Read Online Death in High Places by Jo Bannister - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jo Bannister
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cheap. And it was a pretty complicated scenario. There were a lot of ways it could have gone wrong, and it didnât. So it wasnât done on the spur of the momentâit was planned, carefully, even meticulously. Somebody tracked you down, and put the fear of God into you, and found a way of having Mack on the spot to save your sorry ass. Why? Whose interests are served by getting you and Mack together that couldnât be served by asking you both to lunch?â
Horn didnât think it was complicated. He thought it was very simple. âThereâs no plot. Tommy Hanrattyâs the one spending the money, but I wouldnât say heâs particularly clever. He doesnât need to be. Thereâs only one thought in his mindâto wipe me out.â It wasnât a metaphor: that was exactly what Hanratty wanted. To expunge him, to strike him from the record. âYour headâs full of wee sweetie mice.â
Beth stared at him open-mouthed for a full three seconds before the sob came. Horn remembered, belatedly, where heâd first heard the expressionâfrom Patrick. He supposed Beth had heard it from the same source. He felt a twinge of contrition. He hadnât meant to hurt her. Mostly, heâd been defending himself. âSorry,â he mumbled.
She pulled herself together almost physically, forcing down the grief that had choked her. She cleared her throat. âIâve never heard anyone else say that.â
âMe neither. I suppose itâs an Irish thing.â Horn took a deep breath. âListen, I know how you feel about me. I donât blame you. I can apologize till the cows come home, but I canât bring him back. I canât make it not have happened. But I can go where you donât have to look at me. Just let me out. Let me go, and forget that I was ever here. Youâll get what you want in the end. Sooner or later Hanrattyâll catch up with me.â
Now as she looked at him, for the first time Beth saw him as he was: not the monster of her nightmares, just a rather battered human being with strong arms and a stubborn expression, and fear behind his eyes that had dwelt there so long it seemed a part of him, something he would never be rid of. For a fleeting moment she almost found it in her to be sorry for him.
But sheâd hated Nicky Horn for four yearsâmore than four years, in fact. Even while Patrick was alive, sheâd had reason to resent the friend whoâd taken him places where she couldnât follow. The hatred had fed her, sustained her. The sight of his bruises, and knowing about the ones that didnât show, couldnât alter that.
But she was confused. He didnât seem to be lying about how he and McKendrick had met. But Beth didnât believe in a coincidence that outrageous: that when the past finally caught up with him, the only man both near enough and tough enough to come between Anarchy Horn and his just deserts was her father. There are over 60 million people in the British Isles, the vast majority of whom had no connection to Patrick Hanratty. McKendrick did. What he didnât have was a good reason for having been there. All she could think was that someone had lured him thereânot Horn, who had nothing to gain from the meeting, nor Hanratty, who had everything to lose, but someone else. But think as she might, she couldnât begin to guess who, or why, or what possible bait he could have used to tempt a rich man to drive sixty miles and gamble his own life to save a pariah.
âStay here,â she said thickly. âI need to talk to Mack.â
She wasnât going to open the back door. Horn gave in with a weary sigh. âHe went upstairs to see to William. Whoâs William?â
âMy uncle.â
âI didnât know anyone else lived here.â
âNow you do.â
Horn frowned. Heâd assumed William was a child. A grown man wouldnât need help
Horn didnât think it was complicated. He thought it was very simple. âThereâs no plot. Tommy Hanrattyâs the one spending the money, but I wouldnât say heâs particularly clever. He doesnât need to be. Thereâs only one thought in his mindâto wipe me out.â It wasnât a metaphor: that was exactly what Hanratty wanted. To expunge him, to strike him from the record. âYour headâs full of wee sweetie mice.â
Beth stared at him open-mouthed for a full three seconds before the sob came. Horn remembered, belatedly, where heâd first heard the expressionâfrom Patrick. He supposed Beth had heard it from the same source. He felt a twinge of contrition. He hadnât meant to hurt her. Mostly, heâd been defending himself. âSorry,â he mumbled.
She pulled herself together almost physically, forcing down the grief that had choked her. She cleared her throat. âIâve never heard anyone else say that.â
âMe neither. I suppose itâs an Irish thing.â Horn took a deep breath. âListen, I know how you feel about me. I donât blame you. I can apologize till the cows come home, but I canât bring him back. I canât make it not have happened. But I can go where you donât have to look at me. Just let me out. Let me go, and forget that I was ever here. Youâll get what you want in the end. Sooner or later Hanrattyâll catch up with me.â
Now as she looked at him, for the first time Beth saw him as he was: not the monster of her nightmares, just a rather battered human being with strong arms and a stubborn expression, and fear behind his eyes that had dwelt there so long it seemed a part of him, something he would never be rid of. For a fleeting moment she almost found it in her to be sorry for him.
But sheâd hated Nicky Horn for four yearsâmore than four years, in fact. Even while Patrick was alive, sheâd had reason to resent the friend whoâd taken him places where she couldnât follow. The hatred had fed her, sustained her. The sight of his bruises, and knowing about the ones that didnât show, couldnât alter that.
But she was confused. He didnât seem to be lying about how he and McKendrick had met. But Beth didnât believe in a coincidence that outrageous: that when the past finally caught up with him, the only man both near enough and tough enough to come between Anarchy Horn and his just deserts was her father. There are over 60 million people in the British Isles, the vast majority of whom had no connection to Patrick Hanratty. McKendrick did. What he didnât have was a good reason for having been there. All she could think was that someone had lured him thereânot Horn, who had nothing to gain from the meeting, nor Hanratty, who had everything to lose, but someone else. But think as she might, she couldnât begin to guess who, or why, or what possible bait he could have used to tempt a rich man to drive sixty miles and gamble his own life to save a pariah.
âStay here,â she said thickly. âI need to talk to Mack.â
She wasnât going to open the back door. Horn gave in with a weary sigh. âHe went upstairs to see to William. Whoâs William?â
âMy uncle.â
âI didnât know anyone else lived here.â
âNow you do.â
Horn frowned. Heâd assumed William was a child. A grown man wouldnât need help
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