Dark Winter Series (Book 1): Dark Winter

by Fernfield, Rebecca

  “Let me buy you a coke—to make up for the biscuit,” Dominic offered. Both girls giggled.

  The skittish auburn-haired girl walked past as Dominic placed an arm around the chubbier girl’s shoulders. The redhead’s hazel eyes met Callum’s then flashed away like a startled doe, and she picked up her pace to a near run. Callum followed her progress as she joined the queue at the ATM then turned his attention back to Dominic and the girls; the younger man already had his arm around the prettier one’s shoulders.

  Motioning for Dominic to step aside and speak privately, he whispered, “Let’s take the redhead at the cash machine. Gregor can have her.”

  “Sure.” Dominic cast a quick glance at the younger girls then whispered, “These two are hooked. I’ll arrange to pick them up later.”

  PC VICKY AL FARAD TURNED her back to the hall, hooking her arm through Josh’s, watching the two gang members swagger past in the shop’s plate glass. She noted that both wore hoodies and trainers from the same expensive brand, typical of the gangs running the drug supply lines; they may look casually dressed, even scruffy, but their clothes were from the latest collection by popular brands that the kids in this deprived town could only dream of owning. She had already radioed in, giving a description of the two underage girls the men had targeted, and was relieved to see them walking in the opposite direction. The two men sauntered past, heading towards the exit and carparks. Joshua turned to follow, as keen as Vicky not to lose them.

  “They’re slowing. Using the ATM maybe?” She held steady at the next shop window whilst watching the men join the queue. A young woman stabbed at the cash machine, obviously agitated. “If they use the cash machine, then we can identify them.”

  “More likely they’ll be using stolen cards.”

  One of the men touched the woman’s shoulder. She flinched, swinging around to him. A sharp, ‘Get off!’ echoed in the hall. Taking a step back, he made a gesture of surrender. The girl relaxed, but turned back to the machine, running a hand through her auburn hair. Her anxiety was almost palpable. The taller man, a blond dressed in a burgundy hoodie, took out his wallet.

  “He’s making a move on her,” Vicky said as he pulled out a wad of notes.

  The girl stared at the money but shook her head. The man gently pushed the notes at her.

  “Playing the good Samaritan!”

  “Yep, same grooming process they used on those underage girls.”

  “This one doesn’t look much more than eighteen.”

  Shaking her head once more, the redhead moved from the machine. The man shrugged as she stepped away, his voice muffled by the distance, but Vicky discerned, ‘Let me help’. The woman replied with a slow ‘No thanks’ but gave the wad of cash more than a glance, then offered the blond a smile.

  “He’s hooked her.” Dismay laced Vicky’s words.

  “It’s that easy?”

  “They do what they always do, target the vulnerable. She’s young, she’s obviously in a fix, the bank machine said ‘No!’. Look at the state of her hair and makeup. And ... I think she’s got abrasions on her forehead and cheek.”

  “She looks alright to me.”

  “An eighteen-year old with smudged eye makeup and unbrushed hair? She’s in a state.”

  “Redhead. Five foot five. Slim. You don’t think she could be the girl who snatched her sister from Social Services?”

  Vicky stared at the redhead. “Call it in, Josh. Maybe.”

  ANNA HAD NEVER SEEN so much money in one place, there must be at least a thousand pounds in cash in the man’s wallet. “Put it away!” Her eyes locked to his.

  “I’m sorry! No offence meant, but the way you were abusing that cash machine-”

  “None taken, and I wasn’t abusing the cash machine!”

  He laughed and she noticed the way his eyes crinkled at the side as a full smile spread across his face. “Looked like it to me,” he teased. “You were giving it a right battering. I’m Callum, by the way.”

  He wasn’t local, and she strained to listen, only just understanding his rapid Mancunian as the words slipped into each other. He laughed again, seemed genuine, and she couldn’t help smiling back. Checking over Callum’s shoulder, the pair of security guards seemed to be watching them talk. Realising that she had made a mistake - the pair weren’t security guards, they were social workers, or perhaps even police officers, and they had found her! - she scanned the hall for Angel Mallard. The instinct to run was overwhelming.

