Beyond Reach (43 page)

‘OK.’ He wouldn’t look at Winter. ‘Scary sometimes.’

‘Scary how?’

‘Scary because I didn’t know what was going on.’

He described the man who’d woken him up in his bedroom at home. The woolly thing he wore on his face. The fact that he hadn’t got any shoes. How frightened Evzenie was.

‘Did he hurt you at all?’

‘No.’

‘Did he talk to you? Tell you to do things?’

‘No. Only with his hands.’

‘And you say he made you wear a blindfold?’

‘Yeah. That was really scary. Especially when he carried me downstairs. ’

‘How long was the blindfold on for?’

‘Until we got to the place I stayed at.’

‘And where was that?’

‘I don’t know. It was upstairs, definitely, because he carried me again. I could hear him opening doors. There was a funny smell like in a chip shop. Then he took the blindfold off.’

‘And what did you see?’

Guy described the room where he’d spent the next three days. There was no window, he said, just a bed and a thing with drawers in it and a bucket he had to use when he wanted to go to the toilet.

‘Just that?’

‘No. There was a TV too. It looked brand new. Really cool. And a DVD player. And a Nintendo console.’

‘And did the man stay with you? Was he there all the time?’

‘Yes. But I never saw his face. He always had the woolly thing. He was terrible at games though. We played Super Mario
.
I always beat him.’

‘Did you ask him what was happening? What you were doing there?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Nothing. He never talked. Even when he brought me food he never said anything.’

‘What sort of food?’

‘All the stuff I really like. Pasta done the way mum does it. Those little sausages. Fish fingers. Really thick chips. It was like he knew exactly … you know … what I like.’

Winter caught Stu’s eye in the rear-view mirror. He was smiling. Winter returned to Guy.

‘So you never knew when this was going to end. Is that right?’

‘No. The man wrote notes to me sometimes. He had a little blackboard and some chalk.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said not to worry, I’d be home soon. And he said he was sorry about being so terrible at Super Mario
.
He wasn’t unkind or horrible, nothing like that. Whatever I wanted he tried to get me.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like this amazing game my friend’s got. It’s called Commando
.
I told him what it was like, what it looked like on the outside, and he went out and bought it.’

‘Did he lock the door?’

‘Always. I didn’t like that.’

‘Was there anyone else in this place?’

‘I don’t think so. He had to do everything, even the bucket.’

‘You sound as if you almost liked him.’

‘I did after a bit. It must have been horrible in that woolly thing.’

Winter laughed. Bazza was right about young Guy. Guts and innocence were a lovely mix.

‘So you couldn’t recognise this man?’

‘No.’

‘And you’ve no idea where he took you? Where you’ve been?’

‘No. Like I say there weren’t any windows.’

‘Could you hear traffic?’

‘Not really. Police sirens sometimes.’

‘Did you think you were being rescued?’

‘I did the first time.’

‘And what about yesterday? Last night? When the woman picked you up?’

Guy explained that he’d had to wear the blindfold again. The man had written a message on the blackboard:
You’re going home.

‘Did you believe him?’

‘I wanted to, yes.’

‘But did you
believe
him?’

‘Yes. I don’t think he was a liar.’

The man had carried him, blindfolded again, downstairs. He’d been put in the back of a car and then the car drove away.

‘And you were still blindfolded?’

‘Yes. The woman told me not to take it off. She was nice too. I asked her if I was really going home and she said yes. I liked her.’

‘How long was the journey?’

‘Quite long.’

‘How long?’

‘I don’t know.’

When the car finally stopped, he said, the woman got out and opened the back passenger door to let him out.

‘What did she say?’

‘She told me to count to sixty and then take the blindfold off. She said she could see a big house with a wall round it and an upstairs window with a Mr Smiley transfer on it. I knew I was home then because that’s Lucy’s bedroom.’

‘And she drove away?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you counted to sixty?’

‘Fifty. I was cold.’

‘But the car had gone?’

