For the Sake of the Children: The first Chloe Webster thriller (Chloe Webster Thrillers Book 1) (20 page)

The Timer was grateful to be lying in his own bed at last. Thanks to Mickey, he’d been able to make the journey and now he was recovering fast in the safe, familiar comfort of home. No one knew where he lived. At least, no one who wanted to cause him any harm. Of course, those people thought he was dead, thanks to Mickey. He reckoned he could trust the young man after what he’d done for him. They’d always got on well, and he liked Mickey’s uncomplicated and happy-go-lucky attitude to life. Mickey wasn’t really a bad lad, he just hadn’t had the opportunities that others his age were fortunate enough to have. It was the usual story of the wrong crowd and the wrong choices, with no one to turn to for guidance. He shouldn’t be wrapped up in this world; he should be leading a straight and honest life, and probably would have been had he not lost his mother at a difficult time in his life.

As for himself, the Timer had been doing it too long to change. He was stuck in this way of life, but he knew he now stood at a crossroads. After this he might need to move away and start afresh somewhere else. No doubt the Kirklands would find out about his involvement if they didn’t already know. And if they ever discovered that he wasn’t dead, it wouldn’t be long before he was. And it wouldn’t just be him; it would be his whole family. He could never let that happen.

‘How’re you feeling?’ His wife busied herself around him, checking his bandages and tidying away empty mugs of coffee and plates of food. He’d certainly rediscovered his appetite and his strength was returning fast. He smiled at her, acknowledging to himself how lucky he was to find someone who never asked any questions. She must have a hundred, but she never said a word about how he sustained his injuries.

‘Yeah, I’m good. I might get up today and see what I can do.’

‘Okay, but if you don’t feel right, promise me you’ll get straight back to bed. I’m still worried about that bruising on your face. How’s the eye?’

That was probably the thing that had bothered him the most. In fact his whole head was still sore and he had a headache that just wouldn’t go away. The doctor had assured him it was all okay, but the Timer still had a doubt in his mind; how could he be sure when no scan had been done? The swelling around his eye had settled down enough to allow him to open it, so at least he could see clearly now.

‘Oh it’s all right. I can see out of it at least. Just wish this bloody headache would settle down. Are the girls okay?’

‘Yes, they’re downstairs watching television. They keep asking to come up and see you but I’ve told them you’re busy. I don’t want them seeing you like this really.’

The Timer smiled. ‘Probably just as well I guess. I’ll make it up to them.’

‘I know you will.’ She kissed him gently on the forehead and headed downstairs.

He looked across and out the bedroom window, not for the view, which wasn’t much to look at, but to help him with his thoughts. He’d tried to be reasonable with Drabble. He just wanted an explanation, maybe an apology. They’d used him after all, taken him for granted. But no, all they were bothered about was the child or, to be more precise, the money that the child would bring them. He wasn’t getting involved in that kind of thing. He was no angel but he had standards. Drabble could have chosen to explain the situation and apologise and he would have walked away. He hadn’t really expected much when he visited the club, but he certainly hadn’t expected to be beaten and left for dead.

He knew he had to go back and finish things, put an end to it once and for all, for his own sake and for the sake of his children.

And this time there really would be no mistakes.

As the familiar hills rolled into view out of the car window, Chloe found that she began to relax and think more clearly. George was out of immediate danger and when she arrived home she would explain it all to her father and then do whatever he told her to do. She knew she could rely on him to give her honest and frank advice, but always with her best interests at heart. She couldn’t see an easy way out of any of this, but now she just needed someone to tell her what to do.

‘Chloe,’ whispered George.

‘Yes, darling?’ Chloe leaned down so her ear was nearer to him.

‘I still need a wee.’

Chloe laughed out loud and the young boy joined in. ‘Oh sorry George, I’d completely forgotten. Hang on; we’re nearly at my house. It’s just down here.’ She leaned forward and caught the taxi driver’s eye in the mirror. ‘It’s the stone cottage at the bottom of the hill. Yes, that one there on the right. Just here will do fine, thanks.’

