Where There's Smoke

by Penny Grubb

  Too many unknowns. Was the door locked? Did it lead anywhere useful? Would there be cover once inside? If she had to get away again, could the route be reversed?

  After a couple of minutes, Pat returned to the room and took her seat at the table, her hand reaching to her mouth to mask a yawn. She looked relaxed enough, but Annie wasn’t convinced. Something had changed.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of an incoming call. She stared across into the lighted window, suddenly convinced it was Pat using the call-back button without taking out her phone. Turning the handset away from the buildings, not to give away her position by a flash of light from under the trees, Annie looked at the screen. It wasn’t Pat. It was the office landline. It must be Christa.

  She felt a load lift from her shoulders. If Christa had made it back as far as the office, she had avoided walking into anything awful back at the hospital. Annie crouched down as she answered the call.

  ‘Hi, Christa.’ She kept her voice low, confident the rustling leaves would blend her words into the sounds of the night.

  ‘Where the fuck are you?’ screeched Carl Sleeman’s voice in her ear.

  Annie felt her bottom jaw drop open and her gaze snapped back to the tableau in the window; the shadowy figure in the background; and then to Pat’s car. And as her brain told her it hadn’t been Carl in there after all, she saw the car’s door open a fraction. Thinking her eyes deceived her, and ignoring the voice that snapped from the phone, she stared at the car door as it inched open, tensing as though watching a balloon expanding too far. Any moment the interior would light up and surely catch the eyes of the people inside the house. But the car’s interior remained dark.

  She clicked off her phone, cutting Carl mid-sentence, and stared as an indistinct figure slithered down on to the ground, easing the door to again before crouching at the back of the car, clearly setting themselves up to have a try for the side door that Annie had looked at and discounted as too risky.

  Her heart plummeted to her feet. It was Christa.

  CHAPTER 19

  Annie crouched low, her mind in turmoil, the pieces spinning. Both herself and Pat hassled by youths back in the hospital carpark. Youths doing Christa’s bidding. Oh yes, she was quick all right. No one could touch her when she was on song. She’d sussed Annie, seen through her excuse of visiting Barbara; had probably been close behind her all along. Pat had no idea she’d brought her here. Christa must have been delayed for some minutes immobilizing the inside light in the car. The way it was parked, she couldn’t have reached up to turn it off without being seen. She must have got at the fuse or the wires from under the dashboard.

  Easing herself sideways around a patch of brambles, Annie stretched out her legs one by one as she watched Christa. From here she was powerless to get to her, to attract her attention or even create a diversion that might let Christa cross the expanse unseen. Pat said she didn’t think she was in trouble. Well, she was now.

  Inside the house the young woman yawned extravagantly, Pat said something and at last reached her hand forward for the biscuits. The older woman, who must be Leah, rose to her feet and marched out of Annie’s line of sight.

  Christa kept close to the ground and didn’t try to hurry. It was the right tactic. It would be movement that caught someone’s eye. Annie tried not to hold her breath as Christa crept closer and closer to the relative safety of the shadow by the house. A movement from inside showed Pat rising to her feet, a smile on her face, nodding as she spoke, apparently to Leah. Was Pat taking her leave? If so, something changed her mind. Her smile vanished and she sat down again.

  Christa was at the door now, pressed against it as she twisted the handle. It didn’t open. Annie watched Christa bend her head close to the lock and a moment later saw the door give way. Christa opened it just enough to slip through, then it closed, leaving Annie to stare intently and try to still the rapid beating of her heart.

  What the hell should she do now? Having found her way in, Christa ought to be able to keep herself hidden, but Annie had no way of knowing the lie of the land in there. Could she risk a second call to Pat to whisper to her what had happened? Maybe Pat could provide a diversion from inside, enough to allow Annie to get Christa out.

