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  Garrett wanted more of the same, not less. He was convinced people with kids didn’t get those opportunities. The best they could hope for was a Thomas Cook all-inclusive package holiday to the Costas once a year. So why the hell did he want to be a father?

  Then there was his own childhood, not that he wanted to dwell on it. He’d spent most of his adult life trying to bury it, pretending it never happened, working hard to reinvent himself. It started with him moving away from the old neighbourhood—too many bad memories. He’d made a new life, got a decent job, met a nice girl and bought a house. Life was good for the most part, but the arguments worsened, Maria just wouldn’t let it go, and so the inevitable happened, they’d began to drift apart.

  She made excuses to work late most evenings, and so Garrett returned to his old ways, drinking to pass the time. His mind in overdrive, fuelled by alcohol—he’d sulk, awaiting her return. When she did come home, Garrett remained subdued and silent, which in turn drove Maria closer to the edge. Her temper at boiling point, she’d shout and scream just to get a reaction, when that didn’t work, she’d grab anything that came to hand—pots, pans, plates, and glasses—all flying through the air in Garrett’s direction.

  Garrett would simmer, raging on the inside, but wouldn’t let it show, telling himself he wasn’t like the old man.

  The childhood beatings and the intimidation, it all came flooding back as if it were yesterday. There was no way around it; Garrett had the old man’s genes. That fucked up DNA profile was in there somewhere. It might be hidden deep, but all the same it was there. He could feel it, like a miasma waiting to distil the air with its odious vapour.

  Chapter 20

  Garrett pulled up on the edge of the drive, keeping the engine running as he observed the scene. It all came back, Maria packing a suitcase, going from room to room cleansing the scene as though none of it had ever happened. Erasing close to a decade of memories within minutes.

  Without Maria, the house was nothing but a shell, an empty husk devoid of life. He missed her laughter and even the arguments, but that was all gone now. Somehow, Garrett had to move on.

  He opened the front door and entered the house. For a brief moment, his heart quickened as he hoped he might hear her voice and that life would return to normality or at least something close to it. There was nothing, not even the residual sound of the TV. He reached for the light and flicked the switch. He’d taken another two steps before realising the light was still out.

  Garrett turned, making his way back towards the front door. The thud to the base of his skull brought him to his knees. His world faded to black before the second blow found its target.

  Chapter 21

  Cullen lit a cigarette and sat in silence observing the enigma. ‘You sure it’s him?’

  ‘Yeah, I’d recognise this bastard anywhere.’

  Cullen took a long, hard drag. ‘Time to wake him up.’

  Garrett felt the stinging afterglow of the slap to his cheek before the rough, stubby thumb and forefinger stabbed at his eye socket. ‘Wakey wakey, shit for brains.’

  He wrenched his head to the side as another pair of hands clamped his neck. He opened his eyes, at first nothing more than a tearful blur of shapes, his retina slow to adapt as he blinked through the mist.

  ‘Back with us?’ Cullen’s voice, monotone and flat as he scrutinised the driver’s license. Says here you’re ‘Martin Garrett.’

  Garrett didn’t recognise the mid-forties male with salt and pepper hair asking the questions, his eyes flitted left then right, but there was no mistaking the two scrawny half-wits that accompanied him.

  With the absence of clarity, Garrett sat in silence playing for time, the base of his skull throbbing as if he’d been hit with a bat. ‘You’re Cullen,’ he said, his voice hoarse and bitter.

  ‘That’s right,’ he pointed to the two figures standing poised and ready, ‘and you’ve met my associates.’

  Garrett looked but said nothing.

  Cullen took another hit on his cigarette, the smoke rising in front of his face. ‘Seems you like to throw your weight around. Funny, you don’t look the type.’

  Garrett coughed as the nicotine irritated the back of his throat. ‘What is it you want from me?’

  Cullen clicked his finger. A mass of black landed at Garrett’s feet, still bound by gaffer tape. Garrett fixed his eyes on the blood stained West Midlands Police tunic insignia.

