by DC Brockwell
“I do,” Beattie replied, with a smile. “Have you got any pictures of her?”
Beattie waited while Alan found the photos on his mobile, and she looked – really looked – at her husband for the first time in years. He was a good-looking forty-five-year-old man. He also had all his hair, which was more than most wives could say. He didn’t have a hideous beer belly, and he still had a sparkle in his eyes.
She took hold of his phone and scrolled through reams of photos dating back three weeks, smiling as she looked. Samantha was every bit as beautiful as Alan said. She had lovely shiny shoulder-length brown hair, blue eyes, and an attractive smile complete with dimples. She had a dainty little button nose too, which suited her chiselled cheekbones.
“That’s Hannah, there,” said Alan, pointing to a woman in a wheelchair.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Multiple Sclerosis, final stages. She can’t walk.”
“That’s terrible,” Beattie replied, her voice genuine, which surprised her.
“She’s been given six months, tops.”
“Is that why she contacted you now, and not years ago?”
“I guess so,” he said. “It was Sammy; she talked Hannah into contacting me. She wanted to find out what her daddy’s like.”
Beattie handed him the phone back and they remained silent for a couple of minutes; she was trying to get her head around Alan’s surprise, and Alan was scrolling through the photos, smiling.
“Do you want to meet her?” he asked after a few moments.
“Of course I do; she’s your daughter. But do you think she’ll like me?”
Alan bent down, staring into her eyes. “She’ll love you as much as I do, I’m sure.”
“You still love me?” Beattie asked him, her voice quiet. “But we’ve been so distant for so long.”
“I know, and I want it back; I want us to be the way we were before, honey.”
She smiled as she leaned forwards for an embrace. She wanted the same thing, or at least she thought she did. Beattie was so confused. For years they’d drifted apart, had become more like friends than husband and wife, so why now? Why would he want to start afresh now?
“This whole experience has taught me to appreciate what you’ve got, while you’ve got it,” he said, as though reading her mind. “I love you, Bea, I always have.”
“I love you too,” she replied, before really kissing him for the first time in months.
Maybe this was what she needed, she thought as their kiss deepened. Maybe her infatuation with Lennox was just her unconscious telling her she was lonely? Maybe she didn’t need Lennox after all? Maybe she still loved her husband?
“Bloody hell, Nas, what happened to you?”
Nasreen had an ice pack on top of her head. Her left cheek was swollen, and her neck was red from where the masked man had picked her up and choked her. She had lumps and bruises everywhere. For the most part, though, she’d come away relatively unscathed.
Katerina had come back from her night out a few minutes after the attack to find Nasreen lying on the floor, and as soon as she was able, Nasreen had phoned Terrence, not wanting to officially call in the attack. After all, she trusted Adams about as far as she could throw him.
She’d asked Katerina to find a receptacle, something she could put the saliva in, and her nanny had come back with a small Tupperware cylinder. She’d managed to scoop the saliva off her cheek and wipe it into the cylinder, sealing it with the lid and making it airtight. Then she’d limped over to the kitchen sink and washed her face with Fairy liquid. She could walk – or rather limp – but she still felt like she’d been in a kickboxing match. One she’d lost.
Mina was sitting on Katerina’s lap, crying.
“We had an intruder,” Nasreen replied. “A masked man came in through the back door and attacked me.” When she saw the concern on her partner’s face, she added, “Don’t worry – I’m fine, really. Just a few cuts and bruises, nothing serious.”
“We need to get you to the hospital, get you checked out.”
“No! There’s no need for that, please.” She touched her head, feeling the lumps that were starting to swell. “I do need a couple of things, though, if you can help?”
“Sure, whatever you need.”
Nasreen asked Katerina to take Mina to her bedroom and help her pack some of her things. Katerina was to do the same. Once they’d gone, it was just her and Terrence.
“What’s going on, Nas?” he asked gently. “I’m getting the feeling there’s more to this than you’re telling me.”
Nasreen took a deep breath before replying. “It was the driver from the picture. Danny’s abductor. He told me that Danny’s dead and he warned me not to keep looking, or he’ll come back here, rape and kill my daughter in front of me, and then kill me.”
“Fuck!” was all Terrence could manage.
“He said he’ll be watching me, so I can only assume he’s been watching me for days already – maybe even weeks. He knew I’d been investigating Danny’s disappearance.”
She paused, catching her breath before asking, “When you drove here, did you see any cars nearby?”
She waited while Terrence thought back to arriving.
“There’s a car just down the road from here, on the other side of the street, yeah. I thought it was one of your neighbours’ cars.”
“Shit! Then he’s right outside.”
“I’ll go get this prick.”
“No! Wait a sec. Let us get our stuff together first. I’m going to go off-grid for a while, but I’ll need your help, if that’s okay with you?”
Terrence nodded his understanding. “What do you need?”
“I need to get that guy away from me, so I can disappear. I need a gun, and I need you to get this analysed for me. Do you think you can do that?”
Terrence took hold of the Tupperware container and stared at it.
“The intruder spat on my face. That’s his saliva.”
