‘Adam, thank God.’
He closed his eyes and tried to make his voice calm, ‘Sarah, where are you?’
There was a short pause before she answered, ‘Junction 17.’
‘The M4?’ His voice rose in pitch.
‘Yes.’
‘Christ Sarah! That’s, that’s bloody Bristol!’
‘Adam please don’t shout at me.’
‘What?’
‘I said, don’t shout, please.’
Her desperate tone disarmed him. ‘Look, sorry, but Bristol! I looked all over for you.’
‘You didn’t have your phone, Adam, why don’t you ever take your phone?’
He just never thought about it at weekends, having been glued to it all week. ‘How much petrol do you have?’
‘I filled up yesterday like I always do.’
‘OK…’ He thought hard. It would be almost impossible to deflect her.
‘So you’re just going to keep following this car to God knows where. Then what?’
‘I haven’t thought that far ahead.’
‘I bet you haven’t.’ He could feel panic taking hold, his mind already playing different scenarios and consequences, irrespective of whether there was a child in the boot of the car.
‘Sarah, think about this, when the car pulls over what are you going to do? Ask this guy if he’s just kidnapped a child?’
‘Please, Adam.’ Despite the fluctuating static he could hear the tremor in her voice, misreading it as uncertainty.
‘Sarah, think about this. You have the licence number, we can just give this to the police. You could turn around at the next junction.’
She snapped back. ‘You know what I think about that. The police won’t do anything until it’s too late. I need to follow this car, stop it before it happens.’
‘Stop what precisely? How do you pro…’ He heard a loud, warped shout from Sarah and then just the waterfall effect. Seconds passed, during which he reached a hundred worried conclusions, then her voice came back, but distantly.
‘Adam, he’s turned off, I almost missed it. It must be Delamere services. I’ll call back.’
‘Sarah?’
The call disconnected and all he could hear was a deafening silence.
NINE
Sarah had been concentrating on their conversation and hadn’t noticed the Rover signalling to pull off the motorway. She desperately pumped at her brakes as she tried to make the turn. The sudden deceleration dislodged the earpiece, dropping it into her lap as everything slid off the passenger seat into the footwell, her heart hammering as she crossed white lines and cat’s eyes and made the turn, working hard then to keep the car under control and not ram into the back of the Rover.
The Rover pulled to a stop away from the services and to the right. Sarah continued around, parking at the opposite end near the exit. She pulled the key from the ignition and turned around, sitting in silence, watching as a distant silhouette climbed from the Rover, moved around to the boot and lifted it open. She watched the silhouette lean inside, waiting with bated breath. He closed the boot, locked the car and walked towards the bright façade of the services. She waited, watching him pass through shadows and pools of light, up shallow steps to the entrance.
As he disappeared through the doors she pulled her phone from its cradle, lifted her bag from the footwell and climbed out. She took stock of the scene. It was busy. People were everywhere, trailing to or from the services, or levering children and the infirm into and out of vehicles. She headed away from the building, moving between and around cars. Walking with purpose but not obviously towards the Rover, she hoped.
She approached the Rover in an arc, her senses straining for any noise, lengthening her stride and slowing, but there was nothing. Just the tick of a cooling engine, no movement or sound that could be construed as a cry for help. The Rover sat insolently quiet. She peered through the windows but there was nothing on the passenger or back seat. It was completely empty. She walked around to the boot and tried opening it, just in case. It was locked. She bent down, pretending to pick up something she had dropped. She banged the boot with a fist, five sharp hard sounds. Waiting on one knee for as long as she dare, fiddling with her bag, hoping for some response. There was nothing. She stood and walked towards the large revolving advertisements either side of the entrance.
The bright interior was busy, echoing with the chatter of disparate groups, snippets of sentences and conversations suspended in the air. She walked the length of the services to a queue for bagels, looking for the Rover driver. She picked him from the crowd as he disappeared into the toilets. He was big, tall and broad but not bulked like a body builder. His movements flowed, full of self-assurance, from being bigger than everyone she guessed. She bought two coffees out of habit, which mostly convinced passing Romeos she was not alone. Then she found a seat among the corralled tables, a vantage point with a full view of the open-plan stores and the bustling concourse.
