The Deadly Game (17 page)

They untied Jake from the chair, and then tied his wrists together and took him outside, where they dumped him in the back seat of the car. Shorty got behind the wheel, and the Boxer slid into the passenger seat. He showed Jake the gun.

‘Try any funny business and you’ll get a bullet,’ he said. ‘And it won’t be in the leg.’

‘Yes.’ Shorty nodded. ‘For whatever reason, our boss seems to think you might be telling the truth. Which means you’re no use to him any more. So you’re for the chop.’

The way that Shorty said the words in such a casual way made Jake go cold as ice. They’re going to kill me! They’re going to take me somewhere and kill me! But, why not do it here?

Shorty started the car engine and turned to look back at Jake.

‘Just in case you get any fancy thoughts about jumping out, the back doors are fitted with child-proof locks. All very safe.’

They’re hoping I’ll talk, thought Jake. That’s why they’re not killing me straight away. They’re going to drive around and hope I’ll crack and tell them where the book is. I’ve still got a chance.

But Shorty’s next words, as the car moved off along an alleyway to join the main stream of traffic, crushed that hope.

‘In case you think this is just to frighten you into telling us where the book is, you can forget it,’ said Shorty. ‘Our boss believes you. Personally, I don’t. But then, that’s just me. So he says we’re to get rid of you.

‘Now, I expect you’re wondering why we didn’t just kill you back in the garage? Well, the fact is, a dead body has to be disposed of, and that ain’t as simple as people think, especially in a crowded city like London. So we’ve got an arrangement with a friend of ours out in the country who’s got a pig farm. Pigs are great, they’ll eat anything.’

‘Especially if it’s shredded up into small bits,’ added the Boxer.

‘And luckily our friend has got a really big industrial shredder at his farm,’ said Shorty.

‘It shreds Christmas trees.’ He grinned. ‘Guess what it can do to you.’

They are going to kill me, Jake realised. This wasn’t just a bluff. He also realised that even if he had told them where the book was, they would have killed him, anyway. He’d seen their faces, he could identify them.

The car had left the city now and was out in the suburbs, heading towards woodland and open fields. The garage must have been right at the very east end of London, close to Essex.

There has to be a way to stop this happening, thought Jake. I’m going to die, anyway, if I don’t try something. He looked at the road ahead, at the vehicles hurtling towards them on the other side of the road, then past them. No barriers, just fast traffic in two directions. No crash barriers at the sides of the road either, just countryside: woodlands on this side of the road.

Jake fought to keep down the feeling of panic rising in him. Attack them. That’s the only way. Make the car crash. They might kill me as I try, but at least I’ll have a chance. And, if I get killed in the car crash, I’ll take them with me.

He tensed himself, took a deep breath, and suddenly he jerked forward, his tied hands raised up, and then dropped them down over Shorty’s head. He pulled back hard, the rope biting across the front of Shorty’s throat. Taken by surprise, Shorty let go of the steering wheel and reached up to his neck, his hands clawing at the rope as Jake pulled back even harder, choking him.

The Boxer turned, a horrified look on his face, but he was too late.

The whole action had taken barely a second, but already the car was out of control, veering to the left, straight for the trees at the side of the road.

SMASH!!

The car hit a tree head-on, and as it did so the air bags at the front exploded, smothering the two men in the front seats.

Jake ripped his tied hands upwards, tearing them across Shorty’s face.

The impact of the collision had sprung all the car doors open, and Jake scrambled out. He saw that the Boxer’s gun had fallen from his hand and was lying on the ground near the open door. The Boxer was struggling with the air bag, trying to get clear of it.

Jake scooped up the gun and put it against the Boxer’s knee. He didn’t allow himself to think, he just pulled the trigger. The Boxer screamed as the bullet tore into his leg, shattering his knee.

Jake pointed the gun across the Boxer in the direction of Shorty. Shorty didn’t move, but Jake heard him groaning. He was still alive.

