Deadly Lies by Ann Girdharry (read me a book .TXT) 📕

we’ve got both handcuffed to a metal bunk bed in the second-floor bedroom. Both of them got a visit to the toilet, which I wouldn’t have bothered with but my accomplice dealt with it, and now the bedroom door is locked.

I strut downstairs and chuck the rag I used on the kid into the bin. Time for a drink.

‘Do you want one?’ I ask my accomplice.

She goes to the bin and picks out the rag, holding it with her thumb and forefinger so it dangles. Blood has streaked it red against whatever the fuck colour it was in the first place. ’What’s this?’

‘I had to nick the kid’s arm. Nothing serious. I wiped it. I didn’t want it making a mess.’

‘This cloth is filthy. She could get an infection.’

‘Don’t be stupid and so what if she does?’

She doesn’t dare answer me back. Instead she drops the rag in the bin and comes to sit on the sofa, curling up like a kitten. That’s what I like – compliance. I pour myself a generous slug of vodka and a smaller one for her.

‘To success,’ I say, and we clink glasses.

16

Maria found it hard to believe he’d done it. He’d succeeded in nabbing the children and he’d got away with it. Part of her had been hoping he would fail.

When Maria first heard his plan several months earlier, she’d thought him mad. He believed he was a genius and Maria thought he was eighty per cent crazy and twenty per cent deluded.

She watched as he poured a celebration vodka for them both. Chink. Bashing his glass against hers, he downed his in one.

They both knew what was coming next. Maria tried not to rub her palms together because he hated that habit. He poured himself another drink. Taking a small packet out of his pocket, he dipped in his finger and rubbed the white powder around his gums. He knew she was watching, waiting for her turn. It was part of his game. Finally he grinned and patted the cushion next to him.

‘Here you go, babe. Come and get your reward.’

Maria skittered over. She kept the nail on her pinkie finger long, buffing and filing it carefully every day. Specially for this purpose. She dipped it in and took a scoop of powder. Then she snorted.

Her nervous system buzzed with it, filling her with confidence and power. Using the powder made her feel anything was possible. It showed her how her life should be. Free from misery. Free from restrictions. Closing her eyes, Maria rested her head back as stresses and failures and time itself passed her by.

As it wore off, her throat felt numb. She was used to the after-effects. Cocaine was supposed to make you paranoid and maybe it was true because now he was writing out his list of rules again, his pencil scratching furiously across the page. The room stunk of booze and sweat and stale food because he refused to open any windows.

‘I need to make sure we don’t forget anything,’ he said. ‘I want you to memorise my instructions.’

Her chemical boost was fading fast and she tried to grab it back except it evaporated like early morning mist. Maria gave a nervous nod and shuffled to the edge of the sofa to read over his shoulder. She scanned a few lines – wearing a mask was obligatory for entering the children’s room, trips out must be minimised, the lights had to go on at this time and then off at this time as if a normal person was living in the house and the list went on. He’d got his eye on the details, in fact, he was obsessed by them.

She hadn’t told him how she was relieved about the masks to cover their faces. They had to wear them whenever they had contact with the children and she hoped it meant he intended to let the children go at the end. After all, he was making an effort to make sure Emily and Lisa wouldn’t recognise their captors.

‘Don’t give them anything to eat tonight,’ he said.

‘Whatever you want.’

Maria tried a small smile and she felt relieved when he responded. He was the boss, as he liked to remind her. She had to do what he said including being the passport to the Glover family.

After he had filled one sheet of paper and polished off another glass of vodka, his chemical high had worn off and his mood plummeted. It was always like this – one minute he was acting like he’d won the jackpot and the next he was obsessive-compulsive about all the shit which could go wrong.

‘Let’s go through the plan again,’ he said.

This was the millionth time they had done the recap and her skin started itching but she plastered a pleased expression on her face. It was best not to antagonise him. Clearing the table, Maria forced down a sigh. Not acting obedient would make it worse for her. The best thing was to play along.

He plodded through it – how the police would be monitoring phone calls and texts and how they needed a way to contact the family which the police wouldn’t know about. Would Jack co-operate? It was the big unknown. She believed he would and the plan hinged on it. After all, Jack was the one with everything to lose.

By the time he’d gone through it twice she knew she wouldn’t be able to stand it for much longer. Then he fell asleep on the sofa with his mouth hanging open. Thank God.

Maria busied herself sorting out the mess of pizza boxes and glasses because one moment he didn’t care and the next he demanded the place be tidy. Dancing around his moods was exhausting. It was tempting to go upstairs because she would have liked to whisper to the children through the little gap under the door to tell them not to be frightened. Maybe she could even open the door? The key was