by Graham Smith
As they made their way over to a vacant table in the busy roadside pub, Campbell steeled himself as they sat down on opposite sides of the table ‘With all due respect, do you realize you are a real-life, walking, talking cliché?’
‘What do you mean, like?’
‘Well, I’ve made your acquaintance twice now and worked with you for half a day. In that time, you’ve assaulted a suspect, driven under the influence of alcohol, smoked on public premises, been less politically correct than Bernard Manning and taken freebies from a member of the public, who we are supposed to protect from gangsters. You are like every seventies TV cop who ever walked the beat. It’s the twenty-first century now and that kind of behaviour is no longer acceptable.’
‘Don’t start to idolize me until you know the full score.’ Evans’s face twisted into a scowl. ‘I was the original and they are just copying what we did back then. Mebbes I can sue the telly companies for plagiarism, if you’re right with your assessment of me.’
Campbell wasn’t prepared to let Evans dodge his accusations. ‘That’s no answer and you know it.’
Evans ignored him and pulled out his mobile, scrolling through the different screens, he found the one he was looking for and showed Campbell the text he’d sent earlier.
Maureen, Larry is innocent on this one. Harry
‘So who the hell is Maureen then?’
‘Let’s just say her surname is Leighton and leave it there.’
‘Then why have you got her number in your mobile? Are you bent or what?’ Campbell tried to appear calm, but inside he was furious with this throwback from the seventies.
‘No, I’m not bent. The longer you are by my side the more you will learn. I may not have been some protégée who set the world alight in the Big Smoke, but I’m the best known copper in Cumbria for two reasons. One, I catch the buggers that no fucker else can, and two, I make sure that the criminals in this area get what’s coming to them, whether by my own methods or through the courts.’ He paused to gulp down a mouthful of the hoppy beer. ‘Anybody I’ve ever brought in has been bang to rights and not one of the fuckers has escaped prosecution. The Cumbrian people either love or fear me, but they all know who I am and what I stand for.’
‘Jesus Christ, man, you can’t behave like this way in today’s world. You’ve got every chav in the land with a mobile phone, videoing every move you make and word you say.’
‘It ain’t happened yet and I’m not worried about it.’
‘Well, you bloody well should be. It’s no wonder they are not offering to keep you on as an active DI. You must get more complaints than a dozen officers.’
‘I’ll admit I’ve been in the rubber-heeler’s office from time to time, but I don’t let that shite stop me from doing my job, which, in case you’ve forgotten, is protecting the public and locking up criminals. The public want to feel safe in their beds, and they all want a return to the days when coppers caught bad guys, and locked them up for a long time.’
‘That’s no reason to go running round like you’re Gene Hunt. There are set procedures and we are supposed to inspire confidence in the public, not insult and offend them.’
‘I don’t give a shite about political correctness and diversity. I have a job to do and I do it. Ask any person on the street if they’ve heard of DI Harry Evans and you’ll get an answer that’ll tell you if they are a criminal or not. The law-abiding applaud me and the scallies do everything they can to keep out of my way.’
‘Just don’t expect me to condone or defend your behaviour. I’m not risking my career just to give you a last week of uncontrolled mayhem.’
‘Don’t worry, mate. I don’t want you or anybody else covering my back. You can piss about being polite and diverse. I’ll do what needs done and catch the buggers.’
The barman came across with the burgers Evans had ordered and asked them to keep their voices down. Both men reddened as neither had been aware their voices had risen during the argument.
They used the interruption to cool down and attacked their meals, with Evans again dispensing Tabasco sauce from the bottle in his jacket pocket.
Campbell recognised the fact he needed Evans’s help. Swallowing his pride he offered an olive branch. ‘Look, Harry, we’ve got to work together for the next week and I need you to show me round Cumbria and make the introductions to key people so I can carry on when you retire. I won’t grass you up or cause you any bother if you give me the best possible chance of succeeding in my new role.’