I can’t take the chance of him chasing me, thought Jake. If he gets out of this, he’ll kill me. His finger began to tighten on the trigger, but then he stopped. This will be murder, he thought. I can’t do it.

Instead, Jake thrust his hands into the Boxer’s jacket pocket and pulled out the man’s mobile phone. He was aware of cars pulling to a halt on the road, as other drivers stopped to offer assistance.

Jake ran, heading into the wooded area, pushing the gun and the phone into his pockets as he ran. He didn’t know how deep the wood was. All he knew was that it would give him cover.

Chapter 25

Jake ran through the woods, ducking under low-hanging branches, sharp brambles tearing at his clothes, until he reached a place where there was a rough track and the foliage and undergrowth was clearer. Running was made even more difficult with his hands tied together.

He dropped to the ground, dragging himself into the cover afforded by bushes growing around the base of a large old tree. His heart was beating so fast he thought it would burst. I’ve got to get these ropes off, he told himself. He set to work with his teeth, pulling at the knots, and finally he had separated the rope that tied him enough to wriggle his wrists free.

The gun felt heavy in his pocket. I have to get rid of it, he thought. It’s evidence against me. But if he dumped it here, it would certainly be found once the police started searching these woods. Because that was one thing for sure: the police would search this area once they realised one of the men in the crashed car had been shot. He couldn’t stay here for long.

He pushed himself up from the dry earth and stood, listening. He could hear voices coming from the direction he’d run from. Was it the police already? He broke into a sprint, putting as much distance between him and the scene of the crash as he could. How big was this wood? Where was it? He guessed they had left London from the north-west, and if that was the case that would mean they were somewhere in Essex. Was this Epping Forest? If so, it went on for miles and miles, and he could easily get lost, and be picked up by the police when they began searching.

He heard traffic noises ahead of him, and he stopped. Cautiously, he moved forward, scanning the area ahead of him through the trees. He could see the fronts of houses, and hear the sounds of a road. He kept moving, and saw that he was coming towards what seemed to be a housing estate: neat semi-detached houses and bungalows on the other side of a quiet road bordering the wood.

He crossed the road to the pavement on the other side, and then began walking blind, hoping that he was heading in the right direction and not into a dead-end. There didn’t seem to be any people around. Jake guessed this was commuter land, with most people out at work. He wondered whether to go up and knock on a door and ask where he was, but realised that such an action would only arouse suspicion; and whoever he asked would surely be on the phone to the police as soon as they shut the door on him.

He came to a road sign, telling him that he was walking along Elm Way; then another at a turning saying that this one was called Oak Avenue. The next street was Willow Path. Obviously part of the original woods had been bought up by a developer and turned into this housing estate.

Suddenly, as if it was a mirage, he saw a black London cab standing outside one of the houses. Someone was just paying off the driver. Jake saw the cab indicating to move off, and he ran out into the road, waving an arm to call the taxi to a halt. The cab driver looked at Jake and grinned.

‘Well, this must be my lucky day,’ he said. ‘There was I thinking I’d have to drive back empty from the middle of nowhere.’

‘Where are we?’ asked Jake.

The driver looked at Jake suspiciously.

‘You don’t know where you are?’ He peered closer at Jake, and the expression of suspicion on his face deepened as he took in the bruises on Jake’s face, and his crumpled and stained clothes.

‘I came here in my mate’s car,’ lied Jake. ‘He brought me here, and now he’s gone off, leaving me stranded.’

‘Why?’ asked the driver, still suspicious.

Jake sighed.

‘We had a row,’ he said. He gave a rueful smile. ‘Long story.’

The driver looked at Jake thoughtfully, then asked: ‘Is that why you look in such a state?’

Jake nodded.

‘’Fraid so,’ he said.

The driver shook his head.

‘It’s none of my business, but I’d be careful who your mates are,’ he said. ‘Anyway, you’re in Chigwell.’

