Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [26]
Martin lit his cigarette at last, sucked hard. Then said in a strangled voice as he breathed out, "He was involved with the wrong people." He bit his lower lip, tapped his fag in the ashtray. "Drug smugglers. Dealers." He closed his eyes. Opened them again. His eyelashes were moist. "This is boring," he said.
"Far from it," Park said. "Carry on. Please."
Martin stubbed out his cigarette, then picked up the other one and crushed it smokeless too. "Dad was an alchy." He picked at the label on his beer bottle. Loosened an edge. "Got worse as he got older. Had a gambling habit, too. And it was worse when he was drunk." He tore a strip off the label. "Eventually he got in some serious debt. And then, as if he hadn't already fucked up enough, he did something really stupid." He crumpled the label in his fingers, pinged it into the ashtray. Missed. He picked it up and dropped it in. "He ripped off his employers, the dealers."
"Got found out, of course," Effie said. "He was made an example of. They took him to Almondell Country Park. You know it?"
Park nodded. He knew where it was. Never had occasion to go there, though.
"The place didn't matter," Martin said. "Not for Dad. Middle of the night. His hands tied behind his back. Could have been anywhere quiet." He lowered his head. Effie stroked the back of his neck till he looked up again. "He was blindfolded. Never saw the blade."
Oh, shit. Park felt the blood rush from his head like someone had scooped out a big hole in the back of his skull. "They stabbed him?"
Martin looked pained, exactly as if somebody had just stabbed him. "Cut," he said. "They cut …"
Park put his hand to his throat. It felt tight. He coughed.
Martin thought he was making a suggestion. Shook his head. "Decapitated."
"Man," Park said, glad he was sitting down. He leaned forward, head between his knees.
"Cut his hands off, too."
"Oh, Jesus." Park's fingers curled towards his palm as he imagined steel slicing through the barbed-wire tattoo on his wrist. His vision went black at the edges but he fought it, stayed conscious.
"You okay, Dad?"
He blinked hard. Sweat trickled from the corners of his eyes.
"Dad?"
"Sorry about this," he said. "Yeah, I'll be fine." He kept his head down and said, "So why did they do that, Martin?"
"Suppose the plan was to get rid of the pieces. Lose the head. Lose the hands. Make the body hard to identify. But they were disturbed and ran. Left Dad behind."
"Jesus," Park said. "That's …." He couldn't think of what to say. He concentrated on breathing.
"Dad?"
"I'm fine, Eff." He batted her hand away.
Martin said, "I think Dad was going to use the money to do a runner. Otherwise he'd have paid off his debts."
"Would have been too obvious," Effie said. "Money goes missing. Your dad's debts are cleared. Wouldn't take a genius to figure out what had happened."
"That's what we figured," Martin said. "And things weren't great between him and Mum."
"Because of the drink?" Park said.
"Yep. He was abusive sometimes. A lot, actually. She wouldn't have minded if he'd left."
"Still." Park's head felt almost solid again. "He was your dad." He dared to sit up. Took a moment to confirm, but it seemed like he'd beaten it. Good. Didn't want to pass out again in front of Martin. "Nobody deserves to come to an end like that."
Martin looked at him. "He wasn't a great dad, but, yeah, the truth is I miss him."
They were quiet for a while. Then Park said, "Hope the bastards paid."
"What bastards?"
"The ones who killed him."
Martin let a burst of air out through his nose. "Still walking around."
"They let them out already?"
Martin held his breath. Then: "They've never been in."
Park absorbed the information. "The murderer's never been caught?" he said.
"Sorry," Martin said. "I can't talk …" He got up, put his hand to his brow and walked out of the room with Park calling after him. Effie followed him.
Park got off the floor, slowly. Still not a hundred per cent. He took Martin's seat on the settee, said to Liz, "Did you know anything