But her chance never came.
He stopped the car in a quiet side road, threw open the back door.
‘Wait!’ she managed to gasp out. ‘Just wait-’
‘Shut up,’ said Rufus, and slapped duct tape over her mouth to silence her.
Then he bound her hands and feet, and put a sack over her head. Mould and dust filled her nostrils as he hauled her bodily out of the car. Swaying sickly as he carried her, Annie heard him open doors, then she was thrown painfully down on to cold ridged metal. The impact knocked all the breath out of her. Metal doors slammed shut.
It was an effort to breathe when every fibre of her being was screaming out a message of panic, nevertheless she forced herself to keep thinking. She must be in a Transit van, something like that. An engine started up, and the van lurched and began to move.
To hold the fear in check and keep herself calm, she tried not to dwell on thoughts of where Rufus Malone was taking her, what he would do to her when they got there. Instead she filled her mind with thoughts of Layla, of Alberto, and lastly of Max. She was still in love with him. Had never been out of love with him, not even when he was at his most vicious and bitter.
Now, she was never going to see him again.
This was it. This was the end.
93
Hunter had been about to head home when the Super called him into his office.
‘Had a call from the boys who are watching this mob guy,’ Cyril told him. ‘They saw a bloke come out of the house carrying Annie Carter over his shoulder. Stuffed her in the back of a car, drove off.’
‘Over his shoulder? Was she unconscious?’
‘Looked like it, they said.’
‘Do we have a description of this man?’ asked Hunter.
Cyril flipped his notepad open. ‘Beige cord jacket, jeans. Big bastard, built like a rugby player. Long curly red hair.’
‘They get the registration number?’ Hunter was thinking that the description Cyril had just given sounded very much like the guy who had bombed out Annie Carter’s car a couple of weeks ago.
‘They did. And we found the car, abandoned in a lane in Essex.’
‘Prints?’ he asked.
‘Yep. And we’ve got a match on the system: Rufus Malone. Irish hard case, been all over the bloody world by all accounts. Done time in his youth, nothing recent.’ The Super blew out his cheeks. ‘This is a criminal act – an abduction.’
Hunter looked at him. ‘But we’ve been warned off. We can’t touch this.’
‘We can’t let our citizens be snatched off the street, either.’
‘Out of the house, anyway.’
‘You know what I mean. The car’s a rental, we’re waiting for further verification on his ID with Avis.’
‘But we can’t get involved.’
‘No. Technically speaking, we can’t.’
94
A fear had been eating at Annie, chiselling away at her composure, ever since Orla Delaney had bludgeoned her way back into her world. She had tried not to voice it aloud, because that would make it real and even more terrifying. But that fear was enveloping her now, snatching the breath from her throat, stealing away what little composure remained to her.
That fear was…
Oh shit, no, I can’t think it, I mustn’t…
That fear was that he would be waiting for her at the end of this journey.
Redmond Delaney.
If Orla was alive, then he could be too. She shivered as the words trickled through her mind, corrosive as liquid poison.
No, Redmond was dead. He was meant to die.
But then – so was Orla. And she had come back from the grave, started up this whole mad thing that was now playing out to its bitter end.
Annie closed her eyes, tried to blank the fear out. But it was too strong.
Maybe she was the one who was meant to die. Maybe, after all these years, Redmond was finally going to have his revenge.
95
‘He gave false ID,’ said the Super. ‘To the car hire people. Banged it up a bit too, they’re not happy.’
Hunter leaned back against the closed office door and gazed out through the half-open Venetian blinds at the darkening sky and the drizzling rain, seeing nothing.
‘Funny-looking fucker. Like the Wild Man of Borneo,’ said the Super.
Red hair, same as Orla and Redmond Delaney, thought Hunter.
‘You got the word out on the ports and airports?’ he asked.
‘Of course. But both you and I know it’s easy enough to sneak in and out from a quiet spot on a dark night, pay a skipper, no questions asked.’
‘Any relatives, known associates…?’
The Super flicked open a page on the pad in front of him on the desk. ‘Benny O’Connor – your gunshot victim. I sent a couple of the lads over to the hospital to question him and at the mention of Rufus Malone he started singing like a ruddy canary. Sounds as if he’s a very frightened man. He says Rufus has been in the UK two or three weeks; told Benny he was staying at an amusement arcade in Southend called Partyland and then at another place out Essex way.’
‘And…?’ prompted Hunter.
‘Partyland, it turns out, has had a visit from some hard boys. They wrecked the place.’
Hunter nodded. ‘Someone else is looking for Rufus Malone.’
‘Looks that way.’
‘I’m thinking Max Carter; that would fit with the description the nurse gave of the man who assaulted O’Connor. What about the Essex address?’
‘O’Connor reckons it’s a derelict property. Claims he doesn’t have an actual address.’
‘Can we get a fix on that?’
‘I think we should try. And there’s another person of interest we’re on the lookout for – name of Dickon, nasty little tit with a record as long as your arm, but we can’t find him. Hasn’t been seen in any of his usual haunts and his friends claim they’ve no idea where he’s got to. And there are still some Delaney family members in Ireland. Living at a place called Fallowfield Farm in Limerick. Maybe this Rufus could be thinking of making his way there? I dunno. This goes beyond making waves for the American boys, don’t you think? This is about tracing an abducted woman, a British citizen.’
96
They were heading for Essex. Steve was driving, with Max in the front passenger seat. Layla was crammed in the back between Alberto and Sandor, and she was thinking she might choke from all the testosterone floating about in there. The mood in the car was grim.
‘Layla?’ said Alberto quietly.
She didn’t answer: she stared out at the encroaching night.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ he muttered.
Layla turned a freezing glance on him. ‘What?’ she hissed.
‘Can we try and behave like grown-ups?’
Layla’s eyes flashed with temper. ‘Oh sure. You’d love that, wouldn’t you. Sorry – I wasn’t aware I was being juvenile.’
‘Well, you are.’
Layla leaned forward and said for his ears only: ‘My dad would kill you if he knew what you did to me.’
Alberto opened his eyes wide. ‘Yeah? He’d better just get in line. We made love. Get over it.’
‘Made love?’ Layla gave a low, bitter laugh. In a fierce whisper she went on: ‘We had sex because I was upset and you took advantage of that. You used me. Then you dumped me. I apologize if I don’t like that.’
‘Jesus, don’t we have more important things to think about right now?’ asked Alberto in exasperation. ‘Look – I did you a favour. Believe me, I did.’
‘A favour? No, you did yourself one,’ said Layla. She closed her eyes and moaned softly. ‘Oh God. He could kill her, couldn’t he? She could already be dead. She might not even be at this place.’