A New Dawn Rising (2 page)

The late evening found Carl Renshaw sitting at his huge kitchen dining table, tapping his fingers impatiently on the surface. His eyes were locked on the mobile phone lying idle in front of him.

Come on. Ring.

He had spent a fraught evening calming Jenny down after her scare in the garden. Offering soothing words to his daughter and her sister, telling them there was nothing to worry about. Quietly reassuring their mother that young girls had vivid imaginations. Eventually, the twins had accepted his calming words and allowed themselves to be tucked into bed. His wife remained unconvinced.

Carl chewed on his lip thoughtfully. He realised asking a total stranger to come and work for him was a long shot. Yet he needed someone. He had hoped Sam was that man.

He continued to stare at the phone.

Carl would have been delighted to know Sam was giving his offer serious consideration at that very moment. However, his pleasure may have been tempered somewhat if he could have seen the inebriated state Sam was in. Stretched out on his bed with his hands cupped behind his head, Sam was staring up at the bedroom ceiling. A ceiling that was spinning right now. A silent cascade of twirling patterns rendering him dizzy and disorientated. Acrid sickness once again rose within him. Pulling the empty washing-up bowl a little nearer, he groaned as the taste of bile hit the outskirts of his throat before subsiding again. It was only a matter of time. His head pounded. Beads of sweat bathed his skin.

Still his mind raced.

Sam Carlisle had resigned from the police force two years ago. Six months later, he had forsaken his home too, fleeing the large, bustling city in the Midlands, the place he had lived all his life, to start afresh here in Bursleigh, a small, rural district in the countryside of Northern England. After trading in his modern house and brand new car for the dilapidated cottage he now called home and the old banger rusting outside, Sam then worked his way through the profits from those transactions and now there was no money left. The pitiful police pension offered minimal financial support. Sam concluded he was desperate. Now, that would have cheered Carl Renshaw up.

Hence Sam's trip to Bursleigh town centre that morning. He had wandered around the market town searching for job vacancies, gazing in shop windows and looking on notice boards. As far as Sam could recall through the thick fog now clouding his mind, the only opportunity he had seen was for a security guard in the department store. He had gone in there, collected an application form and left.

Walked out into the cold sunshine.

Into a mugging and a very strange offer.

Sleep finally began to take Sam Carlisle. Carl Renshaw's face appeared in his dark and confused vision, muttering about a job and money. Lucy Pargeter appeared next to him, thanking Sam for his help. Both wore placid expressions. Suddenly, the serene words coming out of their mouths began to speed up. They were gibbering. Talking too fast. Their words made no sense to Sam. Then the faces began to look frightened. More and more so, until they were completely enveloped in fear. The noises coming from their mouths became one. A joint, continuous scream for help.

Just that one word.

Help.

Over and over again.

The two faces then distorted until they became unrecognisable. Sam groaned in his sleep.

Then the faces re-formed into two he knew so very, very well. A woman and a young girl. Both had their eyes wide open. Tears streamed down their cheeks. Pictures of horror were painted on their faces. Features contorted in sheer terror. Crying out for help at the top of their voices.

Please! Help!

Help!!!

Sam woke himself up screaming. He was drenched in sweat and shaking furiously. Tears rolled from his own eyes. He wouldn't go back to sleep now. He never did.

The dream often had a different beginning, but it always ended the same.

The same nightmare ending.

Every single night for the last two years.

Waves of nausea. A banging head. Throat like sandpaper. Body devoid of all energy.

The usual symptoms. They didn't matter this morning. Sam had made a decision. Grimacing as he washed a couple of tablets down his throat, it dawned on him he never really had a choice. Not in his current situation, despite his misgivings. Once fate stepped in and Carl Renshaw came calling, there was only one thing he was ever going to do.

He made the phone call.

***

Molly Renshaw brushed her hair while gazing thoughtfully at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. She was worried about her husband. Having been married to Carl for over twenty years, she knew when something wasn't right with him. Lately, he had been alternating between quiet moods and nervous agitation. Disappearing on a whim. Taking secretive phone calls.

She had wondered if it was another woman but immediately dismissed the idea. Unfortunately, they had been through that scenario once before, many years ago. With a tinge of sadness, she recalled his behaviour at that time only too well. No, this was different.

She was fully aware of Carl's shady past. She had willingly gone along with him in their formative years together, aware of the risks he was taking, openly tolerating the danger of living life with a man on the edge. Then, over the last dozen years or so, she had reaped the rewards. A settled marriage and two beautiful daughters. Not to mention a successful business, wonderful home and plenty of money to go around. Life was good now, and she didn't want anything spoiling it.

So, for the next few hours her focus would be on the girls. She was taking the twins shopping. A bit of retail therapy to take their minds off yesterday's incident in the garden.

She would talk to Carl later.

