For the Sake of the Children: The first Chloe Webster thriller (Chloe Webster Thrillers Book 1)

by Alex Highcliffe

  She gathered her papers on the Crawford file and began to make her way across the office to the stairs.

  ‘Mr Crawford is it?’ It was Ray, standing by the coffee machine with a smug grin on his face. ‘Be good to him please.’

  I’d love to slap that stupid face of yours, she thought. She just couldn’t help it. He still wound her up so easily and she hated herself for letting him do it. She took a breath and controlled her irritation.

  ‘I will, don’t worry, Ray. I know he’s important to you.’ Chloe continued off through the door before she said anything she regretted.

  ‘Good girl.’

  She heard it and almost snapped back a riposte but thought better of it. She headed off down the stairs and approached meeting room two, smiling across to Gloria as she went. She was sure she saw a half-smile before the receptionist looked away.

  ‘Ah Miss Webster, how nice to see you again.’ The Timer knew he had won this battle before it even started. Chloe knew it too. She had made her point, presented her case to everyone she could think of, and yet no one seemed to agree that there was anything wrong with what was happening here. Or at least, no one was prepared to take a stance. The bag was already on the table, glaring at her, taunting her with its presence. She was in no mood for pleasantries, and made sure that her client was aware of the fact.

  ‘One hundred thousand pounds wasn’t it?’ she said abruptly.

  ‘Yes, that’s correct. If you could just pop that into your firm’s client account and I’ll get further instructions to you as soon as I can. Everything is going smoothly I take it?’

  Chloe had received a sale contract for the warehouse from the seller’s solicitor together with relevant information about the property. She was in the process of checking it all through, still a little disappointed to be doing property work when she was now a qualified family lawyer. Still, work was work and it kept her hand in at least.

  ‘Yes, so far so good.’ Polite, but not at all friendly.

  ‘Good, good. And I’m glad we’ve resolved our little differences about how to proceed in this matter. It’s important for me to have a lawyer who understands how I work.’

  Chloe looked at him. The Timer still liked her. She had a determination and a fight in her that he hoped his own daughters would have. The feeling wasn’t mutual and Chloe ignored his comments.

  ‘Well if there’s nothing else?’ asked Chloe.

  ‘No, just the money.’

  ‘Right, in that case, I’ll say goodbye. Can you find your own way out?’ She couldn’t believe she’d just said that to a client. The Timer grinned back at her, impressed.

  ‘I can find anything if I put my mind to it.’

  He got up and left the room. Chloe peeked inside the bag. Her heart began to race again at the sight of the banknotes bundled into neat blocks. For a moment she imagined herself taking the bag and walking out of the office, straight to the nearest airport and away on an aeroplane to who knows where? How different life could be with a little money in the bank.

  She closed the bag and hurried off back to her desk.

  34

  ‘PC Hutchings,’ said a female voice, a little wearily.

  ‘Yes, hello, my name’s Chloe Webster. I’m a solicitor at Anderson Gormley and Drake and I’m acting for a Miss Chelsie Swanson. Her son George has been abused by Chelsie’s ex-boyfriend and I understand that you let him out on bail last week…’

  ‘Well, the court did actually,’ interrupted the policewoman, ‘but yes, you’re right. Has there been a problem?’ She was very matter of fact, no doubt angered by the not-very-well-hidden accusation.

  ‘Yes, there has. He’s still bothering my client. Is there really nothing you can do about him or do I have to get a court order? I’m really concerned that he’ll hurt her if he gets the chance. You know he’s been round there don’t you, kicking off in the middle of the night?’ Chloe was already speaking louder than she had meant to.

  ‘Oh I think Miss Swanson can look after herself. You must have met her, she’s no shrinking violet. She might be small, but I wouldn’t want to come face to face with her in a dark alley.’ PC Hutchings was calm, almost jovial, and to Chloe that translated as uncaring. She knew she was being unfair but she had seen this situation many times before and it rarely ended well.

