The Camel Trail

by Merrigan, Peter J

  ‘Don’t go, Martin,’ Kevin begged.

  ‘I’ll call the police,’ Martin whispered.

  ‘No you won’t,’ Frankie said. ‘Get out.’

  ‘Dad,’ Kevin whined. ‘Please, Daddy, no. Let him stay.’

  ‘I’m losing my patience.’ Frankie reached in and pulled the kid from the car, dropped him on his feet on the road. Martin slumped to the ground. ‘Get up, you son of a bitch.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Get up!’ Frankie stood him back on his feet.

  ‘Please, Daddy.’

  Frankie crouched, eye-level with the boy. ‘You’re going to call your mother. You’re going to tell her you’re in Wadebridge. Got it? Say it. Say it.’

  ‘Wadebridge,’ the boy said.

  ‘You don’t call the police. Who do you call?’

  ‘My mum.’

  ‘Good boy. You tell her you’re in Wadebridge. You see that building, there? You describe that building to your mother, okay? Then she’ll know where you are. And when they come for you, what do you tell them? You tell them Kevin and his Daddy have gone for a drive.’

  ‘Daddy, please,’ Kevin begged again. ‘Let him stay.’

  ‘Shut up, son.’ He turned back to Kevin’s friend. ‘Gone for a drive, okay? You don’t know where.’

  ‘I don’t know where.’

  ‘Good. Here. Here’s fifty pence. Take it.’

  ‘What are you going to do to Kevin?’ the kid asked.

  ‘None of your business,’ Frankie said. He stood up. The boy looked weak, slouching against the side of the car. ‘Can you walk?’

  The boy nodded.

  ‘Good.’

  Kevin was in tears. ‘Daddy, please!’ he wailed.

  Chapter Ten

  Wild-eyed with terror, Sarah hammered her fist on top of Graeme’s car. ‘Where the hell are they?’

  ‘We’ll find them,’ Graeme assured her.

  ‘If he’s done anything to hurt them, I swear I’ll kill him.’

  ‘We don’t know if he even has them, Sarah,’ Tessa said. ‘For all we know he could still be in London.’

  A motorcycle pulled up alongside them. Alan, in leather jacket and blue jeans, cut the engine and stepped off the bike, tugging off his helmet. ‘No luck?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Graeme said.

  Sarah turned her pleading eyes to Alan. ‘You know Martin. Where would they be if not here?’

  Alan shook his head. ‘How long have they been gone?’

  ‘I noticed Martin wasn’t in his room just before eleven,’ Tessa said.

  Alan consulted his watch. ‘He’ll be worn out by now if they’ve been walking. They won’t be going far or fast.’ He paused, thoughtful, then said, ‘We’ve been working on a new regime. I’ve been trying to get him to swim more, use some of those muscles he doesn’t even know he has.’

  ‘Great,’ Graeme said. ‘We’re running Sarah over to the police station. Just in case. Would you mind checking out the pool?’

  Alan nodded. ‘It won’t take me long. I’ll call you when I get there. Have you tried calling home yet?’

  ‘They’re not there,’ Sarah said.

  Alan touched her arm. ‘We’ll find them. They can’t have gone too far.’ He pushed his helmet back on, climbed on the bike and started it up.

  Sarah, Tessa and Graeme got in the people-carrier. ‘Dear God,’ Sarah said, not often one for prayer. She didn’t know what else to say.

  As they hurried into the police station, Sarah rushed to the reception desk and blurted, ‘Our kids have gone missing. Maybe my husband has them. He must have come down from London and taken them. We don’t know where they are. They’ve gone missing.’

  The woman—Sarah couldn’t tell if she was an officer or just a reception clerk—smiled politely and said, ‘Calm down, dear. Your husband has taken your children?’

  ‘We’re not sure,’ Tessa said, coming to Sarah’s side. ‘Our boys, they’ve been missing since this morning. We looked in all their usual spots but can’t find them. Martin, my son, he’s got a condition; he can’t walk very far, he gets tired a lot. He also needs medication and I’m not sure if he has any with him.’

