by Anita Waller
He didn’t want to be seen. After showing them his address the previous week, he’d had a visit from some young copper wanting to know why he was in those woods, miles away from his home address. He’d had to tell the same stupid story about a woman he fancied, who had cancelled their date in Rother Valley when he was en route, so rather than not take the dog for a walk, he’d pulled by those woods and taken her in there. He was shocked to find the police, and its elevation from woods to crime scene.
He didn’t want his address showing up in PC Craig Smythe’s notebook again, but he likewise didn’t want to risk going in those woods without a valid reason. He pulled out his phone and rang Katie.
‘I need Fluffy.’
‘Okay, no problem. But you know the rules.’
He laughed. ‘I do. I promise she’ll be fine. What on earth can happen to her in Rother Valley?’
‘You want a list?’
‘I’ll be there in quarter of an hour,’ he said, and disconnected.
It took him twelve minutes to cross the city, and Katie opened the door to him, holding Fluffy in her arms, with the lead already attached.
‘Have a good time,’ Katie said. ‘She was at the groomers this morning, so don’t let her get mucky.’
He put the dog in the car and drove away. Katie’s eyes followed him all the way to the end of the road. He knew she had no idea what he was playing at, but no doubt, one day, he would tell her.
Fluffy was the perfect lady. She sat in the footwell all the way and didn’t move. He took hold of her lead before opening the car door, ever mindful of the threat to castrate him if Fluffy didn’t return in pristine condition. Once again, he parked near the woods.
They walked across the tarmac strip and into the leafy greenness of the woods. It felt quite cool, a welcome relief from the heat of the afternoon. Kenny initially manoeuvred the dog towards the site where Vinnie had met his end, but Fluffy was having none of it. The hole had been filled in, but it was obvious it was disturbed soil.
‘Come on, Fluffy, there’s not much to be seen here. We’ll have a walk round, see if anything looks off.’ He tugged on the pink lead, and the dog followed him.
They trudged through thick undergrowth, with the tiny Bichon Frise eager to enjoy her walk. She wanted to inspect every tree, every random bit of paper or plastic and enjoy the freedom, albeit on the end of a lead.
Kenny stood for a moment and took in the atmosphere. Although the wood was bordered by a busy road on one side, the Asda car park on another, with the additional issue of the police station at the top end, it was quiet. He couldn’t hear bees, animals, crickets chirruping… nothing.
‘We’ll head back, Fluffy,’ he said, and turned. His arms flailed, and he landed face first, his foot caught in a tree root. Fluffy ran. Her freedom was now total.
‘Shit,’ Kenny groaned. ‘That hurt. Fluffy! Come back here. Now!’
Fluffy continued to investigate the wood but on her terms. She ran, ignoring the pink lead trailing behind her. She stopped a couple of times to dig in the undergrowth, getting a little grubbier every time she did so. And then, she stopped.
She could see an opening. She could also hear the man coming up behind her, fast. She slipped into the opening and hunted around. She used her nose to bring out some plastic boxes from under the seats and tried to prise off the lids, without success. Frustration led to growling, and Kenny followed the sound. He could hear the damn dog, but he couldn’t see her. He stood still and called her name.
The growl seemed to be almost by his side, and he turned to inspect the shrub. He pulled apart the branches, and they actually moved to one side. The little dog was crouching, trying to gnaw its way into a plastic box.
Kenny pulled some branches out of the way and saw the seats.
‘Fuck me,’ he said. ‘It’s a fucking kids’ den!’ He climbed over the mound of branches he had created and grabbed hold of the dog’s lead. He lifted her out of the jumble of greenery and tied her to a tree, before going back to investigate.
The box Fluffy had been gnawing clearly contained biscuits, but there were bottles of water, about half a dozen, under what appeared to be a seat. He couldn’t help but think what a brilliant little place it was, especially when he sat down on one of the seats and found his eye level was just above a window aperture. For a child, it would have been a perfect observation point. An observation point that looked directly at Vinnie Walmsley’s crime scene.
