Rough Justice Read Free Page B

into his jacket, pulled out a semi-automatic and waved for Maloney and Simpson to go up the staircase on the right while he ascended the one on the left. Maloney slid a revolver from a holster under his arm as he went up. Simpson followed, holding his shotgun across his chest.
    Grimshaw knew that none of the staff lived in and there were only three people in the house – Rawstorne, a fifty-year-old businessman, his trophy second wife, a former model and actress who had once done a two-year run in Emmerdale , and their daughter Amy. Rawstorne had a son by his first wife but he was away at university.
    Rawstorne had made his money from an employment agency that specialised in bringing gangs of workers from EU countries where the British minimum wage was a big improvement on the pittance they earned at home. It wasn’t quite slavery, but there was a certain irony in the fact that he had ending up owning Langford Manor. Rawstorne’s wife liked to think that she was a gifted interior designer so she had done up the house from top to bottom, then invited Country Life magazine to do a photo-shoot. The photographs, and the hours he had spent keeping the house under surveillance, meant that Grimshaw knew where the master bedroom was, and where the teenager slept.
    They reached the upstairs landing. Simpson joined Grimshaw and they tiptoed towards the master bedroom. The man of the house was the only one likely to put up any resistance so it was important that he saw the heavy artillery. Maloney headed down the landing towards the bedroom where the girl slept.
    Simpson reached for the doorknob. Grimshaw looked over his shoulder at Maloney, held up his hand and made a fist. ‘Go,’ he whispered to Simpson.
    Simpson twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. They padded across the plush bedroom carpet, Simpson heading for Rawstorne’s side of the bed, Grimshaw covering the sleeping woman with his automatic.
    Simpson placed his gloved hand across Rawstorne’s mouth. He woke almost immediately and tried to sit up, but Simpson pressed the barrel of the shotgun against his forehead. ‘Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t do a damn thing,’ he whispered. ‘Do exactly as we say and no one needs to get hurt.’
    Rawstorne glared at Simpson but he stopped struggling. Grimshaw tapped the barrel of his gun against the wife’s cheek. ‘Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,’ he said.
    She opened her eyes. There was just enough light for her to make out Grimshaw standing over her and she opened her mouth to scream. Grimshaw clamped his hand over it. ‘Sssh!’ he hissed. ‘We’ve got your daughter. Just lie still and everything will be all right. Nod if you understand.’
    She nodded slowly, her eyes wide and fearful.
    ‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘Now, I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth. If you make a sound, I’ll smash your pretty little teeth with this gun. Okay?’ She nodded again. Grimshaw slowly removed his hand. She was panting, close to hyperventilating. She looked across at her husband but Grimshaw grabbed her face and squeezed. ‘Don’t look at him,’ he said. ‘He can’t help you.’ He released his grip and told her to lie still. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pushed it into her mouth, then placed the gun on the bedside table and took a roll of duct tape. ‘Put your wrists together,’ he said. She did as she was told and he used plastic ties to fasten her wrists, then wound tape around her mouth. He went over to the door, flicked on the lights and took off his night-vision goggles. Simpson did the same, keeping the gun trained on Rawstorne with his right hand.
    ‘You can take whatever you want – just don’t hurt us,’ said Rawstorne.
    ‘That’s very kind of you, Squire,’ said Grimshaw. ‘But forgive me if I don’t tug my forelock, us having the guns and all.’ He took out his mobile phone, hit redial, and held it to his ear while he waited for Burrowes to answer. ‘Yeah,’ he said