Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set

by Tony Hutchinson

  ‘Come on sweetheart.’ He ushered her towards the door, towards Sam.

  Sam felt her phone vibrate against her leg, a text that would have to wait.

  Later she would learn it was from Sonia in the LP.

  Kitchen drawer slammed. Knife?

  Sam took hold of Mia’s arm. ‘Come with us now.’

  Ed watched them walk to the car then turned around ready to start the search. Bhandal, eyes full of hate, looked towards the kitchen at the same time as Ed.

  Parkash was running towards them, a long piercing scream escaping from her lungs and a steel cook’s knife above her head.

  Paul moved fast, grabbed Bhandal around the neck from behind and dragged him out of the house. Bhandal flayed his arms and kicked his legs as his heels scraped along the floor.

  Parkash launched herself at Ed, who never took his eyes off the knife. He tried to side-step her like a rugby fly-half but the hallway was narrow and she was on him as he grabbed for her wrist, both of them falling to the floor. Ed rolled on top of her and punched her hard on the temple as her eyes fired wild fury.

  He heard the breath rush out of her and watched those burning eyes cloud into unconsciousness as he slowly struggled to his feet. He felt no pain, even as he saw the blood stain spreading like a rip tide from the collar of his shirt. When his knees buckled and the shadows closed to blackout darkness, Ed let himself drift to an ocean deep and starless.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Outside, Bhandal was laid on the pavement on his stomach, arms cuffed behind his back. Neighbours were starting to come out of the houses. Youths began to gather, menace on their faces, ready for confrontation.

  Sam had run from the car when she saw Paul grappling with Bhandal.

  She saw Ed where he had fallen and her stomach lurched as she rushed to his side, dropping to her knees and ignoring the blood pooling around her. Parkash was still motionless a few feet away.

  Sam saw the knife close by and rose to kick it away before kneeling beside Ed again, her voice high and tight as she repeated his name.

  Sam grabbed the radio from her coat pocket.

  ‘Ambulance required. Officer stabbed. Repeat officer stabbed.’

  She shouted for Paul, pulled off her coat, and pushed it hard against Ed’s neck, whispering ‘no, no, no’ in fear and disbelief.

  ‘Paul!’ Sam shouted again. ‘Get a towel...anything.... Ed’s been stabbed.’

  Paul sprinted into the kitchen and had pulled open three drawers before he saw a tea-towel hanging over the back of a chair.

  He grabbed it and ran back into the hall.

  Sam snatched it off him.

  ‘Stay with me Ed,’ she said, as she pushed the tea-towel against his wound with one hand, throwing her blood sodden coat to one side with the other.

  She cradled his head and applied more pressure to his neck.

  ‘Where’s the fucking ambulance?’ Sam barked. ‘Paul don’t just stand there. Go outside. Keep hold of the husband. And keep an eye on Bev and Mia. Make sure they’re alright.’

  ‘Stay with me Ed,’ Sam said again. She kept the pressure applied with her left hand and held the radio with the other.

  ‘DCI Parker…ETA ambulance?’

  ‘En route. ETA five minutes.’

  ‘Roger.’

  She bent down and spoke softly into Ed’s ear, tears dripping onto his face.

  ‘Five minutes and we’ll have you out of here, Ed. Five Minutes. Don’t you dare leave me. Don’t you dare...’

  Outside Bev watched the ever-increasing crowd. There were probably about 20 now, but social media would allow a call to arms to spread quickly.

  ‘I’m scared,’ Mia said.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Bev told her. ‘Do you know those lads over there? Not the parents, the lads?

  ‘Most of them.’

  Bev grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the glove-box, handing them to Mia. ‘Write down their names for me.’

  From the hallway, Sam glanced outside and spoke into her radio again.

  ‘Further assistance required: two prisoners need transportation, one already en route; angry crowd gathering, request Public Order Unit ASAP. Ian Robinson is up at Highmounde. Divert him.’

  ‘Stand-by…Public Order Unit en route. ETA two minutes. Serial comprising sergeant and six.’

  ‘Roger.’

