THE DOMINO BOYS (a psychological thriller) (17 page)

‘What are you doing?’

His voice behind her caught her by surprise. ‘How’d you get into my room?’ she said. ‘The door was locked.’

He held up something shiny in his fingers. ‘Key,’ he said.

‘There’s such a thing as privacy, Donnie,’ she said, turning back to the suitcase on the bed. She carried on folding her clothes and putting them inside.

‘Yes, you like your privacy don’t you?’ Donnie Craddick said. ‘Hardly fitting for a couple soon to be married.’ He stared at the suitcase. ‘Are you thinking of leaving?’ he said, coming up behind her.

Camellia Lucas didn’t turn, but she could feel his presence hot on her back. Her hands folding the clothes slowed down. ‘I don’t feel safe here…’ she said. ‘I think it’s best for both of us if I go home.’

‘That thing this morning – that was nothing!’

‘You were being shot at, Donnie.’

‘It’s late. Too late to be going anywhere today. And you’re safe with me.’ He put a hand on each of her shoulders. His fingers tightened.

‘There are many things I still don’t know about you, Donnie,’ she said.

‘There’s nothing to know.’

She tried to shrug off his hands but they remained fixed. ‘Let me go, Donnie. I have to pack.’

‘You’re not leaving,’ he said. Crystals of ice crept into his voice. ‘I don’t want you to leave. We were going to plan the wedding, remember?’

‘There isn’t going to be a wedding,’ she said, then closed her eyes, wishing she hadn’t blurted that out.

‘Really? That’s news to me.’ He forcibly turned her to face him. ‘And what’s brought this sudden change of mind about?’

Her jaw hardened. ‘I still love Marcus,’ she said.

She saw him flinch. ‘He’s dead. Time to move on.’ Then his features softened. ‘I know you loved him very much. I loved him too, as a close friend. But life has to go on, Camellia. We are going to have such a good life together.’

She shook her head defiantly, in spite of her escalating unease. ‘There’s going to be no life for us, Donnie. You took the only life I ever had from me when you killed Marcus.’

He stiffened. His eyes frosted over. ‘What did you say?’

She swallowed, her mouth and throat sponged dry. ‘You heard me.’

‘You can’t mean that. You’re upset. I was shot, too…’

‘You killed him, Donnie. You shot my Marcus through the head.’

Unexpectedly he struck her across the face and she staggered back against the bed, a hand to her face.

‘You ungrateful bitch!’ he growled. ‘I cared for you after Marcus died. I was there for you.’

‘Cut the act, Donnie. Roche told me everything.’

He froze. Blinked. Stared at her but seemed to be looking right through her. ‘He’s a liar,’ he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

‘You can’t stop it, can you? You can’t tell the truth, not even when it’s staring you straight in the face. You shouldn’t have bragged to Roche, Donnie. That’s your failing – you need to think you’re big, like your father. But you’re small, Donnie. Insignificant.’

He struck her again, this time a punch to her stomach, and she collapsed onto the bed, groaning with the pain. He launched himself on top of her, turning her over and pinning her down on the bed. ‘Small fry, huh? How’s this for small and insignificant?’ He grabbed her arm and pinned it behind her back. She yelped. ‘I could take you right now,’ he said close to her ear, reaching up her dress and hooking his fingers in her panties, yanking them down. He groped the soft, warm flesh of her bottom. ‘And make no mistake, I will have you.’ He punched her between the shoulder blades. Once, twice. She screamed. ‘Go ahead. There’s no one here to listen to your blubbering.’

‘You think that makes you a big man, hitting a woman?’ she said, her voice muffled by the duvet.

He made as if to hit her again, but his fist remained poised in mid-air. He reached behind him and took one of her stockings out of the suitcase. He tied up her hands behind her back with it, pulling the knot tight. He flipped her over. She stared at him defiantly, blood streaming down her nose. He screwed another stocking into a ball and stuffed it into her mouth, folding a light cotton blouse into a strip and fastening the sleeves around her mouth.

