See How They Run (14 page)

H
arry remained crouched
in the back of the Corsa until they found a safe place to stop, in the car park of a leisure centre on the edge of Burgess Hill. On the way there, Ruth described how she’d checked out of her hotel and then driven to Lavinia Street.

‘There was a police car outside your house, so I parked on the corner and had a look at number 43. The back door had been forced. I went inside, had a look around …’ She paused. ‘Renshaw had set a trap in the kitchen. Bleach. From the look of it, one of Laird’s men could have suffered some nasty burns.’

‘Oh, Jesus. This is the guy who’s got my wife and daughter …’

‘He has no reason to harm them. The trap was self-defence, which is understandable in the circumstances.’

Harry thought about the hammer he’d kept beneath his pillow and found he couldn’t disagree. When Ruth pulled up he got out of the car, stretched his cramped limbs and returned to the front seat.

‘I fucked up, didn’t I?’ he said. ‘The police must have responded to my 999 call.’

‘Could be. They take domestic incidents a lot more seriously than they used to.’

‘This isn’t a domestic—’

‘No, but that’s the way it looks to them. Abduction by strangers is rare enough when the victim is a child. It’s almost unheard of for a mother and child to be taken together. But vengeful fathers turning violent on their families? That, I’m afraid, happens with depressing regularity, week in, week out. Which makes you the first and strongest suspect.’

‘My parents won’t believe I’ve done anything to them. Neither will Alice’s mum.’

Ruth made a sceptical noise in her throat. ‘Maybe your mother got worried and called the police?’ Ignoring the look of horror on his face, she said, ‘You can hand yourself in, Harry, but you won’t be able to tell them where to find your family. And without evidence the police won’t give your story any credence.’

‘Not even with Renshaw’s house … ?’

‘Where’s the proof of a connection?’ she shot back.

Harry nodded. Cautiously, he said, ‘You could corroborate it for me, couldn’t you?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘It just wouldn’t work. Trust me. The only thing that’s gonna help you is having Alice and Evie reappear, unharmed. And right now I can’t make that happen any more than you can.’

S
marting
at what felt like another dressing-down, Harry gave her directions to the town centre. Ruth pulled into a bus stop while Harry ran to the nearest ATM. He had a couple of cards, and used them to withdraw a total of six hundred pounds, all the time wondering if this was a huge overreaction. He was aware that the police could trace the use of a bank card, but would they really do so on the basis of a single muddled phone call?

Back in the car, they took a different route out of town, heading north towards Haywards Heath. Ruth wanted to know if he’d spoken to Keri.

‘Yes. But I didn’t get her address.’ He relayed the conversation, expecting disappointment, but she only nodded impassively.

‘Tomorrow at twelve is good enough.’

‘There’s no way I can go up there …’

‘All I want you to do is call Keri tomorrow, get the address and text it to me. Then I’ll go see her, and you can focus on your family.’

That didn’t seem unreasonable, so he said, ‘And what about tonight?’

‘Crawley.’

‘Why Crawley?’

‘Foster and Bridge were booked into the Hickstead Travelodge on Wednesday night. What I didn’t mention was that I saw them checking out on Thursday morning.’

Harry turned in his seat to stare at her. ‘So telling me to keep a watch out for their cars, that was just bullshit?’

‘Everyone likes to feel useful.’

‘Not if they’re being taken for a fool.’ He waited till she glanced in his direction. ‘I’m finding it hard enough to trust you as it is …’

‘Like I say, Harry, that’s a decision you have to make. I can drop you right here if you want, but the chances are you’ll be in a police cell by morning. And Alice and Evie might still be missing.’

Harry turned away in disgust. After a moment he felt her hand on his arm.

‘I’m sorry. You’ve gotta understand that I’m not used to collaborating. I tell you only what you need to know, because that’s what my instinct says I should do. The same way your wife didn’t tell you about the parcel. And you didn’t tell her about me.’

‘And look at the mess it’s caused, us not being straight with each other.’

Ruth said nothing for a second, then she nodded. ‘All right. Let’s talk some more about this parcel.’

