by Tom Bale
‘I had to let Benjamin go, albeit with lots of safeguards: Nathan agreed to let me have regular access, he promised never to move abroad; all kinds of conditions designed to reassure me, keep me compliant …’
Harry nodded gloomily. He could guess what was coming next.
‘He didn’t keep to a single word of the agreement. He just vanished, even more thoroughly than before. That was the last I ever saw of either of them.’
‘You have no idea what happened to him?’
‘That’s why I’m here, Harry. Following any lead to Laird, because only he has the answer.’ She tried a laugh. ‘You can’t believe the soul-searching I’ve done. For a year or two I was a basket case. I didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, didn’t properly connect with anyone. Poor Greg stuck by me, helped me the best he could. He thought the answer was to have our own children. I went along with it, because I felt it was the least I could do. But when it didn’t happen I was glad, in a way. That’s a terrible thing to say, because I know it broke Greg’s heart. But I didn’t deserve another child. I’d had my chance and blown it, hadn’t I? In my head I wasn’t just a bad mother, I was the worst mother of all time.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Harry said, but it was an inadequate attempt at consoling her. Despite everything she’d said in mitigation, when he thought of the pain it was causing him right now, to be separated from Evie, he found Ruth’s decision inconceivable, no matter what the circumstances.
‘How old would he be now?’
‘Fifteen. Fifteen and three months. Sometimes I can picture him so clearly. A big strong teenager. I can see just what he’s like, I can almost hear his voice …’ She sniffed. ‘Other times I try to imagine him and there’s nothing. He’s only a blank shape. A ghost.’
She choked up, then just as abruptly rubbed her eyes and her nose, and was in control of her emotions again.
‘I look back now and I can’t understand how it happened. How could I have agreed to let him go? It was a different person who made that decision, that’s what I tell myself. It’s ironic, Harry. You’d probably think I must be so hard, to do something like that. But actually I was soft then. I was afraid of a fight. The person I am now is much harder, with only one mission in life. To make good the damage, any way I can.’
It was one thirty-five. At this rate Harry guessed they were still at least an hour away, maybe ninety minutes. Should have rented a—
‘Oh shit,’ he breathed.
‘What?’
‘Vickery and the gang. They’ve made a lot of money, right? I mean, they could charter a helicopter, if they had to?’
‘It’s not very likely—’
‘Jesus, Ruth, they terrorised us the other night. They’ve killed one of their own men, Hasan, because he helped Renshaw. You seriously don’t feel this is important enough to warrant a helicopter?’
‘I’m sure they’re bluffing about the address.’
‘I can’t take that risk. We should call the police.’
‘Harry, that’s not a good idea.’
‘I don’t care. It can be an anonymous call.’
‘They’ll dismiss it.’
‘Then we give them a false name.’
‘But what are we reporting?’
Harry sighed, not just angry but frustrated that her objections had some genuine weight.
‘Look,’ he said at last, ‘I know the address. I can say I’ve seen what looks like an intruder. A suspected burglary. At least that means they’ll check out the house.’
‘And if Vickery’s men are there, you could be sending some poor local cop to his death.’
‘If Vickery’s men are there,’ Harry reminded her through gritted teeth, ‘I want someone – anyone – who might be able to help my wife and daughter.’
Ruth didn’t agree, exactly, but her protests ceased when he moved into the left-hand lane and started searching for a place to pull over.
‘Give me the address. I’ll do it.’
She used her own phone. After he’d recited the address, she dialled 999 and claimed to be a resident of Cranstone who’d just seen what looked like a burglary at Beech House. She lied smoothly about her own name and address, and sounded remarkably convincing.
Afterwards, she exhaled heavily. ‘I don’t think that was a good idea.’
‘Better than doing nothing.’ He thought for a moment. ‘How are we going to know what happens?’
‘We’re not. Not until we get there. You have to accept that, I’m afraid. We’ve done all we can.’
