by Robert Innes
Blake looked at the screen. There, standing by the counter talking to Nick was Woolf. “Can I get a copy of this?”
Clutching a CD with the footage of Woolf in the petrol station burnt on it, Blake turned to Gardiner as they walked back to the car. “I knew there was something not right about Woolf. Why was he here? He said nothing to me about having been here earlier on in the day when we were sat waiting for James to come out.”
“So what?” Gardiner replied. “He’s a detective, brought here to investigate two people under suspicion of supplying class A drugs. Maybe he went to interview James before he was given instructions by Angel.”
Blake pulled his mobile out of his pocket and quickly found Harrison’s number. “No. There’s something very strange going on with Inspector Woolf, and I’m going to find out what it is.”
“Who are you ringing?” Gardiner asked him as they climbed into the car, rolling his eyes.
“Harrison,” Blake replied. He had remembered that Harrison had been trying to tell him something about Woolf before Colin had arrived the previous night but the call immediately went to his answer machine. “Where the hell is he?”
“Maybe Inspector Woolf has kidnapped him?” Gardiner replied cheerfully. “You know what your problem is?”
Blake hung up the phone and stared out in the distance, his mind racing.
“You’re jealous. Inspector Woolf has come in and he knows the job, and he’s got a huge list of accomplishments behind him. You just don’t like that you aren’t the big man in the station anymore.” He started the car, clearly pleased that he had managed to get that off his chest.
“You’re wrong, Michael,” Blake replied. “And anyway, you want to talk about jealousy? Let’s discuss how you were with me when I first arrived in Harmschapel.”
Gardiner’s smirk quickly disappeared.
“Right, take us to the house where we found James’ body.”
“Why?” Gardiner replied sulkily.
“Because,” Blake said, his eyes narrowing. “I think we’ve all been taken for a ride. And we’re going to find out exactly what has been happening.”
14
Harrison squinted up from the boot of the car at his captor. The sunlight seemed to sear his eyes, and he could not move his hands to shield them.
“Oh, good,” Woolf said, sounding slightly surprised. “You’re awake. Move.” He grabbed Harrison by the shoulder and dragged him out of the car. Harrison gasped in pain as Woolf picked him up and frogmarched him along the gravel path he had felt the car arriving in. Immediately, Harrison’s muscles cried out, aching worse than he had ever felt. However long he had been asleep, or unconscious, in the back of Woolf’s car had forced him to lay in an uncomfortable position for too long and his legs immediately gave way.
“Get up!” Woolf growled. “Do not kid with me right now.” He poked the gun into Harrison’s ribs sharply, causing him to gasp in pain again. “I said move.”
He led Harrison towards a house that looked like it had seen far better days. The yard was covered in overgrown weeds, and the house itself looked filthy. Before Woolf had even reached the front door, a deeply unpleasant smell hit Harrison’s nose. He must have reacted because Woolf chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, sorry about this. It’s not the cleanest of places.” He banged sharply on the door with the butt of the gun and held Harrison tighter, apparently forgetting that both Harrison’s feet and hands were tied, so he could not run anywhere even if he could escape Woolf’s grasp.
After a few moments, the door opened and a woman stood before them. Her hair looked unwashed, and she was smoking a cigarette that had nearly burnt down to the butt. She looked at Harrison in bewilderment. “Who the ‘ell is this? And what are you doin’ with that thing?” She waved her hand at the gun, her eyes wide as if it might explode at any moment.
“You’ve got a house guest,” Woolf replied curtly, pushing his way past the woman with Harrison. “Just while I think what to do with him. Don’t give me that look, Caroline. I’m really not in the mood.”
Caroline closed the door sharply behind them and shook her head. “I don’t believe you! Who is he? What’s he supposed to ‘ave done?”
Woolf gripped Harrison’s arm tightly behind his back. “He was sticking his nose in my private business, weren’t you? I guess you kind of see why him and Harte go so well together.”
Caroline recoiled in horror. “What? He’s with Harte? That’s the copper’s boyfriend? Are you off your ‘ead? What you bringin’ him ‘ere for?”
