Don't Breathe

by Heleyne Hammersley

  ‘So, if you sell up, he gets all the profits?’

  Penny nodded.

  ‘If you give him the money what’s to stop him doing the same thing in another few years?’

  ‘I’m going to make sure it’s done properly this time if I can get the cash. No matter how scared I am, I need to protect my daughter. I don’t want him back in her life.’

  ‘But you don’t have the money?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘What does that mean? Are you planning to rob a bank?’ Cam’s stomach suddenly turned over. Was this why she’d asked him to meet her? Did she think he had that kind of money?

  ‘My dad’s going to come into some money in January. He’s got an endowment that’s due to mature. He’s already said he’ll organise a loan for me. Well, for Annie really – he loves her so much. If I can just borrow what I need until then I can pay it back. Obviously, the banks won’t help but somebody I know says they can sort something out. The interest rate will be extortionate, but it’ll be worth it to finally be rid of Steve.’ Penny was presenting her plan as though it made perfect sense. She’d obviously considered all the implications of borrowing the money from a dubious source and saw it as her best option. She wasn’t asking Cam for anything, she was just presenting facts.

  ‘A loan shark? Is that really the best option?’

  ‘It’s my only option.’ Penny waggled her empty glass at him and smiled. ‘Another?’

  Cam considered what she’d told him. If she had to sell the house and give Steve the proceeds at least she’d be rid of him and she’d have enough in savings to put down as a deposit on another property. Why was she so keen to stay where she was? Especially as the house must hold a lot of unpleasant memories for her.

  ‘I got you a shandy,’ Penny said, putting the glass on the table in front of Cam. He noticed that she’d swapped the gin and tonic for a large glass of red wine. He took a swig, the sweetness of the drink cloying after the hoppy beer that he’d just finished.

  ‘Why don’t you just let Steve sell the house? You could buy somewhere else for you and Annie.’

  ‘It’s my house,’ she said. ‘It was only a plot when we bought it. I picked out everything in it. He said he wanted me to have the best of everything and I believed him. After he left, I made a lot of changes, invested a lot of time and money in eradicating him from every room. If he forces me to sell it, it’s like he’s controlling me all over again. I might be frightened but I’m not going to give up without a fight.’

  ‘So you’re going to get the money from some sleazy lender and that’ll make you feel safe again?’

  ‘What options do I have? It’s not like I can do what you did.’

  Cam stared at her. How could she possibly know? ‘What I did?’

  ‘After Chrissie died. You used school funds to hire a private investigator to look into her death. At least, that’s what I assume he was doing. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t use your own money.’

  ‘I… er… I didn’t.’ Cam’s throat felt like it was closing and he was struggling to breathe. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t know about this.

  ‘My guess is that your mortgage is huge and that the funeral wiped you out. It’s not like Chrissie was working, and running two Mercs and that quad bike you bought for Tom to run up and down the lane on can’t have been cheap.’

  Cam took a shaky gulp of his drink, wishing that he wasn’t driving and could have something stronger, a lot stronger. ‘How do you…?’

  ‘How do I know? Let’s just say I have contacts. Now, if you can use the school budget for your own little project, how about doing the same for me. And, yes, I can prove that you did it. But, please feel free to call my bluff.’

  She sat back and smiled. ‘I will pay it back, Cam. All of it, and on time.’

  ‘Is this why you’ve been so keen for us to have a relationship. Are you just using me?’ Cam could hear how pathetic he sounded but he couldn’t help himself. He’d allowed himself to be tricked and there was nothing he could do about it.

  ‘Honestly, Cam, no. I like you and I thought you liked me. Nothing has to change.’

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘I’ll get the money elsewhere.’

  ‘And you won’t drop me in it with the governors?’

  Penny’s smile was slow and lazy. ‘I never said that.’

  16

  ‘It’s Tom!’ Cam yelled at Ruth Warnesford as he passed the telephone handset back to her.

  ‘On the phone?’ she looked puzzled.

  ‘No. It’s Tom who’s hurt. That’s who they need the first aid supplies for. I need to get over there.’

  ‘Over where?’ Pearson asked, stepping through the doors that led to the main school. Cam stared at him, trying to make sense of his presence. Who was he? He couldn’t remember for a second and then it came back to him. His mind was playing tricks. He’d left Pearson talking to the students who’d been allowed out of the humanities block; that must mean they were all on their way to the leisure centre.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Pearson asked, looking from Cam to Ruth.

  ‘They need first aid,’ Cam said. ‘For Tom. I need to see him.’

  Pearson laid a restraining hand on Cam’s arm, the pressure firm. ‘No. You can’t help if you go charging in. What did the man on the phone say?’

  Cam felt his legs weakening and just managed to get himself to one of the soft chairs outside his office before he collapsed. ‘He’s been hurt. They need bandages and everything they asked for before. Ruth’s supposed to take it over, but I think it should be me. He’s my son.’

  Cam looked at Pearson for confirmation, but the detective was shaking his head. ‘We have to do exactly what they say,’ he said. ‘If they see you approaching instead of Ruth, who knows what they might do? What were the instructions?’

