‘It was just one of the lads, he was the mouthy one. The lad they all fell out with. The guy who picked out the job. He was in Dover. In a hotel. He didn’t stay with the rest because he had a missus and a kid. They left him to it and they went off somewhere else.’
‘What hotel?’
‘Fuck man, I don’t know these people. I don’t like telling tales about people if I don’t know what they’re capable of.’
‘It doesn’t come back to you. You have my word.’
‘A man comes to my gaff, kicks my door in, threatens to nick me and then offers me his word. What do you think that means to me?’
‘Fine then. The hotel name for the other twenty.’
‘Forty quid ain’t no good to me six foot under now is it?’
‘So make sure you spend it quickly.’
Yarney’s face creased into a sort of smile. He threw the knife into an overflowing sink. ‘Opposite the train station — the entrance, like. That’s all I know. He didn’t say no name. I don’t reckon he knew it himself. I don’t know nothing else. I don’t know room numbers or names or anything.’
George dropped the rest of the money hurriedly on the bench. Then turned quickly down the hall and back towards the front door.
‘What are you gonna do about my door?’ Yarney called after him.
‘I’ll make some calls!’ George called back. It was hanging from a hinge as he stepped through it.
‘He won’t still be there! At the hotel, I mean! You get yourself involved in something like that and you’re long gone, ain’t ya?’
George didn’t reply. He was already out. He made it back to his car, flushed, hot and bothered. He ditched his jacket on the back seat and ran a quick search on his phone. There was only one real option: the Dovorian Hotel. It looked to be almost opposite the entrance to the station. It was within a mile. He wanted to jump in his car and go to see Stan. He was the key to all of this, he must know the name of at least one of the gang that were at his house, even if he didn’t realise it himself. He would go to the hotel first. He might even get lucky; maybe they were still booked in there. He was damned certain he wouldn’t be there anymore — more likely he’d left in a hurry when it all went wrong. But people in a hurry made mistakes. They left things behind.
Stan could wait.
Chapter 19
Jenny had gotten dressed as quickly as she could and wasn’t properly dry. The clothes stuck to her back and thighs, but at least they were her clothes. Whereas she’d felt wrapped up and safe in the warmth of the shower, she’d felt very exposed and vulnerable dressing in front of her captor. He was leaning back on the wooden unit again, the gun still hanging loose in his right hand. She was closer to him now, close enough to take in his features. She hadn’t dared before. He had a slim, wiry build and broad shoulders that tapered to a slim waist. His hair was dark and thinning in patches and he’d shaved it close to his scalp. His eyes were deep and dark and played their part in a face that showed no changes in emotion. He had a coldness about him, and though he was no longer pointing the weapon at her, she felt no less fear. He looked her up and down.
‘You need to dry that hair. We need to blend in.’
Jenny’s frizzy, damp hair fell over her face. She pulled a strand taut over her eyes. ‘I didn’t think I had the time,’ she said.
He checked his watch. ‘You have two minutes yet.’
* * *
George took in the façade of the Dovorian Hotel. It was grey, flat and had a layer of what looked like soot that was a darker shade at the bottom. The road that passed close to its front was getting busy with traffic. He crossed over and went through what looked like the main entrance on the south side. It had double wooden doors. Only one of them opened and it was heavy and cumbersome. A slim, blonde woman sat behind the desk. She stood up when he entered.
‘Welcome to the Dovorian Hotel, sir.’ Her accent was subtle, Polish perhaps.
‘Thanks.’
‘Do you wish to check in today, sir?’
‘No. Thank you.’ George felt in his pocket for his badge. He cursed. He’d put it back in his coat pocket after flashing it at Yarney. The coat was lying on the back seat of the car. ‘I, er . . .’ George patted down his other pockets. He had a pass that hung around his neck when he was at the police station; it had his picture on it and it doubled as access through the doors. He snatched it out and showed it to the receptionist. He hooked the lanyard over his neck. ‘Inspector George Elms. I’m a police officer based in Langthorne. I wondered if you could answer a few questions for me? I’m looking for some information about someone who might have stayed here.’