Kenny continued to sit there for a few minutes, working out what had happened here. He knew that this den belonged to the six kids who had found Vinnie’s body, but what had they seen?
Did they see Vinnie bury the drugs? Did they see Johanna cut his throat? Did they see somebody dig up the drugs? Or did they dig them up?
Kenny found the tin box almost by accident. He’d heard Fluffy bark and decided it was time to go. His foot caught underneath the seat – he really was a bit big to be sitting in a den for kids – and heard the clang of metal. He reached beneath his legs and pulled out the tin box.
Inside it was a couple of pencils, a biro, a pack of Uno cards and a little notebook. He opened the notebook. Written across the top of two pages were five initials and one name; Daryl, M, D, F, S, and E. He presumed Daryl was written in full because there was another D in the group of kids.
‘Bingo, fucking bingo,’ he breathed.
He put everything but the notebook back in the box and slipped it into its original hiding place. The book went into his pocket. He pushed some branches to one side and climbed back out of the den. The police had obviously not come across it, because it hadn’t been disturbed in any way, but he had to admire the kids; he had walked past it and not seen it. It looked like a shrub growing out of the undergrowth.
He stopped in shock when he saw Fluffy. She had been digging around the base of the sapling; he might have tied her up, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t try to escape. The white Bichon Frise was now a grey Bichon Frise and definitely didn’t look as though she had been to the groomers.
He freed her from the sapling and looked at her. He had no idea what he was going to say to Katie, but whatever it was, her response wasn’t going to be pleasant.
He put the dog back in the car and attempted to brush off the dirt. She didn’t look any better, and he started the car with a sigh. The music would have to be faced.
The music wasn’t pleasant; Katie was livid with him. She banned him from borrowing Fluffy again, charged him fifty pounds for a return visit to the groomers and threw him out of the house. He rubbed his groin and considered he’d got away lightly.
His drive to the penthouse was short, and as he travelled up in the lift, he realised he felt slightly nervous. He was, after all, about to give the names of six kids to a man known for being ruthless; Kenny realised that his interpretation of ‘kids’ had been ‘teenagers’, but he now realised they were little kids, kids who played Uno.
How would Nicolas Grausohn react? And how would Kenny react if Grausohn gave the nod to Tommy, as he had done with Johanna Fleischer?
The elevator, spectacular in its lavish interior, drew to a gentle stop, and he stepped out. Standing outside the door, Tommy nodded as he saw him.
‘He’s expecting you,’ he said, and opened the door.
Grausohn was sitting at his desk. ‘You have good news?’
‘I have the initials of the six children. I only got them half an hour ago, so haven’t had time to find full names. That’s my next job, but I wanted you to know we have solved a big part of the mystery.’
He reached into his drawer and pulled out an envelope. ‘There’s ten grand. Another ten grand when I get the surnames. And another twenty when I get one of the kids.’
Chapter 10
Monday morning started at 5.10 in the Brownlow household. Freya was sick. Her mum sorted everything out, popped her back into the clean sheets and said stay in bed.
When the boys got up, oblivious to the traumas happening with Freya, they
clattered downstairs to Sally telling them to be quieter, their sister was sleeping and wouldn’t be playing. She needed to rest.
They looked at each other. That meant they were down to four, because they knew Ella wouldn’t want to be there without Freya. Maybe that would be better; two less to get caught if things went wrong.
Daryl and Sammy arrived just after nine, nervous and yet happy at finally getting rid of the drugs. Mark had already put the large package into his backpack, aware that they wouldn’t really be able to go down to the Wendy house if Freya wasn’t with them. He had also rung Ella, and she said she wouldn’t go, not without Freya, so the four boys set off armed with gloves borrowed from underneath Megan Clarkson’s sink and a pack of baby wipes for cleansing the package.
The shock when they reached the den was evident on all four faces. The immediate reaction was that the police must have found it, but then common sense prevailed. If the police had found it, it would have made their involvement much more suspicious, and DI Roberts would have been straight round with further questions. So, who had found their haven?
