On the Hunt Page 9

  I hope.

  “As soon as we’ve sorted this … situation out, you can come back.” He intended calling it a “mess”, but that hardly seemed appropriate.

  Her frown eased. “Oh. That’s right, we’re going to Rainey’s, aren’t we.”

  “That’s the plan, yes.”

  Evasion seemed his best option. It would make it easier for her to cope, at least in the short term, but he doubted heading for the sister-in-law’s place would be the best destination. Marian needed somewhere safer. Somewhere the Patakis wouldn’t find her.

  Definitely not the sister-in law’s place.

  Since seeing Robert Prentiss’ shattered skull on the TV screen, Danny’d had time to think things through a little.

  Based on the Patakis’ meticulously planned operation to date, they were playing a long game, and playing it for keeps.

  On his arrival at the house, Lajos Pataki had ordered Zapata and his buddy to kill Marian and set up Nemeth to take the fall. Marian’s murder and Robert’s apparent suicide would have drawn a coincidental, but neat little line under their operation. But Danny had blown their plans out of the water.

  With Marian still alive and a potential witness, the Patakis’ operation would remain compromised. From their point of view, she had to die.

  With Marian Prentiss dead, no one would be left to argue against the legal validity of their acquisition of Prentiss Haulage Limited. And if her death could be made to look like another shock to Robert’s precarious mental state, leading him to blow his own head off, so much the better.

  Evil bastards.

  Danny wouldn’t let them win.

  “Your bags?” he repeated, holding out his hand.

  Marian loosened her death grip on the pillow and pointed to the left door of two let into the wall on the opposite side of the bed. “My dressing room.”

  “Okay, please pack enough for an overnight stay. Toiletries, makeup, whatever you need. Don’t forget your purse and passport, and don’t worry if you miss anything. We can always pick up what you need later. Make sure you’re ready to leave when we are, okay?”

  She nodded and took his offered hand. He helped her up, but she stood still, an automaton awaiting orders.

  “Go,” he encouraged. “Pack.”

  A strangled scream rocked up from downstairs and through the open door, almost loud enough to rattle Danny’s fillings. Marian stiffened. Her hand shot up to her mouth.

  “Don’t worry, Marian. That’s just Griffin. I imagine Blondie’s not inclined to answer his questions. Won’t take long, though. Griffin can be rather persuasive when something rattles his cage.”

  The scream started up again, but soon turned into broken sobs interspersed with rapid words, probably Hungarian.

  Danny smiled. “Told you it wouldn’t take him long. Now, please pack what you need. I’ll check all the windows and doors on this floor are secure.”

  Lajos Pataki’s capitulation seemed to spark her into life. She rushed across the room and tugged open the door to the dressing room.

  “Marian?”

  She stopped, turned. “Yes?”

  “Is there access to the attic?”

  “Um, yes. A hatch in the fourth bedroom closet, with a loft ladder.”

  “Any windows up there? Skylights or dormers?”

  She closed her eyes as though trying to remember, then nodded. “Yes. One small skylight which leads to a metal fire escape fixed to the back wall. Halfway down, it’s broken. Totally rusted away. We were going to replace it during the renovation, but … the plans were put on hold. If you go up there, be careful. It’s not fully floorboarded.”

  Danny cast his mind back to his night’s obbo of the place. He’d been concentrating on the living areas, not the roof. Another bloody mistake. At the time, he’d been so certain that Robbie P was a coward and a wife beater, he’d skimped on the basics and hadn’t run a full and detailed recon. He should have been more thorough.

  If he’d asked Corky for more help. If he’d briefed the captain first. If he hadn’t been such a gung ho, arrogant bastard, he might have worked it out earlier. If he’d done his job properly, Robert Prentiss might still be alive.

  If … if … if.

  Shit!

  No point in beating himself up. He couldn’t change the past. The only way he could help Marian Prentiss was to keep her safe and avenge her husband’s murder. It would be Danny’s apology to the dead man. Not that a posthumous apology would do Robert Prentiss any good, but it might give Marian closure. It might also go some way to easing Danny’s guilt.

