Scarlet Women (30 page)

Once inside the static, away from any possible prying eyes, Redmond and Orla went to the desk and stood there, staring at her. Annie was swaying on her feet like a drunk. She clutched at the wall, held herself steady. Charlie was right by her, grinning.

Vipers
, just as Max had always told her.

Orla was in a neat black suit, beautifully cut, perfectly fitted. She leaned back against the desk and watched Annie like she was an insect impaled on a pin. Redmond was standing there, one arm casually resting on the filing cabinet beside the desk, his face impassive—as if he hadn’t just tried to smother her at all. As if everything was normal. Which, to him, it probably was.

Annie knew she was going down. But she wasn’t going down without a fight, and she
wasn’t
going down before she had let this sick pair know precisely what she thought of them.

Her thoughts went briefly to Tony. They’d dragged her out of the Jag and into the compound, but she didn’t know what they’d done with him. He might be just unconscious, he might be tied up, fuck it all, he might be
dead.
That blow to the head could have damaged his brain, caused haemorrhaging. She didn’t know. And right this instant, she couldn’t even give it much thought.

She had to try and stay alive for as long as she could. She didn’t hold out much hope in that direction. Tony might recover and come to her rescue. Or he might not. Either way, she was going to say her piece.

She was very aware of Charlie standing close by, leaning against the closed door, listening in. Anticipating another chance to damage her. She knew he could hardly wait.

‘I know all about what happened with you and Mira,’ said Annie, looking at Redmond. Her mouth was dry. She had to swallow several times to get the words out.

Redmond was quiet for a beat. Then he said: ‘I doubt that.’

‘Oh but I do. She told me, you sadistic bastard.’

‘Sticks and stones, Mrs Carter.’

‘If I had a stick I’d beat you to fucking death with it. Put you out of your misery like a dog, you bastard.’

‘Ah, but you haven’t, have you? No sticks, no
guns, not even that strange little flick-out Eastern thing you carry around with you. Nothing. You’re out of your depth, Mrs Carter.’

Orla was staring at Annie.

‘What, cat got your tongue, Orla?’ Annie demanded shakily. ‘Nothing to say?’

She couldn’t let them see how terrified she was, even though she felt literally sick with fear.

Orla shook her head. ‘How’s the club going?’ she asked with a sneering smile. ‘No problems, I hope? No one trying to sabotage all your good efforts? No one been cutting pipes in the cellar or anything like that?’

Well, that explained that. ‘You bitch,’ said Annie, consumed with cold fury.

‘And I thought we were such good friends too! Why couldn’t you just carry on playing businesswoman of the year—that’s what you’re best at, after all, fiddling around with your new club and making it all pretty, ready for the punters—and leave the rest of it alone?’ she asked. ‘Why did you have to get involved?’

‘Because there’s such a thing as loyalty,’ said Annie. She felt stronger now, and angrier too. ‘There’s such a thing as standing up for your friends and fighting their corner. And you know, the very fact that I
had
to fight Chris Brown’s corner when you were so reluctant to do it—that should have made me see the light much sooner.’

Redmond half smiled and put his hands in his trouser pockets. He looked perfectly relaxed, very much in control.

‘And what light would that be, Mrs Carter?’ he asked her.

‘I should have seen that you were involved right from the start,’ said Annie. ‘Fuck it, you were even there the morning after Aretha got killed; you were right there at the hotel. The cops told me that the one who’s committed the crime, the one who’s
killed
, often feels an uncontrollable urge to revisit the scene.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Redmond.

‘And, there you were, meeting Constantine, at that hotel the very next day. And you suggested that hotel.’

‘Well done, Mrs Carter,’ said Redmond with a faint smile. ‘How clever you are. And at the same time, how stupid to be telling me this if I
had
committed a crime at the hotel.’

Annie kept her face blank, even though she could feel the sweat running down her body, even though her heart was thudding sickeningly hard in her chest. She was going to have this out with these bastards, even if it killed her—and it probably would. ‘Stupid? I don’t think so. Don’t make a sodding bit of difference now anyway, does it? You’re going to get rid of me anyway, ain’t that the plan?’