‘I think we should change the plan,’ Mark said slowly. ‘Think about this. What if somebody who’s looking for the drugs found the den? I’m not sure we should leave them anywhere near here. And I think we should stay away, like that policewoman said. We’re in danger, aren’t we?’
He looked around at the others, and their thumbs crept up.
‘Let’s take everything we have here back home and flatten this. We’re not going to be able to use it again, are we?’ Daryl was his usual ever-practical self. He and Mark had brought backpacks, so they stuffed as much as they could into them and carried the fleece blankets.
They stamped on the den and scattered the branches around. Nobody spoke. It was too heart breaking.
An hour later, they were back at Daryl’s house, feeling no better. Megan had been driving down the road as they walked up, and she handed them a key to get in.
‘I’m going to get some food,’ she said. ‘Make yourselves at home, boys.’
So, they did. Slowly, they came around and tried to decide what to do with the drugs now the original plan wasn’t feasible. The only conclusion they drew was that they preferred cheese and onion crisps to salt and vinegar.
‘Okay,’ Mark said. ‘I’ll take it to ours and put it back in the oven in the Wendy house.’
‘What if we dump it in a waste bin? There’s loads of them. Two of them at the shops.’ Dom was desperately looking for answers.
‘CCTV,’ Daryl reminded them. ‘We don’t want the police to catch us dumping them. I think this is gonna take a lot more thinking about.’
Grausohn looked at the list of names. Bloody kids. Should all be strangled at birth. ‘Kenny!’
Kenny popped his head around the door. ‘Boss?’
‘These kids. Do we know anything?’
‘Not yet, boss. I’ve called Carl in. He’s likely to know them.’ And then, it hit him with the force of a wrecking ball. Daryl.
He’d met him, Daryl. With Carl. Carl’s son. No wonder Carl had been acting stupid. He’d known from the start who the kids were. But now what? He’d bet anything on Carl already having done a runner; he couldn’t hand his own son on a platter to Grausohn.
‘Kenny? You’ve thought of something? You know them?’
Kenny lied, to give himself time to think. ‘No, it took my mind back to that young kid we had to… dispose of. He was called Darrell, wasn’t he?’
‘I remember him. Darren, not Darrell. Helped himself to some of our funds. Him and his brother.’
‘Yeah, he’s the one. They didn’t die easy and seeing the name brought it back. Sorry, boss.’
‘Is Carl coming in? You’ve rung him?’ Grausohn’s German accent was getting stronger by the second, and Kenny knew he was feeling the frustration. Six kids seemed to be getting the better of him, and that couldn’t carry on.
‘He’s on his way, had to go to the dentists first thing. Coming straight here after that.’
‘Gut. I want to see him as soon as he gets here. Understood?’
‘Sure thing, boss. I’ll text him and make sure he knows it’s urgent.’
Grausohn nodded and waved him out of the door.
Kenny took out his mobile phone and clicked on Messenger. He typed.
I know who Daryl is. Tell me one of the others, and I’ll keep your lad out of it. You’ve been dentist, lied for you. Don’t let me down. Get in here ASAP. Send me the name or address NOW.
He attached the photograph he had taken of the Uno score sheet and hit send.
The reply was immediate.
Ella Johnston. 8 Darwin Close. Thanks pal.
He hesitated momentarily before heading back to Grausohn. ‘Clarkson’s come up trumps with an address.’
Without further thought, Grausohn growled, ‘Get me that child. I’ll speak to it.’
‘She’s a girl, boss.’
‘Even better. I’ll give her to one of the lads when I’ve got what I want from her. Take an untraceable car, just in case, and take Tommy with you. So much bloody CCTV these days.’
Kenny felt sick. It was one thing to kill a woman, but a little girl? He headed down to his own car, collecting Tommy on the way. They drove to the car repair shop Grausohn kept for specific activities and swapped cars, driving away in a nondescript Citroen Picasso, big enough to throw a child in the back and subdue her. And Kenny still felt sick.