‘Keep your sermons to yourself and I’ll do it. Mind, I’m doing it for the good people of Cumbria. No bugger else.’
Chapter 11
A memory plucked at Victoria’s subconscious, causing her to leap from her seat and race upstairs. Crashing into the master bedroom she crossed to her chest of drawers and sank to her knees, dreading what she may not find. After a deep breath and a mental crossing of fingers, she had drawn enough courage to open the drawer.
Pulling out the expensive lingerie piece by piece, she rooted through her ‘naughty-knicker drawer’ until she found what she wanted and didn’t want to find.
With white knuckled fingers she removed the maid’s costume she had worn as a treat for Nicholas’s last birthday. Rising to her feet, she strode across the bedroom, lips thinning with every step.
She found Nicholas in the kitchen washing his face at the sink, while cleaning up the mess from his vomiting.
‘Do you remember me wearing this?’
Nicholas’s head snapped round at her accusatory tone. He’d had many a deserved barrage from her over these last couple of days, but now there was a different edge to her voice. She’d crossed the line from anger into fury and carried on into the zone where red mists enshrouded reasoned thought.
Victoria held the French Maid costume in front of Nicholas’s eyes. ‘Answer me, damnit. Do you remember me wearing this?’ She poked him in the chest to punctuate every word.
‘Of course I do. You wore it for one of my birthdays. As soon as I saw Samantha in that video I remembered it. That’s when I started to throw up. I remembered what we did that night.’
‘Well, that’s exactly what those men will be doing to Samantha. And it’s all your fault.’ Nicholas backed against the worktop but Victoria still jabbed at his ribs with a well-manicured forefinger. ‘I wish it was me they had taken, not Samantha and Kyle. I would sooner die than let anything happen to them. And then look what happens. They get kidnapped and the kidnappers make Samantha parade around like some cheap prostitute for their pleasure.’
‘I know, Victoria, I know. Why do you think I was sick?’ Nicholas put his arms around his wife and held her tight, both to calm her down and as a means of self-defence.
‘Get your hands off me.’ Victoria fought her way free and delivered a vicious slap to his cheek. ‘If any harm comes to my babies, then I’ll bloody well kill you.’
Nicholas stood without moving, waiting for calmness to wash over his wife.
Taking control of her emotions, Victoria backed away from her husband. ‘Get your act together, you wimp. We’ve got a busy night ahead of us.’
‘D’you think I don’t fucking know that, woman?’
The sneer in his voice was alien to Victoria’s ears. Taken aback she retreated from this different side of Nicholas.
‘The rotten bastards.’ His foot bounced off a cupboard door. He repeated the kick. ‘Twats. Motherfucking twatting bastards.’
More kicks followed as hatred and despair flew from his mouth in a series of swear words Victoria had never known him to use before.
When he was spent he flopped onto the floor panting.
‘You finished?’
A nod.
Victoria stood over him and pointed at the ruined cupboard door. ‘You’re a joke, Nicholas Foulkes. You attack a door that can’t fight back, yet you sat on your arse while your children were stolen from under your nose. I hope that you feel proud of yourself. The one time you do show some balls, you damage somethi
ng of ours. Run up another expense. I hope your self-loathing eats you alive.’
Chapter 12
‘Do you think tomorrow will be as bad then?’ Campbell was at home with his wife, Sarah. They had been married just under a year and she was excited at his transfer out of Glasgow to the safer parishes of Cumbria.
Their semi-detached home was on a new estate bordering Gretna. Sarah had been a wedding planner at one of the Gretna Green wedding venues when Campbell had been his brother’s best man. They had started a romance that had soon become very intense. Six months after that first meeting they’d announced their engagement.
‘Every day will be like that with him.’ Campbell wrapped his arms around her legs and kissed her swollen stomach as she stood over him. ‘I didn’t say it was bad, just over the top. It’s as if he’s stuck in the seventies.’
‘You haven’t talked about anything else since you got home. I thought it was bothering you.’