Sixty-Three
The room they’d chosen for Alice was the only one with both a door and a window that could be locked. Once she was secure, Michael used one of the other rooms to change into the overalls Nerys had found for him. He also allowed himself a little time to savour the image of Alice climbing into the shower.
Downstairs, his mother was a whirlwind of activity. She’d changed into old clothes and put on a plastic apron, fetched the waste bags and filled a bucket with hot water and bleach, made up a bottle of formula milk and was now feeding Evie while studying the chaos in the kitchen, planning the clean-up operation.
‘Did you find it?’
‘No. It’s not there.’
‘Bloody hell, Michael, we could be up shit creek without it.’
‘I know. But you’re the one who …’ He gestured at Renshaw’s body.
‘You heard him trying to blackmail me. I’m not taking that crap from anyone.’
‘No, but you could have waited till we knew where the evidence was.’
‘Easy to say now.’ She was seething, all the more irritable because she knew he was right. ‘Once he’d admitted to having something, I thought it would be easy to find. What has Alice told you?’
‘Not much. I think she’s holding back on us.’ He showed her the phone and she gasped.
‘Did Alice have that?’
‘She says Renshaw gave it to her. She claimed she couldn’t get a signal, but I’ve just checked the call log. She’s lying. There are lots of attempts to reach her, as well as three outgoing numbers. Two mobiles and a landline – area code 01273, which is Brighton, I believe.’
‘Family?’ Nerys mused. ‘But no 999 calls?’
Michael shook his head. ‘I suppose, if she didn’t feel threatened, she might have called to reassure people.’
‘Let’s hope so. What time were they?’
He checked the phone. ‘Between half eleven and twelve.’
‘Well, then. That’s two hours ago. If she’d summoned the cavalry I bet they’d be here by now.’
He nodded, partially reassured. ‘There’s still the issue of people knowing she’s here.’
‘But no proof,’ Nerys reminded him. ‘As long we make sure there’s no trace left of any of them, we just deny it.’
Michael pondered this as he watched the baby suck and gasp, suck and gasp. The bottle was almost empty.
‘So we’re … we’re going to do away with them?’
A shrug. ‘With any luck that’ll be Laird’s problem, not ours. But right now they’re a bargaining tool, both of them.’ She tipped the baby back to take the final dregs of milk. ‘You need to get your skates on and fetch the car. How long will it take?’
Michael groaned. In all the excitement he’d forgotten that the Range Rover was parked in Westcombe Wood.
‘Ten or fifteen minutes, if I run.’
‘You have to bloody run. While you’re doing that, I’ll make a start on the clean-up.’
Alice listened obsessively to every sound from below, but she could hear very little over the rain. Within a few minutes of Michael leaving her, she thought an outer door might have slammed. Then nothing.
Why wasn’t Evie howling? Alice was plagued with fear that she had been hurt. Just to contemplate it made her head swim; her breathing became shallow and rapid, her skin coated in a clammy cold sweat. She pulled on the cords and felt them give, a little, but not enough to free her hands.
She
wondered if Harry was on his way here. Would he remember the address she’d shouted down the phone? Would he find the place in time?
It seemed like such a faint hope to cling on to – and one that she hardly deserved. She despised herself for dismissing Renshaw’s concerns about Nerys and her son.
Ugh. Even the thought of Michael made her shudder. The way he looked at her …
She heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door opened and Nerys came in, Evie held expertly in one arm.
Alice’s heart leapt. She started to speak but Nerys shushed her.
‘Don’t. She’s asleep.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘Starving,’ Nerys said, her voice scornful. ‘She drained a whole bottle. Nearly nine ounces.’
‘What?’
‘I gave her some SMA.’
‘You …’ Alice was staggered; for a moment the reality of her predicament forgotten. ‘You gave her formula milk?’
‘Yes, and it’s a good thing I did. The poor mite’s obviously underfed.’ She sniffed, disapprovingly, and indicated Alice’s breasts. ‘Must be poor quality milk in there.’
