She looked down. ‘I run sources.’
‘Were you running him?’
‘No.’
‘No as in no, or no as in not officially?’
‘No as in not at all. I’ve never had any dealings with the bloke.’
‘Ryker, it’s been a while. I’m a little rusty. You’re obviously worried, I just can’t see why.’
‘I am running a source that’s close to this fella. They work together. The dead guy used to be a source, my guy still is.’
‘And is he dead?’
‘No, he was working last night.’
‘Sounds to me like your dead guy fucked up and got dead as a result. It happens. Your man needs to be careful, but that ain’t gonna be news to him if he’s ratting on the Alcanis for his wage.’
‘He’s a warranted constable for his wage.’ Emily looked grim.
George put his coffee down. ‘Oh, so he’s not a source, he’s UC?’
She nodded. ‘My guy is, yeah.’
‘You’re running undercover officers now too?’
‘I shouldn’t be. They gave me some of the UC stuff after Helen went, because I’m kind of an outsider. They bought Lisa down to oversee intel as a whole.’
‘Lisa?’
‘Yeah. She was in our meeting yesterday — the DCI.’
‘Okay. We like her, right?’ George was still frowning.
‘I don’t like her. She’s far too fucking attractive to be likeable. But she’s good and she can be trusted. I get the feeling they suspect this leak is coming from intel.’
‘It could be anyone,’ said George.
‘I know.’
‘So you’re worried about your officer. I can understand that. Does he know any more about what happened with the dead guy?’
‘And his wife.’
‘And his wife? Jesus, poor cow.’
‘I don’t know, I haven’t had a chance to speak to him yet. I’ll be making contact in a couple of hours at an internet café in town. You wanna come along? I know you like good company with good coffee.’ Emily gestured at his cup.
‘Sure. Nothing more exciting is going on here, and at least I can be sure of some good coffee.’
Emily nudged him playfully. She was in mid-nudge when the door opened. They both jumped.
‘Sorry!’
The woman spoke with an Eastern European accent, and George recognised the cleaner. She had been there every morning for as long as he could remember. She drew back and shut the door.
‘I don’t like her either.’ Emily jerked her thumb at the door.
‘Is this a racist thing?’ George teased.
‘No!’ Emily laughed. ‘Too attractive.’
Chapter 14
Helen Webb woke to the sound of someone hammering on the caravan door. She was still in her clothes, having decided against the filthy mattress in the bedroom area. She had finally managed an uneasy sleep on a sofa.
The man who had done the knocking was a new face to Helen. When she opened the door, he turned and walked in silence towards a waiting Land Rover Defender.
Helen called after him. ‘Can you take me back to my car? I need to be getting away now.’
The man continued walking. Helen looked out, squinting in the bright sunlight that flickered through the trees surrounding the caravan. Tucked underneath them, it would be invisible from the air. She reckoned it wasn’t too far from the northern perimeter of the yard.
The man opened the Land Rover’s passenger door and made his way round to the driver’s side. Helen checked her watch. It was 6.30 a.m. She walked through the grass towards the vehicle, her shins saturated with dew.
She looked at the driver. ‘Do you have any water?’
‘No,’ he grunted. He had muscular arms and shoulders, but his belly protruded. His head was shaven and there was stubble on his chin. He wore a stained sleeveless vest, revealing a Betty Boop tattoo on a bicep and Only God Can Judge Me etched along the top of his chest like a necklace.
‘Are you taking me to my car?’
‘No.’
Helen sniffed. She knew she had made a serious error in coming here.
The Defender bumped its way back to the main site. To her right, the giant warehouse loomed — it looked far larger in the daylight. Helen knew that behind it was a three-metre-high fence and beyond that an old farmhouse that was home to the younger Alcani brothers. The Alcanis owned numerous properties, and Sol could be living in any of them.
