“I think so,” she replied meekly.
He grabbed her ear and yelled into it. “Speak up, Mary, I can’t hear you.”
“Yes, yes. I’m awake. What do you want with me?”
“I trust you slept well. Don’t bother answering, it wasn’t a question. I don’t care one way or the other. There are two things you need to know. One, I’m very intolerant. Two, I want information from you. If you annoy me and I don’t get that information then we will play some games. You won’t like those, Mary, because I make the rules up as I go along and I’m not inclined to tell you what they are.”
She thought he’d finished but then he held up a finger. “Oh, and three, I’m in a bad mood.”
“Where am I?”
“Why do you want to know that? Knowing where you are won’t do you the faintest bit of good, will it, Mary?”
He had a point. She felt so helpless. She wasn’t naturally one of life’s fighters. She hated violence of any kind and was completely out of her depth. “No.”
“Good.”
Mary remembered something about yesterday when he was searching for Manny. He said something about Mother. “What have you done with Mother?”
“Whose mother?”
“Mine. Who else would I be talking about?”
; “Nice one, Mary, that’s what I like to see. A bit of guts. Though in your case, there’s quite a lot.”
Ignoring the insult, she continued. “If you’ve hurt my mother...”
“You’ll what?” shouted the man, cutting her off.
She shuffled as close to the wall as was possible. God only knew what she had done to upset the man, but she was starting to think her situation would not end well.
“Never mind about your mother, Mary. If you want to worry about anyone you should start with yourself. Now I’m growing tired of all this claptrap so I’m going to move things along.”
Mary pushed hard against the wall. “What are you going to do?”
He walked across the room, started rooting around in his big red toolbox. “Whatever it is you won’t like it.”
Mary’s stomach lurched.
He came toward her with something in his pocket. “Your boyfriend turned my house over last week, and he took three things from me.” He leaned in close, lifting her head. The whites of his eyes were so bloodshot they terrified her. The little red lines were like a map, small roads leading into his soul, one place Mary had no desire to see. “And I want them back.”
Mary desperately needed a way out so the only thing she could think of was to cooperate.
“Are you sure it was Manfred? He wouldn’t do a thing like that.”
“I’m very sure, Mary, because I have the little weasel on film.”
Mary hung her head and shuffled around on the mattress.
“What did he take?” she finally asked, still staring at the floor.
“My guitar and my collection of vintage cameras.”
“That’s only two. You said three.”
He stood up. “My wife was killed, but I can’t get her back, can I?”