by Tom Bale
‘We’ve got to call the police.’
Renshaw gave her a look of withering contempt, but she ignored him, tapping in the number.
‘No!’ He made a grab for her. Alice dodged back but tripped on a book. Her free hand went round Evie, and Renshaw caught her other arm, fingers pinching tight, and pulled the phone from her grasp. He checked that the call hadn’t connected, then shoved the phone into his pocket.
‘The police will not help. You know that, or you would have gone to them before.’
‘But we have to. We’re trapped in here.’
‘No. Not trapped.’ He made an effort to calm himself. ‘If the police come, it only delays the end. They cannot protect me forever. Nor you.’
‘Then what are we going to do?’
Renshaw was staring at the carrier, his lips pursed. ‘There is a way. It will not be easy, but if you stay here you will die. Your baby will die.’
A loud noise made them both jump: someone thumping on the front door. Renshaw picked up a bulging Nike rucksack and returned to the landing. He indicated the ladder. ‘You must go first.’
‘I can’t get up there. Not with Evie.’
‘If they capture us, we are finished.’
‘But what good will it do, hiding up there?’
‘This is not to hide. I have prepared for this day.’
Another heavy thump on the door. Alice cringed at the sound, then stepped gingerly on to the bottom rung. It was a steep climb, and there wasn’t a lot of room to get through the hatch.
‘Hurry! You must hurry!’ Renshaw was struggling to contain his frustration. Alice understood the urgency, but she had to take extra care that Evie didn’t bump her head on the hatch. The baby was at least facing Alice, nestling close against her chest.
As she climbed into the loft space, she saw that sheets of plywood had been laid over the joists to form a basic floor. The beams and rafters crowded around her like a primitive cage. As she moved off the ladder, her hand caught the head of a screw protruding from the floor, and she gasped at the pain.
Renshaw clambered up behind her, his breath whistling in his nostrils. He shoved the rucksack across the floor, hauled himself into the loft and reached over Alice’s shoulder to press a switch.
A light came on, a single bulb caked in dust. Now she could see how small the space was; how exposed. Apart from a few mouldy cardboard boxes and a couple of old deckchairs, it was empty. Nothing to hide behind. Nothing to use for self-defence.
‘This isn’t going to work.’
‘Bring the ladder up. You pull on it here, see?’ He showed her the retracting mechanism. The ladder was designed to fold as it slid into runners on the joists, with a cord that pulled the loft hatch up after it.
Not easy to operate in a cramped space, while wearing the baby carrier, but Alice did her best. She noticed a large bolt, fixed to the edge of the opening. Once the hatch was in place, she slid the bolt home and allowed herself to breathe a small sigh of relief.
From downstairs came more hammering on the door. The sense of relief was gone in an instant.
There was no way out. All she had done was entomb them up here.
Twenty-Two
‘Be ready,’ Renshaw said. ‘I planned to do this alone. It may not work with two— three,’ he corrected himself.
Twisting round, Alice saw that he’d moved the deckchairs aside and was scrabbling at the brickwork as if hoping to claw out a hiding place. She crawled towards him, arching her spine to keep Evie’s carrier from catching on the boards. Taking a second to orient herself, she realised this was the party wall with number 45. Lawrence Wright’s home.
There was a grunt of exertion from Renshaw, and to the sound of bricks shifting and sliding a shadow opened in the wall. He removed half a dozen in a single block, and now she could see an outline where the mortar had been pre-cut.
‘When did you do this?’
‘Months ago. Today we have some good fortune,’ he added drily. ‘The man next door is out.’
Alice leaned closer to the cavity and saw that Lawrence Wright’s wall had been cut the same way, the loose bricks sitting in place like tins on a shelf. Renshaw got to work, his upper body disappearing into the space between the walls. A sudden impact reverberated through the building and he backed out, cursing, his face and hair clouded with dust.
‘Too heavy. It slipped from my fingers.’
‘They’ll have heard that.’
