Snatched From Home: What Would You Do To Save Your Children? (DI Harry Evans Book 1) (18 page)

Thursday

‘What does our sainted oracle have to tell us today?’

Chisholm looked up from his computer screen and told Evans the contents of his emails. There had been two more break-ins to licensed premises, a tractor had been stolen from a farm near Barrow, along with a quad bike and the usual variety of hand-held power tools.

‘Who got robbed this time?’

‘It was the King George down Botch’ and the Dog and Duck in Keswick, sir.’

‘Fuck’s sake, we spent half of last night in the George. If that gets out we’ll be a laughing stock.’ Evans did not want to end his career as the copper who’d spent all night drinking in a pub that got robbed the same evening. He wiped his face with a hand as if the action would remove his hangover and transform the robbery into a figment of his imagination.

‘How much was taken in total?’

‘Five six from the George and over five grand from the Dog and Duck.’

Bhaki let out a muted whistle as Evans shot a dirty look at Lauren as she entered the office. ‘I need a word with you later, young lady. Although I use the term lady with the same looseness you reserve for the term chastity.’

Chisholm carried on with his report, breaking the tension and rescuing Lauren for a short while. ‘According to the attending officers’ reports, there was no damage, no obvious sign of entry and everything appeared normal until someone looked in the safes. In both cases, it was the owners who had totted up at the end of the night and had put the money into the safes. Both insisted they were the only ones with keys.’

‘This is getting serious now. That’s eight robberies from licensed premises in five days and we haven’t got a clue who’s behind it.’

‘Thank you very much, Lauren. I’m so glad you pointed that out.’ Evans was irritable because the nagging suspicion in the back of his mind would not show a clear picture. He knew he could identify the thieves if his brain would just allow the picture to uncloud itself.

It was only a matter of time before DCI Grantham or someone higher up the ladder got onto his case. The local news last night had been critical of the police and he could see why. They’d even come up with the moniker ‘Licensed Premise Pinchers’ for the elusive thieves. He needed a result and fast, if he was to have any chance of salvaging a role in the force after his retirement.

Bhaki spoke for the first time. He looked terrible to Evans. If he’d had less of a caseload, he’d have sent the lad on a pointless errand to hide him until he sobered up. ‘I hate to ask. But is there anything else?’

‘Nothing else has come through. But my algorithm has homed in on half a dozen properties which are using far more electric than they should be.’

‘We’ll be lucky if more than one of them is what we’re looking for.’ Evans was being realistic as he reached across for the list of addresses Chisholm was handing him.

‘What do you want us to do then, guv?’

‘You can arrange for a tracker to be put onto a quad bike which is due to be delivered. I was speaking to a mate who works for West Cumberland Farmers last night. He told me that to prevent delivery wagons being followed from their depots, they now make all quad bike deliveries direct from their supplier in Manchester. The tracking devices will have to be fitted to the bikes there and will have to have a range of at least ten miles. Speak to Terry Mannion, he’s in charge of their Carlisle depot. He’ll put you in touch with their suppliers. Then you’ll need to arrange for a techie from the Manchester area to fit the bloody things.’

‘What’ve I to do, sir?’ Lauren looked fresh and gave the impression she’d had an early night followed by twelve hours of deep slumber, instead of a few short hours of drunken unconsciousness.

‘You go over the statements from last night’s robberies and make sure they’ve got everything buttoned down tight. When you’ve done that take a drive by on the addresses on Jabba’s list. See if anything looks out of place like all the curtains drawn at midday.’

Evans looked across at Chisholm, who for once was not peering at his monitor. ‘Jabba. I want you to cross-reference all the data from these robberies again. I’ve a hunch there’s a connection. We’ve just got to find it. Also find out who investigated the thefts from the farm near Barrow. I can’t be arsed going all the way there to learn nowt fresh if someone competent has already been. Besides, Bhaji Boy is in no fit state to drive.’

Before Chisholm could answer, his computer announced to the room ‘Message from control’ in a computerised approximation of John Cleese.

‘What the hell is that?’

‘It’s just something I wrote when I got home last night. It’s more fun than a simple beep.’

‘Never mind that. What does the message bloody well say?’

Chisholm’s face was grave as he gave them the gist of the message. ‘There’s been another robbery, sir. The Lakeland Hotel has had nearly three grand stolen. Penrith CID have someone en route.’ Chisholm scrolled back to the email regarding the latest farm theft and reported that a DS Murray was responding.

