No Safe Home

by Tara Lyons

  “What about contracts and bank details?”

  Clarke shrugged. “Okay, so maybe Sumaria didn’t have all the answers… but she said she’d look into it further. I’d happily talk to her again, gov. But, whoever bought it, paid swiftly and paid with cash. No one’s been seen in there since.”

  As they approached closer to the building, Hamilton eyed its entire exterior. The potential malevolence behind its doors, hidden in plain sight as parents strolled by with pushchairs and workers popped in next door for lunch. He hated to admit it to his partner, but the place made him shudder. It had been a long time since he’d ignored his gut feeling.

  “Let’s not stop here, those young guys will probably start filming us for Facebook or YouTube in a minute,” he murmured to Clarke, eyeing the rowdy teenagers loitering outside Burger King.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “We’ll take the side alley. Surely it has to lead to another entrance, or beer garden perhaps?”

  “That’s optimistic. If the rear resembles anything like the gothic castle the front does, I don’t fancy our chances.”

  Gratified his partner had experienced the same reaction to the premises, Hamilton nodded in acknowledgment, and trudged on through the dank passageway.

  “For a pub that’s been closed for years, it still reeks of stale beer and piss down here,” Clarke stuttered through coughs.

  “It’s a smell that never leaves.” He stopped to kick an empty sleeping bag. “Or, perhaps the patrons do still come here at night.”

  “It’s flipping eerie.”

  Hamilton reached out and twisted the metal handle on the old, wooden door. The rust grated in his hand as it turned and, after a few knocks with his shoulder, it squealed open to reveal a disused tip of a back garden.

  “Maybe luck is on our side today,” he whispered, and placed his index finger over his lips.

  Clarke gave him the thumbs up before slowly pushing the door back in place. They manoeuvred around broken chairs, wooden bench tables, black bags and rolled-up stained carpets. Hamilton pictured a deserted bar inside, the place gutted and the junk left outside to rot. The two lower windows were covered with a rusty, metal mesh that couldn’t be tackled quietly. The furthest window was opened ajar, and Hamilton beckoned his partner over, winking at their continued run of fortune. Clarke frowned, and lowered his ear to the opening for a few minutes.

  “Someone’s in there,” Clarke mouthed, and Hamilton placed his face closer to his partner’s, listening intently.

  “What is that?” he uttered in reply.

  They stepped away from the window. “That’s Fifa football you’re listening to, gov.”

  Hamilton frowned. “How do you know? Sounded like two men having a conversation.”

  “Two commentators, perhaps. I’m a thirty-two-year-old bachelor, I’m not mistaken, gov. And I’m pretty sure the person playing the game isn’t the man who uses the sleeping bag out there. Listen again, you’ll hear the faint mumble of a child’s voice.”

  Trusting his partner, Hamilton’s body sprang into action. He prized the back door open again and stood in the alleyway to contact Fraser. He needed to know how long they had to wait for the back-up team.

  “They’re on their way, boss, but there’s been an accident on the A11 near Whitechapel High Street, and the area is gridlocked at the moment. Shall I request a patrol from the local nick?”

  “Yes, do that immediately. We haven’t confirmed who’s in that building yet, but we have enough reason to believe it’s Frankie Royal.”

  Hamilton re-entered the junk-filled garden and examined the back entrance. The door was firmly locked and each window shrouded in darkness. He pressed his nose against the mesh and cupped his hands between his face and the glass, desperate to find a slither of light. Thick, dark material hung behind it, restricting his view and leaving Hamilton blind to what lay on the other side. Clarke shifted slightly, remaining crouched by the crack in the window, listening for further sounds to reveal its occupants.

  The vibrating phone in Hamilton’s pocket startled him, and he cursed inwardly as he read Rocky’s text message. Aggravated that Katy Royal had given his young officer the slip, he began searching the garden for something useful to assist in his plan. The desire to gain entry of the building, to save the missing boy and finally come face to face with the villain, burned every muscle in Hamilton’s body.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The racket playing from the teenager’s mobile phone echoed along the street, but the music did nothing to penetrate Katy’s thoughts. She was oblivious to her surroundings now that she’d managed to escape the policeman’s tail, and was stood in front of the pub she’d been summoned to. She had contemplated reaching out to him on the train and begging for help but, fearing for her son’s life, she remained quiet and lost him as soon as possible.