‘Maybe it is bothering me a bit, but not in a bad way. I’ve spent my career as a Glasgow copper where almost everyone you meet is a stranger. He seems to know everybody wherever we go. Cumbria might be much bigger than Glasgow but there’s less people.’
‘You did expect it to be different to Glasgow.’
‘I know, and it is different. Just different-different if you know what I mean.’ Seeing her nod, he carried on. ‘The rural areas may well be very old-fashioned in their views on policing, but I’m used to a low profile and he is as subtle as a punch in the nose. It’s just a way of policing I thought had died out with flares and kipper ties.’
‘Well, what are the rest of the team like then?’ Sarah wanted to get her husband talking about the team he’d be working with. Not the man he was replacing. ‘What are they like as people? Do you think you’ll get on with them?’
It was a good question, which Campbell answered after a moment’s thought. ‘They seem decent enough. Getting on with them depends very much on the way Evans has worked with them. If they are all as unconventional as him, it’ll be tough to get them policing properly.’
‘How many are in your team?’
‘There’s a DS and two DCs in the team. The DS is a big fat guy who does nothing but sit in front of a computer all day. One of the DCs is an Asian guy and according to Evans he’s a shit-hot detective.’
‘What does the DS do all day at a desk?’
‘He fills all the reports in and does the team’s paperwork, but he mainly deals with cyber crimes and runs searches through databases, that kind of thing.’
‘And the other DC?
Campbell hesitated before telling his wife about Lauren Phillips. Pregnancy had left a trail of destruction across his wife’s body as well as adding a glow of contentment. The nubile Lauren had been wearing a skirt suit which had risen to flash generous amounts of stocking clad thigh. ‘Evans reckons she’s a top-class interviewer who can break people quicker than the Gestapo.’ What he didn’t add was that Evans had also told him Lauren was a nymphomaniac who kept a string of lovers.
‘She’s not competition for me, is she?’ Sarah was only half joking. A previous boyfriend’s serial infidelity had shattered her ability to trust. Campbell had proved himself time and time again, but doubts were never far from her mind.
‘Of course not. You’re the only woman I’m interested in.’ Campbell was lying though.
Recalling Evans’s earlier description of a Penrith DI, Campbell almost told his wife that Lauren Philips had a face like a gargoyle licking piss off a nettle, but he managed to stop before telling the lie.
‘Glad to hear it.’ A smile caressed her lips. ‘Although I did have another woman knocking at my door asking for your services.’
‘Who?’
‘Rachel. She was round to ask a favour of you.’
Campbell sighed wondering what Rachel wanted. Her boyfriend had been killed by a roadside bomb in Helmand two years ago. Grief had made Rachel pile on the pounds as she sought comfort in junk food. Left alone with a young son and no family members nearby, Rachel had leaned on him and Sarah since they’d moved into their home. There had been a constant request for favours and help. A blocked drain, a sticking door and advice on her car were just some of the worries she’d come calling with.
Being full of sympathy for his neighbour and her situation, he’d been happy to help whenever he could. However, the last couple of times he’d done a favour, he’d noticed her giving him the glad-eye. Reluctant to tell Sarah of Rachel’s flirting lest she upset herself about something that would never happen, he’d resolved to scale down the speed of his responses in the hope she’d find someone else to be the man about her house.
‘What’s she want done this time?’
‘John.’ From Sarah’s lips his name became an admonishment. ‘Don’t be like that. She called round to ask if you could teach Kyle to ride the bike she got him for his birthday.’
Campbell saw the opportunity to practice his parenting skills as well as score a barrow-load of brownie points with Sarah. Kyle was a good kid who lacked a male influence in his life. Teaching him to ride a bike would be a fun task for them both.
‘Tell her I’ll be happy to teach him.’
Sarah patted her pregnant stomach. ‘Good. Now if you have anything about you, you’ll take me upstairs and give me a right gentle seeing to. That may just get Junior here to make an appearance. If that doesn’t work then you can take me for an Indian tomorrow. I know he’s not due until next week, but I don’t know if I can wait that long to meet him.’
