The farmer smiled. “Come, she’ll not bite thi.” He released his hand from the collar and the dog settled.
“He ’ad a green van, didn’t take that much notice, more interested in the brass he were givin’ me. My lad’ll know more. He knows about cars and stuff. I couldn’t care bloody less. I’ll tell thi one thing, even though it were knackered and not legal, he still buggered off in it. I told ’im he were breakin’ t’law.”
“Do you have security cameras in the yard, Mr Benson?”
The farmer pointed to the dog. His facial expression suggested that he was in no mood for stupid questions.
“I see,” said Owen as he glanced around again briefly. He should have known better than to presume that this small piece of Yorkshire had crawled into the twenty first century.
The man’s son arrived carrying a large mug of what looked like tea and handed it to his father.
“This fella wants to know more about buyer o’ truck. I’ll leave thi to it. Don’t be long!”
“Green Merc Sprinter, battered to buggery it were too, rust everywhere. Woman drivin’ it, looked a bit of a tart, wouldn’t get out ’cos she’d get mucky like. Heavy make up unlike the scruffy, big bastard she brought with her.”
Owen looked at the lad who appeared not to be a figure of sartorial elegance himself.
“Right. Anything else?”
“His eyes were everywhere. For a couple a days afterwards we kept a check on the farm. These ‘gypo’ types ’ll nick owt they can see.”
“Now, about the van. I believe you’ve seen it before.”
“Mi girl lives in Knaresborough and I’ve seen it near Greys Lane, usually parked off the road by the trees. It’s as if he’s hidin’ it like. Know it ’cos of the colour. Usually them vans are white and going like fuck when ya see ’em. Want a brew?”
Owen realised he’d reached the extent of the lad’s knowledge and looking at the colour of his hands and nails, he declined the offer. ‘Christ’, he thought, ‘I’m turning into Cyril!’
He manoeuvred the car round before stopping at the road. A Ford Focus approached. Owen waited until it had passed and then pulled out. Had he looked carefully at the driver he would have been surprised, if not a little anxious. Cezar on the other hand paid little attention to the waiting car; he just needed to get to Tanglewood Farm.
Fate is strange. Had Owen identified the driver, how different the next few days might have been.
***
“When Forensics have finished at your address, Mr Anton, you’ll be released on bail pending further enquiries and subject to certain conditions. You must surrender your passport and identity card if you carry one. You must call here in person every day at a time that’s convenient to your working schedule. The alternative is arrest. I imagine that you’ll be able to return home this afternoon.” Cyril stood. “I’ll give you a few minutes to consider the situation.”
***
The police vehicle moved off the drive leaving only the uniformed police officer. It had been a long shift. A lady approached with a cup of tea.
“You’ve been here so long, brought you a cuppa.” She smiled.
PC Jones knew what was coming next and right on cue, he was not disappointed.
“What’s he been up to? You can tell me, I’ll not say anything.”
He looked across at the three local press photographers before declining both offers from the neighbour. She turned away, emptying the cup of tea into the road and muttering under her breath.
***
Anton collected his possessions and was in the solicitor’s car by three in the afternoon. It was then that he knew his real troubles had begun.
***
Cezar pressed the buttons on the pad and the gate slowly opened. He drove up the driveway parking in the yard. He had already organised his escape and it would only take minutes providing there were no interruptions.
He collected rope and tape from the barn, a small iron crowbar and a bag that he had previously secreted in the hay-loft. The small dog belonging to Mrs Yau came into the barn and yapped excitedly, running around his feet. He put down the bag and bent down extending his hand to the dog. It wagged its tail and ran excitedly towards him. It didn’t see the iron bar in the other raised hand. It made no sound as its small skull was crushed. He picked up the limp carcass and hung it by its pink, diamante collar on a hook from one of the beams next to some brown sacking. It’s still-moist tongue lolled from its broken face.
