The Reckoning (Carter Brothers), page 6
Danny pondered this over and, scratching at his chin, he looked up. ‘I’m guessing the old dealers are still knocking about, then?’
Jimmy nodded. ‘One or two of them are still in the game. The rest’ – he lifted his shoulders – ‘went out of business years ago. Like I said, guns are easily accessible nowadays, there’s no need for your big dealers any more.’ Searching through the clutter on the desk, he located a scrap of paper and jotted down two addresses. ‘Start with this one,’ he said, tapping the paper.
Scanning the address Jimmy had written down, Danny looked up. ‘Robbie Groves,’ he exclaimed. ‘No way is that old fucker still about; he had to be seventy if he was a day when I was in the life, and that was over eighteen years ago.’
Jimmy chuckled. ‘Old Robbie pegged it a couple of years ago; this is his son, we still use him to buy our merchandise, he’s a good bloke and if he can help you out, he will do.’
‘Cheers.’ Slipping the paper into his jacket pocket, Danny checked the time on his mobile phone and stood up. ‘Do me a favour and keep your ears to the ground. If you hear of anything, however small it might seem, give me a bell.’
‘That goes without saying,’ Jimmy answered with sincerity, ‘if we hear of anything, you’ll be the first to know… trust me.’
Shaking the brothers’ hands, Danny stepped out of the Portakabin, and as he made his way across the forecourt towards his car, there was a spring in his step. As much as he hated to admit it, a flicker of excitement coursed through his veins. Up until today, he hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed the life he’d once been embroiled in.
6
In a remote farmhouse just past Southend-on-Sea in Essex, Robbie Groves was sitting at a solid oak desk in his wood panelled study, cataloguing stock. He was of slim build, had thinning sandy-coloured hair that was cut close to his scalp, and wore silver-rimmed spectacles that had a tendency to slip down his nose. Even by his own admission, he was the complete opposite of what a stereotypical arms dealer should look like, but what he lacked in presence he more than made up for with knowledge.
From a young age, firearms had played a large part in Robbie’s life, and some of his earliest memories had been watching his father handle a magnitude of weapons. Everything from sawn-off shotguns to Uzi machine guns had passed through the home where Robbie had been born and raised, and when the time had come, Robert Senior had been only too happy to pass down his expertise to his namesake and heir.
The all-too-familiar sound of tyres squelching across the yard at the front of the property made Robbie sit up at little straighter. His forehead furrowed as he glanced across to the antique brass carriage clock that sat above the fireplace. Although it wasn’t entirely unheard of for visitors to randomly call at the house, in most cases, even the most hardened criminals gave him the courtesy of calling ahead rather than showing up at his home unannounced.
Closing the leather-bound ledger, he placed his pencil on top, took a final swig of his tea, then eased himself out of the chair and made his way towards the front of the farmhouse. In the lounge, he peered through the paned window and narrowed his eyes. As bold as brass, Joey Mann and his sidekick Carlos Christos were climbing out of a brand spanking new black Audi. Their hulking frames, clad in designer clothing, looked out of place, ridiculous even, considering they were in the middle of what most people would consider to be the countryside, where sturdy waterproof boots and Barbour waxed jackets were the popular choice of attire.
He’d never been a fan of the Mann family and Gerry Mann in particular was someone he’d always privately regarded as a nasty, vile, vindictive, piece of work. The less he had to deal with him, the better. Besides, it was common knowledge that not only did Gerry have a cruel side to him but he also wasn’t well thought of within the criminal fraternity, the majority of whom either used him as a way of getting their hands on ill-gotten gains or gave him the cold shoulder, or at least that was what Robbie had been told by the many faces who had sought out his expertise in firearms over the years. And from the look of things, Joey Mann was fast on his way to following on in his father’s footsteps. From a young age, he’d taken glee in watching others suffer and, in Robbie’s eyes, it was a sure sign that Joey was only one step away from becoming a fully-fledged nutcase.