They drove into the hushed interior of the warehouse. It was a vast, open-plan area, almost as big as a hangar. It was filled with cars in various stages of dismemberment. The Defender rolled to a halt and the driver jumped out. The door closed so hard that the vehicle rocked on its ageing suspension. He strolled towards a series of partitioned cubicles that evidently served as offices, and entered one of them.
Helen scrabbled for the door handle. To her surprise, the door opened. She climbed down and shut it behind her. The sound reverberated through the building. Helen ran through her options. According to the aerial photographs, the perimeter fence should be just beyond the wall facing her. If she could get to it she might be able to find a way of climbing over and onto the main road.
Then what?
Helen had forgotten that there was no longer a life for her out there. She was a convict, on the run and without a car. Or was she? Among the lines of cars awaiting destruction Helen spotted a Suzuki Vitara, hers. It looked to be in working order. She patted her jumper pocket, and the keys rattled. She could avoid the main gate. There were other ways out of this site, although she didn’t know where they were. But if she could get mobile, follow the tracks around the site, maybe she would stumble across an exit before they found her.
The car was about fifty metres from her. Helen bent forward and sprinted. She made it to the car and found it unlocked. She stooped to get in and stopped dead.
The roof lining hung down, almost touching the steering wheel. It had been slashed along the length of the car, from front to back. The central armrest had been ripped out and lay where the rear bench seat had been. The two front seats had also been slashed, and they bled their sponge stuffing into the foot-wells. The dashboard sat at an angle. It had evidently been ripped out and then hastily pushed back in. Helen gritted her teeth, pushed the key into the ignition and turned it. The little jeep didn’t even make a noise. Now Helen knew for certain that they were not going to let her leave.
‘What can I say, Helen? We tend to be a bit careless when we’re looking for something.’ Helen gasped.
Sol Alcani turned away and was heading towards the Defender. ‘Did I scare you?’ he called back.
‘You made me jump.’
‘Why don’t you come over here and talk to me?’
Helen saw the silhouettes of two other men beside the parked 4x4. One man leant on the back of a chair. The second was fiddling with a lamp that he positioned facing towards it. Then they all looked at Helen.
‘That chair for me?’
‘Who else?’ Sol Alcani didn’t look back.
‘I don’t need to sit in a chair to speak to you. Anyway, I’ve done all my talking for now.’
‘I don’t think so. We have more to talk about.’
She remained where she was. ‘Not like this.’
‘Come and sit in the chair, Helen. I’m done shouting.’
‘Not like this!’ Helen raised her voice.
Sol Alcani erupted. ‘Sit in the fucking chair!’
Helen closed her eyes and her body sagged. She was all out of options. She moved forward like an automaton.
Sol put out his hand and invited her to sit.
‘Now we can talk.’
* * *
Mick peered into a rusting mirror that clung to the wall above a basin. He was trying to wash away the fine metal filings that had flown out while they were dissecting the ATM. His arms and chest ached. It had taken more than three hours to carry out the operation, which had to be undertaken wit
h surgical precision in order to preserve its precious cargo. This ATM was an older model. Most modern cash machines were primed to release an ink that would mark the cash and render it worthless if the machine was tampered with.
Mick had been patient. He and the Irishman had taken their time, aware that one wrong move would render their pay-out worthless. Cash does that. It has a way of focusing the mind.
Mick looked like shit. He had had no sleep for nearly twenty-four hours and was pale and exhausted, damned near dead on his feet. But his work was done. For now.
He turned away from his reflection and made his way back to the parked van. ‘Not a bad night in all, boys.’ He rubbed his hands together.
The Irishman smiled. ‘We’ve had worse.’ Ainsley whooped from the back. Mick wound down his window for some fresh air, and saw a figure lit up by a spotlight sitting on a chair and facing a stationary Land Rover Defender.
‘What the fuck’s going on over there?’
‘I don’t know,’ said the Irishman. ‘I see Sol Alcani himself is running the show, so it ain’t something we got any business involving ourselves in.’
