Ruthless - [28]

‘All this time,’ said Rufus on a sigh, ‘I’ve been wondering why he’s left me alone. But he hasn’t, has he? He’s still after me.’

‘Rufe, I’m sorry, I really am. The man’s ill, they say. He’s losing it. He told me the one thing he wants to do before he dies is to find you. To have his revenge. He’s got my kid, Rufus. What else can I do?’

‘I’ll tell you what you can do, you worm,’ snapped Orla, looming over Rory. She snatched up the receiver. ‘You can call your hoodlum pal back and say that Rufus has moved on, caught a flight to the States or something. That he was here, but he realized the game was up and he’s gone.’

Rory was shaking his head. He stood up, started pacing back and forth.

‘I can’t do that,’ he said. ‘I can’t. I’m sorry as hell, but I can’t risk it – he’ll kill Diarmuid.’

‘You can,’ said Orla. ‘And you will.’

‘No, no…’

Orla lifted her hand, and it was only then Rufus saw she was holding a knife. ‘Get on the phone. Do it.’

Rufus felt sick to his stomach. He’d been betrayed by his closest friend, and now Orla, the woman he loved, was waving a knife around like a maniac. Rory’s eyes were imploring as they rested on his.

‘Do it,’ said Rufus.

‘Rufe, I daren’t…’

‘Do it,’ he said, and this time his voice was loaded with hurt and rage.

His hand shaking, Rory reached for the phone and dialled. They all waited, holding their breath. Then Rory stiffened.

‘Don? He’s gone,’ he said. ‘I’ve just been to his room and looked. Rufus is gone. He must have got suspicious and done a runner.’

There was an angry sound from the other end of the line.

‘I know that,’ Rory shouted. ‘Don’t you think I know that? But I’m telling you, I just checked his room and he’s not there.’ Rory’s eyes met Orla’s. She jabbed the knife at him: Go on.

Rufus gave her a look. Let him speak.

‘He was talking about moving on to the States,’ Rory babbled. ‘He was keen on the idea, my guess is that’s where he’s gone. So I can’t help you any more. You’ve to let the boy go.’

The angry voice jabbered away. Rory’s eyes grew wide with panic.

‘What do you mean, “we’ll see”? I’ve done all I can do. Rufus has gone, that’s all I know. I can’t… hello? Hello?’

The line had gone dead. Trembling, Rory replaced the receiver.

‘He’ll kill him for spite,’ he mumbled, his eyes vacant with fear. ‘He will. He won’t let him go.’

‘Rory…’ started Rufus, wanting to comfort his old friend, to say that he had done what any father would have done in the circumstances, that he wasn’t to blame.

But Orla moved in with the knife and before Rufus realized what was happening, she lunged hard, sticking it squarely in Rory’s midsection.

Rory let out a breathless scream of pain and shock. Orla yanked out the knife, blood flying in a wide spurting arc, spattering the front of her nightdress. And then she struck again, plunging it up to the hilt in Rory’s windpipe. He sank to the floor, the blade embedded in his throat, gurgling, blood bubbling and foaming on his lips. Then Rory’s eyes turned up in his head and he toppled sideways, hitting the ground with a thump.

Rufus stood frozen, sick with shock, unable to believe what he had just seen. Orla had killed Rory. He blinked, shook his head. He couldn’t take it in. He hadn’t thought for a moment that she would actually use the knife or he would have snatched it off her. But she’d done it. She’d killed his friend.

Orla was breathing hard. Spattered with blood, she sat down on the bed, staring at the corpse at her feet.

Not a word was spoken for a long, long time. Rufus was shaken and filled with cold horror. He wanted to wring her neck with his bare hands. His eyes kept returning, again and again, to Rory, lying there dead on the floor.

But… but he loved her.

Didn’t he?

Then she looked up at him, and she smiled.

‘You see?’ she said, happy to be vindicated. ‘I told you he was not to be trusted.’

26

When he could force himself to move, to acknowledge that this nightmare was real, Rufus went down to the barn and fetched a tarpaulin, praying that neither of Orla’s parents would wake up and ask what was going on. Because what could he say? Your daughter has just knifed my best friend? But all was quiet, thank God.

He carried the tarp to the bedroom and was sickened to see that during his absence Orla had reclaimed her knife from Rory’s throat, and was wiping it clean on the front of the dead man’s shirt.

Between them, they wrapped the body and all Rory’s belongings – Rufus kept the Land Rover keys to one side – in the tarp and heaved the bundle down the stairs and outside to the little stand of woodland not too far from the house. Then Rufus fetched a shovel and started digging. He’d go down four feet, he reckoned, that would be deep enough to stop the foxes getting poor Rory out again.

He dug. And he wondered if Don was going to show up at any second, thinking that Rory had duped him – which was the truth – and then the game would be up, he’d be caught.

The way Rufus was feeling tonight, he would be glad of it. He was sickened by what Orla had done, killing a man without a qualm. And he had lost the only true friend he had in the world. So if Don were to show up, yes, Rufus would be relieved. It would mean an end to all this running, all this hiding. He was tired of it. Tired of life. Tired of the whole awful, shitty mess.