The woman looked a little uneasy. ‘Inspector?’ She was still looking at the pass that rested against his tie.
‘Oh!’ He snatched it up. ‘Yes, it’s a recent thing. This still says Sergeant, doesn’t it? My replacement’s in the post!’
The woman laughed nervously. ‘Is there trouble here?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Is this about the other day? About the car?’
‘What happened the other day?’
‘There was a car, just outside. Someone shot a gun, I think. The police, they came in here and they asked me. I don’t know anything about this car.’
‘So you’ve already spoken to the police?’
‘Yes. This car. We do not park here. We do not take car details, you know. They asked if it was from here. I did not know this.’
‘I see. This isn’t about a car. Do you —or did you — have a couple staying here? They would have had a child with them. They might have been here a couple of weeks.’
‘Is this normal? To give information to you?’
‘Well, yes. There has been a rather serious incident. Away from here — I mean, there’s no suggestion this hotel has any part in it, but I’m trying to piece together what happened.’
‘And you are police inspector?’
‘I am.’ George stood firm. UK data protection laws were stringent if they were adhered to. The guest list in a hotel technically fell under these laws. George should have had the right form endorsed by the right person. He had never needed it before, but then this was the first time he had walked in anywhere without his usual confidence and without his correct ID. He knew that Sarah’s call still had him rattled.
‘Okay, so here is bookings.’ The woman clicked on a mouse and bent to look at something that George couldn’t see. She wrote on a piece of paper. ‘We have two families that have been here a little while. They come about same time. These are room numbers. I cannot tell you about them.’
‘Do you have their details? Their names at least?’
‘I cannot tell them to you. This is normal. We do not give information.’
‘But you’re happy to give me the room numbers and let me go and knock on their doors?’
‘If they choose to speak, they can speak. I cannot speak for them.’
‘So I need to come back with a form filled out? Is that not a waste of everyone’s time?’
‘And identification.’
George was starting to get wound up but his anger towards her quickly dissipated. She was probably still doubting whether he was a police officer at all. Her reluctance was his fault.
‘I shall have to go and introduce myself then. Have you seen either of them today?’
‘Not today. I had day off yesterday. I start, maybe one or two hours. I have number of the girl who worked the night?’
‘That’s okay. I’ll just go and knock on the door.’
The woman looked at him again. She looked less certain — as if she might be changing her mind. She seemed to make a decision and she put the piece of paper on the counter. George swept it up.
‘Thanks for your help. I’ll just be a couple of minutes.’
George inspected the paper. Both numbers started with a three. With his basic knowledge of hotels, he assumed this would mean they were on the third floor. He pressed to call the lift. His phone
rang in his pocket. It was Sarah.
‘Sarah, hey.’ He stepped into the lift. The three walls that faced him were mirrored. He turned to face the closing doors.
‘What do you mean “hey”?’ She sounded instantly upset. ‘Why are you being like this?’
‘Like what?’ George suddenly caught up. He hadn’t replied to her message earlier. He hadn’t had a chance. ‘Oh, yeah, I saw your message. I know I didn’t reply. I was waiting until I could call you, so we could talk about it. You know I don’t like conversations by text message.’
‘So you can talk now?’
‘Not really, Sarah. I’m just out on some enquiries. When I’m away I’ll call you from the car.’
‘You know what? Don’t bother trying to fit me into your busy schedule. Any of us. I need to get this sorted out with you and Ronnie. For Charley’s sake and all—’
‘Don’t try and pretend this is anything to do with Charley. You’re doing this for you. This is all about you. If Charley’s acting out with this bloke then maybe she just doesn’t like him. There’s nothing I can do about that. Or maybe she wants her real family back together. Maybe that’s what’s best for Charley.’
‘It’s gone too far, George.’
