Snatched From Home: What Would You Do To Save Your Children? (DI Harry Evans Book 1) (14 page)

Elvis and Blair were relaxing with a couple of beers. Foil trays littered the table and the air was filled with the scent of Chinese food battling against stale cigarette smoke.

‘That copper was telling me about their new technology for identifying stolen property. It’s called SmartWater. The basic idea is that you buy a fifty-mil vial of this SmartWater from the police and swab your stuff with it. A little swab on any area – say the steering wheel of a tractor – would identify the tractor as belonging to a particular farm thanks to a unique code, which is specific to each vial. All you have to do is record what you swabbed and where you’d swabbed it. If anything is stolen you show the cops your records. The SmartWater shows up under a particular frequency of UV light. Apparently all recovered stolen goods are now scanned as a matter of routine.’

‘Fuck, that’s clever.’

‘It was first used in Derbyshire about eight months ago. According to the copper it cut down the number of farm robberies by sixty-five per cent.’

Blair gave a snorted laugh. ‘That’s fucking hilarious. Eight months ago we left Derbyshire to go to Wales. That’s why the number of robberies dropped.’

‘That’ll have a lot to do it.’ Elvis was smiling, although the whole episode had scared him. They had been a whisker away from being caught and he didn’t want to repeat the experience any time soon. He was too old to go to jail again.

‘What did you tell him when he tried to get you to buy some?’

‘I told him it was a good idea and agreed to buy some.’

‘What the fuck did you do that for?’

‘It would have been odd if I hadn’t. Today was close enough as it was. I don’t want him coming back trying to sell me it again. Thirty-five quid is a small price to pay to make sure that we don’t get bothered by him again.’

‘Fair point.’ Blair drained his can as he acknowledged Elvis’s logic.

‘It’s also good to know what the police are up to. When you sign up for this stuff you get a sign for your gate saying you’ve got it.’

‘So we can tell which farms have it and which don’t. That’s handy but it won’t tell the coppers much unless they catch us with the stuff. I’m not worried about it. Are you?

‘’Course I am. How many crimes do you think that stuff would tie us too if they looked in the barn or stopped one of the wagons?’

A tinny crackling sound filled the room as Blair opened another beer can. ‘We run that risk now. As far as I’m concerned it’s nowt to worry about. It’s for them to trace stuff rather than catching thieves.’

‘What concerns me is they’re working to prevent the thefts as well. Plus, what about the guys we sell to? They won’t want any gear with this stuff on, will they? You ask me, this stuff is poison. We need to make sure we don’t nick anything from anywhere that’s got this stuff.’

‘I still say it’s nowt to worry about.’

‘I’ll let the boss make the decision on that one. He’s smarter than both of us.’

Campbell was seated on a stool beside his wife’s head, dressed in hospital scrubs. A curtain was erected over her chest. Neither of them could see what was happening as the doctors performed the emergency section.

They held hands, each squeezing the other for reassurance, then relaxing their grip so as not to inflict pain. The doctors were talking to each other throughout the operation.

Listening to the voices, Campbell realised the doctors were discussing a television show aired the night before. Interspersed through their conversation were calm requests for various surgical instruments.

Through speakers in the ceiling a radio was playing a local station. The usual mix of adverts and forced wackiness separated the songs regular listeners would be subjected to several times a day.

The realisation that the people on the other side of the curtain were just having another day at work did little to anaesthetise Campbell’s nerves. He wanted their total concentration. A complete focus on the task at hand.

The hidden radio was playing ‘Hotel California’ by the Eagles when a tentative wail was followed by a louder more indignant cry as Junior protested at being evicted from his mother’s comfortable womb.

Sarah and Campbell looked at each other, relief washing over them. Baby was OK. In the background a voice could be heard noting the time of birth.

A head appeared round the curtain and a smiling nurse congratulated them on the birth of their son.

Unable to contain himself, Campbell rose to his feet in time to see a midwife carry his son to a digital scale, where she began the ritual of weighing the baby and checking that all fingers and toes were present and accounted for.

Feeling a sharp tug on his sleeve, he sat back down and told Sarah what he had seen. After what felt like an eternity, Junior was brought over by the midwife who handed him over to Campbell.

Having kept a tight grip on his emotions during the evening, Campbell shed a few tears as he held his son for the first time. Junior was swaddled in blankets and retained a coating of amniotic fluid over his body, but this did not prevent Campbell from kissing his son and then offering him to Sarah so she could do the same.

