“Yeah, fair point.”
“She’s put in a request herself, and we’ll see what comes up.”
“Hopefully, it’ll be quick.” At my quizzical look, the edges of his mouth tugged down. “I worry for the kid and Faith, that’s all. Can you imagine how scary it must be to be a single mother and have a bunch of guys, probably rough-looking and carrying knives, charging into your house and basically holding you prisoner? Threatening your little boy if you don’t look after their gear?”
My brow furrowed into sympathy as he spoke, and I nodded in quiet agreement. I knew he was thinking about his own little boy and what he’d do to protect both his kids. He was a far better father than mine had ever been.
“If that’s the case, you know we’ll do everything we can to help them,” I tried to reassure him.
He sent me an incredulous look. “If that’s the case? How else could it be?”
“Not all parents look after their children like they should, you know that, Steph,” I said gently.
“So what? You think she invited them in?”
His tone was almost aggressive, and I fought a sigh. I didn’t want to argue with him, just get him prepared for if Faith wasn’t the kind of mother he imagined her to be. Maybe she was entirely the victim here. In fact, I hoped she was, but I had to consider all the possibilities.
“I think she could have become desperate. Maybe she couldn’t make ends meet. You know how expensive living in York can be. Maybe she got very unhappy and became addicted. You don’t know the circumstances, Steph. It might be that she’s not doing the best for her son.” I shook my head. “Anyway, look, we’ll assess the situation when we get there. You know I don’t want to be right. I hope she’s a good mum towards the lad.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Stephen relented with a heavy sigh, his shoulders sinking.
We drove in silence the rest of the way, pulling up outside the address that Emily had given us. There was a flashy BMW in the driveway, and Stephen and I shared a look. I doubted that it belonged to Faith, which meant that someone else was with her. Someone who might not be friendly to the police.
“Alright, let’s go.”
We made our way over to the front door, which had a silver peephole at eye height. I saw a shadow pass over it from the inside and suspected that someone was on watch. I honestly wasn’t sure we’d even get an answer at the door.
Stephen rapped the knocker, and we both took a step back just in case anyone came bursting out. We were left waiting long enough that I became resigned to the fact that we’d have to wait for a warrant. Still, Stephen stepped forward, intending to knock again.
That’s when the door wrenched open, the hinges giving a protesting squeak at the roughness. A bulky guy glared out at us with narrowed eyes. His pupils were blown wide despite the bright daylight, and his lips were wet from him repeatedly licking them, which seemed to be a nervous habit.
“We’re looking for Faith. Is she in?” I asked, loudly enough that I hoped my voice would carry inside the house so that Faith could hear me if she was in there. “I’m DCI Mitchell, and this is DI Huxley.”
“All due respect, officers,” the big bloke sneered, spraying spittle, “piss off.”
I put my hand out to stop him from shutting the door on us and received an icy glare in return. It occurred to me to wonder momentarily whether this man was the one who’d been sending the text messages, threatening my family and me, but I dismissed the errant thought. This bloke was nothing more than a lackey, I was almost certain. He was high on something and didn’t have enough intelligence behind his glazed eyes to carry out an operation as grimly efficient and organised as this one.
“It’ll look good for you if you cooperate,” Stephen said, his voice deep and cold.
The man just curled his lip at us and spat on the floor. I didn’t say anything as I retracted my hand, but I thought that we weren’t done here, not by a long shot. The door shoved shut in our faces, and I blew out a breath of frustration. By silent agreement, we headed back to the car, where we sat wordlessly for several moments.
“How long do you think it’ll take the Supe to get a warrant?”
I was already busy scrolling through my phone to find her contact. “I don’t know, but I’m going to call her and find out.”
Rashford told us to get back to the station so she could talk to us in person. I wasn’t sure if that boded badly or not, but we got on the road, regardless.
“All we’ve done today is drive,” he grumbled. I’d offered to drive us back, but he’d wanted something to do, and I knew that it wasn’t really the driving he was complaining about.
