Blackmail, p.27
Blackmail, page 27
He had known some bad characters in his life, and as far as he was concerned, Brady was one of the worst: spiteful, vengeful and calculating. The Bradys of this world could dress it up in any way they liked with their fancy clothes, flash cars and business acumen but it didn’t alter the facts. People like him were bad through and through, and nothing could change the way they were.
Even though Brady had left Beth alone for several weeks, Martin still hadn’t been convinced that that was the end of it. He had therefore made sure that he hadn’t stayed out for long, returning to check on Beth and make sure she was alright. Thank God his instincts hadn’t failed him. He only wished he had returned earlier as the attack had obviously shaken Beth up.
Brady must have been watching her for weeks. Perhaps he had followed her home from work to find out where she lived and then waited for an opportunity to strike. And now that he had failed, Martin had a feeling that he would try to find another way to hit back.
In the days following the attack Martin had been seething with anger. Every time he looked at Beth’s injuries and thought about what that man tried to do to her, his fury threatened to bubble over. But she had pleaded with him not to do anything rash, knowing that once he started on Brady, he might not be able to control himself. And she didn’t want Martin getting into trouble.
Seeing her so upset, Martin had acceded to her wishes. His biggest concern then had been to comfort her. She had been so shaken by the attack that Martin knew she needed his support. It wasn’t as if they could call on outside help; if they reported the attack to the police, there was every chance that Brady would tell them everything about Beth’s past, knowing he had nothing to lose.
For a few weeks she hadn’t left Martin’s side and had even been nervous about visiting her parents alone. But eventually he’d managed to coax her into regaining some of her independence, and this evening she was late-night shopping with her friend Sally.
It was good to see her getting back to her old self, but for Martin, what Brady had done hadn’t gone away. He was still furious and knew that he couldn’t leave things, but he hoped that now that some time had elapsed, he could handle the matter more calmly than if he’d acted straightaway. He didn’t want to do something that he would later regret; he was through with making life-changing mistakes.
Martin already had Brady’s address and now it was time to pay him a visit. Brady needed to learn that his actions had consequences. And Martin knew it was the only way of getting him to back off.
*
Martin walked up the stairs to Brady’s apartment, willing himself to stay calm. He didn’t want to do anything rash. He was here to put the frighteners on the guy, nothing else. It wouldn’t take much, just a few punches and threats. He knew Brady’s type; when it came down to it, he was a total coward.
He kept his touch light as he knocked on the door; too heavy a hand would only arouse suspicion. When Brady first appeared at the door, he looked casual, relaxed. But his face soon dropped when he caught sight of Martin.
Martin didn’t give him a chance to react further. He plunged himself at him, pushing him further down the hallway and only pausing to aim a reverse kick at the front door, satisfied when it slammed shut.
‘Get out, get out of my apartment! You’re trespassing. I’ll have you arrested,’ yelled Brady with a quiver in his voice. But he didn’t get a chance to reach for his phone.
‘Who else is here?’ Martin demanded, grabbing hold of Brady’s lapels and shoving his fists tight against his throat.
‘No one,’ Brady wheezed, his voice small and his lips trembling.
But Martin didn’t believe a word the guy said. ‘Show me.’ He turned Brady around and forced him along, prodding him in the back as he repeated his words. ‘Fuckin’ show me!’
He continued marching Brady through the apartment while he scanned each room for signs of other occupants. Finally, satisfied that they were alone, he stopped in the kitchen. He grabbed hold of Brady’s lapels again, making sure he had his full attention as he explained the reason for his visit.
‘I suppose you thought you’d got away with that attack on Beth, didn’t you?’
Brady attempted a shrug; dissatisfied with his reaction, Martin rammed his fist into Brady’s throat. ‘I said, didn’t you? Answer me, you fuckin’ worm!’
‘She deserved it,’ said Brady, clutching his neck while trying to sound brave. ‘What would you have done if she’d done that to you? She made me look like a fuckin’ fool.’
‘You fuckin’ deserved it!’ yelled Martin, emphasising his words by hitting Brady again.
Brady’s face contorted with pain. Undeterred, Martin followed up by giving him the full force of his fists. As he pummelled Brady’s face, he drew satisfaction at seeing him wince. Brady put up a poor defence and it wasn’t long till his nose was busted and blood was oozing from his nostrils as well as his mouth.
It took a few minutes until Martin had vented his anger. But then he stopped himself, amazed at his own self-control. He didn’t want to do anything else he would regret, and for a few seconds he stood regaining his breath and surveying the damage. Brady was sprawled across the kitchen floor, which was smeared with his blood. Martin noticed that one of Brady’s teeth had come loose and his lips were cut and swollen.
‘Let that be a lesson to you,’ he said. ‘Don’t you ever dare to lay a finger on Beth again. Because if you do, I’ll come back and finish the fuckin’ job off. You and her are even now. You took everything from her, don’t forget. That’s why she did the same to you. The buck stops here now. Unless you want me to go all the way.’
