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  Marty picked up the torch and shone it on him. After all, it was his pain he wanted to see, his face. And anyway, there wasn’t much remaining of hers – the entire left side was just a crushed and bloodied pulp. The light was too dim and Delaney too distraught for him to realise that the wound or the blood weren’t fresh.

  Vic’s mouth was opening and closing but the only sound emerging was a long monotonous groan. Rocking back and forth, a combination of snot and tears was flowing down his cheeks. His fists, tightly clenched, began to bang against the wooden floorboards.

  It was curious, Marty thought, what grief did to people. It wasn’t as if Vic had paid that much attention to Silver when she was alive. But now he believed that she was dead … He stood back and smiled. There was a kind of ecstasy flowing through him, a wave that went beyond joy into a realm that words couldn’t even begin to describe. Vic’s fat belly was bouncing up and down as his fists continued their relentless, pointless pounding.

  How long before he put him out of his agony? Well, not quite yet perhaps. There was no immediate rush. This was what he had waited for, what he had planned. This was payback – and it should be savoured.

  Marty glanced towards the dead girl. A single, half-open eye, stared dully back at him. He tilted his head. Some appreciation, some acknowledgment of what she had done, should surely be given to her.

  Thank you, sweetheart.

  As if she had understood that her sacrifice was for the greater good, Destiny had barely struggled. She had met her end like all good tarts – with a false smile, a grasping hand and an empty heart. He didn’t feel any pity for her. Why should he? She had made her own pathetic choices.

  Suddenly, Delaney slumped forward, a faint gurgling noise emerging from his throat. Shit! Marty knelt down beside him. He hoped the stupid bastard wasn’t going to have a heart attack.

  ‘Vic? Vic, are you all right?’

  But he didn’t seem to be listening. Or perhaps he just couldn’t hear.

  Marty grasped his arms and shook him. This wasn’t what he wanted. To make him suffer, yes, but not to fuckin’ kill him – that would ruin everything. Death was too easy. He wanted him to remember this moment, every single detail of it, for as long as his miserable existence continued. And this was only the start, the beginning. There was so much more to come. ‘Vic, listen to me. Listen!’

  Delaney raised his head but his eyes were blank.

  ‘It’s not her,’ Marty said. ‘It isn’t Silver.’

  For a while there was no response. Gradually, as if being provided with a lifeline he could never have hoped for, Delaney’s fleshy hand crept around his. ‘What?’

  Marty quickly pulled away, stood up and swept aside the girl’s hair. ‘Look at her!’

  But of course Vic couldn’t bear to look. All he could see was the smashed up face of his own little girl.

  ‘It’s not Silver,’ Marty said again. ‘I swear. I promise. You think I’d lie to you?’

  Eventually, Delaney raised his eyes. ‘Oh Jesus!’ he said. He got halfway to his feet before collapsing back down again. Doubling over, he gave a moan and threw up. Most of it went over his shirt.

  The disgusting stench of vomit permeated the air.

  It was left to Marty to try and haul him upright, no mean task when contending with eighteen stone of reluctant blubber. ‘Come on. We need to get out of here.’

  ‘I don’t … I can’t … Christ, who is she?’

  ‘Fuck knows! It doesn’t matter now. We’ve been shafted. We need to move.’

  After a brief struggle, Marty managed to pull him up and together they half-ran, half-fell down the steps. Grabbing the money, he dragged Delaney along the street and bundled him into the motor. He dropped the case on to his lap.

  ‘Wait here. I won’t be long.’

  Delaney stared up at him. His small piggy eyes still had a glazed uncomprehending quality to them. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I have to go back.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You threw up, Vic. Your DNA’s all over the place. You want to end up on a fuckin’ murder charge?’

  That little detail, unsurprisingly, had slipped his mind. ‘Shit,’ he murmured.

  ‘Don’t worry, mate. I’m going to torch the place.’