They were both silent, staring at her.

Annie nodded slowly, her eyes glued to their faces.

‘Yeah, that’s the plan,’ she said. ‘Because I’ve confided in Dolly, and Dolly’s a Delaney woman. She’s told you what I’ve told her, and now I’m fucked. Ain’t that right? We may as well be straight with one another now.’

‘I didn’t kill Aretha Brown, Mrs Carter,’ said Redmond flatly.

‘No?’ Annie’s eyes were fixed on Redmond’s face. He shook his head. Annie’s eyes slid over to Orla.

Orla let out a laugh. ‘What, you think
I…?
’

Annie thought of all that Sir William had told her. A tall, red-haired woman running up behind Aretha…’ I don’t know,’ said Annie. ‘Why don’t you tell me, you cold-blooded bitch?’

That stung. Annie could see it in Orla’s face. But she soon recovered and stared at Annie with the gleeful calculation of a cat with a trapped mouse.

Redmond shot his twin a glance. ‘You don’t have to say a thing,’ he said.

‘Why not?’ Orla shrugged. ‘The fact is, we’re very close, Redmond and I. We’ve had to stand together over the years; we’ve had no one else to depend on.’

‘I know that,’ said Annie. She knew all about
their background. She knew they’d been abused as children, knew that the abused sometimes become abusers in their turn. ‘I think
unnaturally
close would cover it better.’

‘Unnatural?’ Orla shook her head. ‘We’re a single unit, Mrs Carter. We work together.’

‘And play together?’ quipped Annie.

Orla’s eyes clouded, concealing a faint flicker of rage. She folded her arms across her body.

‘What exactly are you implying? That my twin and I have some sort of unhealthy intimate thing going on?’

‘Well, don’t you?’ Annie demanded. Her voice was growing stronger now. Her anger was sustaining her, overriding her fear. ‘You set up the escort appointment with Dolly; you phoned it in. You pimped for Redmond, what else would you do for him, I wonder? Or did you know that he’d do these things anyway? Did you hate the fact that he needed these kinky sexual encounters, but did you think—he’ll do them
anyway
; I hate it but this way I can control it. He’d asked for Aretha several times, he liked the rough stuff. Ain’t that right, Redmond?’ demanded Annie.

He looked at her with icy loathing and didn’t answer.

‘Yeah,’ said Annie. ‘That’s right, ain’t it?’ She turned back to Orla. ‘And you didn’t like that: the fact that he had a particular liking for these sessions
with Aretha. And now I’m thinking you hated the thought of him with
any
woman, so much so that you just snapped and killed her.’

‘Say nothing,’ said Redmond to Orla, his eyes fixed menacingly on Annie.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Orla looked unfazed by Annie’s accusation. ‘I didn’t kill that
whore.
I wanted to. I really did. No, I don’t like the fact that Redmond has these needs. But I accept it—even though it causes trouble, even though it becomes a nuisance at times.’ She glanced at Redmond. ‘That costly
blonde
whore you became so obsessed with for a while, for instance. I really think—’

‘What you
think
about it,’ snapped Redmond, ‘isn’t relevant. That’s my business—not yours.’

Orla’s face reddened at the unexpected rebuke.

S
o there is trouble in their sick paradise
, thought Annie.
Orla really is jealous of his women. I almost feel sorry for the twisted bastards.

‘You’re talking about Mira?’ Annie’s eyes were moving between them both. Orla blinked at the mention of Mira, and Redmond seemed to freeze to the spot. ‘That was something more serious, wasn’t it? More long term. Quite pleasurable for you, Redmond, but a fucking disaster for her. You introduced her to drugs. You taught her some nasty little habits and you bloody near killed her. She told me about how you liked to half throttle
her during sex, and about that little square of rubber you use to get your jollies. If Orla hadn’t interrupted us when she did, you’d have done me with it too. You’re one sick fuck, Redmond, you know that?’

