Revenge (36 page)

Chapter One Hundred
and Seven

Declan Costello had spoken to all his workmen, and they said the same thing: Jessie Flynn was on the missing list. It was a fucking joke. Declan had honestly thought that Jessie, true to form, would be discovered tucked up in bed with some piece of shit, and everyone could then sigh with well-deserved relief. Now, he was starting to think that Michael might have a point – that there was something much more serious going on. But what the fuck could it be? And what was the reason behind it? He couldn’t think of one person who would even dream of hurting Michael Flynn through his family. There was no logic to it – the fact they had even tried to involve his family would be tantamount to a death warrant. Michael would never swallow anything like that.

He waited patiently for Michael to arrive for the meeting as arranged. This time, though, he would be agreeing with his friend. There was something very off about this whole thing, he could see that now.

Chapter One Hundred
and Eight

Josephine was heartbroken that her Michael could have spoken to her like that, lost his temper and insulted her with such viciousness. Especially now, knowing how worried she was, how scared she was for their daughter. He had shouted at her like
she
was the one in the wrong. He knew exactly the willpower it took for her to live even the limited life that she did, yet he had spoken to her with such anger that she had realised what he really thought about her deep down. It had hurt. Every single day was a challenge to her, every moment was so fucking hard, and he had always acted like he understood her pain. That had been a lie. She could feel the ache in her breast, the pain of betrayal. She would never forget what he had said to her. Even when he tried to grovel and apologise – as he would – she would never forget what he had said to her or how he had said it.

She looked at her reflection in the dressing table; she was perfectly made-up, and that was for her husband’s benefit. She kept herself looking good for him, so he would appreciate her, remember how much they had meant to each other. She had put her husband before everyone, and she had thought that he had felt the same way about her. As Michael’s world got bigger her world got smaller. Now she was trapped, reduced to living in a few rooms, and the outside world was terrifying to her. She had believed that Michael had understood her fears, as irrational as they might be, had accepted them as part of their life as husband and wife. But that wasn’t the case.

She had heard him talking to Jake, laughing and joking with him, and she had also heard him leave the house, without even seeing how she was or asking after her. Her Michael had always made a point of saying goodbye to her, of making her feel like she was the centre of his life.

She wouldn’t let herself cry; she had no intention of ruining her make-up, not for anyone. She would be here for him, as she had always been. He knew that he was all she had ever really cared about. She had placed him above everyone else and, as far as she was concerned, that alone should guarantee her his loyalty.

Chapter One Hundred
and Nine

‘How can there be no news, Declan? It’s a fucking joke.’

Declan didn’t say a word. What could he say? It was the truth. ‘I think you might be right, Michael. There’s a definite bad smell here.’

Michael laughed, but there was no mirth there. They were in the offices at Canary Wharf.

‘At last! You can finally see what I’ve been fucking saying all along.
Five
days, Declan, and not a fucking dicky-bird. My daughter hates my fucking guts, she flaunts every fucking thing she does in my face, so why not this time? If this was about her, she would make sure I knew about it.’

Declan got up from his seat and poured them both a coffee. The underlying worry in Michael’s voice was clear. Giving Michael his mug, Declan said honestly, ‘I really don’t know, Michael, I can’t answer that. All I do know is, I think you’re right. I think you sussed this out before anyone else.’

Michael sipped at his coffee, glad to finally have someone agree with him. He had known from the off that this was suspect.

‘I want to put the reward up to fifty grand cash. That will guarantee a good fucking shake down, get the word out there. If anyone’s information leads me to my daughter – even if it’s to her dead body – I will put the money in their pocket myself. I’ve got to find her, Declan. I need to know what’s going down. I know this is trouble, I can feel it.’

Declan nodded. ‘I’ll do it, Michael, but remember that
you
were the one who said dead or alive. Not me.’

It had crossed Declan’s mind that she might be dead somewhere; considering the life she had insisted on living that wouldn’t be unlikely.

‘I just need to know what’s going on, Declan, either way.’

Declan could understand that; he would feel the same if it was him.

Chapter One Hundred
and Ten

Josephine heard the knocking on her door, and she guessed it was Dana – no one else bothered to knock. She plastered a smile on her face, and tried to look relaxed, but she knew that Dana had heard everything that had been said between her and Michael. Dana slipped into the room, and Josephine saw that she was holding a letter.

