Savage Night (19 page)

"It was an accident," Tommy said. Or tried to say. Impossible to speak with the gag on. He wanted to make himself heard. Maybe Effie would believe him. She'd understand.

Smith lurched forward suddenly and Tommy flinched. Smith leaned over him, slipped the gag off. "You wanted to say something?"

"Yeah," Tommy said, licking his lips, wetting them. "It was an accident."

Smith said, "You kill my son. Then you insult my intelligence."

"No, no, no."

"And you're no doubt thinking to yourself that you don't deserve this."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to have done. I mean, about Grant, yes. It was—"

"An accident, I know," Smith said. "But if you're not responsible, who is?"

"You." Tommy went cold. What had he just said? The last thing he wanted to do was antagonise this bastard. But it was true. "You're the one who started all this shit. If it wasn't for you, your son would still be alive."

"You really believe that?" Effie said.

"Yeah. Totally."

"You don't accept any responsibility for your own actions?" The girl again.

"What did I do?"

"The level of denial's staggering," Smith said. "I almost believe you."

"Tell me what I'm supposed to have done, for Christ's sake."

"I suggest you have a good hard think about it." Smith closed the lid and everything turned dark.

Tommy could still hear them, though.

"You pair go home now," Smith said. "I'll take it from here."

"Like fuck you will," the other bloke said. "I mean, I want to help."

"Me, too," Effie said.

Smith said, "I don't think so. I can handle this."

"I don't care," Effie said. "I have every right to carve that piece of shit into a dozen pieces."

"And so do I," the other bloke said. "I've lost a brother-in-law. Just about. Are you going to tell us what's been going on? I'd really like to know how Grant got involved with Tommy Savage."

"You know him?" Smith said.

"Yeah," the bloke said. "His brother slept with my mother."

"Did he?" Smith said. "Edinburgh's such a small place."

"No offence, but I don't buy that it's a coincidence."

"Look," Smith said, "an opportunity to make some money came along, Martin. It looked easy. Went tits up."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"No need."

"Why Grant?"

"Okay," Smith said. "I knew about your connection to Savage. Did some asking around. Found out he was a suspect in your father's murder. I couldn't involve you in this cause I thought you'd be upset."

"
Now
I'm upset."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Martin said. "Well."

It was quiet for a while. Then: "So what are you going to do with him, Dad?" Effie said.

"Let me think about it."

The voices grew muffled. After a bit, the car door clicked open. The engine started and they were moving again.

Tommy was left to his own imagination.

This Martin bloke had to be Greg Milne's son. Tommy hadn't recognised him. Hadn't seen him in years, and he was thinner then. But Phil had slept with Martin's mother. And Tommy was a suspect in his dad's murder. It was him, all right. Had to be.

Tommy doubted that protesting his innocence would make any difference.

He just wished he knew what the fuckers were going to do to him.

***

WHAT MCCRACKEN HAD done was nothing in comparison with what the piece of shit in the boot was guilty of.

Tommy Savage was a dead man.

Only questions were when and how.

Effie and Martin had taken Liz back home with them from the hospital, leaving Park free to do what he must. Only, he didn't know what that was yet.

He didn't know where he was headed. Just knew he had to keep driving. Didn't want to stop because if he stopped he'd have to decide what to do with Savage. Watched the lines in the centre of the road, knew they were leading somewhere, like the lines on the floor at the hospital.

Keep driving. And work out what to do with the murdering bastard in the boot.

Wasn't easy.

Savage had fucked up by having Martin's dad killed. And now he'd killed Grant. And he'd probably get away with that too if it was left to the police to deal with.

Taillights up ahead. Getting closer. He eased off the accelerator.

The punishment had to fit the crime. Or, rather, the crimes. And that was the difficulty. Park thought about the money. Fifty grand, which he'd handed over to Effie for safe-keeping. He'd have been reasonably content with that twenty-four hours ago. Paid for top quality care for Liz for a year, plus enough left over to give Martin and Effie a decent wedding. Everybody would have benefited. And he could have gone back to Savage for more when they ran out.

But what he wanted now was for Savage to feel the way
he
felt. He wanted Savage to know how it felt to lose someone he loved. For starters.

An image of Grant sliced in half by a sheet of broken glass zapped into Park's head.

Buzzing in his brain. Ears ringing. He felt faint.

He lost control of the car for a second, swerved into the next lane. Just the blood. The thought of it. He knew that anything he arranged for Savage had to be just as messy. Which was why he needed help. Couldn't do it himself, much as he would have liked to.

Times like these he missed his mother.

Wondered how things might have been if she hadn't had her accident. The kids would have had another grandmother.

Park couldn't remember the incident at all. But from what was put together afterwards, it appeared his mother had tripped and fallen in the kitchen. Cracked her head open on the floor tiles. He was alone with her, three years old. She'd died instantly, so he was told. Certainly, she wouldn't have regained consciousness.

