Missing

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘The white van takes the first. We are now in the general direction of Dover.’

  ‘Received that, Tango One. Vehicle is now making off. You are authorised Phase One pursuit. Confirm you have activated lights and sirens.’

  Pete tutted. ‘Yes! Yes, Control. Speed eight zero. Passing The Plough Inn public house on the nearside. Speed increasing, now nine zero. Will be held up by slow-moving traffic ahead.’

  ‘They want us to keep up its chuff or what?’ Ellie said, her voice strained. ‘I thought there was a kid in there?’

  ‘We’ve not been cancelled. We can’t lose them.’

  ‘It’s heading into the town — it’ll be slowed up in the traffic. Is there anyone plotted ahead or are they all up on the motorway?’

  Pete peered ahead. The van was caught up in a stream of traffic in front. There was traffic in the opposite direction too. The van moved out and a cloud of dust trailed out from behind it as it met with the loose gravel and stones. The first two cars in the opposite direction swerved to avoid it, the second swerve was particularly tight, but a third car didn’t see it in time. The van tried to swerve back in, its speed still more than eighty miles per hour. Its fate was inevitable. Its rear quarter struck the car behind and the van was spun enough for its wheels to be out of line. It hopped once then flipped almost instantly. The first flip was so severe the roof just kissed the tarmac. The axle hit hard on the second rotation. Now all Pete was aware of was a lot more dust, a terrific noise and a white blur disappearing up into a grass bank and a row of trees.

  Ellie braked hard. Pete was out while it still rolled. He sprinted up the bank. The van was the wrong way around and on its side, its front towards him as he ran forward. The windscreen was almost completely gone and there was no sign of the driver. Pete made it to the front door and peered in. The cab was empty. The seatbelt still hung beside the driver’s seat. A wooden partition made it impossible to see into the back. The bank got steeper and the back of the van had dug into the mud, jamming a rear door open. Pete braced himself. He heard footfalls as someone else ran up the other side. He looked in.

  Empty.

  ‘What you got?’ Ellie said.

  Pete unclipped a torch from his belt and shone it in to be sure. No sign of anyone — just a push bike lying on its side — professional looking, its front wheel spinning slowly. No blood, no sign of anyone thrown from the van. Nothing.

  ‘Pete!’ Ellie called out.

  He turned and looked further up the bank. Ellie was stood over something. He caught up with her. It was a male, his head at an angle, clear trauma to the neck and head. His eyes lifeless.

  Pete exhaled heavily. Ellie was already giving the update over the radio.

  Chapter 32

  ‘Empty?’ George said out loud. The van was fucking empty!

  ‘What’s that?’ said the firearms officer walking down the steps behind him.

  George ignored him and tugged his phone from his pocket. He needed to speak to Ryker. He saw that he already had a missed call from her and he pressed to listen to the message.

  They had made it to the bottom of the steps. The firearms officer was talking to the paramedic and saw them both looking in his direction. Ryker’s voice came through: ‘George! They’re all here! Him too! Marybee, Crete Road!’

  George sprinted for his car. He fumbled with the keys, yanked at the handle and started the engine before he had even pulled the door shut. He knew Ryker, he knew her better than he knew most people in the world. And he knew when she was genuinely scared.

  The radio was busy with updates from the van crash. He had to calm his hands to switch to another channel. ‘Control, this is Sergeant Elms. Can you run an address through for me, please? Urgent.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Marybee, Crete Road, Langthorne. Run it local, see if we know anything.’

  ‘Stand by.’ It seemed like an age. George wasn’t good at standing by. The controller came back. ‘Marybee, Crete Road, Langthorne. Last linked to a Mrs Anna Pato. She was the informant for a domestic abuse incident involving her daughter, Carol Carter in January of this year. It was recorded as a secondary incident only. No crime. She’s the only person we have listed. She shows as the mother of the victim.’

  George beat the steering wheel as he turned onto a main road and suddenly came into rush hour traffic. Bumper to bumper. He killed the sirens so he didn’t panic anyone into closing the gaps even more. His attention moved back to his phone. When his call got through, John Whittaker sounded harassed.

