Rachel began to work herself up into a mild rage thinking about Graham and she mentally rehearsed a number of fantasy conversations with him that all ended up with him leaving or admitting he was wrong and leaving. Maybe the time has come to end it, she thought.
Lost in her reverie she was only half aware of the blue Transit van as it passed her. It was only the second car she had seen moving on the quiet estate roads that morning. There were plenty of vehicles parked in drives but given the employment prospects on this estate and the price of fuel, none seemed to be moving.
At the next junction Rachel turned left into Fir Avenue. She was completely engrossed in calculating how long it would be before she could buy a new pair of cheap shoes for her cousin's wedding and cursing the fifty pounds she had leant Graham so he could go out with the lads, when she became dimly aware that parked on a road to her right, about twenty yards down, was the blue Transit van that had passed her earlier.
Rachel looked at the street name: Laurel Grove. Two men were removing thick plastic sheeting from the back of the van. Rachel carried on walking but slowed her pace. The men, busy in their task, didn't notice her. There was something bird-like about the man at the rear, his angular frame and crooked gait. A rusty old claw hammer hung from his utility belt swinging as he walked. He wore a dark brown floppy hat with a wide brim that struck Rachel as out of place on the streets of Liverpool. They carried the plastic sheet between them and into the open door of the house opposite.
The door of the house slammed, echoing in the quiet streets.
Rachel stopped walking. There was nobody else around, but from inside some of the houses she could see a blue grey flicker from the living rooms. She felt a dread settle on her.
Pull yourself together, Rachel, she told herself. She ultimately wanted to work on a national and be a foreign correspondent, and her she was, shitting herself on a housing estate, because of an odd looking man with a funny hat.
She walked slowly into Laurel Grove. ‘It's probably not even the house that you're looking for,’ she said aloud. As Rachel approached the van she could see the writing on its side: Charley Evans – Carpet Fitters. There was no telephone number or address.
Rachel stopped on the pavement opposite the house the carpet fitters had entered. She checked the number with the one she had been given. It was the house she was looking for. The street was dead silent.
The house looked perfectly normal: a 1930s semi-detached. The old woman lived there alone apparently. The curtains to the front windows were drawn as were the upstairs bedroom curtains.
Slowly Rachel began to walk across the street towards the house. The only sounds on the estate were the distant sounds of crows squawking. Rachel reached the driveway of the house and paused on the pavement.
Silence.
She listened for a minute and then slowly walked forward again, each quiet careful step taking her closer to the front door.
Rachel stopped a foot short of the door and cocked her head to one side. The silent house yielded no sounds: no radio, no chatter, no teacups being clattered and no hammer banging carpet nails into place.
Her hand moved towards the doorbell, her finger hovered over the white plastic.
CHAPTER 18
‘Right about what, Erasmus?’
There was a banging on the front door.
‘Are you expecting anyone?’
Jenna shook her head.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Probably nothing. I'm just a little jumpy.’
‘I better get it,’ she said. Jenna got up and walked out of the room towards the hallway.
Maybe it was just a little paranoia, maybe it was instinct, but as soon as she was gone he followed her, and as she made her way to the front door he slipped into the front room of the house.
He heard the door open and the low mumble of voices. Luckily the curtains were half drawn and Erasmus took up a position where he could look out on the front garden. From this angle he couldn't see the front door but what he did see sent adrenaline pumping through his body. A man was moving in a fast crouching run across the garden. Erasmus only saw him for a second before he disappeared around the side of the house but it was enough time for him to guess that the man was military trained: his movement and tactics were precise and methodical.
Suddenly, there was a scream from the hallway.
Erasmus was faced with a choice. He could run to Jenna's aid, but then he would be exposed to the flanking movement of the man he had just seen in the garden, who he was sure would be entering the house from the rear any second now, or he could seize tactical advantage by making use of the knowledge that they presumably didn't know he was in the house. He was pretty sure that he hadn't been followed and in any event, if they had, he would still be exposed to the flank. In the milliseconds it took Erasmus to consider the factors, he had made his decision and was moving.
The window was an old-fashioned sash window and he quickly unclipped the catch and pulled it up. He leapt out the window and hit the lawn running. He slipped around the side of the house. There was a wooden gate swinging loose. He pushed through and was in the large back garden. Without breaking stride he bent down and picked a piece of brick laying in the path's borders. He turned a corner at the back of the house and was greeted by the sight of an open door to the kitchen.
From inside the house there was another scream.
He ran through the kitchen: the door was closed. He would be vulnerable as he exited but he had no choice. He smashed through the door at pace and came right up on the man he had seen running across the front lawn. The man had his back turned to him and was beginning to turn to face the threat behind him.
Erasmus’ training had taught him many things, most importantly that there was never such a thing as a fair fight. If you started thinking that you quickly wound up dead.
Erasmus brought the brick crashing down on the man's head.
The man made a gurgling sound as his legs collapsed beneath him.
Erasmus didn't stop; he stepped over the prone body and rushed on into the hallway.