‘This was in the post box outside the gates, Josephine. It’s handwritten and addressed to you. I thought I should give it to you straight away. You know, just in case . . .’

Josephine took the letter from her warily. ‘Thank you.’

Dana waited a few seconds, expecting Josephine to open it, but she didn’t. Instead, she placed it carefully on the table beside her chair.

Dana smiled easily. ‘Don’t you think you should open it, Josephine? It might be important, with what’s going on at the moment.’

Josephine smiled right back at her. ‘I’ll open it later, if it’s all the same to you. How did Jake get on today?’

Dana shrugged. ‘He had a good day, he’s a good kid. He enjoyed the Mass, he hasn’t stopped going on about it.’

‘Good. Bring him up to me after his tea.’

Dana nodded. ‘Of course. I’d best get on, then.’

She left the room as fast as decently possible. She cared about Josephine very much, but sometimes she could be very creepy.

Dana went back down to the kitchen. Bringing up a tray of tea and biscuits a few hours later, she didn’t ask Josephine if she had finally opened the letter. It was still lying on the table, unopened.

Dana had a feeling that it might be important. She rang Michael, telling him everything she knew and, as she had expected, he was back home within the hour.

Chapter One Hundred
and Eleven

‘I can’t fucking believe you sometimes, Josephine! Why haven’t you even opened the fucking thing?’ Michael snatched the letter off the table.

His annoyance bothered Josephine. He was looking at her as if she had done something wrong. Who the hell did he think he was?

He ripped open the envelope. It had one sheet of paper inside, folded up perfectly. He opened it up slowly, and Josephine realised that, just like her, he was frightened of what it might contain. She watched him as he read the contents.

‘Well? Come on then, what does it say, Michael?’

He bent down, until he was level with his wife’s face. ‘Not fucking too much, Josephine. It just has a number that we were
supposed
to ring at three thirty this afternoon. Bit late for that now, though, don’t you think? You silly bitch!’

Josephine was stricken with guilt, Michael could see that, but he didn’t care. His wife wouldn’t open a letter if you paid her a million pounds – she couldn’t. She hadn’t opened a letter for years; it was another one of her foibles. He had always accepted her eccentricities, tried his hardest to be supportive, because he loved her so much. Now he wasn’t so sure he had done the right thing. All his support seemed to have achieved was to allow his wife to become more and more reclusive. He had enabled her to give in to her fears.

‘Why didn’t you fucking ring me, Josephine? Or get Dana to? Didn’t it occur to you that this letter might be about your daughter? I mean, when was the last time anyone sent you a fucking letter? I can’t believe that you didn’t care enough about your own child to open it or at least ask someone else to do it for you. Now we’ve missed the chance to talk to whoever might be holding her. Can’t you see how fucking wrong this is? How fucking dangerous you are? Because you still can’t bring yourself to do something as normal as opening a fucking letter!’ He was bellowing at her now, shouting at her with all his might, venting all the anger and frustration that had been brewing inside him for such a long time.

‘For years I have pretended that there is nothing wrong with you. I loved you so fucking much I went along with everything – your fucking hoarding, your fucking refusal to accept reality. I even swallowed you becoming a recluse. I’ve paid out fortunes for the best doctors available. I’ve done everything in my power to help you. But do you know what? I wish I’d fucking known then what I know now. I think you
like
being a recluse, you
like
living in these two rooms, surrounded by your boxes of old fucking
crap
. It gives you the excuse you need to justify your life. Even Jake doesn’t matter any more, does he? Like me and Jessie, he can’t compete with the world you’ve created for yourself. No one can. How could they? Because it’s all about you, isn’t it?’ Michael opened his arms out wide. ‘Look around you, Josephine. This is
it
, darling. This is your crowning achievement. Two rooms and a poxy little bathroom. I hope you think it was worth it.’

Josephine was unable to retaliate. As Michael looked at her he felt guilty. The colour had drained from her face; even with her make-up she looked awful. His words had finally hit home. He had needed to say what he really wanted to, just once. His anger at her utter selfishness was so voracious, he just couldn’t stop himself. He had been a good husband to her, no matter what she might think. He had gone along with whatever she wanted,
always
. Anything to make Josephine happy. And what had it got them in the long run? Nothing, that’s what. Sweet fuck-all. She had left the real world behind, and he had let her do it, even though he had known it was wrong. Now he would never forgive her.

