by Chris Simms
‘He always leaves just after eight o’clock. Why? Your colleague here—’
A harsh bang came from the direction of the garage.
‘You are wilfully causing damage—’
‘Madam, did you see him leave?’
Another bang, followed by several smaller impacts. They’re kicking the door in, Levine thought.
She looked on, aghast. ‘Whatever the reason for this, it’s … it’s totally unwarranted.’
‘Madam? Did you see him leave?’
‘Pardon? No.’
‘You haven’t seen him today?’
‘No, I mean, yes. He did pop home earlier. But he didn’t stay long.’
‘You saw him?’
‘I heard him. His new van sounds different.’
‘He left in a van?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know what this van looks like?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sir!’
He turned back towards the garage. There was a flustered look on the face of the detective who’d called out. ‘You need to see this.’
He placed a hand on the uniformed officer’s shoulder. ‘Have a chat with the lady here. We need to know full details.’ He strode up the drive. ‘What have we got?’
‘Not sure exactly. But I have a nasty feeling it’s body parts.’
DI Levine stepped into the garage’s cool interior. The place smelled harsh and metallic. Strip lights hummed like prehistoric insects. Motes drifted through the shafts of light they were throwing down. His eyes flicked about. This was a proper workspace. Shelves overladen with stuff. Battered workbench. Cabinets. Neat rows of tools hanging from hooks.
‘What am I looking for, here?’
‘The shelves, sir. At the top.’
His gaze lifted. ‘Sweet Jesus.’
FIFTY-FOUR
The engine sounded so loud. Every judder and bump of the tyres carried up through the thin carpet and into Janet’s spine, hips and ribs. She pressed her head against the rounded metal of the wheel arch. The vibrations sent her teeth chattering. Anything to clear her head.
It had started to become obvious things weren’t right when she had felt herself being wheeled out of the house. He’d ignored her attempts to say stop, her son was coming. Had someone else appeared? She’d heard another voice, she was sure. A woman’s. After she’d felt herself being pulled into the rear of the vehicle, he’d scrambled back over her, one knee crushing her forearm as he’d climbed from the vehicle. There’d been a fleshy impact and the woman’s voice had gone quiet. Then the wheelchair had been thrown across her legs and the doors had slammed.
She tipped her head back. A chipboard partition separated the rear compartment from the driver’s cab. A small square had been cut into it. Through it, she could make out part of his ear and a section of greying hair. The baseball cap was no longer on his head.
The sides of the van were solid metal sheeting. No windows. She was partly rolled to the side as they sped round a corner, then her head banged against the wheel arch as the vehicle straightened.
She pressed her chin into her sternum. There was a window in each of the rear doors, but she was too low to see the street. Just the first-floor windows of the buildings moving steadily by. Street lamps. Guttering. The occasional chimney. Her pulse was irregular. She felt like her heart was swollen with pockets of trapped air. Too much pressure in her chest. She tried to raise herself onto an elbow.
‘Stay still!’
She twisted her head. Framed in the opening above her was a single demented eye.
‘If you move, I’ll shock you again. Hear me?’
He shocked me. That’s what happened. When had he done that? I’d been about to write on the … Her fingers were numb. Her wrist felt stiff. She flexed it and felt the tendons tingle. Had he—
‘Hear me? I will stick that pen in your eye and shock you!’
She let her head sink back.
‘Good. Stay like that.’
A few seconds passed. Faint words. Had he turned the radio on? A voice was coming from somewhere. A voice that buzzed. Her eyes widened with realization and her fingers crept to the pocket of her cardigan that held the walkie-talkie. She sought out the double lump of a side button and pressed the lower one repeatedly. The volume dropped. She slid it out and held it to the side of her face hidden from the driver’s view. His voice was miniscule in her ear.
‘Mum? Mum? It’s Sean. Mum, can you hear me? Mum?’
He could have been continents away. She pressed the transmit button and whispered, ‘Don’t shout.’
