Rollover

by James Raven

  Shit.

  If there was more than one I’d had it. I too could soon be lying dead on the floor with my head splattered open like a coconut.

  But anger and grief made me blind to the danger. I spun round. Pulled open the cutlery drawer. Rummaged around until I found a large carving knife.

  Clutching it in my right hand, I went into the living room. Empty. As always it seemed to be heavy with the scent of lemon, as though it had just been cleaned. Nothing struck me as unusual. Nothing out of place. A newspaper on the coffee table. A mug half-filled with tea or coffee on the floor next to the sofa. A TV remote control on the armchair. Books neatly packed on shelves.

  I stepped back out of the room and mounted the narrow staircase slowly, pangs of fear rippling through my muscles. At the top was a small landing with three doors leading off it.

  I switched on the light, moved cautiously towards Vince’s study. On reaching the door I pushed at it gently with trembling fingers. Then I swallowed the fear that was climbing out of me and reached in to switch on the light.

  This room too was empty. The desk was cluttered with notebooks and more newspapers. The PC screen was glowing with a Windows desktop.

  My eyes moved to a framed photograph on the wall. It had been taken last summer. The occasion was a barbecue in Vince’s garden. There was Maggie, Laura and me standing with Vince. Jennifer, his girlfriend, had taken the picture and it showed us all smiling and enjoying the sun.

  I stood back, took tentative steps along the landing, hearing nothing but the torrent of blood racing through my ears.

  But the other rooms were also empty and it didn’t look as though they had been ransacked.

  I dashed back downstairs and into the kitchen. I was shocked and stunned all over again by the sight of Vince lying on the floor.

  I went to the sink, dropped the knife into it, splashed water on my face. My head was spinning again and the emotions were rolling inside me. I had to get a grip before calling the police. I needed to be coherent when I told them what had happened.

  Suddenly my mobile went off. I plucked it out of the front pocket of my jeans. Maggie’s ID flashed at me.

  I stalled for a couple of seconds as I tried to summon the courage to tell her what I’d found. My hand shook and my breath was coming in short, sharp gasps.

  I swallowed hard, flipped the phone open, said, ‘Maggie.’

  A brief pause on the line and then a man’s voice. ‘This isn’t Maggie.’

  My whole body tensed.

  ‘Who are you?’ I said. ‘Where’s my wife?’

  ‘Your wife and daughter are with me,’ he said. ‘I’m about to take them out of the house.’

  A raw, sick feeling churned the acid in the pit of my stomach.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I managed.

  ‘If you do as you are told then no harm will come to them,’ he said. ‘If you don’t then they’ll be killed just like your friend.’

  A searing lance of pain erupted in my chest. I started to speak but a strangled sound came out.

  ‘Listen carefully,’ the man said, his voice husky and neutral. ‘I’m only going to say this once.’

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ I yelled. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Calm down, Cain. It won’t help anyone if you lose your head now. You need to stay strong and focused for the sake of your family. Do you understand?’

  No, I didn’t understand. How could I? My best friend had been murdered and my wife and daughter were apparently being kidnapped. It made no sense at all. It was crazy. Ridiculous. Stupid. Totally fucking unreal.

  ‘I said do you understand?’

  Who was this guy? How did he know my name and where I lived? What was he planning to do to my family?

  ‘If you harm my wife and daughter so help me I’ll—’

  ‘You’ll what, Cain? Come after me. I don’t see how that would be possible since you have no idea who I am. So don’t bother to make idle threats. It’ll just sap your strength and that won’t help you in the days ahead.’

  I fought the urge to scream into the phone. I closed my eyes and said, ‘I want to speak to my wife.’

  ‘Later,’ he said. ‘Right now I want you to confirm that you understand what I just told you – of the need to stay strong and do as you’re told.’

  I sucked in air and felt bile burn my throat. Blood pounded through me at a rate of knots.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I understand. Just don’t hurt them. Please.’

