The rain continued to lash against the car. The noise was terrific. Stephanie prodded at the dimly lit camera screen in the centre console, which was operated using a touchscreen interface. She selected the camera that had been disguised as one of the forward pointing fog lights in the front bumper, and a grainy version of the road appeared on the screen. The place where she’d chosen to park the Insignia was near perfect, around fifty metres from her target’s front door. Hers was the last car parked on the opposite side of the road before the pavement broke for a junction, meaning that nothing could park in front of her, nothing to get in the way of the forward pointing camera. She’d parked at a slight angle, not enough to make the Insignia stand out, but just enough for the camera to pick out the door in question. The science behind surveillance was simple — humans are in tune with their environment, the mind has expectations that things will be in place and only really focuses on individual parts of the surroundings when something moves out of place. In other words, don’t move once you have established your surveillance position. Stephanie had stayed put and for the last couple of hours her view had been clear and unobstructed. Then the rain had started.
Her monitor display was red and green. The system could play back in full colour, but the display was designed to make things clearer in the dark. The visible objects mostly appeared green with just a couple of blobs of red where the streetlamps were positioned at points along both sides. The bookie’s also offered a light source, which glowed red and bled over the target door when viewed on the screen.
Stephanie checked the cameras. The one pointing backwards was hidden in the driver’s door mirror, covering one side of the car and anyone who approached the driver’s door, and the third one was concealed in the high-level brake light that ran along the top in the centre of the rear window, which gave occupants a view of anyone who might be following them. Nothing moved. Stephanie switched back to the forward looking camera, leaned forward and squinted.
A figure was standing stock still in the middle of the road. The windscreen was still a river of surging water and Stephanie could see nothing through it. Her eyes went back to the screen. Had the figure moved closer? She’d already had one false alarm this evening — a motorbike with a wet-weather cover had looked like someone bent over. If you look at something long enough with tired eyes, you can make it look like whatever you want it to be.
The shape remained motionless. The small screen and absence of colour made it difficult to judge depth, but she was pretty sure it was standing in the middle of the road, and if that was the case it couldn’t be anything other than a person. They were slim, standing with their hands either at their sides or behind their back with a hood up. They appeared to be facing in her direction, staring directly at the camera. Stephanie pressed the record button just as a sudden gust of wind hit the car and the rain slapped hard against the windows. A brilliant flash of lightning lit up the whole sky and the camera flared, the colours bleeding together. A couple of seconds the picture reappeared.
The figure had gone.
Stephanie peered at the screen looking for any sign of movement, while lowering herself down in her seat and feeling for the handle of the sidearm in the footwell. The figure had been in the middle of the road, so most likely it had moved onto the pavement on Stephanie’s side of the road, where her view was obscured by parked cars.
‘Shit.’ Stephanie glanced at the radio fixed into the dash, and considered calling up. She knew this was not a good move — bringing a marked patrol car out would expose her cover. Still . . . what harm could it do if they just drove down the street? As long as they didn’t stop for a chat and a piss-take, it wouldn’t look out of place at all. As she reached out her hand, a noise at her door made her freeze.
A gloved hand rested on the door handle.
The car door swung open, and Stephanie could do nothing more than cower in her seat before the first blow struck her. The knife blade came down hard into her right shoulder, penetrating deep until it hit bone and skewed downwards at an untidy angle under the armpit. The attacker pulled it out, the jagged teeth of the blade ripping skin, muscle and sinew as it left her body, spilling blood. Stephanie had uttered no sound. She raised her left arm in defence, as the man thrust the knife in a second time. The cold, thin metal sliced through her arm. The man struck again, and again, and the ferocity of the blows pushed Stephanie’s body down into the footwell, where the blood was soon deep enough to touch the bottom of the holster. The man took her loaded pistol.
He stepped back from the car, tossed the knife under the Vauxhall, and lifted his face to the driving rain. He wiped blood from his gloves and arms and walked away into the night.
CHAPTER 29
The Focus was parked in a small area of wasteland off to one side of the alleyway. Two large trees hid it so well that he almost walked past it. He pulled at the driver’s door and it opened. He slipped into the driver’s seat and checked around, but could see no further instructions. He looked at his phone — three minutes over the time he had been given. Maybe he was too late.
George had to calm himself, his hands were shaking and he grazed his wrist forcing his hand under the passenger seat searching for something that might help. Then he heard a phone ringing. A black Nokia, in a cubbyhole set into the driver’s seat. George reached between his legs to retrieve it. The screen showed Unknown Number. George pressed the answer button and lifted it to his ear.
‘You made it then.’
‘Yes.’ George wiped at the rainwater dripping from his hair.
‘Do you still have your own phone on you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Throw it out of the window.’
