by Jack Slater
The big man nodded. ‘We have. But there’s nothing to see. Spring growth smothers everything. You know that.’
Pete didn’t bother to argue. He headed for the break in the row of houses – the footpath that led through and along the backs, between the gardens and the woods – Dazzer following a step behind him. ‘The back gate’s secure, presumably?’
‘Yep.’ Relief coloured Dazzer’s tone. ‘No scuff marks on the gate or the fence. No broken or even open windows.’
‘Back door?’
‘Unlocked, but he’s not a prisoner, is he? He’s allowed to play in the garden. Kick a ball about or whatever. And like I said, there’s no sign of him going over the fence. Or of anyone else entering that way.’
Who the bloody hell kicks a ball about in the garden, these days? Pete thought. It was a sad reflection on modern life, but accurate nevertheless – kids were more interested in computer games now than real ones. Hence all the fuss about childhood obesity, in his opinion. It was more to do with lack of activity than lemonade and crisps.
The back garden of the house he’d grown up in was surrounded by a six-foot wooden fence. As Dazzer had said, there were no scuff marks or damage to indicate it had been climbed over. He was tempted to reach for the latch on the gate, but resisted. There was one other option, though. If Tommy could get up onto the shed, like Pete used to as a kid, he’d be able to jump over from there.
He walked on another twenty feet to the narrow home-made bridge over the ditch that that people had used since before Pete was born to gain access to the woods. He’d talk to his parents later, see what they thought Tommy had been up to and where. For now, the priority was to find the boy.
As Dazzer had suggested, the spring growth around them as they entered the woodland was profuse, bright and sappy. Grass, ferns and cow-parsley brushed his trousers while hazel and hawthorn sported vivid green leaves and conker trees were festooned with cones of bright white flower while carpets of shiny narrow leaves covered the ground.
Pete scanned the vegetation for any sign of previous clumsy or heavy-footed passage.
‘Where are we going?’ Dazzer asked from behind him.
‘The old cottage.’
‘What old cottage?’
‘Used to belong to an old coppicer. He made charcoal, hazel rods and so on, back before the war. It’s ruined now. Has been for years.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘My dad told me about him, I think. Or my grandad. Either way, I know the place and so does Tommy. He could be there. If not, we’ve got a problem.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you’re right – I haven’t seen any signs he was taken. So, the other choice is, he’s done a runner. Again. And the court case starts tomorrow. I thought my DI had convinced him, but…’ He shook his head. ‘You never know with kids, do you? They seem to spend half their time in a world of their own, swap back and forth between theirs and ours as it suits.’
Dazzer laughed. ‘That’s what being a kid’s all about, isn’t it? Imagination. Playing. Learning.’
Pete sighed. ‘Yeah. As long as they do learn.’
*
‘Tommy?’
Pete’s voice echoed through the dense woodland.
‘Tommy, it’s me. Your dad. Are you there, son?’
They’d checked the big hollow first. Nothing. No sign he’d been there. The old ruin was now no more than a hundred yards away, though they still couldn’t see it through the densely packed trees and uneven ground.
‘You’re not in trouble,’ he called. ‘We just need to know you’re safe, that’s all.’
There was still no answer.
Ahead, he saw the fork in the path and stopped, pointing it out to Dazzer. ‘The old ruin’s up the right-hand path. You take the left: it loops round beneath it. The next path on the right cuts back up the hill to approach it from the other side. I’ll give you a minute then we’ll both close in carefully. Hopefully, he’s there, just not answering.’
‘Right.’
Dazzer headed off on the downhill path, his long legs carrying him swiftly and surprisingly quietly for such a big man with such a lot of equipment on his belt and vest. In seconds, despite his size, his dark frame was gone from sight. Pete gave him a little longer then took out his phone and checked it was set to vibrate only. He didn’t want it going off at the wrong moment and giving away his presence before he was ready.