‘Which one?’

His question made her gasp. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. ‘Say again?’

‘I thought you’d overheard Alice, on the phone. She said there was another parcel – well,
package
was her exact word.’

‘I only heard a few snippets.’ Ruth pursed her lips. Her gaze remained fixed on the road but her mind, Harry sensed, was somewhere else entirely. ‘A package, that’s what she called it? Not parcel.’

‘No, though I don’t suppose there’s much difference.’

Ruth pondered. ‘Go back to the first one. How did she describe that?’

‘Just a standard A4 envelope, quite thick and solid. We thought it might have been …’ At the last moment he changed his mind, and said: ‘Paper, or something.’

Ruth wasn’t fooled. ‘Paper, as in money?’

‘Possibly. She didn’t open it, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m not accusing your wife of anything. Money sounds like a plausible thing for them to be chasing. But the second delivery … to me, the word “package” suggests something smaller.’

‘Maybe. Hopefully I can find out soon, if I’m able to speak to her.’

‘Can’t use your phone,’ she reminded him, and when he started to protest: ‘Don’t worry. I have one you can borrow.’

Harry grunted his thanks, but he was preoccupied by the memory of his last conversation with Alice. ‘What I can’t work out is why she tried to give the thing to Renshaw. If she’d called the police instead, we wouldn’t now be in this fucking mess.’

‘No, but you might have been in some other fucking mess, maybe a much worse one.’

Her tone was so dark that Harry didn’t push the issue. Right now he didn’t want to contemplate anything worse than this.

A
lice had
fish and chips and ate about half of it. Setting her cutlery down, she earned a disapproving look from Renshaw.

‘You don’t care for the food?’

‘No, it’s quite nice. I’m just … my stomach’s churning.’

Renshaw had already wolfed down a steak pie, but evidently had room for more. He speared one of her chips with his fork and said, ‘Anything else you remember?’

She shook her head. ‘No. That’s it.’

During the meal he’d peppered her with questions about the ordeal on Thursday morning, and the subsequent visit by Warley and Cassell. But he had ignored Alice’s own questions, gesturing at his plate as if to make plain that his hunger took precedence over her curiosity.

After devouring a few more chips, he sat back and patted his belly. ‘Proper hot food. A rare treat, indeed.’

‘How long have you been living like that?’

Renshaw squinted as he did the calculation. ‘Almost fifteen months.’

‘And you didn’t leave the house at all?’

‘Once a week, late at night, to stock up on food and keep the car running. Thank heaven for Asda, and twenty-four-hour opening.’ He snorted. ‘But there were many difficulties. The rubbish piled up, because I could take only small amounts out with me. Organic waste I washed down the toilet, using a bucket to flush because the cistern was too loud. I had no lights on, except for one room which had foil on the window. No heating but for one electric fire. For hot water I had to use a kettle, because the pipes were too noisy.’

‘How did you find it in the first place?’

‘I knew the owner, a long time ago. She lives abroad, and agreed to say nothing about my presence there.’

‘And what about the escape route?’

‘It was planned from the beginning. I ascertained that my neighbour lived alone and was frequently out of the house. After breaking through I went next door regularly to make sure there were no nasty surprises.’

‘I can’t believe Lawrence didn’t know you lived there.’

He blinked slowly a couple of times, as if offended. ‘Did
you
know I lived there?’

‘No,’ she conceded. ‘And no one else has ever mentioned it.’

‘People today exist in a bubble of their own selfishness. It is quite easy to be invisible in a street such as yours.’

He said it with a measure of scorn. Alice felt an urge to defend her community, but now she had him talking there were more important things to discuss.

‘Who are they? And why are they so determined to find you?’

‘I told you, I worked for them.’

‘You were employed as a doctor, by criminals?’

He glowered at her incredulous tone. ‘Yes. I wished to retire, but they would not permit that.’

‘Why didn’t you go to the police?’

‘And become an informer? Ha! You think the police will keep me safe, year after year? You think I would get a new life, a new identity, the way it happens in the movies?’