Jenna was about ten yards away. A young man, maybe early twenties, was holding her. She was fighting back furiously but the man was strong. His eyes went wide as he became aware of Erasmus’ presence.
‘Are you OK?’ Erasmus asked Jenna.
‘I'm fine,’ she said. And then to the man holding her, ‘Will you now please just fuck off!’
Erasmus looked at the man holding her again. He had gym-toned muscles, but he looked unsure of himself, frightened even. Erasmus guessed that's why he had been tasked with dealing with the supposedly easy target of a woman while his older, more experienced and currently unconscious colleague went around the back to surprise anybody else in the house.
‘Listen, son, you look fresh out of college. Maybe you go to the gym, work out, build those big muscles. That's all good. But I spent ten years being trained by the Army to kill people, to kill dangerous people. It's your call but if I were you were you I'd assess the odds and make the wise choice.’
The young kid's eyes looked beyond Erasmus.
‘If you are looking for your buddy he's laying on the floor back there unconscious. He's going to have a bad headache in the morning. So what's it to be?’
The men were both well dressed and healthy. This was not a robbery, Erasmus was sure of that.
‘Have you been paid enough to get seriously hurt?’
Erasmus started to advance slowly. The man's eyes darted wildly from side to side.
This could go either way, Erasmus decided. He clenched his fists and got ready to attack.
Just as Erasmus rocked forward preparing to charge Jenna turned and sank her teeth into the man's left arm just above the wrist. He screamed and pulled his arm away and with his other hand pushed her away. She fell awkwardly, banging her head on the table next to the door.
Erasmus charged. The boy didn't wait and shot out of the open door. Erasmus was about t
o give chase but one look at Jenna told him that she needed his help.
He sank to his knees and gently cradled her head.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
For a sick second he thought she wouldn't respond but then she opened her eyes and gave him a weak smile.
‘I showed him, huh,’ she said.
‘You sure did. Wait here.’
‘I ain't going anywhere just yet,’ she said.
Erasmus retraced his steps back to the kitchen. There was no sign of the older man other than a trail of blood spots that led out through the open back door. Erasmus closed the door and locked it. He ran the cold-water tap and soaked a dishcloth in the freezing stream.
When he returned to the hallway Jenna had moved and was now sitting on the steps. He sat next to her, their legs touching, and slowly ran his hands through her hair and against her scalp. It only took him a few seconds to locate the bump at the back of head. He parted her hair where he could feel the lump and gently applied the cold compress. He took her left hand and placed it on the cloth.
‘You need to hold that there. How are you feeling?’
‘Woozy, but I'll live.’
‘We need to get you to a doctor. There is a chance that you may have concussion.’
‘I'll be fine. I've had worse bumps falling off horses. Have they gone?’
Erasmus nodded. ‘Yeah, they've gone. Do you have any idea who they were or what they wanted? I don't think they were burglars.’
Jenna nodded slowly. ‘When I answered the door he just burst in. I didn't recognise him at all. He just asked me the same question over and over.’
She had begun to weep. Erasmus recognised the first signs of shock. He had seen it plenty of times before. He put his arm around her and she moved closer.
‘What question?’
‘“Where's Stephen?”’
Erasmus was about to respond but before he could say anything Jenna pulled him close and kissed him deeply. He responded instinctively kissing her back with a passion he had thought had become part of his past. They clung to each other and Erasmus moved his hands slowly up her back and stroked her neck.
Erasmus’ hand moved up her thigh where her skirt had rolled back. He felt smooth skin and then a silk edge. His fingers began to trace patterns on the delicate skin beneath the silk.
Jenna let out a low groan and then suddenly she pulled away.
‘I'm sorry, Erasmus. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. The shock, the stress of Stephen's disappearance…’ her words tailed off.
Erasmus wanted to take her in his arms again and tell her that everything would be OK but something had changed. Jenna was looking at her feet, her body now turned away from his.
‘What were you going to tell me? Before they came,’ she said.
He took a deep breath, and tried to compose himself.
‘That Stephen and Malcolm Ford's murder may be linked. Malcolm Ford was killed last week, Stephen has gone missing and Father Michael paid off Stephen's debts. This all happened recently and all of them are in that photograph. There's one other thing. A journalist I know spoke to Stephen before he went missing. He had arranged to meet her before he went missing. He told her that he wanted to talk about Bovind, that Bovind was the Devil. Bovind is in that photograph and I think there's a connection. ’
Jenna looked away and let out a small sob.
‘So he might be dead, like that lawyer?’
Erasmus took her hand. ‘We don't know that. Did Stephen ever mention Bovind to you?’
Jenna blinked and for a second Erasmus thought she was going to say something.
‘No. I knew they had been friends a long time ago but that was it.’
‘We should call the police,’ he said.
Jenna stood up, for a moment her legs looked like they wouldn't support her, but she tapped some inner strength and stayed upright.
‘No. You said you would help me and I need your help more than ever now. Those men were looking for Stephen. I want you to find him before they do. The police don't take me seriously. I need you to find Stephen. Will you do it?’
