Snatched From Home: What Would You Do To Save Your Children? (DI Harry Evans Book 1) (17 page)

Jonny was sitting on the couch biting his nails when Steve came into the room. His friend looked calm, but Jonny wasn’t fooled. He could see the tick which only surfaced when Steve was stressed out.

They were in their rented cottage on the outskirts of Alston, high on the edge of the Westmorland Hills. The two-bedroom cottage was dilapidated and possessed by a dank smell, but it was all they could afford on their meagre incomes. Besides, the smell could always be hidden with a scoosh of deodorant on the rare occasions either of them brought a girl back.

He’d known Steve for sixteen years. They had begun school together and Jonny had long ago learned to monitor his friend’s left eye. It was the projector of all emotions. When still and calm his friend was at ease and planning something, be it tickling fish from the banks of a river or shoplifting sweets. Yet when Steve’s eye twitched, he was nervous or insecure. The trait at its most common when Steve was around a girl he fancied. Despite being the class clown, Steve had never had Jonny’s confidence or easy manner with girls.

Today his left eye was jerking the way it had when they’d been summoned to the headmaster’s office along with their parents. An experience neither wanted to remember. They’d been expelled by the head before being taken home and punished by their respective parents.

‘Have you heard the news, Steve?’

‘Don’t worry, we were in and out clean, like. They’ll never connect it to us.’

‘You killed a man. Don’t you feel bad about that? I feel like shit. His blood was on my trainers.’

‘No, I don’t feel bad. What do you think he was gonna do with that cricket bat? Knight us? He was gonna crown us with it. We coulda been lying dead instead of him. It was survival of the fittest.’

‘Fuck, man, I don’t know. All I’m sure of is that we’ll get caught for this.’ Jonny was terrified of being sent down for murder. What should have been easy money was turning into a nightmare.

Try as he might, he still couldn’t work out how he’d let Steve talk him into this latest escapade. All his life he’d followed his friend from one disaster to another. Enough was enough. If they got away with this one, he’d never let Steve drag him into another hare-brained scheme.

‘Don’t be soft, they’ll never trace it to us. We’ll take a run out on the moors tonight and burn the clothes we had on. Then what proof’ll they have?’

‘Proof? I cut my hand there and even I don’t remember where I did it. If they find my blood and discover it isn’t Armstrong’s, it’s only a matter of time before they come knocking on our door.’

‘They haven’t got your DNA, have they, dickhead?’

‘Just how fuckin’ stupid are you? Remember when Tracy Scott was raped and they took samples from us to eliminate us from their enquiries?’

‘They said the samples would be destroyed once they had cleared us. I bet they haven’t kept the records.’

‘Are you prepared to bet a murder charge? ’Cause that’s what’s at stake.’ The twitch moved into overdrive. Jonny could see his friend was now experiencing the same panic he’d felt since hearing of Armstrong’s death.

‘Shit. Fuck. Fuck.’

Steve started dashing about the small flat they shared, grabbing at any clothes they had been wearing and stuffing them into the holdall they’d had with them. Trainers, coats, gloves and even socks were stuffed into the bag.

Now that Steve’s mind was infected with his friend’s panic he could barely focus on the task at hand. Jonny’s mind was clearer as he’d had more time to come to terms with the enormity of the situation they were now in. He made sure that every scrap of clothing worn to the robbery went in the holdall.

‘Right we need to go up into the Dales and find a place where we can burn these clothes and hide the cash we took last night. No way can we account for that much money if plod come knocking.’

‘What we gonna do with it?’

Jonny thought for a moment. ‘Get a Tupperware box from the cupboard. Put the cash in it, then wrap it to death with cling film. Wear your gloves while you do it. I’ll borrow a spade from my folks. We’ll bury it this afternoon when we burn our clothes.’

‘Isn’t it better to wait until night-time?’

Surprised at his now clear head, Jonny was almost relishing the way he was taking charge of the situation. If it wasn’t for the fact he was on the point of shitting bricks, he’d have enjoyed the role reversal he and Steve had just experienced.

From now on he’d lead with logic and common sense instead of following with faith and naivety.

‘How long does it take to trace DNA?’

Steve scratched his head. ‘Dunno.’

‘No, neither do I. That’s why we should do it as soon as possible.’

Jonny managed to get Steve, the stolen money and all the stuff they planned to burn into Steve’s car and heading along the A689 towards Durham in less than five minutes.

‘Steve, will you slow down, for fuck’s sake.’

‘I want that shit out of the car and on fire as soon as possible.’

‘So do I. But if you crash before we get there, then we’re practically handing oursel’s over to the cops.’

