Steven Golding was lying there, and he blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light. He trained his gaze on Michael warily.
Michael looked around him. He was aware that there was no way this man could escape from the scrapyard’s premises. There was a very high brick wall surrounding the place for a start, and the barbed wire that had been placed on the top of it years before had always been a very good deterrent. The gates were electric, and they too were very high. The nightwatchman had a large German Shepherd who wasn’t that enamoured of new people. There were also three other large dogs – two Dobermans and a Rottweiler bitch, which roamed the grounds during the daytime. The people who owned them worked there. It suited everyone to let the animals run free. There were people who came in ostensibly to look for a specific part for a specific car, who were quite capable of going on the rob. The hounds made sure they didn’t feel the urge to come back later, when it was dark.
He looked once more at Steven Golding; it was patently obvious that the man wasn’t going to climb out of the boot by himself. Michael laughed again, this was a fucking joke.
‘Do you know something, Steven? I never knew there was anyone in your house that night. I really believed it was empty. I wasn’t happy about burning people’s possessions, you know? But it was for Patrick Costello, and I wanted to prove myself to him. I wanted to make something of myself. I wanted to be able to give my mum a few quid, make her life that bit easier. She had brought me up all on her own since I was a baby. I never would have dreamt of harming anyone. It was Patrick Costello who wanted that. He could be a very petty man, a very vicious man.’
Steven Golding was still lying in the boot of Michael’s Mercedes. It was a fucking big boot, and Steven Golding was more than comfortable it seemed.
‘If you had just come to me, if you had fucking had the sense to call me out, confront me, I would have done anything to make amends – I swear that to you. I’ve never really got over it. Even now I still wake up sweating. But I did learn how to put it aside. If I hadn’t managed to do that, I would have ended up as big a fucking headcase as you are.’
Steven Golding looked feral. The man had no saving graces at all, from his rotten teeth to his pock-marked and scarred skin. He was obviously a loner. Michael knew that the man was mentally ill, and that he had been in and out of different institutions for the best part of his life. That was sad. But Michael couldn’t change anything that had happened, even if he had wanted to. Steven Golding looked exactly what he was – a broken-down, disillusioned fantasist, who had been deprived of his whole family as a teenage boy. He was quite obviously madder than a fucking bull with a red-hot poker up its arse, and had managed to infiltrate every aspect of Michael’s life, eventually destroying not just his only daughter but his mother as well.
‘Do you know what, Steven? Stay where you are.’
Michael shut the boot noisily. Then he walked leisurely to one of the outbuildings. It was a shed that had been constructed over twenty years before from a job-lot of corrugated iron, and it was where they kept most of the flammable liquids.
Michael went inside and he felt around for one of the petrol cans that he knew would be there. He felt the weight of it in his hand, and then he shook it gently, relishing the noise of the liquid as it moved around.
He walked back to his Mercedes, calling out to Declan, who he knew had been watching everything from the Portakabin window. When Declan appeared, he gestured to him to open the boot once more. Declan Costello, as always, was more than happy to oblige.
Steven Golding was still curled up. As Michael opened the petrol can and started to pour it all over him, Golding attempted to get up and tried to get out of the boot. Michael Flynn punched him back down. The stench of petrol fumes was heavy in the air.
Steven Golding was terrified, and Michael could see that. His eyes were bulging out of his head with the fear of being burned alive.
‘Answer me one last thing – would you have harmed my grandson?’
Steven Golding shook his head. ‘Of course not. I would have left him alone.’
Michael snorted with derision. ‘Why didn’t you just come after me? I was the culprit, for fuck’s sake!’
Golding looked him in the eye as he said, ‘Too easy. I know you will suffer much more over your Jessie and your mum’s death. Guilt is a very destructive force.’
Michael didn’t answer him. After all, who could argue with the truth? He took a book of matches out of his pocket and, smiling slightly, he said steadily, ‘The truth is, Steven, I’m actually going to enjoy this.’