THEN SHE RAN an absolutely gripping crime thriller with a massive twist Read online

  He moved to the right side of the barn, through the door and into the kitchen. He abandoned his flask and filled the kettle. The plumbing was noisy. It thumped into action and knocked continuously as the water flowed. He had been here late last night to put some milk in the fridge. Some food too. He hadn’t touched it then and he didn’t feel like touching it now. He opted to remove the milk only. He put it on the side while the kettle boiled. At the same time as he’d installed the kitchen, he’d also fitted some cheap, wooden framed windows. He pushed one of them open, upsetting a spider that shook frenetically in its web. He could see across to the marked police car, to the police tape that circled his home and to the side door where his wife had been removed in a black body bag. He turned away. The kettle clicked off but he stepped out of the kitchen and made his way across the barn. The aged suspension of his old tractor creaked and hissed as he stepped up into the cracked seat. He rested his hands on the oversized steering wheel. The rock-solid seat, the spindly steering wheel in his grasp, the smell of hay, mud and dust . . . he was transported back fifty years to a time when he was young and strong, with his whole life in front of him and his wife beside him.

  For just a second he closed his eyes and he wasn’t a widowed old man in a big empty barn.

  Chapter 17

  Jenny pushed her face into the warm water and let it run over her skin, through her hair and down her body. Her eyes were shut and the sound of the rushing water blocked her hearing. In the all-encompassing warmth of the shower she could almost forget that she was being held captive by a man with a gun. He had insisted she kept the door open, but she had been able to pull the curtain across. The bathroom had been stripped bare of their belongings. Everything that had been in there had been grouped together and dumped under the desk in the bedroom. She guessed this was to stop her using anything against him, though she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with a toothbrush or a bar of soap. Forming an escape plan was a long way from her mind. If this man was of the same mind-set as the people she had been running from in the course of the previous forty-eight hours, he would have killed her the second she stepped through that door. She couldn’t say she wasn’t scared — quite the opposite — but standing under the warm shower and with the option of putting her own clothes back on, she knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. Not here anyway.

  Jenny didn’t know how long she had been under the shower when he called to say she’d had long enough. She stopped the taps and reached for the solitary small towel that hung on a lukewarm radiator. It wasn’t going to cover much of her.

  ‘Are there any more towels?’ she called out. She stood still for the reply. Her hair and body still ran with water.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I need to dry my hair.’

  ‘You understand this isn’t a holiday, right? You need to get dry and you need to get dressed. You have a towel and some clothes.’

  ‘Are you going to watch me?’ she called through the shower curtain. The bathroom didn’t have any windows; even in the daylight the overhead light was on. She heard someone step into the bathroom and wrapped the towel tightly around herself. She could see him as a shadow on the curtain.

  ‘Do you want me to?’

  ‘No,’ she snapped.

  ‘You need to speed up. We’ve already been here too long. We leave in ten minutes.’

  ‘Can I use my hairdryer?’

  ‘FUCK, JENNY!’ The fury came from nowhere and filled the bathroom, startling her. ‘I’m not taking the piss. Do not mistake me for someone with any patience at all. Now GET moving!’

  The shadow moved away. Jenny snatched at the towel and rubbed her body. She couldn’t reach the bundle of her clothes she had picked out. She leaned out, enough to be able to see through the open door. The man stared back at her. She moved back behind the curtain to fix the towel back over her body and stepped onto the damp floor.

  ‘Can you at least turn away?’

  ‘You do as I say. That’s how this goes.’

  ‘I have to get dressed with you watching me?’

  ‘Eight minutes,’ he said.

  Jenny arranged the bundle of clothes so that her knickers were on top. Still clutching the towel to herself, she picked them up and stepped into them with one leg.

  ‘With the towel off,’ the man said.

  Jenny stopped and removed the leg from her knickers. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know what I mean, Jenny. You get dressed with the towel off.’

  ‘I thought you were just here to take me with you? You’re not supposed to be getting off on it.’

  ‘I’m here to make sure you’ve got nothing on you that might cause me problems down the line. You either drop the towel and get dressed in front of me or I search you when you are dressed. And if you feel violated with me watching you, you should ponder my likely search methods.’

  Jenny’s latent anger flashed suddenly. ‘You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?’

  ‘I can be. I promise you that, Jenny. Drop the towel.’

  Jenny dropped the towel. She didn’t put her knickers on straight away. She straightened up and stared at the man stood in the doorway.

  ‘You happy now?’

  ‘Get dressed. One item at a time. Don’t rush. Pull the pockets out on your jeans when you put them on.’

  ‘You enjoying this?’

  ‘Not really. Naked women aren’t my thing, actually. What really turns me on is extreme violence. Seven minutes.’

  Chapter 18

  George got back to the car with his food. A brown cardboard bag hung from his mouth, the coffee bubbled up through the lid as he concentrated on keeping it straight while he searched his pocket for the keys. He cursed through his teeth. Why was it always times like this when the phone rang? He balanced the cup on the roof of the car and grabbed his phone. It was Emily Ryker.

  ‘Ryker?’

  ‘I have some details. Not much, admittedly, but all I can get my hands on. Are you ready?’

