Chasing Innocence

by Potter, John

  She drove around the square, passing a row of shops, all dark and shuttered save for a brightly lit takeaway. She did a complete circuit but there was no sign of the Rover. She turned into a cul-de-sac.

  The cul-de-sac arced to the right and slightly uphill with cars parked on both sides. She cruised as if casually looking for a space and then she saw it. She almost missed it, did a double take. It was parked on a drive on the left, edged close to a garage door, darkly green and beautiful, stationary and empty. Child on board. Baby on board. She drove to the end of the avenue, which bulged to a semi-circle, turned and back to the square.

  She parked and checked the time. It was now ten past ten. She studied the fuel gauge, now completely below the red. She turned the key in the ignition and the engine fell silent, wondering how much fuel she had left, would there be enough even to start the car? She turned the key again, the dashboard lit and the engine started. The rev counter jerked up as she pressed the accelerator. She turned the key a final time and all went quiet.

  There was at least enough fuel to start the car and get going, although she had no intention of doing that just yet.

  EIGHTEEN

  Adam stood in the rain outside the police station. He was not ready to go home, not to their home so carefully created by Sarah. So he started towards the town centre. Across the bridge, over parallel gleaming tracks and down to the station, the street lighting and station entrance reflected in the wet pavement. At the periphery of his vision a moving shadow, then a hand from nowhere on his coat and a disorientating punch into the side of his head. He felt fingers around his wrist, pulling and twisting it back on itself and an excruciating pain leapt from his elbow to his shoulder, allowing him to be marched around into iron gates that rattled in protest. His arm was pushed harder up his back, the weight of his attacker pinning him against the gate.

  The pressure of the bars against his face forced his mouth open. He could smell a fustiness not suppressed by the rain. He relaxed his body, coiled all his strength inwards and burst backwards, but it made no difference. It was like pushing against a wall. His arm was ratcheted higher, the pain causing him to shout out.

  ‘What do you want?’ The sound was muffled, his mouth unable to properly shape the words.

  ‘You were in the police station!’ The man’s voice carried a hard edge. Not just of anger but something else, it was almost desperate.

  ‘So?’

  ‘Tell me about the girl.’

  ‘What girl?’

  ‘THE GIRL. The one you told the police about.’ The weight pushed heavier into his back, his face jammed harder against the gate. His initial reaction beside shock had been to assume he was being mugged. He quickly re-appraised.

  ‘God, the girl, look I was in there about my wife.’ He made a wild guess. ‘Are you the girl’s father?’

  Seconds passed, the silence filled by Adam’s laboured breathing and the sound of rain. The weight shifted but there was still no give.

  ‘Look, if you are bloody let go and we can talk! I have nothing to hide from you.’

  ‘What about your wife?’ The same hard edge to the voice.

  ‘My wife, she, she saw a girl kidnapped. She followed the kidnapper and I haven’t heard from her since. I was reporting it to the police.’

  Frustration and anger pumped adrenalin through his body. He bunched his muscles, but was totally at the mercy of someone stronger and much more adept. Instead he vented through words. ‘For fuck’s sake let go of me!’

  ‘Not yet. What did you tell them?’

  ‘I told them everything my wife told me. She was following some guy in a car, he had a box. She was convinced a girl was inside it.’

  More empty seconds of rain, then the weight finally relented and his arm was released. Behind him he heard boots step back. Massaging his shoulder, he turned. For a moment the dark profile and the partial features floated at the boundaries of familiarity, and then he remembered. It was the soldier of fortune. The guy sat in the front row at the police station.

  Adam waved his arm in small circles. ‘So you’re the girl’s father?’

  The man nodded.

  ‘So why not just ask? Instead of this?’ He glanced at the gate to demonstrate his point.

  ‘Because guys like you don’t talk to guys like me.’ The voice was now calm and matter of fact.

  ‘All you had to do was say who you were. Why would I not?’