  ‘That’s good. Very sensible. You obviously love your wife and daughter a great deal.’

  ‘Of course I do. They mean everything to me.’

  ‘I realize that. It’s why I’m convinced you’ll co-operate.’

  ‘So what do you want me to do?’

  He left it a beat and said, ‘I want you to keep your mouth shut about your partner’s ticket.’

  ‘His what?’

  ‘The lottery ticket, Cain. I know he told you about it. But you must not tell anyone else. Certainly not the police. If anyone finds out you’ll never see your wife and kid again.’

  The lottery ticket. I’d forgotten all about it. It was the reason I’d come rushing over to Vince’s place and naturally it had vanished from my thoughts the moment I stepped into the kitchen.

  ‘Is that what this is about?’ I said incredulously. ‘Is that why you killed Vince? Because of the ticket?’

  ‘There’s no time to explain,’ he said.

  ‘But I don’t have the ticket.’

  ‘I know that. I have it.’

  ‘So how the hell did you know about it? He only just called me.’

  ‘That’s not important right now. What’s important is that you follow my instructions.’

  ‘Look, I don’t care about the money,’ I said. ‘I only care about my family.’

  ‘That’s what I’m counting on, Cain. And later you’ll be reunited with them. In the meantime you have to ensure that the police don’t find out what has happened to your partner. They can’t be involved.’

  ‘So why can’t I meet you now? I can drive straight home.’

  ‘Two reasons,’ he said. ‘First there’s a risk that you’ll panic and call the law. And second I’ve already got my hands full with your wife and daughter. Once they’re in a safe place I can sort you out.’

  ‘But it’s insane.’

  ‘Just leave the cottage, come back here to your house, and wait for my call. You’re being watched so don’t try to be clever. And if you talk to the police I’ll know within minutes from a contact on the inside.’

  ‘But what you’re asking me to do is not possible.’

  ‘I’m not expecting you to bury him, for fuck’s sake. Just leave him there. Nobody has to know.’

  ‘Then let me speak to Maggie. I need to know that she’s all right.’

  ‘Later,’ he said. ‘But only if you keep your trap shut.’

  ‘You’ll never get away with this. It’s monstrous.’

  ‘Just do what I’ve told you, Cain. If you don’t, they die.’

  And with that he cleared the line.

  5

  Nausea rolled in my throat. My head swam. My lungs burned. My mind struggled to hold on to reality.

  I dashed out of the cottage, pushing the door to behind me. I fumbled with the key in the ignition, got it started, stamped on the accelerator.

  I raced along the lane and skidded to a stop opposite the church. I noticed that the car that had been parked on the verge when I arrived was now gone. So I probably had seen someone behind the wheel. Who could it have been? And why had they been parked there with the lights off at such a late hour?

  As I pulled out on to the road I tried to recall what type of car it had been, but I couldn’t conjure up an image because I hadn’t paid attention to it. Now I wished I had because the driver might well have been the person who killed Vince.

  This chilling thought stayed with me as I drove like a man possessed. The tyres
screeched around every corner. More than once I came close to sliding off the road. I kept seeing Vince’s blood-soaked body on the kitchen floor, the gashes in his head. The image was burned on to the back of my retinas.

  And I kept imagining Maggie and Laura, scared witless and wondering why the hell I wasn’t there to save them. What exactly was happening and why? Who was the man on the phone? How did he know about the lottery ticket? How did he know about Maggie and me and Laura?

  And what about the car parked outside the church? Was it just a coincidence? Had the driver simply stopped to take a pee or have a nap? Or was the explanation far more sinister?

  I sped past traffic and drew angry stares from other drivers. The streets were busier now. More cars. More Saturday-night drunks stepping off the kerbs. Slurred shouting and cold laughter. Queues at the burger stalls. Not a good night to be in a hurry.

  But thankfully I made it all the way home without encountering a cop, although I did jump three red lights and mount the pavement twice.

