by Deborah Lucy
She had to make a run for the next car. As silently as she could, she broke cover and ran across to the rear of it. Her heart pounded but there was nothing. No movement, only hers. Again she peeped up to the windows to scan the rest of the car park. Nothing. From there she could run down the exit slope to the next level. She had to do it. She could get out of there.
She hesitated. Her fear of him finding her checked her resolve to run. She was literally petrified of him catching her. She was in a quandary. Stay until there were more cars and people about, or run now and risk him catching her? But her dad was out there. He was looking for her.
She made her move, running as fast as she could. Looking all about her she ran, fixing her sights on a car in the distance. All around her there was silence. She now found she was close to the exit itself, it was just beyond the car that she was going to make for. Run, run, keep running, she told herself. Don’t stop, keep going. She ran as hard as she could. All she had to do was go under the barrier – she was nearly there. Suddenly from behind her, he shouted. Where had he come from? He was running after her now. He felt close; he was fast.
She slowed to go under the barrier. He was swearing at her now. She was so frightened she didn’t know whether to surrender or run. She kept running, out into the street as fast as she could with him chasing her. It was starting to get light but it was dull due to the rain that fell on her, soaking her. Her fear was starting to paralyse her; the adrenalin was ripping through her but she was becoming breathless. Her legs wanted to go faster than her lungs would allow. Her fear was both telling her to run faster and telling her to stop and plead for him not to hurt her.
She was only a few strides ahead of him now. He had her in his sights; if he put his arm out he could almost grab her hair. She was slowing. He’d make her run, exhaust the bitch. Then there’d be no fight in her.
She was crying now, crying with fear and the thought of giving up. The pain in her lungs was tearing her chest apart. She started to scream, the fear of him catching her making her shriek loudly.
‘Megon!’
A voice from across the shopping concourse shouted her name. She instantly recognised it and looked across. She could see him. Her dad.
Paul Wallace was making his way to the station. As he walked through the Brunel Centre, a girl came running across out of nowhere, screaming. It was Megon. It was her. He instantly ran towards her and saw she was being chased by a man. She’d seen him and called for him.
‘Dad, Dad, help me!’ Fear was etched on her face as she ran to him with her arms outstretched like she had when she was a baby. There were tears streaming down her cheeks. The man behind her had slowed but was still in forward motion. Paul saw him and momentarily ignored Megon. Running towards her, his focus was on the man who had obviously been terrorising his daughter.
‘It’s all right, it’s all right now, love,’ he called out to her. ‘Come to me.’ No sooner was she in his arms than he turned to the man behind her. He broke from her arms to confront him. His elation at seeing Megon and now seeing the need to fiercely protect her made his anger boil inside him.
‘Come here, you scum, come here.’ He moved to run towards him but the man had already decided to run away. ‘Fuck off then!’ Paul shouted after him. ‘Fuck off, you bastard!’
He turned back to Megon and pulled her to him. They clung to one another. ‘Oh, Megon love, where have you been? It’s all right now, love, you’re safe. You’re back with me, you’re safe.’ He repeated it over and over as he landed kisses on her head. She started to sob. She had all but collapsed in his arms from exhaustion. He had to tell Temple he’d found her; he dialled his phone. There was no answer.
Chapter 46
The motion of the car and the nauseating searing pain in his head had the obvious effect and Temple was sick. Being in no position to move or help himself, the vomit covered the front of his clothes, the footwell in front of him and the dashboard. Brian Porten looked across at Temple in disgust.
The dirty bastard. He knew the bloke wasn’t right when he picked him up; he couldn’t speak properly and he had blood from a wound at the back of his head. He was unsteady on his feet, but all this had lent itself to him being easily manoeuvred and malleable to get him in the car. Fuck knows what the bloke had eaten but now Porten was looking at it.
Porten unwound the window against the stench. He’d have to clear it up as soon as they got to the abattoir. It wasn’t something he could leave, for God’s sake. As he looked across at him, he could see Temple’s head lolling forward, jerking with every bump in the road. He looked totally out of it, the filthy bastard. But they were nearly there.
Porten pulled up at the abattoir and round to the big roll-up doors at the back. He got out and let himself in through a small door to the side. It was dark inside as he found a chair and positioned it near the door. He had the captive bolt pistol ready. Porten went back out to the car.
As the car door opened, Temple fell against it. He felt a man’s hands on him. He was saying something to him but he couldn’t work out what it was. He could feel fresh air on his face and the man’s hands pulling at his coat collar, encouraging him to get out of the car. He could smell the stench of his own vomit, the remnants of which were dribbled down his chin and the front of his coat. He spat some more out on the ground.
As he got unsteadily to his feet, he slowly opened his eyes. He was away from light now but prising his eyelids open felt like lifting heavy rocks. His head continued to swim as a noise beat between his ears. Even so, encouraged by the man taking him by his arm, he took awkward steps towards a door.
Inside, Temple was guided towards a chair to sit on. His double vision made it hard for him to place his hand on it to help position himself and he nearly fell to the floor as he misjudged the edge of it. His hand was placed onto the back of the chair and he was then able to turn himself enough to be able to sit down before his legs buckled from under him. His legs wouldn’t work; they felt like jelly. Temple leaned forwards, putting his head between his legs, and was sick again.