Jonny was amazed at the logic that had overtaken him. He’d never expected to be calm in a crisis, yet here he was plotting and scheming ways to give them the best possible chance of getting away with a crime they’d never intended to commit.

Reaching the town of Stanhope, Steve turned right down a narrow road and followed it as it wound its way south towards Barnard Castle with snow poles marking the roadside every fifty metres. The countryside here was rugged and inhospitable. The North Pennines rose around them. Scrub grass and heather covered the hills. Patches of white-tipped reeds indicated marshes. Finding an old track, they hid the car behind some dense gorse and trekked over the brow of a small hill so that they could build their fire away from the road.

Steve’s eye twitched like a beheaded snake as they reached the bottom of a valley. Jonny scanned the horizon looking for shepherds or gamekeepers who might be wandering the hills. Finding neither, he squatted down on a pebbled area beside a burbling stream and started emptying their clothes from the holdall until they were piled in front of him.

Pulling a bottle of brandy from the backpack, Jonny drenched the pile of clothes with half the bottle before lighting a cigarette and dropping it onto a brandy-soaked T-shirt. Flames billowed out from the pile. The fire sizzled and twisted as the man-made fibres melted and burned. A foul stench hung in the smoke from the fire. Jonny blamed Steve’s trainers for the smell and told him so. Steve just stared at the fire, oblivious to the insult.

As the fire died down, they used the shovel to push the charred remains together until there were no longer any visible flames. The small pile that remained bore witness to a few scraps of burnt clothing and a twisted mess of plastic from their trainers. Jonny emptied the rest of the brandy onto the pile and relit the fire using another cigarette.

While the last of the evidence against them was burning, he turned his mind to finding a plausible reason for his blood being at a murder scene. Not knowing if the cops were going to knock on his door was terrifying, but it still wasn’t as scary as the thought of the cops knocking on his door asking questions he didn’t have answers for.

Steve picked up the spade and the Tupperware box of money. Between them, they found a place they could identify at a later date and buried the money.

Returning to the now extinguished fire, Jonny dug a hole into which he put the final embers of the fire. With all the evidence either buried or burned they returned to the car. As Steve drove back towards Alston, Jonny filled him in on the lies he’d concocted to explain the presence of his blood at the hotel.

Jonny knew he should blame Steve for getting him into this predicament. Yet his sense of loyalty prevented him from blaming Steve. Instead he blamed himself for being fool enough to listen to Steve.

If they got away with this, he’d make sure he never made the same mistake again. Today’s power shift in their relationship would prevent Steve dragging them into future trouble. From now on he was going to resist his friend’s wild adventures, the madcap schemes, the challenging dares.

Samantha rolled the shoe over and over in her hand. Her fingers brushing the smooth plastic as a plan began to germinate. The shoe had stayed on her foot as she’d been pinned down by Blair. The other lost in the struggle.

This was the fifth day of their kidnapping and she was worried by the lack of signs pointing to their release. The day after tomorrow they’d either be released or would have to face the burner. Blair’s lechery was getting worse by the day and his attempt to get into their room was uppermost in her mind. Elvis had been quick to stop him, but she expected Blair to try again.

Doubt flooded her mind as she wrestled with the plan taking shape in her head. It would involve an act of aggression that could see them receive a dire punishment if it failed. On the other hand, if she judged it right, they would have a chance to get away. To escape their captors.

She weighed the consequences against the thought of a successful escape. If she’d been alone, she’d accept the risk and go ahead with her plan without a second thought. She had Kyle to consider, though. He was fast for his age, but she knew he wasn’t as quick on his feet as she was. He would slow her down and if they failed to get away he too might face the kidnapper’s wrath.

She had to protect her brother and any failed escape attempt would endanger him. It didn’t take much imagination to guess the punishment Blair would suggest, but what of Elvis?

He was not as perverted as Blair, but he possessed coldness in his demeanour. Aloof and uncaring, he’d appraised her with a clinical eye rather than lust. She might beg and plead that she alone should face the music, but Elvis was the kind of person who would leave her untouched, choosing instead to hurt Kyle as a better way of punishing her.

Samantha couldn’t bring herself to take the gamble yet, but she knew that unless things changed then she would have no choice. Their best hope of escaping would be tomorrow, she decided, and so she began refining the finer details of her plan.

When to carry it out?

Night would be good, as they could hide in the shadows once they got outside. However, all four men were usually in the house by nightfall and there’d be less chance of getting passed four than one. Early morning would be the same. Lunchtime seemed best as there was always less noise carrying up from downstairs around noon than at other times. Plus, lunchtime was one of the three times of day when the door was opened. A new tray was brought in and the old one taken out by either Elvis or Blair.

