Jessie felt the fear building inside her chest again. How the hell had she ended up like this? How the fuck had this happened to her?

Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen

Chapter One Hundred
and Thirteen

‘I tried the number over and over, Declan, but no one answered. I could fucking lamp Josephine one. Why the fuck didn’t she open the fucking letter? It’s not fucking rocket science, is it? Her daughter’s missing, and a letter arrives. Two and two springs to mind! But that’s her all over, isn’t it? Can’t open a fucking letter, can’t use the fucking stairs, can’t leave the fucking house. The list of things that she can’t do any more is fucking endless! I lived with her problems, you know I did. But today her fucking refusal to think about her daughter’s welfare tipped me over the edge. I’ve seen her for the selfish cunt she really is.’

Declan didn’t say anything, but Michael didn’t expect an answer from him anyway. He already knew Declan’s opinion of Josephine and her so-called ‘problems’. Declan had never said anything outright, but his silence over the years had spoken volumes. His less-than-complimentary opinion of Josephine had always been there between them.

Michael was so worried about his daughter and what might be happening to her. ‘I have more than most people could ever even dream of. I deal in millions of pounds. I single-handedly changed the whole infrastructure of British crime. Yet do you know something, Declan? I’ve really got fuck-all. My daughter treats me like a fucking leper, and my wife lives on her own fucking planet. Did you know that Josephine won’t use the stairs nowadays? She lives in two rooms. The size of that fucking house, and she lives in less space than if she lived in a council flat. How insulting is that?’

Michael was more distressed than Declan had ever seen him. Michael Flynn was always in complete control of his emotions; seeing his friend so vulnerable was a first for Declan Costello. But these were difficult times, and he could understand Michael allowing his hard-man persona to slip.

Declan had poured them a large Scotch each and, as he handed Michael his drink, he wished there was something he could think of to say that might ease the man’s plight.

‘I love my daughter, Declan. For all our problems, I never stopped loving her. Now she’s on the missing list, and I can’t help her.’

‘You should give the letter to the Old Bill, Michael, they might find a fingerprint or something.’