BRAD HART
It was around two in the morning when the four of us were interrupted.
Looming out of the darkness, there was this old guy in a T-shirt. His face, lit up by the flashing lights, had this mad ugly grin on it. Even before he spoke, we could tell that he didn’t exactly fit in at the Rigmarole. In fact, he wouldn’t have fitted in anywhere, except maybe in a horror movie.
He tapped one of the girls on the shoulder and, with a jerk of his head, shouted, ‘Scram.’
She was only a little thing and looked kinda scared.
‘And you,’ he said to the other one. ‘Go on – scarper, both of you.’
‘Now wait a minute,’ George shouted, but the girls had seen enough. They were out of there.
The goon sat down beside me. He took one of the girls’ wine glasses and filled it full with champagne, which he threw back down his throat.
Then he took the empty glass and tapped it casually on the side of the table. The sound of breaking glass was lost in the noise.
He held the broken glass, its jagged edges upwards, in his fist.
‘We’re goin’ home,’ he said. ‘Back to your place. Now.’
George gave him a full-on stare. ‘We’re going nowhere,’ he said.
Almost before he had finished, the man lunged under the table with the broken glass. George gasped with shock and pain as it hit his hand.
The goon gave a little laugh. ‘You were saying?’
George lifted his hand. It was pouring blood.
‘Put it under the table,’ said the man.
I reached into my back pocket and took out a roll of notes.
‘There’s no need to rob our place,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing there. Take this.’
He looked down at the wad of fifty-pound notes. Then, with a little shrug, he took it and jammed it into his pocket.
‘Money isn’t everything,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
‘What do you want?’ I asked.
The goon put his mouth close to my ear. ‘Trixie,’ he growled. ‘I want Trixie Bell.’
THE SMILER
It was easy. Too easy. If I’d been dealing with a couple of real men, I’d have taken more care.
There was a pool of blood under the table. Soon it would be flowing on to the dance floor.
I jerked my head in the direction of the exit.
The long-haired one stood up but the one I had winged whimpered something about tidying up his hand. There was so much blood, he said, we’d get noticed on the way out. He’d get a paper towel from the washroom.
It made sense. I nodded.
‘Try anything and your mate’s dead,’ I said.
He blundered off. Berk.
JADE
Picture the horror. I’m fast asleep when my cellphone rings. It’s George and he’s borderline hysterical.
‘Get out of the flat,’ he said. ‘There’s this guy. He’s after your friend Trixie. We’re on our way now.’
‘What?’ I sat up. ‘George, what is this—?’
‘Just go,’ he said. ‘Now!’
WIKI
Jade burst into our room. She told us about the call from her brother. From the tone of her voice, we knew it was serious.
It took five minutes to get ourselves together. Weirdly, Trix was the most reluctant to go – particularly when we told her she had to dress up in my clothes and get into her boy-in-shades disguise again.
The four of us took the lift downstairs and let ourselves out on to the empty neon-lit street.
Trying to look as if it were the most natural thing in the world for four kids, one wearing dark glasses, to be on the streets of London in the early hours of the morning, we started walking.
‘Where exactly are we going?’ Mark asked.
‘Somewhere. Anywhere. Not here,’ I said.
GEORGE HART
My hand was throbbing. The man in the nightclub walked behind giving us directions. He made us get into the big SUV he had parked nearby.
He made Brad drive, sitting in the back with me, the broken glass held against my neck.
We drove home, pulled up outside Lexington House.
We walked into the house, nodding to Bert, the night concierge, then took the elevator. Brad unlocked the door. I prayed.
The apartment was empty.
‘Where are they?’ The goon went from one room to another. ‘Where are they?’
When he came back to the sitting room, he walked towards us almost casually. Then he grabbed Brad by the hair so that he lost balance and fell to his knees.
‘Trixie!’ the man bellowed, holding the glass in front of Brad’s face.
It was then that all hell broke lose.
DETECTIVE INSPECTOR BARRY CARTWRIGHT
My officers arrested three men in connection with the abduction of Trixie Bell at a Mayfair address in the early hours of the morning.
Later that night we announced that there had been a significant breakthrough in our investigations.
Unfortunately there was no sign of the child herself. We remained deeply concerned about her welfare.
WIKI
A big city at dead of night, we discovered, has a life of its own. Gangs of partygoers – loud, sometimes drunk, often dangerous – stagger blindly along the pavements. In every dark street something secret is going on. Cars drive by in a slow, cruisy way, pale faces peering out, combing the streets. Mark said they were minicabs looking for customers. We all pretended to believe him.
At first, as we walked heads down through the neon-lit streets, we talked about the call from George. I was suspicious. I thought he was angry about what had happened that evening and, after a couple of drinks, had decided to get us out of the flat.
‘Maybe he was scared of being found out – of getting in trouble with the police,’ said Mark.
Trix glanced in Jade’s direction. ‘So much for your family contacts,’ she muttered.
Jade stopped walking.
