‘Go, go!’ They shouted and jumped back in slamming the doors behind them.
‘Fuck! How long will she be out for?’ the driver panicked, concerned about the implications of being involved with an abduction in broad daylight.
‘No problem, she be OK. Just drive.’
He hit the pedal, took a sharp left down a lazy incline. After twenty minutes of navigating winding country lanes through the Staffordshire Moorlands, they reached the safe house. A derelict farmhouse stepped back three hundred yards from the road. It was in a desperate state of decay: broken guttering, crumbling brickwork and blackened windows. The driver pointed the car round the back of the property. He’d been there briefly the night before with a bag of tools and enough supplies for forty-eight hours. Breaking in had taken little effort; the rusting hasp and staple pried with ease from the rotten doorframe. The place looked much worse in daylight.
With the kitchen door propped wide open, the three of them returned to the sound of muffled screams and banging coming from the boot of the BMW. Isabel Blake had regained consciousness and was desperate to get out.
Frederick Simbala went to the back of the vehicle and retrieved a Glock 17 pistol from his rucksack. The driver nervously scanned the area before flipping the boot. An extremely frightened Isabel Blake jumped up and frantically cried for help. Frederick placed his finger on his lips, whilst jamming the Glock hard against the side of her head.
‘Shh! Or I pop ya, bitch. Git outa da car,’ he demanded.
She shook uncontrollably, gulping down breaths while attempting to stay quiet. Although the chloroform had worn off, she felt disorientated, struggling to comprehend finding herself in this nightmare situation.
They forced her into the dishevelled kitchen and made her sit on a dust-covered dining room chair sat ominously in the centre of the room. Cracks of light seared through several broken panes of the filthy windows. Large church candles littered the room in preparation for darkness. The whole place smelled of stagnant mildew and damp.
Face ashen white with fear, the 19-year-old brunette protested, ‘Why are you doing this?’ she sobbed; worried why the white guy had disappeared, leaving her at the mercy of the two crazed Africans.
‘Give us na trouble an you’ll be home tomorrow,’ Jozef Simbala explained in a feeble attempt to reassure her. He was not in charge of the situation but rather assisting the other mad bastard holding the gun.
The driver stood around the back of the dilapidated farmhouse gazing across the rolling fields through an opening in a grove of Sycamores in bloom.
He fished his mobile from his jeans and called Ibrahim. ‘It’s done, make the call.’
‘She OK?’
‘Yeah, but these madmen are scaring her,’ he said anxiously.
‘Don’t worry; they’re under orders not to hurt her.’
‘Try telling them that.’
‘Tell Frederick to get the bike ready and keep the phone I gave him close.’
‘Will do.’ The driver ended the call.
The plan was to grab Yusuf outside police headquarters in Hanley fifteen minutes before the prison van was due to ship him off on remand. Once Frederick was in lower Bethesda Street on the bike, Inspector Blake would release his handcuffs. The speeding Honda would take him to a van waiting in a remote lane. That’s how it was supposed to go; whether it would was a different story. He was just carrying out orders like a good foot soldier. But being party to abduction freaked him out. The sooner they released the girl the better.
Isabel Blake needed to urinate. Frederick Simbala untied her from the chair and passed her a filthy blue plastic bucket.
‘I need privacy!’ she pleaded.
But it was to no avail; the African just stared at her, shook the bucket and snapped, ‘Just piss der.’
She hesitated, but the urge to pass water became too strong. She’d resisted for two hours and was now desperate. Composing herself she edged into the corner of the room like a frightened cat. Stooping, she slid her knickers to the ankles and hovered over the bucket holding her denim knee-length skirt down in a desperate attempt not to reveal anything. To her horror, Frederick stood watching rubbing his crotch in a provocative manner, as the other brother slouched on a dishevelled sofa opposite. Trapped in the corner her eyes darted around the darkness. Disturbing images of what might happen flashed through her mind as she teetered on the edge of this nightmare.