‘He’s beautiful.’ Fat tears of joy rolled down her cheeks.

‘Isn’t he?’

‘I’ll just take him for a little clean up, while you are taken through to the recovery room and then you can give him his first feed.’ The midwife held out her arms for Campbell to give Junior to her.

‘Just a moment.’ A look at Sarah. ‘Alan Geoffrey?’

‘Definitely, though he’ll be called Alan.’

‘Here you are.’ Campbell returned Alan to the midwife after planting another kiss on his messy forehead.

*   *    *

Two hours later Campbell kissed a sleeping Alan and drowsy Sarah goodbye and returned to his car. Pulling his mobile from his pocket, he began calling the family members on the list Sarah had dictated to him earlier.

He greeted each family member with their new status of Grandma or Auntie as he worked his way through the list, sharing the good news.

Filled with exultant joy, he talked and laughed his way through the many conversations, until he’d spoken to every name on Sarah’s list. Checking his phone he saw a text from Evans:

Chisholm told me you ran out the office like a scalded cat. Guessing baby on way. Hope everything OK. Let me know.

Seeing the phone battery was about to fail, he sent Evans a quick text rather than calling him.

The drive back to Gretna was the first time Campbell was alone with his thoughts. He could not believe the emotions coursing through him. Tonight was the greatest night of his life. Far better than the night he’d spent fumbling around with Georgina Urquhart until they’d both managed to lose their virginities. Better than the night he’d met Sarah. Better than when she’d agreed to be his wife. It even topped the day they’d said ‘I do’ to each other.

Using the controls on the steering wheel, he selected CD five from the auto-changer. Selecting track two, he pressed his right foot to the floor as he waited for the iconic riff to begin.

The speedometer crept round the dial until it entered three-figure territory. Campbell was driving on automatic pilot, duetting with Axel Rose as ‘Sweet Child o’ Mine’ blared out from the speakers.

Tonight he was invincible. Ten feet tall. The deserted road was his alone as he sped home, replaying the song every time it finished. By the fifth rendition his singing had lost none of its gusto, although tone and pitch had been abandoned somewhere near Annan.

Evans drew on the last fraction of his cigarette before flicking the butt over a hedge into someone’s garden. Fingering the scented nappy bags in his pocket he looked for the dog he’d got from Wetheral Animal Refuge.

He’d chosen the one nobody else would take – an unnamed Labrador puppy that had been savaged by an Alsatian. Missing half an ear and the lower part of his right foreleg had not affected the puppy’s enthusiasm for life. Shining eyes and a doggy smile had been the clinching factors. Evans had been smitten by the pup as soon as it hobbled over to him and licked at his outstretched hand.

Janet had fallen in love with Tripod as soon as she’d met him, although she refused point-blank to use his name in public. When she moved into Evans’s flat she made sure that Tripod was no longer allowed to sleep on the bed. It was one of the few things Evans had rowed about with her.

Tripod rooted around underneath the hedge, following some scent or other. Losing interest, he squatted down to do his business.

Depositing a bulging nappy bag into a nearby bin, Evans clipped Tripod’s lead onto his collar and returned to the flat.

Unplugging his mobile phone from the charger, he checked it for missed calls or messages. The lone missed call from his sister he deleted. She’d call back if it was important.

Tapping at the screen he brought up the text from Campbell.

Reading the two-line text filled him with a heartfelt delight for the younger man’s good fortune.

It also triggered bitter pangs of jealousy.

There was nothing personal about his envy. He now envied all new fathers. They possessed something he’d had snatched away.

Campbell now had the thing he desired most of all.

Someone to call him ‘Dad’. A son. An heir. A carrier of the family name.

As he did upon hearing of a new child entering the world, he picked up Janet’s letter and told her all about it.

They had been so close to starting a family themselves when fate intervened. Janet was ten weeks’ pregnant when she had been raped. She had born the burden of her ordeal alone for a week. Unable to tell him she carried the secret until an infection set in, causing her to miscarry their child.

While he understood why she hadn’t told him, he couldn’t help but feel betrayed by her silence. She hadn’t told him about the rape until after losing their precious baby. The twin hammer blows, instilled a numbness he still felt.

A botched dilation and curettage after her miscarriage had left her needing a hysterectomy. Janet’s body healed, but her mind never got to grips with the experience. She tortured herself about her inability to give him the family they’d planned and blamed herself for being nice to the man who’d knocked on their door pretending to be some kind of salesman.

