Snatched From Home: What Would You Do To Save Your Children? (DI Harry Evans Book 1) (11 page)

Clutching the bag, Samantha went into the bathroom to change. She wanted to cry but couldn’t. The bag contained a red dress that was made of nothing but lace. A matching pair of heels was also inside the bag. As she pulled out the dress a note fell to the floor.

Six damning words confirmed her worst fears about the outfit.

WEAR NOTHING BUT THESE OR ELSE

The words were scrawled in a childlike hand but that didn’t matter to Samantha. Nor did the lack of punctuation. What mattered was the message.

‘Wear nothing but these.’ She would be exposed by the thin pattern. Her body revealed to the hungry lecherous eyes of the men. Especially that creep Blair. He was the one who would drink in her curves, leer at her body as they filmed her. She would bet her last penny that he chose the dress.

‘Or else.’ The two-word reminder of the fate awaiting her and Kyle, if she did not do as bidden.

Screwing up every last ounce of her courage, Samantha took her clothes off and pulled the dress over her head.

Pulled down it reached mid thigh, but when she straightened after pulling it down, it rose two inches. Looking in the tiny mirror from a distance of three feet she could see her skin through the lace, although mercifully the designer had saw fit to increase the pattern in the lower half of the dress.

Grateful her downstairs bits were better covered than her boobs, she pushed her feet into the shoes which were at least a size too small. Tottering on the heels that were higher than she was used to, Samantha practised walking back and forth in the bathroom. No way was she going to fall over and expose herself even further!

Determination was creeping into her mind. Scaring away the nerves, the worries. Hadn’t Amy worn something like this that night in Carlisle? Sure she’d worn a bra and hot pants underneath the dress, but she’d worn it round the pubs and clubs. If Amy could choose to dress like that for the world to see, then she could for a private audience to save herself and her brother.

A gruff voice interrupted her thought processes. ‘C’mon then. We ’aven’t got all bloody day.’

Opening the bathroom door she saw Blair’s head poking into the bedroom. Kyle dropped his controller and pressed himself into the furthest corner.

‘C’mon!’

‘I’m coming.’

Seeing Kyle’s worried face, she reassured him on her way across the room. ‘It’s all right. I won’t be long. You try and finish that level before I get back.’

Samantha’s bravado almost deserted her before she left the room. Blair had a way of breaching any defences she created. His probing eyes covered her body like a second skin.

Her instincts told her he would be the captor who’d instigate raping her. It would be his hands she’d feel grabbing at her.

Feeling like a lamb being taken to the slaughter, she halted in front of Blair, awaiting his next order.

‘Go downstairs. The boys are there with the video.’

Blair stood to one side in the doorway, his low hanging gut forming a barrier which Samantha would have to squeeze past.

It was a toss-up which option would be worse, facing him, and giving the close up view he wanted, or turning her back and risking him grabbing her boobs as she brushed past him.

His eyes made the decision for her as they locked themselves on her chest. With skin crawling at the thought of his sweaty body touching hers, she barged her way through the gap with her back to him.

The pained grunt as her back thumped into his bloated gut was satisfying to Samantha’s ear, although her back twitched with an involuntary spasm where contact had been made.

As Blair slammed the door behind her, she used the small victory as a way of boosting her resolution to face what lay ahead.

Fearful of his grabbing hands, she hurried down the stairs as fast as the towering heels would allow her. Her hands slid down the banisters on each side of the staircase, caking her palms and fingers with a layer of grime.

Heavy boots followed her down the stairs, but she could sense him keeping enough distance between them to afford him the best possible view of her bottom.

Reaching the living room she found the man in the Elvis mask, sitting by himself. The table and chairs had all been pushed to one side of the room. Beside Elvis was a video camera; a laptop was perched on his legs.

‘Over there.’ Elvis pointed to the clear area of the floor as Blair followed her into the room.

Samantha waited for the next instruction. Her nose crinkling from the stench of days’ old curry and nicotine.