Suddenly the white guy entered the kitchen and defused the situation.‘What are you doing? The boss gave strict orders not to touch the girl, back off!’ he threatened, worried about her safety.
‘Chill. Killing time, man. Remember, I’s got da gun.’
CHAPTER 50
It was 9.30 a.m. when Kat’s phone trilled, she looked at the call ID; it was Ibrahim. Not wanting to sound too desperate she let it ring another couple of times before answering.
‘Hi.’
‘Kat, just calling to see if you’re available for lunch this afternoon?’
‘This afternoon,’ she paused, ‘yeah OK! Where do you have in mind?’
‘I know a great country pub, which does really nice steaks; if you fancy it?’
‘That would be lovely. What time can you pick me up?’
‘Shall we say eleven p.m.?’
‘Yes, in the car park in Foxley Lane.’
‘Okay, see you then.’
‘Bye,’ Kat said trying to contain her excitement.
She really didn't think he’d call again, after their one night stand. Besides, she was bored of hanging around the house. All the cleaning was done, and she’d fetched the pizzas from the shop for tea. This would inject a bit of excitement into her life.
Grinning she headed upstairs to take a shower, choose an outfit and put on some make-up.
After a twenty minute drive through glorious sunshine and pastel shaded farmland they arrived at The Lion; a refurbished 16th century coaching inn on the Staffordshire–Shropshire border.
Ibrahim parked his Audi at the side of the pub. The car park was less than half empty, just the way he liked it. At least they’d get some privacy. He’d booked a table in the conservatory which overlooked a small carp fishing lake at the rear. It was a real romantic place.
‘Wow, this is nice,’ Kat said as the waitress led them to their table.’
‘Wait until you taste the steak and dauphinoise potatoes.’
‘Sounds lovely,’ she smiled nervously feeling a little apprehensive on only their second date. To be honest I was surprised when you called this morning.’
‘Why, I really thought we connected last time.’
Kat’s cheeks reddened. You can say that again she thought, after shagging him for hours.
‘And I’m not just talking about the sex,’ Ibrahim lowered his voice. ‘I like you, Kat. You’re beautiful and have a really easy-going personality.’
‘Thanks, I like you too,’ she said realising how cheesy that sounded.
‘I wanted to call you before today, but I’ve been working on something big; there’s lots of important stuff to sort out.’
This piqued Kat’s interest, ‘Sounds interesting, what’s that then?
‘Sorry I can’t talk about it,’ he said guardedly.
‘OK. Don’t worry about it, we’re here now. It's probably for the best we're out of Stoke. If Carl finds out he’ll go ballistic.’
‘I wouldn't worry about him, he’s a dick. This might sound a bit stupid, but I won't intervene in your relationship, unless you want me to, that is? But if he hurts you in any way, I may not be able to resist giving him a kicking. Anyway, don’t worry about that now. Excuse me for a minute; I need to make an important business call,’ he said leaving the table, strolling through the bi-fold doors leading to the empty outside patio area.
Kat sat watching him pace around on the phone, wondering what the hell she was getting into. Clearly Ibrahim was a man of means and probably dangerous, but she really fancied him. He treated her with respect. She d
ecided to carry on behind Carl’s back, see what happened. Maybe there could be a future in this, although she promised herself not to do anything foolish like leave Carl on a stupid impulse.
CHAPTER 51
At 11.30 a.m. Blake stepped outside for some fresh air. Police headquarters were built in the seventies and the four-storey modular box was boiling in summer and freezing in winter. Over the years the council had upgraded the interior, but from outside the building was still one of those 1970s architectural disasters.
His phone rang, but he didn’t recognise the caller ID. ‘Hello.’
‘Listen carefully, what I’m going to tell you is important,’ the man on the other end of the line informed him in a slight eastern European accent.
‘Who is this?’
‘Don’t ask questions, just listen. You have Yusuf Benzar in custody, yes?’
‘Who wants to know?’ Blake demanded.
‘I said no questions.’
‘Yes, we do.’