  ‘Let me just call the sergeant,’ the woman said. ‘If you’d like to take a seat, he’ll be with you as soon as he can.’

  ‘Our children are missing!’ Sarah almost screamed.

  ‘I’m aware of that, ma’am, but there are procedures. Please, take a seat.’

  As they sat, Graeme’s phone rang. It was Alan. No sign of them at the local swimming pool. He was going to check the beach then swing by their homes.

  After an eternity, during which time all sorts of things could have happened—or be happening—to Kevin and Martin, the police sergeant ushered them into a small interview room and offered them coffee.

  He jotted down descriptions of the two boys, asked for a list of all the places they might have been, all the places Sarah and the others had already checked and a run down of Martin’s condition and the medication he was on—it seemed the fact that Martin had muscular dystrophy and should be administered medication throughout the day added weight to their appeal. Two ordinary boys, the sergeant implied, would not warrant sufficient police attention until twenty-four hours had passed since their disappearance.

  ‘Have there been any upsets at home?’ the sergeant asked. ‘Anything to make the boys want to run away?’

  ‘Nothing,’ they all said. Sarah added, ‘Kevin didn’t know, but my husband, his father, was released from Wandsworth Prison last week.’

  ‘What was his sentence?’

  Sarah blushed minutely. ‘Rape. ABH.’ She twisted the cuff of her sleeve with her fingers. ‘Kevin’s the reason he was put behind bars in the first place. He called the police, even gave a statement for court, what little he knew. If it wasn’t for him, I’d probably be dead.’

  ‘You think he’d come looking for you?’

  ‘He’s insane. He’d do anything to hurt me. I’m sure of it.’

  The sergeant nodded. ‘Wandsworth. Is he living in London?’ When Sarah said yes, the sergeant said, ‘If you can just write down his full name for me and an address if you have one, I’ll get onto the Met, get an officer to nip round and see if he’s still there.’

  ‘And if he’s not?’ Sarah asked.

  The sergeant smiled warmly. ‘One step at a time. In the meantime, I’ll get these descriptions out to my officers. Someone’ll spot them before too long.’

  ‘We shouldn’t be here,’ Sarah said. She was pacing the waiting room in the station, had read the poster about knife crime at one end of the room more times than she cared to count and was gnawing her fingernails to the quick. ‘We should be out there looking for them.’

  Graeme checked his watch. ‘The police will be keeping an eye out for them. And Alan’s still out there looking.’

  Tessa’s voice was raw. ‘Will you sit down, please, Sarah? You’re making me nervous.’

  ‘You should be nervous. God knows what he’ll do to them. They could be dead in a ditch for all we know.’

  ‘That’s enough!’ Tessa barked. ‘If your husband has them, I’ll happily help you knife the bastard in the gut. But until we know for sure, just shut up and sit down.’

  Sarah stopped pacing, stared at Tessa.

  Tessa stood, face ashen. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…I’m as anxious as you are to get the boys back.’

  Sarah sighed, hugged her friend. ‘I know. I’m sorry. If it wasn’t for me, none of this would have happened. It’s all my fault.’

  ‘We still don’t know what’s going on. They could be anywhere.’

  Just then, the sergeant came out and asked them to follow him back into the interview room. Sarah thought the silver stripes on his epaulettes looked brighter, shinier, but his face was dark and clouded. ‘I’ve just heard back from the Met in London.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ Sarah said, her hands going to her mouth. ‘H
e’s here, isn’t he?’

  ‘We think he left London some time in the early hours of the morning. Looks like he took his brother’s car. Now, there’s no reason to suspect he’d be coming here—my contact at the Met suggests he doesn’t know your new address—but we’re going to step up the search. I’ve already called in some extra men.’

  ‘How easy would it be for him to find out where they live?’ Graeme asked.

  The sergeant shrugged. ‘In this day and age, what with the Internet and all, who knows? If he’s got any influential friends, he could have tracked a credit card statement or anything.’

  ‘Can people really do that?’

