by Graham Smith
Fighting the panic that threatened to overtake her, Victoria focused her mind on working out their finances. This whole mess was about money and until she knew if they had enough for the ransom, she didn’t dare to think of the consequences.
‘Get your laptop,’ she said as she picked up her pen and opened the pad.
While he got his laptop, she drew a series of columns on the pad, titled ‘Accounts’, ‘Cars’, ‘Loans’, ‘Jewellery’, ‘Shop’ and ‘Miscellaneous’.
Using the laptop to establish totals for their joint account and her personal one, she noted down the figures. Next she went onto the AutoTrader website to get approximate values for her car and the van Nicholas used for his shop. Taking a guess at the worth of her jewellery, she wrote down £2,000. Another £2,500 was added under the miscellaneous column for household items like the TVs, laptops, etc., which she planned to sell online.
As Nicholas plugged in his laptop and switched it on she started questioning him about his finances.
‘What do you expect to take this week?’
‘Anywhere between twelve and fifteen hundred.’
‘Does anyone owe you for outstanding bills?’
‘Joe Hilton owes me six hundred and forty something pounds and there’s the Laingson account. They pay monthly, and their bill is always around a grand.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘A dozen or so small builders have accounts. But they would be less than a hundred quid apiece.’
‘That’s still almost a grand.’ Victoria scratched her nose as she thought. ‘Right. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to contact all of them tomorrow morning offering a special rate for preferred customers. If they pay you cash by Thursday night then they only have to pay seventy-five per cent of the bill.’
‘Tomorrow’s Easter Saturday. I don’t know if they’ll be in their offices then.’
‘I know it’s Easter Saturday tomorrow, but if we don’t get the money by next Friday my children will be mutilated.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Stop saying bloody sorry and start telling me what money is in your accounts.’
‘There’s five thousand, three hundred and twenty five in the business account.’
‘What about your personal account?’
Nicholas couldn’t bring himself to look at his wife as he told her the account was overdrawn.
Victoria glared at him until he met her eye. ‘That’s hardly a surprise to me after everything else I’ve learned tonight.’
‘How much have we got?’
‘If we sell my car, your van, my jewellery, the tellies, the kid’s laptops and scrape every penny from our accounts and the shop then we’ll have just over forty-two thousand pounds. We’re short by fifty-three grand.’
‘Christ Almighty. What are we going to do to get the rest of the money?’
‘For a start you are going to get on the phone to your parents and every friend we’ve ever had.’
‘What am I going to say?’
‘Whatever the hell you like as long as it’s not the truth. You’re a salesman. Sell yourself. Do whatever the hell it takes. Just borrow as much money as you can. Tell whatever lies you need to.’
You’ve become good at lying lately, the unspoken words echoed in her head.
‘We’ll never raise enough to pay them back.’
‘Sod paying them back. That problem can wait until my kids are home. If we’d known about this months ago we could have remortgaged the house or the shop. We haven’t even time to take out a loan.
Nicholas poured himself a glass of water and went through to the living room to start making calls.
There weren’t many people he could ask for a loan. They were both only children and while his parents were alive they too had no siblings. Victoria was estranged from her family and hadn’t spoken to any of them since her mother’s funeral sixteen years ago.
While her husband was on the phone, Victoria retrieved the packet of menthol cigarettes she kept hidden behind the baked beans and stepped out into the garden. Sheltering in the lee of the conservatory, she sparked the lighter and drew the minty smoke into her lungs.
As she smoked an idea pushed its way to the front of her thoughts. It was not something she wanted to do. It was not a course of action she wanted to take. It went against all of her principles and values, but she would take it, if Nicholas couldn’t beg enough money to pay the ransom. It held risks and dangers, but there was more than enough at stake for her to take any risk necessary.
Filling her cup with more coffee, Victoria sat down at her place and started scribbling a new list onto her pad. She knew there was no way Nicholas would be able to raise enough money from friends and family. She was now working out the details of her plan. Planning, plotting and scheming were the emotional crutches she now relied on.
Victoria’s hand strayed across to her mobile for the twentieth time and once again she pulled it back lest she call the police. The consequences for her children were far too great for her to risk. Yet every instinct of her middle-class lifestyle screamed at her to make the call. She picked up the mobile and dropped it into her bag.
Out of sight, out of mind.
A sheet of paper was laid down on top of her notes. In Nicholas’s neat cursive script was a list of names and pledged amounts. The total at the bottom amounted to £15,000.
After checking the total, Victoria read down the list of names and saw Nicholas had spoken to everyone who may be in a position to help them.
‘What did you say to them?’ Victoria didn’t care, but knew she’d better know in case she had to speak to one of them.
‘I told them I’d been offered a lease on larger premises, but I had to pay cash upfront. I also told them we’d pay them back their money with a five per cent increase within a month.’
‘Why did you say that?’ Victoria was gobsmacked at her husband’s stupidity. Here they were in danger of losing everything to save their children and he was offering interest on loans they couldn’t afford to repay.