She settled the fare and helped George out of the car. As the taxi spun round and gunned back up the hill towards Sheffield, Chloe looked around her, without really knowing what she was looking for. Did everything seem grey or was it just the weather? After a moment she felt a gentle tug on her coat and looked down at George.

‘Right, yes, let’s get you to the toilet. I’m really sorry about that George.’

‘It’s okay Chloe.’ He smiled at her and she couldn’t help but feel sorry for this beautiful little boy. What a life he’d had so far, and she was determined to make sure it didn’t get any worse. She took his hand and led him up the path to the cottage. Taking out her key she opened the front door and ushered him inside.

‘The loo is just there on the right, George. Can you manage okay on your own?’

‘Yes thank you.’ Struggling to reach the door handle, he closed the door behind him.

‘Dad?’ called Chloe, slightly puzzled as to why he hadn’t already appeared. The size of the cottage meant there was little chance of getting through the door without being heard, especially whilst chatting to a small child.

Standing there in the hallway, the only sound was the gentle trickle coming from the toilet as George went about his business. Chloe knew already that her father was out, just by the silence that otherwise filled the air.

Damn, where are you dad? I need you.

The toilet flushed and George opened the door and closed it behind him. He stood there looking up at her and again her heart melted.

‘Come on George, let’s see if we can find something nice to eat. Would you like that?’ She tried to sound as upbeat as she could, despite the gnawing feeling of anxiety building inside her.

‘Yes please,’ he said, simply, and followed her into the kitchen.

She sat George at the table and hunted through the cupboards. Eventually she found a frozen pizza in the freezer and held it up for George to see. As his eyes lit up, she knew she didn’t have to ask whether he wanted it, and she placed it in the oven, setting the timer. She poured a glass of orange juice and placed it on the table in front of him.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘You really are a polite little boy aren’t you? Your mummy has done a very good job with you.’

He chewed on his lip for a moment and then picked up the orange juice and started to gulp it down, the glass covering his whole face as he did so.

Chloe thought about her father again. She pulled out her mobile and dialled his number. After several rings it went to voicemail. She didn’t leave a message; he wouldn’t listen to it anyway.

And she was right, he wouldn’t listen to it, but she didn’t yet know the reason why.

The Timer awoke to the sound of birdsong. Daylight seemed to be glaring into the room and it did nothing to ease the pain in his head. Slowly, he hoisted himself out of bed and looked outside. A cold, crisp morning greeted him as neighbours went about their usual business. Gradually he started to feel better and his head cleared. He quickly dressed in old tracksuit bottoms and a sweatshirt and made his way cautiously downstairs. His leg was still hurting, and the pain sheared upwards with every step. He grasped the bannister to help take the weight, but it did little to stop the pain.

The house was empty and he assumed his wife had taken the girls to school. It was certainly that time of day. He made his way into the garage and over to the old set of drawers which contained a selection of the useful and pointless items found in most garages. The top drawer had a lock on it.

He reached up and felt along the highest shelf on the wall. Locating the key, he inserted it into the lock. With a twist and a pull the drawer came open and he gazed down at the contents. His hunting knife sat gleaming in its usual place. Mickey was a good lad; he’d made sure that it had stayed with him from the club via Mickey’s flat. He’d hate to lose it; it was his weapon of choice and he’d used it many times. Not to kill anyone - at least, no one that didn’t deserve it - but he’d used it to get his own way when necessary; to encourage others to see his point of view. He found that a threat was usually enough to persuade the average person to see things his way. Lifting it from the drawer, he ran his fingers over it, careful not to snag the serrated edge. The smooth mahogany handle fit his hand like a glove, like it was made to measure. The garage light reflected off the blade and sent a flash of light dancing around the garage walls. He replaced it in the drawer. It was a good weapon, but it wasn’t what he needed for his next task.