They found Darwin Close easily and pulled up by the side of the road. Tommy was driving, and Kenny knew this meant he would have to grab the kid. They sat for quarter of an hour, watching the house and trying to formulate a plan for getting her anywhere near them. They couldn’t snatch anybody who was probably lain on her bed playing computer games.
And then, the front door opened. The kid wasn’t laid on her bed.
Cissie Johnston wasn’t convinced she should be letting Ella go down the road to visit Freya, but she’d been miserable all day because of her enforced captivity. But still, a sickness bug…
‘Look, little miss miserable, don’t stay too long. I want you back here by…’ Cissie checked her watch, ‘five at the very latest. Are you listening, Ella?’
Ella grinned. ‘I’m listening, and I promise. See you later, Mum.’
She walked sedately down the path, picked up her scooter, then turned and waved as her mum closed the door.
Once through the gate, she increased her pace until the scooter was flying down the road. Her ponytail bobbed up and down and gradually the little scooter reached its maximum speed. It had been such a boring day, and now, she felt alive again. There was a possibility that all her friends would be at the Brownlow house, and maybe they would be telling her the drugs were no longer a problem.
She had no idea there was a car containing two men bearing down on her. Equally, the two men had no idea how to orchestrate the snatch, but not to do it was unthinkable. Grausohn wanted the kid, and the kid would be “questioned.”
She increased her speed, her white trainer on her left foot beating down on the hot pavement, her thoughts flying ahead of her to seeing Freya and the boys.
She didn’t hear the quiet purr of the engine, simply glanced behind her and, without losing speed, pointed the scooter to cross the road.
Tommy hit the brakes, yelling ‘shit’ as he realised the inevitability of the collision. The tyres screamed as they sought traction on the hot road surface, and both men felt the thud as the sloping bonnet of the Picasso hit Ella, tossing her small body upwards and onto the windscreen. The momentum carried her some yards, before she slid, an inert figure, down the bonnet and onto the road in front of the now stationary vehicle. The scooter came to a rest on the pavement, mangled out of shape.
‘Reverse, reverse!’ Kenny yelled at the immobile figure in the driving seat. ‘Come on, man, we’ve gotta get out of here. Shit! Come on!’ He pulled out his phone and took a picture of Ella, legs at an impossible angle, her hair splayed out
around her and covered in blood. The boss would want proof.
Tommy looked blankly at Kenny for a moment and then the look of absolute horror on Kenny’s face ignited him.
‘Fuckin’ ’ell, Kenny, we’re in trouble now.’ He dropped the car into reverse and sped around the lifeless form lying on the road. The white trainers were stained red, as was the tarmac underneath her. People were running towards her.
The souped-up Picasso was touching seventy miles an hour by the time it was flying past the Brownlow house.
And Freya slept, unaware of the activity outside on the road.
‘She’s dead.’
‘I know she’s fucking dead.’ Kenny spat out the words, trying desperately to come up with some answers to an impossible question. He’d seen the kid’s face splatter on the windscreen before she’d been catapulted off as the brakes finally brought the car to a screaming halt. He’d seen the blood that seemed to spurt from every part of her… He had no doubt she was dead.
Thank God they’d brought some random car and not one of their own.
Tommy’s hands were shaking. ‘What do we tell the boss?’
‘The truth. The kid ran into us, we didn’t run into her.’
‘He’ll not be pleased.’ Now, his voice was shaking as well.
‘Well, I’m not fucking jumping for joy,’ Kenny growled. ‘Get a grip, Tommy. We need another name. That one didn’t work out.’
‘You’re all bleedin’ ’eart, you, Kenny.’ Tommy was still shaking. ‘You’d better drive.’
Kenny laughed. ‘Not bloody likely. My fingerprints aren’t going anywhere near that steering wheel while we’ve got blood smeared all over the windscreen. Let’s get this back to t’garage, needs a full valet and might need some repairs to that bumper.’
Tommy sighed, pulled at a lever to spray liquid over the windscreen, then jabbed at the wipers, the little girl’s blood running down the sides of the glass before disappearing from sight. He then put the car into gear and left the relative security of their parking place, slipping into the mainstream traffic.
