The Runner

by P. R. Black

  ‘I just wanted to remind you that there is an appeal ongoing in his case. You can’t prejudice a judge in the Supreme Court, but I want you to be wary, going forward. I wanted to speak to you when I was in plain clothes, and not like this… But this isn’t a formal interview, or anything.’

  ‘Social call, is it? You just about scared me out of my mind!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Tamm looked as if this hadn’t occurred to him. ‘I apologise. I don’t have the time in working hours to wait to contact someone – I just wanted to catch up with you informally. And, incidentally, to find a new running route. This is a gem, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s great – but you didn’t go to this effort to talk about running, did you? What is it you want?’

  ‘We’d appreciate it if you pass on anything you can find out from your father about the Woodcutter case. Whether he’s guilty of killing June Caton-Bell or not, we believe he was guilty of the other murders, an attempted murder and one or two other missing persons cases. Any detail you find that either exonerates him or proves his guilt – you have to turn it over to us. Now I know you’re a sensible, clever lass, and you wouldn’t get any ideas about Gareth Solomon after meeting the man twice…’

  ‘What ideas would those be?’

  ‘Any ideas at all. If you find out anything, let me know. Also, please be careful if you’re putting your face out in the open – there are a lot of bad actors out there.’

  ‘Yeah. Most of them play policemen at some point.’

  He had the grace to laugh. ‘I’ll leave a card, Freya. You don’t have to come over and get it… Look, I’ll stick it here.’ Tamm dropped a white business card down in between the bark and the spiky branches of a young conifer, then backed away. ‘We should talk soon. Anything you can turn out on the Woodcutter is a help. I’ll let you get on with your run, and I’m sorry if I startled you.’

  Freya said nothing, waiting until the dark figure had returned to the path before running back the way it came. Freya scooped up the business card, then headed in the other direction, travelling along the stony path as fast as she could until she was clear of the trees.

  13

  Hello…

  Yes, hello. I’m talking to you. Blimey, you look confused, love. Have you been crying?

  Ah – you are crying. All right. That’s OK. Just, take your time… There’s no rush. Nice deep breaths…

  Who’s that, now? Who are you calling for? No, that’s not me. Dunno who that is. Sounds like a nice person. Sounds like you miss them.

  Your mum? Oh God. Don’t call for your mum. For goodness’ sake. That’s pathetic. Stop it or I’ll end you right now. You got it? I’m going to open the door and… Look, I’ll fucking split you down the middle. Got it? That’s what I’ll do. Stop the snivelling. I hate that more than anything. Stop the… That’s better. OK. Just sit up a minute. Yes, I can see you. Hello! Imagine me waving. I’m waving at you. That’s it. Well done. Yeah. You look a bit weird in night vision. But to be honest it’s not a brilliant look for anyone.

  Hear that sound? That scratchy sound? That’s me, grinding the side of my axe against the paintwork. Don’t worry about the paintwork; it’s only an old banger. This heap of shit’s going to end up the size of a hamburger before long. Heh! Want to hear it again?

  That’s right. I said ‘axe’.

  Yeah. Take a moment, won’t you? Let it sink in. It’s a lot. You know, I had someone one time, when I got a hold of them and put them under, they didn’t survive. Big guy. Had a kind of rugby look to him. Turned out he had asthma or something. No one ever found out about him. One of many little projects. I was really upset, in fact. Anyhow. You lasted longer than him, you’ve got that going for you. You’ve come through that. You’re ahead of the game. Look sharp, look lively!

  You had a very interesting skirt on, so I took the liberty of taking it off you while you were sleeping. Don’t worry, it isn’t as weird as it sounds. It’s for your benefit. You see, I know you’re a runner. I’ve been watching you. Tonight was my big chance. And you can’t run with a skirt like that on. Nice floral number. Very boho. Except you’d be like a fucking Dalek, if you have to run in it. You’ll trip. And if you trip and fall, well…

  Scritch, scratch. I like that sound. It sets some people’s teeth on edge. Not mine.

