The final take retributi.., p.1
The Final Take (Retribution Book 3), page 1
Table of Contents
The Final Take (Retribution, #3)
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
Twenty Two
Twenty Three
Twenty Four
Twenty Five
Twenty Six
Twenty Seven
Twenty Eight
Twenty Nine
Thirty
Thirty One
Thirty Two
Thirty Three
Thirty Four
Thirty Five
Thirty Six
Thirty Seven
Thirty Eight
Thirty Nine
Forty
Forty One
Forty Two
Forty Three
Forty Four
Forty Five
Forty Six
Forty Seven
Forty Eight
Forty Nine
Fifty
Fifty One
Fifty Two
Fifty Three
Fifty Four
Fifty Five
Fifty Six
Fifty Seven
Fifty Eight
Epilogue
Thank You!
More from this Series
More from this Author
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Join Edie's Mailing List Author
THE FINAL TAKE
THE TIME IS NOW...
Even knowing Ron O’Hara is somewhere in the vicinity, Jonah Powell feels it’s time to finally get rid of the diamonds which have haunted his family for decades and caused so much trouble.
However, other problems start to arrive from unexpected and additional sources, some of which Jonah didn’t expect. Neither did he expect Teagan Fraser to be playing on his mind so heavily.
But what does it all mean? It may be apt to call time on the curse plaguing his family and of those around him, but how can this be achieved while so many other things are at stake?
Also by Edie Baylis
Retribution Series
An Old Score (Retribution #1)
Finders Keepers (Retribution #2)
Hunted Series
The Status Debt (Hunted #1)
The Family Legacy (Hunted #2)
The Target of Lies (Hunted #3)
Downfall Series
Until the End of Time (Downfall #1)
Escaping the Past (Downfall #2)
Vengeful Payback (Downfall #3)
The Downfall Series Box Set
THE FINAL TAKE
RETRIBUTION SERIES #3
EDIE BAYLIS
First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Athame Press.
All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, nor be otherwise circulated in any form or binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.
Copyright © Edie Baylis 2021
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Front cover design Copyright © Athame Press/Edie Baylis 2021
Front cover photography: Amin RK/Unsplash; shironosov/iStock
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to any real person, living or dead is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
e-ISBN 978-1-9161627-7-8
Athame Press
Unit 13230 - PO Box 6945 – London – W1A 6US
Prologue
JULY 2005
HEATH POINTER’S INITIAL MIX of first surprise and then elation at being granted bail, quickly morphed into confusion, then suspicion as he walked alongside his father towards the car park outside the court, seeing the total stranger sitting in the driver’s seat of the Lexus – the one he’d been given the use of this last few months.
Ushered into the back of the car, Heath sat motionless whilst his father clambered into the passenger seat and the stranger started the engine.
Heath had been busy working out where his father had got the money from, not only to pay the solicitor who clearly knew what he was doing, including every single loophole only available to those in the know and worth their salt, but also how he’d scraped together the cash for the bail money. He had no idea how much it had all cost, but couldn’t imagine the guarantor fee promising his return to court for a murder charge would be a fiver...
Walking from the court in a state of bemused trance, he’d gladly accepted the bearhug his father gave him, too elated to initially question anything. He’d fully expected to be held in custody – serving his time waiting for the trial in a prison of the judge’s choosing, but instead, he’d walked.
It didn’t change that he’d still got to return for the main trial, but it was a start – a very good one. If he had that same brief for his main trial too, then from what had been said, the possibility of walking away permanently was on the cards.
But now, Heath experienced the creeping feeling things were more complicated.
For a start, who was this bloke driving his car?
Heath silently eyed the balding head of the thick-set man driving his Lexus, his mind going at ninety to the dozen. Would no one explain what was going on? Or even think he might want to know who the stranger was?
Heath nervously picked the skin around the thumb of his left hand. He couldn’t pick his nails – they’d already been chewed down to the quick during his time on remand, but picking at something was better than not. It gave his hands something to do.
Clearing his throat, Heath made the decision to break the heavy silence as they travelled in the opposite direction of his flat. It wasn’t like he could return to Footlights and Dulcie Adams now she was dead.
That was another thing. All of his stuff – the stuff that mattered anyway, was still at Footlights. Like his laptop, his best clothes – everything. He didn’t expect he’d get any of that back now. In fact, it had probably all been seized by the Police, never to be seen again.
He hadn’t killed the old bat, but by Christ, how he wished he had. The question was, would anyone believe him?
‘Erm, where are we going?’ Heath eventually asked, his voice sounding horribly croaky and nervous and he resented that. But the truth was, he was nervous. He didn’t like this one bit.
