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

by Tom Bale

‘That’s great, Harry. Helps me a lot.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘A couple of miles out from Ross-on-Wye. Probably twenty minutes or so to Symonds Yat.’

  ‘Oh.’ He realised he was expecting a miracle: he wanted her there right now. He wanted confirmation that Evie was safe.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, Harry. Call the cops and they might get there sooner. But Laird’s men will have guns, so you’d be sending unarmed police to their deaths. You’d have to warn them, and it’ll take longer than twenty minutes to put together a full armed response. And then you’ve got all the risks of a shoot-out, with Evie being caught in the crossfire.’

  ‘So what, then? What are you going to do?’

  ‘They don’t realise that I know the address. That gives me a big advantage. My plan is to sneak in, and if I can get to Evie I will. If I can’t, I’ll get back out and call the police myself.’

  ‘And you promise that? You promise Evie comes first, no matter what?’

  ‘I promise, Harry.’

  Harry wavered, remembering how often he’d been given reason to doubt her word.

  ‘Don’t let me down,’ he said, and ended the call.

  Harry returned looking so exhausted, so profoundly anxious that a little of Alice’s remaining hope for her daughter drained away.

  ‘We need to go there now,’ he said. ‘That means borrowing a car.’

  ‘Here.’ Robyn produced a set of keys from her jacket and handed them over.

  ‘Another thing,’ Harry said. ‘I need you to make sure your husband doesn’t warn anyone that we’re coming.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ Michael complained, ‘but what about my mother?’

  ‘She takes her chances,’ Harry said.

  It was clear that Robyn agreed. She thrust her hand out: ‘Phone.’

  Scowling, Michael surrendered it to her. As she turned away he tried to stand up. His foot wouldn’t bear his weight and he cried out, sinking back into the chair.

  ‘I think my ankle’s broken. It needs X-raying.’

  ‘Later,’ Robyn said, as blunt with him as Harry had been.

  In the hall there were sounds of distress coming from the other living room. Robyn hurried out and returned with her infant son. The sight of him was too much for Alice. She crossed her arms over her breasts, aware of how much they ached. With tears in her eyes, she said, ‘Imagine hearing your baby crying, needing you, and you can’t go to him because someone’s stopping you.’

  To her credit, Robyn didn’t look away. She asked quietly: ‘When you’ve got your daughter, are you coming back here?’

  Alice shrugged, though she understood what Robyn was getting at.

  ‘I don’t know. But I think the police will have to be involved at some stage.’

  Robyn was silent for a long moment. Then she nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Alice said. ‘I can see how difficult this must be, when you have so much to lose.’ She reached out and grasped Robyn’s hand. ‘I wasn’t exaggerating earlier. I really believe he would have raped me.’

  Robyn seemed about to speak, then changed her mind. She nodded again.

  Harry waited at the door while Alice and Robyn talked quietly. Only a few seconds, but it felt like far too long. He was boiling with frustration, and let some of it out as Alice joined him and they left the house.

  ‘I should have bloody killed him. He’s not getting away with this.’

  ‘He won’t. But finding Evie is more important.’

  Harry unlocked Robyn’s car, which turned out to be a brand new Range Rover. Her husband had an identical one, according to Alice.

  ‘His and hers Rangeys,’ she muttered ruefully.

  ‘Can we trust Robyn, do you think?’ Harry asked as they climbed in.

  ‘I think so. As much as you can trust anyone.’

  He frowned. Her tone was decidedly cold.

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘You’re hiding something. It’s about Evie, isn’t it? Or that woman who was with you?’

  ‘Actually, it’s both.’ He started the engine and pulled away, tentative at first, unsure if the big 4x4 would handle differently to the cars he was used to driving. There was a pulse of pain from his arm as he turned the wheel, but he decided it wasn’t bad enough to hamper him.