  He was in charge, completely in control. For the first time ever, Vic Delaney was entirely reliant on him and it was a damn good feeling. Perhaps now, even though it was too late, he would finally get the respect he craved. Perhaps now, even though he no longer cared, Vic would finally realise who his real family was.

  Marty took a can of petrol from the boot, put it in a carrier bag and headed towards the factory. Once he had turned the corner and was out of sight, he took his mobile from his pocket and sent a short message to Susan. ‘It’s done.’ There was no point being selfish; he may as well spread the pleasure around. After all, everyone deserved a bit of good news.

  By the time he got back to the car, Delaney’s face wasn’t quite so white. He had even made a small if ineffectual effort to clean himself up. Marty tried not to gag as he breathed in the stink. ‘You okay?’

  Vic gave a nod. ‘You do it?’

  ‘The whole fuckin’ place will be ashes by the morning.’

  Marty started the engine, opened the windows wide and put his foot down. With Vic smelling like something in a sewer, it was going to be a delightful journey back to Chigwell. Still, what the hell! It had been worth it. While he drove, he silently congratulated himself. That tripwire had been a stroke of pure inspiration. He had tied the gun to an old factory table, pointed at the hooker’s corpse, then had threaded the fine, almost invisible thread down and across the steps, up again to the balcony and around the trigger. So easy and yet so bloody effective. And, just in case the fire didn’t do its job, he’d retrieved the shotgun and the thread and stashed them in the boot. He’d also cut the ropes securing Destiny and left her lying on the ground. The cops could make what they could of the charred evidence they would find.

  Several minutes passed before the next text message came through. The phone gave an ominous beep and Delaney scrambled for it. His hands were still shaking. It took him a few seconds to press the right button. He read it out loud in a broken, quavering voice: ‘You were told to come alone. Be warned! Next time it will be Silver.’

  ‘Bastards!’ Marty muttered. He turned his face away and smiled. What a masterstroke, he thought, to take her away, give her back and then take her away for ever.

  Chapter Forty-six

  Susan flipped her phone shut and laid it on the table. She sat very still, letting the news gradually sink in, then stood up and walked across the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she took out the bottle of champagne. It was almost one o’clock in the morning but this was not an occasion that should pass without celebration. After popping the cork, she poured a glass of fizz and raised her glass.

  ‘Here’s to you, Linda!’

  It had been a long time coming but her sister was finally getting some justice. A proper trial would have been better – what she wouldn’t have given to see Delaney in the dock – but the chances of that had been just about zero. He had covered his tracks too well. Linda’s body would probably never be found, never laid to rest, but at least the man who had taken her life was paying for what he’d done. Delaney was suffering and that was all that mattered.

  Susan had spent the whole evening imagining how he must be feeling as he waited for instructions, as he entered the factory, as he climbed the steps, as he hurried forward to free his ‘daughter’ – and then went through the tripwire …

  She wished she could’ve been there to witness that moment of absolute horror. To think that you had just killed your own child! There could be nothing more dreadful. How long would it have taken him to realise the mistake? Maybe less than a minute but every second would have been an agony, a pain so keen he would never forget it. It would be seared on to his heart for ever. And it wasn’t over yet. Now, slowly, the new fear w
ould come, the fear that Silver would never be released.

  Susan stared down at her glass. She’d yearned for this moment for so many years. A thin sigh of satisfaction slid from her lips. It was small revenge for what he had done – and half a million couldn’t even begin to compensate for the loss of Linda’s life – but it was better than nothing. She was not sure if she would ever be truly happy again but at least she might achieve a modicum of peace.

  She took another swig of champagne. She was feeling good, elated, but it wasn’t much of a party on her own; she needed some company, someone to share the joy with. Quickly, she stood up, opened the fridge again and took out a can of Coke. She grabbed the bottle and went down into the cellar.