‘Tell me what time he’s being transferred tomorrow.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Because your daughter’s life depends on it.’
Suddenly, Blake’s blood ran cold. ‘Who the hell is this? How did you get this number?’
‘That doesn’t matter. If you want to see your daughter again, you’ll shut up and listen. We have her and she’ll be safe, just as long as you follow my orders. Don’t tell anyone else about this call, especially other police. Her life depends on it.’
Was this a sick joke, a hoax? A disgruntled criminal with an axe to grind, or was this happening. For the first time in his life, he was speechless. The information wouldn’t compute. He’d had personal experience assuring relatives during a kidnap case back in ’98. The hopelessness he’d seen in their eyes flooded his mind. But nothing could prepare him for this agony.
‘How do I know you’re not lying?’
‘We’ll call you back and put her on the phone. Stay where you are.’
A painful few seconds passed before his mobile rang, another male voice spoke, only this time the accent was much stronger. He couldn’t place it. ‘Listen, Mr Police!’
‘Where’s my daughter, you bastard?’
The African held the phone to Isabel’s mouth. ‘Dad, I’m scared, they’ve got guns,’ Isabel pleaded, trembling, holding back the urge to cry.
He was distraught upon hearing her. Taking a deep breath, he said, ‘Darling, try to stay calm and do as they say, and I’ll come and get you soon as I can. I love you so much.’
The African came back on the line. ‘Ya get it, Mr Policeman?
Livid, Blake responded. ‘You harm her and I’ll kill you!’
‘Ya tink.’
The line went dead. Blake stabbed the call end button to close the line. ‘Think, think man.’ He paced up and down the pavement in disbelief.
Moments later, the return call came through; it was the other sick bastard who was pulling the strings.
‘Hello?’
‘Is anyone else there?’
‘No.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK, is that proof enough for you?’
‘You hurt her in any way and I’ll find you and cut your bollocks off, you twisted bastard.’
‘I understand you’re upset, she’s your baby, but give me the time and place of Yusuf’s transfer?’
‘I’ll lose my job.’
‘Which would you prefer, job or child?’
‘OK, OK, nine-thirty tomorrow morning outside the station in Hanley.’
‘For definite?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Bring him out at nine-ten.’
‘I can’t. We have strict protocols on prisoner transfers.’
‘It’s not up for negotiation, just do it. I’ll call you again tomorrow morning at eight, make sure you answer, and remember, no other police. Don’t try to be a hero. Do as you’re told and your daughter will be back with you unharmed, understand?’
Blake’s mind imploded. It’s one thing to investigate crime against strangers but no amount of training could prepare him for the abduction of his own daughter. He felt a sudden dizziness as the physiological changes adrenaline imposed on the body took hold, gripping him in emotional torment. All kinds of irrational fears ran through his mind. He needed to speak to someone fast, someone he trusted. He put his phone away and stumbled nervously back into the station to find John Murphy.
His DS sat huddled over the keyboard on his desk in the CID’s open-plan office.
‘You OK, Tom? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?’
‘John, I need a word in private, urgently?’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘Not here. Across the Smiths now, mate.’
‘Seriously, it’s only early.’
‘It’s Isabel; she’s in real danger.’
‘OK, you head on over there, I’ll join you in five minutes,’ Murphy replied with a puzzled look.
CID liked a drink more than most, and the Smiths Head, situated a hundred and fifty yards across the ring road from the station had been ingrained in the local police culture for more years than anybody cared to remember. The pub stood long before the station existed, but had gone through several reincarnations over the years, the latest being a modern bar and restaurant with heated terrace. It was unrecognisable from its traditional roots.
Blake entered the bar, knowing it was unlikely any other officers would be in there before lunchtime. Drinking on duty could lead to disciplinary action and was never justified. The body blow he’d just received was enough to drive the Pope to a stiff one.
Ten minutes later Murphy entered the tacky bar, which was redder than the average brothel. He spotted his DI in the corner, staring at an empty pint, ready to neck a whisky chaser.
‘A bit early, Tom?’
