The George Elms Trilogy Box Set

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘Shit!’ Emma exhaled as she spoke. It sounded like relief.

  ‘Were you expecting a vampire?’

  ‘I was expecting worse than that.’ George bent down to inspect the box. Something caught his eye. The box was scuffed on the inside. It was a light brown but it had grooves that were lighter still — nearer to white in colour. They were on the side that was closest to him. He had to angle his neck to be able to see it. The scuffs were letters — writing. He couldn’t make it out.

  ‘Something’s written in there I think!’ Emma was standing next to him. She lit up the torch function on her phone. She turned it on the box.

  ‘Shit, George!’ He was still craning. He still couldn’t see.

  ‘What? What does it say?’

  ‘We need to get that warrant.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘P.O.P.E. It says Pope, George! It’s from Chloe Pope. It has to be. She must have been in here!’

  George could see it now. It was scratched on the surface. Not deep and barely legible. But it was definitely POPE. It looked about right for someone trying to write in the pitch black, digging into wood with their finger nails.

  George needed some air. As he bundled out of the shed door Emma called out after him.

  ‘We must be getting closer, George. We must be.’

  ‘Closer’s no good. Dennis Coleman was close to finding Chloe. Look how that ended! What if we can still do something for those two other girls? What if they’re in a box somewhere, scratching their names into the wood so that one day someone might know what happened to them? Closer’s no good.’ He started walking back up the garden.

  Emma called out again. ‘So where do we go from here?’

  ‘Me? I need a walk.’ George kept going. He made it out into the street and walked to the end of it. There was a play park and fields directly opposite. The street was elevated, it looked down on what looked like a town and across to the other side of a valley. George couldn’t recall being in this area and not being in a valley. On any other day it would have been a beautiful place to stand. He found a bench in the park that overlooked the play area. There were some parents with their children. He could hear the excited screams. It made him think of his little girl, waiting for him at home with his wife. He was struggling to comprehend just what that meant. It had been so long, he had never given up hope but had started to come to terms with never getting his family back. He knew he had messed it up the first time around. He wasn’t going to mess it up this time. He watched a mother scoop up a toddler from the end of a slide and lift her to the sky. Both their faces were beaming. Pure happiness. The sort you couldn’t have if your eyes were open to the world. George couldn’t do anything about what he already knew, about the evil that he had been exposed to. But he could do something about his future. He was tired. He had been tired for a long time. Seeing the worst of people was making him weary. He envied the carefree parents of the world. Those that could send their kids to school without considering that there was such evil in the world and that there were no guarantees they would come back, that they could end up trapped in a box at the mercy of a man who knew none, desperately scratching their name with their fingernails. Maybe he could forget, maybe he could become carefree again, maybe his happiness could become pure. Whatever, his family were waiting for him at home. A second chance. And he had made a decision.

  A car horn interrupted his thoughts. He turned to it. It was Emma. He must have been gone longer than he thought. He walked over to where her window was wound down.

  ‘A patrol have arrived to look after the perimeter. I’ve requested another one up here too — in case he comes back.’

  ‘He’s long gone, Emma.’

  ‘I know. But we might find something that gives us a clue as to where at least. The search team are going to be a couple of hours, I think. It’s not ideal but we’re struggling now with two scenes. Alan is staying to run it from the ground.’

  George stroked his chin. ‘We could do the search ourselves. I know there are contamination issues but needs must. We can worry about the evidential problems after.’ George was mindful that both he and Emma had been at the St Leonard’s ruins scene earlier that day. If they stepped into Cooney’s house, they ran the risk of any half-decent solicitor pointing out that any DNA present linking Cooney to the other scene would have been transferred by the two police officers. They wouldn’t be able to argue with it either. George considered that finding the girls alive outweighed evidential difficulties later.

  ‘We could. But you might be needed elsewhere. I took a call. We’ve had someone phone in. He said he’s Roberts’s brother. He says he has some information that may help. But he’ll only talk to you.’

  ‘His brother? Do we know it’s him for certain?’