Alice couldn’t respond. In the scheme of things it was a trivial issue – what mattered was that Evie was alive and well – and yet it came as such a terrible affront to her own sense of motherhood, her capability.
‘At least let me cuddle her, please? I won’t try to escape.’
‘Course you will. Anyway, you don’t need to cuddle her. She’s perfectly all right on her own.’
Alice was helpless as Nerys settled Evie in the centre of the single bed. Then the woman turned and knelt down before her.
‘When you were out for your walk, Renshaw gave you something else, didn’t he? Along with the phone and the money.’
‘No, he didn’t.’
Nerys reached out and took hold of Alice’s left ear, pinching the lobe between her fingers, digging her nails into the soft cartilage. Alice winced.
‘He didn’t! I promise you!’
Nerys pinched tighter, and twisted, forcing Alice’s head down. ‘You’re lying.’
‘I’m not. I’m not.’ Alice sucked in a breath, unable to credit that such a small manoeuvre could be so agonising. She swallowed, and said, ‘There was … He had a tiny envelope, maybe with a USB stick or something.’
‘That’s it. Go on.’
‘He put it in his pocket yesterday morning, when we escaped from the house in Brighton. But I never saw it after that, I swear to you.’
‘On Evie’s life, you’d swear?’
‘Yes! I swear, I don’t know where it is.’
Nerys said nothing but she held on, twisting, for three, four, five long seconds, Alice writhing with the pain, desperate not to cry out and frighten Evie.
Then Nerys let go. ‘I don’t have a lot of time for torture – problem is, I’m too nice.’ She gave Alice a sickly smile. ‘But those men who were chasing Renshaw? They’ll get the answers out of you.’
Michael was still sweating profusely when he parked the Range Rover on the drive. He’d worn a coat to conceal the overalls, fearing the sight of them might be a little incongruous while he was running across a field.
And run he had – till his lungs burned from the effort. He’d ignored all the cramps and twinges in his ankles and calves and knees; he’d run through the pain and eventually, in the middle of the wood, he felt his second wind; that blissful moment when the lungs seem to expand and glow with pleasure at the exertion. He might have just kept going, sprinted past the car and on over the countryside, his only goal to put distance between himself and the house, himself and the mess he was in …
But he couldn’t. Nerys needed him as never before. And after this – provided they could negotiate an exit route that kept them both out of jail – his mother would be in his debt forever.
She’d have to do anything he wanted.
Anything.
By the time he got back she had worked wonders. The house reeked of detergent rather than blood. Renshaw’s body still lay in the kitchen, but now it was trussed up in three layers of thick plastic, held in place by loops of packing tape. It looked like a cartoon mummy: something from Scooby Doo.
Nerys was still mopping up, but the worst of the blood and gore had gone. The washing machine was running, hot suds sloshing against the porthole, erasing the blood from their clothes. She looked grimly satisfied with her progress.
‘Alice has admitted that Renshaw had evidence. A USB stick, she thinks it was. She says she didn’t see what he did with it.’
‘Do you believe her?’
Nerys wavered. ‘I’d love to think she was lying, but it’s unlikely.’ She did have some good news, of sorts. ‘I’ve spoken to Vickery again. They’re coming by helicopter, so I need to get my skates on.’
Michael frowned. ‘Did you warn him that Renshaw’s dead, and that we don’t—’
‘What do you take me for? I’m hardly going to show my hand this soon. Renshaw must have hidden it somewhere here, in the house. We’ve got to find it.’ She frowned as he started to move. ‘Where are you off to?’
‘To search for the mem—’
‘Not now. Good God!’ She gestured crossly at the body. ‘Go and reverse your car up to the front door. Close as you can get.’
Turning away, he was trying to figure out where in the house Renshaw might have secreted the memory stick, and only dimly registered the sound of an engine as he crossed the hall. He was reaching for the front door when he heard something more distinct: a car door slamming.
He made a detour to the nearest window. Peered out, and it felt like he had to clench every muscle in his body to prevent his insides from collapsing.
