by Jack Heath
Blanco muttered something obscene and then wound down the window. ‘All right, you vultures,’ she said. ‘You know the rules. Get back, before I have you all arrested.’
Grumbling, the photographers backed off. Jarli felt a rush of gratitude. He wondered if Blanco would come back to his house for a while. She could be Jarli’s own personal bodyguard.
Blanco opened the door and helped Jarli out of the car. Some reporters shouted questions, but Jarli couldn’t work out what they were. His ears still had water in them.
Jarli had never been inside Kelton police station. The entrance was a little bit like a doctor’s waiting room, with a stack of old magazines in one corner and children’s toys in another. But there was no carpet and all the chairs were bolted to the floor, as though officers were worried that someone might steal one.
The pile of toys made Jarli sad. He wondered how many little kids ended up in here, waiting for the cops to finish with Mum or Dad.
The receptionist gave Blanco a form, and she filled it in quickly. Then she took Jarli to an interview room which smelled like bleach and smoke. There were four chairs around a big table, and a security camera in the corner. Jarli had expected there to be one-way glass, but there wasn’t.
‘Take a seat,’ Blanco said. ‘Can I get you a tea or coffee? Hot chocolate?’
Jarli suddenly realised how thirsty he was. The back of his throat tasted like blood, as if he’d just run a marathon.
‘Water,’ he rasped. ‘Thanks.’
Blanco nodded. ‘Be right back.’
Before she left, she patted him gently on the shoulder. Jarli wondered if she felt guilty about not believing him earlier. He was too tired to be angry about that.
Blanco let the door fall closed behind her.
Jarli sat down in one of the metal chairs. There was no cushioning. It was the sort of chair a person could be handcuffed to. He still felt like he might fall asleep in it.
The door opened. It wasn’t Blanco. It was the receptionist—a man with a thick moustache and a receding hairline. He was holding a mobile phone.
‘You left your phone in reception,’ he told Jarli.
‘That’s not mine,’ Jarli said.
‘You’re Jarli, right?’
‘Yeah.’
The receptionist held out the phone. ‘Your dad’s on the line. Says he couldn’t get through to your other phone.’
Confused, Jarli took the phone. The receptionist left the room.
Jarli put the phone to his ear. ‘Dad,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, I’m OK.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re in DEEP TROUBLE.’
Goosebumps prickled the back of Jarli’s neck. That wasn’t Dad’s voice. It was a deep, rough, gurgly voice. The old man.
‘You’re going to do exactly what I tell you,’ the man continued. ‘Or Anya dies.’
HOSTAGE
Anya woke up in the boot of a car.
The smell of diesel was overpowering, and the engine noise seemed to make the air shake. The car was moving, fast. Anya wasn’t sure how she had gotten there. One minute she had been running through the forest, and then . . . nothing. Blackness.
She felt cold metal on her wrist. It had been handcuffed to her ankle, making it hard to move. There was a sort of antiseptic sting in her nostrils—maybe he had chloroformed her, like in the movies.
‘Help!’ she screamed. ‘Help me! Somebody!’ She pounded the lid of the boot with her free arm.
The driver didn’t stop or change direction or speed up. He wasn’t worried about anyone hearing her. The car was probably on a highway, where there were no pedestrians.
She felt in her pocket for her phone. Gone.
Anya started counting the seconds. Not just to calm herself down—the cops would want to know how far she had travelled. One. Two. Three.
When she got to nine hundred and twelve, the car abruptly changed direction. It rolled over some rough terrain and eventually ground to a stop.
A door thumped. Footsteps crunched around the car. The boot popped open and light flooded in.
Anya was still blinking when the old man hauled her out and dropped her on the gravel.
‘Move,’ he said. ‘That way.’
She stood up awkwardly, one arm behind her back. If it hadn’t been for the handcuffs, Anya could have dealt with him. Yes, he was big, but she could have made that his weakness rather than his strength. At boxing, her partners were usually bigger than her. She had learned to use their weight against them.
