The Running of the Deer

by Catriona King

  “Hang on a minute.”

  With that he darted down the van, lay on the floor and pressed his eyes up against the glint, grinning when he realised that he could see out, then following up with an expletive when he realised that all he could see was motorway. He elevated his gaze as far as he could until eventually he saw a signpost, then he shouted back to his new friend.

  “We’re on the M1. Come and look.”

  Soon both boys were lying on their stomachs, watching the tarmac and cars whizz past.

  “Where does the M1 go to?”

  Harry shrugged. “Dunno. One of the signs said Omagh a way back, wherever that is. I don’t know no geography.”

  Joey grinned cheerfully. “I do. I’m top of my class in it at school. We’re going west. Omagh’s a town in County Tyrone.”

  Stung by his lack of learning Harry jumped angrily to his feet.

  “What use is knowin’ that stuff anyway? Wherever they’re takin’ us we won’t have no say.”

  Joey sat up straight, seeing that his companion was upset and automatically wanting to sooth him, not from any fear for his own safety but from kindness; he could never stand to see anyone being hurt. His next words came in a small, quiet voice.

  “Harry, how did we get here? Do you remember?”

  The older boy ignored the question and sat down some distance away, picking sulkily at his nails for a while before he spoke again.

  “Do you know what day it is?”

  “No. Sorry. What day were you taken?”

  “I was beakin’ aff school on Monday an’ I went to Castle Court, just fer somethin’ to do. To look at the shops like. Anyway, after a bit I went out fer a smoke an’ some big lads came over. Next thing I knew I was here with a thumpin’ head.”

  Joey’s mouth dropped open at the horror of being hijacked in a public place. “Did you know any of them?”

  Harry shrugged. “Thought I might’ve seen one af them before up the town, a blond lad, but I never knew his name. He wasn’t at my school ar I’d have knowed him fer sure. Anyway, what’s yer story?”

  When the younger boy’s eyes filled with tears again Harry shook his head.

  “I’m nat being a shit, but you can’t keep cryin’ all the time. They’ll see it an’ take advantage. Law af the jungle. You need to get more street.”

  Joey gulped back his tears, curious. “Who’s they?”

  “They, they. The ones who’ve took us. We can’t show them no fear, ar it’ll be curtains fer us. Nye, how’d you get taken?”

  The smaller boy shook his head. “I don’t know. I went to bed on Monday night and fell asleep, and next thing I was here.”

  “Monday night… This is likely Tuesday then.” He checked his watch again. “It’s after two o’clack. I’ve lost a whole day.”

  Joey rubbed his forehead. “My head hurts.”

  “Mine too. They must’ve drugged us with somethin’ an’ -” Suddenly Harry stopped mid-sentence, listening for a moment before he spoke again. “The road’s changed. We must’ve pulled aff the motorway. Listen.”

  As they sat in attentive silence the truth of his words hit home. The motorway roar had disappeared, and the van was bouncing up and down irregularly, jolting them this way and that.

  Harry peered through the crack in the shutter and then dropped his voice, little outside noise now to cover their words.

  “We’re an a country road. A side one. It’s roughed up somethin’ shackin’. Must be from tractors an’ stuff.”

  Joey swallowed hard. “That must mean we’re nearly there.” Suddenly something dawned on him. “It’s like the Child-Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang! They’re going to kill us or keep us locked up!”

  His companion snickered.

  “Don’t they show any modern movies in that home?”

  Harry adopted a streetwise tone that he knew would impress his naïve companion.

  “Anyway, if they’d wanted us dead we’d be that way already. People don’t kidnap kids just to lock them up. They’re gonna make us do stuff.”

  Joey’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out. “Sex stuff? My mammy used to warn-”

  Harry shrugged. “Maybe. But I’ll kick them in the balls if they try it with me.” He glanced at his new friend and added generously. “Ar you either. I can fight you know.”

