No Way Home

by Jack Slater

  ‘I’m sure I’ve… Got it. He’s on the mispers list. Comes from Exeter, I think.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘There was something about his background.’

  ‘He’s coming around.’

  The young girl was steering the car around the sheet-rubber arena, going with the flow of the multicoloured mass of cars with their laughing and shrieking occupants. They rounded the last corner, heading towards the two uniformed patrol officers. Qadir raised a hand to wave.

  ‘Hey, kid.’

  The youth spotted them. His expression changed. He reached through between the girls, grabbed the steering wheel and shoved it over to the side. The car suddenly angled across the centre of the arena, away from Qadir and Karen.

  ‘Shit,’ Karen shouted. ‘Go that way.’ She pointed to the right and set off to the left, jumping up onto the wide metal edge of the ride and running along it as Qadir headed the other way. A family group was standing right in his way. He swung around them, started to run, but the crowd was too tightly packed. He pushed through to the edge of the ride, jumped up and started around it in the opposite direction to his partner. Glancing across, he saw the kid jump free of the car an instant before it hit another one at an acute angle. The girls screamed as the kid jumped over the nose of an oncoming red dodgem car, stepped between two others as they passed and reached the far side. Qadir swung around a group of young guys who were standing in his way and ran on. He made the corner, glanced across again, but the kid had gone from sight.

  ‘Crap,’ he muttered. What chance did they stand now, in this crowd?

  But the kid had seen them and run. There had to be a reason for that. He couldn’t give up now.

  The crowd on this side of the ride was a lot thinner. A few long strides and he reached the far corner. He stopped, one hand to the brightly painted corner post as he stared out into the crowded and noisy night, searching for movement amid the milling sea of constantly shifting figures. Something caught his attention at the edge of his vision. His head snapped towards it. A small figure darted into sight and then was gone again, several yards away to his right. He waited. There, dodging through the crowd. He lifted a hand to his radio.

  *

  Emma Radcliffe stepped out into the warm April night to the gentle sound of the river at the far side of the pub car park. Minutes ago, that sound would have been torture, but now it was soothing. Restful.

  She checked her watch.

  Still only twelve minutes since she’d left her broken-down car on the side of the road. She’d wondered if she was going to make it back out of the big pub in time. When she’d got here, she had barely been able to walk without wetting herself. Then, when she sat down and let the flow commence, she’d wondered if it would ever stop. But it had, with three minutes to spare. She shook her sleeve back down over her watch and glanced down the road.

  And here it was.

  A good thing she was early, she thought, as she stepped forward to the kerb and raised her hand. She had called the cab company as she was stepping away from the bloody useless car, which had just lost power and died on her, out of the blue, and refused to start again. When she said she’d be here, at the Old Mill Carvery, the woman had said fifteen minutes.

  The cab drew up beside her, light shining orange on its roof. The passenger window buzzed down as she leaned down to it.

  ‘Pennsylvania?’ she asked.

  ‘Hop in.’

  Of course, she should have expected him to be Indian. Ninety-five per cent of the taxi drivers in the city were. She opened the back door of the cab and climbed in.

  ‘Buckle up, please.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’ She’d forgotten the need for that in the back seat, these days. She drew the seatbelt across and clipped it in.

  ‘Right-o.’ He slipped the handbrake and eased the car into motion up the long hill out of the city. ‘Did you have a good evening?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I was working late, then my bloody car broke down.’

  They passed the little Nissan on the side of the road where she’d left it, but she decided not to comment.

  ‘Sorry. I thought, seeing where I picked you up…’

  She let the comment go without reply. Silence settled in the car until he flicked on the indicator and it began its rhythmic click. He turned off the main road, heading up the tree-lined lane she’d been dreading.

  Emma saw his eyes on her in the driving mirror. In his mid-forties, she guessed, he was stocky and round-faced with lush, wavy hair and designer stubble. He was wearing a denim shirt, but she imagined him in a suit and tie as a bouncer on a night-club door. And his eyes… There was something in the way they shone that sent a shiver down her spine. Instinctively, her knees clamped together, her legs turning slightly away from him.