‘Nerves are in tatters, I needed something to calm me.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Sit down, mate, you won’t believe what’s happened. Somebody’s taken Isabel and they’re blackmailing me.’
Murphy hesitated. ‘Shit, is she OK?’
‘Spoke to her on my mobile earlier. She’s really scared and I’m seriously worried what they might do to her if I don’t follow their orders.’ He stared nervously at Murphy.
‘Doesn’t make sense. Why would anybody abduct your daughter? I know we’ve put loads of scrotes inside over the years, but most of them are dimwit burglars or drug dealers. None of them have the nous to pull a stunt like this.’
‘You reckon?’
‘Absolutely. What’s going on, Tom?’
‘You know that Turkish wide-boy we charged yesterday? It’s something to do with him. Seems he’s part of an organised firm and they want him released tomorrow.’
‘How do they expect you to do that; just let him walk? The prison van’s coming for him in the morning. He’ll be banged up on remand by dinner time.’
‘I know, and that’s the problem… these bastards want me to walk him out in front of the station twenty minutes before the van arrives. Handcuffs unlocked.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Deadly.’
‘And there’s no other way?’
‘That’s what I wanted to discuss with you. I’ve only just found out. One thing they’re adamant about is if any other police get involved they’ll harm her. Can’t take the risk, John, not after what happened to Dylan and Jenny. It would finish me if I lost another child.’
‘I understand, Tom, rock and a hard place. And you’re sure they’re not bluffing?’
‘They’ve got guns. Izzy told me on the phone.’
‘Shit, that’s worrying. And no one else in the station knows?’
‘No. I’ve weighed up the options, and I can’t see a way out apart from giving these bastards what they want.’
‘It goes against my better judgement, but I think you’re right. The fact they know you have a daughter and could get to her tells me these people should be taken seriously
. By the time we could get any kind of angle on them, they’d be long gone. It’s too risky. Just let them have the scum.’
‘Thanks for your input and support, John,’ he said with a heavy heart. ‘It’s on my head. Now you need to distance yourself. Just make sure you look shocked when that bastard escapes.’
CHAPTER 52
Blake barely slept a wink all night. How could he, knowing his only child was at the mercy of those animals? The hopelessness he felt was unbearable. Downing four tumblers of single malt knocked him out for about two hours, and after that he spent the small hours watching TV and reading Mel Sherratt’s Taunting the Dead, but the harder he tried to rationalise the situation with his copper’s brain, the more it hurt. It was the longest night of his life. The bottom line was he didn’t give a shit about freeing the Turkish wide boy. Nasty bastards like him had a habit of shooting themselves in the foot; it was just a matter of time. His sole focus was Isabel’s safe return; just the thought of her name brought tears to his eyes.
He was one of the few officers who’d maintained a reasonably normal family life. The death of his wife and son ten years ago had cemented their father and daughter bond. He’d raised Isabel with the help of his wife’s parents who’d been massively supportive in getting him through an extremely painful chapter in all their lives.
He glanced in the gilded mirror over the fireplace in the living room. The dark shadows under his eyes made him look like death warmed up. It took a hot shower, two strong coffees and a double bacon and cheese oatcake to awaken his senses. Suited and ready for action, he glanced at his watch; it was 6.30 a.m. There was no way he could hang around the house waiting for those bastards to call at eight, the tension was killing him. DS Murphy called twice already to offer support and enquire if there was any news, but, apart from the deeply distressing conversation with Isabel yesterday, he’d heard nothing, which only increased his anxiety.
The skies were clear and the air warm. The roads were quiet with few cars around apart from shift workers and delivery vans. Blake reached the station at 6.45 a.m. having devised the next course of action, spending fifteen minutes at his desk so as not to arouse suspicion from fellow officers; not that any would be there until at least eight. He then went down to the cells to discreetly tell Benzar of his pending escape: a moral dilemma he didn’t want to dwell on for fear of doubts.
The Killer Shadow Thieves (DI Tom Blake, #1) Page 18