‘How the fuck do I know who it was?’
‘So you haven’t found her, then?’
‘I’m not here to talk about your stupid little friend, Shelley. She didn’t know when she was lucky, that one, and you shouldn’t have told her you were going to take the baby. I thought you knew better.’
‘She won’t tell anybody, I promise.’
‘Not if she’s dead, she won’t.’ He laughed. ‘Forget her. We’re here to sort out how you’re going to manage the filth if they come sniffing again, and I need to know why they came back.’
Emma had manoeuvred herself slowly into a position where she could see Natasha’s face, and she saw a momentary glimpse of fear on the girl’s face that she quickly tried to disguise. But not quickly enough.
‘Jesus, you silly bitch. Do you think we don’t know when they come calling? At least you’ve planted the bugs now so we can hear what they’re saying, but what did they want yesterday?’
Natasha looked at the ground and kicked some leaves backwards and forwards.
‘Same old,’ she said. ‘Just trying to get me to tell where I’d been – how I’d got back. Just having another go.’
She was lying. Emma couldn’t imagine why, but Natasha wasn’t telling him about the CCTV footage on the train.
The man reached out and grabbed Natasha’s upper arms. Emma heard a faint squeak of pain, quickly stifled. He shook Natasha hard and pushed his face right up to hers.
‘I need to know you’ve got this, Shelley. You wanted to do it – remember. We had options, but you said you would make it easy for us. What’s going on in that head of yours?’
Natasha looked at him, her face wiped of expression. ‘Nothing. It’s good to see the bastard suffer. It’s not Ollie’s fault, though. He’s a cute baby. Who’s looking after him?’
‘As if I’d tell you that, even if I knew. We do our bit, they do theirs.’ He shook her again, harder. ‘And what have I told you about calling the baby by its name? It’s just “the baby” – okay? It’ll all be over tomorrow night, then you can come home. But if you fuck this up, I’m a dead man, and you know what’ll happen to you, don’t you?’
‘I’m not going to fuck it up. I know what I’m doing.’
‘Well, remember – the only person they know is involved is you. Anything goes wrong, I’ll be long gone before you have a chance to squeal – and you’ll be the one locked up. They’d throw away the key, too – you get life for kidnap, did you know that?’
He let go and pushed her away. Natasha staggered backwards but said nothing, and the man started talking again.
‘This job is worth a fucking fortune, and we’re halfway there. Tomorrow you’ll be told what’s got to happen next. When it’s over, you walk out. You never have to see him again, Shelley, and they’ll never find you.’
Who was he talking about? Who was ‘him’ – Ollie? David? Somebody else?
One thing was clear to Emma, though. The bastard who Natasha wanted to suffer was David. How could she hate him so much?
The man called Rory was talking again, and Emma edged a little closer.
A twig snapped under her foot, its sound like a pistol shot in the silent wood.
His head spun round. He was staring straight at the tree Emma was hiding behind, but it was darker here than in the clearing and she was sure he couldn’t see her. The man started to walk towards her, and for a moment she thought about standing up and running. He wouldn’t catch her – he was too fat. But he would know she’d seen him, and she didn’t know what that would mean for Ollie.
The man was getting closer.
‘Rory,’ Natasha said, her voice an urgent whisper. ‘I’d better get back.’
He turned round. ‘There was a noise over there. Didn’t you hear it?’ he asked.
Natasha shook her head. ‘There’s lots of noises – it’s the countryside. You’re just not used to it. Probably a rabbit or something. Anyway, I need to go. Emma’s a right cow. She snoops around the place in the middle of the night, and I don’t want her to know I’m missing.’
He turned and walked back towards Natasha. Reaching out one beefy hand, he fastened it tight around her neck, lifting her slight body off the ground and pinning her to a tree.
Natasha groped behind her to try to hold on to something, stretched out her toes, but they didn’t reach the ground. Emma saw the panic in her eyes as she struggled to breathe, gagging sounds coming from her throat. She was going to have to do something if he didn’t let the girl go soon.
