The Edge of Sanity (31 page)

‘Hannah,’ Kayla pressed on, despite Steve’s obvious disinterest.

She’d kept quiet for fear of provoking further vicious attacks on her father. They were going to kill him, cold fear clutched at her tummy. They’d hurt her, to hurt him, to break him and humiliate him. Kayla knew that. Charlie had left his weak spot alone all right, but only because he’d found another more vulnerable one.

She had to be brave, to not give in, just like her dad was trying so hard not to give in, so she’d kept quiet, like they’d told her to. But she’d listened and heard, biting down hard on the back of her hand when her dad had screamed out loud, or moaned softly, or worse, made no sound at all.

She’d heard Steve’s and Charlie’s debate when they’d drugged him, and Charlie’s subsequent vile taunts. If anyone was fubar, that flat-eyed
freak
was—Kayla had christened him thus on the back of the last word she’d heard her dad say. And Steve knew it.

They needed Steve, Kayla decided. If not on their side, at least not on the freak’s.

‘Hannah, she’s not a tart.’ She willed him to stop chewing his nails and take up the bait.

Steve studied her face for a second, and then reached for a cigarette. ‘Not interested.’ He shrugged and lit up.

‘She isn’t, Steve,’ Kayla went on, using his name and keeping her tone civil, though she’d rather spit in his eye. ‘She’s never even been near anyone, except you.’

‘Bullshit.’ Steve puffed hard on his cigarette.

‘It’s not, I swear,’ Kayla insisted urgently, as a tap ran in the bathroom. ‘She thought the world of you. Thought you were dead cool. Said she respected you for … You know, not pushing her to do anything she didn’t want to.’

Steve stubbed his cigarette out moodily, then glanced at Kayla, his cheeks flushed, she noticed, and his eyes uncertain. ‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m
not
lying.’ Kayla held his gaze. ‘
He
is.’ She nodded toward the bathroom door as it clicked open.

****

Charlie sauntered from the bathroom, whistling, and feeling pretty pleased with himself. He’d had a quick wash and brush up, and another line of coke. He was looking good. Feeling good.

He was good. Well, okay, he wasn’t. But he’d been generous enough to allow wifey to keep an eye on Danny Boy in case he choked. Deserved a few points for that, Charlie reckoned. Deserved a bloody cup of tea, at least. His throat felt like sandpaper. He’d kill for a lager, but a cup of tea would have to suffice.

He wandered toward the bedroom and poked his head around the door. ‘Any chance of a cuppa?’ He smiled at Jo. ‘He’ll be fine,’ he assured her.

Jo blinked stupidly, caught completely off guard by his pleasant tone.

What was he up to?

She moved closer to Daniel, determined that if Charlie came anywhere near him, she’d kill the animal somehow.

‘He’ll be on his way down.’ Charlie glanced to where Daniel was sitting on the berth, his hands between his knees, his head hung, and still shaking. ‘Not pleasant,’ Charlie went on, ‘but he ain’t going to croak it.’

Jo dragged her eyes away from Charlie’s absurd smile to Daniel. He had no idea. None whatsoever, she thought astonished. Daniel was struggling to breathe. Couldn’t he see? The drugs had exacerbated it, not caused it. It wasn’t going to bloody wear off.

‘Tea,’ Charlie repeated patiently. ‘Two sugars.’

Jo nodded and slipped off the berth. How long, she wondered, before three in a bed suited his mood better. She hesitated as she approached the door, not sure whether to say, excuse me, look down.

‘Squeeze past, sweetheart.’ Charlie apparently noted her dilemma and turned to one side to allow her to pass. ‘I don’t bite.’

No, but I will, Jo thought angrily, the hairs on the nape of her neck rising as she passed the loathsome creature. God help her, if she had hold of that knife, she’d plunge it straight in his vile heart and twist it.

‘Could I, er …’ She hesitated, once outside. ‘Do you mind if I leave the door open?’ she asked, as politely as she could. Surely he wouldn’t deny her that, would he? To watch from a distance and make sure her husband didn’t die while she was making tea. Even the animal would have brains enough to see it was in his interest to keep Daniel alive … for now.

Jo shuddered involuntarily.

Charlie looked her over. ‘Don’t see why not,’ he said, eventually. ‘Not that I particularly want to see Danny Boy coughing his guts up, but we don’t want him to gag on them, do we, sweetheart?’

Charlie smiled magnanimously, and headed for the saloon area and the TV.