  Right, here’s the deal. I’ll open the door, I’ll cut the cable ties, and I’ll give you a chance to escape. When the door’s open, take a moment to familiarise yourself with your surroundings. There’s not much to it. It’s some shithole that got demolished and left to the rats and the weeds. There’s no fucker here. Trees and stuff in the background. Piles of crappy old industrial units. We are parked inside what I believe was once a tyres and exhausts place. Some interesting bits and pieces lying around. If you were especially brave, you can find one and use it as a weapon. Someone did that once, you know. Found a bit of scaffolding. Used it as a quarterstaff. I was genuinely flummoxed – I couldn’t get near that bitch for a while. I was going to award her the match, and scarper. Brave lass. She still fucking died, screaming. Are you that brave? I think I can see an old wrench lying there. It could just be a dead squirrel or something. Everything tends to brown – wrenches. Dead squirrels. Blood. Your blood, in fact.

  You can scream your head off, if you like. We are totally alone. There’s no one to help you.

  Right, I’m going to give you a countdown. I’ll let you listen to the birdies – all sorts, around here. Such a peaceful sound, isn’t it? The wind rustling the leaves and branches. Birdies tweeting outside. This might be your last chance to hear them. Sit up, and listen. Just listen. Take it all in.

  Only joking. Here I come!

  14

  Glenn Allander was a fair man, with a floppy fringe drumming its fingers above a high, clear brow and outsized glasses. He was a little under average height, but was striking-looking, quite fit. There wasn’t much fat on his face but there was still a cute chunkiness in it, thanks to his high cheekbones and a square jaw. Those were cheeks you might pinch. He had a rounded chin and a full mouth, and might still look boyish when he reached his forties. There could be a Kal-El hiding there, not too far from the surface.

  Freya cycled past him twice, and he barely noticed as he walked down the street, seemingly engrossed in whatever he was listening to on his earbuds. The wiring trailed from an inside coat pocket, and he seemed in a hurry, constantly looking over his shoulder.

  She locked up her bike at some railings near the coffee shop. The place wasn’t part of a big chain, and judging by the stacked stools on some of the tables, it wasn’t going to be open too much longer. Freya kept her helmet and shades on as she watched him take a seat, his back to the wall. He ordered a bottle of water and sipped at it, then tapped at his phone.

  Her own phone buzzed soon after. ‘In position,’ read the text message.

  Definitely him, then. That was good. No one following him, like a photographer; that was better.

  She took off her helmet and kept it under her arms, and ordered a coffee.

  He looked up, and peered at her for a second or two, before going back to his phone.

  He frowned when she approached, cutting through a patch of fading sunlight cast across the floor. ‘Uh… Freya?’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, Freya Bain. You must be Glenn?’

  He seemed surprised as he stood up to greet her, shaking hands tentatively. ‘Gads, you’re taller than I thought. Changed your hair, too.’

  ‘You could say I’m in disguise.’

  ‘Tabloids been after you?’

  She nodded. ‘Price I paid for going public. I’ve turned into news. It’s… weird.’

  Glenn Allander sat down, still keeping his back to the wall. ‘Did you ride a bike here?’

  Freya pinched some of her Day-Glo yellow fitness gear. ‘Course. This isn’t my usual night-out gear.’

  ‘No, it’s just that… I could’ve sworn you cycled past me.’

  ‘Probably did.’<
br />
  ‘I mean, more than once.’ He drummed his fingers. ‘Anyone would think you were stalking me.’

  ‘Well, one good turn deserves another.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have connected you with… well, you. God, you look so different.’

  ‘Funny what a change of hairstyle can do for a girl. That, plus different eyeshadow.’

  ‘You’ve got his eyes, all the same. Your dad’s eyes.’

  ‘They all say that. So… sorry for the cloak and dagger. But I guess you started it.’

  ‘Quite. It was a bit of a breakthrough for me, I have to say. There’s always been doubt about your father’s conviction. I’ve always thought so, anyway.’ He took a swallow of his water. Steady hand, Freya noticed.

  ‘You don’t look too much older than me. What are you, about twenty-eight?’

  ‘Yeah. In a couple of months.’

  ‘But your Red Ink thing… that’s been going for years. I mean, you’d have been at school when you started it.’

  ‘That’s right.’ He blinked, once.

