See How They Run (15 page)

I
n return
for telling her about the parcels, Harry was given a little more information: yesterday Ruth had followed Foster, Bridge and another man to a hotel in Crawley, a shuttle bus ride from Gatwick airport.

‘I don’t know if they’re still there. Probably not.’

He frowned at the regret in her voice. ‘Isn’t that a good thing? I mean, are we following them or hiding from them?’

‘We’re doing both, Harry. We need to stay on their trail—’

‘
You
need to stay on their trail.
I
need to find my wife and daughter.’

‘Yeah, but right now we have no clues as to where they’ve gone. Until we do, this is as good a place as any to stay tonight. As long as we’re careful.’

He saw how serious she was when they reached the hotel, a huge and rather ugly modern construction close to the town centre. They drove into the car park beneath the building, and the way Ruth scouted it made the earlier search at Hickstead seem cursory by comparison. She appeared to stare at every number plate, as if committing it to memory. The tension unnerved him, but it also made him cross that he’d been so easily fooled before.

Finally she parked in a space close to the exit and told him the plan. She intended to book them in, then summon Harry so that he could go directly to the room.

‘The fewer people who see you, the better. Once you’re inside I’m going to pop out to get some stuff from the shopping mall along the road. And I want to make a call, see if I can check out those fake cops.’

She fetched a small suitcase from the boot and unzipped the pocket at the front. To Harry’s surprise, she handed him a cheap Samsung phone.

‘Please don’t use it without asking me first. I’ll call you in a minute with the room number.’

He nodded, feeling increasingly like a child in the care of an over-protective guardian. When Ruth shut the door, he thought for a second that she might instruct him to lock the car for his own safety.

He spent the next ten minutes listening to the tick of the cooling engine and the rumble of passing traffic. Then the phone trilled.

‘Room 224,’ said Ruth. She described the layout of the hotel, and how to avoid coming to the notice of the staff at reception.

As it was, there were a couple of off-duty flight crews waiting at the check-in desk, so nobody paid Harry any attention as he hurried through the impressive atrium that dominated the ground floor of the main building. Ruth met him at the lifts, explaining that they could only be operated with the key card.

‘I booked just the one room. Best save money where we can. It’s twin beds, though.’

‘Oh.’ Harry dreaded to think how Alice would greet the news that her husband intended to spend the night in a hotel with another woman.

‘Don’t worry,’ Ruth added wryly. ‘I’m not going to jump your bones, as we say in Yorkshire.’

The room was bland – beige walls and a plain blue carpet – but it was a reasonable size and in good order. The en suite looked decent, too.

He gave Ruth her car keys but was reluctant to hand over the phone. ‘Can I use this to contact Alice?’

‘You mean you haven’t called her already?’

Ruth grinned as she said it, so he replied with the same tone of amused irony: ‘I thought I had to get your permission.’ After all, if they were going to be stuck in this room until morning, it was better that they got along. ‘I was thinking, if she was able to contact the police and let them know she’s all right …’

Ruth looked sceptical, but didn’t veto the idea. ‘Can you get her number without switching your own phone back on?’

He tapped his head. ‘It’s in here.’

‘Go on, then.’ She eased past him, and he had a foretaste of the awkwardness that lay ahead: washing, undressing, lying awake in the dark. ‘While you do that, I’ve got to put a parking ticket in the car, then do some shopping. Do you want me to buy some food, or we could get room service later?’

‘I’m not hungry, thanks.’

‘Okay. I might pick up some snacks.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I should be thirty, forty minutes max. You’ve got your own key card, but I’d advise you to stay here in the room. And don’t use the phone other than to call your wife.’

‘I know, I know.’ He shooed her towards the door. ‘I won’t think for myself any more. I’ve learned my lesson.’

M
aybe he had
, Ruth thought, and maybe he hadn’t. At heart Harry seemed like a good man, and certainly likeable enough – and yet she was aware of a constant nagging irritation when she was with him.

The reason, she deduced, was that she felt a sense of almost parental responsibility towards him. The age gap was probably no more than ten or fifteen years, but added to the imbalance in their respective life experiences, that was more than enough for a mother–son dynamic to form.

