled, in the ribs for good measure. There was an ominous crack as Phillip went down. It was either one of Phillip’s bones or the chair he fell onto.
The phone started ringing again. He ignored it in favour of another kick in Phillip’s ribs.
Phillip was groaning and his face was bloody.
Deryn dragged a breath of blood-scented air into his lungs, feeling sweat under his shirt.
I could happily kick you for hours. Phillip had jeered at Dee, and Deryn wanted revenge.
Not an idea he was comfortable with. But there were more important things, so he slowed his breathing as he squatted next to his brother-in-law.
“It’s never a good idea to assume that someone who likes women’s clothes doesn’t know how to fight. You’ve learned something today. You can tell me what happened to Abruzzi, or I can hurt you some more. Your choice.”
“Fuck off,” Phillip said, so Deryn kicked him again as the phone started once more. This time he answered. The display read DI Glover.
“Kent,” he snapped, moving away so that she didn’t hear Phillip’s moans.
“There’s been another death,” Glover said. “I need you there asap. I’ve called the circus, but you’re closest.” She recited an address.
Which was when his sister came in and screamed.
“What’s that noise?” Glover asked.
“Children’s playground,” Deryn lied. “Sorry, but I can’t hear myself think.
Could you text me the address?” The call ended and there was a bleep as the address arrived.
“Shut up,” he told Branwen. “I’ve got to go.
You’d probably better take your pond scum husband to A and E.
Though I’d rather he went to jail, and you with him.
His drugs have killed three people, and I’m pretty sure he kidnapped the American. You can tell him I’ll be back.”
Branwen began crying in great gulping sobs, falling to the bloody floor next to her husband.
“Take him to the hospital,” Deryn said again, turned his back on the miserable pair and went to see his family’s latest victim.