Blinding Lies Page 16

  Anna laughed, but it sounded forced, even to her.

  Myles reached across the table and squeezed her hands, his eyes warm and full of sorrow. “Do you and Alex have any other family?”

  She shook her head, “None. My parents were from England. After their accident a man got in touch, to say he was an old friend of my dad’s. I had never met him. Other than that, we have no link to their past.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes.

  The waitress brought their meals. Neither Myles nor Anna paid her any attention.

  “The detectives said they had explored every angle. The case was referred to the Missing Persons Bureau, but there were never any leads. The file is still open, but …” She shrugged helplessly.

  “What were their names?” Myles asked.

  She appreciated his interest. “Helen and Michael. They were great.”

  Silence descended on them again, Myles staring at Anna, and Anna staring into the bubbling water in her glass.

  Eventually he broke the stillness. “You seem relatively normal.”

  Anna laughed aloud and wiped her eyes. She couldn’t believe she was laughing while talking about this.

  Myles squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry this happened to you. Thank you for telling me. And I’m glad to have met you.”

  Anna smiled at him. “Me too.”

  28

  Betsy felt good. Real good. Better than she had felt in a long time. It was Sunday night, her shift at the Mad Hatter was over, and she didn’t have to set foot in the place until lunchtime on Wednesday. She was going to let her hair down and party, hard.

  Her apartment was small but very clean, and real nice. It was hers and she loved it. Loved to clean it, keep it sparkling, loved to push open the tiny windows and let the air in to swirl around inside the small space and freshen it up. She never smoked inside, always heading downstairs to the front entrance of the building, and God help anyone who dared to light up indoors. Because she finally had no-one to answer to, she had decorated the apartment just the way she wanted to – her bedroom was a pale lavender, with fairy lights strung around the mirror, and pink cushions scattered on the bed. She had put up wall stickers here and there, each with an inspirational quote – You are Worthy! Dream Big! You Got This! She had saved hard for the small leather two-seater, cream to match the cupboards in her kitchenette. The TV had been a cast-off, but perfectly adequate for her quiz shows and Netflix. She piggy-backed on her sister’s Netflix account – Elise was generous that way.

  Elise Taylor was Betsy’s older sister. They were close in many respects, and strangers in other ways. It was probably impossible to have a normal relationship when you consider how their lives had started out. Elise was a good older sister though – she had saved Betsy many times. Saved, as in, helped her get clean, helped her kick out the latest lowlife she couldn’t remember inviting to move in, helped her to find work when she couldn’t get a reference. It was Elise who had got Betsy the interview in the Mad Hatter, said the manager owed her a favour. Everyone owed Elise favours in this city. Betsy felt protected being her younger sister.

  Elise and Elizabeth – they had always been teased about their mother’s lack of imagination when it came to choosing their names. They were two peas in a pod; at least that’s what people used to say when they were running around the flats together as kids. Life was hard on the girls back then, but Elise always had a way of making things bearable. Whenever their mother had a new man around, or was too high to get out of bed, or was throwing a party that seemed to never end, Elise always made sure they were fed, were warm, were safe. Betsy would do anything for Elise. She wasn’t surprised Elise was a detective – she liked to boss people around, and she knew the way criminals thought – she had grown up around enough of them.

  Tonight, Betsy was meeting a new man. Excitement coursed through her as she spritzed herself with perfume and added a final layer of lipstick. She appraised herself in front of the mirror. She might be in her forties, but she still had the body of a woman much younger. Her highlights were freshly done, and her false eyelashes were perfectly applied. She felt gorgeous.

  Betsy caught the bus into the city, wishing she had more than a flimsy jacket on over her dress. But her dress was low-cut and sexy, and she wanted to make a good impression on Steve. He owned a hotel, the Kingsman, just a little two-star place off the main city thoroughfare, but still – a businessman! Elise would never believe her. They were meeting at the hotel reception, and he had promised her a night out in town, a fancy restaurant and a club after, then back to his place. He lived at the hotel, he had explained, it was more economical that way. Betsy could see herself running a small hotel like Steve’s, decorating each bedroom to her own feminine taste, welcoming the guests at reception … as the bus rolled into town she was lost in the fantasy of a better life.

  Once she reached the city she walked as briskly as her stilettos would allow to the hotel. It was so central, perfect to head back to after the club. The streets were quiet now – most people were probably at home by the fire, relaxing before their return to work in the morning.

  Steve was waiting for her at reception, leaning over the counter to give orders to a young, acne-scarred lad who was obviously taking the nightshift at reception. Steve was a big guy, sexy in a “Grant Mitchell” type of way, bald and broad and tattooed. He grinned at Betsy as she walked in, his eyes roaming over her, clearly liking what he saw.

  “Hey, babe!” he drawled, putting his arm around her and pulling her into him, resting his hand on her bottom and giving it a squeeze. He looked at the teenager behind the counter. “What do you think, Neil, isn’t she something?”

  The kid just shrugged.

  “You ready to party, sweetheart?” Steve said.

