See How They Run (24 page)

W
ith Renshaw gone
, the first thing Alice did was note the time: just after eleven o’clock. The phone’s battery was down to a single bar, and there was only a very weak signal.

She roamed the clearing for a few minutes, testing various locations to see if the signal strengthened. At times it did, but probably not enough to make or receive a call. Kicking through the fallen leaves, she spotted tiny white blobs – mushrooms – and had a crazy image of herself, gone feral, abandoned in the woods and foraging for food.

No, she wouldn’t let it come to that, or anywhere near. But she was skating perilously close to self-pity, until a sudden, vicious voice in her head spoke up:
You caused this, remember
.
This is the choice you made
.

She cut off the voice by slapping her own cheek: an act of madness, if anybody had been present to witness it. But it had to be silenced.

For now, preservation was the goal: hers and Evie’s. Preservation at all costs.

Evie was grizzling, refusing to be pacified. Finally, Alice gave in. Making sure she was unobserved, she sat on the driest log she could find and fed her daughter until Evie conceded that, no, she wasn’t hungry any more, and yes, she probably would benefit from a mid-morning sleep.

Alice felt certain that someone would stumble upon them at any moment: a lecherous farmer, or a group of ramblers disgusted by public nudity. But feeding passed the time, at least: once she’d returned Evie to the carrier it was almost twenty to twelve. The phone, when she checked, had no signal whatsoever.

She decided to walk to the edge of the copse. It meant taking the money, the bag heavy enough to drag painfully on her arm. She followed the path until the field came into sight. By leaning to one side she could just make out the hedge that marked the perimeter of Nerys Baxter’s property.

There were a couple of dog walkers in the distance, but no sign of Renshaw. She hoped he wouldn’t make her wait the full hour—

The phone rang. She looked at the number before answering, and couldn’t believe her eyes.

‘Harry?’

O
ne word
, then the connection was cut. Had someone grabbed the phone?

Harry stopped dead on a narrow pavement outside a pub, oblivious to the activity around him. In that instant the meeting with Ruth meant nothing. All he could think about was this brief moment of contact with Alice, snatched away from him.

He dialled again, feeling so powerless that it reminded him of dreams where he was horribly late for a meeting and yet his legs refused to move.

Should he call the police? But would they be prepared to launch a search on the basis of a single phone call?
And from a fugitive, remember
…

He set off, so preoccupied that he almost didn’t realise the phone had been answered.

‘Harry? Are you there? I lost the signal.’

‘Where are you? Are you safe? Is Evie—’

‘Harry, listen! In case the phone dies on me. I’m staying at a friend of Renshaw’s, near Gloucester. Her name is Nerys Baxter. The address is Beech House, Mercombe Lane, Cranstone. But the turning is actually about a mile beyond the village. Have you got that?’

Harry repeated it back to her, terrified that the details wouldn’t stick. ‘I’ll come and get you,’ he said, but she interrupted him again.

‘I’m getting a lift to the station this afternoon. It’ll take about four hours to Brighton.’

‘Not with Renshaw?’

‘No. He’s doing his own thing.’

‘Good. If I’m not there first, take the train and I’ll meet you somewhere en route.’

‘Oh, yes, please.’ The words came out on a long, heartfelt sigh. ‘It’s been okay here, but … they make me uncomfortable.’ She sniffed. ‘Are you really all right? Who was that woman yesterday?’

‘No one, honestly. But there’s a big problem.’ To escape the glares of the pedestrians he was obstructing, he crossed Whitehart Street and took refuge in the entrance to a church. ‘The police came to our house. They’ve somehow got the impression that I might have … done away with you or something.’

‘
What?
That’s ridiculous.’

‘I know, but right now my face is plastered over the media in the South East. If anyone recognises me I’m going to be hauled into a cell. Can you phone the police and get them off my backs? You need to speak to a DI Thomsett.’

‘I’ll try. What’s his number?’

‘Shit.’ It was on his own phone, which was switched off. Powering it up would take precious seconds, and then there was the risk of being traced …

Alice jumped in with a suggestion: ‘I’ll call my mum. She must be frantic with worry. Just remember, Beech House, Mercombe Lane, Cranst—’ There was a burst of interference. ‘—losing you,’ he heard her cry, and it made him shudder.

