See How They Run (11 page)

H
arry sprinted
to the railings and scanned the esplanade. No sign of Ruth among the pedestrians strolling back and forth below him, but by now she was probably hidden from view by the i360 site. Then some instinct caused him to look in the opposite direction, and he spotted her walking briskly towards Brighton pier. She must have doubled back once he was out of sight.

Dashing for the ramp, he started to feel foolish. Wasn’t this a silly overreaction, going into panic mode because of one missed call?

He was closing the distance when Ruth turned and gazed straight at him: a brief, unsettling act of telepathy.

‘Harry?’

‘I just tried to phone Alice. There was no answer, but it didn’t go to voicemail. It’s like she cut the connection, or someone did—’

She raised her hand. ‘Calm, Harry.’

‘Look …’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. I probably should have mentioned this sooner, but there
was
a parcel.’

He quickly relayed Alice’s account of an elderly man collecting what had appeared to be an innocently misdirected delivery. Ruth shook her head, as if sorely disappointed. ‘I wish you’d said.’

‘But
I
only found about it last night. And after those cops came round I wasn’t sure who I could trust.’

She considered this, blinked slowly a couple of times, then said, ‘Okay. I can see that.’

He called Alice’s number three times, with no success. On the third attempt he left a message: ‘Alice, can you ring me when you get this? Straight away, please. I need to know you’re all right.’

‘Maybe you just caught her at a bad time,’ Ruth offered, but her expression was almost as tense as his own.

‘I hope that’s all it is. What do you think?’

‘I think you need to get home, to be sure.’ Ruth was already turning back the way she’d come. ‘We’ll take my car. Come on.’

T
he Seat was moving almost
before Alice had shut her door. She clung to the seatbelt as the car lurched out of the parking space.

Renshaw’s attention was focused on his mirrors rather than on the road ahead, so he didn’t react when a lorry nosed out of a turning to his left. Alice’s scream came just in time, causing him to jerk the wheel and avoid a collision.

He braked sharply at the approach to Dyke Road. As the car came to a halt Alice wrestled the belt buckle into its clasp, adjusting the strap so it went to one side of the baby carrier. It shocked her that she could even think of transporting Evie like this, flouting the law and taking a dreadful risk, but it was only because the alternative was so much worse.

Mercifully there was a gap in the traffic, so Renshaw was able to turn right without a delay. Just ahead, the pedestrian lights by the cafe were changing to red. He stamped on the accelerator and sped through them. Checked the mirror again, and let out a grateful sigh.

‘Where are we going?’ Alice asked.

‘Just away from here. That is what matters for now, yes?’

She said nothing. At the junction with The Upper Drive the road was empty and the lights were green. Alice let out a sigh. She inspected her hand, plucked out the fragment of glass and found a tissue in her pocket to stem the bleeding. She felt she could think clearly now, for the first time since she’d been dragged into Renshaw’s house.

‘If you can drop me off near the top of Dyke Road, I’ll walk to Hove Park and get a bus.’

‘And then where? You cannot go home.’

‘I’ve got friends, family—’

‘And you know for sure that you will be safe?’ Before she could object, he added: ‘They saw you, remember, climbing over the fence with me. Their next step will be to search your home, as well as mine. If you have an address book, they will find it. They will be looking for
you
now. To lead them to
me
.’

‘But I’ve got nothing to do with this …’ She tailed off, recognising the absurdity of her statement. ‘And there’s Evie. She has to be fed, and changed, and I don’t have—’

‘This is far from perfect,’ he said irritably. ‘But I will try to find a solution.’

A moment later he swore. There was a line of about a dozen cars waiting to enter the roundabout at the top of Dyke Road. Alice felt a spasm of panic. There were no other junctions, nowhere they could turn off the main road.

Sitting ducks.

She reacted without thinking, throwing open the door while simultaneously releasing the seatbelt. Renshaw clawed at her, pulling at one of the carrier straps as Alice struggled to climb out of the car. Whether deliberately or not, he feathered the accelerator and the car rolled forward, almost bringing her down as she broke free of his grasp.

Stumbling, she made it to the pavement and straightened up. Evie was wailing so loudly that it drowned out Renshaw’s protests. In the car behind, a middle-aged man was gaping at her, open-mouthed. Should she ask another motorist for help? Beg someone to give her a lift?

The sound of car horns from further down the hill caught her attention. She moved closer to the road and saw two cars driving aggressively, leapfrogging the slower traffic and accelerating fast towards them.

The queue for the roundabout began to move. Renshaw’s car jerked forward, causing the passenger door to swing shut. The car behind followed, the driver now studiously ignoring Alice. Whatever was going on, he wanted no part of it. That small act brought home to her how vulnerable she was.