Instead, he took hold of the weapon sitting next to the knife. It was a small revolver with a black plastic handle. There was nothing complicated about it, nothing impressive, but it would certainly do the job. The chamber had been pre-loaded with bullets and the safety catch was on. It was ready to be used. A small box of spare ammunition lay in the corner of the drawer.

Thanks Mickey. I owe you big time.

He held the gun out in front of him. For a moment he turned it on its side like a gangster might, smiled to himself, and then righted it again. There was a thrill to holding a gun. It was something forbidden, something illicit. Maybe the same feeling one might experience from having an affair, not that he would know about that of course.

He’d never used a firearm before, never pulled the trigger. Could he do it? That was always the sixty four million dollar question.

Yes, yes he could.

Watch out Drabble, here I come.

Chloe hadn’t slept. Not really. She’d dozed on and off, but she was distraught by the fact that her father hadn’t come home. She’d waited and waited, watching the clock as the hours ticked by, pacing around the small cottage and trying to keep control of the thoughts raging through her head. She’d tried to remain calm for George’s sake, and had eventually settled him down to sleep in her bed at around nine o’clock. It was now ten o’clock the next morning and she was beside herself with worry. He’d never stayed out all night before. Why would he? Unless he’d gone to the pub and met some woman there…

No, don’t be an idiot. He wouldn’t do that and you know it.

She couldn’t help but think this was something to do with what was going on in her own life. Had they come and taken him? After all, they’d threatened her with his life as well as her own. But when would they have done that, and why? And who the hell were
they
anyway?

‘Hello Chloe.’ It was George, who’d wandered into the kitchen.

‘Hello little mister. Do you always sleep this late?’

He laughed and gave her a hug.

‘Is mummy coming to get me today?’

Chloe took a breath. What could she say?

‘I’m afraid not, George, but we’re having fun here aren’t we? Do you want some breakfast?’

He nodded and she wasn’t sure which question he was answering. She made him a bowl of cereal and poured him a glass of orange juice and he seemed content enough.

As he ate, Chloe sipped on a cup of coffee and tried to work out what to do next. She couldn’t just stay here with George forever. She was beginning to think that calling the police was the best option. Surely they would believe her when she explained everything? The nagging doubt in her mind was the ten thousand pounds sitting in her bank account. She could hear the questions now; they’d be fired at her thick and fast, looks of doubt on their faces. What is the money for? Why didn’t you say something straight away? Why didn’t you come to the police before now?

And to be honest she didn’t really know why. They would be awkward questions and the thought of answering them did nothing to encourage her to make the call.

Her mobile rang and she answered it without looking at the screen.

‘Dad?’ she said expectantly.

‘Ah, no, I’m sorry, it’s only me. I hope you’re not too disappointed.’ It was Ben.

‘Oh Ben, hi. Sorry, I was expecting my dad to call. He’s been… oh never mind.’ She didn’t want to explain everything over the phone, but was still pleased to hear his voice.

‘Is everything all right Chloe? Drake has been asking after you. I think he has something he wants you to deal with and he seems a little put out that you aren’t here. I told him I thought you were in court this morning but I’m not convinced he believed me.’

‘Thanks for covering for me Ben. And I’m fine. I just need some time to take care of a few things. I’ll explain it all next time I see you.’ She wasn’t sure that was true but she said it anyway.

‘Where are you? At home? Are you ill?’

‘No I’m okay thanks but yes, I’m at home. I’m fine. Tell Drake I’ll be in tomorrow would you? Apologise for me too.’

‘Yes, of course. Is there anything I can do to help?’

Chloe held the phone to her ear and paused for a moment or two, tempted to ask him to come to her now; to tell her what to do. A problem shared and all that.

‘Chloe? Are you still there?’

‘Yes I’m still here… No, really, I’m fine. As I say, I just need a little time. You know I’ve found things a bit difficult lately and I just need a break from it all. I’ll be in tomorrow. Thanks for calling Ben, I really appreciate it.’

She ended the call, placed the phone on the table and rubbed her face in her hands. She needed some help here, some advice.

Come on dad, where the hell are you?