The Child Taker & Slow Burn (20 page)

“I have to go, Constable,” Jack said as he stood over him. “I want you to know that I’m going to visit your children, just as a thank-you for your kindness.” He grinned an evil smile.

“You don’t know where my kids live, you fucking pervert.” The Constable was fading fast, but he still had a little bit of fight left in him.

“You’re right, Constable, I don’t, but you’re dying and I’m going to follow them home from your funeral.” He smiled and ran off into the darkness. Constable Davis began to shake, maybe because of the blood loss and his body going into shock, but more likely because he believed that the child taker would make good on his threat. Darkness descended on him, and he worried no more.

Chapter Twenty-seven

               Warrington Police Station

Alfie sat on a stinking rubberised mattress contemplating his impending incarceration when the first explosion rocked the ancient building. Showers of dust and plaster dropped from high above his head through cracks in the ceiling. At first, he thought it might have been a car crash or perhaps a gas explosion in a nearby house but moments later the second explosion confirmed that it was something more sinister. The explosions were followed by a deafening silence, and then pandemonium broke out. He could hear several voices shouting. One of them in particular sounded as if he was in charge of the situation, barking orders and shouting for situation reports. The prisoners in neighbouring cells soon joined the voices of the police officers on duty, and the shouting became a cacophony of panicked voices. He leaned against the cold metal of the cell door and tried to make sense of what was going on. He heard someone shouting about a fire, and respirators, and he was almost certain that he heard the word evacuate several times. There was a distinctive odour of gasoline in the air and it was becoming more pungent as the minutes ticked by. Alfie was calm at first, but when the first tendrils of acrid smoke began to creep under the door then he too began to bang on the door and shout for his life. He could hear the viewing hatches in the cell doors being opened and closed further down the cellblock and he continued banging on his own door until his hatch was opened. As the metal hatch clanged open a police officer wearing a respirator appeared in his line of vision, and he was speaking to each inmate in turn. The vaulted ceiling in the cellblock corridor was thick with black smoke, and minute by minute, the smoke was becoming thicker.

“Take off your shirt and put it down the toilet, flush the chain to soak it, and then place it across the bottom of the door to stop the smoke coming in.” The hatch slammed closed with a clunking sound.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Alfie screamed. “Let me out of here you bastard!”

Alfie turned from the thick metal door and began to remove his jacket. Smoke was pouring under the door and drifting up to the ceiling where it was beginning to form a toxic cloud. He ripped the buttons from his shirt and wrestled it off before holding it in the stainless steel toilet bowl. The thought of shoving his two hundred pound Armani shirt into that stinking orifice sickened him, despite the fact that it might prolong his life. He pressed the flush and held the garment there until it was saturated. The smoke was thicker still as he laid his shirt across the opening at the bottom of the heavy cell door. The advancing pungent smoke was abated momentarily, but it soon found its way through the smallest niches between the shirt and the floor. Stopping it completely was impossible. Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes felt like hours as Alfie tried desperately to stop the lethal fumes from filling his cell. He sat on the cold stone floor and pushed his back against the metal. The turmoil beyond his cell was audible, and he could hear cell doors being opened and slammed closed. Voices approached the cellblock. Suddenly the cell door was unlocked. Alfie had to stand up for it to be opened and a uniformed officer entered wearing a respirator appeared in the doorway.

“Hands out, Lesner.” The officer showed him a pair of handcuffs.

“Are you serious?”

“If you want to get out of here, then you put these on. It’s your choice,” the officer coughed. The smoke outside of the cells was thick and black, and far worse than it had been inside. Alfie allowed himself to be handcuffed and then the officer guided him through the blinding smoke.

“Keep your eyes closed and your head down.” The officer’s instructions were muffled through the respirator, but Alfie’s eyes were already streaming. The fumes stung his eyeballs, and tears blurred his vision as he stumbled through the custody suite.

“Where are we going?” Alfie tried to communicate, which was a huge mistake. He swallowed a lungful of acrid burning smoke and a coughing fit made him collapse to his knees in agony.