A swift flush of hot colour swept up over his pale cheeks. He didn’t look in the least ashamed: he looked
furious.

‘That’s why you sent Charlie and the boys round to Dolly Farrell’s place to get Mira back. You didn’t want her blabbing your disgusting little secrets all over the place, did you? And she belonged to you. She was your own personal high-class whore to do with as you would. But the drugs and the abuse and the abortion all took their toll on her, and I guess she started to annoy you once you’d knocked all the spirit out of her and ruined her looks, and so the games got sicker and then she began to think, fuck it, he’s going to kill me if I don’t get out of here. And she was right.’

Redmond was breathing hard. He looked as though he was going to kill her with his bare hands, right now. Annie knew he’d enjoy it, too.

Annie thought of the horror she found under that tarpaulin in the shed across the yard. ‘So she ran and ended up at Pete Delacourt’s tattoo parlour. He put her on to his brother Rizzo, who kept her drug habit fed and who put her on the streets
earning. Funnily enough, you know what? Pete went missing.’

They were silent, staring at her. Their faces said it all.

Annie swallowed. Her mouth was dry as dust. She had to get all this out now, had to let them know they were sussed.

‘And Gareth, what about Gareth? The cops are in two minds. He
could
have committed suicide, but I don’t think he did. I think he blocked you when you picked up Mira’s trail and traced her to his flat, and you lost your temper and strung him up, ain’t that right?’

Maybe I’m dead meat
, thought Annie with a shudder.
But I’m going down with all guns blazing.

‘Orla—it was
you
who killed Aretha. There was a witness. She left the hotel fit and well. Then a tall red-haired woman was seen hurrying up behind her outside the hotel that night. It was you.’

Orla unfolded her arms and leaned back against the desk again. She shook her head.

‘Oh come
on
,’ said Annie. ‘What’s the use of denying it now?’

‘You’re right. Whatever gets said here today won’t go any further. So if I’d done it, what the hell—I’d admit to it. But I didn’t.’

Fuck it
, thought Annie savagely. She couldn’t
be wrong on this. Orla
had
to be lying. But why would she bother?

‘I’m not lying,’ said Orla, straight-faced, as if she’d read her thoughts.

‘I don’t believe a bloody word that comes out your mouths.’

‘We really don’t care what you think, Mrs Carter, and it really doesn’t matter any more because you are in no position to argue, as I see it. However, for what it’s worth, neither of us murdered Aretha Brown.’

Then who the hell did?
A tall red-haired woman. Annie looked at Orla. Orla was about five feet six inches tall. A tall red-haired woman.

How
tall exactly was the woman who’d chased after Aretha, though? That was something she should have questioned William about more closely. Something she wasn’t going to get a chance to do…and she thought of Teresa Walker, who’d had red hair too. Shit, Teresa’s
mother
was tall. Teresa’s mother had red hair…

It was all too late. She’d never know now.

‘This is all getting a little tedious,’ said Redmond. ‘We have work to do, and we have to get on with it.’

‘Wait,’ said Annie.

‘Wait for what?’ Redmond gave a terse half-smile. His eyes flickered past her, behind her.

Annie started to turn. She saw Charlie coming up fast, too fast.

The cosh caught her right behind the ear. Pain crashed through her brain. And then—blackness.

Consciousness returned to Annie in fits and starts. Her head hurt; there was a sore spot behind her right ear. She opened her eyes to semi-darkness and a dim, familiar interior.

She was in the car.
Her
car. Charlie’d hit her
hard.
Her mind was spinning.
Her
car, that was right. Had to get a grip, start thinking straight. The black Mark X Jaguar. Her beautiful car.

She was lying across the back seat, which smelled of leather and cologne; familiar smells, comforting smells. But she didn’t feel comforted. Alarm bells were ringing in her addled brain; her guts were screwed up with unfocused anxiety.

Tony.

Where the fuck was Tony?