  ‘So, what do you do, to be working so late?’ She detected just a slight hint of Devon in his accent and felt somehow reassured by it.

  ‘I was finishing the preparations for a big court case that starts tomorrow.’

  ‘You look too young to be a lawyer.’

  She caught his gaze in the mirror again, saw the twinkle in his dark eyes. ‘I’m not. I just work for one.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  The car slowed as they approached a tight right-hand bend with the entrance to a picnic area on the left, the trees growing more densely than ever, branches twining together overhead to give the impression of a tunnel.

  ‘Nice along here, isn’t it,’ the driver said. ‘Quiet. You wouldn’t know you were anywhere near the city.’ There was something in his tone that didn’t sound right.

  Oh, God. Had this been a mistake? Which way was he going to turn? Along the road or…?

  The car eased around to the right.

  ‘Of course, in the dark like this, you don’t see it at its best. Looks like something out of a cheap horror film, eh?’ He chuckled.

  She shivered. ‘Hmm.’

  ‘I love those old Hammer ones. Peter Cushing and Vincent Price when they were young. Do you like a horror movie? Bit of a scare?’

  The tunnel of bare branches opened out around them, switching to high, dense field hedges. A little farther on, she knew, a gate led in on the right to a field with a wooden building in the far corner where three horses were kept.

  ‘I see enough scary things at work,’ she said, forcing herself to think of the grey horse that currently lived in the field. It’s big, gentle, liquid eyes, those long lashes. The warmth of its soft skin as she stroked its nose. The almost prehensile mobility of its lips when she offered it a sugar lump or a piece of apple. The image in her mind began to calm her.

  ‘You do criminal cases, then? Killers and rapists and that?’

  ‘Yes.’ Although most of the criminality in this city was to do with drugs rather than violence, she thought.

  ‘You must see some horrible stuff, then, eh? Bodies and that.’

  ‘Only in photographs, thankfully.’

  The hedge on their left dropped abruptly to a level you could see over. She glanced across, knowing that a flock of sheep and new lambs were being kept in there now. She could see a number of pale blobs dotted about in the darkness.

  She frowned. It seemed particularly dark all of a sudden. Glancing across to the right, she saw that the thin sliver of the moon had disappeared, the previously clear sky giving way to a heavy bank of cloud.

  ‘Don’t expect you watch much of that true-crime telly then, eh? Get enough of it at work,’ he said as they passed two police Range Rovers parked up in a gateway on their right.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Me, I love it. Try and figure out who the criminal is before the detectives get there. I sometimes think I should have been a copper instead of doing this. Of course, it’s all down to the editing, I expect. They lead you in a particular direction without saying as much. Let you figure it out for yourself so you feel good about it.’

  They were passing houses now. Back in civilisation, as she thought
when she drove along here in daylight. Although civilisation was a generous description, considering how rough and poorly kept some of the houses along here were. Detached, edge of town, they should have been smart and expensive, but in truth, many of them looked shabby and dirty and unkempt, as if they were on a building site. Which was one reason she didn’t like driving along here. The car got so dirty.

  ‘I expect the idea is to let the public feel better about the crimes they describe,’ she said. ‘And those crimes are the worst, so, if people feel better about them, they feel better about crime levels in general.’

  ‘Yeah. Hadn’t thought of it like that. Same with Agatha Christie and CSI and the like, I suppose. People figure out these convoluted plots, they imagine the police must have it easy in the real world. Makes them feel safer.’

  ‘Exactly.’ She began to relax. He wasn’t as creepy as she’d thought. He actually had some interesting insights. And she was nearly home. Another three or four minutes…

  ‘Whereas, the truth is, these days, with the government cutbacks and everything, most criminals get away with it. We have the technology: just can’t pay for the staff to use it.’