“Because I caught him rifling through my room. He’s seen stuff. Too much stuff. I had to do something!”
“What, so you brought him ‘ere? Haven’t I got enough on me plate right now?” Caroline shouted back.
“I had to think of something!” Woolf snapped. “If he gets back to his boyfriend and tells them what he’s seen, then everything is screwed. You, me, and that dumb husband of yours. Then you’ll be mourning your son while you’re rotting in some cell somewhere. Is that what you want?”
Caroline stared at them both in horror, clearly unsure as how to respond. All the while, Harrison had not said a word. He had been trying to remember what he had seen in Woolf’s room, and it was slowly coming back to him. He had found drugs, the sort of drugs that could end Woolf’s career in a heartbeat. But was that all that Woolf was worried about? What else could he have found that meant that Woolf felt he had no other option than to hold him captive like this?
Suddenly, they heard the sound of a car. Caroline ran to the window and looked through it, gasping loudly. “It’s him!” she shrieked. “It’s that copper! It’s Harte!”
“Jesus,” Woolf snapped. “What the hell is he doing here?” He grabbed Harrison by the shoulder and jabbed him with the gun. “Listen to me. You make a sound, then both you and lover boy will find yourselves with a round of bullets inside you, do you hear me?”
“Yeah,” Harrison murmured, before Woolf dragged him to the kitchen and opened the door to a pantry. He pushed Harrison inside and then squeezed himself in beside him, slamming the door behind them. As they heard a knock at the front door, Woolf whispered menacingly into Harrison’s ear. “One sound and you’re dead. Good job I parked ‘round the back of the house. Even Sherlock Holmes out there won’t know we’re here.”
“Why are you doing this?” Harrison whispered, more out of fear than because Woolf had told him to be quiet.
“Haven’t you learnt anything from the last time you tried poking your nose into my business?” Woolf hissed. “Now, quiet.”
Then, Harrison heard Blake’s voice. It was the most comforting thing he had ever heard, and yet tears welled up in his eyes. Blake had no way of knowing that Harrison was merely a few feet away, with a gun pointing into his back.
“Caroline, you’ve met my sergeant, Michael Gardiner.”
“What’s this about?” Caroline snapped. “I’m busy.”
“Not busy cleaning up, I’m guessing?” Harrison heard Gardiner mutter. Even the voice of Michael Gardiner was a comfort to him right now.
“This isn’t about James,” Blake continued. “I want to ask you a couple of questions, about a colleague of mine, Alec Woolf.”
“Who?” Caroline asked hesitatingly. Harrison could only hope that Blake was not fooled by her poor acting.
“The American officer that was with me when we spoke the other day after finding James’ body,” Blake replied. “I need to know this, Caroline, I need you to be honest. Have you ever met Inspector Woolf before?”
“Oh, you bastard, Harte,” Woolf murmured darkly.
Caroline had apparently not responded quick enough for Blake. “Caroline? Had you previously met Alec Woolf before the death of your son?”
“No,” Caroline replied sharply. “Course not. What would I ‘ang around with coppers for?”
“Caroline,” Blake said slowly. “Let me make this clear – if I find you’re withholding information from me, you’re going to find yourself in
a lot of trouble, and I know that’s the last thing you need right now.”
“Get rid of him, you dumb bitch,” Woolf growled quietly.
“I don’t know anythin’!” Caroline shouted. “Can you leave me alone? You should be out there trying to find whoever killed my boy! Not here asking me stupid questions.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Gardiner drawled. “We’re wasting time.”
“That Gardiner is good, isn’t he?” Woolf whispered. “So much more cooperative than your stupid boyfriend.”
Harrison ignored him as he heard Blake sigh. He could just picture the thoughtful look on Blake’s face and was praying that he could tell that Caroline was lying.
“Have you heard from Keith?” Blake asked at last.
“No, I told ya, I dunno where he is,” Caroline told him.
“Right. Well, if you hear anything, we need to know. It’s really important that we speak to him.”
“Yeah, alright!” she snapped.
