The Loyal Servant (37 page)

The driver was staring at her again. ‘If you are going to be sick, you should—’

‘Shut up!’

She redialled the police station. ‘Put me through to Ralph Mills – it’s urgent.’

‘Can I take your name, madam?

‘Caroline Barber. Please hurry.’

‘I’m afraid DC Mills is not available at the moment. He’s not due back in until later this afternoon. Can I take a message?’

‘Please tell him to go to my house. As soon as he can.’

Caroline ended the call and sank back into her seat. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Her chest shuddered as she exhaled. After a few moments she opened her eyes and met the cab driver’s gaze in the rear-view mirror.

‘Start the car.’

50

‘He needs an ambulance.’ Angela Tate knelt down next to Pete. The blood oozing from his nose had turned into a steady trickle. His breathing was shallow. Too shallow. ‘I said he needs an ambulance!’

Valerie Larson ignored her.

‘Do you want another death on your premises? Call a fucking ambulance!’

Shirley moved towards them then stopped. She turned and looked at her boss. When the almost imperceptible nod came from Valerie Larson, the receptionist rushed to Pete and sank to her knees. She lowered her head to his mouth and held a finger up to Angela to stop her talking.

‘His airways aren’t blocked – he’s still breathing.’ She looked up at one of the security guards. ‘Help me turn him.’

‘Stop! You might do even more damage.’ Angela pulled the woman’s hand away from Pete’s chin.

‘I’m St John Ambulance trained – I know what I’m doing.’ Shirley wrangled her wrist from Angela’s grasp.

‘Trained… you? Is that the company’s one concession to health and safety?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said.

Between them, Shirley and the gorilla in the suit turned Pete onto his side into the recovery position.

‘You know exactly what I’m talking about. How can you live with yourself? Turning a blind eye to every cut corner, to every accident and incident. How do you sleep at night?’ Angela stood over her. ‘What has Larson promised you? Eh? Whatever it is, it can’t be enough.’

The woman dusted down her skirt as she got to her feet, taking great pains to avoid eye contact with Angela.

‘Do you have kids, Shirley?’

She didn’t answer.

‘What if it was one of them? What if a son of yours lost his life because of the sloppy work practices here?’

Shirley froze. Finally Angela seemed to be getting to her.

‘Imagine that for a moment and see how easy it is to carry on lying for them, covering up their crimes.’

The receptionist grabbed Angela’s arms and shook her. ‘You don’t know anything, so why don’t you just shut your mouth?’ She hurried behind the desk and stood beside her boss.

‘I don’t know what you hoped to achieve with that little tirade, Miss Tate.’ Valerie Larson opened a file on her desk. ‘But I think we can assume you’ve failed.’ She glanced up at the trembling woman standing next to her. ‘For your information, Shirley lost her only child in Iraq five years ago.’ She shook her head. ‘Perhaps you should just sit down, keep your mouth shut and wait for your accomplice to return.’ She peered at the clock. ‘Although she is rapidly running out of time.’

One of the gorillas dragged a chair across the room and shoved Angela onto it.

‘If my men don’t get a call from me in the next 20 minutes—’

‘Call your men now – Caroline needs more time.’

‘Oh I don’t think they’d appreciate being interrupted.’

Valerie Larson studied the contents of the file then snapped it shut. ‘Freddie’s DNA results are that interesting to you, are they?’

‘Obviously not as interesting as they are to you.’ Angela pointed to the file. ‘I expect you’ve already had Sir Fred make a new will?’

‘You’re assuming Freddie was due to inherit in the first place.’

‘Why else would you go to the trouble of getting a test done?’

‘Well it’s all academic now, isn’t it? Given the fate that has befallen the little ingrate.’

‘What? How do you know about that?’

Larson stared at Angela as if she was emitting a noxious smell and shifted in her seat. ‘Merciful release, by all accounts.’ She smiled.

Angela stood up and was quickly pushed back down by a guard. ‘Arrogant bitch! You think you can get away with anything.’

‘You know – I think I probably can.’

‘I won’t let that hap—’

A rasping, choking gurgle cut her off. Bubbles of blood foamed from Pete’s mouth. Angela dropped off her chair and knelt beside him.

‘For God’s sake! He’s dying. Now will you call an ambulance?’

Pete’s chest heaved and the gurgling noise stopped.

‘Do something!’