But with one hand attached to her ankle, there was nothing she could do. She was as helpless as a flamingo, standing on one foot. So she hopped in the direction he was pointing.
They were on a dirt road surrounded by dense bushland. A warehouse, painted green and grey to match the foliage, was visible through the trees.
When Anya reached the warehouse, the old man grabbed her and put a bag on her head.
The bag had no handles and was made of heavy black fabric. Anya concluded that it was designed to go on people’s heads. Her captor was a professional.
This could be good or bad. A professional was less likely to kill her by accident, but perhaps more likely to do it on purpose.
Anya was scared, but she wasn’t in shock. Most people went through life believing that nothing bad would ever happen to them. Anya had already faced disaster. Her whole world had ended, and yet she was still here, all these years later.
And she knew about kidnapping. Her parents were from a suburb in Russia where it was not uncommon. They never let her leave the house without her phone, and they always called—a call, not a text—if she was more than five minutes late home. They had already lost one daughter and they weren’t taking any chances with the other. They even installed a location tracking app on her phone, just in case. Anya wondered what the old man had done with it.
She heard him open a creaking metal door, the noise echoing in what she guessed was a large open space. Then he dragged her across a concrete floor, around some obstacles and through another door into what sounded like a small room. He unlocked the cuff from around her ankle—but before she had time to hit him, he wrapped the cuff around something else and attached it to her other wrist. Now she was tied to what felt like a table leg.
Anya heard him shuffling away. ‘What do you want?’ she demanded. But after a few seconds of silence, she realised he had left the room.
Anya wriggled around until she was lying on her back. If she could lift the table leg, her cuff might slip out from under it. She braced her feet against the underside of the table and pushed. But the table didn’t move at all.
Perhaps something heavy was stacked on top of it—something she could push off. She stood, bringing her hands higher. There was just enough slack in the chain for her to touch the edge of the tabletop, though her hands were still stuck behind her back. Her fingers bumped against something made of metal. It felt oily, like a piece of machinery.
‘Ouch!’ Something stabbed her fingertip. The machine had sharp bits. Very carefully, Anya fumbled her way around the edges of it. It felt like a table saw, bolted in place.
On a school excursion, Anya had visited one of the many tunnels which ran under Kelton from the coal-mining days. She had seen the thick wooden beams which propped up the ceilings. Maybe this saw had been used to cut some of them. Maybe there were tunnels beneath her feet. A way to escape.
Except she was still stuck to this table.
Anya pressed both feet against the wall and tried to drag the table instead. It wouldn’t budge.
She slumped against the concrete floor. Her only other option was screaming for help again. But she had no reason to think that anyone but the kidnapper would hear her.
A switch clicked somewhere else in the warehouse. A light switch? With her head covered, there was no way to tell.
In another room, something began to hum and whir. A machine. Then there was a series of deafening bangs, like a hammer against a tin fence. The sounds were so
evenly spaced, that it couldn’t be a human making those noises.
EVERY MUSCLE TENSED, Anya waited for the wall of sound to disappear. It took her a while to realise it wasn’t going to. The old man had switched on that machine to cover any other noises he might be making. She would never hear him coming. Nor would she hear him leaving.
She was blind and deaf and completely alone. For the first time since her sister’s funeral, Anya cried.
THROUGH HIS TEETH
‘Who are you?’ Jarli demanded. The clock on the wall suddenly seemed very loud. He felt like his heart was crawling up his throat. ‘What do you want?’
‘You’re going to tell the police that you didn’t get a good look at me,’ the old man said. ‘You saw my ute headed north on the highway out of town. You don’t remember the number plate. If they ask about Anya, tell them you saw her walking back towards the school.’
The old man’s voice was completely flat. He didn’t sound worried about getting caught. How had he caught Anya?
‘I don’t know any Anya,’ Jarli said. Maybe the old man would let her go if he thought she wasn’t Jarli’s friend.