  ‘It’s kind of detailed… crime scene photos, and whatnot. Didn’t you get sued?’

  ‘Not at all. A takedown notice. Hardly the same thing. I complied.’

  Freya paused. She felt supremely awkward, as if the balance of the exchange had tipped in his favour. Certainly he was a cool customer, clipped and controlled. ‘Now, about this police officer. I hadn’t heard much about it from the case.’

  ‘The PC? Who had an affair with your dad? Yeah that’s a strange one. According to some notes on the case and one or two police officers we spoke to, your father was in a relationship with Carol Ramirez. No one knows quite how it started, how they got together, but they had a relationship when he was passing through. There’s some talk that he was in a pub one night when a fight broke out, she attended the scene, and he managed to chat her up there and then, when she was dealing with it. There is a long-standing rumour that on the night June Caton-Bell was killed, he was with her the whole night. That she’s his alibi. That’s the night that the eyewitness supposedly saw him getting into and out of the van, apparently after he chopped Caton-Bell up.

  ‘But Carol Ramirez never turned up since, in the inquiry, never gave evidence in the trial, and there was some kind of legal reason that they didn’t mention her in his defence. It’s never been properly explained, but there’s something weird about it. Anyway… it turns out that the guy in charge of the Woodcutter inquiry knew about it, and got her to make some kind of statement, denying she had anything to do with him, that he was a fantasist. She was supposedly on duty that night, in another part of town. It totally flies in the face of the rumours.’

  ‘Slow down a minute,’ Freya said. ‘You’re saying that my father could have proved he was with a woman… a policewoman, in fact… on the night June Caton-Bell was killed? And somehow that was never revealed during his trial? And it’s never come to light, until now?’

  ‘That’s what I understand.’

  ‘So, she could clear him?’

  ‘That’s the thinking. I reckon that’s the key part of the appeal going through the courts at the moment.’

  ‘How did you find out all this?’

  ‘Same way any news portal does. I got a tip. I saw a redacted document. It was sent to me, anonymously.’

  ‘You didn’t say anything about that in the article I read about Carol Ramirez.’

  ‘I have to protect my source.’ Glenn drained the last of his bottle, then screwed on the top. ‘It’s most likely a serving copper.’

  ‘Most likely Carol Ramirez, you mean?’

  ‘Not out of the question.’ A flicker of a smile, as he brushed his fringe away from his eyes. ‘Anyway. That coffee smells good. I don’t usually bother with coffee, this close to bedtime. I’m tempted, though. Can I get you something else?’

  ‘How about something stronger?’

  ‘Oh, hell yeah.’ He grinned. His face was transformed. ‘Is it still drink driving if you’re in charge of a bike, can I ask?’

  ‘No idea. Shall we find out?’

  *

  The place called itself Byzantium and had taken a creditable stab at ancient Turkish-themed décor. It was a restaurant, but rowdy with it, with a separate bar section that catered for its own clientele.

  Freya almost wished they’d stayed in the coffee shop. The music was tolerable, but only just. The clientele were mostly office workers, all of them far more stylish than either Glenn or Freya. Her highlighter-pen Lycra and her pinned-back blonde hair got one or two dirty looks, which she had giggled at.

  Freya had to raise her voice to be heard properly. The hubbub robbed Glenn of his confidence, but it had only taken a couple of pints to replace it in his pockets.

  She snapped off the edge of a slice of pizza and nodded towards a painted skyline that showed minarets against a purpling sky. ‘Don’t think Istanbul’s skyline and boozing quite goes together, I dunno about you.’

  ‘This place is a mess, and it’s too loud – but I like the booths. Private, you know?’ He sipped his pint; she noticed that he’d hardly touched his food; nor had he removed his jacket, although it was hot in there. ‘I’ve got a local we could go to. Proper fish and chips. Pies with a crust you need a chisel to get through. Old men and dark beer. Awful toilets.’

  ‘Maybe next time.’ She smiled, not unkindly. ‘Let’s go back to the theory. Tell me how my dad didn’t do it.’

  ‘Well… On the Caton-Bell case, the one he was convicted for, there’s reasonable doubt. There is some evidence to suggest he is circumstantially tied to the places where the other victims disappeared from, though. Not enough to bring charges. He was in transit at the time, working as a courier.’

