Bad Sons (Booker & Cash Book 1)

by Oliver Tidy

  I didn’t know what to suggest, so I started guessing. ‘Assuming there is something to be pumped from Dungeness across the Channel it has to come out somewhere, right?’

  Her voice said ‘right,’ but her face showed her interest in the idea was waning rapidly in the light of the new information. I didn’t blame her. I was clutching at ideas like a drowning man grabs at water.

  ‘We could take a look along the coast here just to see if anything sticks out.’ That felt a stupid thing to say.

  She made a face that reflected her lack of enthusiasm for my brainwave. ‘It would be a needle in a haystack. We have no idea even where to start looking and from what I’ve seen so far there is a lot of coastline round here. And there isn’t much daylight left. Look, I think we did the right thing coming to look here, exploring the idea, but developments suggest to me that we should re-focus our attentions on that building at Dungeness. We have learned something. It’s not been a waste of time. If there is something of an illegal nature being plotted using that old pumping station then they’ll have to return to it, won’t they?’

  ‘And what about the deaths of my uncle and aunt?’

  ‘Be reasonable. Be logical. There is nothing more to be gained here.’

  ‘The guy back there knew something, I’m sure of that. And what about the van and the giant?’

  ‘Think about our position here. I have no jurisdiction. We have no support. What do you want to do? Go back there and accuse him of involvement in murder? That could be counter-productive, don’t you think? Or maybe you want to try to beat a confession out of him? That only works in fiction. And when it doesn’t, when it backfires, it gets very messy. Modern policing is all about investigation, research, information and evidence gathering; making a case and then acting. It might be slow but it’s best in the long run and it’s the way the law works.’

  ‘Nice speech.’ I didn’t mean anything nasty by it.

  She had to have understood the defeat in me. ‘Listen, we do have something we didn’t this morning. We have intelligence and knowledge. We also have a possible lead to follow up.’

  ‘What lead?’

  ‘The van and the big man. They are something. I can take what we’ve learned to my DI and we can open lines of communication with the French police. We can get them to impound the van and we can have it forensically examined. If we find traces of you or anyone else in there, we’ll have grounds for arrest.’

  I had to be satisfied with this but my lack of fervour must have shown. Jo walked around to my side of the car. I met her stare. Her eyes were green and clear and the way the sun bounced off the glass of the windscreen and up into them gave them a sharp and striking clarity.

  ‘I know you’re suffering with your double loss. I can’t imagine how that must feel for you, knowing how they died and not why and with their killers walking around free. But you have to trust me on this. I am the police. I know what I’m talking about and I know the way things have to work.’

  She reached for my hand then and as she took it I felt a pulse of something extraordinary and powerful surge to my extremities and linger. It would not be an exaggeration to say that with that simple physical act she took my breath away.

  Alone together in a corner of a foreign land with Nature’s spring egging me on and an attractive woman making the first move I was preparing myself for something more intimate, the next step in my mind, when the rapid metallic staccato of an approaching engine machine-gunned the moment to ribbons.

  ***

  44

  She dropped my hand as we nailed our collective attention to what was about to pass the end of the lane. The country peace and birdsong was briefly polluted and stilled by the high-pitched whine of a straining low gear. I’d have known the engine with my eyes closed. A grubby white Transit van flashed by, heading back in the direction of the museum.

  Jo made a decision: ‘Let’s go. He’s making me nervous and I don’t want to get caught in this rat trap of a lane.’

  We listened a few moments longer, until the Doppler effect had died away, got back in the car and reversed back to the main highway. Like the rest of the afternoon, there was little else on the road. Jo engaged first gear and with the car pointed towards Calais put her foot down.

  The emotions of my day flowed and mixed: anticipation, excitement, apprehension, trepidation and some awakened passion. The resulting brew was not pleasant. Too much in the blend and little of it complementary, like the UN.

  One advantage of the open, flat, bare landscape was that we would have plenty of early warning if anyone was pursuing us. One disadvantage of the open, flat, bare landscape was that we could be seen from a long way off by anyone pursuing us.

  ‘We have to assume that van was looking for us, right?’

  ‘I don’t like paranoia and I’m sure you know what they say about assuming, but in this instance it might be prudent to do so. I’ll be a lot happier when we’re back on the train. How long before the one you’ve booked us on?’

  ‘I got a late one, but it’s not a busy time for them. I’ve turned up with late tickets before and got on earlier shuttles. If they can’t fit us in we can wait it out at Cité Europe, the big shopping centre there.’

  She seemed mollified by this and concentrated on her driving. Her quiet pensiveness contributed to my state of unease.

  I could find little to enjoy in the sprawling countryside on our return. The breathtaking vistas that had fuelled my interest earlier in the afternoon now gave me a sense of exposed vulnerability. The sun had lost its warmth as it abandoned the land for the horizon of the sea, and the shadows were gathering like the storm clouds out in the Channel.

  The day’s weather was going to be turned on its head. But it was April after all; these things happened. There were two things that gave me comfort: we knew our way and it wasn’t far.

  Jo broke the silence with a question that churned my stomach. ‘If that van was your van and the man driving it was your man, what were his intentions, do you think?’

