Fatal

2

Ally Russo gripped the wheel of her bright red McLaren GT – a sweet sixteen gift from her beloved uncle Sal. The wheels of the performance car gripped and burnt up the road as she took the corners of Highway 34 – Trail Ridge Road – at speed, winding up the Rockies as heavy mist began to obscure the surroundings, making it impossible to see the vast expanse of craggy mountains and aspen forests.

‘Ally, for God’s sake slow the hell down!’

Enjoying hearing the panic in Cabhan’s voice, Ally shouted back, laughing as she did so, her Jersey twang emphasising the mockery in her voice. ‘Are you scared, Cab? You a mama’s boy who can’t handle the speed? Why don’t you try and grow a pair already?’

Cabhan, keeping his eyes on what was left of the road as the visibility worsened, shook his head, the high-purity cocaine he’d snorted earlier making him edgier than normal. ‘No, I just value my life, and yours, come to think of it.’

Accelerating as she took the hairpin corner of Fairview Curve, Ally glanced across at Cabhan arrogantly as the deep roar of the supreme engine purred effortlessly into a higher gear. The force thrust the powerful car forward, causing Ally to lose grip on the steering wheel.

‘Ally!’ Cabhan yelled as he leant over, grabbing hold of the cream leather wheel, helping to regain control of the McLaren as it snaked dangerously into the sea of mist.

A slight look of fear passed over Ally’s face before she took hold of the wheel again with a laugh. Relief mixed with adrenalin pumped out of her as she exhaled. ‘That was a close one. What do they say, driving a fast car is better than sex …’ She paused before glancing across again at Cabhan, purring, ‘But I guess that all depends on who you’re having sex with. You never did accept that blow job I offered you. What do you say, Cab? How about tonight …?’

Not interested in girls the same age as his daughter, especially a spoilt brat like Ally Russo, Cabhan’s tone was hostile. ‘Just pull the fuck over, you’ll get us killed.’

Ignoring Cabhan, Ally continued to drive as the weather conditions worsened, the switchbacks on the road getting tighter with the five-hundred-foot drop, without guard rails, inches away from the screeching car’s tyres. Below the road the mountain verge dropped away quickly into nothing but air.

‘I said, pull over!’

‘Fine, spoil my fun!’

Reluctantly, Ally slowed down, when suddenly a massive impact from behind shunted the car forward, causing the McLaren to swerve, running it up onto the stony edge of the road, smashing the car’s axle along the rock-scattered terrain.

Panicking as the rear wheels began to lock, Ally screamed whilst Cabhan quickly glanced in the passenger mirror, but in the thick of the mist he couldn’t see anything.

‘Ally, you—’ He suddenly stopped, feeling the first prickle of panic as blinding giant beams of light cut through the fog and a gigantic juggernaut appeared behind them.

Another huge bang propelled the car closer to the edge. Still screaming, Ally began to cry hysterically. ‘Why aren’t they stopping, Cabhan?’

Panic swirling through him, Cabhan spoke urgently. ‘They can’t see us and won’t be able to feel the impact of the car in that massive truck. Ally, quick, you’ve got to blast the horn … Blast it!’

But as Ally sounded the horn, the juggernaut caught the back end of the car again, this time ploughing it forward, skidding the McLaren out of control. Ally fought frantically to keep hold of the steering wheel, which violently whirled through her hands as she choked on her tears.

As the McLaren bumped through the rocky terrain at the edge of the mountain, the low front spoiler ripped off as the car began to slide.

‘Ally!’ Cabhan screamed as his neck snapped forward, the front wheels hitting the edge of the precipice at well over a hundred miles an hour. The car hung suspended in the air for a moment before it crashed back down, smashing against the side of the mountain with bone-shattering force.

Further and further down the side of the mountain face the car fell, rolling and twisting, tumbling and flipping, bouncing and turning with Cabhan and Ally’s screams echoing through the darkness until finally they came to a sudden stop. The impact sounding like roaring thunder.

The inside of the car seemed to be dripping with blood. Cabhan found himself jammed up against the door. Attempting to pull himself out of the wrecked vehicle, he crawled forward, and an excruciating pain exploded within him. He cried out as a torn piece of metal was embedded deeper in his calf, tearing open his flesh.

Knowing he had to try to get help, Cabhan, with sweat and blood covering his face, used all his strength, yelling out at the pain but refusing to let it stop him as he scrambled out of the car.

Panting with exhaustion, he looked around. They were under the mist now, allowing him to see clearly. The car had landed on a wide rocky shelf, three hundred feet down from the road they’d been driving along, with the drop below them another two hundred.

