“You’re an anomaly, young lady. One day you understand nothing and here you are fully conversant in the Queen’s English. It must have been very useful listening to conversations you shouldn’t have been privy to, valuable too?”
Sanda smiled. “I kept it for a rainy day I think you say. Right now, Inspector Bennett, there is a very dark sky indeed and although I’m safe and free from guilt, I’m frightened for the child. I know Cezar well and I know just what he’s capable of.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Too well, I am ashamed to say, he’s my father.”
Cyril nearly choked. “Your father?”
“Nobody at the restaurant knows. I hadn’t seen him since he left my mom, we knew that he had come to England but he never sent money or wrote. The last we heard was that he was in Leeds. I was young when he had to leave Romania, he’s wanted by the police for drugs offences, running prostitutes, gambling and violence. You’ve seen him work. When we were allowed to travel here I grabbed the opportunity. I arrived in England and I decided to go to Leeds. Believe me, it wasn’t what I expected. I thought that I would walk into a job, I would be given a house and money for things but…you hear so many lies back home from people who are here. I began to sleep rough. It was then that I decided to speak only Romanian so that I would know my own and be safe. Fellow Romanians helped me; they gave me work and a place to stay. Things changed, they took my passport, fed me but refused to pay me.
I realised what they wanted me for. I tried to leave but I was raped. It was then that I saw him. He came to look at me, to see if I would do. At first, I didn’t recognise my father, he looked different, his missing teeth and his nose maybe. He didn’t recognise me either, but why should he? I was just another silly girl who was going to become a potential whore. He seemed taller than I remembered and much older. I saw his face change when I mentioned my name and my village. He asked me what my father’s name was and then my mother’s. When I replied, he almost crumbled. I was then reminded of his violent side. He left the room and I heard him ask the men what I was like for sex. One of the men bragged immediately. The man didn’t speak again. I don’t know what happened to him but my father had blood on his hand when he reappeared.”
“And so the story you told us when we were at the restaurant wasn’t true, you were simply protecting him?”
“I was protecting Hai Yau. Nobody else ever really cared other than Rares. He’s been like a father to me. He’s kind and considerate, unlike his son.”
“So how did you become involved with Hai Yau and the restaurant?”
“My father worked for him, they have many criminal activities hidden within the seemingly innocent food trade. These hidden parts are what my father knows well and therefore helps run and organise; prostitution, gambling, dogs, drugs and people. I suppose it’s known as slavery. They ensure that people work for very little, usually they are the illegal migrants who are frightened of being sent home, frightened of the police but more frightened of my father. These are the easiest to control and dispose of, after all who knows they are even here? It’s easy to move people Inspector, too easy.”
“So why now, Sanda?”
“When Peter Anton came to the kitchen today he was scared, very scared, but it wasn’t for himself, but for the child. When I heard that my father had taken a child I had to come. Inspector, Romanian fathers don’t spare the rod. I still have marks on my body from beatings I suffered when I was very little. He will stop at nothing. If he’s made a promise or a threat, then I know he will carry it out. When I was living at the farm, Angel raped me. I dared not tell my father. Angel, I believe, told Cezar that a boy called Rares had raped me. He would tell everyone, but in fact, Rares was kind to me when it happened and I believe Angel was jealous. Rares seems to have disappeared and I haven’t seen him since I left the farm. Peter told Hai Yau that Cezar threatened a family if they spoke to the police. Sorry, I must be confusing you with my poor English!”
“So where is he?”
“I don’t know but maybe he will stop if I ask him to, I don’t know, I just want in some way to stop this mess.”
Owen didn’t knock he just burst into the room, the WPC jumped and turned.
“He’s been spotted! No sign of the child as yet.”
Owen rushed around the desk, went to the computer and brought up Google maps onto the screen. The satellite image detailing the area around Follifoot was clear.