A loud knocking at the front door broke his reverie and, giving a long, irritated sigh, Robbie pinched the bridge of his nose, pushed his spectacles back into place then made his way wearily out into the passageway. He’d almost reached the front door when a heavy kick brought the door crashing open, leaving the splintered frame to hang precariously in its wake.
Joey Mann gave a cold, spiteful grin and as he stepped across the threshold, the crunch of wooden shards beneath his heavy steel-capped boots was loud in the otherwise quiet house.
There and then, Robbie’s insides turned to ice. With no time to reach the cellar where he stored his arsenal of weapons, he took a deep breath and readied himself for the attack that he knew without a doubt was to come. And as Joey opened his leather jacket to reveal the flash of steel from a large knife that looked better suited to a kitchen than the hallway of his home, the only thing Robbie could do was send up a silent prayer in the hope that when it came, his death would be quick.
It wasn’t until early evening that Danny and Moray were allowed access to the club and, as Danny stood alone at the bar, sipping at a glass of brandy, he contemplated the events that had taken place the night before. Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of someone approaching and turned his head.
‘Max,’ he said, straightening up as his ex-wife strode towards him, still wearing the same blood-splattered, crumpled clothes she’d been wearing the previous evening. ‘How’s she doing?’
Maxine’s tone was clipped as she answered, her hatred for her ex-husband obvious in both her stance and voice. ‘They’re moving her on to a general ward this afternoon. If you’d have taken the time and bothered to visit your daughter, then you might have known.’
‘Thank fuck for that.’ Choosing to ignore the barbed quip, Danny heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Listen, Max, if you want her to go private, the money’s there, all you’ve got to do is say the word and I’ll sort everything out.’
‘And I bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you?’ Maxine threw up her arms. ‘This is so typical of you; all you’ve ever done is throw your money around. You can’t buy our children’s love.’ Even as she said the words, Maxine knew that she was being unfair. Danny had never actively spoilt the children; oh, he’d taken them on exotic holidays over the years, and bought them nice gifts for their birthdays and Christmas, but he’d also encouraged them to study hard, and as soon as they were old enough to find work, he’d given them a gentle nudge in the right direction.
Danny sighed and held up his hand. ‘I don’t want to argue with you, Max, I think we’ve got enough on our plates without you and me at each other’s throats. Our little girl could have died.’ He swallowed deeply as he looked around him at the devastation that had been left behind after the shooting. A strip of blue and white police tape still cordoned off part of the dance floor and VIP section, and amongst the paraphernalia left behind from the paramedics, a dark pool of Lexi’s blood was still visible on the brightly patterned carpet.
Crossing her arms over her chest, there was a steely glint in Maxine’s eyes as she followed her ex-husband’s gaze. Biting down on her lip, she blinked away the tears in a desperate attempt to keep her composure. It was imperative that she stayed calm, that she stayed in control. ‘The only thing I want from you is to know what you plan to do about this.’
Taken aback, Danny frowned. ‘I’ve given the Old Bill a statement, we all have – Moray, the doormen, the bar staff – and they’ve taken the CCTV, they have our full cooperation…’
‘No, Danny,’ Maxine interrupted him through gritted teeth, ‘I want to know what you personally,’ she said, spitting out the words with venom, ‘are going to do about this?’
Danny’s forehead furrowed, unsure exactly of what she was asking of him.
‘Come on,’ she urged him, ‘you must know who was responsible, why this happened? We both know Lexi wasn’t the target, so who was that bullet meant for, was it you?’ She tilted her head towards him, the hard glint in her eyes intensifying so much that the hatred she felt for her ex-husband threatened to consume her very being. ‘Was it because of you that my little girl almost died…?’
Holding up his hand, Danny stopped her dead in her tracks. ‘I don’t belong in that world any more, Max, you know I don’t,’ he said gently. ‘These past eighteen years, I’ve kept my nose clean, I haven’t even received so much as a parking ticket. I’m out of the game,’ he said as a pink tinge spread up his neck. He knew full well that whether he liked it or not, he’d been dragged back into the murky existence that was the criminal underworld. Not only that, but a part of him was looking forward to getting stuck in and, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, an even bigger part of him wanted to dish out his own form of retribution on the bastard who’d had the audacity to harm his daughter. ‘Believe me, you know about as much as I do, darling.’
