Relentless (24 page)

shocked. The whole top floor was gone. All that remained were
four exterior walls, now uneven and charcoal-stained, barely a
few feet high in places. Smoke still rose in thin plumes from the
gutted interior. Yellow police crime-scene tape surrounded the
whole thing.
We moved through the undergrowth until we were level with
the front of the property. A police car was parked in the front
drive, but it was unoccupied, and whoever had turned up in it
was nowhere to be seen. Kathy's Hyundai Coupe was also still
there, the maroon paintwork grimy and dull from the smoke but
otherwise looking largely undamaged.
'Give me the keys,' I said, putting out a hand.
'No way,' she snapped. 'I'm driving. Come on, let's go.'
Before I could protest, she took off across the driveway,
running in her typically gangly fashion, her heels crunching on
the gravel. I had no choice but to run after her. When I caught
up I was surprised to see that she had a grin on her face.
There was a shout to our left and a uniformed copper
appeared from round the side of what was left of the cottage,
about ten yards away. He was about two stone overweight with a
round, pink face and didn't give you much faith in the future of
crimefighting in the south of England. It looked like we'd just
disturbed him taking a leak.
Kathy had the keys in her hand, and she flicked off the central
locking and ran round to the driver's-side door.
'Oy, stop right there!' the copper called out as he lumbered
towards us.
I stopped, but Kathy didn't. She jumped in the car and
switched on the engine.
'Kathy, for Christ's sake, what are you doing? He's the
police.'

'AH right, sir, stay there,' panted the copper as he ran up
towards Kathy's door.
The Hyundai slammed into reverse and roared backwards up
the driveway in a shower of loose chippings, the copper following
in its wake.
I made a snap decision. Whatever was happening, I still didn't
know the half of it, but I had a strong feeling Kathy did, and
unless I went with her it was possible, even likely, that I wasn't
going to find out the truth. So I ran after the car.
Spotting that I wasn't hanging around either, the copper
turned in my direction and spread out his arms like a basketball
player defending the basket. He made, I have to say, a pretty
ludicrous sight, and I had to resist the urge to laugh. Instead, I
sidestepped him easily, and though he got a hand on my jacket
I brushed it off and kept running, breaking into the kind of
sprint that, with the exception of the previous night outside the
police station, I hadn't managed since my school days.
Kathy kept reversing up the drive, at the same time motioning
for me to keep coming, and after another ten yards she slowed
down and flung open the passenger door. I could hear the
copper behind me but I knew I was outpacing him. The Hyundai
slowed to walking pace and, as I grabbed the open door and
scrambled inside, Kathy suddenly accelerated again, reversing
out onto the road in a screech of tyres. The last I saw of the
copper, he was standing uselessly in the middle of the drive,
frantically talking into his radio. Then Kathy shoved the gear
stick into first and with a maniacal laugh took off up the empty
road.
You know the feeling you get sometimes when you wake up in
the darkness of an early morning, and in those first few moments
you'«e not quite sure if you're still in a dream or not? I had that

feeling now. My wife, thirty-five-year-old college lecturer and
mother of two, was behaving like some sort of lunatic. I could
offer no explanation, other than, like her, I had to be going mad.
'What the hell is going on, Kathy? We're meant to be handing
ourselves in, not doing some sort of fucking Thelma and Louise.'
She grinned at me. 'Don't you like taking a bit of a risk now
and then, Tom? You don't, do you? You were never much of a
risk taker.'
'I don't go running away from the police, no. Not when we
need to speak to them. You might have forgotten, but your work
colleague and your lover are dead.'
The smile left her face in an instant, but the expression it left
behind was hard and determined, and totally unlike the Kathy I
knew. Or didn't, as the case might be. 'When we give ourselves
up to the police, I want to do it on my terms,' she said. 'I want to
walk into a police station in front of plenty of witnesses so
nothing can happen to me. I'm not just walking up to the first
overweight plod I see. Do you understand?'
'No,' I said, 'I don't think I do.'
Before either of us could say anything else, my phone rang.
Ten seconds later, so did Kathy's. We were obviously hitting a
reception area. I pulled mine out, flicked it open, and saw that I
had a message from my voicemail service, as well as a video
message. The sender had withheld his number. A prompt on the
screen asked me if I wanted to play it. I wondered if it was some
sort of spam thing. There was only one way to find out.
I pressed play.
A second later my two young children appeared on the screen,
their expressions confused and scared. Chloe looked like she'd
been crying. They were in a room I didn't recognize, sitting on a
double bed. The wall behind it was painted orange, and there