There was a pause then Harrison heard footsteps walking away from them before they heard the door close. Soon, Caroline had opened the pantry door. “They’re gone.”
“Good girl,” Woolf said. He grabbed her by the waist and kissed her on the cheek. Harrison could not help but notice that she looked absolutely repulsed. Woolf did not seem to notice. He just glared into the distance. “He’s getting too close. I need this finished.” He turned to Harrison with a horrible smile. “Maybe this has all worked out for the best. I think all Harte needs to back off from this is a bit of gentle persuasion.”
15
“Just drop me off at home, would you?” Blake asked Gardiner. “I’ll meet you back at the station.”
“I’m not a taxi service, you know,” Gardiner grumbled. But nevertheless, he stopped the car outside Juniper cottage.
“And Michael,” Blake said as he got out the car. “Please, can I trust you to keep what we’ve found out today to yourself? I don’t want Angel finding out for now.”
Gardiner raised a disdainful eyebrow. “You want me to keep the fact that you’ve been trying to pin something on Detective Woolf a secret?”
“Just for now,” Blake said. “Please. It won’t be for long. Caroline was lying, even you must be able to see that.”
Gardiner did not reply. He just merely shrugged then nodded.
“Thank you. I won’t be long.”
Blake slammed the door closed and jogged towards the cottage as Gardiner drove away. Harrison would be home by now, and if he knew something that could help Blake, then he needed to know as soon as possible.
“Harrison?” he called as he opened the door. But then he stopped and stared at the dining room table. It was still in exactly the same state as it had been the previous night, untouched. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and rang the shop where Harrison worked. His stomach sank as Jai Sinnah informed him that Harrison had not been in work that day, and did he know how busy he had been with only him working all evening.
“Where the hell are you, Harrison?” Blake murmured to himself. He tried ringing Harrison again, but his mobile was still switched off.
After checking upstairs to see if he was in bed asleep, or ill, and seeing nobody there, Blake’s heart began to thump. As he ran out the cottage and made his way quickly towards the station, he rang his father.
“Dad,” he panted breathlessly when Colin answered. “Have you seen Harrison?”
“Harrison? No, not since last night, son,” Colin replied. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know where he is,” Blake said. “He’s not been to work, and he’s obviously not been home either.”
“Try not to panic, lad,” Colin said. “He seemed alright when we left him in the corridor last night. Maybe he’s in the pub?”
“Right, thanks,” Blake replied hurriedly and hung up the phone as he arrived at the station. The streetlights outside flicked on as dusk fell over the village, and they weren’t the only lights shining in the street. Woolf’s silver sports car had its hooded headlights up, beaming down the street with the engine running. Blake stopped and stared at the car. Something had been bothering him about the course of events ever since the meeting earlier that day and now, as he slowly walked towards Woolf’s car, he realised what it was. Something that was there now and that hadn’t been on the night of the chase. Woolf looked up as Blake approached and flashed him a grin. “Harte. How’s it going?”
“Ah, DS Harte.” Angel’s head poked out of the passenger side window before Blake could reply. “Detective Woolf was just showing me his car. Quite an impressive vehicle, I must say. You really must take me for a spin in it, Alec. I’ve always had a bit of thing for a sports car.” He looked at Blake and smiled. “Boys and their toys, I suppose.”
Blake nodded vaguely and turned to Mattison and Patil who were just leaving the station together. “Guys, have you seen Harrison anywhere? I’ve not seen him since last night and I’m getting a bit worried.”
Patil and Mattison looked at each other. “No, Sir, sorry,” Patil said, shaking her head. “But if we come across him, we’ll tell him to get in touch with you.”
Blake’s heart sank. He was now starting to panic. It was not like Harrison to just vanish like this.
“Oh, by the way, Sir,” Mattison said as he and Patil started to walk away. “There was a letter delivered for you. I think Mandy put it under the reception desk.”