Chapter One Hundred
and Twelve

Jessie felt ill. She had eaten the food left for her so quickly, she now had chronic indigestion. She didn’t eat that much normally, but now she felt she should eat whatever she got, to keep her strength up, thereby making sure that, if it ever came to it, she could fight her own end. The man appeared to be immune to her charms and, as she had always used her feminine wiles to get what she wanted, she didn’t know how to deal with him. He wouldn’t talk to her for a start; in fact, he ignored her with such disdain it was an insult in itself. When he did look at her it was carefully, almost as if he was trying to get inside her head.

He was very nondescript, not very tall, and he looked to be well into his fifties. Although it was hard to tell in the dimness of the basement.

Even though she was still scared, she didn’t think the man was capable of harming her without provocation. She had lived around violent men all her life, and this bloke didn’t have the same feel to him as her father or her uncle Declan. They both had an air about them that warned you that these were men who would be capable of extreme violence, if the circumstances warranted it. Her nana Hannah, her father’s own mother, had happily told her everything she wanted to know about her father and, unlike everyone else in her world, she had not tried to sanitise any of it. She had listened to her nana Hannah’s stories. Even though she spent a lot of time with her, she had never really liked her; her nana Hannah was a vicious old bitch. But Jessie had needed her to tell her everything.

She looked at the man now and shouted angrily, ‘Talk to me! Don’t just fucking stand there staring at me.’

The man grinned at her for a few moments. Then he walked away, and she heard him leave the room, shutting the door behind him.

Jessie felt the fear building inside her chest again. How the hell had she ended up like this? How the fuck had this happened to her?

Chapter One Hundred
and Thirteen

‘I tried the number over and over, Declan, but no one answered. I could fucking lamp Josephine one. Why the fuck didn’t she open the fucking letter? It’s not fucking rocket science, is it? Her daughter’s missing, and a letter arrives. Two and two springs to mind! But that’s her all over, isn’t it? Can’t open a fucking letter, can’t use the fucking stairs, can’t leave the fucking house. The list of things that she can’t do any more is fucking endless! I lived with her problems, you know I did. But today her fucking refusal to think about her daughter’s welfare tipped me over the edge. I’ve seen her for the selfish cunt she really is.’

Declan didn’t say anything, but Michael didn’t expect an answer from him anyway. He already knew Declan’s opinion of Josephine and her so-called ‘problems’. Declan had never said anything outright, but his silence over the years had spoken volumes. His less-than-complimentary opinion of Josephine had always been there between them.

Michael was so worried about his daughter and what might be happening to her. ‘I have more than most people could ever even dream of. I deal in millions of pounds. I single-handedly changed the whole infrastructure of British crime. Yet do you know something, Declan? I’ve really got fuck-all. My daughter treats me like a fucking leper, and my wife lives on her own fucking planet. Did you know that Josephine won’t use the stairs nowadays? She lives in two rooms. The size of that fucking house, and she lives in less space than if she lived in a council flat. How insulting is that?’

Michael was more distressed than Declan had ever seen him. Michael Flynn was always in complete control of his emotions; seeing his friend so vulnerable was a first for Declan Costello. But these were difficult times, and he could understand Michael allowing his hard-man persona to slip.

Declan had poured them a large Scotch each and, as he handed Michael his drink, he wished there was something he could think of to say that might ease the man’s plight.

‘I love my daughter, Declan. For all our problems, I never stopped loving her. Now she’s on the missing list, and I can’t help her.’

‘You should give the letter to the Old Bill, Michael, they might find a fingerprint or something.’

Michael looked at his old friend as if he had never seen him before. ‘Oh, stop it, Declan. This isn’t
CSI
, for fuck’s sake. Gil Grissom isn’t going to miraculously find the cunt’s name out before the sixty minutes is up. You and I both know that’s a fucking big stretch for anyone’s imagination. Most people’s fingerprints aren’t on any database, unless you’ve been nicked, and DNA takes weeks to process. Even then they can only match it with a name if they happen to have the fucker’s DNA there to start with. Can’t see that, can you?’

‘I just think you should use whatever you can, Michael.’

Michael shook his head sadly. ‘All I can do now is wait until the bastard contacts me again.’