Hidden Witness hc-15

by Nick Oldham

  ‘To me, and anyone else with a brain, the answer’s simple. Go to the police. You haven’t done anything wrong, except rob three people.’ She pulled a disapproving face at this. ‘They’ll protect you, it’s their job. Speak to that Christie guy, the one who dealt with Beth

  …’

  Mark was already shaking his head. ‘No, he’s a twat, they’re all twats,’ he spat.

  ‘Stop swearing,’ Katie admonished him with a hoarse whisper, looking around embarrassed.

  ‘OK, OK. I’m going. I just wanted to let you know, that’s all.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You know. Sorry I was a dickhead. I just wanted to let you know before I left.’

  ‘Have you seen Bradley?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Mark ran the back of his hand under his nose. ‘I let him know.’

  Katie sat back and regarded him, her mouth tight.

  ‘Look, will you do me one last favour?’ he asked.

  She sighed. ‘Depends.’

  ‘Use your phone, call me a taxi to take me to Preston railway station.’

  ‘Why not Blackpool? It’ll cost a fortune to get to Preston.’

  ‘They’ll be on the lookout for me around here.’

  ‘Mark — who’s they?’

  ‘Cops, crims, killers… everyone. I’ve got enough to pay for the taxi. Preston’s on the mainline, so I can go anywhere from there.’

  ‘And what will you do?’

  ‘I haven’t worked that one out yet.’

  ‘Have you spoken to your mum about this?’

  ‘That bitch.’

  ‘She’s still your mum.’

  ‘Sod her, I’m going and that’s that.’ He looked longingly at Katie. She was very, very pretty. ‘Will you come to the station with me and say goodbye?’

  And although her senses told her no, the fact was that she was still a young, romantic lass, still in love with Mark, and what could be more beautiful than saying a tearful goodbye on a cold railway platform? It was an offer her immature mind could not refuse.

  Despite the time of day, busy for taxi drivers, one arrived in ten minutes, lured by the length of the journey and its earn-ing potential. But when the lady driver saw her fares, she balked.

  ‘You sure you have enough money?’ she sneered at the kids.

  Angrily Mark almost stuffed the roll of notes he’d stolen from his mother into her face. ‘Does that look enough?’

  ‘Yeah, OK, just asking,’ she said defensively.

  The two teenagers got into the back and their twenty-mile journey began.

  At first they were silent, engrossed in their thoughts.

  ‘My mum’ll kill me if she finds out about this,’ Katie said.

  ‘Why should she?’

  ‘Cos the school will phone her up eventually when they realize I’m not there.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, that’s what they do, isn’t it? I think they’ve given up on me.’

  ‘You fool, Mark, you bloody fool,’ Katie said almost in the style of one of the heroine’s she had just been reading about in an Austen novel.

  Next thing, the two were in a clinch. Their teeth clashed, their lips mashed together and groans of ecstasy emanated from their throats. The taxi driver saw the embrace in the rear view mirror and gave them an ‘Oi’.

  They disengaged. Katie looked seductively at Mark and he looked lustily at her, feeling himself tight against his zipper. They sat close together for the remainder of the journey and using Katie’s school bag and Mark’s rucksack for cover, Mark slid his hand up her skirt and she hers down his jeans. But they fooled no one, especially at the point of climax when Mark howled loudly.

  The taxi driver tutted disgustedly.

  There were problems on the west coast mainline, delays in both directions and the next train, north or south, wouldn’t pass through for at least another hour. Going east wasn’t a problem, but Mark had set his mind on London. Homeless and hungry in Leeds didn’t have the same ring to it, somehow.

  ‘This is so wrong,’ Katie breathed into Mark’s ear. They continued to embrace on the platform at Preston railway station. ‘Please don’t go. I didn’t realize I missed you so much.’

  The young, virile Mark’s resolve was weakening. He was hard again, his cock feeling like it was on fire, straining against his damp clothing.

  ‘I need to disappear, otherwise they’ll kill me.’

  She pushed him away. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘You’ve got Bradley,’ he said, hurt.

  ‘Bradley’s nice enough, but he isn’t you.’

