Deadly Lies Page 9

  I take the turn into the park and drive to the remotest spot it can offer. I’ll wait here until it’s nightfall.

  Several hours later and I’m getting impatient. I’ve tossed a packet of biscuits into the back which shut up the whimpering. Those kids are getting on my nerves. I can’t wait to lock them up and forget them. No more snivelling, no more piss stops.

  I’m painfully aware how all it would take is for one of the kids to start screaming or bang on the side of the van and the game would be up. I’m betting they wouldn’t dare because I’ve scared them stupid. Though as time passes my nerves are fraying. After the biscuits, I taped their mouths as a precaution and I’ve bound their hands. The only thing they could do is bang and I don’t think they’ve got it in them. Thing is, I don’t trust that older one. What if she tried something? What if an innocent member of the public later remembered something odd which allowed the police to pick up my trail? I can’t risk being noticed.

  Every couple of hours I move parking place. In that way I manage to hold out until dusk, then I can’t stand it any longer. I have to get them inside the house.

  I picked out the property ages ago. You see, I’ve been planning this for years. First in my head and then in reality. The money makes all the difference. Without the previous pay-off, I’d never have been able to afford the rent for such a nice property. The thing is, the few thousand pounds I got isn’t enough. It was paltry given the length of sentence handed to me and I deserve much more for what I’ve suffered. And I’m going to make damn sure I get it.

  It’s a two-storey, mid-terrace house on a Brighton street in an area an estate agent would call a desirable neighbourhood.

  The neighbour on one side is an elderly man and on the other there’s a woman who leaves early and comes back late. I don’t assess either of them as being vigilant.

  On the opposite side of the street there’s one neighbour who’s a different story. She’s got a disabled parking bay out front. When I first rented the house I put my van in it and she went berserk. She had the nerve to come and bang on my door. She shouted at me, her hair purple and standing on end in spikes. Bloody hell, who does she think she is? I had to stop from punching her in the face. Keep it together, I told myself, think of the end game. People like her should be shot.

  I need to park right outside my place to pull it off. I’ve got a big canvas holdall I’m going to use to transport the brats. Clambering over the front seats, I grab the biggest kid and tell her to climb inside the bag.

  ‘If you don’t, I’ll cut your sister.’

  When she hesitates, I wave the knife in her sister’s face. Bingo. She steps into the holdall and scrunches down small. As I zip it closed, I catch sight of her mutinous look. Didn’t I tell you she was trouble?

  She doesn’t weigh much. I heft the holdall inside the house and dump it with my accomplice. Then I go back for the smaller kid, and not long after we’ve got both handcuffed to a metal bunk bed in the second-floor bedroom. Both of them got a visit to the toilet, which I wouldn’t have bothered with but my accomplice dealt with it, and now the bedroom door is locked.

  I strut downstairs and chuck the rag I used on the kid into the bin. Time for a drink.

  ‘Do you want one?’ I ask my accomplice.

  She goes to the bin and picks out the rag, holding it with her thumb and forefinger so it dangles. Blood has streaked it red against whatever the fuck colour it was in the first place. ’What’s this?’

  ‘I had to nick the kid’s arm. Nothing serious. I wiped it. I didn’t want it making a mess.’

  ‘This cloth is filthy. She could get an infection.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid and so what if she does?’

  She doesn’t dare answer me back. Instead she drops the rag in the bin and comes to sit on the sofa, curling up like a kitten. That’s what I like – compliance. I pour myself a generous slug of vodka and a smaller one for her.

  ‘To success,’ I say, and we clink glasses.

  16

  Maria found it hard to believe he’d done it. He’d succeeded in nabbing the children and he’d got away with it. Part of her had been hoping he would fail.

  When Maria first heard his plan several months earlier, she’d thought him mad. He believed he was a genius and Maria thought he was eighty per cent crazy and twenty per cent deluded.