  Cam rested his head in his hands, unable to think clearly. Tom was hurt badly enough to need bandages and pain medication. What the hell had happened to him?

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Not much more than before. They still want the bandages and painkillers. But he made it clear that it’s for Tom. Do you think they’re just trying to mess with me?’

  Pearson was frowning at him as though he’d said something odd.

  ‘Do you?’ he responded. ‘We still don’t know who these men are and what they want. Could it have something to do with you? Are you in some sort of trouble? You need to be honest with me this time, Mr Cleaver. I need to know.’

  Cam leapt to his feet and was gratified to see a flash of fear in the detective’s face as he stepped back. ‘I don’t know why they’re here!’ he yelled. ‘And I don’t know why they’ve hurt my son. What I do know is that we’ve been waiting for some sort of backup, backup that you requested over half an hour ago. If anything happens to Tom, I know exactly who I’m going to blame.’

  He bristled at Pearson’s patronising smile.

  ‘I’m running this investigation, Mr Cleaver. You might not like how I’m doing it but, for the moment, we do things my way. I’ll be extremely glad when my colleagues arrive and take over and you’re free to take up your grievances with them. For now, though, I need you to co-operate. If we’re going to help your son, we need to do exactly what these men want. We know one of them is frightened and potentially volatile. We also know that they’re very organised and seem to know a lot about the school. One false or stupid move could cost you dearly. Are you with me?’

  Cam nodded. What choice did he have? If he went charging over to the humanities block it wasn’t only Tom who was at risk – there were others in there and, while Cam didn’t care about them anywhere near as much as he cared about his son, he didn’t want anybody else to get hurt. The school didn’t need that sort of publicity. ‘So, what do we do?’ he asked, sitting back down.

  ‘We get the supplies over to the humanities block and we wait.’

  ‘Don’t I get a say in it?’ Ruth asked. ‘I�
�m the one they’ve asked to go over there. Why me?’

  Cam took a deep breath. This was his school and he was supposed to be in charge. Ruth was his PA and a valued colleague – he couldn’t allow Pearson to bully her. ‘Ruth,’ he said, walking over to the reception desk. ‘Nobody can make you go over there if you don’t want to.’ He leaned on the wooden countertop, bringing his face closer to Ruth’s and tried his most winning smile. From Ruth’s expression he could see that it had no effect – he suspected that it probably looked grotesque given the circumstances. He tried again. The receptionist’s expression softened – he’d got it right on the second try.

  ‘What can I do to make this easier?’

  Ruth lowered her head, her eyes flicking randomly between the items on the counter as though the answer might lie in the visitor signing-in book or the parcels that were awaiting distribution around the school. ‘I’m scared, Cam,’ she said. ‘I know I should be heroic, should want to help the kids and Donna. And I do. But I’m terrified. What if they keep me over there? What if they decide to shoot me just because they can?’

  Cam turned to Pearson. ‘Can I have a private chat with Ruth in my office? I think you being here might be adding pressure.’

  Pearson shrugged but Cam knew that, one way or another, he was going to make the PA walk over to the humanities block unprotected. Cam wanted the same outcome, but he needed Ruth to think she was doing it because she’d decided it was the right thing – not because she had to.

  ‘Okay, Ruth,’ Cam began when they were seated at opposite sides of Cam’s desk, the door firmly closed behind them. ‘I understand your fears, I do. I’m scared to death for Tom and the rest of them.’

  Ruth couldn’t look at him.

  ‘Do you have any connection with any of the students, or with Donna, beyond a professional one?’

  The PA shook her head.

  ‘Do you know why these men are here? Who they are?’

  Another head shake.

  ‘So there’s no specific reason why they should have asked for you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know why I think they chose you?’

  Ruth looked up at him, eyes full of hope.

  ‘Because you’re the only person on site who can do this. I can’t go, I’m the head teacher and Tom’s dad. Penny can’t go because of Annie. You’re neutral. You have no agenda. Do you see?’

  A reluctant nod, the hope fading, turning to resignation. ‘What if I say no?’

  ‘Nobody can make you do this, Ruth,’ Cam said, making his voice low and gentle. He was good at manipulating people – Penny had told him as much only a few days ago – and he was determined to get Ruth to help him protect his son. ‘But I honestly think that they’ve chosen you because you work on reception. You’re not invested in the same way me or Penny would be.’

  Ruth sighed and shook her head. ‘I don’t really have much choice, do I?’

  ‘Of course you do. But I would count it as a massive personal favour if you’d do this to help my son. And I’ll make sure DI Pearson does everything he can to keep you safe.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s get on with it.’ Ruth stood up abruptly and went to the door. ‘I don’t want to change my mind.’

  Cam followed her back into reception where Pearson and Penny appeared to be deep in conversation. ‘Where’ve you been?’ Cam asked Penny. He felt he should know, should have been paying attention but he couldn’t even remember what she’d said to him the last time they spoke.

  ‘I’ve been in the library, getting things set up for the police team. I think it’s all sorted. The desks are clear and the PCs are all unplugged so the specialists can set up their stuff as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Okay, good. Ruth’s going to take the first aid supplies over to the humanities block.’