  I leapt out of the car and let myself in.

  ‘Maggie. Laura.’

  I stood in the hall waiting for them to respond. They didn’t.

  Feeling sick with dread, I burst into the living room. The TV was still on and our wine glasses were still on the table. No Maggie. No Laura.

  Upstairs the bedrooms were empty. Laura’s duvet was piled on the floor beside her bed. Next to that her lime-green nightdress.

  Back downstairs I stood in the living room, half crushed under the weight of terror. My mouth was dry and my heart was racing.

  I had this desperate urge to call the police. They could be here in minutes and begin a frantic search for my family. Patrols all over the county would be alerted and maybe road blocks set up.

  But I knew I had to resist. I couldn’t take the chance. Whoever had killed Vince and taken Maggie and Laura hostage was ruthless in the extreme. I had to assume that he – or they – would carry out the threat to commit more murders.

  I felt helpless and alone. My life had been shattered. The evil and violence in the world that I had written about for years had suddenly consumed me. This time I wasn’t a detached observer – I was a victim.

  I lost it then and started to cry. I was completely overwhelmed by fear, remorse and even guilt. I should have been here for Maggie and Laura when that monster came to call. I could only imagine the terror that my little girl must have experienced.

  The sobbing eventually subsided, by which time my chest hurt and my head throbbed. I knew I couldn’t afford to lose control. I had to stay calm and alert for their sakes.

  I poured a large whisky, slumped on the sofa. Laura smiled at me from a framed photo above the television. It had been taken on her last birthday. Her sixth. We went to the zoo and she rode on a camel. She talked about it for weeks afterwards and I often heard her telling Max what a great day it had been.

  Time passed slowly. I sat there checking my watch every couple of minutes. As midnight approached I felt panic well up inside me. When would the kidnapper call again? What was happening to my family? Had I turned off all the lights in the cottage? For the life of me I couldn’t remember. I also couldn’t remember locking the front door.

  The whisky burned its way down my throat, but it didn’t make me feel any better. There was nothing I could do to help my family. They were at the mercy of a man who had already demonstrated how ruthless he was.

  I paced the room, in desperate need of a distraction. I flicked through the television. Sky News. A story about a near miss involving two passenger planes over the English Channel. I was only half-aware of what was being said when the newscaster mentioned the lottery draw. Suddenly the television had my full attention.

  ‘And finally we can confirm that there’s just one winning ticket for tonight’s eighteen million pound triple rollover lottery jackpot. It was purchased in the south of England by an extremely lucky punter who hasn’t yet come forward to claim the prize.’

  A huge ball of fear formed in my solar plexus and I suddenly found it hard to breathe.

  6

  A grey Mercedes with tinted windows eased its way up the driveway of a house four miles outside Southampton. It was approaching midnight and the moon threw a cold, hard light on to the ground. That same light created myriad shadows out of the edges of the woods that bordered three sides of the property.

  The driver cut the engine and switched off the lights. He sat for a short while staring at the house through the windscreen. It was supposed to be empty, but he wanted to be sure that it was before he went any further.

  The house was a two-storey affair that had been erected in the fifties. Grey and characterless. A high chimney. A flat-roofed garage that had been attached as though as an afterthought. The place was in need of a makeover.

  He had never set foot inside it before, but it was the only place he could think of using at such short notice. It was by no means completely safe, but he was in no position to be choosy. There was no time to think things through. He had to go with his instincts and trust that his spur-of-the moment decisions were the right ones.

  Outwardly he might have looked calm but his insides were coiled up like a spring. But that was to be expected. After all, what had happened tonight had changed his life forever. He could never return to what he’d had. Vince Mayo’s death had jerked him out of his comfort zone and flung him into the eye of a storm.

  Now it was up to him to hold his nerve and see this thing through. He could not bring himself to consider the alternative.