***

Sam guided his car around the tight bend and continued along the narrow lane at low speed. He scanned the hedgerows bordering the side of the road, looking for the entranceway to Carl's home. According to the directions Carl had given him, he should be nearly there.

Carl had sounded delighted to receive Sam's phone call that morning, asking him to drop by the same afternoon as his wife and children were going to be out, explaining to Sam he preferred they have their chat without his family present. No need to alarm them, he had insisted.

Sam spotted the large white plaque he was looking for. It was attached to a concrete post, pronouncing the property within as The Elms. Sam turned into the entrance and steered the car down a gravelled driveway. He drove on for a couple of hundred yards before a large white house loomed up before him. Parked in front of it were an Aston Martin and a Jaguar, both gleaming and in immaculate condition. Sam considered Carl Renshaw must be a very wealthy man indeed.

Bringing his decidedly inexpensive Capri to a standstill between the two parked cars, Sam got out and surveyed the surroundings. Water gurgled from a fountain sitting on a sizeable lawn. The lush grass was dotted with immaculately sculptured conifers. Heavy shrubbery and extremely tall, thick trees lined the edges of Carl's land, blocking out the weak sunlight and enclosing all within it. Set so far back from the road, a heavy silence permeated the air. It all gave the grounds a majestic but eerie atmosphere. Sam cast a sweeping look over the house. It was as grand and eloquent as the landscape it sat in. The huge property was fronted along its entire length by a veranda. Running parallel above it was an ornate balcony. Gazing at the numerous sash windows, Sam tried to gauge the number of rooms inside. He soon gave up.

He trotted up the front steps and pressed the bell, then stepped back to take in the multitude of closed circuit television cameras dotted around the property. Sam considered the sheer number of cameras enough to deter any would-be intruder. His attention returned to the front door as it swung open.

'Sam!' cried Carl enthusiastically. He was dressed more casually today in jumper and jeans. 'Glad you changed your mind. Come on in.'

Sam stepped into a long hallway complete with high ceiling and grand oak staircase. The panelled walls and bare wooden floors made the hall feel even more spacious.

'It's a big place you've got here, Carl,' he said. 'Very impressive.'

His host beamed proudly as he shut the front door behind them.

'That's very kind of you, Sam. I'll give you a guided tour later. First, let's talk business.'

Carl led him into a large sitting-room. The only furniture it contained were two black leather sofas in the centre of the room, a coffee table in between them, and a small drinks cabinet lined up against the far wall. Against the backdrop of more wooden floors and walls, the huge room seemed almost destitute to Sam.

'Drink?' asked Carl, venturing over to the cabinet.

Taking a seat on one of the sofas, Sam politely declined. Normally, he wouldn't refuse, even at three in the afternoon, but he wanted to listen to what Carl had to say with a clear head. He also wanted to get on with it.

'Okay, what's this all about?' he asked. 'Why do you need security?'

Carl poured himself a drink, walked around with it and sat down opposite Sam. He took a sip out of the glass and placed it down carefully on the table. Sam watched him patiently, noting the loose jowls under the man's chin and the paunch across his mid-riff. Too much of the good life, perhaps.

'I've had some threats recently,' said Carl.

'Who from?'

Carl chewed on his lip.

'Environmental activists,' he replied. 'Or terrorists, depending on your view.'

'What? Save the Earth, Greenpeace, that sort of thing?'

'Yeah, only a bit more extreme.'

'I think you'd better explain,' Sam suggested.

Carl sighed, drained his glass and stared into the bottom of it.

'I own a clothing manufacturing business called DR Garments. It's a large factory on the other side of Bursleigh. We built it years ago. But even before that, when I was buying the land, there was opposition.'

Sam wasn't surprised. Over the years, he had seen first hand how high emotions could run over environmental issues.

'Anyway, the site went ahead despite the protests and the business thrived. Then, two years ago, I expanded the factory. Doubled the floor size, in fact.'

Two years ago. A flood of painful memories threatened to swamp Sam.

'You had more protests?' he asked, determined to stay focused on the present.

Carl nodded grimly.

'That's right. Some people just didn't want to see the benefits. I'd already brought jobs and money to the area. The expansion would bring more. But they were more concerned about the welfare of bloody ducks and such like! How pathetic is that?'

Sam didn't want to get drawn into a moral debate.

'Who do you mean by some people?'

Carl moved to the edge of the sofa and leaned closer to Sam.

'Have you heard of an organisation called Save The Countryside?' he asked, his voice reduced to a hush, as if the very walls were eavesdropping on him.

'I've heard the name,' replied Sam. 'All I know about them is they're based up here in the North.'

Carl stared hard at Sam for a moment, as though contemplating whether to share any more information with him. Then he continued, his words even quieter, almost a whisper.