  ‘George.’

  ‘Sir. I need some more of your eyes and ears.’

  ‘I’m very quickly running out of anything here, George, as you can imagine. I’m holding a scene with three bodies, we now have a crashed van and of all the times, a burnt-out car’s just been found near Sandwich with what looks like human remains in it.’

  ‘Sandwich? The missing Polish guy?’

  ‘Yeah. Some dog walker’s stood with it for now. He’s ex job. I might have to ask him to come out of retirement to man the scene at this rate.’

  ‘Sorry, sir. This is urgent, too.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Ryker’s been sniffing around Shaun’s ex. She was on her way to her mum’s address at the top of Langthorne — Crete Road. I think she’s got some answers up there.’

  ‘I got copied into some intelligence for her from the Met. More around this Nowak character.’

  ‘She called me, around quarter of an hour ago. She sounded rattled. Ryker isn’t the sort to sound rattled. The call was cut all too sudden and she said something about them all being there. Him too. We have to assume she means this Benjamin Tremaine, right?’

  ‘That’s all she said?’

  ‘It sounds like the phone was snatched. I’m on my way but I’m stuck in fucking traffic. Can you see if there’s anyone closer?’

  ‘You want me to send someone right to the door? What sort of threat do we have?’

  ‘I have no idea. I think they might be expecting someone to the door too, if she was found on her phone. The Mercedes . . . if you’re back at your desk, can you spin it through the ANPR system?’ George’s car squirmed free from the stationary traffic. He pressed the horn to activate the siren again as the road opened up a little.

  ‘That’s odd, George. The ANPR camera at the top of Langthorne — it shows as inbound at 16:06 hours. Then it’s outbound at 16:09.’

  ‘It doubles back?’

  ‘That’s the last hit.’

  I think Ryker’s spooked them, boss. If she stumbled on them at a house they will know we’re closer to them than they thought. The Mercedes will be out of play.’

  ‘The van’s out too,’ Whittaker said.

  ‘Crete Road is the one that overlooks the whole town, right up in the hills. You couldn’t be there without transport. But you need to stay off the grid.’

  ‘Taxis?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I’ll get one of the tribe here to make a few calls to the local firms — see if anyone’s had a drop up there in the last hour or so.’

  ‘That’s assuming he got there in the last hour. He might have been there the whole weekend.’

  ‘Yeah, he might. I can start the ball rolling on an emergency warrant, George, but that might not be ready for at least an hour.’

  ‘I’m heading up there, sir. I won’t be needing a warrant. I’m fifteen minutes in this traffic.’

  George killed the siren again at a red traffic light. The traffic was gridlocked in both directions. The cars did their best to shuffle forward but they were getting nowhere. He beat the steering wheel again. He tried Ryker’s number again and got the expected engaged tone — again. Then his phone rang. It was Whittaker — back within two minutes.

  ‘First call we made, George! Langthorne Taxis dropped an adult male, an adult female and a juvenile male at Marybee, Crete Road just before four this afternoon. We were put through to the driver himself. He said he had the hump as
the bloke had him waiting and then cancelled him.’

  ‘I bet he did. Change of plan.’

  ‘I’ll get some firearms together. We’ll hit the door hard. I’m done fucking around with this guy now.’

  George was silent long enough for Whittaker to prompt him.

  ‘You don’t think that’s a good idea?’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s the best idea, boss.’

  ‘What have you got?’

  ‘Have you read the intel from the Met yet? Around the car hire company?’

  ‘Skimmed it.’

  ‘I’m sure Ryker said the Met had paid this place some attention. They supplied some registration numbers for the vehicles. They’re based in Dover. They can’t get here without pinging ANPR if they go the major routes.’

  ‘You think he’s made a call for them to turn out to pick him up?’

  ‘To pick them all up. He cancelled the taxi because he couldn’t take the rest of them in it with him.’

  ‘Christ almighty, George. I’m looking at the intelligence around this place. There’s a lot of it!’

  ‘Any vans or lorries?’

  ‘Yeah, a lot fewer.’