  As usual, he was being a big selfish bastard.

  “The fire escape. Is that the only access to the roof from outside?” he asked, pressing home the point.

  Marian hesitated, then dipped her head in a nod. “Yes, but … as I said, it’s broken away. Useless.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Positive. Robbie … went up there the other day to put some boxes away.” Her chin dimpled, close to breaking down again. “He … he said it would make a wonderful playroom or a granny annex for when the kids arrived.” She blinked away the tears, sniffed, and straightened her shoulders.

  Unable to watch her cry again, Danny turned away. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  Danny left Marian to her make-work task. For the recently bereaved, keeping occupied helped.

  He worked his way through the first floor—all four bedrooms, the en suites, the Jack and Jill bathroom linking bedrooms three and four, and a couple of large walk-in closets. All the windows at the front on the first floor were fitted with wooden shutters. They offered good protection from the winter weather before the advent of double glazing, but would be precious little defence against bullets. Still … slightly better than glass. He closed and barred them, fastened all the windows, and shut the doors. None were lockable from the outside hall.

  He found the loft access in the walk-in closet in bedroom four, where Marian had directed him. To Danny’s relief, the aluminium loft ladder creaked and groaned in loud complaint as he climbed. Sight unseen, he considered searching for a screwdriver and removing the ladder entirely, but leaving it in place would be better. If any intruders gained access to the house through the loft, the ladder would be as good as a burglar alarm. Trapped inside a closet, the same intruders would be easy meat to his Beretta.

  The loft door opened upwards on creaky hinges, and Danny popped his head through the opening. Daylight shone in a narrow beam through a dust-blurred skylight. He climbed up another two treads and leaned further through the narrow opening. Green chipboard flooring stretched out over the rear half of the cobweb-shrouded loft, its surface piled high with boxes, suitcases, and packing crates. The rest of the floorspace was open joists filled with granulated insulation, yellowed with age.

  Danny climbed up and into the dusty, gloomy area. He skirted the narrow border of clear floorboard, shuffled along the joists, and made his way to the skylight. Metal framed and pockmarked with rust, the casement refused to budge—a point in its favour. Interlopers would have to smash the glass to gain entry. With the side of his fist he scrubbed some of the decades-old grime from the inside of the glass and tried to catch a view of the fire escape. Not a chance. The steep downward angle of the roof made it impossible. All he could see was a short run of moss-covered tiles, rolling fields stretching out to the horizon, and a grey sky.

  Taking care not to slip from the joists and punch a ruddy great big hole through the fourth bedroom’s ceiling, Danny retraced his steps to the opening and descended the ladder. The loft was a weak spot, no doubt about it, but he couldn’t think of a way to secure it without time and a whole lot of ironmongery.

  He slid down the ladder and dragged a chest of drawers in front of the closet door—the best he could manage at short notice. It wouldn’t hold off a determined attack force, but it might delay one long enough for a defender to react. Time would tell.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wednesday 3
rd May – Danny Pinkerton

  Amber Valley, Derbyshire, UK

  By the time Danny made it back to the master bedroom, Marian had returned to the bed. A small, leather suitcase sat on the floor by her feet. Its pale cream matched the colour of the clutch bag in her hands and resting on the leather jacket draped over her lap. She’d removed the nose splint and applied enough makeup to cover much of the bruising. No amount of cosmetics could hide the swelling or mask the puffy eyes, but she looked a damn sight better than earlier and would no longer draw shocked attention in a crowd. She might turn a few heads, though. No right-thinking individual would ever call Marian Prentiss plain.

  “Ready?” he asked, surprised at the speed at which she’d gathered her stuff together.

  Marian nodded. “You told me to hurry.”

  “Excellent. Follow me, but prepare yourself for what you might find in the salon.”

  She sniffed and gently brought a hand up to her nose, which obviously still hurt, and probably would for a few days to come.

  “Wouldn’t worry me if your Mr Griffin gutted the ugly little bastard and spread his innards over the hearth rug. Fucker deserves everything he gets.”