  Whether fighting would be necessary they would soon find out, as thirty minutes later the van slowed to a halt and they heard male voices outside its walls. Harry Johnston locked his jaw determinedly, gripped his small companion’s hand, and readied himself for whatever was coming next.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The C.C.U. 2 p.m.

  It was like one of those wonderful days when your dental check-up gets cancelled just an hour beforehand, or when your school finds a misprint on your exam paper and decides to call the whole thing off; all of your preceding hours of dread and anxiety disappear as fast as a burger off Liam’s plate.

  That was the mood of the two murder detectives as they descended, nay sauntered, down the stairs from the C.C.U.’s thirteenth floor to its tenth, having made the tortuous ascent to see Terry Harrison only ten minutes earlier, trudging so laboriously then that you would have been forgiven for looking around for their supply sled and the Sherpa following behind.

  Slowly they had climbed, struggling all the way, until the final push when Craig had bravely turned to his companion and said, “Liam, I’ll go in alone”, only to be ignored by his intrepid colleague in a Northern Irish version of the Musketeers’ ‘One for All’.

  Pushing together through the plate glass doors, they’d strode manfully up to Terry Harrison’s PA’s desk, only to hear her say, “I’m sorry, but D.C.S. Harrison has been called away,” instead of, ‘take a seat and he’ll see you in a minute’. A rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus would have fitted at that moment, except that “away” still meant that Harrison would be returning, and then they would have to make the climb again. But Handel was given full rein a few seconds later when the secretary added, “He’s in Brussels for a conference on Brexit, so he’s unlikely to be back until the middle of next week.”

  A whole week! With any luck they could wrap up their murder in that time and never even have to discuss it with him. Liam had already made a break for the door when Craig’s conscience started to bite, and he’d beckoned his deputy to return.

  “I need to leave him a note, Liam.”

  The D.C.I. shook his head decisively. “No, you don’t. Send him an email when you get back downstairs.” He could see Craig weakening and pressed his case. “With an email you’ll have an audit trail. With a note he could say that he never got it.”

  Conscience salved, logic satisfied, and audit’s belt and braces firmly on, Craig thanked the secretary politely and she watched the two men leave, amused. She knew exactly what her boss was like and she didn’t like him either, but she was retiring in six weeks’ time and being replaced by a friend five years’ her junior, for some reason Harrison not being allowed young secretaries any more. So, she didn’t care if Harrison got annoyed about anything now and looked forward to reading Craig’s email, secretly hoping that it was rude.

  ****

  As Craig and Liam landed back on the tenth floor Kyle and Andy were just emerging from the lift, Andy looking far less relaxed than he normally did. Craig instantly knew that Kyle had done something that he shouldn’t have, and it was on the tip of his tongue to ask for details when he hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he really wanted to know. If it was something that benefited their inquiry without anyone having been harmed, then it might be best if he just heard the results. But on the other hand…

  The detective was saved from his moral dilemma by Nicky blocking his way just as he was entering his office.

  “I’m glad you’re back. You need to speak to the PPS.” She reached for her phone. “I’m transferring the call now.”

  Craig made it to his desk on the third ring and lifted his phone pray
ing that the call wasn’t about Rowan Drake, at the same time knowing it was unlikely to be anything else and wondering just how much more of people’s time the serial killer was going to waste. Drake was as guilty as sin and they had the evidence to back it up. In fact, if he hadn’t been such a selfish bastard he would have just pleaded guilty and gone straight to sentencing, saving his eleven victims’ families more anguish and the taxpayer thousands of pounds on his trial. Unfortunately, murderers tended to be self-centred sorts.

  “Marc Craig. How can I help you?”

  A woman’s voice that he thought he recognised came on the line, her “Hello, Marc” confirming he was correct.

  “Hello. I…”

  “You don’t recognise my voice, do you?”

  For a moment Craig’s heart sank, as his, not all that short, list of romantic liaisons when he’d first returned to Belfast went flashing through his mind. His panic that he might have slept with someone and not even be able to recognise her voice with all that that said about him, was relieved a moment later when the woman laughed.

