and Twenty-Eight
Hannah Flynn couldn’t understand why Michael had not been around to see her for days. It wasn’t like him – he always made a point of dropping in to see her. She was particularly worried after what Josephine had told her. If her Michael had lost his temper with his wife then there was something serious going on. Josephine had never been able to do any wrong in Michael’s eyes. Now, it seemed, he had finally lost his patience, and she had found herself actually feeling sorry for Josephine. That alone had been a shock. The woman had been completely devastated by her husband’s attack on her. But Christ Himself knew – she blessed herself automatically at the use of the Lord’s name in vain – Josephine Flynn was one of the most selfish fuckers that had ever been put on this earth. Hannah sat down at her kitchen table. She was a bundle of nerves lately, she couldn’t seem to settle. What had happened to Jessie was playing on her mind. The girl always kept in touch with her nana Hannah.
She poured herself out a glass of good Irish whisky, and took a large gulp to steady herself. Then she poured herself another. She heard her doorbell, and sighed with annoyance. Few people sought her company, and that suited her. She had never suffered fools gladly. But, as she walked to her front door, she hoped against hope that it was someone with news about her Jessie.
She opened the front door, expecting to see someone she knew. Instead she saw a skinny, grey-haired man, with sallow skin and a twisted smile. She detected a sour odour coming off him. She went to ask him what the hell he wanted, but before she could say a word, he lunged at her. As she tried to step back from him, she felt a sharp pain in her chest. Looking down, she saw the handle of a knife sticking out of her breast. It occurred to her that its blade was obviously buried deep inside her chest. It had all happened so quickly. The man was still smiling at her and, as she sank to her knees, he stepped away from her casually, and began taking photos of her on his phone. All she could do was watch him. She was trying to call out, get help, but there was nothing she could do. Her mouth was slowly filling up with blood, and it made her want to vomit. It tasted disgusting, it was so thick and it was suddenly dribbling out of her mouth. She could feel its warmth as it ran down her chin. She was lying on her back now, and she knew she would eventually choke on her own blood. She could feel her heartbeat getting slower by the second, and she could hear herself wheezing as she tried to breathe. She could feel the light-headedness as she gradually started to lose consciousness, and she welcomed the oblivion. Anything was better than this battle to take a single breath.
Chapter One Hundred
and Twenty-Nine
Arthur Hellmann was a strange-looking man. He was tall, very thin, and he had deep brown eyes and white-blond hair. It was a startling combination. Whereas on some people, it would have given them striking good looks, on Arthur it just seemed to add to his general air of strangeness. He was a man who found it very difficult to socialise with other people, and who much preferred the anonymity of cyberspace.
As he walked into the office, Michael and Declan didn’t even bother to greet him, and that suited him. He liked that Michael Flynn didn’t feel the need to engage him in conversation unless it was of some relevance. Too many people talked for the sake of it, and they rarely had anything of interest to say.
He sat at the desk, and set up his laptop, before saying to no one in particular, ‘I can access most phones. As long as this one’s turned on, I can get a location on it. I can also work out where any calls were made – the area, that is.’
Michael Flynn passed his BlackBerry to him, and Arthur glanced at the photograph. It was shocking.
‘I got that about three hours ago, Arthur. I need you to try and find the sender.’
Arthur nodded. He was aware that time was obviously of the essence. ‘Well, there is one thing I can tell you straight off, this isn’t the usual cheap throwaway phone. This picture has a lot of detail, which tells me the phone used was a fairly decent model.’
Michael Flynn wasn’t even listening to the man. ‘Just try and track the fucker down.’
The phone vibrated once more. Arthur Hellmann automatically opened the text. After a quick glance at the contents, he passed the phone to Michael Flynn without a word.
Michael looked at the photo of his mother lying in her hallway, a knife poking out of her right breast, and he shook his head slowly in disbelief. For the first time in his life he felt vulnerable, frightened. His mother was dying before his eyes, his daughter was dying somewhere, tied up like a fucking animal and obviously in extreme pain, and he couldn’t do a thing. This man was taunting him. The phone in the office started ringing, and Michael Flynn knew exactly what the call would be about.
Chapter One Hundred