Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [87]
"What's odd about that?"
"Women don't usually drive when men are around."
"Yeah?" he said. "And here's me thinking you'd be a feminist."
As they pulled away, Effie driving, he watched the guy and his dog walk off along the path that led into the woods. Tommy wondered how long it would be before he realised there weren't any cops, that nobody was coming back to the cop car.
***
"WHERE WERE YOU going?" Savage asked her, his arm on the back of her seat, the gun dangling inches from her chin. His little bastard son was sitting on his knee, acting all hard now that Daddy was here.
Effie contemplated making another grab for the gun but decided to wait for a clearer opportunity. Anyway, her hands were still shaky from last time she'd tried. She gripped the wheel as hard as she could, didn't make any difference. She could feel the vibrations through the whole of her body. Next thing, her teeth would start chattering.
"Asked you a question," Savage said.
She sucked her lips. They smacked apart. "Heading towards town, like you said."
"No, where were you going earlier, when I called you? Where were you taking Jordan?"
"To see Dad."
"You mean to Old Mrs Yardie's?"
"He tell you that?"
"Mrs Yardie certainly didn't."
Effie thought that was a strange thing to say.
"She his girlfriend?" he asked.
She glanced at him, see if he was taking the piss. Hard to tell. His pupils were tiny, eyes bloodshot and staring.
He nodded, as if she'd said yes. "Poor woman," he said. "Taken advantage of like that. Can't even speak for herself."
Now she got it. He'd found Mum, thought she was Old Mrs Yardie. "You didn't hurt her, did you?"
"Now why would I do that?"
"I dunno. You shot Martin."
"He killed my brother."
"You killed Grant."
"An accident," he said. "Like I told your dad. Many times. Old women and children aren't my style." He cocked his head.
"Look," she said. "We weren't going to do anything to him." She angled her chin towards Jordan.
Savage didn't say anything.
"I wasn't going to touch him." She was looking at the road but she could feel his staring eyes on her.
"You said 'we'. Then you said 'I'."
"Me and Martin didn't want anything to do with it. It was Dad," she said. "Dad wanted him dead. If we'd wanted him dead, he'd be dead."
"Like Phil?" Savage said. "Like Fraser?"
"Dad's a psycho," she said. "The whole thing was his idea." Okay, that wasn't entirely true. But she didn't care that she was sinking her father deeper into the shit. It was his fault, landing Jordan on them like that. Dad was already buried up to his neck in it. Maybe deeper. Nothing she did now would make it any worse. So she might as well do what she could to make the situation better for herself.
She was on her own now. On her own. Yeah. She heaved again, her stomach clenching, bile in her throat, that image of Martin's empty eyesocket flashing in front of her.
"Watch the road," Savage said, and she realised she was veering into the wrong lane. She straightened up. Her eyes watered but she hadn't thrown up. Savage continued: "You didn't want anything to do with it?"
She swallowed again. Better. For the moment, at least. She shook her head. "All Dad's idea."
"Interesting. So you strangled Fraser against your will? You cut him up—?"
"She's lying, Dad!" Jordan said.
"Like fuck I am." She looked at the little prick. His eyes were red like his dad's, puffy, cheeks smudged with dirt. Looked like a little boy who'd been out playing late with his friends and needed to get home to bed.
"She was going to kill me. Her and her boyfriend were going to kill me. They were going to drive off somewhere quiet with me in the back with the bodies and then they were going to cut me up and cut my head off and wrap me up like rubbish and put me in a hole in the garden or in the sea."
"Lying little prick." She clenched her teeth. "He's making it up."
"Don't swear in front of him," Savage said.
"It's true," Jordan said. "She was going to kill me. And so was her poofy boyfriend."
She gripped the wheel hard.
Jordan must have noticed.