  ‘Can someone at least go round and have a word with him. One of his bail conditions is to stay away from my client.’

  ‘Our problem is that it’s her word against his.’

  ‘And you believe him…’ Chloe was trying hard to control her anger.

  ‘The trouble is, no one is prepared to speak against him. None of Miss Swanson’s neighbours will talk to us. It’s the same old story. Miss Webster, you know how these domestic situations are. It doesn’t take much to ignite things and before you know it accusations are flying everywhere. It’s always difficult to determine who is telling the truth. My understanding is that the child is safe. As I say, I’m sure Miss Swanson can take good care of herself.’

  Chloe knew she wasn’t going to get anywhere here. She had some sympathy with the police; domestic disputes were always problematic and evidence was hard to come by. She was about to end the call but changed her mind.

  ‘Whilst you’re on…’ Chloe paused. She thought about Crawford and the money. ‘Forget it, it’s nothing.’

  ‘Is there something else you want to say Miss Webster?’

  ‘No, it’s fine. Thanks for your time.’ She hung up and breathed a sigh. Things were getting a little on top of her and she felt like she had nowhere to turn. Drake, Ray, Crawford, Chelsie, the police, the local authority. Perhaps she could talk to Ben and see what he thought, at least in relation to Chelsie’s case. She already knew what he thought about Crawford – he didn’t seem to think there was a problem, as long as Ray approved it, which he did. She went to find Ben, who was seemingly busy dictating a letter at his desk.

  ‘Hi Ben, can I talk to you at some point about a case I’m working on?’ She spoke quietly, not really wanting the whole office to know that she was seeking his advice.

  ‘Sure, fire away,’ he said loudly, and sat back in his chair, locking his hands behind his head.

  ‘Not here. I mean perhaps we could go for a drink after work sometime so I can run it past you?’

  ‘Now that’s not a very romantic way of asking me out is it?’ He looked around as he said it, clearly impressed with himself. She blushed as one or two other people in the office turned to listen.

  ‘Yeah sure,’ he continued, ‘later in the week if that’s okay? I’ve got plans tonight. And tomorrow in fact.’ She was sure he flashed a wink over the privacy partition to the girl sitting opposite him.

  ‘Yes, well, whenever. Thanks Ben.’ She walked away a little too quickly, puzzled and hurt by his response, catching her thigh on the corner of a desk and then pretending not to have noticed. She returned to her own desk and stared at the computer screen whose screensaver displayed a colourful set of interlocking pipes. She rubbed her thigh which would no doubt erupt into a very attractive bruise before too long. She hadn’t felt so humiliated since she was at school.

  Yeah, later in the week would be lovely, as long as I don’t have any sodding plans. Bastard.

  35

  ‘Hi T, it’s Jez.’ The Timer didn’t like unannounced calls, especially when he was at home. He glanced across at his wife, who smiled back from the other side of the spacious lounge, mouthed an apology and left the room. He checked his watch. 19:20. This was family time.

  ‘I’ve told you before not to call me out of the blue. What do you want?’ His voice was hushed but angry. He had no qualms about letting these guys know when he was unhappy.

  ‘Yeah, sorry mate, you know I wouldn’t call unless it was urgent. There’s a package coming from Hull as we speak and I need you to collect it. It was all done on a need to know basis to be honest so I couldn’t let you in on it any sooner.’

  ‘Hull?’ The Timer was immedia
tely on edge. It had always been Liverpool. ‘Why Hull?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, it’s the same operation. Just find the truck and get the goods out the back. I’ll text you the plate.’ Silence. The Timer waited. ‘There is one small complication. The package is a little, shall we say, bigger than normal, so make sure you’ve got a decent set of wheels. You’ll probably want a boot, you know, a saloon. Something you can hide the goods in. At least it’ll be nice and dark out there so you’ll have plenty of cover.’