  Cullen jabbed at the body with his boot. ‘Friend of yours, Mr. Garrett?’

  Garrett stared through the dried blood and matted hair, there was something familiar, he just couldn’t place it. He shook his head.

  ‘Didn’t realise he was a cop at first, on account of him wearing a jacket over his tunic, then we found his warrant card. Sure you don’t recognise him? Here, take a closer look.’ Garrett toppled to the floor as he was shoved forward, his face landing inches from the blood stained wreck. ‘Recognise him now? This is PC Reid 2418, Traffic Division. Turns out he’s the same guy who pulled you over the other night. Question is, why’s he here? You should be thanking me, Mr. Garrett, I caught him breaking and entering, and you being the traffic violator that just doesn’t add up now does it?’

  Garrett had no answer.

  Cullen sat back in the chair, inhaling deep on the nub of his cigarette before discarding it to the floor. ‘What? You’re telling me you two don’t know each other? Interesting.’ He sat mulling it over for a few seconds. ‘Let’s try another name, see how we do. I know, lets start with Al Tweedy.’

  Cullen noted the glimmer of recognition in Garrett’s eyes.

  ‘Now we’re getting somewhere, so tell me, what’s a loser like Tweedy to you, Martin Garrett?’

  ‘I don’t know anyone called Tweedy,’ said Garrett.

  ‘You want to play games? Fine.’ Cullen’s boot connected with Reid’s bloodied pulp, lifeless at his feet. ‘As you can see, my two associates are more than capable of extracting information.’

  Cullen got up to leave.

  Garrett had to act. ‘Okay, your two boys here, fuckwit one and two, they were out of order. All I was trying to do was have a quiet pint, and then they walk in and interrupt my conversation. I didn’t like the way this one,’ he said, staring straight at the offender, ‘spoke to the lady—that’s all.’

  Cullen began to laugh. ‘That’s it, what are you, the last of the great romantics? So you’ve got a thing for the barmaid, his niece. I can see the attraction in a scabby sort of way—bit of rough skank to while away the time.’ Cullen turned to the youths, ‘what’s her name?’

  One of the youths chipped in, gesturing with his hand and mouth, ‘Karen, better known as dirt bag, and yeah she’s a right proper slag.’

  Garrett felt the anger rise within him. ‘You should watch your mouth, boy.’

  ‘Yeah? What the fu..’

  Cullen cut in, ‘enough, be time enough for all that later.’

  Now it started to make sense, they’d returned to the pub to confront Tweedy, this time with their boss, Cullen, in tow. They must’ve seen Karen leaving and decided to follow, leading them directly to his house. Once located, all they had to do was sit and wait, biding their time.

  Cullen leant down in front of Garrett, the smell of fresh nicotine on his breath, close enough to make him gag. He playfully cupped his hand and slapped Garrett’s cheek. ‘I get it now, you’re just a nobody that poked your nose in where it wasn’t wanted, all for the sake of a bit of skirt.’ He shook his head, ‘bad mistake, my friend.’

  Cullen repositioned himself, settling in for a ringside view.

  The scrawny youth stepped forward. His face still bore the marks of the left hook.

  Cullen nodded. ‘You see, Martin, I just can’t have nobodies like you taking a pop at my boys. That’s just not on. The thing is people talk and then before you know it the word goes round. Today it’s a do-gooder like you, and if I let that go, then tomorrow, well let’s just say there’s lots of competition out th
ere for my business. What you don’t understand is there’s far worse people than me that Al Tweedy or his niece could be dealing with.’

  Garrett was dragged to his feet and re-seated. The first punch landed without any warning as he felt the cartilage crunch. His eyes watering as warm blood trickled from his nose down into his mouth. The youth admired his handiwork. ‘Not such the big man now, eh? Don’t worry, I’m just getting warmed up.’

  The other youth bounded back into the room after an unsuccessful scavenge for high-value saleable items to punt on the streets. ‘Boss, come quick...’ you need to see this.’

  ‘Not now... Can’t you see I’m busy, things are just about to get interesting.’

