Bleed Like Me (19 page)

Ade didn’t answer so she left a message and then rang the school office and spoke to Claire, the administrator, who had been there nearly as long as Ade. ‘Family emergency,’ she said, after introducing herself. ‘My mum’s collapsed at home; there’s an ambulance on its way. I need Ade to go round there straight away with the spare key to let them in.’

‘Certainly. I’ll find him now.’

Janet put her phone down and took a deep breath.

‘You go,’ Rachel said. ‘Just go.’

‘What about you?’

‘Drop me at the lights. If you turn left you can get to the motorway that way. I can walk from here. Bum a lift back later.’

Rachel walked along the dual carriageway towards the retail park, wishing she had an umbrella or a hooded coat with her. By the time she’d come in sight of the turn-off to the stores, the rain had crept down the back of her neck and her hair was plastered to her head. She hurried on. Whatever lay ahead she did not want to miss it.

At the entrance to the complex she could see two men in high visibility jackets, nothing to show they were police. They turned a car away, and as she got closer she heard one of them say to the next motorist, ‘Sorry, security operation under way, no access at the moment.’ And caught the replies to the ensuing questions. ‘Can’t say at the moment’ and ‘I’d leave it till tomorrow, if I were you.’

Rachel reached the men as the car drove off and showed her warrant card. ‘Who’s in charge?’

‘Sergeant Ben Cragg,’ one of them said, and pointed. The
man leading the operation was in plain clothes and was standing by a white van, the back doors open as though he was loading up. To the unobservant there was little to show that there was a significant police presence at work in the retail park. No squad cars or police motorcycles, no marked vans. All designed not to panic Cottam and increase the risk to the general public.

‘Are we sure it’s him?’ Rachel asked Ben Cragg after she’d introduced herself.

‘No. We’ve just got the car there.’ He nodded. The stolen vehicle, the red Hyundai with its broken driver’s window, was next to a silver Daewoo in the middle of the parking area outside B&Q. ‘Patrol making a sweep of the retail park called it in. The plan is to identify and apprehend the suspect as he reaches his car. Plain clothes officers already in situ. The Daewoo’s ours.’ Through the rain Rachel could just make out four figures inside. ‘And we’ve another unit on the park. Green Honda outside PC World. Squad cars around the back in the delivery area, out of sight.’ Cragg nodded towards TK Maxx. ‘Hostage negotiator is on his way, and a firearms unit. We’ve put down a spike strip close to this exit in case he does try to drive away. Other vehicles leaving will be diverted to avoid it.’ As he spoke she watched a bloke in dungarees and a work-stained coat speak to a woman leaving PC World, gesturing with his arms to show her how she should leave the complex. He was obviously a plain clothes officer.

‘So we’ve no idea if the kids are with him?’ Rachel said.

‘That’s right. Where’s your vehicle?’

‘My partner was called away – domestic situation. Said I’d make my own way.’

Each time anyone emerged from any of the five stores ringing the car park Cragg stilled, gathering himself for action. Rachel watched, shivering slightly, the damp stealing
through her. ‘Do we know where he’s shopping?’ she asked.

‘No idea. I’m hoping he’s like the rest of us, picked the nearest parking space.’ He nodded towards the DIY outlet. It was a huge store, the sort that had a garden centre and a section with heavy duty building supplies as well as a café and toilets.

‘If we can ID him, we wait until he reaches the vehicle, then block him in.’ The radio crackled. He spoke into a headset, said, ‘Your ETA?’ Frowned.

What would they do if Cottam came out of somewhere before the armed unit arrived? Rachel had started to ask Cragg when she saw the automatic doors open at B&Q, but it was only a couple with a child. Grandparents by the look of them, grey-haired, the man pushing a trolley stacked with paint tins and a long item, one of those rollers for doing the ceiling. They were parked in the first row of spaces. The woman took the keys from the man and walked quickly to a black Fiat, the child trotting at her side to keep up. The woman opened the car boot. The man in the dungarees walked over and spoke to the old man, giving him directions for leaving the car park.

A gust of wind sent rain splattering against the van, drenching Rachel even further. She shuddered.

‘If you want to get out of the rain you could join one of the squad cars,’ Cragg said.

‘Miss all the action?’

‘Thought you’d be equipped for it,’ he said. ‘Mancunian.’

