Justice for the Damned (23 page)

Taking a deep breath, Edward drew himself up to his full height. His mother was right, he knew. Dealing with Tyler and his goons was really no different to dealing with his fellow politicians. If they sensed weakness, they would tear him apart like a pack of hungry jackals. He opened the Jag’s passenger door for his mother, then headed around to the driver’s side. He laid the briefcase on the back seat, and got behind the steering wheel. He checked his reflection in the mirror, smoothing out any creases of anxiety, replacing them with a well-practised look of self-assurance.

‘That’s better,’ said Mabel, reaching out to stroke Edward’s jawline with her forefinger. ‘There’s the man I brought you up to be. There’s the politician who one day will go on to become a great leader of this country.’

‘A great leader,’ Edward repeated tentatively, as if trying the words on for size.

‘Say it again and know it.’

As Edward pulled away from the house, he said the words over and over with growing force. Mabel leaned her head back and made a small sound of appreciation deep in her throat.

When they arrived at the layby, a Range Rover was waiting for them. ‘Please let me do the talking, Mother,’ said Edward.

Mabel raised an eyebrow as if to say,
We’ll see.
‘Don’t let me down, Edward. Remember who you are.’

They got out of the car and approached the Range Rover. Edward helped his mother into the back seat, before climbing in after her. The bull-necked fat man with the goatee beard was sitting behind the steering wheel. What was his name again? Shaun or Stan or something like that. The man twisted around, his broken-veined face knitting into a frown. ‘What the fuck? You were supposed to come alone.’

‘This is my mother.’

‘I don’t give a toss who she is. You’re bang out of order bringing her here.’

Mabel pointed to the briefcase. ‘There’s two million pounds of my money in there. Until I know for certain that I’m getting what I’m paying for, I go where it goes.’

Stan looked at them undecidedly, fidgeting with something in the pocket of his jacket. A touch of nervousness came back into Edward’s face. He blinked when Stan pulled out a phone, dialled and put the phone to his ear. ‘He’s here. And he’s got his mother with him… I know, I know, but what else can we do? It’s her money. She wants to make sure she’s not being ripped off… OK, see you soon.’

Stan returned the phone to his pocket. He took a cloth bag and a roll of duct tape out of the glove compartment. He handed the bag to Mabel. ‘Put that on your head.’

Mabel hesitated to do so, holding the bag distastefully between her thumb and forefinger.

‘Look, lady,’ continued Stan, ‘either you put that on or this situation isn’t going to turn out well.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘It’s a promise.’

‘Just do as he says, Mother,’ put in Edward.

Mabel stared at Stan for a moment with not the slightest trace of fear in her eyes. Then, almost tauntingly slowly, she pulled the bag down over her face. Stan tore off a strip of duct tape. ‘There’s only one bag,’ he said to Edward. ‘So this will have to do for you.’ He slapped the strip over the politician’s eyes a little harder than was necessary.

As the Range Rover pulled out of the layby, Edward clutched the briefcase to his chest. His other hand sought out his mother’s. She pushed him away with fingers as dry as old parchment, hissing under her breath, ‘Remember who you are.’

Remember who you are.
Edward’s face twisted into something between a scowl and a sneer. She’d been saying those words to him his whole life. The irony was he’d never felt as if he really knew who he was. There’d always been a hollowness inside him, a sense of emptiness and disconnect. Only one thing had ever made him feel truly whole – pain. Pain was the wire that connected him to the world. Not his own pain, but the pain of others. To look into the eyes of someone in agony, there was nothing more real than that. He’d spent a lot of years wondering why he was like he was. For a long time he’d blamed his father. He knew differently now.

Edward felt the Range Rover brake and turn onto the farm track. As the vehicle juddered along the rutted lane, he licked his lips in anticipation. He suddenly realised he was looking forward to seeing the farm again. So much pain had been inflicted in that place. You could feel it hanging around like an invisible miasma. The Range Rover braked again. There was the sound of a door opening, followed by the scrape of a gate swinging open.

A short time later, the vehicle pulled to a halt again. ‘Leave that on,’ said Stan as Mabel started to remove the bag. When she ignored him, his voice rose angrily. ‘I said—’

‘I heard what you said,’ Mabel interrupted, returning Stan’s stare unflinchingly. ‘But I’ve had enough of this nonsense.’