  A few feet away, Parkash had begun to come round, slowly pushing herself into a seated position against the wall.

  ‘Don’t you fucking move,’ Sam shouted.

  Parkash, eyes locking on Ed and the blood turning sticky on Sam’s hands, stayed where she was. You didn’t need English to understand what Sam was ordering.

  On the street, Bev got out of the car and took half a dozen photos of the mob on her iPhone. She bent down and spoke through the car door.

  ‘Stay there Mia. I’ll not be long.’

  She walked over to the crowd. She could make out Bhandal, now on his feet, standing in the middle of the youths, the position of his arms, pinned behind his back, signalling he was still cuffed.

  Bev shouted. ‘You need to clear this area. Move away or you will face the possibility of arrest.’

  ‘By you darling? I don’t think so.’ Young Mr. Gobshite clasped his teeth together and made a clacking sound.

  Bev stared at him; twenty, thin, hair bouncing over his eyes, skinny jeans tight over feminine legs. All mouth and no action.

  ‘Not just me arsehole,’ Bev said. ‘You might want to take a peak over your shoulder, you little piece of shit.’

  She flicked her head to the left. The agitator and his group followed with their eyes and saw seven officers piling out of a van.

  ‘Pity,’ skinny said. ‘I’d have liked sorting you.’

  Bev smiled. ‘In your dreams.’

  A forearm Popeye would have been proud of grabbed him and dragged him out of the crowd. The shaven headed, brick-outhouse-sized owner of the forearm glared. ‘You’re locked up. Section 5 Public Order. Threatening words and behaviour.’

  Skinny’s bravado melted as the forearm squeezed tighter. If eyes could shit themselves Skinny’s suddenly had a bad case of diarrohea.

  ‘I suggest you all take a wander,’ Bev shouted.

  The group parted when they saw the paramedics run from their ambulance as two more police vehicles driven by members of the Major Incident Team screeched to a halt.

  Bhandal was put into the back of the first one.

  ‘In here,’ Sam called.

  Ed’s body suddenly jerked upwards, a movement quick and contorted and uncontrolled.

  Sam had seen enough trauma injuries to know what that meant.

  So had the paramedics.

  Heart attack.

  Sam bolted to the front door, slammed it shut and watched Ed jump like some emergency-ward actor beneath the defibrillator.

  Three times he bounced before the female paramedic said they needed to move him.

  Sam sniffed back her tears. ‘I don’t know if it’s connected to his heart but he passed out a few days ago.’

  ‘We’ll get him checked out love, but right now we need to go.’

  Sam quick-marched alongside the trolley squeezing Ed’s hand, oblivious to the gawping bystanders and their mobile phones.

  Paul Adams pulled Parkash Bhandal to her feet. Unsteady, she wobbled like a boxer recovering from a knockout and glanced at the bloodied knife on the floor.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Paul said.

  She spat once in his face.

  Paul had never hit a woman in his life but at that moment he seriously considered an exception.

  ‘May as well add assault to your ever growing list,’ he said instead, wiping his cheek before grabbing her wrist.

  Ed was carried into the ambulance and Sam put one foot on the step.

  ‘You sure you should be going Sam?’ Bev had walked across the road. ‘There’s loads need sorting here.’

  ‘I’m going,’ Sam’s voice
told Bev the decision was made and cast in stone. ‘Take Mia to my office. Tell Paul to oversee the arrests.’

  ‘We need to go now ladies,’ the paramedic in the back of the ambulance said.

  Sam climbed inside and shut the door.

  Bev watched as it pulled away, all sirens and flashing lights.

  The only female member of the search team walked over to Bev.

  ‘Will Ed be okay?’ she asked.

  Bev’s eyes never left the ambulance. ‘Hope so.’

  ‘The boss seemed upset.’

  ‘What do you expect?’

  ‘More partner upset than boss upset.’

  Bev’s turn was snappier than anything she had ever managed on the parade square at training school all those years ago. Her tone was acid.

  ‘Watch your mouth. You haven’t earned the right to speak like that. Now fuck off and keep your mind on the job and your stupid thoughts to yourself.’