  Danny tried not to let surprise show on his face, but doubted he’d managed the trick. Marian’s anger was certainly justified, but her change of accent, from Royal Ascot on Lady’s Day to EastEnders down-the-pub-at-the-weekend, was a revelation.

  “Don’t look so shocked, Danny. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon shoved up my arse. Neither was Robbie. We worked hard for everything we got, and … fuck it.” She took a deep, slow breath. “There’s plenty of time to grieve. Plenty of time.”

  She shifting the clutch bag into one hand, hooked her arm under the jacket and picked up the suitcase.

  “Want me to carry that?”

  She shook her head emphatically. “Not a chance. I can manage, and you need your hands free to keep us safe. Now come on, what are we waiting for?”

  Danny couldn’t help smiling. The new version of Marian Prentiss was even better than the earlier one. He took point and led her down the stairs.

  The captain waited for them in the entrance hallway. He nodded at Danny, before turning to Marian.

  “Mrs Prentiss, I’ve cleaned up in the lounge”—he pointed towards the salon—“and shifted the furniture around a little. If anything untoward happens, you can hide behind the sofa. As long as you keep your head down, it’ll be as safe as anywhere else in the house. For the time being, I’ve left a chair in front of the TV.”

  “I thought you’d want me to hide in the cellar, again,” she said, looking at Danny.

  “Sorry, Mrs Prentiss,” the captain said, adding an apologetic smile, “the kitchen isn’t exactly secure anymore. The lounge is the safest place on the ground floor.”

  “Okay?” she asked Danny.

  “Yes.”

  She headed away, her low-heeled sensible shoes clapping on the tiles. Danny made to follow, but the captain held out a hand.

  “Sergeant, we need to talk.”

  “It’s okay,” Marian said without altering her stride or turning her head. “You’ve got work to do. I’ll stay out of the way.”

  Danny waited for her to enter the salon and collapse into the upholstered chair the captain had placed in the middle of the room, in full view of the hall. She left the door wide open.

  Through the open doorway, Danny could just about make out where the captain had pushed the sofa into the corner of the room, flipped it onto its front, and leaned the back against the wall. He’d placed the occasional tables on their sides at each end and piled the throw cushions all around. He’d made what looked like a children’s play fort.

  “Not much,” he said, “won’t stop many bullets, but it’s the best I could manage at short notice. At least she’s protected on two sides.”

  Danny sighed. “It’s no better upstairs. I was thinking of having her hide under a mattress thrown over the bath, but if the Hungarians gain entry, we can’t really defend the upstairs. It’s too open.”

  “Might be an idea to reinforce it with a mattress or two. Any single beds upstairs?

  “Yep. In bedroom three, top of the stairs. We can fetch them in a minute. By the way, we heard Blondie screaming.”

  “Who? Oh, you mean Lajos Pataki?”

  His grin made Danny relax. Ryan Kaine didn’t smile often, and almost never during an operation.

  “Yep. Did he tell you anything interesting?”

  “A few nuggets.”

  “Where’d you put him?”

  He double-hitched his eyebrows. “Follow me.”

  The captain led Danny to the downstairs cloakroom and opened the door. Blondie sat on the floor, in abject discomfort, with his legs wrapped around the toilet. The ankle still seeped blood. The captain had secured his knees around the bowl with curtain cord. For fun, he’d knotted the frilly ends into a neat little love bow, tied over a bowline. A second curtain cord secured the small man’s arms behind his back, fixed above the elbows in a figure-of-eight double loop. A third cord, tied in a hangman’s slip knot and secured to the u-bend, held Blondie’s face over the open toilet bowl. If he struggled, or if he passed out, the noose would tighten and strangle the little fucker.

  Without help, Blondie was going nowhere.

  Danny couldn’t help smirking. He leaned down to ruffle the nearly-white hair which wasn’t even close to looking nicely combed anymore. Blondie grunted, turned his head slowly—very slowly. Threatening blue eyes glared at Danny, who wanted more than anything else to see what would happen when he flushed the toilet.

  Naughty, Danny. Very naughty.

  “One hundred thousand … euros,” Blondie croaked, his lips barely moving.