‘I’m coming to get you, Alice,’ he yelled, as if his determination could overcome the weakening signal, the hundreds of miles between them. ‘I’m coming—’

But she was gone. Harry stared at the phone, urgently mumbling to himself – ‘Beech House, Mercombe Lane, Cranstone’ – over and over, while a new sense of resolve began to harden in his mind.

Whatever the reason for Ruth’s sudden reappearance, Harry was certain of one thing. She was damn well going to help him now.

A
lice moved again
, lugging the stolen money with her. By the time she found a stronger signal she’d accepted that it made no sense to call Harry back, no matter how much she wanted to hear his voice. Before the battery went flat she ought to phone her mother, as promised.

She dialled the landline, aware that Mum often ignored her mobile if the caller’s number was unfamiliar. But it was answered immediately, as if the handset had been snatched from its cradle. Her mum had lost her husband at a tragically early age, and there’d been no one else since, so the fear of losing her daughter and youngest grandchild must be unimaginably traumatic.

Alice felt tears in her eyes: she’d just about held it together when speaking to Harry. Could she do it again?

‘Mum, it’s me. I’m all right.’

There was a brief but deafening shriek; other voices in the background, questioning, concerned, hardly daring to interpret the reaction as good news.

‘Harry?’ her mother said. ‘Did he—?’

‘He’s fine, too. So is Evie.’

‘Oh, thank heavens.’ She gasped for a breath. ‘Jill and David are here now, waiting for news.’

Harry’s parents. So he hadn’t been exaggerating, Alice realised. They really had thought the worst.

She said, ‘I’m so sorry, Mum. It’s been a terrible misunderstanding.’

‘So Harry’s there with you? Jill’s desperate to speak to him—’

‘Mum, please. I need you to do something for me.’ She used the stern tone reserved for patients who’d ignored all previous warnings about the calamitous state of their teeth and gums. ‘No questions, no arguments: just do it, please.’

I
t was
five to twelve when Harry turned into King Street, passed the church and almost immediately found the statue of the great radical thinker, Thomas Paine. It was positioned in front of an imposing Georgian building that now housed the town council. There were benches either side of the statue, but Harry was too restless to sit down and wait for Ruth.

He should have been elated at the thought of being reunited with his family, possibly within just a couple of hours. And yet he had a lingering fear that it wouldn’t work out the way he hoped; a suspicion that Alice, once again – and no doubt with the best of intentions – had failed to tell him the full truth.

H
e’d wandered
up the steps into the car park of Kings House when someone whistled. He turned as Ruth emerged from the churchyard, and had an unsettling thought that somehow she had followed him.

‘Harry.’ She wore her customary half-smile: a little weary, a little impatient. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d come.’

He nodded, deciding to say nothing and see if she offered an apology.

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘You’re mad at me. Okay. The reason I ran out last night—’

‘I’m sure you have a very good explanation, but I probably won’t believe it.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘So Keri changed your view of me? I thought she would.’

‘Yeah, but that’s irrelevant now. I need you to drive me somewhere.’

‘Oh?’ Now her expression changed: wary, but interested.

‘I’ve heard from Alice. We’re going to get her.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Gloucestershire. Where’s your car?’

‘Off Magdalen Street. It’s not far.’

She led the way at a pace that was just short of jogging, the two of them weaving in and out of the shoppers along the pedestrian thoroughfare. Ruth had a barrage of questions: how and when had Alice been in touch? Was she still with Renshaw? Where exactly had they chosen to hide?

Harry ignored them all, fighting his natural instinct to be helpful, until Ruth began to fume.

‘I get that you’re sulking, Harry, but this isn’t a very mature att—’ She broke off and slowed at the same time, causing him to bump against her shoulder, then nudged him and increased her pace. ‘Hurry.’

‘What was it?’

She indicated a side street to their left. ‘I saw a car down there. It looked familiar.’

‘Were you followed here?’

‘I didn’t think I was. Come on.’

The car park was a small open space tucked between two rows of rear gardens. It had room for no more than twenty-five or thirty cars, and was about half full. There was no one in sight – or so he thought.