  ‘I do want to be with you, but I can’t.’ He looked up at the overhead arrivals monitor. A train from Manchester for Blackpool was due in shortly.

  Katie’s mobile phone rang. She checked it. ‘My mum, jeez. The school must have contacted her already.’ She pressed the disconnect button.

  ‘They won’t know you’re with me,’ Mark said confidently. ‘Just get on the train and waltz back into school. Say you felt ill or something — but please don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me, or know where I’m going.’

  ‘I won’t,’ she promised him. She kissed the tip of her forefinger and placed it on his lips, then turned and crossed the platform as the Blackpool train drew into the station.

  ‘No reply. Her phone must be turned off.’ Katie’s mother, a mid-forties version of her pretty daughter held up the home phone to prove her point.

  Henry Christie held up his hands to reassure her as he spoke. ‘It’ll be nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Nothing to worry about? She hasn’t missed one day of school since she was five years old. If that little brute has anything to do with this, I’ll wring his neck.’ Her own neck and jaw were tensed as she spoke.

  ‘It may not be anything to do with Mark. It might not be anything to do with anything,’ he stressed, ineffectually.

  ‘Ma’am, has she seen Mark Carter recently?’ Karl Donaldson asked Mrs Bretherton, pronouncing the surname as ‘Carduh’ and utilizing his slow Yankee twang as a soothing device. Her eyes came up to him seductively. Henry thought he heard her gasp.

  ‘No, no,’ she said, suddenly self-conscious under Donaldson’s eyes. ‘I know she missed him, though. Always mooning around the place. I think they’ve had relations,’ she said timidly, ‘but she never confided to me, though.’

  Mrs Bretherton was wearing a fairly low cut blouse, a practical piece of clothing and not excessively revealing, but Henry spotted that her upper chest and lower neck had flushed red. She actually fanned herself by flapping hand, and blowing out. It’s not that hot, Henry thought sourly.

  ‘Are you OK, ma’am,’ Donaldson inquired as though he cared.

  She licked her lips, they’d gone dry, and said, ‘Yes, I’m just hot all of a sudden.’

  Henry’s mouth curved down disdainfully at the corners.

  ‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry y’self about,’ Donaldson cooed. ‘Even if she is with Mark, he ain’t no danger, but we do need to trace him. And obviously we’ll put our efforts into finding Katie, too. S’please, doncha worry.’

  ‘I won’t,’ she said with a quiver.

  The two detectives had hurried from the school on receiving the news from the head teacher about Katie’s absence and gone directly to the Bretherton household. Henry would have staked Donaldson’s fat pay packet on Katie being with Mark. It was too much of a coincidence. They’d once been very close and if Mark was going around saying his farewells to his mates, it was always on the cards that Katie would be on the list as well as Bradley.

  ‘Detective Superintendent Christie receiving?’ Henry’s PR called out.

  ‘Go ‘head.’

  ‘FYI, we’ve got a patrol on Pier Gardens, Shoreside, attending the scene of a garden shed break.’

  ‘And that has what to do with me?’ Henry said irritably.

  ‘We thought you’d be interested. Looks like someone might have bedded down there for the night, then stolen a bike — and also left an
unpleasant calling card.’

  ‘Oh, right, sorry. I am interested, Get the patrol attending to take details and pass them on to the MIR please.’ Henry’s thumb came off the transmit button and he looked triumphantly at Donaldson and Mrs Bretherton. ‘Could be where Mark got his head down.’

  Mrs Bretherton’s house phone then rang.

  She picked it up. ‘Katie, where the heck are you? I’ve been worried sick. The police are here… oh.’ She looked at the dead phone. ‘Hung up.’

  ‘What did she say, ma’am?’

  ‘That she was OK. That was it.’

  ‘Will you ring her back, please?’ Henry asked.

  ‘And beg her not to hang up,’ Donaldson said sweetly. ‘If she is or has been with Mark, we urgently need to speak to her.’