With an angry shake of his head, Stan reached back to yank the duct tape off Edward’s eyes. ‘Bloody hell!’ yelped Edward as the tape took half his eyebrows with it.

Mabel eyed the rundown farmhouse and collection of equally dilapidated outbuildings with distaste. She climbed out of the Range Rover, her nose wrinkling. ‘What’s that godawful stink?’ Her high heels sank into several inches of mud as she stepped away from the vehicle. She stretched out her arms, swaying. ‘Edward!’ she called shrilly. ‘I’m falling.’

Edward dashed to her side. Hooking his free hand under her arm, he guided her towards the house. One of her feet came out of its shoe. She threw her arms around Edward to keep from stepping in the mud. ‘Mother!’ he shouted, fighting to keep his balance.

Stan watched with amusement playing around his mouth. Tyler emerged from the house and took in the scene impassively. Stan’s smile disappeared at the sight of him. ‘She took the bag off when we got here. I told her not to but she wouldn’t listen.’

Tyler scratched disinterestedly at his bandaged eye.

‘How’s it feeling?’

Tyler gave a what-does-it-matter shrug, and thumbed over his shoulder. ‘Go and open up the cellar.’

‘Where’s Liam?’ asked Stan, heading into the house.

‘He’s dealing with that other thing.’

Arms crossed, Tyler watched the Foresters struggle towards him. Edward was flushed and a touch breathless by the time they reached the doorstep. Mabel glared up at Tyler. ‘Thanks for all your help,’ she said, her voice venomous with sarcasm. ‘What a gentleman you are.’

Mabel’s words didn’t dent Tyler’s inscrutable expression. He motioned her to enter the house. Once they were all inside, he locked the door. Mabel’s sharp gaze travelled around the hallway’s damp-stained walls and grubby carpet. ‘Delightful place you’ve got here, Mr… What did you say your name was?’

‘What do you want to know my name for?’

‘I like to know who I’m doing business with. I’m Mabel Forester.’

‘CEO of Forester Cakes. A company you built up from nothing, and which now accounts for a quarter of the UK cake market. You made a profit of 8.9 million last year.’

‘Well, well, I’m impressed. You’re obviously not as ignorant as you look.’

Something approaching amusement glimmered in Tyler’s eye at the backhanded compliment. ‘I like to know who I’m dealing with too. You can call me Tyler.’

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tyler.’

Tyler nodded as if in reciprocation, although his expression suggested he had no feelings on the matter. ‘If you’ll please follow me, we’ll get down to business.’

As he led them towards the back of the house, Mabel gave Edward a look as if to say,
See, that’s how it’s done.
They entered a kitchen of sorts. There was a grimy ceramic sink underneath a barred window. Empty and mostly doorless cupboards lined the walls. On a scratched old table in the centre of the room there was a camping stove, a kettle, several mugs and a jar of instant coffee. To the right of the table, a door led to a flight of basement stairs illuminated by a bare bulb. The stairway exhaled a fetid odour suggestive of some animal living in its own filth. Edward put his hand to his mouth. But his eyes shone as though the sight of the stairs, or maybe the smell, brought back some cherished memory.

Tyler cleared the table and gestured for the briefcase to be laid on it. Edward glanced at his mother. She gave a nod, and he set down the case and opened it. Tyler looked at the money. If he was pleased or otherwise, there was nothing in his demeanour to show it. He picked up a wad of banknotes, flipped through it, returned it to its place and closed the case.

‘Is everything to your satisfaction?’ asked Edward.

In answer, Tyler approached the basement door and called down the stairs, ‘Bring him up.’

There came the sound of scuffling, dragging footsteps. Stan pushed Bryan Reynolds into the room. The gangster’s hands were cuffed behind his back and his mouth was gagged with duct tape. His pastel blue suit was torn and streaked with filth. Excrement stains stretched down the inside of his trouser legs. His long blond hair was dishevelled, revealing a pink bald spot. His left eye was swollen shut. Apart from that, his granite-hard face was uninjured. The last time Edward had seen him, Bryan’s eyes had blazed with hate and menace. All that was left of that flame was an exhausted glimmer. He had the look of a defeated man, a man who’d accepted his fate.

Mabel eyed Bryan as if he was a species of insect she’d never seen before. ‘Is this the man?’

‘Yes,’ said Edward.

‘Who is he?’

‘He’s a criminal. A drug dealer. One of the biggest in South Yorkshire.’

