Savage Night (22 page)

She lay still for a while, long enough to lose track of time, long enough to lose hope of ever being able to move again. But finally—after how long, she couldn't say—the feeling vanished, the numbness seeping away into the bedclothes, the smell of roses dissipating into the air, her voice leaking out of her in a quiet strangle.

And she could move again. A finger. A toe. A hand. A foot. An arm. A leg. She sat up. The fat men had gone.

It was as if the whole thing had never happened.

The next day, she tried to explain how she'd felt to Richie, who wasn't young enough to wander around with his hand down his shorts and get away with it, but that didn't stop him. "Richie, it was like I was a question mark."

Her brother said, "What do you mean?"

She shook her head. She couldn't explain. She didn't have the words. "Forget it," she said.

And she had, until now.

That feeling, being immobilised. All you could do was think. And when you thought, you asked questions.

Martin was staring at her, eyes wide. He was saying something but she couldn't make out the words.

Why? Because of the heads in the bags? No. Because they were being watched? No. So, what then? She didn't know.

She couldn't stand here forever being a question mark.

Shit. It wasn't going to go away.

But it would. She knew it. Blame Martin. She'd been doing pretty well until he got her all jittery.

God, she was behaving like a fucking amateur. Richie would disown her. So would Dad.

Everybody was relying on her.

If you were an expurgator, it was to be expected that you'd behave oddly, now and then. Especially if you were just an apprentice. You suppressed your emotions to this degree, something fucked up had to trickle out somewhere. Even Richie had his moments. Wouldn't be normal otherwise.

She squeezed her hand into a fist. She was not going to cry. She was a hard-arsed bitch. Martin was spooked, that was all. The heads in the bags were watching them. Yeah, right.

Martin, Martin, Martin.

She wanted to lean forward, kiss him. She tried and was surprised to find she could move again. But of course she could. She'd just clenched her fist.

She kissed his cheek. She said, "Let's have that bath, eh? Then get on with the show."

***

EFFIE WAS STANDING in the bathroom watching Martin dangle his foot in the water, testing the temperature with his toes.

"Still a bit warm for you," he said. "But I'll get in. You can join me in a minute."

They had to be at Old Mrs Yardie's in a couple of hours to pick up Tommy Savage. It involved a short drive, so she needed to get cleaned up. And try to focus. Her head was still a mess.

She dipped her fingers into the water. Yeah, still too hot.

Unfortunately they couldn't clean up the house quite so easily as they could clean themselves. She'd asked Richie's advice. His best guess was that no one would be looking for signs of blood, but if they were, they'd find something no matter how thoroughly the place was scrubbed. Once reported missing, the police would be looking for Fraser and Phil and Tommy Savage, sure. And they'd come visit Fraser's house, as they'd visit the others, have a look around. But as long as Effie and Martin took reasonable care the police would find nothing out of the ordinary. With no bodies, no overt evidence of what they called foul play, the police wouldn't look very hard. They'd have no reason to be bringing in the forensic team to check for traces of blood.

That's what Richie thought. And, as he'd pointed out when he phoned, even if the police did look long and hard, and found a little blood, they wouldn't be able to tell much from it. For all they knew, maybe Fraser had cut his finger or had a nosebleed. And if it was Phil Savage's blood they found, well, it wasn't unlikely that Phil would have visited his nephew. And he too could have injured himself.

As long as the house wasn't swimming in the stuff, everything'd be fine. And since Martin and Effie had used the tub, and done the dirty work
post mortem
, the blood was kept to a minimum. The important thing was that there weren't any bodies. Leaving bodies lying around was asking for trouble.

If everything went according to plan tonight, the heads would get buried, and the bodies cremated. Practically a funeral when you thought about it. Which was more than the bastards deserved. And after that, everybody could rest easy, job done, Grant and Martin's dad avenged.

***

SHE GAZED DOWN at Martin as he splashed pink water over his chest. The water swept away a circle of bubbles. He ran his hand through his hair, picked at some muck that had caught there. "Need some shampoo," he said. "See any?"

There was none on the side of the bath. She looked in the shower stall. Found a small bottle of dandruff shampoo. She placed it on the side of the bath. "Want me to do it?"

"You're okay," he said. He slid his buttocks forward, ducked his head under the water. Resurfaced moments later, eyes shut, water dripping down his face. He squeezed the water out of his hair, opened his eyes. "Temperature's about right for you now," he said.

Effie eased herself into the water. Her knees clicked like an old man's when she went into a crouch. Dad's were the same. She sat down.

Martin lathered his hair. "Strange being in someone else's bath," he said, lifting his legs onto the sides to make room for Effie. "Don't you think?"

Didn't seem that strange to her. It did seem strange to be lying in bath water that was this colour, though. "I suppose," she said.

He brushed her cheek with his foot, left her face wet. "You need to wash your face."

She turned her head to the side. "When I get out. Not washing it in this filth."

He wiggled his toes at her. He'd forgotten that nonsense about the decapitated heads watching them. That was good. She should try to relax too.