‘We had a good thing going, Camellia,’ he said. ‘But now you’ve ruined it for me.’ He stepped off the bed, bent down close to her face. ‘Ruined it! What is it with women? Don’t they know what’s good for them? Look at me, look at my looks; I could have any bird I like, Camellia. Do you really think I wanted to shack up with a frigid bitch like you? Marcus, you, your parents, you all thought I wasn’t good enough for you. You know nothing. I’m going to be big one day, you’ll see.’ Then he laughed. ‘But there again you won’t see. Because I’m going to have to take care of you, just like I did with Marcus. And I swear that bastard two-faced Roche will get what’s coming to him when he’s finished shipping out my goods. Can’t people simply keep their big mouths shut? What happened to loyalty?’

Her eyes were glossed with terror. She groaned, her body in pain. Donnie Craddick slapped her lightly on the cheek. Smiled like a cat playing with an injured sparrow. He went to the curtains and returned seconds later with the curtain cord. He secured her to the headboard so that she could not move off the bed.

‘Stay here and be quiet, there’s a good girl,’ he said. He went out of the room.

She heard the key in the lock and the soft metallic clunk of her imprisonment.

Barry Stocker lifted the huge garage door and the light blinked on, revealing three cars parked side by side.

‘Mickey Craddick liked his BMWs,’ said Steve Roche behind him.

Barry pressed the button on the key fob he had and one of the BMW’s sidelights flashed. ‘Guess we’ll take the blue one then.’ He opened the car’s door and got inside, started her up and drove it outside into the failing evening light, turned on the headlights. Roche got into the passenger seat while Barry dropped the garage door.

Roche touched the knife resting in his coat pocket. He was good with knives. Grew up with them as a kid, learnt how to use them effectively, for the best results. He felt more comfortable with a knife than he ever did with a gun. Noisy, cumbersome things. He told Donnie Craddick that he should leave the choice of method used to eliminate Stocker to him. After all, it was his trade. Trust a professional. But Craddick was in a real state, all heated up over something, insisted that he use the gun on him, make sure it had Stocker’s prints all over it, so Roche didn’t hang around to argue. Tosser. No finesse about the man. Craddick was a certified loon, the only thing Donnie and his old man had in common. Anyhow, whatever the method he was going to use tonight it was good that Stocker had to go. One less person that knew about the money. Ginetta would appreciate that little gesture, he was sure. Put him in his good books for when Craddick was gotten rid of and he took over the Craddick patch. 

‘Hurry up, Stocker,’ Roche snapped impatiently. ‘I’ve got things to do.’

Barry scrambled back inside. ‘Where are we going this time of night?’

‘It’s none of your business. Have you still got the gun Donnie gave you?’

‘Sure I have,’ he said. ‘Useless without the bullets. You know where they are?’ Barry was determined to bide his time, get the bullets back. Then he’d let Craddick have it. He wouldn’t screw up next time. Wouldn’t bottle out.

‘Why’d you think he did that, Stocker, eh? Give you a gun without bullets.’

‘I dunno,’ he returned.

‘Guess he wants to make you know what it feels like to be a man without a prick attached, Stocker.’

Better than being a prick without a man attached, thought Barry sourly. ‘Very funny, Roche,’ he said under his breath.

‘I’m getting bored of this conversation, Stocker. Just drive, will you?’

Barry said OK, drove down the gravel drive to the gates. They swung open.

Parked outside, blocking the exit just like before, was DI Lavery’s blue Ford.

‘I don’t believe this joker!’ said Roche. ‘What’s he doing here?’ He unconsciously touched the spot where the knife hung heavy. ‘Get rid of him.’

Barry got out of the car just as Lavery vacated the Ford and came up to the gate. ‘We need to get out,’ said Barry. ‘If you want Donnie Craddick he’s back at the house.’

Inspector Lavery strolled up close to him. ‘Beautiful evening, eh, Mr Stocker?’

‘Sure.’ He said uncertainly.