His voice changed. Sharper. ‘Where are you, Mum?’
She tried to not move her lips. ‘In a van. On the floor.’
‘I can’t hear you.’
‘He’s very close.’
‘He … he’s very close?’
‘I am in his van. On the floor. We are moving.’
‘OK, got it. Can you see anything?’
‘Not much.’
‘Shops, houses, offices?’
‘A main road, I think. We’re slowing. I need to keep quiet.’
The nose of the engine fell away as the vehicle stopped. Outside, she heard the beep of a zebra crossing. They were at a red light. Should she slap on the side of the vehicle? Try to scream? What would anyone do? Maybe call the police. But she already had her son on the line.
She lifted her head a fraction. She could see what had appeared to be the pole of a street lamp. But instead of the casing for a light at its top, there was a banner-shaped sign. Capital letters had been cut into an expanse of bronze-coloured metal. She couldn’t work out what it said. M. The first letter was an M. But then there was an A and an H. The next letter was completely alien. Then a 1 and a 0.
The van began to move forward, engine a quickening rumble.
‘I saw a sign,’ she whispered. ‘It said Mah, then I don’t know. The number one and zero.’
‘Where was the sign? What was it on?’
‘A street sign, at the top of a pole.’
‘You saw it out of the back window?’
‘Yes.’
Silence.
‘So you had already passed it?’
‘Yes.’
‘I know where you are. You were reading it back to front. Oldham. You’ve just entered the outskirts of Oldham.’
Sean tried to think. He must have taken her along the A6104 then left on the A627. That led directly to Oldham. Where were they going?
‘Hang on, Mum, I’m coming.’
The side road he was on led out onto the A6104. He raced to the end of it. His way was blocked by three cars queuing to get out. No siren in the vehicle. Shit! His phone started to ring so he placed the walkie-talkie on the passenger seat. It was the incident room.
‘He’s on the edge of Oldham! I think the A627. Pretty sure the A627.’
‘Sean, it’s Colin Troughton. He has your mum, is that correct?’
‘Correct.’ Every second he didn’t move, she was being taken further away from him.
‘OK, don’t worry Sean. Everyone is out on this, mate. Where are you?’
‘Stuck at a fucking – I’ll call you back.’ He threw the phone aside, put his hazards on, pressed down on the horn and pulled into the oncoming lane, praying nothing turned off the A6104. As he passed the cars queuing in front, their drivers looked across, dumbstruck. He began to nudge out onto the main road. Traffic approached from both directions. Lead cars began to slow. Ones further back began to beep in retaliation. Bracing himself for an impact, he pulled out of the side road. A red Audi skidded to a stop, then was shunted by the car behind it. Sean steered across the junction as the Audi driver jumped out. He started running towards Sean’s car, waving and shouting. Sean accelerated away, reaching a roundabout seconds later. Two cars waiting to get on. He mounted the empty pavement to get round them, then took the first left up Copster Hill Road. More horns blaring in his wake. He knew the road he was now on joined the A627 at the edge of Oldh
am’s town centre.
He grabbed the walkie-talkie. ‘Mum, can you hear me?’
For a second all he got was the ocean sounds of static. Then her voice came through. ‘Yes.’
Thank God. ‘I’m not far behind. Have you made any turns?’
‘Yes.’
Shit. ‘Still on the main road?’
‘I don’t know. Can’t talk.’
‘OK.’
His phone went again. Incident room. ‘Yes?’
‘The A627 joins the A62. We’re closing both roads, Sean.’
‘She might be on the A62 already!’
‘We’ll find her. Every single officer in Oldham’s station is flooding the town centre. He’s got nowhere to go. Where are you now?’
‘Just joined the A627.’
‘OK. Sean? You’ve done a superb job, but it’s best you back off now.’
‘Yeah, right.’ He cut the call and scanned ahead. The road was straight. In the distance, all he could see was the red of multiple brake lights coming on. Every single car was slowing.
Of course – they’d have blocked the roundabout connecting with the A62. This was all about to turn into a massive traffic jam.