  Standing under The Swan’s weather-beaten sign, fragments of memories from her darker days assailed her brain. Frankie’s innocent face broke through the images like a beam of hope and Katy knew she had to go on. She pulled her hand from her coat pocket and examined the crumbled piece of paper, the thing she hadn’t released since being rescued from the fire. The scribbled handwriting pierced her heart every time she reread it:

  You want your son? I have him. This afternoon, come to the place it all began and I’ll be waiting. Tell anyone… bring anyone… and your son dies. Be prepared to make a decision, Katy! P x

  She drew in a lungful of air, pulled her shoulders back and reached for the brass door handle. It opened with ease and her stomach flipped as she stepped forward. All she could hope was that the monster was waiting for her and Frankie was safe.

  Katy squinted, her eyes adjusting from the blue, crisp skies to the dimly-lit room. She stopped, startled by the view in front of her. The large area had been stripped of its bar, tables, stools and optics, and replaced by a sofa, coffee table and shelving unit. Exact replicas of those in her marital home.

  A dark figure slithered behind her. The jingling of keys broke the stale silence. Katy turned and faced the door she’d just entered to find Pete frantically barricading them in. With the door locked, he slunk past her without a word and sat on the sofa. The football commentary droned in her ears, and she held her breath as she scanned the room for Frankie. Cautiously, she followed the path Pete had taken until she stood directly adjacent to him.

  Katy gasped. “Oh my! Frankie… honey!”

  “Mummy!” her son shouted, dropping the game controller to the floor.

  Pete casually raised his leg, rested his foot on the table and created a barrier between mother and son. He placed one hand on the boy’s knee and the other on the armrest. Katy quickly saw the shiny blade under the brute’s fingers and decided against moving further. She held her hand out to Frankie, hoping he’d do the same. Pete snatched up the knife and flicked it, motioning for Katy to take the seat opposite. Tears filled her son’s eyes as she listened to the silent instruction, and eased herself into the familiar wingback chair.

  “Do you like what I’ve done with the place, Katy?” Pete sneered. “I spent a long time researching and buying your favourite things. I wanted it to look perfect, just how you like it.”

  “So, you were in my house before yesterday?”

  Pete grinned. “Of course, many times. But don’t worry I was never seen. It’s just… I wanted to make this place feel homely for you… show you that I care. It’s the same upstairs in the bedrooms.”

  His hand gripped the knife tighter. The whites of his knuckles protruded through the dried blood and scratches, as he slid himself forward to the edge of the sofa. He stared at Katy, his teeth clenched as he continued speaking.

  “When I’d finally finished, and knew this place was ready for you to call home, I came to collect you. Six months ago. But you’d gone… just disappeared without a note for me, or anything. You left me.”

  Despite washing his face and changing his clothes, Pete was evidently in pain
from his injuries. Blood seeped through his bruised and wounded skin. Katy couldn’t take her eyes from his as she thought of the night she’d fled from Brad. The despair she’d felt in leaving their family home may have saved her life.

  “How did you get in?” she asked.

  “It always amazes me how people rush around, taking nothing in. They hop in and out of taxis all day, most of the time with bags of shopping, or a pushchair, or a screaming toddler… It’s easy to drop your belongings, and I’m always there to help… although I’m never really noticed, am I? It only took a few seconds to take a photo of your set of keys before handing them back to you. You really should be more careful with the things that matter the most to you.” Pete squeezed Frankie’s knee harder, causing the boy’s cries to escalate.

  “Why didn’t you just talk to me? Tell me we’d met before…”

  “You would have rejected me like before…” Pete spat about betrayal and unfairness, but Katy’s concentration was elsewhere.