‘There are those above me who aren’t as soft-hearted as me – you know that,’ he said. Her head hard back against the rough bark, Natasha was looking away from her captor as if fearful of seeing the menace in his face. ‘You don’t want to get on the wrong side of them, do you? I’m a pussycat in comparison. So do this job, don’t fuck me around and do it right.’
He slackened his grip on her neck slightly and her head lolled forwards. Instantly he tightened it again, and her head banged hard against the tree. He pushed his face right up against Natasha’s and then pulled his arm away quickly. The girl fell to the floor, but was on her feet in a second, like a cage fighter wary of a flying boot.
‘Now bugger off before you’re missed.’
Natasha started to bring her hand up as if to rub her neck – but seemed to think better of it. Giving the man one last haunted look, she turned round and head down, shoulders hunched, she disappeared into the night.
Emma waited. The man stood and watched Natasha go, spat on the ground again, then turned to head in the opposite direction.
More than anything, Emma wanted to grab a huge tree branch, chase after him and hit him as hard as she could then hold him down and force him to tell her where Ollie was. But she had no chance. He was double her size and she had the feeling he wouldn’t hesitate to snap her neck if he thought she was trouble. But there was one thing she could do. Follow him and get his registration number, because he was bound to have travelled by car.
Edging round the side of the wood, she headed towards the road, her plan being to hide at the corner of the wood until the man called Rory had passed her.
Suddenly behind her she heard the roar of an engine. Flinging herself to the ground so she wouldn’t be spotted in the blinding headlight, she watched as a powerful motorbike sped past her, her pupils too contracted to be able to read the number plate as it receded into the distance.
*
Natasha made her way silently back to the house, her feet dragging along the path, brooding on everything Rory had said. Her neck and throat hurt, and so did the back of her head. But the pain was nothing in comparison to the sick feeling of panic in her gut when she thought of the things she had kept from him.
She hadn’t dared tell Rory about the photos on the train. She’d been really stupid, looking at Rick the way she had, but he was good-looking and he always smiled at her. Smiles felt like precious gifts in her world, and she held them close until their warmth faded. If the police caught Rick, though – and they were bound to be looking because of her stupidity – it would all be over.
They’ll know where he lives, and they’ll know about me.
If she’d told Rory, he could have stopped Rick from doing the skunk run, and he’d be safe. But she’d stayed quiet, knowing how mad Rory would have been. He was mad at her anyway for even speaking to the police, and for telling Izzy so much, but if he found out about the CCTV on the train – and worse, that she hadn’t told him – that would be it. She’d be thrown in The Pit.
She hated The Pit – after those first few times she had always done everything they asked so she wouldn’t get thrown in there. But sometimes it wasn’t punishment for something she had done – it was because of what they wanted her to do – or maybe because Rory was in a nasty mood. A mistake like this, though, and that’s where she’d be. No food, little water, no heat, no light – until she begged for mercy.
There would be no mercy if she screwed this up. Izzy had
n’t even done anything, and she’d still got two weeks in The Pit – to make her docile, according to Rory - then she was shipped off to be one of Julie’s girls. She’d lasted just a week before she had gone missing, and who could blame her? She was only thirteen, same as Tasha. Those greasy fat bastards who paid Julie for girls like Izzy made Tasha want to puke.
She kicked a stone on the path. She could cope with nicking phones, ferrying drugs, other stuff like that. But she didn’t want to go to Julie’s.
It was stupid to think of running, though. Nobody was allowed to escape from this world. Once you were in, you were in for life – a different kind of prison. One without locks on the doors. But run away and it wouldn’t be Rory Slater who she had to worry about. They would send Finn McGuinness to find her.
Was that what had happened to Izzy?
He looked so ordinary, did Finn. Smart, even. But everybody understood what he was, and nobody ever crossed him. Rory was bloody terrified of him. And even Finn had to answer to another boss – a name that was never mentioned – a man who Tasha had never met. She never wanted to.