When they found young Andy Park, two weeks later, he was filthy and starving. He'd ransacked the cupboards and the fridge, found enough chocolate biscuits and cheese and milk and juice to sustain him. Just. And he was covered in his mother's dried blood. It was all smeared on the floor around her head and he'd been crawling in it.

Funny thing, during that fortnight the only clue the outside world had that anything was out of the ordinary was a neighbour who noticed a couple of letters sitting outside the front door. She thought it odd, but picked them up and posted them through the letterbox. He liked to think he'd been responsible, that he'd posted those letters back into the outside world, his way of asking for help. But if he did, he was probably just playing a game. Maybe if he'd tried it later, when his hands were covered in blood, she'd have noticed the tiny bloody fingerprints on the envelopes and called the police.

Anyway, the blood phobia resulted from a gradual understanding of what had happened to his mother. At least, that's what the doctors told him. And he didn't have a better explanation.

So, much as he wanted Savage's punishment to fit his crimes, he couldn't participate directly himself. Would have been great if Richie wasn't in prison. But Park had other family. He could rely on Effie. And Martin seemed to be up for it too.

Park saw a signpost. He was approaching
A
lmondell Country Park, the woods where Martin's dad had met his end.

He slowed down. Turned off his lights. Nudged the car past the gatehouse and into the deserted parking area.

***

THIS IS IT, Tommy.

Tommy hardly noticed the various aches and pains of his body now. His hands were numb. Couldn't feel his feet either. He could ask Smith to cut him loose and he'd still not be able to help himself.

He'd fall over, claw at the ground.

Let me think about it?

That's what Smith had said to his daughter. Had he decided? Did he want her help? Or was he going to carry this out himself?

If Smith was alone and they were in the middle of nowhere, it'd be pretty clear what he'd decided.

When the boot opened, Tommy blinked his eyes into focus, started talking straight away. He had no means of defending himself other than with his tongue. He said, "You don't want to do this. You really don't."

"I don't want to touch that slavvery gag again," Smith said, hoisting him over the lip of the boot. "But I will if you don't shut up."

Tommy fell onto gravel. Smashed his kneecap into the ground. He remembered feeling that exact pain when he was a kid learning to ride his bike and falling off. Welled up in his knee, then pulsed, made him gasp. Just like it was doing now. He fought it and said, "If you kill me, they'll find you."

"Yeah?" Smith reached down, lifted him onto his feet.

"They always find murderers."

Smith looked at him. "You winding me up?" He reached into the car and reappeared with a sword.

Christ. Worm's
katana
.

He bent down, freed Tommy's legs. "Let's walk."

Tommy's breathing was shaky. So were his legs. He took a step. His knee throbbed. He stumbled. Stamped his feet. Some feeling was coming back into them. He could feel his shoes loose, the laces removed. Acid burned in his stomach.

Smith pushed Tommy ahead of him, and Tommy led the way down a path into the woods.

This didn't look entirely unlike the place they'd just left. For a minute, Tommy wondered if Smith had driven in a big circle.

Some kind of woods. Probably wouldn't be able to see much once they got into the thick of it. Too much leafy cover. Maybe Tommy could use that to his advantage somehow. But how?
Think. Think, you stupid bastard.
If he didn't think, he was going to die. He was smarter than this psycho. He had to believe that.

Now would be a good time to prove it.

Savage Night

10:45 PM

Fraser's House

EFFIE UNWRAPPED THE clothesline from around Fraser's neck. It had dug into the skin, and she had to tug hard to free it. But it popped out at last and when she let go, Fraser slumped forward, his face banging off the side of the tub.

"Ow." Martin appeared in the kitchen doorway again, naked, one transparent plastic-booted foot on top of the other. "Is he …?"

"Yeah," she said.

"Good. We've done okay, babe."

He didn't move from the doorway. Last thing she wanted to see right now was his sexy-messy body. Caused a tingle in her yoni just thinking about it.

She said, "Three things. You shouldn't have let Fraser see you."

"I thought you'd finished with him."

"Well, I hadn't."

"I know. I saw that. But I didn't realise at the time. Why didn't you wait till the roofies had taken effect?"

"They had."

"Not completely."

"I'm impatient, Martin." She shrugged. "Anyway, don't change the subject." She paused. "Two. You shouldn't be smoking. That's risky."

"I'm tense, you know. What's three?"

"You should have cut Phil Savage's hands off by now. What's kept you?"

"Sorry, boss."

He moved towards her, but still she didn't look up. His foot, his calf, his thigh, entered her vision. She turned away before she saw any more.

"I didn't have time." He placed his lips on her cheek, drew back. "The head took longer than I thought."

She nodded. "No trouble otherwise?"

"He never suspected a thing. Took the beer, went out like a light."