He reached up and felt along the highest shelf on the wall. Locating the key, he inserted it into the lock. With a twist and a pull the drawer came open and he gazed down at the contents. His hunting knife sat gleaming in its usual place. Mickey was a good lad; he’d made sure that it had stayed with him from the club via Mickey’s flat. He’d hate to lose it; it was his weapon of choice and he’d used it many times. Not to kill anyone - at least, no one that didn’t deserve it - but he’d used it to get his own way when necessary; to encourage others to see his point of view. He found that a threat was usually enough to persuade the average person to see things his way. Lifting it from the drawer, he ran his fingers over it, careful not to snag the serrated edge. The smooth mahogany handle fit his hand like a glove, like it was made to measure. The garage light reflected off the blade and sent a flash of light dancing around the garage walls. He replaced it in the drawer. It was a good weapon, but it wasn’t what he needed for his next task.
Instead, he took hold of the weapon sitting next to the knife. It was a small revolver with a black plastic handle. There was nothing complicated about it, nothing impressive, but it would certainly do the job. The chamber had been pre-loaded with bullets and the safety catch was on. It was ready to be used. A small box of spare ammunition lay in the corner of the drawer.
Thanks Mickey. I owe you big time.
He held the gun out in front of him. For a moment he turned it on its side like a gangster might, smiled to himself, and then righted it again. There was a thrill to holding a gun. It was something forbidden, something illicit. Maybe the same feeling one might experience from having an affair, not that he would know about that of course.
He’d never used a firearm before, never pulled the trigger. Could he do it? That was always the sixty four million dollar question.
Yes, yes he could.
Watch out Drabble, here I come.
75
Chloe hadn’t slept. Not really. She’d dozed on and off, but she was distraught by the fact that her father hadn’t come home. She’d waited and waited, watching the clock as the hours ticked by, pacing around the small cottage and trying to keep control of the thoughts raging through her head. She’d tried to remain calm for George’s sake, and had eventually settled him down to sleep in her bed at around nine o’clock. It was now ten o’clock the next morning and she was beside herself with worry. He’d never stayed out all night before. Why would he? Unless he’d gone to the pub and met some woman there…
No, don’t be an idiot. He wouldn’t do that and you know it.
She couldn’t help but think this was something to do with what was going on in her own life. Had they come and taken him? After all, they’d threatened her with his life as well as her own. But when would they have done that, and why? And who the hell were they anyway?
‘Hello Chloe.’ It was George, who’d wandered into the kitchen.
‘Hello little mister. Do you always sleep this late?’
He laughed and gave her a hug.
‘Is mummy coming to get me today?’
Chloe took a breath. What could she say?
‘I’m afraid not, George, but we’re having fun here aren’t we? Do you want some breakfast?’
He nodded and she wasn’t sure which question he was answering. She made him a bowl of cereal and poured him a glass of orange juice and he seemed content enough.
As he ate, Chloe sipped on a cup of coffee and tried to work out what to do next. She couldn’t just stay here with George forever. She was beginning to think that calling the police was the best option. Surely they would believe her when she explained everything? The nagging doubt in her mind was the ten thousand pounds sitting in her bank account. She could hear the questions now; they’d be fired at her thick and fast, looks of doubt on their faces. What is the money for? Why didn’t you say something straight away? Why didn’t you come to the police before now?
And to be honest she didn’t really know why. They would be awkward questions and the thought of answering them did nothing to encourage her to make the call.
Her mobile rang and she answered it without looking at the screen.
‘Dad?’ she said expectantly.
‘Ah, no, I’m sorry, it’s only me. I hope you’re not too disappointed.’ It was Ben.
‘Oh Ben, hi. Sorry, I was expecting my dad to call. He’s been… oh never mind.’ She didn’t want to explain everything over the phone, but was still pleased to hear his voice.
‘Is everything all right Chloe? Drake has been asking after you. I think he has something he wants you to deal with and he seems a little put out that you aren’t here. I told him I thought you were in court this morning but I’m not convinced he believed me.’
‘Thanks for covering for me Ben. And I’m fine. I just need some time to take care of a few things. I’ll explain it all next time I see you.’ She wasn’t sure that was true but she said it anyway.
‘Where are you? At home? Are you ill?’
‘No I’m okay thanks but yes, I’m at home. I’m fine. Tell Drake I’ll be in tomorrow would you? Apologise for me too.’
‘Yes, of course. Is there anything I can do to help?’
Chloe held the phone to her ear and paused for a moment or two, tempted to ask him to come to her now; to tell her what to do. A problem shared and all that.
‘Chloe? Are you still there?’
‘Yes I’m still here… No, really, I’m fine. As I say, I just need a little time. You know I’ve found things a bit difficult lately and I just need a break from it all. I’ll be in tomorrow. Thanks for calling Ben, I really appreciate it.’
She ended the call, placed the phone on the table and rubbed her face in her hands. She needed some help here, some advice.
Come on dad, where the hell are you?
76
‘Right. Okay. Good work son. At least someone knows what the fuck they’re doing round here… Yeah, I’ll catch you later.’