Shirley shoved her out of the way and hauled Pete over onto his back. She pressed her hand against his neck. ‘Please, God,’ she whispered. ‘Not again.’ She raised a hand and slammed it into his chest.

Angela watched helplessly as the slight receptionist pumped Pete’s chest, four, five times, then pressed her mouth over his. Angela staggered back, her legs weak, her head buzzing. She got as far as the desk and sank onto the edge. In the distance, she thought she could hear the faint hum of an engine. ‘Thank God.’ She turned to Valerie Larson. ‘Thank you.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Larson snapped at her, her expression one of irritation rather than concern.

‘For calling the ambulance.’

‘What ambulance?’ Valerie Larson turned to the CCTV monitors.

The engine hum turned into a roar. Angela could make out two, maybe three separate vehicles. Then the sirens started up.

Three police vans appeared at the top left of the bank of monitors. Angela watched as they burst through the gates into the yard. Another two were parked up on the road outside the gates to the mansion.

‘Sweet Christ… What the fuck?’ Valerie Larson lunged towards the desk and snatched her bag and an armful of files, then flew across the room, knocking Pete’s head with her foot as she went. She got as far as the door and stopped.

‘Shirley! Leave him. We need to get out of here.’

Shirley stopped pumping Pete’s chest, stared at her employer for a moment then pinched his nose between finger and thumb. She blew air into his mouth.

The clatter of boots on floorboards thundered up the corridor. Two uniformed police officers arrived at the door, their sheer bulk forcing Valerie Larson back into the room.

‘Shit,’ she said.

The officers stepped to one side to allow a man in a fluorescent jacket to pass. He flashed ID at Valerie Larson.

‘Brian Nicholls, Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs.’ He scanned the room.

‘Please,’ Angela said. ‘We’ve got to get this man to hospital. He needs help.’

More uniformed policemen arrived at the door.

‘Seize the documents. I need to speak to all Larson employees. No one leaves the premises.’

‘Look at him!’ Angela, with some effort, pushed herself off the desk, in the process slipping a file behind her back. ‘We’ve got to get him proper medical attention.’ She looked at Shirley. ‘Is he breathing?’

‘Barely,’ Shirley said quietly.

‘Can I borrow two of these officers?’ Angela turned to the man in the fluorescent vest. ‘We don’t have time to wait for an ambulance now. I need help getting him into a van. I’ll take him to the hospital myself.’

‘I’ll still need to speak to you.’ The man from the Inland Revenue scrutinised her through his designer spectacles.

‘Fine – you’ll find me in A&E.’

Angela watched three policemen struggle to lift Pete off the floor and into the corridor. She followed them out. Someone coughed noisily behind her.

‘Madam? I think you’re forgetting something. No documents to leave the premises…’

Angela pushed the file at the nearest policeman without breaking her stride.

51

Police tape stretched right across Brownhill Road, flapping in the wind, beyond that two parked squad cars formed a roadblock. The whole of the high street had been cordoned off.

‘This is as far as I can take you.’ The cab driver swivelled in his seat. ‘Sixty-eight quid.’

Caroline pulled all the notes she’d taken from Pete and Tate from her pocket and shoved them towards the driver. She jumped out of the cab and ran towards the cordon. She was still at least half a mile from home. A policeman held up his hands as she approached.

‘Sorry, madam – I can’t let you though.’

‘I live here. I’ve got to get to my house.’

‘We’ve evacuated the area. A major gas leak has been reported.’

‘You don’t understand – my son… he’s ill. He needs me.’

Caroline tried to squeeze between a wooden barrier and the policeman. She felt a firm hand wrap round her arm, pulling her back.

‘Please, madam. I don’t want to have to arrest you.’

‘I’ve got to get home.’

His grip tightened.

‘Give me your address – I’ll see if I can free up a couple of officers.’

‘OK – I’ll take them there.’ She looked across the street and back again. ‘Where are they?’

‘I don’t have the resources to do it right now.’

Caroline threw up her hands. ‘There’s no time.’ She shook off his arm and ran back down the street, away from the cordon. She reached the junction and saw a line of stationary traffic blocking the next road. It looked like the whole area had been shut off. For a moment she imagined Dan lying in the kitchen, the oven door open, gas seeping through the whole house and out into the street.

Please God no.

She sucked in a breath and scanned the houses opposite. An old woman peered from her living room window at her. Caroline stared at her for a moment, then jabbed a finger towards the woman’s front door. She ran to it and leaned on the bell. When the woman didn’t respond straightaway she pounded her fist against the wood.

