Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [52]
If Martin knew … shit, she couldn't let it lie. Well, if Martin knew what Richie'd done, maybe he wouldn't love her any more. There, she'd said it. That's what she was scared of.
But there was no reason for Martin to think Tommy Savage had farmed out the hit to a subcontractor. No reason for him to suspect Richie.
Sometimes she wondered how much she felt about Martin was on account of guilt at what Richie had done. She'd never know.
She loved Martin, though, whatever. And he loved her too.
She couldn't afford to be scared.
Tonight's job with the Savages was complicated. Richie would have probably turned it down if Carlos had offered it to him. Course, this wasn't a contract Carlos would have been negotiating. This was from the heart, not the pocket.
They'd planned it together. Her, Dad, Martin. Richie'd helped. Hard to dispense advice from behind bars—they wouldn't even let him out for his little brother's funeral, the bastards—but he'd managed to get access to a mobile a couple of times and chat for a few minutes. Phones were small enough to smuggle in these days, though it made her wince to think about how that was done. He'd taken to calling her his apprentice. And if she ever considered following in his footsteps, the Apprentice had a certain ring to it. Richie was known as the Expurgator. Effie's idea, although she hadn't come up with the name, just the suggestion that he needed one. The name had come from the title of a book he'd found in a charity shop. But contract killing wasn't for her. She'd never be the Apprentice. She liked people too much. Most of the time.
Between them all, they'd agreed who to kill, and how and where. She was glad Martin was here. Dad couldn't be around, of course, but he was happy keeping an eye on Tommy Savage. And somebody had to look after Mum.
It was good for Effie and Martin to do something together. This was as much for him as it was for her. She just wished she could explain to him how much.
***
THE FIRST TWO killings were over, but carving up the bodies was a painfully slow process. Martin had finished sawing through Savage's wrists, which just left Fraser. You wouldn't think a person would have so much meat and bone and sinew to get through. Effie had a new respect for butchers.
She'd didn't mind the mess, though. Never had a problem with blood. Haemophobia ran in some families, but not theirs. It was just Dad.
Phil Savage was wrapped up nice and snug in the hall by the door. The sheet he was rolled up in was smeared in blood but nobody was going to see it. The sheet was just a handy way of conveying him out of the house and into the van, later, without making too much of a mess.
Okay, she couldn't postpone this any longer. They'd stripped Fraser. Stuffed his clothes in a bag with his uncle's. Slung the body into the tub.
Time to get on with it.
This might be hard, no matter how right it was.
She put the hacksaw blade to his neck.
It was right. No doubt about it.
***
WOULD HAVE BEEN nice if the weather had stayed dry. But, no. Started to rain when Mum and Dad arrived. They'd all sat around drinking. Took awkward sips and smiled sadly at each other. Dad kept saying, "I can't believe he's dead," till Effie told him to shut up.
He wouldn't. After a while, she got out a crossword book. Tried to keep herself amused. Block out Dad's whining.
Dad hadn't been the one who'd looked after Grant. Twelve years old, Dad's off to prison. Then Mum tries to end it all and screws it up, leaving Effie to bring up her little brother. And was Effie whining?
Martin got up, offered everybody more drinks. Tea or coffee?
Dad came over, crying. Put his arms round her, set her off.
Sat like that till Martin came back from the kitchen and he started too.
Mum was the only one dry-eyed.
They managed to block out their grief for a couple of hours by planning what to do with the fucker chained up at Old Mrs Yardie's.
Decided on a few things there and then.
—They'd make