Steve Roche got out of the BMW. ‘What is it this time, Lavery?’ he said.

‘In a hurry to get somewhere, Mr Roche?’

‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘What do you want? I’ve got business to attend to.’

Lavery raised a brow. ‘I’ll bet you do. Late-night shopping trip, Mr Roche? Run out of milk?’

‘Another time, Lavery. What do you want?’

‘I want Mr Stocker here,’ he said.

‘Eh?’ said Barry.

‘What do you want him for?’ said Roche.

‘This way, Mr Stocker,’ said Lavery. ‘To the car.’

‘Why?’

‘Don’t argue.’

As Barry got close to the Ford, Lavery grabbed him. ‘Hands on the roof of the car.’

‘What?’

‘Now!’ he demanded.

Barry did as he was told.

‘What’s going on?’ said Roche.

Lavery began to search Barry. His hands went to Barry’s pocket and pulled out the gun. ‘Well, well, well! What do we have here?’

‘It’s not loaded or anything!’ Barry protested.

‘Have you got a license for this, Mr Stocker?’

‘No…’

‘In the car,’ Lavery snarled. The sort of snarl you didn’t argue with.

‘What?’

‘You heard,’ said Lavery firmly. ‘Get in the back of the car.’ He opened a door and bundled a confused Barry into the Ford. He slammed the door on him.

‘Where are you taking him?’ asked Roche.

‘We want to ask him a few questions.’

‘You can’t do that!’ Roche protested.

‘I can do what I like, Mr Roche. I’m the law.’

With that Lavery got back inside the car and drove quickly away.

‘Shit!’ said Roche, thumping the air.

‘But I haven’t done anything wrong,’ said Barry from the back seat.

Just keep quiet and everything will be all right,’ said Lavery.

‘This isn’t the way to the police station.’

‘We’re taking a little detour,’ he said.

‘What’s going on?’

‘I’m protecting you.’

‘I don’t need protection.’

Lavery grinned. ‘Yes you do.’

‘From Donnie Craddick?’

‘From yourself,’ he returned.

The car left the lights of Overthorpe behind and headed out into open country. It was dark now, the car’s headlights cutting a bright swathe down the deserted road. It took a right, down a small road.

‘Where are you taking me? This isn’t the police station.’ Barry began to get panicky.

‘You wanted to kill Mr Craddick, didn’t you?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t mess with me, Barry. You wanted to use the gun.’

‘Has Alfie been talking to you?’ He thumped the seat. ‘He shopped me to the police! The little bastard shopped me to the police!’

‘Then it’s true?’

‘I ain’t saying anything till I get a lawyer. I’ll kill that so-called friend of mine when I see him…’ he fumed.

‘Shall I take that seriously, too? I get this feeling about a person and you hardly seem like a mass murderer.’

‘Anyhow, the gun’s empty,’ he said. ‘Check for yourself. How can I kill someone with an empty gun? And you can’t arrest someone for just thinking about killing someone. Hell, half the country would be locked up if so.’

‘Fair point. Ever thought that someone might be planning to kill you?’

He frowned. ‘Are they?’

‘Is your passport still valid, Mr Stocker?’

‘What? What are you going on about?’

‘I asked you a question,’ he returned firmly. ‘Is your passport still valid?’

‘Yes. What’s that got to do with anything? And who wants to kill me? Craddick?’

Laverfy didn’t reply. The car came into a small village and Lavery pulled up outside a cottage tucked away on its own. The street was empty, two streetlamps the only source of light.

‘Where are we?’ said Barry worriedly.

‘Where we need to be,’ he replied enigmatically. ‘Follow me, Mr Stocker.’

Lavery vacated the car and opened the rear door of the Ford. Barry was reluctant to get out. ‘Are you working for that guy Ginetta?’

Lavery grinned. ‘You have an active imagination. Come on, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’

He got out, nervously looked about him, but meekly followed Lavery to the cottage door. He stepped inside, the harsh light from the tiny hall bathing Barry’s concerned features and emphasising them.