  ‘I don’t want to think about it.’ But, of course, I couldn’t help it. ‘If, then it probably wasn’t to pull us over and ask us to fill out a feedback form for the museum. We’re in the middle of nowhere. He could run us off the road if he wanted to.’

  ‘Dramatic, but possible, especially if he has something to hide.’

  ‘Like being a party to murder?’ Then, ‘Can we stop talking about him now?’

  ‘I really think it’s time we started involving the professionals, don’t you?’

  I said I did and I got the impression that satisfied her.

  I changed the subject. ‘What could they have been intending to pump out of the UK into France?’

  ‘Just because the direction has changed doesn’t mean the commodity has.’

  ‘But why? Surely French organised crime has far easier and less expensive links with international drug business in mainland Europe than what we think they might have been trying to set up.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ she said. ‘What if they aren’t involved in organised crime? Maybe they’re new. And if someone is manufacturing in the UK and they don’t want to run the risk of drawing attention to themselves by supplying markets there they could have worked out that if they can get the stuff abroad in quantity and regularly business could be just as good. You don’t shit where you eat, my Nan used to say.’

  ‘She sounds nice. So what about this rather large logistical development in the theory; the big gaping hole – if there is no safe house linked up to the pipeline, how do they get around that? What do they do, just stand on the beach with buckets and wait for the stuff to float to the surface?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ she said.

  Neither had I.

  *

  I’m not a big fan of shopping or shopping centres but the lights of Cité Europe were a welcome sight.

  It was unseasonably dark by the time we drove under the height restrictors into the car park. The storm cloud
s that had been massing all afternoon in the Channel like an invading armada had drifted over northern France. The air held a strong promise that the dumping of their payload would not be long in coming. If nothing else, their heavy dark presence combined with the approaching dusk got the sensors in the car park lights excited.

  Despite the threat of a heavy and sustained downpour, Jo chose to park in the great outdoor parking area. I learned she had a ‘thing’ about multi-storey car parks, although she didn’t want to explain why. It wasn’t important enough to argue about. We were able to park close enough to the entrance so that even if the heavens did open we wouldn’t have far to run.

  The more of France we had put between us and Ambleteuse the greater our individual and combined sense of relief. We had even started engaging in conversation again.

  We agreed, yet again, that perhaps it hadn’t been a complete waste of a trip after all and then Jo suggested that as we had only three hours before our scheduled return train we might as well get something to eat and she, for one, would like to take advantage of the duty-free shopping opportunity while she was here. I had relaxed enough to think, despite my shopping-mall aversions, I might prefer what she was suggesting to rushing back to an empty flat, alone. If we kept on agreeing so amicably with everything who knew where it might lead?

  As the first heavy dark spots of rain began to pepper the dry concrete, we entered the mall and went looking for something to eat. It was starting to feel like a long day and I hadn’t had anything since breakfast.

  Being not particularly busy inside, we had our pick of the eateries. We opted for the first self-service place we came to where the food looked appetising, plentiful and hot.

  The change of scene encouraged a change of topic of conversation. It was nice to get away from the reason that had brought us there, if only for dinner.

  Jo asked me about life abroad and I questioned her about being a police officer. It was all predictable and unexciting, but not unpleasant.

  If there’s one thing I’ve learned through my experiences of the chase it is that when they have an attraction for each other men and women will chatter away enthusiastically on topics they might ordinarily find yawningly boring. The fact that I was chatting away about teaching English as a foreign language to nine-year-olds who didn’t seem bothered about learning it and making it sound like fun would have been a clear indicator to me about my intentions regarding the woman opposite me. I had to hope that Jo waxing lyrical about being a copper meant something similar.

  If I had needed further reinforcement of my own feelings, which I hadn’t, it would have come in the form of me lamely shuffling along in her wake with a smile fixed to my face as she browsed the perfumes and make-up and clothes and anything else that took her fancy. In the end we inevitably arrived at the alcohol and cigarettes outlet and I was able to console myself with a couple of litres of blended whisky and our combined limit of cigarettes.

  Time flies when you’re having fun. After a last coffee – my idea, my treat; it was either that or more traipsing the aisles in search of bargains – it was time to go. We had a couple of plastic bags each and so I didn’t have to suffer my inner voice egging me on to reach for her hand as we made a dash for the car, clinking and rustling in the continuing deluge.

  Maybe if I hadn’t been trying to protect myself and my purchases from the rain; maybe if I hadn’t been focussed on where I was putting my feet so I didn’t come a cropper and make an arse of myself in the wet; maybe if I’d thought just to have a quick scan of the car park before we left the safety of the building, we wouldn’t have been surprised, defenceless and so easily overpowered by the two men who had been waiting for us to emerge.

  ***

  45

  They stepped out of the sheeting rain like they had walked out of another dimension. I saw the man we had spoken to at the museum simply appear behind Jo and then there were arms – thick, hard and unyielding, like mature tree roots – clamping my arms to my side. I dropped my bags and above the noise of the downpour I heard the bottles smash on the concrete. At Jo’s throat I caught a flash of something bright and shiny that hadn’t been there through the day. For a crippling second I thought he was going to open up her neck there and then. Instead, he shouted through the rain and across the car roof to me.