  “Don’t panic. It’s Eimear Carey.”

  Craig barely managed to conceal his sigh of relief. Eimear had been a girl in his law class at Queen’s and they’d never been more than friends.

  “Eimear, lovely to speak to you again. How are you? I didn’t know you were with the PPS now.”

  She laughed again. “Yes, I’m a barrister there. And don’t try to kid me, Marc Craig, you thought I was some old girlfriend back to haunt you. You’re still hopeless at covering things up.”

  They laughed together for a moment, making ears perk up outside in the squad-room and Liam bet Andy five quid that Craig was talking to an ex.

  Inside his office Craig was conceding his caller’s point.

  “Hopeless, was I? Fair enough.” He sat down in his chair and swung his legs up on the desk. “But it is lovely to speak to you. You’ll have to catch me up on all the news.”

  “I’ll do better than that. We’re having a law class reunion in May, so you can see everyone there.”

  He was surprised. “Are we? Why? It’s not a special year like twenty-five or something, is it?”

  “It is actually.”

  He wouldn’t even remember graduating, if his parents didn’t have a framed photograph of it hanging in their hall. It seemed a lifetime ago.

  Eimear went on.

  “It was originally scheduled for Christmas, but we had to cancel due to the weekend venue going bankrupt at the last minute. Half the class sued them, of course.”

  Typical lawyers.

  Craig wasn’t quite sure what to say.

  “Anyway, people took a while to get past losing their money, hence the one we’re having this May. It’s only a dinner and dance this time, instead of a whole weekend.” Her voice took on an amused tone. “Even you should be able to find the time for that.”

  Craig was ambivalent, but he tried not to show it. Unlike most of his year who’d become solicitors and barristers, he only had contact with lawyers nowadays when he was giving them someone to lock up or locking them up as had happened a few times over the years. Plus, he wasn’t sure how he felt about reunions generally. When professionals got together they could get cliquish and ignore partners; he’d experienced that with Katy’s medical school friends first hand. Or even worse, they could revert to their eighteen-year-old selves and adopt the same jock, nerd, etcetera tribalism that they’d adhered to almost thirty years before.

  He hid his doubts behind a question.

  “I bet there’s another reason you called too. Are you prosecuting one of our cases?”

  She smiled at his avoidance but played along. “That was my main reason for calling. Rowan Drake. I’m the prosecutor on his case and we made opening statements this morning.”

  “OK…and?”

  “And he sacked his defence counsel two hours in. Drake’s going to defend himself.”

  Craig gave a long whistle, making Liam up his bet to ten pounds for all the wrong reasons.

  “I don’t know why I’m surprised, Eimear, but I am. I didn’t think even Drake was that arrogant.”

  The famous Lincoln quote; ‘He who represents himself has a fool for a client’ sprang immediately to mind.

  “I doubt that he thinks he’ll win, but it does mean he’s likely to drag the trial out for as long as possible.”

  Craig sighed heavily. “You’re right, he will, and he’ll give an Oscar winning performance all the way. How long do you think?”

  The barrister joined in his sigh. “It could go on for months if he wants it to. He’ll have to accept an advocate to support him on points of law-”

  Craig cut her off. “Sorry to interrupt you, but no he won’t. Drake did a law degree.”

  “Oh hell, I had thought an advocate might make him see some sense.”

  “I wouldn’t have laid money on it.”

  Carey continued, her initial calmness beginning to fray.

  “I’d hoped we’d get a tough judge at least, but…”

  “Who is it?”

  “Judge Standish, who’s a complete sweetheart of course, but he can be a bit soft on defendants.”

  Eugene Standish was the most even-handed judge in the country and one of the nicest as well.

  The news didn’t make Craig feel as downhearted as it obviously had the lawyer.