Elvis stood up and pulled an iPod from his pocket, which he then placed in a docking station. ‘Right, love. Here’s what you’re gonna do. I’m gonna play three songs and you’re gonna dance to them. Properly with all the right moves. And don’t try and fool us ’cause I’ve just watched the videos on YouTube so I know exactly what you should be doing.’

As Elvis had been informing Samantha of what to do, Blair busied himself in opening the windows as far as possible. A chill wind blew the curtains back, raising goosebumps on Samantha’s exposed skin.

‘The fuck you doing? It’s bloody freezing in here.’

Blair pointed at Samantha who was standing with one arm covering her chest and the other hand over her crotch. ‘If she’s cold, her nips’ll stand out better.’

Shaking his head, Elvis turned to Samantha. ‘He’s got a point. Just be glad you’re doing the dances I chose, and not the lap dance he wanted you to do.’

OMG, that Blair is so pervy!

Something in Elvis’s voice told Samantha that he wasn’t getting the same perverted kick from her torment as his friend. Although he wasn’t stopping Blair, he was acting as some kind of restraint. Keen to acknowledge his different behaviour, she nodded her head once and quietly thanked him.

The one positive about the open windows was the breeze taking away the worst of the fetid smell.

Blair picked up the video camera and after spending a minute fiddling with settings told Elvis that he was ready.

‘Right. When the music starts, you do the dances in full. No turning away from us, no adjusting your clothing. Just dancing. Do them right first time and it’s pizza tonight. If you don’t you’ll be dancing naked until you get them right.’

Samantha could have sworn that Elvis winked at her behind his mask as he issued his instructions. While she wasn’t foolish enough to believe he was on her side, she felt he was trying to encourage her to get the dances right the first time. Whatever it cost her in terms of dignity would be a small price to pay compared with the penalty for failure.

Steeling her nerves as she prepared to move her hands from their covering positions, she heard the first rhythmic beats of ‘Cha-Cha Slide’. With her courage fighting to thaw the ball of ice in her stomach, Samantha began to move in time to the beat.

In her mind she was picturing herself and Amy practising the routine in their bedrooms. Those had been good times. Innocent times when two pre-teen girls had danced routines, giggling about boys they would never admit to fancying.

Closing her mind to the lecherous eyes of Blair, she danced to the music in the most sedate way she dared. Her ears strained above the music waiting for a command or word that would condemn her further.

Samantha’s closed eyes raised her other senses, she could feel her hemline creeping up her legs. The lacier top of the dress rubbed coarse against her jiggling boobs as they moved unbidden with her moves.

As the music faded out she risked a look at her captors. Elvis was leaning against the wall, arms folded. Blair however was directly in front of her with one hand pressing the video camera to an eye while the other hand was massaging his groin. The temptation to pull down the hemline felt irresistible, but Elvis’s warning remained front and centre in her thoughts.

The next song began and with a sinking heart, Samantha recognised the pumping dance track from Los Del Rio. Throwing her mind back to dancing with Amy once again, she launched herself into a three-quarter-hearted rendition of the Macarena. Distraught as Samantha was, she was still trying to balance what she must do with what she could get away with not doing.

With each move she cursed the two men for subjecting her to this ordeal. Blair with his wandering eyes and oily hands, rubbing himself as she danced; Elvis with his threats and false shows of support. Elvis could stop this any minute he chose to, yet he allowed her degradation to continue.

The hip-swaying, pelvic-thrusting dance ground to an end and Samantha breathed a sigh of relief. The urge to pull her hemline down was now unbearable but again she fought it back, afraid of the consequences the action may bring.

Her only consolation was so far the dances had not made her raise her arms above her head, lifting the skimpy dress further up her body.

A glance at Blair, gave her a look at eyes shining with desire. Lust poured out from the mask’s eye holes, filling the room with the heavy scent of testosterone. His left hand still massaged his groin, irrespective of her and Elvis’s presence.

Licking her lips as she always did when nervous, Samantha waited with trepidation for the final song.

