See How They Run: The Gripping Thriller that Everyone is Talking About

by Tom Bale

  ‘I know. I was only thirty seconds late.’

  ‘And what about a chance to touch base before we went in? You were the one that kept reminding me to get back from London in good time.’

  ‘It totally slipped my mind. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Your brain’s turned to scrambled egg lately. Puts me right off having sprogs, if this is what it does to you.’

  Harry grinned. ‘When Pete wanted to discuss adoption, you said you’d rather share the house with a boa constrictor.’

  ‘I think it was a python.’ Sam snorted, looking Harry in the eye. ‘Seriously, mate, are you all right? Because you look like shit warmed up.’

  Harry had to bite his lower lip, resisting a powerful desire to tell him everything. ‘Just knackered.’

  ‘You came back too soon. You’re not ready to be doing fourteen-, fifteen-hour days again.’ Sam scooped up his cigarettes and lighter. ‘Why don’t you get off home?’

  ‘Yeah, I might, in a bit.’

  He called Alice the moment Sam had left the office. She had good news: the patio doors had been repaired, with a stronger lock than before. Her uncle had also recommended a firm who could fit a burglar alarm.

  ‘Great,’ Harry said. ‘And are you feeling okay?’

  ‘Yes. Fine.’ Which, from her tone, meant: not really.

  ‘I’ll be home soon. I’m finishing early.’

  ‘Oh?’ His wife’s laughter was refreshingly normal. ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’

  ‘Well, I might just surprise you for once.’

  ‘Lucky me.’

  But the positive attitude he’d adopted for Alice’s sake didn’t last long. As he tried to write up some notes on the meeting, the doubts and fears came flooding back. They should have called the police. They’d been fools to be intimidated by threats. Going it alone meant they had no protection whatsoever – and what was it Ruth had said? You got off lightly.

  He shivered. Tonight he would have to barricade the house again, and still he doubted that he’d feel safe enough to sleep. Perhaps he and Alice would have to take it in turns to sit up, keeping watch, the way people had in more primitive times.

  And then what? If they made it through tonight, what about tomorrow? And the night after that?

  He was out of the building by ten past four. He thought about letting Alice know, then decided it would be nicer just to appear. He caught a 27 bus in North Street and took a window seat. Normally he loved the slow fading light of late autumn: soft and silvery grey; no glare, no shadow. On camera he would add a blueish tint, perfect for romantic cityscapes—

  His phone rang. It was Ruth Monroe.

  ‘I’ve ruled out those other addresses. Lavinia Drive only goes up to 28, and 34 Lavinia Crescent is a dry cleaners. No living accommodation.’

  ‘Okay. Is that good or bad, do you think?’

  ‘From your point of view? I don’t know. But I’d urge you to stay on your guard.’

  Sound advice, probably, but it made him feel despondent as he walked down the hill from Dyke Road. He turned into Lavinia Street and surveyed the rows of tidy charming homes, rendered in various shades of white and cream and beige, and nothing about the area seemed charming or homely any more. It was now an alley with death traps on either side, each blank pane of glass concealing a possible threat to his family.

  Only the prospect of seeing Evie could lift his spirits. He was suddenly desperate to hold her in his arms. He let himself in, calling out to Alice, and immediately heard movement from the living room; an odd sense of a conversation stifled in mid-flow.

  Then Alice appeared, scowling furiously. Harry’s first thought was: Someone saw me with Ruth Monroe …

  ‘You’re home early!’ Her voice, bright and cheerful, was in stark contrast to her expression. She stepped into the hall, one foot hooked around the door to pull it closed behind her, and hissed: ‘The police have just turned up.’

  Harry froze in the act of removing his jacket. ‘What?’

  ‘Did you call them?’

  ‘No. We agreed that we wouldn’t.’

  ‘Well, they’re here. So somebody’s told them.’

