No Way Home

‘Oh, I see.’

The car slowed as they approached a tight right-hand bend with the entrance to a picnic area on the left, the trees growing more densely than ever, branches twining together overhead to give the impression of a tunnel.

‘Nice along here, isn’t it,’ the driver said. ‘Quiet. You wouldn’t know you were anywhere near the city.’ There was something in his tone that didn’t sound right.

Oh, God. Had this been a mistake? Which way was he going to turn? Along the road or…?

The car eased around to the right.

‘Of course, in the dark like this, you don’t see it at its best. Looks like something out of a cheap horror film, eh?’ He chuckled.

She shivered. ‘Hmm.’

‘I love those old Hammer ones. Peter Cushing and Vincent Price when they were young. Do you like a horror movie? Bit of a scare?’

The tunnel of bare branches opened out around them, switching to high, dense field hedges. A little farther on, she knew, a gate led in on the right to a field with a wooden building in the far corner where three horses were kept.

‘I see enough scary things at work,’ she said, forcing herself to think of the grey horse that currently lived in the field. It’s big, gentle, liquid eyes, those long lashes. The warmth of its soft skin as she stroked its nose. The almost prehensile mobility of its lips when she offered it a sugar lump or a piece of apple. The image in her mind began to calm her.

‘You do criminal cases, then? Killers and rapists and that?’

‘Yes.’ Although most of the criminality in this city was to do with drugs rather than violence, she thought.

‘You must see some horrible stuff, then, eh? Bodies and that.’

‘Only in photographs, thankfully.’

The hedge on their left dropped abruptly to a level you could see over. She glanced across, knowing that a flock of sheep and new lambs were being kept in there now. She could see a number of pale blobs dotted about in the darkness.

She frowned. It seemed particularly dark all of a sudden. Glancing across to the right, she saw that the thin sliver of the moon had disappeared, the previously clear sky giving way to a heavy bank of cloud.

‘Don’t expect you watch much of that true-crime telly then, eh? Get enough of it at work,’ he said as they passed two police Range Rovers parked up in a gateway on their right.

‘Exactly.’

‘Me, I love it. Try and figure out who the criminal is before the detectives get there. I sometimes think I should have been a copper instead of doing this. Of course, it’s all down to the editing, I expect. They lead you in a particular direction without saying as much. Let you figure it out for yourself so you feel good about it.’

They were passing houses now. Back in civilisation, as she thought when she drove along here in daylight. Although civilisation was a generous description, considering how rough and poorly kept some of the houses along here were. Detached, edge of town, they should have been smart and expensive, but in truth, many of them looked shabby and dirty and unkempt, as if they were on a building site. Which was one reason she didn’t like driving along here. The car got so dirty.

‘I expect the idea is to let the public feel better about the crimes they describe,’ she said. ‘And those crimes are the worst, so, if people feel better about them, they feel better about crime levels in general.’

‘Yeah. Hadn’t thought of it like that. Same with Agatha Christie and CSI and the like, I suppose. People figure out these convoluted plots, they imagine the police must have it easy in the real world. Makes them feel safer.’

‘Exactly.’ She began to relax. He wasn’t as creepy as she’d thought. He actually had some interesting insights. And she was nearly home. Another three or four minutes…

‘Whereas, the truth is, these days, with the government cutbacks and everything, most criminals get away with it. We have the technology: just can’t pay for the staff to use it.’

‘Not in a timely manner, at least,’ she agreed, as they passed the last of the houses on the narrow lane and the verges opened out wide at either side. Once more, there were woods beyond, but only a small area. She could see the streetlights of Pennsylvania Road just a few hundred yards ahead.

The driver grunted. ‘Takes months to get samples processed, not minutes like on the telly, and, by then, chances are your perp or whatever you want to call them has moved away. Might even have a new identity. Especially these days, with everything being so easy to forge on the computer.’ He reached across to the glove box and opened it. She couldn’t see what he was reaching for. The headrest of the seat in front of her blocked her line of sight.

Emma glanced at the mirror.

He was staring at her again, instead of at what he was doing. She felt a cold tingle around the back of her neck. He glanced away then, looked down at the glove box and snapped it shut. ‘And despite all the technology, all you need is one of these and a bit of intelligence, and you can get away with anything.’

He held up a small, square, plastic packet. A condom.