  ‘Focus on them. Run them through, see if any of them are moving.’

  ‘Far better to stick hostages in the back of a lorry,’ Whittaker boomed.

  ‘I reckon so. I’m ten minutes out now. See if you can get a firearms patrol there. Anyone really. If any of these hire vans are moving in this direction we need to know about it.’

  Whittaker cut the call again and George turned up the police radio in the car. The officers at the scene of the van crash confirmed the driver was dead. He had ID on him — Nathaniel Soanes. He was known on the police system and recent intelligence linked him to the movement of drugs through the ports. The controller maintained a dry tone as she explained that he was also thought to be driving for Castle Hire Cars. Of course he fucking was.

  Whittaker’s name flashed up for a third time. ‘I want good news, boss.’

  ‘We have a box van on the move. Pinged out near Hougham — direction of Langthorne. It’s pinged a mobile camera. A marked unit has a vehicle stopped out there and it must have drifted right past them. I got hold of them on the phone and they’re trying to make ground. I also have the unmarked firearms patrol that assisted you earlier. They’re not far behind you.’

  ‘Ideal. Major, cancel the marked car. Tell them to let the van run. I’ll talk to the firearms patrol, they can do the stop when it’s committed to Crete Road. I think I might know a way of getting you a resolution without making a mess.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like the George Elms I know and love.’

  ‘Unless Ryker’s hurt, Major. Then you’ll be cleaning up for days.’ George ended the call and called up on his radio for a talk-through with the firearms patrol. He was a few minutes short of Crete Road. He cancelled lights and sirens just as he crossed a bridge over the M20 motorway. There was a pull-in on the left where a bored looking woman leant on the counter of her hot-dog van, flicking through the morning paper. George bounced up onto the hard standing to wait.

  Chapter 33

  Emily flinched as the big man threw her phone to the floor and stamped on it. His veins stood out on his neck with the exertion and he was smiling as he straightened back up.

  ‘What’s going on, Terry?’ Carol’s face was a picture of surprise and horror. ‘What is this all about?’ the woman had a wailing voice.

  ‘Stay out of this, Carol!’ his smile had given way as he growled his instruction.

  ‘Terry! Don’t talk to me like that!’

  The man spun. He moved away from Emily and he was on Carol in an instant. She was still by the front door and it swung open behind her. He threw his hand and she flinched. It missed her face, collided hard with the door and it slammed shut. The noise made the boy jump, then his face broke as if he might cry.

  ‘You, don’t talk to me like that!’

  ‘It’s not Terry, is it?’ Emily called out. The man was sideways on to Emily. He had intent in his eye as he stared at Carol. The boy stood between them. Emily wanted his attention away from them.

  It worked. ‘What did you say?’ He rounded on Emily, his face flushed red, his eyes intense — a brilliant blue surround with a black centre. He snorted like a bull.

  ‘Benjamin, right?’ Emily said. ‘The conman.’

  ‘Conman?’ Carol’s voice was little more than a whimper.

  The man turned his attention back to her and he grabbed her by the hair.

  ‘This has got nothing to do with you!’ Carol was dragged into the living room and her mother followed them in. Carol was hitting him on the back all the way. He gave no sign that he’d felt a single blow. ‘Sit the fuck down and shut up while I work out what we do here.’ He flung her by her hair into the chair and she squealed in pain. The boy ran over to her. The man ducked back to the front door and twisted the key that was sticking out of the lock.

  Emily saw her opportunity and she dipped into the kitchen. She re-emerged holding a bread knife. The man gave her that same smile.

  ‘What are you going do with that, sweetheart?’

  Emily wasn’t sure. She was gripping it as hard as she could but it still trembled. ‘Just get out. Fuck off and don’t come back. This is all over. We know who you are. We know what you do. The best thing you can do is get as far away from here as you can.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘But maybe I want to give myself up. I’ll call the old bill right now, yeah?’ He pressed three digits on his phone, then stepped towards Emily with it stretched in front of him. He spun the screen — the phone was dealing 999. ‘You talk to them,’ he said. He threw the phone and Emily watched it arc towards her.

