Snatched From Home: What Would You Do To Save Your Children? (DI Harry Evans Book 1) (29 page)

It was much further than Bhaki though it would be. He’d been slogging along the track for more than twenty minutes. Any thoughts at stealth had been abandoned in favour of making the best time possible. He would have ran, had the going not been so uneven, but he’d be no use to anyone with a twisted ankle. He had to convince himself not to turn back. The line from
Mastermind
ran like a mantra through his head: ‘I’ve started so I’ll finish.’ Every inch of his skin was soaked, his fleece offered no protection against the driving rain. His vision acclimatised enough to allow him to see a farm a couple of hundred metres in front of him. There were a couple of large sheds and a farmhouse connected to some outbuildings. All was in darkness except for the largest shed, which had shards of light seeping through plastic roof-lights.

Bhaki slowed, crouched-over, using a stone dyke for cover. Top of his list was finding out if there was a secondary entrance. He didn’t think that there would be, but having come this far he had to make sure. He ducked left, following the dyke around the perimeter of the farm. At the field gate, he took a careful look to make sure he wasn’t spotted, before dashing across to the other side.

At the third gateway, he eased up and poked his head over the dyke to take a look. Less than a hundred metres away, a man was leading a young child across the yard. He had grasped the child by the upper arm and didn’t seem to notice him stumble over potholes as he yanked him behind him.

Uncertainty flooded Bhaki’s mind. Were the farm thieves the kidnappers as well? He needed to get closer. The last thing he wanted to do was cry wolf and disrupt the real kidnapping case. If it was the kidnapping though, he could perhaps save them. He glanced at his watch. There were only fifteen minutes to the midnight deadline the kidnappers had set. Creeping alongside a barn, he watched as the man led the child into the shed that was lit up. Engine sounds rumbled from the shed as the men unloaded their haul. As Bhaki neared the illuminated shed, the man exited and bending his head against the driving rain, trotted to the unlit shed. Shrinking into the shadows, Bhaki watched the man re-emerge. This time he was marching what appeared to be a naked figure in front of him. The contours of the silhouette left him in no doubt it was a female who was being taken to join the child.

They must be the kids who’ve been kidnapped.

Torn between making the call for backup and checking to see if the kids were OK, Bhaki opted to do both at once.

The tension was eating at Evans’s nerves. There had been no contact from the kidnappers. Campbell had kept an open line to Lauren so they would know as soon as possible if the parents were contacted, but so far there had been nothing from the Scot.

That his career was ending in disgrace wasn’t bothering him as much as he’d thought it would. The thought of failing those two children was uppermost in his mind. He leafed through the pictures of them on his desk, willing the kidnappers to free them unharmed. Not a religious man, he offered mental prayers to whoever was listening. God. Allah. Buddha. It didn’t matter who saved them, just as long as they were saved. He planned to wait until one o’clock. If he’d heard nothing by then, he’d contact Greg Hadley and bring him up to speed on the whole operation.

Picking up his mobile, he answered Bhaki’s call with little grace. ‘What do you want, Bhaji Boy?… What?... You’re fucking joking. Where are you?… I know the area. Stay on hand and keep watch. Hang on a second…’

Evans grabbed his jacket, jubilation all over his face. ‘Bhaki’s found the kids. Jabba, mobilise all available coppers to the lane end of Fellside Farm near Hesket Newmarket. Jock, you’re wi’ me.’

‘Bhaki, you’re in charge until I get there. Call the guy you’re doing the surveillance with and get him to park across the lane until the backup arrives. Get everyone into place and wait for me. I’ll be there in ten minutes. If the kids look to be in any danger, go in and go in hard. Otherwise wait for me.’

Evans sprinted to his car. Campbell hadn’t managed to get his door shut when the wheels started turning. Evans struggled to keep control of the car as they hurtled through the streets. Every turn he took saw the car drift sideways until he made the necessary corrections. The powerful rear wheel drive was fine in a straight line on a dry road but a nightmare on rain-soaked corners. His mind raced as fast as the engine, plotting the quickest route to Fellside Farm. Whenever he reached a straight section of road he allowed his eyes to drop to the clock on the dashboard.

Deciding on a course of action he spat instructions at Campbell. ‘Call Lauren and tell her to put the parents in a car and take them to Caldbeck. I want to re-unite the kids with them as soon as possible. Then call the hospital and tell them we’ll need an ambulance on standby with a trauma psychologist in it.’ He hadn’t accepted any counselling when Janet died, but he knew it helped a lot of people. God knows what those poor kids had been through.

Five to twelve.

Beside him, Campbell was relaying his instructions to Lauren. Half listening, he pressed down that little bit harder on the accelerator. Evans stood on the brake pedal as a sharp corner appeared in the glare of the headlights, forcing the ABS to kick back rhythmically at the sole of his boot. Concentrating on driving, he almost missed what Campbell said to Lauren.