Samantha gagged when she heard the trumpeting intro of ‘YMCA’. Her arms would have to go above her head in this dance. Their view of her boobs would be unobstructed while she mapped out the letters, but Samantha was more concerned about how far the hem would raise before the dance ended.

Swallowing the bile in her throat, she threw a pleading glance towards Elvis. He unfolded his arms and moved one hand in front of him. With fingers extended he rotated his hand at the wrist, signalling her to carry on.

She knew better than to even try to sending any appeal Blair’s way.

Then out of the corner of her eye a shape moved beyond the window.

It can’t be!

It is!

We’re gonna be saved!

Samantha moved her right foot back and with a sudden thrust flung herself towards to the window. A scream erupted from her mouth as she charged forward. To freedom. Towards the police car pulling into the farmyard.

Evans was ordering a second pint when his mobile rang. ‘Quasi, DCI Tyler would enjoy your company for a brief chat.’

‘I’ll see him tomorrow, I’m off shift now.’

‘Now. It’s not a request.’

‘Oh goody, I’ll enjoy talking to him.’ The sneer in Evans’s voice told of a renegade’s hatred for those who sought to bring order and conformity to their world.

There was always someone willing to stab a knife into his back, undoing his efforts to make the streets and alleyways of Cumbria safer. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone to get on with his job?

Evans made his way back to the station, and stalked through the pastel corridors, grumbling about desk-bound fuckwits who’d never slapped a pair of handcuffs on in their life.

Reaching the office of DCI Richard Tyler, the head of Cumbria’s Professional Standards Department., he crashed through the door, almost knocking over the young PC being reprimanded.

Evans tapped the unfortunate man on the shoulder. ‘Run along and play nice, else next time I’ll be the one to deliver the bollocking.’

‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir.’ The PC who wasn’t sure whether he was being saved or threatened, but he had the good sense to escape before either of the senior officers could shout at him any more.

‘Hello, Dickie.’ Evans relaxed into a chair without invitation, putting his feet onto Tyler’s desk. ‘Before you get started, can I just say that I overheard PC Pot using racist language when referring to PC Kettle?’

‘Who the blazes do you think you are? Coming into my office, taking over a disciplinary matter, making bad taste jokes and disrespecting a senior officer?’

‘I’m Cumbria constabulary’s leading copper. I’m the man who is running three different cases. Young Miles there was in trouble for being overheard by an offender’s family, saying he thought the guy had received a light sentence. He was off duty and talking to friends. That’s bollocks and you know it as well as I do.’

‘Coppers like you are the reason the public has little faith in the police force.’

‘Bullshit.’ Evans’s voice was calm while Tyler’s was rising in anger at the disrespect shown to him and his position as the moral authority. ‘It’s lazy bastard rubber heelers like you who are keeping good coppers from doing their job. The amount of paperwork we’re supposed to file is mind-numbing and it’s all driven by desk jockeys and paper-pushers. We’re losing more good coppers than we’re gaining recruits. Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. If we stopped fucking about shuffling paper and got you and your mates back on the streets, that would restore public faith far quicker than curbing the odd sweary word or unfortunate comment.’

‘That’s enough, DI Evans.’ Tyler fought to regain supremacy and retreated behind his superior rank to do so. ‘I’ve had it up to my back teeth with your insubordination and blatant disregard for procedure. It seems like hardly a day goes by without some tale of you upsetting a colleague, intimidating a suspect or witness, using violence as a means of self-gratification. I know that you know all about procedure. I know that at least three times a week, you give DS Chisholm a list of procedural errors in whichever crime novel you’ve just read, so that he can email the authors. For goodness’ sake, Evans, the IPCC have my number on speed dial because of you.’

‘Well, you’ll have to go ex-directory then, ’cause my methods aren’t gonna change just because some interfering bastard wants a game of pin-the-tail-on-the-good-guys. Now, tell me today’s problem so I can ignore it, you and the fucker who’s wasting valuable police time.’