Finn and Rory had made this job sound so easy: make David suffer for what he had done; take the baby for a walk – he won’t be away for long. It was easier than most of her jobs. She just had to make sure nobody called the police, and that was a doddle. And when it was all over, she could walk away and go home. Easy.
Except it wasn’t. Blanking people was a breeze – she’d done that all her life, or at least the part she could remember. Fixing phones, planting bugs, being bolshie – piece of cake. But she hadn’t expected to think Ollie was cute. She hadn’t expected him to like her. It felt good when he called her name and gave her one of his smiles. And now everybody was in pieces.
Natasha was staggered by the pain her actions had caused. David kept crying; she’d never seen a bloke cry before, except on the telly. An image of him crying when he had lost her six years ago came into her head, but she pushed it away. She couldn’t imagine Rory crying, or Rick for that matter. They wouldn’t. Rory had always beaten the hell out of her and all the other kids if they cried for nothing. ‘I’ll give you something to cry about,’ he always said.
They all soon learned, just as Natasha had done.
She’d cried tonight, though. She had cried for the life she should have lived – the life that had been stolen from her and her mum. But she hadn’t cried like Emma did. Emma sounded as if somebody was hacking her into small pieces with an axe.
And then Natasha got it. Maybe that was how it felt to really love somebody.
She wouldn’t know.
31
‘Shit,’ Emma muttered as she tried the back door. Natasha must have gone into the house this way and locked it. It was obvious when Emma thought about it. She sat down on a rickety old garden bench, waiting for her heart to stop thudding so she could focus on what to do now.
What if he’d seen me?
Following Natasha had been a risk, but now she had a name. No surname, but Rory was an unusual name and she prayed it would mean something to Tom. It had to. It was the only lead they had.
She started to shiver.
Where are you, my lovely Ollie? Are you warm enough?
The dull ache of loss turned to a sharp pain, and she wrapped her arms tightly round her body, swaying backwards and forwards to try to ease the agony, a soft moan escaping from her dry lips. She went over and over every word she had heard, everything she knew, wondering if she had missed some clue, something that would lead her to Ollie, until finally her mind became blank, numb.
Emma didn’t know how long she had been sitting outside, but she couldn’t stay out here until morning. Her whole body was shaking uncontrollably now, and she would be no good to Ollie if she made herself ill.
She had no idea how she was going to get back in the house. David had told her that there was a spare key hidden somewhere in case they locked themselves out, but she couldn’t remember where it was.
A wave of hopelessness washed over her, and she reached out to try the back door again. It swung open at her touch.
What?
She had been certain it was locked. Her frozen fingers mustn’t have pressed down hard enough on the handle.
She pushed the door back fully, and walked into the warm kitchen, kicking off her slippers to let the underfloor heating thaw her icy feet a little. She didn’t switch any lights on. The bright spotlights would cast a beam into the garden and Natasha might see them.
Emma knew her way around her kitchen by touch; she made her way over to the kettle and switched it on. The indicator light glowed blue as the kettle came to the boil, giving just enough light for Emma to see the mugs on the shelf above. She pulled one down and turned towards the fridge.
The mug dropped from her hands, shattering into pieces on the tiled floor. Standing right behind her, less than a metre away was Natasha, her grey-green eyes reflecting twin pinpricks of bright blue light from the kettle, a finger against her lips.
Emma’s heart leaped in her chest. The water boiled and the indicator light went out, plunging the kitchen back into darkness. A hand reached out and grabbed Emma’s sleeve, pulling her out through the kitchen door and into the hall. The kitchen door was closed quietly.
‘My God, Natasha – what are you doing here in the dark?’ Emma whispered, her voice hoarse.
‘Why did you follow me?’
‘What are you talking about? I wanted a bit of fresh air so I went outside for a few minutes. You can hardly expect me to sleep when you’ve stolen my baby, can you?’
