20
Z ayn
Four missed calls, and four increasingly desperate voicemails.
I want to explain, I have to. But not like this, not on the phone. I should have explained before I left, been honest with her. I meant to, but we needed to get away in a hurry, and I’ve been caught up in everything going on here.
I still am, but my finger hovers over the redial key.
“Right, let’s get this done.” Tony’s command interrupts my thoughts, and already the others are piling out of the SUV.
I put my phone away and follow them.
We’re in a lay-by, somewhere in the Shropshire hills west of Birmingham. The entire landscape is cloaked in darkness, no lights to be seen in any direction. Perfect for what we have in mind.
“Right, get him out,” Tony barks. “This way.”
He grabs a toolbox from the boot, vaults over a low wall beside the road, and strides away, across the rough moorland. The rest of us wrestle the irate Freddie out of the boot, still rolled up in the tarpaulin. His thrashing and squirming make it difficult to carry him, especially over the rough terrain, but a sharp right hook from Rome subdues him for a while, long enough for us to haul him about half a mile from the road. No danger of being spotted by a passing motorist.
At a signal from Tony, we dump him on the ground. He lies motionless.
“Did you kill him already?” Tony sounds disappointed.
“It was just a punch, boss.” Rome peels away the tarpaulin. “No, he’s okay. Still breathing.”
Beck produces a bottle of tepid water and empties it over Freddie’s head. He comes round with a frantic coughing and spluttering.
“Ah, that’s good.” Tony drops to his haunches beside the prone form. “Now, we can get started.”
“What are you fuckers playing at?” Fred tries to sit up, only to be felled again by another punch from Tony. Enough to keep him where we want him, but he remains conscious. For now.
“We need a chat,” Tony explains conversationally. “Nice and private.”
Fred groans and glares up at us. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Never mind all that. A simple question, you can just tell us what we want to know, then we’re done.”
“What are you on about? I ain’t talking to you.”
“We’ll see. Where’s Shahida Alahi?” Tony poses the question with a smile.
“Fuck you.” He makes another misguided attempt to sit up, but this time Rome’s boot on his chest puts a stop to that.
“Is that your final answer?” Tony enquires.
“How would I fucking know? Bitch was useless anyway.”
“Ah. So, you do know her then. Now we’re getting somewhere.” Tony reaches for the toolbox at his side and flips the lid open. “Perhaps you need your memory jogging.” He uses a pocket torch to peer into the toolbox and selects a pair of pliers. “Nothing like losing a tooth or two to help with temporary memory loss. I’m sure you do want to be helpful, really.”
“What the—?” Freddie is now fighting in earnest, but he’s no match for the four of us. His arms are still caught up in the tarpaulin, and with me on one shoulder and Beck on the other, he’s going nowhere.
“Open wide, now. There’s a good boy.” Tony has the pliers ready to do the business.
Fred isn’t cooperating. Can’t say I blame him, but we have a job to do. I grab his bulbous nose and pinch it shut. We have a few seconds of thrashing and closed-mouth screaming, but soon enough his mouth opens and Tony is in there.
“Fuck, this is a tough bugger.” Tony strains to twist one of Freddie’s canines free, but eventually he wins the battle and the bloodied tooth is out, gripped between the jaws of the pliers.
Freddie groans and sobs, blood pouring from the side of his mouth. “Bastards,” he manages before his throat fills with blood and he ceases his complaining to spit it out.
“So, I’ll ask again,” Tony continues. “You were about to tell us about Shahida Alahi. When did you last see her?”
Freddie responds with a further tirade of unhelpful gurgling.
“Hmm, I see. Shall we try that again? Shahida? Where is she?”
More gurgling, and more spitting blood, but nothing more forthcoming than that.
“Let’s take another one, then, see if that helps.”
Tony nods to me, and I pinch Freddie’s nose again.
Now he knows exactly what’s coming and he does put up an even more determined fight, but Freddie is no match for biology, and his survival instinct kicks in. He opens his mouth in a desperate effort to breathe, and the pliers are at work again.
The second canine comes out a little more easily. I suppose Tony has had a bit of practise now, but Freddie doesn’t appreciate his improved skills. His screams split the still air, but there’s no one to hear him out here.
Tony lets him screech for a while, but we have to get on. “So, you were about to tell me where Shahida is?”
“G-gone,” Freddie splutters through a mouthful of blood and gore.
“Gone where?”
“Just gone.”
“Not good enough. You can do better than that.”
“I don’t…I never…”
“Where. Did. She. Go?” Tony grinds out the words. He is already poking through the toolbox in search of his next toy.