  The sergeant didn’t answer the question. He turned to Sarah. ‘I think it’s wise if you went home. I’m going to get one of my officers to accompany you. Keep him topped up with tea and he’ll keep you secure, just in case Mr Catchpole hasn’t arrived yet, if he ever does.’

  ‘Our sons have gone missing the day Frankie disappears from London and you think he hasn’t arrived yet?’

  ‘It’s precautionary,’ the sergeant said. He looked at all three of them in turn. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll get your boys back.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Kevin unbuckled his seatbelt and clambered out of the car. Tears streaked his cheeks. Once out, he couldn’t move, didn’t know what to do. He stared at his dad.

  ‘Get back in the car, son,’ his dad said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t make me come round there.’

  Kevin looked up the street, looked at Martin, looked at his father. ‘If you don’t let Martin come with us, I’ll…I’ll run away.’

  ‘Get in the car,’ his father growled.

  Kevin took a deep breath and screamed, ‘Help!’

  Standing erect, his dad drummed his right fist into his left hand. ‘Stop that or I’ll break your jaw.’

  Kevin stopped shouting. Quietly, he said, ‘You can’t leave him here.’

  In a swift move, Kevin’s father gripped Martin’s arm, twisted it behind his back and grabbed his throat with his free hand. To Kevin he said, ‘Get back in the car. Now.’

  Kevin sobbed. ‘Not without Martin. I’ll run, I swear.’

  ‘If you run or scream I’ll break his neck.’

  Kevin looked around. Where was everyone? Why wasn’t anyone passing by to see what was happening? He took a small step away from the car. ‘Martin’s coming with us.’

  Angered, his father pushed Martin into the backseat of the car and slammed the door. In a few short strides he was on the pavement, grabbing at Kevin with one hand and slapping his face with the other, punctuating each slap with a word. ‘How dare you disobey me.’

  Kevin’s face stung with numbness, tears clouded his vision, his cheeks felt swollen and his legs felt weak.

  His dad opened the car door and pushed him inside, then he went to the front, took out the car keys and locked the boys inside.

  Kevin straightened himself up in the seat, fingers tracing red welts on his cheeks. Martin slouched against the seatback, staring forward.

  ‘Why’d you do that?’ he asked.

  Kevin shrugged. ‘He was going to leave you here.’

  ‘He gave me money for the phone. I could have got help. I could have called the police.’

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ Kevin said. He knew how his father could manipulate people into doing the things he wanted them to do.

  Martin looked down at his own hands. ‘But my mum would have. As soon as I called her she would speak to the police. She’d let them know where I was and they could chase after your dad.’

  ‘He’s not going to hurt you,’ Kevin said.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I just know. If he’s going to hurt anyone, it’ll be me. If he takes us home, we’ll run away to the neighbour’s house and get help from there. Before he beats me.’

  They were silent for a moment, furtively watching Kevin’s dad through the rear window as he went into the phone box and picked up the receiver.

  Finally, Martin said, ‘I won’t let him hit you. If he wants to, he’ll have to get through me first.’

  Frankie listened impatiently to the ringing at the other end of the line. Finally, his brother answered. When Frankie identified himself, Robert said, ‘Where the hell are you? The cops were round asked lots of questions. What have you been up to?’

  ‘That little bitch,’ Frankie said. ‘I’ll kill her. What did you tell them?’

  ‘Kill who?’

  ‘Who do you think?’

  ‘Shit, man, you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t go after her.’

  ‘What did you tell the cops?’

  ‘Nothing. But they spoke to a few of the neighbours, too. I tried to spin them a line, not that I knew what you were up to anyway, but I reckon they got wise. What have you done with my car?’

  ‘I’ve just borrowed it. I’ll bring it back in good nick.’

  ‘You can’t come home,’ Robert said. ‘Not yet. The cops’ll be all over the place. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m on the road. I’m bringing back a little something.’

  It only took Robert a moment to work it out. ‘Kevin? Shit, man, she must be going out of her mind. You haven’t…’

  ‘I haven’t even seen her. Picked the boy up on the street. Trouble is I’ve got his mate with him, too.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know. Some kid. What does it matter?’ Frankie sighed, ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Look, keep the cops off my back and I’ll start to head back towards London. I’ll lay low somewhere for the night.’