‘I don’t know. I got the blindfold off and I saw the house. Then I just ran in. Lucky the gates weren’t locked. So I rang the bell and there was Dad.’ He half twisted in the seat and peered round at his father. Winter checked the mirror again. Tears were pouring down Stu’s face. He reached blindly forward and squeezed his son’s offered hand, then found a tissue from somewhere and blew his nose.

‘You did well, son,’ he muttered. ‘You’ve been incredible.’

 

At Thorpe Park Stu and the kids didn’t bother with lunch, but disappeared towards Amity Cove for a go on the Flying Fish. It wasn’t at all what Guy had in mind, having heard about the legendary Stealth ride, but a promise from his dad that they’d tackle that later kept him quiet.

Winter walked Marie and Esme to the Burger King. Bazza had already arrived and was busy on his mobile at a table in the corner. Winter paused beside the window. The Stealth ride towered above them. Zero to 80 mph in under two seconds sounded like a short cut to a cardiac arrest but the queues for the loading platform disappeared out of sight.

‘Fancy it, mush? Or shall we stick to the Double Whopper?’ Mackenzie had joined him.

Winter settled for the Double Whopper. Marie organised an order for all of them. Winter nodded at Esme, sitting alone at a table by the window, her face inscrutable behind her sunglasses.

‘Does she know about Stu’s little wheeze?’

‘No, mush. And neither does Marie. As far as they’re concerned, me and Stu ponied up the ransom. Like I said last night, Stu’s sending her a message. This is what a proper dad does.’

‘Kidnaps his own son?’

‘Pays a fortune to get him back. I agree with you, mush. Stu’s fucking lost it. But I can just about see what he’s driving at, poor sad bastard.’

They joined Esme at the table. Mackenzie reached across and took her glasses off.

‘What’s that for?’ She was furious.

‘Because you and me ought to have a conversation.’ He folded the glasses into his top pocket. ‘Any chance you might start behaving like a human being again? Now that Stu’s done the decent thing?’

‘What does that mean?’

‘You know what it means, love. It means that the music’s stopped and we all go back to our own chairs. It means that your shagging days with the Filth are over. And with a bit of fucking luck it might mean that your son hasn’t gone through all this for nothing.’

‘You’re telling me that’s my fault too? Some headcase, some pervert kidnapping the child? That’s down to me?’

Mackenzie smiled, refused to answer. Marie arrived with a tray of food. Bazza hadn’t finished.

‘Did I hear a yes?’ He cupped his hand behind his ear. ‘Can I assume our friend Madison is history?’

‘He’s gone back to his wife.’

‘Poor bloody woman. Was that his decision or yours?’

‘His, I imagine. I’m not his keeper.’

‘But you’d had enough? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘I had plenty, thank you. And for the record I enjoyed every minute of it.’

‘I bet you did. How come a decent bloke like me fathers an old slapper like you? How come you’ve got enough between your ears to get to university and not a grain of fucking decency when it comes to people who love you? How come you find it so fucking hard to say sorry?’

‘We’re talking
apologies
?’ Esme got to her feet. ‘Maybe you ought to start with Mum and with that nice Chandelle. I’m out of here.’

She turned on her heel and left the burger bar. Winter, looking at Marie’s face, felt intensely sorry. When it came to families, he’d concluded, no amount of patience, no amount of glue, could hold the thing together. Having Guy back meant the world to Marie. Now this.

Mackenzie was eyeing his daughter’s abandoned salad. He glanced at Winter.

‘Half each, mush?’

 

It fell to Faraday to prepare what Parsons termed an ‘interim report’ on Operation
Causeway.
Helen Christian had gleaned enough from her phone conversation with Marie to be aware of the circumstances of the boy’s return. A car had dropped him around eleven o’clock. He’d lingered a moment on the pavement before removing his blindfold. No, he hadn’t seen the driver. And no, he hadn’t a clue what kind of car it was.

Parsons had dispatched detectives for house-to-house checks the length of Sandown Road but no one had seen a car arrive at that time of night. Neither would there be any CCTV footage, largely because there were no cameras in the area. Short of tracing every car entering and leaving the city there was no way of building a case prior to interviewing the child. In this sense,
Causeway
’s sole remaining asset was Guy himself. Consciously or otherwise he must have picked up some clues about his captor. Assuming, of course, that the kidnap was authentic.

