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

by Tom Bale

  ‘How long have you been working for them?’

  ‘Less than ninety minutes.’ A sidelong glance at him. ‘I mean it. This only came about because I screwed up. They spotted me as I left the hotel in Crawley. The only saving grace,’ she pointed out, ‘is they didn’t see me with you.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Same deal, Harry,’ she said airily. ‘Believe me or don’t believe me. But this is the truth. They bundled me into a car and gave me a sedative. One of them took my keys and found the Corsa, while the others drove me here, to Norfolk. I woke up in a shipping container, awash with the blood of another victim of theirs. A man named Hasan—’

  ‘Mansur,’ Harry finished. ‘His remains were found on a beach at Lowestoft.’

  ‘Yeah. Well, this morning I had an audience with Mark Vickery – and Laird, I think, was listening in from somewhere else. Now I’m heading for the same fate as Hasan unless I give them what they want: namely, Renshaw. I managed to convince them that I could find him, using you.’

  Harry snorted. ‘You sold me out?’

  ‘No, let me explain. That was the only bargaining chip I had. It meant I could live to fight another day.’

  ‘So why the pretend ambush?’

  ‘I suggested that, to rebuild your trust after my disappearing act last night. Which I’ve just owned up to, by the way.’

  ‘Yeah, except this might be a double bluff.’

  ‘Do you think it is? Because that’s not the vibe I’m getting from you.’

  Unwilling to confirm her intuition, Harry said nothing. His gut instinct was to believe her, but when he thought about it rationally, he couldn’t explain why. Perhaps only that he had a desperate need to trust someone.

  They drove for another ten or fifteen minutes, through a landscape that was both attractive and rather monotonous, Ruth declining several opportunities to overtake. They crossed several junctions, Harry noting signs for various quaint-sounding places like Elveden and Tuddenham, and then they became snarled up in roadworks.

  ‘So,’ Ruth said at last. ‘The address?’

  He couldn’t help but groan. This was what she had meant by being ‘of use’ to her.

  ‘You honestly expect me to tell you? So you can find Renshaw – and then what? Hand him over to Laird? In the meantime, what happens to me, and my family?’ He flapped his hand dismissively. ‘You don’t give a toss about us.’

  ‘That’s not entirely true. And this is no time for petulance, Harry. You’re going to tell me the address—’

  ‘Or what? You’ll hurt me?’

  She laughed. ‘No. You’ll give it to me, because you don’t want me to die a slow, horrible death. And because you know that, without me, you won’t get to Gloucestershire and find your family.’

  He said nothing. After a minute she reached out and patted his leg, making him flinch.

  ‘Relax, will you? This is a breathing space, right now.’

  ‘We’re being followed, remember?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She pondered for a moment. ‘Guess I’d better do something about that.’

  They reached a major roundabout with four or five exits. In the past few minutes the Audi had leapfrogged several other vehicles and was now only three cars back.

  As she pulled out on to the roundabout, Ruth suddenly cut across in front of the car to her right. Harry saw that the road ahead widened into a dual carriageway, and guessed that was the reason for her decision. Now she would be able to put on some speed.

  Instead, she slowed to the point where the car behind, already aggrieved at the sudden lane change, blasted its horn. Ignoring it, Ruth braked harder, then wrenched the wheel to the right and bumped two wheels up on to the low kerb of the central reservation, which formed a triangle between the two carriageways and the roundabout.

  Harry shouted out in alarm as Ruth accelerated into the path of the oncoming traffic, forcing her way back on to the roundabout. The Audi had been unable to react in time: Harry saw it change lane but by then the triangle of paved central reservation had given way to a steel safety barrier. Their pursuers had no way of turning until the next junction, whenever that was.

  Ruth took the first exit, heading north through more woodland. She seemed unruffled by the manoeuvre.

  ‘You nearly killed us,’ Harry muttered.

  ‘Not really. It was pretty slow-moving traffic. Could have totalled the car, at worst, but even that wouldn’t have been fatal.’

