by Jake Cross
‘Hey, did you hear?’ he says.
A spike pierces her heart, worse than any pain she could have imagined. Here, she will be forced to say no. She can get it, she will say. She will promise to get it. But if they are expecting to take hold of the Forcefield right now, and they can’t… Josie could suffer the consequences.
The kidnapper stamps her back hard enough to hurt. ‘Hey, answer. It’s the cop shop where you have the right to remain silent, not here. Here you have the right to watch your kid’s eyes get flushed down the bog.’
‘I keep it stored away at my father’s!’ she yells. ‘Please, I will get it. All I want is my daughter. You can have it, I promise. There won’t be any tricks. Please. My little lady. She’s everything to me.’
Silence for a second. She imagines the Ogres looking at each other. Trying to decide what to do. They will believe her, or they won’t and Josie will suffer.
‘Think this is bullshit?’
Dominic’s question, so Ball Cap is the man in control of her very world. If he says yes, Josie will—
‘Doubt it. She knows we’d send her a bone a day in the post for a year.’
‘People only have two hundred odd bones, not three hundred and sixty-five.’
‘Babies and kids have more.’
‘What, three hundred and sixty-five exactly? That don’t make sense. Where do these bones go?’
‘Go? I don’t know. Maybe they shed them. I read it. So where is this thing?’
Silence. Then another stamp on her back, and she realises the final question was for her.
‘My father’s garage. At his house. I can get it. I will get it, I promise.’ Again, she’s survived a terrible and dangerous moment, but something inside her decides to push: ‘But not until I see my daughter. You have to take me to her.’
‘You can see a piece of her every day for a year,’ Ball Cap says. She fights the urge to argue.
‘Internet says here,’ Dominic says, ‘that babies have three hundred. Not three hundred and sixty-five.’
‘Aha, good point. Give me your phone.’
This time she knows the words are for her. Before she can respond, though, his hands are on her. She buries her face in Josie’s pyjamas and expects his fingers to go between her legs, and she doesn’t even care because it might mellow him. But they don’t. They quickly find the phone and retreat.
‘You should have got that straight away,’ Dominic says. ‘What if she called the police? Open line, could have been tracing it all this time.’
‘Nah, it’s not on call. Anyway, you’ll like this cool idea I just had. So, missus, we’re gonna go get this damn Forcefield thing. Tell me about the place. Everything a burglar needs to know to get in there. Me and you are going in. Miss out a vicious guard dog and I’ll feed your kid to my own dog.’
She hears a crackling sound she can’t recognise. Then his fingers are back, but in her hair this time. He turns her head. Something before her eyes, which he wants her to look at. So she looks, to keep him mellow.
A laminated sheet of paper, creased, rippled, old, like a keepsake. A newspaper article: the Sunderland Echo. The headline is: ‘Arsonist Strikes Again.’
Before she can read more, it’s gone. Pre-empting him, she turns her face. Back to the pyjamas. Back to Josie.
‘That’s me. Six infernos in parked cars, and six dead kids left by shopping mothers. Snuffing out little kids gives me a buzz. So don’t think I don’t have it in me to kill your kid. Okay? You mess this up, try any tricks, I’ll go and snap her bones until she’s got five hundred, never mind three hundred and sixty-five.’
Fourteen
The sneezing noise seemed to wake him up. But all was still black. His head was heavy and he couldn’t lift it. He felt something on top of him, some kind of thick, coarse fabric, like the underside of a carpet. That sneezing noise again. Somewhere here in the dark with him.
‘Josie?’ he tried to shout, but it came out only as a croak.
‘Daddy, I don’t like this dark. Where is this place?’
He had no idea, was aware only of a rumbling noise, a vibration, and the heavy carpet, and the dark.
And Josie. He could hear his girl crying.
‘Josie, are you all right, choc?’ he said, maximum effort into making the words sound no different to all the times he’d returned from work to high-five his daughter.
‘I’m sorry for being naughty, Daddy. Can I go back to my bedroom?’