‘Mu-um!’ A long, half-broken syllable, part hiss, part croak.
‘What is it?’
‘Police. A fucking cop car.’
Sixty-Four
Michael had never in his life felt even a tenth as scared as he was now. He stared at his mother, stricken by the knowledge that she too had finally met her match. There was no way out of this.
But Nerys displayed no panic. ‘Wait in the kitchen. Don’t make a sound.’
She removed the apron, balled it up and threw it on to the floor. Michael was moving past her when a thought occurred to him.
‘Alice, and the baby … ?’
‘She’s on the other side of the house.’ A deep breath. ‘Get a knife. Be ready to come if I call.’
They both heard movement outside, what sounded like a single figure approaching the door. Then the footsteps receded.
Puzzled, Nerys leaned into the dining room and peeped out. Her body relaxed. She gave Michael a smile and hissed: ‘Kitchen. Go!’
Michael obeyed, but he left the door open a couple of inches. He needed to hear this.
He needed to be prepared to attack. Or run away.
Nerys thought she’d recognised the man peering around the side of the house. It meant she was calmer as she opened the front door, but it also left her somewhat conflicted.
Jack Fryer wasn’t a bad man. It would be a shame if she had to kill him.
He’d heard the door open and was ambling towards her, his expression untroubled. He was in his early fifties, thickset and balding with a big nose and an oddly impish demeanour for a middle-aged police officer.
‘All right, Jack?’
He smiled, and she saw relief in his eyes, which was rather strange.
‘Hello, Nerys. You know, I thought this was your place.’ He stopped on the lower step, hands on hips. ‘We had reports of an attempted burglary.’
‘Oh? When was this?’
‘Ten, fifteen minutes ago. Woman rang on a mobile saying she’d seen someone trying to break in.’
Nerys was able to look convincingly baffled. ‘And you’re sure it was my address?’
‘That’s what she said. I had my doubts, because her name didn’t ring a bell. And I reckon I know everyone who lives in these parts.’
; Nerys tutted along with him, agreeing that it was most unlikely that someone had just been passing: Mercombe Lane was a dead end, after all.
‘Just odd that it was a woman. Prank callers, they’re normally males, or young girls.’ He snorted. ‘Who you been upsetting?’
‘Upsetting?’ Nerys flashed her eyes at him. ‘A charmer like me, Jack? I don’t upset anyone.’
‘No. Probably means I’ve been given the wrong address.’ He sighed. ‘Definitely all right round the back, are you?’
He shifted sideways, only half a pace, but it sent a bolt of alarm through her.
‘No one’s been in the garden. I was here all morning.’
Jack indicated the Range Rover. ‘New car, is it?’
‘Belongs to my son. I’m using it for a couple of days.’
‘I didn’t think you’d stolen it, Nerys.’ He grinned – but was he also peering at her a little more closely?
She concealed her nerves with a chuckle. ‘How’s your golf these days?’
‘Lousy – as always.’ He stared hard at her left hip. ‘Nerys, is that blood?’
She looked down and saw a pinkish smudge on the old slacks she’d worn for the clean-up. She rubbed at it, dismissively, with her wrist.
‘Just had to kill a lame hen,’ she explained.
‘Oh, sorry to hear that. I’ve got myself some new Marans. Slow to lay at first, but blimmin delicious when they do.’
He patted his belly and launched into an enthusiastic comparison of the various breeds he’d kept over the years. At one point, while she listened, Nerys made a soft spitting noise and removed an imaginary scrap of feather from her tongue. It was a gesture he would know well, and it reinforced her cover story at a subliminal level.
Finally he departed, almost but not quite brave enough to kiss her on the cheek. She promised to contact his wife, Joan, to arrange a game of badminton at the social club, and stood in the doorway until he was back in the car.
Michael stayed in the kitchen for a few more seconds. Even as his brain accepted the reality of their close escape, his body still wanted to collapse from the shock.
