The Pleasures of Summer (44 page)

He should be the one who was in danger, not Summer.

Sinead arrived carrying two mugs of tea. There was no one on duty in the kitchen. Niall had insisted on questioning all of the staff again, personally. They didn’t call him ‘The interrogator’ for nothing. If they had missed anything, no matter how small, Niall would find it. ‘You okay?’ she asked.

‘As well as could be expected,’ he admitted bleakly. ‘I keep thinking that we’re missing something. She can’t just disappear like that. Someone had to know where she was going.’

Sinead gave him an arch look. ‘I bet that Malcolm knows more than he’s saying. Creepy fecker.’

She sounded so like Summer for a moment that Flynn was tempted to laugh. ‘Are you saying the butler did it?’

She glared at him over the rim of her spectacles. ‘No. I’m saying that he knows something and if you won’t check it out then I will.’

Putting down her mug, she left the room. Flynn heard her footsteps in the hall and then going up the stairs. Malcolm had worked in the house for the last ten years. According to the employment agency, the O’Sullivans were lucky to have him. Niall had run a background check
on him and all the other staff. Malcolm had no criminal record, not even a parking ticket, and he had been at the doctor’s for a check-up on the morning that Summer had disappeared.

‘Bloody woman,’ he muttered as he limped after Sinead. His crutches clattered on the stairs.

The butler’s apartment was on the second floor. It was self-contained, with a small sitting room that led to a bedroom with an en suite. Everything was neat and tidy, just like Malcolm. Sinead was already in the bedroom, riffling through the rows of starched shirts and carefully pressed charcoal trousers which made up Malcolm’s wardrobe.

‘I hate neat men,’ Sinead said. ‘There’s something wrong with a man who’s tidy.’

Flynn leaned against the desk for support, admiring the efficient way she searched through Malcolm’s belongings. If she had any physical skills, she might be good for the agency.

Over the desk was a neat row of keys. Pantry, wine cellar, garage, all labelled, except one. He picked up a key fob for a HiAce van. He was willing to bet a month’s salary that it wasn’t parked beside the Aston Martin. Flynn called Andy. ‘Run a trace on the butler for me. See if you can find a van registered in his name. Thanks, man.’

Sinead pivoted. ‘If you’ve nothing better to do, you can check the drawers.’

To humour her, Flynn opened the top drawer. Socks, all black and packed in neat rows. The next drawer was no better. Underwear, white and probably starched. Poor Malcolm. A flash of colour at the back of the drawer caught his eye. He had almost missed the cream, barely-there
panties with the pink bow, but he knew who they belonged to.

Sinead snatched them from his hand with a triumphant look. ‘Told you.’

They searched the rest of the quarters but there was nothing. Trying to be reasonable, he said, ‘It could have just been an error with the laundry. We’ve found nothing else.’

‘There must be something.’ Sinead scanned the room before focusing on the battered antique desk.

‘I’ve already searched it,’ Flynn said. ‘Nothing but household papers.’

Sinead picked up a paper knife. ‘I’ve seen one of these in work. Some of them have a hidden drawer.’ She pulled out the drawer and used the tip of her knife to reach into the gap. ‘Oh, you beauty,’ she breathed when she heard a click.

The notebook looked exactly like the household books – except for the newspaper cuttings that tumbled from it. Summer smiling, Summer laughing at a party. Summer … oh, shit. The photos. The ones with Adam.

Sinead snatched them from him before he could study them. ‘If you care about my cousin, don’t look at them.’

She flipped open the notebook. The fine, neat handwriting was legible, even reading over Sinead’s shoulder. The first entries were almost reverent. How pretty Miss Summer looked in her new dress. What a charming, sweet girl she was. Then came a few references to Adam. After that, the words leapt off the page.
Bitch. Tart. Whore.

Well, at least he knew what Malcolm thought of his employers.

Almost caught her last night
, one entry in December noted.
I ran her off the road like a dog. Played afterwards.

Flynn wanted to punch something. Preferably Malcolm’s face.

Another entry read:
New bodyguard. A Scot. Another mangy mutt to entertain her, probably because of my little message on the car. Since the crash, they’re so easy to scare. Stupid paddies.

Sinead thumbed through the latest entries.
Had a lively little play last night
.
The whore almost got what she deserved. She screamed, but I could tell she was gagging for it. What a pity Mr Fielding didn’t have the guts to finish what he started.

Flynn wanted to kill him and he could think of a number of very creative ways to do it. Sinead turned her head and looked up at him. ‘Odious little man. What does he mean, “playing”?’

He ground out the word through clenched teeth. ‘Masturbation.’

‘Oh.’ Sinead blushed to her roots and returned her attention to the notebook.

There were no more entries. Probably because Summer had been missing since the last one. He took the book from her hands. It was time to talk to the butler and after that, he was going to have a lengthy conversation with Robert Fielding – one that Robert wouldn’t enjoy.

Robert took off his blazer and hung it on a doorknob before wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘He’s heavy. We have to get him outside.’

That didn’t sound good. ‘But –’

Robert’s annoyed glance silenced her. ‘I’ll take his shoulders, you grab his legs.’

They half dragged, half carried Andrei to the staircase and then stopped to catch their breath. Summer was beginning to wish that she hadn’t hit him so hard. Robert took the lead and dragged the quilt-clad bundle up the stairs as she lifted from below; wincing each time she heard Andrei’s body thump against the steps.

