by Roberta Kray
Gabe started the engine and set off down the street. ‘That’s part of the deal. She’ll call me from the airport tonight and tell me his name.’ He sighed. ‘Look, I know what you’re thinking, that I’m just letting her off the hook, but to be honest if we want that guy’s name, what other choice is there?’
‘We could threaten to tell the cops, we could beat the name out of her.’
He smiled. ‘Are you offering?’
‘The mood I’m in …’ she said drily. She guessed that Gabe had struggled with his conscience. Choosing to let Susan go free after everything she’d done, not just to him, but to Silver Delaney too, couldn’t have been easy. How much of his decision had been made from the point of view of practicality and how much from sentiment was impossible for her to judge.
‘I’ll call Delaney as soon as the plane’s taken off and …’
There was that and again, strung up in the air, suspended. Jo groaned. Susan was as proficient at manipulation as the enigmatic Mrs Dark. ‘So did you find out what’s been going on?’
‘Guy’s got a psychotic streak apparently. It just took her a while to figure it out. Hurting Silver was never on the agenda – not for her at least – but she thinks he has other ideas.’
‘Do you trust her?’
He briefly turned his face. ‘She’s run out of options. What’s not to trust?’
Jo could have offered to write a list but knew it was a waste of time. He’d already made up his mind and there was nothing she could do or say to change it. She may as well keep her mouth shut.
But he shifted in his seat and glanced at her again. ‘I have to do this, Jo. It doesn’t mean there’s … I mean, there’s nothing between us any more, me and Susan, but I can’t just walk away. It’s all too complicated. I have to think of Silver too. Do you understand?’
She wasn’t exactly sure what he was trying to say but sensed that he was trying to make amends for the lack of support he had shown her at the flat. ‘It’s not a problem.’
His face twisted a little. ‘Isn’t it? Only you’ve been good to me and I wouldn’t want you to think that …’
‘I don’t,’ Jo said quickly.
He left a short pause. ‘You’re important to me too. You do know that?’
She was tempted to laugh it off, to make some kind of wisecrack, but something stopped her. The expression on his face was serious. Instead, she simply nodded.
Clover Road was only a five-minute drive away. They spent the last four minutes in silence. It was similar to most of the other roads in the area, two neat rows of terraces with their wheelie bins standing sentry in the tiny front yards. Number forty-five was on the right, about three-quarters of the way down. There was no space directly outside the house and Gabe had to pull in across the road.
For a while they sat and stared at the windows. Then, leaning down, he picked up a heavy-looking holdall from the floor. The bag made a chinking, metal against metal sound. ‘Right. Let’s get on with it.’
They got out of the car, crossed over and walked up the short pathway. Jo, although it was an effort, didn’t look around. To any prying eyes she hoped they would appear innocent enough, just a couple returning from a shopping trip, her with the Tesco bag and him with the holdall. Just the latest tenants to rent out the property. This was London, after all – no one took that much notice of their neighbours. Gabe took the key from his pocket and slid it into the mortice lock. It twisted easily enough and seconds later they were inside.
The door opened straight into the living room. It was a long bright oblong, bisected by an arch. A beige-coloured carpet covered the floor and the sofa and chairs were a darker shade of brown. There was a mirror on the wall but no pictures. They both stopped, ears pricked, listening for any other signs of life. But there were none. A simultaneous sigh slipped from their lips.
The kitchen was at the rear of the house, part original building, part extension. A window overlooked the concreted back yard and was covered with a net curtain. Gabe put the holdall on the table and unzipped it. He took out a box of latex gloves, the thin disposable type that dentists use, pulled on a pair and pushed the box towards her.
Jo’s eyes widened a fraction. ‘You make a habit of this?’
‘Nothing wrong with being careful.’
To their right was an open pine door that led to the basement. Gabe picked up the bag again, flicked a switch on the kitchen wall and started down the flight of old stone steps. Jo followed close on his heels. A couple of dim light bulbs, one at the top and another at the bottom, cast dancing shadows across the walls. She glanced nervously over her shoulder. Some kind of alarm was going off in her head, a primitive warning about being trapped, about dangerous predators and dark enclosed spaces.