  Harry swallowed, not wanting to imagine being trapped in a mangled wreck. Ruth accelerated past an elderly Nissan, checked her mirror carefully, and then pronounced them free of their tail. She tapped out a playful little tune on the steering wheel, as if it were a beloved percussion instrument.

  ‘So … where to, Harry?’

  Finding Alice was a major priority but not the only one, Nerys reminded him. They had to think carefully. Be methodical.

  Like when you smashed his skull to pieces, Michael could have said.

  Ignoring the smell and the filth, Nerys crouched down and searched Renshaw’s pockets. She found a cheap phone, a set of keys and a wallet. The wallet contained a couple of hundred pounds in notes and a single credit card.

  ‘It’s got to be here somewhere. You heard him say he’s got evidence. Why isn’t it here?’

  ‘Definitely not in his room?’

  ‘I searched it from top to bottom.’

  ‘His car, then?’

  She nodded glumly. ‘We’ll have to check.’

  ‘You do the car. I’ll have another look at his room.’

  They were back in the kitchen within a few minutes: empty-handed, despondent. Nerys stared into the middle distance, her lips a thin white line.

  ‘I don’t believe this. I do not frigging believe this.’ She stared at Michael, her eyes cold, not really seeing him. ‘Alice,’ she said at last.

  ‘You think he’s left it with her?’

  ‘Must have done. I wonder if he gave us a cock-and-bull story about her being an innocent bystander. Perhaps she was his accomplice all along.’

  ‘Even more reason to find her then.’

  A flash of panic crossed his mother’s face. ‘They might have set a time limit. If he’s not back within x minutes, she makes a run for it.’

  Michael felt his heart beating faster. ‘Where would she go?’

  ‘Most of the paths in Westcombe Wood lead to a track across the northern edge, which runs parallel to the Elkstone Road. From there she could hitch a lift.’ A gulp. ‘Or maybe they’ve got another car?’

  ‘Oh, shit.’ Michael turned towards the front door. ‘How do I get there?’

  ‘Up Hall’s Lane, then you’re on the A435 for about thirty seconds. Left just past The Eagle pub. There’s a parking area right at the top of the wood.’

  ‘No problem,’ Michael said. ‘I’ll find her.’

  And he meant it. He was buzzing as he left the house, his senses heightened, all the fear and regrets pushed aside: utterly absorbed by the thrill of the chase.

  Fifty-Seven

  Alice was cold and hungry and miserable. An hour, Renshaw had said. He was twenty minutes late. Based on his agreement earlier, she was free to do what she wanted.

  Except that her phone was nearly dead, she had no car, and no money other than a bag of high-denomination euros. If the police found her now, they might well take her for a drug smuggler.

  The peculiar stillness of the wood was playing on her nerves. Both light and sound were eerily muted. Occasionally she made out some far distant engine, or a dog barking, but mostly there was silence, punctuated by sudden tiny noises from close by: a snap or click or rustle that her jittery mind perceived as someone sneaking up on her.

  It took her some time to identify the sounds as the soft patter of rain. Another minute or two before the first drop made it through the trees and landed on her head.

  She shivered. It seemed ludicrous to be sitting here, getting wet, just to indulge Renshaw’s paranoia. Why on earth wou
ld Nerys want to rob him, anyway? She and her son had pots of money.

  From behind her came the snap of a twig breaking. Startled, Alice stood up and peered into the trees. No one there, as far as she could see.

  The rainfall grew more intense, a busy chatter of noise. Like a whole crowd was whispering to her: a warning, or a threat.

  She tried to focus on positive thoughts. Harry was on his way here, so she didn’t have to rely on Renshaw or Michael Baxter to give her a lift to the station. Another couple of hours and Harry could drive them home.

  The brief conversation had made her all the more desperate to be reunited with him. Together, as a family, they would meet DI Thomsett and tell him everything, and hope that he could offer the help they needed to stay safe.