‘All the more reason to hurry. It is a tight fit. Remove the papoose.’
‘No.’
‘You must. I will pass the baby through to you.’
Alice knew it was probably the right thing to do, but the thought of leaving her daughter in Renshaw’s care, even for a few seconds, while she crawled into the unknown …
‘Now!’ he hissed, and made to grab at one of the straps. Alice batted his hand away and removed the carrier herself, only to discover that Evie was wide awake and gazing at her with an absurdly placid curiosity: What’s this strange adventure we’re having?
The next sound from downstairs was a muffled impact, followed by a long groan from the woodwork, as if someone was testing the strength of the front door. Putting aside her misgivings, Alice handed the baby over and prepared to crawl through the wall. Even without the carrier, there was only just room to squeeze through. As she moved forward, Renshaw warned her to take care.
‘The other side is not boarded.’
‘Right.’ She had a vivid childhood memory of her dad slipping in the loft and putting his foot through the ceiling. He’d sprained his ankle and taught her several new swear words in the process.
It took only a few seconds but it was a gruesome experience, the air cold and foul, dust and soot choking her nostrils. Her hands were stung by loose grit, and dead insects crunched beneath her skin. A narrow void separated each skin of brickwork, hung with grimy cobwebs like the entrance to a monster’s lair. Alice was plagued by an image of the blackness suddenly widening to swallow her whole – and Renshaw, with her daughter in his possession, cackling gleefully as he bricked up the wall and sealed her in …
The neighbouring loft was in darkness, with only a faint square of illumination around the hatch. As her vision adjusted to the gloom, she saw there were half a dozen plastic storage crates sitting on the joists, filled with what looked like papers and books.
The timbers were rough with splinters and difficult to grip firmly. She was pulling herself forward when a slapping noise caused her to freeze. It was followed by a creak of movement. Her first thought was Lawrence Wright, now home and on his way upstairs to investigate the disturbance.
Then the sound repeated, echoing in the confined space, and she realised it came from overhead. Something on the roof.
A seagull, she hoped. Just a bloody seagull.
She wriggled and kicked, scraping over the joists while trying to avoid contact with the ancient rockwool that was packed between them. She knew it was an irritant to the skin, and also dangerous if inhaled. A terrible environment for a baby.
It seemed to take forever to bring her legs through, then clamber up into a crouching position, so that she could turn back to face the opening. There was another stab of pure terror that Renshaw would refuse to hand Evie over to her.
But he was urging her to go faster. He thrust the carrier at her, barely giving her time to retreat with Evie before he shoved the rucksack through. Then he surprised her by turning, pushing his feet towards her and squeezing himself backwards through the gap. That way he was able to drag the deckchairs back into place, he explained as he straightened up. To buy them a little more time.
Alice had fastened the carrier and was trying to pacify Evie, who hadn’t been impressed by their brief separation and looked on the verge of a tantrum. Renshaw brushed past her on his hands and knees, moving towards the hatch. As he reached it, Alice saw what was missing.
‘No ladder.’
A brusque noise from Renshaw. ‘We jump.�
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‘But I can’t—’
‘I did not plan this with you in mind. Or the infant.’
He moved the hatch aside, throwing light and shadow into the loft. Alice saw a patch of grey carpet, far below, and felt like a parachutist peering from the aircraft door.
‘This is crazy,’ she muttered, to which Renshaw took offence.
‘You should thank me. You brought this about. Now I am saving your life.’
It was an outrageous distortion of the truth, but before she could protest he had twisted and put his legs over the edge. The rucksack went first, dropped like ballast, then Renshaw leaned forward and fell.
He landed heavily, collapsing on the floor. Alice wondered about the odds of Lawrence Wright having returned within the last few minutes. Supposing he popped up now and confronted them, what would Renshaw do?
Fortunately no one appeared. Renshaw climbed to his feet, wincing as he tested his ankles, and beckoned her to follow.
Alice looked down and was suddenly paralysed. ‘I can’t.’