  Before she could make up her mind, her phone vibrated another incoming call. Again she had to turn away to shield the light to check the screen. She’d assumed Carl, but it was Pat’s mobile. Her gaze snapped back to the window. Pat sat still at the table, no phone in sight. Leah was back in view, on her feet, talking to a man who stepped out of the shadow as Annie watched. As she clicked to open the line and put the handset to her ear, she took in the size of the man, and thought back to her conversation at the cove. Heavies … hands like meat plates …

  Through Pat’s phone, she heard the woman speak, her voice quiet, indistinct, but she caught parts of meat-plate-hand’s gruff responses.

  ‘… through the utility room …’

  A second man stepped into view pushing the doubled-up form of Christa ahead of him, her arm impossibly high up her back.

  ‘I asked you a question,’ the voice said.

  A sudden gasp of pain matched the sight of Christa’s body as it flinched and she stammered out, ‘… followed her,’ and pointed at Pat.

  ‘And who the fuck are you?’ A crackle of sound, the material of her pocket rubbing against the phone, played over Pat’s voice as she sat upright feigning indignation. Though it wouldn’t have been entirely feigned, thought Annie. Christa’s appearance must have come as a terrible shock to Pat. But she sounded convincing. Now it was up to Christa to play as good a role until Annie could find a way to get them both out.

  ‘Where’s Annie Raymond?’ said another voice. Annie couldn’t see who had spoken, but the timbre of the voice was a woman’s; the tone chilling. For the first time she felt an inkling of why Pat might be frightened of Leah.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Annie heard the sob in Christa’s voice, but knew Christa well enough to know it was fake. That’s good, she silently urged Christa on, make yourself look young, small and vulnerable.

  Meat-plate-hands made a sudden move, forcing a groan from Christa and Annie gritted her teeth in impotent fury. Young, small and vulnerable was exactly what Christa was.

  ‘I’m looking for her,’ Christa blurted out. ‘I was sent to look for her. My boss in London … we’ve not heard for days …’ Then Christa’s voice changed, became accusatory and slightly hysterical. ‘She knows! Look at her sitting there saying nothing. She knows what’s happened.’

  Annie heard Pat heave a sigh as she said, ‘I wish to God I did. I don’t have a clue what’s going on. I wish someone’d tell me.’

  The voice Annie took to be Leah’s asked, ‘When did you last see Annie Raymond?’

  ‘I haven’t,’ Christa said. ‘I told you, we haven’t heard from her for days. I’ve been following her, Pat Thompson. It’s Annie I’m trying to find.’

  ‘She’s lying,’ another voice broke in. ‘She has seen her.’ It wasn’t the words that shot a chill up Annie’s spine, it was the identity of the speaker. ‘We both saw her about an hour ago,’ said Pat. Then the line went dead.

  Annie felt rooted to the spot, the tableau in the house played out in front of her in the big French windows. She had to find a way to get Christa out of there. And Pat? But Pat had just blown Christa’s story right out of the water. Why?

  Inside the house she could see Leah in mime firing questions at Pat; Pat shrugging as she spoke, reaching forward for another biscuit. Meat-plate-hands had relaxed his grip on Christa as he watched. Annie saw her raise her head far enough to stare dumbfounded at Pat.

  Annie had one advantage but no idea how to use it. They didn’t know she was out here. Or had Pat worked it out? Annie’s heart dropped. Of course, she’d worked it out; she’d arrived at the right conclusion for the wrong reasons. She would assume Christa had come with Annie. How else could Christa have made it here so quickly?


  Pat had taken the risk of opening the phone line, not to let Annie hear that Christa was in trouble, but to let Annie hear Pat betray her. It was a warning to get the hell away while she could; a nod to all the years they’d worked together.

  What would they do to Christa? And how could she stop them? On her own she could do nothing. There were too many of them. She couldn’t pluck Christa from their midst in any way that would give them a glimmer of a chance to get back to Annie’s car. One strong spotlight across the fields would cut out all useful cover. She was stuck with no viable course of action, but she couldn’t do nothing.

  The only option was to get help, but who and how? Suppose she called the police with a tale of the kidnap of her colleague, what would they find? A household who had encountered an intruder, who would doubtless say they were on the point of turning her in. She’d seen no weapons brandished, seen no real violence used. She hesitated. It would be a way to get Christa out. Or would it? How long would it take to get someone out here? Would the Sleemans be forewarned by Greaves or someone else? What if there were no sign of Christa by the time anyone arrived? Why should anyone believe her, the intruder, over the legitimate householders?