  In a new, decisive frame of mind she grabbed the bag of money and set off along the path. It was ridiculous to stay out any longer. She would return to the house: at the first sign of danger she’d give Renshaw his money back, then walk into the village. Even a bus shelter would be a better place to wait than here.

  The rain was tumbling down when she reached the edge of the wood. It woke Evie, who let out a thin cry of displeasure. Alice faltered, beset once again by doubts. Why hadn’t Renshaw come back? He’d said it himself: the money guaranteed his return.

  So where was he?

  Something was wrong. In that instant Alice knew it, with a certainty as cold and unpleasant as the rain.

  At the edge of the tree line she peered across the muddy field. It wasn’t long before she spotted movement in the bushes at the rear of Beech House. A figure stepped into view, clad in a long coat and a headscarf.

  Nerys. It had to be. But she’d emerged from her garden as furtively as a burglar, glancing around as if worried about being seen. Alice couldn’t think of any reason for Nerys to act that way, unless—

  The woman’s head came up. Her body stiffened with concentration as her gaze locked on the path into the wood: there was a moment of distant but unmistakable eye contact, before Alice turned and fled.

  Michael had sprinted all the way back to the Range Rover, and even managed to enjoy the exertion: so much more satisfying than the sterile, comfortably tailored environment of a gym, having to adjust to the uneven surface, his movement hampered by his bulky winter clothes, cold air in his lungs and rain on his face. Exhilarating.

  Truth be told, he was in remarkably good spirits all round. It made him wonder if he should have given free rein to the darker side of his character years ago.

  Women were his obsession, and had been for as long as he could remember. In his teens and twenties he had been driven by lust, the thrill of the chase; the triumph of conquest. But then it became a compulsion, almost beyond his control. He’d slept with one of the bridesmaids the night before his wedding. He slept with his wife’s cousin. He slept with the women he employed, and the women he met during the course of his working day. He slept with women at his gym and women he picked up in bars and hotels, both away on business and only a few miles from home.

  Most of the time, it was absurdly easy. He had a gift for it. But over the years, he noticed how the pleasure was diminishing for precisely that reason. To increase the challenge, he started targeting women who weren’t interested. Who really weren’t interested. And a few times – the frequency escalating in recent years – he’d fucked women who hadn’t in any way, shape or form consented to being fucked.

  He unlocked the car, flung his jacket on the back seat and drove away. He was tempted to go flat out but made a conscious effort not to draw attention to himself. And thoughts of self-preservation led to the question he hadn’t yet asked his mother. Once they caught Alice – and Evie – what happened then?

  Nerys had virtually conceded that he could unleash that dark side of his, hadn’t she? It made him wonder what she’d gleaned from their past conversations. He often talked to her of his exploits – it was no fun to bottle it up, but his male friends only got jealous, and Robyn couldn’t really be expected to listen. He’d never even hinted at the ‘no means yes’ side of things, but perhaps he hadn’t had to: it was clear now that Nerys was a woman of supreme gifts.

  If he had his fun and afterwards there were … complications, well, he guessed that Mother would know what to do. But the idea of having her there, as an accomplice. Wouldn’t that make him feel … hmm … uncomfortable?

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  ‘Don’t go there,’ he muttered aloud. But it lingered at the back of his mind, a disquieting fantasy where Nerys was in the room with him and Alice – watching them, at least. On some level the concept still appalled him, but he sensed that by frequently revisiting the idea he could acquire tolerance to it, the way that taking rapid sips of scalding hot coffee soon makes it bearable, then acceptable, and finally delicious.

  Delicious. That was the perfect word.

  Michael licked his lips.

  Alice didn’t really know why she was running. A voice inside her head kept appealing for reason. This was a pretty stupid reaction, wasn’t it, to be blundering through the trees, her feet slippery on the wet ground, no purpose or destination other than to get away from Nerys; no reason beyond an instinct that the older woman had been moving with some vaguely sinister intent.

  But there was Renshaw, don’t forget. He was long overdue to retrieve his precious money.