  The man said nothing, just watched Adam, still totally in charge. He had short dark hair, a softness to his features. There was something almost vulnerable masked by the set of his jaw and the moustache that curled down around the corners of his mouth. It put Adam in mind of Boer’s. The man’s eyes were his most striking feature. They possessed a quality, as if they had seen more than anyone should in a lifetime. His wet combat jacket hung open, underneath he was wearing a plain T-shirt and jeans. And then the man stepped forward and held out his hand.

  ‘Brian Dunstan.’

  Adam was so shocked he stepped forward without thinking and they exchanged a wet handshake.

  ‘Adam Sawacki.’ He remembered his frustration, brushing past Brian and back into the rain. ‘You’ve got some way of introducing yourself.’

  They now faced each other. The man’s smile made the moustache lopsided. ‘Charm has never been my thing. And like I said, guys like you. How about you buy me a drink.’

  ‘Buying you a drink is the last thing on my mind.’

  The man shrugged. ‘I don’t have any cash, otherwise I’d buy you one.’

  Adam’s instinctive answer was to say no but the thought of Sarah stopped him. She was probably following a car with this man’s daughter stuffed in the boot.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The Locksmith,’ the man answered. ‘It’s a pub across from where I work. It’s near.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I have thirty minutes before I clock on.’

  NINETEEN

  Sarah pushed her handbag under the passenger seat then stepped onto the wet, uneven pavement. She yawned and stretched as the cool breeze foraged beneath her shirt, busy rejuvenating her senses. Sea air, it occurred to her.

  It was an area not unlike the one she had grown up in, maybe a little bleaker here, more worn down and ominously slick in the night rain. The square was set around an expanse of grass half the size of a football pitch. At one end were swings, a roundabout and slide. No Ball Games hung on a post leaning almost horizontal. The row of shops included a launderette, newsagents and bookmakers, a Chinese takeaway. A corner store with a man silhouetted, waiting on shutters slowly rattling down. Three dark shapes detached from the swings and headed towards her.

  Sarah popped the boot and tugged free Adam’s fleece, giving it a shake over the pavement then pulling it on. It was impossibly large over her body but she wanted to wear something Simon had not already seen. She folded her coat into the boot as the three shapes ambled to a stop a few steps away, two boys and a girl. The boys were in their early teens, wearing baggy trousers and tops, the girl younger and taller on the right.

  ‘We’ll look after your car for a bag of prawn crackers,’ said the boy in the middle. An accent like Simon’s but harsher.

  Sarah was in no mood for light conversation. ‘I’m not here for food, I’m also very busy.’

  The boys fidgeted and Sarah made a show of closing the boot. She locked the car and turned as if to walk away.

  ‘What’re you doing here then?’

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘Why is your top so big?’ The one on the end spoke this time, the girl remaining impassive.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your top, it’s way too big.’

  ‘Look, I’ve got to get going.’

  ‘It looks like a man’s top, you a boy?’

  The girl momentarily came to life. ‘Jay, shut up!’ She was slender and pretty, her hands pushed into a short anorak with a fur-lined hood.

  ‘You look like a boy.’ The boy at the end again.r />
  ‘I’m not, and I don’t have the time for this.’

  The middle boy asked. ‘I bet you’re looking at them houses for sale?’ He nodded over Sarah’s shoulder.

  She followed his gaze to the cul-de-sac and looked back at him, quickly reappraising. ‘You’re very clever, how’d you guess?’

  ‘You look the sort,’ he said, pleased with himself. ‘You know, too much money. My dad says anyone’d be fucking crazy to. Buy one that is.’

  ‘So you live here then?’ She looked at the girl but it was the middle boy who answered.

  ‘In Eve Hill, at the end. They’re all out down the pub.’

  ‘All who?’

  ‘Mums and dads, down the pub.’ He nodded slyly at the girl. ‘We’re going back for a bit of spit roast, ain’t that right Cat?’ He skipped backwards, dodging a punch from the girl.

  ‘Mattie! You’re gross!’

  The boy laughed and bounced back, pushing into the girl.

  ‘Look I really have to get going, lots of houses to see and all that.’

