He headed downstairs to the cell block on the ground floor facing the compound. There were twelve cells and Benzar was in number eight. The thought of telling the bastard that in around an hour he’d be a free man made his flesh creep. To his dismay there was nothing he could do under the circumstances, except facilitate the career criminal’s escape. Even so, it tested his moral fibre to the limit.
Blake informed the duty sergeant that he needed to speak with the prisoner before he went out on remand. The sergeant opened cell eight and told Blake he would be along the passage if needed. Yusuf Benzar sat on the edge of his mattress in a standard-issue prisoner tracksuit, looking worse than Blake felt. Hair a scraggy mess, blood-red eyes and the demeanour of a con determined not to let slip he was eliminated from the game.
‘What do you want, pig?’
Blake ignored the derisory comment and lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘You’re being shipped out on remand in an hour. I’ll take you to the pick-up point out front of the station. But you’re not going to prison. Those bastards you work for have made arrangements for your escape. When we leave the cell, your cuffs will be on but unlocked. Just play along, then when I nod at you do what you have to do, understand?’
Benzar’s face lit up as he gave a smug grin. ‘They’ve got to you, detective; every man has a price.’
Blake was too wrung out to respond and certainly didn’t want to alert this scumbag about his daughter’s abduction, so he turned, conceding defeat. There was only one thing he was interested in now and that was Isabel’s safe return; police morality could take a backseat. He popped his head around the door. ‘Sergeant, officer leaving cell!’
CHAPTER 53
Blake looked nervously around waiting for the inevitable to happen. It was nine a.m. and he stood on the pavement outside the station, Yusuf Benzar standing to the left of him. His handcuffs were unlocked, and he had a self-satisfied look on his face. Like an abstract movie in slow motion, those fateful few minutes seemed to take an age to pass.
Suddenly, a black Honda road bike roared as it accelerated down Lower Bethesda Street screeching to a halt, smoke streaming from its twin chrome exhausts. The rider dressed in jet-black leathers signalled to Benzar with a hooked thumb over his shoulder, his tinted visor hid his identity, like a ninja.
He cast the cuffs into the road, jumped on and gripped the handrail on the back seat. The rider throttled up and the bike’s induction turbo propelled it blindly across the busy ring road at soaring speed through oncoming traffic, escaping collision by milliseconds.
The traffic ground to a halt as a white Transit van slammed on its brakes and spun sideways across the ring road, causing a four-car collision. Two other cars swerved in a desperate attempt to avoid the pile up with the van, and rammed into the crossroad’s traffic lights.
The steady flow of the morning commute was shattered by the splintering sounds of car alarms and screaming injured motorists. Like a ghost, the bike disappeared along Lower Bethesda St.
Blake stood numb, his shoulders curled heavy over his chest. The station entrance doors flung open and several officers dashed towards him. A sudden feeling of nakedness crept over him and for the first time in his career he felt exposed and out of control of the situation.
‘My office, now!’ screamed Chief Inspector Coleman.
Like a scolded child, Blake slouched ten yards behind him back into the station.
‘What the hell happened, DI Blake?’ barked Coleman from behind his huge antique mahogany desk, his face bright red, as if he was about to explode.
Numb with shock, Blake stood staring around the chief’s inner sanctum. On the wall behind him hung framed certificates portraying his rise up the greasy pole. Turn of the century sepia-tone photographs in embossed frames hung nostalgically on the opposite wall: a horse-drawn prison van, a group shot of PCs with walrus moustaches, outside the old station house. and, dominating the row, an imposing image of Coleman’s great-grandfather, Sir George Mathews Coleman, mounted on a large stallion in full police dress, his sword resting across highly polished boots.
‘How the hell did a prisoner escape right from under your nose? More worryingly, how did his cohorts know the transit time? We never divulge or publish that information to anyone apart from the prison service. Nobody outside the station would know, which makes me think someone inside is looking at a serious misconduct charge as this incident reeks of leaked information. Who knew this prisoner’s transit time besides you and the duty sergeant?’
