by Jack Probyn
The cramped prison cell she was locked in jostled and swayed as the van pulled round bends and weaved its way through traffic, stopping and starting every now and again. There were no windows, no slivers of light coming from the four walls, save for a tiny hole in the ceiling the same width as a paper straw. The cell was grimy, damp and smelt of piss, as if the previous occupant had no other choice but to soil themselves and nobody had bothered to clean it since. Well, she needed to go, but she wouldn’t be subjected to such inhumane treatment.
A part of her wanted to scream. Cry. Bawl her eyes out until someone heard her. But she knew it would be pointless; she hadn’t heard so much as a car horn from outside. She was alone, and that was the way she was going to die. She had admitted it to herself already. There was no point trying to fight it. The police were keeping her prisoner, and she was starting to feel like perhaps they were all involved with it – an elaborate plan to make her suffer.
The van started off again, startling her. The sudden movement caused her to slip off the small metal block that she’d assumed was a chair and fall onto the cold, solid floor. She bumped her elbow and grazed her right arm as she fell. Her body recoiled and she smacked her head on the wall. A hairpin fell out and landed by her feet.
And then it finally clicked in her head. That tiny little thing was going to save her.
Candice crouched down to the floor, steadying herself with her knees and shoulders pressed against the walls, and picked the pin up using her hands behind her. She worked the metal pin until it snapped in two. And then she remembered something that Michael had shown her when they were preparing for the heist. It was simple, but something that was only supposed to be used a last resort.
If she was going to break out of the handcuffs, she needed to dislocate her thumb. Left or right. Either or. Whichever one she favoured least. It didn’t matter.
After a second’s deliberation, she decided on the left.
Candice pressed her left thumb against the wall and leant into it, applying pressure on the bone. Pain swelled and throbbed in her hand, and on the count of three, she convinced herself to thrust her hips backward to dislocate the joint.
One.
Two.
Candice screamed out in agony. Hard. Until her lungs hurt and she lost breath, almost dipping her toes into the deep lagoon of unconsciousness. Her cries only made it as far as the ceiling above her. She panted through the pain – now wasn’t the time to focus on it. If she did, she knew she wouldn’t have the courage to do the next part: slip her wrist through the cuff.
Gritting her teeth and tensing every muscle in her body to draw the pain away from her thumb, Candice wriggled and writhed her hand until it narrowly slipped through the cuff. The metal dug into her flesh, leaving behind red indentations and drawing a little blood.
But she didn’t care. The adrenaline was beginning to drown out the pain now.
She had her hand back.
She was free.
Using the forefinger and middle finger on her free hand, she slotted one of the pins into the cuffs and twisted, rotated, fumbling with them both. After a few more seconds, the pin slid inside the lock and the cuff on her right hand snapped open. Feeling an overwhelming sense of relief that outweighed the pain two to one, she brought her hands to her front and rubbed where the cuff had been, rapidly returning the sensation and blood to her wrist. She repeated the same for the other hand as much as she could and, once again, tried to shake the collar free, yanking it from her neck, pulling it from side to side, then apart like it was a stretchy toy. But it wouldn’t budge. Her efforts were futile.
She screamed again. But this time she stopped almost as soon as she’d begun. She was acting erratically. Illogically. If she could get out of the handcuffs, then she could get out of the collar bomb. There was no point detonating the device and decapitating herself and removing whatever opportunity she had of survival, no matter how small it was.
She was going to save herself.
She was going to save herself, even if nobody else would.
And she had just had the perfect idea of how to go about it.
CHAPTER 53
BETRAYAL
The old man was called Dennis, Luke learnt. He was in his seventies and had been widowed for nearly three decades. After his wife had died, Dennis had decided he would never date again. He thought it was the ultimate betrayal of more than half his life. He and his wife had been soulmates, and anyone new who entered his life would constantly remind him of the past. It wasn’t fair on him, his wife, or them.