‘Let them know we’ll follow up at the Lakeland. Murray is a good lad and there’s no point going if he’s been there. I want a progress report from all of you, every two hours.’

Eager to get out of the building before any of his superiors decided to waste everyone’s time shouting at him, Evans grabbed his jacket and slunk through the corridors until he was outside.

He was relieved to get to his car unnoticed. Things were going from bad to worse. The robberies were piling up and the more he tried to dig out the connection he knew was in his brain the deeper it buried itself.

The King George looked different on a bright sunny morning than it had on a drunken night out. The unforgiving sunlight illuminated every cracked mirror, every piece of chewing gum trodden into the threadbare carpet. The unshaven owner fared little better. Hell, even the legends looking down from behind the dirty frames looked hung over to Evans.

The owner looked as if he should be standing on the eighties terraces, knuckles scraping the boots of the guy standing next to him. He was wearing a stained England shirt, circa 1985; his square features and shaven head sporting a five o’clock shadow reminded Evans of a deformed bulldog.

‘If I get my hands on the bastard who did this, I’ll kill ’im.’

‘Now then, Fred. Don’t do anything stupid or I’ll end up having to nick you.’

‘C’mon, Harry, play the game. I’ve seen you deliver many a slap instead of nicking someone.’

‘Aye, but I know where to draw the line. You’d get carried away and end up with a long stay at Her Majesty’s pleasure.’

Evans took a good look around the King George and asked questions of Fred until they encountered the safe. It was the largest electronic model that Phoenix made. Evans walked over, keyed in four digits and pressed the ‘Enter’ button. Gripping the handle, he twisted it to the right opening the safe.

‘What the fuck?’

‘Fred, you imbecile. The code was fucking obvious.’

Fred’s shoulders went back and his bloated chest puffed out. ‘England’s finest footballing moment. It was an honour to type that code in.’

‘I can’t believe that you were stupid enough to use it. For God’s sake man, 1966 is the first number any idiot would try considering the theme of your pub. Please tell me your alarm code is different.’

A shake of the head gave Evans his answer.

He left Fred posturing and headed back to his car, wondering how the hell he was supposed to protect people when they were so damn stupid.

Kyle looked terrified when Samantha told him of her plan to escape. She filled her voice with as much positivity as she could muster, but he was unconvinced. He sat on the mattress with his knees pulled up to support his forehead.

‘What if it doesn’t work?’

‘It will.’ She lifted his chin to look in his tear filled eyes. ‘Trust me, Kyle. It’ll work.’

Samantha’s own doubts plagued her, but when she had tried to question Elvis earlier, he’d told her that they wouldn’t know if the ransom had been paid until midnight tomorrow.

Not knowing how much her father owed, Samantha assumed it was more than their parents could pay, otherwise they would have paid it by now. Following that logic, there was no way her parents could raise the amount of money needed before the kidnapper’s deadline. Therefore when the deadline passed, they would be mutilated with the gas torch.

It was up to her to save them. Although her plan was flimsy and had at best a fifty-fifty chance of success, it was the only plan she had and there wasn’t time to wait for another opportunity to arise like the one with the police car.

‘What do you think the men will do to us if it doesn’t work?’

Samantha struggled to answer the question. As she um’ed and ah’ed, Kyle watched her and then offered her his worst-case scenario.

‘Do you think they’ll take the PlayStation away?’

If only. I would try right away if I knew that was the punishment they would dish out.

‘It’ll be something like that.’ Samantha was filled with self-loathing for lying to her brother.

There was no way that she could tell him the truth about what the men might do to them. He wouldn’t dare follow her and she needed him to go as fast as possible. Without his full commitment, their bid for freedom would fail before it even started.

‘Don’t you want to see Mum an’ Dad?’ Samantha despised herself for manipulating his emotions, but she could feel the weight of desperation growing with each passing hour.

‘’Course I do.’ Kyle’s head snapped up at the implied rebuke. ‘I want to see them right now.’

‘If you do as I ask, we can get away from here and go home.’

‘Do you mean we can see Mum and Dad today?’

‘We will, if we can get out of here and away from the men.’ Giving him false hope was the last thing she wanted to do, but she’d do anything to convince him.

‘It will work, won’t it?’

Samantha held out a fist, her little finger sticking out. ‘Pinkie promise.’

Accepting her assurances Kyle wound his pinkie around hers and they shook on it.

‘OK. Here’s what we have to do.’