  ‘I’ll try.’ She fumbled with the touch-tone keypad under the gaze of the two men. Eventually she tabbed in the number, put the phone to her ear and looked at Donaldson as she waited, her eyes taking him in. Henry could see she was wondering what it would be like. He glanced at Donaldson who had that lopsided grin on his face and Henry suddenly realized that the big dumb Yank thought he was God’s gift to women following his tawdry encounter in Malta. That, Henry thought peevishly, could unleash a very dangerous animal. ‘It’s ringing,’ Mrs Bretherton said. Then it was answered as she bent forward, as if craning to hear would actually increase the volume. ‘Darling, please don’t hang up. I’m not angry. Please, this is very important…’ Henry held and waggled his fingers for the phone. ‘Love, please don’t hang up, there’s a police officer here who must speak to you.’

  ‘Katie? This is Henry Christie… yeah, I thought you’d know me. Love, you’re not in trouble but just tell me, have you seen Mark Carter this morning?’

  Katie agonized over her answer. The half-filled train was heading towards Blackpool and she could still feel Mark’s hand down her panties, and what he’d said about love and her promise to him not to talk almost made her say no, I haven’t seen him.

  But Katie Bretherton was no liar.

  Plus, she could see that her overriding responsibility was above her feelings for Mark. She was a very moral girl who wanted to do the right thing. She watched the countryside blur by for a moment.

  ‘Yes, I have seen him.’

  The platform was getting busier with irritated passengers. Late trains were nothing new, but this was getting ridiculous.

  Mark milled around restlessly, his eyes roving. Only when he was on the Virgin Express and the next stop was Crewe would he feel anything like safe. He checked the boards. The news was good. One minute to the arrival of the Pendolino service to Euston, stopping only at Crewe and Rugby. In less than three hours he would be at Euston Station and on the streets of London.

  He was on platform three, the main one, looking north up the tracks as they curved away in the distance. The train came into view in its distinctive Virgin livery.

  He heaved up his rucksack and sleeping bag, checked his ticket once more, the one he’d bought for cash at the station. Carriage D, seat twelve, forward facing.

  The train was less than a hundred metres from the platform now, slowing down gently.

  Mark edged to the safety line, trying to work out where carriage D would be. Fourth down from the front, or fourth from back?

  He positioned himself where he thought the middle of the train might be once it had stopped.

  The engine passed him. The brakes hissed. He could smell diesel and smoke. He looked for his carriage.

  The train stopped and the doors slid open. Some angry-looking people disembarked. They’d been stuck somewhere out in the country for two hours, no hot drinks, no food. Sod ’em, Mark thought. Just get out of the way and let me on.

  He was about to place his right foot through the nearest door when hands gripped his biceps at either side of his body and he was dragged roughly away from the train.

  Henry was driving. Donaldson was in the passenger seat, grinning like a slightly woozy Cheshire cat.

  ‘That poor woman almost had an orgasm when you talked to her,’ a miffed Henry said.

  ‘I know,’ he said smugly.

  ‘Your mojo is on fire.’

  ‘Yeah, baby.’

  Henry scowled at him. ‘It’s only just dawned on you, hasn’t it?’

  ‘The amazing effect I have on the opposite sex? Yuh, suppose so.’

  Henry gasped with disbelief, but before he could say anything, his phone rang. ‘Henry Christie… thanks for that.’ He looked at Donaldson. ‘Got him.’

  THIRTEEN

  Having warned Karl Donaldson in no uncertain terms not to unleash his newly discovered sexual superpowers on Kate, Henry dropped him off at his home. Then he headed down the A585 towards Preston. He’d told the plain-clothes officers who’d arrested Mark on the railway station to lodge him in the cells on suspicion of robbery and he would come to collect him personally.

  Meanwhile, Donaldson settled in Henry’s house and was given a cup of tea by Kate who, having known him for a long time, was completely immune to his charms. From a purely objective standpoint, though, she could have happily ripped off his clothes and pleasured herself on him, and had she not been so completely in love with Henry, that’s what she would have done. A long time ago.

  ‘Karen phoned earlier,’ she told Donaldson. ‘Said she’d be up mid-afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, smashing,’ he said dubiously.

  Instantly the female radar honed in on something. ‘Is that OK?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  She folded her arms. ‘You two aren’t having problems again, are you?’

