Mummy's Favourite (24 page)

The lights from the ambulance lit up the whole street, casting an eerie blue tinge across everything they touched. The road was otherwise quiet. It was the early hours of the morning and the moon was still casting a pale glow in the sky. The boughs of the trees lay still with hardly a breath of wind to stir them into movement. A black and white cat perched on a fence nearby, watching carefully, with green eyes glinting turquoise, as the paramedics pulled up outside the house.

Ryan Hubbard was standing at the door and ran towards them as they climbed out of the cab.

‘Quick, my dad's been beaten up,' he shouted as he jumped over the wall by the front door and sprinted across the lawn. ‘It's bad.'

The paramedics nodded in his direction and split, one making his way towards the front door, while the other collected the kit.

Keith Hubbard was lying in the hallway. His head rested on the flooring and a thin steady stream of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and his nose, which was obviously broken. Both eyes were red and swollen so that neither opened more than a slit, showing bloodshot pupils which failed to focus. His torso lay at a strange angle to the wall, one leg splayed out in front of him while the other was curled up underneath his body. At least two fingers were distorted and bent. He moaned quietly as he shifted his body weight off his bent leg, attempting to open his eyes and mouth.

‘What's his name?' The paramedic glanced towards Ryan who was staring down at his father.

‘Dad,' he replied without thinking. ‘No sorry, it's Keith. Keith Hubbard.'

‘Keith!' the paramedic spoke loudly next to Keith's head. ‘Can you hear me?'

Hubbard appeared to hear the man but his body didn't want to move when he tried to shift. He managed to nod.

‘Do you know if your dad's been unconscious at all?'

Ryan shook his head in panic. ‘I don't know. I think he has. I couldn't get him to talk to me at all when the men who did it first went, and he wouldn't move. I was calling his name, but he just lay there.'

‘Do you know what happened?'

‘Not really. I got woken up by shouting. I came downstairs and there were two men laying into him. They were dressed all in black with their faces covered. When they saw me, they legged it. Dad was just lying there. I tried to get him up but he wouldn't move.' Ryan stared down at his father. ‘He was bleeding and couldn't talk to me. He was just groaning; then he went all quiet. I called for the ambulance.' He looked at the paramedic as if checking to see that he'd done the right thing.

‘You've done very well, looking after your dad like this.'

The other medic came in, carrying some kitbags and a bright red blanket. Ryan stood back and watched as they checked his father's blood pressures and pulse, inserted a line for fluids and generally looked for other injuries. There were bruises and wheals all over his arms and legs and torso, livid red and purple, with swelling distorting the skin. He'd certainly been given a good hiding. They brought in a trolley and got ready to lift him, stabilizing his neck carefully, all the time explaining what they were doing to both Ryan and his father.

Hubbard was getting more alert as the paramedics spoke but he didn't appear to want to give much in the way of explanation. He remained tight-lipped if any questions were asked about what had happened.

Ryan stood to one side watching, his mouth open as if he was only now taking in the full shock of what had happened.

‘One of the men said his name if you want to know that,' he said quietly as they were nearly finished. His dad glared at him and lifted his hand to his mouth, pinching together his thumb and index finger and moving them over his lips as if to zip them. Ryan nodded his understanding. He wouldn't say a word, but what on earth had his dad done to justify this?

As Hubbard was being lifted on to the stretcher, a police van pulled up, its blue lights revolving at odds with the ambulance's so that the whole road was lit up alternately. Bill Morley was one of the officers attending. He watched as Hubbard was made comfortable on the metal stretcher and tucked up tightly in the blanket. One of the paramedics briefly described what wounds were obvious and the fact that he may have head, neck or spinal injuries due to the severity of the attack. Bill concentrated as they spoke. This was the same man who had attacked his friend Charlie. He wanted to commit everything he was being told to memory. His colleague brought tape to secure the house as a crime scene. Bill knew that they still had to treat the case professionally, but what a sweet turn-up for the books.