  ‘Trust me, you need to see this now, can’t wait, telling you—this is fucked.’ Reluctant at first, Cullen rose to his feet and traipsed out of view. ‘This better be good.’ As he left the room, he shouted back over his shoulder, ‘he’s all yours—but go easy, I’m not finished with him yet.’

  The youth loomed over Garrett, sniggered, then walked away out of his peripheral vision. Garrett twisted against the restraints, struggling to see, it sounded as if he was taking a drink from a bottle or a can. Getting jacked up, ready for the onslaught. When he returned, he’d removed his outer layer, losing the puffer jacket. Now he was limbering up, putting on a show, the same way a boxer might warm up in the ring before a big fight.

  Trussed up tight, Garrett flexed against the restraints. It was no use, he was bound tight. All he could do was ready himself.

  The youth stepped forward. ‘Let’s play.’

  Chapter 22

  Rigid with fear, she lay silent—her eyes gummed tight with the remnants of dried blood, gaffer taped at the wrists and ankles. Maria tried to pull her legs towards her but the effort was too much for her—she relented.

  Tears formed then started to flow as she recalled how he’d returned home and found her packing, flying into a rage within what seemed like seconds. That look in his eye, she knew then that he’d kill her.

  She thought he’d never stop as his hands tightened around her throat, squeezing the life from her. She could feel herself drifting away, the darkness all-consuming.

  The dimmed light from the hallway leaked into the garage, allowing just enough illumination to get her bearings. As she turned her head, a bolt of fresh pain seared through her damaged nerve endings. She wiped at her eyes with her bound wrists, the tape scraping against her skin. She had to remain strong, she could still make it, she had to believe.

  Maria began to bite and tear at the tape. She rolled over on to her front, pulling herself along the dusty, cold concrete, her elbows scuffing against the floor, desperate to drag her battered body to the tool racking system that Garrett had been so OCD about installing. There had to be something there. Garrett was always tidying, a place for everything, neatly labelled and secured away. Surely to God there’d be a saw, or a box cutter knife, anything to cut through the tape. She shuffled along deeper into the darkness. It was futile, Garrett had left nothing at the bottom level except for old paint tins and discarded remnants of wallpaper, and the odd paint roller and a selection of hardened brushes.

  Maria fought against her own frustration—she wanted to cry out and call for help, but the risk was too great. Closing her eyes, she hung her head fighting back the tears. There had to be another way.

  She looked back to the internal garage door, it was a long shot, but maybe she could make it along the hallway to the front door and raise the alarm.

  Where the fuck was Mrs. Johnson, the neighbourhood busybody, when she needed her?

  The adrenaline surged as Maria began to push forward on her elbows and knees, ignoring the pain as the uneven concrete ripped into fresh skin.

  Excited voices from the kitchen forced her to reconsider. They were getting closer; maybe Garrett had brought in help to finish the job. Maria turned, scrabbling back towards the polythene. Then out of the corner of her eye something caught her attention. She squinted against the low light. She hadn’t imagined it, a glint of something under the racking system. She reached in, pulling out a broken pair of black handled decorating scissors.

  The voices were louder, advancing ever closer towards the garage. Maria scudded along the remaining distance to the sheeting and buried herself in the polythene. She held her breath, clasping the scissors between her bound wrists, vowing to stab the first bastard that dare try to lay a finger on her.

  Chapter 23

  Her mind wandered to the not so distant past. Falling out of love with Garrett had been a gradual process. She’d always wanted kids. That was the root of their marital discord. They weren’t even on the same page as far as that issue was concerned. Garrett had always been open with her from the beginning, adamant that he didn’t want to become a father, ever. Maria persisted, which in turn pissed him off even more, souring his mood for days on end. He’d sulk like a sullen child barely uttering a word. Then it would fine again, until the next time. Maria could never leave it alone, and as far as he was concerned the matter wasn’t open to further discussion or compromise.

  The best she could hope for was that one day she’d wear him down, but that never happened. Instead, his stance hardened. Then the day came when she found his confirmation letter to go ahead with a vasectomy procedure.