At the base of the steps were two rooms leading off a narrow corridor. The first, without a door, was about twenty foot square. It had a neon strip running along the centre of the ceiling. When Gabe turned it on, it buzzed and flickered, then suddenly leapt into life. They both peered inside. The room was empty. The walls had once been whitewashed but were now stained and peeling, small heaps of flaking paint and crumbling plaster accumulating on the floor. She sniffed; that weird musty smell, the odour of all cellars, was assailing her nostrils.
The second room did have a door. It was ajar and they both paused to stare at it. At the top was a roughly constructed grille with a sliding panel and at its base what looked like a large cat flap. He slowly pushed the door open to reveal the prison cell beyond. The light, a naked bulb of no more than 20 watts, was still on.
‘Very cosy,’ he murmured.
Jo frowned as she looked around. This room was much smaller. There was a toilet and sink in the left-hand corner and a single mattress on the right. On top of the mattress were a pillow and a thin grey blanket. Beside these was a low bedside table with a lamp, several glossy magazines and a bottle of water. But what really focused her attention was the long heavy chain attached to the wall; it was like something that would be used to restrain a vicious dog. So this was where Silver had been imprisoned. The odour in this room was slightly different, as if the mustiness was underlain with stale breath, sweat and a sharper more disturbing smell that may have been a residue of fear. Jo shivered. Poor kid – she must have been terrified.
‘Let’s get on with it,’ Gabe said. ‘I need to get this door off its hinges. You need to clean down anything Silver may have touched. We don’t want any record of her ever having been here.’
Jo nodded. Where to start? She decided on the worst job first – the loo. As Gabe got out his screwdriver, she dived into the carrier bag and pulled out a pack of sponge scourers and a bottle of Cif. For a while they worked almost in silence, the only sounds being his muttered complaints as he tried to remove the screws – what kind of bleeding idiot put this up – and her manic scrubbings of the pad against the old stained porcelain. She covered the whole area, paying most attention to the seat, the handle of the flush and the cistern but leaving none of it untouched. It was surprising, she thought, how quickly you could work when your liberty might depend on it. By the time she had finished, he was almost done too.
‘Okay,’ he said, dropping the final screw into his pocket. ‘Can you give me a hand to get this upstairs?’
Within twenty minutes, they had the stashed the door, the mattress and the blanket in the back of the van. Jo had cleaned the sink. Gabe had snapped through the chain with a pair of bolt-cutters. While he was still attempting to remove the large iron ring that had been cemented into the wall, she carried the small table and the lamp (after a thorough wiping) upstairs. After putting them back where they probably belonged, in the front bedroom, she glanced out of the window and along the street. Seeing The George on the corner, she remembered how Gabe had been set up. Had Susan stood here and watched her ex-husband’s arrest? Jo wouldn’t put it past her.
After checking out the bathroom, and removing an abandoned bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap, she headed back downst
airs. Next, she cleared out the kitchen, emptying the contents of the freezer, the fridge and the cupboards into a black bin bag. The food was of the purely basic variety. Still, if nothing else she’d have plenty of pizza, bread and baked beans for the next few weeks. There were four litres of milk and an almost full bottle of brandy too.
Jo gave the kitchen sink a quick once-over, not to erase any fingerprints – according to Gabe (who had heard it from Susan), the girl hadn’t touched anything outside the cellar – but just to leave things clean and tidy. She knew from past experience how fussy landlords could be; it was best if she gave them nothing to whine about.
After dumping all the bags in the back of the van, including the holdall and the rubbish from the kitchen bin, Jo returned to the cellar. She wondered, as she walked past the brightly lit larger room, whether this had all once been a children’s play area or a teenage den. It would account for the plumbing. A good place for the kids to get away from the parents – and vice versa.