He couldn’t stop a moan emerging from between his lips. He tried to get up, again, but couldn’t.
‘Mummy didn’t mean to shout and send you to bed, Josie. Everything is okay.’ But it wasn’t. He could remember high-fiving Josie after work, but he had no idea how he’d got to wherever this place was.
‘A man carried me out of bed. He said to keep quiet. Is it all right to talk now? I don’t like it here. I want my bedroom. Is this a bed sheet? It’s too heavy. Get it off.’
He remembered a portion. Shapes. Men. Darkness. Josie. They took Josie, and now they’d taken him, too. That in mind, the rumbling and vibrating made sense, even if little else did. A vehicle, something big, like a van. Maybe a carpet van. He and Josie, taken in a van.
‘I want to turn the light on. Turn it on, please, Daddy.’
‘We can’t just yet, Josie. Because… you remember, the earthquake at Blackgate Prison?’
‘Yes. From Batman. Did we have an earthquake?’
No more portions would come, but Batman was there. In his high-five voice, he said, ‘Well, Josie, you went to bed without a story. So instead of reading a Batman comic to you, I thought we’d play a game like that.’
‘A Batman game?’ The distress was leaving Josie’s tone, which was beautiful to hear. ‘So this is Blacky Prison? Are we prisoners?’
‘We are. Oh no, we’re captured. Just a couple of visitors who got caught up in it. You remember, lots of prisoners escaped in the comic when Blackgate Prison was in the earthquake? Like Joker and Riddler.’
‘Is that the noise and the shaking? Is this an earthquake? Is the prison broken?’
He felt his head swim and for a second he forgot what he was in the middle of, but it came back quickly, like an old TV’s signal after a burst of thunder. ‘Prison. Yes, the prison. It’s broken. We’re trapped prisoners under rubble. But we’ll get out soon.’
‘I want out now. I don’t like this game.’
He heard sniffling. ‘But it’s a good game, Josie. Please play it with me. Daddy loves this game. There will be a reward if you get out. You can ride a horse. I’ll take you on a horse every day for a week. No, a bouncy castle, I’ll buy a bouncy castle. And the game will be over soon.’
Josie’s sniffling stopped. ‘When Batman rescues us? It’s stopped quaking. Listen, Dad.’
The next part was hard to say, not least because his head was beginning to cloud again. He knew he wouldn’t have the strength to stop whoever came to open the van doors. He had weakly failed to help his daughter earlier, and soon he’d be forced to watch again as dangerous people took Josie for a second time. And soon it would be, because the ceased noise and vibration meant the vehicle had stopped.
‘Josie, listen quick. Batman can’t get through all this rubble to rescue us just yet. So some men are going to take us out. They’ve been gassed with Scarecrow’s Fear Gas, so they might be a bit rough and shouting. Just close your eyes and try not to let it worry you. And they’ll take us to another place. No matter how bad they shout, or even if it hurts a little, just remember it’s a game and soon it will be all over. Soon we’ll be rescued. Can you do that?’
‘And Batman will find us there? He’ll put these baddies in Arkham Asylum?’
This Batman is going to kill them, he wanted to shout.
A grinding metal noise, and bright light stung his eyes––
––which pulsed red and blue in the night, lighting up his rear-view. Snapped awake from a nightmare memory by a single blare of the siren, Nick realised he
was doing over a hundred miles an hour, leaving behind everybody except the police.
He veered left, crossed two lanes and slipped into the hard shoulder. Upon stopping, he got out of the car. A police officer in a bright yellow jacket ordered him back inside, but wanted his arms sticking out the window. He did as instructed, and the officer finally decided it was safe to approach. But he stayed out of arm’s reach.
They went through the motions: licence, registration, not my car, borrowed it, hand me the keys and sit right there, sir. Nick looked round to see the other officer on the car radio, probably running his name and the car’s registration. They would find out about his one-year driving ban seventeen years ago, but that would be no cause for concern and hopefully he’d be behind the wheel again soon. His only worry was that Anna’s dad, when called, would say his car had been stolen. If that happened, he would have to make a run for it. Somehow.
