Strangers (30 page)

On the other hand, of course, it might token something much more serious.

Lucy stuck her helmet on the handlebars of the bike and hurried to the gate. The whole side-passage was visible through its bars, the evergreens on the left and gable wall of the bungalow on the right. She could even see the rectangular pall of street lighting where it opened into the back garden. No one was standing there. Nothing moved.

Only vaguely reassured, she opened the gate and walked warily down to the far end. She stopped at the corner and peeked around. Again, the small back-garden was typically suburban: a square lawn perhaps twenty yards by twenty; a flowerbed on the left, a rockery on the right; neatly hedged on both those sides, while at the back a wooden fence stood to about six feet. Beyond that lay a belt of trees. Lucy pivoted as she ventured forward, scanning all corners, but only after several seconds noticing a problem: a section of the wooden trim that formed the upper part of the rear fence had broken loose and was hanging free.

It could be anything. Kids might have done it weeks ago, for all she knew. But instinct advised that this had only happened recently – as in some time in the last minute. As if to confirm this, there was a scrabbling of undergrowth on the other side of the fence.

‘Hey!’ she shouted, dashing over there.

The scrabbling changed to a
thrashing
. It sounded frantic.

Lucy vaulted onto the top of the fence, though, with its frame weakened, it wobbled and cracked down the middle, throwing her forward, depositing her on hands and knees in damp tangles of bracken. She glanced up, squinting though the thickets. This wasn’t an actual wood; it was ninety yards deep at most, ending at Halpin Road, the main thoroughfare between Crowley and Urmston. Her vision now attuned itself, and she spotted the intruder – a silhouetted shape cavorting around tree-trunks as he tried to distance himself from her.

Lucy jumped up and hurtled in pursuit. ‘I’m a police officer … stay where you are!’

But before she could cover any ground, he danced out of sight.

‘Shit!’ she hissed, staggering in mulch and falling over a root, landing on her face again.

When she got up, there was still no sign of him, though she didn’t think he could have made it as far as the road just yet, which meant he had to be somewhere close by. She advanced stealthily, listening but hearing nothing except the dull patter of dripping dew and a distant hum of night traffic.

And then a
CRACK
, as if a weight had impressed on a twig – behind her.

Lucy spun round – as a gigantic black shape loomed through the leafless branches from about ten yards away; an enormous, featureless figure, which, now that she’d seen it, made no secret of its presence, advancing towards her with hefty, crunching footfalls. Lucy fumbled with her phone as she backed away. The figure came steadily on, already less than eight yards off, now less than six, now five.

When she’d first seen the prowler, her police instincts to chase had kicked in. But this was quite clearly not the same guy, by the looks of it several inches taller and broader, and several stones heavier. Moreover, by the way he came on apace, he intended to break her into pieces with his bare hands.

Almost involuntarily, Lucy turned and fled towards the orange glow of the streetlights. With thudding impacts, the figure behind started running.

It was a short distance to Halpin Road, but the woodland floor was still slippery, still uneven. She fell again, plunging down through a mass of fungus and other forest rubble, but dragging herself up and staggering forward. Only for a second figure to step in front of her, this one smaller than the other but no less menacing: solidly built and wearing a hood.

Lucy changed course, careering through rhododendrons, twigs and other meshed leafage, finally fighting her way out onto the pavement – where a car was waiting by the kerb, its engine rumbling. She skidded to a halt, sweating, wreathed in smoky breath.

She glanced right. The figure that had blocked her way had also emerged onto the pavement and now walked slowly towards her, hands deep in his hoodie pockets. He was black, well-built but with a grizzled beard, pockmarked features and one eye pale and milky. Like herself, his rough clothing was covered with moss and bits of leaves.

Thunderous feet clomped stone as another person stepped onto the pavement, this time behind her. Lucy twisted round. As she’d half expected, it was Mick Shallicker.

He wore his customary black suit and black roll-neck sweater. Even though he too had been lying in wait, he was less bedraggled: streetlight reflected from his brightly polished brogues; there wasn’t a speck of green stuff anywhere on his person. But his Neanderthal face was etched with a horrific grin, spade-like teeth splitting him ear to ear as he chomped on yet another ball of gum.

Lucy backed slowly away from him – she backed away from the pair of them, even though this took her to the pavement’s edge and the waiting car.

