Wild Horses (The Eddie Malloy Series Book 8)

by Joe McNally

  Mave looked away, her eyes in deep thinking mode.

  I said, ‘And Prim says Hines turned out to be a wimp in the end. Which would fit with him backing off on Bruno.’

  Mave sighed, ‘Which kind of stacks up on other things as well, I suppose. I mean, he’s supposed to be this big villain running Deadwood, and suddenly Prim and her elderly father pitch up and say do this or else. Any self respecting crime lord would dip them in concrete and chuck them in the Mersey.’

  ‘But maybe the beauty of it is that he’s got Prim and the old man convinced he’s just a vet who’s built a decent business. If they had half a suspicion he was into all this, they’d have found somebody else to run the show.’

  ‘But if he’s so slick at hiding the criminal side, why didn’t he get stuck into laying those horses once this Boffo guy had told him everything was lined up? We know that Prim’s father was the only one who made any money on them.’

  ‘Online, yes. But what about Hines’s team of guys visiting the betting shops, all the offline stuff. Okay, you can’t lay them, but he could have been betting two or three others in each race.’

  ‘Except that Alice’s diary showed that none of Ben’s tracking of them fitted with the days the horses went wild…though I suppose there are plenty other betting shops.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Mave sighed and picked up her pen and turned the map around, ‘Okay, back to what we do know.’ She pointed to an area on the coast between Southport and Blackpool, just where the estuary opens out. She had marked a number 4 beside it, as the fourth of the seven properties belonging to Kelman Hines. I said, ‘It’s not that far from Crosby where we found Ben’s clothes on the beach. It’s pretty remote, and it’s close enough to Liverpool to be some kind of holding area for these girls they’re trafficking.’

  Mave said, ‘And it’s on the coast, which would make it easier to get the girls out of the country without worrying too much about the legalities.’

  ‘Or to get Ben out of the country,’ I said.

  ‘No real reason to do that though, is there? It doesn’t matter where they hold him, so long as it’s secure and secret.’ Mave turned her attention to a Google Earth print out, ‘He’s got three buildings on this property. I’m assuming the biggest one is the lab itself. This one here looks more like a house, with that path to the front door, and the lawn. Maybe a caretaker’s place, or a manager. You wouldn’t leave a lab unguarded, not one that’s so remote.’

  ‘Especially if you were holding somebody there,’ I said.

  Mave looked up, ‘What next, then?’

  ‘Well, it’s not far, is it? I could be there in under an hour. Roads’ll be dead at this time of night.’

  ‘Why don’t you call Mac? You’re going to have to tell him about Hines anyway. Might as well have some support with you.’

  ‘That would delay things at least twenty-four hours and Hines’ll be nervous enough by now. He could be thinking of moving Ben, wherever he is.’

  ‘Which means he could just as easy move him to there as from there.’

  I stood up, ‘Mave, we could spend a week on ifs and buts. That place is the most remote, the closest to Crosby and Liverpool, it’s got to be favourite.’

  ‘Maybe, but you don’t know what you might be walking into. Why don’t you call Bruno Guta?’

  I smiled, ‘You’re getting as bad as Alice!’

  Mave got up, ‘Then, I’m coming with you!’

  ‘Me too.’

  I turned. Alice was in the doorway. Mave said, ‘Oops! I forgot about you, Alice. Best if we both stay here.’

  Alice just stared, her grey eyes dismissing Mave’s suggestion much more convincingly than words could have. Mave sighed, ‘I’ll get our coats.’

  I said, ‘I’ll get my ice-axe.’

  Alice said, ‘I’ll get my gun.’

  Mave and I turned and stared at her. Alice stared back, features hard and unmoving, then, slowly, a smile came up from her mouth like a cloud clearing the sun. She raised a hand and pointed at us, ‘Had you then, didn’t I?’

  We laughed, as much, I believe, from relief as amusement. Alice said, ‘Come on, let’s find my Dad.’

  61

  To make the safest approach, we had to walk almost a mile from where we’d parked. Underfoot was scrubby duneland. The wind off the Irish Sea was gusty and unpredictable and when we heard it whip up, we shielded our eyes to keep out the sand.

