Snatched From Home: What Would You Do To Save Your Children? (DI Harry Evans Book 1) (16 page)

The lines of numbers on Victoria’s laptop mocked her as she tried to make sense of them. Close focus on a particular line or column was fine, but when she leaned back to take an overview then the numbers blended together into a digital mosaic.

Whenever they did this, the numbers formed different versions of the same two images. Kyle and Samantha’s faces. Sometimes they were smiling, sometimes grim, sometimes as they had looked as babies. The images that haunted her were the ones that came at her own lowest point. These were conjured from her deepest fears, produced by betraying eyes, which manipulated a spreadsheet into grotesque likenesses.

In these images Kyle and Samantha were screaming in pain or fear. Yet she must endure the torment of the numerical visions. She needed to work to gain the information necessary to continue on the crime spree.

Turning away from the screen she told herself she must be strong, determined. The memory of last night’s haul buoyed her. She and Nicholas had burgled Maryport Golf Club. As a committee member, Nicholas had known the location of the bandit keys and the alarm code. He’d picked the lock with ease and they’d emptied the safe and bandit to add to their ransom fund. The fact the club steward was on holiday, coupled with a wedding at the weekend and annual membership payments, meant that there was far more money in the safe than usual. They had managed to get another £3,700 towards the ransom from the safe, plus another £653 from the bandits in the hall.

So far they were on target to reach the £42,000 of their own contribution. The £15,000 from friends and family members had already reached Nicholas’s business account. Their burglarious activities had netted them a total of almost £28,000 so far, but they were still £10,000 short with just two days to go.

Nicholas’s van was due to be sold today and they had managed to get three hundred more than expected for it. Her car would be passed over to a local garage on Friday morning, although they’d had to agree to two hundred less than they wanted for a cash purchase. All of the saleable electrical goods had been sold on eBay and they were all packaged up for either posting or collection.

They planned to use Nicholas’s business account for the transfer as the sudden deposit of many thousands of pounds into a personal account may raise a lot of red flags at the bank and the police could be called. Nicholas had put on his best suit and visited the bank to forewarn the manager he was going to be making some large cash deposits during the week, and would then be making a single transfer on Friday night. He’d hinted a once-in-a-lifetime deal had come his way and the bank manger, a golfing buddy, had been happy to help. He’d even gone so far as to warn Nicholas he’d need to make the final deposits by midday on Friday.

On her way to work this morning, Victoria had changed over a hundred pounds’ worth of coins into notes at a couple of different banks, and she planned to change more during her lunch break. Now she must focus on work for a few hours. Get through the drudge of the day. Keep her eyes open and learn what she needed to know for tonight’s job. The last targets could possibly be the most lucrative yet, but she must do all she could to simplify the robberies. Two tonight and one tomorrow night. Bank the money on Friday morning. Pay the ransom and then wait to see if her children were handed back unharmed.

Please God let us get enough from these last three places to complete the ransom.

Sometimes she believed the kidnappers would honour the deal, releasing Samantha and Kyle once they had their money. At other times her fears got the better of her and she doubted she’d ever see them alive again.

One belief held a dream she daren’t hope for, the other was too horrific to contemplate. The thought of harm coming to her precious children was too much for her to bear; her knees weakened and she felt an actual pain in her chest at the thought of them suffering. During the first two days of their captivity, she’d tortured herself, imagining their fear, the possibilities they’d been harmed, that Samantha had been raped by the men.

Victoria knew that worrying about events she couldn’t influence would hinder her efforts to free them, so she had conditioned herself to banish the darker thoughts and concentrate on raising the ransom money. She didn’t always succeed in banishing the darkest thoughts, but she achieved enough success to afford her the level of functionality required to keep fighting.

Nicholas, on the other hand, was falling apart in front of her. The weight of guilt had sloped his shoulders, sunken his cheeks and dulled the sparkle in his eyes. Her once-buoyant husband now bore the appearance of someone in the final stages of a terminal disease.

She felt no pity for him. Yes she’d loved him for many years. They’d built a life and a family together. But his selfish actions had threatened their finest achievements. Victoria guessed most people who had loved ones kidnapped could share their torment with their partners or spouses. No such luxury was afforded to her. If she turned to him for comfort then she may grant him some in return. The thought abhorred her. He was the architect of their destruction and she wanted him to suffer as much as possible. If that meant that she had to face this ordeal alone, then so be it. It would be worse for him, he had guilt and shame to deal with as well as worry.

Let him suffer. She wanted him out of her life at the first opportunity. His betrayal was too great to bear. Why couldn’t he have taken a mistress instead? She could have left him without too much disruption to the children’s lives. Sure they’d have acted up for a while, but it would have been a million times better than what they were going through now.

Evans scoured White Lund Industrial Estate looking for Pentwortham Prestige Motors. The industrial estate was home to the usual mix of garages, trade counters, builder’s merchants and haulage firms.

