Where There's Smoke

by Penny Grubb

  Back to basics. What did she know? Where were they? Outdoors. The air was still, quiet. His feet crunched on a soft surface, not concrete. The only other sounds were birdsong and the gentle rustle of leaves. She flinched as she felt his hands behind her back. Cloth was wound around her wrists and instinctively she tensed her muscles as he tied it. Why would he do that when he’d handcuffed her? She lay very still, willing him to be in enough of a panic to get things wrong. He cleared his throat. She recognized the sound people make when they’re about to speak but feel awkward. What would he say?

  The words and the way he said them were unexpected. He tried for a light conversational tone. ‘So, you came back to work for Vince?’

  ‘Don’t give me that crap,’ Annie shot back at him and could have bitten her tongue. Dialogue was what she needed. The battering she’d taken on the journey had dulled her senses. ‘I know who I’m working for,’ she added quietly. ‘If you and Barbara want me to …’

  He talked over her, betraying no interest in what she said. ‘You heard about a girl who walked out of the sea?’

  ‘What?’ His question threw her. She saw Scott in his neat living room: … she just appeared … out of the sea … like she’d expected me … didn’t try to run … She’d overheard a man’s voice when she listened to Scott’s call. He’d used Carl Sleeman’s other name. They were all tied up in this together.

  An exasperated sigh and the sound of his feet fidgeting told her he’d waited long enough for an answer. ‘Yeah, well, she’s in worse trouble than you are.’

  A sudden yank on her arms freed her of the handcuffs. Now she was tied only by the cloth restraint. It wasn’t tight enough. She fought an urge to pull against it. He mustn’t know he hadn’t done the job properly. The boot slammed and the darkness engulfed her.

  Annie held herself immobile, sudden hope rushing through her body, making her skin tingle. She listened to Sleeman Junior’s footsteps scrunch away. He was in a hurry. Would he really leave her here with the means to escape? She strained to hear every sound, whilst praying she was right about the jolt she’d felt as the boot lid banged down. A discordant scrunch, but no click. She hadn’t heard the catch click home.

  CHAPTER 12

  The phone call had forced him to hurry, to panic. He didn’t do detail. A car door slammed and made her flinch. Hot on its heels came the roar of an engine, then wheels spinning, spitting gravel as a vehicle sped away. Crazy Carl had left. She was on her own. Cloying darkness wrapped itself around her. He wouldn’t stay away a second longer than he had to. She twisted in the small space, pulling at the material around her wrists, feeling it give bit by bit. The moment she had enough play to pull one hand free, she yanked the blindfold from her eyes, then kicked out with her legs. They met no resistance. The boot lid flew open with such force that it bounced back and she had to brace her feet against the rebound or she might have locked herself back in. She scrambled out, looking all around, staggering as her cramped muscles protested. As far as she could see, she was alone. No immediate threats, but the knot of fear in her gut screamed at her to hurry.

  Her car sat on a patch of bare earth in a small copse. Carl had pulled off a long driveway that curved away between the trees. The air was still. She could hear traffic in the distance. Looking through the trees the other way, she made out the shape of a large square farmhouse. It showed no obvious signs of habitation. She tensed, her gaze drawn to the dwelling, half-expecting someone to come running down to investigate the sound of the car boot bursting open, but if the sound had carried that far, then the noise of Carl taking off in the other vehicle would have brought them out.

  She dragged her attention away. She knew nothing about the place except that Carl Sleeman had not intended to bring her here.

  If she only had her phone, the police could trace her from the phone signal, and would be out pron to when they knew there’d been a gun involved. And a Sleeman. Officialdom would slice through the hidden agendas, glad of the chance to collar Vince Sleeman’s nephew if not the man himself.

  But if she’d had her phone, he’d have taken it. No time for regrets. She had to get away before he came back.

  For the first time ever, she felt a pang of nostalgia for one of the old bangers she used to drive when she first worked for Barbara and Pat. She could have hotwired one of those in an instant, but not this one.