Gabe was carefully wiping down the walls. It looked very different now to when they had first arrived. Emptied of all the obvious signs of imprisonment it seemed benign, normal, like any other neglected basement room. She saw that the iron ring had been wrenched from the wall and gave a sigh of relief.
‘All done?’ he said.
Jo nodded.
They stood and surveyed their work. It was impossible to tell that anyone had been there, and especially anyone held against their will. There was only the lingering whiff of disinfectant but that would soon fade.
‘Time to go,’ he said.
They were in the kitchen when the bell rang, a short sharp ring that cut through the air. Jo jumped and shrank back against the wall. Gabe put a finger to his lips. They both stood very still. It was about fifteen seconds before it went again: two longer more determined rings.
Jo’s heart was starting to thump. It could easily be a salesman, she told herself, or a Jehovah’s Witness eager to spread the word. There was no reason to think that …
But the bell went again and the letterbox clattered. A voice floated clearly through the living room. ‘Susan? Susan, you there?’
‘Fuck,’ Gabe murmured.
The letterbox rattled again. There were three more rings, a long pause and the sound of retreating footsteps.
‘He’s gone,’ Jo whispered with relief.
Gabe shook his head. ‘Don’t kid yourself. He won’t give up that easily. He’s probably gone back to the car for a crowbar.’
‘But it’s broad daylight. He can’t just …’
‘You want to hang around and find out?’
Jo didn’t.
‘We’ve got two choices,’ he said. ‘Either we head upstairs, wait for him to break in and go to the cellar, then try to leg it through the front door – or we go out the back.’
Jo didn’t fancy being trapped upstairs. It would only take him seconds to realise that the cellar was empty. What if he heard them coming down? What if he was armed? She glanced out of the kitchen window. That idea didn’t seem so great either. The back door led to an enclosed yard with tall fences either side of it. A couple of rotting outhouses leaned against an even higher wall running along the rear. How the hell were they going to get out? ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘You choose.’
Gabe didn’t hesitate. ‘Out the back.’
Chapter Seventy-one
Even as Gabe was closing the door and locking it behind them, they heard the soft splintery sound of breaking wood. This guy didn’t mess around. They sprinted down to the end of the yard.
‘What now?’ Jo spun round to face him.
‘Up there,’ he said gesturing towards the crumbling roof of one of the outhouses. From the ground to the lowest level of the roof was about ten feet. From there it sloped up to within reaching distance of the top of the wall. He dropped the bag, bent his body at the knees and linked his hands together. ‘Come on!’
Jo could see how with his help she might get up there but how was he going to follow her? ‘But—’
‘For God’s sake,’ he said. ‘Just shift it, will you?’
Jo, after one frantic glance back at the house, did as she was told. Standing to his full height, Gabe swiftly hoisted her up. For a moment she seemed to be sailing through the air but, stretching out her arms and hands and with him pushing hard on the soles of her shoes, eventually managed to scramble on to the roof. Instantly a couple of tiles dislodged from under her. They slid down and smashed on to the ground.
‘Keep going,’ he urged.
Flat on her stomach, Jo slowly inched forward. Every time she moved, another wet, slippery tile dislodged, temporarily removing her foothold. She kept looking behind her. Her breath was coming in short, fast gasps. Her stomach was clenched tight, her heart pounding. Gabe dashed back across the yard. Jo stared at him. What was he doing? Even with a run-up there was no way he was going to make it.
Suddenly, the back door broke open with a sickening crash.
The man who came hurtling out was not especially tall or big but he was fast and very, very angry. It was odd, Jo thought, how much you could absorb in a matter of seconds. She noticed his blue shirt, his black slicked-back hair and how his dark eyes flashed with rage. But what she noticed most of all was the long slim bar of iron extending from his hand.
‘Where is she, Miller?’ the guy screeched as he ran towards them.