  ‘No. The call was traced to a payphone in London.’

  ‘What do we know about his brother?’

  ‘Not a lot. William Roberts. Older brother. He lived locally, but he left the area when all of this was going on. I think the family as a whole were under the spotlight. We tried to track him down, it was an obvious line of enquiry but we got nowhere. He was represented by the same solicitors as Henry and they made it clear that he would see any police contact as harassment.’

  ‘It’s hardly harassment is it, investigating a murder?’

  ‘No, it isn’t. I think his solicitors were able to scare some of the senior management enough that speaking to him wasn’t deemed essential so it wasn’t done. He wasn’t a key witness. We were just trying to get some background.’

  ‘So we don’t know if this is him or just some crackpot wasting my time?’

  ‘We don’t. But the general public don’t know much. And someone calling Herefordshire Police about Henry Roberts and asking to speak to George Elms must know an awful lot.’

  ‘You think he might have spoken to his brother?’

  ‘I can’t think how else he would know so much.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s go and see him then.’

  ‘I can’t, George. Not with all that’s going on. He’s been very specific. He will meet you at Langthorne West train station, on the platform, by the payphones. Only in person. There’s no number to call.’

  ‘Langthorne?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what he said. I’ve got a murder investigation, two scenes and a missing person investigation to run here, George. I can’t really be driving two hundred miles away.’

  ‘No you can’t, and it’s the distance that worries me. Time is something we really don’t have a lot of. This might just be a way of hindering us. Sending me two hours in the wrong direction.’

  ‘It might.’

  ‘I have to go though, don’t I?’

  ‘I think so. The family distanced themselves from him right from the start. This was really damaging for them as you can imagine. If he’s made contact and they know he’s out, it’s quite plausible that they would want to help make sure he was captured before he could do anything more.’

  ‘But why me? And why Langthorne?’

  Emma shrugged. ‘I guess that’s what you need to go and find out.’

  Chapter 35

  George did his best to read the information on his phone as he headed back to Langthorne. He waited until he was on the motorway where he stood a chance of diverting his eyes for just a few seconds at a time. There was no time to stop. From what he could glean, William Roberts had called Herefordshire’s control room from a number that was registered to a payphone in central London. He said that he had information about his brother: Henry Roberts. He would divulge this information only if he were met personally by Inspector George Elms of Lennockshire police. This face-to-face meeting would take place at Langthorne West train station, just off the incoming platform at 14:12 hours. George was to stand by the public payphones. The log had been read and added to by a number of other persons. Someone had researched train times and put on the log that a train from London St Pancras station was due to arrive at that platfor
m at 14:12 hours. George knew as much as he needed to know. He dialled Whittaker’s number.

  ‘George. How goes it, friend?’

  ‘Did Emma bring you up to speed? I asked her to call.’

  ‘She’s not long off the phone. They’ve transferred the call details to us too. It’s a strange one. What are your thoughts?’

  ‘I don’t think we have too much choice but to work on the basis that it’s genuine and that William Roberts knows where his brother is and wants to help. Anything other than that we’ll need to react to, I suppose.’

  ‘We will. What do you need?’

  ‘I need a team, Major. Foot surveillance mainly, but a car too. Whatever he tells me I want him picked up and followed when he leaves. If he’s giving me a red herring he might still lead us somewhere useful. Or at least give us an address where I can politely give him his fish back.’

  ‘No problem. How far out are you?’

  ‘I’m struggling, Major. I’m two hours out for a ninety-minute deadline.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘The wrong side of the M25.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll get in touch with Sussex. We’ll get a marked convoy to bring you in.’

  ‘Thanks, Major. This William, though . . . he shouldn’t know who I am. Assuming he’s talked to his brother he might have a description. Plan B for me not making it in time, Major . . . can you get onto HQ and have them print me another ID? If someone can bring it down to you it will be there in forty minutes. Then you just need someone who fits my description to be at that meeting.’