The guy on the radio waved his comrade over, but he was back quickly with fresh orders for Nick. Out of the car. Turn around. Nick said nothing until he felt handcuffs snapping on. ‘Hang on a mo, the guy who owns the car is my father-in-law, and he’s a bit of a twat.’
‘Be quiet. And listen carefully, pal, okay? Nicolas Carter, I’m arresting you on suspicion of cruelty to a child—’
‘What?’
The caution came as he was led to the police car. He was put in the rear, hands cuffed behind him. Throughout, he demanded answers. He got one not long after the driver got out of the car to take a call on his mobile radio. Nick had a serious sinking feeling, but sixty seconds later found himself standing on the hard shoulder and no longer in handcuffs. He was given a ringing mobile phone. By now he was thoroughly puzzled and wondering if he’d had a false awakening.
‘Nick?’ said a voice he recognised.
‘DCI Miller. Did you arrange for me to be arrested?’
‘Ah, apologies. I had to put you on the system when you went missing overnight. I guess I forgot to take you off, my friend. What are you doing on the M1?’
‘Forget that. What’s this horse crap about cruelty to a child?’
‘Only way I could put you on the system. As a wanted man. I’ll get rid of it. So, your presence halfway down the M1?’
‘I’m lucky these guys didn’t hammer me. Cruelty to a child! What the hell?’
‘Like I said, apologies. M1?’
‘I’m just out driving to clear my head. Against the law, is it?’
‘Perhaps on your way to Nuthall to search?’
‘Detective Miller, why don’t you tell me some good news, if you can? Any likelihood in the far future of finding my daughter?’
‘We have a couple of updates,’ she said, sounding more serious now. ‘Now, without proof of the involvement of the families of the hikers killed way back, all we can do is put them under surveillance. That’s been ongoing most of the day and I’m hearing nothing untoward is occurring. There’s certainly nothing suggesting your family is in that neck of the woods. If that changes, I’ll know instantly. But my gut is ruling them out.’
Nick’s gut turned at that news. It was good and bad all at the same time. But Miller continued before he really had time to process the information.
‘Remember I told you that the Watson-Bruce clan, a couple of them run scrapyards? Well, the chap who started it all had three children. Another daughter, see. This lass isn’t in the scrap trade, my friend. She’s like the white sheep of that family. She got away from them. Moved away to find a better life. And she’s managed to keep her family history out of the limelight. She took her husband’s surname when she married, and this was way before he stepped into the Westminster limelight.’
Nick felt a realisation – based on that term Westminster limelight – touching the tip of his tongue, but it surfaced no further. Miller gave a push:
‘Her name is Iliana. Iliana Eastman.’
Iliana Eastman – Marc Eastman’s wife and aide. Shock had a texture and a weight in his belly. ‘Eastman… Marc Eastman helped Anna cover up the hit-and-run? That’s what you’re saying?’
‘Well, that idea doesn’t sit well with me. The current Secretary of State for Education burying such a crime? No. See, I’d much rather bet on Anna turning to Iliana, if they’re friends. I can see her fearing the story could harm her husband. Shadowy as she is and all, and obsessed with the power he’s got, and the power she’s got over him. Yeah, I can see her doing this for her husband, perhaps even without his knowledge. He’s getting some grief at the minute because a newspaper is trying to discredit him with this Witches of Eastman story. The country has learned about three affairs so far that he’s had over the last twenty years, but his wife has stuck by him and that proves a tight bond. Perhaps tight enough that she would cover up a hit-and-run by his caseworker to avoid negative splashback.’
‘But Josie… how is that connected…’
Her voice now got a little higher, her tone a little desperate. ‘Now let’s not assume anything, my friend. I called down south and the chaps there don’t have any evidence that Eastman or his wife are being targeted, any more so than politicians usually are, that is. But I’m sending someone down there on the quiet to watch them, see if they show any signs of duress. Just don’t let your mind run rampant, Nick. Dominic and the rest of her family, I told you she abandoned them.’
