Brooks nodded. ‘If we went online do you think you could show me what the guns looked like?’
The boy nodded slowly. ‘Maybe. I only got a quick look.’
‘What about what the men were wearing?’
‘Black,’ Styles said. ‘All black. Their clothes looked military, or maybe like armed police. They were wearing ski masks. One was taller than me; the other one was shorter.’
Brooks nodded approvingly and Cam was surprised by how much information the police officer had been able to get out of the shocked group. Another of the boys raised a hand. Cam squinted against the sudden burst of sunlight through the back windows. The student looked like Byron James, another of Tom’s friends and another one who seemed to favour the goth look. ‘Sir, I think one of them had a handgun as well. I can’t be certain but I’m fairly sure he had a leg holster. He was one of the two who let us go.’
It wasn’t much, but Brooks nodded his appreciation. ‘That’s great. Well done. Anybody else?’
The students and staff suddenly seemed to be looking anywhere but at Cam and Brooks as though they were all embarrassed by their shared lack of information. Despite his frustration, Cam understood. They’d all been rounded up at gunpoint and terrified. They probably hadn’t a clue what to expect and the sheer relief of being released would have probably caused them all to forget anything other than that feeling of relief at their liberation.
‘Sir?’ Byron Thomas had raised his hand again. ‘There was one other thing I noticed.’
‘Go on,’ Brooks said.
‘There were two men keeping us together and letting us go in groups. One of them was really, like, professional about it. It was like he just wanted to get the job done. But the other one was different.’
‘In what way?’
‘He was weird. I could see that he was sweating and his eyes were all over the place. He couldn’t look at any of us and he didn’t speak at all, just a few nods of his head. I’ve thought about it and I wondered if he was on something. Y’know. Drugs. But then I saw the teachers and students had the same look in their eyes. Sir, I think one of the armed men over there is terrified of the others.’
12
There was just enough light trickling in from around the door to allow Annie to scan the shelves of the store cupboard, looking for something, anything, that might help her to escape. She briefly flirted with the idea of fashioning some sort of weapon out of one of the metre-long rulers but found herself almost giggling at her own stupidity. What good would a length of wood be against a gun?
Her breathing was starting to slow down and with it her heart rate, but she could still feel the dull throb of her pulse high up in her throat. She reached up and checked the catch. It was still in a vertical position. Did that mean it was locked? She couldn’t remember. What if she only thought she’d locked it and one of the men was able to pull it open and drag her out?
No. She remembered clearly the click as the catch had engaged. Didn’t she? She couldn’t check because she’d have to turn the handle and that would be visible from outside, so anybody standing in the classroom would know immediately where she was hiding. She needed a plan. Her thoughts kept being drawn back to the window and the trick with the hinges but there were two problems with using that as an escape route. Firstly, she needed to find a pair of compasses, or something similar, although, she knew, a geography room would have a good selection of drawing equipment. Other than in the maths department, she couldn’t think of a better place to find compasses than in geography. She’d used them regularly to draw pie charts and diagrams of population densities. Her mind was wandering again, doing that odd dancing round the subject thing that had happened to her earlier, in the corridor. She pinched the flesh on her forearm, forcing herself to focus.
There was another problem. What was it? What else might prevent her plan from working? Then she remembered. If she was going to climb out of the window, she’d have to leave the safety of this cupboard. And she really wasn’t ready to do that.
A distant shout brought her back to the present. The two men must have found out that she’d disappeared. She had no idea what they’d do – hadn’t even thought of anything other than getting herself out of their reach – but she knew that they’d be furious when they realised that she wasn’t in the toilets. It sounded like they’d just discovered her escape route.
Annie held her breath and pressed her ear to the door. If she was quiet, she might be able to work out where they were and what they were doing. If they were quiet, though, one of them might be able to creep right up to the door. In fact, he could be out there right now, listening at the other side of the door.
Then she realised her mistake. The door was made of solid wood, but it wouldn’t be much of a barrier against bullets. Annie had seen enough action movies to know that the bad guys usually shot through locked doors rather than trying to open them, killing whoever was inside. Silently, legs trembling, she raised herself into a low crouch and shuffled two steps to her right. A shelf at waist height held piles of text books but the area underneath seemed empty and was just wide enough for Annie to fold herself into, putting the brick wall between herself and the classroom. She wasn’t sure but she thought the wall might provide more protection than the door if one of the men started shooting.
The disadvantage of her new position was that the sounds from the corridor were much more muffled. She could hear a raised voice but couldn’t make out any words and it seemed like only one of the men was shouting. Was he blaming the other one for her escape? Was she misunderstanding what she was hearing and actually he was shouting for her to come out? Like she was going to do that. Unless they were trying to blackmail her. What if they threatened to shoot Tom or one of the others if she didn’t come back? She couldn’t allow that thought to take root in her mind – it made no sense. If they thought she’d got out of the building, why would they be shouting to her?
A thud close by set her heart racing again. Somebody had thrown the door open and entered the room. She could hear loud breathing and something that sounded like muttered curses – hopefully he was making enough noise to cover any sounds she might be inadvertently making. The words were becoming clearer and Annie realised that the man was approaching the cupboard.
‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Where the hell did she go?’ He sounded agitated, possibly more worried than annoyed. Perhaps one had tried to apportion blame on to the other one and the man currently in the room was the lowest in the pecking order.
‘Jesus!’ The shout made Annie flinch. Had she cried out? Had she made a noise as her head shot back and struck the wall?
‘What’s up with you?’ A different voice.
‘You startled me. I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘Maybe you should get your ears checked. You didn’t hear that little cow sneaking out either, did you?’
‘Yeah, well you didn’t check that there wasn’t another exit.’
Annie heard a muffled thud.
‘Don’t speak to me like that. I don’t care who sent you on this job, you’re not in charge of me and if you forget it you might regret it.’
‘Okay. Okay.’ The words were muffled as though the man had a hand over his mouth and Annie realised that the other one must have hit him.
‘Have you checked all the other rooms?’
Silence, then, ‘So where the fuck did she go?’
‘Out of a window?’
More silence, then the second man’s voice came from further away. ‘They only open a couple of inches. How could she have got out of that?’
Annie didn’t hear them leave but there was no further sound from the room. Had they gone back into the corridor? Were they just waiting to see if she reappeared?
‘Come out, come out, wherever you are.’ The voice was low and taunting and right next to the cupboard door. They knew where she was.
She looked up at the door handle, horrified, as it turned slowly.
‘It’s fucking locked
,’ the voice said, disgusted. ‘Unless she can pass through solid wood she’s not here. There must be another way out. She’s probably over in the main school building by now spilling her guts out thanks to you. I need to get back to the classroom and report this cock-up.’ The voice was getting quieter as the man was obviously on his way to the door out into the corridor – Annie heard it open and then close and then, nothing. They’d gone.
The walls of the cupboard seemed much closer than they had when Annie had first closed the door behind her. The space had felt like a sanctuary but now it was more like a prison. She had to get out and see if she could open one of the windows. But she couldn’t move. The memory of that voice so close to her ear, teasing her, made it impossible for her to move her legs. They just didn’t want to co-operate and allow her to stand up.
Trying to find a better position, Annie placed her hands flat on the floor and shuffled an inch to her right. This time her legs obeyed. Another inch: then two and she was out from under the shelf. She could stand properly if she could send the signal from her legs to her brain. Slowly, so slowly, she managed to ease herself upright. Now all she needed to do was to find something to help her to open the window.
Silently she scanned the shelves. Piles of exercise books to her left and text books to her right. A higher shelf held a few reams of A4 paper and a plastic tub that had once contained sweets. Just the kind of tub that teachers used to store coloured pencils, crayons and, Annie hoped, compasses.
As quietly as she could manage, Annie eased the plastic container from the shelf and almost cried out in relief when she saw that it didn’t have a lid – there was no way she could have opened it without making a noise. It was filled with coloured pencils and felt tip pens, most with the tops missing, a couple of rulers, a broken set square and an almost-finished roll of Sellotape. Annie lifted the ruler to see if she could find anything else and saw a pencil sharpener and another set square. Carefully, she eased her fingers further into the tub, running them through the items, trying to identify them by touch. And then she found it. Something sharp pricked her middle finger. A pair of compasses with the stub of a pencil still attached.
Having a potential tool and a plan didn’t make Annie feel any safer. She still had to open the door, cross the room and wrestle with the window – all without being seen or heard. It was impossible. She couldn’t do it. It might be safer just to stay in the cupboard and wait for rescue. But what if nobody came? Or what if they came too late and the men in the classroom had decided that the students were expendable and turned their guns on her friends.
No. She had to try.
She placed the tub of pencils on the floor at the back of the cupboard and took a deep breath. Then another. Placing her hand on the latch above the door handle she gave it a sharp turn, wincing as it clicked open. She eased her hand downwards and felt the coolness of the door handle as she applied pressure. The sliver of daylight down the side of the jamb widened as Annie’s trembling hand pushed the door open far enough for her to see a small slice of the geography room.
Empty.
She could do this.
Feeling like a child in a playground game, she took a baby step forwards. Then another until her whole body was out in the open; exposed.
The windows were only a few metres away but they might have been on the other side of the world – Annie had no idea how she could possibly walk that far, but she had to move.
One more tiny step. Another.
Something cold suddenly pressed against her neck and a gloved hand covered her mouth.
‘Scream and you’re dead,’ a voice hissed in her ear as another hand gripped her wrist and the compasses fell to the carpet.
Before
Andy threw his car keys onto the table next to his front door and sighed heavily. His job wasn’t especially stressful but, recently, he’d started to resent every minute he spent there because he felt like he was earning the money for somebody else. He’d already sounded out a couple of estate agents about the possibility of putting his bungalow on the market – it was too big anyway. The two dormer rooms were empty, and he hardly ever used the conservatory despite its fantastic view of the western fells.
The loss of status would be hard to take though. After paying off his debt he’d still have enough money to buy a small terraced house in Moor Row or Cleator but, when he contemplated being in such close proximity to other people, he felt physically ill. He was a manager. He was supposed to have a nice house and a flashy car. If he didn’t then what was the point?