Samantha spent the next hour drilling him on her escape plan. She showed him where she wanted him to stand. What to do once they got outside. How she wanted him to follow her in the house and then run in front of her when they left the building.

She drummed into him the importance of running as fast as he could for as long as possible.

The next part of the process was one she’d agonised over for hours. Her final reasoning was that as Kyle would be watching her at all times, he must be immune to her distraction.

‘What do we do when we get out?’ Samantha took her trainers off.

‘Run as fast as we can.’

‘What do you do?’

‘Exactly what you say?’

‘Where do you go?’ Samantha’s top landed on her trainers.

‘Where you tell me to.’

‘Well done. Now look at me a minute, Kyle.’

This was the hard part, the part that Samantha dreaded as much as the men seeing her naked body. Summoning her resolve she slipped her bra off and then started unbuttoning her jeans.

‘Your boobies are bigger than Mummy’s.’ Kyle’s analytical comment almost brought a smile to her lips, although it felt weird to be compared to her mother. She watched his face as she pulled down her jeans and her thong in one combined movement.

His eyes wandered over her body with a total lack of interest. He’d made his point about the size of her breasts and that was it for him.

Thank God he’s not a bit older. He’d be fixated then.

Pleased that he wouldn’t be distracted by her nudity, she got him to his feet and led him through a series of stretching exercises. It was important they were both as supple as possible. A pulled muscle would spell disaster.

Taking one of the games discs, she took it into the bathroom, slipped it halfway between the seat and the lid and then pushed down on the protruding part until the disc snapped. Choosing a jagged piece she scrubbed the smoothest edge against the grout between two bathroom tiles, until it could be held without cutting into her palm. This weapon she planned to give to Kyle. If one of the men grabbed him he could slash at them and perhaps get free. She would carry the stiletto heel as her primary weapon.

Samantha’s next task was to make sure the laces on Kyle’s trainers were tied tight with no long loops or tails for his feet to catch. She had tied her own trainers for security. Next, she again rehearsed pulling her jeans on, until she could go from naked and empty-handed, to topless with the stiletto heel in her hand inside the ten seconds she’d allowed herself. She would have to forego her trainers to pull her jeans on but she’d rather be barefoot and topless than naked and shod.

Once again she took Kyle through a series of stretches until she guessed that lunchtime was approaching.

‘We need to be quiet now, Kyle. I have to be able to listen for the men bringing our lunch up.’

‘Yeah, OK.’

Time dragged for Samantha as she waited and listened. Her nerves jangled with tension. More than once she had to stop herself drumming her fingers on the wall.

Soon they would either be free or facing some unimaginable torture.

The bang of a door preceded heavy thuds on the staircase.

In a blur of movement, Samantha had her jeans on and her weapon cocked ready to strike. Flashing a look at Kyle, she could see he was nervous but determined to be brave.

This is it. This is the moment of truth.

There was so much that could go wrong at this moment. If Blair swung the door open and didn’t enter the room as normal, she’d have to move forward to attack him and the advantage would shift back to him. He could block her, duck back or a dozen other things to stop her. She had to make sure her distraction worked.

The rattle of the bolts being shot open caused her body to surge with adrenaline. She had chosen fight over flight, but every instinct she possessed compelled her to just run. First though, she had to get past the locked door.

Blair burst through the door with a tray in his hands.

Samantha jiggled her shoulders to make her breasts wobble. His gaze fixed on her chest and he never saw the shoe coming. Samantha scored a bull’s-eye, hitting his temple with the point of the stiletto heel. When he dropped to his knees in front of her, she repeated the blow. The impact jarring the shoe from her hand as Blair fell to the floor.

‘Quick.’

Grabbing her top from the floor she padded along the landing with Kyle at her heels. Wary of creating too much noise, Samantha went down the stairs as quietly as she could. They were so close to freedom. She reached the front door and paused, uncertain what to do if the door was locked.

‘You might need this.’ Elvis dangled a key from one finger.

Samantha was distraught. She’d tried to escape and had only made matters worse. Blair was upstairs unconscious, when he came too he’d be furious and would have murder in his veins.

‘I’m sorry, Kyle.’

He didn’t answer her. Following Elvis’s outstretched finger, he trooped back up the stairs, Samantha behind him. Blair was lying on the floor at the top of the stairs, soft groans emerging from his mask as they stepped over him.

‘Elvis pointed to the bathroom. ‘Wait in there. I’ll deal with youse in a moment.’