  The boot still gaped open. She had to shut it. There was a chance Carl would race back, jump in without checking and drive off, thinking she was still trussed up inside. A wad of something had stuck in the catch, preventing it from clicking home. She had nothing that would level the playing field against his firearm, but, before closing the boot, she grabbed a sturdy screwdriver as better than nothing.

  For form’s sake, as she turned to set off, she pulled on the handle of the driver’s door. It opened, knocking her off-balance. She had to fight to stay on her feet. And then a gasp escaped her as she stared inside. How much of a panic had Carl been in? How careless was this guy? The keys swung in the ignition. If he hadn’t been certain she couldn’t escape, it was as though he’d wanted her to get away.

  At once, she jumped behind the wheel, started the engine, skidded the car round in an arc on the bare earth and bumped up on to the driveway, heading for the road.

  Instinctively, she straightened the mirror and saw the square building recede behind her. Ahead, the drive took another curve and she could see tall stone gateposts in the distance.

  Again a glance at the mirror. Now, it showed only the trees, waving her goodbye. The farmhouse had disappeared.

  She slowed and then stopped the car, took in a deep breath and felt her heart thud rapidly in her chest. Was she facing an opportunity not to be missed, or a really terrible idea?

  It was no legitimate case that had brought her here. This was personal. Herself and the Thompson sisters against Vince Sleeman, just like she’d wanted it all those years ago. And Crazy Carl? Whose side was he on? Everyone’s probably, for as long as he could get away with it. She thought back to how he’d been summoned by someone he daren’t say no to; someone who apparently accepted his casual assertion that he’d killed her.

  There was no time to think through every detail. Either she did this or she put her foot to the floor and made her escape.

  Carl would be back as soon as he could. How long would that be?

  The car’s clock showed 2:05 pm. He couldn’t have been gone more than two or three minutes. This remote spot must be half an hour from civilization, so she could hope for an hour plus whatever time he had to spend at his destination. She knew the rules. In this type of situation, if you knew you had an hour, you counted on ten minutes, stretched it to fifteen if you had to, with twenty-five as your absolute limit. Except that the rule didn’t say that at all. It said get out as fast and far as you can and then call for help.

  She twisted in her seat and reversed the car to where she’d driven it out of the copse. Alert for any sound beyond the distant hum of traffic, she climbed out to look. Her tracks were obvious and fresh until they joined the driveway where they vanished on the hard, worn surface. Carl would come back and see the car gone. The churned soil told its own story about which way she’d headed. She turned her gaze the other way towards the farmhouse, invisible from this angle, hidden by a tangle of bushes.

  The trees the other side of the drive grew from dense undergrowth. She clambered into the brambles, stamping them down, gauging the solidity of the ground beneath.

  With care, she backed the car off the track, bumping it down into the scrub, urging it to force a path between the trees until it was well off the driveway. Then she yanked up swathes of brambles and fallen branches, that raked painfully across the barely healed scratches on her arms, and piled them at the front of the car until it was invisible to all but a determined searcher. And Carl Sleeman wouldn’t even think to look. Before she left the car, she reopened the boot and equipped herself with a torch and set of picklocks.

&nb
sp; Keeping to the cover of the trees, she set off towards the farmhouse.

  Shafts of sunlight speared through the trees, flashes of white light blinding her momentarily as the branches bent lazily overhead. A few feathery clouds hung in the sky. No hint of rain.

  What was he so keen to keep hidden? Maybe nothing. Maybe this was just a convenient place to stash a car. All she intended was a quick look. And if she saw anything that warranted a second visit, she’d be back better equipped and maybe not alone.

  Logically, she knew he couldn’t be on his way back yet, but once she had left the security of the car and her only access to a clock, she couldn’t fight off the tingle at the back of her neck, the feel of someone watching, creeping up behind her.