Natasha stood inches from Emma’s face, a trickle of light from the landing painting pale grey patterns on the girl’s cheekbones, leaving her eyes and lips black.
‘Have you got any idea what would have happened if you’d been found out there, watching us, listening? Do you know what he’d have done if he’d found you?’
Emma shook her head. ‘What could he possibly have done that would be worse than he’s done already?’
Natasha pushed her face even closer to Emma’s.
‘He’d have killed you, you silly bitch,’ she whispered.
Emma stared at her.
‘You’ve got no idea, have you? These men order hits on people for insulting their wives, and you heard him admit to kidnapping your baby. What do you think he would’ve done?’
‘And why do you care about that, Tasha?’ Emma asked, the stupidity of her behaviour suddenly hitting her.
‘I don’t. But if he’d killed you, there’d have been a witness. Me. And they don’t like witnesses. Too messy.’
Emma turned back towards the kitchen, not wanting Natasha to see the fear reflected in her eyes. She spoke with her back to the girl.
‘And what would he think if he knew you’d lied to him? Why didn’t you tell him that the police have you on camera? I guess he wouldn’t have liked that either, would he?’
There was silence, broken only by the ticking of the hall clock.
‘Just remember, I saved your life. I won’t do it again.’
Emma felt a slight movement behind her and knew that Natasha had gone.
32
It was two o’clock in the morning by the time Tom inserted the key in the front door of his Edwardian semi and made his way quietly upstairs. He opened the door to the master bedroom, and there – as he had hoped – lay Leo, lying as she always did with the duvet up to her armpits but her arms outside the covers and her feet poking out to one side.
Deciding to shower in the main bathroom rather than the en suite so he wouldn’t disturb Leo, he emptied his pockets of keys and phones and placed them quietly on the chest of drawers. Tempting as it was to strip off, climb into bed, and gently wake Leo from her peaceful slumber, he wanted a hot shower to wash away some of the stains that today had left on him, and after nearly twenty hours in the same clothes a shower was a necessity as much as a desire.
He’d had precious little time to think about anything for the past few
hours other than young Oliver Joseph. All thoughts of Jack that had tried to surface were pushed firmly to the back of his mind. And then there was the bank to think about too. What irregularities could there be with Jack’s account? Tom was going to give any money that was in the account to charity anyway, so it was probably just a matter of paperwork, but it might give him a few more answers. He’d already couriered notarised copies of his passport to the bank to prove that he was who he said he was, and he would try to find time to phone them in the next few days.
His mind buzzing but his body exhausted, Tom turned the shower off, dried himself and walked naked across the landing into the bedroom. He pulled back the covers and slid into bed. He needed sleep, but he needed Leo more and he knew she would welcome him if he woke her. She would drive out thoughts of a missing baby and a dead girl – just for a few moments – and ease the tension in his limbs.
In sleep Leo was beautiful. Her face was turned towards him, one arm stretched above her head. He leaned in and kissed her gently on the mouth as his hand snaked under the covers and found her flesh, warm and inviting.
Without opening her eyes, her arm came down and around Tom, pulling him towards her, and she rolled on her side, wrapping her leg around his thigh.
‘Hi,’ she murmured, running her hand lightly down his back, coming to rest on his hip.
Tom’s mind emptied of everything but Leo as he slowly brought her fully awake, giving her time to come round from whatever place she was visiting in her dreams. He stroked her hair away from her face and kissed her again, then buried his face in her neck to find her collarbone, a place she loved him to touch, and she groaned softly in his ear.
Gradually the groaning sound took on a different tone, and he felt Leo’s shoulders stiffen.
‘Shit,’ he muttered as he recognised the sound of his mobile vibrating on the chest of drawers. ‘Sorry, Leo. I can’t ignore this.’
Tom could feel Leo’s eyes following him as he walked towards the chest of drawers, and he heard a moan of frustration.
‘Come back to bed, Tom. You can’t leave me now.’
Tom Douglas Box Set 2 Page 15
