THE DOMINO BOYS (a psychological thriller) (15 page)

‘Hi, is that Susie?’

‘Yes, this is she. Who’s calling?’

He smiled on hearing her voice, leaning back in his father’s plush leather office chair. ‘We met the other night. Donnie – Donnie Craddick. At the Silver Crucible Club.’

‘Well Hi, Donnie,’ she said chirpily. ‘You didn’t throw my number away then?’

‘Now why would I do that? An attractive reporter gives me her contact details…’

‘You are a flatterer, Donnie, just like your father.’

His face clouded. ‘We’re very different,’ he said.

‘I’m certain you are,’ she replied.

‘How about that interview?’

‘Great! What’s changed your mind?’

‘I was thinking about what you said, about raising my profile. Maybe you’re right. What harm can it do, I thought? And I also thought it would be good to see you again…’

There was silence for a moment or two at the other end of the line. ‘Yes, I’d like that,’ she said. ‘Can I bring along my camera, take a snap of you for the article?’

‘No problem. When can you come?’

‘Let me see…’ she said. There was the sound of pages being turned. ‘My diary is pretty full, but how does next Tuesday at 1.00 p.m. sound?’

‘Sounds good.’

‘It’s in the diary,’ she said.

‘Look forward to it.’

He put the phone down. Damn that man Ginetta. Well he’d start to show people round here who was the one to be reckoned with.

‘Who was that?’

Camellia Lucas came into the office.

‘A reporter. She’s coming over to write an article about me.’

‘Young and attractive is she?’

He grinned, got out of the chair and went over to her. ‘Jealous, darling?’

‘You seem to attract them like flies.’

He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘Necessary evil this time, Camellia.’

‘Donnie…’ she said, pulling away. ‘What are we doing here?’

‘Here?’

‘In Overthorpe. I mean, I thought we were supposed to spend some time alone together, discuss the wedding. You said you’d take me to the Yorkshire Dales. So far I’ve hardly seen you. And you seem to be so secretive these days.’

He smiled disarmingly. ‘Secretive? Me? No! I have boring business to attend to, nothing you’d understand. It has taken up rather more of my time than I would have liked, but that’s business for you.’ His face fell serious. ‘I’ve been thinking about the wedding.’

‘Oh?’

‘Well, you love me, don’t you? And I love you. What’s the point in stringing this out?’

‘I don’t follow you.’

‘I realise your parents would like a big affair, put on a show, but we never seem to be getting any closer to it do we? Why don’t we skip the complications and get married here in Overthorpe as soon as we can?’

She looked taken aback. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Like I say. Fix a date, have a small affair. A few, select guests, that kind of thing.’

‘I don’t know…’ she said. ‘Father…’

‘I realise your father doesn’t think a great deal of me. I’m never going to come up to the standards of Marcus, am I?’ He realised it sounded harsh. ‘OK, so he was my best friend, too, but even I know I don’t have the money or social standing that he did. That’s what’s at the heart of the delay really, isn’t it? Your parents are suggesting you hang back from marrying me. That’s why it’s all taking so long. It’s your father who’s putting the bloody brakes on. Do you know how that makes me feel? Makes me feel small and inadequate. He gets a kick out of that.’

She shrugged. ‘That’s not true. He’s not that vindictive, Donnie. But it’s no secret my father doesn’t like you. He dislikes anyone I see. No one is good enough for his daughter. But to suggest a hurried marriage would only make matters worse.’

‘Don’t you care for me, is that it?’ he said, a look of hurt in his eyes.

‘Of course I do,’ she said.

‘Well then, why let your father dictate things?’

‘I don’t know…’

‘It’s Marcus, isn’t it?’

‘Pardon?’

‘You’re still moping over that man.’

‘He was murdered, Donnie. He was going to marry me. Of course it still hurts to think about him.’

‘What about me? Am I forever going to be haunted by Marcus and your father?’