  ‘Yeah. Just give me a minute.’ George found his keys. He tugged the door open and threw the phone on the passenger seat. He moved in his drink and started the car. The phone connected to the system and he could hear Emily humming impatiently down the phone.

  ‘Sorry, Ryker, I’m getting there. Just let me get my book out.’

  ‘What the hell are you up to? I thought you wanted this information, like, pronto.’

  ‘I’m trying to do more than one thing at once here, Ryker. Just let me get a pen.’

  ‘That’s not generally an ability that you men are born with, is it?’

  ‘It doesn’t come natural, Ryker. We have to really work at it.’ George was finally sorted. He flicked open his pocket book. ‘What have you got?’

  ‘There’s not much. Nicholas Yarney is a bottom feeder, a class-A addict it would seem. His choice, if you’re asking, is heroin. He seems to pop up on the fringes of the Dover scene a lot. He was staying in a sort of house-share situation and the house got raided a couple of times in a short space of time. He was there each time. I guess that makes sense — knowing he’s a CHIS.’

  ‘It would, yeah. He’s been squealing on his mates. Where’s he living?’

  ‘Not there. He’s moved out. He now has a place all to himself. I guess that might have been his reward for telling tales. He’s in a basement flat. Number thirty-seven Larendon Place, Dover. I don’t know it, but I’ve been on Google Maps and it would appear to make sense.’

  George knew what Ryker meant by appears to make sense. She meant that, even as a 2D image on a computer screen, it still looked like a shit hole. ‘So he’s there alone?’

  ‘The intelligence says that he lives there alone, but he has the typical lifestyle. Who knows who else will be crashed out there? You can almost always guarantee someone, right?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a fair assumption.’

  ‘I’ll send you a picture over. It’s his last custody photo. He’s known to us for a bit of shoplifting, po
ssession of class A and B — they were separate incidents. He’s been nicked for supply, too, but it’s never stuck. Apart from that, he’s got some historic driving stuff. He’s never had a licence but it appears that didn’t stop him from driving when he was younger.’

  ‘Any violence?’

  ‘Nothing we know about. There are some intelligence reports from last summer that he was dealing for a Liverpudlian gang in Dover and he was carrying a knife as part of that. He was never found in possession of one. From his picture, I’d say he looks like a soppy twat.’

  ‘I’ll be sure to mention it to him.’

  ‘You’re going to speak to him then?’

  ‘Of course.’ George looked longingly at his bag of delicious smelling food. He pulled the car out and headed towards the address. ‘I need to know what he knows.’

  ‘I still don’t get how you reach that point without him immediately knowing that his handler has stitched him up. You’re going to burn him forever.’

  ‘I’ll need to be creative, that much is true.’

  ‘Creative? I think I remember the last time you talked about being creative. It involved a brick and a victim’s window. Try to be a bit more subtle this time, George. You might not care if some of your colleagues continue to dislike you, but I don’t have quite the same attitude to people’s impressions of me. Or the same thickness of skin.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Ryker! Since when have you cared what people think?’

  ‘Since I realised I was staying in this half of the county. A lot of these people still don’t know me. And a lot of them don’t owe me anything. In the northern half everyone owes me something, that’s the way I like it.’

  ‘Understood. I owe you, Ryker. That much I do know.’

  ‘Too right you do. Let me know how it goes.’

  ‘You know I will.’ George tapped the screen to end the call.

  Larendon Place was in the centre of Dover, not far from the main train station. It was up a steep hill, so steep that he had to take it easy so the car didn’t ground out. He pushed up the hill in first gear and rounded the second corner onto the target road. He looked at the door numbers; they were in the hundreds. His address was down the other end. His phone beeped. He guessed it would be Yarney’s mugshot. There still weren’t many people out and about on foot but he wanted to check the image straight away, just in case he walked past him. Heroin addicts were notoriously early risers. He picked up his phone. He had a text message from his wife on the screen. It said simply: Are you awake? Can we talk?

  George pulled over into a gap between the lines of parked cars either side of the road. He typed out a reply. Of course.

  The phone rang through the speakers almost immediately.

  ‘Sarah,’ George said. He tried to sound cheery.

  ‘I should have known you would be awake. I don’t even know why I asked.’

  ‘I’ve been up for hours. I’m at work already, actually. We’ve got a lot going on.’

  ‘So I’ve seen on the news. Are you working that awful shooting incident down in Dover?’

  ‘It’s one of those jobs, Sarah. Everyone’s involved.’

  ‘Are you going to be able to do this afternoon? I thought you had the day off today.’

  ‘Yes. Don’t you worry about that. I came in this morning to help out, but I’ve just got a few bits to do and then I’ll be heading home. That’s why I was up and out so early — so I could have plenty of time to get sorted.’

  ‘Good. Charley’s really excited, George. I told her she was seeing you today. She’s already been in this morning for her birthday presents. I had to send her away. Anything before eight just isn’t acceptable during half term.’

  ‘Of course. I forgot it was half term. Is that what you called for? To make sure I wasn’t going to be kept late?’

  ‘Well, it did cross my mind to check. But no, actually.’