Mick peered out. ‘Fuck that, we just earned them a cut of ninety grand! Drive a bit closer at least.’
‘You trying to get us fucking killed?’ But the Irishman needed to pass the spot to get to the gate. Mick squinted at the seated figure, and at Sol Alcani, who was standing with one foot up on the Defender’s bumper. Mick watched a thickset man approach the chair, dragging a heavy, steel chain.
The Irishman pulled away. ‘You see anything? You see who it was?’
Mick shook his head. ‘Some poor fucker.’ He turned his face into the cool morning breeze, and they made their way towards the gate and the long drive home.
* * *
Helen sat down as commanded, crossed her legs and waited. The man who had driven her from the caravan reappeared, dragging something heavy and metal.
Sol stared at her. ‘I know why you came here, Helen.’
Helen turned to look behind her. ‘I told you why I came.’
‘You did. But I know what you really wanted.’
Helen returned his look. ‘I came here to make a deal. You’re a businessman. I thought you’d be interested in a trade.’
‘Helen, you’re an intelligent woman but you’re too . . . conditioned? Is that the right word in English? I’m still learning.’
‘Conditioned?’
‘Yes. You’re used to people just doing what you say. You had power in your organisation, so you spoke to me as if the same rules applied here. They do not, Helen.’
‘Rules?’
‘The rules where people either do as you say or they don’t. I work with a different set of rules. I’m surprised you’re here at all. A woman of your intelligence shouldn’t be so naïve.’
‘I told you my situation. I know you can help me, and I came here because I can help you too.’
Helen could see the chains now. They were rusty, the sort that might hold a boat against a quay. The man dropped them and stood beside her. Sol nodded at him.
‘Do you think I care about mutually beneficial? You destroy my family, and then you come here with no leverage. I am insulted that you even think I might accept your terms. It’s like you’re calling me weak. I am not weak, Helen.’
‘I didn’t think you were.’
‘I think you are. Maybe you don’t understand your situation. You are wanted by your own police force, for quite serious matters as far as I understand. No one knows you are here. You have no vehicle, no place to go, and the only leverage you have is some information about a couple of rats from my family’s past.’
‘I know you place a high value on that information, otherwise you will appear weak.’
Sol Alcani struck her so hard she rolled off the chair.
‘You need to understand your position, Helen. You have two options.’
‘Fuck you!’ Helen struggled back onto the chair. Sol walked around it and stood looking down at her. He grabbed hold of her wrist and squeezed until she cried out.
‘Two options, Helen. You give me the information you have, all of it, right now, and I let you walk away from here.’
Helen’s anger made her brave. She looked straight at him. ‘You won’t get anything this way.’
Sol ignored the comment. ‘Option two. You decide not to give me the information at this point. I get my man here to ask you for it again, but after he’s stripped you naked and beaten you until he’s too tired to carry on. And then he might decide that you’re quite an attractive woman . . . Maybe he gets tired and calls the others over, and they take their turns. And when they’re finished, I will give you one last opportunity to tell me. You will tell me, be sure of that. Then I will let you walk, but the odds of hiding in broad daylight, naked and beaten? I wouldn’t fancy your chances.’
Helen said nothing.
‘You don’t need to be rushing your answer, Helen. We can speak after I’ve had my breakfast.’ Sol turned away and was quickly out of sight.
The blow came out of nowhere. The blackness gradually faded, and she put out a hand to steady herself, unsure if she was falling. Someone pushed her upright and she felt the chain land on her shoulder. They wrapped the heavy metal around her and pulled it tight. Helen screamed.
The man gave it a last tug.
And then he was gone.
Chapter 15
She hadn’t been difficult to find. George knew vehicles are often the key. Ryker must have told his wife not to use a vehicle registered in her name, and not to hire a car. So, through a friend, Sarah had unearthed an old Ford Fiesta. This friend’s husband turned over a few cars from home and displayed his stock on his social media site. All George had to do was check the registration numbers against the ANPR database. Forty minutes after he started searching, he had found it. George had always been lucky with finding people. When he was in uniform his team had joked that people — and trouble — found him. How right they were.
