Michael Flynn started to laugh loudly, but it was an unnatural sound, too high pitched and too heartbreaking to be normal.
Declan and Timothy watched Michael laughing, warily.
Arthur Hellmann looked up from his computer in the corner of the room and he said triumphantly, ‘I’ve got him. I think I’ve found the fucker.’
Declan knelt down in front of Michael and, grabbing the man’s shoulders, he shook him roughly. ‘Stop it, Michael! Will you just stop laughing. Listen to me! This isn’t over yet.’
Eventually Michael began to quieten down, and then he seemed to pull himself together. Pushing Declan away, he picked up the glass of brandy from the table, and swallowed it in one gulp. He looked into Declan’s eyes, saw the worry there and the genuine concern for his wellbeing. Michael wiped his hand across his mouth roughly; he had no choice left but to face this.
‘It’s OK, Declan. I’m fine. I’m OK.’
Declan was still kneeling on the floor, shocked by Michael’s reaction. It wasn’t like him to lose the plot. The man had every reason to – it just wasn’t something he had expected. Michael Flynn was a hard man, harder than anyone Declan had ever known.
‘Fucking hell, Michael, you can’t lose it now. We’re so close. You need to pull yourself together, get a fucking grip.’
Michael took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. He was aware that he needed to keep himself on an even keel. ‘I’m all right now, Declan. It’s over.’
Arthur Hellmann was embarrassed at such a naked display of emotion, especially from a man like Michael Flynn. It was unseemly, humiliating – the man was almost hysterical.
Declan turned to him and said angrily, ‘Well, come on then, Arthur. Where is the fucker?’
Chapter One Hundred
and Thirty-Two
Jessie woke up as the man shook her. She felt so drained, so ill. She didn’t even know where she was for a few moments; it was a while before she remembered the truth. Then it all came rushing back, and she closed her eyes in distress. She blinked back tears, looking at the man’s filthy smile which was as familiar to her now as her mother’s beautiful one, and she wondered if it would be the last thing she ever saw in this life. It was such a frightening thought. She hoped not. She hoped she would just go to sleep and slip away, that she could at least take away some of his power and die without him witnessing it. He was looking at her intently, and she couldn’t turn away from his gaze. Her legs were swollen, and they felt like they were burning. Her toes were black, and she knew she had a serious infection. She had a temperature and she was burning up, sweating like a pig. Her hair was stuck to her head, and she couldn’t concentrate any more. She just wanted it to be over.
The man was smiling at her as he said conversationally, ‘You look awful, Jessie. Really bad.’
She didn’t answer him; he didn’t expect one anyway.
‘I must tell you this.’ He was giggling like a girl, and she could see the euphoria he was experiencing – it was almost tangible. He was sitting on the bed, with his hands underneath his behind, like a teenage girl who had just found out a juicy piece of gossip about her worst enemy.
‘I want to show you a photograph. I know you will understand the importance of it. You’re a very intelligent girl. I must be honest with you, it wasn’t something I expected.’
He held his phone out to her, and she looked at the picture he showed her, as she knew he wanted her to. She didn’t have a choice – her fight was gone. She saw her nana Hannah dead or dying. There was blood everywhere. It was sickening. Her nana had died violently, for no reason other than because this weirdo had decided it was her time. Seeing her nana stripped of her dignity and left to die was so very wrong. Hannah Flynn was a woman who had brought up her child alone, who had worked every hour God sent, to give her son the best that she could. It was an awful way to die, and worse at the hands of someone like this. Jessie felt a spark of hatred threaten to erupt, but made sure that she kept her face neutral.
‘That’s my nana. I assume she’s dead?’ She was pleased with how nonchalant her voice sounded, pleased that she had taken away some of his glory. He wanted a reaction from her, and she would give him one – just not the reaction he was expecting.
The man sat upright; he was so stiff it was like he had a board up his jumper.