That’s what you don’t like
, said the critical voice in her head.
That he seems so young and innocent. So unlike you
.

She propped the parking ticket on the dashboard, then walked out of the hotel into the glare of artificial lights. Above them, night had fallen, and the air was cold and crisp. Her breath emerged in clouds of steam. A perfect night for bonfires and fireworks, baked potatoes and hot toddies.

In another life, she thought.

The main road dipped beneath a bridge and then rose, but it ran straight enough to make out the shops, less than a quarter of a mile away. There was a lot of slow-moving traffic, pumping clouds of exhaust into the air. A lot of pedestrians about, too, mostly people traipsing home from work.

Ruth quickened her pace. She was still fretting about Harry, and how he would adjust to his new status as a fugitive. She knew the unreality of it would keep clawing at him, impairing his judgement, which was why she needed to get back before he did anything foolish.

S
houldn’t have left
him the phone
, she was thinking as a car slowed alongside her. It was a Peugeot estate with three occupants: two males and a female. And there was a detachable blue light on the roof, of a type Ruth hadn’t seen for a while: these days most unmarked cars had lights concealed behind the front grille.

As these thoughts passed through her head, she made the mistake of breaking her stride. It meant that the man who emerged from the passenger seat was able to step directly in front of her, holding up a warrant card, while the woman climbed out of the back, a baseball cap hiding her face.

For one long wasted second it struck Ruth that these people might be genuine police officers. But the man wasn’t dissimilar to Harry’s description of DI Warley, and the woman – that wise voice in her head was now shrieking at her –
the woman was Sian Vickery
.

‘Come with us, please, madam.’ The man took hold of her arm and Ruth couldn’t pull away because Vickery was on her other side, hemming her in; both displaying their ID wallets for the benefit of any witnesses. Some of the passersby were frowning, some smiling, but none seemed in any doubt as to what was happening here. A masterstroke, tactically speaking.

‘What are you— no!’ she blurted, at this point still more humiliated than scared. After warning Harry to stay alert, she’d been careless herself, and all because she thought it would be quicker to walk to the shops than drive.

She shouted: ‘Help me, please! They’re not real pol—’

‘Come on, madam.’ Vickery sounded firm but not unfriendly. ‘The doctors warned us you’d say that.’

They hustled her towards the car, the man subtly applying far more pressure to her arm than was necessary. Ruth cried out, hoping to gain a measure of sympathy, but Vickery grabbed hold of her hair and wrenched the wig from her head.

There was a horrified gasp from the onlookers: all their prejudices confirmed in that single act.

Vickery tossed the wig into the footwell and slid along the back seat, pulling on Ruth’s arm as Warley shoved her into the car. He got in last, shutting the door behind him. Vickery had taken something from her pocket – Ruth caught the flash of a needle – but by now the car was moving, all the doors and windows tightly shut, and the sharp stab of pain in her arm told her it was futile to struggle. She was theirs now, and no one who’d witnessed her abduction would think they had seen anything other than an unruly woman trying to resist a legitimate arrest.

T
he journey
to Gloucester took far longer than anticipated, and the mood in the car became tense and fractious. Even with Alice studying a road atlas and issuing clear instructions, Renshaw had a habit of trundling past important junctions, or turning left when she had distinctly said right.

Just north of Cirencester they came off the A417 by accident, and then continued on a succession of winding narrow lanes, all of them woefully short of illumination and road signs. As poor a driver as he had been in daylight, Renshaw was even worse in darkness. Alice was almost tempted to offer to take the wheel herself, except that it would mean Renshaw holding Evie, and she couldn’t allow that. It was bad enough that Evie wasn’t in a car seat to begin with.

Eventually they located the village of Cranstone, which appeared to be little more than a handful of pale stone cottages with a matching church. Then Renshaw confessed that his friend lived another mile or so further on. He pulled up and took out his phone to call for directions.

‘Can I see if Harry’s texted back?’ Alice asked quickly.

Sighing, Renshaw checked the display, then showed it to her: nothing. He made the call and there was a brief conversation. Alice noticed that several times he said
I
, not
we
.

