by L M Krier
‘But for god’s sake, Ted, pull yourself together. You look a mess. You probably won’t be called today but the defence will have their eye on you all the time. They’ll be looking for any weakness which favours their case, which is clearly going to be that the investigation was flawed because of you and your character.
‘I know it’s hard. I can only imagine what you must be feeling. But you know Trev would expect you to go on as normal. He knows how important this case is. So please, go to the gents and do something to smarten yourself up a bit. Look like a copper who’s more than capable of running a sound investigation, which you are. And I promise I will put every possible effort into finding Trev.’
Trev woke with difficulty. Someone appeared to have welded his eyelids together whilst he was sleeping, by the feel of it. They were certainly resisting all his efforts to prise them apart. The pain in his head was beyond description and belief. He tried to move, discovering that his hands appeared to be tightly tied behind his back. His legs were folded up and cramping badly, but there was no room to stretch them out. He started, gingerly, to tense and relax the muscles, using martial arts training to focus his concentration on one area at a time.
He finally managed to force his eyes to open but it wasn’t a great help. Everything was dark all around him. Noisy, too. And there was movement. He realised he was squashed into the boot of a car. That would explain why he was feeling sick. From the bitter taste in his mouth and the smell in the confined space, he’d clearly already been sick at some point. He struggled to remember what he was wearing. He moved his bound hands. His Kevlar jacket, then. At least that would be easier to clean than his leathers.
But what was he doing in a car boot? More importantly, how the hell was he going to get himself out of there?
He had no impression of how much time might have elapsed. His only clue was that his bladder felt full to bursting, a sensation made worse by every jolt and bump in the car’s progress. Several hours at least, then. He remembered he was wearing his new Diesel jeans, the ones for which he’d hidden the receipt from Ted, who would have complained at spending that amount on a made-to-measure suit for a special occasion, let alone for a pair of jeans. It made him determined that, full bladder or not, he was not going to lose control and wet them.
For a brief moment, he felt his eyes welling up, thinking of the worry Ted must be experiencing, not knowing where Trev was or what had happened to him. Trev himself didn’t know where he was, just that he had to do everything in his power to get himself out of there as soon as possible. With that in mind, he started to prepare himself, exercising his body as much as he could in the tight confines. If only he could have the advantage of surprise when they stopped and whoever his captors were came and opened the boot, as they surely must do at some point.
After what seemed like an eternity, he felt the car starting to slow down. The sound of the tyres changing from the smooth noise of tarmac to a crunching sound which he thought must have been gravel. They hadn’t turned off, though, so he wondered if they’d pulled into a lay-by at the side of the road. Once the engine had been cut, there was hardly a sound outside. He thought he detected a sheep bleating somewhere not far away but that was all.
He’d flexed every muscle in his body that he could manage to repeatedly since he’d woken up. He was cramped, fighting pins and needles, but he was as ready as he was going to be. He’d decided his best bet was to give no sign that he was awake, to lull whoever was holding him into a false sense of security. He was only going to get one chance at escaping, he felt sure, so he had to make the most of it.
The boot lid opened slowly, warily. Low early morning sunlight hit Trev’s closed eyelids, sending further lancing pains through his head, but he forced himself to remain motionless.
‘Shit, he’s not dead, is he?’ a man’s voice asked.
He felt movement as someone leaned against the car, breath on his face as the person looked at him more closely.
‘No, his eyes are twitching. Still out cold. Rapid Eye Movement they call that. It’s a sign of deep sleep. Like when you dream.’
‘Well, get a photo of him, then. It’s coming up time to send it and this place is about as quiet as it gets. We’re nearer to a town or something up ahead so we can’t be opening up the boot there.’
Trev heard clicks as photos were taken.
‘Right, shut the boot again and let’s get on the way.’
He didn’t want them to shut the boot. This could be his only chance of escape and he was determined to try for it. He stirred and made a long, low groaning sound.