‘There’s a good girl,’ came a familiar voice from inside it. ‘Hop in.’

She glanced over her shoulder.

The car was a sleek, black Bentley Continental saloon; off the top of her head, one hundred and fifty big ones to drive from the showroom. Its rear passenger door hung open.

‘Come on, darling, we haven’t got all night,’ the voice added.

She glanced again at Shallicker and the other Crew operative. They were still encroaching, slowly – no longer overtly menacing, but making it clear with their body language that if she didn’t comply they’d simply muscle her.

Lucy had no choice. She bent down and climbed in.

Chapter 23

‘Hi, Lucy,’ Charlie said from the driver’s seat. She looked as beautiful as ever, kittenish but sensual: bright pink lippy, grey shadow to enhance her blue eyes, pale blonde hair flowing from under a brown leather cowboy hat, the statuesque torso accentuated by a tight silk blouse and black suede waistcoat.

Frank McCracken was in there too, smartly suited as ever, but with his collar unfastened and tie hanging loose. He was seated at the far end of the back seat, smiling pleasantly as he patted the empty space alongside him. Lucy tried not to sit quite that close, but Shallicker folded his colossal body in behind her, which had the effect of pushing her along until she was sandwiched between the two of them. Shallicker grinned again as he leaned over her, still chewing on his gum, which from this unpleasant proximity smelled of peppermint.

It was all Lucy could do not to shudder with revulsion, but she fought down the temptation in case it would be construed as fear – not that she wasn’t genuinely frightened.

‘You know Carlotta, I take it?’ McCracken asked her.

‘Carlotta?’ Lucy said.

She looked at Charlie, who beamed again, brightly, as if they were two old friends rediscovering each other after years apart. It almost appeared genuine, Charlie, or Carlotta or whatever her real name was, seemingly thrilled that the police officer in their presence knew who she was – which was all the more unnerving because it was so bewildering.

‘Charlie’s my street name,’ Carlotta said, twisting a platinum lock around her right forefinger. ‘Like yours is Hayley. Nice name, that, Hayley.’ She still sounded sincere. ‘Wish I’d thought of it.’

The other heavy who’d accosted Lucy in the woods, the black guy with the beard and milky-white eye, now slid into the front passenger seat. He closed the door behind him and turned to face them, his one good eye riveted on Lucy.

‘You know Mick, don’t you?’ McCracken said, nodding at Shallicker, who put a muscle-thick arm around the back of her shoulders, to squash her all the more. ‘Meanwhile, the handsome devil in the front is Tyson. Not his real name, but that’s what we call him … used to be a tasty light-heavyweight until he met someone better, as that manky right eye of his will attest. But he can still mix it when the mood’s on him, can’t you, lad?’

‘Whenever and whoever you want, boss?’ Tyson replied coolly. ‘Just say the word.’

‘No need for the rough stuff tonight, Tysie,’ McCracken said. ‘Babes, just drive around for a bit, eh?’

Carlotta shifted gears and hit the gas, and the Bentley pulled smoothly from the kerb.

It wasn’t especially late at night, but it was midweek and there was little traffic. So they drove unhindered, taking turns at random but noticeably sticking to the main roads. It was several minutes before McCracken spoke again.

‘So …
Detective
Lucy Clayburn. How honoured am I?’

‘Not as much as you may think, Mr McCracken,’ she said. ‘I’m a plain old constable.’

He almost looked affronted. ‘They sent a woodentop to keep an eye on
me
?’

‘Needs must, I’m afraid. We’re short-handed.’

He chuckled. ‘So are we. Good people are hard to find these days.’

‘You need to know something, Mr McCracken.’ Lucy tried to speak boldly, but was doing her level best to stop her voice from shaking. ‘Even if I walk away from this in one piece, abducting a police officer is likely to get you twenty years in prison.’

‘Aww!’ Carlotta glanced at her through the rear-view mirror. ‘She thinks she’s in danger.’

Lucy glowered in response, to which the blonde beauty winked.

‘We’re not abducting anyone,’ McCracken said airily. ‘You got into this car of your own free will, and I’ve got three witnesses here who’ll say exactly that.’