“Nowhere,” Freddie insists. “Fucking useless cunt, doesn’t matter…”
“Now, now, that’s no way to talk about a lady. You’re testing my patience, Freddie, and I’m afraid it’s coming up negative. Time to try a different approach, I think.”
He’s selected a pair of tough wire cutters, very efficient for removing smaller body parts. He snaps them a couple of times by way of demonstration. “Rome, Beck, hold his hand still. The right one, to start with.”
Freddie takes to screaming at the top of his lungs, but to no avail. Beck grabs his right hand and pins it to the ground, while Rome holds him down. We take care to make sure he’s lying on the tarpaulin, no point leaving too much evidence for curious investigators later.
“Are you quite sure you have nothing to tell us?” Tony positions the wire cutters below the second knuckle on his right index finger.
“It wasn’t me. I never?—”
“What wasn’t you? What happened to Shahida?”
“The Man said… I can’t, he’ll have me killed as well.”
We exchange a glance. Now we’re getting somewhere. “What Man?” Tony presses him.
Freddie shakes his head. “I can’t, I can’t.”
“Okay, if that’s the way you want it.” Tony snaps the wire cutters shut, and the chosen digit drops onto the tarpaulin.
Blood spurts, pooling on the tarpaulin, and Freddy’s anguished screams can probably be heard five miles away.
“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll take your tongue next.”
Freddie subsides into desperate sobbing and pleading. “Please, let me go. I can’t tell you anything else, he’ll kill me.”
“Ah, well, there’s your problem, Freddie. You see, I mean to kill you, too. And I’m right here, right now. I can drag it out or make it quick. Either way, you’re fucked. Your choice, but it’s me you need to worry about.”
He finally sees the wisdom of cooperating. “All right, all right. I’ll tell you what I know. But you have to let me go. I won’t tell anyone what happened here, I swear.”
“Oh, I know you won’t. I’ll make sure of that. You can start by telling me what happened to Shahida. How did she die?”
“I wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want to, but he said she deserved it. Asked for it, he said.”
“What? Happened?” Tony grinds out the question.
“We’d just started making the movies. He said there was good money to be made. The best.”
“The kill movies?” Tony clarifies.
“Yes. Those. It was what the Man wanted.”
“So?” I can tell Tony’s remaining patience is wearing thin.
“So, we needed someone to…to…”
“You put her in one of your snuff reels,” he states. “In a starring role, was she?”
Freddie manages a nod. “I liked Shaz, I would never have?—”
“But you did. When?”
“A while ago. Maybe a week or so…”
“Why? What had she done? To ‘deserve’ it?”
“I don’t know, the Man never said. Just that she should have known when she was well off and not gone running off. He said she betrayed him, took his kids.”
“Abid?” I whisper. “He means Abid Malik. But how? He’s been banged up in Barlinnie for the last ten years.”
Tony shrugs. “With access to cash, and a phone, he could be pulling strings from inside. Makes sense.”
“How did he trace them? And does he know where his children are?” If he does, Bilal and Sarah could be in danger, too.
Freddie can’t be helpful enough by now. He nods eagerly. “He does, he does. He ordered me to keep an eye on the boy ready to grab him when we needed him”
“Another snuff movie?” I feel sick. If we’d left it just a few days later…
Freddie nods again. “Yeah, I reckon. Or maybe just one of the other sort. He’s a good-looking lad…”
“Fuck!”
“Is that who you work for? Does the Man run all of this? The movies? The porn, the snuff reels?”
Freddie is still nodding like one of those dogs in the back of a Ford Cortina. “He phones me every few days, gives me instructions. He paid for the equipment, got someone to set up the online stuff. I just do what he says. It’s not my fault, I never wanted to?—”
Tony swings his gaze to each of us in turn. “Anyone got any more questions?”
We all shrug.
I answer for all of us. “No, I don’t think so. You just about covered it all.”
Beck and Rome are of the same mind.
“Right. Can you finish off here, Zee?”
I know better than to make a lot of unnecessary mess, so my tried and trusted garrotte comes into service again. Neat, tidy, silent.
Beck and Tony help by hauling Freddie up to a sitting position. The stupid shit actually thinks we’re helping him to his feet.
“Thanks, lads. If you could just drop me off?—”
I drop the cord over his head and pull it tight. The idiot finally gets it. His remaining fingers claw at the line strangling him, but he has no chance. I’m good at this, it won’t take long.
I twist the ends in my hands to tighten the noose. It makes deep furrows in his pudgy neck, finally getting through the flab to his windpipe. I tighten, then tighter still.
