Kill Clock (7 page)

A woman in a light-coloured jacket was waiting on the pavement outside the kids' granny's flat as Pearce pulled up. Looked to be in her late forties under the splash of light from the streetlamp. She clomped over to the car in a pair of patterned Wellies and tapped on the window.

Pearce lowered it. "Can I help?"

"You must be Pearce."

Granny? Hardly the old bat he'd imagined. She must have been a kid herself when she had Mike. He opened the door to shake her hand.

"How have they been?" She looked at the kids asleep in the back.

"No trouble."

"Wish I could say the same. They run riot with me." She leaned over and he caught a whiff of something sweet. Peaches, maybe. "I've tried phoning Mike. Called him at home, on his mobile. No answer. I'm worried, Pearce. Did Julie say anything when she dropped the kids off with you? Have they had a fight?"

He was about to tell her at least part of the story, but Kirk woke up and beat him to it.

"Granny, there were men. And they had big muscles like this." He showed her his skinny bicep. "And … and they had masks on. And … and … and one man had a gun. And it fired! And Mummy went in the car with the men and left her shoe." He glanced around and rescued it from the space between the childseats. "Look."

Even in the dim light, Pearce could see Granny's face grow pale. He'd keep quiet about Mike. He shouldn't be the one to have to tell her.

"We'll keep Mummy's shoe safe for her." Granny forced a smile. "Better get inside." She looked at Pearce's bare arms. "You not got a jumper?"

"I'm used to it."

She nodded. "Can you bring Sleeping Beauty?"

Devon woke up when he unbuckled her. He picked her up and she put her arms round his neck. "Want my wand, Pearce."

"OK."

"Want Mummy's shoe."

"OK."

"I'll carry them for her." Kirk slid the wand from under Hilda's backside. "Bad dog."

"Don't tell him off."

"He has to stay." Kirk pointed the wand at Hilda. "Freeze."

Hilda gave his best sad-eyed look and lay down.

"Hurry." Devon snuggled close to Pearce's chest. "I'm freezin' too."

"Come on, then. It'll be warm in Granny's."

And it was. Too warm. Granny obviously liked her heating cranked up. And her colours cranked up too. Walking into the sitting room of her first-floor flat was like stepping into a rainbow inside an oven. The floor was covered in half-a-dozen rugs of different shades, multi-coloured throws draped over the settee and armchairs.

Pearce plunked Devon down on the settee and wiped his forehead.

Granny slotted in a DVD. "Just a few minutes, mind."

"Yes." Kirk climbed up beside Devon and put his arm around her. "She's tired. I'm not. I'll tell her what happens. I know what happens. I've seen it before. Devon's seen it before too. Have you seen it, Pearce?"

He looked at the screen. Cartoon with some plonker of a bloke and a goofy-looking dog. "Don't think so, mate."

"Lady Tottington has thousands and thousands of rabbits in her garden. I don't like Victor. He has a gun."

"Pearce doesn't want to hear about all that. You want some hot chocolate?" Granny put the remote next to Kirk on the arm of the settee. "With marshmallows?"

"Yes, please, Granny." He nodded. "Bring Devon some too." He patted her head. "Case she wakes up."

Granny turned to Pearce. "Come with me."

He followed her into the kitchen. Tarnished chrome, scarred wood, faded linoleum. Kids' drawings blu-tacked to the cupboards.

She picked up the kettle and it fell out of her hand, clattering off the worktop and onto the floor. The contents splashed across the linoleum. "I'm sorry. I'm a bit shaky."

Pearce picked up the kettle. Water dripped off the plastic. "Got something to soak this up?"

"I was just going to fill it."

"I know."

"Could have been boiling."

"It wasn't. No harm done."

"I'll get a dishcloth."

He went over to the sink, let the water run, popped the kettle under the tap. He let the kettle fill, turned off the tap and put the kettle down.

"You going to tell me what's going on, Pearce?" She was on her knees, cloth scrunched up in her hand, the floor glistening.

Could he tell her about Mike? Probably not. He had to let her know what had happened to Julie, though. Kirk's account had been a mess.

"Yeah, come up here." He took a seat at the dining table and pulled out a chair for Granny. Once she was seated, he explained what he knew to her as quickly and matter-of-factly as he could. He didn't mention Mike.

"Oh, Lord." She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a hanky. She blew her nose and tucked the hanky away again. "We need to call the police."

"No, we need to wait. I'll sort things out. I'm meeting the guy who kidnapped Julie. At midnight. His name's Kevin Banks."

"Banksy?" She looked down at the table. "Oh, Lord."

"You know him?" Pearce followed her gaze. Her left hand was flat on the table. He hadn't noticed before but the top half of the little finger was missing.