  I’d brought a flashlight, but only for emergency use. I assured Mave and Alice that the farther we walked from the streetlit suburbs, the more easily our eyes would adjust to the dark. One benefit of the wind was that it kept the clouds sailing along and the almost full moon was never hidden for long.

  Mave’s handheld GPS showed a big fat arrow and it counted down the paces to the target and we stuck to it until we saw the compound that housed the three buildings.

  I’d expected a high fence topped with barbed wire but we found only a low wall surrounding the property. The driveway gates were low too, made of wood, and not only were they unlocked, they lay open.

  Through the gates, closest to the sea, was a two-storey sandstone building, windowless, with large double doors. Beyond this was a building three times the size of the old sandstone one, and much more modern, though basic, with breeze blocks dominating above a brick—lined level about eight feet high.

  This building too was windowless and seemed much more secure, with metal shutters at each end.

  The last building, a bungalow, was the only one that showed signs of life in the light that came from two of its windows. We circled the bungalow, checking for an outhouse. Alice whispered, ‘Do you think my Dad is in there?’

  I said, ‘If he is, I don’t know what’s keeping him there. No dogs, no fence, no security guard. I’m afraid we’ve backed a loser here.’

  Mave said, ‘It’s almost half-past-two, why would they still have lights on?’

  Alice looked at me. I said, ‘I don’t know. Maybe whoever lives there just forgot to switch them off. Or he could be an insomniac.’

  ‘Or he could be guarding Dad.’

  ‘Could be,’ I said, ’time to find out.’

  The wall around the bungalow was low, ornamental, enclosing flowerbeds already in bloom. I stepped over it onto a section of lawn and went to the window edge. No sound from inside.

  I waited, counting out a minute, then eased across to look into the lighted room…empty.

  I returned to Mave and Alice, ‘This doesn’t stack up,’ I said, ‘It’s as though there’s nothing to protect, not even the lab.’

  Mave said, ‘Whoever lives there is probably in bed.’

  Alice said, ‘Did you try the door?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Want me to try it?’

  ‘Then what?’ I said, ‘Even if it’s open, we can’t just walk in. Might be some old guy lying in bed, he opens his eyes and sees us, he could have a heart attack.’

  Alice said, ‘I could take a look in the other rooms.’

  Mave said, ‘And what if DJ or one of the others is waiting?’

  Alice shrugged, ‘He doesn’t scare me.’

  I stifled a nervous laugh and looked at Mave. She said, ‘Why not try and get whoever’s living there to come out? There must be some kind of alarm around that we can set off.’

  ‘Fire alarm?’ Alice said.

  We crept away to have a closer look at the other buildings.

  The newer one had a red-boxed fire alarm at each end beside the roller shutters: “In case of fire, break glass.” There was nothing obvious with which to break anything. Mave said, ‘Use your axe.’

  I held the shaft, just below the head. The first attempt was more a dig than a swing, and it caught the casing around the glass. I changed my grip and tried again. The glass broke. We all stepped back.

  Silence.

  We looked at each other. Alice hurried across to the sandstone building and beckoned us.

  Beside the old wooden do
ors was a rusty fire alarm with just a few flakes of paint still visible. The glass on the front was filthy, but hanging from a short chain was a hammer with a round head, its handle crusted with bubbled rust.

  I picked it up and rubbed the handle to make sure it wouldn’t crumble completely. ‘Might as well try this,’ I said, and turned to look back at the bungalow. Still no sign of life. I swung at the glass.

  It didn’t break. Mave put a hand to her mouth, perhaps to stifle a laugh.

  I swung again as Alice put her fingers in her ears. I missed the glass and hit the metal surround, sending a vibration along my arm, and a dull echo into the night.

  Now Mave laughed nervously and almost started me off as I squatted to look closer and take more careful aim…

  ‘Hello?’

  A voice from inside the building.

  ‘Hello out there! Is somebody there? Can you help me?’ Much louder now, making Alice smile at the unmistakable voice of her father.