His eyes roll, his mouth sags open, the remaining teeth stained with blood, his tongue lolling over his chin. His hands drop away, he goes limp.
I maintain my grip for a minute or two, just to be sure.
Tony appraises my work. “Nice job, lad. Right.” He produces one of those polythene zip-up food bags from the toolbox. “Put the teeth and finger in there and shove it in his pocket. We don’t want to leave anything behind for some fucking hiker to find in the morning. Then wrap him up again and we’ll get him back in the car.”
It takes the four of us a good forty minutes to drag the lifeless Freddie back across the moorland and get him safely tucked up in the boot again. That sorted, we all pile in.
“We can drop him off on the way back to the hotel,” Tony informs us. “Then we can all get some sleep before heading back up north.”
“Where are we dumping him?” Rome asks.
“Reservoir, about ten miles east. Make sure he’s weighed down, and he’ll not be surfacing anytime soon.”
“Fair enough.” Rome starts the engine.
Now that the main business is completed, I’m keen to head back. I really do need to talk to Leila. “Boss, I was wondering if I could split soon. I need to get back. I thought I might hire a car…”
Tony turns in his seat to regard me. “You in a hurry, Zee?”
“Yeah, maybe. Leila found out about the fire at her flat. She’s asking questions. I just need to get home and…explain.”
Tony chuckles. “Good luck with that. Okay, we’ll collect the kids, then we’ll all head straight back. That okay with you two?”
Beck and Rome have no objections.
“Thanks,” I mutter, checking my watch. It must be a good five hours’ drive to Glasgow. I can only hope Rome puts his foot down.
“But I don’t want to go back to Scotland,” Bilal protests as we bundle the pair of them into the SUV in the Travelodge car park. “I hate fucking Scotland.”
“You can’t stay here,” Tony insists, gently laying the still-sleeping Sarah on the rear seat. “It isn’t safe.”
“What about our mum? We can’t leave her behind. I need to find her.” He steps away from the car. “Just leave me here. Take Sarah if you want, for now, but I’ll be back for her. We’re family, she belongs with me.”
We agreed not to say anything to the kids about Shahida’s apparent death, not until we have definitive proof. Tony has Frankie trawling through archive footage searching for the evidence, but in the meantime, there’s a risk that Abid knows where they are and could mean them harm, too. We’re not letting that happen.
“Just get in the car, Bilal,” I say. “Trust me, this is for the best. Once we’ve tied up any loose ends, you can please yourself where you go, but for now, Scotland is your best option. And Sarah’s.”
The youth regards his little sister, sleeping peacefully, dressed in clean, warm clothes for the first time in God knows how long, and he finally sees the sense in what I’m telling him.
“Okay. But just until it’s safe to come back. I have college, I need to finish my course.”
I don’t bother to point out that there are plenty of decent colleges in Scotland, I just settle for the temporary win. Tony places a blanket over Sarah, and we’re on our way home.
The M6 is almost deserted at this time of night. Rome hits a steady eighty miles an hour for most of the journey, and we cover the distance in just under five hours. It’s approaching seven in the morning as we cruise through the outskirts of Glasgow, heading for Caernbro Ghyll. Both Bilal and Sarah are fast asleep, and the rest of us, apart from Rome, have dozed off once or twice.
The mansion is still in darkness when we pull up outside, though people will probably be stirring by now. Sure enough, a light flicks on in one of the upstairs windows. Jack and Ruth’s apartment.
We wake Bilal up, exit the car, and troop inside, Tony once again carrying Sarah. We meet Jack and Ruth at the bottom of the main stairs.
“Who do we have here?” Ruth peers at the child.
“Do I need to call Megan?” Jack asks. “Is she injured?”
“No, she’s just tired. Can we find her a bed somewhere?” Tony is already starting up the stairs.
“We’ll put her in Faith’s room for now.” Ruth follows him. “Poor little mite. What happened?”
I’m about to make my own way up, but Jack stops me. “I need a word.”
I follow him to the kitchen where he starts making coffee. “I had to stop Leila going to the police yesterday. She took it badly, once she found out what you did.”
“I know. She left voicemails…”
“You need to sort it, Zee. I had a word, but…” He shrugs.
I nod. However much she disapproves of our approach to problem-solving, Leila can’t go to the authorities. Short of locking her in the apartment, though, I’m not at all sure I can convince her otherwise. I sigh. “Okay, I’m on it.”
I accept the coffee he offers me and make my way up to my apartment with it. Time to face the music.