Where There's A Will

Chapter Fifty-Seven

For perhaps the dozenth time that night, Ryan Keating, known to his partners-in-crime as Jim, checked his phone – there was no message from Crash, and no missed call either, leaving him to wonder what had happened. It was almost one a.m. and he should have heard from his partner. He couldn't imagine what might have gone wrong, the plan was simple to follow, and that should have helped to ensure there were no problems, but the lack of communication from Crash had him worried. He didn't worry too much, however, since he was sure he would have heard from his father if anything bad had happened.

He threw back the last of his tequila, slammed the glass down on the table, unlocked his phone, and was scrolling through the phone book in search of Crash's number when good sense stopped him. Without knowing why he hadn't been in touch, he realised that calling Crash was dangerous, and likely to put him at risk of exposure.

Frustrated, he got to his feet and stuffed his phone into his pocket, where he would feel it vibrate if he was called or he received a text, he then made his way through the tables. Reaching the stairs to the ground floor, he grabbed the banister for support, not at all certain that he would make it down safely if he didn't. He wasn't drunk, though he had had plenty to drink, but he was unsteady on his feet, and he didn't want to fall.

Normally, he would have stopped at the dance floor to see if there was anyone who might catch his eye; he nearly always found someone willing to join him for some naked gymnastics. This time, however, he ignored the dancefloor, and the assortment of scantily dressed girls who were showing enough skin between them to tempt the most devout of religious figures into sin, and weaved his way towards the exit.

The fresh air hit him like a blow from a boxer when he stepped outside; it left him reeling, and one of the security staff on the door moved to assist him. He recovered his equilibrium after a few moments and waved away the unwanted help. Steadier on his feet, though still wobbly, despite being on ground that was completely flat and free of obstructions, Ryan made his way down the road, his feet tracing a path that was far from straight.

Two hundred yards from The Black Hole's entrance was the car park, where he had left his mother's Jaguar – his father had refused to let him buy another vehicle after his most recent crash left him minus both a car and a license, so he had been forced to borrow his mother's and drive illegally. He revved the engine briefly, before reversing out of his parking space, and racing from the car park.

Only a fraction of his attention was on the road as he drove away from the club, most it was on the phone in his pocket as he willed it to ring, or to vibrate in announcement of a text message. He wondered if Crash was ever going to get in touch, and if the lack of communication meant he was having a hard time evading the police with the ransom he had collected – he shouldn't be having a hard time, not as far as Ryan was concerned, it should have been a fairly straightforward thing for him to have done.

He felt a shiver of excitement run through him in anticipation of the news that his sister was dead. He had hated her from the moment she was born – hated her for taking his parents' love, hated her for being so perfect, and for the praise and rewards she received for the slightest thing, when no matter what he achieved or how hard he worked he was ignored. Most of all he hated her for stealing his inheritance.

It had been bad enough when she was only to receive half - half the business, half the house, and half the fortune his father's company had made; he didn't know exactly how rich his father was, but he did know he was worth a very great deal, over a hundred million pounds, and that didn't include the company. His father's threat to cut him out of the will, and to leave everything to Alice, had incensed Ryan, magnifying the hatred he felt for his sister, and inspiring him to think of ways to get rid of her and safeguard his inheritance.

The drive from the club to his family's home passed in a pleasurable consideration of what he would do with his inheritance when he got his hands on it. Thoughts of what he would do, and where he would go, were driven from his mind, however, when he reached the road on which his family's home stood, and he encountered the crowd of reporters and journalists who were eagerly awaiting the latest news.

Questions were shouted at him from all parts of the crowd, which was still sizeable despite the lateness of the hour; questions about where he had been, what he had been up to, what he thought of his sister's kidnapping, whether he knew how much the ransom demanded for his sister's safe return was, and if the rumour was true that the ransom was being paid tonight.

Photographs were taken as the questions were asked, with the result that the rude gesture he made – he flipped them the bird – when he got fed up of the questions, was sure to appear in pretty much every national newspaper, and at least a few other places, come morning. He didn't give a damn about that, though; if his plan went as it was supposed to, the news would have more important things to report on than his rudeness.

A minute or so of meandering brought Ryan to the front door, which was already being held open by Mr Chambers, and he walked through without acknowledging the house-manager. He made straight for the library doors and looked around; the moment he saw the uniformed constable slouched in the reading chair by the window he asked, "What's going on with the ransom drop?"

The constable leaped from the chair as though someone had set off a bomb under him, a look of intense embarrassment on his face at having been caught relaxing in such a way.