‘To give them some reassurance.’
As the sense of his words sank in she nodded. ‘Was there no way you could get any more? We’re still thirty-eight grand short.’
‘I’m sorry but no. I think that they all gave as much as they were prepared to.
‘Right then, I’ve been thinking. Here are the options we have left. One, we take out every payday loan we can and pay the ransom to release Samantha and Kyle. We also remortgage the house and shop so that we can pay them back first. Friends and family can wait. Hopefully we can avoid bankruptcy, but if it happens then so be it. It’ll be a small price to pay.’
Nicholas’s shame-faced grimace told the tale of his feelings for option one. ‘What other options have you thought of?’
When Victoria told him of her plan, he shook his head. ‘We can’t do that. We’d never be able to do that.’
‘I agree. So it’s option one.’
‘There is something I have to tell you, Victoria.’ Nicholas’s face was downcast as he explained in a bland tone that he’d already remortgaged the house and shop two months ago to pay off other gambling debts.
‘Why the bloody hell didn’t you tell me? What else haven’t you told me, you useless bastard? Our kids have been kidnapped because of your fucking idiotic behaviour and our only chance of getting the money will see us out on the bloody street.’
‘I’m sorry, Vicks.’ Fat tears rolled down Nicholas’s face as he swore there were no more nasty surprises to come. Taking a deep breath he steadied himself. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to get them back.’
‘Don’t you fucking “Vicks” me.’ The steely venom in Victoria’s voice cut through Nicholas’s self-pity making his head snap up. ‘Go get some sleep. We start with my plan tomorrow.’
Her husband’s use of her pet name had struck a blow deep into her heart. Even if the kids were rescued unharmed she knew her marriage was now dead. A chasm had opened up between he
r and the man she’d married. No bridge could ever span this ravine. Nothing he could say or do would repair the damage caused by his lies.
Chapter 4
Saturday
Detective Inspector John Campbell lifted the stack of newspapers and offered up a silent prayer today would be the day he’d meet the protection racketeers. He had been playing the part of a shopkeeper for four days and the newsagent’s was bang in the centre of town.
When the shop had become available the police had taken on the lease and installed Campbell as the new shopkeeper. While the shop was being refitted, hidden cameras had been installed along with recording equipment. All he had to do was provoke the thugs into some violent act or get them to ask for protection money on tape, then they would have grounds for arrest and evidence for conviction. The shop was one of many in a row with the usual smattering of independent shops mixed with national chains and charity shops; the same as any other city centre. The white sandstone of the buildings weathered grey black from decades of smog and exhaust fumes.
He was bored rigid by the tedium of playing the part. The harsh accent of Cumbrians sat uneasy on his ears. He struggled to make sense of the local slang, to the point where he wrote down the words he didn’t understand and asked Sarah to translate when he got home. He would be a lot happier when this was over and he could take up the new post he’d got with his transfer.
Carlisle had a lot of history, once a Roman fort, a medieval outpost and an integral part of the border wars between Scotland and England. He’d looked up his new workplace on Google and was astounded and more than a little proud to learn that for a nineteen-year period in the twelfth century the city had been ruled by the Scots.
There was no excitement for him in running a newsagent’s. The only amusement he’d had was a well-dressed man hiding a copy of Good Time Guys inside PC Business, when a bunch of schoolgirls came in as he was waiting in the queue. The rest of his time had been spent restocking shelves, taking payment from customers and trying to keep an eye on the multitude of kids who tried to shoplift the various chocolates bars on sale.
Four men wearing construction worker’s fluorescent jackets walked in. The lead guy was few inches shorter than Campbell, but much broader across the shoulders. A trim waist gave him the appearance of either a serious bodybuilder or a competitive swimmer. Campbell’s money was on bodybuilder though, as the veins in the man’s arms stood out like ivy growing on a tree – a common occurrence in bodybuilders after steroid abuse. One of the others wore a blue Carlisle United bobble hat while the other two wore no hats but one of the two was completely bald.
‘Can I have twenty Lambert and two hundred and fifty quid from the till?’ It was Ivy Arms who spoke.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m your new insurer mate. Me and the lads will be in to collect our premium every Saturday morning. When you insure with us, then you are safe from vandals, thieves and accidental damage.’
Campbell put the packet of cigarettes on the counter and held his hand out, palm upright. ‘Six eighty-nine, please. I already have insurance. I don’t need your policy, thank you.’ He shifted his feet ready for any attack that may come.
‘Big mistake pal.’ Ivy Arms sidestepped around the counter.
‘Wreck it, lads.’ A vicious uppercut was aimed towards Campbell, who leaned back and helped his assailant’s right arm travel upwards as the punch missed his chin. This manoeuvre left a wide open space between belt and ribs into which Campbell threw two solid blows before using his already raised right hand to deliver a stinging backhand punch.
This was almost enough to finish Ivy Arms, but he was rescued by one of his bare-headed compatriots who pulled him away from Campbell’s next flurry of punches.