“Liz said that he’s probably gone to ground and I immediately thought of the Brunswick Tunnel, but then why would he go back there? Someone’s just telephoned to say that they’d seen our suspect near the disused Prospect Tunnel, it’s an old tunnel that’s within walking distance of Peter’s house. It seemed logical. Look!”
Owen showed the approximate entrance of the tunnel and the pathways along the disused track.
“Beeching has a lot to answer for, Owen,” Cyril commented but immediately could see from the look on Owen’s face that he did not have the faintest idea what he was talking about.
“He’s had plenty of time to plan for such a situation and the bastard’s run from the police before and escaped. All he has to do is lie low.”
“There’s a reason for all of this. He can’t hope to get money for the safe release of the boy and he doesn’t want the burden of the child if he plans to run. He’s drawing someone in.”
Cyril looked carefully at the image on the screen. Can we get details and photographs of the tunnel?”
“There are several but why pick this place? If he’s in there, he’s trapped. Close both ends with coppers and dogs and he’s going nowhere.”
“Mark my words, Sir, if he’s in there, then there’s a definite reason but I’m buggered if I know what his game is.”
“Sanda, I want you to remain here, you’ll be well cared for and safe but I might need your further help later. Is that alright?”
She nodded and the WPC took her away. She stopped and turned to Cyril. “Don’t let him harm the child, no matter what, promise me that.”
Cyril said nothing. He was not in a position to know his next move let alone make promises that might be impossible to keep. Besides the boy might already be dead.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Cyril was determined to get a confirmed sighting before he ordered in an armed unit and intensive search team. Two dogs were organised, one to search the ground above the tunnel and check the woodland that surrounded the three blanked tunnel air vents that were now probably concealed in the undergrowth, whilst the other dog and handler would enter to check the tunnel moving from the northerly portal. Officers would be positioned at the southerly portal, the only exit.
The tunnel ran for about a thousand yards before the empty, trackless route led to the used line that still carried trains from Leeds to Harrogate. It turned sharply and ran over the thirty-one arched Crimple Valley Viaduct. Cyril sat with Owen and looked at the satellite image of the site and traced the route with his finger.
“There appears to be a house built on the old line preventing entry onto the track and the viaduct. That will need checking. We need to be ready to move together. I want everyone in position in two hours. No lights ’n sounds. I neither want him panicked nor forewarned if he’s there. Liaise with British Transport Police, we need the viaduct checked and officers positioned at the junction between the disused line and the live line.”
***
Cyril checked his watch, all was ready. There had been no further sightings but the tunnel had to be checked. As planned, the dogs and officers combed the woodland that ran over the tunnel but there was nothing. The three air vents were still capped and showed no signs of interference. The second group followed the German Shepherd as it ploughed through the saturated, muddy tunnel, also to no avail. There was nothing from the Transport Police either; the viaduct was clear.
“Where the bloody hell are you, you bastard?” Cyril asked himself. He stood in the entrance to the southerly portal.
The wind tunnelling through was chill and he stared at the glow of light at the far end. If only he could see light at the end of his endeavour he would be a happy man.
“Let’s hope he’s not watching us from some safe place laughing at our clumsy efforts. He’s certainly caused us to waste man power and time,” Owen said angrily. They both turned through three hundred and sixty degrees to see if there was an obvious vantage point. There was none.
Cyril put a call out. “I want two cars to Tanglewood Farm, off Tang Lane. Have back up close by, two other cars to the Zingaro restaurant. Get them to remain visible until further notice if our man is not found. That will make two fewer places he can go.”
***
Cezar moved through the farmyard carrying the large sack. The dog that had an hour ago strained at the full extent of the chain lay curled, its paws in the air, its legs bent. Blood had splashed the cobbles and soaked into the mud and straw but the large gash along its throat was crusted and home to feasting flies. The yard was now quiet. He opened the boot of the newly requisitioned Subaru Outback estate car and loaded the bag. He returned for the length of rope and torches. He noticed that there was a slight movement from inside the sack but it soon subsided. He had parked his Focus out of sight in the barn behind a rather large green tractor. He walked back into the farmhouse.