Stumbling round the car with his leg oozing, Cabhan bent down to where Ally lay, her face almost obscured by cuts and blood. He whispered her name. ‘Ally, Ally, wake up! Come on, honey, wake up. It’s okay, I’ll get help. I’ll get you out of there.’

Noticing part of the car’s seat was pressing down on her chest, Cabhan took hold of Ally’s shoulders, attempting to pull her into a better position, when suddenly her head, severed by the crash, rolled towards him. He recoiled, retching and scrabbling backwards towards the edge of the sheer drop. ‘Oh shit, oh God. Please, no! Ally! Oh Christ!’

His hand shook as he quickly dragged his mobile out of his pocket and tried to focus on the numbers. He dialled 911, holding his side to halt the flow of blood, but he abruptly cut off the call before it connected. His gaze rested on the boot of the McLaren, which had torn open. Within the panels of the car, Cabhan could see several large packages of cocaine. His gaze crossed along the ground to more packages that had been scattered around. Urgently, he began to press another number. Salvatore. But another glance at Ally stopped him. There was no way he could speak to Salvatore now.

Cold, his body beginning to go into shock, Cabhan shook as he scrolled through his phone, then holding his bloodied hand against his ear he waited for his call to be answered.

‘Franny! Franny! It’s me. I need your help! I’m in trouble!’

3

‘Cabhan, hey! How are you doing?’

‘Franny, Franny, you’ve got to listen to me!’

Smiling, Franny twirled round as she tried to get a better signal in the heat of the Spanish sun. ‘Cab, I can’t hear what you’re saying. Hold on a minute, let me go somewhere else.’

Eager to speak to Cabhan, Franny Doyle walked away from the busy market street in central Marbella looking for a quiet spot to take the call. It’d been a couple of weeks since they’d spoken – which was unusual for them – so she certainly didn’t want to have to ask him to call back later. ‘One minute.’

‘Franny, just stop, Franny!’

Oblivious, Franny continued to walk around the corner to a quiet spot, which was drenched in the morning sun, her chestnut hair blowing in the warm sea breeze. ‘That’s better. I can hear you—’

Cabhan cut into Franny’s words. ‘There’s been an accident.’

Panic rushed over Franny, but she quickly pulled herself together. ‘What? Are you all right? What happened?’

‘I’m okay, well, kind of, but … but Ally’s not.’

‘What do you mean?’

There was a pause before Cabhan said, ‘She’s dead, Fran.’

‘Oh my God! How? Where are you?’

‘Franny, my battery’s going flat but I’m in a mess.’

Sitting down on a bench along the promenade with the sun beginning to get hotter, Franny was filled with worry, something she always fought so hard not to show or even to feel.

‘Cab, what’s going on?’

‘Ally was driving and we came off the road. The car’s totally trashed and, well, I managed to get out …’

Not understanding the timeline of events, Franny shook her head. ‘Why didn’t you call me before? When did this happen? Did they check you over in the hospital?’

‘No, Fran, just listen to me, for God’s sake. It’s only just happened.’

Stunned, Franny asked, ‘Are the emergency services there?’

‘No.’

‘But you’ve called them, right?’

‘No.’

Puzzled and hating to feel out of control, Franny raised her voice. ‘Then you’ve got to! Cab, what are you doing? How do you know Ally’s dead? She might still have a pulse. Jesus Christ!’

On the other end of the line, Cabhan held his emotions together. He spoke matter-of-factly. ‘No, Franny, she’s dead all right.’

‘I don’t get it. Why aren’t you calling anyone? What are you playing at?’

‘If you’d fucking listen, maybe you’d understand.’

Franny, upset for Cabhan, knowing that he’d never normally speak to her like that, said, ‘I’m sorry, Cab, go ahead.’

‘No, I’m sorry, Fran, I just don’t know what to do. The car’s panels have come off and inside them there must be at least ten … twenty kilos of cocaine. I’ve also taken a few lines of coke myself and if they decide to do a blood test, well …’ He trailed off before adding, ‘So you see, I can’t call the police.’

Closing her eyes for a moment as she took in the enormity of the situation, Franny breathed deeply, calming herself, knowing that Cabhan needed her to be strong. She could hear her father’s voice in her head, telling her that it wasn’t emotions that won a war, it was action. It wasn’t weakness, it was strength. It was having a heart of stone, no matter what. It was never allowing yourself to feel anything at all.

And with her father’s teaching in mind, Franny pushed down any sort of dread and began to take control.

‘First, Ally was driving, not you, they’re not going to do any checks, so the only thing we’ve got to deal with are the drugs. But that’s okay too. All you’ve got to do is hide them somewhere, then once you have, call 911. Get help. It’s an accident, Cab, the police won’t start searching the area, will they? It’ll be all right. I promise.’