  “Sure!” Betsy answered sweetly, looking all around her. She took in the reception area, the small coffee station, the plastic potted plants in the corner, the “out of order” sign taped on the lift door. Oh yes, she thought, she could spruce this place up alright, bring it up a star rating or two, make a fortune. She could give up waiting tables in the Mad Hatter. She smiled up at Steve, keen to play her cards right tonight.

  The hotel door opened and brought a blast of cold air inside. A young woman walked in, her shoulders hunched inside a heavy coat, a woollen hat pushed low over her short hair. She kept her head down, her hands in her pockets, and moved towards the stairs, clearly aware the lift was out of order. Memory pulled at Betsy’s mind – where had she seen her before? The woman was a guest here, heading upstairs to her room. Maybe she was a tourist, and Betsy had seen her about town – maybe she had stopped by the Mad Hatter for lunch or drinks.

  That’s it! Betsy thought with a start. It was the woman Elise was looking for, the one who had sought to buy a passport from Nick. She was a guest here at the hotel.

  Betsy reached into her bag to find her phone and call her sister, but it appeared her date had other ideas. He pulled a tiny plastic bag from inside his jeans pocket and dangled it in front of her face. It contained several round white pills. He didn’t seem to care that his teenage receptionist could see and hear them.

  “Look what I got for us, babe!” He put his hand on Betsy’s elbow and steered her towards the door. “Let’s go have some real fun!”

  Betsy pulled her hand back out of her handbag, almost forgetting about the woman, about Elise. Momentarily she hated herself for the fact that she was practically salivating at the sight of the drugs. But she pushed the thought aside – it was one night, hardly “falling off the wagon”’. And the woman would still be at the hotel in the morning. Where was she going to go at this time of night, in this weather?

  Giggling, Betsy linked her arm through Steve’s and cuddled closer to him as they stepped outside into the cold November night.

  29

  Tobias Meier was in a brooding mood. He sensed a trap. It was eleven o’clock – Tom Gallagher had suggested a ten o’clock meet, but let the man wait! The icy r
oads had been no match for the Range Rover he had acquired; they had sped easily into the city, John Gallagher stuffed into the boot. The streets were deserted. It was Sunday after all – people had jobs to go to in the morning, and children to drive to school. His brother Leon had parked the Range Rover near the fountain in the city, a vantage point that offered a view of the streets and the neon sign for the Oracle club up ahead. Its blue light flashed irritatingly, blinking on and off, on and off. His brothers Karl and Stefan were sitting in the back, eager and excited to meet the Gallagher band of men.

  Tobias felt uncomfortable with this whole arrangement. The Range Rover was warm, but he felt chilled to the bone. He counted eight cars parked immediately outside the club – strange that the venue was so busy when the streets into the city had been so quiet. Gallagher clearly had deployed all his men to the club, to outnumber the Germans. They had robbed him after all, completely emptied his safe. Not to mention the man might be harbouring a grudge for the mutilation of his son.

  Tobias worried that his own desperation to retrieve the memory key was causing him to lose his edge – were they walking into a trap? A man didn’t get to his stature in life by being easily fooled. Tobias had never been outwitted, and tonight wasn’t going to be the first time.

  He had fought his way to this position in life. It had come to him the hard way. There were bodies stacked up behind him, in his past, people he’d had to move out of his way. Sometimes, at night, he dreamt of their faces, how their skin had sagged, and their muscles had twitched in the final moments between life and death. At night, he felt vulnerable, freaked out by the dead. By day he was in charge again, a man not to be crossed, nor to be defied.

  There were few people he feared in this world left alive. One of them was a man he could not move out of the way – the pool ran too deep. Removing that man would send a ripple effect Tobias could not contain. A wave of Dutch mobsters descending on him and his brothers was not something he could deal with.

  So, the memory key had to be found. Tobias didn’t care what Tom Gallagher did to find it. All he cared about was the payment the Dutchman offered and keeping his head on his shoulders.

  He felt a grudging admiration for Tom Gallagher. He had established a fine business for himself and, like himself, had fought off all competition. Tom Gallagher had earned respect. Tobias especially liked Gallagher’s wife. She was aging well. She was exactly his type of woman – well kept, strong and sensible. Tobias remembered his visit to her home – he had encountered her strength then. Yes, she was just his type.

  He felt like drawing out tonight a little longer. He would take a gamble, and if he was wrong and ultimately late to their meeting, so be it. Tom Gallagher wasn’t exactly in a position to complain.

  “Turn around!” he ordered, and Leon started the engine. “We will wait for Gallagher at his house instead. Keep Mama Gallagher company.”

  He heard some feeble cries for help from the boot and a soft banging, as if the man was attempting to kick out with his feet. Tobias smiled at John’s folly – he was wasting his energy – although he had to admire the man; he had endured much this last week and still had fight in him. Despite being bound at the hands and feet and gagged, he was still managing to make enough noise to penetrate Tobias’s thoughts. He turned up the radio.

  He felt so cold but he was used to the cold, its familiarity somewhat easing his sense of foreboding. He desired nothing but to end this mess, to deliver the memory key and collect the money. He longed to return to less complicated things, like guns and drugs.

