Remote Control (9 page)

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Authors: Andy McNab

BOOK: Remote Control
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As the angle between me and the frame increased, I gradually saw more of the room. I took my time so I could take in the information in stages. If I had to react, the fact of being 2 yards away from the door frame would not affect my shooting, and, if it did, I shouldn’t be in this business anyway. Using my right thumb, I pushed the laser-sight button. A small dot of brilliant-red light splashed on the kitchen wall.
I leaned my body over to present as small a target as possible. If anyone was in the kitchen, all they’d see was a very nervous bit of head, and that would be what they’d have to react to, not the full Don Johnson.
The room was like the
Mary Celeste
. Food was still on the side in the middle of preparation. Kev had said Marsha was going to cook something special. There were vegetables and opened packs of meat. I closed the door behind me. By now the radio was playing some soft rock and the washing machine was on spin. The table was half laid, and that really upset me. Kev and Marsha were very strict on the kids’ chores; the sight of the half-laid table made me feel sick inside because it heightened the chances of the kids being either dead, or upstairs with some fucker with a 9mm stuck in their mouth.
I moved slowly to the other end of the room and locked the door to the garage. I didn’t want to clear the bottom of the house only for the boys to come in behind me.
I was starting to flap big-time. Were Marsha and the kids still in the house or had they made a run for it? I couldn’t just leave. The fuckers who’d done that to Kev would be capable of anything. I was starting to feel my stomach churn. What the fuck was I going to find upstairs?
I went out into the hallway again. As I moved, I had my pistol pointing up the stairs, which were now opposite me. The last room uncleared downstairs was Kev’s study. I put my ear to the door and listened. I couldn’t hear anything. I did the same drill and made entry.
It was a small room, just enough space for some filing cabinets, a desk and a chair. Shelves on the wall facing the desk were full of books and photographs of Kev shooting, Kev running, that sort of stuff. Everything was now on the floor; the filing cabinets were opened and paper strewn everywhere. The only thing not ripped apart was Kev’s PC. That was lying on its side on the desk, the screen still showing the British Army screen saver I’d sent him for a laugh. The printer and scanner were on the floor beside the desk, but that was where they had always been.
I went back out and looked at the stairs. They were going to be a problem. They went up one flight, then turned back on themselves for the second before hitting the landing. That meant that I’d have to be a bit of a Houdini to cover my arse getting up there. I wouldn’t use the laser now; I didn’t want to announce my movements.
I put my foot on the bottom stair and started to move up. Fortunately Kev’s stair carpet was a thick shagpile, which helped keep the noise down, but still it was like treading on ice, gently testing each step for creaks, always placing my feet to the inside edge, slowly and precisely.
Once I got level with the landing, I pointed my pistol up above my head and, using the wall as support, moved up the stairs backwards, step by step.
A couple of steps; wait, listen. A couple more steps; wait, listen.
There was only one of me and I had only thirteen rounds to play with, maybe fourteen if the round in the chamber was on top of a full magazine. These boys might have semi-automatic weapons for all I knew, or even fully automatic. If they did, and were waiting for me, it would not be a good day out.
The washing machine was on its final thundering spin. Still soft rock on the radio. Nothing else.
Adrenalin takes over. Despite the air-conditioning I was drenched with sweat. It was starting to get in my eyes; I had to wipe them with my left hand, one eye at a time.
The girls’ room was facing me. From memory there were bunk beds and the world’s biggest shrine to
Pocahontas
– T-shirts and posters, bed linen and even a doll whose back you pressed and she sang something about colours.
I stopped and prepared myself for the worst.
I reached for the handle and started to clear the room. Nothing. No-one.
For once the room was even clean and tidy. There were piles of teddies and toys on the beds. The theme was still
Pocahontas
, but
Toy Story
was obviously a close second.
I gradually came out onto the landing, treating it as if it was a new room because I didn’t know what might have gone on in the half-minute since I’d left it.