“You spoke with the police; I hate the fucking police and now I hate you.” He checked the electrical ties that bound their hands and legs. The knotted gags blocked their mouths. The younger man’s limp body was curled in a foetal position, his legs beneath the large table; he had taken a severe beating but he was lucky to be still breathing. The older man had been hit once. Cezar could still detect defiance in his eyes and slapped him again.
“Look at me again like that you old bastard and I’ll blow your fucking brains across this poxy room.”
On the table lay a shotgun, some cartridges and a mobile phone that he’d taken from the son. He picked up the youth’s mobile phone and slipped it in his pocket.
“He’ll not be needing it for a while and I’ll return the car.” His smile suggested that he lied. He spit on the floor.
He checked the shotgun and put a cartridge in each barrel before walking over to the old man. He placed the barrel to his head.
“Bang!” Cezar shouted. The old man simply fainted.
Cezar was still laughing as he closed and locked the door. He tossed the keys towards the dead dog before climbing into the car.
***
Cyril sat in the incident room, he neither drank the coffee that had been placed in front of him nor touched his electronic cigarette. He was deep in thought. There was no sign of Cezar at the Baines’ house but then why should there be? He was absent from Hai Yau’s farm, although he had been there and the dog that had been removed from the hook in the barn told of Cezar’s mental state. He had not been seen at the restaurant. There was enough evidence to arrest Hai Yau and his son for many crimes including employment of people in the shady and sinister black economy, but at this moment Cyril was better where he was, the arrests could wait. As long as they were free there was a chance that Cezar would make some kind of contact.
Cyril felt impotent. He had placed so many of his chess pieces in vulnerable positions that he wondered if he had scared Cezar from making the next move. Until he had a lead, another sighting or until Cezar responded, he could go nowhere. He checked his watch; it had been five and a half hours since the child had gone missing. The incident room was manned to capacity and the photographs of Gregory had gone nationwide on radio, television and the Internet. All leads were being followed but there was nothing concrete. Cyril inhaled but took no satisfaction from the vapour.
***
Cezar turned off Hookstone Road and onto the twin roads that led to and from the industrial estate. He drove to the far end and parked away from the cameras. He checked the full extent of the car park thoroughly searching for occupied vehicles or pedestrians before climbing out of the car. He then walked to the footpath hugging the car park edge which meandered, half-hidden by foliage, to the footbridge that ran over the railway. His position on the bridge allowed Cezar to check the line; it was quiet. He returned to the car and retrieved the sack and the rope before heading back to the bridge. The dead weight of the child made climbing the wall and travelling down the steep banking difficult, but he managed. Once on the trackside he rested, sweat beading his forehead. He took a deep breath and lifted the sack before heading towards the viaduct. Checking his watch before moving he concealed himself in the overgrown banking. He had planned well.
***
Owen tapped the white board before turning to Cyril.
“What if, sir, he always seeks revenge? People talking to the police whether they instigate it or not seem to make him insanely angry. I’ve got a strange feeling, could he be holed up at Benson’s farm, the guy he bought the flatbed from? The son said he had eyes all over. Was he checking it out for a possible bolt hole?”
“Call him now!” Cyril stood. A flutter of nerves hit his stomach as he eagerly watched Owen who simply shook his head.
“The line’s dead.”
“Get one of the cars from Tanglewood Farm to take a look, they’re nearby.”
***
Cezar watched the two carriages of the Leeds bound train pass him. It was on time. It travelled slowly across the viaduct before finally turning sharp right and disappearing out of view. In five minutes the train bound for Harrogate and then York would pass the other way. This train would pass only feet away from him. He would then have just over the hour before the penultimate evening service would trundle by. Not exactly like clockwork, the train rounded the bend before heading over the viaduct, its two-tone horn sounding its approach. It was soon visible and heading towards Hornbeam Park Station. He lifted the boy’s drugged body held inside the nylon builder’s rubble sack and moved towards the centre arch of the viaduct.