  As well as concentrating on the road, he also had to sketch out Ruth’s background and the reasons for her involvement, as well as explaining why he’d agreed to let Ruth go to Symonds Yat without notifying the police. Alice didn’t react quite as fiercely as he’d expected, but nor did she hold back on her scorn.

  ‘It sounds like Laird has been a step ahead of Ruth the whole time, and yet you still seem to put more faith in her than you do in the police.’

  ‘It’s not a straightforward decision. I think Ruth will do her best for us. And she’s made a valid point about the risks of a standoff. Do you want to be watching behind a barricade as armed police storm the house with our daughter inside?’

  A violent shudder from Alice told him the answer was no. A moment later he felt her hand on his leg, the weight of it warm and comforting.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do but hurry,’ he said sadly, ‘and pray it works out all right.’

  Michael was resting back in his chair, eyes shut, when he heard the front door close. All things considered, he felt pretty good. His ankle was hurting, but not as badly as he’d made out. He thought it was probably a nasty sprain; not a fracture.

  He’d nearly had a heart attack when Harry turned up like the proverbial white knight. Another when his own wife and kids appeared – although, as it turned out, they’d performed essentially the same function for Michael, saving him from death or jail.

  It was what he’d needed, he told himself now. He had been foolish, even reckless, allowing Nerys to pull him off course. Now Robyn was here to set him on the right path once more.

  Best of all, there was no sign that the police would become involved. Harry and Alice appeared to have their own reasons to go it alone, which suited him fine. He allowed himself to mull over the possibility that all his problems would be solved by some bloody confrontation at the holiday home. Was it asking too much that the whole lot of them could end up dead? Harry, Alice, Nathan Laird … and even his own mother.

  If that happened, and the police rolled up at Symonds Yat to find a bunch of bodies – including Renshaw’s – there was every chance that Michael could plausibly deny all knowledge and get away with it. So what if his mum had borrowed his car? He’d had no inkling that she was caught up in something unsavoury.

  In fact, Officer, I spent the entire day with my darling wife, Robyn, as she’ll be only too happy to confirm …

  He’d better get the house cleaned a lot more thoroughly, just in case. Robyn could help there, he thought. So could the kids, for that matter.

  He pictured his daughters in Mrs Mop overalls and headscarves, scrubbing the kitchen floor. A laugh escaped just as Robyn walked in. She had Junior in her arms. The girls were out in the hall, talking to each other with only a fraction of their normal exuberance.

  Michael tried to wipe off his smile but it wouldn’t quite go; his lips went on twitching. A great burden had been lifted and he felt giddy. Euphoric.

  ‘Have you got my phone?’ he asked.

  ‘You’re not having it.’

  ‘I just want to check—’ He broke off, his wife’s face made almost unrecognisable by the depth of loathing in her expression. ‘But-but … all that stuff you said, it was just for show, wasn’t it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, come on.’ He laughed again, derisively, and started to get up.

  ‘Stay there!’ she hissed.

  ‘Darling …’ he began, switching to a placatory manner, because Robyn had turned and was ushering the girls in to join them.

  In a bright, lively voice, she said, ‘Sit with Daddy, will you, girls? He’s feeling poorly, and needs to keep very still.’

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nbsp; Then, unseen by the children, another venomous glare at Michael as Chloe and Betty clambered on to his lap.

  ‘And make the most of it,’ she added. ‘Daddy might have to go away soon.’

  Seventy-Three

  After speaking to Harry, Ruth stopped briefly to check her map. Laird had instructed her to go to Ross-on-Wye. Guessing that someone would be posted on the A40 to watch for her approach, she took a succession of minor roads instead.

  She felt remarkably calm about the prospect of finally meeting Nathan – perhaps because deep down she suspected it wouldn’t happen. The fact that he’d made the phone call didn’t guarantee his presence.

  On the other hand, if Harry was right about it being a trap – and she thought he was – it seemed likely that Nathan would be there to revel in his victory.

