by Tom Bale
She struggled out of the car, shivering in the cold air. Evie’s pramsuit was warm enough, thankfully, but Alice had left the house wearing a light jacket. And she had no money on her, no cash or credit cards.
‘May I have my phone back?’
Regretfully, Renshaw shook his head. ‘I would prefer to keep it for now. It allows me a measure of protection.’
That was absurd – for him to feel he was in any way at her mercy – but Alice didn’t argue. She needed him to buy nappies.
Taking the rucksack from the back seat, he hooked it over his shoulder and locked the car. They joined a stream of travellers making their way into the building, and no one gave them a glance. Alice realised they must look like three generations of the same family: father, daughter, granddaughter. Even the thought of it seemed like a dreadful insult to her actual father, who had died of brain cancer when he was only fifty-two.
Their first destination was the shop, where she was able to find nappies and wet wipes. Renshaw spared her the humiliation of having to ask him to pay. He turned away from her as he opened his wallet, but not before she’d spotted a thick wad of notes.
He escorted her to the baby change room and said he’d make his phone call while she dealt with Evie. They would meet outside once she was finished.
Alice felt an indescribable relief to be alone with her daughter. The poor girl was now starving, and fed greedily for ten minutes before pausing, exhausted by the effort. Alice winded her, then changed her nappy. It was full to bursting, but fortunately hadn’t leaked into her clothes.
She let Evie lie bare-legged, giving her a chance to stretch after so long cooped up in the carrier. Blowing on her tummy made her writhe with pleasure, and Alice was struck by the natural resilience of an infant: so long as you fed her, kept her clean and warm, Evie didn’t really care about anything else.
After another quick feed Alice put her back in the carrier while she herself used the toilet and tried to freshen up a little. She’d now been in the baby change room for nearly half an hour. She was surprised that Renshaw hadn’t lost patience and knocked on the door.
Maybe he’s abandoned me here, she thought, and then asked herself: Would that be better, or worse, than to find him waiting outside?
When she came out, Renshaw was nowhere to be seen. At first her stomach lurched with panic at the many challenges now facing her. Twenty past four on a Friday afternoon and she was stranded, over a hundred miles from home, with no money and no phone. Where could she turn for help? Was there some way she could get a bus, or a train?
God, was I always this pathetic, she scolded herself, or has motherhood addled my brain?
It was a question that, for better or worse, she wouldn’t have to answer, because at that moment Renshaw emerged from a shadowy alcove that contained several fruit machines. He beamed at her, pressing his hands together in silent applause.
‘My friend has agreed to put us up.’
Alice gave this news a guarded smile. ‘Oh. Good.’
‘The baby fed well, I hope?’ Renshaw patted his stomach. ‘Now we will do the same.’
Alice was taken aback by the change in his demeanour. He seemed an altogether more charming and jovial man than the one who’d snapped and snarled at her earlier. Even so, she held her ground as he turned towards the cafe.
‘I’m prepared to come with you, but there’s one condition. I have to speak to Harry again.’
She waited, horrified by the thought that passersby might assume this was a father-daughter spat. But this was the approach she’d decided on while feeding Evie, and it was non-negotiable.
Renshaw made a sucking sound with his tongue and teeth. ‘Very well. May I suggest you wait until we leave here?’
Alice frowned. ‘So we eat, and then I can phone him?’
‘Correct.’
‘All right. But I mean it. I’m not going anywhere till I’ve spoken to him.’
Feeling slightly sore that she’d been outmanoeuvred, she followed him to one of the food counters. The dining area was crowded and noisy, with the clatter of crockery and the scrape of chairs on the wooden floor. A dismal setting for a meal, and yet the sight of hot food made her stomach growl with desire.
‘So where does this friend of yours live?’
‘Nerys is in a village called Cranstone, in Gloucestershire.’
‘Isn’t that miles from here?’
‘Not too far, according to her. And tomorrow I will drive you and the baby to Gloucester. I will also bear the cost of the rail fare to Brighton.’ He spoke as if Alice should be overwhelmed with gratitude. ‘Remember, though, that it may still be dangerous to go back.’
‘I’ll take my chances,’ Alice said. ‘I’m not sure about staying overnight, either. I want to see what Harry says first.’
She expected an argument, but he inclined his head. ‘Very well.’
‘Anyway, is this friend of yours aware that I have a small baby with me? Only that could come as a shock.’
‘It will be no problem, I assure you.’
‘Does she have a family?’
‘She is widowed. I believe there is a son, but he will be grown-up now, no doubt living elsewhere.’ He smiled fondly. ‘Nerys is a good woman. We worked together once.’
‘Oh? Doing what?’
‘I am a doctor. Nerys was my assistant.’
Alice couldn’t help gaping at him. She recalled one of the men on Wednesday night mentioning Renshaw’s title, but had assumed it was fake, along with the other names he used.
‘How did you get mixed up in something like this?’
‘The answer is simple. My job – my vocation – is to help people. All my life, this has been my guiding principle. To help. But this time I made a mistake. I helped the wrong people.’