Jesus! Who did this creep think he was?

‘This would be a perfect spot, wouldn’t it? Dark. Quiet. Easy getaway. Don’t know where the nearest CCTV camera is. There’s those houses back there, but that would just add to the thrill, wouldn’t it?’

‘I…’ Her throat clogged. She coughed to clear it. ‘I’d imagine so.’

He nodded towards the wide verge on his side of the car. ‘I mean, you pull over there, nobody would take a blind bit of notice, would they? They’d just assume you were having a bit of nookie. A lovers’ tryst.’ She felt the car slow as he took his foot off the accelerator.

‘I think I’d like you to concentrate on driving,’ she said, her voice sounding small and feeble. She cleared her throat again.

‘You never done it in a car? You haven’t lived, lovey. Can’t beat it.’

Panic rose up within her, her breath getting short. This had been a terrible mistake. She’d known it even as she was making the call. Why had she even…?

‘If you were in the front here, you could change gear for me, if you know what I mean.’

She heard the metallic buzz of a zip and a whimper escaped from her throat.

‘Actually, you could even reach through from behind there. Relieve the stress a bit.’

The car juddered and shook and she realised that he’d pulled off the road onto the wide area of grass to the right. My God! ‘What are you doing?’

The car slammed to a halt. She heard the rasp of the handbrake, then he was turning in his seat, safety belt off, rising up to climb through towards her.

‘No! Jesus, no!’ She scrabbled for her bag. ‘Please, don’t do this!’

His eyes were mesmerising as they came towards her. She shuddered, glanced down at what she was doing. Her hands were shaking in feverish panic. She could barely control them, but then her bag was open somehow. She reached in. Felt the cool round metal and snatched it out. He was halfway through the gap between the front seats, head and torso up against the roof of the car like some kind of human cobra rising up over her to strike. She leaned back, both hands rising defensively.

CHAPTER TWO

Kid was the fourth name he’d answered to in his fourteen years, but he’d accepted it readily. It was kind of cool. Sounded like an Old West hero. A new name for a new life. And he’d been happy with both over the past few weeks. The fair’s season started at Easter. He’d wandered in that weekend and somehow stayed. Been offered a bed for the night, in exchange for manning a stall while the owner went off to answer a call of nature that a stomach bug had made both urgent and protracted.

Since then, he’d moved from the stall to a ride, then on to the dodgems. Had thought he’d found his place in life. But now all that was ruined. Had they known he was here? Had they been looking for him? Or was it just chance? Just dumb bloody luck?

He didn’t know and now wasn’t the time to be thinking about it.

He darted around a couple with a kid of about four and almost ran into a looming, dark figure. Stopped himself just in time, rearing back.

‘Hey! Watch it, sonny.’

‘Sorry, mate.’ He jumped to the left and went around the big man, between two big diesel generators, leaping over the fat, black cables that snaked away from them across the tarmac. Now he was in the semi-darkness of the promenade, between the fair and the shoreline, where few people bothered to go in the dark. He could make some time here, get some distance. He ran headlong eastward, towards where the fair’s caravans were bunched in an out-of-the-way corner beyond the naval academy. If he could get there, grab his stuff – not that he had much – and get away, he could hide out for a couple of days or so. Tonight was the fair’s last night in Plymouth before they moved on. He could rejoin them in the next town.

‘Oi!’ The shout came from behind him. A male voice full of authority. ‘Stop. Police.’

The kid ignored him, running on at full speed, feet slapping on the paving, breath rasping in his throat. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep up this pace, had never been great on stamina, but he had to get away. He couldn’t let them catch him.

Heavier feet than his own were slapping the pavement, coming fast behind him. He didn’t look back. He knew better than that: just kept going, chest heaving, throat raw, arms and legs pumping. He was almost past the big, pale block of the naval building. HMS whatever-it-was. Bloody stupid thing to call a building. How pretentious and up themselves did they have to be, to do that?

Uniforms. They were all the same. The forces. The fuzz. The lot of them.

Beyond the high stone wall darkness loomed, welcoming and safe. Only a few yards further and he could hide and rest until the coast was clear, get his stuff and be gone before they searched properly for him. He made the far end. Kept going. A dark bulk loomed at him out of the darkness.