As he spoke, he aimed a sharp kick at Brady’s torso. He heard a cry of alarm and taking that as a no, he turned to go. But in his eagerness to inflict minimal injuries, he had underestimated Brady’s doggedness.
He was on his way out of the kitchen when he heard Brady getting up from the floor. The movement was swift and, surprised at Brady’s resilience, Martin spun around. Brady was reaching for a kitchen knife. Before Martin had a chance to stop him, he was slashing it through the air.
‘Put the fuckin’ thing down!’ warned Martin.
But Brady was determined. As Martin stepped towards him, arms out front, ready to wrestle him for the knife, he felt it cut into his flesh. Martin dodged the next blow, his hand lifting instinctively to cover the wound on his other arm. As he pulled it away, he felt the blood gush and noticed its crimson mass on his fingers.
Brady was intent on ignoring his warning and was still swishing the knife through the air. It gave Martin no choice but to retaliate. And he needed to act quickly. He wasn’t going to let Brady carve him up till his life’s blood oozed from him, leaving him weak and defenceless.
Martin charged, taking Brady by surprise. He knocked him to the floor and landed on top of him. But Brady had already managed to cut him again, leaving another gash on Martin’s forearm, this one much longer and deeper.
With the force of the impact, the knife flew from Brady’s hand. As Martin pinned him down, Brady reached out for it. But it was too far away. And his fingers scrabbled desperately.
Ignoring the pain in his arm, Martin wrapped his fingers around Brady’s throat. Then, sliding to the side of him, he grabbed the knife with his free hand. He couldn’t afford to issue another warning. Blood was gushing from the wounds on his arm, and he was already becoming weak, his fingers starting to loosen their hold around Brady’s throat.
Martin daren’t waste time grappling with him. So he did what he felt was the only thing left to do. While Brady continued to struggle, Martin took the knife and sliced it across his throat. Then the struggling stopped.
61
‘Hi love, I’m back,’ shouted Beth as she walked into the hallway, her arms laden with shopping bags. Juggling the bags, she locked the door then added, ‘Sorry, I’m a bit late, I nipped into Sally’s for a cuppa and a chat.’
She hung up her keys and carried the bags through to the living room, surprised to find Martin wasn’t there. But she was sure he was home. She could sense his presence. So she went through to the kitchen calling, ‘Martin? Where are you?’
Having searched the downstairs rooms, she carried on upstairs and found him in the bathroom. Beth could see him from behind, stripped down to his boxers and standing at the sink. He seemed to be washing his hands. Then she saw a pile of his clothing on the floor. Her hand shot to her mouth when she noticed that it was bloodstained.
Releasing her hand, she yelled, ‘Oh my God, Martin!’
He swung around and the first thing she spotted was his arm. He had fashioned a tourniquet from strips of material, but it was drenched with blood. In his hand was a nailbrush and she could see that it was also stained pink with blood. ‘Oh my God!’ she said. ‘What’s happened?’
He stepped towards her, holding out his hands in a placatory gesture. Then he took hold of her arms. ‘It’s OK, it’s alright. Don’t worry.’
But Beth was already showing the first signs of shock, her face pale and her body shaking. ‘We need to get you to hospital. That’s bad,’ she said, staring at the blood-soaked material covering his arm.
‘No, I can’t do that. But don’t worry. I’ve got a friend coming. He’s a medic. He’ll stitch the wounds up for me, no questions asked.’
‘Oh my God! What is it? What’ve you done?’
‘It’s Brady,’ he said but he didn’t finish the sentence.
‘Oh my God!’ she repeated. ‘You’ve not killed him, have you?’
She stepped away from Martin. She wanted to scream. To run. But the shock rendered her immobile and speechless for a moment.
‘I didn’t have a choice,’ said Martin. ‘It was him or me.’
*
Martin had expected Beth to be shocked when she found out what had happened. But from her reaction he knew that she was about to become hysterical. He had to calm her down. He couldn’t risk her doing anything stupid.
‘Beth, Beth listen to me, please,’ he pleaded. ‘I didn’t mean to do it. I went round to see him, to have a word. I knew we’d never hear the end of things with him and that he’d be plotting other ways to get back at you.’
‘But you don’t know that!’ she screeched.
‘Believe me, Beth. I know. You’d have had no peace from Brady; he was like a man possessed. And it was because you took away the only things he truly loved: money and power. Some people are born bad and there’s only one way to deal with them. The hard way.’
‘No!’ she cried, but Martin could already see that his words were bringing her round to his point of view. ‘I’m sorry, love. I did what I had to do. He came at me with a bloody knife. He was like a maniac. I had to stop him before he sliced me up good and proper.’
Martin saw Beth stifle a shudder. Then he noticed the shadow that fell across her features. She was reliving her own experiences, which made him feel bad. But he’d had to do it. He needed to make her understand why he’d killed Brady.
He stepped forward again and took hold of her, feeling her crumble in his arms. Martin stroked her hair and reassured her that everything would be OK. ‘Shush, it’s over now. He can’t harm you anymore.’
For a few moments she sobbed, but then she raised her head and, looking into his eyes, asked, ‘What about the police?’
