He did so slowly and, as he turned to face the men he knew would be waiting for him, he grinned amiably, saying cheerfully, ‘I’ve been waiting for you, and so has Jessie.’

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Seven

Chapter One Hundred
and Thirty-Seven

Steven Golding looked so much smaller than Michael had expected. He was almost puny. It was hard to believe that this was the man who had caused him so much grief, who had been so fucking elusive. It was a joke, surely?

Golding laughed. ‘You’re too late, Mr Flynn. We waited for you, but you never came. Now your little Jessie is dying, I’m afraid.’

Michael stepped towards the man, intent on murder, and Declan grabbed him. ‘Stop it, Michael. That’s what he wants. Let’s find Jessie first. I wouldn’t believe a word this slippery fucker says.’

Michael knew that Declan was right, he couldn’t do anything until he had found his daughter.

Steven Golding shrugged. ‘Be my guest, she’s down there.’ He gestured towards the basement door. ‘She’s been down there since day one.’

Declan grabbed the man by his throat, and dragged him unceremoniously down the basement stairs behind Michael. The music was much louder inside the room, and it added to the surreal feeling that was enveloping them.

Declan was unsure for a few moments if he was actually seeing what was before his eyes. The stench alone was bad enough, but Jessie, if that really was Jessie, was like something from a horror film.

She was so bloated, and her feet, her lovely little feet, were almost devoid of skin. He looked at Michael; he could see the man’s disbelief at what he was witnessing. He too was wondering if this was some kind of joke, even though they both knew that wasn’t possible.

The photo Michael had been sent had been bad enough but, in the hours since then, it was obvious that Jessie had deteriorated. She looked dead already.

Declan went to the CD player and, kicking it with all his might, he watched as it rose up into the air, and then hit the wall. The ensuing silence was almost deafening.

Michael looked at his daughter, at the condition she was in. It was like a fucking nightmare, beyond anything he could ever have imagined. This was his baby girl – no matter what had happened in the past, she was his only child, and he loved her with a passion.

‘Oh my fucking God. Oh dear God. Please don’t do this to me . . .’ Michael was trying to pick his daughter up in his arms, trying to comfort her. But she was unresponsive, her eyes were closed. Michael was openly crying, sobbing in despair.