Kyle ignored all Samantha’s apologies and turned his back, leaving her in a world of solitary torment. They had failed and would now have to face the wrath of Blair and Elvis. She could only hope the punishment wouldn’t involve rape or the gas torch.

Crashing sounds from the bedroom began, punctuated by loud groans and swearing from Blair as he came to. Hearing him ranting about what he was going to do to her chilled Samantha to the bone. His threats oscillated between violence and lurid descriptions of how he’d rape her. Realising her top was still in her hand, she pulled it on and tried to shut out Blair’s vivid threats. At last, the shouting stopped and she could hear footsteps stomping out of the room and down the stairs. Elvis opened the door, and told them to come out. Samantha tried and failed to judge his anger level by his voice. To her ears there was nothing other than the usual dominant force of personality.

The bedroom had been stripped bare. The PlayStation and TV were gone, as was the mattress and everything else in the room. There was only the threadbare carpet and the walls left. Even the underwear Samantha had left behind was absent.

A finger pointed at Samantha. ‘You. Come with me. The boy stays here.’

Terror filled Samantha, but she did as she was told, pausing to reassure a sobbing Kyle that she would be back soon. She knew he was petrified she wouldn’t return. Her legs struggled to support her as her own thoughts echoed his worries.

Elvis took her into the sitting room where Blair was nursing his head. When he saw her he let out a stream of invective and threw himself forward, fists bunching ready to strike. Elvis stepped between them, pushing Blair back into the chair he’d been occupying.

As he turned to face her, Samantha could feel his eyes burning out from behind the mask.

‘What did I tell you about not trying to escape?’

Samantha hung her head and mumbled her answer. ‘Not to do it.’

‘That’s right. I told you not to do it. And what did I say would happen?’

‘That you’d punish me.’

‘No, I didn’t. I said I would burn off one of the boy’s limbs.’

Samantha had been hoping against hope the threat was merely bluster to make her behave, but now it seemed as if Elvis was serious about his threat to maim Kyle.

‘Please. Don’t do that to him. I’ll do anything you want, but don’t do that to him. Do it to me if you must punish anyone.’

‘Give me an’ her an hour alone. I’ll show her.’ Blair’s voice filled with lecherous intent as he spoke.

‘No chance. You’re the clown who fell for her little ruse. Here’s what we’re gonna do.’ Elvis pointed at Samantha. ‘You are going to strip naked. So he can make another video for your parents. Then I’ll take you back to your room. Make another attempt to get away and you’re all his.’ Elvis gave a sharp nod to Blair. ‘Get your video camera.’

While they were waiting for Blair to retrieve his camera, Elvis warned Samantha that once she returned to the room the next time the door opened would be when the deadline had passed. There would be no more food or water, no more games to entertain them.

Blair returned with his video camera and Elvis told her to strip.

With tears running down her face she awaited his next command. Her relief this was the extent of the punishment was diluted by the odious notion of having to strip for the perverted Blair.

Samantha turned her back on Blair as she went to take her top off, but Elvis told her to face the camera.

‘Get yer fuckin’ tits out, or I’ll come and undress you meself.’

Samantha whipped her top off and stepped out of her jeans. Standing up straight again she used her hands to protect her modesty.

‘Hands by your sides, lass.’ Elvis pointed at Blair. ‘You’ve got one minute to get any close-ups you want provided your arse doesn’t leave that seat.’

That minute was the longest of Samantha’s life, as she stood to attention while Blair filmed her naked body. The desire to run, to flee, was unbearable for her, but she stood resolute. As punishments went, this was the absolute best she could have hoped for.

Telling Blair to put his video camera down, Elvis walked across the room and stood in front of Samantha, his body shaking with contained fury. Without any warning, his right hand shot out slapping her cheek. Her head snapped back at the blow and was met by a hard-knuckled backhand, splitting her lips and loosening teeth.

‘Don’t even think of trying to escape again. Right?’

Samantha was marched back to the bedroom with her clothes left where she’d dropped them.

Kyle was laying in the corner. Curled in a ball, his shoulders heaved as he wept away his disappointment. Nothing Samantha said or did could make him turn round and face her. Samantha took the opposite corner and, mimicking her younger brother, allowed herself to become lost in her own private misery. The release of her pent-up despair caused Samantha physical pain. Her body wracked itself with the tidal force of each new wave of emotion. Tears mingled with the blood from her shattered lips as she howled in fear and grief.

There would be no escape for them. Their one chance had failed. Only their parents could save them now. They now had to wait to discover their fate.