‘Shit! Is he all right?’
‘Just coming round a bit, I think. Should we give him some more stuff?’
‘We’re not meant to kill him, remember, and he’s had two lots already. We could just gag him with something and risk it?’
‘What if he’s sick and chokes to death? It stinks like he’s already thrown up in here.’
The same feeling of the car dipping slightly, as if someone was bending over him again. Trev knew that this was his one chance and he had to take it, come what may.
His eyes snapped open at the same time as his feet shot out with all the force he could put behind them. He could barely feel his legs and feet so he doubted it would have had the same effect as he could produce in the dojo, but he was rewarded by the satisfying crunch of bone and the sight of blood spurting from the face of one of his assailants.
The movement had brought his legs over the rim of the boot so he allowed his own weight to take him down to the ground. Pointless to try to stand yet and risk falling over. Down on his side, he kicked out again and again with powerful legs. The first man was down already, clutching his face and showing no signs of wanting to get up. Trev’s flailing legs took the other one down to land in a heap on top of him.
Trev forced himself to his feet, hampered by his bound hands. His legs were rubbery, the circulation compromised, but he made himself ignore the feelings. He kicked one man squarely in the stomach, another in the side, before staggering away as fast as he could down the road, looking for somewhere to plunge off into whatever cover he could find while he tried to shake off his kidnappers. At least he had a head start on them. They took their time to get their wind back, get to their feet, then limp painfully behind him.
Ted had spent some time, just for amusement, teaching Trev some of the evasion techniques he’d learned with Green on various survival courses. Trev used every one he could remember and was finally rewarded by shaking his pursuers off completely. He’d no idea how long it had taken him, or how much good it had done him. He just knew that after a lot of scrambling about through fields and what appeared to be open moorland, he found himself looking at a distant road below him and watching the two battered and dejected men making their painful way back down the steep hill towards it.
Trev couldn’t hear them from his distant vantage point, but he could see their actions. One of them took out his mobile phone, mopping blood from his shattered nose with the back of his hand.
‘He’s bloody legged it!’
Chapter Fourteen
The men had headed for the road so it was clear to Trev that he couldn’t go in that direction himself. He needed help, and soon, not least so he could relieve himself without ruining his expensive jeans. But he couldn’t take the risk of being seen by his kidnappers and taken prisoner once again. He had no idea who they were or why they’d taken him. He hadn’t recognised them. Their accents suggested Greater Manchester but, looking around at the scenery, he guessed he was some way away from there by now. Perhaps Snowdonia or further south in Wales. Nowhere he recognised, certainly.
He was not in the best condition to carry on dodging them. His head throbbed mercilessly and he was surprisingly hungry, despite still feeling sick. He’d heard the men mention having given him something and wondered if that explained the lingering bitter taste in his mouth as much as having been sick did.
He struggled to his fe
et and made his way carefully to the top of the hill to see if he could glimpse any hope of rescue. He could see an expanse of water some way in the distance but in between there seemed to be nothing but endless rough grazing, broken into a patchwork by old drystone walls and stock fences. He sank to his knees in despair beside some rocks. A small puddle of rainwater had collected in a hole worn in the top of one of them by the remorseless effect of water over many years.
His mouth was dry and tasted foul but he didn’t want to add to the contents of his bladder which already felt as if it were about to burst. He wondered what his kidneys would think of the abuse he was currently putting them through. He sucked up a cautious mouthful, swilled it round and spat it out, then took more and allowed himself a small swallow. Then he rested the good side of his face, the one which wasn’t sore and stinging from contact with something he couldn’t remember, against the rocks and allowed a few tears to leak out of his blue eyes. Then he shook himself, as much as his splitting head allowed, and gave himself a sharp talking to.
‘For goodness sake get a grip of yourself, Trevor Patrick Costello Armstrong. Since when did girly crying do anyone any good?’