Chigwell, thought Jake. Essex. On the outskirts of north-east London.

‘OK,’ said Jake. Quickly, he considered his options. He could get an underground train from Chigwell, but it could take time. He could ask the taxi to take him back into central London, but the streets would be gridlocked with traffic, even in the bus and taxi lanes; they always were. He’d be going nowhere. And then it suddenly hit him where he wanted to go. A place he hadn’t been for a long time. Too long.

‘D’you know the River Lea at Lea Bridge Road?’ he asked.

The driver looked almost offended.

‘I ought to, I was born near there,’ he said. ‘Right by Hackney Marshes. I played football on the marshes every Sunday.’

‘That’s where I want to go,’ said Jake.

As the driver looked again at Jake’s battered and crumpled state, his suspicious expression returned. ‘You got money to pay for it?’ he asked warily.

‘Yes,’ said Jake, and he took out his wallet and showed the driver the notes inside. The driver grinned.

‘Jump in,’ he said.

The taxi made its way through the maze that was the estate, and finally joined the main road back towards London. As they headed down the wide road, they saw police cars and an ambulance by the side of the road on the other side. The crashed car was still there, half off the road, its front buried among bushes and trees.

‘Hello, an accident!’ said the cab driver.

‘Yes,’ said Jake.

The driver shook his head.

‘Too many mad people on the road,’ he said. ‘Give someone a driving licence and it’s like giving them a gun. Half of them don’t know how to drive a car properly, or think they know everything. And show them a bit of open road and they think they’re at Brands Hatch!’ He shook his head. ‘Speeding, I bet! Then they lose control.’ He sighed. ‘People like that shouldn’t be allowed behind a wheel!’

Chapter 26

Jake sat on a tree stump on the towpath by the side of the River Lea looking at the houseboats moored along the bank. He remembered when he used to come here as a boy on Sunday mornings with John Danvers, while Mary Danvers prepared the Sunday roast. Just like the sort of family you saw on TV or read about in magazines. Jake had never known a family like that before. All the families he had encountered as a child were dysfunctional; the foster parents he was sent to live with, the families of the other kids at the different schools he went to. When he’d first gone to live with the Danvers, he was suspicious of them. No one could be that nice, not in his experience. But they were.

John Danvers was a car mechanic. Mary Danvers was a teaching assistant at a primary school. They lived in a neat two-bedroomed terraced house in Leyton. Jake was eleven years old when he went to live with them, and he spent the first three months just watching and waiting for some sort of nastiness to show beneath the surface. But there had been no nastiness; and Jake realised that with John and Mary Danvers it was a case of ‘what you see is what you get’. They were a kind, loving couple who wanted to give a home to a child to make their family complete.

Jake remembered how he and John had walked along this towpath, pointing out the differences between the houseboats. ‘Me and Mary often thought of living on a boat,’ John told him. ‘It’s so quiet and peaceful here, on the water. Away from the noise and dirt of the streets and the roads.’

And it was still, Jake reflected.

He’d come here because he needed this time to sit and recover himself; and this was his special place. His sanctuary.

Not that he’d thought of it that way before. When Mary had discovered that she had cancer, everything had been thrown into turmoil. By then, Jake had been living with them for just over a year. Three months after Mary was diagnosed, she was dead.

Her death had destroyed John. Jake had done his best to help him, insisting that they went for their regular walk along this towpath, looking at the boats, and listening to John talking about Mary.

And then John had fallen ill, and also been diagnosed with cancer.

The childcare authorities had moved in, and before Jake had time to realise what was happening, John was in hospital, and Jake was back in the children’s home.

Jake asked to go and visit John in hospital, but the authorities decided it wouldn’t be right for Jake to visit John in his condition; that it would be too distressing for him. So Jake had run away and tried to get into the hospital to see John, but he’d been caught and returned to the children’s home.