“Keep moving,” another voice shouted from close by. A second pair of hands grabbed Alfie under the arms and he felt himself being lifted to his feet. He was carried forward through the choking fumes, and his feet were hardly touching the ground. His lungs were full of burning smoke and he thought he was going to suffocate as he breathed out and sucked in another lungful of poisonous gases. 

All of a sudden, fresh air hit his face and he breathed in as hard as he could. His oxygen-starved brain registered that he was outside of the main building. Alfie blinked his eyes and tried to clear his vision, but they were stinging badly and he had to close them again. He could hear men coughing and spluttering all around, and one man was vomiting repeatedly. The police officers were barking orders to each other as the burning police station was evacuated. One voice close by seemed to be more prominent than the rest.

“Get them into the bus, come on, move them!” The voice ordered. The order heralded a flurry of activity around him. He could hear men walking past him, and he could hear prisoners swearing and cursing. There seemed to be people everywhere that he couldn’t see. He tried to clear his vision once more and this time he could keep his eyes open. His surroundings were bleary but he could make out shapes and shadows. There appeared to be uniformed officers guiding people towards a white prison van, which they affectionately called a bus. Strong hands grabbed his arms and pulled him up to his feet.

“Move it, Lesner,” an officer shouted through his respirator. Alfie could hear the wail of fire tenders approaching. He got to his feet and immediately collapsed again. Chest-wrenching coughs rattled his body, and although he tried to respond, he could not. Alfie knew that more people died in fires from smoke inhalation than burns, but he didn’t really understand how disabling acrid fumes were until now. He could barely move.

“I said move it, Lesner!” The muffled voice ordered him again. This time, there were two sets of hands lifting him to his feet. He could feel tarmac beneath him, and realised that his shoes had come off when he’d been dragged out of the building. It confused him at first, but he realised that it was because they’d taken his laces from him when he’d been processed. The shoes had cost him four hundred pounds from a Versace boutique in Manchester, and losing them irked him. He scraped his shins painfully on the steps at the rear of the prison bus, and his feet pedalled in thin air, trying to gain a footing. There was a narrow passage through the centre of the bus, with tiny cells fitted on either side. The cells were only big enough for a man to sit on a seat just three inches wide. They were encased in thick clear Perspex that was perforated with air holes at head height so that the prisoners could breathe. Alfie was still struggling to gain his breath, and being pushed into the claustrophobic cell was a torment that he couldn’t bear, but he didn’t have the strength to fight. The door was slammed closed and within fifteen minutes the bus contained every prisoner that had been in the custody unit. Alfie regained his composure and slowed his breathing down as the rear doors were closed and the diesel engine started. He felt the bus moving forwards across the compound. There was a tiny window level with his eyes which was supposed to alleviate the feeling of claustrophobia, and he could see the compound gates being unlocked to allow the prison bus out, and to give the fire engines access to the rear of the burning police station. A firefighter was directing the prison bus towards the gates while a second was waving the tenders towards the burning building.

It hadn’t been a good night, upon reflection. Alfie leaned his head against the Perspex and tried to draw in as much cold fresh air as he could through the holes. It was like being inside a giant pet carrier. He looked around the bus and soaked up the scene. There were sixteen men in total, all shapes and sizes, and a mixture of ages and ethnic origins. The one thing that they all had in common was a look of complete exhaustion on their blackened faces. Most of them were gazing into the night, and the others were snoozing. Alfie looked out of the window and saw that they were heading out of Warrington town centre, and from the direction that they were taking it seemed that they were taking the expressway towards Risley.

“Hey, mate,” a gruff voice called him from across the aisle. Alfie looked towards the man and vaguely recognised his face.

“Alright?” Alfie said. His throat was sore from coughing, and his voice sounded three octaves lower than it had before.

“What you in for?” The man asked. His accent told Alfie that he was from Liverpool.

“Drugs, you?” Alfie lied.

“I thought I knew your face. You sell blow to the doormen at the State Ballroom, right?” The man laughed.

“I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else,” Alfie joked. “You never know who’s listening, and the company in here isn’t great is it?” He nodded to the other inmates.