Brian Porten went back outside. The bastard couldn’t stop being sick and Porten now had the contents of Temple’s stomach on his clothes. He took his handkerchief out and carefully wiped his mouth. Looking down, he saw vomit on the arm of his coat where he’d helped him out of the car and he now had splashes of it on his shoes from where the vomit had hit the concrete floor. Disgusted, Porten took his coat off and dropped it on the ground. He then took off his shoes. He would do what he needed to do and then tidy up afterwards. He would incinerate both later.
For the first time while he sat, Temple looked around with something resembling clear vision. He had no idea where he was, what this place was even, or why he was there. He’d thought he was in an ambulance at one point but realised he’d been confused. Why had he been brought here? Seeing he was alone he stood up, checking his steadiness. He could move a little better now. His legs were still rather shaky but they did at least seem to want to coordinate at last.
He could see a large steel door and staggered towards it. It might give a clue as to what this place was and why he might be there. He opened the sliding door. A rush of freezing cold air escaped towards him. He opened the door further and looked inside. All he could register was the headless corpse of a man hanging from a meat hook.
Chapter 47
China lay awake, looking at Amy sleeping. She hadn’t slept since they’d both climbed through the window of Amy’s bedroom and snuggled down in her bed two hours ago. They’d giggled at the police officer who’d sat shaking his head at them from the patrol car as they scaled the garage and watched as they climbed through the window.
Amy had slept almost immediately, content in the knowledge that China was safe and back with her, lying next to her.
China’s head was still full of everything she had encountered and she was trying to make sense of what had happened over the course of just one week. It had felt like one nightmare day after a
nother, but here she was, safe at last. But she couldn’t sleep. She was missing Megon. She liked Megon and really hadn’t wanted to leave her. Still, China couldn’t force her to come, and besides, she could tell Amy hadn’t been keen on the idea.
It hadn’t been the first time she’d seen a bit of jealousy flare with Amy when she’d seen her in the company of someone else. But Amy didn’t understand; even though she had only known Megon for a couple of weeks, they’d shared experiences that China never had with Amy.
Megon knew what it was like to run drugs and money. She knew how easy it was to get trapped. It was like quicksand. One minute you’re walking, sure of yourself, the next you’ve fallen through a hole into an entirely different world and you’re sinking, drowning, and no one can help you.
They thought Gemma Harker was helping them. She said she would help them. If they hadn’t trusted her they would have been fine, delivering the drugs, collecting the money, getting more, earning. They had been set up by that bitch, she was sure. Lying there going over it all, she could see it now. Getting them to go to the shop with her, leaving their stash in her flat. She should have known better. Christ! What had she been thinking? No wonder the drugs and money were gone when they got back. They’d been so naïve.
Megon had been so scared when they ran. She’d told her what had happened to her, holed up in a shitty room while a stream of men were shown in. China had fared a little better, but Megon wasn’t used to this life. She shouldn’t have left her on her own to run and she shouldn’t have left her all on her own a few hours ago.
She looked at Amy; she knew nothing. She had a mum and dad who looked after her, a lovely home where she felt safe. She was spoilt by China’s standards. She knew nothing of what it was like to rely on yourself for your own survival. Or for your survival to be in the hands of strangers.
China couldn’t lie there any longer. She had to make sure Megon was OK. Slowly and quietly, she slipped out from the warmth of the duvet and silently put her clothes on. It was nearly 6 a.m. and still dark. No one was stirring in the house. With her pumps in her hand, she left Amy’s bedroom and crept downstairs and out the front door. Sitting on the step outside, she pulled on her pumps and went back into town to find Megon.
By the time she reached the place where they had parted, the rain had stopped. There was no sign of Megon, but on the ground near to where they had been, she saw a pool of blood. This was where she’d left her and now here was blood. She looked around, panicking. Was Megon hurt and hiding somewhere? She ran around looking in shop doorways. She started to call her name.
It was just beginning to get light but the street sleepers were not stirring. She knew Megon had only been wearing her tracksuit and had no blankets to keep out the rain. She would have been cold and wet. Maybe someone had attacked her? Maybe she was lying wounded somewhere. Perhaps the dealers had found her.
China padded quickly through the Brunel Centre precinct, her feet pounding heavily on the pavement. She was oblivious to everything around her, such was her focus on finding Megon; the shops went by in a blur. She didn’t look at the faces of people she saw. She was only interested in finding Megon. She was fearful for her and also angry at the thought of anyone attacking her friend.
Suddenly, she felt pain as her head was pulled backwards. From behind her, someone had grabbed a fistful of her hair and she was stopped in her tracks. Her hands instinctively closed over the hands that were holding her hair.
‘Hello, little China.’ He’d put his mouth to her ear and the sound of his accent chilled her like ice running down her spine. Tarek was grasping her hair, pulling it so hard she felt the roots of it straining on her scalp. She feared it would suddenly come away in his hands. She was stock-still. How come she hadn’t seen him – where had he come from?