  ‘Show us your tits then, before you go.’ The boy at the end this time. The girl groaned.

  Sarah reacted instinctively, angrily stepping towards him, almost nose to nose. ‘How about you go home before I really lose my temper.’ It was a gamble at best. He was slightly taller than her but took a step back, glancing at the other boy for support. The middle boy stepped between them.

  ‘Can’t wait for you to move in,’ he said, directing the other boy away. ‘Be nice to pretty up the neighbourhood.’ The last was thrown over his shoulder as they walked towards the cul-de-sac.

  The girl offered a hushed, ‘We’re going to watch a movie.’ She jogged to catch up with the boys, casting a glance back as they disappeared into the street.

  Sarah caught her breath, checked she had her keys and walked across the road to the Chinese takeaway. Two men and a woman stood outside, idly watching as they blew smoke into the night air. She offered them a friendly smile and looked up at the printed menu, sliding her hands into her jeans and counting off the seconds. She gave the children enough time to get to the end of the street twice. Then she turned and walked past the corner store towards the cul-de-sac.

  Eve Hill Way was a more recent addition to the square. The squiggle at the bottom of a capital Q. Cars were parked on driveways and on the street, lamp posts illuminating all with a sallow light. Almost every front garden contained piles of bricks and concrete slabs. All the houses were semi-detached, symmetrical twins with attached garages either side of a narrow alley. Estate agent boards dotted the street.

  Sarah picked a house for sale just past and opposite the Rover. Resisting every urge to run, she walked as if she really were a late night house hunter, stepping with purpose onto the pavement and then with relief into the alley. She took a deep breath and leaned against the concrete garage wall, cloaked in shadow, looking back across the street. She could feel pin pricks of sweat on her neck, a cold sensation spreading from the back of her skull. She watched the house, the Rover unmoving on the driveway, a downstairs light on behind drawn curtains. From the shop end of the street headlights illuminated the rain and cast reflections off windows. Simon’s front door opened.

  He had changed. It was him without a doubt, reminding her just how big he was, now wearing a loose T-shirt with football shorts and flip-flops. He scuffed over to the rear of the Rover and lifted out the box Sarah had first seen a lifetime ago. He closed the boot and carried it into the house, the blue sole of a flip-flop flashing as he kicked closed the front door. She was right, there was definitely something wrong with the weight in the box.

  She blinked rain from her eyes, her gaze intent and calculating, shifting from the Rover to the front door, to the alley and back again to the Rover. She slid back the sleeve of the fleece. It was ten thirty. She pushed away from the garage and walked across the street and into the alley beside the Rover and once more into shadow.

  TWENTY

  The Locksmith pub faced an Indian restaurant and a club. The club’s pink neon sign shone above a fluttering awning and a queue of huddled people, the occasional shout and laughter. Adam noticed Brian exchange nods with the dark-coated bouncers.

  Inside, the Locksmith was small, a fruit machine, a few figures at tables or against the bar, a woman stacking glasses. Adam slid two whiskeys across the table and sat opposite Brian.

  ‘I take it you don’t work as a waiter then?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said this pub was across from where you work.’

  Brian nodded. ‘Going to be a fun night. Everyone wet and cold and impatient. So tell me your story, Mr. Swanky.’

  ‘It’s Sawacki.’

  ‘I know. Tell me about your wife and what she saw.’

  ‘Can I ask you something first?’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘How do I know you’re the girl’s father?’

  Brian pursed his lips, pushing up his moustache. ‘You don’t.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘Maybe your daughter’s at a sleepover and you just forgot or something?’

  Brian looked hard at Adam, swirling whiskey around his glass before lifting it to his mouth. He swallowed. ‘Andrea’s a good girl. I get her two weekends in four. Saturdays we go swimming in the morning, or to the park. I work Saturday afternoons so she goes off by herself. She picks up my prescription from Boots along with a few bits and pieces and I usually get there just after four thirty. She’s never late, always early. Today she wasn’t waiting.’

  Brian moved his right hand on the table, covering it with his left. Adam was sure it had been shaking, although he very much doubted it was nerves.