‘Don’t try that with me,’ the old man said. ‘I don’t need an app to know when someone’s not being truthful. Lie to me again, and she’s dead. Is that clear?’
Jarli gripped the sides of the chair. It was like he was falling off a cliff all over again.
‘Is that clear?’ the old man asked again.
Jarli nodded, as though the man could see him. ‘Yes,’ he whispered.
‘You’re going to lock this phone and put it in your pocket—without ending the call. I’ll be listening to everything you say. If you try to tell the cops about the phone, Anya dies. If you end the call, Anya dies. Understood?’
‘But the police aren’t going to believe me. If I saw your ute headed out of town, why would I run up a hill and jump off a cliff?’
‘Not my problem. Make them believe you. Once you leave the police station, I’ll have more instructions.’
The door opened. Constable Blanco stepped in, holding a plastic cup filled with water.
‘Gotta go,’ Jarli said.
‘Don’t end the call,’ the old man warned.
Jarli locked the phone and put it in his pocket. He felt sick.
‘Who was that?’ Blanco asked.
Sweat formed on Jarli’s brow. Whenever he watched a crime show or read a mystery novel, he always found himself wondering why the characters didn’t tell the police what was going on. He should do that now.
But the old man could hear him. What if Jarli talked, and Anya died?
‘Everything OK?’ Blanco pressed.
Jarli could feel the old man listening.
‘Fine, yeah,’ he heard himself say. ‘It was just my dad.’
Blanco hesitated for just a moment, and then smiled. ‘Oh, good,’ she said. ‘Is he on his way?’
‘Um, no.’
There was a pause.
‘Mum’s coming,’ Jarli added. He realised he was standing up, and he sat down again. ‘Can I go home soon?’
Blanco nodded. ‘You’re not a suspect. This won’t take long.’
‘I’m ready,’ Jarli said. But he’d never felt less ready in his life. What was he going to say?
‘OK. Bess already told us about the events in the gym. What happened after you broke the window in the sick bay?’ She held up her hands, as if telling him to stop. ‘You’re not in trouble for that—we just want to know what happened.’
‘Well . . .’ Jarli’s brain was going at a million miles per hour. ‘There were some kids at school who were angry about my app. Doug Hennessey and his mates. They’d gotten in trouble for lying and they blamed me.’
‘Did Doug say what the app had revealed about him?’
‘No.’
Blanco looked relieved. Jarli wondered why.
‘So anyway,’ he said, ‘they were banging on the door of the gym, and there were no teachers around, so I had to break the window to—’
‘Wait. Kids were banging on the door of the gym?’
Jarli nodded vigorously. ‘Yeah. I broke the window to escape and started running towards the bush to hide, but they saw me—’
‘What about the old man? Bess said he was banging on the door—and then Anya chased after him when he left.’
That explained how the old man had caught her. ‘Really?’ Jarli said. ‘She must have gotten confused.’
This time he heard the quiet beep from Blanco’s phone.
She looked at Jarli. He looked at her.
She was using his app, he realised. She knew he was lying—she probably had all along. And now she knew that he knew that she knew! But if he told the truth, the old man would kill Anya.
Jarli’s heart raced. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. The app could tell he was anxious.
‘So the kids chased me up the hill—’
Beep.
‘And they cornered me at the edge of the cliff—’
Beep.
‘And then they charged, and I fell.’
Beep.
‘Then when I got out of the water, you found me,’ Jarli finished.
Blanco stared at him. Then she said, ‘What about the gunshots?’
‘Gunshots? I never heard any gunshots.’
Beep. Jarli felt his cheeks grow hot.
Blanco said. ‘Bess told us that the old man—’
‘The old man with the brown ute? Yeah, I saw him driving out of town this morning. He went north on the highway.’
Beep.
Jarli blinked some sweat out of his eyes.
‘Jarli,’ Blanco said, ‘you’re lying.’
