‘So why was John Abbott the wrong officer?’
Horne let out a long breath. ‘We needed the right sort of person, someone who could project that vulnerability that would make Henry see him as a victim, as a follower, not a threat. We found the officer, and he projected vulnerability perfectly, except for the wrong reason; he
was
vulnerable.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We didn’t know it, but during his previous undercover posting his wife changed the locks, said that she’d had enough. John was doing test purchases, living the life of some junkie on an estate, wired up with button cameras. He went home one day and there was another man in there. So he had no home anymore, and the only life he had was his undercover post. That’s why we think he volunteered for this one, because it gave him a different life again, where he didn’t have to think about the man fucking his wife every night, or making breakfast for his kids. It was a refuge, not an assignment.’
‘So what happened when he got invited into Henry’s gang?’ Sheldon said.
‘He went native, we think, pretty much straight away. He was supposed to seek us out three times a week to fill us in. It seemed a pretty loose set-up at Henry’s farm, and so we didn’t think it would be a problem for him to get away, but he didn’t even turn up for the first meet. One minute he was here, in this house, waiting to be invited into Henry’s circle, and then he was gone.’
Sheldon thought about that. He knew it made some sense. Undercover officers lived lives of deprivation, but it was exciting too, being at the heart of it all, like some kind of adventure story, except that it took a toll on those you were close to. And it was too easy to be sucked into the scene you infiltrate, because you end up making friends, build up new loyalties, create some kind of fake world that you start to like. What happens if you fall in love with someone when undercover? It has happened, and not everyone realises the risks and pulls out.
‘So why are you here now?’ Sheldon said.
Horne grimaced. ‘This is the part where it gets difficult.’
Sheldon tilted his head. ‘I’m listening.’
Charlie and Ted headed towards Jackson Heights, an area of fields and valleys a few miles from Oulton. The route took them on a steep drive, towards the dark shadows of the hills, brooding shoulders that blotted out the stars, just the occasional dim light from hillside farmhouses and barn conversions. They lost the streetlights as they climbed out of Oulton, and then turned onto a road that narrowed and rose and curved, the way ahead never visible for more than fifty yards, the car echoing between drystone walls.
Charlie was quiet, just trying to get his thoughts in the right order, but they only ever went back to Donia. He remembered how she had looked at him, part-disappointment, part-wonder. He was the father she’d never known, and all he had been was drunk, complaining, throwing up outside the court.
He had to find her, had to make it right. Perhaps it was for selfish reasons; if he could rescue Donia, then maybe he could make his own life better. The reason didn’t matter, provided that he found her.
Ted spoke up.
‘I thought you were a bit harsh in there,’ he said. When Charlie glanced over, he added, ‘That thing you said about dirty conscience.’
‘They knew about Alice but didn’t say anything.’
‘And perhaps they have lost their daughter too.’
Charlie gripped the wheel a bit tighter but didn’t respond. There were too many thoughts swirling around in his head to give a proper answer.
They drove in silence for a bit longer, until Ted said, ‘What do we do when we get there?’
‘We see what’s going on.’
‘Shouldn’t we call the police when we find them?’
‘Yes, we should, but I’m not going to wait around for them. At least we can relay what’s happening.’
‘Pull over,’ Ted said.
Charlie looked at him. ‘Why?’
‘You are breaking all the rules and taking gambles. It doesn’t seem right. You’re a lawyer. You fight with paper and words, not this.’
Charlie took a deep breath and put his head back. He thought of all he’d found out that day, and of how things would never be the same again. Because of Billy Privett. Because of Donia.
He saw a space ahead, next to an old wooden gate, and pulled in. He sat there for a few seconds, just staring out of the windscreen, and then turned to look at Ted.
‘The work experience girl, Donia,’ Charlie said. He closed his eyes for a moment as he thought about how his life had somersaulted during the last hour. ‘She’s my daughter.’
Ted’s eyes widened, and then he frowned. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’
‘Because I’ve only known since I called her mother.’
‘What, the phone call at my house?’