I didn’t say anything because anything I might’ve said, he already knew. Cases were sometimes like this, involving us chasing around ghosts and red herrings before we could get our hands on something substantial, but I could still understand his annoyance. He wanted to help the mum and her young lad out, and driving away from Faith’s house felt wrong to both of us.
My phone started ringing shrilly, and it took me a moment of fishing around in my deep pockets before I could find the damn thing. It was Sam, and I frowned.
“Hey-”
“You need to go back to Faith’s right now!” she ordered, her voice high and tight. I didn’t question her.
“Steph, turn around,” I said. I stabbed the button on the dashboard to turn the sirens on before focusing back on what Sam was saying. She’d been talking whilst I spoke to Stephen, but I hadn’t been following it. “Love, slow down. Tell me what’s going on.”
She took a deep breath, her voice steadier when she spoke again, though it was still shaky.
“Emily called me. She said she could hear screaming. She’s called the ambulance already, but I hoped you’d be closer and you could help her. You are close, aren’t you? You can help?”
“Yes, we’re close. We’re less than a minute away. I need to hang up now and get it out on the radio. We’ll do everything we can to help, okay?”
“Okay,” she said softly before she hung up, the phone beeping in my ear.
Stephen had upped the speed whilst I’d been talking to Sam, but I’d hardly noticed, trusting him to get us where we needed to be.
“It’s Faith?” he asked tightly as I fiddled with the radio.
“Aye,” I said before I turned my radio on and sent out a message about what was happening. I fired off a very brief text to Rashford, too, so she wouldn’t be wondering why we hadn’t turned up in her office yet. Then Stephen was pulling up on the curb outside Faith’s, jerking us to a sharp stop, sudden enough to make my seatbelt cut into my chest.
“Go knock on the door,” I instructed him.
Maybe that bloke would answer, and maybe it’d give Faith a reprieve if it had been her screams Emily heard. What we really needed was backup, but we didn’t have the time to spare. Waiting could cost Faith or her son their lives.
Stephen did as I asked wordlessly, all but bolting out of the car and up the short drive. The BMW was still there, and I grimaced to see it, wishing I could key the stupid thing.
“Police! Open up!” Stephen yelled, hammering at the door with his fists.
I strode around to the back of the car, pulling out the Halligan bar. The tool had seen more use in the last few days than it had in the last few months, but I was glad to have it. I doubted that the door of Faith’s home would actually be opened up to us, so we’d no doubt have to crack the thing open.
Stephen continued banging and shouting as I worked beside him, lodging the bar into place around the edge of the door. There was still no response from the house’s inhabitants, and Stephen gave me a hand to lever the door open, snapping the lock with a satisfying crunching crack of splintering wood. I could hear sirens approaching, and by the time we’d yanked the door open, an ambulance had come to a halt outside the house, just in front of our car. The paramedics clambered out, and I waved at them to wait.
“Stay outside till we call you,” I told them,
receiving a thumbs-up in return.
Stephen and I refocused our attention on the cracked-open door. The hallway beyond was dimly lit, and I ran my fingers along the wall until I found a light switch and flicked it.
Nothing happened.
Stephen and I glanced at each other before I gave him a nod, and he proceeded forwards, only slightly in front of me. His big shoulders took up almost the width of the narrow hall, but his steps were careful as we headed in. There was no sign of anyone and no noise, but we were both on high alert.
I checked the sitting room, found it empty, and we continued to the kitchen. The back door was shut, and when I tested it, I found it locked too.
“They’re still in the house,” I mouthed to Stephen.
I was concerned that the brute we’d met earlier might try to get past us and burst out of the front door while our backs were turned, so we quickly backtracked towards the stairs. If we had back-up outside, I wouldn’t have had to worry about that. But, as it was, there was only the ambulance crew on the drive, and I didn’t want them trying to stop eleven stones of irate criminal from making a run for it. That wasn’t their job.