‘Sean?’
He lunged for the walkie-talkie. ‘Yes?’
‘Shop sign. Drays Hearing Specialist.’
‘You just passed that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hang on.’
He retrieved his mobile and opened the browser. Clamping the phone against the steering wheel, he put the name in and pressed the search button. Lees Road. His heart flipped. That was the A669. They were already off the A62 and heading east, out into the countryside. She must be three, possibly four kilometres away.
He signalled right. By cutting across Alexandra Park, he could avoid Oldham town centre and get straight onto the A669.
‘Mum, are you moving?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m coming, Mum.’
‘We’re m – sk – – t—’
‘What was that?’
‘Sean? Se – lt – – ing.’
Her voice was cutting up. The cars ahead seemed to be crawling along. He tried flashing his lights and beeping. All that did was cause the car in front to immediately brake. ‘Get out the fucking way!’ He lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth. ‘Mum? I didn’t get that.’
‘—ry – t. C – m—’
‘Mum?’
Static. Nothing but static. He’d lost her.
FIFTY-FIVE
The browns and greys of buildings had now been replaced by greens and blues. The sky. Trees. There’d been nothing from Sean for about ten minutes. And the road was no longer flat. The van’s floor tipped and dipped. Often, the bends were so sharp, only the carpet prevented her from sliding about. She knew that, in terrain like this, the walkie-talkie would be useless. She kept trying it every few seconds, anyway.
Now and again, she heard his voice coming from the cab. She could tell it was about her. She’d wondered, at first, if someone else was up front. But after a while, she knew there wasn’t. It was just him, grunting and snarling. Sometimes she could hear exactly what he was saying. She didn’t care how fast they were going: the cruelty of his words made her wish she could kick the rear doors open and roll herself out.
Sean held his hand on the horn again and pulled out so his car was straddling the white lines that ran down the middle of the road. Vehicles on his side immediately slowed and swerved to the side. Eighty metres away, a car was coming straight at him. It started flashing its lights. He stuck a hand out of the window and waved frantically. Out the way. Out the way. Out the way. With an angry blast of its horn, the other vehicle braked sharply and edged to the kerb.
As Sean passed it, he heard a shout, speed slewing the words. ‘Fucking cock!’
He pressed on, alternating between beeping and waving. On the playing fields to his right, he saw a football match, frozen. Twenty-odd kids watching him in amazement.
Then he was on Goldwick Road, jinking right down side streets until the A669 turning appeared. He accelerated out on to an empty stretch of road. Retrieving his phone, he called the incident room. ‘It’s DC Blake. She was heading east on the A669 about five minutes ago. Got that?’
‘Affirmative.’
He pressed red and reached for the walkie-talkie. ‘Mum, can you hear me?’
A terrible silence. He filled his chest full of air and roared at the windscreen, left foot stamping up and down so hard the moving vehicle shook. Tears came into his eyes. ‘If you touch her,’ he sobbed. ‘If you touch her …’ He bit back his words, holding the tirade before it took hold. Get a grip. Think. He’s got something in mind. He must have.
He picked up his phone, went to Magda’s text and selected the ‘call this number’ option.
‘Sean? What’s going—’
‘Are you with Katherine Harpham?’
‘Yes.’
‘Magda, she has to think. Miller is heading east, out of Oldham. Next is Saddleworth Moor. Or beyond that, Huddersfield. Even Leeds. Did he ever say anything? Has she any idea where he might be going?’
‘Hold on.’
He sped along the road, eyes cutting to the walkie-talkie every few seconds. The roadside sign welcoming him to Greenfield flashed past. There was, he knew, a junction quite soon. At that point, the road split three ways: left to Uppermill, straight on towards Dove Stone reservoir or right towards Stalybridge. Come on, Magda. I need something.