Maxine gave a nasty chuckle and her eyes blazed with fury. ‘Yeah, of course you’re out of the game,’ she said with a hint of sarcasm. ‘Next you’ll be telling me you’re in line to receive a sainthood. I know you, just you remember that’ – she stabbed a finger in his direction – ‘and I know for a fact you could never have left the life behind you; you were up to your neck in it, and there’s no getting away from that fact. Look at you.’ She glared at him. ‘You don’t even care, do you? The fact my daughter almost died means absolutely nothing to you, does it?’
Danny screwed up his face. ‘Of course it means something to me,’ he roared. ‘Whether you like it or not, she’s my daughter too.’ As soon as the sentence left his mouth, he regretted losing his temper and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down. ‘Look, Max, you’re angry and I get it, of course I get it, we could have lost her.’ Blinking away the harrowing image of his daughter lying injured on the floor, not even ten feet away from where they were standing, he inwardly shuddered. ‘It doesn’t even bear thinking about.’
‘Angry?’ Maxine gave a bitter laugh. ‘You don’t have the first idea about how I feel; it was her birthday, for Christ’s sake, her eighteenth birthday, and she almost died in my arms. No’ – she shook her head, her expression one of contempt as she looked him up and down – ‘I’ll tell you what makes me angry,’ she said, leaning in so close that Danny could smell the peppermint on her breath. ‘What makes me feel sick to my stomach is the fact that my daughter almost died because of you and’ – she gestured around her at the club, a sneer creasing her face – ‘the life that you choose to live.’
‘That’s not fair, Max.’ Rubbing his hand over his face, Danny slumped down on to a bar stool. ‘This was nothing to do with me, I swear to you it wasn’t.’
Tilting her chin in the air, there was a defiant gleam in Maxine’s eyes, and as she shook her head, she fought down the urge to lash out, to hurt him, to make him suffer, to slap him across the same handsome face she’d once loved with all her heart. ‘I blame you for this,’ she said, ‘and I wish to God it had been you who’d taken that bullet, believe me, it would have done all of us a favour. In fact,’ she spat, ‘stay away from my children before you end up getting one of them killed.’
Danny’s shoulders slumped. She may as well have punched him in the gut, not that he entirely blamed her, after all, she wasn’t the only one who wished that he’d taken the bullet. In fact, he’d give anything and everything to be able to swap places with his daughter. As he watched his ex-wife walk away from him, Danny shook his head sadly. It was hard to believe that they had loved one another once, that they’d been happy. ‘Can you tell Lexi that I’ll be up to see her later?’ he called out.
He didn’t get a response, not that he’d been expecting one.
Holding up his hands, Moray sidestepped out of Maxine’s path as she stormed past without so much as acknowledging him. Even from a distance, he could see that she’d been crying, her eyes red-rimmed, and her cheeks blotchy.
He snapped his head in Danny’s direction, his eyes widening as he made his way around the edge of the dance floor. ‘It’s not bad news, is it?’ he called out to him as he approached.
Danny shook his head. He stood up, swallowed down the remainder of his brandy and slammed the glass down on the bar. ‘Let’s get this over and done with and pay Groves a visit; the quicker we find this bastard, the better.’
Slipping his hand into his trouser pocket, Moray pulled out his car keys. ‘If Groves is anything like his old man, then he’ll know the score.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Danny answered as he stormed through the club, ‘for his sake, he better had.’
It was dark by the time Moray pushed his foot on the brake outside Robbie Groves’s house and switched off the ignition.
‘This place is a bit remote,’ Moray said as he opened the car door and stepped outside.
Nodding his head in agreement, Danny looked around him. Not only was the farmhouse surrounded by a blanket of darkness that stretched out for as far as he could see, but it was also quiet, far too quiet for his liking.
