The Child Taker & Slow Burn (15 page)

Tank stepped down the corridor towards the sleeping areas. The smell of a chemical toilet grew stronger as he neared the bedrooms. He opened the first door. It was a toilet closet the size of a small wardrobe. Tank could not have used the convenience without keeping the door open. The smell of deep blue camping disinfectant cloyed at the back of his throat. He closed the door and moved on. The next door was already ajar. Tank moved it with the end of the torch. He reached inside and flicked on the light. The room was empty apart from a narrow cot bed. There was a thin mattress and a grey woollen blanket covering it, the type that makes your skin itch. It looked like a prison cell from an old spaghetti western. If Jack Howarth had slept in there recently then his DNA would be all over it. Tank stepped into the tiny room and studied the bed. There was a dark blue inflatable travel pillow under the blanket. Tank noted a human hair on it. One end was black, probably dyed, and the other was greyed by old age. It belonged to a man of Jack Howarth’s age, no doubt. He left the hair in place, as it couldn’t tell him anything that he didn’t already know. Tank backed out of the room, flicked off the light and left the door ajar as he’d found it.

The main bedroom was next door, and its entrance was the end of the corridor. He opened it and repeated the process of illuminating it by flicking on the light using the end of the torch. The room was decorated in stark contrast to the rest of the caravan. The walls were pastel colours, pinks and blues, and a child’s mobile hung from the light fitting. On the bed was an empty sleeping bag. Tank remembered the mother’s evidence, and she stated that the twins had been taken in their sleeping bag. He leaned over the bed and studied the material. Sure enough, there was fine blond hair there. From the presence of the hair, he could guess that the twins had been kept in this room. He couldn’t make any sense of it. Maybe Alfie Lesner had been an accomplice in the abduction, and then the kidnappers had fallen out, resulting in Jack Howarth receiving a severe beating. There was only one way to find out, and that was to ask them. He needed to speak to both of them, tonight, and that would not be easy, especially now that they were both in police custody. Tank reached for his mobile phone; it was time to apply some Terrorist Task Force priority.

Chapter Eighteen

Warrington General Hospital

Jack Howarth awoke to the strong odour of antiseptic. Through the haze of anaesthetic, his senses started to function. His sense of smell told him that he was probably in hospital. He could feel clean crisp cotton against his skin. There was no pain anymore and he was numb from the belly button down. Jack moved his left hand and he heard a metallic rattle against the bed frame. There was a metal bracelet around his wrist; handcuffs. He opened his eyes and the glare of the strip lighting hurt him. His mouth was bone dry and he could still taste the coppery flavour of his own blood.

“He’s coming round,” a voice said. He didn’t recognise it.

“Shame, it’s a pity the pervert isn’t dead,” another voice answered the first.

“I’ll let the inspector know, and inform the nurse,” the first voice spoke again.

“Inform the blond nurse, will you? She’s fit. She can give me a bed bath any day.”

“Do you ever stop? Give it a rest will you.”

“Could I have some water, please?” Jack hardly recognised his own voice. His mouth and throat were so dry he could hardly speak.

“Shut up, you nonce,” a voice replied. Jack’s vision began to clear and he focused on a fat police constable who was next to his bed. The police officer was wearing black combat pants, boots and an armoured stab vest over his tee shirt. On his hip was a holstered Glock.

“I’m thirsty,” Jack croaked.

“I couldn’t care less if you choke to death.” The police constable crossed his legs and picked up his newspaper. Jack tried to sit up but his muscles were still immobilised. A pretty blond nurse entered the room. She walked quickly as if she didn’t have much time to waste. The fat constable put his newspaper down and breathed in to lessen the bulge of his beer belly. He smiled at her as he eyed the curves of her body through her starched navy blue uniform.

“So he’s woken up has he?” The nurse chirped without actually looking at the police officer.

“Yes, pity really,” the Constable scoffed. The nurse ignored him and reached for Jack’s pulse. She checked it against her watch.

“How are you feeling?” She asked him abruptly.

“Tired, unappreciated, underpaid, and my wife doesn’t understand me.” The Constable answered her question, trying to make a joke.

The nurse looked at him as if he was stupid. “I was talking to the patient.”

“I’m very thirsty, nurse,” Jack croaked.

“That’s to be expected after anaesthetic.” She poured water from a jug on the bedside cabinet into a paper cup, and put it to his lips. Jack gulped greedily at the cool liquid, savouring it as it rehydrated his mouth. “The doctor will be with you any minute.” The nurse put the paper cup into a waste bin, and then she picked up a chart at the end of the bed and scribbled Jack’s stats in the relevant boxes.