  ‘Not in a timely manner, at least,’ she agreed, as they passed the last of the houses on the narrow lane and the verges opened out wide at either side. Once more, there were woods beyond, but only a small area. She could see the streetlights of Pennsylvania Road just a few hundred yards ahead.

  The driver grunted. ‘Takes months to get samples processed, not minutes like on the telly, and, by then, chances are your perp or whatever you want to call them has moved away. Might even have a new identity. Especially these days, with everything being so easy to forge on the computer.’ He reached across to the glove box and opened it. She couldn’t see what he was reaching for. The headrest of the seat in front of her blocked her line of sight.

  Emma glanced at the mirror.

  He was staring at her again, instead of at what he was doing. She felt a cold tingle around the back of her neck. He glanced away then, looked down at the glove box and snapped it shut. ‘And despite all the technology, all you need is one of these and a bit of intelligence, and you can get away with anything.’

  He held up a small, square, plastic packet. A condom.

  Jesus! Who did this creep think he was?

  ‘This would be a perfect spot, wouldn’t it? Dark. Quiet. Easy getaway. Don’t know where the nearest CCTV camera is. There’s those houses back there, but that would just add to the thrill, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘I…’ Her throat clogged. She coughed to clear it. ‘I’d imagine so.’

  He nodded towards the wide verge on his side of the car. ‘I mean, you pull over there, nobody would take a blind bit of notice, would they? They’d just assume you were having a bit of nookie. A lovers’ tryst.’ She felt the car slow as he took his foot off the accelerator.

  ‘I think I’d like you to concentrate on driving,’ she said, her voice sounding small and feeble. She cleared her throat again.

  ‘You never done it in a car? You haven’t lived, lovey. Can’t beat it.’

  Panic rose up within her, her breath getting short. This had been a terrible mistake. She’d known it even as she was making the call. Why had she even…?

  ‘If you were in the front here, you could change gear for me, if you know what I mean.’

  She heard the metallic buzz of a zip and a whimper escaped from her throat.

  ‘Actually, you could even reach through from behind there. Relieve the stress a bit.’

  The car juddered and shook and she realised that he’d pulled off the road onto the wide area of grass to the right. My God! ‘What are you doing?’

  The car slammed to a halt. She heard the rasp of the handbrake, then he was turning in his seat, safety belt off, rising up to climb through towards her.

  ‘No! Jesus, no!’ She scrabbled for her bag. ‘Please, don’t do this!’

  His eyes were mesmerising as they came towards her. She shuddered, glanced down at what she was doing. Her hands were shaking in feverish panic. She could barely control them, but then her bag was open somehow. She reached in. Felt the cool round metal and snatched it out. He was halfway through the gap between the front seats, head and torso up against the roof of the car like some kind of human cobra rising up over her to strike. She leaned back, both hands rising defensively.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kid was the fourth name he’d answered to in his fourteen years, but he’d accepted it readily. It was kind of cool. Sounded like an Old West hero. A new name for a new life. And he’d been happy with both over the past few weeks. The fair’s season started at Easter. He’d wandered in that weekend and somehow stayed. Been offered a bed for the night, in exchange for manning a stall while the owner went off to answer a call of nature that a stomach bug had made both urgent and protracted.

  Since then, he’d moved from the stall to a ride, then on to the dodgems. Had thought he’d found his place in life. But now all that was ruined. Had they known he was here? Had they been looking for him? Or was it just chance? Just dumb bloody luck?

  He didn’t know and now wasn’t the time to be thinking about it.

  He darted around a couple with a kid of about four and almost ran into a looming, dark figure. Stopped himself just in time, rearing back.

  ‘Hey! Watch it, sonny.’

  ‘Sorry, mate.’ He jumped to the left and went around the big man, between two big diesel generators, leaping over the fat, black cables that snaked away from them across the tarmac. Now he was in the semi-darkness of the promenade, between the fair and the shoreline, where few people bothered to go in the dark. He could make some time here, get some distance. He ran headlong eastward, towards where the fair’s caravans were bunched in an out-of-the-way corner beyond the naval academy. If he could get there, grab his stuff – not that he had much – and get away, he could hide out for a couple of days or so. Tonight was the fair’s last night in Plymouth before they moved on. He could rejoin them in the next town.