Finally, they got him to the top of the stairs and Robert opened the door and dragged the body onto the tiled floor of the lobby. ‘Wait here,’ he said before disappearing through the door again.

She heard his footsteps on the stairs and then silence. Left alone in the dim hallway with Andrei, the adrenaline which had been pumping through her system finally ran out. She still wasn’t out of this. She had actually hurt someone, and badly from the look of things.

Rationalizing that she was defending herself, that Andrei had been about to kill her, didn’t make it any better. How did Flynn do it? How did he kill someone and live with himself afterwards? No wonder he never spoke about his work.

The door to the basement swung open again. Robert was wearing his blazer and carrying a refuse sack, which he thrust at her. She heard the clink of her tin plate inside it. ‘Stop moping about. Open the front door and take this outside.’

Summer hurried to do his bidding. The bright sunlight outside hurt her eyes, making her blink. She drew in several deep breaths of fresh air. She had never felt so glad to be alive.

Robert dragged the body outside into the stone portico. He locked the door behind him and then hurried to open the rear door of the car. Andrei groaned. ‘Quickly, we don’t have time for this. Let’s get him inside and we can drop him at a hospital.’

The gravelled driveway hurt her feet as she helped Robert carry him. Grunting, Robert swung the body into the back seat of the car. What would Andrei do if he came around? He was going to kill her. The realization that she was still in danger suddenly hit her. She had no guarantee that Robert would let her live.
Co-operate with their demands
. She could almost hear Flynn’s stern order.

‘Get the refuse sack,’ Robert ordered.

She hurried back to the house and grabbed the plastic sack while Robert unlocked the boot. He took it from her and shoved it inside.

Robert gestured to the car boot. ‘Now, get in.’

She eyed the dark, cramped space. There was no room. She couldn’t possibly get in there. ‘Please, no. Robert, I …’

He clenched his jaw and reached into his pocket to produce a snub-nosed pistol. Andrei’s gun. His thumb slid
the safety off. ‘Don’t make me, or I swear … Just get into the fucking car.’

She clambered into the trunk, wriggling to fit in as best as she could. Her last glimpse of daylight was Robert’s face and the blue sky above his head as he slammed the lid shut.

The car started with a roar and she was thrown against the floor. She yelped and tried to hold on, clutching blindly at the inside of the boot, but each bump, each pothole in the road threw her around like a rag doll. After a few minutes the car screeched to a halt. They couldn’t have gone far. She screamed and kicked the carpet-covered panel. The boot jerked open.

Robert’s face was a mask of rage. He waved the gun in her face. ‘If you make another sound, I will use this. Do you understand?’ He reached into the boot and pulled out the refuse sack. He was probably dumping it, destroying the evidence.

She couldn’t tell if the safety was off, but the sight of the pistol was enough to silence her. The door of the boot slammed shut. She heard a car door opening and closing, and then the engine started again. He was going to kill her. No one would ever know that she had been in the house or that Robert was involved.

She sniffed. There was a faint smell of petrol and in the confines of the boot she began to feel nauseous. Trying to distract herself, she began to count, anything to focus her mind and stop the rising panic that she would suffocate on petrol fumes.
Stop thinking like that
. Flynn would … She sighed. Flynn would do nothing. He didn’t even know that she was missing. She couldn’t depend on anyone
turning up to help her. If she wanted to get out of this, she had to do it herself. Think. Think. There has to be something.

The car hit another bump on the road and Summer was thrown against the hard wall of the interior. Another jolt, this one more powerful than the last, and she cried out as her skull bumped against the panel, which popped open. She rubbed her head. She would have a lovely bruise there tomorrow. If there was a tomorrow. She managed to shove the panel away and reach in to explore the cavity behind. She could feel wires.

The last time she had a blinking tail light, the mechanic had done something with them as a temporary fix. Could she do it? If Robert had a problem with his rear lights, would he be stopped?

It would be one way of getting out of the car. Her sweaty fingers couldn’t get a grip on the wires. When had it gotten so warm in here?

With a determined grunt, she grabbed a handful of cables and pulled hard. Something popped and the cables came away in her hand. Yes! She had definitely broken something.

The road beneath the car became smoother and Summer could hear heavy vehicles rushing past. Motorway. But which one and where was Robert taking her? The car increased speed and she was thrown against the metalwork. Robert was driving like a lunatic.

Calm down. Calm down.
The more out of control he was, the more likely that he would be noticed. The car jerked and turned. He must be weaving in and out of lanes. Please God, they wouldn’t crash. A vision of the car
mangled in the middle of the motorway made her heart race again.

She could hear a siren, faint at first, then louder. Oh please, oh please, let it be the police. The car slowed down and stopped. Oh, thank god. She heard a car door thunk followed by muffled voices. Robert’s voice and another, deeper one. They were talking?

Beating her fists against anything she could reach, she screamed. ‘I’m here, I’m in here.’

She grabbed the discarded panel and banged it against the lid of the trunk. ‘Help me. Please, someone help me.’

Then, with a squeal of rubber, the car took off again. She clenched her eyes shut tight and recited every prayer her grandmother had drilled into her. A host of images crowded into her mind. Flynn. Her mother laughing and swinging her in the air on the beach near Castletownberehaven. Flynn. Her father at her graduation, smiling. Flynn …