'The majority of Save The Countryside are a pretty harmless bunch. Sure, they have strong opinions, but they limit themselves to non-violent demonstrations. Marches, petitions, demos. However, they have an offshoot branch called Red 71. As the name suggests, they were formed in 1971 by a group of communists in this country. Whenever STC can't get their way using peaceful means, Red 71 move in. They use violence and intimidation to get what they want. Discreet but effective. I've done some research on them.'

Sam listened intently. He hadn't expected this.

'Now, all the protests against me over the years have been organised by STC. Their methods have been more annoying than threatening. Nothing to lose sleep over. But two years ago, when the factory expanded, I started getting anonymous phone calls from Red 71 telling me I was destroying the environment. Threatening to harm me if I didn't close the site down.'

Carl stalled, seemingly shaken by his own recollections. He stood up and walked slowly over to the cabinet.

'How do you know it was them?' asked Sam. 'Red 71?'

Carl poured himself another drink. Sam declined once again, silently marvelling at his own self-discipline.

'Because they told me. Bold as brass. Every call would end with the words “You have been targeted by Red 71”. They never carried out their threats, and in time the phone calls dried up. I thought that was it. All over. But now the calls have started up again.'

That didn't make sense to Sam. Why threaten Carl again after all this time? Having failed with their earlier efforts, what did they hope to achieve now?

The bemusement must have shown on his face.

'I know,' said Carl, sitting back down. 'I can't think of a single reason for them to hound me again. Nothing's changed from two years ago. What I do know is the threats are more serious this time.'

'In what way?'

'More violent. More specific. They've told me if I don't stop killing the planet...their words, not mine...they will shoot me as I'm leaving the house in the morning. Or blow up my car as I get into it after work. I know this might sound daft, but this time it feels as though I'm being watched all the while. As though someone's following my every move.'

'Why don't you go to the police?'

'I went to them two years ago,' said Carl, looking slightly exasperated. 'They made some investigations but couldn't trace the calls. I always had the feeling they weren't taking me seriously. One officer even told me there was only so much they could do until something happened. They're not going to take any more notice of me now, are they? The phone calls are still from unknown numbers.'

'What about your family?' asked Sam. 'Have they been threatened?'

Carl lowered his gaze to the floor. Sam could hear someone chopping in the back garden.

'No, they haven't.'

Sam thought the answer was unconvincing.

'Carl, have your family been threatened?' he asked again, more forcefully this time.

Carl took a deep breath and looked back up at Sam.

'One of my daughters,' he said reluctantly, 'she said she heard noises at the bottom of the garden yesterday. Somebody prowling about in the bushes.'

'And what do you think?'

'I think she imagined it,' answered Carl. 'Ten year-olds have very vivid minds. It's just co-incidence. Those people wouldn't have the balls to come to my house. Have you seen the CCTV and alarm system? This place is protected better than Fort Knox. Anyway, they've never mentioned my wife or children in their threats. They're trying to scare me, not my family.'

Sam stayed quiet. He knew the best way to get to a man was through his family.

'Look,' continued Carl, his confidence returning, 'Molly and the kids don't know about the recent phone calls and I want it to stay that way. As far as they're concerned, you'd be my new driver and nothing more. Anyway, I could do with someone taking the wheel so I can get on with paperwork in the car. Well, what do you think?'

Sam mulled it over, aware Carl was watching him anxiously, tapping his fingers on his knees in anticipation.

The dilemma for Sam was not the job itself. Carl seemed a congenial chap, and driving him about for good money would be no hardship. Trying to keep him in good health could provide a challenge if Red 71 really intended carrying out their threats, but Sam wasn't fazed by the possibility. In fact, he could do with a bit of stimulation in his life right now. Something to keep his mind occupied.

No, what troubled Sam was the nagging suspicion Carl wasn't telling him everything. As though he was holding something back.

Carl could wait no longer.

'Sam, I know this is all a bit unconventional, but I need somebody in quickly. I need a person who's discreet, which is why I'd rather not use a security firm. I also need someone trustworthy.'

'How do you know you can trust me?' asked Sam, intrigued. 'You hardly know me.'

Carl smiled and raised his palms.

'That's a fair question,' he said easily. 'But I like to think I'm a good judge of character. The way you handled yourself yesterday-'

'I'm sure a lot of people would have done the same,' said Sam.

'No, Sam. It wasn't your heroics. It was the way you behaved afterwards. Most people would have loved all that praise, but you weren't interested. That says a lot about a person in my book.'

Sam scrutinised Carl closely. He could see the man truly believed in what he was saying. Sam decided to leave it at that. It didn't matter that he considered Carl too trusting, inviting a practical stranger into his life like this. Into his home. Around his family. The facts remained the same.

Carl needed him, and Sam needed the money.

'Okay, I'm in.'