  The words struggled to make it out through a restricted throat.

  “Each,” he added, after struggling to swallow.

  The pale skin on his face had turned an unhealthy shade of grey and matched his injured arm—at least the part below the shattered elbow.

  “To let you go?” Danny asked, ever so helpfully.

  Pataki tried to nod, but the noose wouldn’t allow it.

  “Y-Yes, each,” he managed. “Two hundred thousand euros. Cash.”

  Speaking was becoming a real challenge for the poor soul. Holding his head up seemed equally difficult. Danny winked and shook his head. Once again, the handle attached to the end of the chain dangling from the cistern looked ever so inviting.

  “And how long would Papa Pataki let us live to spend it?” the captain asked from the entrance hall.

  With great reluctance, Danny ignored the wicked enticement of the toilet flush and backed out of the cloakroom.

  “Papa Pataki?” he asked, after shutting the door on the hapless and helpless mini-thug.

  “Viktor Pataki,” the captain said, leading Danny towards the kitchen. “According to Lajos there, Viktor Pataki, the Giant of Győr, is one of the three most dangerous men in whole of Hungary.”

  “Only one of three? Not absolutely the most dangerous?”

  Had he not seen Robbie Prentiss’ corpse, Danny might have been disappointed at only facing the third placed mobster.

  “Not for the want of trying. Apparently, Viktor Pataki’s working on it. He’s hoping the acquisition of Prentiss Haulage Limited will help him weaken the opposition enough to climb the ladder. No point telling you what Lajos says is in store for us when Viktor learns how big a spanner we’ve jammed into his gearbox. I’ll leave that to your imagination.”

  He opened the kitchen door and stepped aside.

  The place hadn’t changed much since Danny’s remodelling, but at least it was now missing two bodies. The captain had cleared away the broken glass and shut the top half of the stable door. In spite of the smashed frame and shattered metalwork, it somehow stayed closed.

  “How’d you repair the back door?”

  “Found a toolbox in the pantry with a drill and packet of screws. There was enough residual charge in the drill
to drive home a few of the screws. A rudimentary fix, but it should hold them back for a while.”

  “Pity we can’t do anything about the broken glass.”

  Danny made to step through the doorway, but the captain threw out an arm to stop him.

  “Wouldn’t go in there if I were you, Sergeant.”

  Danny withdrew his foot and placed it securely on a black tile.

  “Been busy, Captain?”

  Ryan Kaine smiled again. It was in danger of becoming a habit.

  “Little bit,” he said. “I rather wanted to encourage the bad guys to come in that way. A nice easy entry for them.”

  Danny looked again. The pile of glass granules had gone and only a bloodstain remained. He couldn’t see any obvious booby traps, but that was the point. The captain knew what he was doing.

  “IED?”

  “Not exactly,” he said, dropping the smile. “Aiming for low impact deterrents. Didn’t want to damage the house any more than absolutely necessary. I don’t imagine Marian Prentiss would appreciate us blowing her home to pieces, although she might want to move on after what happened here. Wanted to give her the option, though.”

  Danny scanned the rest of the kitchen. All the units on the left remained closed and sleek. The front two gas burners on the stove were alight and turned up to full. Two saucepans with lids stood on the unlit burners behind them.

  “Are they on mains gas this far out of town?”

  “Good question, and the answer’s no,” the captain said. “There’s a propane tank in a shed out back. It’s currently a little over half full.” He added a stiff nod as though he knew exactly the way Danny’s mind operated.

  After working together for so long, he probably did.

  “What’s in the saucepans?”

  “Only water. I’ll set them to boil if and when our guests arrive, not before. Don’t want all the water to evaporate. Nor do I want steam showing, which would be a dead giveaway.”

  Danny hiked an eyebrow and nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Where’d you put the bodies? In the cellar?”

  “Nope. They were already starting to ripen so I thought it would be a good idea to move them outside with the compost. Found a helpful wheelbarrow out back next to the bins. They’re resting peacefully. Not that it matters. Their mothers might miss them, but ….” He shrugged.