  Yes, officer, we found a young girl in the house … drug addict by the look of her … we thought about calling the police, but in the end we just took her back down to the road and told her to get on her way …

  And Christa might be locked in a cellar or dumped at the bottom of a well.

  She glanced towards the big barn. Would anyone see anything untoward if they ripped the sheeting from the front of that shed and delved inside? Certainly, they’d find something unusual, but would there be evidence of any crime? She had no idea. They all knew Vince Sleeman, but it seemed that everyone knew his country house was clean; his wife had seen to that over the years. And for all that there were plenty of people desperate to see Sleeman behind bars, it wouldn’t just be Greaves he had in his pocket. If she were to initiate a raid, the only result might be to get herself thrown off the premises. And could she even persuade anyone to rush out here?

  Sleeman? No, he’s too ill to be up to anything these days … whatever’s going on, it won’t be out there … We’ll call in and take a look when we’re passing …

  What she needed was someone who would break speed limits to get here, and do it without saying the wrong things to the wrong people. Pieternel was the obvious choice, but too far away. She pulled in a breath as the man holding Christa pulled her upright. She watched as he turned and dragged her out of sight.

  Her heart sank as she reached for her phone. There was someone closer at hand; the only person she could think of who might be persuaded to race out here without blabbing to anyone else, but only if she spun her story just right. His role was ambiguous but his arrival would at least cause a diversion. Huddling over her phone to shield its light from view, she called Carl Sleeman.

  CHAPTER 20

  Ten minutes later there had been no further sign of Christa. Annie battled with her cramped limbs, trying to stretch her legs without risking her shadow or silhouette betraying her. When Carl got here, if he ever did, she must find a way into the house under cover of his arrival. She crouched low in the scrub, fighting against a sensation that the darkening night around her was actually lighting up her hiding place. She told herself it was a sign of the turmoil in her head; the confusion about Pat’s betrayal; worry for her idiot young colleague. If Pat’s call had been a warning, then it meant she would give her away too, once enough time had passed for Annie to make a break. Surely, they’d ask Christa: where had she parked the car? And Christa would tell them she’d hitched a clandestine ride with Pat. They wouldn’t believe her, but they’d check, wouldn’t they? They’d find the car’s inside light disabled and one of the doors not properly closed. That would put Pat right back under the spotlight, but she’d have to deal with that on her own.

  Carl had assumed she was returning his call; had even tried to cut her short, saying he was fed up, going out to get wasted; call back in the morning. In the end, he’d snapped out, ‘Just tell me where Pat Thompson is,’ and Annie had grabbed her chance.

  ‘Not sure, but she’s in trouble. I got someone to ring her earlier, from the hospital.’

  If this got back to the people inside the farmhouse - and Annie had to assume it would - it backed up the lie Pat had told about Annie’s call being from Barbara’s son.

  ‘Yeah … so?’

  ‘I rang her myself a bit later. I’m sure she meant to cut me off, put me to voicemail, but she hit the wrong button, left the line open. I heard some really weird stuff.’

  ‘What stuff?’ The impatience hadn’t left his voice, but she’d detected a spark of something behind the question: wariness, worry.

  ‘Christa Andrew. She’s working for Pat. I thought I heard her voice. And some guy said something catching her skulking in the utility room …’ She’d paused, hearing an intake of breath from Carl, but he’d said nothing so she’d laid it on as thick as she could, repeating the fragments she’d heard from behind the barn to make sure he knew where Christa and Pat were. ‘A voice saying something about an electricity supply; how they couldn’t get stability …’

  ‘Where are you?’ Carl had barked at her suddenly. ‘Right now. Where are you?’ As he’d spoken, Annie had heard the change in timbre behind his words. He was on the move.

