LITMIR.BIZ

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a short-sleeved shirt and tight trousers. The shirt was intact, very little blood, and I couldn’t see any knife wounds. That was a relief.

      He opened his eyes and his lips parted as though he were about to speak. But blood pooled in his mouth, making him cough.

      ‘I’m here, Mark. We’ve called for an ambulance. You’ll be okay.’

      He scrunched his face up in pain.

      ‘What’s happened to you? Who did this?’

      He swallowed with difficulty, squeezed his eyes shut. I felt the panic rising inside me and fought to control it. Stay calm, Lizzie. He’s not seriously hurt by the look of it. Just battered and bruised. Could have been much worse. At least he hasn’t been knifed or shot.

      ‘An ambulance is on its way,’ Scar said, kneeling back down beside me. ‘How is he?’

      I shook my head. ‘I’m hoping he looks worse than he is.’

      My breath grew patchy. I could feel my whole body shaking.

      ‘So what the fuck is going on, Lizzie?’ Scar said. ‘Why’d they dump him here in front of the flat?’

      It was the obvious question and one that had flashed through my mind already. But I was too traumatised to dwell on it right now. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but my brother’s face.

      I recalled seeing him like it once before and shivered at the memory. We were kids then and a couple of boys had picked on me in the street, pulling my hair and calling me names. Mark was four years younger than me and about half the size of the boys. But that didn’t stop him wading in to protect me. Trouble was he took a savage beating, during which he hit his head on the kerb and suffered minor brain damage as a result. That was why he had learning difficulties and why my mother stopped loving me.

      Now he was twenty-four and fourteen years on I was looking at his damaged features and wondering once again if it was down to me.

      He tried to speak, but it was clearly painful, so I told him to stay quiet and stroked his wavy brown hair until the ambulance arrived. Scar wanted to come with us to the hospital, but I told her to go to the flat and get some sleep. She kissed my cheek and squeezed my hand and before I knew it I was in the back of the ambulance watching a paramedic tending to my brother.

      ‘He’ll live,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Wounds are superficial. Fist damage, I’d hazard.’

      Her words were meant to reassure me and I suppose they did to a degree. Even so, for the next hour my nerves were stretched to breaking point. I was worried sick about my brother and I couldn’t shake the image of him being hurled out of that car onto the pavement.

      At the hospital, Mark was treated in a cubicle in the emergency department. After he was patched up I was allowed to see him. There were stitches in his top lip and his left eye was swollen almost shut.

      He was sitting up on a bed. His face had been cleaned, but he still looked a mess.

      He was able to smile, though, and this lifted my spirits. I gave him a cuddle and kissed him on the forehead. I wanted to cry, but managed to hold it in. It wasn’t easy. Emotions were churning inside me like a storm in a bottle.

      ‘I didn’t know you were out before tonight,’ he said, his speech slow and slurred like always. ‘Why didn’t you call or come to see us?’

      ‘I was planning to. Tomorrow.’ It was a lame excuse, and I felt the guilt wash over me. But typically my brother did not hold it against me. His smile widened.

      ‘It’s good to see you, sis.’

      I took a deep, stuttering breath to hold the tears at bay. ‘I’ve been trying to phone Mum, but there’s no answer.’

      ‘She’ll have switched the phone off,’ he said. ‘Always does when she goes to bed. I told her I had a key.’

      ‘So where were you tonight? And what happened?’

      The smile vanished and he stared at a point beyond me, his swollen features taut suddenly.

      ‘I was at Tony’s,’ he said. ‘He’s a friend. Lives up the road near Iceland. We watched a film and I went home late. I’d let myself in and was pouring a glass of milk when someone knocked on the door.’

      He stopped to wipe sweat from his brow.

      ‘When I answered the door there were two men standing there,’ he said. ‘One had a big tattoo on his chest. I could see it because his shirt was open. They asked me if I was Mark Wells and I said yes and then they grabbed me and pulled me out of the house. Their car was parked in front and they pushed me in the back. The one with the tattoo sat next to me while the other one drove. And as soon as we were moving he started punching me in the face.’

      He started sobbing so I handed him a glass of water and told him to drink it.

      ‘Did you know these men?’ I asked him.

      He gulped the water, spilling some of it down his chin.

      ‘I’ve not seen them before,’ he said.

      ‘So why did they do it? Did they tell you?’

      He looked at me and blinked away more tears. ‘The one with the tattoo told me it was another warning to you, Lizzie. Said if you don’t stop dredging up the past then next time they won’t be so … merciful.’

      ‘Oh fuck.’

      ‘He also said if you go to the police again he’ll come back and kill me.’

       4

      The hospital kept Mark in for observation, and I stayed with him. I did my best to extract descriptions of the two men, but all he could remember was that they were both big and mean looking.

      ‘Like those blokes in black suits who stand outside pubs and clubs in the town centre.’

      Heavy dudes in other words. The type who carry out the dirty work for someone else. Someone with the means to pay them well and keep them in check.

      Was this the first real sign that I was way out of my depth on this and should heed the warnings that were coming at me thick and fast?

      Mark did have a clear recollection of one thing though – the tattoo on his attacker’s chest. And no wonder. It sounded pretty distinctive. A dog baring a set of sharp teeth. It was just the head, he said, peering out from the opening in the guy’s shirt.

      ‘It was really ugly, sis. The way a dog growls at you as it gets ready to attack.’

      It was an unsettling aspect. The man sounded like a scary bastard, just the sort of psycho you don’t want on your case.

      The doctor did his rounds at seven. Checked Mark over and gave him the all-clear. No broken bones, no sign of concussion and no internal injuries. Just a few cuts, a couple of bruises and a loose front tooth.

      But before he could be discharged a uniformed cop arrived to take a statement. I let him know that Mark had learning difficulties, and he made a note of it. Mark told him exactly what he’d told me and answered all the officer’s questions as best he could.

      I then explained my situation and mentioned the note left on the windscreen at the hotel.

      ‘I want you to inform DCI Ash,’ I said. ‘He’ll want to know about this.’

      At nine o’clock a taxi dropped us off outside my mother’s house. I saw her at the kitchen window as we piled out of the cab. The front door was flung open long before we reached it and when she set eyes on her son I thought she was going to have a fit.

      ‘Marky, Marky. What in the Lord’s name has happened to you? I thought you were in your room.’

      She grabbed his shoulders and looked

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