‘So I suppose you could say we’re doing society a favour by getting rid of him,’ observed Mabel. She turned to Tyler. ‘What happens now? How will you,’ she paused for the right words, ‘do him in?’

‘We need to ask him some questions first.’

‘Let’s get on with it then. I don’t want to spend a moment longer than I have to in this place.’

‘I suggest you and your son wait here, Mrs Forester.’

Mabel shook her head. ‘I want to hear for myself what this…’ she pointed at Bryan, ‘thing has to say.’

‘As you wish, but I warn you, there will be blood. Lots of it.’

Mabel smiled – not a pleasant smile. ‘Don’t worry about me, Tyler. I’m not squeamish.’ She motioned for him to lead the way. At a glance from Tyler, Stan shoved Bryan into the hallway.

‘Where are we taking him?’ Edward asked as they passed the interrogation room.

‘To meet some friends of mine,’ said Tyler.

Edward frowned. ‘I don’t know if I like the idea of yet more people knowing about my involvement in this matter.’

This time Tyler did smile, though it was only a pale ghost of the real thing. ‘You needn’t worry about that.’

At the foot of the steps, Tyler turned to Mabel. ‘Would you like me to help you?’

‘I’d like that very much.’

Mabel extended her hand, but Tyler stooped and lifted her like a husband about to carry a bride over the threshold. She gave a girlish giggle of delight as he effortlessly whisked her across the muddy yard. Edward hurried after them, brow furrowed as if unsure whether he approved of his mother being manhandled in such a fashion. They entered a barn whose walls were lined with rusty iron troughs. The floor was even more awash with mud than the yard. ‘Bloody buggering hell!’ swore Edward as the stinking green-brown slime sucked at his shoes.

Towards the rear of the barn a ladder led up to a hayloft. Tyler set Mabel down at the foot of it. She theatrically touched her hands to her cheeks. ‘I think I’m blushing.’

‘Go up and lower the harness,’ Tyler said to Stan.

Stan climbed the ladder. He slung down a rope with a crude leather harness attached to its end. With a practised movement, Tyler kicked Bryan’s legs out from beneath him. The gangster went down hard and lay winded, gasping for breath. Tyler removed Bryan’s shoes and socks. Then he undid Bryan’s trousers and yanked them off, along with the black G-string he was wearing underneath. He held up the G-string, and Stan guffawed at the sight. Tyler stared down at the prostrate gangster, whose penis was shrivelled with cold and fear. It always struck him how even the toughest of men could be instantly made to look pathetic and vulnerable by the simple act of removing the lower half of their clothing. He fastened the harness around Bryan’s legs and waist, then signalled Stan to take in the slack. As Stan did so, Tyler turned to Mabel. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to climb up there too, Mrs Forester.’

‘I think I can manage that,’ she replied, taking hold of the ladder. ‘I’m a lot stronger than I look.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘Careful, Mother,’ said Edward, anxiously watching Mabel climb the ladder. At its top, Stan took her hand and helped her into the hayloft.

Edward went up next. Before following him, Tyler bound Bryan’s legs with duct tape. A strange, hungry kind of gleam came into Edward’s eyes as they took in the hayloft. There was no hay in it. But there were other things. The rope was attached to a winch, which in former days must have been used for hoisting bales of hay. Bags of pig feed were stacked against one wall. Against another there was a wooden workbench. An array of tools hung on the wall above the bench – hacksaws, pliers, hammers, knives, a chainsaw – along with several plastic raincoats and pairs of goggles. Beneath the bench there was a portable tin bath. Slowly running his tongue over his lips, Edward approached the bench. There were deep scores and dark stains on its surface. He peered into the bath. A thin layer of some viscous red-black substance was congealed in its base. A shudder tingled through him as he inhaled the sour metallic smell it gave off. He glanced around at the sound of the winch being cranked. Stan was operating its handle. Tyler was peering over the edge of the loft. Edward joined him.

Bryan was dangling a metre or so above the floor. He writhed and gave off muffled screams as each turn of the handle jerked him upwards a few centimetres, causing the harness to bite deeper into his testicles. Edward gazed down at him almost wistfully. He hadn’t seen a man in that kind of pain before. He’d expected to enjoy the spectacle, but he would never have thought he’d find anything arousing in it. The sight of fully developed genitalia had always faintly revolted him. And yet there was a throbbing in his groin that made him wish he could be alone with Bryan.