‘Give us a minute, son,' he said to Ryan, indicating for him to wait outside the ambulance. He climbed on board and edged up next to the casualty.

‘So, do you want to tell me what's happened?' He couldn't help his slight smile as he asked the question.

Hubbard went to shake his head but he couldn't move it. Bill knew he'd caught his expression.

‘Any idea why someone would want to do this to you?'

Hubbard remained quiet.

‘Have you got any enemies? Anyone who holds a grudge against you? You know? Is there anyone that you've recently had issues with, whose friends or relatives might wish to have a word with you?'

Hubbard squinted towards him, his eyes tiny slits. Bill checked that the paramedics were still busy preparing the ambulance for leaving. He winked at the man and tilted his head slightly. ‘I'm sure there must be someone? After all you've got a bit of recent history, haven't you? Now, let me think. There was that police-woman who you kicked down the stairs, wasn't there? You know, the one that you stood in court and lied about? Got away with that one, so I heard?'

Hubbard turned his eyes away. Bill Morley exhaled through his nose noisily.

‘Oh yes, and then your wife and son have gone missing, haven't they? And people think you've got something to do with that too, don't they? You know? No smoke without fire and all that. Too guilty to even appear on
Crimewatch
last night. Or was that because you've heard that shrinks might be watching you for tell-tale signs of guilt? Maybe you thought you might give the game away?'

He raised his eyebrows towards Hubbard knowingly. Hubbard's eyes held a glimmer of fear now. He clenched his fists tightly but couldn't move any further.

‘Then there's your solicitor who's been reporting a stalker? Attacked in the street by a masked man just a few minutes after you'd been released from the police station? Coincidence? Maybe, but the picture's coming together, don't you think? A bit of a woman-hater eh?'

Bill Morley bent down so that his mouth was close to Hubbard's ear.

‘Or now, could it be the fact that you've been spying on Dana Latchmere and turning up at her home address, so her husband thinks? He was telling us about it a few hours ago, at the same time as he reported her and his daughter missing. You're stalking his wife and then she goes missing. He has represented some very nasty people and got them off all sorts of stuff. I'm sure he could call in a few favours, don't you think?'

He pulled back and winked at Hubbard again, and he knew that Hubbard knew that he had the measure of him.

‘And that's just to name a few cases that I know about. I'm sure you will have pissed off a lot more people, especially women, in the past than I've just mentioned.'

The rear door to the ambulance opened and a couple of plain-clothes officers stepped up into the warm, stuffy interior. Bill Morley looked at them with amusement. He knew what was coming. Hubbard's eyes flicked from him to the new officers and back again.

‘Well you seem to have lots of people who want to speak to you, Keith. I'm sure there'll be even more who would love to hear the truth instead of the lies you tell.'

He beckoned towards the officers and one moved across towards them. ‘Keith Hubbard, I'm arresting you on suspicion of involvement in the abduction of Dana and Gemma Latchmere last night. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned, something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say will be written down and given in evidence.'

‘Piss off the lot of you.' Hubbard spat out, wincing in pain as he moved his mouth. ‘And leave me alone.'

Bill bent down low and put his mouth close to the injured man.

‘Now, I don't think we'll be doing that for a long time, do you? Actually, I personally will make it my mission not to leave you alone until you pay for what you did to my mate. And…' he paused as if to accentuate the meaning. ‘I think I may well be at the front of a very long queue.'

*

Two hours later, Keith Hubbard was lying within the disinfected walls of the local accident and emergency department debating who had done this to him. He had two names, Bear and Ratman, but didn't know who they were, or more importantly who had sent them. It was clear they were just paid thugs. His body ached all over and his face in particular hurt like hell, but he knew the damage wasn't lasting. The X-rays hadn't revealed any major damage to his neck or spine, though he did have a fractured finger and nose and a displaced eye socket. A splint had been applied to his finger, and his nose was to be looked at later to see whether it would need to be reset, but at the moment all the signs were that he would make a full recovery. The facial fractures would be left to mend on their own and the swelling and bruising would disappear.

