Alternative outcome

by Peter Rowlands

  I leaned forward against the wall above it, breathing deeply and trying to get on top of the immense throbbing in my head. Then I realised I was looking at my own face in a small mirror. It was red and raw, and there was drying blood on one eyebrow. I looked down instead, and found myself staring at the white porcelain lid of the cistern. On a whim I lowered my hands and tried moving it. It wasn’t screwed down. I straightened my back and lifted it off.

  There was no water in the cistern. The ballcock lay limply on the bottom at the end of its metal arm. Was there a weapon amidst all this?

  A voice from somewhere down the corridor shouted, “Hurry up in there.”

  I lifted my head and called, “Just a minute.”

  Normally you’d need tools to dismember a piece of engineering like this. I had no tools and no time. I put the cistern lid down on the toilet seat, grabbed the metal shaft with both hands and wrenched it with all my might.

  It came away from the inlet valve as if it had never been attached, cutting into my fingers painfully, and I was left holding a strip of metal about a foot long, with a plastic ball the size of a grapefruit on one end.

  I waited for a second, wondering if this manoeuvre had been heard outside. Apparently not. But how was I to smuggle a ball on a stick out of the room? Or was I going to rampage out of the toilet like a deranged Mr Punch, smiting my captors on the head with it? Even in my panicked state I recognised the absurdity of this.

  I could see only one solution. I leaned my back against the door, placed the ball under my foot, then jumped on it as hard as I could with both heels, faking an explosive bout of coughing as I did so. The ball shattered, leaving only tattered shards still attached. I hastily replaced the cistern lid, stuffed the metal strip up the sleeve of my jacket and opened the door. My captors led me back to the big room, and I made it with my new toy intact. And then they were gone.

  Chapter 51

  I eased my hard-won trophy out from my sleeve and considered it. It was a thin metal tube, with the remnants of its previous fixings at either end. Not really a weapon, more a device. But for what?

  My first and only thought was the heavy planked door we’d come in by. During our to-ings and fro-ings I’d been vaguely aware of seeing various holes and other marks in its surface. I pointed the lamp over towards it and went to examine it more closely.

  It had clearly been altered, patched and repaired repeatedly over its long life. There were screw holes and marks where latches and other fittings had been attached and then removed. At some point, someone had evidently made the strange decision to attach a bolt outside rather than inside the room.

  There was one larger hole in particular that interested me. It was at the right height for a doorknob, and presumably had once housed one. I put my eye to it, and could see two slits of light from the adjoining room, one above the other. I was hoping against hope that between them was the bolt.

  Experimentally I poked my metal strip through into the hole and tried applying a levering action. If my logic was right, in theory this would prise the bolt open. Nothing seemed to happen, but when I jabbed the metal strip in and out, I could hear a rattling sound on the other side, suggesting that whatever was obstructing it was loose. Hopefully that was the bolt. I just had to get some purchase on it.

  I tried the other end of the strip where the ballcock had been, but it was too wide to fit through the aperture. Then I tried pulling the door towards me and pushing it away, hoping to gauge the point where the bolt would not be pressing on either the door or the catch on the outside wall. After some trial and error I got a sense of the right point, and worked out how to wedge the door in that position with my foot. And then I resumed levering.

  What worked in my favour was that it didn’t seem to be a round bolt, more of an ancient flat thing, possibly made of wrought iron. This meant it seemed to present a reasonable area for me to work on.

  I kept poking and levering for an age without sensing any useful result, but then suddenly I felt a definite movement at the other end. When I checked, the door was still resolutely closed, but I felt encouraged. Feverishly I continued, constantly aware that the three men could return at any time.

  For a while there was no result, then I detected another of those sudden movements as I caught a sweet spot. More incremental movements; more time; then abruptly I felt the bolt shoot the whole way open, just as if it had never really wanted to be closed in the first place. Scarcely daring to believe it, I was able to push the door outwards.

  Without waiting even a second I barged through the outer room and into the corridor. And then I heard voices. My captors were on their way back.

  Wildly I looked around. I had no idea where the corridor led in the other direction: presumably further into the building. I had no intention of finding out. Keeping as quiet as I possibly could, I ducked into the toilet again and eased the door nearly shut behind me. The three men passed me, and I heard their exclamations as they entered the outer room and saw the open inner door.

  Timing was now everything. I waited an agonising moment for them to go into the main room. It must be evident to them that I’d escaped, but I sensed that they would feel the need to make sure. When I was certain they’d gone in as far as they were going to go, I slipped round the toilet door and headed off as fast as I dared in the direction they had come from.

  I was just rounding the corner of the corridor when I heard a shout behind me. “Hey! He’s here!”

  I bolted along the rest of the corridor and stumbled up the steps at the end: two flights, and my head was now throbbing violently. It was only the thought of capture that kept me on my feet.

  At the top was a wooden door, which mercifully was partly open. I burst past it and into the small yard where we’d arrived. It was very dark, and at first I couldn’t see any way out. What I didn’t need now was to come up against locked gates.