  George’s phone pinged through the speakers. It was a WhatsApp message from Emily. ‘I wanted to talk to you about something, but . . . you know . . . it’s a bit difficult.’

  ‘I seem to remember you had to do the same thing last time and you managed quite well. You hit me with it when I had a mouthful of coffee. Oddly enough I’ve got a takeaway on the go in here, do you want me to let you know when I’m about to take a swig?’ George heard a chuckle, but it sounded nervous.

  ‘No, you’re okay. There’s no need to pick Charley up. We’re going to use it as an opportunity to go shopping in Maidstone. We’ll meet you at the Junction Eight services. You can pick her up from there.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes, George. Ronnie will be with me.’

  ‘Ronnie?’

  ‘Yes. He wants to meet you. Just briefly if you want, but it might be nice to sit down, all of us, and have a cup of coffee there. I want Charley to see that this can work out. She’s been kicking back a little with Ronnie recently — well, since we came back here, really. I think if she sees you there — if she sees us all there, I think she might be a bit more accepting.’

  ‘I see.’ George took a swig of his coffee. It stopped him biting back immediately.

  ‘If she sees you are okay with it all, then I think she will be a lot better with it too. That just seems logical, doesn’t it? I don’t want her confused and hurting anymore. I want her to see that she needs to move on — like we all have.’

  ‘The last conversation we had, you were giving me some more time to get my head around the divorce. Now you’re assuming I’ve moved on. Do you think two days is long enough for that? There seems to be a lot of assuming going on here, Sarah. That I am comfortable with all this. That I’ve accepted this whole situation. I don’t even know this Ronnie, and why on earth would I want to? My daughter is kicking back against him? Well, I say good! Why would I want her to move on, to accept that she has a new dad?’

  ‘He’s not a new dad—’

  ‘You’re damned right he isn’t! So let’s not start by talking like he is and talking about how I should help with the transition. What transition?’

  ‘I thought you would have got your head sorted by now. I thought you would be able to understand the logic. Your daughter is confused, she can’t move on and it’s making her miserable. I’m just asking for a coffee where she sees us all behaving like adults. That isn’t too difficult is it?’

  George’s phone pinged with another message from Emily. He scooped it up. Yarney’s mugshot had been taken too close; his pale skin reflected the harsh light of the custody camera. He looked painfully thin and had long mousey hair that hung over his face in greasy-looking clumps. His eyes were a washed out blue and stood out as the only dabs of colour.

  ‘I’ve got another call. I’ve got to go.’

  ‘What? Isn’t that just like—?’

  George ended the call. He’d had enough of her voice, enough of her trying to make it all sound so normal. The breaking up of his family . . . and all she needed to complete it was his endorsement. Well, she wasn’t having it and he wouldn’t be made to feel like it was something he should do for Charley either. Like it was the best thing for her. The best thing for her was her family back together. Her real family.

  He pulled away, suddenly aware that he would have been drawing attention to himself sat in a car ticking over in front of the tightly packed terraced houses. The people around here had a sixth sense for coppers. He drove the length of the road. It dipped in the middle and the target address was just up the other side of the dip. There was a space almost outside on the opposite side of the road. He pulled up and turned off the engine. He picked up his phone and looked back at the message from Sarah: Can we talk? She didn’t want him to talk; she wanted him to listen then agree.

  He peered out across the road. The house was near to a junction. Larendon Road carried on after. There was movement, someone had walked up the hill and turned left towards the target property. Shit! It was him!

  George froze. He had planned on intercepting Yarney going out. He knew he
would have to go out and score his heroin. Any addict would start their day with a hit. He’d had a vague plan of waiting for Yarney to score and then stopping him when he knew he was in possession. That way he could use the drugs as leverage somehow, get him talking at least, offer him a deal when he found the drugs. Yarney walked right up to his door and continued through. George watched the door thud shut. His opportunity was gone.

  The phone pinged again. Sarah. Another message: You need to start getting your head around all this, George. Not for my sake, not for yours. We’ll talk later. Ronnie thinks it best that he stays away, for today at least.

  Well, good for Ronnie. George was up and out of the car before he even knew it. The air was crisp and cool and he sucked a great lungful of it in as he stormed across the road. George wasn’t thinking about options, he wasn’t thinking about how to play it now and he certainly wasn’t thinking about subtleties. He used his momentum and his rage. His boot met with the door around the handle and it flew in on the first kick. The sound had an impact on George, like being jolted awake from a bad dream — what the hell was he doing? Too late now. House entries were dangerous at the best of times; even with a full team behind you, you had to secure everyone as quickly and as forcefully as possible. He could already see movement at the back of the house, someone ran from the living room into the kitchen. George stomped down the corridor. ‘POLICE!’ he roared.

  He glanced right. The living room was sparse: a sofa and not much else. No people at least. He found Yarney in the kitchen. He looked the same as in his picture, down to the washed out skin and the scraggly hair, but the pale blue eyes flared wide now. Yarney had backed into a kitchen unit. His right hand was raised high and it gripped a crude-looking kitchen knife. His left arm was pushed firmly into his jacket pocket. George fixed on the blade and reached out with his own hands, showing that they were empty.