Whoever the bastards were who did this would pay though! He, Keith Hubbard, did not take kindly to being set upon in his own house, without returning the compliment.

He thought back to what had happened. He was an idiot. He should never have opened the door, but then no one usually took him on without expecting a taste of their own medicine. But the contest had been uneven; he was no match on his own for two hooded thugs armed with iron bars, and with Ryan in the house, he dare not try to escape. It was too late when he'd tried to shut the door. He had known then that he was fucked. Barely had he opened his mouth to remonstrate when a fist had hit him squarely in the face, sending him reeling back against the small chest of drawers in the hallway. From then on the rest was history; blows and kicks had rained in on him relentlessly and he'd barely managed to reply with any punches of his own. He had been knocked to the floor and kicked senseless.

The two thugs had said little until the end, letting their actions do the talking. At each blow, however, he heard the abuse. ‘Bastard, bastard, bastard.' And when they'd planted their last few blows, the larger of the two bent down towards him and sneered at his crumpled body.

‘So! Where are they?'

He'd said nothing.

‘Do you still think you're a big man now, attacking women and kids? Well this is for them. You'd better release them immediately or we'll be back, you understand? My name is Bear and this here is Ratman, remember those names. We're not to be messed with, so don't even think about it, or the next time you won't be getting back up. Do you understand?'

He'd sneered back, but the thug had hit him again across his swollen face and then he'd heard the footsteps and was aware Ryan was running down the stairs towards them. He didn't want him involved or, worse still, in danger.

‘I said, do you understand? I'm talking to you?'

He nodded. He understood. Violence was a language he knew only too well.

When he found out who they were and who was behind this though, he would get his revenge; and it wouldn't be verbal. It would be in a language they all understood. No one disrespected him in his own house, in front of his own kid, and got away with it.

It was 4.05 a.m. precisely when the coach pulled up at the scene of Dana and Gemma's abduction, having been diverted from the direct route back to Lambeth from Cardiff. Hunter had been seated next to Charlie for the journey, but both had been deep in thought for most of the way. She had tried to sleep a little, knowing that once they arrived, most of their day would be taken up with the new investigation. Sleep had come fitfully, but she had managed to drift off a few times and was grateful for even the couple of hours she'd managed.

Hunter tried and failed to stifle a yawn.

‘Think that's all the shut eye we'll be getting for a good long time,' he said sleepily. ‘Come on then.'

The coach was finishing its manoeuvre now. Most of the occupants were staying on board, but she and Hunter wanted to take a look around the latest crime scene.

They shuffled down the gangway and out of the door, the freshness of the early morning hitting them immediately. She pulled her jacket collar up around her neck and folded her arms into her body, trying to keep the warmth of the coach trapped within the fabric next to her skin. A street lamp at each corner of a large parking area lit up row upon row of coaches, standing mutely shoulder to shoulder, their headlights, like eyes; huge, silent witnesses to everything around them.

The rear exit of the coach park led them through width restrictions into a narrow back street cordoned off with blue and white incident tape. They stopped briefly to give their details to the uniformed officer on guard before heading towards the inner cordon lit up with arc lights.

Hunter nodded and continued walking toward the lights. It was quite a distance. To the side of them, huge, stinking mounds of rubbish lay piled high, with JCB's abandoned, their cabs tilting over precariously, their buckets empty and lifeless.

There was no sound of traffic, in fact there was barely any sound at all, just the slight movement of rubbish shifting in the breeze and the odd rustle of animals and birds in the shrubs to the side.

The road was made from tarmac, cracked and broken at the edges but wide enough for two bin lorries to pass. A small stony verge on either side was dotted with rubbish blown from the nearby landfill. The dump was situated to the right-hand side of the road and a small area of thin trees and scrub was on the left. Plastic bags clung defiantly to some of the branches.