The last ANPR ping for the car was just an hour ago. It had them coming off the main road outside Langhorne and into the Alkham Valley. This was a winding road that followed the bottom of an ancient valley and linked the town with a small hamlet called Kearsney. George knew exactly where they would be going. There was a picturesque walking and play area on the site of an old abbey where the waters from the valley combined to flow into rapids. They had often visited the place on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
Ryker would have told her not to follow any routines, and to behave totally out of character. Luckily for George, Sarah didn’t like following instructions.
It was a twenty-minute drive. George grabbed his car keys.
* * *
George soon found the Fiesta. It was tucked into the space furthest from the road in the small car park. George pulled up his collar and followed the river. He didn’t have to go far.
Wearing her polka-dot wellies, Charley was wading in the fast-moving shallow water. Another girl was with her, someone George didn’t recognise. They both held brightly coloured fishing nets. Sarah sat on a bench with her back to him. The girls were engrossed in their fishing.
George considered just walking over to them. Sarah would be furious. But seeing his daughter, being close enough to hear her beautiful, carefree giggle — it was too much for him. He began to move towards them.
Suddenly his wife stood up. A man was approaching, heading straight for her, and her face lit up with a smile. They kissed. It was an intimate kiss. George’s stomach knotted, and he stopped. He stood stock still for a moment, and then spun on his heels and hurried away.
Back in the car park, George stopped at the Ford Fiesta and checked over his shoulder. He was a good distance from where he had seen his wife. She wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon.
The Fiesta was a darkish red and nondescript, its paintwork rusting in places. George pulled a rectangular object, a little smaller than his smartphone, out of his jacket pocket. He rubbed at the
magnetic base, and checked around him. No one was taking any notice of him. He dropped to his knees and switched on the device. He felt around behind the front bumper, looking for a flat steel plate. The magnet sucked at the steel with a satisfying clunk.
George walked out of the car park, crossed the road and followed the path for a few hundred metres, until he came to a pub. Parked outside was an unmarked Skoda Fabia. He slipped into the driver’s seat and selected an app on his phone that showed a map. A red tag dropped onto the car park by the river. The GPS tracker was more accurate than he had hoped.
* * *
‘Hey!’ Emily looked up from her computer screen. The woman was wearing a CSI uniform, and Emily didn’t recognise her. She looked around at the desks and then made to leave.
‘Can I help you?’ asked Emily.
The woman turned. ‘I was hoping to speak to George Elms.’
‘He’s popped out of the office for a while.’ Emily checked her watch. ‘I reckon he should be back pretty soon.’
‘Oh, okay, no worry. If you could tell him Ali popped in, and maybe he can give me a call?’
Emily’s curiosity was piqued. It wasn’t often they had a visit from one of the forensic team. ‘The kettle’s just boiled. I’m Emily Ryker, by the way. I’m working with George on this whole thing. I’m his personal intel officer really.’ She smiled.
‘Okay, I guess I could have a quick cuppa. I’m trying to stay out of the office at the moment. I should be heading back out by now.’
‘Perfect!’ Emily switched on the kettle.
Ali grinned. ‘I thought you said it had just boiled?’
‘And there’s me thinking I was the detective.’
‘You get an eye for detail in my job too.’
‘I bet.’ Emily sat down. ‘Is that what brings you up here? Your eye for detail?’
Ali peered around the office. Emily guessed she was checking that they were alone. Ali bit her lip, and then seemed to come to a decision. ‘We had a positive on the voluntary DNA samples after the chief was shot. I haven’t compared it to any of the other scenes yet, but it matched with a hair fibre from the motorcycle helmet that was found.’
END GAME a gripping crime thriller full of breathtaking twists Page 7