Other than the various sounds that came from the wildlife around the farmland – a toot from an owl, a shrill screech from a fox – there were no other signs of life; even the winding lane which led to the farmhouse had been deserted as they had driven along it.
‘Fuck living here,’ Moray stated, turning up his nose. ‘Like anyone else, I like a bit of peace and quiet every now and then, but at the same time, I like to know that I’ve got at least one neighbour within walking distance should any heavy shit happen to go down.’
As they walked in the direction of the house, Danny raised his eyebrows. ‘From what I can remember, old Robbie’s house was covered from floor to ceiling with weapons, I highly doubt he’s too bothered about the threat of any shit going down.’
‘True,’ Moray answered with a shrug. A moment later, he stopped and raised his arm, bringing Danny to a grinding halt. The front door, which until now had been hidden from their view behind a porch covered in trailing ivy, had been smashed wide open and as the moonlight illuminated the passageway, they were able to pick out what looked suspiciously like blood smeared across the parquet flooring.
‘What the fuck has happened here?’ Danny asked as he turned to look over his shoulder, fully expecting someone to come hurtling out of the bushes at any given moment, armed with a weapon ready to attack them.
Careful of where he trod, Moray picked his way through the house. There was an eerie silence, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he stopped briefly to glance inside the rooms that led off from the hallway. Satisfied that there was no one else in the house – at least no one living, anyway – he stabbed his finger towards the final room on the lower level.
This room, the only one which had had the door closed, was positioned towards the rear of the property. Pulling the cuff of his jacket over his hand, Moray raised his eyebrows, readied himself, then, reaching out, pulled down on the door handle.
Robbie Groves sat slumped in a wooden chair. His head was positioned at an awkward angle, his eyes were wide open and staring into nothingness, and his exposed neck had been so savagely hacked away at that it was a wonder he hadn’t been decapitated.
‘For fuck’s sake.’ Clasping his hands behind his head, Danny groaned out loud. ‘This is all we fucking well need.’
Moray's blood ran cold, and he tore his eyes away from the corpse to glance across at Danny. ‘I think we can safely say it was an attempted hit after all.’ He turned back to look at the crime scene and shook his head sadly. ‘And from the look of things, someone is covering their tracks.’
7
Maria Aylott was seething. Danny had barely acknowledged her existence since the shooting at the club, he hadn’t even bothered to enquire if she was okay or how she was going to get home. Instead, he’d been so concerned with his kids and ex-wife that he’d barely even glanced in her direction. In fact, his doormen had ushered her out of the club as though she meant nothing to him whatsoever, as though she was nothing more than an employee, the paid entertainment.
Like a fool, she’d waited all day for him to put in an appearance. She swallowed down a mouthful of prosecco and let out a sarcastic laugh. Fiancée, what a joke that was, she might as well not exist as far as he was concerned.
Each time her mobile phone had pinged, indicating a new message had come through, she’d pounced on the device, fully expecting to see his name flash up on the screen. Instead, each and every time, she had been left feeling bitterly disappointed. As the hours had whizzed by, she’d passed the time by opening a bottle of prosecco; she’d been on her second bottle by the time he’d decided to finally grace her with his presence.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, giving her a dutiful kiss on the top of her head. Then, slumping heavily down onto the sofa, he kicked his legs out in front of him and closed his eyes, tiredness washing over him. ‘It’s been one of those fucking days,’ he groaned, as an image of Robbie Groves’s hacked body flashed before his eyes.
For a few moments, Maria watched him in silence and, as the seconds ticked by, she became more and more incensed. There was no ‘how are you?’ and no ‘did you get home okay?’ It was all about him, about his hard day. Well, bollocks to him, what about her? She’d been left with no other choice but to walk home alone in the early hours of the morning; admittedly, her flat was only a stone’s throw away from the club, but that wasn’t the point, anything could have happened during the short walk, she could have been attacked, raped, even murdered for all he’d known or seemingly cared.