‘They may come back,’ he said.
Jenna managed a weak smile. She held his hand and looked into his eyes. ‘They aren't coming back, you saw to that, and anyway Theo will be home soon. I need you to go. I need you to find Stephen.’
She stood up and smiled weakly. ‘I'll be fine. I just want to go bed, I think.’
His mobile phone began to ring: Miranda. He considered not taking the call for a moment as Jeff was still at the forefront of his mind, but it was unusual for her to call him during the day unless it was about Abby. As was always the case when he received an unexpected call he braced himself for bad news.
‘Miranda?’
‘You have to come quick, Erasmus. Abby's school now. I am inside with Abby. There's trouble!’
‘What trouble?’ he asked.
‘There is a protest and – ’
The line crackled and then went silent.
He was only ten minutes away.
‘I'm coming!’ he shouted to a dead line.
He ran to his car.
CHAPTER 19
He was there in five minutes.
He flung the car around the final corner and there it was: Dovedale Junior School. The building was an old red brick Victorian school that stood between a pub and a row of terraced houses with neat hanging baskets adorning their crumbling façades.
The school stood back from the road, protected by old iron railings. Standing in front of the main gate was a large crowd of about one hundred demonstrators being held back by a team of six private security guards. Fifty yards inside the gate were confused looking mothers holding their children's hands and shuffling nervously. He couldn't see Miranda anywhere among them. What he could see was scared children's faces pressed at the windows of the school.
Erasmus didn't bother looking for a parking spot he just stopped the car on the pavement outside the school gate and jumped out. The nearest placard holder was a man wearing a corduroy jacket with leather arm patches. The man was smoking a roll up cigarette and his placard bore the message: I've never seen faith move mountains, but I've seen what it can do to skyscrapers.
‘What's going on?’ he asked the protestor.
‘The Foundation have delivered the science textbooks. Evolution is out completely. We won't let the classes go ahead.’
‘I need to get into the school to see my daughter.’ Erasmus pushed past the man.
‘We aren't letting any more kids in.’
‘I'm not a kid,’ said Erasmus.
The protestor grabbed hold of Erasmus’ arm. A mistake.
Erasmus spun on his heels. ‘Let go of my arm,’ said Erasmus calmly.
The man held firm. ‘You're not crossing this line.’
Erasmus wrapped his right hand around the man's wrist and twisted violently to one side and backwards, causing him to cry out in pain and sink to his knees. He dropped his placed. Some of his colleagues looked on but didn't seem inclined to intervene.
‘I am going to find my daughter.’
Erasmus pushed his way to the front of the crowd quickly. They were shouting a lot but there was no physical threat that Erasmus could identify. Soon he was face to face with the security detail: six burly chunks of beef, probably ex-military by the looks of their crew cuts and posture, stood guarding the gates. They remained still but their eyes were scanning the crowd. One man stood just ahead of the others and Erasmus presumed he must be in charge.
‘Are you in charge here?’ asked Erasmus.
The man quickly appraised him, checking for weapons, assessing the threat. ‘I am yes. How can I help you, sir?’
He had an American accent and spoke in a clipped tone.
‘My daughter is in there. I need to go and get her.’
The guard shook his head.
‘That's a negative. We have a situation inside and we can't let anyone in or out until it has
been resolved.’
‘“A situation”? What sort of situation and where are the police?’
‘A violent situation, sir, but to your second question we are contracted to look after school security and we are taking care of the situation, sir, so please step away from the gate.’
‘My daughter is inside. Is she in danger?’
‘Everything is under control. One of the demonstrators got inside. He is threatening to burn the science books. He has poured petrol on himself and the books but nothing will happen. It's a publicity stunt.’
‘Let me in. I want to take my daughter out of there.’
‘Sir, the children are being held on the upper floors. They are perfectly safe.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Who, sir?’
‘The protestor with the petrol!’
‘That's classified information, sir.’
Erasmus leaned forward and grabbed the commander by his lapels, bringing his face close. The other security guards moved forward, a TASER was raised.
‘Is he in the gym?’
From the flicker in the man's eyes he knew he was right. The gym had a loading entrance so it was a natural place to store several thousand textbooks. However it was also directly above the propane tanks in the cellar which were now a sprung floor and some five feet away from a mass of books and a lunatic with a petrol can.
A TASER was placed roughly on Erasmus’ face.
‘Step back, sir,’ commanded another American voice.
Erasmus let the commander go.
‘Move away from the gate!’ came a shouted command.
Erasmus looked at the badge on the man's black flak jacket: BF Security. He weighed up his options. This man and his men were clearly ex-Marines or US Army. There was no negotiating his way in. He contemplated jumping the fence and making a run for it but the odds were stacked against him and by the look of the kit on the security guard's belts he would be TASERed within five yards.
‘OK, thanks for your help. I'm going.’
Erasmus made his way back through the crowd. He thought about checking the rear of the building but it would be pointless. There would be more security guards there he was sure and to access the rear would require him to get to the end of the street and walk for maybe five minutes just to confirm this fact. He had no time.
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