  Harry knew that tone of barely concealed hostility: he’d heard it quite a lot over the past few weeks, as their tempers were frayed by lack of sleep. He resented the fact that she didn’t believe him, but before he could say another word the living room door was pulled open by a thickset man in a grey suit. He was in his thirties, with dark curly hair and a blotchy complexion. He flashed a warrant card at Harry.

  ‘DI Dean Warley. You’re Mr French?’

  As Harry nodded, Alice said, ‘They just got here, so it’s quite handy you’re home.’

  ‘Knocked off early?’ the detective asked, but Harry still hadn’t found his voice.

  ‘It’s a rare treat, believe me,’ Alice said on his behalf.

  DI Warley backed into the living room, allowing Alice and Harry to follow. Evie was on her playmat, cheerfully kicking and waving. A young woman was kneeling beside her. She wore a blue suit, and shoes with stiletto heels that jabbed into the sofa as she leaned over and cooed at the baby. Warley introduced her as DC Cassell.

  ‘Sian,’ the woman said. She was pale and thin, almost malnourished. She had long red hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her features were sharp and severe, and seemed designed to portray hostility.

  Harry remained standing, as did DI Warley, while Alice took a seat close to Cassell. It was Warley who spoke first.

  ‘We were just asking your wife what she could tell us about the men who broke in last night. Very little, it appears?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. They wore masks and gloves.’ Harry turned to Alice. ‘Did you mention their feet?’

  ‘What? Oh, no.’

  Harry explained: ‘They’d tied plastic bags over their boots. I assume it’s so they didn’t leave any trace evidence.’

  ‘Could be.’ The detective looked faintly amused. ‘Sounds very thorough. What about their voices? Would you recognise either of them, if you heard them again?’

  Harry was deliberating when Alice said, ‘Yes.’ It was so vehement that they all looked in her direction. ‘When somebody puts a knife to your baby’s throat and says he’ll drain the blood out of her, you don’t tend to forget it.’

  Warley sucked his teeth, as if affected by this show of emotion. He wandered across the room, peering at a couple of family portraits on the wall, eased past the dining table and came to a stop by the patio doors.

  ‘And this is where they got in?’

  Harry nodded, and Alice said, ‘We thought it best to fix it quickly. My uncle replaced the lock this morning.’

  ‘That was handy.’ DC Cassell grinned, and after a second so did Alice, but rather uncertainly. She glanced at Harry and her expression changed. It was like watching a cloud passing over the sun.

  Almost to herself, she said, ‘How did—?’

  Twelve

  She broke off mid-sentence. Harry saw the panic in her eyes and guessed what it was. If the detectives had only just arrived, Alice wouldn’t have had time to describe the break-in.

  So how could they know this was the point of entry?

  Harry saved her with a question of his own, phrased in the same way. ‘How did you hear about this? We didn’t report it.’

  DC Cassell, who seemed just as eager to dismiss the awkward hesitation, said, ‘We’re acting on information received from, uh, a confidential source …’

  A sharp look at DI Warley, who nodded. ‘This is part of a wider investigation.’

  ‘Into what?’ Harry asked.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re not able to say.’

  Harry pretended to look annoyed. He sat down next to Alice, his mind working frantically to get a grip on this situation. The crucial thing to avoid was the sort of accusation that Alice’s question had nearly provoked.

  You’re not detectives.

  It would be so easy to say. So easy to demand a closer look at their warrant ca
rds, and call the local police station to verify them.

  And then what?

  The woman, Cassell, was kneeling beside Evie. One wrong word and she could snatch their daughter into her grasp, just as the man with the knife had done last night.

  Harry nudged against Alice, his hand finding hers and squeezing it. He was praying that she too understood the danger they were in.

  DI Warley wandered towards them. Maybe it was just Harry’s imagination, but he thought the so-called detective looked more tense than before; aggressive, almost. Without being invited, he grabbed a dining chair and swung it round so that he could sit facing them.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we know they didn’t come here to rob you. We think they’re searching for a man by the name of Renshaw.’

  Harry knew they had to go on acting naturally, so he nodded.

  ‘They said he’s also known as Grainger, or Miller. But we don’t know any of those names.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Alice asked.