  62

  Alice punched the air and whooped and I reached to grab her arm and signal her to be quiet as we watched the bungalow.

  Nobody came.

  Ben called out again. I called back, ‘Ben, we’ll get you out in a minute. Just hold on.’

  He didn’t reply. We waited a long, long minute. Still no signs of life from the bungalow.

  I went to the nearest boarded window and raised the broad edge of the ice-axe and with each crack of hardboard and each squealing nail, paused and watched the house. Nothing.

  Two minutes later, we were inside and Mave’s flashlight beam soon settled on the smiling Ben Searcey, though his smile faded when I told him to hold still while I aimed the axe at the handcuffs shackling him to a rusty radiator.

  Mave held the beam steady on the lock. Ben leant forward. Alice held her breath, and I swung the axe, trying not to think of my failed whacks at the fire alarm.

  The lock shattered in a zinging, echoing bang, and Ben smiled again as I hurried to the loose window board to check outside.

  Nobody there…the only sound was from the wind and the sea.

  In the car, Ben sat with Alice in the back. I said, ‘How long were you there?’

  ‘They moved me last night, so, through the night and all day today.’

  ‘Where’d they move you from?’

  ‘I don’t know. That was the third move. They put a hood on me each time. The first two were houses, proper warm houses, though they had blackout blinds nailed onto the windows.’

  ‘Have you been handcuffed all the time?’ I asked.

  ‘No, just with this move. Until then, they’d looked after me well, to be fair. Plenty grub and tea.’

  ‘Who was it? Did you know them?’

  ‘Three different guys. Never saw any of them in my life before.’

  ‘Did they tell you anything? Why you’d been taken?’

  ‘They weren’t keen on questions from me, though they did want answers.’

  ‘To what?’ I said.

  ‘Who my hacker was, as they put it.’

  I glanced at him in the rearview mirror, ‘The guy who helped you out with the stuff on Vogel?’

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘What did they want with him?’

  ‘Somehow they’d found out I was waiting for an email. It was that same evening you and I spoke. I just needed confirmation about the bloke who had replaced the usual vets at the tracks where the horses were bolting, a guy called Mike Boffo.’

  I nodded, smiling. Ben said, ‘You knew?’

  ‘I found out. But not as quickly as you did.’

  Ben said, ‘Well I’d asked for something else, too. Bookies are legally obliged to inform the Gambling Commission if they suspect money laundering is going on in their shops. After weeks of following DJ’s guys into betting shops, I did some research and found that the shop staff should have been logging what was going on under The Proceeds of Crime Act.’

  ‘But they weren’t?’ I said.

  ‘Correct. I had called the Gambling Commission and asked if any POCA reports had been filed by the company Wannabet, which was the one that was always used by DJ and his gang. They wanted me to submit a formal freedom of information request, and I logged one, but they said it could be weeks or months. So I got my guy onto it. No reports filed by Wannabet.’

  ‘Did your guy get into the Wannabet system or the Gambling Commission’s?’

  ‘I didn’t ask. Made no difference to me.’

  ‘Okay. Sorry. Go on.’

  ‘Well, I started some checks on Wannabet and found it was owned by a shell company. I’d done some work on these shells before, and most people use them to hide something. Anyway, I asked my IT man if he could help find out who was behind the shell company.’

  ‘Not easy,’ I said.

  ‘But doable,’ Ben said, ‘and he did it. Trouble was that by the time he sent me the email they had me, my PC and my phone.’

  ‘How did they get your PC?’

  ‘They took my keys and went into the house and lifted it.’

  I shrugged, ‘Straightforward. So you still don’t know who owns the shell?’

  ‘Nope.’

  I turned to Mave. She said, ‘Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll have a look when we get home.’

  Alice said, ‘Was it the gypsies that got you?’

  ‘What gypsies?’ Ben said.

  ‘We got a call from a guy saying you’d been seen leaving the Blue Anchor with two gypsies.’

  'I wasn’t in the Blue Anchor. I was out for a walk, waiting for some information coming in. It was near the Blue Anchor they grabbed me and shoved me into the van, the same one they brought me here in. But these guys aren’t gypsies, well, not so far as I know.’