‘You must. Or else I leave you to your fate.’
Alice shut her eyes, swallowed, and told herself: This is just a dream. A crazy dream. In which case, it can’t hurt to jump, can it?
She nodded, but told him she wanted to hand Evie down first. It meant another delay while she removed the carrier once more, Renshaw muttering crossly. Then a horrible moment, leaning over the hatch, when her knee slipped partly off the joist: she nearly dropped Evie, and could have tumbled out after her and injured them both. She realised she was shaking; her system so flooded with adrenalin that it was almost impossible to keep still.
Stretching up on tiptoe, Renshaw just managed to reach the carrier. ‘Let her go,’ he said crossly.
‘You don’t have her properly.’
‘Let. Her. Go.’
‘You’ll drop—’ Alice yelped as Renshaw somehow gained a little more height and snatched the baby from her grasp. Then he enraged her by setting Evie down on the floor at the end of the landing, abandoning her while he strode into one of the bedrooms.
Alice swung her legs round and virtually leapt from the loft, all fear for her own safety forgotten in her haste to get to Evie.
Renshaw was hurrying back as she picked up the carrier and fixed Evie to her chest. Ignoring her, he crossed the landing into another bedroom. Alice followed him to the doorway and saw him staring down at the street.
‘There’s a man out front, preparing to break in next door. The woman, Sian, is keeping watch, across the road.’
Alice gestured behind them. ‘And the man out back?’
‘I can’t see him. Probably he waits in my yard, by the back door.’
He put the rucksack on and made for the stairs. He moved with such an easy familiarity that Alice wondered if he’d been in here before.
Despite the danger, there was a foolish but undeniable thrill to know she was trespassing in someone else’s home. Passing a spare bedroom full of bottles and wine-making paraphernalia, she followed Renshaw downstairs. He paused at the kitchen door and gave the carrier a scornful glance.
‘The baby must stay quiet. If they hear us, all this will be for nothing. We must wait now in silence.’
‘Wait? But you’ve been rushing me—’
‘To be ready.’ He gestured with his thumb. ‘Out there, they are waiting, too. Probably for another car. And when they go in, we go out.’
Alice frowned. ‘You mean, sneak past them?’
‘Yes. So the baby …’ A finger at his lips. ‘No noise.’
Lawrence Wright’s kitchen was compact but modern, with gleaming white cabinets and black speckled Corian worktops. The tiled floor had been recently cleaned: there was a sharp tang of disinfectant in the air, which reminded Alice of something.
‘That bucket in your kitchen … what’s in it?’
‘Nothing to concern you.’
Gesturing for silence again, Renshaw approached the back door, his battered brogues sliding on the damp tiles. The door was half-glazed, with a bolt at the bottom. There was a Yale lock, and a key which presumably corresponded to it, hanging from a hook next to the door.
Renshaw moved cautiously towards the window, looked out for perhaps half a minute, then slipped the key off its hook and unlocked the door. With another warning glance at Alice, he knelt down and drew back the bolt.
Alice waited, sure that the tension in her must be apparent to Evie. She’d begun to rock her, gently, without being aware that she was doing it; she’d found before that the carrier seemed to work wonders, and now the combination of movement and body heat was sending Evie to sleep again.
Slowly Renshaw eased the door handle down. Alice risked moving closer to him, wanting to scout out the route they would take. Lawrence Wright’s garden had been imaginatively laid out in a diamond pattern of flagstones and loose gravel, bordered by a colourful variety of plants in raised beds enclosed within old railway sleepers.
Renshaw opened the door a fraction, letting in sounds from outside: traffic noise and seagulls, and then a voice. The low murmur of a phone conversation.
And the voice was familiar. The man in the Freddy Krueger mask. The one who’d—
‘Got it,’ the man said, and Alice felt her legs go weak at the thought of how close he was: three or four feet away, hidden by nothing more than a flimsy wooden fence.