  “Something wrong?” Callum asked with narrowed eyes, and quickly turned to follow her gaze. He stared from the officers then back to Anna as she searched the hall. Rapid heartbeats were painful in her chest. She had to get back to Jem!

  “Nothing,” she lied, the wad of cash brushing against her arm as Callum stuffed it back into his wallet. The officers stepped in unison away from the window, the male officer talking into a radio. “They’re here!” Anna rasped the words, her throat suddenly dry.

  “Who?”

  Her eyes locked to Callum’s then flitted back to the officers. He seemed as agitated as she felt. She took a step to head back to Jem, crashing into Callum as he hissed ‘Pigs!’ to his companion.

  A hard tug at Anna’s arm. “Come outside.”

  The female officer took another step closer, black hair glossy in the bright lights. “Anna?”

  Anna’s breath caught in her chest as the woman’s eyes caught hers. “No!” She could think of nothing else to say and stood frozen. The hand around her bicep tightened. “I’m not Anna,” she lied. With rough force Callum pulled her towards the exit.

  “Anna Crofton?” The officer’s voice was insistent, rising an octave as Anna was dragged by Callum. She took rapid steps forward, the male officer at her side. Her eyes bored into Anna’s.

  “No!” Anna shouted this time, yanking her arm from Callum’s grip. “You’ve got the wrong girl, lady!” The lie poured from her lips as she gave a final tug and freed herself from Callum.

  The woman stepped up to the pair. “Anna, is this man bothering you?”

  “No, I-”

  “She already told you,” Callum snapped, “that she’s not Anna.”

  Anna took a step back, her gaze flitting down the hall to the sign above the café. Jem would be inside waiting, perhaps getting worried. “I’m not Anna.”

  Slipping an arm across Anna’s shoulder, Callum stepped with her. “That’s right. She’s not Anna. Her name’s Suki. In’t that right, Suki?” He stared straight at the female officer as the male officer stepped beside her.

  “That’s right,” Anna agreed, her mind unable to calculate a better response. “I’m Suki.”

  Pain bit into her shoulder as Callum pressed hard fingers into muscle, forcing her to turn to the exit, and away from Jem. Anna gritted her teeth but played along with him. “Callum, babe,” she said, twisting to face the hall. “We need to go this way.” Pulling against Callum, heart thumping, Anna hooked her hand around his fingers and guided him away from the exit. “This way, babe,” she said with a squeeze of his fingers, hoping he would keep up the pretence. To her relief, the pressure slackened, and he walked with her back down the hallway.

  “Anna!” the woman called.

  Anna quickened her pace.

  “I told you,” Callum snapped at the couple. “Her name is Suki.”

  Throwing Callum’s hand from her shoulder, Anna broke into a sprint. Thudding feet kept pace, and Callum curled a hand around her bicep. Anna continued to run with Callum attached at her side.

  “Slow down,” he said as they drew close to the café.

  “I have to find my sister!”

  “Just calm down,” he said, increasing the pressure on her arm. “They’re not following.”

  Anna checked behind. There was no sign of the officers. She slowed.

  “Is your sister here?” Callum asked, gesturing to the mall.

  “Yeah, I left her in the café.”

  “Which one?”

 
Suddenly wary of Callum’s interest, Anna slowed to a stop. The café, and Jem, were only two doors away. “Listen, thanks for getting me out of ... that. I owe you. I’m good now, though.” Callum showed no sign of moving away. She tried again. “I’ve got to find my sister, so ...”

  “I can help.”

  “No, really, it’s okay. She’s okay ...”

  “Listen, it’s obvious that you’re in some sort of trouble. If the dibble are after you ...”

  “The dibble?”

  “Yeah. Coppers, pigs.”

  Anna continued to frown.

  “The police,” he explained. “The plain clothes coppers back there.”

  She remained silent.

  “It were the dibble, weren’t it,” he stated.

  “I don’t know,” she relented.