“You couldn’t put your number on there, could you?” The police officer tried a more direct approach.

“Do you know that I’m not sure who is the worst pervert, you or him.” She looked at him frostily as she hung up the chart again, and then she walked out of the room without saying another word.

“Silly bitch,” the police officer muttered.              

No sooner had she left than the door opened again and a tired-looking doctor walked in. He looked too young to be a doctor, and his wavy brown hair was clipped back from his face by a black elastic hair band. His white coat was open, showing faded blue jeans and a dark tee shirt underneath.

“How are you feeling?” The doctor picked up the chart and analysed it as he spoke.

“Numb,” Jack croaked.

“You’re a lucky man, Mr Howarth, any longer and you’d have lost both testicles,” He sounded disproportionately happy about it.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m afraid we had to remove your right testicle, but we managed to save the left, and one is better than none,” he chirped.

“That’s why I feel numb from the waist down?”

“Believe me, it’s better to be numb at the moment. I’ll pop in and see you in the morning.”

              “I can still taste blood in my throat, doctor,” Jack coughed. “I’m really thirsty too.”

“You had a pretty bad beating, Mr Howarth. A rib punctured your left lung, but we’ve fixed you up, and with some rest and recuperation you’ll be up and about in no time.” He placed the chart on its hook and left the room without acknowledging the police officer was there.

“Pity they didn’t cut both your bollocks off,” the Constable goaded him, and turned back to his newspaper.

“The nurse had you sussed out all along,” Jack croaked. The police officer flushed red with anger. He stood up slowly and folded his newspaper before placing it on his chair. Jack tensed his body as the fat constable approached the bed. He expected the officer to strike him for daring to ridicule him. A huge shadow filled the obscured glass in the door, and the police officer stepped back away from the bed.

“There’ll be plenty of time for you, nonce,” he hissed as the door opened. Detective Inspector Alec Ramsay walked into the room flanked by a huge man with a shaven head. Jack looked from one to the other trying to make out who they were and what they wanted.

“Is there a problem, Constable?” The Inspector asked. He removed his jacket as he entered. Alec felt unbalanced by the situation he found himself in. On one hand, Jack Howarth was in police custody, on the other, counter-terrorist agents were butting into his investigation. He couldn’t fathom how or why they were officially involved. It was a fine line between letting them share information and losing the case to them completely. “I said, is there a problem?” 

“No, Sir.”

“Go and get yourself a coffee,” Alec ordered. The fat constable looked Tank up and down. Tank eyed him coldly and he left without a word.

“I’m not one bit happy about this, Agent Tankersley,” the Inspector snapped as the door closed. Jack could sense the animosity between them.

“DI?” Tank asked. “Sorry, I missed your name.”

“Ramsay, Alec Ramsay.” Alec replied calmly although the question annoyed him.

“I’ve heard your name, Inspector,” Tank spoke quickly. He had no time to waste with etiquette. “I need to speak to him. Where are the Kelly twins?” Tank ignored the detective and walked to the bed.

“I don’t know,” Jack shook his head.

“Where were they the last time you saw them?” Tank leaned against the bed and Jack realised that this giant of a man was no police officer. He did not know how he knew, but he did, and that worried him.

“They were being carried out of my caravan by Alfie Lesner and his thug of a friend.”

“Who was his friend?”

“I don’t know him.”

“Where did they take them?”

“I really don’t know, officer. What’s your name?” Jack fished for the big man’s rank.

“You took the twins from the Lakes, Howarth,” Tank told him. It was not a question.

“No I didn’t, Alfie must have taken them. The first time that I saw them was when he brought them to my caravan.”

“You’re a liar; we know that you were in the woods.” Tank’s eyes were still and piercing like a shark’s. Jack’s expression flickered, and Tank knew that he was about to lie again.

“I’ve never been to the Lakes,” Jack coughed again. “Am I under caution?” He looked at the detective.

Alec blushed and shook his head. “Not at the moment,” he said. He glanced at Tank, wondering how he knew that Howarth was in the woods. Something was amiss. “You will be arrested as soon as we know you are well enough to know what is going on.”

“Then I don’t want to say anything else until I’ve spoken to a solicitor.”

“Leave us,” Tank looked at the Inspector.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. He’s my prisoner,” Alec replied curtly. “You can have your five minutes with him but I am staying here. It covers you and it covers me and I want to know that whatever he tells you makes it way to my investigation, okay?”

“The questions I need answering are related to an ongoing task force case. If you can’t give me five minutes, I’ll have him removed from the hospital immediately.” Tank stepped towards the door.