Terrence raised his eyebrows in salute. “His DNA, more like. Well done, Nas. I’ll get on this first thing in the morning. Not too bright, this guy, is he?”
She smiled. Generally, they weren’t too bright, she thought. “You understand that this needs to be analysed on the quiet though, right? I don’t want Adams finding out.”
“Of course,” Terrence whispered. “I know you don’t trust him. I’ll let you know who this guy is.”
“And I’ll need you to access the PNC for names and addresses of his family and any known associates.”
“No problem,” Terrence replied, much to her surprise.
After everything that had happened, she hadn’t been sure he would want to help her out.
“Anything else?”
“The gun, it has to be small enough to fit in my bag.” She’d trained with firearms at the academy, so she knew her way around weapons.
“I know just where to go for that, no problem. I’ll bring a couple of clips too.” Terrence looked at her like he wanted to say something.
“What is it?” she asked, beyond tired.
“I was going to try to talk you out of–”
“Don’t even. Danny’s still alive; I know it.”
Terrence shook his head. “I said I was going to try. I know you well enough to know that when you set your mind on something, there’s nothing anyone can say to stop you. Just be careful, yeah?”
She agreed to be as careful as she could, given the circumstances. “Now, how are we going to get rid of this bastard outside?”
“Leave that to me.”
Nasreen and Terrence packed some of her clothes, then helped Mina and Katerina with their packing. When they were all ready, they stored the suitcases in the boot of Nasreen’s car. Mina and Katerina got in and waited, while Nasreen and Terrence walked to the end of the driveway.
“Be careful,” she said to Terrence, as he walked across the road toward the masked man’s car.
Nasreen watched as Terrence pu
lled out his police warrant card, holding it up. She heard him say, “Get out of your vehicle, you’re under arrest…” when the headlights of the car – she couldn’t make out the make or model – came on, the driver speeding off in Terrence’s direction, the tyres screeching.
“Terrence, watch out!” Nasreen screamed.
With adrenaline spiking, she watched Terrence dive out of the way, narrowly missing being hit. The car shot past her – so fast that she still couldn’t get the full registration, only a partial– and she ran over to where Terrence was picking himself up.
“Don’t worry about me, get in your car and go!” he said, brushing himself off.
“Thank you so much for your help. I’ll be in touch – I’ll let you know where to meet me with the stuff I need.”
“Get going. He could double back on us any second.”
Nasreen ran home, got in the red Fiesta, and sped in the opposite direction.
She was going under the radar, and she would find Danny…
42
Lennox accelerated his Ford Ranger and pulled up beside the Director General’s Mercedes. As he glanced to his left, he saw Michael Wells looking at him, shocked, and knowing there was a curve coming up, Lennox turned his steering wheel sharply, smashing into the side of the Mercedes.
He managed to correct his car, as the Director General lost control of his and careered off to the left, into a bank of trees. When he heard the crash, Lennox slowed down and looked in the rear-view mirror. He could see smoke.
Lennox stopped, then reversed. Considering there were no street lamps, it wasn’t too dark – the whole area was brightly lit by a supermoon.
As he got out of the Ranger, he could smell the stench of burning rubber and metal. And as he approached the crash site he stepped on broken glass and other debris. He could hear moaning in the distance, meaning the NCA officer was still alive. For now.
Lennox reached inside his coat pocket and took out a pair of black leather gloves, pulling them on one at a time.
The Mercedes hadn’t fared well against the mature hundred-year-old oak tree; the bonnet of the car was wrapped around it, and as he peered inside, he could see blood on the windscreen. The Director General was semi-conscious and leaning back in his seat, blood pouring from a huge gash on top of his head, as well as out of his mouth. Lennox knew it wouldn’t be long until the man died from blood loss, but he had his orders from Rothstein; there could be no chances taken with this.
The dying man groaned as Lennox reached in through the broken window, pinched Wells’ nose, and covered his mouth. When Wells realised he couldn’t breathe, he tried to fight back but he was no match for Lennox’s strength.
It took no more than a minute for the NCA officer to stop flailing and go limp.
Lennox kept his hand covering Wells’ mouth and nose for another minute, to make sure, and when he was certain the man was dead, he walked back to his Ranger, got in, and drove off. He’d done it all without having seen a single passing car. There was no way anyone had seen him.
Once he was past the Director General’s home, Lennox picked up his burner phone and dialled Rothstein’s burner number. When Rothstein picked up, Lennox said, “It’s done,” and hung up…
43
Day 33
Monday, 12th February
Nasreen peered through her hotel room’s net curtain to see Terrence getting out of his car, dressed in jeans and a bomber jacket and carrying a heavy-looking rucksack. She waited by the door for him to knock, dressed in light blue jeans and an acorn brown jumper.
When she’d left her house that night – which was a few days earlier – Nasreen had checked in to a Premier Inn a few miles away from her home. It was an average hotel, with no frills or excess; she had a room with a bed, a desk, a television, and a small refrigerator. The bathroom and everything else about the room was basic, and so was the price.
She’d left Katerina and Mina at Yasmin’s house until Nasreen knew she could return; what she had planned was going to be dangerous and she didn’t want them anywhere near it. If the masked man did return to her house, he’d be out of luck.