The Rover driver was gone for eleven long minutes. The worry she might have missed him almost took her back outside. Then he emerged from the toilets and walked directly into a store, browsing through magazines. She picked up her coffee and sipped it, watching him over the top of the cup. He looked to be in his early thirties, with short brown hair, highlighted as if he spent a lot of time in the sun. He wore dark jeans and a faded T-shirt and a light jacket, apparently favouring purpose over style, although they looked good on him. People flowed around him like water around rock, seldom was anyone tall enough to clear his shoulders. He pulled a magazine from the rack and she pulled the phone from her bag, flicking through the address book and dialling Adam’s mobile.
The call connected. Adam answered on the fourth ring.
TEN
Brodie Larson and Duncan Morgan had been best friends since Brodie’s mother was moved to the council flat next to Duncan’s, twenty-one years ago. Their friendship grew in the corridors and stairways of their tower block, where they had decorated their first elevator together at the age of five, and at nine were together expelled from school after abusing the deputy head one time too many. From the age of twelve, they were frequently incarcerated in various care homes through to the magic age of eighteen. At which point Brodie, short and dark haired and outwardly angelic, and Duncan, rectangular and ginger and possessed of a Cheshire grin, were launched upon a largely unsuspecting society.
As adults their primary craft was misdirection and sleight of hand. Following the car auction trade at random across England, they worked large public venues and sprawling service stations. Always dressed smartly and working as a team they criss-crossed car parks and through groups of people, acquiring bags, phones, wallets and all manner of electrical goods.
Which was how they came to be leaning against a row of slot machines in Delamere services that Saturday evening, drinking from bottles of Coke while studying the flow of humanity. They had already spent a profitable ten minutes in the car park and were now planning an equal time in the main building. It was looking good, almost nobody was paying them any attention.
‘Where to first?’ Brodie asked, staring along the main concourse.
Duncan scanned the bustling throng. ‘Reckon we just get cracking, sweep to the bagel bar and back down. Do the same over and see if anyone’s ripe for my charm. Couple of lasses just disappeared into Smith’s and there’s one over there I’d pay all night for.’
Brodie followed his gaze. ‘Her with the two cups on that table?’
‘Aye,’ Duncan confirmed. ‘Look at her, quick grin and she’ll pop like champagne.’
‘My friend, even I’d pay for that. You seen a boy sittin’ with her?’
‘Nope.’
‘So what’s the bet the other cup’s still full?’
Duncan considered Sarah and the two cups. ‘A cert I’d say. I’ll walk by on the way back up.’
Brodie nodded. ‘Reckon a lass like her’ll have a big fat purse with lots of cards, maybe a wad of cash.’
‘And some good naked piccies on her phone.’ Duncan winked, flashing a portion of his Cheshire grin. ‘Girls like her always got a fella trying to get naked piccies. Bet she even takes ’em herself.’
‘Guaranteed. There’s always some from the holiday. Nice and hot, running around with no top on. Maybe even get some good ones of her and the boy.’
Duncan placed his Coke on a slot machine. ‘Let’s get going then, who’s leading?’
‘Me first,’ Brodie answered. ‘Don’t want you scaring the natives.’
‘Right on my friend, lead the way.’
Brodie pushed off and Duncan pulled off his jacket, folding it over his arm. Setting the bag on his hip, making sure it was open and not snagged, he then pushed off himself.
The first pass netted one wallet on the first hit. The man bounced off Brodie and patted his right jacket pocket. Duncan relieved him of the burden two seconds later. The second hit just scowled absently, giving Duncan no choice but to guess and guessing wrong. The final one was a disaster, so surprised at Brodie’s contact she lost her footing and collapsed with a short scream. Brodie helped her up and apologised, catching up with Duncan who had walked on past.
‘That was bollocks.’
Duncan nodded affirmation. ‘Aye, and now the masses have clocked you. What to do?’
Brodie checked the concourse for security, but everything remained as it had. ‘Not get tagged, we still have the stuff from the car park.’
‘So?’
