The Rules: A gripping crime thriller that will have you hooked. Kerry Barnes
Kendall was about to creep back up the stairs before her mother caught her earwigging when she realized her parents hadn’t finished talking.
‘Wait a minute. What’s going on, Rebecca? Your brother is the chief of police. If he doesn’t have the budget, then what does he propose to do? We need to know because . . . well, what if he makes a mess of things? Christ, Rebecca, if he does, then you’ll be the one with egg on your face, not him. You need to find out what his intentions are, and then we can decide whether or not to let him get involved.’
‘I’m pretty sure he has a good plan because he’s been discussing it with our father!’
Kendall sensed her mother’s tone was now tainted with annoyance. She waited to see who was next to serve, thoroughly enjoying this game of tennis.
‘Your father? Jesus, it gets worse. What the hell does your father know about politics? Seriously, Rebecca, you should be discussing this with me, your bloody husband, not running to your daddy like a child!’
‘Alastair, I am not discussing it anymore. I’m going to take a shower and then I’m off to bed. I’ve had quite enough rows for one day.’
Kendall quickly snuck away to her room. This is getting interesting, she thought. Maybe she should have studied politics or puppet mastery.
Mike looked behind him to find four eager faces. ‘Before we get outside, just remember, not a word to anyone, even family. We got released early because of overcrowding and cutbacks.’
Staffie frowned. ‘D’ya think they’ll buy it?’
Mike nodded. ‘Come on, Staff, they’ll be only too pleased we’re out to bother about questioning it. Not a word though, ’cos who would understand it, and we don’t want to lose respect, now do we?’
The others nodded in agreement. It was a good point and they certainly didn’t want to lose face.
The last secure door slid open. He winked as if to say, ‘This is it, lads.’ There, waiting to greet them, stood Arthur, Mike’s father, and Teddy Stafford, Staffie’s father. Embraces were exchanged, and, excitedly, they hurried to the cars. Mike stopped for a moment and looked up at the clear blue sky and sighed. He was free: for almost twelve years he’d been locked up, and now he could breathe and learn to live again. Ricky was by Arthur’s side, held close with Arthur’s arm around his shoulders. Mike looked on, fondly. He knew that Ricky would be fussed over for months or even years to come.
Ted opened the door for Staffie, Willie, and Lou to climb in, while Mike and Ricky travelled home with Arthur.
For Ricky, it was a dream come true. He’d been sentenced to a year in the nick, believing he would come out only to face his mother and their tiny caravan – a way of life that he detested. To be sitting next to his grandfather in the front seat of a new car and driving off to his real family’s home, after serving only a few weeks, felt overwhelming and left him with a permanent grin.
As Arthur pulled away, Mike looked back at the dark, miserable building and tears began to well up. All those years of sitting in solitary confinement, believing his son and Zara were dead, tormented with all the what-ifs, the whys, and the wherefores, and now to be free and to have his loved ones back once more, he wondered if he should actually start going to church because God had undoubtedly answered his prayers.
Mike knew the outside world would have changed in twelve years and if he had served out his full sentence, he suspected it would have been a slow process to acclimatize to the life of civvy street. Having missed out on so many changes, the first one he noticed was the billboards advertising new technology and the number of pedestrians with their faces glued to a phone or wearing, as he saw it, oversized headphones. And while his mind was on those, looking at the interior of his father’s car, it seemed as though he’d entered the space age. The technology was incredible, and he gazed in wonderment at the huge dashboard with sat nav, hi-fi, and telephone, all integrated and shown on just one screen. He clocked the way people dressed – these new skinny jeans – on men – and it made him shake his head. What the fuck did they look like? He saw some young women walking down a street and noticed that their hairstyles were different too, now every shade of the rainbow.
Ricky took less interest in his surroundings. He’d only been inside a short while, so to him the outside was nothing new. His eyes were on his grandad and being driven in his latest Jaguar, with the smell of expensive aftershave pervading the interior. And having his family around him was all he cared about.
Once they arrived at the house, Ricky’s eyes were wide with excitement. The memories of his grandparents’ home came flooding back, along with that distant recollection of the day his mother had bundled him into the car and taken off.
They pulled on to the long gravel drive. As they approached the six-bedroom property, huge yellow ribbons were tied to the concrete pillars. This and his father’s home were where his fondest memories had been made. And he wouldn’t let the past with his mother override them. He now had the future to look forward to. He beamed when he spotted Gloria at the door, with Zara and Eric behind her. His grandmother was waving and hopping up and down like someone demented. It was just like the day she faced him in prison for the first time in twelve years, when she went bananas and screamed with excitement.
Mike left his plastic bag inside the car, a stark reminder of prison. As he stepped out and took a deep breath, Zara hurried over and threw herself at him. He lifted her up and spun her around, noticing how light she was. As he heard the crunching sound of the gravel from the other car drawing up, he smiled. They were all together: the whole family, his mates, their parents, and Zara.
‘Come on, let’s get inside!’ ushered Gloria, who was in her element. She’d planned a homecoming party with food to feed an army and drink to fill a pub. Everyone trickled out of the French doors into the garden where a hired barbecue was on the go. The outside summerhouse was decorated like a Hawaiian cocktail bar with waiters shaking piña coladas.
As expected, Ricky was being hugged, kissed, and complimented. Zara was clinging to Mike as if her life depended on it, and then the fun and banter began.
As the drinks flowed and the laughter was at its peak, Zara’s mobile phone rang. Staring down at the flashing number, she frowned; there beside Davey Lanigan’s name were four missed calls. She hurried away from the party and walked into the lounge where it was quiet, only to hear the landline ringing. Picking up the receiver, she listened to a strong Irish accent. ‘Zara, is that you?’
Detecting the panic in the tone, she replied, ‘Yes.’
‘It’s me, Shamus. Davey’s been trying to call you. I’m sorry, I know it’s Mr Regan’s homecoming, but we’ve a serious situation going on. Neil’s at the hospital. He’s been knifed in the chest . . . ’ His words faltered for a moment, but not quickly enough to give Zara a chance to comprehend the situation. The next bit of news came as a bombshell. ‘He may not pull through.’
Zara had to sit down – the information had knocked her sideways. She had a lot of feelings for Neil; he had worked alongside her for five years before she was brutally attacked and held in her father’s basement. Taking a deep breath to stop the crack in her voice, she asked, ‘Who attacked him?’ Her mind was back to the darkest place – a war with the Harmans and the Segals.
‘We don’t know who they are. They were just two black guys, Yardies, we think. They’ve robbed him and beaten him and then the feckers plunged him. Jesus, he’s in a bad way, Zara.’
Just as she was about to ask more questions, her mobile phone rang again. It was Davey.
‘Er . . . Shamus, it’s your uncle on the other phone. I’ll call you back.’
With that, the phone went dead, and she quickly took the call from Davey. ‘Oh my God, Davey, I’m so sorry. Where is Neil? What shall I do?’ Her words came out so fast, she had to stop for air.
‘Zara,