  She watched as he poured a celebration vodka for them both. Chink. Bashing his glass against hers, he downed his in one.

  They both knew what was coming next. Maria tried not to rub her palms together because he hated that habit. He poured himself another drink. Taking a small packet out of his pocket, he dipped in his finger and rubbed the white powder around his gums. He knew she was watching, waiting for her turn. It was part of his game. Finally he grinned and patted the cushion next to him.

  ‘Here you go, babe. Come and get your reward.’

  Maria skittered over. She kept the nail on her pinkie finger long, buffing and filing it carefully every day. Specially for this purpose. She dipped it in and took a scoop of powder. Then she snorted.

  Her nervous system buzzed with it, filling her with confidence and power. Using the powder made her feel anything was possible. It showed her how her life should be. Free from misery. Free from restrictions. Closing her eyes, Maria rested her head back as stresses and failures and time itself passed her by.

  As it wore off, her throat felt numb. She was used to the after-effects. Cocaine was supposed to make you paranoid and maybe it was true because now he was writing out his list of rules again, his pencil scratching furiously across the page. The room stunk of booze and sweat and stale food because he refused to open any windows.

  ‘I need to make sure we don’t forget anything,’ he said. ‘I want you to memorise my instructions.’

  Her chemical boost was fading fast and she tried to grab it back except it evaporated like early morning mist. Maria gave a nervous nod and shuffled to the edge of the sofa to read over his shoulder. She scanned a few lines – wearing a mask was obligatory for entering the children’s room, trips out must be minimised, the lights had to go on at this time and then off at this time as if a normal person was living in the house and the list went on. He’d got his eye on the details, in fact, he was obsessed by them.

  She hadn’t told him how she was relieved about the masks to cover their faces. They had to wear them whenever they had contact with the children and she hoped it meant he intended to let the children go at the end. After all, he was making an effort to make sure Emily and Lisa wouldn’t recognise their captors.

  ‘Don’t give them anything to eat tonight,’ he said.

  ‘Whatever you want.’

  Maria tried a small smile and she felt relieved when he responded. He was the boss, as he liked to remind her. She had to do what he said including being the passport to the Glover family.

  After he had filled one sheet of paper and polished off another glass of vodka, his chemical high had worn off and his mood plummeted. It was always like this – one minute he was acting like he’d won the jackpot and the next he was obsessive-compulsive about all the shit which could go wrong.

  ‘Let’s go through the plan again,’ he said.

  This was the millionth time they had done the recap and her skin started itching but she plastered a pleased expression on her face. It was best not to antagonise him. Clearing the table, Maria forced down a sigh. Not acting obedient would make it worse for her. The best thing was to play along.

  He plodded through it – how the police would be monitoring phone calls and texts and how they needed a way to contact the family which the police wouldn’t know about. Would Jack co-operate? It was the big unknown. She believed he would and the plan hinged on it. After all, Jack was the one with everything to lose.

  By the time he’d gone through it twice she knew she wouldn’t be able to stand it for much longer. Then he fell asleep on the sofa with his mouth hanging open. Thank God.

  Maria busied hers
elf sorting out the mess of pizza boxes and glasses because one moment he didn’t care and the next he demanded the place be tidy. Dancing around his moods was exhausting. It was tempting to go upstairs because she would have liked to whisper to the children through the little gap under the door to tell them not to be frightened. Maybe she could even open the door? The key was in his pocket and she might be able to get it without waking him.

  He was snoring and she leaned over him, undecided, scratching at her palms. With all her willpower she tried to make herself reach out and hook a finger into his pocket only she couldn’t make herself do it. It was too risky. For one thing, he’d got a temper and for another, she was terrified of losing her supply of powder. Dependency did that to you. He was the one with the money and the drugs which meant he’d got a hold over her.

  She stuffed the rubbish into the bin. If they pulled this thing off he promised her freedom and enough cash to call her own shots. Maria shuffled to the double bed crammed into the room next door. She scrunched the duvet to her chest and rocked herself to calm the jitters. Closing her eyes, she dreamed of a better life.