‘That’s not what’s being discussed here, Donnie…’

He moved closer to her, his eyes suddenly very cold. ‘Don’t let your father dominate you, Camellia. You’ll belong to me soon, not Marcus, not your father – me. I’ll be your husband. I’ll be the man in your life from thereon in. That’s something you’ll have to get used to. So I say I want to make a stand; I say we get married here as soon as possible.’

‘That’s unreasonable, Donnie.’

He stared fixedly at her, licked his lower lip, then grunted impatiently. ‘Have it your way, Camellia, but I can’t hang around waiting for you forever, you know.’

He brushed past her, left alone in the office. Her cheeks coloured and her eyes narrowed. She breathed noisily through her nose as she fought to control her emotions.

Barry Stocker stood by the Jag and watched Alfie Parker’s white van roll through the open gates to Red House and cruise past him, on the way to the rear entrance to begin what had become a daily task of cleaning Craddick’s miles of carpets. Alfie waved and even smiled, but Barry turned away from him.

Arms folded, he waited until Donnie Craddick and Steve Roche came out of the house, marched up to the car. Craddick was gesticulating wildly, angrily, losing his temper again over something. Barry studied the two men. Donnie was the image of his father, and that sent ripples of loathing through his stomach.

‘Clear off a minute, Stocker,’ said Craddick, flashing a thumb. ‘Give us a little privacy.’

Barry nodded and trudged some distance away, kicking at gravel with the toes of his boots. He stopped, turned to look at the two men who were absorbed in conversation.

Do it, he told himself. Do it now.

Barry put his hand inside his coat pocket and grasped the gun. He felt his heart beating there, too.

Walk up to them both, take out the gun and give them two shots each at close range. Aim for the hearts, not the heads; you’ll miss the heads for sure. Then it will all be over. Come on, man, do one decent, meaningful thing in your life.

He began to walk back towards the Jag. Slowly, meaningfully, his face expressionless, as if some kind of automaton. His fingers tightened on the gun. His pace quickened as his resolve hardened.

Donnie Craddick paused in his conversation with Roche, looked up at him, his eyes bathed in annoyance at Barry’s intrusion. He opened his mouth to chastise the ignorant, lumbering ape.

Barry started to ease the gun from its warm womb of a pocket, as if giving birth to death, he mused.

A loud gunshot rang out, shattering the quiet. Immediately a puff of gravel near Craddick’s feet sprang into the air.

For a moment all three men were frozen, their mouths open wide in shock. Then another whiplash of a crack broke the spell, and another, and everyone ducked. Barry let go of the gun, instinctively put his hands over his head, but he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, a clear target for whoever was taking pot-shots at them. He didn’t know where to run. Didn’t know where the shots were coming from. Neither did Craddick and Roche, who were crouched down by the side of the car.

The windscreen exploded into myriad pieces and Craddick yelped out in alarm.

‘Do something!’ he yelled at Roche.

But Roche was helpless. ‘Do what?’

‘Some bastard’s shooting at me! Just do something to protect me!’

‘Where’s it coming from?’ said Roche, his head swinging wildly from side to side, searching the grounds, the high walls, the trees, but seeing no one.

Another shot, this time hitting the car’s bonnet with a strident clang.

‘Where the bloody hell are my minders?’ Craddick shouted. ‘I need protection!’ He pulled out his gun and pointed it at Roche. ‘So protect me!’ He pushed Roche from out of the cover of the Jag and the man, horrified, staggered backwards at a crouch, scanning the grounds nervously. When he realised all was quiet and no more shots were to come, he stood upright. ‘It’s OK, boss, I think they’ve gone.’

Barry had thrown himself flat onto the gravel, his hands still over his head. He lifted his face up, one or two pieces of gravel embedded into his cheek. ‘Jesus!’ he said.

Craddick cautiously moved from behind the car, looked about him. His breathing was heavy, his eyes blinking manically. ‘Are you sure they’ve gone? Are you sure?’ He panned the gun from left to right, heard Camellia’s voice from behind him and quickly stowed the gun away.

‘What is it?’ she said. ‘What was all that noise?’ She was breathless, having run down the stairs and out the main door.