  As I got my bearings I could hear feet on the stone steps, only moments behind me. I stepped away from the door, getting a clearer view of the yard, and now saw a car parked in the middle. And beyond it, wondrously, was an open gateway with street lights beyond it.

  I was tempted to sprint for it, but I worried that I might not make it. Then all this would have been for nothing. Instead, I ducked down beyond the car.

  The door was flung open with a bang as the first of the three emerged, followed quickly by the other two. Like me, no doubt, they needed to get used to the dark. I could hear them hesitating, presumably unsure whether I’d made it to the gateway or hung back and hidden.

  “Check the street!” one of them instructed, and I heard two sets of footsteps running across the yard. I glanced around, trying to gauge whether there was any other exit. All I could see was a shadowy brick wall opposite the one we’d emerged from, with a hint of windows and perhaps closed doors.

  Now I could hear the one who’d hung back approaching the car. He would surely walk all the way round it and find me cowering here. I had to move. I launched myself towards what turned out to be a wooden door, and pushed on it as quietly as I could. Thankfully it opened inwards, but it gave out a rasping creak as it did so. I shoved my way inside.

  I could hear the man outside immediately following the sound, but instead of lunging further into the building I crammed myself behind the door. As he hurried in after me I squeezed round it and back out into the yard.

  What happened next was pure instinct. I pulled the door nearly shut behind me and hovered outside, waiting. The instant I judged that the man was about to pull it open, I gave it a massive shove with my foot. I heard a muffled cry from within, followed by a string of expletives.

  I grabbed the edge of the door, pulled it slightly towards me, then rammed it inward a second time. This time it didn’t connect so well, but there was another cry from within.

  It was enough. I sprinted the few yards back to the car and ducked down again on the far side of it. I heard a single set of footsteps running back from the gateway to the door. T
here was muttering as the two of them exchanged notes.

  I glanced around. I couldn’t expect to separate them so easily again, so what now? The yard appeared to be lit only by hazy moonlight, and the wall opposite the door was in the shade. Maybe that was my best hope. I half-crawled over to it, then stood up cautiously and started to edge my way along it in the direction of the gateway.

  The two men were standing at the doorway where I’d hidden, still muttering, but didn’t seem to have spotted me. I kept on edging towards the exit. In the back of my mind I remembered the kidnapping in Streatham. At the first sign of danger my captors had given up and fled. They were hired hands; they weren’t committed to their task. I was hoping the same would apply now.

  I was nearly at the gateway when I saw the third man. He was facing me only a few yards away, in the middle of the entrance, but had not apparently seen me yet. However, I couldn’t pass him without revealing myself.

  There was a shout from across the yard. “Anything out there?”

  He turned and looked over towards the voice, and in that moment I lunged forward and rammed into him as hard as I could. My head actually knocked against his in the impact, but not very hard.

  I had no advantage except surprise, but it helped me slightly. I felt sure I had no chance of winning a fight with him, but all I wanted was a few seconds’ grace. While he was still recoiling I shoved him again as hard as I could with both hands, and he stumbled slightly.

  I sprinted for it.

  I was in a narrow street flanked by nondescript warehouses and ageing commercial premises. I could hear the man I’d rammed recovering immediately and heading after me. Had this all gone wrong at the last hurdle?

  To my joy, I realised that there was a substantial road junction not far ahead. I could see traffic bustling past across the end and belisha beacons winking at me. Surely salvation must lie there? I just needed to reach it.

  I was terrified of stumbling; it could make the difference between capture and freedom. I felt as if someone else’s limbs were spiriting me along. The man I’d shoved was barely two paces behind me. Thankfully I was still ahead as I reached the junction, and I sensed rather than heard the pursuing footsteps slackening.

  I stumbled out on to a broad pavement flanking the main road. I had no more energy. Slowing to walking pace I made my way over to the kerbside railing and leaned heavily against it, gasping to catch my breath. I glanced over my shoulder, worried that my pursuers might be preparing to grab me, but I saw no sign of them.

  Then I realised why. About a hundred metres down the road was a police car, parked at an odd angle with its blue light flashing in the dark. Never had I seen a more reassuring sight. I dragged myself away from the railing and jogged towards it, then slowed to a walk. Two policemen in high-visibility jackets were in the process of breathalysing a man leaning against a parked car. One of them glanced at me but paid me no attention. I checked behind me, but my pursuers had melted away.

  I’d escaped. I could hardly believe it. I felt exhausted and battered, but also euphoric.

  Across the road I now saw the welcoming sign of an Underground station. No chance of any trains at this time of night, but it seemed a joyous assertion of normality. I reached into my jacket, and realised with relief that I still had my wallet. All I needed now was a taxi.

  2012

  There might be disbelief, angry resentment, recrimination, tears. Her father might fly into a rage. But somehow it had to be done; she had to hand over the pieces she had recovered, and explain to him what they were.