‘We’ve webbed feet and all,’ Rachel said. She liked the banter, liked the look of him. In different circumstances she might be tempted to take it further. Sound out his availability.

‘I could go and buy an umbrella,’ she suggested. ‘See if I can spot him. B&Q do brollies?’

‘You are joking,’ he said.

‘Worth a try.’ As if they’d let someone wander around
solo in the midst of a sensitive police operation like this.

The toddler with the couple wanted to help, raising its arms for the paint tins, but the old man, no doubt concerned about the situation, was hurrying to load the car. Then the toddler was shouting, crying, kicking at the trolley. A tantrum audible even in the rain.

Two women came out of TK Maxx and a single man emerged from PC World. ‘No,’ Rachel said. ‘Too young. Wearing a suit.’

The toddler was now flat on his back, on the wet ground in the rain, kicking up as the woman bent over him.

Movement at the DIY store caught Rachel’s eye. Her heart gave a kick. ‘He’s there,’ she said. Owen Cottam coming out of B&Q, jeans and a bottle green sweatshirt. A khaki hat on his head, the sun hat from Wesley’s car. Moustache visible. ‘That’s him.’ A carrier bag in one hand. No children with him. The toddler kept screaming.

‘Suspect in sight.’ Ben Cragg was speaking into his radio. ‘Stand by. Prepare to apprehend. Taser him if we need.’

Cottam walked steadily towards his car, his head slightly lowered. Rachel heard the sound of a car engine start over to her right. Presumably from one of the other units. She was counting beats in her head, counting her pulse, her mouth dry as Cottam came forward.

‘Wait for it,’ Cragg said into the radio.

Rachel watched Cottam; only ten yards now to the Hyundai. Beside it, the windows of the silver Daewoo were steamed up. The car rocked gently. Someone in there must have moved.

Without warning Owen Cottam veered to his right and back towards the store.

‘Shit!’ Rachel said. ‘He’s spooked. He’s on to us.’ She set off after him. She expected him to go back into the shop
but he ran towards the old couple, yelling as he reached them.

‘Keys! Give me the keys.’

Rachel covered the ground quickly, wet hair whipping at her face, breathing hard. She saw Cottam push the older man over and turn on the woman. The child on the ground stopped crying, the wailing snapped off as though a switch had been thrown. Behind her Rachel could hear engines firing, vehicles moving.

Cottam snatched the keys from the woman and ran round to the driver’s door of the black Fiat. The old man climbed to his feet shouting. Rachel pushed herself on, reached the car, running round in front as Cottam gunned the engine. Voices raised behind her, too confusing to take in.

She slammed her hands on the bonnet, looking directly at Cottam. His face clenched, eyes blazing. She banged on the car with her fists, yelling, ‘Police! Stop the car. Get out of the vehicle.’

He thrust the gear into reverse and drove back at speed, the boot still raised, clipping the trolley, which crashed over. Rachel lost her balance and tumbled forward, breaking her fall with her hands, jarring her joints and scraping her palms raw on the wet tarmac.
Bastard!
She scrambled to her feet. Watched Cottam reverse the length of the DIY outlet, ignoring the barrage of outrage coming from the old couple.

Two cars were moving up towards the Fiat. The silver Daewoo and the green Honda. From the back of the parking area two squad cars squealed out, ready to box him in. With squad cars ahead of him and the Daewoo and the Honda approaching behind, Cottam swung the black Fiat round to the left and shot forward, heading for the exit. The Fiat hit the spike strips and travelled a few yards before the tyres collapsed, making the vehicle hitch like a bucking bronco.

Cottam got out and ran back towards the shop, still
clutching the carrier bag. Rachel saw that the shutters were coming down, almost closed. Someone had had the foresight to instruct the retailers, who would have been alerted to the threat to public safety, to seal up all the units. Cottam whirled round. He switched direction. He was going back to the Hyundai, must be. Equidistant, Rachel ran, intent on beating him, struggling for breath.

He got there first, started the car, drove forward. She ran to intercept him but he never wavered, forcing Rachel to leap out of the way. She pelted after him and he increased his speed, the engine whining, two wings of spray fluting up on either side of the vehicle.