Catching the stranger’s eye in the rear-view mirror, Heath shuddered. Who was he?
‘We’re going home – as in, mine and your Mum’s,’ Mike Pointer said. ‘You’ll be staying with us for the foreseeable future. At least until this court business is finished.’
‘Your home?’ Heath spluttered. ‘But I...’
‘It’s a condition of your bail,’ Mike interrupted. He had no idea exactly where Heath would go in the house once they got back, not with that lot there too. He glanced at Ron O’Hara, his strange eyes fixed determinedly on the road ahead and his mind worked overtime with how best to broach this subject with his son. At the end of the day, Heath should be damn grateful that he was no longer being detained, but he was unsure if he’d be too enamoured about his release once he found out what had been agreed in his absence.
‘Are you not going to introduce us?’ Heath finally blurted. The urge to scream, “Who the fuck is this person driving my car?” burnt at the back of his throat, but something stopped him from vocalising what he really wanted to say. That and how the hell he would stand being back into his parents’ poky semi with his mother flapping around like an injured pigeon. Wasn’t that the reason he’d moved out in the first place?
But the first and foremost question was who this man was...
Mike twisted his body around in the passenger seat to face Heath. ‘This is Ron O’Hara. It’s thanks to him that you’re out of your present situation.’
Heath blinked. Was that supposed to mean something? He’d never heard of the bloke. Why would this person have stumped up all that brass for him?
He wracked his brains for the answer and failed. Was it someone his father knew from old? Should it ring any bells, because it didn’t? None whatsoever.
‘Erm, thank you Mr O’Hara. I’m very grateful,’ Heath spluttered. ‘I don’t wish to sound rude, but I don’t understand why you would do this. It must sound awful, but I can’t think how I know you and...’
‘You don’t know me,’ Ron O’Hara growled, his voice thick with a strong Irish accent. ‘But my family knows yours. Very well.’ He glanced at Mike, his expression cold, then met eyes with Heath in the rear-view mirror again. ‘Yes, it cost me a pretty penny getting your sorry arse off the hook.’
‘I really do appreciate it, Mr O’Hara. I hope you know that I didn’t do it of course, but...’
‘I don’t give a flying rat’s dick whether you did it or not. All I want is the information your father promised me then you’ll have paid your dues.’
‘I-Information?’
‘Yeah, information.’ Ron swerved across the lane of the carriageway, his hand slapping the horn. ‘FUCKING EYJIT!’ he roared, giving a Volvo driver the middle finger as he screeched past.
Heath’s head clanged off the back window and he swallowed uncomfortably. What information? Information about Dulcie? He didn’t know who had killed her. If he did, he’d have served them straight up to the cops quicker than he could shake a stick at. Whoever had done it had not only got him banged up, but had trashed his plan of getting himself onto her final will and testament, the bastards. So, yeah – there was no love lost there, but he didn’t know, apart from that he must have been something to do with Jonah Powell.
‘As I was saying,’ Ron continued. ‘All I want from you is to tell me everything you know about my niece.’
Heath frowned. ‘Your niece?’
Taking his eyes off the road, Ron’s head swivelled around to look at Heath. ‘Lena O’Hara. Your father here tells me you knew her.’
Heath was momentarily taken off guard seeing O’Hara’s face; his large head merged into a thick neck and his weird eyes, far too close together to be normal, made him look like a strange-looking owl. Shaking the image from his mind, Heath wished the man would concentrate on the road rather than on him. He hadn’t walked from court to get mangled underneath an artic and neither did he know any bloody O’Haras. ‘Lena, you say?’
‘The woman from the Feathers, son,’ Mike cut in, his tone sharp – warning. ‘The one you told me about. She’s gone missing and Ron understandably wants to know why. I’ve told him you’ll tell him everything you know – everything about Lena, the Powells and the Adams. Everything you’ve ever been involved in.’
‘What? I...’ Heath felt the walls closing in around him. ‘Lena’s your niece?’ She must have had a whole lot of plastic surgery because there was absolutely no resemblance between them.
‘From what I understand, she went under the name Taylor,’ Mike added. ‘Oh, and Ron and his family are staying with us while they’re over here.’ And didn’t he know it. He opened his window, suddenly desperate for air. ‘But one thing is vital. Your mother doesn’t know anything about any of this. We’ll stop for a drink closer to home and I’ll fill you in with everything and then you can tell Ron what you know.’
Heath nodded mutely not knowing what else to do or say. Actually, he had a lot he wanted to say – like to demand the car be turned around to take him back to where he’d just come from. By the looks of it, jail would be preferable to this.