Luke and Dennis had been talking non-stop since they’d started the journey towards Southampton, and the further they travelled, the more Luke was warming to the old man. He reminded him of the grandfather he’d only met twice when he was younger, and Luke hoped that, when he got out of the car in Southampton, Dennis would just drive away and not ask any questions. That he would get himself out of the area before Luke bumped into Danny. There was the prevalent risk that their paths would cross, and there was no knowing how Danny would react.
Danny was a totally different man today, more like an acquaintance than a brother. Doing things that none of them had agreed on – that none of them agreed with. And Luke distrusted his volatility.
They entered Southampton city centre from the east, crossing the Itchen toll bridge, and continuing past Queen’s Park at the south of the city. A few seconds later, they approached the Mayflower Roundabout at the bottom of the city, situated a few hundred yards from the Channel. In the distance, Luke spotted the yellow and blue of an IKEA logo. He instructed Dennis to continue straight on at the roundabout and slip into the multi-storey IKEA car park. Luke and Danny had agreed via text message to meet on the fourth floor. As Dennis pulled the car to a stop, Luke exhaled, reached for his wallet and handed Dennis a twenty.
‘For the car park and petrol,’ he said before he opened the bag by his feet and produced a wad of notes, the smell of old money wafting to his nostrils. ‘And this is for your troubles.’
Dennis shook his head, swatting Luke’s hand away with his. ‘I don’t want it. Keep it. I have no need for it… you might.’
A smile crept over Luke’s face. ‘It’s OK, I’ve got enough. I want you to have it. Maybe you can treat yourself to something nice. That holiday you were talking about.’
‘You’re going to need it, wherever you’re going. Please…’
Luke was about to say something when he noticed Danny standing with his back pressed against a wall, his head low, a hat pulled over his eyes.
Luke opened the door, grabbed his things and stepped out.
‘You’ll be OK, won’t you?’ Dennis asked as Luke prepared to close the door.
‘I’ll be the best I’ve ever been,’ Luke replied. ‘Trust me.’
Dennis extended his hand. Luke reached in and shook it. The old man’s grip was fierce, a lifetime of manual labour and hard practical work hidden behind the muscles.
‘I’ll never forget you,’ Luke said.
Dennis grinned. ‘Likewise.’
With that, Luke shut the door gently, waved goodbye and hurried over to Danny. Luke didn’t know what it was, but as soon as he locked eyes with Danny, he felt safe, he felt at home – as though the events of the past few hours hadn’t happened at all. As though his older brother wasn’t responsible for their mother’s inevitable death. As though Danny hadn’t shot and killed an innocent shop worker.
It was as if Danny was his brother again.
‘About fucking time,’ Danny said.
Luke ignored him and embraced Danny’s muscular body. When Danny reciprocated the hug, Luke eased into his brother’s arms and felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate.
‘Stop it,’ Danny said, throwing Luke off. ‘Making us look like a bunch of poofs. What took you so long?’
‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘Were you followed?’
‘No,’ Luke replied with assurance.
‘Sure?’<
br />
‘Do you trust me?’
Together they started off, heading down four flights of steps. The air inside the stairwell was cold and it was a welcome change from the stifling heat of the car park. They reached the bottom of the stairs and breached into the car park’s entrance at the base of the IKEA centre. A queue of traffic had formed by the ticket barriers, and car engines coughed and spluttered as they waited for the vehicle in front to move. A wall of heat suffocated him as he inhaled a large quantity of warm air, taking him by surprise. He coughed across the remainder of the car park until they exited into the open. There, the sunlight blinded him, and his fingers offered little protection.
‘Here,’ Danny said, placing a pair of sunglasses on Luke’s head. ‘While I was waiting, I bought these for you. Help keep your ugly mug away from the CCTV.’
‘Our mugshots need updating. Yours is from that time with Richard.’
‘Richard who?’
‘Richard Maddison.’