Ted sometimes called him by his full name, especially in tender moments, like when he had proposed to him. Ted. He would be beside himself with worry by now. Trev needed to find a way to contact him, and soon. He would be at the court today. If he had to start presenting his evidence before he knew his partner was safe, he was not going to give the flawless performance he was capable of and that which the prosecution case depended on.
Trev couldn’t feel the weight of his phone or his wallet in his jacket pocket. He couldn’t have used the phone anyway with his hands tied behind him, unless he’d found a way to get it out of his pocket, if it had still been in there. That was just ridiculous wishful thinking, the stuff which only happened in fiction. He needed to find someone to help him.
He stood up again, straining his eyes to look as far as he could. Then he saw it, partly hidden among some trees. A roof. There was a house down there, in the opposite direction to the lake. A house might mean people. Filled with a new resolve, he set off down the hill towards it, away from where he last saw the men.
He was approaching the house from the side, across the fields, which was why he had not immediately seen the drive running from the front of the building towards a road. As he got near he could see that it appeared to be a farmhouse, a reasonable size, with outbuildings. He skirted round so he could arrive up the driveway from the road. He didn’t want to start with annoying a farmer by tramping across their fields, although there was no sign of any livestock about.
A Land Rover Defender was parked in front of the house. A man in a waxed jacket and a pair of overalls, topped off with a tweed hat, had the back door open and was just lifting a shotgun out, the barrels broken. A sable and white collie dog, hearing Trev’s stumbling approach, ran towards him barking, showing impressively sharp white teeth.
‘Excuse me please, but could you help me? I’ve been kidnapped and managed to get away. I’m tied up. Look,’ Trev turned round as he spoke, showing his bound hands, trying to mask the desperation in his voice. ‘Please. It sounds mad, but I really need your help.’
The dog had reached him now and was circling him, eyeing up his legs.
‘That’ll do, Cap,’ the man ordered, and the dog returned to his side in a flash. Its master was looking at Trev with open suspicion. He cradled the gun under his arm but to Trev’s relief, he saw him reach into the pocket of his overalls and pull out a folding knife which he opened. Then he approached, warily.
Trev kept his back turned, his bound hands held up. He willed his bladder to hold on just a moment longer, mortified at the thought of losing control now.
‘Just be careful, laddie. I’ve got a gun as well as this knife and Cap is trained to grip livestock when I tell him to so he won’t hesitate.’
As soon as he felt the bindings on his wrists give, Trev leapt forward and sprinted a few yards down the drive, wrestling desperately with his flies. There was neat fencing the length of the driveway with climbing plants growing up it. He hoped they would survive him peeing up against them, but he really couldn’t hold on any longer. As he ran, Cap sprang after him and had a taste of his calf before his master could call him back.
Trev could see, as he relieved himself, that there was a sign at the road end of the drive offering B&B. At least he could probably get a meal and a clean-up there. Without his wallet, he couldn’t pay them in cash but as soon as he could make a phone call to Ted, he’d be able to transfer some money to them and they could hopefully arrange for him to get back home from wherever he was.
He made himself decent before he turned back and approached the man again, wisely not offering to shake his hand.
‘I’m so sorry about that, sir,’ he used his most polite and persuasive voice and manner. ‘I’ve no idea how long I’ve been tied up and I was bursting. And I’ve no idea where I am. Is this Wales?’
The man’s look was one of even greater suspicion now. He mentioned a place name which meant absolutely nothing to Trev who looked at him blankly.
‘You’re in the Scottish Highlands. Nearest town is Fort William.’
‘Scotland? I had no idea. Please may I use your phone? I’ve lost my mobile, and my wallet. I think they were stolen when I was kidnapped.’
Before he could answer, the front door of the house opened and a woman came out. She was wearing an apron and wiping her hands on a teacloth.
‘Andrew? Have we got a visitor? Don’t keep the young man standing outside.’