‘I have not mentioned you yet,’ he admitted when she pressed him on it. ‘But it will be no problem, I assure you.’

This time, crawling through the darkness, Renshaw managed to locate the correct turning on the first attempt. He drove down a lane that was barely wide enough to accommodate their car. Tall hedges loomed over them on each side, stray branches clawing the car as they passed.

There were only a handful of properties along here, set so well back that they were all but invisible. Most had name plates fixed to the gateposts, which Alice read aloud for Renshaw’s benefit.

‘High View … The Old Lodge …’

‘Beech House,’ Renshaw muttered. ‘We need Beech— ah!’

He braked sharply beside a set of open gates. Alice couldn’t see a name anywhere, but Renshaw seemed to feel this was the place. He turned on to a gravel drive, and gave a small exhalation as the property came into view. It was a substantial-looking farmhouse built in Cotswold stone. Five or six bedrooms at least, Alice guessed.

‘Not what you were expecting?’

‘It’s …’ Renshaw began, then hesitated, as if he wanted her to believe he knew Nerys better than he did. ‘She has done well,’ he said ruefully. ‘Very well.’

T
here was
a spacious parking area in front of a double garage, but no other vehicles in sight. Renshaw parked and got out, telling Alice to stay where she was. Presumably he wanted a chance to explain to Nerys that he’d brought along a couple of additional guests.

He’d left his door open and the air coming into the car was icy cold. Alice snuggled Evie against her but she knew they couldn’t wait here long, or they’d both freeze. But as Renshaw reached the house, the front door opened and a woman emerged, wearing a black knitted dress over black leggings. She was in her late fifties, well-built rather than fat, with a distinctly hourglass figure. She had a rounded face with a pale complexion, and dark wavy hair.

Ignoring Renshaw’s order, Alice began the task of manoeuvring her way out of the car without waking Evie. The woman noticed her at once and gave Renshaw a quizzical look. For a second her amiable expression gave way to something quite fierce, and Renshaw seemed taken aback by it.

‘Nerys, I am so sorry. I will explain.’

The woman nodded, rather neutrally. Renshaw made to embrace her but Nerys caught his arms at the wrists and held them while she turned her head to one side, allowing him to place a kiss on her cheek.

‘It’s just for one night?’ Her voice was low-pitched, with a soft Welsh accent.

‘One night. I promise. Tomorrow, Alice here can return home on the train.’

He was trying not scowl as Alice joined him. Nerys offered her a weary but welcoming smile.

‘Hello, I’m Nerys.’ After shaking hands with Alice, she gently touched the carrier. ‘And who’s this little sweetie?’

‘Evie.’

‘Evie? She’s adorable. Now, you must come in, out of the cold.’

She waved Alice into the house. Renshaw was turning towards the car when Nerys, still in a mild tone of voice, asked quietly: ‘No one followed you here?’

‘No. I’m certain of that.’

‘I hope so, Edward. I’ve put the past behind me. I thought you had, too.’

T
he comment had a faintly
bitter edge to it, but Alice could see why Nerys was so keen to keep her new life firmly separate from the old, if this house was anything to go by.

She was in an entrance hall so spacious that it wasn’t cramped by the presence of a bureau and a couple of easy chairs. Its centrepiece was a wide staircase, and there were doors to several living rooms. The decor and furnishings were old, and in some cases slightly tired, but in a way that was entirely sympathetic to the age and style of property. From the kitchen came the delicious aroma of fresh baking.

Alice could hear a TV playing in the nearest of the living rooms. She recognised it as the six o’clock news: a reminder that right now she and Harry ought to be at home, bathing Evie, getting her ready for bed, then settling down to usher in the weekend with pizza and maybe a glass or two of wine …

‘It’s a beautiful home,’ Alice said, wondering if her relief was evident. She’d been anticipating somewhere a lot more basic.

‘Oh, it’s a bit ridiculous, really, me on my own in a place this size. But it’s the sort of house I always set my heart on, you know? And my son’s often round – his kids just love it here.’

‘How many grandchildren do you have?’