‘I don’t even want to think about that guy.’ Danny slapped Luke on the back jovially. ‘Come on, we’ve got a boat to catch.’
They arrived at a set of traffic lights. Danny pressed the button and they waited as cars tore past them. After a few seconds, the lights changed, and they crossed the road. In the distance, dominating the skyline along the riverbed, was the Aurora cruise liner. Luke afforded himself the opportunity to appreciate its magnificence. It was one of the largest man-made structures he had ever seen, if not the largest.
He tried to open his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.
‘Brilliant, eh?’ Danny said. ‘In a few hours we’ll be out of this clusterfuck, ready to start new lives for ourselves.’
Luke could hear the excitement in Danny’s voice. But something troubled him. Danny was too jovial. Too happy. As though he’d forgotten that their other brother had been arrested.
‘What about Michael?’ Luke asked.
‘What about him? He’s gone. There’s nothing we can do for him. With any luck they’ll lock him up with Freddy and the two of them can work on getting out at some point in the next twenty years.’
‘Never. They’ll never be locked up together.’
‘Micky’s a big boy. He can look after himself.’
‘Just like that?’
‘What?’
‘Just like that, you’re going to forget about him? As though he never existed.’
‘Forget about him?’ Danny said, coming to an abrupt halt. ‘You’re the one who left him behind. You’re the one who let the cops arrest him.’
‘He surrendered himself for me.’
‘What a hero,’ Danny said, rolling his eyes. He stormed off, leaving Luke to catch up.
As Luke followed, he noticed something irregular about Danny’s ensemble.
‘Dan,’ he called after his brother.
Nothing. No response.
‘Dan!’
‘What?’ Danny snapped on the half-turn.
‘Where’s your bag?’
Danny’s expression dropped. His eyes widened. ‘I… er…’
‘I don’t believe it,’ Luke said, stepping away from his brother. ‘She’s here, isn’t she?’
‘Who?’
‘Louise. She’s here.’
‘No. What— Why—’
‘She’s your contact that got all the stuff from the storage units, isn’t she? I can see it on your face. That smile. I knew I recognised it. You only smile like that when she’s around. I thought you said you two’d broken up.’
Danny bit his nail.
‘You lied. Again. You’re pathetic.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Luke. Don’t say something you’ll later regret.’
Luke shook his head. ‘No. That’s it, Dan. I’ve had enough. It’s over. I thought coming here would be the best thing, but I was wrong. I thought you’d be able to help. I thought the two of us were going to get out of here. Not three. Not her. She’s a cancer to our family, Dan. Don’t you see what she’s done? You’ve done all of this for her. I hope she was worth it, because you’ve just lost two brothers in the process. And a mum.’
‘She was not our mum! She never was,’ Danny screamed. They were still standing by the side of the road, oblivious to the sea of traffic charging towards them from either side – and the commotion they were causing.
‘She was more of a mum to us than all the other women attempted to be.’
Danny pointed his finger in Luke’s face. ‘Do you know what’ – he reached inside his pocket, produced the final key that unlocked Candice’s device, and threw it at Luke – ‘you can keep this, if she means that much to you. But I want you to know one thing: she wasn’t the one who helped put food on the table. I was! Paying for your school lunches and everything else so you wouldn’t go hungry. Not her, me.’
Luke froze. His mouth dangled like a pendulum. His eyes fell on the key and he fought every will in his body to pick it up. ‘You’re lying.’
‘I always gave the money to Freddy. I saw the relationship you had with him. He taught you things I never could. You were always with him. I didn’t want it to seem like I was buying your love.’
‘Danny, I… I had no idea.’
‘Why would you? Freddy was happy to take the credit for it. He was happy…’ Danny choked, regained himself, rubbed just beneath his ribcage and then continued. ‘He enjoyed how close you guys were. He knew you always looked up to him. And he wanted to make sure it stayed that way. We never told you because you were too young.’
Luke stopped. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. What he’d just been told. Everything in his life was a lie. And he had been deceived consistently. It needed to change. He needed to change; get his own life back.