‘Wait!’

She ran to catch up with the Seat. Renshaw only slowed when the traffic came to a halt. Once again his indifference was oddly reassuring; she had little to fear from him, whereas there were very good reasons to be afraid of the people chasing them.

She opened the door and dropped into the seat. Renshaw winced at the sound of Evie crying.

‘Mad woman! What did I tell you?’

‘All right. Just go. They’re only a few seconds away.’

‘Then keep the baby quiet. I must concentrate.’

Doing her best to calm her daughter, Alice fastened the seatbelt and grabbed the door handle as Renshaw pulled on to the roundabout without any regard for the traffic coming from his right. Somehow he managed to weave between a lorry and two other cars, sped across the road bridge and took a right at the smaller roundabout on to the eastbound carriageway of the A27.

Now they had a chance, Alice thought, keeping a close eye on the wing mirror. With any luck their pursuers would assume they’d gone left, on the westbound route.

As the familiar landscape slipped past – the playing fields of Waterhall, nestled within the dramatic sweep of hills that led to Devil’s Dyke – she felt a stab of self-loathing.
This is all my fault. I didn’t have to take that second parcel across the road. Now I’m getting what I deserve …

But Evie shouldn’t have to suffer for her mother’s stupidity. Neither should Harry.

‘I need to call my husband.’

Renshaw nodded. ‘Of course. Later.’

‘Why later? If it’s not safe at the house, I’ve got to warn him.’

Silence. Alice twisted round in her seat, preparing for a confrontation. It dimly registered that Renshaw was still on the slip road, which would take them north on to the A23.

‘Give me my phone, please.’

‘I cannot have you call the police.’

‘I won’t. Just one quick call to my husband.’ She paused. ‘If I don’t get in touch he’s bound to go to the police. And he knows about the parcel – he can tell them enough to cause problems for you.’

Renshaw fumed. ‘You are an obstinate woman.’ But his hand was moving towards his pocket.

R
uth’s car
was a brand new Vauxhall Corsa. A hire car, she explained: something else she varied, for the sake of anonymity.

It took a few minutes to exit the car park beneath the town hall. Harry was frantic by the time they turned into West Street. Although his home was only about a mile away, all the city centre routes were choked with traffic.

‘Maybe I should call the police?’ he said, as they endured an interminable wait at the lights outside Waterstones.

‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t. But I can’t ask you not to.’

Harry was turning his phone over in his hand, trying to work out what he’d say.

‘There’s still a chance it’s something mundane,’ Ruth said. ‘Could be her phone’s out of battery.’

‘It shouldn’t be. She charges it every night.’

‘Okay. Then go ahead, if you feel that’s best.’

He nodded. Swiped to unlock the phone, and as he did the display lit up and he saw the magic words:
Alice calling
.

‘It’s her!’ He connected, realising how close he’d come to making a fool of himself. ‘Hi, darl—’

‘Harry, listen. I can’t explain it all now but something else has happened. Those people are still here. It’s not safe to come home tonight.’

‘What do you mean? Where are you? Is Evie all right?’

‘We’re both fine.’ A little catch in her voice gave the lie to that assurance. And Evie was moaning in the background, a wretched sound that tore at his heart.

‘Where are you? At home?’

‘No. But we’re safe, honestly.’

He caught a worried glance from Ruth, then had a terrible thought. Lowering his voice, he said, ‘Are you being coerced?’

‘No, it’s not that.’ She was crying openly now. ‘I’m sorry. This is all my fault.’

‘Please, just tell me where you are.’

‘On the A23.’ There was a pause, a heavy sigh. ‘I’m with Renshaw.’

‘With Renshaw? Why? I mean …’

‘There was another package. I took it to number 43. I thought it was safe, but they saw me. We only just got away.’

Ruth was leaning at an odd angle, trying to listen in. She tapped his leg. ‘Find out their destination, and whether she trusts him.’

‘Alice, is this definitely okay?’

‘Who’s with you?’ Alice cut in. ‘I heard a woman’s voice. Have you told someone about this?’

‘No. It’s not—’

‘Who is it, Harry?’

He glanced at Ruth, who gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Just … someone who knows about this. Someone who can help us. I was going to tell you tonight …’

He tailed off as they reached Seven Dials. It was a complex junction, and Ruth needed to know which exit to take.

Alice, with an angry sob, said, ‘Is this because I didn’t come clean about the parcel?’

‘No, of course it isn’t.’

‘How do you know you can trust her, Harry? For God’s sake, she could be working for
them
.’

‘Look, you have to forget that and tell me where you are, where you’re go—’

It was no use. The line had gone dead.