  That was when Alice remembered the bag. In her panic she’d dropped it as she began to move. Its loss troubled her for a second or two; then her foot caught on a protruding root and she almost went down. She recovered only by hitting the ground with one hand, badly jarring her wrist. Poor Evie was pitched into a violent descent and then wrenched upright again. She wailed, not unreasonably, and a couple of birds took flight nearby.

  In her desperation Alice had left the path, figuring that the trees offered her better concealment. But it also made the going a lot tougher, and the weight of Evie in the carrier was a factor she hadn’t considered, especially on rough terrain made treacherous by tree roots and fallen branches.

  And then Michael appeared in front of her, almost from nowhere. Only later did she consider the noise they’d been making, especially with Evie sobbing. It must have been ridiculously easy to find them.

  She slithered to a halt, then tried to change direction; dodging sideways, as though she were some kind of agile teenage gymnast, rather than a thirty-one-year-old woman weighed down with a baby. But she pushed off too quickly and nearly ran headlong into a tree. She swerved to avoid it but lost her footing and slid into a shallow ditch, a natural hollow that, if you scooped out the mulchy leaves and loose earth, would have been just about the perfect size for a grave.

  Fifty-Eight

  Harry checked the wing mirror for the fourth or fifth time. Still nothing.

  ‘Okay, we lost the Audi. But what about the other car, the Mercedes?’

  ‘I suppose they could get a message to the driver, but they won’t pick up the route I intend to take.’

  As Ruth spoke she was turning off the main road, into what seemed little more than a track through the forest. Harry sighed.

  ‘How do I know this isn’t just another trick to gain my trust?’

  ‘I guess that’s a decision only you can make, Harry. But do it quickly.’

  Moments later, she pulled up in a shallow lay-by. Harry wondered if she was intending to kick him out if he didn’t give her the information she wanted. But she simply reached across him to the glove compartment and took out a road atlas.

  ‘Gloucester’s not an easy place to reach from here. We’re crossing the spine of the country, so all the major routes run north–south.’

  Harry had a look for himself. She was right, but he doubted if a train would be any quicker. Short of commandeering a helicopter, they were looking at two or three hours to get there – by which time Alice and Evie should, with any luck, be on their way home.

  ‘Head towards Cirencester,’ he told her.

  ‘Thank you.’ She han
ded him the atlas and pulled out of the lay-by.

  ‘I want some proper answers now. For a start, why have you only been pursuing Laird for the last few months?’

  Ruth kept her eyes on the road, but she looked bemused. ‘I haven’t. What do you mean?’

  ‘Prior to this year, tell me what you were doing.’

  He crossed his arms and waited, studying her face for any indication that she was about to lie to him. After a long pause, Ruth exhaled slowly.

  ‘I was behind bars, Harry. Is that what you wanted to hear?’

  It threw him that she gave up the truth so freely. Trying not to bluster, he said, ‘You committed a serious attack on someone, according to Keri. Is that true?’

  ‘You are so far out of your depth here, Harry. And I’m not saying that to be rude, or to hurt you.’

  ‘Just tell me, please.’

  ‘Okay. Okay.’ She sighed. ‘A long time ago I worked for the security services. My area of expertise was organised crime. There’s a lot of crossover with terrorism, especially in the area of money laundering, identity theft and so on. As a result of that work, and particularly an undercover operation that I was involved in, I made a series of very bad – incredibly bad – decisions that led, years later, to all this.’

  ‘The feud with Laird, or whatever it is?’

  ‘Feud?’ She tapped the steering wheel with one hand. ‘Good a word as any, I suppose.’

  Her attention seemed to drift away, but he was too impatient to allow her more than a few seconds.

  ‘And the person you attacked? Was that to do with Laird?’

  ‘Not directly. It happened years after the … the flashpoint with Laird.’ A dark glance told Harry he wasn’t welcome to interrupt. ‘I’d gone through a tough time. What I should have done was resign, or retire on health grounds, but instead I took a less stressful job, working on a surveillance team. A watcher.’