The Piggy Farmer (The Barrington Patch Book 3), Emmy Ellis [electric book reader txt] 📗

her old belts down, attaching it to the back. The weapon sat across her knuckles now, nice and snug, no room for slippage.

“No amount of apologising will make this better,” she said. “I’ve had to live without my child instead of seeing her turn into a woman. Your treachery, your selfishness in ignoring what was right to save your own children meant you got to see them grow up.” Her heart hurt, but not from stress or the pressure of this situation. It was from missing Jess. “Enjoy their first day at school, did you? All those birthday parties? All those times they came to you for advice or needed a cuddle?”

“I’m sor—”

“Don’t.” She used her free hand to slice the air. “Don’t you dare say it again. If you were sorry, you’d have kept working on it behind the scenes, quietly, no matter what Lenny threatened.” That was a low blow, but she was past caring about how she manipulated things to suit her now. This was about her little girl, and she’d fight to avenge her murder until her dying day. “No matter that you were the one in that van.”

She pulled her hand out of the bag and held it up. Gorley’s eyes bugged, and Cassie whispered, “Fuck me…” Francis laughed, the sound creeping over Lou’s shoulder—yes, Francis would approve, Lou had known that when she’d fashioned the bloody thing. At the thought of her friend’s response, she’d chuckled to herself with every whack of the hammer, the extra-hard smacks she’d had to give so the leather was secure.

Twenty-three long nails stuck out of the wood, one for each year of torment without Jess, all of them matte, the grey colour representing her soul, how it had dulled the moment she’d known her baby wasn’t coming home. The darkness of them reminded her of her thoughts, the ones where she’d planned for a day like this, the scheming keeping her from going even madder than she already was. And the brown leather loop, that was to show what goes around comes around, full circle.

No one else would understand. But it didn’t matter so long as she did.

“What…what are you going to…?” Gorley pressed himself in a corner created by the bench and the wall, trying to get away. A stack of black plastic plant pots fell off, hitting the floor, black peat spilling out of the top one.

Peat… Lou shuddered, a distant memory poking her.

Gorley panted. “Someone will know I’m dead eventually, if that’s what you plan on doing. Think about it. A policeman.”

“Ex-policeman. And no one will know,” Cassie said. “Don’t tell me you’re not aware of how we work, or is that something else you’ve conveniently tossed out of that sick mind of yours? Did Lenny ever tell you who Marlene is? Were you in with him that much that he let you know about her?”

Gorley shook his head, his cheeks a tad pasty. “All I did was steal the wellies and the coat, then get the case closed. I steered clear of Lenny unless he called on me to cover things up.”

“Or to scare kids.” Cassie stepped forward and stood shoulder to shoulder with Lou. “Like when they nicked drugs from Lenny’s runner that time, and you came to warn them off. Why did he do that? Why use you? I’ve always wondered, haven’t you, Mam?”

Francis nodded.

Cassie continued. “He usually sorted shit himself. What did he need you for?”

Gorley panted again and rested a hand over his heart. “Oh God. My chest hurts.”

“Not as much as I do,” Lou sniped. “Carry on.”

Gorley’s fingers turned onto bird’s feet, curved, all disjointed and branch-like. “Lenny…he did it to keep me in his pocket. To remind me he was always there, that I had to obey him like everyone else did. He fucked with minds—and enjoyed it, you lot should know that. Look, can we chat about this? Do I need to be hit with that…that thing to make you feel better, Lou? Really?”

She suspected he was using a copper tactic on her: keep the criminal talking while he thought of what to do next. Any minute, he’d try humanising himself, like she was a psychopath or something, one who needed to be drawn out of her crazy head, him calming her down, the hero. Honestly, like she was even a nutter.

She glared at him. “Yes, it’ll make me feel better.”

Lou raised her arm, drew it back, the nail tips pointing in his direction, and thought of all the years helping Joe to muck out the pigs, the constant shovelling up of mess, her biceps strong, her back muscles well able to handle what she was about to do. She might be older now, she might be as skinny as Barney Lipton’s rake, but she could hurt this man. She could kill him.

The adrenaline rush from another time, how she’d feared being caught, how Doreen had stared at her, blood dripping down her young face from the splashback, winged through Lou. The feeling of euphoria and power had thundered through her back then. It was doing it now, pushing her on, as was Jess’ little giggle inside her head.

Go on, Mammy, kill the naughty man. Be The Piggy Farmer.

Lou launched her fist at him, and he raised his arm to block the attack, something she hadn’t anticipated. It was too packed in the shed for him to get away, but he screamed and shoved her back regardless, using the arm she’d struck, driving the nails deeper. His dark shirtsleeve hid any blood and the sight of the gore she so longed to see, and she stumbled in reverse, Cassie steadying her with a fierce grip on her shoulders.

Lou wrenched the nails out, and with Gorley bent over, clutching the twenty-three wounds, scream-growling, lips tight together, she swung the weapon in a sideways arc,