  After another furtive glance down the hall, Callum pulled her closer to the shop. “They were coppers, and you know it.” Anna flinched under the intensity of his stare. “Listen, I can help you. Whatever trouble you’re in, I can help.”

  “Well ...” Emotion welled, and Anna swallowed as tears began to rise. “I left her in Greg’s ... eating millionaire shortbread.”

  A smile broke over his face and the intense stare softened. “I like shortbread!”

  “You do?” The bubble of Anna’s tension seemed to pop.

  “Yes, so let me help you!”

  “Well ...”

  “Let him help you, lass.” It took a moment for Anna to realise that the voice came from the woman with stiffly curled hair sitting on the bench she had passed earlier. A man of middle eastern appearance now also sat on the bench, a large rucksack at his feet. The old woman smiled with synthetically white teeth. Anna realised the grey curls were a wig.

  “Yeah, Suki. Let me help you.”

  Suki! The name was ridiculous, part of an archaic nursery rhyme. He’d be telling her to put the kettle on next! Anna’s reticence broke down as she remembered the hard stare the female officer had thrown at her as she lied about her name. It had only been Callum’s quick thinking that saved her.

  “Suki!” The woman said. “Such a lovely name.” She seemed to stare through Anna. “We had a dog called Suki.”

  Anna frowned with confusion. Callum’s smile broadened.

  “Here boy!” the woman called. “Such a lovely boy ... Fetch!”

  Callum snorted with laughter. Anna threw him a glare.

  “She’s batshit crazy!” he whispered.

  “Shh! She’ll hear.”

  “So?”

  The woman seemed oblivious to Callum’s insult. The man on the bench made no sign that he had overheard their conversation and was more interested in the far end of the hall. His gaze was intense, and Anna followed its direction. The two officers were there: the male talking into a handheld radio, the female staring towards Anna. At that point Anna changed her mind. “Help me then,” she said. “Jem’s in the coffee shop.”

  A smile broke across Callum’s face, and he placed a proprietorial hand on her arm and told her to lead the way.

  CHAPTER TEN

  As Callum took Anna by the arm and walked with her to the café to find Jem, Joshua radioed in to report that they had a possible sighting of the young woman reported to have ‘kidnapped’ her kid sister by Social Services. That the teenage girl was in danger was confirmed by her sister’s relationship with the drug trafficking gang from 12 Lovett Street. The second man had exited to the carpark as Vicky had called to the girl. Although she had insisted her name was Suki, Vicky was certain that the woman was Anna Crofton; the flicker of fear and uncertainty in her eyes as she had stared back with startled horror at the mention of her name, confirmed it. Now Vicky just needed visual confirmation that the younger girl, the one Social Services claimed guardianship over, was with her. Joshua coughed at her side.

  “Karen confirmed the older female’s description from Social Services. She does fit.”

  “They’ve gone into Greg’s. Let’s follow.”

  “Sure.”

  As both officers took a step forward, the man sitting on the bench beside the woman with the old-fashioned coat and stiffly curled grey hair rose to stand. He remained in Vicky’s line of sight as she focused on the café’s doorway waiting for Anna Crofton and the gang member to emerge. The man’s details - clothes, skin and hair colour, gait, and body language - were instantly observed and mentally recorded, a habit that nearly ten years of police training had instilled into Vicky. Whilst one portion of her brain watched the café door, the other was surveying the surrounding area and people. Within seconds she had summed up the scene, noting the not-quite-with-it elderly lady, the down-trodden and impoverished young mother with poor parental skills, eyes glued to her phone screen, pushing her child in its pram with its bottle of cola, and the man of middle eastern, perhaps Iranian or Iraqi, origin, sitting on the seat beside the woman. His sudden rise, coupled with his hurried pace, put Vicky on alert. He had seemed so nonchalant, leaning back on the bench, people watching, a large rucksack at his feet, until that point.

  The rucksack!

  The bag that had been at the man’s feet was still at the bench. Vicky’s mind re-lived the seconds before the man had stood. In her mind’s eye she saw him push the bag beneath the wooden bench, manoeuvring it with his heel. The man strode past her, eyes focused on the end of the hall. She watched as though in slow-motion as he passed. He looked like any other good-looking guy, perhaps a little too well-dressed to be typical of this town. Sweat dribbled at his temple. “Hey!” she called as he raced past. “You’ve left your bag.”