George stalled. He certainly didn’t want to be throwing that away. The car had manual winders and he opened the window on the driver’s side, the rain suddenly loud in the cabin. He rolled it back up. ‘Okay.’
‘I said throw the fucking phone out of the window! Don’t fuck me around!’
George peered out through the windows but it was hard to see through the rain. Whoever he was talking to had to be very close to be able to see his actions. He could be standing right next to him for all George knew. He wound the window down as a flash of lightning tore across the sky, lighting up the sodden alleyway. He picked a clump of grass that might serve as a hiding place until he was able to get back, and threw the phone towards it. He watched it bounce, but darkness had returned and he couldn’t see where it finally fell.
‘Listen to me, George. I have more contacts in Lennokshire Police than you could possibly imagine and I am also monitoring the police channels. If you call them I will find out, I will cut all communication with you and I will disappear. I won’t come for you George, but understand this: I will take my revenge, and Sam Robins will be just the first. Do we understand each other?’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Do we understand each other, George? You don’t want me to hang up this phone, it’s all you have. Now, do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ George answered through gritted teeth.
‘Good. Now drive to the Imperial Hotel in Hythe. Don’t enter the complex, just pull up on the promenade when you have it in sight, and wait for my call.’
‘What if the surveillance team see me leave and follow? I got out the back on foot, but there’s only one way out in the car.’
‘She’s no longer a concern.’
George opened his mouth to reply but the call had been ended.
‘Shit!’ He brought his hand down hard on the steering wheel and lowered his head until he could feel the cold plastic against his forehead. He took a second then reached into the same cubby where he had found the phone. Sure enough, the ignition key was there too. The Focus was a little hesitant to start, it turned over eventually and he drove away. There was no movement from the Vauxhall as he passed it. He pulled out onto an empty road and switched on the lights and windscreen wipers.
* * *
Th
e sea was calm, and peppered with raindrops. George opened his window so that the noise of the rain might calm his raging ears.
The Imperial Hotel was a large, square building. Bright white up-lighting shimmered off a white-washed façade, interrupted by grand windows. A Union Jack flag, fluttering in the breeze, marked the entrance.
George waited more than thirty minutes and was starting to wonder what was happening, when the Nokia rang again.
‘Yes?’
‘The Pennypot Industrial Estate. Do you know it, George?’
‘Yes, I know it.’
‘The main gate is open. When you enter the estate, I want you to drive through to the very last block where the road branches. Turn right and follow the light.’ The call ended.
* * *
The Pennypot Industrial Estate was on the main A road that ran through Hythe towards Dymchurch and eventually on to Hastings. It was a small slab of land on the way out of town, and contained a custom car shop, a metal works, and a bespoke kitchen shop as well as more transient business interests and storage warehouses. The units were mostly arranged in blocks, all with a blue garage-style door against a grey metal backdrop with a single window in front. A couple had windows over two floors and were used as offices.
The gate was shut. George stepped out into the rain and, with a struggle, pushed it open. He followed the directions and came to a halt in front of a unit with a light shining in a top window. Almost immediately the Nokia came to life.
‘Yes?’
‘You are getting better at following instructions. Good.’
‘What do you want me to do now?’
‘Come in. The last door on the right and up the stairs.’
George got out of the car and went to the door. A large To Let sign was fixed to the corrugated metal above it. George slowly mounted the steps that were just inside. He came to a door on the first floor and stopped to listen. There was no sound and he pushed it open.
The door opened into what was laid out like a small call centre. The perimeter of the room still had desks out along the walls, but the middle of the floor had been cleared. The room was brightly lit and George narrowed his eyes. He could see a figure sitting on an office chair in the cleared space, and as his eyes became accustomed to the glare, he recognised Samantha Robins.
George stopped himself from sprinting over to her. Instead he tried to take in the surroundings. Sam herself was sitting with her hands behind her back where he assumed they would be bound. A black mesh bag covered her head with her blonde hair falling out over her shoulder. She raised her head. She must have heard him enter.
‘Sam!’ he called out. ‘Are you alright?’
‘She’s fine,’ the voice from the phone said.
George was taken aback. He had assumed that it would be someone he knew, but this man was a total stranger.
‘How do I know she’s fine?’ George asked.
The man smiled. He was dressed in black bike leathers. He had short, dark hair and there was a red smudge where his crash helmet had pressed against his forehead. He was around thirty, slender but wiry. He walked over to Sam. George waited.
The man pulled up the mesh bag, exposing Sam’s face. Her eyes were open, and wide with fear. She blinked in the sudden light. She grunted behind the black gaffer tape covering her mouth.
‘Jesus — what have you done to her?’ George took a couple of paces forward, but stopped when the man produced a handgun. He let it hang loose at his side.