  She felt the blow in her stomach without ever seeing it coming. It was a punch, but it felt like she’d been hit by a car. The force lifted her off her feet and she hit the floor, scattering a rack of wine bottles. She found herself breathless; the combination of panic, excruciating pain and the lack of oxygen had her reeling on the floor. The man had retrieved his phone and was already making a call.

  ‘Yeah, I need a clean-up. Now!’ he said.

  Emily managed to get in a strained breath, which rasped in her throat.

  ‘I don’t know . . . Hang on . . .’ He stepped over Emily into the kitchen, stooping to pick up the knife on his way. She must have dropped it. He turned over an envelope on the kitchen table and read from it. ‘Marybee, Crete Road, Langthorne. Yeah. Soon as.’ His call ended and he looked down to where Emily was still struggling. ‘Get over on the fucking sofa!’ He kicked out at her and it stung against the backs of her legs. Emily got to her feet. She clutched at her stomach and stumbled across the room to the large sofa. Carol, her mum and the young boy were already sitting there obediently. The man’s attention turned to his phone again and seemed to be sending a text.

  ‘What’s going on, Terry?’ Carol persisted, sheepishly.

  ‘He’s not Terry.’ Emily grunted, her breathing returning gradually. ‘He’s Benjamin Tremaine.’

  He turned to them and smiled. ‘The very same. And I’m no conman.’

  ‘That’s how you started out, though, right? And this whole thing’s been a con from the very start.’

  ‘What thing’s that?’

  ‘Convincing Shaun that his family got kidnapped when all you did was take them to London and pay off another family to be your stooges.’

  ‘I just took my girlfriend to London, love. That’s against the law now, is it?’

  ‘You normally steal your girlfriend’s phone when you take her away?’

  ‘My phone? I was pickpocketed on the train.’ Carol looked quickly from Emily to Benjamin. ‘What is going on?’

  ‘Seems you’ve got some explaining to do, mate.’ Emily said. Her stomach still shot with pain, her breathing only just returning to normal.

  ‘You know nothing.’

  ‘I know you got desperate. Enough to convince Shaun
that Carol and his son had been abducted and were in danger, just so Shaun would do your dirty work.’

  ‘Shaun?’ Carol exclaimed.

  Tremaine ignored her and continued speaking to Emily. ‘They weren’t in any danger. Not until you knocked on the door — you think about that, copper! And I hope you’ve got a lot of evidence to back up what you’re saying. I was in London, love. The whole weekend. Now . . . Nobody fucking moves or speaks. I’ve got some messages to send so I can get this shit all sorted out. You make a noise and I start getting angry — and I take it out on the boy. You understand?’

  No one spoke.

  ‘Good,’ he said.

  It was twenty-five minutes later when Tremaine suddenly became animated. He stood up and produced the door key from his pocket. He opened the door to reveal a big box van, its diesel engine revving and its reversing alarm beeping as it backed up the drive.

  ‘Your lift.’ He smiled at them all in turn, seeming to enjoy the scared expressions looking back. Emily was determined to deny him the satisfaction and did her best to look disinterested.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere!’ Anna spoke for the first time. Tremaine strode directly at her but she held her ground. He turned at the last so he was facing the boy and slapped him hard across the face with the back of his hand. It made a loud sound, the boy yelped in surprise and pain, the two women folded around him. Emily got to her feet.

  ‘What the fuck!’ She tried to push him but he deflected her wrists, knocked her off balance and punched her hard in the side of the head. Her vision was instantly a blur. When it began to clear, she realised she was down on one knee.

  ‘Your fucking lift!’ he spat. ‘Anyone got a problem and I start on the boy again.’ The force of the blow had pushed Tyler back into the sofa. He got to his feet, supported by his mother and his nan. They shuffled past Emily. She locked eyes with Tremaine again and walked out behind, wiping her face. The box van was parked as close to the door as the porch overhang would allow, the rear door already slid open. It was empty. Emily climbed in behind the other three and the door was slammed shut behind her. She felt it graze against her heel.