  She kept to the cover of the trees as she approached the house, dropping to a crouch to avoid putting herself in direct line with any of the windows. Using the trees and bushes as cover, she crept closer.

  The driveway widened as it neared the building, spreading an arm each way to embrace the farmhouse; leaving room, Annie supposed, for things like combine harvesters to drive right round. It was a substantial, square dwelling. Up close, bits of straggly gardens hugged the front walls, unkempt, weeds choking out anything that had been intended to flower there. The house itself looked abandoned but in reasonable condition. The windows were uncurtained. The rooms looked empty.

  Some kind of alarm system was attached above the front door. It too looked abandoned and old, but that might be deliberate, to be in keeping with the neglected air of the place. The approach to the house was too open to risk drawing any nearer. She began to pick her way round the side when a sound stopped her. She froze, then sank lower into the bushes.

  Someone was outside, round the back of the house, and they were humming.

  Pushing twigs and branches aside, stepping awkwardly to avoid the open spaces, Annie crept in a wide arc, circling the house. The scene changed as she moved away from the façade that faced the drive. A Dutch barn lay to one side, fringed by tall conifers. Annie gave it a quick glance, took in the huge locked doors, then turned her attention to the yard where a youngish woman stood with her back to her, hanging washing on a line. The basket of clothes was almost empty. Annie remained still. She wouldn’t risk the house as there was someone there, but she could try for a peep inside that barn.

  The humming continued. The woman didn’t hurry as she pegged out each item carefully, making sure it hung straight. Her hair was tied up in a scarf. The angle of the sun made it hard for Annie to pick out detail. The woman moved easily, light on her feet, but her age was hard to judge.

  She remembered the question Carl Sleeman had thrown at her before he left. If she had her phone, she would risk a photograph and look for a way to get it in front of Scott. Is this the woman who walked out of the sea? But this didn’t look like a woman in any sort of trouble. When done with the clothes, she gave an extravagant yawn and picked up the empty basket, carrying it towards the house and out of Annie’s line of sight.

  At once, Annie eased herself a little further forward, but then had to duck down as the woman reappeared with a steaming cup in one hand and a tabloid newspaper under her arm. She settled herself at a small cast-iron table, setting the paper in front of her and raising the cup to her lips. Chores done, she clearly wanted to enjoy the fine weather.

  The woman’s hand reached forward to trace along the headlines on the page. Annie watched the woman’s lips mouthing the words as she read. She gave her a couple of minutes to relax properly, then began to ease herself back, further into the undergrowth. If the woman remained where she was, Annie could risk crossing the small stretch of open ground to reach the big barn.

  She hesitated. The woman didn’t quite have her back to her and might see the movement in her peripheral vision.

  ‘Hey!’

  Annie froze. But the woman’s sudden exclamation wasn’t aimed her way. A large black cat had stalked out of the house, tail vertical, ignoring the woman who jumped out of her chair to flap her paper and chase it away.

  The second she was on her feet, Annie leapt up and sprinted the short stretch to the barn, tucking herself down at the foot of its wall. Holding her breath, she peered towards the house. The cat had jumped on to a tall planter and, disconcertingly, seemed to stare right at her, but the woman was back in her seat.

  Once round the side of the barn and out of sight, Annie gave the building further scrutiny. The walls were metal sheets bolted to concrete pillars; the sort of structure that housed farm machinery and big bales of straw.

  She wondered if the woman who read with difficulty was some sort of caretaker, like Carl at the house in Hull. And if so, what secret did she guard?

  Alert for any sound from the direction of the house, and keeping close to the wall, Annie edged her way round the perimeter of the high building, aiming for those big doors at the front. At the far side, with nothing but fields and straggly trees to watch her, she tried to peer between the metal plates, but even using her torch there were no gaps big enough to show her what was inside. She paused at one of the corners. An animal had burrowed out a wide hole beside one of the concrete pillars, under the lowest of the panels. If she lay flat, she might see underneath. But there could be an easier way in so she carried on.