Drabble placed the receiver calmly on the base of the phone unit on his desk. He looked over at the man bound tightly to a chair in the corner of the room, then he looked up at Jez.
‘I know where they are. I’ve got the address – here, take it and go and fetch them. Bring them back here, and do it quickly.’
A muffled sound came from the prisoner, his mouth covered by thick tape.
‘Shut the fuck up,’ Drabble shouted.
Jez took the scrap of paper, looked at it quickly, unable to prevent a smirk appearing on his face, and slipped it into his pocket.
‘You’d think she could find a less obvious place to go.’ He grinned at Mickey, who played along with the comradery and laughed quietly.
‘Jez, listen to me carefully.’ Drabble had a look on his face that Jez didn’t like. His heart instantly skipped a beat and he shuffled uneasily on his feet. ‘You fucked up at the local authority. I don’t know what happened but Lightbody told me something spooked her and that caused her to run. He reckons she must have seen you. I told you to be careful and stay out of the fucking way.’
‘But I was…’
‘Jez, shut up and just listen. Go to her house and get her and the child. Bring them both here, do you understand? I want them alive. We need the child for the Kirklands, but I also need to speak to the girl to make sure she hasn’t done anything stupid, like call the police. I assume she hasn’t otherwise they’d have been kicking the door in by now.’
‘Yes boss.’
‘What’ll we do with the girl after that?’ Mickey surprised himself with the question. He usually stayed out of these discussions. Drabble kept his stare focused on Jez as he spoke.
‘We get rid of her. Then we break all connections with that fucking law firm. I’m sick of the place; it gives me nothing but trouble. We’ll have to find a new firm to use. Now, is everything clear?’
More muffled attempts to speak came from the corner of the room as the prisoner urgently tried to say something. This time Drabble ignored him.
/>
Jez and Mickey both nodded. As they walked out into the bar, Jez turned to Mickey.
‘Go and get the car, we’ve got some baggage to collect.’
Mickey saw a look in Jez’s eyes that he recognised. It was the same look that he had after he’d beaten the Timer almost to death a few days ago, and it worried him.
‘All right Jez. Are you okay mate?’
‘I’ve had enough of things going wrong and getting blamed for it all. This time it will go as planned. That bitch and the brat won’t know what’s hit them.’
‘The boss wants them alive remember, Jez.’
‘He said alive, not unharmed. Oh, and Mickey, who the hell was that tied up in Drabble’s office?’
‘The girl’s father I think.’
Jez smiled. ‘Sweet. That’ll make things even easier; gives me something to bargain with. I’m looking forward to this.’
Mickey found himself scared. Scared for the girl and the young boy he’d never met. And, if he was honest, scared for himself. It was as if a switch had been flicked inside Jez. He was a man on a mission and he was concerned about what Jez had said about harming the girl.
He hurried out to collect the car, conflicting thoughts battling in his mind.
77
Chloe sat at the kitchen table watching George eat his breakfast. She’d come to a decision about what to do. The fact that her father hadn’t returned was the final straw; she couldn’t do this alone. She’d wanted his advice, needed it, and would have followed it without question. His empty chair only brought matters into clearer contention; she was going to the police. Staying here with George just wasn’t an option. Someone would come looking for him eventually. The fact that the police hadn’t arrived at her door yet meant that no one had reported the fact that she’d run off with him. The local authority could easily have found her address and sent someone round to look for them. That they hadn’t done so told her everything she needed to know. It confirmed all her worst fears. The people involved did not want the police interfering in all of this. And there could only be one reason for that.
She heard the faint growl of a car engine which sounded as if it had pulled up outside the house. She immediately stood up and peered down the hallway to the front door and through the rippled glass she could see the unmistakeable outline of a dark car. Then she saw movement. At least two figures were walking up the path towards the door. Salesmen perhaps? She doubted it.
‘George, we need to go out.’ Chloe rushed over and pulled him out of his chair, hoisting up him into her arms. He clung to her and his weight surprised her. She wasn’t used to lifting young children and struggled to take some of his weight on her hip to ease the burden.
A loud bang resonated down the hallway as someone thumped on the front door of the cottage.
Without time to think, Chloe instinctively moved to the door at the back of the kitchen which led out to the garden and twisted the key in the lock. She pulled it open and stepped through, still holding George. Apparently aware that something was wrong, he held on to her even tighter than before, and if anything it seemed to make him lighter somehow.
As she pulled the door closed she heard glass breaking in the hallway; they were smashing their way in. Locking the door from the outside, she hurried across the patio behind the cottage and located a small gap in the high wooden fence which led through to the neighbouring garden. She set George on the ground.
‘George, we need to crawl through that gap. Can you do that? I used to do it when I was a child. A really nice lady lives next door and she will help us.’
George was unfazed by her request. Clearly a child that had done a lot of outside adventuring in his time, he fell to his hands and knees and disappeared through the hole.