‘Don’t worry. It’ll all be taken care of, and I’ll make sure no one can trace his death back to us.’
‘But what will you do about your arm?’
‘It’s fine. My mate will be here any minute to stitch it up.’
‘No, I mean, won’t it be suspicious?’
‘Fortunately I can wear something to cover it up, so nobody needs to know. I’m getting rid of the knife too. Believe me, Beth, no one will know a thing.’
He could tell that she was reluctantly beginning to accept what he had done, and his reasons for doing it. But he was still worried that she might hold it against him. ‘Beth,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry this had to happen but sometimes in life we’re forced to do things we don’t really want to. We don’t always have a choice.’
He could tell from her face that his words had hit home. As far as she was concerned, they were both equal. They’d both killed a man under extreme circumstances. And he knew now that she wouldn’t hold it against him when she had committed the same sin.
Martin had already decided not to tell her about the other men he had killed. The past needed to stay firmly in the past and he couldn’t see any advantage in dredging it up now. He wanted to move on with his life, and with Brady out of the way perhaps he finally could.
She nodded imperceptibly. ‘I understand. You did it for me.’
‘I did it for us, Beth. I want us to put all this behind us.’
Before she could respond to his words, there was a knock at the door, and she jumped. He grabbed hold of her arm again to steady her.
‘Don’t worry. It’ll be my mate. Do you want to stay upstairs?’
Beth nodded again and as he began to walk away, she whispered his name. He turned to see her mouth, ‘I love you.’
It was all the acknowledgement he needed. Martin knew now that she was on his side. They would get through this together, and he was determined that they would come out of it even stronger.
Epilogue
Two Years Later
Beth looked around the dining room at all the happy faces. Her parents were there, Sally, other friends of hers, a couple of Martin’s friends and some of the staff from Babette and Martin’s bars. They were all inside the home that she shared with Martin, and the room was festooned with balloons and a banner on the wall.
‘Is it time to get him yet?’ asked Martin.
She looked at her watch and said, ‘Yeah. Ideally, I’d leave it a bit longer but some of the guests are getting restless.’
‘He’ll be fine,’ said Martin.
She dashed upstairs to the nursery where she found their son, Owen. He was already awake from his afternoon nap and standing up in his cot with a gleeful expression on his face.
Beth smiled, amused. He was such an alert little thing. ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ she said, tickling him under the chin. ‘Did the noise wake you up?’
Owen chuckled, displaying his dimples. She picked him up out of his cot and set him down while she searched for his changing mat. Before she had a chance to put him on it, Owen was already toddling towards the door.
‘You don’t want to miss anything, do you? Come on cheeky, let’s get you changed.’
It wasn’t long before she had Owen dressed and wearing a clean nappy. Beth was now feeling the excitement herself, wondering what her son’s reaction would be to all these people in the house.
Martin met her in the hall. ‘Great,’ he said. ‘I’ll call the children in from the garden.’
As Beth stepped inside the dining room, her guests began making a fuss of Owen. She crossed the room with him in her arms then settled him into his highchair. Owen began struggling to get out until Beth put a plate of food in front of him.
The children rushed indoors, full of excitement. They were the sons and daughters of some of their staff and relatives who were thrilled to be helping Owen celebrate his first birthday. The food was soon demolished by the children while the adults picked at a buffet laid out in a separate area.
Then it was time to sing ‘Happy Birthday’. The children all joined in enthusiastically while Owen gurgled, his face a picture of confusion. Beth’s eyes met Martin’s and they laughed.
It was such a happy occasion. She had finally got the child she desired for years, and who better to share parenthood with than her loyal, loving and fiercely protective husband, Martin?
*
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About the Author
HEATHER BURNSIDE started her writing career more than twenty years ago when she worked as a freelance writer while studying for a writing diploma. As part of her studies Heather wrote the first chapters of her debut novel, Slur, but she didn’t complete the till many years later. Slur became the first book in The Riverhill Trilogy, which was followed by The Manchester Trilogy then her current series, The Working Girls.
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Acknowledgements
As always, I would like to thank my publishers, Head of Zeus, for all your support over the years. As well as the people who I regularly come into contact with, there are many staff working behind the scenes, and I had the pleasure of meeting some of them in London over the summer.
Particular thanks go to Laura Palmer, my editor, Martina Arzu, for your suggestions, and Peyton Stableford for all your support and for making me so welcome when I met you at Harrogate this year. Thanks also to Lottie Hayes-Clemens for a superb job on the copy edits.
Thanks to my agent, Jo Bell, for all your support and thanks to all the staff at Bell Lomax Moreton for your help including John Baker, Sarah McDonnell, and Lorna Hemingway.
I would also like to thank my publicist, Sophie Ransom, who has worked tirelessly to spread the word about my books. I fully appreciate all your support and it was a pleasure meeting you at Harrogate.
Thank you to the wider crime reading community including book bloggers, reviewers and all the people who give up their free time to run social media groups where crime readers and authors can connect and share their enthusiasm and recommendations for crime novels.