He was usually up there behind the wheel—big, suited shoulders, bald head, gold crucifixes glinting in his ears. Weaving through the London traffic
with his usual casual grace and asking where she wanted to go now, then saying, ‘Sure Boss, okay.’ But he wasn’t there. She was in the car alone.

Her heart stalled. She was beginning to remember what had happened. They’d coshed Tony as well as herself.

How long have I been out of it?
she wondered, sitting up stiffly, wincing as her head started to thump sickeningly in protest at even the slightest movement.

It was all coming back to her. The Delaneys. She’d been talking to them. And Charlie…oh Jesus, the shed. Pete Delacourt’s corpse under the tarp. Charlie in the shed and then, worse, far worse, Redmond. She was up shit creek, and she knew it. On Delaney turf, on Delaney streets. She had no chance.

Charlie had knocked her out cold. She remembered that now. The sudden pain, the swift descent into blackness. Tony was fuck-knew-where. Now they were going to take the wheel and drive her off in her own damned car to some remote place, where they would blow her brains out, what little brains she
had
, because who but a fool would push their luck so far as to cross Redmond Delaney the way she had?

She thought of Layla, her little girl, her little star. She knew she had to get the fuck out of here, because she was all that Layla had; she couldn’t
afford to get herself wasted. She was reaching for the door when the noise started—a high mechanical whine, deafening in its intensity. She clutched at the seat. Her heart kicked against her chest in alarm.

What the fuck…?

Suddenly the car lurched to the right, flinging her back against the right-hand door. She watched with horror as the left-hand door started to buckle inward. There was a ferocious shriek of tortured metal, louder than a thousand banshees at full moon. With a sound like a gunshot, the glass of the door shattered, showering her with fragments. She ducked down, covering her head momentarily with an upraised arm, then staring in terror as the left-hand door just kept coming at her, buckling inward, metal tearing, ripping, screaming.

And then the door behind her was coming in too. The noise was mind-numbing, beyond pain, beyond anything she had ever experienced before. The second window imploded, and again she was smothered in pieces of glass, felt her cheeks sting with the impact of it, felt warm blood start to ooze from cuts on her face.

‘
Jesus!
’ she screamed, knowing exactly where she was now, and knowing what was going to happen to her.

She was in the car crusher in the Delaney’s breaker’s yard.

Then the roof crashed in upon her, folding inward not like metal but like soft cardboard. The car lifted with a violent heave and she fell sideways, ending up on the floor, nearly gibbering with fear. She was going to die, she knew that now.

Just make it fast
, she thought desperately.
Please make it fast.

She was curled up into a ball, eyes clamped shut, waiting for the car to become her coffin. In anguish she thought again of Layla, felt a hot spasm of guilt and grief because Layla was going to be devastated all over again. Bad enough to lose her father. Now she was going to lose her mother too. And there was not a bloody thing Annie could do about it.

The noise was awful, mind-numbing. It seemed to reverberate all around her head, killing sensible thought, destroying reason. She was screaming, crying, she knew she was, but she couldn’t hear her own animal sounds of terror, she could only think,
I’m going to die, I’m going to die.

How long would it take?

Would she feel her limbs being pulverized, would she feel her legs, her arms, being twisted and snapped like twigs beneath the huge crusher’s relentless pressure? Would her pelvis disintegrate, would her ribs crack, pushed inward to pierce her
lungs, her heart? Yes, all of that. She had all that to come. All that inhuman pain.

Help me
, she thought in a paroxysm of fear.

Everything was moving around her, drawing inward. She felt the front seats encroaching on her small space, felt them push inward, inward, so that the space became smaller still, and now her foot was trapped beneath Tony’s seat, she couldn’t move it, couldn’t get it out and it was getting tighter and tighter, just the merest pain now, but it was clamped tight in there as if in a vice, she couldn’t get free.

Then, suddenly, the machine stopped. Suddenly, she heard herself screaming. She was screaming like a soul trapped in a fiery hell. But the machine had
stopped.