  ‘Uh, no,’ he lied. It wasn’t long since Kate had acted as a bit of a go-between and engineered a meeting between him and Karen after they’d been having problems following him being wounded in Barcelona. Kate was under the impression they’d weathered that storm. Maybe she’d been wrong. She could sense something was troubling Karl, who in terms of his personal life was a bit of an open book. Unlike his professional life that was shrouded in secrecy.

  ‘You can tell me, you know.’ She smiled sympathetically at him — and he almost fell for it. The man who had faced one of the world’s most wanted terrorists and emerged victorious, who had hunted down bombers and violent criminals, had almost blabbed his infidelity to his wife’s friend.

  ‘Nah, it’s nothing — honestly.’ He held her stare sheepishly, before being forced to shrug, look away and cough guiltily.

  ‘Fine,’ she said.

  ‘Henry said it would be OK for me to use the study. I need to do some research on the Internet.’

  Henry pulled up at the new police station in Preston about half an hour later, traffic having held him up a little. He was buzzed into the building via the enquiry desk and made his way along the ground floor corridor to the custody office where he presented himself to one of the two custody officers. They were lords, masters of all they surveyed, a step higher than everyone else on a raised area that reminded Henry of a spaceship command centre, the captain’s bridge. He knew the custody officer, so there was no need for introductions.

  ‘I’ve come to collect Mark Carter.’

  ‘Good, a wick little bleeder, that one. He’s spat at me and pissed all over his cell.’

  ‘Charming.’

  The custody officer beckoned over a gaoler and told him to take Henry to Mark’s cell, a juvenile detention room just off the main custody reception area. As the cell door opened, the strong odour of urine hit Henry.

  Mark was stretched out on the bench, on his side, facing the wall. He did not move when the door opened. A pool of yellow stinking piss was on the cell floor, splashed up on to the walls also.

  ‘He won’t clean it up, so we’ve left him in it,’ explained the gaoler to Henry.

  ‘Do you piss everywhere you go now?’ Henry said, a comment that elicited no response from Mark. ‘I said…’

  ‘I heard what you said,’ Mark mumbled into the wall.

  ‘Get me a mop a
nd a bucket,’ Henry said quietly to the gaoler. ‘You’re going to clean this up, Mark.’

  ‘No I’m not.’

  ‘Wrong answer.’

  Mark twisted his head around and saw that his annoyer was Henry. He groaned. ‘Oh no, not you. Just eff off and leave me alone.’

  The gaoler eyed Henry, gave a tut, then went down the corridor for the mop, leaving Henry temporarily alone with Mark. The detective stepped carefully into the cell, avoiding the pee, and leaned over. His mouth was only inches from Mark’s right ear.

  ‘You get the fuck up, you mop up your own piss and then you’re coming with me.’

  ‘Or what?’ Mark was staring intently at the wall on which was inscribed without any originality, ‘Cops’r’cuntz’, a sentiment with which Mark agreed wholeheartedly.

  ‘Or I’ll rub your nose in it,’ Henry whispered.

  Mark flinched.

  Henry added, ‘You know I will.’

  ‘I’ve got rights. I’ll sue you.’

  ‘No one’s done that successfully yet,’ Henry said. He stood up as the gaoler returned with the cleaning utensils, one in each hand, reminding Henry of a soldier on latrine duties. ‘Get up Mark, we have some important things to discuss.’

  ‘Go away.’

  Henry turned to the gaoler and gave him the ‘look’. The man nodded and quickly sidestepped out of view. Henry grabbed Mark’s arm and yanked him off the bench and before he knew it he was on his knees, one arm wedged up between his shoulder blades face to the floor. His head was being pressed down by Henry’s big hand on the back of it, his nose hovering less than an inch above his urine.

  Henry bent low again. ‘I have no time to mess about here, Mark. Things have got very serious and you have to cooperate with me.’

  ‘Did that bitch tell you where I was?’

  ‘None of that matters any more. Just clean up your mess and let’s get moving.’ Henry ratcheted Mark’s arm another inch up his back. A hiss of pain exited from between his clenched teeth.

  ‘OK, OK,’ Mark relented.

  ‘And after you’ve done that, we might go and scoop up the shit you left in some poor bugger’s shed last night, at the same time as returning his bike to him, eh?’