He started up the right-hand path, stepping carefully, keeping one eye on the ground to avoid stepping on a twig and cracking it, the other watching his surroundings. He ducked under a low-hanging branch and stepped around a big old oak. Beyond it, another large tree had fallen, some time since he’d last been here. He examined the trunk where it lay across the path. There were no fresh marks where someone might have jumped onto or off it as Tommy would have had to, given his stature.
Pete’s lips tightened. Maybe he wasn’t up here, then? Or maybe he’d just found another path. He had taken a great interest and pride in woodsmanship, Pete recalled. And he’d spent several weeks, back in the winter, living off the land over towards Plymouth, having broken into a holiday cabin. He would be freshly practiced at all the skills involved.
Pete stepped over the fallen trunk. It wasn’t much further now.
When the old ruin came into sight, it was even more moss-covered and broken-down than he remembered, stones scattered here and there around what little remained of the walls. A tree was growing in the one remaining corner of the building. Thin and spindly, it was growing in the very spot that Pete had more than once, as a kid, built a fire to roast chestnuts or even the odd foil-wrapped potato.
As it thickened up with age, the tree would push down most of what was left of the building. By the time Pete retired, there would barely be any sign it had existed. Nature would have completely retaken ownership of the place. He wasn’t sure if that was a depressing or a positive thought in the present world situation. Either way, it didn’t alter the one other thing he could see from up here.
There was no sign of Tommy.
Then his eye caught something. The briefest glimpse: movement, beyond the ruined cottage; a shoulder, perhaps, black amongst the bright green of new leaves.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Instinctively, he reached for it. Took it out, glancing at the screen.
Unknown number.
‘Shit,’ he hissed softly, taking a backward step to conceal himself behind the dense, dark and jagged leaves of a wild holly bush as he lifted the phone to his ear.
CHAPTER SIX
‘Gayle,’ Pete murmured, crouching behind the holly bush and peering around it to keep his eyes on the ruin below him.
‘Boss?’
Pete’s lips tightened. ‘This better be bloody important, Dick. Your timing stinks.’
‘It is. We just heard on the radio. A car’s been found on fire off a back lane just west of Sticklepath. Someone phoned it in: they saw the smoke from about a mile away. Fire brigade got there, but too late. They had to let it burn. It was a Range Rover. The number plates were destroyed, but they found the VIN number. It’s the Webbers’.’
The Southam brothers were still heading west, towards Okehampton. ‘When was it phoned in?’
‘Just under an hour ago.’
‘Bodies?’
‘No.’
Pete breathed a sigh of relief at that. ‘They’ll have taken another vehicle from somewhere before they torched that one.’
‘Yeah. Nothing reported yet, though.’
‘As soon as it is, we need to know about it. The call could come in there or over here. Let the call centre know and the front desk there. I’ll talk to the desk at this end.’
He ended the call, still watching the old woodcutter’s cottage site and the place beyond it where he was certain he’d spotted movement. There was nothing. He stepped out from behind the big bush and called out, ‘Tommy, it’s me. Your dad. Come on, son. Enough’s enough. You need to
come home. You know Adrian Southam’s on the loose. And I know he’s headed this way. I don’t want you getting hurt, son, and you know that’s what he’ll do if he gets hold of you.’
Movement.
That same figure. Big, bulky and dressed in black from head to toe.
‘Dammit!’ Pete hissed.
It was Dazzer.
Pete heard the spurt of his former colleague’s radio, even over the intervening distance. Dazzer reached for it, bending his head to listen. Then he looked up and shouted.
‘Pete, they’ve got him.’
What the bloody hell’s that supposed to mean? ‘Hold on, I’m coming down.’
He started down towards the local man.
‘Who’s got who?’ he demanded when they met moments later.
‘Tommy. They’ve got Tommy. Picked him up on Chichacott Road.’
‘Who’s got him?’ At that moment, Pete could happily have strangled Dazzer.