“I am giving you five minutes, Agent Tankersley, but I’m staying here and I mean it.” He put his hand on the bed rail. “Make no mistake that if this arsehole knows anything, then I want to hear it too.”

Tank waited until he’d made up his mind before turning back to the child taker. Jack had never seen any senior-ranking police officer surrender the questioning of a prisoner as easily as the Inspector had, and he knew that this big man was incredibly dangerous.

“I want a solicitor,” he croaked, trying to gain the initiative.

Tank approached the end of the bed and grabbed the patient’s right foot. He raised it high into the air and then slammed it back down on the bed. Jack felt flashes of pain in every nerve in his body, and he opened his mouth to scream. Tank moved like lightening and pressed his huge hand over Jack’s mouth.

“Fucking hell!” Alec said shocked. He wasn’t averse to tough interrogation but that was a little heavy handed, he thought.

“If you insist on staying in here then shut up.” Tank didn’t look at Alec. “I’ve got your DNA in the woods, and your caravan has a nursery in it. Now if you know what’s good for you then you’ll tell me where Lesner took the children.” Tank spoke quietly and looked into the child taker’s eyes for sign of a reaction. He could see fear. “Now I’m going to remove my hand, shout anything and I’ll have you taken from this hospital in less than half an hour. I’ll send you to an Albanian interrogation centre, which is situated in the dungeons of an eighteenth century jail in the middle of nowhere. No one will know you are there and no one will know what they will do to you, but trust me they will make you answer their questions.”

Jack’s eyes registered confusion, pain and fear. He could not understand who this man was. A police Inspector did as he was told under duress, and now the big man was threatening to make him disappear. Who had that kind of authority? “Can’t you stop this, Inspector?”

“I am not so sure that I want to just yet,” Alec replied. If Tank could squeeze information from him, so be it.

  “You’d like Albania, Jack, because there’s a lot of people there descended from the Romany Gypsies.” Tank’s voice was cold and monotonous. Recognition flickered in Jack’s eyes, recognition and more confusion.

“You know gypsies, don’t you Jack?”

Jack’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“Oh, yes you do, because you’ve been preying on their children for years, you pervert.” Tank squeezed his face hard as he kept him silent. Jack was starting to panic, short of breath and racked with pain. He was also very confused as to how this brute of a man knew as much as he did.

“The Albanian interrogators and the other inmates would love to spend some time alone with a child molester like you, Jack, especially one who preyed on their kin.” Tank let his words sink in, and then let go of his face. “I’ve known men who have been interrogated in there for years on end, Jack. You’d be begging them to kill you in the end.”

“You can’t do that,” Jack looked at Alec. “Can he?”

“Probably yes,” Alec nodded. “The good thing about it is, nobody ever admits that it goes on, so you’ll just sort of disappear and let’s be honest, who would give a shit if you did?”

“Who are you?” Jack gasped.

“I’m your worst fucking nightmare, Jack. Now where did Lesner take the children?”

“I really don’t know.” Jack closed his eyes and waited for pain, but none was forthcoming.

“Have it your way, Howarth.” Tank walked away from the bed and took out his mobile phone. He punched in a speed dial number and placed the set next to his ear. He had his back to the child taker. “This is Tankersley. I need that extraction from Warrington General Hospital. Do it now. Interrogation, Albania, labelled rendition.” Jack could not make head or tail of what he was saying but he’d heard enough to be certain that this man wasn’t messing around.

“Wait, I want a lawyer,” Jack cried.

“There’s no lawyer where you’re going, only pain,” Tank ignored him and ended his call. He stepped towards the door.

“Wait, I don’t know where he took them, honestly,” Jack’s voice was cracking up. He couldn’t go to a foreign prison where he would be identified to the general population as an abuser of gypsy children.               The memories of his terrible childhood, and the pain and degradation that he’d suffered at the hands of the Catholic priest, came flooding back to him, and he couldn’t survive it again. He didn’t know how this man was able to threaten him with rendition, but he knew that it went on, and he didn’t want to be a victim of it.

“I don’t care what you have to say any more, Jack. I’ll ask Lesner himself. Enjoy Albania, Jack,” Tank opened the door. Alec was both impressed and surprised at the exchange. Part of him wanted the agent to beat the crap out of Howarth and the other was disappointed that no information was forthcoming. Looking out of the door, he saw the doctor at the end of the corridor talking to colleagues. He was also talking to Sylvia Lees, the family liaison officer. They stopped talking as he looked at them, and she pointed towards him.