‘I say we give the sex another week.’
Sarah laughed as she took her husband’s hand.
Chapter 13
Emerging from her fourth shower of the day, Samantha attempted to dry her body but the sodden towel was worse than useless. Her skin glowed bright crimson where she had repeatedly scrubbed herself with the rough flannel.
The captor wearing the Tony Blair mask had made her dress up in a sex costume and parade about while he’d filmed her. Try as she might, she couldn’t cleanse the revulsion from her body. His every look a perverted caress. Her skin crawled and twitched. She knew that before long, she’d be back in the shower.
Kyle had been terrified when she’d been taken out of the room for a second time. He’d tried to fight the men off, but Blair had given him a firm push that landed him on the mattress. She’d had to cuddle him for an age upon her return.
Wrestling a still damp body into her clothes, she attempted once again to erase the memory of his eyes looking down the top of her costume or up the skirt. He’d made a point of having her bend over so she was at her most exposed. One more than one occasion he’d had her hold a pose while he’d zoomed in.
‘What’s wrong, Sam? Why do you keep having showers?’
‘I feel sweaty. That’s all.’
She hated lying to her brother, but he was too young to understand. Samantha well remembered the conversation her mother had had with her some years ago about sex. It wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with Kyle. She knew that if she explained to him what had happened downstairs, he’d be terrified for her.
‘Sam.’
Kyle was looking at her face. She could see in his eyes that he knew she was holding back on him. Such was the strength of their bond they both knew he would accept her lie.
Wise beyond his years, Kyle knew when to press matters and when to let them go.
‘What game are you playing?’ The question was designed to change the subject and it worked. Kyle bounded across the room and showed her the box.
‘It’s an eighteen.’ Looking at the box in detail she recognised the title as one of the most popular video gaming franchises.
‘It’s brilliant. You drive around in different cars. You can even get guns to kill people.’
Samantha felt she ought to persuade him to play something more suitable, but in their current situation his playing an eighteen-rated video game was the least of their worries.
As the g
ame was for one player, Samantha sat on the mattress watching him while thoughts of Blair’s predatory eyes ran through her mind.
Kyle paused his game and went to the bathroom only to return a few seconds later.
‘Why is your new dress in the bin?’
Samantha fought the urge to snatch the costume from his hands. ‘It doesn’t fit very well. Put it back in the bin.’
With him seated in front of the TV, shooting the characters he didn’t run over, she focused her mind on trying to combat her revulsion.
She recalled the holiday she’d enjoyed last autumn. Seven days of Mediterranean sun with her best friend. Six nights of clubbing in micro-skirts that she hadn’t dared bring home lest her mother see them. Their days spent by the pool or lying on the beach, they’d revelled in wearing bikinis that had less material than the underwear she now wore. Remembering the way they had courted gazes from the lads they saw gave her strength, but didn’t change one simple fact.
Back on Ibiza, she was in control. She could cover up, walk away, or as she had on one occasion, allow things to progress further. In this house, she had no control. The men held all the cards. She was at their mercy.
Assessing the threats, she knew Blair was the one to worry about. The others had done the typical male thing of having sly looks. Blair, on the other hand, was blatant with his lecherous behaviour.
‘Sam, look.’ Kyle held a small white tooth in his hand. ‘Do you think the tooth fairy will come here if I put it under the mattress?’
Samantha mentally searched her pockets before answering. Realising she didn’t have any money on her, she gave a little shrug. ‘I don’t think the tooth fairy comes unless you put it under your own pillow.’
Kyle’s chin wobbled as he fought back tears. ‘Are you sure? Jamie was at his granny’s house and he got two pounds instead of one.’
Samantha lifted a corner of the mattress. ‘We can try. But if the tooth fairy doesn’t come here then I’m sure she’ll leave the money under your pillow at home.’