‘Eh? Oh. Sorry. A patrol car. They spotted him walking north as they were coming down here to help look for him. They’d got a picture, obviously. Saw him jump into the hedge as they came round a bend and recognised him straight away, so they picked him up. He’s not exactly a willing passenger, but…’ He shrugged. ‘They told him he’d be done for contempt if he didn’t come with them. Apparently, he told them, “Fair enough. That’s exactly what I feel for the whole sodding business.” So, they pretended to arrest him for it.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘On his way to the nick in town.’
‘Thank Christ for that. Let’s go, then.’
*
Pete slipped his phone back into his jacket after asking the local police to alert him to any stolen cars that were reported in the next few hours.
That had been his second call. The first had been to Louise, to tell her that Tommy had been found and picked up by the local uniforms. Her relief had choked him up to the extent that he had walked on in silence for several seconds, bringing himself back under control before making the next call.
Dazzer looked sideways at him. ‘You know you can’t see him, don’t you? Tommy.’
They were walking back through the woods towards Pete’s parents’ house. Had covered maybe half the distance.
‘See him?’ Pete retorted. ‘I’ll bloody crown the little sod when I get my hands on him, all the trouble he’s caused.’
‘Yeah, that’s not going to encourage Morris to bend the rules for you.’
‘Morris? Isn’t he retired by now?’ Pete remembered Sergeant Morris Tibbetts from his own days working out of Okehampton nick. He’d been old then and that had been… Pete didn’t want to think how many years ago.
‘Nah. Silly old fart’ll die behind that custody desk.’
‘How does he get away with it?’
Dazzer shrugged. ‘The cutbacks, I suppose. Saves replacing him, doesn’t it? And he hasn’t exactly got to get too much exercise in there.’
Pete grunted. ‘I know plenty of front-desk officers are retirees who’ve come back for the purpose, but I didn’t know it could be done in the custody suite.’
‘I don’t know if it can officially, but this ain’t exactly the big city, is it? Out of sight, out of mind, eh?’
Pete’s frequent run-ins with Exeter station chief DCI Adam Silverstone popped into his mind. ‘Yeah, I often think that would have its advantages. But it doesn’t alter the fact that Morris is bending the rules just by being there.’
‘And that’s another reason why he won’t bend them any further than he has to for anyone else. There’s no point in you stirring it, mate. You won’t win and, if you did, all you’d do is put the case Tommy’s supposed to be testifying in at risk.’
Pete knew he was right. That didn’t make him want to admit it, though. ‘Yeah, well… While I’m here, I’d best pop in and say hello to the folks. I expect Tommy will be booked in and interviewed, won’t he?’
‘Too bloody right he will, after all this bother.’
Pete nodded. ‘Good. It might teach him a lesson that I obviously haven’t.’
He was about to say more when his phone rang again. He took it out and his eyes widened as he saw the number on the display. He touched the green icon. ‘Gayle.’
‘Much as I hate to talk out of turn, there’s a couple of blokes in here, look like the hooligan twins, and I just overheard them talking about you.’ Pete recognised the voice immediately and it did nothing to reduce his surprise. The other Darren in his life. His reluctant CI. The lad almost never called him. Getting information out of him was usually like pulling teeth. ‘Not that I’ve got a problem with that, of course.’
Ah, normal service resumes, Pete thought. But what the hell were the Southam brothers doing back in Exeter? And being so brazen about it?
‘But they were talking about your family too. And not in nice terms. So, being a prospective family man myself, I thought I’d give you the heads-up.’
The mention of his family had sent a cold shiver down Pete’s spine. If that’s what they were back in town for… He had to get off the phone and get back home ASAP. But at the same time, he couldn’t just brush Darren off, not when he’d made the effort to call him with this. ‘Thanks, Darren. You haven’t gone and got some poor girl pregnant, have you?’
Darren sighed. ‘I sometimes wonder why I bother. You met her, if you remember.’
