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And he couldn’t – wouldn’t – allow that to happen. He’d waited such a long time for that day to arrive.
    For every memory that he had lived with for years, all the resentment it had caused, he’d stored it up for that day.
    For every time Ray had come home drunk and taken his anger out on him, told him how useless he was as he’d struck him, he’d waited for that day.
    For every time that Ray had filled his life with fear, his head with negativity, his thoughts with abandonment, he’d waited for that day.
    He wasn’t about to let that cruel bastard back into his life. Ray would have to learn the hard way just exactly what his son had turned into while he’d been inside doing time for murder. Patrick was a fighter now. No, more than that: he was a killer now. As well as mentally preparing himself for this for years, he had been physically preparing himself for it too. He’d been running thirty miles each week, often in the dead of the night when his shift at work had finished, building up his stamina. He’d been lifting weights too, combinations that he hadn’t thought possible, getting stronger month by month. He might have a puny frame but it was perfect to hide behind.
    Ray wouldn’t know what hit him.

Chapter Four
    Holly Lane didn’t live up to the picturesque promise of its name. Roughly half a mile from where Mickey Taylor had been found, it was in a built-up area of the city, the properties dating back to just before the war. But the lane was wide, with several holly bushes dotted around the pavements.
    Allie parked behind Nick’s car on the road and they walked up the spacious drive together to the Taylors’ residence.
    ‘Never get used to this, do you?’ Nick muttered as he rang the doorbell.
    ‘No.’ Allie glanced at the doorway as she waited, in awe of Mickey ending up with something as grand as this. Her feeling wasn’t disbelief, exactly, but more admiration that he had made something of himself. Mickey Taylor might have been the school heartthrob but now that she’d had a little more time to think about it, she’d remembered that he was in one of the classes where all the troublemakers, slow developers and general nuisances were put. Now she was older she understood why they had been segregated, but it still annoyed her. Putting people in boxes made for troubled lives. Children were often labelled before they’d left school – but people changed, none more so than teenagers. Allie would always prefer to form opinions of her own.
    The door was answered by Mrs Clamortie, Mrs Taylor’s mum, and before being shown into the living room, Allie and Nick learned that her husband had gone to fetch Mickey’s youngest daughter from college. The interior of the house matched the outside in age. Dark woods, floorboards and panels, blood-red Chesterfield settees . Noting some of the antique figurines and ornate frames dotted around, Allie assumed that either Mickey or his wife had a good eye for business.
    Mrs Taylor sat on the sofa clutching a handkerchief. Tears poured down her face as she spotted them. Mrs Clamortie moved to sit down next to her daughter and they clutched each other’s hands.
    Allie realised as soon as she saw her that she had indeed known Mickey’s wife at school. Kath Clamortie had been two years above her if she remembered rightly. Looks-wise, she’d hardly changed. Like Allie, Kath had kept herself trim and had razor-sharp one-length brown hair and a thick fringe. Unlike Allie, she wore the best of designer wear, and heels that Allie would kill for – she was wearing a pair of Jimmy Choos Allie had been coveting for ages. When Nick introduced her, Allie could almost hear Kath working out where she’d seen her before too.
    ‘We’re so sorry for your loss, Mrs Taylor,’ Nick said. ‘May we sit down?’
    A slight nod of a head followed. Then she looked up.
    ‘You used to be Allie Baxter?’ she asked Allie.
    ‘I did,’ Allie replied.
    ‘Karen Baxter’s