Mark Billingham - From the Dead

Like he was waiting to face a bull.

Then, still breathless, Thorne began jogging uphill towards the house.

It took Thorne three or four minutes to reach the house, but it felt like a lot longer. The Golf was parked outside, and though Thorne would have loved to tell the man in the driver's seat precisely what he thought of him, there wasn't time. He settled for a hard stare and the satisfying look of panic on the private detective's face as he walked past the car.

The door to the villa was open and Thorne could hear shouting from inside. He stepped into a large, vaulted lobby. There were acres of white marble, potted palms whose leaves almost brushed the glass roof and a staircase that swept up and around to his right. He walked beneath it, his breathing and heart-rate finally beginning to slow a little, and followed a tiled corridor towards the far side of the villa, towards the screams of rage and frustration that echoed off the tastefully decorated walls.

'Well, you've wasted your fucking time…'

'Christ, what's he done?'

'What's he done?'

'Please…'

'You really are a stupid bitch, aren't you?'

Just before the corridor ended, Thorne passed a room whose door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open and saw Gary Brand, sitting and flicking through a newspaper as though it were a doctor's waiting room. Brand looked up, alarmed, and opened his mouth to say something.

Thorne put a finger to his lips as a glass shattered somewhere near by.

'You've lost it, love.'

'Just tell her to go…'

Brand tried to stand up, but Thorne pushed him back into his seat. Told him quietly but firmly to shut his mouth and stay where he was. Then he stepped back into the corridor, took another few paces and peered around the corner.

'You heard what she said.'

'I'm not going anywhere.'

'Maybe I should call the police…'

Thorne was now at the entrance to a large, open-plan seating area. There was a pool table and a white piano beyond the L-shaped sofa. On the far side was what looked like a well-stocked bar, with rows of bottles in gleaming optics and vintage movie posters framed on the wall above.

The Dirty Dozen. Where Eagles Dare. The Italian Job.

The room led directly out, through an open pair of sliding doors, to the pool, and from where he was standing, Thorne had a clear view of the action.

Langford was sitting on the edge of a sunlounger, with Ellie standing behind him. A few feet away, on the other side of a glass-topped table, Donna stood, her fists clenched at her side and her eyes fixed on her daughter's right hand, which was resting on Langford's shoulder.

'I was struggling not to laugh out loud,' Langford said, 'when that copper accused me of "taking" her.' He glanced up at Ellie. 'She couldn't wait to get over here, could you, love?'

'I dreamed about it.' Ellie squeezed her father's shoulder, but spat the words across at her mother. 'Just had to wait until I was eighteen, so nobody would bother looking too hard.'

'For ten years, you were all I thought about,' Donna said.

'Oh, I thought about you, too. Only not quite in the same way.'

'That last day I saw you, before the trial, you cried and cried and begged them not to take me away.' Donna's voice was weak and cracked. 'You wouldn't let go of my arm.'

'I was a kid,' Ellie said. 'I was stupid.'

'No…'

'I didn't know what you'd done. What you'd tried to do. I didn't know what a vicious cow you were, did I?'

'But I did it for you.'

'You tried to kill my father!'

'For us.'

'You didn't think about me, how I would feel.'

'That was all I thought about, I swear. All those years…'

'Funny,' Langford said. 'I thought you were too busy becoming a rug-muncher to give a shit.'

Even from his vantage point twenty feet away, Thorne could see the hatred etched into Donna's face.

'When did you contact her?' she asked.

Langford thought about it. 'About eighteen months after I got here, once I was settled. I got word to her, had a few friends keep an eye out, passed on some money whenever she needed it. We started making plans for you to come out here fairly early on, didn't we, love?'

Ellie nodded.

Donna was shaking her head as though trying to make sense of what she was hearing. 'I don't understand,' she said. When she looked across at Ellie, it was as if Donna herself had become the child. 'I don't understand…'

Thorne had seen and heard enough. He stepped into the open and watched as Langford spotted the movement, focused on him… then smiled.

'I thought you must be knocking about somewhere,' Langford said.

Donna and Ellie both stared at Thorne – the daughter looking straight through him, the mother ashen.

Langford held out his arms. 'Come and join our happy family reunion.'

Thorne walked on to the pool deck and across to Donna.

'Careful of the broken glass,' Langford said. He nodded towards the green shards at the edge of the pool, the remains of a beer bottle. 'My ex has been playing up.'

'I don't understand,' Donna said again. 'What about the photos? Somebody sent me those photographs…'

'You're even more stupid than I thought,' Ellie snapped.

Thorne had already worked it out, but it took Donna a few seconds.

'You?'

Langford looked up at his daughter. ' What?'

'I was going to explain-'

' You sent the pictures?'

Ellie nodded, opened her mouth again to speak.

'Have you any idea what you've done?' He pushed her hand away from his shoulder. 'How much fucking trouble you've caused. How much you've cost me?'

'What trouble might that be, Alan?' Thorne asked.

Langford turned slowly and glared at him. He said nothing, but the blood that had rushed to his face was clear enough, even through the tan.

Donna was still looking at her daughter. 'Why?'

Ellie sniffed, spoke as though she were telling someone the time. 'Because I wanted you to know that you'd been sitting in prison for killing someone who wasn't dead. I wanted you to see what a great life he was living while yours had turned to shit. I wanted you to suffer .'

It was clear that Ellie Langford had got her wish. Donna took a faltering step forward but then had to lean down and hold on to the table to keep from falling.

Thorne moved forward and laid a hand on her arm. Said, 'I think it's time to go.'

'Yeah, look after yourself, Mum,' Ellie said.

Thorne stared at her, saw the sarcastic sneer replaced by the same sullen pout he had seen in the photographs of Ellie as a young teenager.

She cocked her head. 'What?' A challenge.

Donna gently removed Thorne's hand from her arm. She still seemed bewildered, disoriented. 'But the photos were posted in London.'

'Jesus, I've still got friends in London.' Ellie nodded dismissively at Thorne. 'I would have thought PC Plod could have worked that one out.'

'But it was like you'd been… taken. You just vanished.'

'Nice clean start,' Langford said. He was trying to sound calm, but was obviously still shaken by Ellie's admission. 'Best way. Same thing I did.'

'Plus, he didn't want anyone sniffing around over here,' Thorne said. 'That's why her passport was left behind, why he got her out of the country on the quiet.'

Langford smirked. 'What? Are you going to do me for people smuggling?'

'If I have to.'

'Bring it on,' Langford said, aggressive suddenly. 'Sounds like fun.'

'Why didn't you at least tell your foster parents you were all right?' Thorne asked.

The girl seemed more concerned with a few stray hairs that had been loosened by the breeze than with the devastation she was casually wreaking.

Thorne tried to keep the disgust from his voice, not wanting to give her the satisfaction. 'Have you any idea what they've been going through?'