“Yes, I know what you mean,” He laughed. “What do you think happened back at the station?”

“Fuck knows, sounded like a bomb to me,” Alfie guessed.

“I’m not sure, but I’d rather be having a kip in my cell than crammed into this box.” The man shook his head.

“Can’t say I miss my cell to be honest,” Alfie sneered. His nostrils were full of fumes but he could still smell urine; it seemed to linger on him.

“Hey, did you hear about the nonce they brought in?” The man lowered his voice so that the other prisoners couldn’t hear what he was about to say. “One of the screws told me that the bloke that kidnapped the twins from the Lake District, you know the ones that have been all over the telly, well, he told me he was in the nick with us.”

“Really?” Alfie tried to sound surprised. It was obvious that he was going to be tarred with the same brush as Jack Howarth. The cons and screws would think that he was a nonce, a pervert, a ‘child taker’.

“Straight up, that’s what he told me. I’d like five minutes alone with the bastard, wouldn’t you?”

“Too right, I would,” Alfie tried to sound convincing. He leaned back and closed his eyes. Images of being locked up in jail, surrounded by hundreds of convicts that wanted to kill him, and being protected by prison officers that wanted to kill him too floated past. There would be nowhere to hide once he reached prison.

The bus turned a corner and Alfie could see a cricket ground through the window. The road was unlit and lined with trees on both sides. He was familiar with the tree-lined dual carriageway, as he’d driven along it many times before. It was the road to Risley, no doubt about it. There was a remand centre there, which would be ideally situated to accept a busload of refugee prisoners. The bus slowed as it approached a roundabout, and then the driver had to slam on the brakes as a small saloon car pulled out of the junction. The brakes squealed and the bus fishtailed and threatened to turn over. Alfie was flung forward and cracked his head against the Perspex. There was a chorus of profanity hurled from the prisoners in their tiny cells as they were tossed about like ice cubes in a cocktail shaker. Alfie touched his face and felt a lump rising on his forehead immediately.

“For fuck’s sake, can today get any worse!” He moaned as he glanced out of the window again. His mouth opened in shock as he saw a huge yellow JCB digger hurtling out of the trees. It was headed towards the stationary prison bus at full pelt. Alfie closed his eyes and waited for the impact.

Chapter Twenty-eight

The Major was standing in the kitchen at his daughter’s house. It was the only room where he could think clearly. The house seemed cavernous and empty without the twins in it; their two tiny forms had left a huge void behind them which simply couldn’t be filled. He could hear their laughter echoing around his mind, and everywhere he looked there was something which reminded him that his grandchildren were missing and in terrible danger. The bedrooms upstairs smelled of the twins, stuffed toys lurked in every corner, discarded dolls and cars acting as both memories and trip hazards. Hayley wouldn’t allow anyone to pick them up: she wanted everything left as it was the day they had left for the Lake District. The strain was taking its toll on her, and the pressure on the marriage had been too much for her to cope with. The front of the house was still besieged by paparazzi, and so the curtains were closed against the prying camera lenses. The kitchen was the only safe haven.

Hayley appeared in the doorway, and the Major could tell that his beautiful daughter, the apple of his eye, his sunshine and his rain, was deteriorating fast before his eyes. Once a keen hockey player and athlete with attractive muscular curves, she now looked more like an anorexic teenager. He’d managed to get her to eat some fruit and hot soup, but the trauma was sapping the life from her. Her face was gaunt, her cheeks were hollowed and dark circles were entrenched beneath her eyes. Prior to the abduction, Hayley was always smiling but now the corners of her mouth seemed to be pointing down permanently. She was carrying a bundle of dirty laundry, and she tried to smile as she entered the kitchen, but she couldn’t hide the pain that was in her eyes.

“Why don’t you have a rest, Hayley? You look exhausted.” The Major stepped forward and took the washing from her.

“I’m fine, Dad, please don’t fuss,” Hayley frowned, and opened the washing machine door. There was a load already in which was ready to be dried and she began pulling at it frantically. “I’m better off if I keep myself busy.”