  Emily was cradling Lisa’s head in her lap. The room was dark with a crack of light coming under the door. Lisa was afraid of the man in the mask, and the dark, which meant Emily’s little sister had cried herself to sleep. They were hungry and all they had was a bottle of water. Emily had been terrified the man would hear Lisa crying and come. He didn’t like crying. It made him shout. It made him angry. Lisa must have understood too because she’d tried her best to keep it muffled.

  A chain tied them to the bunk bed and the metal cuff around Emily’s wrist was making a red mark although it wasn’t as bad as the mark on her other arm. The man had cut her with the knife he’d stabbed teddy with. He’d done it when she’d tried to pull away from him at Granddad’s house.

  Emily wished now she’d screamed for help only she’d been too scared. Her voice had shut down. She’d obeyed him when he told her not to make any noise or otherwise he’d hurt Lisa. Why had she done that? Had she been silly? How she wished she’d screamed and screamed and then Grandma and Granddad would have come sooner.

  Dropping Lisa’s hair band out of the car window had been a big risk. Emily had done it when the car slowed down and the man seemed distracted. She hoped Mummy and Daddy would find it.

  The room was bare except the bed, the water bottle and a bucket. She and Lisa realised around the same time what the bucket was for and they hadn’t wanted to talk about it. When Lisa used it, Emily had tried to turn away.

  What Emily liked was the window. It was high up and too high for her to get to because of the chain, but she could see the sky. It was getting all twinkly with stars. She knew it was the same stars she saw from home because she could make out the shape of one she recognised – Orion it was called. She’d learned it from her stars book.

  The idea of home made her feel wobbly. No, she told herself, you must be strong for Lisa. Mummy and Daddy would find them. Mummy would come. They just had to be brave and wait.

  Emily pushed up her sleeve. Although it had stopped bleeding, the cut hurt and her forearm was puffier than the other one. She mustn’t cry and when Lisa woke up Lisa mustn’t see it or the sight of it would scare her even more.

  17

  When forensics contacted Grant to say the blood belonged to Emily, Grant felt sick. He was glad he’d not had time to eat.

  He spent the night at his desk scanning the information coming in – financial and phone records and background information. He could not afford to make mistakes. He read every docket and scanned every entry so far on the HOLMES2 database.

  Grant interviewed the three men on Jack’s list and all of them told him the same story – Hardman Construction was a competitor, and Jack Glover led the company in a different way than his father-in-law, Ronnie Hardman. Jack’s adversaries didn’t like the way Jack conducted himself. Yet all three expressed their condolences at Ronnie’s passing away and their disbelief and horror over the abduction of Emily and Lisa.

  Why had Jack put these men forward? With sound reputations, decent incomes and stable families, none of them were candidates to organise the kidnapping of two small children. What was Jack Glover playing at? Was he deliberately sending Grant down a blind alley?

  Grant took a catnap at his desk midway through the night. It left him with a sore neck. At five o’clock in the morning, he took a fresh shirt from his emergency stock. As he buttoned it, he grimly noted the time. They had passed the twenty-four-hour marker.

  True to form, Delaney arrived early and Grant was ready and waiting.

  ‘I want you to sit in on the interviews with Philip and Harry Hardman,’ Grant said. ‘I’ve asked them to be here for six.’ Grant rolled his neck.

  ‘Okay, boss.’

  Delaney sounded nervous. It reminded Grant how anxious he’d been, back in the day, when his senior officer asked him to step up during high profile cases. It was the best way to learn. He patted Delaney on the shoulder.

  ‘Don’t stress. You know the drill and you know the case and the family. If something comes to mind, ask it. We’ll start with Philip.’

  Philip Hardman and his son, Harry, arrived soon after. Grant cautioned them and explained he was conducting informal interviews.

