The Tied Man

‘Well done.’

‘Thanks.  It’s just really… weird, basically.  We’ve got a couple of guests in the larder, the big Irish axe-murderer’s in Finn’s room, Dalziell’s in that bloody torture chamber set-up with the two weird American guys, and Her Ladyship’s in the wine cellar.  Everyone’s out for the count, it’s dark, cold, and as spooky as all shit.’  For a second Gabriel’s self-assured façade slipped away, then he squared his shoulders.  ‘Right then, better go and see if anyone needs room service, eh?  Good luck, all of you.’

‘Watch out for the White Lady,’ I called at his retreating back,  and he flicked me two fingers.  I shut the door to keep the heat in the room,  and returned to Finn’s side.  He lit another cigarette and shut his eyes.

Nat clicked the mouse and a spreadsheet filled the screen.  ‘Well thank you very much, Lady Albermarle.  See?  Sheet after sheet of names, addresses, even telephone numbers, all in alphabetical order.  The document’s even called ‘Address Book’.  The depraved clearly have no imagination whatsoever.  Not that I’m complaining.’  He clicked through a couple of pages.  ‘And there we go.  ‘Henry Masterson: Contacts’ and ‘Finn Strachan: Contacts’, complete with notes. Oh, sometimes it’s very nice indeed to be right.’

Henry bunched an immaculate handkerchief in his hands.  ‘What does it say?’ 

‘Let’s see.’  Nat reopened the page.  ‘Oka-ay – according to this, your mum’s in a care home – Safe Harbours –  in Westhill, just outside Aberdeen.  Booked in as ‘Audrey Smith’.’

‘I’d never have found her,’ Henry said in a small voice.  ‘I mean, who would think of Aberdeen?  And ‘Smith’?  There must be thousands of Smiths out there…’  he used his handkerchief to dab at his eyes.  ‘Oh my.  Thank you so much…  I’ll just sit here and compose myself for a minute, if I may?’  He blew his nose, and added, ‘Marguerite.  That’s her name.  Marguerite Masterson.  Not bloody ‘Audrey’.’

‘I’ll make sure that gets passed on, mate,’ Nat said, then turned to Finn.

‘Oh Christ,’  Finn murmured and buried his head in his arms.  ‘I don’t… Shit, Lili…’

‘It’s okay.  It’ll be okay, I promise,’ I soothed, and wrapped my arms around him.

‘It’s your sisters, yeah?’ Nat asked, and Finn nodded in reply, beyond speaking.  ‘Yup.  Here we are.  Looks like Niamh’s got herself a flat in somewhere called Finglas, and Sinéad’s living with her.’

Finn took a deep breath.  ‘Finglas.  Does it… does it say how they’re doing?’ he asked.

Nat scrolled down.  ‘Um, yeah – Niamh’s in her first year of midwifery training, and got a boyfriend who’s a tattoo artist.  Sinéad’s in her third year at secondary school – bit of a rebel, according to this, but doing okay… Bass player in a goth band -’

Finn gave an involuntary choked sob. ‘The bitch. Oh, that fucking, fucking bitch.’

Nat left the computer to crouch by Finn’s side.  ‘Hey, take it easy!  I’m sorry – is there something wrong with the info? I mean, that’s all good, isn’t it?’

‘She said…  she said they were on the fucking game, didn’t she?  Told me they’d followed their arsehole of a big brother into the family business…’  He finally unfurled his arms to look at me, his face filled with anguish.  ‘And I fucking believed her.  Stupid bastard that I am…’

Nat placed a hand on Finn’s arm.  ‘You know, I really think it’s time we finished her now, yeah?’

*****

You want to make the call?’  Nat picked up the telephone and held it out to Henry, who was now attempting to wear a path in the Turkish rug with his constant pacing.  He stared at the handset in complete horror.

‘Oh no.  No.  I couldn’t.  I wouldn’t know what to say, where to start…’

Finn dragged on his cigarette and rested his forehead on the arm of the divan.  ‘Sort that man out.  Now,’ he whispered, ‘because if he doesn’t shut up and stand still I will kill the little fucker.’

‘It’s okay,’ Nat said, hastily.  ‘I’ll do it.  I’ll put it over the speaker, shall I?’  He pressed a series of buttons and the digitised sound of a phone ringing filled the room.  After an eternity, there was a muted click.