He’d lost her.

R
enshaw made
a couple of attempts to seize the phone while she was speaking, but each time Alice twisted away from him. More worrying was how the car veered dangerously whenever he took his hand off the wheel.

In the end she gave in, cut the connection and let him take the phone. She saw him trying to switch it off, but said nothing. In that moment he could have thrown it out of the window and she wouldn’t have cared. She felt numb. Sickened.

‘What is this?’ Renshaw muttered crossly, pushing the car to seventy, then eighty miles an hour, carving a track into the outside lane of the A23. ‘Who is with him?’

‘A woman,’ Alice sighed. She didn’t want to believe that Harry had been conned by a member of the gang, but she hated herself for the other possibility that slipped into her head:
He has a lover. Because you got fat, you’re always tired, you’re no fun
—

‘Working for them, that’s what you said?’

‘I don’t know that for sure. I just wanted to remind him to be careful.’

‘But this woman, she is a stranger?’

‘I didn’t recognise her voice.’ Alice shut her eyes for a second. She’d barely heard the woman, but if it was someone they knew, Harry would have identified her, wouldn’t he?

Not if it’s his lover. Molly from the office, with the sexy gap between her front teeth and a bum like a pair of apples.

‘Oh God, this is such a mess. It can’t be happening.’ Wearily she scrubbed at her face with both hands, then let out a slightly manic laugh. ‘
Is
it happening, or am I going to wake up soon?’

Renshaw only grunted, as if such a stupid question didn’t warrant an answer.

‘Where are we going, anyway?’

‘Better that I do not say.’

This fired her up again. ‘No way! I bloody well want to know, otherwise—’

‘Otherwise what? You will throw yourself from the car again?’ He jiggled the wheel, a malicious reminder of the speed they were doing. Then he shook his head. ‘I joke with you, yes? Right now I have no answer. I have to think of somewhere safe. Until then we just drive.’

H
arry stared
at his phone in horror. For a second or two he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. His wife and daughter were in a car with
Renshaw
?

He redialled but there was no answer. Was Renshaw refusing to let her take the call? Or had Alice decided that she couldn’t trust him?

He thumped his leg. ‘Fuck!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Ruth said. ‘I shouldn’t have butted in.’

Harry said nothing, still trying to make sense of this development. A moment later Ruth pulled into a lay-by outside a parade of shops at Seven Dials. She kept the engine running, but turned to face him.

‘Did I hear that your wife’s with Renshaw, and they’re running from the gang?’

‘Looks like it.’ Conscious of what else Ruth might have overheard, Harry was reluctant to say any more. But Ruth read his hesitation correctly.

‘And now she’s got you doubting me again.
How do I know you’re not the enemy?
That’s what you’re thinking.’

‘Well, it’s not impossible, is it?’

‘No, it’s not
impossible
, Harry.’ She gave him a quick, humourless smile, making him feel like a child, trying to justify some ridiculous notion to a grown-up. ‘Why didn’t you tell your wife about me?’

‘I’d intended to. But then I got home to find those detectives at the house. Afterwards I was so worried about who to trust … I didn’t want to add to her stress.’

Ruth nodded. ‘Fine, but it’s no wonder she freaked out.’

‘And now I have no idea where she is. That’s what really matters.’

There was a lot of emotion in his voice. Ruth reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘Back there on the beach, you made a decision to trust me. And that’s a smart decision, Harry. The right decision. Okay?’

‘Perhaps it is, but what are we going to do? If I call the police I can’t even tell them what make of car she’s in.’ He sighed. ‘This is all because we didn’t report the break-in when it happened.’

‘You had good reasons not to, and reporting it might have got you in even bigger trouble. You can’t change the past, so focus on now. The important thing is that they got away from Laird’s people.’

As far as we know
, Harry thought. ‘But what should I do? She said it’s not safe to go home.’

‘We can probably risk a drive past, maybe.’ She signalled, then pulled out on to the road. ‘But we have to be careful. They’ll want to search Renshaw’s house. And they’ll be sure to leave a couple of guys in the area, in case he comes back.’

‘He’s got to come back!’

‘You’ve seen the people that are chasing him. It’s suicide to return.’

‘So what about Alice and Evie? How do they get home?’

‘I expect he’ll drop them off somewhere.’ Ruth seemed to be choosing her words carefully, and Harry sensed the weight of what went unspoken.

‘But that’s not the only possibility?’

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘He may decide to keep hold of them for the time being.’

‘So they could end up as hostages, effectively?’

Ruth kept her eyes on the road. ‘Effectively, yes.’