were no pictures or ornaments visible. The video concentrated
on the children for about five seconds. During that time they
remained still and said nothing. Then the camera moved left and
a man dressed from head to foot in black, the now standard
balaclava hiding his identity, stood against one of the other
blank orange walls. It could have been one of the men from last
night; it was difficult to tell. It didn't matter either. The message
was clear: my children were now in the hands of some very
ruthless people.
The video ended, and I felt my whole body sag. A black mix
of gloom, helplessness and terror filled my insides, its weight
crushing me from the inside out. Not my kids. Please, anything
else, but not my kids. Not the most precious, innocent people in
my life. For a parent there is no worse feeling than knowing your
child is in grave danger and being unable to do anything about
it. Your utter impotence tears you apart. All your resistance
evaporates. You are a pliant, begging wreck, which I guess is
exactly what they must have been banking on.
Beside me, Kathy pulled up to the side of the road, and I
heard her groan as she looked at the video on her own phone.
I couldn't even turn my head in her direction. All my energy
seemed to have gone, and this time I really did weep. I prayed
too. Prayed that they wouldn't be hurt, offered a God in whom
until this moment I hadn't believed in for close to thirty years
anything he wanted if he'd just let them go. I would go to
church, give all my money to cnarity, work with the poor in
Africa ... anything. But don't hurt them.
'Oh God,' I heard Kathy say. 'Oh God. Not my babies.'
I wiped my eyes and tried to calm myself down. So far, Max
and Chloe were unharmed. We had to make sure the people
holding them got what they wanted, and this time there could be

no bullshit. I assumed they'd left some sort of message to go
with the video, so I dialled 121, and sure enough a man's voice I
didn't recognize came on the line. 'You know what we have,' he
said in the tone of someone describing the stock in his shop. His
voice was perfectly ordinary, if a little high-pitched. 'Call this
number now if you're interested in having them back whole.' He
reeled out a mobile number, and hung up. As I hunted in the
glove compartment for a pen and paper, the time of the message
was given as 5.53 a.m. - a little over an hour ago. I found a pen
but no paper, so when I listened to the message again I wrote
down the number on the back of the Hyundai's logbook.
'They want us to phone them,' I told Kathy, staring out of the
windscreen into the empty tree-lined road ahead.
'You do it,' she said, weeping quietly.
'Whatever they want. Whatever you know, give it to them.
OK?' I still didn't look at her as I spoke.
'Sure.'
'Don't sure me. Yes. I want you to say yes.'
'Yes, yes, yes. Just phone them ... please.'
I wanted to tell her that this was her fault, but I didn't. I took
a deep breath and dialled the number. It rang five times before it
was picked up.
'I'm glad you called,' said the man on the other end, the same
one who'd left the message on the voicemail. 'We need to get
this matter concluded as soon as possible.'
'Are our kids OK?'
'They're fine.' His voice sounded confident, but it was impossible
to know whether to believe him or not. 'Now, tell me.
Where are you?'
'About a mile from the cottage, the one near Bolderwood. In
a car.'

'Whose car?'
'My wife's. We went back there to get it.'
'And you weren't seen?'
'I don't think so, no.'
'Good. I have a set of instructions for you. If you follow them
to the letter, your children will be released safe and well. As
soon as this phone call ends, you are to delete the video message
that was sent to you and switch off your mobile phone immediately.
Your wife is to do exactly the same with hers. Then you
are to throw them away, somewhere where they're not likely to
be found. And don't try any tricks, like keeping the phone with
you and switched on. The same person who gave us the identity
and address of your mother-in-law will be calling the numbers
periodically over the next hour. He has access to technology
that will tell him whether or not your phone is transmitting a signal. If he finds that you have disobeyed my instructions, one
of your children will lose an ear. You'll be able to choose which
one.'
'Don't harm Max and Chloe, please,' I said, using their names
in a desperate effort to personalize them in their captor's eyes,
even though I was sure it would do no good. 'No-one is going to
mess you about this time, I promise. Whatever you want from
us, you'll have.' Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kathy
nodding in numb agreement, tears streaming down her face.
'Nothing will happen to them if you do what I say. Have you
got a pen and paper?'
'Hold on.' With my free hand I picked up the pen and the
Hyundai logbook again. My hands were shaking but my voice
remained artificially calm as I told him I was ready.
'Listen carefully. Once you've got rid of the phones, you're to
driv» up the M3 to Basingstoke, then take the A33 towards