A memory clicked into place. A possible witness he and Jane had been visiting when Darren turned up out of the blue. ‘I do. Nice girl. Never could figure out what she was doing with the likes of you. But then maybe you’ve just demonstrated the answer, eh? You’re not going make an honest woman of her, too, are you?’
‘She always has been honest. One of us has to be. But yes, I am going to marry her, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Does she know that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, congratulations, mate. I mean it. And thanks for the heads up. Now, best you give it a minute or two and then make yourself scarce for a bit.’
He ended the call and phoned the station. ‘Two things,’ he said when it was picked up. ‘First, I’ve just received a tip there’s an imminent threat against my family. I need someone out to my place right away. And secondly, I’ve been led to believe that, as we speak, the Southam brothers are in the snooker hall on Front Street. We need to get them arrested as a matter of priority.’
‘OK, we’re on it.’
‘Thanks.’ Phone still in hand, Pete ran to his car, consumed by a depth of fear that only a father and husband could feel. Regardless of who else was on the way to his house right now, he needed to get back there as fast as he could. His parents could wait.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sixteen hours later, Pete knew that Sally Hanson’s child was her boyfriend’s, not her father’s. Her father hadn’t been abusing her in that way. But he was no wiser about the whereabouts of the Southam brothers as he sat in the waiting area outside County Court One of Exeter’s combined court centre, staring across in silence at his son, twenty feet away on the other side of the wide, bright and modern space. They had left the snooker club by the time officers got there to arrest them and they hadn’t shown up at his house. But then, they hadn’t really needed to, he realised. All they’d needed to do was sow the seed of the possibility to ruin his night’s sleep, making him, and therefore his evidence, more vulnerable to attack by the defence barrister.
Tommy was with his solicitor, the small, ineffectual-looking and grey-suited Clive Davis. His eyes were downcast. He’d glanced at his dad as he entered an hour ago and looked immediately away. They had made no eye contact since, which Pete knew was the way the court usher wanted it to stay. But still, he couldn’t help but study the boy. He’d grown over the past year – inevitably, at his age. But more than the couple of inches in height that he’d put on, he had filled out and matured. He was still a boy, but he was beginning to grow into a man.
Despite all he’d done and all he was suspecte
d of, Pete couldn’t help the surge of pride that swept through him on seeing the lad.
At Tommy’s near side, directly across from the huge modern wood doors that led into the court room, sat Dave Miles. Unusually, he was dressed in a dark grey suit. As he looked at him, Pete couldn’t help thinking Dick Feeney would be proud of him, despite Dave’s better looks, darker hair and highly polished black shoes. He was even wearing a tie, albeit a police issue one.
Next to him and almost opposite Pete, the Whitlocks sat in silence, parents either side of their daughter, enclosing and shielding her from her surroundings. She had given Pete a timid smile when she saw him, unlike either of her parents, but again, no words were exchanged. Both she and Tommy would testify via video link from a room further along the corridor. Neither would ever enter the court room itself. Their safety was assured – at least from that point of view.
Pete just wished he could say the same about the other point of view – the wider public aspect of their comings and goings and what might happen to them outside this building, especially with the Southam brothers out there, God knew where, plotting God knew what. They could go after either or both of the kids, directly or indirectly, at any point up to and even beyond their testimony.
Pete had ensured that, despite the lack of resources, DCI Silverstone had allocated a team to the Whitlocks 24/7, telling them it was routine in these circumstances. No mention had been made of any direct threats.
Footsteps trudged up the stairs from the ground floor and Pete looked up to see the tweed-suited bulk of Colin Underhill stepping towards them. His eyes went to Tommy, then to Pete as he crossed the polished wood floor to sit down heavily beside him.
‘Not late, am I?’
‘Nah. You know these judges. Don’t believe in nine o’clock starts like the rest of humanity.’
Colin sat down next to Pete and gave Dave a nod. ‘Heard anything from in there?’
‘Not a peep as yet.’ Pete checked his watch. ‘Don’t suppose it’ll be long now, though.’