  This was doing nothing to quell the uneasiness that the Timer was feeling. He appreciated the regularity of the work he received from Drabble, and he was well paid for it, but he didn’t like risk or uncertainty.

  ‘Is there something you’re not telling me Jez?’ he said at last.

  ‘Don’t be daft, T, you’ll be fine. Same old routine.’

  ‘How about a little extra to compensate for my nerves?’

  Jez laughed. ‘I’ve never seen you nervous about anything. Go on then, how about an extra ten per cent to calm you down.’

  ‘Thirty, or you find someone else.’ He didn’t like this one bit, and Jez was being overly friendly and confident about the whole thing, which just added to his doubts.

  ‘Christ T, Drabble will have my balls off. Twenty per cent is the most I can do.’

  ‘Done. Text me the plate. M62, I assume?’

  ‘Yeah. Nice one.’

  The Timer hung up. Six grand for a night’s work, not too shabby at all.

  ‘Everything all right dear?’ asked his wife as he poked his head round the door of the lounge.

  ‘Yeah, it’s all good. I need to go out for a while, but I should be back by midnight. Don’t worry about me, just get yourself off to bed. I’ll see you later. Say goodnight to the girls for me.’

  He collected his usual equipment and made his way up to the main road to catch a bus towards town. He needed a car but he would never consider taking one from near where he lived.

  Don’t shit where you eat, his father had always told him.

  36

  Chloe stood looking out over the garden as she tidied the kitchen after their evening meal. The dark night and the bright kitchen light meant that she could only see vague outlines of the small, neat garden beyond her own reflection. She was finding it difficult to clear her mind of all the things that had happened at work, something she never used to have a problem with. She knew that her chosen career would always include a substantial amount of stress, and the best coping mechanism was to try to forget about it all when she wasn’t there, but for some reason she couldn’t seem to do that. It was probably the fact that she was in a new job, coupled with the rather testing matters she had been dealing with. But she knew one thing – she didn’t like it at all. The pressure and the strain nagged at her consistently, undermining her self-confidence and making her doubt her next move.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts?’ enquired her father, who was still sitting at the kitchen table.

  ‘Oh, I’ve got a lot on my mind at the moment. Work stuff, you know? I just can’t shift it. Underlying stress I guess they’d call it. I’d call it bloody annoying.’

  ‘Why don’t you have a glass of wine? That’ll help you to relax I’m sure.’ Her father smiled at her. ‘Works for me every time.’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea, dad.’ She pulled a bottle of white from the fridge and poured them both a large glass. ‘I’m dealing with this case involving a boy who’s been separated from his mother and it’s really not her fault. I’m sure she’ll get him back soon, but it’s making me think about mum. Sometimes I really miss her you know dad? I mean, I miss her all the time of course, but sometimes I really miss her. I think I’ll go up to the grave at the weekend and tidy it up; it’s bound to be a bit messy after the winter we’ve had. I’ll get some fresh flowers and tell her about my new job.’

  ‘Okay love. I’ll try to get up there myself soon but it’s not easy with this useless leg of mine.’

  ‘I know dad. I don’t suppose you need to be there to think about her, but it makes me feel close to her.’ She took a large mouthful of wine and the instant hit certainly seemed to do the trick. She immediately took another.

  ‘Whatever makes you feel better, love. So when will this boy get back to his mum then?’

  ‘Well hopefully very soon. I have a meeting with the local authority in a few days and I’m going to try to persuade them to let him come home. He’s at his grandma’s house, so it’s not the end of the world, but I bet he misses his mum. Or he will do if he doesn’t get back to her soon. Her ex-boyfriend will hopefully be behind bars shortly, so that should help. It’s a mess to be honest.’

  ‘Well there’s nothing you can do from here, so why don’t you try to relax and forget about it for a while. It’ll do you good in the long run.’

  ‘Thanks dad. This is why I don’t want to move out you see? I need our little chats to keep me sane. And a drinking buddy of course.’