  I said, ‘How long did the journey take last night?’

  ‘An hour…maybe a bit more.’ A long sigh came out of him and his head went back on the seat. I said, ‘We’ll give it a rest until we get you home.’

  ‘I’m starving,’ Ben said.

  Back at the farm, seated at the kitchen table, we watched Ben steadily make his way through half a loaf. He’d mastered his butter, marmalade and swallowing action to coordinate perfectly with the next two slices popping from the toaster into Alice’s waiting hands. She was still smiling at the way her father was dressed.

  He wore a black tracksuit and gold-coloured trainers. Alice said, ‘I’ve never seen you so fashionable.’

  ‘They don’t fit,’ Ben said.

  Alice laughed, ‘Dad, a Babygro would be too big for you.’

  Ben smiled warmly at her and they held each other’s gaze silently for a few private seconds. Alice said, ‘They took your clothes the night they grabbed you.’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  Alice said, ‘Because we found them that night on one of those metal statues on Crosby beach…soaked in whiskey.’

  ‘Well, somebody thought my clothes were good enough for a work of art. Fame at last.’ He raised his mug of tea in salute and picked up more toast.

  Mave appeared in the doorway, ‘What were they called, Wannabet? Double N?’

  Mouth full, Ben nodded enthusiastically and I strung my next question out to give him time to swallow, ‘So, if these guys get hold of the email that was meant for you, why did they have to hold you trying to find out who your IT guy was? They had his email address, and I’m assuming they have their own IT people?’

  ‘My guy ‘s untraceable.’

  ‘Did they even try to contact him to tell him they were holding you?’

  Ben shrugged, as he reached for more toast, ‘I don’t know. Wouldn’t have mattered. I knew the score if it all went tits up, I was on my own.’

  ‘So, you didn’t tell them who he was, obviously?’

  Ben glanced at Alice, ’No.’

  I said, ‘Did you come across your old mate DJ while they were holding you?’

  ’Nope.’

  I drank some tepid coffee, ‘Mike Boffo, the vet, worked for a guy called Kelman Hi
nes. Turns out DJ works for Kelman Hines, too.’

  Ben stopped chewing and stared at me, then said, ‘The Kelman Hines who used to work on track, years ago?’

  ‘Same one,’ I smiled, ’Not that there are many with that name.’

  ‘I knew Hines,’ Ben said, ‘know him, I suppose I should say. He asked me to do an article on a lab he was setting up to research racehorse nutrition. Years ago, now.’

  My turn to raise my mug in salute, ‘Well, there’s more on Hines, but I’m waiting to hear from Dil.’

  Ben watched me. I could almost see his mind working. He said, ‘I don’t know why I didn’t ask you this before, but how the hell did you find me? Did somebody tip you off?’

  I looked at Alice, ‘Want to tell him, and I’ll see how Mave’s getting along?’ As I rose, I heard Mave get up too, her desk chair squeaking as she edged it aside.

  I turned as she came into the kitchen, ‘Any joy?’

  Mave said, ‘Wannabet chain of fourteen betting shops on Merseyside owned by a company with so many zs and qs in its name, it’s unpronounceable. It was registered in Florida, USA seven years ago.’

  ‘Any idea who owns the unpronounceable company?’ I asked.

  ‘Kelman Hines.’

  63

  We had gone to bed at 5 a.m. and were back around the kitchen table at 7.30. Not one of us had managed to sleep.

  ‘Nessun Dorma,’ Alice said.

  We looked at her. Alice said, ‘None shall sleep.’

  Ben said, ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Because I was sick of hearing it playing through the crap speakers at Royston House, so I asked.’

  Mave said, ‘Royston House?’

  Ben said, ‘The children’s home in Leeds, the very last one.’

  I raised my coffee cup, ‘Well, Nessun Dorma to you too. We’re all knackered. It’s the first time for years I can say I’m glad I’m not riding today.’

  Mave said, ‘What next?’

  I massaged my tired eyes, ‘I don’t know. Do we confront Hines, or wait until he realizes Ben is out?’