‘I was old enough to make my own decisions.’
‘You were naïve. You still are.’
‘For too long I’ve depended on you and Micky and Freddy. I need to get out of here. I need to clear my head.’ Luke bent down, picked up the key, adjusted the strap on his shoulder so it felt more comfortable, then turned his back on Danny and started to walk away.
‘Luke!’ Danny called back, but Luke ignored him. ‘Luke!’
He stopped, turned on a half-twist, and said, ‘I hope you and Louise are happy together, Danny. You deserve each other. Enjoy your new life.’
CHAPTER 54
GREEN LIGHT
The search and rescue party that had been sent to look for Luke amongst the streets of residential houses of Fareham – which consisted of an assortment of ten uniformed officers and three armed officers – had been unsuccessful. The youngest of the brothers was still out there somewhere, an invisible moving target, a ghost in a haunted mansion. As expected, from the precarious interview with Michael Cipriano, Jake had discovered that Luke had relied upon his brothers his whole life – they’d protected him, raised him, shielded him from the outside world – and he needed to return to that security. Alone, lost, and with Michael out of the picture, there was no doubt in Jake’s mind that Luke was currently on his way to Danny.
He just hoped they’d be able to make it there in time.
‘You sure about this?’ Bridger asked as he turned the car off the M271 and onto Redbridge Road a few miles from the centre of Southampton.
‘Have I been wrong about anything else up to this point?’
He answered the question himself. Yes, he had been wrong: his conduct during Michael’s interview had been unprofessional, bordering unlawful, he realised shortly after. He’d lost sight of what they were there for and what they should have been doing and instead had launched a tirade against Michael and his family. And then there was the matter of conducting the interview in the first place, whether it had been appropriately approved by the relevant channels, despite Bridger’s claims. But there was nothing they could do about it now; he just needed to prepare his version of events if questions were asked later.
He would have to see how far he could take the
maxim ‘better to ask for forgiveness than permission’.
‘What’s our ETA?’ Jake asked.
‘Hampshire are in the middle of setting up the rendezvous point at the Mayflower Roundabout.’ Bridger hesitated for a brief moment as he glanced at the satnav in front of him. ‘I’d say we’re two minutes out.’
Perfect. That gave Jake enough time to make a call. He removed his phone and dialled Danika’s number.
‘Jake?’ she answered.
‘Have you checked the bookings for Harrington at Southampton?’ he asked, wanting to keep it nice and concise.
‘Yes. Just pulled the reports now. I found four of them. Sean, Alex, Billy and Kate Harrington.’
‘Their aliases…’ Jake said, thinking aloud. ‘Where’s the cruise going?’
‘Canary Islands. Scheduled to leave at 3 p.m.’
Jake checked his watch. ‘That gives us just over half an hour.’
As he thanked her and hung up the call, they arrived at Mayflower Roundabout. Bridger banked the kerb and parked on a small patch of grass near an office block. It was devoid of any police presence, and cars continued to stream past them from four directions. To their right, towering above the office buildings, was the cruise liner they were looking for, unmissable, and to their left was a row of trees sitting in front of Mayflower Park.
‘Where is everyone?’
Jake climbed out of the car. The salt in the air licked the skin on his forearms, melting into the thin veil of sweat, already cemented in position by the chilled sea breeze that buffeted his shoulders and legs, as if forming a gelatinous mixture on his body.
‘Seems they’re late to the party,’ Bridger replied, rounding the front of his vehicle.
Just as Jake was about to respond, the sound of sirens pierced the street, followed closely by the shrill pitches of horns and tyres squealing. Around them, an entourage of police vehicles pulled up to the roundabout from every direction, blocking all available streams of traffic. And then an unmarked police car skidded to a halt beside Jake, the front wheel turning away from him at the last moment. The door opened and out stepped a uniformed officer. By the time Jake had registered who it was, the man was by his side.