He winked at Kayla and plonked himself down next to Steve.

‘All right, mate.’ He nodded when Steve glanced at him, and then reached over to the TV to flick through the channels.

‘Think they’d have a bloody remote, wouldn’t you?’ he moaned, after a minute. ‘Charge hundreds to hire out these heaps of metal, and they don’t even have a remote for the …’

Charlie stopped as Steve stared at him coldly. ‘What’s your problem?’ he asked, surprised.

Steve looked away. ‘You are, mate,’ he muttered.

‘Oh, man.’ Charlie laughed. ‘You’re not still pissed with me, are you? I swear I won’t touch him again.’ He crossed his heart. ‘Honest.’

Shouldn’t need much more than the odd slap to keep Danny Boy in order now, anyway, Charlie thought, content with a good day’s work. And a promise is a promise, so he’d leave him alone, for now.

Didn’t say anything about not touching the wife though, did he? Charlie gave her a sideways glance, and then himself a mental redressing. She was behaving herself, so he’d leave her be, too, for a while. He smiled and awaited his tea. Some chocolate digestives would be nice, he mused.

His chocolate-covered fantasy was rudely interrupted by the wife clanging the tea caddy to the working surface and clutching her hand to her mouth. Oh, man. Charlie rolled his eyes. Not another one gonna puke all over the place.

‘Oh, God,’ she mumbled, trying to suppress a sob.

‘What the …?!’ Charlie was on his feet. If there was anything worse than people throwing up all over the place it was birds’ blarting. Couldn’t abide it. If she cried anymore, she’d sink the bloody boat.

She turned eyes wide with fear on Charlie as he approached, stopping him in his tracks. She was all right five minutes ago, he thought perplexed, and he hadn’t been near her since. Hadn’t touched her. Didn’t even feel the inclination to, yet. Unnerving it was, those bloody green eyes staring at him.

‘There aren’t any tea-bags,’ she whispered, glancing toward the bedroom, then back to Charlie.

‘Blimey, is that all?’ Charlie shook his head. Bless her bemused little face, he thought, touched by her concern. ‘I thought your old man had gone and snuffed it.’

He glanced past her to where Daniel sat, still in the same position, more or less—and still breathing, just.

Charlie sighed, relieved. He really had thought the stubborn sod had croaked on him. ‘I’m not an unreasonable person. I’ll have coffee,’ he said, good-naturedly.

****

DI Short cursed silently as the boat alongside them pulled tightly on its mooring rope. He held his breath and waited, relieved when it floated gently back into the bank.

He’d managed to trip over the flipping mooring peg, which was invisible in the pitch-black dark of the night. He’d only just noticed the silhouette of the boat, before he’d all but cycled into it, which would definitely have given the game away. DI Short shook his head. Talk about clumsy copper. That was nothing short of incompetent.

Even now he was on top of it, he couldn’t be sure it was one of Daniel Conner’s hire boats, in particular
Water Lily
, the boat that was out, according to Hannah.

He signalled PC Stokes to hang back, it being so quiet you could hear a bird breathe, let alone a twig snap, and crept quietly closer, until he could glimpse the name painted on the side, and there it was,
Water Lily
, tied up and isolated in the middle of nowhere, which would suit Charlie Roberts’ purpose.

He signalled again, telling Stokes to call in their location, and then having come that far, DI Short decided to risk a step closer. See if he couldn’t catch sight of anything through one of the windows. His Superintendent’s instruction to wait until back-up was in situ, where they’d wait again for first light might be a practical one, but DI Short had a nasty feeling that Charlie Roberts might not have it in mind to bed down for the night.

Knowing the lie of the land inside there, and whether Roberts was working alone, was paramount if they had any hope of pulling this off successfully.

DI Short just hoped he wasn’t about to hand the scumbag another hostage. A copper would be a reasonable bargaining chip when Charlie realised his game was up.

Pausing to pray for the lives of the hostages Charlie already had, adding a fervent request, if God was in his heaven, that
he
didn’t put those lives at risk, DI Short inched closer. Assuming they were on board, that was. He’d noticed a slight lilt to the boat, which must mean someone was, but nothing dramatic.

Fingers mentally crossed, he crept silently on, past the windows, the curtains at which all seemed to be closed, bar one at the end, which was open a fraction, if he wasn’t mistaken.

DI Short debated for less than a second, then ducked onto all fours to crawl the length of the boat, where he offered up another prayer, then snatched the briefest of glimpses through the window. Time enough—to see Daniel Conner trying to get to his feet. More than enough time to see that there was something very wrong.