Reading. Go through Reading and take the road to Henley-on
Thames. At Henley take the road to Marlow. Three miles along
that road there's a left turning to a village called Hambleden.
Have you got all that?'
I was writing furiously. 'Yes. Yes, I have.'
'Park in the village square. There's a phone box there. In just
over an hour, at eight fifteen, it will ring. I'd advise you to hurry,
because if it's not picked up by you I will have to make sure that
one of your children pays the price for your delay.'
'We'll be there, OK? Please, don't do anything to them. We'll
be there.'
'You'll then receive further instructions,' he continued, completely
ignoring my pleas. 'At this time on a Sunday morning
you should have no trouble making it by eight fifteen, and if
everything goes to plan you'll be reunited with your children
before midday. But remember this, and remember it well:
deviate even slightly from what you've been told, get caught by
the police before you arrive here, or try to enlist the help of
anyone, and your children will die alone and screaming.'
The words were like punches, each one sapping my strength
and driving me further and further into a darkness from which I could see no escape. 'I understand,' I said, my words little more
than a croak.
'Is my mum all right?' asked Kathy, her words seeming to
come from some distance away. 'Ask him if my mum's all right.'

'Don't even bother asking that question,' said the man on the
end of the phone, who'd obviously heard her.
I knew then that Irene was dead, but didn't really take it in.
There was too much else to think about at that moment.

'Get rid of the phones and get to Hambleden now. I'm looking
forward to seeing you again.' With that, he rang off.

Kathy grabbed me by the arm, bringing her face close to mine.
I'd never seen such pain in her dark eyes, a pain I was sure was
right there in mine too.
'What did he say?' she demanded.
'The kids are fine. I don't know about your mum.'
'Oh God. They've killed her, haven't they? Haven't they?'
'I don't know. Now, give me your phone. He wants us to turn
them off and throw them away so that the police can't use them
to follow us. Then we've got to drive up to a place called
Hambleden, near Henley.'
Kathy pulled the phone from her pocket and handed it over.
'They're going to kill us, you know. When we arrive. They'll
never let us go, not after this.'
'We're out of choices, Kathy,' I said, meeting her gaze.
'They've got us over a barrel this time.'
I got out of the car and walked into the trees at the side of the
road. I switched off my phone and threw it into a fern bush.
Then I switched off hers. But I didn't throw it away, because I
knew Kathy was right. When we turned up to wherever it was
our tormentor - and I could only guess it was the man Daniels
called Lench - wanted us, and he'd got the information he
wanted, we'd be surplus to requirements, loose ends to be dealt
with. But it wasn't that which bothered me; it was the fact that
they might also get rid of Max and Chloe. Our whole family
wiped out, like we'd never existed. I didn't know who could
help, but I did know without i. doubt that if I threw away
Kathy's phone, that would be the end of our last lifeline.
I placed it in my pocket and headed back to the car.
'Head for the motorway,' I told her, and without another word
she pulled away, driving north.
It4iad just turned ten past seven.

36

Bolt was woken up by the shrill blasts of his mobile as it vibrated
away like an enthusiastic sex toy on his bedside table. After a
long yawn, he reached over and picked it up. He still hadn't even
opened his eyes when he heard the angry tones of a voice he
didn't immediately recognize.
'I think you owe me a very fucking big apology, DI Bolt.
What is it with you? Do you think because we're based in
the suburbs we're so utterly incapable that we're not worth
bothering with? That you can run roughshod over our investigation
and not bother to keep us informed of what you're
finding out?'
Bolt inched open an eye, saw that, according to the alarm
clock, it was 7.17 a.m. and realized that he was talking to the
man in charge of investigating Jack Calley's murder.
'Ah, DCI Lambden. You're up early, sir.'
'Don't piss me about, Bolt. I've just been talking to Calley's
neighbour, Bernard Crabbe. He tells me you and your colleague
came to see him last night, with a photograph of Tom and Kathy
Meron.'