He walked over to the tap by the stairs, and filled a bucket with cold water. Walking back over to her, he threw the contents into her face, drenching her. But, other than trying to catch her breath, which was a natural reaction, the shock of the cold water did nothing to revive her. He could see her trying to focus on him, on her surroundings, and he felt a sudden, fleeting moment of sorrow for her. He had quite liked her, and that wasn’t something he had been prepared for – had certainly never expected.
He looked down at her; she was clearly unable to understand what was happening around her. It occurred to him that the infection from her ankles had probably entered her bloodstream, and she was likely suffering from blood poisoning. Even with the stench of faeces in the room, he could still detect the underlying odour of her rotting flesh. It was a sour smell, a heavy, cloying stench that seemed to rise up from her skin, and envelop the very air around her body. It was sharp in the nostrils, made your eyes water, and it smelt like imminent death.
He grabbed her hand, and held it gently between his palms. She was in a sorry state all right. But what could he do? This was what he had intended to happen. He had been left with nobody, all because Patrick Costello had held a grudge against his father. Costello had a perfect alibi for that night, and Steven had finally worked out that Michael Flynn, Costello’s up-and-coming young wannabe, had done the dirty deed in his name. He had poured the petrol through the letterbox, and he had wiped out a whole family to better himself. All that so he could become Patrick Costello’s blue-eyed boy. Well, as the Bible said, be sure your sins will find you out.
Chapter One Hundred
and Thirty-Six
Michael and Declan had made their way around the property, carefully and quietly creeping towards the back of the house. It wasn’t a large property – a pre-war, two-storey, red-brick house, with no aesthetic value. It was still in possession of its old-style Crittall windows – there was nothing of any beauty to give the house its own identity. It was very well built, but it needed a lot of work on it if anyone was going to live there for any length of time. It had been neglected, and that showed.
Michael looked through the kitchen window; other than this room, the house was in utter darkness. There were no outside lights either, and that was something both Michael and Declan were glad about. It made their life much easier. The kitchen was fairly large, and it looked like something from the Discovery Channel. It had faded yellow linoleum and hand-made wooden cupboards, the cooker was an old gas model, with an eye-level grill pan, and only three burners. The oven didn’t look large enough to cook anything bigger than a family-sized chicken. Other than a modern electric kettle, the place could have been a museum.
Michael Flynn looked inside, and whispered to his friend, ‘Fucking hell, Declan, this place is like something from fucking Z Cars!’
He moved quickly to the back door and, turning the handle slowly, he was relieved to find that it wasn’t even locked. This fucker obviously didn’t think anyone was going to find him. Stepping into the room, he held his breath, and listened carefully. The place smelt of neglect and poverty.
Declan followed him in, and he shut the door carefully behind him. The place felt totally empty, as if it hadn’t been occupied for a long time.
Michael whispered huskily, ‘Listen, Declan, can you hear that?’
Declan Costello listened to the house, straining his ears for any sound whatsoever. He shook his head slowly. ‘No.’
Michael rolled his eyes in annoyance. He walked slowly across the kitchen. There was a door that was open which led into the hallway and, to the side of it, there was another door. Michael guessed that it led to a cellar. These old places were built to last, and they were also built with farmers in mind – a cellar was essential, an important storage facility, especially in the winter months.
Suddenly the two men heard music. It was very loud, and out of place in the grand scheme of things. It threw them both for a few seconds. Michael recognised the melody – it was ‘Almaz’ by Randy Crawford. The whole thing was getting more bizarre by the second and, when they heard the basement door being unbolted, they both slipped into the darkness of the hallway.
Michael could feel the thrumming of his heart as he waited for the man to emerge from the basement. He was holding his breath, frightened to even breathe in case he gave himself away. All he wanted was to find his Jessie, his baby, and to finally prove to her that he loved her no matter what. Then he wanted to destroy this cunt, this man who had somehow snuck past him, had somehow got the better of him, had threatened his family, his life.
The door opened slowly. It was obviously a very heavy door, and it wasn’t easy to negotiate. Declan and Michael waited with bated breath for Steven Golding to come into the kitchen, and to finally enter their orbit.
He did so slowly and, as he turned to face the men he knew would be waiting for him, he grinned amiably, saying cheerfully, ‘I’ve been waiting for you, and so has Jessie.’
Chapter One Hundred
and Thirty-Seven