Humber Boy B (32 page)

Grabbing her jacket, Cate at least felt energised by being on the move. She told Dot she was going to the Buttermarket to get a late lunch, but to call her if there was any news on Ben. Dot waved her off with a warning to take an umbrella, it looked like it would rain, but Cate didn’t stop.

Buttermarket Shopping Mall was heaving, and unaccustomed as she was to the Friday afternoon crush of shoppers, she felt disorientated as she pushed and ‘excuse me’d’ away from groups of school kids high on the promise of the weekend and mothers with prams clutching bags of food. Signs everywhere announced sales and bargains. Cate began to feel headachy. She needed a drink and some food, and braved the café in search of both.

It was only when she had paid for her meal that Cate saw there were no seats, before her was a group of toddlers waving sippy cups and squeaky toys at each other’s heads whilst their mothers chatted earnestly, dabbing their breasts with sheets of muslin and drinking double espressos. She had obviously gatecrashed a mother and child meeting. Just then the table nearest to her was vacated. It was the only empty table in the place and other people were already approaching it with their plastic trays piled with food. She grabbed the nearest chair, avoiding eye contact with the sulky teenage couple who nearly beat her to it, and tore open the plastic shell of her sandwich, wedging the limp offering from the box, shrivelled prawns falling from dry bread. It looked awful, she couldn’t eat it.

Cate winced as she sipped her stewed coffee and pushed that away too. To the relief of the couple, still standing with their tray, she left the table, negotiating a path through the hordes of shoppers and out of the precinct. Outside it was pouring, she should have heeded Dot’s warning. Thin shards of rain stung her eyes. She pulled up her collar, put her head low in her jacket and ran down the pavement, failing to look properly as she stepped off the kerb and into the path of a speeding Mazda. Just as the car was about to slam into her body a hand came from nowhere, grabbed her shoulder, and pulled her to safety.

The car driver furiously sounded his horn, and people nearby stared at her. Suddenly sensible about what could have happened, and leaning into her rescuer’s embrace, Cate swore at herself.

“You must be more careful, it would not do for there to be no Cate in the world.”

The man who had just pulled her to safety was Olivier.

“What? What are you doing here?”

“Dot told me where to find you.” He kissed her cheek, but she didn’t respond as he said her name again.

“Sorry! It’s just, I’m sorry, I’m a bit distracted. I was just going back to the office.”

“I think you need to gather yourself a bit after stepping in front of that car. In Luxembourg we believe a glass of red wine can cure most things. And I too missed my lunch. Come on.” He took her hand, pulling her through the rain to the nearest place, an Italian restaurant. Being inside was a relief, as she stood, hair dripping water down her face. Olivier helped her peel off her jacket, handing it to a waiter who they followed to a table. He placed one arm on her shoulder to ease her into her seat. She looked up, still shaking, “If you hadn’t grabbed me… ”

“But I did. I saw you leaving the food court but it took me a few minutes to catch up. Terrible crowds, I hate this about Ipswich.”

Cates shook her head slowly. “If anything had happened to me, what about Amelia?”

“Nonsense. Don’t torture yourself like that. Some medicinal alcohol will sort you out.”

“I don’t know.” Cate rubbed her eyes, thinking about Ben. Where was he? If only she could find him.

Olivier called to the waiter to bring a bottle of red wine, asking for the grape and year with expertise. “I’ve been here a few times before,” he explained. “Better than eating at the hotel.” And, as if on cue, a waiter arrived. Olivier ordered without checking for her preference, an assortment of salad, pasta and breads and then he poured her a glass of gleaming ruby wine.

She caught his expression and wondered how he could look so relaxed. “I can’t stop thinking about Ben. What if he’s in danger, Olivier? Shouldn’t we – or someone – be looking for him?”

“We – the police, that is – are. They are checking out all of the witnesses from the case, as well as the names you gave. This is not your problem to fix, Cate. Please relax. There is nothing for you to do but enjoy good wine with good company.” His fingers found her hand and she returned his smile. “There, so much better.” But inside she was still worried sick.

She took another mouthful of the wine to loosen her up. “How do you manage to keep so calm? If anything happened to Ben, we’d all have egg on our face.”