Blake acted dumb. He considered telling Coleman everything but knew he couldn’t until Isabel was safe.
‘Well, DI Blake, are you going to answer?’ Coleman continued.
He couldn’t give a credible reply. He felt as if a huge rock had dropped in the pit of his stomach. His blood pressure was dropping. Hesitating, he blurted, ‘I really don’t know what to say, sir; it happened so fast there was no time to react.’ The room blurred and before he could say any more his knees buckled and he lost consciousness.
Coleman jumped around the desk, dropping to the floor. He could see Blake’s chest cavity rise and fall; his DI had fainted.
For sixty seconds, the detective lay motionless on the carpet in front of Coleman’s desk, his complexion porcelain white.
Blake’s eyes opened a crack and the room slowly came back into focus. For a few minutes it felt like peering through the lenses of unfocused binoculars. Within a few seconds, his brain caught up with the light signals streaming through his eyes and the haze lifted to the sound of Coleman’s voice as he peered over him.
‘Tom, Tom, can you hear me? You fainted, man.’
‘Er, d… did I?’ Blake slurred, half-conscious.
‘Are you OK?’
‘I think so.’
‘I suggest you get checked out at A&E and then head off home, and that’s not a request; it’s an order. You’ve been putting in long shifts recently, and this incident shows you need a break.’
He sat up slowly. ‘I’ll be fine after a strong coffee.’
‘It’s not going to happen. Refer your tasks to DS Murphy for today. I’ll get one of the constables to drive you home.’
‘What about my Jag?’
‘A squad car can follow and bring the constable back. It’s not negotiable, Tom. Get some rest, and as long as you’re OK, I want you back in my office first thing in the morning. You can explain then; clearly you’re not up to it now.’
Blake knew it would be pointless arguing with him; orders were orders, and they’d been delivered with Coleman’s usual finality.
Thinking about it, the enforced break from work couldn’t have come at a better time, given the current situation with Isabel.
CHAPTER 54
Blake stood in his kitchen staring at his phone, which lay on the granite worktop, willing it to ring. It was 10.30 a.m. and Yusuf Benzar had escaped. He’d stuck to his side of the bargain, so why wasn’t it ringing? What were those scumbags playing at?
His nerves were shot to bits, and he was seriously concerned for Isabel’s safety. One thing was for sure, he didn’t give a shit about the consequences of being found aiding a prisoner’s escape. Coleman might even involve professional standards to look into it; those bastards did more probing than an endoscope. What could they find? It wouldn’t be the first time a prisoner had absconded from police custody. No one else knew the truth apart from DS Murphy, who he trusted implicitly. All that mattered now was Isabel’s safe return.
Abduction of a child was every parent’s worst nightmare, and he stood to lose more than most considering Isabel was his only living child.
Glancing round the kitchen his subconscious focused on a picture taken of Isabel and Dylan in their school uniforms when she was ten, and he was eight. It evoked happy memories of play-fighting with both of them on the lawn. Closing his eyes, he could almost feel the warmth of the sun on his face, hear the sound of their laughter and the panting from Daisy their old chocolate spaniel who’d romped aroun
d with them. The kids loved that rescue dog dearly. Sadly, now in heaven with his son and wife; at least he liked to think of it that way.
The abrupt ringing of his phone jerked his mind back into the present, but the caller ID revealed it was only DS Murphy.
‘Hello?’
‘You OK, Tom? I heard you fainted on the carpet in Coleman’s office earlier.’
‘It’s embarrassing. I bet it’s all around the station by now?’
‘Not really, people are just concerned for you. Any news on Isabel?’
‘I’m waiting for the call now. To be honest, John, I’m getting worried. That bastard is free now, so where’s my daughter?’
‘I’m coming round. There’s no way you can deal with this on your own.’
‘It’s OK, I can manage,’ he said, playing the martyr.
‘No chance, those animals are armed. Much safer if we collect her together.’