How far to go with the distraction?

All the way would give the greatest return, but it may backfire if it was Blair who brought their lunch. Halfway would carry as much initial impact but may not buy them enough time for her plan to work. Fully committing to the distraction would also hinder her once she was out of the room. If Blair brought their lunch, she decided, halfway would suffice. But Elvis would require initiating a full distraction plan. Elvis always called out to them to move back from the door, but Blair didn’t. This would give her maybe ten seconds to change from one course of action to the other as the door was unbolted. Would it be enough? A new refinement came into her mind. It would remove the hindrance, but it would require a speedy adjustment between full and half.

Knowing there was only one way to be certain, Samantha went to the bathroom and practised switching from maximum distraction to half, counting the seconds in her head as she practised. Once she had got the changeover time down to the count of nine she rejoined Kyle and finalised her plans.

Which way to go once they were outside?

Judging by the lack of traffic sounds, the farm they were held in was somewhere remote, so there would be no cars to save them. Roads were out as the men would just drive after them and they’d be caught in no time. Running across fields would be hard going and they would soon tire. However, the men would too. Samantha bet that both she and Kyle would be faster over fields than their out-of-shape kidnappers. Fences and hedges would provide greater obstacles for Kyle than they would for the men. They would have to be avoided at all costs until they had got far enough away. As long as the men didn’t have a tractor or one of those four-wheeled bikes outside, they’d stand a better chance going across fields. A small river or stream would be a godsend, as it would prevent the men following them on any kind of vehicle. If only there was a wood or forest nearby. Then they could lose the men in the trees or find a hiding place.

Samantha decided to wait and see. Everything depended on which direction looked best once they were free of the house.

Campbell was tying his laces when an insistent knock at the door announced Evans’s arrival. He wasn’t looking forward to tonight as he’d rather have been with his wife and new son. His kidneys ached in anticipation of a drinking session with Evans, but he had to show willing with his new team.

When he’d discussed it with Sarah, she’d told him that he should go and enjoy himself as she would be home the next day and he’d be back to work on Friday.

Opening the door, he found Evans shifting his weight from foot to foot. In his hands was a large parcel wrapped up with a cornflower blue ribbon.

‘I got you a few bits for the lad, like.’

As Campbell thanked Evans for the gift, he could sense the older man’s discomfort. He was used to kicking doors in and arresting people, not delivering gifts for babies. Remembering Evans had told him he was childless, the penny dropped. Evans was envious of him, but rather than being the type to be bitter he was generous enough to not only to hide his jealousy but to come bearing gifts.

‘C’mon then, lad. That drink’ll not sup itself.’

Smiling at Evans’s false gruffness, Campbell followed him out to the car.

They met up with the other team members at a pub in the heart of the city. Campbell had never seen the team away from work and was delighted to see they’d all made it along.

Lauren was deep in conversation with a couple of guys he recognised as detectives based in Carlisle. Her expressive mouth conveyed her thoughts to anyone who cared to look. Chisholm nursed an orange juice and fiddled with his phone, looking ill at ease. Bhaki raised a questioning eyebrow from his position at the bar, tipping his hand to his mouth to complete the enquiry.

The team gathered around him with congratulations and enquiries after the health of mother and baby.

He knew he was being a stereotypical new parent, but he didn’t care, as he showed them the pictures of Alan on his phone and soaked up their comments. The euphoria of last night still undiminished.

Soon the conversation drifted away from Alan to more usual topics.

‘There’s plenty of folk out tonight, eh?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Knock it off with the, sir, Neil. We’re off duty tonight.’

‘Does that mean I can call you John then?’

Unable to stop himself, Campbell made a comment he knew was inappropriate. ‘In that dress you can call me owt you like.’

Lauren was wearing a tight cerise dress, which clung to every curve of her body. From hem to underarm on each side was a sheer black panel an inch wide.

Campbell knew he shouldn’t be looking tonight of all nights, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from checking out the flesh on display through the sheer panels. The absence of underwear caused a pang of desire to tug at his conscience, testing for a vulnerable spot. Her perfume was Issey Miyake, the same as Sarah wore. Looking was all he planned to do though.

You can still read the menu when you’re on a diet.

They were all in good spirits as they laughed and joked their way around the city centre hotspots. Evans appeared to know at least half of the people they bumped into regardless of the fact that most were at least half his age. Bhaki and Chisholm were trying to get close to Lauren, who was getting sent endless drinks from guys wherever she went. She seemed to be almost as well known as Evans, a fact Evans commented on. ‘She must be anti-religious, in one night she’s gonna make a good Hindu boy forsake all others and have half the male population of Carlisle bashing the bishop.’