Sighing, as he knew battling with Evans was a waste of time, Tyler outlined the complaint an unnamed traffic warden had brought against Evans, which had in turn landed on his desk via the Independent Police Complaints Commission.

‘Fair enough. I’ll make sure he doesn’t have the same issue next time we meet.’

‘I hope so, Harry, I hope so.’

‘Don’t worry, Dickie. Next time I’ll park on top of the bugger and stop the hassle at source. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and catch some criminals.’

As he reached the door he turned back to Tyler. ‘Bullshit apart, Richard. You’ve been in the force as long as me, and you know I’m right. If you do your job and run interference for me, then I’ll fill the jails while you shuffle the paper. Just cover for me these last few days. Warn me of what bollockings I’m supposed to have had and I’ll agree I’ve had them. Otherwise you might want to rearrange your office so I have my own desk; we’re short of space in our office and I’ll be here more than there anyway.’

Evans knew he was almost untouchable by Professional Standards – all they could threaten him with was the loss of his pension, and at this stage of his career he knew they daren’t take that away from him, his arrest record alone would make it a PR disaster.

Rather than wait for the negative reply he knew Tyler would have to give, Evans left the office and headed back into the maze of pale green corridors linking the various departments within the station.

Knowing what he had to do next was one thing; doing it was another. The long empty nights he endured on his own were bad enough. The thought of not having a purpose or a day job terrified him. He was self-aware enough to recognise the fact that while he was a people person and craved company, he also needed periods of solitude. Time to reflect upon losing the wife he still loved with every fibre of his body.

Janet’s departure had wounded him to such an extent that he couldn’t begin to think of being with another woman.

When his natural urges began to drive him to distraction, he knew what he would do to have his itch scratched. Money would change hands, safe sex would be practised and the itch would vanish for a while. It would be a transaction, nothing more.

As he reached his destination, Evans paused to collect his thoughts. He slipped a mint into his mouth and gave three sharp raps on the door.

‘Come.’ The word carried authority.

Swallowing his nerves, Evans opened the door and walked into the office. This was his last chance to stave off enforced retirement. To fill his days with a worthwhile purpose, instead of trading on former glories to secure a job he didn’t want.

‘Hello, Harry, have a seat.’ Warmth had replaced the stern tone in the voice of the assistant chief constable. ‘I’ll order some coffee.’

Evans took the seat offered and waited while ACC Greg Hadley put the request to his assistant.

‘Greg.’ Evans swallowed again, pride instead of nerves troubled him. ‘I need your help.’

‘I must confess, I’ve been expecting you to come and see me.’

‘So you know then?’

‘That you’re due to retire. That you’ve spent the last six months trying to persuade anyone who’ll listen to extend your license to roam Cumbria as a one-man crime-fighter. I got you the team you have now to show you that modern policing is about science and evidence, not gut instinct or hunches.’

‘Has my arrest rate suffered with the new team?’

‘You know fine well that your team has far and away the best arrest record in the county.’

Both men fell silent as the civilian secretary brought in a tray of coffee. When she had padded her way out the door, Evans picked up the conversation while Hadley added sugar and cream to the two coffees.

‘I have local knowledge. That’s what gets me my results. I know everyone worth knowing and I know where they live. This Campbell that you’ve got to replace me seems basically all right, but he’s far too regimental. He hasn’t got the same instinct we have. Remember how you and I cracked cases based on hunches and guesses?’

It was a low blow from Evans to remind Hadley of the time they’d worked together. Twenty-five years ago Greg Hadley had been an eager DC, intent on climbing his way up the greasy pole called promotion. For two years they had worked side by side out of Kendal Station.

‘That was a long time ago, Harry. Even then your methods were becoming old hat. Hunches don’t have a place in modern policing. We used to do it all ourselves without help from the lab. Think about the support your team give you now. Without them’ – Hadley raised a hand to cut off Evans’s objection – ‘without them, your arrest rate would be much lower and you know it. They do all the boring stuff while you run around playing Superman. The days of kicking down doors and beating confessions out of suspects are long gone.’