‘Someone was shooting at me,’ said Craddick incredulously. ‘Someone was shooting at
me
!’

‘Why would anyone want to do that?’ said Camellia, rushing over to him.

He brushed her away. ‘Because they do!’ he said brusquely.

Alfie Parker came bounding through the door, also breathless. ‘I saw him,’ he said. ‘I heard the noise, looked out one of the bedroom windows and saw him. A guy was up in one of the trees over there.’ He pointed to one of the mature ash trees thick with new growth by the high boundary wall. ‘Must have climbed over the wall into it.’

Donnie Craddick’s fierce eyes looked at the tree. ‘Cut that bastard down!’ he yelled to no one in particular.

‘Shall I call the police, Donnie?’ asked Camellia concernedly.

‘No!’ he fired in return. ‘Just go inside. Go inside.’ He relaxed his breathing. ‘It’s not safe out here. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this.’

‘Are you sure?’ she said.

‘Just do as I say, eh?’ he said abruptly. Then his eyes softened. ‘For your own safety, Camellia.’

She slowly turned around and went back inside the house.

‘Christ, Mr Craddick, who the hell was that taking shots at you?’ said Alfie.

Craddick spun and faced Alfie. ‘What are you gawping at? Get the hell out of here!’ Alfie followed Camellia into the house. Craddick grabbed Roche by the lapel and pulled him close. ‘That was Ginetta’s man,’ he growled. ‘It had to be. Because I said no to his offer.’

‘Bloody hell,’ mouthed Roche, his face turning white. ‘He means business.’ He was acutely aware that he might have been hit by accident and the thought unsettled him.

Craddick nodded, pushing Roche away. His body was shaking. Barry didn’t know whether it was with fear or rage.

‘He could have killed me…’ Craddick said.

‘You’ve got to do as he wants, Mr Craddick. I think this was just a warning. I’ll bet he could have made it count if he really wanted to. He’s obviously got the firepower behind him.’

‘I’ve got to think…’ said Craddick as Barry came up to them.

‘Well don’t think too long, Mr Craddick,’ said Roche. ‘Look, maybe it’s best to play along for now. Have patience, make the move when the time is right, when you’ve got the man and his operation all figured out.’

‘And let him see he scared me?’ He bit at his lower lip. ‘I’m not scared of him!’ he said, trying to stop the trembling. ‘I’m not scared of anyone!’

‘Sure you’re not, Mr Craddick. But that was too damn close for my liking.’

Craddick let out an agitated grunt. He eyed Barry. ‘You’d better not be involved with this in any way, Stocker,’ he said, marching up to him. ‘Give me the gun.’

Barry was aware of the gun pushing insistently against his chest. He was tempted to reach in and turn it on that loathsome Craddick face. ‘You gave it me,’ he said lamely.

‘And I want it back. I don’t trust you.’

Barry put his hand into his pocket, pulled out the gun. For a moment he felt his hand tighten around it, a finger snake out to the safety catch. But he sighed and handed it over. ‘I didn’t tell this Ginetta bloke about your money…’

Craddick snatched the gun away from him, emptied it of its bullet clip and thrust it back at Barry. ‘Get out of my sight, Stocker.’

‘What good is a gun without bullets?’ he asked.

‘Same as a dog you can’t trust without its teeth,’ he replied. He watched Barry slink away.

‘There’s something about him I don’t like, Mr Craddick,’ said Roche.

‘Time to bring things forward. Get rid of him.’ He handed Roche the clip. ‘Do it tonight, and make sure when you do he’s found with the gun. He blew his own brains out, right? Nothing to live for and all that shit.’

‘Gladly.’

Craddick’s phone rang. He looked at it. Glanced up at Roche. ‘It’s Ginetta,’ he said. ‘There’s a surprise.’ He lifted it to his ear, waved for Roche to disappear.

‘Are you ready to talk yet, Mr Craddick?’ It was the familiar, assured voice of Roberto Ginetta.