  ‘An associate of theirs. That’s really all I can tell you.’

  Harry sensed Alice was going to speak again. He squeezed her hand, but of course she wasn’t to know what he meant by it.

  ‘So he’s a criminal as well?’ she asked. ‘Does that mean you’re trying to find him?’

  Warley nodded. ‘For his sake, it’s vital that we get to him before they do.’

  The woman turned her gaze upon Alice. ‘If you know where he is, if you have any information at all …’

  ‘We don’t,’ said Harry. ‘We’ve been here nearly two years. Before that it was a widow, Mrs Stevens. Renshaw’s never lived here, or had any connection to this address.’

  ‘So why did they think he had?’ Cassell asked. She was still staring hard at Alice, and so was Warley. Harry remembered what Ruth had said: it’s unlikely that they’ll return, but you can’t rule it out.

  Especially if they believe you kept something from them.

  Alice knew she had to answer the question, but it felt like her throat was slowly filling with sand. She was trying to work out how Warley could have known about the patio doors. Her first thought was that he had spotted Steve’s handiwork – and perhaps there was still a lingering smell of sawdust in the air – but as she’d gone to ask him the other possibility had suddenly occurred to her.

  These people were imposters.

  Then Harry had changed the subject, and now he was squeezing her hand, a gesture of support but also, she realised, as a warning. Once again he came to her rescue, answering the query that had been directed at her.

  ‘Because of the parcel. They seemed to think we’d had a parcel, addressed to Renshaw.’

  Grainger, Alice wanted to correct him, until she realised that Harry’s error might be deliberate. He was testing them.

  ‘And had you?’ Cassell asked.

  ‘No, absolutely not,’ Harry snapped.

  Warley bowed his head, examining his shoes for a second. They were dirty and scuffed, Alice noticed, whereas the suit was brand new. It looked cheap, didn’t fit him very well. Had it been bought in a hurry, to enable him to play this role?

  He looked up. ‘Why don’t you take us through it, from the moment you first became aware they were in the house? Tell us everything you can remember.’

  Harry did most of the talking, and quickly saw how this irritated them. There were frequent suspicious glances at Alice, as if they felt she might know more than Harry did. Or maybe they viewed her as the weaker link.

  The detectives were particularly interested in the parcel, though to an extent they tried to disguise that fact. Lots of unrelated questions were thrown in, but by paying attention to their body language Harry could see how they relaxed slightly, then grew more alert whenever they returned to the key issues.

  He gave them an accurate account of what had happened, mindful that everything he told them might later be compared with the report from last night’s intruders. He maintained that he and Alice knew nothing about any parcel. The whole thing was a dreadful mistake: nothing more.

  When Harry described in detail how the man with the knife had assaulted his wife and child, Alice’s face flushed and she began to weep quietly. Harry felt horribly callous for thinking it, but he knew her reaction didn’t harm their case at all. Warley and Cassell listened impassively, though the woman was a bit twitchy, and once or twice seemed to be suppressing a smirk.

  After a few minutes Evie began to get restless. There was a tense moment when Alice went to rise from the sofa and Cassell blocked her path.

  ‘I can take her.’

  ‘No!’ Alice almost shrieked the word as she squeezed past the other woman. ‘She’s due a feed.’

  Warley looked as though he might object when Alice made to leave the room, but Harry caught Cassell signalling at him not to intervene.

  Feeling slightly bereft once she and Evie were gone, Harry answered their questions for another ten minutes, emphasising that they had taken seriously the threat not to report the break-in to the police.

  ‘That’s understandable,’ Warley said. ‘As I say, we’re coming at this from a different angle.’

  Finally, with a neutral glance at his colleague, he slapped his hands on his legs and declared that they were done. Harry jumped up, unable to disguise his eagerness to see them leave. He opened the front door and shivered at the rush of cold evening air.

  ‘Will we have to make formal statements?’

  Warley shrugged. ‘We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.’

  ‘And you’ll let us know if there are any developments?’

