Even as the words came out, Ivan doubted his grandfather would agree. At his age, what could he do? Sure enough, Oleg looked to the floor with a sigh. When he glanced back again, however, Ivan saw a gleam in his eye that for a moment made him look like a younger man.
‘It’ll be just like old times,’ he said, and stepped aside so his grandson could lead the way.
Titus could still be heard in the kitchen as they crept downstairs. His conversation with Sasha and Angelica sounded just as intense, but with some laughter now. Even so, Ivan had no intention of interrupting him again. With his grandfather’s assistance, he figured his dad need never know there had been a problem with the kill. Only Angelica noted him creeping towards the back door with Oleg shuffling close behind. Ivan pressed his finger to his lips, glancing warily at Titus at the same time. She frowned, but returned her attention to her husband as he talked about how proud he had been at Sasha’s first feast. Ivan clicked open the door, before turning to check on his grandfather.
‘Can you make it quick and clean?’ he asked as they stepped out into the yard.
Oleg squinted in the light, even though it was beginning to fade. His skin looked strikingly waxy to Ivan, who was reminded that this was the first time he had seen his grandfather outside since he moved in with the family.
‘I’m not quick any more, my boy,’ he said, and used his cane to walk, ‘but I’m always clean. It’s a skill. Something you’ll pick up over time.’
The garden path was carefully concealed by overhanging branches and foliage from the borders. This was down to Titus, who liked to make sure that it couldn’t be overseen by the neighbours. As Ivan approached the shed, it struck him that the rungs into the pit might present a problem. He quickened his pace, anxious to work out a way to assist his grandfather so that he could get the job done. The plastic chair, he thought to himself, would give him something to stand on to help the old man descend. Lifting away the hatch, the boy turned and scrambled down to the concrete floor. He looked up, just as Oleg’s face appeared.
‘You can do this, Grandpa,’ said Ivan, and slid the chair into place. Oleg looked down into the pit. He seemed confused to the boy, which wasn’t unusual. Ivan reached up with his hand, ready to steer the old man’s foot onto the top rung. ‘Come on. Let’s finish this!’
‘But it looks like we’re too late,’ said Oleg.
Ivan glanced over his shoulder. With a gasp, he then turned round so quickly that the chair tipped underneath him. The boy crashed to the floor, but he barely seemed to notice. He picked himself up and reached for the stub of rope that dangled from the beam. The rubber trough on the floor contained a couple of inches of blood at most, but the captive from which it had come was nowhere to be seen.
31
Vernon English was in a sorry state. He had lost just enough blood to bring him close to fainting, while his body, shaved and lightly tenderised by Ivan, made him look like a badly plucked chicken in a silver foil nappy. On top of everything, his escape bid had almost knocked him senseless.
It was his junior captor who was also responsible for this bid for freedom. As soon as Ivan had dropped the knife and fled, the private investigator had made every effort to work his wrists free from the rope bindings. Desperation drove him, fuelled by a fear that failure would see him meet a gruesome end. It had taken a while, and left him with a badly skinned right hand, but eventually he had done it. Vernon’s next challenge had been to swing and stretch until his fingertips brushed the knife handle ever closer across the floor. Laughing deliriously to himself once he had grabbed it, he reached up with all his might and attempted to cut the rope. Success sent him crashing head first to the floor. He had narrowly missed the trough, hitting the concrete instead. As a result, he went on to haul himself from the pit in a traumatised daze. Too weak to speak, Vernon had blinked in the late light and tottered towards the house. He had heard the back door opening, but that wasn’t what persuaded him to stumble sideways in the direction of the French windows.
It was the sight of the little angel watching him from behind the glass.
This blue-eyed girl with blonde ringlets had beamed at Vernon, entrancing him. Having been through hell, it was a glimpse of heaven that drew him closer. At the window he sank to his knees, and pressed his palms to the glass where she had pressed hers.
‘Save me,’ he croaked, and mustered a smile as she giggled and chattered at him. Just then, the vision before Vernon represented everything that was good with the world, and all that he had missed. If he survived this ordeal, he thought to himself, he would change. Work had already cost him one marriage and the chance to start a family. That couldn’t be allowed to happen again. Life was too precious, as this sweet baby kept saying in his head, over and over again. Dimly, Vernon was aware of some people at the table behind her, but in his mindset this apparition was all that mattered. She practically glowed, which was mostly down to the fact that Vernon’s blood pressure was all over the place and it had left him with tunnel vision. ‘Take me home,’ he added, and promptly began to weep. ‘Show me the way. I’m ready!’
In response, the little girl patted at the window with both hands. The private investigator let his head slump against the glass. By now, his tears were falling freely. At the same time, he heard startled voices from inside the kitchen, along with the scraping of chairs. He was also aware of activity spilling out of the shed but nothing could move him from that moment. Vernon English lifted his eyes, found the little girl looking over him, and just then it felt like a blessing.
Titus Savage was as surprised as everyone else to see the central ingredient at the window. As soon as Vernon came to his attention, he kicked back his chair and rose to his feet.
‘Ivan,’ he muttered under his breath, before repeating his name at full volume.
‘What’s he done now?’ asked Sasha, who turned to face the French windows. ‘Oh.’
Angelica was quick to pluck her youngest daughter away, as if the man on the other side of the glass might harm her.
‘Unless Ivan’s planning on a surprise barbeque,’ she hissed at her husband, ‘you really need to get that man indoors.’
Titus didn’t need to be told. He hauled open the French windows, slipped his hands under Vernon’s arms and then dragged him over the threshold. At the same time, Ivan rushed breathlessly onto the patio behind him.
‘Is this a feast?’ asked Titus angrily. ‘Or a fiasco?’
Ivan glared at the man his father was now supporting.
‘He’d better taste good,’ the boy muttered. ‘All the trouble he’s caused.’
Vernon turned to Titus, who was practically holding him upright.
‘I eat a lot of junk food,’ he said, sounding faintly delirious now. ‘That can’t be good for you.’
‘You’ll be fine as a one-off,’ said Titus, sounding clipped. ‘So long as you’re part of a balanced diet.’
As he spoke, Oleg shuffled in from the patio. It had taken him all this time to join his family. Sasha was quick to find her grandfather a chair, which he accepted gratefully.
‘So,’ he said, and turned his attention to Titus. ‘We got a live one, eh?’
‘Not for much longer,’ growled Ivan, and crossed the kitchen for the knife rack. ‘I won’t let you down this time, Dad,’ he said, and reached for the largest blade.
Vernon squeaked like a cornered mouse, and fainted backwards. Titus caught him as he fell, and glowered at his son.
‘At least he won’t see it coming,’ he said as Ivan approached with the knife raised in both hands. ‘Just get it right this time. I’ve been working up an appetite all day.’