‘If you insist. Much been said about the prisoner escaping?’
‘You know what it’s like – just wild speculation. Don’t worry, let’s concentrate on getting Izzy back.’
‘Shit, another call’s coming in. Gotta go, this could be them.’
‘OK, call me straight after?’
Blake nearly dropped the phone, his hand noticeably shaking as he ended the call abruptly and switched to the incoming call, praying it would be good news. ‘Hello?’
‘You know the bus stop at the end of your road? Your daughter will be there in forty minutes. Make sure you’re alone, no other police, or the girl gets hurt.’
‘You bastards followed me home. How do I know I can trust you?’
‘You don’t, but if you want your daughter back just be there.’
The line went dead. He felt elated before realising getting emotional wouldn’t help; he needed to don his police head fast. Forget revenge; just get Izzy home. These bastards would get what’s due eventually.
Moments later he heard the familiar crunch of rubber on gravel. Peering out of the kitchen window, DS John Murphy climbed out of the Astra pool car and approached his front door with a carrier bag in his left hand.
CHAPTER 55
Isabel Blake’s mouth was dry. Every muscle in her body ached. Exhausted from the mental torment of not knowing her fate, she’d dosed off for less than an hour on a bloodstained mattress in the corner of the dishevelled kitchen, refusing to eat anything they’d offered, scared it might be drugged. Eventually she begrudgingly took small bites from a bread roll they’d buttered in front of he, concluding it would be a safe bet after seeing her abductors open the packet and eat some.
Now untied, she glimpsed at his blurred face through tears. Wiping them away with grimy hands, she focused on the pistol he held tightly.
‘Please, let me go,’ she pleaded. ‘I promise I won’t tell anyone.’
Jozef Simbala didn’t answer but paced around the derelict kitchen anxiously. His orders were to drive and then release her three hundred yards from the bus stop where they’d snatched her. Rarely did he have to operate alone. Frederick, being much stronger and the more aggressive of the two, always took charge of the jobs they carried out. Without the intervention of his brother’s insane gun-slinging antics back in Africa, he’d have been dead years ago. A lot was riding on this; he needed to step up to the plate. If the cops found them, deportation and life in prison, once back on Belgian soil, was certain. ‘Na fuck ups, bro.’ His brother’s words echoed in his head.
Her mind raced through several preservation options. Was there just one black guy watching over her? Where were the other two? Was this her chance to make a run for it?
The African glared at her. ‘I is takin ya back.’ His uptight posture hinted at his flagging confidence on flying solo. ‘Ya can gettin da car?’
Forming a steeple with her hands, she pressed them to her lips. Tearful, she glanced towards her remaining captor to express thanks. ‘Oh god!’
The African motioned to her waving the Glock towards the door. She cautiously exited the dark prison, squinting at the blinding morning sun. The sweet summer air livened her senses, but she needed her dad’s reassuring embrace more than anything.
The silver BMW was tucked out of sight in a large decaying barn opposite the house. She felt the tip of the Glock pressing hard in between her shoulder blades, letting her know he was still there.
‘Git in da back?’
As she sat on the cream leather seats, a horrible thought entered her head: What if this maniac is taking me to a remote place to shoot me? Can I trust him?
Trembling, she edged closer to the door as the BMW eased along the gravel driveway towards the road. The African stopped at the end of the pathway, looked left to right surveying the empty road. Before he could pull out, Isabel flung the door open, and made a frantic run for it up the road. He slammed on the gas; the back wheels spun in the gravel sending the BMW sideways into a skid.
She managed twenty blistering painful yards barefoot before the car’s front bumper clipped her heels, tossing her violently onto the road with a thud. Her head crashed hard against the tarmac, split open, leaching blood onto the pocked surface. Her eyes flickered at the silver BMW, disappearing into the distance, and then darkness.
Isabel Blake’s twisted body lay unconscious like road kill in the gutter. Blood trickled from a gash above her temple, pooling underneath her shoulder on the warm tarmac.