It was nearly dark but he had enough light to work by. The beams of the moving cars way below to his left could be seen moving snake-like along the road. The wind was stronger than earlier and he felt its chill. He stopped to listen. He heard only the wind and the screech of a distant owl. Carefully tying the rope to the handles, he checked the knot before positioning the bundle next to the parapet. He threaded the rope under the first metal railway track and crossed to the second. He dug away the chippings to allow the rope to be looped round the metal before tying it off around one of the concrete sleepers. Moving back to the bag, he held the rope, checking the strength of both knots. He wanted neither to become loose prematurely. Once satisfied, he lifted the bag before lowering it over the edge until, once free of the masonry, it began to swing. The rope was taut, at full stretch, hanging in the centre of the arch. He looked at his watch, he would have an hour before the penultimate Harrogate bound train would pass this point, its wheels acting as a natural executioner. He rolled a cigarette, inhaled and spat onto the line. The stretched rope creaked as the breeze increased the pendular action of the dangling bag. He had one more task to complete and he was done, finished. He smiled.
He took the mobile phone from his pocket and dialled the Baines’ house. Joan answered tentatively.
“Put the old, miserable fucking battle-axe of a bitch on now or you’ll never hear from me again or discover the whereabouts of your son for that matter.”
The officers listened in, the conversation relayed live to the incident room.
Barbara Baines came to the phone, she was tearful and her bravado had gone. “Please bring him home, please. I didn’t know that Reg had gone to the police, please, I beg you.”
“Listen, remember what you said you would do if I took one of the kids? Remember you evil old witch? You said I’d hang.” He paused, giving her time to digest his words and hear the sound of his breath. “Wrong! But he is, your little boy. In fact he’s hanging right now but not for much longer. They won’t catch me and I doubt they’ll even find him in a hurry. He’s
not dead but very soon the executioner’s blade will fall and ...” he laughed and didn’t finish the sentence. He hung up.
Barbara heard his laughter and then nothing.
Reg walked to her and put his arms around her, Joan just crumpled on the settee.
***
The police car pulled into the farmyard, the vehicle’s lights illuminating the sleeping dog. PC Blackmore stepped out and approached. He called but the dog did not move. He shone his torch and saw the blood and the mass of movement crawling and buzzing around the dog’s neck.
“Patch me through to DCI Bennett immediately!”
He could instantly be heard in the incident room.
“The dog’s had its throat cut and there’s no sign of anyone, no lights in the farmhouse…” He then stood on the keys. “A minute!”
He waved for his colleague. Picking up the keys he approached the farmhouse, relaying the information as they progressed. The people in the incident room could hear the key in the lock and the officers entering.
“What do you see?” The voice of the controlling officer sounded urgent.
“Two victims, Sir, both bound. One has suffered a good deal of facial damage…” There was a pause. “He’s still breathing.”
An officer in the incident room addressed Cyril. “The caller to the Baines’ house used a phone belonging to a Ray Benson, it’s registered to that address.” She put a written address in from of him.
“The older man is alive too, he’s conscious. Says it was the guy who collected the scrap truck. He’s taken a shotgun and a couple of dozen cartridges. He’s driving a silver Subaru Outback estate. Call for an ambulance, it’s urgent, the air ambulance if it can still fly this late.”
Someone in the incident room immediately put the call out for medical assistance, to traffic and to those monitoring the town’s CCTV giving the vehicle’s description and the registration number.
“Sir, the old man is mumbling something about arches and hanging the bastard. Says the guy said that he was going to show that bloody family, that they’d cry when they found out that the boy was the one who was hanging and not him. He sounds very confused, probably the blow to the head.”
Hell's Gate: A gripping, edge-of-your-seat crime thriller Page 20