  ‘So that’s why we have the same problem,’ Brian finished. ‘Now you’re going to tell me if that matches what you know.’

  ‘It does. Sarah was outside Boots. I should have met her but I was late.’

  The fruit machine played a tune and Brian picked up his drink with the right hand. ‘So what else do you know?’

  ‘Not much,’ Adam lied, considering what he would say. He told Brian the detail that encompassed Sarah’s initial three voicemails, up to her driving along the M4. He omitted the number plate and the detail of Delamere, summarising Boer and Ferreira in the briefest terms.

  Brian listened intently without interrupting. When Adam finished he leaned back in his chair, chewing his lip, the moustache moving like a small animal. ‘So did they say what they were doing about it?’

  ‘The police? No, they just said they will contact me when they have news, or need to talk again.’

  ‘You haven’t heard anything?’

  ‘I did only leave the station thirty minutes ago.’

  Brian’s dark eyes fixed on Adam. ‘Your wife, that’s some woman. Nobody follows anyone like that. Most people would convince themselves nothing was wrong, would rationalise it and walk away. I bet you could repeat that scenario a thousand times and nobody would jump in a car and follow a stranger.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I know so, people don’t pay attention anymore. They’re too scared of what might happen if they step outside their own world. Yet your wife is off and running.’

  ‘She saw the box, it…’

  Brian stopped him. ‘That’s not what I’m on about. I mean it takes something to actually follow a stranger, given what she thought the guy just did. It takes something else to keep following. That or you’d have to be crazy.’

  For all his rough edges Brian had whittled the detail down to the fundamental issue as quickly, if not quicker, than Boer and Ferreira. Adam laughed nervously. ‘What can I say, she’s a motivated woman when she gets going.’

  ‘You got that right.’ Brian set his glass on the table. ‘You haven’t heard from her since?’

  ‘Nope.’ He decided not to say anything else. Thirty minutes had to be up soon. ‘So your last name is Dunstan,’ he offered, trying to move focus away from Sarah.

>   ‘Sure is.’

  ‘So, Andrea Dunstan. That’s a cool name, kind of makes her sound like a Saxon princess.’

  Brian drained the remainder of his drink before answering. ‘Pity that’s not her name then. Her mother didn’t give her my name. I’m only on the birth certificate so she can shaft me for child support.’ He looked down at his watch and then back at Adam. ‘I gotta go, where do you live?’

  Adam was shocked. ‘What, I…um, why?’

  ‘We still have things to talk about.’

  ‘We do?’

  ‘Of course. For a start you haven’t told me everything, but I’m not going to hold that against you. I wouldn’t have either. Me and you have a lot in common though.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Something missing, of course. Andrea is a small ray of light in a world of fucking dark. I’ve let her down. So I’m going to think a few things through, factor in what you just told me. Might as well do that at work as anywhere. Then I’ll head over, then we’re going to decide what’s to be done about it.’

  ‘Do, done what?’

  ‘Your address?’

  ‘But, the police. They are…’

  ‘Just give me the bloody address, Adam, it’s not like I’m asking you to hand over the sodding keys.’

  Adam stammered but relented, as much from not having a viable reason to say no.

  Brian hoisted his wet coat as he stood. ‘See you later then.’ He walked out of the pub and across the street. By the time Adam finished his second whiskey Brian had re-emerged outside the club in a smart white shirt, dark trousers, and the obligatory long overcoat. Adam checked his phone, no missed calls or messages. He was still reluctant to go home but where else could he go? He walked back into the night and the rain, nodding in reply to Brian’s wave and heading towards the deserted taxi rank.

  TWENTY-ONE

  The entrance to the alley was lit by street lighting that quickly faded to inky dark, with a line of trees silhouetted at the back of the houses. Sarah stood in shadow beside Simon’s garage. Breathing shallowly, trying to stay the tremor in her hands, the fluctuating beat of her heart, her eyes slowly adjusting to the gloom while she listened to the changing rhythm of the night. The voices in her head all screamed turn around!