Nobody was in the yard. He simply loaded the car and drove away. Mrs Yau came to the door to see the taillights glow red as he slowed for the opening electric gate. She relaxed knowing it was Cezar and called for her dog.
Chapter Twenty Six
Liz turned left off Wetherby Road before driving through the ornate, gilded gates that marked the entrance to Stonefall Cemetery. The crematorium chapel was set well off the road. Cyril checked his watch. They were early. As usual, he shook it and looked again but as usual, there was no difference other than the second hand sweep.
Typically on these occasions, a light veil-like misting of rain soon drifted across the rows of gravestones that seemed to pack the grassed area to their left adding to the misery of the surroundings.
“Bloody hell, it’s as if it’s turned on, pre-ordered and comes with the moment, like the morbid music and the arrival of the hearse,” Cyril moaned.
Liz turned her head and, as if on cue, the two black limousines crept through the gates before negotiating a small roundabout. They, in turn, were followed by only two other cars.
“It’s like they’re coming to the Ark, what with the increased rain!” mumbled Liz as the downpour intensified. “Joan was correct, sir. That’s not many to celebrate a life lived. I hope you’re in good voice!”
Cyril said nothing as he watched the coffin pass. He looked at the small presentation of flowers that was scattered across the coffin’s lid, an arrangement that seemed both caring and yet haphazard. He could see Joan in the second limousine, two small heads barely visible on either side of her. He felt for her.
Liz nudged Cyril’s arm and pointed to a tall figure some distance away towards the memorial garden. He was standing by a grave, umbrella in one hand and flowers in the other. Neither the rain nor the progression of incoming vehicles had distracted the solitary stranger; he simply bent and arranged the flowers by the headstone.
“Would he be so foolish, sir?”
Cyril said nothing. He looked around at the few parked vehicles, there was no green van.
“The undertakers will be outside with the cars during the service. I’ll have a word for them to keep an eye on him.”
On entering, the music was certainly not celebratory, it was more reflective, more melancholy. He could visualise Owen being there in place of Liz. He’d be complaining about it being downright bloody miserable and that if this was what funerals were about, then he for one definitely wasn’t going to die! It brought a smile to his lips.
Joan and the two children, each holding a small posy of flowers sat at the front near the dark, gothic-style door. Five others joined the congregation but that was, for the moment, the total. Cyril and Liz moved near the back, it seemed polite to leave room for family should more arrive. Liz nudged Cyril and as Peter Anton entered, he briefly rested a hand on Joan’s shoulder before moving to the row opposite Liz and Cyril. Noticing Cyril, he nodded.
Cyril’s eyes did not linger. He turned his gaze taking in the chapel. The stained glass window was positioned above the coffin resting on the catafalque. He thought of Drew’s body parts spread along the side of the road and wondered how they had been arranged in the box in front of him. One more person entered, soaked by the increasing incessant rain, distracting him from his bizarre thoughts.
He had hoped that Mr and Mrs Baines would have seen sense and forgotten their antipathy, if only briefly, for the sake of the children at least. Considering the time, it did not seem as though they would have the decency to atten
d. Cyril had registered during his brief, first encounter with Mrs Baines, that for her, tolerance and compassion were alien traits. He then caught sight of Mr Baines shaking his umbrella in the porch before entering. Cyril looked for Mrs Baines, but as he had thought, Joan’s father was alone. Gregory stood and ran to him, throwing his arms around his grandfather’s waist. Mr Baines bent and kissed the boy tenderly on the head before moving quickly to be with his daughter. She immediately broke down in tears
Cyril’s voice, although adding to the hymn’s volume, could not be classed as tuneful but to compensate, it had power. At least he sang with an unashamed enthusiasm and on this occasion, that was all that was required.