‘I’m so sorry to turn up like this. My name’s Trevor Armstrong. I’ve been kidnapped. I know that sounds completely unbelievable, but it’s honestly the truth. Please may I use your phone? I’ve lost mine.’
‘Oh, you poor thing! And look at your face. That looks sore. Come away in. Of course you can use the telephone. Would you like a nice cup of tea?’
She led the way into a bright inviting kitchen where a range was alight, a kettle simmering on the side and a pan of bacon sizzling away. Trev suddenly realised how hungry he was.
The man had followed them in, pausing to remove his Wellingtons in the porch and to order the dog to remain outside. He pointedly kept the shotgun under his arm.
‘I’m so sorry but I don’t have any money on me. I need to phone my partner urgently, he’ll be going frantic. He’s a policeman.’
‘He?’ the man asked. ‘So you’re one of those …’
‘Andrew!’ his wife chided. ‘It’s absolutely fine, there’s the phone, just go ahead. I’ll make you some tea. I’m just making Andrew’s second breakfast. Would you like some?’
‘I’m absolutely starving,’ Trev admitted gratefully. ‘That would be fantastic. Thanks so much. I’ll just phone Ted. He can arrange to transfer some money so I can pay you for a meal, and for me to get back home.’
Trev picked up the phone and started to punch in the number. Zero seven ... Then he stopped and looked at the woman, anguished.
‘I can’t remember it. I can’t remember his number. It’s saved on my phone. I never have to dial it.’
‘Don’t worry, dear, you look as if you’ve have a nasty bump so your memory will be a bit fuzzy. Can you ring his office?’
‘Yes, of course, sorry, I was being stupid and panicky. Can I use your computer to look the number up, please?’
‘I’m sorry, dear, we don’t have one. We just take phone bookings for the B&B, although our sons keep telling us we should have a website. They’ve moved on though and I don’t think I’d be able to manage it.’
‘I’ll phone Angus. He can find it for you. He’s our local policeman. Where is it your man works?’
‘Stockport.’ Seeing the man’s blank look, Trev supplied, ‘It’s in Greater Manchester. The GMP is the police force.’
The man took the phone and made a call of his own.
‘Angus? It’s Andrew. Aye, I went too. P
rices were disappointing, especially ram lambs.’
‘Andrew! You’re supposed to be helping this young man, not talking livestock prices.’
After another brief exchange, the man handed Trev a piece of paper where he’d scribbled the number.
Trev nearly cried with relief when he finally got through to the station and recognised the familiar voice of Bill, the desk sergeant.
‘Bill? It’s Trev. Ted’s partner. Please can you get a message to him urgently to tell him I’m fine. I’m all right, but I’m up in Scotland with no mobile and no money and no idea of how I’m going to get back home or when.’
‘Well, you look marginally more human,’ Jim Baker commented as Ted returned from the gents. ‘At least with your colouring your five o’clock shadow doesn’t show up too much.’
The Big Boss had sat down again, stretching his bad leg out in front of him. Ted knew it still gave him trouble from time to time. He’d done his best at a wash and brush-up within the limitations available to him.
The two PCs who had intervened earlier were still hovering nearby, waiting to be called for whichever case they were involved with. Jim beckoned one of them over and felt in his pocket for some loose change.
‘Go and get a couple of coffees from somewhere for me and the DCI, there’s a good lad. Sugar in his, none in mine. He and I are in conference.’
He was probably breaking all sorts of rules of political correctness, but the young PC seemed amiable enough. They both needed coffee and they certainly needed to talk.
‘Right, Ted, listen to me carefully. I understand. I really do. You forget that my daughter was missing for years. So if anyone feels what you’re going through, it’s me. I know how hard it was for me every day to keep going in to work not knowing if the next phone call about a body was going to be Rosalie.’
‘God, Jim, I’m so sorry. I’m being a self-centred shit, I never thought of what you went through all those years. I’m just going crazy with the worry of it.’