In his heart, Faraday was far from certain. Bypassing the alarm system without inside help was highly unlikely. Evading every CCTV camera for twenty miles argued equally for specialist knowledge of the area. Esme and Madison had shaken the family to bits. In that wreckage lay the clue to what had really happened to young Guy.

Faraday sat at his desk, brooding about the money. The bank had confirmed the withdrawal of £1 million in cash. Willard, in his eagerness to nail Mackenzie, had taken the bait and assumed - quite wrongly - that the ransom had gone with Winter to Poole. The fact that it hadn’t, the fact that the Head of CID had - in his own phrase - been humiliated, still begged a key question: where was the million quid?

Mackenzie, of course, would claim that he’d paid the kidnapper. Guy, in this sense, was his receipt for all that money. It would be
Causeway
’s job to press him for more details - where? when? how? - but Faraday knew that none of these questions would ever be answered. Mackenzie would simply go No Comment, claiming that he had every right to keep the information to himself. He’d secured the child’s release. The boy was back home, safe and sound. After the Filth had fucked up - no clues, no leads, no nothing - Grandad had stepped in, spent a bit of money and got the family a result. Framed that way, badged with Mackenzie’s trademark grin,
Causeway
was looking at a second humiliation.

Faraday began to scribble himself a note or two prior to drafting the report. When his phone began to ring he was slow to answer it.

‘Joe?’ It was Willard.

‘Sir?’

‘Where’s DCI Parsons?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

There was a silence on the line. Then Willard was back. He’d just had a conversation with one of the Met guys dealing with Garfield.

‘And?’

‘He’s disappeared. He’s supposed to report daily to the local nick. His car’s gone. His wife. The lot. Brilliant, eh? That’s all we fucking need.’

 

At Mackenzie’s insistence, Winter joined him for a ride on Stealth. Mid-afternoon, the queues had shortened, and as they shuffled forward through a light drizzle Winter tried to avoid the sight of the red train powering down the track towards the dizzying climb ahead. The ride guaranteed blistering acceleration to 80 mph and the track was configured to throw you upside down at the very top of the loop - two good reasons, Winter thought, to part company with his Double Whopper.

‘You up for this, mush?’ Mackenzie couldn’t take his eyes off the girls at the very front of the train.

‘Can’t wait, Baz.’

‘Ever go down Billy Mannings as a kid?’

‘Never.’

‘I used to think the Wild Mouse was a blast. Just look at this lot. Fuck me …’

Billy Mannings was the Pompey funfair beside Clarence Pier. The red train rolled off the top of the loop and came thundering down towards them. One of the girls in the front had her eyes shut. The other one was screaming fit to bust. Mackenzie gave them a wave as they flashed by then watched the train pirouette at the other end of the ride.

Winter knew he had to concentrate hard on something else.

‘This million quid, Baz …’

‘Sorted, mush.’

‘So what have you done with it?’

‘Done with it?’

The red train had finally come to a halt beside the concrete jetty that served as a station. Mackenzie was watching the girls help each other out. One of them could barely walk. Winter preferred not to look.

‘The money, Baz.’

‘I invested it, mush.’

‘In what?’

‘I’m calling it insurance. Either way it’s a sweet deal.’

The queue shuffled forward, and as they mounted the steps to the platform Winter had a sudden feeling of total helplessness. Why was he doing this? How come he’d said yes? What guaranteed that his train wouldn’t be the first to rocket straight off the top of the loop and end up in the middle of the nearby M25?

‘This one, mush. It’s got our name on it.’ Mackenzie was nudging him into the twin seats at the very back of the train.

Winter resigned himself to an ugly death. An absurdly young girl was playing the role of undertaker. She leaned over, told him to make himself comfortable, warned him not to try and stand up. The steel restraints folded down, penning them in.

‘Insurance?’ Winter muttered.