‘My app is still supposed to be in beta-testing,’ Jarli said. ‘It has bugs. Like, when someone is nervous, it assumes they’re lying.’
This was pretty much the truth. No beep.
‘Everyone heard gunshots,’ Blanco said. ‘Teachers, students—that’s why the school called the police. You didn’t hear them?’
Jarli shook his head, so her phone couldn’t hear him lie.
‘You’re sure?’
She wasn’t going to accept a silent answer. ‘I still can’t hear very much,’ Jarli said, which was true. ‘I went right down to the bottom of the lake.’
‘You’re not in any kind of trouble,’ Blanco said. ‘But without the truth, I can’t help you.’
Jarli swallowed. ‘If you’re accusing me of something, I think I need a lawyer.’
Blanco looked at him for a long time.
‘Wait here,’ she said finally.
She stood up and walked out, closing the door behind her.
Jarli took the phone out of his pocket. A notification light blinked threateningly on the side, showing that there was an active call.
He put the phone to his ear. ‘This isn’t working,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t believe me.’
The old man didn’t sound impressed. ‘Did she lock the door?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Then leave.’
‘But she told me to stay.’
‘You’ll have to sneak out.’
Jarli couldn’t believe his ears. ‘It’s a police station. They’ll notice.’
‘Sneak out, or Anya dies.’
‘OK, OK. I’m doing it.’ Jarli stood up and hurried over to the door. He listened for a moment. It didn’t sound like anyone was outside.
He pushed the door open a crack.
A police officer was standing right there. He peered through the gap at Jarli with cold grey eyes. Jarli got the feeling that Blanco had asked him to stand guard.
‘Bathroom?’ Jarli squeaked.
The officer pointed wordlessly.
‘Thanks.’ Jarli slipped past him and walked quickly up the corridor. His mouth was dry. There were cameras in the ceiling. Maybe no-one was watching him right now, but when Blanco realised he was gone, it wouldn’t take the police long to find him.
Jarli turned
a corner and kept moving. The bathroom door was up ahead. He walked past it.
There was a fire exit at the other end of the corridor. A sign said EMERGENCY USE ONLY—DOOR ALARMED. He couldn’t go out that way. Not without getting the attention of every cop in the building. But it wasn’t a dead end. There was another corner. Maybe it would lead him back to reception, or to another way out—
Blanco and Frink appeared from around the corner.
Jarli ducked back and pushed through the bathroom door. It fell shut behind him. His stomach churned. Had they seen him?
Other than the two cubicles and a bin overflowing with paper towels, there was nowhere to hide in the bathroom. They would find him immediately. Jarli listened at the door, holding his breath.
‘Why would he lawyer up if he hasn’t done anything wrong?’ Frink was asking.
‘He’s hiding something, for sure,’ Blanco replied. ‘But that doesn’t mean . . .’
Her voice faded away to nothing. They hadn’t seen him.
He opened the bathroom door a crack and peeked out. No-one around. He walked towards the emergency exit and turned, going back the way Blanco had come. He found himself facing a row of offices with nameplates on the open doors and tinted glass around the doorframes. He walked past them, trying to look like he belonged here. Not easy for a kid in a police station, covered in mud. Fortunately, most of the offices were empty. The few cops at their desks didn’t look up from their computers as he passed.
There was no sign of a way out. Jarli turned around and went back towards the bathrooms. He would have to sneak past the interview room somehow and get to the front entrance that way.
An alarm screamed.
Jarli almost leapt out of his skin. The noise hurt his ears and made it hard to think. Blanco and Frink must have realised the interview room and the bathroom were both empty. He had to get out of here right now. The old man’s voice echoed through his head: sneak out, or Anya dies.
Jarli ran towards the emergency exit and hit the crash bar with both hands. It opened with a clank and a scrape and then he was out in the daylight.
PART THREE: FUGITIVE
‘When telling the truth, people tend to include only the unexpected details-the things which surprised them at the time. A liar will include ordinary details, describing everyday things.’