‘Shit,’ he cursed, dodging right. But he was too close to the iron railing along the edge of the prom. He hit it with his shoulder, bouncing off into a pair of arms that snaked around him and clamped tight. ‘Whoah. Hold up there, sonny. Not so fast, eh?’

He writhed and wriggled. With his arms trapped, he kicked out instead. The figure barely seemed to register the first couple of blows, but then hissed in pain. ‘Damn you, boy. Stop fighting or I’ll hurt you.’

‘Try it.’ He brought his knee up and kicked backwards, his heel connecting with the man’s shin.

‘Ow! That’s it.’

He was lifted bodily off the ground, turned on his side and slammed down to the pavement, a knee coming down over his legs, the shin trapping them so that all he could do was thrash his feet back and forth, but that scraped his right ankle on the paving.

‘Shit. Get off me, bastard. Police brutality! I’ll get you sacked for this. I’ll tell ‘em you felt me up.’

Another figure appeared behind him. ‘Damn, that little bugger can run!’

‘He can bloody kick, too,’ the one holding him replied. ‘Where’s Karen?’

‘She’ll be along in a minute. Do you want my cuffs?’

‘I’ve got his hands. You could wrap his legs up, though. Little shit.’

‘You can’t do that,’ the kid shouted. ‘That’s against my human rights. Child cruelty. I’ll report you. Both of you. I want your names and badge numbers.’

‘We can do that, if we decide it’s best for your own safety,’ said the one holding him. ‘To prevent you from coming to harm while in our care. Health and safety: trump card every time, sonny. Isn’t that right, Qadir?’

‘Yep.’

He felt the cold of metal around his wrist, heard the ratchet as the cuff was squeezed into place.

‘What are the charges?’ he demanded. ‘What are you arresting me for?’

‘Resisting arrest.’ That was the second one. Qadir. Though he didn’t sound like a Qadir. He sounded completely local.

The kid’s arm was pulled around behind him. Then the other one.

‘And assaulting a police officer,’ the guy on top of him added. The second cuff was snapped into place and cinched up.

‘But, what were you chasing me for in the first place? You never told me that.’ He felt the big guy get up off him. ‘For all I knew, you were planning to attack me. Just ‘cause you’re in uniform doesn’t mean you’re not some kind of pervert.’

He was lifted bodily by the shoulders of his coat.

‘Ankles,’ the first one said as he planted him squarely on the ground.

‘Hey! You can’t do that.’

He felt big hands clamp like iron bands around his ankles. He tried to kick out, to free himself, but was held firm. ‘We’ve already had that conversation. And you lost.’ A Velcro strap was wrapped round and round his lower legs and he was stuck.

‘What are you doing?’ A female voice came from the darkness behind him and relief sang through the kid.

‘Where’ve you been?’ Qadir countered, killing the kid’s relief in an instant. Karen, he thought. The missing colleague.

‘He was kicking the shit out of my shins,’ the first one told her.

‘Yeah, but we’re not meant to be…’

‘He ran,’ Qadir interrupted. ‘He must have a reason. So, he’s under arrest until we find out what it is.’

‘You chased me,’ the kid said loudly. ‘What was I supposed to do? I didn’t know what you were up to. Could have been anything. Civil liberties, mate. You’re bloody taking one.’

‘You’ve got the right to remain silent,’ said Qadir. ‘How about you use it?’

The kid felt himself pushed from behind, couldn’t step forward, so bent at the waist. Then the other one’s arm went under his middle and he was lifted bodily off the ground.

‘Hey! Put me down, you fucker!’

‘If he does, you won’t like it. Now, shut up and hold still.’

*

‘The hunt for missing ten-year-old Molly Bowers ended today, when her body was found by police with a cadaver dog in woodland outside Stoke-on-Trent,’ the reporter said solemnly into the camera. ‘She’d been buried in a shallow grave, her clothes seemingly tossed in after her like so much rubbish. Detective Chief Inspector Daniel Taft was interviewed at the scene.’

Pete caught his wife’s expression and switched channels quickly.

Louise looked at him, her eyes wide and tearful at the tragedy of the case: a young life snuffed out, the body discarded with no more respect than you’d have for an empty milk carton.