She lifted her hand for Pearce to look more closely. The stump was smooth.

"He did that?"

She nodded, closing her eyes. She must have been remembering the pain of it. "I wouldn't have thought it was possible." She opened her eyes, looked at the finger. "Banksy and his little brother, they did it here. In the sitting room. Ray waited by the open door while Banksy grabbed my hand like this." She clasped her hands around Pearce's, holding out the little finger, keeping it bent back and straight. "Pushed it into the space between the door frame and the edge of the door." She paused. "Then Ray slammed it shut." She shuddered, stroked the tip of Pearce's pinkie. "Snapped clean through. Skin and bone."

"Jesus." Pearce pulled his hand away. "Couldn't they stick it back on at the hospital?"

"Don't know. Those bastards flushed the lopped-off bit down the toilet." She got up. Walked slowly over to the sink and picked up the kettle.

"How much did you owe?"

"Didn't owe them anything. Mike did."

"When was this?"

"Long time ago. Three years or so now." She plugged in the kettle and it sprang into life right away. "He paid it off."

"So he's been in debt before." Julie was telling the truth about that, at least.

"He's in debt again?"

"That's why they've got Julie."

Her lips tightened. Chin quivered. He thought she was going to burst into tears. "I'm really worried about him, Pearce."

If he was going to tell Granny her son was dead, now would be the time. But he couldn't.

Only one thing he could do. Leave.

He got up to go just as Devon appeared in the doorway, wand in hand, wearing her mother's shoe, her face crumpled with tiredness. "Kirk woked me up. Will you read me a story, Pearce?"

"What did the giant say?" He was sitting between the kids on the settee but only one of them was paying attention.

Devon pumped her fists. "Feet! Eye! Toe! Thumb!"

"Did he?"

"That's what it says." She pointed at the page, finger on the word 'Jack'. "Here."

"Well, well. So it does. I must be thinking of a different giant. Eh, Kirk?"

Kirk stared at the TV. You could have poured a bucket of water over his head and he wouldn't have blinked.

The fine smell of sausages and chips coming from the kitchen wasn't distracting him either.

Devon licked her finger and flipped the page. It didn't quite work and the page flopped back down. "Oops." She tried again. "Got it."

"You're good at that."

"My mummy learnt me." She wiggled her foot, still with Julie's shoe on it.

"So what's happening on this page?"

He heard a faint chirping sound and his bumcheek vibrated. He stood up and slid Julie's phone out of his back pocket. Looked at the display.

"Is that Mummy? Can I speak to her?"

"It's not her, sorry." He spoke quietly into the phone. "What do you want?"

"I've heard all about you, Pearce."

"Likewise, Banksy."

"Hope nobody's been saying anything bad about me." Banksy chuckled. "It's all lies, you know."

Pearce moved towards the window, out of earshot. "Let Julie go."

"Of course. As long as you bring my money to me."

"I don't have twenty grand."

"Hard to believe you don't have a big pile of cash stashed away somewhere."

"If I did, why would I give it to you?"

"Because you're one of those arseholes who give a shit, Pearce. I know all about you."

"Is that right?"

"You tell me? Listen to this."

Pearce listened, heard nothing but muffled voices.

After a few seconds Banksy came back on. "Ready? Maybe this'll help you change your mind."

And then there was an almighty scream. A woman's scream. He moved the phone from his ear and cut the call.

The sound echoed. He could still hear it when the phone rang again.

"Didn't enjoy that? Neither did Julie. And that was just a taste. You want another death on your conscience, Pearce? Maybe you don't mind. That's fine. Up to you."

Pearce breathed deeply. "Where should I take the money?"

"Ah, that's more like it. We'll make it nice and easy for you. Know the industrial estate at Baileyfield?"

"Course I do." He could see it from his sitting room window. "You're coming to me?" Banksy's patch, Leith, was a few miles away.

"We like to be helpful, you know." Then, in the same cheery voice: "If you don't bring the money, we'll dump Julie on your doorstep. One piece at a time. Got that?"

So that was it. They wanted him to know he couldn't hide from them. They knew where he lived. "Yeah, I've got that."

"And before you go, someone else wants to say hi."

More muffled voices. Then a high-pitched yelp. Sounded like a dog.

"Should know better than to leave your wee pooch where it's not safe, Pearce."

"You're a sick fuck, Banksy." It probably was a dog. Wouldn't put it past them. But not Hilda. He was in the car outside. Couldn't be safer. "What're you trying to pull?"

"Not much of a guard dog, is he? Ray says he just lay there in the back seat. Didn't even growl. Pathetic, really."

"If you're trying to wind me up, it's not working."