Franny could hear the panic in Cabhan as he answered. ‘Fran, you don’t understand, there is nowhere to hide them. We landed on a ledge when we came off Trail Ridge Road.’

Knowing the road well and how precarious it was, Franny’s stomach went into knots, but again she rose above it. After all, she was a Doyle and, as her father, Patrick, always drummed into her, it wouldn’t help anybody to break down and cry. ‘You’re lucky to be alive, Cab.’

‘Fran, look, my battery’s beeping, I’m going to cut out any minute.’

‘Then you’ve got to listen to me, you’ve just got to get rid of the coke. You hear me? Break open the bags and throw it away.’

‘I can’t, Fran, it’s probably worth about three million dollars with a street value of more. Salvatore’s not going to accept that I just threw away his coke, especially after he finds out his niece is dead.’

‘What else can you do, Cab?’

‘Fran, they’ll kill me. You know what the brothers are like. They’ll chop me up in pieces and feed me to their dogs if I can’t replace their coke. I just haven’t got that kind of money.’

‘I have.’

‘What?’

Chewing on her bottom lip, Franny repeated what she’d just said. ‘I have. I can get you two million pounds.’

‘I … I … don’t know what to say.’

‘You don’t have to say anything. Just promise me when you put the phone down you’ll get rid of the coke and then call 911.’

‘Fran, I can’t take your—’

‘I said, promise me!’

With overwhelming relief, Cabhan whispered, ‘I promise.’

‘Good. Because I’m not going to lose you, Cab. I love you. Throughout my life you’ve always been there for me, and now it’s my turn to be there for you. And when I put this phone down, you’re going to get help and I’m going to get on the earliest plane and come out there. Book yourself into a hotel room, lie low for now and call no one.’

‘But what about Salvatore? I’ll have to tell him about Ally.’

‘No, leave that to the police. What you’ve got to do is once you’re off that mountain, get hidden and stay hidden. We’ll face Salvatore together … I’ll see you soon.’

As the line went dead, Franny closed her eyes, taking another deep breath. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for Cabhan. She’d known him all her life and regarded him as her second father, even if that ‘anything’ was taking the two million pounds Alfie and Vaughn had entrusted to her. The money that was meant to start their new business in England. The money they were waiting on and the money she was supposed to smuggle out of the country the day after tomorrow. Two million pounds. Alfie and Vaughn’s two million pounds. The men’s entire fortune.

At Malaga Airport waiting for her flight to Gatwick, which would then take her on to Denver, Colorado, Franny Doyle pulled out her phone and began to text.

Please don’t be angry, Alfie, but something’s come up. It’s probably better if u don’t know what. But trust me when I say I wish it could be different. I won’t b coming to England. One day you’ll understand why I’ve done this. If it’s any consolation, I do love u. F.

Hearing her flight call, Franny turned off her phone. She wouldn’t allow herself to have any regrets. This was something she just had to do and, if Alfie loved her the way he said he did, well, then he’d just have to understand. Two million pounds’ worth of understanding.

4

Alice Rose skipped through the freshly cut meadow counting the white fence posts as she twirled around the trees, moving rhythmically in the warm Iowa breeze. This was her very favourite time of year, when all around her was an explosion of colours and scents.

The problem was, though, the happiness she felt often distracted her from giving a prayer of thanks for everything she had, and she knew that was wrong. Sinful. Her mother had warned her and her friend, Isaiah Thomas, on a daily basis what would happen if they forgot to say their prayers. She would be damned to eternal hell, cursed into everlasting fire prepared for the Devil and his angels, and that was something she certainly didn’t want to happen.

Shivering at the thought, Alice decided she needed to try harder to remind herself that none of it would be possible without the good Lord’s grace, especially a day like today. Only this morning her father had called to say that Franny was coming to visit them and, even though she missed Isaiah, she couldn’t help but feel excited that Franny was making the trip.

The love she felt for Franny was the same love she’d felt towards her own mother; she was good and kind and compassionate. God-fearing values, as her mother would say. Then, delighted just at the idea of Franny’s trip to see her, a surge of pure joy ran through Alice. She jumped in the air, spinning around, feeling like the warm winds were sending her soaring towards the sun.

‘Alice! Alice! Is that any way to behave? I don’t think the Lord would approve of such behaviour, do you?’

Alice’s long corkscrew curls tumbled over her beautiful brown face, chaotically dotted with freckles. She grinned at Sister Margaret, a nun whom most of the other girls found to be stern and unyielding, as she made them recite and write verses from the Bible each day, sit in silent reflection of their sins for hours on end – everything Alice’s mother had done, and so Sister Margaret made her feel safe, reminding her of the world she’d grown up in.