It was during the hymn that Gregory moved to leave, he was clearly too distressed by the service to stay. Mr Baines took his hand, reassuring Joan that it was all right; his younger sister seemed fine, more distracted by the flowers she was carrying than the solemnity of the service for her father. Mr Baines stopped to select his umbrella from the stand as Gregory slipped his hand and darted outside. Cyril watched and started to move but then relaxed and continued to sing as the boy’s grandfather followed the child.
***
The plastic bag containing the blood-stained wallet and photographs found behind the gas fire at Peter Anton’s house, was one of the items that made up the collection of incriminating evidence that was stacking up against him. Although he might carry Joan’s photograph, it was unlikely that he would treasure a wedding picture and a holiday photograph of the children when they were young. The wallet had to have belonged to Drew and should that be the case, he would be brought straight back in for questioning. Peter Anton seemed adept at walking a thin high wire and so far, staying aloft.
***
At the conclusion of the service the coffin remained in place whilst the mourners left. There was no lowering of the coffin or closure of curtains and Joan was grateful for that. She walked her daughter to the coffin and lifted her so that she could place her posy on the lid. Joan put her down and placed her right hand next to the flowers. Her goodbye was said. Cyril watched Anton follow her out and he and Liz were the last to shake the vicar’s hand.
The rain had stopped but the sky threatened more. He looked in the direction in which he had seen the solitary man but he, like the rain had disappeared. Cyril became aware of the slight commotion by the limousine and moved quickly to Joan’s side.
“Gregory, where’s Gregory?” she quizzed the undertaker who seemed a little confused as to whom she referred. “My son, the boy who travelled with us.”
“He went across there with the elderly gentleman. I think they were going to the memorial garden, there’s a small stream and bridge. He was trying to calm the child.”
Cyril and Liz moved quickly. They ran in the general direction following the sign to the garden. There was nobody on the bridge. Cyril scanned from left to right concentrating on the trees at the boundary. There was nothing. Liz had gone to the right. He heard her call and his heart sank.
***
Stuart leaned into the incident room and spotted his quarry, Owen.
“They’ve found the Sprinter, parked on the car park at Rudding Park. Not suspicious. We’re bringing it in after it’s been checked. Anything from the house?”
Owen showed Stuart the wallet and other items they had removed for testing.
“Do you think he had a hand in Drew’s death? He was there with the dogs?”
“It seems that way otherwise why would he have the wallet?” Owen responded.
“Is there any evidence that this Cezar guy has been in his house?”
“Not yet, why?”
“If he has, considering the reputation he’s developing, I wouldn’t put it past him to plant evidence. He’s a cunning old fox. You mark my words.”
Owen pointed a finger at him. “A tenner says he’s never been there.”
“You’re on.”
***
“Here, I’m down here.”
Cyril could see Liz crouching in the bush. He immediately read the look in her eyes and he knew he’d underestimated the situation.
“Sorry. Liz! Got that totally wrong.”
Liz said nothing but her facial expression suggested agreement.
Mr Baines was sitting with his back to the narrow trunk of a sapling, blood running from a head wound. The rainwater mixing and diluting the blood on his face made the injury look far worse than it probably was.
“It’s him. He’s taken Gregory. He hit him! Can you believe he’s taken the child! I told that Sergeant but he obviously hasn’t done anything about our concerns.”
He started to weep, more out of anger than pain. “He hit him, how could a grown man do that to a child? He simply picked him up like a rag doll and carried him off.”
Cyril took out his phone and dialled. Within minutes a full abduction emergency plan would be in effect and an ambulance was on its way for Mr Baines.
“Liz, get Joan and her daughter back home. There’ll be additional resources waiting.” As he spoke the police sirens could be heard. Cyril looked at the prints in the wet ground and started to follow what he could only hope were those left by Cezar.
***
Peter Anton banged on the kitchen door of the restaurant and the frenetic cacophony had Sanda dashing to open it. Hai Yau stood confused by the intrusion. Peter burst in.
“He’s taken a child, he said he would. He told me that if Sadler’s family went to the police he’d harm the kids. Jesus, he’s going to do something stupid,” he ranted in English.