DI Short’s heart plummeted. He closed his eyes briefly, then, anger and nausea churning inside him, he continued to watch, Daniel reeling and stumbling, his torso covered in bruises.

Half naked, his hands trussed behind him, Daniel Conner dropped to his knees and looked to the heavens.

Then let go a cry that chilled DI Short to the bone.

And here he was—DI Short sucked in a breath—good old Charlie Roberts, banging through the door to help Daniel to his feet. Drag Daniel to his feet. Slam him against the wall and tell him to
shut the fuck up. And stay.
Stay, face to the wall and shaking.

The absolute bastard.

Daniel was staying all right—DI Short clenched his teeth so hard they hurt. Staying right where he was. Banging his head slowly, repeatedly against that wall.

DI Short crouched below window level, every ounce of his willpower holding him down. Wait until first light? Yes, of course. He made his way back along the length of the boat, and then got himself well out of sight. Seemed like a sensible idea, to wait while Charlie Roberts took sadistic pleasure in psychologically and physically destroying a person. Three people.

****

‘He stays until he learns to be quiet.’ Charlie pulled the veneer door closed behind him.

He’d got Daniel where he wanted him, stripped of this obstinate pride, subdued somewhat. But
quietly
subdued was what Charlie was looking for. Danny Boy was making enough noise to wake the freakin’ dead. And that was plain disobedient.

He’d have to stay where he was, Charlie decided, until he learned a little self-control. He could wait. Bags of time, he’d got, and plenty to amuse himself with while he killed it. ‘So,’ he asked, swaggering the length of the boat. ‘Which one of you lucky ladies would like to go first?’

Steve gawked. ‘What you playing at now?’ he asked, furiously. ‘What you done to him, Charlie? Has the coke softened your bloody head, or what?’

‘I helped him up,’ Charlie said, with a casual shrug. ‘Can I help it if he’s coming down hard? Now watch your lip, mate.’

He came to a standstill in front of wifey seated on the sofa, the daughter sat next to her. Tough call, he debated, eyeing the wife, whose cat’s eyes told him she’d be an interesting challenge. Whatsername could use a little warming up though, shaking she was, poor cow.

Yeah, he’d keep wifey on ice, he decided, and generate a little body heat with whatsername. He smirked and trailed his eyes over the girl’s obvious curves. Soft curves, he thought with sweet anticipation, untouched by human hand, he reckoned, as yet.

‘Fresh meat, I think.’ Charlie winked at Jo. ‘Keep it warm, sweetheart. You’re next,’ he said, reaching for the girl’s arm.

‘No!’ Jo screamed, catapulting herself from the sofa to face him, catching Charlie off guard. He stepped back, surprised.

‘Don’t you
ever
touch her again,’ she warned, dragging her hair angrily from her face.

‘Oh, man.’ Charlie laughed. ‘Who’s gonna stop me, then? You? What you gonna do? Claw me to death? Do yourself a favour, darlin’, shut up and sit down until I tell you to do otherwise.’ He made to push past her.

But the woman pushed back, hard, shoving Charlie backwards with a force that had him struggling to stay upright.

Charlie righted himself, looked at her blankly, and then smirked. ‘Oh, deary me, the bitch really has got her claws out.’

‘You sad bastard,’ the woman spat. ‘Want to play, do you? Prove your brains, which are obviously in your balls, are working? Come on then,’ she challenged him, her eyes blazing. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got, big boy. Or aren’t you man enough?’

Charlie felt the blood drain from his face. Unbelievable. Danny Boy is about as useful to her as sun in the desert, and she dares to question
his
manhood. He fixed her with cold contempt. He’d show her who was man enough all right.

‘Shit.’ Steve muttered worriedly behind her. ‘Stay there,’ he instructed Kayla, then took hold of Jo’s shoulders and eased her firmly back, his gaze all the while on Charlie.

Charlie’s gaze, in turn, never left Steve’s. The gun itched at his side, but he studied Steve’s face and read what was there. Mutiny, he thought, furious. He was ready to throw it all away for some cheap little tart. Charlie should never have brought him in on this. Knew Steve was unreliable, the big wimp. Knew it way back, when he’d got a girly crush on that Hannah bint. Should have ditched him then.

Well, he would now, no messing. As soon as he got his hands on the dosh, Steve was history, along with the happy pain-in-the-arse family.