I tapped Stephen’s shoulder as we reached the bottom of the stairs, near the front door, and he lifted his eyebrows at me. I gestured for him to let me go ahead, and after a long pause, he reluctantly stepped back. Though we were the same height, he was broader than I was, and that seemed to make him want to protect me. But at the end of the day, I was his senior, and it was my job to keep both of us safe.
We headed carefully up the stairs, the old wood creaking under our boots. I stopped Stephen when we reached the landing and gestured towards a window that looked out on the drive. Another police car had drawn up, sensibly keeping their sirens off, and I felt like I could breathe a little more easily. Stephen gave a nod, similar relief on his face.
There were three doors leading off the upstairs landing, two of which were shut. We went for the ajar one first, which was closest and found an empty bathroom. Tensed and wary, we moved towards the second room. I twisted the handle and gave the door a firm push, firm enough that it opened quickly but not so hard that it would bang. I moved cautiously inside, wary in case we met someone who was armed, ready to dart back into the corridor at the slightest prompting.
But the room, which looked like the master bedroom, was empty, too. The place was in disarray, the bed sheets thrown back and filthy, and I noted in a brief glance that it’d be worth looking over the room once we’d cleared the place out.
We were stepping back into the hallway when a creaking on the stairs made both of us spin around, ready to move in a moment. It was the backup officers, and I relaxed, giving them a nod. They returned it, coming up behind Stephen as I made my way towards the last room. I heard something and held up my hand to get the others to pause. In the silence, I caught the sound of nearly silent sobbing, and my heart broke. I knew Stephen had heard it too because he turned pale at the same time that his eyes became flinty and determined.
“Okay?” I mouthed at him. He nodded, his brows set into a deep scowl.
We moved forwards again. I took a breath, my hand on the cool door handle before I twisted it and flung the door open. No point in being quiet now.
“Hold it!” I yelled
At the same time as the bloke inside shouted, “Don’t move!”
I froze. The guy we’d met at the door, his pupils blown even wider now, was holding a kitchen knife to a little boy’s throat. A woman, presumably the kid’s mother, was sitting on the child’s single bed in the corner and sobbing.
Goddamit, I thought. A lump materialised in my throat, and I swallowed around it, my mouth suddenly dry. What we did next could determine whether that child lived or died, and the pressure felt like a wrench was tightening around my chest.
I pushed through it. We had a responsibility to protect the innocent, and nobody was more innocent than a young child.
Eleven
I immediately put up my hands, and so did Stephen, who’d stepped inside behind me. The room was a small one, barely big enough for the bed and a small chest of drawers, and it was oppressively crowded with four adults inside it.
“Don’t hurt the child. We can sort something out,” I coaxed.
“Yeah? Like what?” the man scoffed. “Tell me why I shouldn’t off the snivelling little shit right now. I’ve been sick of all his wailing and whining for days, I swear to God.”
“You’ll be done for murder if you do. That’ll be decades in prison, mate,” Stephen said, doing an admirable job of keeping his voice steady. “You don’t want that. Put the kid down, and it won’t be so bad for you.”
The man seemed to be thinking about it, his tongue licking over his thin lips as his blown eyes flickered around the room. He reminded me of a cornered snake, cold, unpredictable, and liable to strike at any time.
Though I didn’t turn around, I knew that the backup officers were aware of the situation inside the lad’s bedroom and would most likely be calling in for armed support and a hostage negotiator, too, if they could get hold of one. I wondered if this guy realised, as high as he clearly was, how very much worse he’d made things for himself. Getting done for keeping the drugs I was sure were somewhere in this house was one thing, but holding a knife to a child’s neck was another entirely.
“I’ll get a-a- You know,” he started, his lips twisting in anger when he couldn’t find the word. “A deal! You’ll do a deal with me, right? Let me off light, or else I’ll use this, I swear I will.” He moved the knife, and I winced at how close it was to the small boy’s neck. The child himself was deadly still, limp in the man’s grip and pale as paper. He wasn’t looking at us but down at the floor.