  Mia looked relieved when Bev reached the car and slid back behind the wheel.

  ‘Is everything alright?’ she asked.

  ‘Hope so,’ Bev told her, the image of Ed unconscious still hanging like dark art in a gallery in her mind. ‘Come on, let’s find somewhere for you to stay tonight.’

  ‘What will happen to my parents...my brother?’

  Bev said they would be interviewed, asked some questions.

  ‘About Aisha?’

  ‘About many things.’

  ‘Do you think Aisha is dead?’ Mia asked now, her voice small, frightened.

  ‘Do you?’

  Mia waited long seconds before she answered.

  ‘I didn’t, but I’m not so sure now. There’ve been funny things going on since she left. They all rushed somewhere this afternoon. I don’t know where. We’ve got a new shed, never had one of them before, and a new patio and I don’t know why. And my suitcase has gone missing and I know Aisha didn’t take it. She would have taken her own.’

  Bev was trying to process what she was hearing, trying not to make reflex conclusions. You should be here Sam.

  ‘Let’s go to the office. We can talk there.’

  Bhandal was shouting into the custody office telephone - his legal advice call.

  ‘They’ve taken Mia! My wife and son have been arrested! My wife was beaten up. I was thrown to the pavement and handcuffed like a common criminal.’

  Jill Carver listened.

  ‘Don’t allow them to interview you,’ she said. ‘I’ll speak with the custody sergeant. You all need to be medically examined before anything else. I will make sure that happens. Who were the arresting officers?’

  ‘Parker, Whelan and some other man and woman,’ Bhandal said. ‘It was that man who threw me to the ground. Kicked me as well.’

  ‘Well just sit tight,’ Carver sounding calm. ‘Put me onto the custody sergeant.’

  Sam jogged alongside the trolley, the small, squeaky wheels turning faster and faster as it gained speed along the straight corridor before crashing through the double doors.

  A small, squat nurse appeared from behind them and stepped in front of Sam.

  ‘Now love,’ she said, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. ‘There’s nothing you can do for him here.’

  She combined a small smile with a look of concern in the way only nurses seem able to do and gently closed the doors.

  Sam stood and watched them slowly come together, acknowledging what her feelings had left at stake.

  Head reeling, stomach churning, she turned and walked rapidly through the hospital and down the pedestrian ramp away from A and E. At least twice she thought she would collapse.

  In the cold air she bent over and put her hands on her knees. Ed’s dried blood was on her hands and her trousers. Her tears splattered onto the concrete.

  There had been a hospital on this site for generations, its elevated position overlooking the sea once considered a health benefit for those suffering from tuberculosis; patients wheeled out onto the lawns to breathe in the clean coastal air.

  How many tears have been shed here, Sam wondered.

  She stood up and shivered and reached for a Marlboro. Thank God they weren’t in her blood sodden coat still lying like a voiceless extra at the Bhandals. She saw a security guard wandering around the car park, making his way towards her. She shivered again.

  You’ll need balls of steel to tell me this is a non-smoking site.

  Sam inhaled and launched into a coughing fit, the reason she never heard the high heels clip-clopping behind her.

  ‘I should have guessed you’d be here.’

  Sam didn’t turn around but the security guard made a hasty about turn, not prepared to referee a female fight on minimum wage and a zero hours contract.

  Sam took a deep breath and at last turned slowly to face Sue Whelan.

  ‘Sue.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  An origami master couldn’t have put as many folds in Sue’s twisted, contorted face.

  ‘Surgery.’

  ‘Well there’s no need for you to hang around is there? His wife’s here now, and she doesn’t want you around when our daughter comes. And if anything happens to him…’

  She saw the blood on Sam’s hands and ran up the ramp.

  ‘Tell me about your suitcase?’ Bev said.

  Mia was in Sam’s office, a bottle of Pepsi on the desk, a bag of cheese and onion crisps in her lap, salt already on her fingertips.