  It was almost four p.m. when she spotted the turning for the house. She drove past, noting that the landscape around her was densely wooded, with only a handful of properties dotted over the hillside. A bit further on she found the track Harry had mentioned and parked out of sight of the road.

  This morning, after Vickery had made a deal and given her car back, Ruth had fully expected it to have been searched. But if it had, they’d missed the compartment for the spare wheel where she had concealed her little box of tricks, which included a length of nylon yacht rope and a folding sheath knife with a four-inch blade.

  Retrieving them now, she set off through the trees towards the holiday home. It was cold and dark up here, although the sky overhead held perhaps another thirty minutes of twilight. Once she broke from the cover of the trees she would be fairly easy to spot. Which meant taking things slowly.

  That would be fine, if this was only about confronting Laird. But there was also Evie to consider.

  She reflected on that pledge to Harry. Hadn’t she known from the start that it was a promise she would struggle to keep?

  For Nerys, it felt like a lot of time passed very quickly. Or maybe it was a short time that passed very slowly.

  Or it was both. Or neither. Nothing made sense any more.

  She was trying so hard to hold it together, when really she ought to just let go. That was the answer. Let go.

  She could deal with the pain, just about, but not the fury. The fury that everything had gone so very wrong – and it wasn’t over yet. There was more to come.

  Some of her fingers had been broken, and now they were on fire: burning, yet cold. She was shivering, even while the sweat burst out on her forehead and rolled down her temples.

  She was in the dining room with Niall Foster and Darrell Bridge. They had placed her on the table, stacking the chairs in the corner to give them more space. The way they worked, quietly industrious, reminded her of tradesmen she’d employed over the years. Plumbers, electricians, joiners. At one point Darrell had actually whistled, though that might have been to block out the shrieking from their victim.

  Eventually the door opened. Vickery was back.

  ‘Still nothing?’

  From Foster’s grunt, you might have thought his expertise was being called into question.

  Vickery came as close to Nerys as he dared. ‘Tough old bird,’ he said.

  ‘Too right I am,’ she gasped, almost choking on the blood in her throat. ‘And you … don’t even have the guts to watch, do you?’

  ‘Tell us where it is, Nerys. Then you can rest.’

  ‘Wanker! Wish they’d let me take you on.’ She caught Foster smirking and addressed him: ‘Pay good money to see, to see that, eh? Me against this … this little prick.’

  Foster didn’t react but Nerys laughed anyway, and coughed up a lot of blood. Bristling at the insult, Vickery went away.

  So did Nerys, in a manner of speaking, and when she came back someone else had joined them.

  She wasn’t completely certain it was Nathan Laird. But the voice sounded familiar, and the expensive aftershave was true to form.

  He crouched very close and whispered in her ear, apologising for what she’d been through, expressing such tender concern for her wellbeing that tears trickled down her cheeks.

  ‘I st-stayed loyal,’ she told him, more than once. It was vital that he understood. ‘Could’ve sold you out, but I never … never did.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Some of those little ’uns were … were heading off to good homes, parents who’d love them. But some weren’t. And I—’ A spasm of pain. ‘I kept my mouth shut, either way.’

  ‘That’s true. You did.’

  Her body jerked as he touched her. He started stroking his hand through her hair; gently finger-combing. It felt so extraordinary that she managed to relax; for a moment the agony was forgotten, set aside. This could have been her son, tending to her wounds.

  ‘L-like that girl, as well. Marisha, was it? I did … all I could to save her. Even in hospital she probably wouldn’t … wouldn’t have made it.’

  ‘That’s a fair point.’

  ‘Still, I guessed you’d keep something … to hold over me. Wouldn’t blame you, Mr Laird. But when all this happened, Renshaw turning up … I saw a chance to get things clear. That’s all … all I want, you see. A clean slate.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Nerys. The slate is almost clean.’

  ‘And the baby – I mean … that’s an extra. From me to you. G-goodwill.’

  ‘It’s much appreciated. But now you must tell me where you were hiding Renshaw, so we don’t have to punish your grandchildren.’