It was time to face the truth: Sean wasn’t going to find her. Not out here in the middle of nowhere. Now she had to try and communicate with the person who’d got her. Make some kind of connection on a human level. At the moment, all she was to him was a lump of meat. Something he could electrocute, drag around, kick and slap. And that was just the start. Eventually, he’d kill her – like the others whose homes he’d tricked his way into.
‘Hello?’
Nothing.
‘Can we talk, please? Can I speak to you?’
No reply, though she heard movement. Like he was searching for something in the front.
‘My … my name is Janet and I—’
‘Silence!’ His voice was shrill with fury. She heard something scraping above her and looked up to see the blade of a knife jutting through the gap. ‘Open that filthy mouth again, I will cut out your tongue!’
‘Sean?’
Magda, at last. ‘Yes?’
‘She says he’s quite a keen walker.’
Sean winced. He was about to enter the Peak District National Park. The walking trails were endless.
‘One place he mentioned that’s close to you is called Pots and Pans.’
The junction. Lights were green. ‘What is it?’
‘Just moorland. But there’s a war memorial – it’s on top of the hills above Greenfield.’
‘A war memorial?’ He tried to picture anything remotely like that. Couldn’t.
‘The road that goes alongside the reservoirs, she says.’
‘The A635?’
Magda spoke away from the phone. ‘The A635? Yes, that one.’
Sean powered straight across the junction.
‘From that road, you can see it. Up on the hill.’
‘And he goes there?’
‘He told her once, his grandfather’s name is on the plaque. That’s all she can think of.’
By now, Sean had passed the little village to join the A635. He kept his eyes on the grassy slopes rearing up to his left. A gap in the trees and he glimpsed it: a black finger of stone pointing to the sky.
‘I see it!’
He tossed the phone aside and turned left. Dusk, instantaneous. The tree-shrouded lane was steep and incredibly narrow, clamped in place by towering dry stone walls on either side. If he met another vehicle coming down, they would be stuck. He dropped the car into first and pressed his foot down, engine whining in pain. The lane took him to the left, causing the monument to swing away to his right. He was now going
in the wrong direction. A turn appeared and he veered up that, monument directly ahead once more. The road rose for another hundred metres then he was suddenly into daylight, open heath land all around. There was a stony track to his right. It looked too bumpy for a vehicle.
He pulled over. Feet crunching, he ran up the incline as far as the first bend. To his surprise, a green van was crookedly parked further up. Silence. Not a soul around. The vehicle was a farmer’s, probably. He sprinted back to the road and was climbing into his car when he spotted something black with flashes of red at the road’s edge. He walked over, not wanting to believe it. His mum’s walkie-talkie, casing fractured, stubby antenna snapped off.
‘For pity’s sake, leave me!’
The wheelchair bucked and tilted as he dragged her backwards. They were now in a dip of the rough track, view around them swallowed by a thin line of scrubby bushes. Forty metres further down, the green van’s bumper was folded into a stone post. When he’d driven into it, the impact had squashed Janet up against the chipboard partition. Now she could hardly turn her head.
It had been the second sudden stop in less than a minute. The first had been when he’d spotted her speaking into the walkie-talkie. The vehicle had skidded to a halt and, moments later, the rear doors had opened. ‘Give it to me!’
‘Let me go. They’ll find you, you realize? There will be—’
‘Give it to me!’
The look on his face was petrifying. ‘No.’
He’d grabbed her left foot, pulled the shoe and sock off. The nasty-looking knife appeared from nowhere and he pressed its serrated edge into the tender arch of her foot. ‘I’ll flay you to the bone.’
Sobbing, she’d thrown the walkie-talkie in his direction. A hand had swept it out of the doors. He stamped down on it then kicked out with his foot. She’d heard it clatter across the pits in the road. The track was now getting worse. For the third time, he had to tip the wheelchair right back onto its rear wheels so he could negotiate an especially severe ridge. His breathing was ragged and desperate with the effort of what he was doing.
The wheelchair stopped and he appeared in front of her. ‘Sit up,’ he gasped, beckoning with the knife. ‘Sit up!’