Thirty
Harry remained crouched in the back of the Corsa until they found a safe place to stop, in the car park of a leisure centre on the edge of Burgess Hill. On the way there, Ruth described how she’d checked out of her hotel and then driven to Lavinia Street.
‘There was a police car outside your house, so I parked on the corner and had a look at number 43. The back door had been forced. I went inside, had a look around …’ She paused. ‘Renshaw had set a trap in the kitchen. Bleach. From the look of it, one of Laird’s men could have suffered some nasty burns.’
‘Oh, Jesus. This is the guy who’s got my wife and daughter …’
‘He has no reason to harm them. The trap was self-defence, which is understandable in the circumstances.’
Harry thought about the hammer he’d kept beneath his pillow and found he couldn’t disagree. When Ruth pulled up he got out of the car, stretched his cramped limbs and returned to the front seat.
‘I fucked up, didn’t I?’ he said. ‘The police must have responded to my 999 call.’
‘Could be. They take domestic incidents a lot more seriously than they used to.’
‘This isn’t a domestic—’
‘No, but that’s the way it looks to them. Abduction by strangers is rare enough when the victim is a child. It’s almost unheard of for a mother and child to be taken together. But vengeful fathers turning violent on their families? That, I’m afraid, happens with depressing regularity, week in, week out. Which makes you the first and strongest suspect.’
‘My parents won’t believe I’ve done anything to them. Neither will Alice’s mum.’
Ruth made a sceptical noise in her throat. ‘Maybe your mother got worried and called the police?’ Ignoring the look of horror on his face, she said, ‘You can hand yourself in, Harry, but you won’t be able to tell them where to find your family. And without evidence the police won’t give your story any credence.’
‘Not even with Renshaw’s house … ?’
‘Where’s the proof of a connection?’ she shot back.
Harry nodded. Cautiously, he said, ‘You could corroborate it for me, couldn’t you?’
‘No.’
�
�Why not?’
‘It just wouldn’t work. Trust me. The only thing that’s gonna help you is having Alice and Evie reappear, unharmed. And right now I can’t make that happen any more than you can.’
Smarting at what felt like another dressing-down, Harry gave her directions to the town centre. Ruth pulled into a bus stop while Harry ran to the nearest ATM. He had a couple of cards, and used them to withdraw a total of six hundred pounds, all the time wondering if this was a huge overreaction. He was aware that the police could trace the use of a bank card, but would they really do so on the basis of a single muddled phone call?
Back in the car, they took a different route out of town, heading north towards Haywards Heath. Ruth wanted to know if he’d spoken to Keri.
‘Yes. But I didn’t get her address.’ He relayed the conversation, expecting disappointment, but she only nodded impassively.
‘Tomorrow at twelve is good enough.’
‘There’s no way I can go up there …’
‘All I want you to do is call Keri tomorrow, get the address and text it to me. Then I’ll go see her, and you can focus on your family.’
That didn’t seem unreasonable, so he said, ‘And what about tonight?’
‘Crawley.’
‘Why Crawley?’
‘Foster and Bridge were booked into the Hickstead Travelodge on Wednesday night. What I didn’t mention was that I saw them checking out on Thursday morning.’
Harry turned in his seat to stare at her. ‘So telling me to keep a watch out for their cars, that was just bullshit?’
‘Everyone likes to feel useful.’
‘Not if they’re being taken for a fool.’ He waited till she glanced in his direction. ‘I’m finding it hard enough to trust you as it is …’
‘Like I say, Harry, that’s a decision you have to make. I can drop you right here if you want, but the chances are you’ll be in a police cell by morning. And Alice and Evie might still be missing.’
Harry turned away in disgust. After a moment he felt her hand on his arm.
‘I’m sorry. You’ve gotta understand that I’m not used to collaborating. I tell you only what you need to know, because that’s what my instinct says I should do. The same way your wife didn’t tell you about the parcel. And you didn’t tell her about me.’
‘And look at the mess it’s caused, us not being straight with each other.’
Ruth said nothing for a second, then she nodded. ‘All right. Let’s talk some more about this parcel.’
‘Which one?’
His question made her gasp. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. ‘Say again?’
‘I thought you’d overheard Alice, on the phone. She said there was another parcel – well, package was her exact word.’
‘I only heard a few snippets.’ Ruth pursed her lips. Her gaze remained fixed on the road but her mind, Harry sensed, was somewhere else entirely. ‘A package, that’s what she called it? Not parcel.’
‘No, though I don’t suppose there’s much difference.’
Ruth pondered. ‘Go back to the first one. How did she describe that?’
‘Just a standard A4 envelope, quite thick and solid. We thought it might have been …’ At the last moment he changed his mind, and said: ‘Paper, or something.’
Ruth wasn’t fooled. ‘Paper, as in money?’
‘Possibly. She didn’t open it, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not accusing your wife of anything. Money sounds like a plausible thing for them to be chasing. But the second delivery … to me, the word “package” suggests something smaller.’
‘Maybe. Hopefully I can find out soon, if I’m able to speak to her.’
‘Can’t use your phone,’ she reminded him, and when he started to protest: ‘Don’t worry. I have one you can borrow.’