‘The sight of her in that dress is enough to make a bulldog break its chain.’

‘What was that?’ Lauren joined them.

‘I was just suggesting that we go to the George next.’ Evans covered for Campbell without batting an eyelid.

Campbell was content to let Evans choose the venues. ‘Lead on, Harry. You know Carlisle much better than me.’

‘C’mon then, drink up.’ Evans turned to the younger members of the team and informed them of their next destination.

‘This I’ve got to see. You’re taking DI Campbell to the King George?’

A needle of trepidation pricked at Campbell when he heard Chisholm’s words.

‘At least he’ll be safe tonight.’

The team made their way out of the bar, with Evans leading them down Botchergate at a brisk walk. The air had turned cooler and the first spits of a cloudburst fell sideways from the leaden skies, propelled by an ever-present breeze that blew down from the Crescent which had once been the city’s south gate.

Chisholm waddled in the rear, his girth preventing him from matching the pace set by Evans.

There was a queue outside the King George. A pair of doormen was only allowing people in when other customers left. As was his wont, Evans ignored the queue and went straight up to the first doorman who was a hulking figure of six and a half feet plus.

‘Are you gonna let us in or do I have to ask you to turn out your pockets?’ Evans demanded of the doorman who towered over him.

‘Alreet, Harry.’ The hulking doorman smiled and proceeded to turn out his pockets anyway. ‘I’m as clean as ever and you know my stance on drugs.’

‘That a do. How’s the wife and kids?’

‘She’s grand, thanks. Did you hear she’s pregnant with number five? I think she’s trying to trap me.’

Laughing at the man’s joke, Evans led the team into the bar and turned to watch Campbell’s expression as he gazed around the bar. The whole team doubled over as Campbell’s gaze circled the crowded room. His eyes flitted from one poster to another, first Beckham, then Shearer, Bobby Moore, Bryan Robson, Bobby Charlton and assorted other English footballing legends.

‘You bastards! You shower of utter bastards.’ Despite his words, his smile showed he could see the funny side of a Scotsman being taken into a staunch English bar a mere four hours after England had won a vital World Cup qualifier.

Campbell waited until the laughter subsided and then delivered the best rejoinder he had on the subject. ‘Next time any of you buggers cross the border, I’ll take you to a certain pub in Glasgow so you can see the centre circle we claimed in ’seventy-seven.’ He pointed at the picture of Geoff Hurst, which held pride of place above the bar. ‘It’s a damn site more impressive than a picture of the only man in history to score a two-goal hat-trick.’

Evans went off to the bar to get a round in leaving Campbell to explain to the others the infamous pitch invasion after Scotland beat England all those years ago.

As the drinks went down, Campbell kept a close eye on the behaviour of his team. Bhaki draped an arm around a girl who’d sidled up to him and was hanging on every slurred word that left his lips. As long as he didn’t have too much more to drink his luck would be in. More concerning to him was the way Lauren was rebuffing her various suitors. He didn’t want to flatter himself, but it appeared to him, she’d decided he was the man she wanted to take home. A keen people-watcher who could observe the little details most overlooked, Campbell could hear Lauren’s body language screaming, ‘I’m available. All you have to do is ask.’ Her laughs at his jokes were just that little bit too loud. She made contact where none was needed. She underlined comments with suggestive twists of her mouth.

Returning from the toilets, Campbell could tell that the something had been said between Evans and Lauren. Her mouth was crinkled into a defiant pout. He guessed it was about her blatant flirting with him. As he approached them, she made her excuses and left their company to talk with a bunch of guys eager to receive her attention.

While grateful for the concern shown, he was a big boy and had no intentions of doing anything more than a bit of harmless flirting with Lauren. Although a part of him felt the prick of desire, Sarah and Alan were far too important to him. Even a night with the beautiful and sexy Lauren wasn’t enough for him to risk losing them.

God, it’d be bloody good though!

Midnight came and went, but Evans showed no sign of slowing. Campbell was struggling to maintain a clear head. The edges of his peripheral vision were blurry and he’d taken a drunken lurch the last time he’d visited the toilets.

Bhaki was the first to leave. He went arm in arm with the girl he’d met earlier. Then Lauren departed with one of the men she’d been talking to.

After another round of drinks Campbell, Evans and Chisholm left the bar and set off in opposite directions. Evans and Chisholm went looking for a taxi while Campbell found a take-away that was still serving and ordered a pizza.

Eating his pizza as he searched for a taxi, Campbell felt a hand on his arm and heard a soft voice whisper in his ear. A familiar scent filling his nostrils.

‘Your place or mine, John?’