  ‘We’re not under arrest then?’ Philip Hardman said, smiling broadly at his own joke.

  ‘Dad, stop messing around. Not with little Emily and Lisa missing,’ Harry said.

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind waiting here, sir,’ Grant said to Harry. ‘We’ll speak to you after your father.’

  Philip Hardman resembled Ronnie, though he was a slighter build. His jacket was faded at the elbows and his shoes were scuffed. Ronnie’s brother was clearly used to being the guy who got a laugh, only Grant was far from being in the mood for funny.

  ‘As I said, this is an informal interview. I want to speak about the abduction of your nieces.’

  ‘A terrible thing. And with Ronnie passing away too.’ Philip shook his head. ‘I’m sure you know there was no love lost between me and my big brother except the rancour was on his side not mine. It’s dreadful, simply dreadful. How can I help?’

  ‘I’d like to know about the fallout between you and Ronnie.’

  ‘It’s water under the bridge,’ Philip said. ‘I phoned Alice yesterday to say how sorry we were. She was in a terrible state. Has there been any news?’

  ‘If you could answer my question please.’

  ‘Er, yes, of course. It was only a bit of friction between brothers. It was stupid how we let things get bad between us though I suppose you must be used to families acting like idiots, eh, Inspector?’

  As Philip Hardman gave a false laugh, Grant could feel his patience wearing thin. Nothing of substance had come through from the Child Rescue Alert and if Philip Hardman couldn’t answer straight questions Grant would be damned if he could be bothered to hold his temper. Grant poked a finger down his own collar, loosened it a notch, and fixed cold grey eyes onto Philip.

  Philip Hardman got the message.

  ‘Anyway to cut a long story short, I had my own business and I got into serious debt. Ronnie was doing great at that time and Hardman Construction was going strong. He lent me money with zero interest and the lot. Unfortunately, my business went down the pan and Ronnie’s money went with it. He was furious.’

  ‘You fell out over it?’

  ‘You’ve got to understand my brother. By then Ronnie was a successful man and he was livid I’d failed and he was angry I’d dragged him into it. He couldn’t understand how I’d, in his words, made such a balls-up. I was bankrupt so there was no way I could pay him back and he couldn’t forgive me. It was more a pride thing.’

  Delaney cleared his throat. ‘Joan Hardman told me you weren’t on speaking terms after that.’

  ‘I know it sounds ridiculous. We never mended the gap between us. Of course, now I regret it.’

  A fallout between brothers over money
, was that all there was to it? Grant stared at Phil Hardman.

  ‘Ronnie and I weren’t speaking though I always kept in touch with Alice,’ Philip said. ‘She was born a year before Harry. I doubt anyone’s told you how Ronnie wasn’t exactly a model father. He spent more time at Hardman Construction than he did with his wife and child. When Alice was born it was me who brought Joan home from the hospital with the baby because Ronnie had a meeting he didn’t want to cancel, so don’t think it was all one sided with me asking and Ronnie giving. I stayed close to Alice when she was growing up – used to take her to the playground with Harry and to the cinema and spend time with her and things like that, which Ronnie never did. He barely knew his own daughter. Of course, my link with Alice faded a bit once she got older but I’ve always had a soft spot for my niece.’

  ‘And Alice’s children, do you know anything which could help us find them?’

  ‘I wish I did. I really wish I did.’

  After a glance at Delaney, Grant slammed his notebook closed. Shortly afterwards, he slammed the door of the interview room behind them. He felt a heavy bad mood descending on him.

  ‘Pressure from all sides and the case isn’t cracking yet,’ Grant said.

  Grant was plugged into the station gossip tree and he knew Treadgold was visiting Fox regularly. He could feel the man creeping up behind him, waiting for Grant to make a mistake. It was as if he hoped the outcome of the case would be a disaster. That Emily and Lisa would turn up dead and then he’d be able to blame Grant and hang him out to dry. The sick bastard.

  ‘Everything all right, sir?’