  She nodded her head occasionally, to imply she was remorseful and listening to the monster, but really her eyes focused on her son. Pete’s hand slipped away and she noticed no wires, or ropes restricted Frankie further. The fear resonated off her son’s face, his wobbling chin encouraged a downpour of tears, but his stillness displayed his bravery. She gave him a quick wink before returning her gaze to Pete. He had stopped speaking and his dark eyes bore into hers.

  “Sorry… I –”

  “Don’t mug me off!” he interrupted, and launched onto his feet. “You’ve ruined everything and you have to pay. This could have been our home…”

  “Mummy, can we go now?” Frankie whimpered, and Katy reached her hand out to him.

  Pete’s arm flew out, knocking her back. His momentum continued, crashing his fist into Frankie’s face. Blood gushed from the boy’s nose and he fell back onto the sofa, his piercing cry sounding off the wall.

  Katy jumped to her feet, both hands raised in surrender. “Pete! Pete, please look at me. Don’t hurt Frankie, it’s me you want. I’m here.”

  He spun around and stepped forward until they were inches apart. His head shook, almost involuntarily, as dried saliva took root in the corners of his mouth.

  “I wanted you,” he breathed over Katy’s face. “You fucked it up, and left me like every other woman in my life.”

  “You said I had a decision to make… in your note, that’s what you wrote. Well, I’m here. I choose you. I’ve decided to be with you. I want to be with you. Just let Frankie go and we can finally be together. The two of us.”

  Pete frowned and stood straight. “Yes, we will be together. In death.”

  He reached for the silver zippo lighter on the coffee table and Frankie’s sobs filled the silence of Pete’s movement. He sighed heavily; rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, the tip of the blade grazing against his skin. Katy contemplated jumping forward and knocking it from his hand, when she noticed the tanks of petrol stacked in the corner of the room next to her son. Pete’s thumb repeatedly flicked the flint wheel. A scratching sound replaced by a flame, the flame replaced by the scratching sound. He toyed with her, and his plan became clear as he walked further into the room and hovered over the petrol.

  Frankie raced to her side. He wrapped his small arms around her leg and she pulled his head closer into her, shielding him from the sight in front of them. Katy struggled for air, attempting to create a plan. The doors were locked. She was helpless. Her son’s body trembled together with her own and she screamed.

  “Stop! You can’t do this. You can’t kill us… Frankie is your son!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “Jesus Christ! He’s going to burn them alive,” Hamilton cried. “I want you to get back outside and clear the vicinity while I try and talk him down.”

  “No way am I leaving you, gov,” Clarke replied, and updated Fraser on the situation in a hushed tone over the radio.

  “Fine. Find another entrance into that room while I distract him. See if you can come in from behind and surprise him.”

  Clarke hurried off, leaving Hamilton to plan his advance. Surprised by Katy Royal’s confession, he decided there was no time to linger and sprinted back to the now broken rear door. Hamilton grabbed the metal pole they’d used to gain entry and tucked it inside his trouser waistband. He needed to be prepared for any scenario, and confronting Pete Campbell head-on may not be the wisest of decisions.

  Hamilton stepped out of the side office and walked out into the main bar. It resembled a studio flat more than an old London boozer. Hamilton recognised the interior decoration immediately and anger soared through his body at the thought of such a monster intruding and violating the family’s safe haven.

  “Pete Campbell,” Hamilton called out, and edged closer to the hostage situation. “I’m Detective Inspector Hamilton. Put your weapon down.”

  The bloodstained suspect remained calm and looked at Hamilton square on. Over the years, he’d realised that sometimes in life people were just pure evil. As though it were a real entity, it oozed from their pores and radiated from the darkness in their eyes. Looking at Campbell, he witnessed the full state of wretched wickedness before him, and feared there could be no positive outcome.

  “We know about the other families,” Hamilton said. “It’s time to give it up. Nothing good will come of this.”

  Pete tilted his head, as if he were contemplating Hamilton’s words. A sinister smile spread across the man’s face, flipping the lighter up and catching it, humming all the while.