  “I’m not convinced Standish will be particularly soft on Drake. He’s issued warrants for us several times when others wouldn’t have, so my impression is he’s sympathetic to victims. But it’s all about justice for him so he’ll be even handed, I know that.”

  He could hear the barrister preparing to end the call.

  “OK, well, I just wanted to let you know, Marc. And about the reunion as well.”

  The second part was said in a teasing tone that in anyone else Craig might have said was flirting. But it couldn’t be; he and Eimear had been friends for years when they were kids.

  He didn’t get time to puzzle the issue as she signed off.

  “I’ll see you in court later this week, Marc.”

  When the call ended Craig exited his office, to be asked an immediate question by Liam.

  “What was that about, boss? Old girlfriend by any chance?”

  The detective didn’t rise to the bait. “That was the PPS. Rowan Drake’s dismissed his counsel and he’d going to defend himself.” There was astonished silence as he went on. “He’ll be given a legal advisor, but he’s a narcissist as you all know, and he has a law degree, so he’s likely to turn it into a real performance. We could be in and out of court for months.”

  Liam tutted loudly. “And the same boy will want you and me on the stand especially, seeing as we’re the faces that took him down.”

  Craig slumped down on the nearest chair, nodding. “The judge is Eugene Standish. That could go easy or hard on us.”

  “Ach, no, Standish is a good one. He’ll make Drake toe the line.” He sidled up beside Craig confidingly. “You sounded like you were enjoying the call anyhow. Old girlfriend?”

  Craig gave him a sideways look. “I heard the question the first time you asked it. What’s the problem, Liam? Did you make a bet on it and now you’re worried that you’ll lose?”

  Before the D.C.I.’s blustering could become a coherent response, Craig had scanned the group and spotted the other half of the agreement.

  “Andy, if you gambled Liam that wasn’t an old girlfriend of mine then you were right. But I’d collect your winnings quickly before he tries something else to win them back.”

  He stood up briskly. “Now, Aidan, I’d like a quick word. Annette, could you find Mary, please, and I’ll see her in ten. The rest of you get on with whatever you’re working on because we’re briefing in three hours.”

  ****

  County Tyrone.

  As the van’s oil parched shutter began to rattle and rise, Harry Johnston pushed his new friend behind him.

  “Get a grip on my belt, a
n’ when I say run, you do as I say an’ run like hell. If we stick together we’ll be OK.”

  The steel shutter was a foot above its base now, and although the daylight streaming in made both boys blink thankfully it didn’t blind them; they’d stared out at the motorway for long enough to be used to the light.

  When the metal edge was three feet from the container’s base, Harry tensed his thighs, and at four feet he edged forward, keeping his companion close behind. What he saw first shocked him, but he pulled himself together, thinking fast. Six teenagers, all bigger than him, were standing side-by-side across the van’s exit, and they weren’t wearing friendly looks. Young though the boys greeting them were, Harry knew instantly that they weren’t allies; he’d been in too many fights to believe in youthful solidarity.

  He hissed over his shoulder at his companion. “I’m gonna to charge them, an’ when they scatter I’m going to jump aff an’ run like hell. Hang on tight an’ do what I do.”

  Joey was shaking so hard that his new friend could hear his jaw rattling, but he managed to form a few words.

  “If they catch me you keep on running, Harry. I’ll be OK. Just bring back help.”

  With a terse nod and the final shake of the shutter into place, Harry quickly assessed the scene. Six in front but no-one behind them. All strong, but not as mean looking as he’d first thought. Some of them looked scared too.

  He didn’t give a monkey’s if they were or not, they were blocking his way and he wasn’t letting them stop him, but his heart sank as he realised that Joey’s prediction had been right; they were going to catch him, he was too small to jump down off the van. But if they were going to get him then at least Joey could give him the best chance of escape.

  He whispered to his companion regretfully.

  “Run straight into them an’ kick an’ scream so much they have to hold you down. Can you do that? It’ll give me the best chance to escape an’ get help.”