  ‘You know this will always be your home. Now then, pour me another glass of that wine, it’s going down really well. Probably too well - I might need another bottle at this rate.’

  They both laughed.

  And as the two of them enjoyed each other’s company and their relationship continued to grow, many miles away a desperate father sat with his head in his hands. Nathan prayed for the safe return of his own child. His wife was beyond emotion, physically incapable of shedding any more tears, and was now a shell, unable to live the life of a high-powered marketing executive that she had been living so successfully only days before. His own life had fallen apart too, blown to pieces by the events in Amsterdam the week before. There had been no news about Francesca from the police since the sighting in Hull. Thoughts drifted into his head of what they would do if Francesca was never found. What would it do to them? How would they cope? Would they cope? He shut them out as best he could.

  She will be found. She has to be found.

  37

  It was still well before eight, but the dark evening ensured that very few people were out and about. Of course, it wasn’t people he wanted, it was cars, and cars lined every road, covered every driveway, and were hiding in every garage. The Timer felt like a child in a sweetshop, and he took his time, savouring the moment as he browsed the selection. This was an affluent neighbourhood and a wide variety of top of the range models littered the tree-lined streets. He needed to be careful, though, and couldn’t risk an alarm going off at this time; people would appear very quickly if that happened. He needed keys, and over the years he’d developed many ways of getting hold of them.

  He sauntered along the edge of the road beneath the streetlights, looking for an opportunity, passing huge houses which loomed up over gates and hedges as he passed. He could probably have chosen a more accessible area but he did like a nice car. The properties here were large with tight security. Gates were high, hedges were thick and most cars were tucked away safely in garages or protected by lights and on-board security systems. He kept moving in the February night air, not least to fend off the encroaching cold. Passing the odd car parked out on the road he tried their doors to see if anything had been left open for him. The occasional house was obviously empty and he made his way up the driveways, turning back the moment a security light blazed down from above.

  As he continued his search, the houses became noticeably smaller and less grand, and therefore generally less secure. He started to think he might have some success in this area. Still he tried car doors but nothing was giving tonight, despite his perseverance.

  Come on someone, I only want to borrow it.

  A car drifted past and pulled into the side of the road some way in front of him, at the end of a row of parked cars. A woman climbed out gingerly and headed back towards him on the pavement. As she approached he could see that she was limping quite heavily, and it was seemingly a real effort for her to move. She wasn’t a young woman, and was well wrapped in a thick winter coat, her hat pull
ed down against the hard cold of the night. The Timer moved his hand across his forehead as they passed so as to obscure his face, not that there was much chance of her recognising him later; it was dark, and he was passed her in a flash. But he noticed her, and in particular he noticed the letter she was carrying. She’d left her car engine running and he knew this was his opportunity.

  It wouldn’t have been his first choice, an ageing Volkswagen Golf, in a nondescript dark colour with noticeable dents in the rear panel. Nothing glamorous about that, but it would be reliable, and fairly comfortable no doubt. Something Jez had said to him came back into his head – you’ll probably want a boot, you know a saloon. Well he’d found a hatchback, and that would have to do. Why would he need a boot? If it was about the size of the shipment, then surely a hatchback would be more suitable. Besides, he’d spent enough time out here in the cold and with the car’s engine running it would at least be warm. He certainly wasn’t going to come across an easier opportunity. In fact, he couldn’t really think of a more inviting scenario than this one.

  He settled into the driver’s seat and looked in the mirror, closing the door gently next to him.

  Poor old dear, she’s not even reached the post box yet.

  A slight pang of guilt nagged at him as the woman staggered up to the bright red structure and leaned on it while she caught her breath. She slid the letter inside and waited there, no doubt preparing herself for the walk back to the car. The Timer decided not to wait around to see her take in the realisation of what was happening, and he pushed the accelerator hard against the floor. A few wheel spins later he was on his way.

  He’d been lucky there, but his timing, as ever, was immaculate. 20:05. He had plenty of time to get to the M62 motorway and find that truck.