As the patrol cars raced in pursuit, one of them skidded and ploughed straight into a parked car. The other one swerved but not in time and ploughed into the rear end of the first. Instead of turning towards the other exit, Cottam swung the car right, towards the back of the shops. The delivery area. Rachel followed on foot, her heart thumping painfully, her windpipe sore. He fishtailed as he turned and then revved the engine. The Hyundai leapt forward with a snarl as Rachel rounded the building. The delivery area was empty apart from some recycling bins by the steel fencing on the left perimeter. Along the right was the back of the superstore and at the far end facing them a brick wall right across where the building supplies section was housed.

He increased his speed and she saw. She knew. She yelled and hared after him. Watching as he accelerated, the noise of the engine climbing, howling, and the car smashed into the end wall. A clanging, crunching sound, the scream of metal on brick, a cloud of debris hurled in the air.

Rachel reached the car and yanked at the door. The bodywork was crumpled, the door frame buckled. Petrol fumes stung her eyes. She pulled again, then put her foot up on the
wheel arch to increase her leverage and rocked the door to and fro until it swung open. Cottam’s eyes were shut, blood all over his face and on the airbag.

Ignoring shouts from the people running to join her, she reached in and worked her hands under his armpits and dragged him clumsily from the car. His heels snagged on the seat and she had to tug and shake him to release them.

She fell back and landed with him partly on top of her and wriggled out from underneath. On her knees she straddled him and slapped his face, oblivious of the blood and the rain. ‘You bastard, you fucking, fucking bastard,’ she shouted at him. She thumped his chest, hearing only the roaring in her own head. ‘You call yourself a father? Call yourself a father? Where are they? Where?’ She hit his chest again and again, desperate for a response, shaking and white hot with an anger she could not contain. ‘Where? Tell me, you fucker, where are the kids? The boys, Theo and Harry? Where? Where?’

Then hands were on her, pulling her back, and she clawed at them, trying to resist. Knew they were shouting, but the words had no meaning. They were half carrying, half dragging her, one of her legs trailing on the ground. Others lifting Owen Cottam, moving, shouting, so much shouting. There was a great thundering sound and the air was sucked away and a ball of fire exploded above the car, burning her face and searing her airways. It began to snow. Hot black flakes that scorched as they touched her cheeks and her forehead, and sizzled as they singed her hair.

Spectres crowded in Janet’s mind as she drove towards Oldham. What if it was too late? What if those agonizing screams were her mother’s last words? If a heart attack or haemorrhage had taken her? Janet wasn’t ready yet, not halfway ready. Losing her father had been hard. Her dad, a lovely man. But her mum? The thought of life without her filled Janet with dark panic. Her mum had been there for her in the worst times, in the wilderness days after she and Ade had lost their first baby to cot death, when Dorothy had cleaned and shopped and cooked and nurtured them, both of them, until they began to function again. And after Janet had been attacked she had done the same, and, more important, given the girls the love and reassurance they needed when it was uncertain that Janet would survive, and then that she would fully recover.

And Janet had imagined she would in turn look after Dorothy as her strength waned, as she became older and less independent, frail even. She had always imagined there would be years ahead, with all the stress and worry of ensuring proper care and all that, but what if this was it? The prospect made her throat ache and she wanted to cry. She couldn’t give in to that. She had to drive safely,
get there in one piece and deal with whatever she found.

Would a heart attack make you scream like that? People talked about a crushing pain, a fist squeezing their chest in a vice, and that would make screaming impossible, surely? And a stroke, a stroke was sly, sneaky, silent, wasn’t it? A headache or a numb sensation, one side of the mouth not working right, but not the sort of physical event that had you howling in pain. What, then? Had Rachel been right? Had she fallen and broken her leg, her arm, her shoulder? Or cut herself?
Oh, God!
Been doing some little job, gardening or cooking, a moment’s lack of concentration and she couldn’t stop the blood, blood everywhere, making her scream with panic.

Janet tried to shut off this line of thought but there was nothing big enough to distract her. Even when she thought about Cottam, about how they were drawing closer, her mind slid back to pictures of her mum dying alone and frightened. If she dies, Janet thought, I don’t know how I’ll cope. I’ll go under myself. Knowing it shouldn’t be about her and feeling awful for being selfish. This was about her mum, her mum’s life, the fact that she should enjoy another ten, fifteen years. Janet drove on, her back rigid, her hands clamped to the steering wheel and dread heavy in her chest.