Hell, she
was
relaxed. She just wasn't feeling playful. Still thinking about that odd feeling of immobility earlier. She should tell Martin about it. Although maybe this wasn't a good time. When
was
a good time, though? "Something a bit weird happened …"

He stopped tapping her shoulder with his toes. Looked at her.

She couldn't go through with it, though. It sounded stupid. "Nothing," she said.

He frowned. Eyes crinkled. Something she usually found very sexy. He said nothing, though, even though he was no doubt aware that something was up. His foot slid into the water. He guided his toes across her thigh. She raised her hips, pressed her yoni against the sole of his foot.

Nothing.

He pulled his foot away. "Should be getting out."

"Richie said not to hurry."

"I didn't say we should hurry. Just meant we should watch our time."

She nodded.

"You okay?" he said.

"Fine," she said. "Rinse your hair."

He sighed, then ducked his head under the water. It rose to a dangerously high level. She realised she was holding her breath with him, and let it out. How many couples were there who could bond like this?

He'd known all about her family when they first met. Knew her dad was inside. Knew what Richie did for a living. Martin had spent some time inside himself a couple of years back for thieving manhole covers. And in prison he said Richie had been spoken about in hushed tones.

Martin had confessed to Effie that he was terrified of going back to prison. Said it was full of testosterone. Which was something he didn't much like. Truth was, he was just a little bit camp. But she liked that. Inside, though, it meant he got a lot of grief from guys who thought they had balls and that he didn't. Wasn't much fun for Martin being on the defensive all the time.

Effie told him she had no intentions of letting them get caught, told him to trust her.

Jesus, the guilt was a bastard.

When they first starting going out, she'd wondered if Martin knew what Richie had done. But she'd sought Martin out, not the other way round. And it hadn't taken long to realise that he'd never thought beyond a member of Savage's crew having killed his dad.

At least now Effie was making amends.

She winked at him.

"You know what I want, babe?" he said. He'd replaced his foot on the side of the bath, and water dripped onto the floor.

More mess for Effie to clean up. No, that was unfair. Martin would clean up after himself. He always did more around the house than her.

"What do you want?" she said, closing her eyes, enjoying the warm water covering her skin, easing her tired muscles. For a second. Until she remembered where she was and what they'd just done and what they still had to do.

"Ice cream."

He wanted ice cream.

"Now?" she said.

He nodded.

"Jesus," she said, "I'm not fetching you ice cream."

"Aw, go on." He grabbed her foot. "If you don't, I'll just have to lick your toes."

"Don't you dare." Her feet were very tickly.

"Up to you." He looked at her, still holding her foot.

"Fraser didn't strike me as the kind of person who'd eat a lot of ice cream," she said. "Don't think he'll have any."

"What does someone who eats ice cream look like?" He pouted. Exaggerated the pout. His lip trembled.

"Bloody hell," she said. "Let go and I'll take a look."

***

SHE TUCKED FRASER'S dressing gown tighter around her. Didn't matter how tight she pulled the belt, it still felt like she was flapping about inside a sack.

There was no ice cream. Not in the freezer compartment of the fridge. Or in the separate freezer. There wasn't much in the way of food at all. Pint of milk, sliced ham, cheese, that was it. Get snowed in around here, you'd starve in a couple of days.

Maybe Fraser could afford to eat out a lot. Or he lived on takeaways.

Effie remembered the days when she used to do that. Not any longer. Not now she was engaged, and had a fiancé who cooked for her.

She closed the fridge door and jumped.

Hadn't expected to hear the doorbell ring.

Shitty-fuck.

She crept through the kitchen. No need to creep, but she did, anyway. Felt light on her feet without the booties on, even though they weighed next to nothing. Through the sitting room. Stared at the tub in the hallway. The carrier bags. Then the bodies. A bloody halfmoon shape near the top of one where the sheet was knotted. Other patches of blood. Handprints. She wondered if it was possible to see the bodies from outside the house. They'd taken the precaution of drawing all the curtains, but she checked for a gap just in case. Nah. No way anybody could see in.

So who'd come visiting? Shit, she didn't care as long as they went away.

This wasn't part of the plan, so they had no contingency for it. All the time they'd watched Fraser, he'd not once had a visitor. His house wasn't exactly accessible. Way out on the edge of town, where you never saw a bus, only the occasional taxi and fast cars. Anybody came to visit late at night, they'd most likely be staying till morning. That had been Effie's unspoken promise to him when they'd returned earlier tonight.

All Effie could do was wait out whoever was at the door. Hell, everybody goes away eventually, even if the lights are on and the curtains drawn and the homeowner's car is parked outside.

There was no law that said you had to answer your door. And there was no law that said you had to be at home just because the lights were on or your curtains were drawn or your car was outside.

She wasn't convincing herself.

Martin had parked round the back. At least that was something to be grateful for. It was secluded round that side, overlooked a railway line.

Effie realised she was holding her breath. Let it out slowly. So what if there was somebody at the door? They'd probably ring the bell once more, get no reply, and wander off.