Page 20 of Indefensible
“I’m fine, love, but I need your help with something. Could you leave meeting Dee until tomorrow and pop over?”
Deryn stared at his phone. Because if that wasn’t a coded message, he’d never heard one. His mother needed help, and urgently.
“On my way, half an hour,” he said.
“Thanks, love,” she said and ended the call.
He grabbed his baton and a spare set of handcuffs, and raced back to the car, ignoring the rub of his grazed knees against the mud-stiffened jeans and the chill of the night air through the damp shirt. He set off back to top of the valley, driving as fast as he could. He could do the trip in twenty-five minutes if he pushed it and got lucky with traffic; time to scope out the house, to give himself an edge. It looked as if his promise to Glover to keep out of trouble wouldn’t last the day.
The red mini parked outside his childhood home came as no surprise. Was this going to be a confrontation with his sister, or with Phillip, or with them both? The answer came immediately as the red car accelerated away from the kerb with a screech of tyres. Deryn caught a glimpse of Branwen’s face as she took the corner on two wheels. He parked the hire car and opened the glove box for baton and cuffs. The cuffs went into his back pocket and the baton up his sleeve. There were ways into the house that didn’t involve either front or back doors, and the easiest was onto the utility room roof and then through the landing window, which had never closed properly. He’d done it a million times when he’d lived there — they all had, even the girls.
The back of the house was in darkness as Deryn climbed onto the window ledge and then to the roof. He tiptoed across to the landing window, hoping it hadn’t been repaired since he’d moved out. It hadn’t, and he was through, into the house, creeping down the stairs to where the light showed under the living room door. There was no noise, and he was careful not to make any, thankful for his mother’s love of thick carpets.
He heard her speak.
“Of course, he’ll come. It’s not been anywhere near half an hour. He hasn’t got any money, anyway, so I don’t know what you’re expecting to achieve.”
There was a laugh. “Three quarters of a million quid and my reputation. That’s what.”
Deryn slipped the baton out of his sleeve, flung the door open, and extended the baton in a single move.
And realised he’d made a terrible mistake.
Because this time, Phillip didn’t have a knife; he had a gun. Pointed at Deryn’s mam.
Sheer momentum carried Deryn forwards; he couldn’t have stopped if he tried. The sound of his furious yell, and the crash of the door hitting the wall behind it broke Phillip’s focus. He would have had to be a better fighter than he was not to have reacted. He was high, Deryn could see it in his eyes, but even with that, Deryn was faster. He pivoted enough to bring the baton crashing down onto the hand holding the gun. The shot was loud in the enclosed space — a reflex action from Phillip, though the bones in his hand were being smashed. Deryn didn’t wait to see where the bullet hit. He brought the baton down again, pulling the blow just enough not to break Phillip’s skull. Phillip dropped to the floor like a stone.
His mother sat in her armchair, face as pale as paper, eyes dark and haunted. There was a bruise on her left cheek and Deryn could see the tracks of tears through her make-up. But she hadn’t been hit by the bullet. There was no blood. As his vision cleared, Deryn could see the smashed china dog, pieces fallen from the mantelpiece onto the carpet, and the hole in the wallpapered wall behind the fireplace. He fell to his knees by his mother’s chair.
“You’re OK,” he said, and grasped her hand. “It’s over.”
“Is it?”
“He’ll go to jail just for having the gun,” Deryn said. “I need to call this in.”
“Wait, just a minute.”
“Mam, I want Phillip out of here, sooner the better.”
“A minute, I said.” There was steel in his mother’s voice. “He came for money. He says you stole the money from the tunnel, and he wanted it back, either from me, or from you. He said you could get it back from the police evidence store, and if you couldn’t, I would have to give it to him from the money your dad left me. He wasn’t making much sense.”
“He was high. On drugs.” Deryn said.
His mother’s expression said she knewthat,and it wasn’t the point. “He’s been trying to run your father’s business, but he isn’t your father. He hasn’t got the balls. You could run it, but I don’t think you want to.”
Deryn shuddered. “That would be a no,” he said. He flicked his eyes over to Phillip, still unmoving on the floor, checking for signs of life. Fluttering eyelids were reassuring, but probably signalled a return to consciousness. “Mam,” he said urgently.
She patted his hand. “Don’t worry,” she said, and she sounded so sure of herself that he almost believed she knew what she was doing. “I think you should move that gun before anyone comes and sees it. Use one of the napkins from the dresser. I don’t want your fingerprints on it. Pop it in the right-hand drawer. And put your nightstick back in your pocket.” He stared at her. “Goon,” she said, and Deryn found himself obeying, as if he were a small child again. Once the gun was out of sight, he collected the remains of the china dog and wrapped them in newspaper, all the time watching Phillip, who was now beginning to moan restlessly.
His mother remained in her chair, though he noticed she dabbed at her face with a tissue, removing the signs of tears. “You might want to move that other dog to cover the hole in the wall,” his mother said, and as he did, the doorbell rang. His mother rose stiffly from her seat, patted her hair, straightened her clothes and went to answer it. “Watch him,” she said over her shoulder.
She returned with two men Deryn had never seen, and one he had, his brother-in-law Shane, with a bruise across his face, glowing red and black. Deryn felt for the reassurance of the baton in his pocket, but oddly, Shane just nodded.
“Deryn, Shirley,” he said, “we’ll take it from here.” Without another word, the two men picked Phillip up and with a shoulder under each of Phillip’s, dragged him out of the living room, Shane holding the door open. Deryn heard them shuffle down the hall and then the front door slammed shut.
Deryn sat down hard on the sofa. “What just happened?” he asked, wondering if the answer would make any sense.
“Your father believed in the survival of the fittest.” She shrugged. “Phillip wasn’t it, and between you and me, I don’t think Shane is, either. We’ll see. None of my business any more, or yours, unless you want it to be?” The last sentence ended on a question. “You could do it, you know, and there’s a lot of money to be made. You could be a very rich man.”