  There were no lights on inside the house. No other cars in sight. The man got out of the car and walked up to the front door. He rang the bell. Slammed the heavy brass knocker. Waited a couple of minutes before exhaling a long sigh of relief. The house was unoccupied. Just as he knew it would be. The owners were still on the other side of the world, blissfully unaware that their home was about to be violated.

  He stood back and studied the front door. Dark wood with frosted-glass panels. He raised his right foot and kicked out with his walking boot, smashing one of the panels. There was no burglar alarm. That was lucky, although not a surprise. People would never learn. He reached in and fiddled with the lock but couldn’t get the door open. There was a window to his right, but too high to aim a kick at. He looked around. In a nearby flower bed he spotted several stone animals. A duck, a badger, a hedgehog. He picked up the duck and used it to smash the window. He reached in through the broken glass, found the handle and opened the frame. He hauled himself up with ease and climbed through it.

  Then he was inside, exploring the house, safe in the knowledge that he was alone. He barely knew Peter and Anne Salmon, but it was the sort of house he would have imagined they lived in. Boring. Uninspiring. Totally lacking in imagination.

  The cherry-wood furniture was old and for the most part ugly. The colours were overbearing. The place felt closed-in and claustrophobic.

  He checked all the rooms. On the upstairs landing he saw a wooden pole that was used to open the loft hatch. It gave him an idea. He picked it up and lowered the ladder, then stepped gingerly up it. There was a light switch attached to a joist inside the loft. He flicked it on and a single bulb suspended from a cord came to life.

  Perfect, he thought.

  The loft ran the length of the house. Grim and dusty. Shadows jostling for attention. A floor of chipboard sections had been laid over parts of it. About fifteen feet above the floor the angled rafters met to form an apex. The space felt damp and airless but it would suit his purpose.

  He hurried back downstairs, searched the kitchen until he found a bunch of keys, including one for the front door. Then he went looking for some rope. But in the garage he came across something better.

  Chains.

  There were five of them, each one about six feet in length. Peter Salmon probably used them during bad winters to give his tyres more grip. He rolled up the chains and stuffed them into the rucksack.

  Next he found some
blankets in a bedroom drawer and took them up to the loft. Then he went back out to the car. The ski mask that he often wore on his long winter walks was lying on the front passenger seat. He slipped it over his head again. It felt tight against his skin.

  Then he leaned against the car door and flared up a cigarette to steady his nerves. He blew out a long kiss of smoke that was taken away on a gentle breeze. His hands were shaking and his heart was pounding. He knew it was going to be a long and dangerous night. He would have to be careful but at the same time ruthlessly determined.

  He dropped the cigarette butt and ground it into the gravel with a sharp twist of his ankle.

  It was time to get the woman and child.

  7

  Detective Chief Inspector Jeff Temple was not a happy man. It was gone midnight and he was knackered. As he stared down at the corpse on the kitchen floor he just knew that he wouldn’t be getting to bed any time soon.

  It had been a long day. As usual the chronic shortage of CID officers in Southampton meant that the weekend shift was a struggle. There’d been an off-licence robbery, a mugging and three acts of mindless vandalism.

  Temple had managed to get home just after ten and had been about to crawl into bed just as the phone rang. He knew instinctively who it would be because no one else ever called him at home except his daughter and it was the last thing she would think of doing on a Saturday night.

  When his wife had been alive she would urge him not to answer the late-evening calls and tell him to let them find someone else. But work was all he had now. It kept him going and staved off the loneliness. So without hesitation he’d picked up the receiver.

  ‘There’s been a murder,’ he was told by the controller. ‘In the forest. Can you go?’

  So here he was, standing in the kitchen of a secluded cottage wearing white paper overalls so as not to contaminate the crime scene.

  Detective Sergeant Angelica Metcalfe – or Angel as she was known to her colleagues – had arrived at the scene before him. She was the latest addition to the team, having moved down south from the Met four months ago. According to gossip it was because of a break-up with her boyfriend and a desire to start a new life away from the Smoke.