One
JULY 2005
ROBERT ADAMS ALLOWED the fresh sea breeze to blow over him. Only certain things could cleanse him and they had to be the right things.
His backside was stiff from the time he’d sat on this bench. Hours it had been - possibly days. It was all the same to him.
His eyes tracked along Margate’s windswept seafront and mindlessly watched the myriad of people taking leisurely morning strolls. He’d even started recognising some of the people on their daily rituals. The same route; the same coats; the same bags... Mainly old duffers who’d come here to die for want of nothing else to do.
Being as he’d begun to recognise half of these programmed fools, that in itself meant he’d been here long enough. Long enough for the seething rage and injustice to fall back down to its usual manageable level and long enough to make him functional again.
There had been one blip of blinding rage reading the report of Heath Pointer being released on bail which was not supposed to happen, but he’d got that under control now too and the plan of what he would do was now firmly engraved in his mind.
Robert scowled at a young child who had found the need to stare at him consistently for the last few minutes. He’d successfully ignored it so far, but the brat was within his personal space now. He was encroaching and there was only so long he could withstand that.
He glared at the child as harshly as he could. It was the best he could do, short of bellowing, but he couldn’t do that. That would undoubtedly cause unwanted attention of an over-protective mother.
Christ, if these women were so bothered, why allow their precious darlings to push their luck?
How did they know who they were allowing their kids to irritate? He could be anyone. Even someone dangerous. And then what would those thick as shit women do?
Pleased his staring had achieved the desired effect as the kid ran off, his face screwed up in fright, Robert pulled his attention back to what was important. Heath Pointer. The man who had kindly taken it on the chin for the mercy killing of dear old mother - the psycho bitch.
Robert’s eyebrows knitted together. Pointer wasn’t supposed to get bail. The only way that loser could have swung it was if someone had stumped up a wad of cash, meaning he had an ally. The only ally Heath could possibly have would be the father - Mike Pointer. Or in other words, his half-brother.
Robert’s rugged face crumpled into a half-smile. It still sounded strange. His brother.
Well brother, he thought. I think it’s time we met...
He was the only one out of them all who knew the details of Mike Pointer’s whereabouts and workplace. It was unlikely Jonah Powell and his plastic fantastic crew would have progressed that far along the trail since he’d left them to their own devices.
Yes, he’d pay his unknown brother a visit and see what reasons the man had for bailing out a murderer - son or not.
Robert almost laughed with the delicious irony. The trip would coincide nicely with Mummy-dearest’s funeral. Not that he’d be attending. Not in the way she’d have wanted anyway.
Oh, Dulcie Adams, the star of stage and her own head. Look at you now. No one gives a fuck because everyone knows what you’ve done..
And that was the only reason he would drive past the church at the time of the funeral - to make sure the lying cow was well and truly six feet under.
There wouldn’t even be a notice in the paper. He’d made that very clear in his instructions. No one would get the chance to pay their last respects – not that he imagined there was one single person left wishing to mourn his mother’s most unfortunate passing.
Even that damaged bitch, Teagan - the one that should have been his, had his witch of a mother not ruined everything, must by now know what her beloved Dulcie had really done.
Robert laughed out loud, not caring if anyone stared at him. How he’d have loved to have seen Teagan’s face when she discovered the truth. It served her right for not being what she should have been and for spoiling his chance.
He hoped her heart shattered, like she’d shattered his. Almost shattered his, but not quite...
All he had to do now was to find somewhere to stay for a while. He wouldn’t go back to his flat or to that haunted Footlights dump either. He’d happily leave both places to rot and moulder. It wasn’t like he needed the money.
Jonah Powell and his band of not so merry men wouldn’t get any easy hints on where to search for him. That’s if they were looking? In reality, they probably weren’t.
Robert knew he didn’t figure in anyone’s plans enough to warrant an effort. He never had and never would.
And that quality was invariably useful.
JONAH LOOSENED HIS COLLAR and looked around the enforcement team. He’d put this off for as long as possible, but knew murmurings as to Saul’s whereabouts were rumbling and they had to be quashed. He didn’t want speculation snowballing.
Both himself and Nero had spent a good deal of time deciding the best way to play this and agreed this was the best way forward.
There was already general unease in the wings and Jonah would rather get in first. The next point of call would be the announcement about Lena, but that one could wait. He wanted nothing said about that until the very last minute before his ill-fated wedding day and there was only another two days until that.
He met Paul Bannister’s eyes, the head of one of the two enforcement teams. A trustworthy man, and one Jonah was relying on to keep the rest of the team in order.