Chloe prepared herself to follow him, urged on by the clamour coming from the kitchen door behind her. She started to wonder if they would ever give up the chase. An image of Mrs Granger flashed briefly before her, the woman she’d known since Chloe moved here as a small child. This gap in the fence had always been a gateway into a different world; a world of childhood adventures, of fun and laughter and good times. It was a world into which she had escaped on the many occasions that the horrors of her mother’s illness deprived her own house of such things. She didn’t want to drag Mrs Granger into the new darkness that was enveloping her life, but what other choice did she have? George was the most important person in all this, and she knew her kindly neighbour would agree.
Surprised that she could still fit through the opening so easily, she winced as the cold moisture seeped into the knees of her jeans. She found George standing waiting for her on the other side, put her hand on his back and marshalled him up to the house. It was built of the same stone as her own cottage, but was considerably larger and rather less well kept. Mr Granger had died some years ago, and his wife had struggled to maintain it in her later years, despite her best efforts.
Relief swept over Chloe as she caught sight of Mrs Granger standing at the sink in her kitchen.
‘Mrs Granger, please open the door,’ she shouted, banging on the glass as if to emphasise the urgency of her request. She heard a crash from what she assumed was her own back door and then the sound of male voices from behind the fence. She looked back at the hole and saw a face appear. It was Peters.
‘Miss Webster, wait, we just want to talk to you about George. What are you running for? There’s no need to be scared of us.’ He sounded quite reasonable, but she had now convinced herself that no good could come of this. She almost fell into Mrs Granger’s kitchen as the door was pulled open from the inside. She bundled George into the house and followed after him, urging her elderly neighbour to lock the door behind them.
Jez stood up and turned to Mickey. ‘Shit, she’s gone into the house next door. This is gonna get very messy. And I’m not fucking crawling through that hole, not in this gear. We’ll have to go round.’
78
The old lady untied the apron from her waist and placed it on a hook inside a cupboard. Everything in the kitchen clearly had a place and, like Mrs Granger herself, was neat, tidy and very welcoming.
‘What on earth is the matter, dear? And who’s this cute little chap you’ve brought to see me? Hello, would you like…?’
‘Mrs Granger, I’m really sorry to barge in like this. There isn’t time for me to explain everything to you now, but we need to call the police. Something bad is happening and I need help. Can you call them now please, quickly?’ Trying to sound as calm as possible so as not to upset her neighbour, Chloe actually felt like screaming the words.
The smile dropped from Mrs Granger’s face as she realised something was seriously wrong. She took hold of Chloe’s hand and looked at her earnestly.
‘What is it, dear? What’s wrong?’
‘Mrs Granger please, I wouldn’t have come here unless I had to. I didn’t want to bring them here, but they will be here in a minute. Please call the police now.’
‘All right dear, yes, I’ll do it now. Let me see, I have the number somewhere…’
‘Just call nine nine nine, Mrs Granger.’ Chloe was getting desperate, and wished she’d had time to collect her own phone before they ran. She knew the men would be here any moment. It might already be too late.
The telephone was in the hallway and Mrs Granger took up the receiver and dialled the emergency number.
‘Yes, police please,’ she said, and Chloe breathed a small sigh of relief that progress was finally being made to summon help. She leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen watching as the neighbour she’d sought refuge with so many times before, but for very different reasons, waited for a response.
‘Ah yes, hello. My name? Yes, it’s Mrs Rosemary Granger. Erm, yes of course, it’s Mill Cottage…’
There was no real noise as such, and certainly not the kind of deafening blast that would usually be associated with a gunshot. It was more of a muffled thud, with a tinkle of broken glass accompanying it as the bullet
came through the window of the front door. Mrs Granger dropped the telephone and stood there for what seemed like far too long. The blood that had splattered up the wall behind her went unnoticed to Chloe, who was mesmerised by the small round hole just above the old lady’s left eye.
As Mrs Granger eventually crumpled to the floor without a sound, Chloe’s first thought was for George and she was grateful that he was sat at the kitchen table, unaware of what had just happened. She wanted to scream of course, to go and see if she could do anything for Mrs Granger, but she knew that would only result in her and George being taken, or worse. But if she had any remaining doubts about whether she had misunderstood the events of the last week or so, she was now under no illusion. It was serious. Deadly serious.
‘George, we need to go again.’ Chloe could already hear the men trying to force the front door open. She took George into her arms, unlocked the back door and, locking it behind her, ran out into the garden.
Mrs Granger’s garden was a good size, laid mainly to grass with large evergreen trees and thick shrubs set out in a traditional style around the edges. She ran with George straight down the lawn into the trees at the bottom. Behind them, a low wooden fence marked the boundary of the garden, beyond which stretched open fields of farmland.
Another crash rang out as the back door of the house splintered and started to give way. Chloe lifted George over the fence, then climbed over herself. She looked across the field, the same familiar view she had from her own bedroom window. She knew there was a farmhouse at the bottom of this field and it was the only place she could think of running. She prayed that George was up to it.
They might even have a shotgun there. Jesus, what am I thinking?
For the Sake of the Children: The first Chloe Webster thriller (Chloe Webster Thrillers Book 1) Page 17