Pentwortham Prestige Motors was located beside a greasy spoon cafe. Evans swung the BMW in, screeching to a halt between a Mondeo and a Peugeot 307.

‘Guv, please don’t do anything silly. There are cameras all over the place.’

‘Oh, ye of little faith. Now just follow me and look pretty.’

Walking around the cars in the forecourt Evans picked out a used Alfa, which he then spent time circling. After a few moments inspecting the bodywork, he tried the door handle and was surprised when the door opened. He climbed into the passenger seat and gestured for Lauren to sit behind the wheel. She climbed in, reinforcing Evans’s charade as a prospective buyer.

As they exited the car, a salesman was on his way over from the Portakabin which acted as an office. The salesman was in his early twenties and launched into his spiel before he was within ten feet of Evans and Lauren.

‘Go and get your boss.’ Evans ignored the proffered hand. ‘I want to speak to the organ grinder not the monkey.’

Evans had no time for the rehearsed patter of a salesman at the best of times. The young man with his cheap suit and oily hair set his teeth on edge just by being alive. There was no way he was going to waste time or energy dealing with him.

The salesman looked to Lauren for support, but she shifted her eyes towards the Portakabin, suggesting he do as bidden. Finding no alternative course of action, the young man turned and walked back to the Portakabin in search of his boss. The stiffness of his back showed his disappointment and anger at being dismissed.

Evans followed the salesman into the office and overheard him giving an assessment of his character to a middle-aged secretary whose blouse displayed a large amount of blue-veined cleavage. Blushing, the salesman retreated to a desk and hunkered down behind a computer screen.

The manager, Mike Pentwortham, took control of the situation with practiced charm. Inviting Evans and Lauren into his office, Pentwortham asked the secretary to bring some coffees.

‘Jason tells me you were looking at the Alfa 156 we have out there. It’s a two-point-four-litre diesel with fifty-two thousand miles on the clock, a full-service history, CD interchanger with iPod connectivity, five spoke alloys, ABS, airbags, cruise control and a full leather interior. We also give a three-month warranty on any car we sell. I’m asking five thousand, four hundred for it, but I’ll take five three for it if you agree to a deal today.’

The secretary brought in a tray laden with cups of coffee. Bending over to lay the tray on Pentwortham’s desk, she gave Evans a generous look down her top. A flick of his eyes told Evans that Lauren had reached the same conclusion. The secretary fit Bhaki’s description of the woman who’d bought some of the cars.

Pentwortham stood up to serve the coffees. ‘How do you like your coffee, sir?’

‘Irish. And I’ll give you four eight for the Alfa.’

Pentwortham reached into a drawer and produced a half-finished bottle of Bushmills.

‘I can certainly do the Irish, but I’ll struggle to do four eight, how does a straight five sound.’

‘Five with a full tank and the obligatory bouquet of flowers for the lady.’

‘You drive a hard bargain, sir.’ Penwortham paused to consider Evans’s offer ‘It’s a deal. Do you require any finance options on the car or will you be buying it outright?’

‘I’ll pay cash today.’

‘When would you like to collect the car?’

‘My daughter here is going to drive it away when we leave today.’

Evans flashed a warning look at Lauren when she almost squirted a mouthful of coffee across the office.

‘I’ll get Jason to go fill the tank and buy the bouquet while we sort the paperwork.’ Reaching into his wallet he pulled a pair of fifties out and went to the outer office to give Jason his instructions.

‘Did you see all the fifties in his wallet, guv?’

Evans nodded as he replenished his cup with the bottle of Bushmills.

When Pentwortham returned, Evans pulled out the thousand pounds worth of fifty-pound notes he’d withdrawn from the bank that morning. He dropped the money on the desk. ‘OK then, let’s get the money sorted out so I can finish that bottle of yours.’

‘Sound like a plan to me.’

Evans gathered his bundle of notes in his left hand and started counting.

‘One.’

‘Two.’

‘Three. How many cars do you have for sale here?’

‘We have thirty-seven at the moment, sir. Are you interested in another car?’

‘Perhaps. Thirty-seven eh?’

‘Thirty-eight.’

‘Thirty-nine.’

‘Forty.’ Evans was not even looking at the money, instead focusing on boring his gaze into Pentwortham’s eyes. ‘Was it eighty-seven you were born, Lauren?’

‘Eighty-eight.’

‘My mistake. Seems like bloody yesterday. Now where were we? Ah yes, eighty-nine.’

‘Ninety. Shall we stop for an ice cream on the way home?

‘I’d love a ninety-nine, Dad.’ Evans caught the mischievous tone in her voice as she played her part.

‘A ninety-nine it is then. One hundred.’ He proffered the pile of bank notes to Pentwortham whose eyes had gone from incomprehension to acceptance via fear and hatred.

Evans could tell that Pentwortham knew his scheme had been rumbled. The question was what he would choose do about it.

‘That seems to be in order, sir. Jason will be back soon with your car.’