  ‘Just outside a takeaway on Bev Road,’ she’d said, giving him a location too ambiguous to check. ‘I’m starving, but as soon as I’ve had something to eat, I’m going to check out everywhere I can think of, including that place you took me out in the wilds.’

  ‘Whoa … No! No, don’t do that.’ He’d floundered about, scratching at reasons why she should stay put. Christa wouldn’t be there; Annie needed to stay in town …

  Annie clenched her fist tight to drive out the images of what might be happening to Christa and to force herself to keep her tone relaxed. ‘Soon as I’ve eaten, I’m off out there.’ As she talked, her gaze raked the lit windows of the farmhouse, and she’d tried to ignore the gnawing sensation from inside her. It was a long time since she’d eaten and she’d kill for a coffee right now. Pat sat back, relaxed, her jaw chewing rhythmically; Leah was in shadow; the woman from the sea yawned and sank lower in her chair. No sign of Christa.

  ‘No, listen, you don’t know what you’re getting into.’

  ‘Maybe so, but I’m fed up with people telling me that.’

  ‘I’ll go. If she’s there, I’ll get her out. You stay put. Go back to the office.’

  ‘And why would I trust you?’

  ‘Give me twenty … twenty five minutes. I’ll ring you. I’ll find her. I’ll sort it.’

  Annie knew Carl would be giving himself leeway, but if he’d been in Pat’s office when she first called, he was pushing it at twenty minutes, even with clear roads. She hesitated, wanting to keep him on his toes, but not wanting to panic him. ‘Twenty minutes,’ she told him. ‘And then I’m heading out.’

  And now he’d had ten of his twenty minutes and her hand itched to get at her phone and hassle him again, but it would take him the whole of that twenty minutes and then some to get out here. Her patch of scrub was safe. Even if someone came out with a torch, she felt confidence in her ability to blend with the stubby bushes, just as long as it wasn’t an industrial strength beam and they weren’t specifically looking for her. But anything could be happening in that house in the areas she couldn’t see.

  It went against the grain to wait, but she weighed the options and couldn’t talk herself into trying to get in. Christa had gone for a side door on a wing and a prayer and proved it a non-starter. The only other possibility was a small window at the far end of the house. From this angle it looked to be ajar. It also showed a dim glow from within that might have been from an occupied space or not. No way to tell from here.

  Where was Carl? It was less than fifteen minutes since she’d spoken to him. Hopefully, he was racing out here to
create an unwitting diversion that would allow her to get Christa out. Would he check her story as he drove? And if so, how? He would want to be sure she wasn’t anywhere he didn’t want her to be, but wouldn’t ring Pat in case she was out here. He was unlikely to ring Leah, but might ring Barbara’s son, who, with luck, would say he’d spoken to Pat by phone and to Annie face to face, and would seem to confirm her version. Annie shook the images out of her head. It was never a good idea to rely on others to follow a script they knew nothing about.

  Again, she eased herself sideways to allow her limbs to stretch, to chase away the spectre of cramp, and the irrational fear she was about to be found. Unless there were a search party aware of her presence, she could remain hidden here until daylight.

  Carl must to be on his way. She had no choice but to wait.

  The wiry undergrowth pressed its thorns into her as though it were some fast-growing plant, engineered by the Sleeman clan to trap intruders who tried to use it for cover. Annie flinched as the tiny barbs scratched across her skin. She couldn’t throw off the feeling that the moon was about to sail out from behind a cloud and light the yard, turning her location into a stage and the room inside into a box from where the audience would stare out and see her.

  She glanced at the sky, but the moon was pale, barely visible. Her phone showed that just another two minutes had passed, making seventeen in all since she’d spoken to Carl. The night had a long way to go before any hint of daybreak could show itself. Not even the Sleemans had nature at their beck and call.

  Every movement from inside the house made her strain her eyes for a glimpse of Christa. There were other people in the room outside Annie’s line of sight, but she was sure Christa wasn’t one of them. Christa and her gaoler had left the room. He might have come back. Christa hadn’t.

  There’d been no further hammering from the shed and no more voices that she could distinguish, but a new sound reached her; the muted screech of metal scraping against metal.