‘One more sweep, then check out that girl. If she’s good, do her and shoot.’
‘I’ll lead.’ Duncan readied his jacket and the bag, handing them to Brodie.
The second pass went better. Brodie was pleased with himself. The man forgot where his wallet was, first patting his trousers then realising and patting his jacket. The unconscious smile was all Brodie needed, shifting his balance mid-stride. Close to perfect.
Duncan watched his approach. ‘Do well?’
‘Aye.’ He looked across at Sarah. ‘She’s still there, talking on the phone. Has to be her mum or the boy.’
Duncan held out his hand. ‘Give me the bag and I’ll give her a rattle. Maybe give her a reason to get going.’
He made his way to the seating area and through the tables, using momentum to swing the bag from side to side. He let it swing out as he neared Sarah. Spinning around as he felt contact, grabbing the cup and flashing her a megawatt Cheshire grin. Distracted, she glared up at him.
Brodie waited by the slot machines. ‘So?’
‘Man! No problem, she’s on another planet. Looks like she’s seen a ghost or something. My charm didn’t even register.’
‘You’re fat and losing it, that’s what. Look like she’s leaving?’
‘Was giving the boy sweet nothings.’ As Duncan answered Sarah stood, dropping her phone into her bag.
‘We good?’
‘We are my friend.’
They walked in separate directions, Duncan to the entrance, waiting on Sarah. She stepped onto the main concourse and he turned towards her, Brodie in step a few yards to the side and behind her.
Duncan counted down, three, two and he looked sideways, turning as he stepped forward and directly into Sarah’s path. She bounced off him and stumbled sideways. He reached forward and grabbed her arm, his other hand on her shoulder then waist as he apologised. At the periphery he saw Brodie move in. Then it all went horribly wrong.
ELEVEN
‘Where are you?’ Adam’s voice was almost frantic when he answered Sarah’s call.
‘Delamere, Adam. I’m watching him, he’s browsing through magazines.’
‘The Rover driver?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re watching this guy?’
‘Yes, what else?’
‘Jeesus…’ Then silence.
She imagined Adam sitting on the sofa or leaning against the counter in the kitchen, running his hands through his hair, something he always did when stressed. Her gaze wandered. She watched a group in matching football scarves pass by, then a couple of stiff-legged bikers carrying helmets and coffees. She made eye contact with a young man who looked away, disinterested, walking straight into a woman. The woman collapsed with a short scream; there was a brief commotion as he helped her up.
‘What’re you going to do?’ Adam’s voice brought her back to the moment.
‘What was that?’
‘I said, what’re you going to do, Sarah?’
‘I don’t know, just keep following him, I guess.’ Her attention was now back on the Rover driver.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of what I saw? Of course not, I’ve been questioning myself constantly. I keep coming back to the box, there was definitely something wrong with it.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
‘Yes, it was like a microwave or something. Just a square box, but whatever was inside was too heavy, the weight was wrong.’
There was a silence as he tried to imagine it. ‘Maybe the box was just something he used. Maybe he was picking something up, was just using the box to carry an engine part, a heavy ornament or something?’
That idea had not even crossed Sarah’s mind. Her stomach knotted. Her breath rolled in short bursts across the handset. She reached across and picked up her coffee.
‘Adam.’
‘Yes?’
‘I trust in everything I saw.’ She sipped the drink and set it back on the table, watching the young man who was now talking to a ginger-haired man. ‘How about I report I heard a child shouting in the boot.’
Adam answered straight away. ‘In the Rover? Accuse some guy of kidnapping a child? How do you think that will look if you’re wrong?’
‘What if I’m not?’
‘You don’t know anything for sure, Sarah, the last thing you need is more headlines in the papers. Remember it’s you who doesn’t want to move again.’
Which was a point well made. The Rover driver paid for a magazine and walked into the food hall.
Adam continued. ‘I’ll go to the police with what you have, please just come home, Sarah.’
She almost laughed. ‘OK, so I come home. Then we hear a girl is missing and she’s never seen again. Or her body turns up in a field or something. How do you think I would deal with that?’
Not well
was the answer on the tip of his tongue. She had trumped any argument he had.