‘So you keep telling me. That’s all you keep saying. But that’s your opinion . . . that’s your idea. You might be right, but the mistake you have always made is that you assume something is right just because you think it is. From someone who has made a lot of mistakes, you need to trust me when I tell you that you might be making one right now.’
‘I knew you’d be like this.’
‘Like what?’
‘Obstructive. Stopping me getting on with my life.’
‘Sarah, you ran away for a year. I have not physically been able to obstruct a damned thing you’ve done. Do you think that is what was best for Charley? Keeping us apart for a whole year while you worked out what you wanted? And then you get shacked up with some other bloke and you want me to come in and smooth it out so our daughter moves on too. What do you think my answer is going to be to that? I mean, really?’
The doors had long since clunked open. George had moved to stand between them so they didn’t shut. The corridor was empty. He was aware that he had raised his voice. He looked around; there was still no movement. He moved into the corridor and the doors moved shut behind him.
‘This is a bad idea. All of it. We need to talk to each other. We both need to be clear where we are before you can spend any time with Charley.’
‘What do you mean? I’m seeing her this afternoon, Sarah.’
‘And where are you now? You told me you had taken the whole day off. I call you on the morning to sort out the arrangements and you’re at work.’
‘We’ve got two separate murders over here, Sarah. I’m new in post as the inspector of the area where those jobs sit. I’m just in to tie up a few loose ends this morning. You know what it’s like.’
‘I do, George — only too well! That’s a big part of what I was running away from. I don’t know about this afternoon. I wanted you to be a positive influence on Charley, but from the way you’re talking you’re going to be just the opposite. I’ll talk to Ronnie about it. I’ll let you know.’
‘Talk to Ronnie? About—’ George realised suddenly that he was talking to a dead line. He swore — and did nothing to keep his voice low this time. He lifted the phone to smash it back down on the floor — then changed his mind and stuffed it roughly back into his pocket instead. He bunched his fists and concentrated on breathing. He knew where she was: his wife and his child. He would get this done and then he would stand down. Then maybe he could focus on fixing his own life.
* * *
Jenny’s hair was dry. She’d pulled it together in a ponytail at the back, two clips in the sides. The man’s impatience was growing. She could sense it.
‘We need to move.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘We need to move.’
‘Are you not even going to tell me where we are going? Or why?’
‘No.’
‘Why didn’t you kill me?’
‘We have another use for you.’
‘Are you going to kill me? I’ve seen films where people get kidnapped. The kidnappers always wear face coverings like you had on when I first came in here. You only have to worry when they don’t. Then you know that they don’t plan on letting you go. Do you plan on letting me go?’
The man shrugged. He pushed off the wall unit and walked to the door. ‘It’s not my plan, Jenny. Like I said, I’m here to pick you up. I do what I’m paid to do. And now we are moving.’
The gun still hung from his right hand. He had his back to her and his eye pushed up against the peephole. He was checking that there was nobody about. Jenny’s mind was rushing with panic. He didn’t want anybody to see her leaving with him — for when they found her body.
‘Please don’t kill me. Please!’
The man turned back to her. He sighed. ‘We’ll keep this nice and easy. I don’t know what these people want with you, but the one thing I do know is that if you mess me about this will not end well for you. Do you understand?’
Jenny jerked a nod. She tried to concentrate on her breathing; she was in danger of losing control.
There was a tap at the door.
Jenny froze. She stared at the man and he stared right back. He looked questioning — and furious, too. He raised a finger abruptly to his lips. The gun was lifted again, pointing directly at her. She shrugged her shoulders — she had no idea who it was. She put her hand over her mouth to stop any sound from coming out. The door tapped again. The man stepped off to one side and he pushed his finger over the peephole. Jenny was pretty sure it was one-way anyway but it showed his nervousness. He stood side-on to her and held his weapon low, but his finger rested loosely on the trigger as he rested his ear against the door. The handle rattled. Someone was trying it from outside. Whoever it was, they didn’t have a key. Jenny’s captor stayed still for a long time after the noises stopped. Then he put his eye to the peephole. Another minute passed.