But it’s going to start again
, she thought in hysterical fear.
Any second now. They’re playing with me, that’s all.

Suddenly she couldn’t get her breath to scream. She gulped down air, sobbing weakly, gripped by a gut-churning panic. It was going to start again. She knew it. She could hear the metal tomb the car had become still popping and wheezing all around her. She opened her eyes and saw that she was jammed into the tiniest of spaces, the roof crammed up against the top of the front seats, the floor impacted beneath her, the car’s sides encasing her with mere inches to spare.

She drew in a shuddering breath and yelled: ‘Help! For God’s sake someone help me!’

And then she heard voices, coming closer.

Oh shit, they were coming to gloat. Coming to see her lose it before they started the damned thing up again and finished her off.

Annie bit her lip and stifled more screams.
Fuck
them. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. For long moments she listened to her own unsteady breathing and her galloping heartbeat, and kept as quiet as she possibly could.

‘Mrs Carter?’ said a male voice nearby. ‘Can you hear me?’

Redmond.

But no. It wasn’t an Irish voice. It was…she thought she knew, but her brain was so skewed with fright that she couldn’t think straight.

‘Mrs Carter,’ repeated the voice. ‘Can you hear me?’

Now her frozen brain started to fire up again. Now she thought, yes, I know it. Don’t I?

She thought she was probably in shock. She had to think about it, very carefully. Trying to think of
anything
above the almost overwhelming fear of that thing starting up again was difficult, almost impossible. But she was thinking, trawling her brain, and now it came up with a name.

‘Hunter?’ she gasped out.

‘Mrs Carter?’ He’d heard her.

Annie said nothing. No, it was going to start up again. She knew it. She was going to die.

‘Mrs Carter, can you see me?’

Annie turned her head just a little, and looked upward, towards the shattered left-hand side window. She couldn’t see a face. What she
could
see was a hand. There was a gold wedding band on it. And there was a faint flickering blue light.

Police car
, she thought.

She’d never been glad to see the Bill before, but
shit
was she glad to see them now.

‘A hand,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I can see a hand.’

‘Can you reach it? Grab hold?’ he asked. He sounded very calm.

Shuddering, Annie unravelled her aching limbs just a little.

Straining through a gap of just inches, she stretched her hand towards his.

But in doing that, she became aware of how firmly her legs were held, how securely her ankle was clamped into the dead body of the car.

So securely that her foot was numb.

She felt a scream building at the back of her throat, felt a claustrophobic spasm grab her and gnaw at her guts.

‘I can’t move,’ she burst out.

‘It’s all right,’ he said, still very calm. ‘You’re going to be fine. Can you reach my hand? Try to reach my hand.’

Annie strained harder. With an enormous effort she reached out and managed to touch the hand. It fastened firmly on to her fingers. The hand was warm. Hers were icy with shock. Jesus, she was so glad he was there.

‘That’s good.’ His voice was soothing, like he was trying to talk a jumper down from a tall building.

She wanted to ask him if they’d got the Delaney twins, but she knew better than anyone else that it wouldn’t be the Bill who dealt out justice, not around here—it would be herself. She’d make those bastards suffer for this.

‘Can you squeeze my hand?’ he asked.

She tried to move closer to the hand that had wrapped itself securely around hers. She couldn’t. ‘My foot,’ she said, and now her teeth were chattering.
Yeah, that’s shock
, she thought detachedly. ‘I can’t move my foot,’ she told him.

‘We’ll need cutting gear,’ he said to someone else, and there were more voices, radio messages being sent. To Annie he said: ‘Try to relax, Mrs Carter. Help’s on the way. Just hold on now, and try to stay calm.’

Stay calm. So easy to say.

‘How did you know where to find me?’ she asked unsteadily.

‘I didn’t. We had a lead on the disappearance of Peter Delacourt, and we ended up here. Call it fate that we got to you in time.’

Fate.

It was pure fate that she hadn’t died. And it was fate that decreed she was going to hunt down those Delaney bastards and finish the job.