Alice sighed. It was exactly what the two men had warned them.

‘But the parcel on Tuesday,’ she said. ‘It was full of money, wasn’t it?’

R
enshaw sat forward
, resting his elbows on the table, and laced his hands together. He wore a defiant gaze as he said, ‘It is a fraction of what I am owed.’

‘Weren’t you taking a big risk, having it delivered to the wrong address?’

‘The risk came from venturing out in daylight. But I chose the destination well. Your number, 34, is my number reversed. An understandable error. I judged that you were trustworthy, and as a new mother there was a high probability that you would be home when the package arrived. That way I could intercept it swiftly, before you became curious.’

Alice suppressed a shudder at the thought that Renshaw had made a conscious decision to involve her – and that the decision had been prompted by Evie’s presence in the house. He must have been watching her for weeks.

‘What was in the envelope today?’

His expression became guarded. ‘Insurance,’ he muttered, checking his watch. ‘We should go.’

‘Hold on. I want to know who sent them.’

‘It was a man called Hasan Mansur. I saved his life once. He did this to repay me, at great risk.’

‘So he stole money from them?’ Alice frowned. ‘How did he manage to send two packages, if the gang came after the first one?’

‘He waited many months for the right opportunity.’ Renshaw looked sombre. ‘On Monday I received a text, saying the first package had been sent. There was another text on Wednesday, to say Hasan would be sending the second item that night. Since then, nothing.’

‘So you think they found out about it on Wednesday?’

Renshaw nodded. ‘Hasan must have been forced to reveal the address I gave him. I cannot blame him. But perhaps he kept from them the existence of the second package.’ A sigh. ‘Either way, he is almost certainly dead by now.’

T
here was
a brief interruption from Evie, who burped in her sleep and then smiled. Renshaw shifted in his seat, eager to be away, but Alice couldn’t leave it there.

‘What are they involved in, precisely? Drugs?’

‘A little. Not so much, these days. They have legitimate enterprises that flourish now, but also some illegal gambling. Other entertainments, too. Prostitution.’

Alice recoiled in distaste. ‘And you were part of that?’

‘I helped to look after the young ladies,’ he said indignantly. ‘These are not cheap whores touting for business on the streets. It is a high-class operation.’

‘Maybe. But we’re still talking about a group of men profiting from the exploitation of women.’

He gave her a withering look. ‘You think prostitution will fizzle away because middle-class feminists disapprove of it? Huh. Some people do not have the same comfortable choices that have been available to you.’

‘I know that—’ she began, but he cut her off.

‘And do you know that for many it is an informed choice? That what you call exploitation can be something they find enjoyable and rewarding? For these women, the real exploitation is to toil for forty or fifty hours a week in factories or shops. Stocking shelves at four a.m. in Asda.’

‘You can’t compare that with prostitution. And whatever the motive, the idea of women having to sell their bodies for sex is repulsive.’

‘Only because you are English, and the English are sexually repressed.’ He gave her a thin, knowing smile, which caused Alice’s face to burn red.

It was almost a relief when he stood up, until she remembered that another, far more important confrontation was looming.

T
he Friday evening
rush was well underway. Fighting through a horde of travellers at the exit, Alice experienced a desperate longing to spot someone she knew, someone more reliable who could offer her shelter for the night.

‘I need to call Harry,’ she reminded him.

‘Yes, yes. At the car.’

Outside it was quickly growing dark, and bitterly cold. A glitter of frost was already visible on some of the cars. Alice shivered, unable to shake off a conviction that Renshaw would fail to keep his word.

He unlocked the car, opened his door and then stopped, realising that she had made no move to get in.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘I was thinking, why don’t I ask Harry to come and get me?’

‘From here?’ Renshaw’s eyes narrowed. ‘But the woman? If she is working for them …’

‘I don’t think Harry’s that naïve. Besides, I’m willing to take the chance.’ Seeing the doubt on his face, she said, ‘You’ll be long gone by the time they get here, so it’s no risk to you.’

Another pause. She could almost see tiny cogs whirring inside his head. At last he shrugged, and produced Alice’s phone.