“Have you heard from Karl?” The Major made a clumsy attempt at changing the subject.

“Yes, he called this morning.” She stuffed the clean load of washing into the tumble dryer as she spoke.

“Where is he staying?”

“At his brother’s house in Chester.” She slammed the dryer door closed with much more force than was required.

“What, with that woman? Isn’t that a little bizarre, bearing in mind the reason why you told him to leave?”

“What, more bizarre than screwing your brother’s wife, you mean?” She slammed the detergent drawer closed angrily.

“You know what I mean, Hayley.” The Major was embarrassed by his daughter’s turn of phrase, but he couldn’t really blame her for being angry. Her children had been kidnapped by a seasoned paedophile, and her husband had left the family home and moved in with the woman he was accused of having an affair with. “What on earth is going through the man’s mind?”

“You tell me.”

“What has Steve had to say about it?”

“His brother thinks that the whole thing is a figment of my imagination, and that I’m cracking up,” she laughed bitterly.

“Is there a chance that you’re mistaken?” The Major asked calmly.

“Not you as well. The bastard is fucking his brother’s wife!” Hayley shouted.

“I believe you, but I don’t need to hear that language from my daughter,” he scolded her gently.

“I’m sorry, Dad, but I’m finding it hard to cope.” She stopped and tears flooded down her cheeks. The Major put the washing onto the kitchen top and held her tightly. “I want my babies back, Dad.”

“The police know where they are now, it’s only a matter of time until they find the vehicle that they’re in,” he spoke softly in her ear as he rocked her gently. His mobile phone buzzed in his pocket, and Hayley wiped her eyes and stood back from him.

“Answer it, Dad, it could be news,” she sniffled.

“Major Timms,” he answered the call. The number on the screen was withheld, which meant that it could be any of his team, or someone using the task force network.

“Can you talk?”

“Yes,” the Major recognised the brash tone as the Minister of Defence. He was the only member of the cabinet that knew roughly what the task force was doing at any particular point in time, and then he was only told the bare minimum. As long as the objectives were achieved and enemies of the state were neutralised then the politicians wanted to be spared the details. He shook his head at Hayley to let her know that the call wasn’t related to any progress in the investigation. 

“One of your operatives is ruffling feathers, Major,” the Minister said abruptly.

“I see, can you be a little more precise?”

“The Chief Constable of Cheshire police is raising merry hell that one of our counter-terrorist personnel is interfering in his investigation into the kidnapping of the Kelly twins.”

“Ah, I see, Minister.”

“Why would one of your agents be interested in that case, Major?”

“It would appear that the people responsible for the kidnap are also involved in the movement of sophisticated weaponry and munitions to some of our more extremist friends,” the Major twisted the truth slightly.

“Really?”

“Yes, Minister, a Moroccan outfit working out of Marrakesh.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“We don’t want to interfere with the safe return of the children, Minister, but we want to follow up on the Moroccans’ business interests, and stop them operating within our shores.”

“Good show, Major, carry on,” the Minister ended the call as abruptly as he’d begun. The kitchen was long and fitted with upper and lower dark oak units. The Major walked to the coffee cupboard and opened the door, switching on the kettle with his spare hand.

“What was that about?” Hayley asked.

“John is making waves and irritating people,” the Major smiled as he removed a jar of Nescafé.

“I bet that they don’t complain to his face, do they?” She tried a smile again.

“Not very often,” the Major smiled too. He grabbed two cups and held them up. “You want one?”

“Does he know where the twins are?” She folded her arms across her chest, holding herself for reassurance. She looked like she had as a young girl when her tortoise had died. The Major had told her that it had gone back to the jungle to visit its family, but she’d seen through the lie. Naturally, the Major wanted to protect his daughter from the pain, as any father would. 

“No, Hayley, but I think that we can be assured that he’s trying his hardest to find out.” He looked at his mobile again thoughtfully. He opened the back door and stepped out into the night. “I’m going to call him, I’ll be two minutes.” The Major stabbed the speed dial number that would link him to John Tankersley, but the line was completely dead.