Although she didn’t think she was being followed, she still checked behind her wherever she went, to be sure.
In an attempt to stop the masked man finding her, she’d left her car in a long-term car park and had rented a nondescript common Ford Focus from an Enterprise Rent-a-Car nearby, using a fake passport Terrence had managed to get her at very short notice. The day after she’d left her home she’d emptied her bank account, and she had over ten thousand pounds on her in cash. No one was going to be able to locate her.
For the past three days she hadn’t done much. She’d spent her time convalescing, getting fit again for when the analysis of the masked man’s saliva came through. Although Terrence had told her that he’d asked for the results to be expedited, the forensics officer responsible was really busy, and doing Terrence a favour – especially one off the books – wasn’t a top priority.
The only thing keeping her sane was being able to chat to Mina on her burner phone every evening, just before bedtime. Ashraf’s mother always ended the call asking her – pleading with her – to be careful, and Nasreen always swore she would, saying that she aimed to be back home soon.
Nasreen wasn’t a naturally patient person. Ashraf had always told her she needed to relax more, and not get impatient; it wouldn’t make things happen any sooner. Waiting for Terrence – and more importantly, the DNA results – therefore, was killing her; she wanted to be out there, chasing down leads. Doing something.
There was a knock on the door, and she opened it a crack, checking it was indeed Terrence, even though she’d seen him arrive in the car park. After all, she couldn’t be too careful. “Come in,” she said, allowing him inside.
She joined Terrence by the bed, waiting as he emptied the contents of his rucksack. There was a brown A4 envelope – she assumed the results of the DNA test – and there was also a gun-shaped object wrapped in a couple of white handkerchiefs. It looked small enough to fit in her handbag.
“First off, let’s get this out of the way.” Terrence picked up the handkerchiefs and uncovered the Remington RM380 matt black pistol and two fully loaded clips.
Nasreen took hold of the gun, sliding one clip inside the butt. She locked it, then chambered a round by sliding the top chamber back and forth. “The Remington RM380 has a 410 stainless-steel barrel with an oxide finish and a glass-filled nylon grip. Six rounds per clip and one in the pipe, plus a long, smooth, light, double-action only trigger.”
Terrence whistled. “The girl knows her stuff. I don’t know whether to be scared or turned on right now.”
Nasreen smiled. Terrence knew how good she was with a gun; she’d blown him away – figuratively – with her shooting when they’d had to renew their firearms training three months earlier at the police target range. “Where’d you get it?”
He shook his head. “You don’t want to know. One of the advantages of growing up where I did, you get to know some wrong ’uns. The disadvantage is… you get to know some wrong ’uns. That pistol’s had the serial number filed off, so it’s untraceable.”
She placed the gun and the extra clip in her bag, and Terrence passed her a couple of boxes of thirty-eights, which she put in there too. Now that she felt sufficiently armed, she was interested in the DNA results – more than interested.
“And here’s what you’ve been waiting for.” He opened the envelope and slid out the contents. “Take a look for yourself. This guy’s got one hell of a history.”
She took the papers from Terrence and skimmed through the information. The masked man’s name was Walter Gebhardt, an immigrant from Bavaria. She’d known he was European by his accent when he’d threatened her and Mina, though she hadn’t been able to place it entirely. Bastard!
She continued reading the official forms.
Walter Gebhardt was fifty-two and had moved to the UK eighteen years earlier. He
’d had numerous jobs around the country, had a National Insurance number, a UK driving licence, and a European passport. He’d only been picked up once, for assault, which was why he was in the system. She looked at the photo of the two abductors in the van, then at the photo Terrence had brought in his envelope. They were definitely one and the same person. “Have you seen this?”
Terrence nodded. “It’s definitely him.”
Included in the stack of papers were also several known addresses where Gebhardt had resided, and most importantly, the address of his wife. Nasreen knew that was where she needed to start. She was going to have to drive for hours up north, but she had been prepared for that possibility. Now that she had everything she needed – cash, a fake passport, a car under her assumed identity, a gun, and the file – she was ready to begin the hunt for Walter Gebhardt…
44
Beattie, wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a long-sleeved black and silver stud lace top, opened the hatch to Danny’s room and watched him lying there, chained to his bed. Her guards had done considerable damage to his body; he had broken ribs, fractures to his arms and legs, and even a fracture to his collarbone.
It would take him months to recover fully. It wouldn’t stop her from putting him to work in a couple of weeks. The way she saw it, if his “little man” still worked – albeit with medicinal aid – then her clients could still make use of him, and she could still make money. Which was all that mattered.
It was such a shame he couldn’t be more like her other bees, she thought. He was far more talented than the rest – and had the ability to really show her customers a good time – he just seemed incapable of transitioning, of adapting to his new life. He was probably still holding on to hope, hope that that bitch detective would somehow find him and rescue him.
Beattie had thought about telling him that Nasreen was no longer a detective – Beattie’s dad had informed her she’d been suspended from her job and that she was no longer seen as a threat. Plus Walter had paid her a visit. That should be enough to keep the bitch away, she thought, watching Danny squirm as he tried to get comfortable.