  ‘It just vanished,’ Mia said. ‘Aisha was locked in her bedroom when that settee came on the Saturday. I don’t know how she escaped, but it wasn’t on the Friday like my dad told the police and TV. My suitcase was there the day the settee came. I know that because I keep old clothes in there and I was looking for a headscarf when the settee came. My mother said I could go in the room and look for it. My uncle let me in. He was guarding Aisha. Aisha was on the bed. She was naked.’

  Mia stared at the wall and put a handful of crisps into her mouth without moving her eyes. The crunch was loud, aggressive.

  The crunching stopped. Mia was thinking of something.

  ‘Aisha’s little case…the pink one. I’ve just remembered. It wasn’t there. They were next to each other, under the bed…I can’t remember seeing it when I was looking for the scarf. Maybe Aisha did take mine. Maybe she did get away.’

  Bev needed to be careful. Interviewing a juvenile without the presence of an appropriate adult, even though Mia was a witness, was not best practice. That said, she could justify it if she needed some vital information and she needed it quickly.

  ‘What does your suitcase look like Mia?’

  ‘Red with brass buckles,’ she told Bev. ‘Hard…and it had a leather label holder attached to the handle and my name and address written on the paper inside.’

  ‘What size?’

  Mia held her arms wide.

  ‘Oh it’s big. One of the big ones we take when we go to India.’

  ‘And the shed and patio you told me about,’ Bev asked now. ‘When did they appear?’

  Mia thought for a moment.

  ‘The Sunday afternoon after the settee was delivered,’ she answered. ‘My dad, brother and uncle put it up and laid the patio. I’d never seen them work so hard, especially Baljit. Lucky for me it wasn’t considered women’s work. Where will I go tonight? Can I go back to the family I stayed with the other night?’

  Mia put the last of the crisps in her mouth, scrunched up the bag and reached for the Pepsi.

  ‘I’m sure we can arrange that with social services.’

  Mia drank, giving something some thought.

  ‘Okay, but whatever happens please tell them I don’t want to go with an Asian family.’

  ‘Any reason?’ Bev asked, thinking of Ed’s words.

  ‘They’ll ask me loads of questions about my family,’ Mia said. ‘And when they realise I’m from the family on the TV with the missing daughter they’ll tell me how important it is to do what my parents say. They’ll say I have to show my loya
lty to them, not to Aisha and certainly not the police. I’ve heard it all before. From my own family, from people at the Gurdwara.’

  Bev said she would make the arrangements and offered Mia more crisps.

  ‘I know I’m setting a bad example, but one more bag won’t hurt, as long as you don’t make a habit of it.’

  Mia nodded.

  Wednesday 23rd April 2014

  Sam was onto her third cigarette when Monica Teal strode past the hospital Pay and Display machine. As the on-call Chief Officer she had been notified about Ed.

  ‘You okay Sam?’ Monica said.

  ‘I’m fine thanks, just a bit shaken. Ed’s not great.’

  ‘Why don’t you go home? Get some rest. There’s nothing you can do here.’

  Sam shook her head, told her she still had staff working, that Bev was with the Bhandal’s youngest daughter, Paul Adams was sorting the arrests, and the search team was at the house.

  ‘In that case, go back to the office,’ Monica told her. ‘Freshen up. Get a cup of tea. Wash your hands. Change your trousers if you can. I’ll take care of everything here. If there’s any change in Ed you’ll be the first to know. And it goes without saying Sam, any officer affected by this, and that includes you, Welfare are ready.’

  The Welfare Department and Police Federation did a great job in looking after traumatised officers. Few talked about using counselling services - the I-can-cope syndrome keeping their struggles hidden behind a stubborn wall of bravado - but many did reach out for professional help.

  Sam parked outside HQ, got out of the car and lit another cigarette; she seemed to have one permanently attached to her lips. She couldn’t stop thinking about Ed, emotionally shattered and sickened that she couldn’t stay at the hospital waiting for news.

  She inhaled deeply, tears pooling on her top lip before falling to the floor.

  Bev suddenly burst out of the building.

  ‘Jesus Sam. How’s Ed?’

  ‘Surgery.’ Sam’s cigarette shook as her hand tried to find her mouth. ‘He didn’t look good Bev.’