It was eleven months, all but two days, since their son had gone missing. At least they knew he was still alive – or had been a few weeks before Christmas, when he’d broken into the home they sat in now with the evening news bringing back memories neither of them needed reminding of. It wasn’t as if they ever stopped thinking about him. Pete had taken five months off until a big drugs case had pulled him back to the station and circumstances had conspired to keep him there. Louise had gone back to work as a nurse in the Devon and Exeter Hospital only two and a half weeks ago, having been unable to face it until then.

Pete could guess what she was thinking. Their eleven-year-old daughter was asleep in the room above them as they sat there.

‘Annie’s as safe as any young girl can be,’ he said.

‘I expect Molly Bowers’ family thought the same, though, didn’t they?’

He tilted his head. She had a point. ‘You’ve checked Facebook and so on?’

They had taken on the task of searching for their son after Pete’s colleagues had no success. Posters had been put up all around Exeter, in spite of the bylaw against them. Newspaper articles had been published. The local TV stations had done interviews. Missing persons charities had got involved. Social media pages had been set up. They’d done, and were doing, everything they could think of to track down their son.

‘I did all that when I came in,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand. I mean, where the hell can a fourteen-year-old boy be, all this time? It’s not as if he’s big for his age, could be mistaken for an adult, is it? So, how’s he still out there?’

They had long accepted that he was missing of his own free will. The evidence was irrefutable. But Louise refused to even acknowledge the possibility that any harm had come to him.

Pete sighed and reached for her hand. ‘It does make you wonder, doesn’t it?’

The phone chirped on the coffee table in front of him and he reached for it quickly, not wanting to let it wake Annie. ‘Gayle.’

With no open cases that demanded overnight action and the dog-fighting case all wrapped up – Jim had walked back into the barn moments after Pete noticed he was gone, leading three other coppers and two handcuffed detainees – Pete was on call for the night. Any case that arose requiring CID involvement would come to him.

‘Pete, it’s Bob.’ The duty sergeant at Heavitree Road police station. ‘I’ve just had a call from Plymouth. They’ve got Tommy.’

Pete felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. ‘What?’

‘Your lad. He’s at Crownhill. He was spotted working on the fair, down on the Hoe.’

‘Jesus Christ. Thanks, Bob. I’ll give them a call.’

He put the phone down in a daze.

‘What is it?’ Louise’s voice sounded like it was coming through a long tunnel. ‘What’s wrong? Pete!’

‘Huh?’ He blinked, staring at her dumbly. ‘They’ve…’ His eyes closed for a moment as his brain tried to process the information. Then he opened them, looked at his wife again. ‘They’ve found Tommy. He’s…’

He stopped as a wail erupted from her throat. He took her hands, stared into her tear-filled eyes. ‘He’s alive, Lou. He’s OK. They’ve got him in Crownhill station in Plymouth.’

‘Oh, my God! Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. He’s OK? Where’s he been? What’s he doing in Plymouth, for God’s sake? He’s in…? What’s he doing there? Have they arrested him? What’s he done?’ She clung to him, pleading for answers that he couldn’t give.

‘I don’t know, Lou. Give me a chance, I’ll find out.’

‘Dad? Mum?’

Pete hadn’t heard Annie’s feet on the stairs, but now she stood in the doorway, dressed in her favourite Winnie-the-Pooh nightie. He glanced down and saw that her feet were bare.

‘What’s all the ruckus about? Have they…?’ She swallowed, unable to go on.

‘Yes, love. They have.’ Pete held a hand out to her. ‘They’ve found Tommy. Alive and OK.’

‘Oh, God, that’s brilliant!’ She ran to him, clasping him into a desperate hug. ‘Where is he? When’s he coming home?’

‘I haven’t got any details yet, Button. All I know is, he’s at the police station in Plymouth. He was working on a fairground.’

‘But…’ She stopped, too confused to even form a question.

‘I need to give them a call and find out what’s going on.’

She blinked owlishly. Pete took a step back, directing his wife and daughter into each other’s arms while he made the call. They clung to each other, both watching him intently.

Pete found that his hands were shaking as he tried to dial the number from memory. Then he couldn’t remember the correct order of the last three digits. ‘Shit. What’s the bloody number? Hang on.’ He went out to the hall, found their personal phone listing and flipped it open at the letter P.

Quickly, he finished dialling and held the phone to his ear. It rang once, twice, a third time, a fourth. ‘Come on,’ he muttered.

