Broken by Martina Cole Read Free Book Online Page B

mother’s shrieks and hustled him from the room. She called a medic, watched as the girl was sedated, and then when she was under a modicum of control, Kate started to question her properly. At the back of her mind she was always aware that somewhere a three-year-old child was either dead, dying or being held captive.
    Time was running out for Ivor Anderson. If it hadn’t done so already.
     
    Patrick looked around his office in Canning Town in sheer disbelief. The place had been well and truly trashed. All his papers were strewn across the room; his account books had been ripped apart. Even the photographs of his dead wife Renée and daughter Mandy had been destroyed, and this upset him more than anything.
    Willy stared at the scene open-mouthed. ‘Blimey, Pat, someone was after something.’
    ‘You know what, Willy? You always state the fucking obvious. Sometimes it really gets on my tits.’
    ‘I was only saying . . .’
    ‘Yeah, well, don’t in future. But I tell you one thing: whoever did this is on a fucking death wish. I will find out who is responsible and kill them.’
    ‘Could it have been kids?’
    Patrick shook his head. ‘This is too professional for kids. My guess is they were after me holding books. Even the floorboards have been prised up. Luckily I keep them separate. What we need to know now is why someone wants them. I own the businesses so why are the books of any interest to an outside party?’
    ‘Well, maybe whoever did this is after a slice of the pie themselves.’
    ‘Precisely. Now we have to guess who that could be and rout the fuckers. Put the fear of Christ up them.’
    Willy wiped one large hand across his face. ‘My guess is either Partridge or Gunner.’
    Patrick’s voice was a sarcastic growl as he answered, ‘Fuck-all gets past you, eh, Willy? Magnus Magnusson been on the blower yet for Mastermind ?’
    Willy was hurt and it showed. ‘No point getting all bolshie with me, Pat. I’m on your side.’
    As he spoke he picked up Renée’s photo and tried to smooth it out with his big clumsy hands. ‘Whoever did this will get a right-hander off me just for this little fiasco,’ he mumbled. ‘This is getting bleeding personal.’
    Patrick saw that the big man was visibly upset and put an arm round his shoulders.
    ‘I’m sorry, Willy, but all this is getting to me now. I have someone after me and I don’t even know who for sure. I can guess, I can fight, I can hurt . . . but I still have to find out for definite who I’m dealing with and, more importantly, why.’
    ‘My poke is on Gunner, Pat. I’ve never liked him, the ponce.’
    ‘Well, whoever it is had better have some heavy weapons because they’re going to need them. A joke’s a joke, as my old mum used to say. But this is turning into a fucking pantomime.’
    There was raw anger in Patrick’s voice. Then the phone rang and they both realised it was the only thing in the room that had not been destroyed.
    He picked it up. ‘What?’
    A woman came on the line. A quietly spoken woman.
    ‘Mr Kelly?’
    ‘The same.’
    ‘You have two minutes to vacate the Portakabin. It is going to blow.’
    He stared at the mouthpiece for ten seconds in incredulous silence before looking at Willy and saying loudly, ‘This place is going to blow up in two minutes. Some sort just told me they were blowing up my fucking drum! Can you believe the nerve of that—’
    Willy took him roughly by the arm. ‘In that case, Pat, let’s get out of here, eh?’
    As they hurried outside Patrick stared around him at the yard he had had for over thirty years.
    ‘This has got to be a wind-up.’
    Willy pushed him into the car and backed it out on to the road. Then, parking as far away from the yard as he could, they sat and watched.
    The yard blew all right.
    Patrick could still hear the ringing in his ears when the fire brigade and police arrived, but by that time he and Willy were driving sedately along the A13, Patrick muttering over and