  He looked at Ruth for confirmation, but she simply stared at him, pale and visibly shaking. Pearson nodded and grabbed the package of bandages and painkillers that had been abandoned on the reception desk.

  Ruth held out her hands robotically and clasped the items to her chest, looking from Cam to Pearson. ‘It will be all right, won’t it?’

  ‘You’ll be fine, Ruth. These men have no reason to want to harm you.’

  Penny scowled at Cam’s reassuring tone. He knew she could tell that he was lying. In truth he had no idea what might happen to his PA but it was worth the risk to save his son. If he had to sacrifice this woman for Tom he’d do so in a heartbeat and he knew that Penny would have done the same thing if it was Annie who was hurt.

  He followed Pearson and Ruth through the corridors to the main school hall and the door which led out to the playground. It would take Ruth less than two minutes to walk from there to the door to the humanities block where Pearson had instructed her to drop the supplies and walk calmly back to the main school. If any of the men holding the students gave her an instruction, she was to follow it to the letter.

  The woman stood at the door for what seemed like an age and then stepped out into the chilly December air. She wasn’t wearing a jacket and the cold instantly added to the shivering but Cam wasn’t going to call her back and give her a coat. He needed this to be done quickly.

  Ruth took two steps and then turned, her face a raw plea for reprieve – she was terrified.

  Cam opened the door. ‘Go on, Ruth. You can do this. Just drop the stuff and come back. Two minutes – max.’

  She nodded and turned towards the humanities building. Taking a visible deep breath, her chest heaving with the effort, arms holding the first aid rising and falling, she set off.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Pearson said. ‘She just has to drop the stuff at the door and back away.’

  Cam could hear the doubt in the detective’s voice, as though he were trying to convince himself that Ruth was in no danger.

  ‘I know. She’s strong. Reliable.’

  Ruth crossed the playground steadily and purposefully, each stride seeming measured and calculated, until she reached the steps leading up to the door of the humanities block. There she hesitated and looked back to where Cam and Pearson were waiting. Cam gave her a thumbs up, but Pearson frowned.

  ‘Something’s not right. Why’s she looking back? What’s stopping her from leaving the package?’

  Narrowing his eyes, straining to see anything beyond the glass of the doors on the far side of the playground, Cam willed Ruth to drop the first aid. He didn’t want her in any danger but, more selfishly, he wanted Tom to get help as quickly as possible.

  ‘What’s she doing?’ Pearson asked again as Ruth started to climb the steps. ‘She shouldn’t be going up there.’

  ‘They won’t want her to leave the stuff at the bottom of the steps,’ Cam realised. ‘That means that one of them has to come out and they don’t know if we’ve got armed police officers on site. It’s safer for them if she leaves it at the top of the steps.’

  They watched in silence as Ruth reached the top step and stood on the level area outside the double doors.

  ‘Put it down,’ Pearson whispered. ‘Put it down.’

  Almost as if she’d been listening, Ruth lowered the package that she’d been carrying clutched close to her chest and leaned forward. Before she could place the items on the ground the door opened and a black-clad arm emerged. As Cam watched, horrified, Ruth Warnesford was dragged inside.

  17

  Natalie Beckett scanned through the article that she was about to upload to the newspaper’s ‘live’ folder. It wasn’t her best work, but she wasn’t sure how anybody could be expected to make the results of a primary school Christmas card competition interesting. The photographs showed beaming children holding up luridly painted cards with cotton wool snowmen and the zig zags of carefully cut-out Christmas trees. She shook her head and hit send.

  This wasn’t quite how Natalie had imagined a career in journalism. She wanted exclusive interviews and mad dashes from the office to crime scenes around the west of Cumbria. But this wasn’t London – i
t wasn’t even Carlisle where they had at least a couple of decent murders every few months. It was mainly rural stories with only the most basic level of human interest.

  It was a start though. A step on the ladder. Even though the company she’d joined had been bought out by a major international media group there was still scope for her to improve, to make her mark. At least she’d managed to dodge the latest round of redundancies and cuts. All it would take was one good story – one amazing break. Christmas cards weren’t it though.

  As part of the recent restructuring, Natalie had been given a role that she regarded as an admin job – except there were no admin jobs anymore because all the admin staff had been ‘let go’ – she was responsible for monitoring the newspaper’s social media feeds in case a member of the public flagged up something interesting. She often spent an hour every morning reading through accounts of squabbles between neighbours, unusual bird sightings on the coast and the odd ‘enlightening’ historical gem from the area – usually sent in by one particularly keen amateur local historian.

  She started with Facebook. A picture of some outrageous Christmas lights on a house on the A595, sightings of unusual geese near Allonby, a few images from a school nativity play in which Joseph looked terrified of his pregnant bride and Mary looked smug.

  Nothing interesting.

  She switched to Twitter and checked Cumbria Constabulary first. A warning about driving in icy conditions was pinned to the top of the feed followed by information about closures of the M6 during the Christmas period. The next tweet was from the previous weekend – nothing much happening, then.