Harry grunted his thanks, but he was preoccupied by the memory of his last conversation with Alice. ‘What I can’t work out is why she tried to give the thing to Renshaw. If she’d called the police instead, we wouldn’t now be in this fucking mess.’
‘No, but you might have been in some other fucking mess, maybe a much worse one.’
Her tone was so dark that Harry didn’t push the issue. Right now he didn’t want to contemplate anything worse than this.
Thirty-One
Alice had fish and chips and ate about half of it. Setting her cutlery down, she earned a disapproving look from Renshaw.
‘You don’t care for the food?’
‘No, it’s quite nice. I’m just … my stomach’s churning.’
Renshaw had already wolfed down a steak pie, but evidently had room for more. He speared one of her chips with his fork and said, ‘Anything else you remember?’
She shook her head. ‘No. That’s it.’
During the meal he’d peppered her with questions about the ordeal on Thursday morning, and the subsequent visit by Warley and Cassell. But he had ignored Alice’s own questions, gesturing at his plate as if to make plain that his hunger took precedence over her curiosity.
After devouring a few more chips, he sat back and patted his belly. ‘Proper hot food. A rare treat, indeed.’
‘How long have you been living like that?’
Renshaw squinted as he did the calculation. ‘Almost fifteen months.’
‘And you didn’t leave the house at all?’
‘Once a week, late at night, to stock up on food and keep the car running. Thank heaven for Asda, and twenty-four-hour opening.’ He snorted. ‘But there were many difficulties. The rubbish piled up, because I could take only small amounts out with me. Organic waste I washed down the toilet, using a bucket to flush because the cistern was too loud. I had no lights on, except for one room which had foil on the window. No heating but for one electric fire. For hot water I had to use a kettle, because the pipes were too noisy.’
‘How did you find it in the first place?’
‘I knew the owner, a long time ago. She lives abroad, and agreed to say nothing about my presence there.’
‘And what about the escape route?’
‘It was planned from the beginning. I ascertained that my neighbour lived alone and was frequently out of the house. After breaking through I went next door regularly to make sure there were no nasty surprises.’
‘I can’t believe Lawrence didn’t know you lived there.’
He blinked slowly a couple of times, as if offended. ‘Did you know I lived there?’
‘No,’ she conceded. ‘And no one else has ever mentioned it.’
‘People today exist in a bubble of their own selfishness. It is quite easy to be invisible in a street such as yours.’
He said it with a measure of scorn. Alice felt an urge to defend her community, but now she had him talking there were more important things to discuss.
‘Who are they? And why are they so determined to find you?’
‘I told you, I worked for them.’
‘You were employed as a doctor, by criminals?’
He glowered at her incredulous tone. ‘Yes. I wished to retire, but they would not permit that.’
‘Why didn’t you go to the police?’
‘And become an informer? Ha! You think the police will keep me safe, year after year? You think I would get a new life, a new identity, the way it happens in the movies?’
Alice sighed. It was exactly what the two men had warned them.
‘But the parcel on Tuesday,’ she said. ‘It was full of money, wasn’t it?’
Renshaw sat forward, resting his elbows on the table, and laced his hands together. He wore a defiant gaze as he said, ‘It is a fraction of what I am owed.’
‘Weren’t you taking a big risk, having it delivered to the wrong address?’
‘The risk came from venturing out in daylight. But I chose the destination well. Your number, 34, is my number reversed. An understandable error. I judged that you were trustworthy, and as a new mother there was a high proba
bility that you would be home when the package arrived. That way I could intercept it swiftly, before you became curious.’
Alice suppressed a shudder at the thought that Renshaw had made a conscious decision to involve her – and that the decision had been prompted by Evie’s presence in the house. He must have been watching her for weeks.
‘What was in the envelope today?’
His expression became guarded. ‘Insurance,’ he muttered, checking his watch. ‘We should go.’
‘Hold on. I want to know who sent them.’
‘It was a man called Hasan Mansur. I saved his life once. He did this to repay me, at great risk.’
‘So he stole money from them?’ Alice frowned. ‘How did he manage to send two packages, if the gang came after the first one?’
‘He waited many months for the right opportunity.’ Renshaw looked sombre. ‘On Monday I received a text, saying the first package had been sent. There was another text on Wednesday, to say Hasan would be sending the second item that night. Since then, nothing.’
‘So you think they found out about it on Wednesday?’
Renshaw nodded. ‘Hasan must have been forced to reveal the address I gave him. I cannot blame him. But perhaps he kept from them the existence of the second package.’ A sigh. ‘Either way, he is almost certainly dead by now.’
There was a brief interruption from Evie, who burped in her sleep and then smiled. Renshaw shifted in his seat, eager to be away, but Alice couldn’t leave it there.
‘What are they involved in, precisely? Drugs?’
‘A little. Not so much, these days. They have legitimate enterprises that flourish now, but also some illegal gambling. Other entertainments, too. Prostitution.’
Alice recoiled in distaste. ‘And you were part of that?’
‘I helped to look after the young ladies,’ he said indignantly. ‘These are not cheap whores touting for business on the streets. It is a high-class operation.’
‘Maybe. But we’re still talking about a group of men profiting from the exploitation of women.’