Ruth’s Corsa was parked at the far end, in the shadow of a couple of overhanging trees. It took Harry a moment to see the man standing just beyond the car.

DI Warley. At least, that was the name he’d given Harry on Thursday evening.

R
uth swore softly
under her breath and broke into a run. Warley hadn’t yet seen them approaching, but he turned at the sound of the bleep that unlocked the car. Ruth was sprinting towards him with the keys in her hand, Harry trailing in her wake.

‘Ruth!’ It was all the warning he could muster: he didn’t have time to point out that Warley might be armed.

‘Just get in,’ she shouted. Warley had moved to intercept her but she seemed undeterred, running to face him head on. He looked bemused by her decision, grinning slightly, his hands curling into fists.

She was faster than he could have expected. In a blur of movement her foot caught Warley on the knee, her hands struck him in the stomach and neck and then somehow she was behind him, forcing his right arm behind his back, his injured leg buckling. She dragged him out of sight between her car and its neighbour, then grabbed the driver’s door as Harry ran round to the passenger side.

‘Is he … ?’

‘He won’t stay down for long. And he’s not alone, remember.’

She slotted the key into the ignition and started the engine, pulling on the seatbelt with her left hand.

‘Buckle up. This won’t be pretty.’

The Corsa lurched backwards, skidded to a halt, then stuttered in a half circle as Ruth used a couple of empty bays as a small short cut to the exit. She had to brake sharply as someone stepped off the pavement into her path. Harry was thrown forward, hands slamming on the dashboard, then they were moving again, with Harry struggling to fit the seatbelt into the clasp. He glanced back and saw Warley making a stumbling run towards them. A Mercedes had turned into the one-way street and was slowing at the entrance to the car park.

Harry gasped. ‘I think they’re in a Mercedes.’

‘Better get a move on, then.’

They turned right into Castle Street, back to the roundabout they’d just passed on foot, took a right and then a sharp left, into a narrow road that didn’t look as if it went anywhere much.

‘You know where you’re going, yes?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ she snarled. ‘Now let me concentrate, will you?’

T
he road widened a little
, which Ruth took as a cue to drive recklessly fast. Then they reached a junction with a much busier road and were forced to slow down.

Harry looked back once or twice and saw no sign of the Mercedes. That might have been a small mercy but Harry, once he’d recovered from the initial shock, was furious.

‘How the hell did that happen?’

‘I don’t know. I thought I’d managed to stay under their radar.’

‘Well, it wasn’t me, I’m certain of that.’ He twisted to look behind him. ‘Are they following?’

‘Not so far.’

‘We’ve got to be sure, for Christ’s sake. We can’t afford to lead them to my wife.’

Ruth began to speak, then thought better of it. Harry let her drive in silence for several minutes. He adjusted the wing mirror on the passenger side so he could keep an eye on the road behind. They passed through a couple of traffic light controlled junctions; on the long straight stretches in between Ruth overtook whenever she had a chance.

‘Where did you go last night?’ he asked.

Ruth shook her head irritably. ‘Not now.’

‘I want to know how they found you. They just tried to attack us back there, and you’re not even—’

He broke off and turned to stare at her. Ruth went on looking at the road ahead. He reviewed the fight he’d just witnessed; the speed and elegance of it, like a perfectly choreographed setpiece …

‘This is bollocks.’

‘What?’

‘You’re lying to me. You’ve probably been lying to me the whole time.’

‘Not
all
the time.’

‘But this? The fight back there …’

A reluctant nod. ‘Staged. He’s not coming after us, because he doesn’t have to. There’s an Audi waiting for us up ahead.’

‘So you were told to come this way?’ Harry realised that he was gripping the edges of his seat, as if he expected Ruth to crash the car on purpose.

Thank God he hadn’t revealed Alice’s location.

‘I’m sorry. I had no choice.’

‘You’ve lured me into a trap?’

Her silence confirmed it. She accelerated up to a roundabout, and Harry saw a blue Audi parked up on the grass verge to his right. The driver was male, unfamiliar. The woman in the passenger seat was possibly the other fake detective, Sian Vickery.

‘So what happens now?’ he asked.

‘It depends,’ Ruth muttered, as though the question didn’t particularly concern her.

‘On what?’

‘On whether you’re any use to me.’