  Sliding back the grille, she peered inside. Silver was still awake, sitting on the mattress with her back against the wall. With no natural daylight and no watch, she could only tell what time of day it was by the meals Susan brought her.

  ‘You okay?’

  Silver raised her head but didn’t speak. Sometimes she was like that, sullen and silent, and sometimes she just wouldn’t shut up.

  ‘There’s no need to sulk,’ Susan said. ‘I’ve got good news. You’ll be going home soon.’

  It took a few seconds for the words to sink in but then her face lit up. She jumped to her feet. ‘Has he paid you? He has, hasn’t he? When am I going? Is it now? Am I going now?’

  ‘Hey, calm down, take it easy. I told you – soon. Tomorrow, if everything goes smoothly.’

  Silver visibly deflated. Her head drooped and her shoulders slouched. For her, another hour, never mind another day, was probably the equivalent of a lifetime.

  ‘I brought you a Coke.’ Susan bent down, opened the flap and pushed the can inside. ‘Come on, don’t worry. It’ll pass in no time. You’ll be out for your birthday. Think of all the brilliant presents you’re going to get, all the money.’

  Appealing to Silver’s more avaricious instincts proved to be a smart move. She immediately rallied, collected the drink and returned with it to her bed. She opened the can and took a swig. ‘How did you know it was my birthday?’

  Susan sat down on the floor and raised the bottle to her lips. She took a drink. She was afraid to reply in case her voice betrayed her, in case she lost her nerve and started to cry. She had a lump in her throat that refused to go away. Silver’s birthday, 20 June, wasn’t a date she had too much difficulty in remembering. It was the day Linda had disappeared.

  Susan could still recall sitting in that shabby bedroom watching her sister curl her hair, put on her make-up and carefully choose her clothes. She had changed her outfit over and over again, turning around in front of the mirror, taking things off, putting them back on. Even at thirteen, Susan had known there had to be a reason. She had known she must be seeing someone special.

  ‘Who is he?’ she’d asked.

  ‘No one,’ Linda had laughed. ‘I just want to look my best.’

  ‘Yes, but who for?’

  But she had simply smiled and turned away. That was the last smile Susan remembered. It was the memory she had carried inside her ever since – that expression of happiness, of sweet anticipation. Whenever she thought of it, her heart flipped over.

  Linda, she thought, couldn’t have been attracted by Delaney’s good looks; he’d have been no oil painting even in his forties. But he had offered her, perhaps, something far more enticing. As an older man, with both money and power, he would have represented an opportunity, a glorious opportunity for her to escape from her dreary, dead-end existence. And who could blame her for chasing a dream?

  ‘Are you still there?’

  Susan swallowed hard and looked up. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll be fifteen,’ Silver said.

  ‘Yes,’ she said again. She knew that well enough. She had been the one, not Gull, who had chosen Saturday as the date for the final exchange. She had insisted on it. This year she was going to make damn sure that Delaney went through hell on the anniversary of Linda’s death. He was going to have to spend all day and most of the night wondering if he would ever see his daughter alive again.

  However, she was obviously not the only one with the past on her mind.

  ‘My mother left when I was two,’ Silver said in a small voice. ‘She was called Christine. I don’t remember her. At least I don’t think I do. Sometimes I think … but you can’t remember things from that far back, can you?’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose so.’

  ‘Do you have a mum?’ Silver asked, as though they were a rare exotic species.

  Susan took another swig of the champagne. Half of the bottle was already gone but she still felt annoyingly sober. ‘Of a kind.’

  There was a short silence as if Silver was in two minds how to respond to such a reply. Then she said, tentatively: ‘Where does she live?’

  Susan frowned, unsure as to whether she was fishing for information or simply making small talk. Whatever the motive, she had no intention of telling her the truth. Thinking of the grey, high-rise block in Kellston, she automatically flinched. ‘She lives in Spain.’

  ‘Oh, wicked. I’ve been there loads of times. Whereabouts?’