‘Don’t scream or do anything to draw attention to yourself or I will drop you right where you are with my knife. You thought you’d got away from me, didn’t you? You don’t think I’d leave it like that, do you? You didn’t think I’d let you go? You’re going to come with me and we’re going to be friends, great friends. Come with me. That’s it, walk with me.’ He put his lips to her cheek and she felt his tongue slowly lick her. The hatred rose up in her.
Using the pain of her hair pulled tightly in his hands, he moved her back through the precinct to where his car was parked. With her hair as a lever, he’d slightly lifted her so that she had to walk up on her toes. This prevented her from kicking out at him. He clicked the car open with his key fob and opened the boot.
‘Get in.’
‘What?’ She quickly looked about her for someone, anyone, but there was no one there.
‘Get in.’ He pushed her head forward with his hand and let go of her hair so that she could climb up into the boot of the car. When she had climbed inside, he slammed it shut and drove off.
Chapter 48
Temple stood for a few seconds, blinking back the shock of the hanging corpse, thinking he was not quite seeing straight. He still had a sickening pounding in his head but he could clearly see a headless corpse in front of him. He quickly closed the steel door and looked around him. He was still alone but he could hear the sound of a car door closing outside. He went to reach inside his coat pocket for his phone but it wasn’t there.
He didn’t know where he was, or the identity of the man who he’d thought was helping him. But one thing he could be sure about: he’d brought him to a place of death, where the corpse of a man was hanging like any other piece of dead meat. And if the man in the fridge had walked through the door as Temple had, what was coming next?
Temple knew he had just seconds to make a decision before the man came back inside, but his mind wouldn’t work fast enough; he had to battle through a constant ferocious thudding noise for clarity. He was in no fit state to fight. He felt ridiculously weak as his legs struggled to keep him upright. He was sick, he couldn’t think straight and he couldn’t run and hide.
So this is it, he thought. This is how it ends. In a dingy abattoir, hung from a hook, where no one would ever guess he was there. He started to think of Daisy, Ben and Prayer. Daisy had Leigh to look after her and Prayer, well, she might never know who he was and she had two parents to look after her. But Ben, what would happen to him if he didn’t emerge from this? Ben would be orphaned. The thought of that stung him. Ben was still so young. He wouldn’t know his mother and he wouldn’t remember Temple for sure. He had to think of something.
He went and sat on the chair as if he’d not left it, putting his feet astride the vomit he’d left on the floor. As he did this, Porten came back inside. Temple leant forward in the chair and noticed that as Porten walked towards him, he had no shoes on.
Still bent over, Temple’s eyes followed him as he walked towards the empty animal pen. As he turned back to him, he could see that in his hand there was a pistol. There was only one thing left that Temple could do and that meant letting him get as close to him as possible.
‘Come on, mate, see what I’ve got for you here,’ said Porten as he looked at Temple bent over with his head forward. The dirty bastard was still looking at his own vomit. Well, as soon as he sat upright, he would put the pistol to his head and pull the trigger. Porten put his hand on Temple’s shoulder.
With all the effort he could muster, Temple managed to raise himself slightly and with his hands gripping the legs of the chair he was sitting on, he let out a roar as he suddenly stood and swung the chair at Porten.
The action caught Porten completely unaware and as the chair crashed against him, the pistol flew from his hand. The side of his body had caught the full force of the metal chair. Knocked sideways, Porten struggled to maintain his footing and as he staggered, he saw the pistol slide away from him across the concrete floor. Temple kept the chair in his hands and swung it again, crashing it against Porten’s outstretched arm, which broke with a crack as he fell to the floor.
Temple was about to bring the chair down onto Porten’s head wh
en he was suddenly aware of movement behind him. Fearing the man was not working alone and that he was about to be attacked from behind, Temple’s strength suddenly deserted him. He’d put so much effort into swinging the chair that his legs were again unsteady. He knew he wouldn’t withstand another assault and was resigned to defending himself as best he could.
‘What the fuck’s going on here?’ It was Mendoza, along with two other officers in uniform. Temple had never been more relieved to see him, to see anyone. He felt a ridiculous urge to hug him.
‘I don’t know.’ He was breathless as he threw the chair away to the side, looking down at Porten on the floor. ‘But he should be able to tell us. I think I was just about to join the other poor bastard in there.’ Temple gestured to the steel door of the large fridge. Two uniformed officers had gone over to assist Porten, whose arm was badly broken. Mendoza followed Temple’s eyeline. He walked over to the fridge and opened the door.
‘Shit!’
Behind him, Temple’s legs finally gave way and he slumped onto the concrete floor.
Chapter 49
Temple was sitting in the back of an ambulance with a paramedic looking at the wound to his head, with Mendoza standing outside sucking hard on a cigarette. It had been over an hour since Mendoza gatecrashed Porten’s abattoir and there had been a lot to do. Brian Porten had been arrested and taken away.
The light would be up soon on the godforsaken place and they would be able to start searches of the outside. Mendoza called in all available units and locked the place down while putting CID and forensics on notice for a 7 a.m. start. Although still shaken, Temple helped Mendoza put things in place before finally succumbing to the ministrations of a patient paramedic.