  In the end she took him to the pub. He wouldn’t be able to bawl her out there, to make a public spectacle of himself. Even he would see that. Glancing around first, she opened her purse. “Why don’t you check out what I’ve got in here?”

  He peered over at the two jewels, then looked up at her. “What the hell is this?”

  “I’ve just been to fetch them from Polperro. I hid them.”

  He looked at her for several seconds, taking in what she’d just said. In the end, it was the tears that came first. “You HID them? Good god.” He stared down again, then up. “Is there more?”

  “Quite a bit more, yes.”

  “Jesus H Christ.”

  Back at his bungalow, she explained how it had all played out. He displayed some anger now, but not much; some recrimination, but it was quickly set aside. Chiefly he seemed amazed at her nerve. “I can’t believe you went back for them all on your own.”

  She became businesslike. “They’re all yours now, Dad. I don’t want anything to do with them. I don’t have the first idea how to turn them into cash, and I don’t want to know.”

  He was rallying even as they spoke. She could already see a spark of his former vigour returning. “Yes, yes, that’s fine. Leave it to me.”

  “You realise these will probably be on a watch list, even after all these years? You can’t just wander into a jeweller’s shop and sell them – especially in a tiny place like Rockhampton.”

  “I know, I know. I’ll have to go down to Brisbane. I just need to get my bearings. I’ll start with a couple of stones, and keep the rest back until I know the score.”

  “OK, so long as you understand the implications.”

  He nodded vigorously, then sat back in his chair and beamed at her. “Jesus, Sash!”.

  Chapter 52

  Dave handed me a mug of coffee and sat down. For once he seemed genuinely concerned, and had throttled back his usual sarcasm.

  I shrugged. “I’ll live.”

  We were in an interview room at his police station. I’d rung his mobile first thing in the morning and explained what had happened. He’d listened without comment, then suggested I make my way over there. “Strictly speaking it’s not our case, but let me deal with that.”

  He’d been disappointed initially that I hadn’t reported my kidnapping to the police as soon as I’d escaped. “We would have had more of a head’s start then.”

  I’d shaken my head. “Can you imagine how long it would have taken me to explain all this from scratch to someone I didn’t know? By the time I got away from that place I’d had quite enough for one night.”

  He seemed to accept this. “All the same, the local station could have sent someone round straight away to take a look at the building.”

  “What, just on my say-so?”

  He couldn’t really answer that, so I added, “Trust me, they wouldn’t have found anyone there, or anything incriminating. These people are professionals.”

  “And you know all about that, do you? I suppose you writers have an inside track on the criminal mind.”

  I gave him a reproachful look and he let it drop.

  Once he’d got my report sorted out, I asked him, “Who do you think these people are?”

  “From what you say, it’s almost certainly someone connected to the original robbery. The older guy could be one of the gang, out of prison and looking for payback. He thinks you know where Stone is, and wants to try and get some of the loot back from him. Mind you, after all these years he’s probably on a hiding to nothing.”

  I thought about this. “Yes, but in my novel the man who gets away doesn’t cash in the haul until years later. If this guy thinks that’s what really happened, he might think there’s still enough of it around to make all this worthwhile.”

  Dave nodded his assent. “Of course, this doesn’t have to be one of the people who were caught. There might have been more than one who got away. This could be someone completely off our radar, someone who’s been biding their time, keeping on the lookout all these years for any clue about what happened to Stone.”

  “So what will you do?”

  “We’ll probably have a look at the likely suspects, and maybe check what sort of alibis they have.” He hesitated. “I have to say, kidnapping and false imprisonment can be difficult to prove if the victim has escaped and can’t reliably identify the perpetrators. Especially if there’s no solid evidence.”
/>   “What about the rest of his crew?”

  “The younger guys? They sound like some kind of ‘gun for hire’ mob. Somehow they’ve got themselves on your friend’s payroll.”

  I asked him if he’d found out anything about the premises where I’d been held.

  “It’s an old candle factory. It’s been scheduled for demolition for years, but there’s been an ongoing dispute about a possible listing of some of the buildings. You were in the office complex, in a meeting room.”

  “Funny place to hold meetings – underground.”

  “They must have been a secretive lot, these candle makers.”

  * * *

  I parked my car warily when I got back to Thornton Heath. The first kidnapping had been in broad daylight, so there was no knowing when these persistent people would make their next move. With relief, I found a space close to my house and hurried to the front door.

  Dave had told me he’d renewed his request for my local police to keep their eye out for me, but this had clearly counted for little so far, and I was nervous. As soon as I was indoors I rang the joiner who’d repaired my front door, and arranged for him to come and fit extra bolts front and back. It was hard to believe I was being forced to adopt this fortress mentality, but the simple fact was that I needed to feel secure.

  Having sorted that out, I sat at my computer trying to think about work. However, I couldn’t stop my brain from playing back the night’s events repeatedly. What the hell would have happened if I hadn’t escaped? How much casual violence would those people have been prepared to inflict on me before accepting that I simply had nothing to tell them?