Terror's Reach by Tom Bale Read Free Book Online Page B

he would
be compelled to ask.
    Like almost everything else in Dreamscape, the garage doors incorporated
a fancy gimmick. Operating on an electric motor, they were
constructed from what looked like rigid vertical slats of hardwood. But
instead of sweeping outwards, tiny hinges on each slat allowed the
gates to bend and retract into a housing concealed within the curved
side walls. It was an impressive sight as the gates shuffled apart and
seemingly disappeared, but Liam was in no mood to admire it.
As soon as the gap was wide enough he ran to the Renault, started
it up and drove into the garage. Then he hurried over to the van,
casually checking the road in both directions. No one in sight.
    He was glad of that, but it also freaked him out. Five houses all on
their own on a little island. No pubs, no restaurants, not even a corner
shop. If you suddenly needed a packet of cigarettes or a crate of beer,
you were looking at an hour’s round trip to the nearest town.
Of course, most of the people who did live here had servants to
run errands like that. But it still wasn’t for Liam. No, he’d take their
money and get himself a place somewhere busy and vibrant and anonymous.
New York, or perhaps Madrid. He’d once been on an amazing
stag weekend in Madrid.
He reversed past the gates, pulled onto the driveway and into the
garage. Stood and watched the doors rattling together, and when they
were shut he gave a nod of satisfaction. Everything back on track.
He opened up the van and took out a couple of plastic restraints
from one of the kitbags. There was a lot more stuff to unload, but
most of it could wait until the other teams were here: a job for the
knuckle draggers.
A neat little Louis Vuitton case caught his eye. God only knew
what Priya had brought with her. A change of clothes and some
toiletries, fair enough, but somehow she’d managed to fill up a whole
case.
Maybe there was some nice lingerie, he thought. So far she’d
presented herself as quite the prim little maiden but, as he knew from
experience, that kind of woman sometimes turned out to be a tigress
in the bedroom.
Liam caught himself whistling as he retraced his steps through the
house. He was feeling lucky, thinking about Priya and lingerie.
Thinking about christening the snooker table. It wasn’t till he reached
the kitchen that he detected a subtle change in the air. Something
had gone badly wrong.
He recognised the smell immediately: hot, metallic, foul. The
stench of a slaughterhouse. A second later he reached the hallway
and saw the large spreading pool of fresh blood.
    Nine
    For a moment, Liam considered aborting the whole operation. It was
one thing to expect the unexpected. Quite another to foresee a problem
on this scale.
He watched the blood creep across the floor and settle, hot and
viscous, darkening the grooves between the sumptuous oak floorboards.
He’d never get it all out, he realised. No matter how rigorously he
cleaned up, traces of it would remain, soaking deep into the floor.
And blood meant DNA . It meant evidence that could put him in
prison for the rest of his life.
Almost as quickly, Liam understood that the job had to continue.
There were too many elements already in play. And far, far too much
at stake.
Tearing his gaze from the blood, he focused on its source. The
estate agent lay on his back, arms thrown out at his sides, one leg
straight, the other slightly crooked. If you lifted him upright it would
look like a dancer’s pose.
His throat had been slashed just below the Adam’s apple, but Liam
guessed it was one of the stab wounds to the chest that had killed
him.
'What happened?’
He looked at Priya. She was sitting at the foot of the stairs, her
elbows resting on her knees, her lower arms dangling free as if she
wanted nothing more to do with them. Her hands were covered in
blood, and there was a spatter line on her jeans, crossing both legs
just below the knees. Her head was tipped forward, her hair a graceful
curtain