You’re fucking joking
, he thought in disbelief.
Can’t be.

Then
he
remembered the five missed calls on her phone from Campbell.

Evans waited until Campbell ended the call before accusing him: ‘You’re shagging her, aren’t you?’

‘What the hell are you on about?’

‘You and Lauren. You just called her hon then. Short for honey. Hardly the way a senior officer should address his staff. And all those missed calls yesterday. You said you were trying to find out about the case. You could have called me when she didn’t answer. You didn’t though, did you? You kept calling her instead.’

‘You’re talking shite, Harry. I called her hen. In case you didn’t know, it’s a Glasgow term which equates to dear, love or sweetheart.’

‘Don’t give me that bollocks. There’s a big difference between hon and hen.’

Despite everything else that was happening, Evans was shocked at discovering this affair. He’d done his fair share of sleeping around before he’d met Janet, but he’d never cheated on anyone. Let alone cheated on his wife.

‘So what if I am shagging her? We’re both adults.’

‘So what? So fucking what?’ Evans corrected a slide as the car hurtled round a corner. ‘You’ve got a wife and a son. That’s fucking
what
.’

Evans couldn’t believe his ears. Here was a man who had everything – everything that had been snatched away from him – and he was jeopardising it for a fling with a junior officer whose reputation would shame an alley cat. His wife, son and career were all at risk because he couldn’t keep his trousers on.

‘Look, there’s the road end.’ Campbell seized the opportunity to change the subject.

‘Don’t for one minute think this discussion is finished.’ Evans had plenty more to say to Campbell about his infidelity, but he needed to concentrate on rescuing the two kids first.

Evans looked at the clock. Eleven fifty-nine. Having heard nothing from Bhaki he could only assume that the children were still unharmed. He didn’t dare him in case his phone wasn’t on silent. He waited until a PC moved the car blocking the lane, put the BMW into first gear, switched off the lights and let the car haul itself along the rutted lane.

Samantha’s teeth rattled a staccato beat as she waited for their fate to be revealed. Her broken finger throbbed a separate rhythm, out of step with her chattering teeth. She and Kyle were tied to wooden chairs which Blair had dragged out of a corner. The other two men in the shed wore their masks as they unloaded a cattle wagon. Not once did they look their way.

Kyle was shivering and complaining of the cold, but being cold was the least of her worries. As soon as they were secured to the chairs, Blair had wheeled across a sack barrow which carried two gas bottles. The smaller of the bottles was red with ‘propane’ stencilled on the side in white paint. The second bottle was taller but thinner, the legend ‘oxygen’ ran along its length. Connecting the bottles were hoses, leading to a lance identical to the one she’d seen in the video.

Faced with the failure of all her plans, she tried to summon the last of her courage. The task would have been beyond her had Kyle not been by her side. Whatever happened, she must try to protect him. She daren’t give way to the tears that pricked her eyes or the gorge threatening to rise up her throat. That would spell defeat. Once she started to cry she wouldn’t be able to stop, wouldn’t have the strength to plead for her brother to be spared punishment.

Before the men started on her, she had to secure Kyle’s safety. Elvis was the only one she trusted to do that. Blair was an evil lech who would enjoy making her suffer. When the men came to punish her, she would either be mutilated or killed. Oblivion would take her one way or the other. Death would stop everything, but if she was mutilated, she could only hope that she passed out like the man in the video.

The fact that Elvis’s phone was ruined puzzled her. Using the mystery as a distraction she bent her mind to the problem.
What was so important about the phone? Who did he need to speak to at this time of night?
The obvious answers were that he needed the phone to see if the ransom had been paid. That didn’t add up though as she knew they had a laptop. So he must need to speak to someone.
But who?
Judging by Elvis’s behaviour – demanding of answers, the sadistic treatment – it must be someone who scared him.
But who would scare the boss of a bunch of kidnappers?
she wondered. Then it struck her: Elvis wasn’t the real boss. He was just the boss of these men. They must be working for someone else. Someone scary.

Blair walked over to them. Rainwater slick on his coat, running down his mask. He stood before her, eyeing her cold and naked body.

‘My Grandma, what big nips you have.’ Adopting a higher tone, Blair answered himself, ‘All the better to hang your coat on.’

‘If you let him go. Then I’ll let you shag me.’

‘Come again?’ Blair’s head cocked to one side. His eyes sparkling with desire.

Screwing her nerves, Samantha repeated the words she’d never expected to say. The very thought filled her with revulsion, but it might save Kyle’s life.

Blair’s head tilted back as he roared with laughter. ‘You’ll let me shag you. That’s fucking priceless. You’ll
let
me.’