I moved slowly down to the next bedroom, with my back nearly touching the wall, pistol forward, eyes watching front and rear, thinking, What if? What do I do if they appear from that doorway? What if? . . . What if?
As I got nearer to Kev’s and Marsha’s room I could see that the door was slightly ajar. I couldn’t actually see anything inside yet, but, as I moved nearer, I started to smell something. A faint metallic tang, and I could smell shit as well. I felt sick. I knew that I’d have to go in.
As I inched round the door frame, I got my first glimpse of Marsha. She was kneeling by the bed, her top half spreadeagled on the mattress. The bedspread was covered in blood.
I sank to my knees in the hallway. I felt myself going into shock. I couldn’t believe this was true. This was not happening to this family. Why kill Marsha? It should have been Kev they were after. All I wanted to do was throw my hand in and sit down and cry, but I knew the kids had been in the house; they might still be here.
I got a grip on myself and started to move. I went in, forcing myself to ignore Marsha. The room was clear.
The next job was the
en suite
bathroom. I made entry, and what I saw made me lose it, totally fucking lose it.
Bang
, I went back against the wall and slumped onto the floor.
Aida was lying on the floor between the bath and the toilet. Her five-year-old head had been nearly severed from her shoulders. There was just 3 inches of flesh left intact and I could see the vertebrae still holding on.
Blood was everywhere. I got it all over my shirt and hands; I was sitting in a pool of it, soaking the seat of my trousers.
Turning my head away and looking out of the
en suite
, I could now see more of Marsha. I had to hold back my scream. Her dress was hanging normally, but her tights had been torn, her knickers were pulled down and she had shat herself, probably at the point of death. All I saw at this distance of about fifteen feet away was someone I really cared for, maybe even loved, on her knees, her blood splattered all over the bed. And she’d had the same done to her as Aida.
I was taking deep breaths and wiping my eyes. I knew I still had another two rooms to clear – another bathroom and the large annexe above the garage. I couldn’t give up now because I might land up getting dropped myself.
I cleared the other rooms, and half collapsed, half sat on the landing. I could see my bloody footprints all over the carpet.
Stop, calm down, and think
.
What next? Kelly. Where the fuck was Kelly?
Then I remembered the hiding place. Because of the threats to Kev, both kids knew where they had to go and hide in the event of a drama.
The thought brought me to my senses. If that was where Kelly was hiding, she was safe for the time being. Better to leave her there while I did the other stuff I had to do.
I got up and started to move down the stairs, making sure that, as I moved, I had my pistol pointed. As I descended I could see the blood I had left on the wall and carpet where I’d sat. I was almost willing the attackers to appear. I wanted to see the fuckers.
I got a cloth and a bin liner from the kitchen and started to run round the house, wiping door handles and any surfaces where I might have left fingerprints. Then I went over to the patio sliding doors and closed the curtains. I didn’t want anybody to discover an alien set of fingerprints before I was well out of it, hopefully on a plane back to London.
I took a quick look at Kev and knew I was back in control. He was now just a dead body.
I went back upstairs, washed the blood off my hands and face, and got a clean shirt and pair of jeans and trainers from Kev’s cupboards. His clothes didn’t fit me but they would do for now. I bundled my own bloodstained stuff into the bin liner that I’d be taking with me.
5
Kev had shown me the ‘hidey-hole’, as he called it, built under an open staircase that led up to a little makeshift loft stacked with ladders. If ever Kev or Marsha shouted the word ‘Disneyland!’ the kids knew they had to go and hide there – and they were not to come out until Daddy or Mummy came and got them.
I started making entry into the garage. Pushing the door slightly, I could see the rear of the large metal up-and-over doors to the right. The garage could easily have taken three extra vehicles besides Kev’s company car. ‘Fucking thing,’ I remembered Kev saying, ‘all the luxury and mod cons of the late Nineties in a car that looks like a Sixties fridge.’