‘Very well. But make the call from the car. It is too cold out here.’

On that point Alice didn’t argue. Renshaw started the engine and turned the heating up, then handed her the phone.

With a heartfelt sigh, he said, ‘I realise that my own situation has been weighing so heavy, I failed to give enough thought to what you must be feeling. I want you to know I am truly sorry.’

Alice nodded, taken aback by such an effusive apology, and the fact that he had agreed to her suggestion. The possibility of being reunited with Harry, perhaps within an hour or two, lifted her spirits enormously.

She looked down at her phone and saw that the display remained dark. She pressed the power button again. Nothing happened.

‘Weird,’ she murmured to herself. She had seen Renshaw switch her phone off earlier, and she was certain it had been charged as normal last night. She’d had a few problems before with some of the background apps draining power, but thought that had been sorted out. ‘Battery’s dead.’

Renshaw clicked his tongue. ‘I find such gadgets are often temperamental. Please, use this.’

He produced a battered old Nokia. Still puzzled, Alice took it and keyed in Harry’s number from memory. It diverted immediately to voicemail.

She checked the number, reading it aloud, then dialled again. Voicemail.
What was going on?

‘A problem?’ Renshaw asked gently.

‘He’s not answering.’ There were horrible images crowding her mind: Harry held prisoner by the men from Thursday morning; Harry in bed with this mysterious woman …

‘We must go now.’ Renshaw moved to put the car in gear.

‘But I could still wait here …’

‘And what if he does not answer?’ He offered a smile. ‘Stay if you must, but this is no place for your infant. Nerys will look after us; you have nothing to fear.’

Alice sighed. She knew in her heart he was right. Being stranded at the services wasn’t an appealing prospect, especially when she had no money and no working phone.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I just want to be back with my husband.’

‘Of course. And you should text him now, to say you are well. Tonight, perhaps, we can arrange for you to meet him somewhere.’

‘What if I sent him your friend’s address?’

‘Ah. I would prefer to keep that to myself.’

‘Because of this woman with Harry?’

‘Partly it is that.’ Renshaw seemed to be wincing as he spoke. ‘Also, if you do not know this information, they cannot later extract it from you.’

A
lice had
a minute to dwell on the comment while she helped Renshaw negotiate a route out of the services and back on to the motorway. At one point he ignored the lane markings and was nearly side-swiped by a van. It was only when they were trundling west at a steady fifty miles an hour that she felt it was safe to compose a text. The archaic phone was a struggle to use, so she kept the message brief.

Harry, this is Alice on Renshaw phone. Me and Evie fine. Staying at R friend in Gloucs, hope to call u later to collect us. Let me know who u r xx

Checking the text to be sure it had sent, she spotted the error. She had intended to say: Let me know
how
you are. Would he perceive that as a dig at him, because of his mystery companion – and did she even care if that was his interpretation?

Or was she just very tired, and lonely, and prone to overthinking everything?

‘Done now, yes?’ Renshaw said, after she had conspicuously failed to return the phone. She was hoping against hope that Harry would call straight back.

Evie began to squirm, screwing up her face and moaning in her sleep. There was a bowel movement coming, Alice guessed. She put the phone down between the seats, and while she was trying to make things more comfortable for Evie, Renshaw deftly returned it to his pocket.

It took a while to settle the baby, Renshaw grumbling about the effect on his concentration. Finally Evie was calm again, apparently having passed nothing more than wind.

‘What was in the bucket?’

The question just popped out before Alice could consider the wisdom of asking it.

Renshaw shifted in his seat, and the car gave a corresponding wobble. ‘It was bleach.’

Alice gasped. ‘So you might have … disfigured him?’

‘Do you care?’

She hesitated. Her immediate reaction was to feel sickened by the idea, but then she had to remember who they were talking about here: not innocent victims, unfortunate bystanders, but men with knives and guns who had terrorised her family. Just the image of Evie being hauled from her crib produced a surge of fury, as intense now as when it had happened.

‘No, I suppose not,’ she said.