  ‘What about the boys?’ Robert asked.

  ‘I don’t know yet. I’ll call you tomorrow.’ He hung up, stepped out of the phone box and cursed. This was definitely not going the way it should have gone.

  Back in the car, he thumped his fists against the steering wheel, sounding the horn. The kids jumped visibly behind him. He turned, reached back and smacked Kevin across the face. ‘Don’t you ever disobey me again, you hear?’

  He looked at Martin. ‘Looks like you’re in it for the long haul, mate. I don’t want a peep out of either of you. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Martin said.

  ‘Kevin?’

  Kevin nodded. ‘Yes, Daddy.’

  Shit-scared. That’s what he was. And that’s what his mother must be, too. She must know by now that he and Martin were missing; it had been hours since they left. They had just listened to the news on the radio, marking the half-hour, but there had been no mention of two kidnapped boys. He clung to the hope that that didn’t mean nobody knew or cared. His Mum would call the police and they’d be looking for them. It was only a matter of time before they were pulled over and his Dad was taken away in the back of a police car.

  Martin was asleep again. He had been exhausted and sore even before Frankie picked them up. And what about his medication? Kevin thought. Did he have any with him?

  In the front seat, his Dad clocked him in the rear-view mirror. ‘Did you see Arsenal play last weekend?’

  Kevin looked out the window at the traffic passing in the opposite direction.

  ‘Two-one against,’ his Dad said. ‘Fucking ref. He sent your man off for spitting. I mean, was he blind? The man’s not got a bad bone in his body. If I were him, I’d have spit in the ref’s face.’

  Kevin closed his eyes and concentrated on the music from the radio, trying to block out the sound of his father’s voice.

  ‘Are you listening to me?’

  He tried to slow his breathing down, in and out through the nose, but he couldn’t take a lungful of air without a nervous pain hurting his chest. Eyes still closed, he pictured in his mind the vision of a gurgling stream, like you’re supposed to when you’re stressed. He pictured the water rushing over his feet, birds singing in the trees, sun warming his face and a soft breeze stirring his hair.

  But it was no use.

  ‘Have you gone soft since you left London?’ his
Dad asked. ‘Football not good enough for you anymore?’

  Kevin opened his eyes but refused to speak.

  ‘You know what happens when you ignore me.’

  He turns into the Hulk, he really does. Kevin said, ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘Tell me what you’ve been up to since I saw you last.’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘That’s a lie. Are you going to school? Has Sarah quit smoking yet? Do you have a girlfriend?’ Kevin didn’t answer. ‘How come you never wrote to me inside?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘I didn’t know the address,’ Kevin said in a weak voice, his lips curling in a snarl when he knew his father wasn’t watching him.

  ‘You could have found out. I’m your father, for God’s sake. You could have written me your new address. I’d have sent you a birthday card. How much money did you make this year?’

  ‘None. I just got presents.’

  ‘Robert sends his love.’

  Uncle Robert wasn’t all that bad. He gave good presents at Christmas and birthdays. He smoked too much cannabis sometimes, and probably thought Kevin never knew, but he did. His Mum used to say Robert would flirt with anything that moved, especially after a toke.

  One year, for Christmas, Robert gave Kevin a full Arsenal strip with his name on the back of the shirt, and a photo of the team that was signed by the whole squad. It’d be worth thousands, probably, one day, but he didn’t have it anymore. It was left behind with everything else when they moved.

  His Dad took the next slip road off the motorway that indicated a Welcome Break services. Martin had slouched into a position that looked humanly impossible and would likely wake with a stiff neck, and Kevin—although he was tired—knew that he wouldn’t sleep until he was back in his own bed.

  They took the ramp up and over the motorway and crossed into the services. The parking spaces were filled mostly with lorry cabs and their trailers down along one end. A number of cars squatted closer to the main building, grouped together like cows huddled against the rain. Frankie swung into a space between a blue Honda and a rusting old orange campervan like something out of Scooby Do.