  ‘Ugly and knackered, you mean? I like it, George, it works as a Plan B. But try and get here, please. I’ll get those bits done. I’ll pass Sussex your details so they can find you.’

  ‘Thanks, Major.’ George cut the call. Within twenty minutes he had a marked police bike in front of him. Ten minutes later and a marked BMW took its place while the bike dropped to the back. They stayed with him. He was now able to increase his speed; whenever traffic parted for the blaring police cars, he was able to slip in between them. The escort only dropped away when he turned into the road that led to Langthorne West train station. He was there with six minutes to spare. By the time he ditched the car and made it to the platform it was down to two. He was now breathing heavily and his shirt clung to the sweat on his back. He took a minute to catch his breath. He felt like he had barely breathed the whole way down here. The concentration involved in running at those speeds between two flashing cars, ducking and weaving through traffic, had taken its toll. He was shattered.

  He checked his watch again. The platform was busy all of a sudden. There was already one stationary train. Another arrived, right on time. It seemed to spill out all of its passengers at the same time and they all walked past with purpose in their stride, their heads down. There were only two payphones at the station. They were both together on the wall by the exit from the platform. He stood himself directly between them, where he couldn’t be missed. No one took any notice of him, although he tried to screen everyone that approached. Within a few minutes, the platform was almost empty. The only people anywhere in sight were either in high-vis railway jackets or milling around on the platform opposite, waiting for the next outbound train.

  One of the payphones trilled and made him jump. He stared at it. It kept ringing. He looked around, as if it might be for someone else. There was no one close. His deadline had passed by almost ten minutes. He picked up the receiver.

  ‘George Elms?’ The voice was urgent. A man’s voice. He lingered on the ‘s.’

  ‘William Roberts?’ George said. His throat was dry. It carried in his voice. He hadn’t realised until he tried to speak.

  ‘I don’t go by that surname so much anymore. I’m sure you can appreciate why.’

  ‘I thought we were meeting in person?’

  ‘That wasn’t what I said.’

  ‘You have some information for me?’

  ‘Just an anecdote, really. When we were younger, my brother and I used to visit Langthorne for our summer holidays. We used this very station. We played on the beach, went on walks — the usual stuff. There’s a local beauty spot called the Warren. It’s a cliff walk and we would go there every time — well, most days anyway. We met a man down there. Our mother didn’t like us talking to him. Henry was fascinated by him — fixated even. He can get fixed on things. He ran away to visit him. This man lived off the land in a home he had built on the beach out of driftwood. My mother was frantic. My father not so much. I thought I knew where he was, Inspector, and I was correct. But we couldn’t get him straight away. The tide down there, it used to cut this man and his home off from the rest of the world for at least three hours twice a day. I think that’s what appealed to Henry. I think he liked the idea of being cut off from the rest of the world, even for just a few hours. When he ran away he timed it so we couldn’t get to him. He knew he had that time alone. He told me he would live there one day. I never understood his fascination. But you get older, Inspector. You see the world. It’s a beautiful spot. I suppose we all want to be cut off in a beautiful spot at some point in life, right?’

  ‘Why are you telling me this? Is that where he is?’

  ‘He’s a gentle soul. I know who you think he is, what the world thinks he is and what he looks like, but I don’t know that man. That’s not my brother. He’s naïve. He always wanted to fit in. Remember that about him.’

  ‘William, I need to find him. If there’s more to this, if there’s more I need to know then I need to find him. Is that where he is? Has he spoken to you? William? William!’ The line was dead. The call had been ended. George slammed the handset back in its cradle and turned to look around. He stayed dead still for just a minute. William was there somewhere; he was certain of it. He would have made sure George was where he needed to be and that no one else was around. George could see people in the distance. None of them stood out. It didn’t matter now anyway. He walked briskly towards his car. Whittaker picked up on the first ring.

  ‘George, did you meet?’

  ‘No. He called the payphone. I guess he wanted to speak to the police in a situation where he could cut it off the second he wanted to.’