  “That’s interesting… Detective Inspector Hamilton,” he sneered. “You seem to be all alone. So actually, I think a lot of good could come from this.” The man pulled his thumb over the flint wheel and stared at the blue and orange flame, his fingers tapping the knife blade in his other hand.

  Hamilton lurched forward, but it was too late. Clarke jumped out from behind a large pillar and onto Pete’s back, striking him to the floor. Screams filled the room. The two men wrestled and Hamilton stamped furiously on the lighter, extinguishing the flame before it caught fire. He turned to find Katy Royal and her son huddled together on the floor by the sofa. Content they were safe, he moved across the room to help his partner, but was instantly met by Pete’s fist. As Hamilton fell to the floor, so did the hidden metal pole, and the brute fumbled with a bunch of keys as he blundered towards the main entrance.

  “Go!” Clarke groaned from the floor.

  Hamilton sat up and hesitated, his attention faltering between the two men. Clarke moaned again and his head flopped back. Hamilton rushed over to find blood seeping from between his partner’s fingers as he clutched his stomach.

  “You’ve been stabbed!”

  “No shit! Gov, go after him… I’ll be fine.”

  Hamilton removed his jacket and placed it under Clarke’s hand, who grunted as the blood flowed. He yelled for Katy to take over and instructed how she should place as much pressure on the wound as possible.

  Clarke coughed. “Get that bastard!”

  “I’ll get someone in here for you!” Hamilton shouted, and ran out the door.

  The entrance had been cordoned off, and two uniformed officers attempted to use themselves and their patrol car as a barrier. Civilians pushed each other and strained their necks to see what new commotion was taking place in their neighbourhood. Hamilton scanned the crowd, but couldn’t get a fix on Pete Campbell or Fraser.

  “Where’s my officer?” he yelled to the nearest policeman.

  “She headed north in pursuit of the suspect, sir, towards the station. We’ve requested additional back-up for her. What do you want us to do?”

  “Call an ambulance immediately, we have an officer down in there.”

  “We have one standing by, sir. I’ll move the paramedics in.”

  Hamilton charged along the road, as irritated bystanders yelled profanities in the wake of his chase. A swarm of people had assembled near the entrance of the train station and he sped up
, worried that another member of his team had been attacked. He pushed through the masses, hollering for them to clear his path, and found an elderly woman passed out on the ground.

  “Some degenerate knocked her down and she whacked her head… he didn’t even bloody stop,” a voice said from behind.

  “Which way did he go?” Hamilton asked.

  She eyed his stab vest. “Finally, a copper’s on scene. We need some medical assistance for this –”

  “Madam, which way did he go?”

  The woman rolled her eyes and pointed away from the train station. “Ran down that alley.”

  “Thank you. Can you ensure an ambulance has been called?” he said, and took flight once again, before the woman could challenge him.

  A chaotic buzz occupied the high street as the mid-afternoon pursuit propelled the locals’ curiosity. Hamilton ran out into the road, ignoring the protesting car horns as he dashed across. Leaping and swerving the oncoming traffic and then the pedestrians, he headed through the backstreets. He peered along the residential street the alley had brought him on to, and spied a figure entering a gate to a small playground at the end of the road. Hamilton scurried to the right, landing in the bushes, obscuring the wooden perimeter of the play area. He searched for a loose panel, kicking each board until one swung against the next. You can always rely on local kids wanting a secret meet-up after hours.

  Hamilton crouched and angled his body, one leg and then his head peering through the slats. He pulled himself free and slipped behind a large oak tree, the long branches shadowing his presence. Pete Campbell strolled closer on the pathway, the knife clutched in his fist, his head scanning from side-to-side and over his shoulder. Hamilton’s eyes searched a route. One wrong move and he’d be stabbed as easily as his partner.

  Pete’s attention fell on a group of children skirting around the slide. Hamilton took the opportunity and leapt out from his hiding place behind the suspect, tackling him to the ground. His unexpected attack caused the blade to catapult from Pete’s hand as the man’s head smacked down hard onto the gravelled path.