‘She’s fine.’ The man smiled and ran a hand down her cheek. Sam jerked her head away. ‘She caused me some issues moving her here, sorry you had to wait. She’s a bit of a fighter George, I can see why you like her so much. There might be none of that fight left when I’m done though, I’m afraid.’
George’s heart sank. ‘What do you mean? You said if I followed your instructions she wouldn’t be hurt. I’ve told no one I’m here . . .’
The man let George’s words die out. ‘No, you didn’t tell anyone, did you?’ He pushed the barrel of the pistol against the side of Sam’s head.
Her eyes widened and George stepped forward.
‘Wait! Don’t!’ George stopped short, watching the barrel at Sam’s temple. Her face was screwed up in fear.
The man took a police personal radio out of his pocket. He switched it on. He pushed the raised button at the top of the radio. The unit beeped twice and the screen flashed red. The man smiled and waited — ten seconds. Then a voice cut in, asking for DC Robins. The man threw the radio to the floor behind where Sam was sitting.
‘My name is Kane Forley. You hounded my brother, William Forley, to death — by his own hand — in a prison cell a little under eighteen months ago. My mother took her life a short time after that. Because of you I have lost everything and everyone that I held dear. Now, police response time to this place is around fifteen minutes. The response will be armed.’
‘William Forley?’ George thought hard. He knew the name and now he started to recall the case. His ears whooshed and whistled and he started to feel unsteady on his feet, and nauseous.
‘William Forley,’ the man went on. ‘He was systematically abused in prison. His last days were a living hell, while out on the streets of Langthorne, his mother suffered harassment. The police stood by and did nothing.’
‘I didn’t, I mean I don’t know . . .’
‘We had come through it and were getting on with our lives, but you got him put back into prison. You made sure he served the full sentence, his licence was revoked, and now I am giving you the exact same choices you gave him.’
Forley raised his phone to his ear, then put it on speaker.
George heard the phone ringing. The phone connected but there was no greeting, just a scraping, scuffling noise as if the phone was being stuffed into a pocket. George heard someone knocking on a door. It got louder. There was a pause and then a clicking sound.
‘What is it?’ It was George’s wife speaking.
‘Sorry, Mrs Elms, but we have to move you. We have information that you and your daughter are in imminent danger. Tonight.’
‘Mummy?’ His daughter.
‘It’s okay, honey. We’re just gonna go and see Nanny. Can you get yourself some clothes out?’
‘There isn’t the time, ma’am. Can I suggest you get a dressing gown or a coat? It’s raining quite hard. We’ll get going straight away.’
‘What threat? Surely you don’t mean my husband? I’ve told you this is all ridiculous. He wouldn’t hurt us — never.’
‘We’ll explain more when we can. We need to move now.’
There was a short pause.
She said, ‘Okay,’ and Forley cut the call.
‘What do they have to do with anything?’ George started to move forward.
‘Nothing,’ said Forley. ‘As Detective Robins here pointed out earlier, there is often more than one victim. Take one more step and I shoot her. She’s no more use to me now.’
George stopped. He was around ten feet away.
‘Your options. The hell that my brother had to suffer, despised in a prison cell. Or die.’ Forley looked at his watch. ‘You have maybe ten minutes to decide.’
‘What do you want from me?’ George was struggling to understand.
‘It’s simple. By the end of tonight you will either be in prison for the murders of six police officers in cold blood. Or you will be dead.’
George shook his head, and then he looked up, puzzled. ‘Six?’
‘Six, George. You killed four in a twenty-four hour rampage that sparked this whole thing off, if you recall. Then you dealt with the officer at your home address. If they ask you about your change in MO, you’ll have to explain that you chose a knife because a bullet would have been too loud. And it’s more personal, isn’t it? That bitch had been sat outside your house all fucking night, watching your every move like you were some sort of zoo attraction. You were angry, you lost your temper.’
‘A knife?’
Forley smiled and threw the gun towards George. It came to rest at his feet. He nodded at Sam. ‘Your last victim. The gun is from the surveillance car.’
George looked down at the ugly black weapon. There was blood on the handle. He could hear Sam sob behind her gag.
‘You know better than any of us how it works. Your admission will go a long way, but the forensic links will finish the job. You just need to fire that weapon, George. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that my man is primed to follow my instructions if you fail to make up your mind. But whatever happens, Sam is a witness.’ Forley walked over to George, picked up the gun and pushed it into his hand. ‘Her life or your family’s. That’s going to be the easiest decision of the evening.’
The pistol hung limp in George’s hand, pointed at the floor. Tears ran down his face.
PANIC BUTTON a gripping crime thriller full of twists Page 15