‘You guys kill me,’ she said, her eyes blazing. ‘You think you know people, each of you. Cool-guy Mark. Catapult-boy Will. The great Trixter herself. But you know nothing. You are beyond crapass when it comes to psychology.’
‘We didn’t mean to upset you,’ said Trix.
‘Here’s a tip,’ said Jade. ‘Think. Use your eyes. Listen. My brothers may be kind of flaky but they haven’t had parents, right? They’ve been on their own for as long as I remember.’
We stood in an embarrassed huddle, each of us wondering at the fact that we were actually being told off by Jade Hart.
‘So get this,’ she said quietly. ‘My brothers don’t lie. They just don’t. You should be thanking them right now.’
She walked towards us and kept going, barging between Mark and me.
‘Make like you’re going somewhere,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘That way people will ignore us.’
She was right. We followed her, walking fast, Mark with a bag slung over his shoulder, Trix with a duvet rolled up under her arm. It was strange, but Jade’s anger had given us strength.
We kept off the main streets, looking for some dark corner of the city where we could rest. We must have been going for about half an hour when, turning a corner, we saw what looked like a brightly lit shop. As we approached it we saw tables, a couple sitting inside.
We stopped and looked longingly towards it, like people lost in a desert who have just seen an oasis and are worrying that it might be a mirage.
But it was real all right. Over the door, in rickety orange lights, were the words ‘THE UP-ALL-NIGHT CAFE’.
TARIQ AMIN
We get all sorts in the Up-All-Night – taxi-drivers, couples, people who have nowhere to go, even kids sometimes. When these young teenagers, three boys and a girl, came in and sat at a table, I asked them why they were out so late. The three boys looked guilty and said nothing. It was the girl, an American, who answered.
JADE
The two boys were suddenly a word-free zone. Tr
ix was doing her moody act behind her dark glasses. We were yay-close to getting well and truly busted.
It was time for my cute smile.
‘We were at this party,’ I said as brightly as I could manage. ‘My father was meant to be taking us home but he never turned up. We’ve phoned him. Could we just wait here till he picks us up? It’s kind of scary out there.’
The Asian guy, a small, tired-looking man, gave us this kind of suspicious sidelong look.
Then he said, ‘So you’ll be wanting breakfast then.’
WIKI
Jade saved us. I remembered what she had said, a few days back, in another lifetime it seemed, when we were at Hill Farm. It was true. She was a good liar.
After she had made her little speech, even we believed her and kept looking out for the non-existent car that would be collecting us, driven by a father who was thousands of miles away.
We had a big breakfast, with cups of tea. We pretended to call Jade’s dad on our mobile phones. Now and then the only other people in the Up-All-Night, a man and a woman in their thirties, glanced in our direction, but from the look of them they had other things on their minds.
For two hours, three, we stayed at the Up-All-Night, our eyes aching, our heads buzzing with tiredness. Soon after six thirty a man in a suit came in, ordered a coffee and sat at the next table. He was clean-shaven, sober, tidy – a man on his way to work.
‘Here’s what we’re going to do now.’ Trix spoke quietly. Those shades did something to change her character. She sounded like some Mafia gang leader. ‘I’m calling Holly. She’s going to get us into the Share Awards tonight. All we have to do is stay out of sight for the rest of today.’
‘I could use some sleep,’ murmured Mark.
‘It’ll be all over soon.’
DETECTIVE CONSTABLE JULIE SUMMERS
It was a long night but, by the time the next day dawned, we were no nearer the truth.
There were traces of the missing child’s DNA in Prendergast’s car and in the two Americans’ flat. They were all telling us different stories, none of which stacked up.
Hours before, we had been hopeful. Now we began to fear the worst. We had the kidnappers, but where was Trixie?
HOLLY
It was early morning when my mobile vibrated softly under my pillow. The call was from Wiki. I sighed. More bad news, I supposed.
‘Now what?’ I said.
‘Holly, listen carefully,’ Wiki’s voice sounded different – hoarse, tired. ‘We’re on the run. We’re turning ourselves in tonight.’
‘Wik, it’s not even seven. What’s going on?’
‘Tell us where the Share Awards are.’
Grumbling, I got out of bed and walked to my dressing table, where I had left the invitation. ‘The Grosvenor House Hotel on Park Lane,’ I said. ‘We’re getting there at seven thirty tonight. The broadcast starts at eight thirty.’
‘When will Trix’s mum be on?’
‘I don’t know. How am I meant to know that?’
‘OK, OK,’ he said. ‘There’s just one thing you’ve got to do.’
I sighed. ‘Go on then.’
‘You’ve got to get us into the Grosvenor House for when Trix’s mum is on stage.’
‘What?’
‘Just try, Holly. You can do it.’
‘But how?’
‘I’ve gotta go,’ he said. ‘Ring me back on this number when it’s sorted.’
And he was gone.
I stumbled back to bed and tried to sleep. How did I end up being the gang member who has to do the tough stuff on her own?
MARK
It was a new day – a moment of maximum danger. The streets were full of people, and they weren’t drunk.
We headed south, heads down, keeping to the small streets. Wiki seemed to think there would be more hiding places near the river.