  ‘If you do not want her death on your conscience, go with him without noise or fuss.’

  The rain hammered all of us and kept witnesses away. I blinked it out of my eyes, toyed briefly with the idea of raising my legs up to push off from the car and see where it got me, but then I caught Jo’s wide-eyed terror and the moment was past. The giant already had me on the tips of my toes and heading towards their vehicle.

  I hadn’t even registered the vehicle parked up a couple of rows away from Jo’s car. The side door of the panel van was open and he bent me over and pushed me face down to renew my acquaintance with the plywood sheet flooring. He snapped what felt like electrical cable ties on my wrists behind me and heaved me up inside. It was all done with a confident practised swiftness, like someone trussing livestock for market. Jo was pushed in after me and the giant pulled her to him and spun her round for the tying with the nonchalant disregard of a jealous child for another kid’s rag doll.

  The side door slid shut with a heavy thump and the three of us were locked into the darkness. It had taken seconds. The feeble little interior light came on and I saw the giant’s arm lowered from the task.

  Even in the dim light I could see he was an albino. The body suit he had been wearing when I had registered him that afternoon was gone to reveal snow-white long hair. What skin was not thickly covered by his dense white beard was a livid pink. But it was his eyes, like those of a blind man, that snatched my attention. He wiped a massive paw across his dripping face while he filled the otherwise empty space with his size and his smell.

  I could see no weapon but he didn’t need one. He was one. He looked like he could have smashed our heads together like a couple of last year’s Easter eggs and got the same result.

  Another door slammed beyond the dividing bulkhead. The engine started and we were moving.

  ‘I’m a police officer,’ said Jo.

  He just grinned an idiot’s grin. He put his finger to his lips and stared at her with his one good eye. His lazy eye was still looking in my direction. Jo said nothing else.

  I looked at her and could see the fury on her face as the rain ran off her plastered scalp. In her world people didn’t do this kind of thing to serving police officers. But we were no longer in that world and when she realised it I thought she might start to look afraid. These men might be responsible – probably were responsible – for at least three deaths already. They killed old women and old men after torturing them and, given that they probably suspected us of knowing plenty about it, they wouldn’t think too hard and long about killing us too. As the van accelerated gently through the night and the rain continued to drum on the roof I had to wonder what they would feel it necessary to do to us before that time came.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jo,’ I said and received a painful kick from the giant and a look of stunned bewilderment from Jo.

  She shook her head at me once. I think she meant me to shut up.

  With our hands tied behind our backs and us blind to the twists and turns of the road we rolled and collided with each other and the sides of the vehicle, much to the idiot-giant’s amusement, as the vehicle wound its way through the French countryside. Because I expected we were being taken back to the museum that is the route I interpreted from the movement and duration of our journey.

  On one particularly sharp bend, as Jo and I fell into the side of the van, there was a clatter of hard plastic as two registration plates with British numbers on them were dislodged from their hiding place to slide across the floor. They bore the same combination of numbers and letters I had memorised in Dymchurch high street an age ago. They didn’t tell me anything I hadn’t already worked out.

  T
he longer the giant studied us the more I came to see something of the mentally retarded, the clinically stupid, on his features and in his amused reaction to our situation. I didn’t know if this should encourage me. On the other hand, perhaps he was just insane or maybe a sociopath. In truth, there was precious little in our predicament to give me confidence in a good outcome.

  It seemed we had covered a similar distance to the one we had already done twice that afternoon by the time the vehicle slowed to a stop.

  The driver left the engine running and got out of the van. The rain was still heavy but above it I heard something akin to a heavy metal gate’s floor bolt scraping across a concrete surface. He got back in and drove forward a few metres and the process was repeated. We were where they wanted us to be.

  The van lurched forward and stayed in first gear. We continued for another handful of seconds before coming to an abrupt halt that sent both Jo and me falling forward on to our faces on the wooden floor, much to the giant’s great delight.

  With my hands tied behind me, I landed on my nose and felt the pain and the blood and the stinging in my eyes. The giant was laughing at us. I wanted to put something heavy and metal through his teeth.

  I managed to get myself back upright. Jo was still lying down, struggling in her frustration. I felt the blood run into my mouth and spat it out.

  The side door slid open and the driver poked his face in. He smiled when he saw me.

  ‘Pardon.’ He was grinning.

  He said something in French to our guard and he crawled out, turned and grabbed hold of Jo. I had to watch helpless as she was dragged across the plywood flooring.

  Unwisely, she kicked out and got a slap to the side of her head that I could see in the half-light stunned her senses. She was lifted clear and both the giant and she disappeared.

  The driver leaned in once more and spoke to me. ‘Don’t have any stupid ideas. He will break you both like twigs without a thought for it. He is not evil, you understand, just simple, devoted to me and obedient. Unfortunately for you, and anyone else who upsets him or me, he has no concept of morality. This, I think, makes him more dangerous than the alternative, no? Now, out.’