‘We’re leaving,’ he said, suddenly. He pulled the door open — slowly, quietly. He peered through the inch-wide gap, another few seconds passed. He looked back over at Jenny. She hadn’t moved; she couldn’t. She felt as if her feet were rooted. She knew the man wasn’t here to kill her in that room; he’d had every opportunity, and all he’d talked about was leaving. What she couldn’t know was what he had planned for her once she left. But it wasn’t going to be good.
‘I can’t,’ she said.
‘We leave now,’ he growled, his rage barely concealed.
‘You’re taking me somewhere to kill me.’ Jenny tried to get her legs to move, but backwards, away from the man. She couldn’t even manage that. He closed the door again carefully, quietly, and then moved over to her, stepping right in so his face was almost against hers. She felt a tight grip on her right bicep and the barrel of the pistol was pushed up painfully under her chin.
‘We are leaving now. You will keep quiet and you will do as you are told all the way until I deliver you. I do not fail. Whatever happens to you is someone else’s plan, but I will make you a promise now, Jenny . . . if you make this difficult for me, if you cause me a problem then Isobel will be my plan. Do you understand?’ His rage was barely controlled, his words were accompanied by phlegm and his grip was tightening with every word.
‘You leave my daughter out of this. She’s four months old for Christ sake!’
‘And she won’t know what hit her.’
‘You’re pure evil!’
‘We’re leaving now.’ He pushed off her arm and the gun jerked out from under her chin. He turned to the door and tucked the weapon in his waistband, against his buttocks. He pulled the door the same way he had before, quietly and carefully. He stepped out, his back towards Jenny. She was moving towards him, but slowly. It was like a dream, as if somebody else was operating her legs. She
stepped out and the door fell shut behind her. She followed her captor to the right where the corridor curved around to where the lifts were.
There was another man ahead. He had dark hair and day-old stubble. He was pushing the button for the lift. The man leading Jenny slowed. Jenny thought he might stop altogether, maybe go back to the stairwell that was in the opposite direction. The dark haired man looked up. He seemed to look at them both. Certainly he glanced at her, but it was only a split second before he shifted his attention. The man looked agitated, distracted by something on his phone. They kept walking towards him. The lift arrived, the man who had called it stepped hurriedly in. Jenny’s captor lifted his shirt to reveal his weapon for a few moments. He turned to her and made eye contact that lingered. His message was clear. She followed him into the lift.
The man’s attention was still on his phone. His head was dipped, his whole focus on the lit screen. It looked to Jenny like he was typing. The ground floor button was ringed in a green light. The lift moved off. The man with the gun digging into his back stood against the back wall and stared over at her. She stood against the left side wall, almost opposite the man still consumed by his phone. She concentrated on trying to get her breathing under control. She became aware that her heart was racing, that her chest was rising and falling quickly. If the man looked up from his phone, he would surely notice. She focussed on him. He was scrolling through something. He was dressed in a shirt and tie but he managed to make it look scruffy. He had a blue lanyard round his neck, a white card attached to its centre. It was an ID card of some sort. She could see it had an image of the man’s face on it. Next to it was some writing. She edged closer — as much as she dared. She couldn’t quite read the writing. Another tiny movement. She was close enough now.
Detective Sergeant George ELMS along the top line. THIS IS NOT A WARRANT CARD on the line below, the crest of a police force in the corner.
A police officer! Her breathing increased again. She could sense the gunman staring at her. She met his eyes. His whole posture carried a warning. His right hand, now hidden behind his back, no doubt clasped the handle of the gun. He must have seen the ID tag too. She stepped back against the wall; she was clumsy and her foot thumped against the metal. She glanced at the policeman, who shifted, his head lifted a little but not enough to look at her. They had called her Jenny on the news; they had to be looking for her. Why wasn’t he paying attention? She felt like she might combust. He was just a metre away. The lift pinged as it passed the first floor; it would be just another few seconds before it reached ground.
The George Elms Trilogy Box Set Page 39