The kids’ bikes were hanging from frames on the wall, together with all the other clutter that families accumulate in garages. I could see the red laser splash on the far wall.
I moved in and cleared through. There was no-one here.
I went back to the area of the staircase. Chances were she wasn’t going to come out unless her Mum and Dad came for her, but as I moved I started to call out very gently, ‘Kelly! It’s Nick! Hello, Kelly, where are you?’
All the time the pistol was pointing forward, ready to take on any threat.
Moving slowly towards the boxes, I said, ‘Oh well, since you’re not here I’ll go. But I think I’ll have one more look and I bet you’re hiding in the Disneyland place. I’ll just have a look . . . I bet you’re in there . . .’
There was a pile of large boxes. One had contained a fridge freezer, another a washing machine. Kev had made a sort of cave with them under the staircase and kept a few toys there.
I eased the pistol down my waistband. I didn’t want her to see a gun. She’d probably seen and heard enough already.
I put my mouth against a little gap between the boxes. ‘Kelly, it’s me, Nick. Don’t be scared. I’m going to crawl towards you. You’ll see my head in a minute and I want to see a big smile . . .’
I got down on my hands and knees and carried on talking gently as I moved boxes and squeezed through the gap, inching towards the back wall. I wanted to do it nice and slowly. I didn’t know how she was going to react.
‘I’m going to put my head round the corner now, Kelly.’
I took a deep breath and moved my head round the back of the box, smiling away but ready for the worst.
She was there, facing me, eyes wide with terror, sitting curled up in a foetal position, rocking her body backwards and forwards, holding her hands over her ears.
‘Hello, Kelly,’ I said very softly.
She must have recognized me, but didn’t reply. She just carried on rocking, staring at me with wide, scared dark eyes.
‘Mummy and Daddy can’t come and get you out at the moment, but you can come with me. Daddy told me it would be OK. Are you going to come with me, Kelly?’
Still no reply. I crawled right into the cave until I was curled up beside her. She’d been crying and strands of light-brown hair were stuck to her face. I tried to move them away from her mouth. Her eyes were red and swollen.
‘You’re in a bit of a mess there,’ I said. ‘Do you want me to clean you up? Come on, let’s go and get you sorted out, shall we?’ I got hold of her hand and gently guided her out into the garage.
She was dressed in jeans, jean shirt, trainers and a blue nylon puffer jacket. Her hair was straight and just above her shoulders, a bit shorter than I remembered it, and she was quite lanky for a seven-year-old, with long, skinny legs. I picked her up in my arms and held her tight as I carried her into the kitchen. I knew the other doors were closed, so she wouldn’t see her dad.
I sat her down on a chair at the table. ‘Mummy and Daddy said they had to go away for a while, but asked me to look after you until they come back, OK?’
She was trembling so much I couldn’t tell if her head was nodding or shaking.
I went to the fridge and opened it, hoping to find some comfort food. Two large, half-eaten Easter eggs were on the shelf. ‘Mmm, yum – do you want some chocolate?’
I’d had a good relationship with Kelly. I thought she was a great kid, and that wasn’t just because she was my mate’s daughter. I smiled warmly, but she stared at the table.
I broke off a few pieces and put them on one of the side plates that she’d probably been setting earlier with Aida. I found the off switch on the radio; I’d had enough relaxing soft rock for one day.
As I looked at her again I suddenly realized I’d fucked up. What was I going to do with her? I couldn’t just leave her here; her family were lying dead all over the house. But, more importantly, she knew me. When the police arrived she’d be able to say, ‘Nick Stone was here.’ They’d soon find out that Nick Stone was one of Daddy’s mates and the house was full of photographs with me in them. And, if they did arrest the grinning drunk in the barbecue shots, they’d find that, for some strange reason, he wasn’t Nick Stone at all, he was Mrs Stamford’s little boy. As they used to say in the Harp commercial, time to make a sharp exit.

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