There was a click. ‘Devon and Cornwall Police, Plymouth. How can I help?’

‘Hello. This is DS Gayle, Exeter CID. I’m told you’ve got my son there: Thomas James Gayle.’

‘One moment, sir.’ More clicks, half a ring. A different voice.

‘Custody suite.’

Custody? They’ve got him in the cells? What the hell has he done? ‘He…’ His voice clogged up and he coughed to clear it. ‘Sorry. DS Gayle here, Exeter CID. I’ve been put through to you from your front desk. I understand my son’s there, in the station.’

‘Gayle? Thomas James?’

‘That’s right. What’s the deal?’

‘He was brought in a couple of hours ago. A patrol officer recognised him from the misper notice, but he didn’t come willingly. Hence he’s in the cells here. Assaulting a police officer; resisting arrest; possession of an illegal weapon, specifically a knife. We thought that would do for now.’

‘Jesus!’ Pete shook his head, bewildered. What the hell was going on? What had Tommy got tied up in? ‘I was told he was found at a fairground. What’s the story there?’

‘Seems like he’s been with them since Easter. Just mucked in when they needed it, helped out and became part of the setup by default. Saw the chance of a new life, I suppose. It never ceases to amaze me, the number of kids who run away to join the circus or the fair. I don’t know what it is about that kind of lifestyle that’s so attractive. Seems like a lot of hard work and rough living to me.’

‘And the charges. Is there anything we can do there? I’m not trying to get him off because I’m in the job. We need him as a witness in a child-sex case.’

‘I knew the name was familiar. You’re the one that cracked that big paedophile ring, right?’

‘Yeah, that’s me.’

In the course of his first case after returning to work, Pete and his team had uncovered a ring of paedophiles that extended from Cornwall north to the West Midlands and east to the Home Counties. Thirty-seven arrests had been made by seven different forces just the previous month, some of them of prominent men in local government and even the police itself.

‘Well done, mate. I know it reflects badly on the force, but we were glad to get rid of Markham. The bloke was a self-aggrandising arsehole. No more use as a copper than I’d be as a brain surgeon.’

Pete knew he was talking about Chief Superintendent Markham, who’d been in charge of the Plymouth station until his arrest last month in a coordinated series of operations that had closed down the whole ring in one morning’s work, organised by his own station chief, DCI Adam Silverstone.

‘Well, that’s what you get for letting politics into policing, eh?’

‘Yeah, along with empire-building, jobs-for-the-boys… Still, what can we do, eh?’

‘That’s right.’ Come on, Pete thought. Answer the bloody question.

‘Anyway. As far as the knife, facts are facts. He was carrying. But, the rest of it can go away if it needs to. If he’s a witness in a case like that... Happens all the time, doesn’t it?’

‘I don’t want him let off just because he’s my son,’ Pete said firmly. ‘If he’s got things to answer for, he’ll answer for them. But yes, we do need him as a witness.’

‘Firm but fair, eh? Only way to be, I reckon. Bit of discipline never hurt anyone. Well, it might have stung a bit at the time, but you know what I mean.’ He laughed.

‘Yes, so…’

‘Get your boss to send the paperwork through and we’ll transfer him to Exeter custody. Might be worth letting him stay put until morning. Just my opinion.’ Pete could almost see the custody sergeant shrug. ‘Teach him a bit of a lesson.’

‘Right. I’ll get onto my chief. Thanks, mate.’

‘No worries.’

Pete ended the call, looked up and saw both Annie and Louise standing in the doorway of the lounge, watching him, their expressions, one above the other, identical. He couldn’t help but smile.

‘So…?’ They said together.

Pete’s smile became a chuckle.

Although Annie’s temperament was much more like his than her mother’s, she got more like Louise every day, in all the good ways.

He shook his head. ‘God, I love the pair of you.’

‘But what about Tommy?’ Annie demanded.

‘Well, I love him too, of course.’

‘Answer the damn question, would you?’ Louise joined in. ‘What’s happening with Tommy?’

The smile stayed on Pete’s face. ‘He’s in Plymouth nick. I need to get hold of Colin, get him to arrange a transfer to Heavitree Road and we can go from there.’

‘So, he’ll be home soon?’ Annie demanded.

‘Well, it depends on your definition of soon, but potentially, yes.’