  Their eyes locked.

  He returned her questioning frown with the startled eyes of a hunted perp, then sprinted towards the exit.

  In that second, Vicky realised that she, and everyone in the mall, was in danger.

  “It’s a bomb!” Vicky hissed, catching Joshua’s sleeve. “The bag beneath the bench. I’m sure it’s a bomb.”

  “What?”

  “That man,” Vicky said pointing at the running man whilst simultaneously pulling Joshua back, “he left a rucksack beneath the bench.”

  Joshua sprinted with her to the other side of the hallway. “I’ll call it in. You find a guard, clear the area!”

  “We may not have time,” Vicky panted as they ran into the doorway of a large clothing store. “He sprinted down the hallway like he was running for the hundred metres gold medal.”

  Joshua pressed the emergency button on his radio. “Control. Five-Zero-One Juliet-Papa. Freshney Place, East Hall. Code 10. I repeat. Code 10. Request-”

  Boom!

  The air around them shook and with a sudden punch to her entire body, Vicky was blown to the back of the shop. Ceiling tiles dropped, shelves broke away from their fixings, and the huge plate glass window at the shop front shattered sending shards of glass spraying through the air. A deafening roar filled Vicky’s ears and dulled her senses as pain enveloped her. She crashed against the back wall. Disorientation overwhelmed her.

  As the seconds passed, and another ceiling tile fell to crash beside her foot, she blinked, spitting out the particles of plaster, cobweb, and dust that had covered her face and lips. Through the haze and skewed clothes rails, she searched for Joshua. A shopper was crawling on all fours. The serving girl stood behind her till screaming as blood spilled from her nose. The noise travelled through Vicky’s ears as though underwater. Dust caked her hair. She made a tentative effort to move, grimacing at pain in her leg. A bomb! It had been a bomb! Pain rode her body and beyond the loud, throbbing pulse filling her head, she could hear a cacophony of muffled screams and shouts.

  “Joshua!” she called. “Joshua!” Although her vocal chords strained with her shout, she could barely hear her own call. She scanned the room. The soles of Joshua’s size twelve boots stuck out from beneath a mannequin that had fallen from its pedestal. One of its plastic legs had come loose, and the lower torso lay exposed, the full skirt, patterned with apples and leaves, blown up over
its body. Joshua’s legs were as lifeless as the fibre glass woman’s.

  The room vibrated, the force of another explosion rocking Vicky. Another ceiling tile fell and crashed to the floor. As the vibrations ebbed, Vicky called again, “Joshua!”

  She made another effort to move, but intense pain stopped her. Sharp pain stabbed at her thigh. She checked her leg, barely daring to look. Over the years, she had seen dozens of training videos, re-enactments peppered with real-life footage of shootings, murders, assassinations, and bombings. The injuries to human limbs that an explosion could cause were truly horrifying; lives were changed, sometimes beyond repair.

  Protruding from her black trousers, was a shard of glass. She winced. For several seconds she simply stared at the triangular shard. It protruded from her vastus lateralis, the large muscle running along the length of her thigh, by about ten centimetres, tapering to a point – for who knew how many centimetres – inside her flesh. Around her, and in her peripheral vision, people moved. The cacophony of screams had perhaps subsided, but her only focus was on the glass. It had to come out, otherwise she would be unable to move. Despite the risk, she reached forward and held fingers at either side of the shard. Fingers squeezed together against the object, she took a breath, pulse filling her head, and pulled. Blood-smeared glass slid from her thigh, until the tip was revealed. Taking several breaths, she gathered her senses, placed the shard on the floor, waited for the pain to subside, then turned onto all fours. This time, although her thigh protested, the sharpness that had stalled her, was gone. She managed to stand and, with unsteady steps, made her way to where Joshua’s legs protruded from beneath the bare bottom of the mannequin and its flared vintage skirt.