  After less than fifteen minutes they pulled into Gallagher’s property. He saw the gates were open and unattended – perhaps Gallagher still hadn’t replaced his security men? He most likely had all his men stationed at the Oracle, the better to ambush the Meiers. Tobias grinned smugly to himself – let Gallagher come home to find his wife being entertained while he was out on a wasted errand.

  They drove up to the front door. The few parked cars in the driveway were empty; the house was in complete darkness save for a light on upstairs.

  “Stay here,” Tobias ordered Leon. “Karl, Stefan, you come with me.”

  The younger Meier brothers climbed out of the back seat and followed their elder to the door. It was locked. Tobias had brought a hammer from the tools they had used on John Gallagher, and he used it to work on the lock until it gave way. They moved quickly inside. The tiled hall in front of them was in darkness but the headlights from their vehicle lit up the entrance from behind. Tobias looked up to the light on upstairs and, smirking, motioned to his brothers to follow him up.

  As he stepped away from them towards the staircase, he heard an almost imperceptible noise and became aware of swift movement from both the left and right sides of the hall.

  It was as if the walls had come to life.

  His brothers suddenly began to gag, clutching at their throats as they fell forward. Tobias watched in utter disbelief as two shadowy figures stepped away from his brothers who were now lying twitching on the floor.

  The figures swiftly moved outside to the Range Rover, taking Leon completely by surprise. He barely struggled. Tobias looked away as his brother was dragged to the ground.

  Tobias closed his eyes.

  “Two for two,” a voice said softly from the back of the hall.

  Tobias whipped his head around and saw Tom Gallagher step from the shadows.

  “Your driver makes it three to me, but then, who’s counting?”

  Gallagher moved slowly forward until he stood inches from Tobias. In the lights from the driveway illuminating the space, Tobias saw Gallagher’s eyes burn with hatred.

  He had underestimated the man. The cold hand of fear tightened around his heart.

  “Marco?” Gallagher called softly, looking past Tobias into the driveway.

  Tobias turned and saw several men lifting John Gallagher from the boot of the Range Rover and carrying him to one of the parked cars.

  A heavyset man replied, “Got him, boss!” before climbing into the driver’s seat and speeding away.

  Four men entered the hallway and roughly dragged Karl and Stefan Meier from the house into the driveway. Leon lay outside on the ground, clearly dead. Tobias felt like he was watching them in slow motion, like they were moving under water. Somewhere deep in his subconscious he realised he was in shock.

  He turned to look at Tom Gallagher. The man was rolling up both sleeves of a black shirt. He grinned, and in the half-light he looked like a maniac.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me,” he said.

  30

  Dean Harris had got used to scaling high walls over the last few years; the concrete wall and the high metal gate that enclosed Anna’s house posed no problem for him. Opening the lock on the sliding back door was even easier – he had the right tools and it gave way quickly. He pushed the door shut; it was stiff and heavy. She kept the house neat and tidy and he liked that. He moved quietly through each room, a curious spectator in her most private place, touching things here and there. He ran his gloved fingers over the keys of her laptop on the kitchen table, over the covers of her books on the bookshelf.

  On the back of the sofa a scarf was thrown, casually discarded. He lifted it and buried his face into it, inhaling her deeply. It gave him a thrill to know she would arrive home soon, not knowing he was in her home, not knowing his plans for her. He had been watching her for days now, observing her coming and going. He could wait no longer. The detective – William, was it? – had been curious and intimidating. But Dean was confident the Gardaí had nothing on him. He was far too excited to be worried and he had put too much work into this to abandon things because a detective was sniffing around.

  He had watched this house while she’d been at work. He had ample view by day, but she worked late, and he’d had to come back at night to be sure she would be alone. He knew that she slept in the bedroom on the right side of the stairs. Last night he had watched from the street outside as the lig
ht went on and then off. She would surely arrive home soon. She had been late last night, and he had almost frozen to death. In the end, he had abandoned his plan. Dean guessed the woman would be home earlier tonight, having work in the morning. He knew from past experiences that assumptions like this might not come true, but he felt sure she would be home soon, and the thought thrilled him. Here, in this game he had created, he felt powerful and in control.

  Dean began to move through the house toward the stairs, his bag held loosely in his arm. He wanted to explore her bedroom – he could hardly contain his excitement. She was small, probably just over five foot five, compared to his six foot. It would be no contest, and anticipation pulsed in his veins.

  When Anna pushed her front door open, she knew she wasn’t imagining it. Someone had been in her house. The house felt colder somehow, as if a door had been left open. She thought of her sliding back door again. Turning on the lights as she moved, she made her way toward the kitchen, pausing in the living room to pick her scarf up from the bookshelf – it had been on the back of the sofa, she was sure of it.

  Shit, she thought, what the hell is going on?

  As she stood in the middle of the living room, a cold breeze from outside tickled her skin. Turning, she walked through the archway to the kitchen and realised her sliding door was very slightly ajar, the night air penetrating her house. Holding her scarf and barely breathing, she tensed as a floorboard creaked upstairs.