  An eyebrow went up. ‘Developments?’

  ‘If you manage to catch these men.’

  ‘Oh.’ Warley had the ghost of a smile on his face. ‘Certainly will.’

  ‘We won’t let this drop,’ Cassell added. ‘You can be sure of that.’

  Thirteen

  Harry locked and bolted the door, rested his head against it and slowly exhaled. He was dimly aware of a car starting up, and knew he should be checking the make and model, perhaps taking the number if he could get it. But he lacked the will to move.

  Worse than that, he didn’t see what it would achieve.

  He turned as Alice emerged from the kitchen with Evie at her breast. She’d stopped crying but her face was still raw with emotion.

  ‘You hadn’t mentioned the patio doors, had you?’ he asked.

  ‘No. I suppose he might have noticed it was a new lock?’

  ‘More likely they were fake, which is why I didn’t push them for a contact number.’ Harry gave a sigh, before clutching at the only thread of optimism in sight. ‘At least we didn’t let on that we suspected them. And we were honest about what happened, so there’s no reason for them to doubt us.’

  ‘So why were they glaring at me as though they knew it was a pack of lies?’

  ‘I don’t think they did.’ He held her by the arms and could feel her trembling. He’d expected to come home and sit calmly while he told her about the mysterious woman who’d approached him. Now he was only going to add to her misery—

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Alice sniffed, and with a free hand brushed at a stray tear. ‘It wasn’t intentional, Harry, but I haven’t been straight with you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I … I think there was a parcel for Renshaw.’

  Harry stepped away from her, unable to believe what he was hearing. And then he remembered.

  ‘Last night, I felt you jump when they first mentioned it.’

  ‘Did I? I’m not sure. I was so petrified.’

  ‘Jesus, Alice. If they’d realised you were lying, they could have killed us.’

  ‘I know. Please don’t say that.’ She held his gaze, pleading with him. ‘Everything happened so quickly, it wasn’t really a conscious decision.’

  ‘So where is this parcel?’

  She shook her head. Evie had finished feeding. ‘Let’s go and sit down.’

  First, Harry decided that he neede
d a drink. And not beer or wine, either. He rummaged in the kitchen cupboard where they kept the spirits and found a bottle of vodka. Alice was persuaded to join him – ‘A very small one’ – and took her glass in exchange for Evie and a muslin cloth to drape over his shoulder: Harry was on burping duty.

  Settling on the sofa, she took a sip of vodka and briefly wrinkled her nose, like a child forced to eat some exotic fruit.

  ‘Tuesday morning, the postman knocked because of a package that was too big for the letterbox. There was some other post as well. I took it and shut the door, and then someone else knocked, literally a few seconds later.’

  ‘Okay.’ Harry could feel his heart pounding. He thought of Ruth pressing him: No deliveries at all? And that produced another jolt.

  Who was Ruth, really?

  Alice went on: ‘It was a man of about sixty, sixty-five. Not exactly like the description we got last night. He was plump rather than fat, nearly bald – just that kind of white fuzz – and he had a thick grey beard.’

  ‘Was he Middle Eastern?’

  She shrugged. ‘I suppose he had a slight accent. He told me his name, but I honestly can’t remember what it was. All I know is that it matched what was on the envelope. He said something about his sister-in-law – he’d spoken to her that morning and found she’d got her numbers mixed up.’

  Harry couldn’t help snorting. ‘Right.’

  She glowered. ‘I had no reason to be suspicious.’

  ‘But didn’t you ask him to prove his identity?’

  ‘Why? If the parcel was addressed to Grainger, or whatever it was, and he said his name was Grainger, what reason would I have to question it?’

  Harry conceded the point. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s not like we don’t get the wrong mail from time to time. If he hadn’t knocked I’ve have scribbled, “Not known at this address” and stuck it in a post box.’

  ‘Did you see where he went?’

  ‘I think he crossed the road, but I didn’t stay and watch. Evie needed changing. I shut the door and never gave it another thought.’