‘You know, Lauren. All those dealers we spoke to in Cumbria were right. This is a very cheap place to buy cars. I think I’ll tell all my workmates to come here when they need a new motor.’ Turning to Pentwortham he added, ‘That’ll be good for your business, won’t it?’

Pentwortham’s jaw wobbled, but his voice was confident when he spoke. ‘I think that your deal will be a one-off, sir.’

‘In that case, they’ll be visiting you professionally.’ Evans placed his warrant card on the desk.

‘The other option you have is to reimburse every dealer and private seller you have tricked. I don’t care how you do it, so long as it’s done by the end of the week.’

Few things gave Evans the rush he got from dispensing justice. Either his own unique brand or through the legal system if it was a more serious crime.

Evans dropped a card on the desk. ‘My number is on that card. I want you to make sure everyone you return money to calls me to confirm they have the cash. I have a long list of people you have conned and if I find you’ve missed one, then I’ll do two things. First, I will have every police force in the country descend upon you as prime suspect for every unsolved crime since Cain murdered Abel. Second, I will tell Big Billy that you live at twenty-three Gardner Road.’

‘Who’s Big Billy?’ Pentwortham was rattled, but he wanted to know who might come crashing through his door.

‘A man whose wife you tricked.’ Evans showed him his mobile. ‘Here have a look at him.’

The picture of Big Billy dwarfing his filing cabinet ended Pentwortham’s attempts at bravado.

‘OK, I’ll do it. I’ll square everyone up.’

‘You’d better. Billy won’t be satisfied with money, he wants blood. I’d hate to get drunk and tell him where you live. Now, give me back my money before I call your wife, and tell her about the affair you’re having with Little Miss Typist out there.’

Stuffing his money back into his wallet, Evans warned Pentwortham he had three days to make the necessary payments or he would return with Big Billy and half the local constabulary.

As Evans went through to the main office, he noticed Jason’s desk was littered with a half-eaten baguette and other dinner-time detritus. Seeing an opportunity too good to waste, he used careful enunciation to tell the secretary that she was needed in her boss’s office for some dictation. When she left the room giggling, he opened the half-chewed baguette and sprinkled the filling with his bottle of Tabasco sauce. Closing the baguette, he made his way to the door and walked outside with Lauren.

Just then the Alfa returned with Jason at the helm and screeched to a stop. He pulled an enormous bouquet of flowers from the boot.

‘Hey, fuckwit.’

A bemused Jason turned around, offering his face to Evans in time to receive the next broadside.

‘What the
fuck
do you think you’re up to screeching about in
my
new car? I’ve just paid five grand for that and you treat it like your own personal rally car. And where do you think you are off to with those flowers? Are they not for the lady?’ Evans glared at the dumbstruck Jason. ‘Don’t just stand there, man. Give them to her with a smile and wish her happy motoring.’

Fixing the now terrified Jason with one eye he held his hand out and demanded Pentwortham’s change as compensation for his shredded tyres.

Jason duly delivered a twenty-pound note and some shrapnel and then gave Lauren the flowers with a smile that was more of a rictus grin than an expression of pleasure.

A smiling Lauren accepted the flowers from the luckless salesman. ‘I hope you get time to finish your lunch. I understand you and your boss are gonna have a busy few days ahead of you.’

Evans could have kissed her for that statement. As usual, Lauren’s sharp wit had pierced the matter at hand with precision of a scalpel-wielding surgeon. In all likelihood, the first thing Jason would do as soon as he entered the office would be to take a huge bite of his baguette.

As they left the forecourt in the M3, Lauren struggled to stop giggling long enough to ask how Evans had known that Pentwortham was sleeping with his secretary.

‘Bloody obvious really: his desk had twice the paperwork hers did, she’s glammed up like Claudia Schiffer to work in a Portakabin on an industrial estate, her nails were far too long to be a typist’s, therefore she had to be shagging someone who worked there. It can’t have been that spotty dickhead Jason or she would have been fired and replaced with somebody who could do the work, ergo she was exchanging a shag or a blow job for a regular wage.’

‘Please, Lord, don’t let me ever get as cynical as DI Evans.’ Lauren gave a mock prayer with hands clasped together and eyes skyward. ‘D’you think he’ll ever repay the money?’

‘Fifty-fifty really. Can’t say I’m too bothered either way. As long as he stops ripping people off I’ll be happy.’

Upon leaving Lancaster, Evans fell silent, not even bothering to swear at other drivers.

‘You’re quiet, guv, what’s on your mind?’

‘Just thinking about the robberies. There’s a connection between them and I know I’ve seen the same thing at every site, but I just can’t put my finger on what it is.’

As they discussed the robberies, Chisholm called to inform Evans that Maryport Golf Club was the latest place to be robbed. The thieves had got away with over three and a half grand, plus whatever had been in the fruit machines.

Evans asked Chisholm to learn all he could, from the investigating officers and let him know as soon as possible.