The last of the afternoon sun spilled through the stained-glass panes in the top of the door creating a kaleidoscope effect on the hardwood floor of the hallway. Dust motes danced in the blades of colour, reminding Andy that he hadn’t done any serious housework since he’d let his cleaner go at the end of October.
He shrugged out of his suit jacket, placing it carefully on the coat rack before loosening his tie so he could slip it off without undoing it. For a second, he held the loose end over his head, pulling it tight like a noose. ‘Twat,’ he muttered to himself, flinging the tie down next to his keys.
He rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, his mind on the six chilled bottles of Peroni waiting in the fridge. One before his usual microwaved ready meal would leave him five to get him through to bedtime and, if they didn’t do the trick, he still had half a bottle of Laphroaig in the cupboard.
Andy uncapped his beer and poured it into a tall glass, tilting it carefully so the head didn’t overflow, then took two large swigs.
‘Got one for me?’
The glass shattered in a hissing puddle of lager as Andy turned round. He hoped he hadn’t really recognised the voice, that it was just an opportunistic burglar.
‘You need to clean that up before you cut yourself.’ The voice was solicitous but the emphasis on cut hinted at malice.
‘Gerry. H-h-how did you get in?’ Andy stuttered, trying to make sense of Montrose’s menacing presence in his kitchen.
Montrose shrugged as though the question wasn’t important and crossed to the fridge where he helped himself to a beer. ‘We need to have a chat,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait in the living room while you clear up that mess.’ He left as silently as he’d arrived.
Andy leaned down to the cupboard under the sink and groped around for a dustpan and brush. After sweeping up the broken glass, he ran a damp cloth over the tiles and then headed to the living room, never once questioning why he was following somebody else’s instructions in his own home.
Montrose was sprawled on the black leather sofa, remote control in his hand, watching the news. He clicked the television off as Andy sat opposite and eased himself up into a sitting position.
‘I have an offer,’ Montrose began. ‘A way for you to clear your debt without paying me another penny. Interested?’
Andy studied the other man, trying to read his expression. He knew that this wouldn’t be as simple as Montrose was suggesting and he also sensed that it might be a trap. ‘I’m not sure,’ he admitted. ‘What does it involve?’
Montrose snorted and shook his head. ‘Jesus. I’m trying to help you here and you look at me like I’ve shit in your hands and told you to clap. I don’t like it when people owe me money. I’m never sure when, or if, they’ll pay me back and I don’t enjoy uncertainty. This is a way to put this whole matter to bed, so I don’t have to worry about you, and you don’t have to worry at all.’
Andy shook his head. Montrose sounded so reasonable, so reassuring but he knew from recent experience that the man couldn’t be trusted. Only three weeks previously Andy had found his tyres slashed and something that smelled very much like human excrement smeared across the windscreen of his BMW. The only possible explanation was that he’d defaulted on a payment to Montrose. He’d been glad to trade the car in for an older, less flashy replacement and pay the two instalments that he’d missed.
‘I need details,’ Andy said. ‘I’m not going to get involved in anyth
ing dodgy.’
‘Dodgy? Andrew, you owe me tens of thousands of pounds and I’m offering you a way to write it all off. If I were you, I wouldn’t suddenly find a conscience. What else are you going to do – sell your house? And what about your dear old mum in the retirement home? Will you still have enough left over to fund her care?’
Again, Andy noticed that Montrose’s tone was friendly but there was a veiled threat to his family. Or was he imagining it? ‘What do you want me to do?’
Montrose smiled and Andy felt himself give in. Whatever Montrose wanted, Andy knew he’d commit because he was weak. That’s how he ended up in so much debt. That’s how he was now beholden to the dangerous man on his sofa. And, being offered an easy way out, he knew he’d take it.
‘That’s more like it.’ Montrose grinned broadly. ‘I have a bit of an issue with a certain person in the local community and I think you can help me out. I believe your sister, Donna, works at Fellbeck Academy, am I right?’
Andy nodded.
‘I need you to tell me more about her. And anything you know about the school.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Of course not,’ Montrose said. ‘That’s just the beginning.’
Over the next few days Andy received three telephone calls urging him to get in touch with his sister to find out specific information about the school perimeter and about her classes. On all three occasions Andy made the call – in case Montrose had some way of checking his phone records – but steered the chat towards their mother or an explanation of how he was managing his debt. If Donna had been surprised to hear from him so regularly she didn’t show it and actually seemed happy to hear from him on one occasion.
The information he gave to Montrose was based on his own knowledge of the school and a few of Donna’s throwaway comments about safeguarding that he’d managed to remember. Of course, he had no idea about her classes and knew she wouldn’t tell him if he asked so he happily passed on this lack of information along with a grudging recognition of his sister’s professionalism. Montrose’s responses were muted but Andy believed that the man was convinced that Andy had done his best. All he could do was wait until Montrose told him he was satisfied and the debt was wiped clean – until then, the whisky helped him to block out his concerns about what Montrose was intending to do with the fake information.
Don't Breathe Page 11