“Ha, I do enjoy these expressions. Yes, we would be in the egg, as you say. But I find I can still sleep, as long as I have done my job as well as I am able. Also, it helps that I like swimming, I like music, both very relaxing. And I love Friday evenings on the sofa with a jazz CD playing and a very old bottle of wine.” The image was a pleasant one. “But it’s no fun alone, so maybe we could do this together, once we have eaten?”

“At the Novotel?”

“It’s only a small sofa, but I think we could make it work. Unless you have to be home for Amelia?”

“Nope. She’s with her dad all weekend.” Cate could feel the warm alcohol flowing through her veins now, the tension draining from her limbs.

The waiter appeared, saw their intimate pose and quickly delivered the order. The food was delicious, colourful orange carrots and yellow courgettes ribboned into the pasta. Olivier divided a portion onto her plate and she tasted it, it was the best food she had had in a long time. Cate was so intent on eating that it made her jump when she felt his hand move away a damp curl of hair that had fallen onto her cheek. Outside other people ran in the rain, heads bowed or hidden under umbrellas, but the restaurant was warm and delicious and, despite herself, Cate had to acknowledge that so too was Olivier.

She couldn’t find Ben, as Paul had already told her, she was no detective. So she would instead take Olivier’s prescription for a Friday evening and try to enjoy her new lover before he left her for good.

90

Ben

The car keeps moving and my stomach lurches, bile rises and seeps into the fabric. I’m curled on my side in the boot, my nose pressed to the parcel shelf, pulsing with fresh pain.

I can’t move, my stomach lurches again and empties itself, I try to breathe as I retch. It smells meaty and then I need to piss, I need to shit. I can’t stop, my body is emptying itself in terror and my bowel is an open passage. The stench of my waste is overwhelming, I wish I could pass out, I wish the car would stop and they would get it over with. I decide I want to die, in just a few hours they have reduced me to this moment. I’m ready now. It’s time to let this misery end.

Minutes stretch to hours, the road beneath the car sounds smooth so I know we’re on a motorway, driving a long distance and on the metal bonnet above me I can hear heavy rain. Minutes pass and I can’t stop shaking. All I see is blackness. I can’t breathe through the balaclava, which is wet over my mouth from saliva and vomit. I could die here, I’m going to die here, and still the car keeps moving.

We slow, stop a few times, so I think we must have paused at lights, we must be in a town. I can hear the tyres splashing through water, the car slowing at the impact. I can’t tell how many hours have passed but the idea that we have arrived terrifies me.

The car stops and I think it is now, this is it. They will take me out, shoot me, throw me, throttle me. In whatever way they choose. I will not see another day.

The boot opens and it is dark and wet, so I can see just two silhouettes through the fabric of my blindfold.

“Oh fuck,” says Cheryl, stepping back and holding her nose. “It stinks in there.” I can’t make out her expression, but can just about see her blonde hair, damp with rain. I long for her to touch me or give me just one kind word.

Her companion comes forward and I can hear heavy feet. Then a hand on my shoulder, tugging me to look up. I respond, or try to, but I’m wobbly. As I lift my head a gust of wind catches inside the boot, a force that knocks me back down.

Cold air, strong wind, heavy rain. And then I hear water, pushing impatiently against the shoreline.

It is in that moment that I know where we are.

I am home.

91

The Day Of

Yvette had finally got around to pulling on some clothes and was wandered around the house looking for Ben and Adam, remembering that she was also looking after Noah, because her old schoolmate, Jessica, was going to London for the day. Lucky bitch. Adam would be taking care of Noah, he knew she wasn’t well and he was a good lad, that one.

Poor kid. Stuart should never have promised him a trip to Scarborough, he never really meant it. When the call came in late last night saying there was a Grimsby boat needing a mate, he didn’t even hesitate. She’d told him that he couldn’t keep letting the lad down, but Stuart wasn’t bothered about that. And then the row, always the same, about how he was the only one keeping the family together, and didn’t he have to work just to bring some food into the house.

Bloody martyr. That’s what she’d said. “You reckon you’re a bloody martyr, or summat? Doing it all for us.”