The next few seconds exploded into terror. All Jo was aware of was the man, the iron bar and of Gabe’s futile attempt to escape. He wasn’t going to make it. Oh God! He didn’t stand a chance! Then she realised that he wasn’t heading directly for the roof. He had another route in mind. Veering abruptly to the left, he launched himself towards the top of the adjacent fence, managed to haul himself up on to the narrow ledge and then, with one leg still hanging down, grabbed for the edge of the roof. Jo shuffled back and reached out for his hand.
But she was too late. The psycho was there before her, snarling and cursing. He swung the bar towards Gabe’s leg.
‘Watch out!’ Jo yelled.
Gabe managed to twist his leg away in time and the bar, with a terrible crunch, went straight through the fence. He kicked out but was too precariously balanced to get any force behind it. Jo watched him struggling and knew that if she didn’t do something soon he’d end up on the ground. Wildly, she looked around her. The only ammunition to hand was the broken tiles on the roof. They were better than nothing.
Her first piece hit their pursuer on the shoulder, but not hard enough to make a difference. Her second shot missed completely but the third and fourth landed squarely on the top of his head.
He staggered back with a grunt, his hands automatically rising to protect his face. Jo kept throwing while Gabe steadied himself and managed to clamber up beside her.
‘Over the wall,’ he said, grabbing her wrist and hauling her up the last few feet.
Beneath them, the madman swung wildly at the edge of the roof with the crowbar – but they were both already out of reach.
‘I’ll kill you! I’ll fuckin’ kill you!’
Jo peered over the rim of the wall. The drop was lower on the other side, only about eight feet, but it still seemed pretty daunting. Gabe was already halfway over. ‘Come on!’ he urged.
She hesitated, but as she did so, the iron bar came whistling through the air, only missing her by inches. It clattered noisily into the alley below. Now was not the time, she decided, to be worrying about anything as trivial as a broken leg or two.
Chapter Seventy-two
Marty Gull bent down and retrieved the crowbar. The alley, as he’d expected, was empty. They were well gone. In the time it had taken him to dash back through the house, run down to the bottom of the road and around the corner, they had made their escape. Was it worth driving around to see if he could spot them? He decided not. Best to let them think they’d got clean away.
Quickly, he made his way back to the car. He pulled the door shut and slammed his f
ist against the wheel. The bitch had screwed him over! He’d find a way to make her pay. But why had she done it? He shook his head and sighed. That question wasn’t hard to answer. Half a million quid instead of a quarter. Even if she was giving Miller a hundred grand for his trouble, she’d still come out on top. So much for all that shite about vengeance for her sister! All Susan Clark was interested in was cold hard cash.
Marty’s face screwed up with anger and frustration. He hadn’t known that Miller was out of the nick. And it hadn’t even crossed his mind that the two of them were in cahoots. Not to mention the little blonde tart. He rubbed at the sore points on his scalp where the broken tiles had rained down on him. He’d bloody well sort her too.
No one made Marty Gull look like a fool! No one!
He banged his fist against the steering wheel again. He sat back and took a few deep breaths. He had to stay calm, stay focused. All was not lost. It wasn’t over yet. He thanked God for the fact Devlin had been hanging around Kellston Green this morning, evidence, had it been needed, that Marty had the blessing of a higher authority. Perhaps this was simply another test, a way of making him prove his worth. Throw a spanner in the works at the last minute and see how Marty Gull responds to it.
A thin smile crept on to his lips. Yeah, that’s what this was all about. Well, Marty Gull could deal with it just fine. He hadn’t come this far and worked this hard to let it all slip through his fingers. He raised his gaze to the heavens and let the anger slowly seep out of his bones until his mind was cool, clean and pure.
Would they proceed with the ransom demand tonight or had they changed the plan entirely? No, they’d go ahead. He was sure of it. It was too risky to make Delaney wait any longer. After Thursday’s little incident, Susan would know that he was already on the edge, on the verge of cracking up. They would change the location and maybe even the time but they’d still wait until dark before going ahead. All of which gave Marty a good few hours to work out what to do.