Still skipping and spinning, coming across as much younger than her sixteen years, Alice laughed warmly, her words holding the purest sincerity. ‘Sister Margaret, I think the Lord would be delighted that I’m celebrating what he made. After all, weren’t you the one who taught us that this is the day that the Lord hath made, and therefore we should rejoice and be glad in it?’ She paused, tilting her head thoughtfully before adding, ‘Psalms 118, verse 24.’

‘Alice Rose, I hope you’re not being insolent?’

Panting and with her cheeks glowing, Alice walked across to the nun. She smiled, looking slightly puzzled, her tone a blanket of kindness. ‘No, of course not, Sister Margaret! I was only saying that today like all days is a blessing …’ Alice stopped, furrowing her eyebrows before adding, ‘Am I wrong?’

Sighing, Sister Margaret, slightly ashamed of her grouchiness in the face of such godliness, smiled back, taking Alice’s hands in hers.

Even though Alice was sixteen, she worried about the child; she wasn’t cut out for the world they lived in. She’d been sheltered, brought up in a loving but strict religious community, and as much as Sister Margaret wished it wasn’t the case, Alice’s background was a huge obstacle, coming with far too many challenges for a teenager required to live in modern society.

‘No, I’m the one who’s wrong, doubting your integrity, I should know better. And it’s true, today is a blessing, like children are a blessing; a gift from God, and you, Alice Rose, are certainly that.’

Alice grinned, blushing at the nun’s compliment. ‘Thank you, Sister Margaret … anyway, I’d better get on.’

Skipping off, Alice wrinkled her nose, wincing as she heard the nun ask, ‘Alice, what have you got in your hands?’

Swivelling around and dropping the mobile phone in the long grass, Alice decided that seeing as she had a good reason for not being entirely honest, the Lord would forgive her, and therefore she didn’t have to feel guilty about what she was about to say. ‘Nothing.’

Sister Margaret’s tone was severe. ‘Alice, you do know what the Bible says about lying and liars, don’t you?’

‘I do, Sister Margaret … A false witness will not go unpunished, and he who breathes out lies will perish. Proverbs 19, verse 9.’

‘It also says their throats are like open graves, with their tongues they deceive and the venom of poisonous vipers is under their tongue.’

Paling, Alice stared at the nun as she whispered, ‘Romans 3, verse 13.’

‘Exactly. So I’ll ask you again, what have you got in your hands?’

Swallowing hard and resolving that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea not to be completely truthful, Alice brought her hands from behind her back, shaking at the thought of the snakes.

‘There’s nothing in my hand.’

Sister Margaret held Alice’s gaze. ‘Tonight in chapel, you’d do well to say an extra Hail Mary.’ And with that the nun walked away.

Feeling deflated, Alice watched Sister Margaret disappear before daring to pick up the phone. She hadn’t wanted to lie and she hadn’t even seen it as a lie … well, not really, not like a real one anyway.

Normally, she didn’t mind that they were only allowed their phones for a short time in the evening when supervised by the Sisters, but what she had to do, she didn’t want anyone else to know about; she wanted it to be a surprise. So when she’d taken her father’s call in Sister Margaret’s office this morning, she’d also taken the opportunity to grab her phone out of the box they were kept in and slip it into her pocket.

Trying to push the feeling of guilt aside, Alice walked towards the far meadow where Mac, the convent’s old dapple grey pony, was grazing.

Tearing a large handful of grass, she walked towards him, talking warmly. ‘Here, boy, here you go … Come on, Mac, look what I’ve got for you.’

Lifting his head for a moment then turning away uninterested – quite satisfied with the grass already in his paddock – Mac sauntered off, leaving Alice to sit down by the large basswood tree.

She sighed deeply, worried about her father. He’d sounded strange – stressed – when they’d spoken this morning, and although she’d asked him if everything was all right and he’d told her he was fine, she knew something was wrong. Very wrong.

Perhaps he was working too hard, maybe business was bad … Not that she knew exactly what it was he did. Something to do with selling insurance was all he’d said when she’d asked. But it was obvious he was not feeling his best, which was even more of a reason for her doing what she was about to.

She wanted to do something special for him, something nice for his birthday next week. After all, he deserved it. He was always thinking about her or about Franny, making sure that everyone else was all right, and often neglected himself. So, this year she decided that she was going to make a fuss of him, and hopefully that might cheer him up.

Pulling out a piece of paper from her pocket, Alice began to dial a number. It rang twice before being answered.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello.’

‘Who is this?’

‘My name’s Alice Rose. You don’t know me, but I’m the daughter of Cabhan Morton.’