An elderly orange Austin Marina eased around the corner and came to an abrupt stop. Its occupants squeezed themselves out stiffly and stared in shock at the young female victim lying bleeding before them. A grey-haired lady in her seventies fished an old mobile from her bag and called an ambulance.
CHAPTER 56
‘God, you look like shit, Tom,’ Murphy remarked, gawping around the kitchen, which appeared unusually untidy with dishes piled high in the sink. Understandable, given the circumstances.
‘Thanks for the compliment.’
‘Any news yet?’ Murphy asked.
‘They followed me home. Must’ve been watching our movements for a while. Just had a call informing me to pick Izzy up from the bus stop at the end of the road. They must’ve taken her somewhere near to here. Less chance of being seen in a rural setting.’
‘Bastards! Definitely organised crime this lot. What’s Isabel’s routine like?’
‘Doesn’t really have one apart from college. She catches the ten o’clock bus from the stop I mentioned: every morning, Monday to Thursday.’
‘I hate to say, but it sounds like you’re right. Who did Yusuf Benzar make his call to?’
‘His brother to arrange a lawyer.’
‘You reckon he’s involved?’
‘Definitely, but there’s no proof. I’ve had the kidnappers’ calls traced. Drawn a blank.’
‘I’m not surprised. We both know crims use operational phones. Let’s get the brother in for an informal chat, see if he lets anything slip.’
‘Tomorrow after my meeting with Coleman. I’ve got to tread really carefully. Remember, apart from you, no one knows.’
‘Point taken. If they get wind of this you’d be looking at a suspension while they investigated.’
‘Thanks for reminding me, John.’
‘Sorry, mate. The last thing you need is those anal probers from Professional Standards sniffing about,’ he jibed, trying to ease the tension.
‘Anyway, got to go,’ Blake said nervously.
‘No way I’m letting you do this alone. You need backup.’
‘Appreciate the concern, John, but they clearly stated if anyone else turns up, Izzy gets hurt. I can’t take the risk.’
‘I understand, mate, it’s your daughter. Take this with you then?’ He fished in the bottom of the carrier bag he’d been holding since arriving. ‘It’s for protection.’ He passed over an odd-shaped heavy object wrapped in a stained rag.
Blake gave him a troubled look. ‘Is that what I think it is?’
‘My granddad’s Webley Mk six pistol,�
� Murphy said, unwrapping the rag to reveal the weapon. ‘This baby’s seen a ton of action. Wasted a few Krauts in the Battle for Berlin in forty-five.’
‘You can’t be serious, John? This isn’t some game. Isabel’s life’s at risk. If I start waving that thing around someone could get shot. Put that bloody antique away before you get us both arrested.’
‘Just trying to help, Tom. Normally in a situation like this there’d be a firearms team standing by. You’re completely exposed.’
‘Tough shit. I’m not scared of these bastards. Once Izzy is safe, I’m going after them.’
‘Is that wise? They know where you live. If this was a normal case I’d say go for it but don’t forget you’re flying solo. Just get Isabel home and we can talk about it.’
‘Promise me you’ll wait here until I get back?’
Begrudgingly Murphy agreed to stay put.
CHAPTER 57
Blake travelled four hundred yards in his Jaguar before stopping opposite the bus shelter. He was running on pure adrenaline. The tension had being building for almost twenty-four hours and had reached the point of no return.
Staring out of the open passenger window at the empty bus shelter, he reflected on his life. At forty-five his police career included three promotions, and hundreds of convictions. In contrast, his personal life, excluding events of the last day, had settled down. Although no matter how positive his outlook he’d spent the last ten years raising his daughter whilst trying to bury the pain of losing his wife and son in a fatal hit and run. Grief counselling helped but no amount of talking could ever bring his family back. It was the sheer finality of death that made him feel so overwhelmed and helpless at times.
The Killer Shadow Thieves (DI Tom Blake, #1) Page 19