  ‘My … ?’ Her eyes opened briefly.

  ‘Michael and Robyn’s children. I expect it was Michael who lent a hand? We have his address now. We can go there instead, if you’d prefer? Talk to Michael, and Robyn. And the children.’

  ‘No.’

  After she’d given up her own address, she heard him issuing instructions to Foster and Bridge. Nerys wanted to interrupt, to say how important it was that no harm came to Michael or the children, but speech had become impossible.

  There was a feeling of pressure on her throat that wouldn’t clear. She opened her eyes again and found Laird’s upper body looming over her. His forearm was resting on her throat and he was pushing down, harder and harder until black stars exploded in her eyes, and the world with Michael and her beloved grandchildren and everyone else in it began to slip away.

  Seventy-Four

  Ruth moved cautiously through the trees, grateful that the earlier rainfall had softened the leaves and made them quieter underfoot. After ascending a steep ridge she came to a perimeter fence comprised of posts and railings, topped with barbed wire. She used a fallen branch to press the barbed wire low enough to climb over, then slowly advanced.

  As the trees thinned out, she could see the edge of a lawn, about sixty yards away. Then the house came into view. It was a substantial white stucco and grey-slate building, with a garage on the side nearest to Ruth and some kind of annexe behind the garage. A Range Rover was parked between the two buildings.

  The main gardens lay beyond the annexe, and ran right out to the edge of the gorge itself. More trees enveloped the steep slopes, which dropped to the river valley hundreds of feet below.

  She moved on a little further, then stopped. Now she could see the outline of another structure, possibly a summer house, screened by shrubbery on the far side of the lawn. She thought she spotted a silhouetted figure moving out of sight at the front of the structure. It was gone before her eyes could register what they had seen, leaving Ruth to wonder if she had imagined it.

  She paused, taking a moment to steady herself while she assessed her options. She could hear leaves rustling gently around her, as well as the distant, almost subliminal rush of the river. An owl hooted suddenly, not too far away, and it seemed to Ruth like a call to arms.

  There were plenty of lights on in the house, but all the windows were covered by curtains and blinds. From this position Ruth couldn’t see how many vehicles were parked out front, so she edged away to her right, tracking parallel to the side of
the house. Here the trees gave way to a small area of cultivated plants and bushes. Beyond that was another thin section of grass, and then a wide driveway that opened out to a parking area directly in front of the house.

  There were two cars here: identical E-class Mercedes, probably rented from wherever they’d flown in. Ruth felt a little frisson.

  She crept out of the trees and crouched down behind a large hydrangea. There was still too much light in the sky for her liking: another half hour and it would be much easier to move without being seen. But it was a bit too long to wait, unless she was willing to disregard her commitment to Harry.

  Noises at the house caught her attention. The clunk of a door opening; low muttering voices. Two men hurried out and made for one of the Mercedes. She recognised them both: Niall Foster and Darrell Bridge. Bridge had what looked like a port wine birthmark on his face, which puzzled Ruth until she remembered the booby trap in Renshaw’s kitchen.

  She smiled grimly. Bridge was a man who deserved to suffer.

  Their urgent departure was a puzzle, but one Ruth welcomed. The odds against her had just improved a little.

  She waited till the car’s engine had faded completely, studying the house the whole time. Half a dozen windows, four of them with faint illumination behind the curtains. No movement anywhere.

  A glance upwards. The sky was the rich blue shade of the ink she’d used in her fountain pen at school. For a second she was transported back to that era: for a second she could remember what it was to be wholly innocent and innocently brave, untainted by life and experience.

  This moment, she understood, was the last point at which she could change her mind, turn away, retreat.

  She thought about what – or who – might await her, inside the house. Vickery, and at least one or two others. She thought about Evie, too, and the responsibility she had assumed on Harry’s behalf.

  But mostly she thought about Benjamin, and the way that losing her son had hollowed her out, leaving a great black hole in her consciousness.