‘You used to do it with me.’

‘I know I did. But times changed and I changed with them. You haven’t, Harry, and that’s the problem. It’s not just about arrest rates anymore. It’s also about the number of complaints against us, public confidence, accountability, transparency and a hundred other things.’

‘That’s all just management bullshit—’ Evans bit off the rest of his sentence. Hadley was a friend. Antagonising him wouldn’t help his cause.

‘Perhaps it is. But that’s the way the police force is run these days.’

‘So I’m a dinosaur waiting for the meteorite to land. Is that it?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘There’s got to be a decent opening somewhere in the force for me.’

‘Have you tried applying for a Traffic Statement position?’ Hadley was referring to the role offered to retired officers. They would be called out to assist with taking statements at major road incidents.

Evans pulled a creased envelope from his jacket and tossed it across the desk. The action grieved him: Janet had been the only person he’d ever allowed to read his mail. However, he didn’t trust himself to tell Hadley about it without losing his temper.

When Hadley finished reading the letter he reached inside his desk and pulled out a bottle of whisky and two glasses.

‘They turned you down then.’ A simple but damning statement. Every one of the five words painful to hear.

Evans took a swig of the whisky, savouring the peaty tang as the secondary flavours washed down his throat. Hadley had always liked Islay malts and this one was smokier than a seventies tap room.

‘The least shitty stick in my pile doesn’t want me. That wasn’t even a job I wanted, but at least it would have kept me in the force.’ Evans saw the scowl and corrected himself. ‘After a fashion, that is.’

‘I don’t mean to kick you when you’re down, Harry, but have you never considered that years of erratic behaviour and rule-breaking would catch up with you?’

‘My arrest record speaks for itself.’ Evans wanted to kick himself for the pleading tone that had crept into his voice.

‘So do the files the IPCC and PSD have on you. All that comes into account, you know.’

‘So what am I supposed to do? Get a hobby? Go fishing, gardening? Can you picture me standing in a freezing river or fucking about in an allotment?’

Smiling at the image, Hadley shook his head. ‘No, I can’t imagine you doing either of those.’

Hating himself for almost begging the man who’d once called him ‘sir’, Evans changed tack. ‘Surely there must be something you can sort out for me. A cold-case division or something like that would be perfect. I could work cases myself, with occasional backup from the current team.’

‘I’ll try, Harry, but I seriously doubt the chief constable will sanction it. Budgets are tight enough without creating new positions.’

‘Thank you. I appreciate your help.’

‘If it doesn’t work, there’ll be nothing else I can do. I’ll be in touch when I’ve spoken to him.’ Hadley steepled his fingers before changing tack. ‘What do you plan to do once the trial is over?’

‘If I can’t stay on in the job, I suppose I’ll take one of the jobs the security firms have offered me.’

‘Perhaps a change of pace will be good for you… with the trial and everything.’

Evans fought to keep the scowl off his face.

The trial of Janet’s rapist was due to begin next week. Scheduled for the whole week, the trial would span the anniversary of his thirtieth year as a policeman.

Compassion lined Hadley’s face. ‘How you coping?’

‘I’m fine. Or at least I will be when that bastard is behind bars.’ Evans didn’t believe in the touchy-feely modern way men shared their feelings. His lip was always stiff while in public. Only in the privacy of his flat would he allow it to wobble, Tripod his sole confidant as he poured his heart out.

‘The case against him is solid. I’ve talked to the CPS and they said that Yates’s solicitor has been trying to get him to cut a deal.’

‘No fucking way. I want that bastard to go down forever. Janet was his second count, remember?’

‘It’s OK, the CPS aren’t budging on this. I’ve made sure of that.’

‘Thanks.’

Hadley opened his mouth to speak but hesitated.

‘What is it?’

‘Have you… er… taken any of the counselling offered?’

A rueful smile crossed Evans’s lips as he raised his glass high. ‘What do you think?’