I glanced at Stephen, pretending to think about it. I’d agreed to catch a unicorn for this guy if he’d just let go of the kid.
“Aye, we can do that,” I said, striving to maintain my neutral, calm facade. Internally, my heart was racing too fast to count.
“Yeah?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “I want it written down on something.”
“Okay, okay, we will.”
I wanted to demand he let go of the lad first, but I sensed it would only anger him further, and that was the last thing I wanted. Stephen seemed to have the same feelings as I did because he stayed quiet too. I glanced back at one of the backup officers, a DC who was watching with wide eyes from the landing.
“Can you find us some paper?” I asked him.
“It’s there,” a soft voice said, startling me.
I turned back towards the bed and found that the boy’s mum, who I guessed to be Faith, had looked up. Her cheeks were blotchy with distress, and her hand shook as she pointed to the chest of drawers. I spotted the box of paper on top, clean sheets mixed in with a little kid’s drawings, and I pulled out a piece.
“What do you want me to write, huh?” I asked the man warily. “I’m DCI Mitchell and this DI Huxley. I’m in charge of this case, so I have the authority to sign off on this if you tell me what you want. We just want the little boy to be safe.”
I couldn’t authorise any kind of deal with this drugged-up criminal, and I was lying through my teeth, but he seemed high enough to believe it. He dictated a statement to me that didn’t make a whole lot of sense but which I wrote down just as he said, signing the bottom when he demanded it. I was getting anxious to get the child free before the bloke changed his mind or his behaviour grew more erratic, but he seemed relatively steady for now save for his shaking knife hand. I swallowed again, trying to bring some saliva into my dry mouth before I spoke again.
“Here, it’s all written down. How about you let go of the boy now, okay? Hold up your side of the deal, and we’ll hold up ours.”
“You give your word?” he said, half-demanding and half-sneering.
“Yes, I give my word,” I lied.
There was a tension-laden pause before he finally took the knife away. The boy didn’t move, and I held my breath.
&n
bsp; “Drop the knife, please,” I asked, my voice cracking.
The man looked at me for a second before he tossed the knife towards the wall, where it landed with a clatter loud enough to make me jump.
“Elijah!” Faith cried out. The boy still didn’t move, seeming shell-shocked, though he looked towards his mum and burst into tears.
“Hands up,” I told the man, giving Stephen a nod towards the boy, Elijah.
The cold-eyed guy was still too damn close to the child and to the knife, and I couldn’t relax yet. But he did put his hands up when I told him to, and as I stepped closer, I managed to get him into handcuffs without too much trouble.
“You swore! You swore, we have a deal,” he cried loudly as I steered him out of the room. He was unsteady on his feet and didn’t seem to have much fight in him.
“Aye, we still do. We still have a deal,” I lied, trying to keep him passive as I got him down the stairs and towards the car.
Seeing the police car, the waiting ambulance, and a number of other officers standing around kicked him back into a frenzy, and I struggled to hold him on my own as he twisted like a rat on fire. The other officers hurried forwards to help me contain him, and I was more than happy to hand him off to them. They dragged him into the back of a police car, and I got a couple of seconds reprieve before I needed to deal with the mess he’d caused.
I dismissed several of the extra officers, sending off the ones with the criminal in their car. They’d take him back to Hewford, put him in custody to be interviewed. I hoped we could get something useful out of him, especially once he sobered up a bit, but I wasn’t especially hopeful. I’d lied to him about there being a deal, and I didn’t think he’d take that kindly.
I waved the paramedics up to check on the little boy, Elijah, and his mother. No doubt both of them were badly in shock, and I didn’t know whether they had any injuries I hadn’t noticed in the heat of the moment. The two DCs I’d asked to stay, I waved over to me.
“I’d like you two to start looking over the downstairs for me. I know I don’t have to tell you to be extra careful?”
Country Lines (A DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thriller Book 8) Page 11