His thoughts seemed bogged down in quicksand, not running rampant. But her warning had the opposite effect as he realised what she was trying to prevent him from doing.
‘Are you saying Eastman and his wife and her family could all be involved in the kidnap?’
‘Nick, please, no. I just told you Eastman’s wife has nothing to do with her family. I just told you not to jump to conclusions. There’s no evidence—’
‘No evidence they’re being targeted, that’s what you said. And if they’re not givers, they’re takers.’
‘No obvious evidence, which is why I’m sending someone for a watch on the quiet.’
‘On the quiet? You need to arrest this guy, both of them. Get Eastman and his wife in a police station and get their stories. What good will just watching do?’
‘I can’t just start investigating someone like Marc Eastman. Nick. Apologies there, but I’d be sidelined in a flash. There’s not even nearly enough evidence—’
‘There’s Dominic!’
‘Nick, he’s just a nephew, just part of a family she left years ago. Not nearly enough evidence, my friend. And think about what Eastman or his wife have to gain from this? Nothing but money, and that’s too much to risk, and they have enough of it already. But I am considering everything, my friend, believe me. Until I get back to you, do nothing and leave this with me.’
Something the DCI had said about Eastman’s wife and loyalty put a terrible thought in his head. ‘Did my wife have an affair with this guy? I met her not long after she started working for him. But was she still sleeping with him even when I came along?’
‘I go with evidence, Nick, and, well, none points that way. There’s nothing to suggest Anna ever connected sexually with Marc Eastman. Why such a random idea?’
It wasn’t random, though. A sexual bond could create unbreakable loyalty, as with Eastman’s wife forgiving her husband’s affairs, and agreeing to help him help Anna bury a crime. Eastman would have needed a high dose of loyalty towards Anna in order to risk everything by protecting her. And how else would he have developed such devotion? He explained this to the DCI, who again jumped on her evidence mantra.
Then added: ‘So, I repeat, remove such thoughts from your skull. Now back to you, Nick. I don’t like you being out there. You can’t be thinking straight, okay? If you’re not coming on home, then I want you to tread carefully.’
And then she was gone, leaving him replaying her final sentence in his head. She could have ordered the police to return him to Sheffield, but she hadn’t. Instead, she’d warned him to be careful. As if she knew he was on a mission… and was permitting it. Maybe even condon
ing it.
Miller’s information, and her warning, had him straddling a fence, unable to pick a side. Were Eastman and his wife victims too, like Anna? Were they connected at all?
Still a little spellbound by this latest scene in his life, Nick handed the mobile back to the police officer. He still half-expected to be arrested for car theft, but instead he was told to have a good day and to watch his speed, then left alone out there.
He did neither.
After what seemed like hours stuffed into the floor of the car, with the man’s stinking feet on her back and rock music pounding her head, and sometimes his voice telling her things, she felt a slowing, and a turning to the left. The constant speed and lack of outside sound had told her they were on the motorway, heading south she knew. But no more. They were turning off. Her heart vibrated like crazy with mixed emotions, because they had promised her something, and this could be it, but also because it could all have been a lie.
A minute later there was another turn, to the right this time, which made her worry they were hitting the motorway again. But the car slowed, made another couple of sharp turns, and then she felt the light dim slightly, as if they’d gone under a bridge.
‘Up,’ Ball Cap said.
She sat, wincing against the daylight because she’d had her face buried in Josie’s pyjamas for so long, even though it was subdued.
In the driver’s seat, Dominic turned to look at her. It was the first time he had really shown his face, and she had been dreading the moment in case he recognised her through the extra wrinkles and fat on her face. But she surprised herself by glaring him dead in the eye. She failed to spot something familiar in his features. He was the same only in name. Even that had changed for Anna.
He failed, too. She could see it right there in his eyes: not a hint of recognition, for which she was glad. But, fearful that his brain would make a connection in the next few seconds, she lowered her eyes to his throat. And wished she hadn’t.