Evans’s numbness had increased as he sat by her hospital bed contemplating the news. He’d worn a brave face and talked to her of adoption and fostering. Returning home between visits he’d washed the bravery from his face and dealt with his grief alone.

The rapist had stolen the life they’d planned together. He’d stolen their unborn baby and the others they’d talked of. Never would they have children or grandchildren bouncing on their knees. He’d taken all that away from them with his selfish needs.

Base instincts coupled with a desire for revenge had murdered the soul of his wife. The unborn foetus inside, a secondary victim, as were the others intended to follow the firstborn.

Many times he had tried to comprehend the torment of her thoughts. His own were terrible in their intensity, yet insignificant compared to her suffering. He still couldn’t bear to think of the pain she must have felt when writing the letter he so cherished. Grief did powerful things to the mind. He’d long forgiven her for leaving him, taking solace in the knowledge that she was now at peace.

Derek Yates, however, could never be forgiven. Five months after Janet filled her stomach with pills and vodka, Evans’s hatred of Yates remained as fierce as it was the day she’d told him of the rape.

When Yates was brought in, he’d begged for five minutes alone in the cell with him but had been refused. Grantham had dealt with the case in conjunction with a different team. Rumour had it that Yates had fallen down the stairs a minimum of eight times the night he was brought in. Rumour wasn’t enough for Evans; he’d wanted to tear Yates limb from limb.

He’d gone to the custody suite intent on meting out his own justice only to end up wrestling with three PCs.

It was Grantham who’d stopped him, who had talked to him until the fire in his gut was manageable.

Evans still wasn’t sure if he was pleased he hadn’t got his time with Yates or not. His career would have ended then, but it was about to end now anyway. He was honest enough with himself to know that if he’d got into that cell: he would have tried to kill Yates. He knew it was wrong. But in the days after Janet’s death – he still couldn’t call it suicide – he would have killed Yates without a second’s thought.

Samantha lay on the grubby mattress with Kyle cuddled into her side. His soft snores the only noise she could hear. The day’s events played a slideshow in her mind, a burning sense of failure dominating her thoughts. She had failed to dive through the open window. She hadn’t screamed loud enough for the police to hear. Not only had she failed herself, she’d let Kyle down as well.

A different sound assaulted her ears as heavy footsteps thudded along the corridor outside their prison.

The creak of hinges was followed by noisy splashes as the man relieved himself. When the flow ended there were no sounds of tap water.

Blair
, Samantha guessed.
Typical of him not to wash his hands
.

There were more heavy thuds as he returned. But not enough!

Samantha sat bolt upright.

No! What’s he doing?

The sound of footsteps resumed, but quieter now, as if he was tiptoeing.

Oh, thank God. He’s gone back to bed.

Relaxing back onto the mattress, Samantha could feel the relief flood through her body.

Is that him coming back?

Straining her ears, she sat upright once more.

It was. Shit. He’s coming back. He’s going to rape me.

The sound of a bolt being slid back was much quieter than normal.

First one. Then the other.

Paralysed by fear, Samantha was rooted to the mattress. Terrified of Blair’s intentions when he came through the door. She’d learned earlier that she wasn’t strong enough to break free of his grip.

What can I do? How can I stop him?

A key was placed into the lock with far more care than usual.

He doesn’t want to be heard! He doesn’t want the others to wake up and stop him.
Remembering the way Elvis dominated the room, Samantha realised Blair was scared of him. The knowledge gave her a strength and bravery she’d never experienced before.

A plan came into her head. It was simple, yet it should work. Kyle would be afraid for a minute or two but there was nothing she could do about that.

Taking up station by the door she dropped to her knees, pulling in deep breaths, filling her lungs as she awaited the door opening.

Blair’s face appeared in the crack, the mask backlit as he made his way into the room.

Samantha emptied her lungs in a high-pitched scream designed to wake the whole house.

Blair recoiled. ‘Bitch.’

Kyle woke up and started crying. From along the landing, panicked curses filled the air.

Blair slammed the door shut and fired home the bolts. The need for stealth gone as Samantha’s scream died out.

Samantha could hear Elvis’s raised voice as he caught Blair coming back from their room. Blair made the mistake of trying to defend his actions, but Elvis would have none of it. Both men were shouting at full volume, when the sound of knuckles colliding with flesh ended the debate.

The door opened a tiny fraction and Elvis’s voice carried across the darkness. ‘You all right?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’