Bending in close to Samantha, he cupped a breast with his hand. His foul breath polluted her nose as he moved his mouth close.

‘I can shag you anytime I want, missy. In case you’re forgetting,
you’re
the one tied to the chair.’

‘Please.’ Samantha hated pleading with the dirty lecherous oaf, but it was her only hope. ‘Let him go and I’ll shag you any way you want. You do want to shag me, don’t you?’

‘You’re right, I do. But if I do as you suggest, then I’ll end up occupying the boy’s chair. Be much easier to just turn you over, tie you down and help meself.’

She thought quickly. ‘But surely shagging me with my consent will be more pleasurable than raping me?’

His head cocked to one side as if considering her question. ‘Dunno about that. What about the boys? Can they join in?’

Samantha’s mouth opened and closed but no words came out.

‘No matter. We’ll just help ourselves.’ A firm squeeze of her breast caused her to gasp as dirty fingernails dug into tender skin. ‘According to statistics, nine out of ten people enjoy gang rape… let’s see which side you’re on.’

‘No… please don’t do that.’ In spite of her terror, she held her gaze high, looking at Blair’s piggy eyes behind the mask.

A hand grasped Blair’s collar and hauled him away from Samantha.

‘You’ll get your time with her soon enough.’ Marshall jerked his thumb. ‘Go get your video camera.’

Elvis stood before her, a mobile phone in his hand. ‘I’ve just found out that your parents have paid the ransom.’

Samantha felt her shoulders droop as the tension flooded out of her. They were going to be set free. Somehow Mum and Dad had got the money needed to free them.

‘What did you mean by telling him he’d get his time with me? Are you really going to let him rape me?’ Every instinct Samantha possessed told her that Elvis was a dangerous man. Yet there was reluctance in his eyes, as if he was following a course he didn’t fully believe in. Beneath Elvis’s mask, she saw his throat bulge as he swallowed before answering her.

‘No, he’s not going to rape you. I won’t let that happen.’

‘Thank you. Thank you so mu—’

Samantha fell silent at his raised hand.

‘My boss is concerned that you saw my face. He wants to send you back with a message you’ll never forget.’

‘What message? I’ll take any message back you want me to.’ Words gushed out of Samantha’s mouth until she saw Elvis’s throat bulge again. Following his gaze to the gas bottles, she pushed back against the chair.

‘No. Please no. Not that. Please don’t do that to us. You’ve got your money. There’s no need to do that to us.’

‘It’s your own fault. If you hadn’t tried to escape then you wouldn’t have seen my face.’

‘I’ll never tell. I won’t tell a soul. Ever. I promise.’ Tears rolled down her face as she fought for control of her voice. ‘There’s no need to do that to us.’

Thoughts of her brother leaped into her mind. She must protect Kyle. It was her turn to swallow now.

‘I want you to leave my brother alone. Whatever you were going to do to him I want you to do to me instead.’

‘Really?’ Surprise and admiration laced Elvis’s voice.

‘Yes.’

Samantha nearly faltered when she saw Blair return with the video camera. Turning her head she looked at her brother. His eyes were full of fear, his cheeks stained by the tears that had flowed non-stop since they’d been caught trying to escape.

Elvis turned at the scuff of Blair’s boots.

‘The boss says we have to take one of her feet off and video it. You get your torch ready and I’ll do the rest.’

Samantha pleaded for all she was worth but to no avail.

Elvis bound her left ankle to the chair leg. Removing his belt and doubling it over he held it in front of her mouth. ‘Put this between your teeth, it’ll stop you from biting your tongue or crushing your teeth.’

‘Please no. Don’t do this to me.’

Seeing her final plea ignored, Samantha opened her mouth and allowed Elvis to place the belt between her teeth. Its foul leathery taste made her gag, but she endured it, recognising the warped kindness which had compelled him to put it in her mouth.

Her eyes fixed on Blair. He picked up the lance, which was connected via hoses to the two gas bottles. He twiddled with one of the knobs on the lance until Samantha could hear the hiss of gas escaping. Producing a lighter from his pocket, Blair ignited the gas. A yellow flame enveloped the end of the lance. He adjusted the twin knobs, allowing more gas and air to pour through the nozzle.

Samantha could hear whooshes and crackles as the flame became a long, focused jet.

As Blair fiddled with the knobs, the jet shortened and turned from orangey yellow to blue tinged white. The cone-shaped flame shrank in length as oxygen mixed into the gas feed. He pressed on a lever and the lance emitted a loud hiss. The flame shrank in length but grew in intensity as pure oxygen was forced through the nozzle, until it was four inches long and the ice blue of an arctic sky.

Blair turned to Elvis. ‘Ready when you are.’