‘All right, all right,’ a voice muttered from inside.

The door opened slowly.

Caroline looked down to see the woman was leaning heavily on a walking stick.

‘Police!’ She flashed her mobile phone at the woman, hoping her eyes were as bad as her legs, and rushed down the hall towards a door at the end. The house was laid out just like hers. She flew through the kitchen and stopped at the back door. It was locked.

‘What do you want?’ The woman was making her way painfully slowly down the hall.

‘Got to check all the gardens. I’ll need the key for back door and the garden gate.’

Caroline lost precious seconds waiting for the old woman to find the keys. She grabbed them from her, unlocked the back door, darted across the lawn and unpadlocked the wooden gate. She left the key in the padlock and shouted over her shoulder.

‘Don’t forget to lock up after me!’

She hurtled down the alley that ran behind the houses, punching in the number of Dan’s mobile as she went. For the first time, instead of going straight to voicemail, the call was answered after a single ring.

‘Dan!’

All she could hear were the blasts of her own breath as she ran.

‘Dan – are you all right?’

She reached the end of the alley and stopped. A faint rasp sounded in her ear. Then a louder, sharper noise, as if Dan was clucking his tongue against his teeth.

‘Too late!’

A man’s voice.
Him
? Her hand flew up to her mouth.

‘Where’s Dan?’ she hollered into the phone. ‘What have you—’

The line went dead.

Caroline willed her shaking legs forward, picking up speed until she got to the opening that led to her road. The street was empty. She ran right up the middle, past the abandoned houses, gasping for air with every step.

Finally her house came into view. She saw two figures standing in the front garden. She flew up the garden path and threw herself at the thick-necked man blocking the front door. He brushed her off like an annoying insect.

‘Let me in!’ She turned to the smiling man slouching against the window ledge.

‘For fuck’s sake, Prior! Let me into my house!’ She pounded a fist into his chest. Immediately an enormous arm slipped across her throat, a crushing weight squeezing out the air.

‘I’m so glad you could make it, Caroline,’ Prior said. ‘I’d almost given up on you.’ He sniffed. ‘Can you smell gas, Caroline?’ He sniffed again. ‘No? That’s strange, isn’t it?’

Caroline struggled to free herself. She couldn’t breathe.

‘I gather a lot of reported gas leaks are false alarms. The general public does tend to overreact. Though it is an extremely efficient method of clearing an area of unwanted onlookers.’

Prior had a mobile phone in each hand, weighing one against the other. Caroline recognised them. They were both Dan’s.

‘Terrible worry aren’t they – teenage boys.’ He smiled at her. ‘You just never know what they’re getting up to. Who they’re mixing with.’ He stared at one of the phones. ‘They can make all sorts of unsuitable friends nowadays of course. They do love to reach out on these dreadful social networking sites.’ He smiled again. ‘Such a worry.’

Caroline tried to speak, but her words came out in a muffled moan.

‘For God’s sake,’ Prior said. ‘Don’t strangle her.’

The huge arm slipped away from her throat. Caroline bent over and tried to drag air into her lungs.

‘Social networking can be so dangerous in the wrong hands. It’s incredibly easy to remain completely anonymous. And untraceable. There are countless predators pretending to be someone they’re not. And teenagers are so suggestible at that stage in their development. Don’t you think?’

Caroline lifted her head finally and looked up at him. He was smiling again.

‘I must admit, young Daniel did seem particularly receptive.’

Caroline thrust forward a hand, ramming it into Prior’s crotch. She squeezed as hard as she could and grabbed his jacket, pulling herself upright.

A moment later she was flying backwards, her feet off the ground, more suffocating pressure against her windpipe. Prior stepped towards her, tears in his eyes. She kicked out and caught him in the shin.

He cleared his throat. ‘Were you aware
just
how troubled Daniel has been lately, Caroline? Judging by my little online chats with him, it seemed he had no one else to turn to. Perhaps a little more time spent at home and fewer late nights in the office and none of this would have happened. In fact – I’m sure it wouldn’t.’ He smiled at her.

Caroline tried to kick him again, but he was out of reach. The pressure on her throat increased.

‘A little gentle coercion goes a very long way with such a vulnerable boy.’

Black dots started to appear at the edge of Caroline’s vision. She blinked. Prior’s smiling face was blurring, fading into blackness.