‘You turned up at my house late at night, uninvited, a whole bunch of you,’ Lucy replied. ‘That’s threatening enough. And you could only have found your way there by following me from my mother’s …’

‘We did tail you, I must admit,’ McCracken said. ‘But relax, constable … seriously. Like I say, all we’re doing is going for a drive.’ He regarded her with interest. For all this debonair charm, his stare was coldly penetrating. ‘You think if I was going to kill you, I’d come to get you in my own motor? First off, I’m actually quite impressed that you managed to get into SugaBabes. Impressed with
you
, that is. I’m not so impressed with Jayne and Suzy McIvar, but that’s between me and them.’

He glanced away again, as if seeking his next words carefully. Lucy looked through the windows. She supposed it was vaguely comforting that they were still in Crowley, apparently content to keep navigating its complex system of highways and byways.

‘Up until now, we’ve kind of coexisted with you Manchester coppers, haven’t we?’ McCracken said. It wasn’t posed as a question so much as a casual observation.

‘Not through any desire on our part,’ Lucy replied.

‘That’s what you think. Oh, you take bits of our operation down whenever you can. That’s what the law does. Inconsequential stuff usually and it’s up and running again the next day somewhere else, so it doesn’t make much difference. But it looks good in the papers. Everyone’s happy. But the one thing we can’t have, Constable Clayburn, is … well,
this.
’

Shallicker’s monstrous arm tightened around her shoulders. He leaned on her all the harder. The reek of his peppermint breath was almost overwhelming.

‘I like you,’ McCracken said. ‘I honestly do. You can’t be no scaredy-cat doing what you did. But it’s a liberty too, and people don’t take liberties with us. And yet that isn’t the worst of it, is it?’ He glanced round at her again. ‘I mean, you were actually trying to fit us up.’

‘We don’t fit people up, Mr McCracken …’

‘Well,
you
may not,
Constable
Clayburn … when you’re pounding the beat, when you’re swapping stories about those good old days you don’t even remember with some nice old dear, and all for a cup of lukewarm tea in a sheltered accommodation at the back end of nowhere.’

‘There are bigger fish in your pond, are there?’ she said. ‘Fine, good. So why talk to
me
?’

‘I’ll tell you why, Constable Clayburn. Because I’m in a good mood. And because I want it to end
here
. Yeah, that’s right.’ McCracken nodded. ‘I want this whole thing to go away tonight, and I reckon you’re just the person to sort that out for me.’

‘It’s already gone away,’ she replied.

‘Has it?’

‘I can hardly go back to SugaBabes now, can I?’

‘You certainly wouldn’t be advised to. You wouldn’t be advised to go anywhere near Cheetham Hill, knowing Suzy McIvar. But what are we really talking about here, Constable Clayburn? I mean, let’s not mince our words. It’s Carlotta, isn’t it … that bit of hot stuff there in the driving seat? My girlfriend.’

‘Hah!’ Carlotta hooted. ‘You wish.’

McCracken sighed. ‘She winds me up so much she might as well be my wife. But let’s not go there for the time-being, eh?’

‘Definitely not,’ Carlotta agreed.

‘You reckon she’s Jill the Ripper, don’t you?’ McCracken said.

‘Do I?’ Lucy remained resolutely noncommittal.

‘I can’t think of any other reason why Operation Clearway would be so interested in her. But what’s intrigued me is how you came to develop that interest? I mean, Carlotta here’s the Lady Gaga of hookers. She’s sexy, she’s mysterious, she’s aloof. She’s totally dominant. No one pushes her around.’

Carlotta nodded approvingly to hear herself so described.

‘Look at her,’ McCracken said, awed. ‘How together she is. How relaxed. You really think she has a side-line where she gets her jollies butchering lorry drivers?’

‘I don’t think anything on the matter,’ Lucy said.

‘Well … I reckon I’d know about it if she did, but I don’t expect you to take
my
word for that.’ McCracken addressed Carlotta. ‘What do
you
think the reason is, love? I mean,
you’re
the one looking at life in prison if we let the constable walk. Surely you have an opinion?’

‘I reckon they don’t like strong women, Frank,’ Carlotta replied. ‘We have to be shrinking violets, you see. If not that, we can only be deranged killers.’

Lucy knew she was being baited here, that this was a ruse to lull her into revealing sensitive information. And despite that, it almost worked. It was so tempting to shout that this was bunkum; that they’d been led to Carlotta through evidence – circumstantial, but evidence all the same. Of course, it might be that Lucy’s life would depend on her giving them something at some point, but until then she was determined to resist.