  ‘He cut you off?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘A childhood story. But combine it with what Henry told us and I think I know where he is with the girls.’

  ‘Fantastic.’

  ‘I’m not convinced.’

  ‘You’re not convinced what? This is good, right?’

  ‘Are you in front of a computer?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘What time is high tide in Langthorne today?’

  ‘High tide? What the hell—’

  ‘Please, Major, just tell me.’ George was still walking fast and was breathing heavily.

  ‘Jeez. Hang on, old boy.’ There was the tapping of a keyboard in the background. `13:20 today. What the hell does that have to do with anything?’

  ‘Do you remember a couple of years back when there was a guy who lived down the beach. Right where the cliffs turn back towards Dover? He had a place made out of driftwood. He lived there for ages. Off the grid.’

  ‘No, George. I guess it must have been before my time here.’

  ‘He died a couple of years ago. A dog walker found him when he had a fall. He was a bit of a local legend. Made the papers once or twice. Henry Roberts knew him too. When they were younger he and William used to come down here. William said his brother was obsessed with the place both because of its beauty and because it’s cut off by the tide for three hours a day. That’s where he is, Major. He’s on that beach with those girls. The tide peaked at 13:20. Slack water lasts around two hours where the tide’s at its highest and then it’s an hour before its low enough to get to him. Henry set the time of that phone call. He knows when I can next get to him. He’s going to kill them, Major. On our beach. And he will be doing it now while he knows that I have to st
and half a mile away waiting for the tide. It’s another power play.’

  ‘But we can stop him. If he thinks he has the time—’

  ‘I think he’s done what he can to make sure I can’t. The 14:12 train at Langthorne and calling Herefordshire to get hold of me. Henry must have known where I was. He knew the journey would be tight to get here. And the time now? I’m leaving now and I’ll get to the Warren with half a mile of beach under the sea. He wants me to sit and wait an hour until it subsides. This way I get to be the first person to see what he’s done. This is all part of it, Major. This is how he fucks with me.’

  ‘Jesus, George, it’s a beach, though, old boy. The police boat—’

  ‘Won’t be able to get anywhere near. It’s all rocks. When the tide’s out you can see its teeth. It’s impassable. We wouldn’t stand a chance. The other side is a sheer cliff. There’s no way you could get someone down there safely — not without Roberts being stood waiting for them with a distinct advantage. There’s no room for a chopper to work either. There’s just a slit of beach left.’

  ‘So what do we do? Just let this play out like he intended? We know how that ends, right?’

  ‘I don’t know. What about snipers? We have them in the firearms teams?’

  ‘We do. Maybe four for the county though, George, and even if we could get one there in time I can’t see us finding a firearms commander who would authorise a shot from a moving boat. That needs a proper specialist. You’re talking the armed forces — and an even longer wait.’

  ‘Fine. I’m going down there, quick as I can. Maybe I will be able to see some options. I’ll give you a call. Send whoever you can.’

  ‘Okay, George.’

  Chapter 36

  It was the breeze that first made Annie realise that she was alive. Then she could feel the damp, coarse ground that was gritty against her skin. She could also feel the material wrapped tight around her head and over her eyes. It dug into her cheekbones and the back of her head where it was tied off. She could feel the knot. Her head was throbbing. Suddenly she felt a touch. Someone grabbed hold of the blindfold and it was tugged roughly down. She slammed her eyes shut to the bright sunlight. It took her a while to get used to it, to be able to see clearly. Her hearing was returning too. She realised she was lying on damp sand. It was a small area. Rocks dominated the scenery. The sea pushed earnestly over them, darting into rock pools, reaching out towards her with frothy, white fingers. Just beyond them the water looked deep. The waves retreated quickly and with a hissing noise. She felt sick. She was grabbed forcefully by her wrists and dragged to a crawl for just a few metres, then pushed hard into something that jutted out of the sand. It was damp wood. It was cold and she could feel the roughness of a dozen splinters sticking into her back. She realised she was in just her underwear. She didn’t know where her dress was. She sobbed.