‘Four, now,’ she said proudly. ‘The latest probably isn’t much older than your wee darling …’

There was enough of a question in her voice for Alice to say, ‘Evie’s eight weeks, and already has a mind of her own.’

‘Don’t they all?’ Nerys winked. ‘Still, us girls have to take charge from an early age, don’t we?’

T
hey made
small talk while Renshaw unloaded the car. He trudged in with the rucksack on his back, the bag of nappies in one hand and a heavy-looking duffle bag in the other. That, presumably, had been stashed in the boot, ready for a quick getaway.

Nerys peered at the carrier bag as Renshaw passed it to Alice. ‘Is this all you have?’

‘We left in a hurry,’ Alice said.

‘Let me get settled, and I will tell you the story,’ Renshaw said.

Nerys gestured to the front room. ‘Help yourself to a drink while I show Alice to the nursery.’

‘Nursery?’ Alice queried.

‘Oh, yes. It’s where the youngest ones stay when they sleep over. Well, not the babe, Mikey, yet. He’s almost twelve weeks, and won’t be parted from Mummy.’

She climbed the stairs at a brisk pace, explaining a little of the house’s history. In the thirties it had been owned by a world-famous naturalist with a brood of eight children, and later by a cinematographer with an Oscar to his name.

‘My husband’s in the film business,’ Alice said. ‘Special effects.’

The words were out before she’d had a chance to consider the wisdom of revealing too much about herself and her family.

‘How fascinating. I can’t believe some of the things they can do nowadays. And I love those animations, like
Toy Story
and the one with monsters. Mind you, my granddaughters watch
Frozen
so often, I think there ought to be a support group for us grown-ups!’

Alice laughed politely and made noises of agreement while admiring the landing. As with the hall, it was wide enough to accommodate a bookcase and an antique writing desk.

The nursery was no less impressive. It was a vast room, containing both a double and a single bed as well as an old-fashioned crib and a huge wardrobe, painted white and decorated with a pattern of climbing roses. A similar design had been hand-painted on one of the walls, feeding into a large mural of a woodland scene, complete with bubbling stream and verdant meadow. Various mythical creatures frolicked along the riverbank: nymphs and fairies and fawns. The other walls were painted cream, while the ceiling was decorated with a sumptuous
trompe l’oeil
sky with white fluffy clouds drifting overhead. Pre-motherhood, Alice might have regarded the whole thing as a bit sickly and overdone. As a newly sentimental parent she adored it.

‘This is absolutely … amazing!’

‘You can see why it’s a hit with the children, though I have a devil of a job stopping Betty from embellishing it with her crayons.’ Nerys was bustling around the beds, plumping pillows and turning back the covers. ‘Now, I can make up the crib if you’d like, or would you prefer Evie to share the double with you?’

‘She’ll be fine with me. I don’t want to put you to any more trouble.’

‘It’s a pleasure, honestly. The bathroom’s right next door. Why don’t I leave you to freshen up, and when you’re ready, come down and have something to eat and drink.’

‘Sounds great. Thank you.’

Nerys paused in the doorway. The thoughtful look on her face gave Alice a little jolt of alarm. She was about to ask what was wrong when Nerys snapped out of it, smiled broadly and left the room.

Alice stood still for a moment, taking a few deep breaths while she tried to come to terms with the day’s events. Yes, it had been horrific, but she and Evie had come through it, physically unscathed. Now they were somewhere comfortable and safe.

Time to look on the bright side.
There was only tonight to endure: tomorrow, all being well, she and Evie could go back to their normal lives.

Evie wriggled, moaning softly. Easing her out of the carrier and taking off her pramsuit, Alice wandered across to the larger of two windows and drew back the curtain. The room overlooked the back garden, but there was little she could make out in the darkness: a wide lawn, hedges and trees, a couple of vague shapes that might have been a shed and a climbing frame or swing. There were no lights anywhere, nothing to indicate the presence of neighbouring homes or farms. She pictured the acres of wild open countryside that must lie beyond the garden, and thought:
What an idyllic setting.

And then it struck her: perhaps Nerys had chosen to hide away from the world for exactly the same reason as Renshaw.

Alice might be safe here for the time being, but that didn’t mean she could let her guard down.