“He killed your wife?”
“That’s what I said.”
“No,” said Mary. “I’m sure you’ve made a mistake. Manfred would not do something like that.”
He faced her, his expression hard and cold. “Are you calling me a liar?”
Recognition hit Mary like a sledgehammer. She remembered reading all about it in the newspaper. She even talked to her mother about it.
“Are you Robbie Carter?”
“Yes, love. Fame at last.”
“But you don’t look like him.”
“Not fucking likely to, am I, the stress he’s put me through. But at least they’ll never find me.”
“Who?”
“The police.”
“What do they want with you?”
“They think I did it, can you believe that, Mary? They think I killed my wife, so they’re not looking for anyone else. If I want the killer found, I’ll have to do it myself. I abhor violence, Mary. I don’t like doing this but I can’t let him get away with what he’s done. I need to find him, and the only way to do that is through you. Anyway, enough of this shit, Mary. I’m not here to answer your fucking questions.”
“Don’t be so coarse,” said Mary, unable to help herself. “There’s no need for such language.”
“Really,” said Robbie, leaning in again. “Well, I can promise you something, Mary. Before I’m finished with you, you’ll be using it as well.”
Mary was close to tears. She had no idea where she was, how long she’d been here, what he’d done with Mother; worse still, what he was going to do to her.
“Where is he?”
“Who?” Judging by his expression, Mary wished she hadn’t asked that one.
“You know fucking well who,” he shouted back. “Where is Manny bastard Walters?”
“I don’t know.”
Robbie Carter kicked her legs to one side. Mary screamed in pain. He must have had steel toecaps.
He yanked at the ropes holding her, loosening them from the radiator. When she was totally free, he punched her in the stomach, quickly dragging her upwards and tying the rope to a hook on the wall.
“Last chance,” he said.
“For what?”
“You’re trying my patience, Mary. Where is Manny?”
“Please, I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.”
“No!”
“Pardon?”
“I said, no. Don’t you touch me!”