  That was the final straw. She’d planned it right down to the day, how the hell was she supposed to know the outcome of his prognosis, it could still go in her favour, provided she could live for the next few hours. She just had to stay alive.

  Maria had known he’d been ill for some time, subtle at first, changes in his temperament and mood. Initially she’d put it down to stress. He’d always been that way, presenting himself as the laid back exec. In reality, he was the opposite, always bringing work home, and burning the midnight oil. His career eating into their weekends, the sacred time in their busy schedules’, which they’d both always vowed to protect above anything else. He’d pushed her away, prioritising everything else above her needs. Maria wasn’t even an afterthought, she was just convenient.

  What was she expected to do, stay just because he was ill? That wasn’t a good enough reason, she had plans, and Garrett didn’t feature in them any longer. She needed to move her life on, to live rather than exist.

  Chapter 24

  Cullen’s eye’s rested on the mass of concentrated polythene in the middle of the garage floor. His heartbeat quickening as he stepped forward. He looked to his associate, his face a mixture of grim excitement and wondrous expectation. This changed things, the entire dynamic tipped on its head. Where did they go from here on in? Cullen leant forward, swallowing hard as he pulled back the sheeting.

  The body bore the signs of a struggle, red blotches and bruising amongst other small abrasions covering the neck. Cullen was no CSI, but he’d seen enough TV programmes to indicate that the victim had put up a fight. The mouth was taped shut, the hands bound at the front, resting at waist level. Cullen turned to his associate. ‘What the fuck is this.’

  The youth shook his head, ‘bad shit, fucked up, man.’

  Cullen had seen enough, he replaced the polythene over the body before returning to the kitchen. ‘That’s enough, leave him be,’ Cullen said.

  The scrawny youth was spent but eager for more. ‘You said he was all mine.’

  Garrett’s face bore the marks of a beating, his nose swollen, dried blood forming a crust along his top lip. The gash to his eye had opened up again; both sockets apparent with fresh black and purplish bruising.

  ‘And now I’m telling you to stop—so back the fuck away.’

  Cullen pulled up a chair inches from Garrett’s face. ‘I don’t know what kind of sick game you two are playing,’ he said, indicating with the tip of his boot jabbing into Reid, ‘and I don’t have the time to dick around, so I’m only going to ask the one time.’

  Garrett took a second to process the information, unable to decipher Cullen’s meaning.

  Cullen a
ssumed the role of Master of Ceremony. ‘Not that it was ever my intention to come along here and play Poirot, but it’s all gone a bit Agatha Christie. Seems we have a body in the garage.’ He reached down and grabbed Reid’s blood-soaked, matted hair. ‘That why you’re here, that would make a good enough reason for breaking and entering, tell me I’m right?’

  Garrett cast his eyes downward to the unresponsive carcass, trying to make sense of the words coming out of Cullen’s mouth.

  Cullen turned to Garrett, ‘time for a walk, Martin.’

  Garrett shuffled the short distance to the garage, the overhead fluorescent tube still flickering. Cullen shoved him to his knees, the polythene sheeting inches away. Cullen crouched next to Garrett, his hand gripping the back of his neck then nodded to his associate to pull back the sheeting.

  ‘This what you did, Garrett? Who was she, girlfriend, wife, mistress? Come on, talk to me—who the fuck is she?’

  Garrett’s body began to shake, the tears rolling freely as he wailed like a child.

  The memories of the night flooded into vision. He’d lost it, come home to find her packing, he tried to reason with her, but her mind was made up. She was leaving and that was the end of it.

  Cullen straightened up, now it made sense, he turned to his associate, ‘he was screwing her.’

  The youth looked on confused. ‘Who?’

  ‘Her and the cop—they were lovers, the two of them having a fling.’ Cullen turned back to Garrett, ‘and you found out, made her pay. I’m right, aren’t I? You made the cheating bitch pay with her own life. You’re one cold bastard, Martin, I’ll say that for you.’

  Cullen turned to his associate, ‘we’re out of here, come on—leave him be.’

  ‘But he’s seen our faces.’