Charlie nodded. ‘I thought she was involved with them, because she got me to where she was staying, and then the group turned up. I wouldn’t have run if I’d known the truth.’ He realised that his voice sounded desperate, but he didn’t know how to deal with what he had just found out. ‘Donia had sought me out to get to know me, but she hadn’t told me yet.’
Ted nodded to himself. ‘I didn’t have the chance to save Alice,’ he said, determination in his voice. ‘We’ll save Donia.’ He peered through the windscreen. ‘We need to work out where they are. We can’t just keep driving around.’ He reached for the door handle and stepped out of the car.
The night air came into the car, cold and sharp, and it reminded Charlie that he was only in a suit. He joined Ted outside. Charlie fastened his jacket and pulled the lapels to his neck. He looked up at the stars, and they were bright spots of light.
They were high on the side of the valley. The land fell away in front of them, sheep clinging to the slope further down, their wool reflecting the moonlight. The orange clusters of towns and villages broke up the darkness, the lights more concentrated further away, as the fringes of the Pennines turned into the larger towns nearer the coast.
As he looked around, there was no sound. No cars or pub shouts. Just the rustle of their clothes as they got used to the chill.
Charlie scoured the hillsides, looking for anything, a chink of light from a barn or a fire burning, anything that hinted of something out of the ordinary.
Ted blew into his hands. ‘Let’s just keep going,’ he said. ‘We are looking for something unusual. We’ll go with our instincts.’
It sounded like a plan.
As they jumped back into the car, Charlie shivered. Except that this time it wasn’t from the cold. This time it was fear of what lay ahead, and whether he would ever get to see the sunrise.
John turned round when he heard footsteps on the stairs.
It was Henry, pulling on his shirt, his trouser belt still undone. He was dishevelled, his hair sticking up, two scratch marks down his cheek.
‘How’s Dawn?’ John said.
Henry took a breath and then scowled. ‘Against us.’
‘So what now?’
As Henry passed John, he glanced outside to where the hole had been dug. ‘Our mission is the important thing. We can’t be distracted. Dawn was going to betray us. If we let her go, we’re finished, all of us.’
John turned to follow Henry into the living room. When he got there, Lucy looked up.
‘We need to deal with the problem,’ Henry said. ‘She needs to join her sisters.’
The mood in the room improved. Jennifer smiled. Gemma jumped to her feet, and Lucy grinned. She held out her hand, and Henry grabbed it and helped her to her feet.
Arni banged his stick on the floor. When everyone turned to him, he said, ‘Let’s do it. John, go get her.’
John ran upstairs. As he got higher, he heard soft cries coming from Henry’s room. When he opened the door, Dawn was curled up in a corner. She had put her clothes back on, but her top was ripped, so that she had to hold it over her chest. Her trousers weren’t fastened properly. As John got closer, he saw swelling around her eye and a trickle of blood from her nose.
‘You need to come downstairs,’ he said.
She looked up at him, and her eyes were pure hatred, her brow heavy, lips clenched tightly. ‘You could have stopped this.’
He closed his eyes. He had no control anymore. ‘Downstairs,’ he said.
Tears started to run down her face. ‘I won’t say anything. Just let me go.’
John shook his head. ‘No, downstairs.’ He went over to her and gripped her arm. She pulled against it at first, thumped him a few times in his chest, but he ignored it, so her shoulders slumped and she went with him.
As John got to the top of the stairs, he looked down and saw everyone waiting for him. Dawn pulled against him again but he held firm. When they got to the bottom, Arni grabbed her and took her outside, everyone else following.
She shrank back at the cold. The warmth from the day was gone. Arni kept pulling and so she stumbled as she went, her cries lost in the clamour from the group. Footsteps on grass, gleeful shouts. When Arni got to the stones, he pulled her towards the flat stone, the large one that was horizontal like a table. Arni held her by the hair, so that her legs and body thrashed, but she couldn’t escape. She started to scream, but no one tried to stop her. There wasn’t anyone near enough to hear.