‘Er, why?’ asked Jade.
‘Bridges,’ said Wiki, as if that explained everything. ‘If you want to hide in London, bridges are a good place to start.’
Now how did he know that?
JADE
The river: there were no hiding places – just traffic and noise and a big brown River Thames flowing by, making us feel small and scared.
Nice work, Wiki.
‘Maybe it’s better on the other side,’ he said.
‘Let’s go.’ Trix marched ahead. The sun was high in the sky as we trudged, bone-weary, across Waterloo Bridge.
On the other side, we went down some steps to a path by the river. There were skateboarders clattering noisily nearby.
Mark walked over and asked them if there was anywhere we could get some sleep without being disturbed. The guy pointed downriver. There were warehouses down there, he said – storerooms. You could do all kinds of stuff without being discovered.
All we wanted to do was sleep. We stumbled on in silence, Trix leading the way. She had a talent for knowing when she had to be strong for all of us.
Ten minutes later we found somewhere dark, quiet and damp. It would do for now.
Wearily we laid our coats on the ground and sat on them. Trix covered the four of us with the duvet she had been carrying since we left the flat.
‘Sleep,’ murmured Mark.
‘Ye’ll be lucky,’ said a voice from the darkness.
JAZ CORBY
I was resting a while after doing the South Bank run. There’s good takings late at night by the river, with folk coming back from theatres and movies and the like, full of food and guilt. I had been too tired to walk home. Suddenly I had company. Kids – hardly older than me. I could tell they weren’t from the streets. They talked too loud, for a start. And, besides, no one who knows their way around town would end up here.
WIKI
I gripped my catapult. Mark and I stood up slowly. Across the way was what we had thought was a pile of old rags. The voice, a hoarse, thin whisper, had come from that direction.
As we approached, it spoke again.
‘Easy,’ it said. ‘I’ll nae harm ye.’
There was a patch of white amidst the dark rags. A glint of light reflected in an eyeball revealed that it was a human face – pale, dirty, small.
‘Ye’ll nae sleep here,’ he said. ‘There’s rats and all kindsa nasties come visitin’ late at night.’
‘D’you live here?’ Mark asked.
‘Ye’re jokin’, mon.’ The face almost smiled. ‘I got a nice place in the park. Proper peaceful, almost as good as a house. That’s where I kip down normal like.’
A small hand emerged from the rags. The kid wiped his nose.
‘Ye wanna see it?’ he said. ‘Ye can kip down there if ye like.’
We walked back to the girls. Something about the mention of rats helped us make the decision.
I walked back to the bundle. ‘That would be good,’ I said. ‘We’ll only be a few hours.’
‘Ach, ye can stay as long as ye like.’
The kid rolled around a bit, chucked off his blankets and stood up. He was skinny and small – shorter even than Trix. As he expertly bundled his bedding into a large carrier bag, he said, ‘I’m Jaz, by the way.’
‘Jaz,’ said Mark. ‘Cool name.’
‘Aye.’ The kid sniffed and spat on the ground. ‘Short for Jasmine.’
PETE BELL
I heard the story on the news before the police rang me. That was how it was when Barry Cartwright was in charge. Publicity came first at all times.
After the first brief hit of hope came the slump of despair. Three men were involved, not just Prendergast. Trix was nowhere to be found. I looked through my records. Americans, Cartwright had said. There were no American contacts in the past of Smiler Prendergast. We had hit a brick wall.
JADE
Weird stuff. The skinny little kid who had scared the wits out of us turned out to be a girl. She was twelve and came from Glasgow.
Jaz chatted away about her life on the streets, now and then laughing crazily at the things that had
happened to her. Trix asked her what she was doing, living on the streets of London.
‘Ran away.’ Jaz hunched her shoulders as if the weather had suddenly turned cold. ‘Long story,’ she said.
‘And didn’t they search for you?’ asked Trix.
‘Search for me?’ Jaz laughed crazily ‘They’ll nae have noticed I’m even gone.’
HOLLY
It was time for action. I rang Eva Johansson.
‘Hi, Eva,’ I said. ‘I was wondering if my cousin could come to the dinner tonight.’
‘Oh, Holly. You know this is a big celebrity occasion. We can’t just get any old cousin along. The Prime Minister might be there. Now, I’m sorry, I’m very, very busy.’
I listened carefully, then asked, ‘Is there someone I could ring to see if my cousin could be found a place on another table?’
Eva sighed loudly. ‘You can try Gemma Mann. She’s the TV producer’s assistant.’ She gave me the number. ‘But, lovey, don’t hold your breath, right?’
I said goodbye politely, then went to the mirror. I tried to get the expression on Eva Johansson’s face – the warm, caring eyes, the public smile that was never far away, particularly when cameras were around.
‘But, lovey, don’t hold your breath, right?’ I repeated her words and smiled. The voice was good. ‘Oh, Holly,’ I said with perfect Eva Johansson intonation. ‘You know this is a big celebrity occasion.’
Missing, Believed Crazy Page 17