Sanda went and poured a brandy and handed it to him as Angel came in.
“Who?” Hai Yau demanded.
Angel answered for Peter. “Bloody Cezar. I’ve just taken a call from my mama, she saw him. He’s cleared his stuff from the farm and,” he paused looking at his father, “he’s killed mother’s dog.” He put his hand to his lips. “Why would he do that? Mother was always so kind to him, always. Why is he involved with the Sadler family? Why would they go to the police?”
“He made them pay for drugs that their son-in-law had been given and had failed to pay for. The fact that we killed the man accidentally in the tunnel had no effect on Cezar, a debt is a debt which has to be paid.”
“We’ll never know, my son, but these things are done for a reason. We now know he no longer belongs in our family and that he’s given us a sign. In some ways he’s not been settled since we started this restaurant. He thinks we’re moving away from the world that was our foundation. He believes we’re selling our past for a future that moves from the unlawful to the lawful, from the dark into the light. He’s frightened that he has none of the skills our new world needs and he’s afraid. Yet, I know, that we can survive in both worlds and that one will support the other. Go home and comfort your mother. Peter and I have plans to make, we’ve a pebble to toss into a pond; we’ll do nothing rash as that’s what he wants.”
Sanda moved out of the kitchen and onto the car park. She inhaled the fresh air. Angel came out and looked at her. She moved to his car.
“What’s happening? I understand nothing, but I sense trouble with Cezar.”
“You’re simply a cook and that’s what you do. My father thinks you’re wonderful but you show me little respect. Maybe if you were to understand English and be a little more welcoming, we might get on but for now, you’re nothing.”
The car moved away and Sanda was alone. A police car flashed past down Otley Road, its siren off but with the blue strobe lights flashing. She walked out of the car park and away from the restaurant.
***
The footprints led Cyril to the edge of a children’s playground and a small housing estate before disappearing. Cyril assumed correctly that Cezar had left his car near the site and carried the child to the vehicle. Nobody would have suspected abduction, but with the rain, there was nobody about to see him. He could now be anywhere. Cyril made his way back to Liz’s car. Thankfully she had left the keys with a grou
ndsman.
“Lady said you wouldn’t be long and you’d need these.” He smiled. Another hearse approached. Cyril sat in the car with his head in his hands. How could he have been so bloody naïve?
***
Sanda stopped at the security box and an officer looked at her apron and small black chef’s hat.
“I need to speak with Detective Chief Inspector Bennett, I believe a child has been taken and I can help.” Sanda’s English was not perfect but neither was it non existent as she had made out.
The Officer picked up the phone. There was a pause. He raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, he’s busy. Can I take a message?”
“Please call his mobile, he can’t contact me and he must speak with me now.”
Cyril’s mobile rang. “Bennett.”
“Sir, I’ve a young lady at the gate. Sanda is her name. She tells me that you know her and that she has information concerning the abducted child. Says she might be able to help. Do you want me to fire her off and come back later?”
“Put her on.”
The officer handed her the phone and she leaned into the open security office window.
“Inspector Bennett. Can we meet now I need to talk to you? When we do, I’ll no longer be able to return to the restaurant, I’ll be finished.”
“I thought your English didn’t exist?”
“I realised that by seeing and hearing and saying nothing, I learned more, giving me a special weapon. I need to use that weapon now for the sake of this missing child.”
“Put the police officer back on, Sanda, please.”
“Allocate a WPC to be with her at all times. Put her in my office and don’t let her leave. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
***
Sanda sat looking at Cyril’s orderly desk. She stood to look at a small, framed cartoon that was on the wall. It showed a large policeman with a huge bushy moustache peering through a hole in a wooden fence trying to watch a football match. A child was placing a firecracker behind him. She smiled. It was then that she noticed Cyril.
Hell's Gate: A gripping, edge-of-your-seat crime thriller Page 19