Being keyed up for this moment for almost a week caused Campbell’s body to dump an overdose of adrenaline into his system.
As the guy with hair squared up to him, Campbell caught sight of a fifth man entering the shop. Quickly he shot a left through the hands held in front of his attacker’s face, hitting him on the forehead with a jab, knocking his head back, giving a sweet target for the uppercut which was launched as soon as the jab landed.
The fifth man just stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, watching as Ivy Arms and his two remaining cohorts tried to decide what to do next. An amused smile labelled the craggy face as he watched the ruckus.
‘You’re fucking mine.’ Ivy Arms turned towards Campbell his composure returning after his earlier defeat.
Campbell seized the advantage of the distraction created by the fifth man and punched the bald guy in the gut doubling him over. A quick combination of blows left Carlisle Hat on his knees with any vestiges of a fight long gone from him.
The fifth man pushed himself from the door frame as Ivy Arms ran towards him, intent only on making his escape. Ivy Arms reached out a muscled arm to brush aside the fifth man.
The fifth man shrugged his way inside the arm to deliver a stunning head butt, sending Ivy Arms crashing to the floor with a reverberating thump.
‘He-Man one, fuckwit nil.’ The fifth man raised his arms like a boxer after a winning bout and did a little Ali shuffle.
He then pulled his left hand from his coat pocket, showing a warrant card to Campbell, identifying himself as DI Harry Evans.
Evans was the man Campbell would be replacing now that this case was dealt with.
A bunch of PCs charged in the shop. ‘How many are there, guv?’
‘Four. They’re here, here and here. Oh yeah, there’s one here as well, Sergeant,’ Evans indicated each of the gang to the policemen who were charging into the shop, with a hard kick timed to match each call of ‘here’.
Chapter 5
Sitting alone in his flat, Evans laid down his glasses and the faded letter he was reading. He’d read it a thousand times before. With each reading it made perfect sense, yet at the same time it made no sense at all.
The letter was from the love of his life. The one he’d forsaken all others for. She’d made him the happiest man alive the day he’d married her. They’d been married for just two years when she’d written the letter.
When Janet had told him she was expecting, he thought his heart would burst from his chest and wrap its arms around her such was the love he felt. The child he hadn’t known he wanted was due to make an appearance, but he’d never meet his son or daughter.
Janet was twelve years his junior and before he’d met her, he’d given up any hope of marriage and children. Like almost every copper he knew, he’d had a series of failed relationships. The job had seen to that. Few women would tolerate the string of broken dates, the endless uneaten meals and telephone calls at all hours of the night.
Janet had. She had embraced it, knowing it was what made him the man he was. Her father had been an inspector, her upbringing conditioning her to the vagaries of life with a dedicated copper.
Yet here he was alone. Single. Empty. Reading and rereading the last note she had written him.
His detective’s mind had analysed her words and cross-examined her motives countless times. Every time he read it, he understood why she had chosen to leave him, but he could never understand why she actually had.
Five months had passed since she’d written that damned letter and still he couldn’t accept she was gone from his life. That he’d never see his child grow up. At his age, he’d long ago given up on finding love and starting a family. Janet was his last and only chance.
His fifty-first birthday was charging over the horizon at him and he knew that once again his life would change forever. After thirty years of service, detective inspectors like him were retired from front-line policing. Of course, they didn’t call it retired any more and had some fancy management term for it. But that didn’t change anything in his mind. A sack of shit would always be a sack of shit, despite some desk-bound fuckwit calling it a manure-transfer system.
Most of the coppers he’d known over the years had been only
too glad to reach retirement, many of them taking it after reaching their thirty years. Those who didn’t want to retire stayed on in an office-based role supporting the front-line troops.
He couldn’t envision a worse fate. He would sooner retire than be tied to a desk, reading other people’s reports. A people person at heart, he would find life as a desk jockey akin to imprisonment.
DI Harry Evans knew countless hundreds of people around his native Cumbria and they all knew him. They knew he was hard but fair. An old-school copper who would still dish out a clip round the ear where it was needed. A blind eye where appropriate. Yet when necessary he would bring down the full weight of the law. No career criminal in the county had escaped his attention.
Yet all this was about to be taken away from him. Like Janet. Like his last chance of fatherhood.
He had options of course. Local security firms were falling over each other to offer him consultancy roles. G4S had offered him a full-time position managing their Carlisle office, but like the police role he would be desk-bound.
A high-street retailer wanted him to manage store security across their north of England shops. While it was the best offer he’d had, he was more familiar with catching murderers, rapists and drug dealers than shoplifters. It was a step down and he wasn’t ready to step down yet.
A wet tongue slithered its way across his left hand, jolting himself out of his melancholy. Evans petted the aged Labrador who was never more than six feet away from him, whenever he was at home.
‘Good boy. Wanna walk?’
Seeing the Labrador caper around on its three legs, Evans eased his slender frame from the wing back chair, wandered into the hall and shucked on his jacket to brave the chill evening one last time.
‘C’mon, Tripod, walkies.’