Henry appeared by her feet, and she looked along her body towards him, her eyes wide. Her screams turned to a whimper and her head went back in despair.
‘We need a knife,’ Henry said.
Gemma ran back into the house. No one said anything, so that the only sounds were those of Dawn’s cries as she struggled against her captors. When Gemma emerged from the house, she was holding a carving knife. The blade glinted in the moonlight.
John could feel the tension, everyone watching as the knife was passed along the line to Henry. He held it and turned it in his hand before he nodded at the two women stood closest to Dawn.
They smiled and then each grabbed a leg of her trousers and pulled, and although her hands reached down to stop it, it was no use. They kept on pulling until her trousers were off, her legs skinny and pale. Then they pulled at her shirt, ripping it, until it was just shreds of cloth on the ground. Dawn was naked apart from her knickers. She crossed her legs in a vain attempt to keep some dignity, but it was futile. Her underwear was torn off, so she lay there, naked and sobbing.
John was transfixed. Her body was skinny, so that he could see the sharp bones of her hips and ribs, her legs bony and mottled and pale. He knew that Dawn hadn’t participated as much as the others. Some of the people enjoyed the sexual aspect of the group, the lack of inhibition, but Dawn had never really taken part.
People rushed forward to grab her ankles and wrists, spread-eagling her. Her head was back and she was panting hard. She tried to pull against them, but she couldn’t, they were too strong for her. John could hear her skin scraping on the stone, could see the blood on her heels. She was looking at the sky, until her gaze blurred over from her tears.
He didn’t know what to do. What they were doing was wrong, he knew that, but he felt powerless against the group.
Henry stepped up to the stone, so that he was at her side. He looked around the group, tried to look each one in the eye.
‘If we are to take our movement forward, we cannot afford traitors,’ Henry said. ‘That’s just the way it has to be.’
People mumbled that they understood.
He smiled. ‘Apology is of the other world,’ he said to the group. ‘The one where life is about accumulation and greed. That’s how man deludes himself, because he does what his heart desires, not caring about others, but then he is racked with guilt, and so he apologises and tries to make amends. But why? It’s just a candle in a dark place, an illusion of light, because he knows it is wrong and so he tries to pass the burden by apologising.’ He looked down at Dawn. ‘No one here apologises for anything, but yet you still do.’
Dawn shook her head frantically, moaning, scared. More tears squeezed out of her eyes.
Henry held up the knife. ‘We know how it is,’ he said. ‘Who goes first?’
Dawn knew what was coming next, because her struggles became more frantic.
Gemma stepped forward. ‘Me first,’ she said, and held her hand out for the knife.
Charlie and Ted followed the road as it ran alongside the hillside, looking out for wherever the group might have taken Donia. It had been a fruitless search, just tracks and hedgerows and stone walls that hugged the valley sides. They were about to curve back towards the valley floor when Ted shouted, ‘Stop!’
The car skidded as Charlie stamped on the brake. ‘What is it?’
‘Back up.’
Charlie moved the car slowly backwards, looking up the long slopes, trying to see whatever had caught Ted’s attention.
Ted shouted for him to stop again. ‘There,’ he said, and pointed.
Charlie looked past him, followed his finger, and then he scowled. He looked round for somewhere to park and headed towards a small leafy track that ended in front of a metal gate. He turned off his engine and the night turned silent again.
Charlie tried to see along the track, but it disappeared into woods that climbed up the hill. It hadn’t been the track that had caught Ted’s attention though.
There was a small cottage a couple of hundred yards away, high up on the hill. The moonlight shone from an old slate roof and weak yellow light shone as tiny yellow squares. It had been more than the cottage though, because there were jagged stones set against the bright silver of the moon, and there was movement between them, cast into silhouette. Charlie could tell that it was a group though, and that something was happening.
‘This way,’ Charlie said, and started to climb the gate. It clanged against the post as he jumped over, Charlie wincing as the noise echoed around them. Ted followed him, and once they were both on the other side, Charlie pointed at the trees that ran up the hill. ‘We need to go through there, to stay hidden.’