  ‘Oi!’ The shout came from behind him. A male voice full of authority. ‘Stop. Police.’

  The kid ignored him, running on at full speed, feet slapping on the paving, breath rasping in his throat. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep up this pace, had never been great on stamina, but he had to get away. He couldn’t let them catch him.

  Heavier feet than his own were slapping the pavement, coming fast behind him. He didn’t look back. He knew better than that: just kept going, chest heaving, throat raw, arms and legs pumping. He was almost past the big, pale block of the naval building. HMS whatever-it-was. Bloody stupid thing to call a building. How pretentious and up themselves did they have to be, to do that?

  Uniforms. They were all the same. The forces. The fuzz. The lot of them.

  Beyond the high stone wall darkness loomed, welcoming and safe. Only a few yards further and he could hide and rest until the coast was clear, get his stuff and be gone before they searched properly for him. He made the far end. Kept going. A dark bulk loomed at him out of the darkness.

  ‘Shit,’ he cursed, dodging right. But he was too close to the iron railing along the edge of the prom. He hit it with his shoulder, bouncing off into a pair of arms that snaked around him and clamped tight. ‘Whoah. Hold up there, sonny. Not so fast, eh?’

  He writhed and wriggled. With his arms trapped, he kicked out instead. The figure barely seemed to register the first couple of blows, but then hissed in pain. ‘Damn you, boy. Stop fighting or I’ll hurt you.’

  ‘Try it.’ He brought his knee up and kicked backwards, his heel connecting with the man’s shin.

  ‘Ow! That’s it.’

  He was lifted bodily off the ground, turned on his side and slammed down to the pavement, a knee coming down over his legs, the shin trapping them so that all he could do was thrash his feet back and forth, but that scraped his right ankle on the paving.

  ‘Shit. Get off me, bastard. Police brutali
ty! I’ll get you sacked for this. I’ll tell ‘em you felt me up.’

  Another figure appeared behind him. ‘Damn, that little bugger can run!’

  ‘He can bloody kick, too,’ the one holding him replied. ‘Where’s Karen?’

  ‘She’ll be along in a minute. Do you want my cuffs?’

  ‘I’ve got his hands. You could wrap his legs up, though. Little shit.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ the kid shouted. ‘That’s against my human rights. Child cruelty. I’ll report you. Both of you. I want your names and badge numbers.’

  ‘We can do that, if we decide it’s best for your own safety,’ said the one holding him. ‘To prevent you from coming to harm while in our care. Health and safety: trump card every time, sonny. Isn’t that right, Qadir?’

  ‘Yep.’

  He felt the cold of metal around his wrist, heard the ratchet as the cuff was squeezed into place.

  ‘What are the charges?’ he demanded. ‘What are you arresting me for?’

  ‘Resisting arrest.’ That was the second one. Qadir. Though he didn’t sound like a Qadir. He sounded completely local.

  The kid’s arm was pulled around behind him. Then the other one.

  ‘And assaulting a police officer,’ the guy on top of him added. The second cuff was snapped into place and cinched up.

  ‘But, what were you chasing me for in the first place? You never told me that.’ He felt the big guy get up off him. ‘For all I knew, you were planning to attack me. Just ‘cause you’re in uniform doesn’t mean you’re not some kind of pervert.’

  He was lifted bodily by the shoulders of his coat.

  ‘Ankles,’ the first one said as he planted him squarely on the ground.

  ‘Hey! You can’t do that.’

  He felt big hands clamp like iron bands around his ankles. He tried to kick out, to free himself, but was held firm. ‘We’ve already had that conversation. And you lost.’ A Velcro strap was wrapped round and round his lower legs and he was stuck.

  ‘What are you doing?’ A female voice came from the darkness behind him and relief sang through the kid.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ Qadir countered, killing the kid’s relief in an instant. Karen, he thought. The missing colleague.