  ‘Caton-Bell, though. What’s the theory?’

  ‘Well. She was out running, and someone snatched her off an A-road. Quiet place; no traffic. It was a baffling case, and it was quickly linked to the others. Except this time, someone called the cops to talk about a man seen getting into a black van near the woods where her body was discovered. She picked out your father in the ID line-up, then testified that it was him in court.’

  ‘What reason do you have to doubt her?’

  ‘Well…’ Glenn sipped at his pint like a bird pecking at a pint of milk on a doorstep. ‘She came into some money not long after all this.’

  ‘What, you mean… Someone bribed her? To fit my dad up?’

  ‘All I’m saying is, she came into some money. And she bought a touring caravan, which she wrote off about six weeks later. She didn’t win the lottery, she didn’t get a bonus at work, and it arrived in the form of cash. When she went to the dealership, she handed over used notes.’

  ‘How do you know this stuff?’

  ‘I’m not bad at investigations.’ Glenn said this, matter-of-fact, without a trace of defensiveness or bluster. ‘And as I say, I pick up tips all the time.’

  ‘What are you? You work in the police, or the law, or… what?’

  He actually blushed. ‘I work in data. Figures, statistics, research. Numbers, you know.’

  ‘Wow. Is it totally awful?’

  ‘Unbelievably bad,’ he said, without hesitation. ‘Put it this way – I look into old murders and that’s leisure.’

  After she’d stopped laughing, Freya asked: ‘You reckon she fitted him up, on someone else’s behalf?’

  ‘I’ll admit it’s a possibility. If I was your father, it’s something I’d want to look into.’

  ‘Does he know about this?’

  ‘He should.’

  ‘When did this come out? The stuff about the witness?’

  ‘Her name’s Grace Parminter. She’s still alive. Lives alone in a cottage. Crazy lady, so they say. Lots of cats. Though that doesn’t mean anything. Partial to the odd cat, myself.’

  ‘I bet you are.’ She finished another piece of pizza, then reached for his. ‘Sorry, I’m in training. You’re not going to eat that, are you?’

  ‘Nah. I ha
d a big lunch. Eyes bigger than my belly.’

  Freya shrugged, and scooped up a slice. ‘Don’t be afraid of carbs. They have power, if used wisely.’

  Glenn said nothing, taking a small sip at his pint. While she ate, he glanced over towards a bar, where golden-skinned young women were shrieking with laughter as they all depth-charged shots. A mirrored tile warped reality over his shoulder. In this woozy portal, Freya saw her eyes dance as she ate and drank. Steady, she thought. Nothing crazy, here.

  She could feel the drink running away with her blood, and part of her reason. Freya wasn’t much of a drinker, but she knew the treachery of lowered inhibitions. At times when she was younger she’d gotten too drunk, too quickly. It had cost her friends, or earned her disdain from competitors. She’d learned the hard way. She’d limit herself to one or two, tops.

  ‘So you reckon that’s going to emerge during his appeal?’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly say.’

  ‘Who did you talk to? Was it my dad’s lawyer? Levison? She seems a bit of a loose cannon.’

  ‘Persistent, aren’t you?’ Glenn grinned. She liked that grin. He had nice, white, even teeth. She doubted his story about drinking too much coffee at work. ‘I’m not going to tell you. Best not to ask.’

  ‘If we’re going to work together, then you have to tell me some stuff.’

  ‘Who said we’re going to work together?’

  ‘I’m saying it, now. I want to clear my dad. If you give me what you know, he’ll be out of jail before we know it.’

  ‘Interesting offer.’

  ‘He might even come and talk to you. You could interview him. An exclusive. How about that?’

  ‘How well do you know him? From what I read, you’ve only met him the once. Like – in your entire life. You don’t know him at all.’

  ‘That’s true, but I have met him. Twice. Which puts me ahead of you. And, hey, key point – I’m his daughter.’

  ‘You can prove that? Sorry, I mean no offence, it’s just… you’ve got dark eyes. What I can see of them. They look like his eyes. That’s not proof, though.’