“Alright, thanks,” Blake said quietly. He glanced back at Woolf who was sitting on the boot of his car with his arms crossed, smugly watching Angel who was still in the passenger seat. For a moment, Woolf’s eyes met Blake and his smirk faltered slightly, into an expression that seemed darker somehow. Blake held the look as he walked into the station. It had almost felt like Woolf knew something.
He leant over the reception desk until his hands landed on an envelope. As he pulled it out, he frowned. The letter felt thin and yet had a printed label on the front. “DETECTIVE SERGEANT BLAKE HARTE. HARMSCHAPEL POLICE STATION.”
Blake walked back outside again, clutching the letter. He was mentally exhausted after the long day, and the hangover he had woken up with that morning had now just left him feeling drained. He would check the pub for Harrison; he was bound to be there.
As he walked towards Woolf’s silver sports car, he ripped open the envelope. “I’m going to call it a night, Sir,” he said to Angel, who was in the process of opening Woolf’s glove compartment. “I think I need to…” But then he stopped as he pulled the letter out of the envelope and took in it’s contents. It was all in large capital letters on a single piece of A4 paper. The words made Blake’s blood run cold:
“I HAVE HARRISON. IF YOU WANT TO SEE HIM AGAIN, MEET ME AT THE CLIFTON MOORE TUNNEL AT SEVEN. JUST YOU. DON’T TRY ANYTHING, OR HE WILL DIE IN FRONT OF YOU.”
“Harte?” Woolf was looking at him, frowning. “What’s wrong with you?”
Blake slowly passed him the letter. Woolf read it and bit his lip. “Holy crap,” he murmured. He glanced over his shoulder where Angel still seemed preoccupied then turned back to Blake and looked at his watch. “It’s nearly seven now. I’ll take you,” he said quietly. “I’d bet on my Mom’s life that Keith Pennine must be behind this. We better not let Angel know for now, in case this guy really does mean business. He could be bluffing, but who knows?” He turned around and faced Angel who had climbed out the passenger seat and was watching them with his eyes narrowed.
“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”
“Not at all, Sir. Harte and me are just going to go have another look at that tunnel. Y’know, in case we missed something. Harte, get in.”
Blake did not reply. He merely walked around the car, and sat in the passenger seat. His palms had started to sweat and his heart was thumping in his chest.
“I see, very well,” Angel replied. “I have some paperwork to be getting on with, so I’ll be here for another couple of hours yet. Inform me of anything you find before you leave, won’t
you?”
“Of course, Sir,” Woolf replied. And without another word, he climbed into the car and he and Blake sped off in the direction of Clifton Moore tunnel.
“Best we leave him out of it for now,” Woolf said grimly. “If this is Keith Pennine, then we need to be careful. I’ll keep out of sight when we get there. But trust me, Harte. I’ll be watching. I’ve got your back. He’s going to be okay.”
Blake nodded. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be watching. This ends tonight.”
When they arrived at the tunnel, night had well and truly drawn in, and like the last time they were here at this time, the only light on the road ahead was the headlights from Woolf’s car. Woolf slowed down and drove into the passing spot a few metres from the tunnel. Then he turned off the ignition, and the car subsided into silence as they were plunged into near pitch black again. For a few moments, they just stared in silence at the tunnel.
“How are you doing, Harte?” Woolf asked at last. “You’ve not said much. I get it, you’re nervous for him.”
Blake nodded. “Oh, yeah. I am really nervous for him, there’s no denying that. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared, if you want the truth. But I was just looking at the tunnel. I mean, really looking at it. How the hell did the Pennines disappear right in front of us like that?”
Woolf sighed. “You mind if I smoke?”
“Not if you give me one.”
Woolf obliged and passed Blake a cigarette. He lit it with his clipper before placing the flame on his own and snapping the lid shut. “I dunno,” he said as he inhaled. “I’ve seen a lot of weird, crazy stuff in my career. But a vanishing car, that’s a new one on me.”
“I mean, just cast your mind back to that night,” Blake replied, as he gratefully blew the smoke out. It felt like the best one he had ever smoked in his entire life. “Pitch black, the rain lashing down, and a crazy guy behind the wheel of a car. There’s nothing more dangerous.”