T
hey turned
into Port Hall Road, went past Lavinia Street and drove around the block. Harry could barely concentrate on anything other than the idea of Alice and Evie being held by someone in desperate trouble, someone willing to use them as pawns. And not only was he unable to help them, he’d probably left Alice with the impression that he was cheating on her.

‘Fucking disaster,’ he muttered, not realising he’d spoken aloud until Ruth responded.

‘Put that aside for now. Have you noticed anything different along here? Anything out of place?’

‘Uh, no. I don’t think so.’

‘Good. Keep low and we’ll take a look at your street.’

She made the turn, and Harry felt anxiety clawing at his stomach. The sight of a woman pushing a buggy across the road produced a savage longing to see his wife and daughter, quite safe, enjoying a leisurely afternoon stroll.

At number 43 there was no obvious sign of a disturbance, but as they rolled past Harry sensed that something wasn’t quite right: too much shadow around the frame, as if the door was slightly open.

A moment later they were level with his own home. Here the front door was firmly shut. No movement at the windows.

‘Keep an eye on parked cars,’ Ruth told him. ‘If anyone’s just sitting there, we’ve got a problem.’

They reached the end of the street. Ruth decided on another circuit, finally parking in Port Hall Road, facing towards Dyke Road for a quick getaway. His home was about thirty seconds’ walk away; half that time if he ran.

‘I think it’s clear. I’ll keep watch while you go in.’ She saw the alarm on his face. ‘I take it you want to check out the house?’

‘Of course.’ He swallowed, hurriedly opening the door so that she wouldn’t see how nervous he was.

But I’m allowed to be nervous
.
This isn’t my life. This isn’t what I do
.

He took out his keys and caught Ruth giving them a thoughtful look.

‘Hold them in your fist, with a couple sticking between your fingers. Works like a knuckleduster.’

Harry stared at her, appalled.

‘Oh, and pack a bag. Enough for a couple of nights away.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Precautions.’ She flapped a hand. ‘Go.’

T
he afternoon sun
had a brittle warmth to it: fine weather for yomping over the Downs in jeans and a thick sweater. For a few seconds he indulged in a fantasy where bunking off early on Friday was a delicious treat, rather than this nerve-wrenching ordeal.

He walked jerkily along the street, feeling about as natural as he had on the red carpet at the BAFTAs. He reached the front door and fumbled the key into the lock.

Once inside he stopped, the keys gripped in his fist in the way Ruth had suggested. His instinct told him the house was empty, but he had to be sure.

First he checked the kitchen. Nothing out of place. Breakfast dishes in the sink; an empty mug on the worktop. He touched the kettle and felt a hint of warmth; again came that awful craving for normality.

In the living room Uncle Steve’s new lock was intact. The handset for the landline phone was sitting on the arm of the sofa, and he snatched it before climbing upstairs, dialling 1571 to check for messages. There were none.

The bedrooms were undisturbed, but the sight of Evie’s change bag jolted him in a way he could never have foreseen. Her change mat was on the floor, together with a pile of clean nappies and a packet of wipes. The house was like the
Marie Celeste
: everything left as if Alice had merely intended to pop out for a minute or two. And yet he had no idea where she had gone or when he would see her again.

The phone was still in his hand. Impulsively he pressed the green button for a dialling tone and then stabbed out the number.

9.9.9.

As it began to ring, he turned his head to the window. There was a blue car drifting past. An Audi.

He felt his mobile buzz but had to ignore it, because a voice was asking which service he required.

‘Er, police.’

A second’s delay while he was connected. In this time his mobile appeared in his other hand, though he hadn’t consciously reached for it. He had a missed call from Ruth. As he stared at the display, a text came in.

A steady female voice said, ‘Hello, you’re through to the police. What’s the emergency, please?’

‘They’ve, uh … it’s my wife.’ Harry’s mind had gone blank. He knew what he wanted to say but the words couldn’t be assembled in order.

‘All right, sir, just take it calmly. Can you tell me your name?’

‘Harry. Harry French.’

‘And this is your home you’re calling from, Mr French?’ She asked him to confirm his phone number and address, which he did, and then he found himself suddenly babbling:

‘My wife’s gone, with my daughter. She’s only eight weeks old. They don’t have spare clothes, no nappies or wipes or anything …’

‘I see. And are they in danger?’

‘They might be. We had these … these men. Came to the house, the other night.’ He heard himself laugh, as if from a distance, and wondered if he was losing his mind. ‘Sorry, this probably isn’t making much sense.’

‘Like I say, Mr French, nice and calm. What’s your wife’s name?’

‘Uh, Alice. But that’s not …’ He tailed off, because his fingers had taken it upon themselves to operate his mobile phone and open the text. It said:

They’re watching your house. Call me.