  The front of the barn wasn’t quite in line with the back of the house, but she would have to be careful. If she stepped out of the shade of the tall structure the sun would throw her shadow out beyond the cover of the walls, betraying her position. Pressed to the side wall, conscious of the sunlight through the trees waiting to magnify her presence, she leant round to look.

  One glance, a second’s triumph as she saw a person-sized door built into the huge locked gates, and then a horrified intake of breath and she threw herself back round the side of the barn and crushed herself flat against the wall.

  A diamond sparkle had played down at her from high above the doors. A lens. They had a camera up there. Her heart thumped as she twisted her head to look up at the wall that rose behind her. She remembered how well hidden some of the cameras at Crazy Carl’s house had been.

  After a moment she let out the breath she’d been holding. Industrial metal sheeting wasn’t a good place for hidden cameras. There was nothing this side that resembled the wooden mount above the big doors. It was just the entrance that was guarded.

  It might mean nothing. Farm equipment was valuable and targeted often enough to warrant extra security. The sensible thing would be to get away, to come back at a better time and check the place out properly. But by then Carl Sleeman would know he’d given away the location and would expect her back, might even alert others to the risk.

  The building was well secured but it had started life as a Dutch barn, designed with plenty of gaps. She retraced her steps, away from the camera, away from the woman by the house, and returned to the fresh earth at the back corner. Gingerly, she knelt by the hole and reached in, feeling under the barn wall, cringing inwardly at the thought of a set of teeth snapping at her fingers. The concrete pillars were bedded deep in the earth, but the panels weren’t and the one above the animal’s incursions wasn’t secure. She might be able to prise it open enough to see in.

  She longed for a means to check the time. The sun didn’t seem much lower in the sky but she must be over her first ten minutes by now.

  Suppressing audible grunts of effort, she grasped the edges of the panel and forced it away from the ground, using her foot to shove in half a brick to hold it open. Lying face to the ground in uncomfortable proximity to the animal hole, she peered through the gap.

  She could just make out the shape of a wheel but didn’t try to examine it. She was too vulnerable out in the open. If Carl came back and didn’t fly straight off again in pursuit, he might come up here. For all she knew the woman at the house would have some business to bring her round the back of the barn.

  The shadowy shape of a wheel. A large wheel. Not a tractor wheel.

  She looked
again at the hole and at the bent panel. The animal’s excavations had loosened one of the bolts from the concrete pillar. If she could free it altogether, there would just be room to slip through.

  The bolt itself wouldn’t budge, but the concrete crumbled and she eased it away from its mooring, looking with some trepidation at the recently disturbed soil. She must use the depth of the hole to wriggle her way in.

  The rough earth stung her arms where the brambles had left their mark, and she caught a painful new scratch from the jagged edge of the panel. Cursing silently she twisted the edge of her T-shirt round the cut on her finger. It wouldn’t do to leave a trail of blood behind her. Sweat and dust felt gritty on her skin. It was a tight fit but she squeezed through, knowing this was beyond just looking, beyond reasonable risk, but she had the feeling that it was now or never.

  A heavy gloom hung inside.

  She used her pencil torch and played it up the walls, looking for cameras, wires, anything to suggest hidden surveillance, but knowing that it could be hidden well enough for her to be able to find it. Just as long as there was no live feed, no one watching her right now, she might get away with it. And in case there was a mob on its way to stop her, she must be quick.

  She ran her torch over the single huge vehicle, walking up and down its length. It was a massive trailer. Looking up at the sides, she half-expected to see the words Breast Screening or Radiography.

  Patches of glitter twinkled at her from the bottom edges of the panels, the pattern rising haphazardly up the tall sides. All stars and glitter; Carl’s words to Jean. She played the torch across the metal where giant letters spelt out the single word HORSES.

  There was no tractor unit. The trailer’s huge towing bar thrust forward towards the barn doors through which it had been backed in and parked.