They heard a dull thud, then a splintering noise. He was forcing the lock.
Renshaw used the sound to cover them, opening the door a few more inches. Then he froze as a low buzzing noise filled the room. He glared at Alice: What is it?
The second buzz was louder. It seemed to originate from Renshaw himself.
‘My phone,’ Alice mouthed at him. ‘In your pocket.’
In a panic, Renshaw scrabbled for the phone, almost dropping it as he tried to figure out the controls. The ring tone was set to increase in volume, and it was doing that very effectively. Alice was about to grab it from him when he located the power button and switched it off.
He shoved the phone away, glared at her again, and turned to the door. Once she’d recovered from the shock, Alice realised that it now seemed incredibly quiet.
The man next door had stopped what he was doing.
He’d heard them.
Twenty-Three
‘What will you do now?’ Harry asked Ruth, when they’d walked back to their original meeting point by the Pump Room.
‘Probably stick around for another day or two. See what I can find out about these visitors you had last night.’
He nodded. ‘And then what? Assuming they don’t reappear … ?’
‘Back to East Anglia, I guess. There’s someone I need to see.’
She stopped, a little abruptly. Harry touched her arm, and said, ‘Go on. Please.’
Ruth sighed. ‘Greg had a source with links to the gang. Since his death she’s kept a low profile. Keeps changing the name she works under. I only tracked down a number for her a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Why haven’t you spoken to her before now?’
‘She’s refused to talk to me. I need to meet her face-to-face.’ Ruth was avoiding his gaze; she looked subdued, almost embarrassed. ‘She’s an escort. A call girl. She slept with my husband while he was trying to get information about Laird.’
Harry had no idea what to say. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yeah, well. Shit happens.’ Her shrug was too casual to be genuine; this cut her deeply, Harry was sure.
He frowned. ‘So, uh, why was your husband investigating Laird in the first place? Didn’t you say it was off the books?’
‘That, Harry, is definitely something you don’t need to know.’
It was a blunt response, and it came just as he was convincing himself that he should tell her about the parcel. Insulted by her manner, he changed his mind in that instant. If she wasn’t prepared to open up to him, then why should he confide in her?
They shook hands like a couple of politicians
, cordial but each a little wary of the other.
Ruth said, ‘Goodbye, Harry. Stay alert, okay, but don’t drive yourself crazy, either.’
He nodded grimly. ‘Easier said than done, but I’ll give it a try.’
Ruth turned and walked away in the direction of Hove Lawns. He knew he might not see her again, and it struck Harry that this would be a good thing if it also meant there was no further contact from the gang.
So why, then, was there a sense of regret?
Pondering that, and unable to find an answer, Harry climbed the ramp to the main road and waited to cross at the lights. He took out his phone, saw there were no missed calls or texts, and rang home.
There was no answer on the landline, but that didn’t worry him unduly. It was just gone one o’clock. With such lovely weather, Alice could simply have taken Evie for a walk after lunch.
He tried her mobile. It rang three, four times, then abruptly cut off. Harry stared, uncomprehending, at the display. Why would Alice do that?
He went cold inside. The traffic lights had changed but he ignored the bleeping of the pedestrian crossing as he considered the only answer that made sense to him.
She wouldn’t.
Alice thought she could almost feel the man next door listening for them. Renshaw was glowering at her but she ignored him. Her focus was on Evie, praying her daughter wouldn’t choose this moment to make her presence known.
A few seconds of agonising silence, then a grunt as the man got back to work. Renshaw took a deep breath, eased the door open and signalled to Alice.
‘Once he’s inside,’ he mouthed. She nodded.
Breaking in was evidently a tough prospect. It took another minute before they heard the timber splitting; a clatter as the door flew open and hit a kitchen unit.
Alice was aware of the anticipation on Renshaw’s face: a faint smile forming.
Next came a scream, the dull thud of a bucket hitting the floor. Frantic activity in the kitchen; cries of pain and then the sound of water splashing.