  Susan’s frown grew even deeper. What on earth had possessed her to say Spain? Of course Silver would have been there; a good proportion of Delaney’s robbing mates, at least the ones in retirement or on the run, would be living it up on the Costa del Sol. She racked her brains trying to think of somewhere more obscure but the only other place that came to mind was Ibiza. That didn’t sound too likely for a fifty-something mother so she settled instead on avoiding the question.

  ‘To be honest, I think it would be better if I didn’t tell you.’

  ‘Why not? Why can’t you—’ Silver stopped and gave a tiny sigh of understanding. ‘Ah, I get it. You think I might … No, I wouldn’t. I swear. I won’t tell anyone. You’ve been cool; you’ve been good to me.’

  But Susan, even if she had been telling it straight, wouldn’t have fallen for that old baloney. The kid might believe what she was saying now but she’d soon change her tune when she was safely home. Delaney would prise the smallest of details out of her. ‘Best if you’ve got nothing to tell.’

  There was another brief silence before Silver, her voice trembling slightly, said: ‘Do … do you think my mum left because of me?’

  Susan raised her eyes to the ceiling. God, this was all she needed – a psychoanalysis session with a neurotic teenager in the middle of a night. As if she didn’t have enough problems of her own. ‘How would I know?’ she said sharply. ‘The inner workings of a mother’s mind are a mystery to me.’ But instantly she regretted not only the words but also the tone of her response. The prospect of Silver turning on her all-too-familiar waterworks was a grim one; she could be stuck here for hours, trying to offer some meagre crumbs of comfort. Quickly, she tried to make amends. ‘No, of course it had nothing to do with you, sweetheart. You can’t ever think that way. People leave for all kinds of reasons. I guess the most likely one is that your mum and dad just didn’t get on.’

  ‘So why didn’t she take me with her?’

  Because she realised just how bloody irritating you’d turn out to be, Susan was tempted to retort. Instead she shifted her bum on the hard concrete floor, trying to get herself comfortable until she thought of a more diplomatic answer. ‘I’m sure whatever she did, it was always with your best interests at heart. Perhaps she wasn’t too happy at the time, wasn’t coping too well, and thought your dad could offer you a better future.’ It was a glib, superficial response but the best she could come up with.

  Silver pondered on it for a while. ‘Do you reckon? Yeah, you could be right. You know, he once told me that the day I was born was the happiest of his life. He said he got so drunk that night he could barely stand up!’

  Susan’s hand tightened round the neck of the bottle. Fury swept up from her guts, a hot blind rage that made her want to scream. She knew exactly what he had been doing that night and it
went far and beyond the sweet celebration of wetting the baby’s head.

  Marty Gull had told her how Delaney had been knocking back the booze, how at eleven he had disappeared from Honey’s for a couple of hours and come back in a state: ‘He was well gone by then, completely off his nut. I didn’t think too much about it until the rumours started about Linda. That was a few days later. Vic pulled me aside and told me to say that he’d never left the club. He’d been screwing a tart, or so he claimed, and didn’t want Christine to find out. I had my suspicions – I’d seen him with Linda on more than one occasion – but when the cops showed up, I covered for him. I swore he’d been with me all evening. I gave him the alibi he needed.’

  Susan closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. She despised Marty for his lies but it was nothing compared to her loathing for Delaney. What made it worse was that she would probably never find out exactly why he had killed her. Had it been an accident or a premeditated act? Had Linda been threatening to expose their relationship to his wife? Had she struggled, had she tried to shout, had he … But these were questions she could ask for ever and the only response she would get was silence.

  ‘Are you still there?’ Silver said.

  Susan’s eyes blinked open again. ‘I’m here.’

  ‘So I’ll definitely be going home? You promise?’

  Susan tipped back the bottle and emptied the last of the champagne down her throat. ‘Yes,’ she said tightly. ‘You’ll be back with Daddy soon. Aren’t you the lucky one?’