What about all the weeks when they had to just get by on their own? Just the three of them? And she was ill, proper ill. The doctors had signed her off on the sick, but no-one seemed to show any sympathy. The migraines were like nothing on earth. Tablets didn’t work, nothing knocked the pain on the head like booze. She felt a twinge of guilt, knowing Jessica’s money had bought the vodka when it was supposed to pay for Noah’s lunch. Then she looked at the clock on the DVD player display, it was 3.47pm. Way past lunchtime now.

The last dribble of vodka kicked like a mule, warm and strong like all good medicine.

Still, though, where were the boys?

The house felt so empty without them.

92

Now

FACEBOOK: FIND HUMBER BOY B

Noah’s mum:
The skate park is going ahead. All the finances have been agreed and today I am visiting the site, to see where the building work begins tomorrow. I’m going to take the Hull Rover’s scarf from above Noah’s bed and tie it to the railings of the bridge and say a prayer for my boy.

Because he’s not here, in my home. It’s so quiet, with Dave out at work. I’m going to the bridge because that’s where Noah is, his spirit. His soul is in the River Humber. And though it hurts and I cry, it’s better than the emptiness of the house without him.

93

Cate

Cate woke in the darkened hotel bedroom hearing activity in the corridor; cleaners or other guests already awake. As her eyes adjusted she could see the standard objects around her, the TV, the dressing table. Her work clothes from yesterday mixed with Olivier’s on the floor. She shifted gently, not wanting to disturb him, feeling unaccustomed muscle tension in her legs from their lovemaking. It felt good, until she remembered Ben was still missing. But now her brain was alert to a new thought. She had experienced this before, the way a problem can unravel and resolve during sleep, how upon waking things seem clearer.

Cate turned on her side, taking a moment to look at Olivier’s toned body, his tussled dark hair, his long eyelashes. She could allow herself a moment of sentimentality, before he was awake, because once he was, everything would change. They had work to do.

She touched his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

“I know where Silent Friend has taken Ben,” she said.

She was worried he would dismiss her, that this time would be just like in the meetings when he would say they needed evidence, not gut feeling. But she misjudged him. This time he agreed with her.

“I want to go with you, Olivier. I know this case better than anyone, I’ve read every witness statement and I know the exact journey the boys took before Noah died. Somewhere on that route, that’s where they will be.”

Cate sifted through the details of what they knew so far. Silent Friend was someone from Ben’s past, someone who knew Jessica Watts. Cate’s belief was that this was a person involved with the case, and as they had now kidnapped Ben it was logical that they would take him back to the scene of the crime. Because this person wasn’t a simple vigilante, this person had some emotional involvement. They would want answers. Their goal may be to kill Ben, the ultimate justice, but they would make him face what he had done first.

Olivier took a quick shower and, still damp, swiftly began to get dressed simultaneously fielding calls on his mobile. “The Humberside police have been alerted, and they will be speaking to Ben’s family too. We can’t rule out him having gone home.”

“He hasn’t gone home,” Cate said. “It’s Cheryl. She’s the anomaly, the person from the past who doesn’t fit. Why was she even here, why did she stay when Adam left?”

“You think she’s Silent Friend?” Olivier turned away but she saw his suppressed smile in the dressing table mirror and Cate remembered his dismissive approach to female criminals.

“You know what, Olivier, if I was placing money on it I’d say she is.”

“But she didn’t bust Ben’s nose. That was a man.”

Cate rose from the bed, clipped on her bra and reached for her shirt. “She’s involved. Silent Friend doesn’t have to be one person.”

“Cheryl and Adam?”

“That’s possible,” Cate smoothed the creases of last night’s clothes, sifting through the witness statements in her head, stopping with the one that had affected her most, Cheryl’s dad, who had tried to save Noah.

“It’s her father,” Cate said, suddenly excited. “Silent Friend said he’d let Jess down, but he wouldn’t do it a second time. He tried but failed to rescue Noah! This is his way of making up for that failure. Cheryl was his scout. You need to alert the Hull police. Ben has been kidnapped by Roger Palmer.”

“We can be there in four hours if we don’t hit traffic.”

“We?”