Alex Gray - Shadows of Sounds

The tune in his head beat a rhythm, four more days, four more days, it told him. He glanced in the rear view mirror as he pulled into the street and headed back into town. It was early for churchgoers but there was one red estate car outside a neighbour’s house with two men in the front; a taxi for Mrs Ellis, perhaps? He’d seen nothing of his nosey neighbour these past months and wasn’t sorry.

As the Lexus turned the corner Lorimer was unable to see the red car creep slowly forward until it was level with his own gate.

When the front door clicked open Flynn assumed that Lorimer had come back for something he’d forgotten and so the footsteps on the stair didn’t bother him. He was laughing out loud at Tom and Jerry’s latest cartoon antics as the cat splatted against the garden gate but his laugh turned to a cry as the hands went around his throat.

‘Havin’ fun in the polisman’s hoose, are ye, pal?’ a familiar voice came from behind him. Flynn wrestled out of the grasp and shot out of the chair, standing panting as he watched Seaton grinning at him. The green eyes narrowed. Like cat’s eyes, Flynn thought, suddenly seeing something flicker in their depths.

‘Whit the hell are you doin’ here?’

‘Aw, that’s no very nice, Flynn. Can a mate no’ go and visit his old pals, eh?’ Seaton stood laughing at him, arms folded across his chest.

He was a head smaller than Flynn but his stocky frame was all muscle from years in the boxing ring. He was quick, too and liked to hurt people for fun.

‘How did ye know ah wis here?’ Flynn rubbed the sore place on his neck where Seaton’s hands had gripped him moments before.

Allan Seaton tapped the side of his nose. ‘Ways and means, man, ways and means. Anyway, now that I’m here how about making us a wee cup of tea, eh? That would be nice and friendly, now wouldn’t it?’

Flynn hesitated for a moment. He didn’t trust Seaton. How did he know he wouldn’t nick something from the room while he was downstairs in the kitchen? But did he really have any alternative? The dealer was sitting down now, casually flicking channels with the remote control, legs crossed in front of him.

‘Ah, this is mair like it!’ he said, finding an old gangster movie where the action involved two men slugging it out on screen. He looked up and winked. Flynn got the message loud and clear. With an inward sigh the boy turned and headed for the stairs leaving the dealer absorbed in the movie.

The kettle was just coming to the boil and Flynn was trying to cut open a new packet of ginger nut biscuits when a noise behind him made him whirl around. In the moment that followed the scissors flew out of his hand scattering biscuits all over the kitchen floor then that searing white light that he’d known once before crashed into his brain.

Audrey Ellis watched in fascination as the two men came out of Chief Inspector Lorimer’s front porch. What on earth were they doing carrying a carpet out? Did Maggie Lorimer know her husband was rearranging the furnishings on a Sunday morning?

Her eyes widened. The Lexus was nowhere to be seen! Then one hand flew involuntarily to her pearled bosom at the sight of two stockinged feet protruding from the end of the rolled up carpet.

For a moment she was rooted to the spot then common sense prevailed and she snatched up her well-used binoculars and hastily copied down the red estate car’s registration. Even as the car sped away, Mrs Ellis was dialling DCI Lorimer’s telephone number.

‘He’s what?’ Lorimer paled as the woman recounted what she had seen.

‘Removed your house guest by the looks of things,’ came the reply. Mrs Ellis actually sounded as though she were enjoying some drama this Sunday morning. Lorimer listened long enough to copy down the red car’s registration and mutter a hasty word of thanks before grabbing the paper and jabbing out the extension number he needed.

‘Get a check on this one would you?’ He rattled off some more detailed instructions before adding, ‘And find Alistair Wilson. I need him. Now.’

Lorimer pulled his coat off the stand in the corner and headed for the door. He was almost at the foot of the stairs when the Detective Sergeant appeared, clattering down behind him.

‘What’s up?’

‘They’ve got Flynn,’ Lorimer answered shortly.

‘Who?’

‘That’s what we’re about to find out. Thank God for the Mrs Ellises of this world,’ he breathed. ‘She saw someone snatch him. We’ve put out a call for any available squad cars to track them. Meantime I want someone over at my place, see what’s there. Here’s the keys,’ he added, handing over the bundle.

‘Doubt if I’ll need them,’ came the answer and Lorimer nodded briefly. He was probably right. Whoever had taken the boy away wouldn’t have bothered about niceties like locking up. He cursed himself. Why hadn’t he told Flynn to put on the chain like he always did? It had become like a mantra every time he’d left the boy alone in the house.

The red car sped along the dual carriageway, oblivious to the notice that speed cameras lay just ahead. The driver took the roundabout at fifty screeching the tyres as the car wobbled between lanes. There was a straight stretch of road just ahead then he would turn along that country road just like Seaton had told him.

He put his foot on the accelerator and grinned as the rev counter flipped forward.

Then his face changed suddenly as a familiar sound drowned out the car’s whine. For a moment he was tempted to hit the pedal again but the flashing blue light ahead and a glance at Seaton’s angry expression told him he’d be wasting his time.

Flynn came to as the car thudded to a halt. For some reason he could hardly breathe and it was dark, wherever he was. Was this a nightmare? Was he going to wake up in his hospital bed? The blankets were stifling him and for some reason he couldn’t pull them away. His legs were tucked under him but he wanted to stretch them out. Suddenly the memory of another man curled into a duvet invaded his jumbled thoughts. He remembered the feel of the tray handles in his hands as he’d carried in the breakfast.

Lorimer!

Flynn groaned aloud as memory came flooding back bringing with it an ache in his head. He heard car doors slam and voices rise in protest. Then suddenly the light came back as the boot was wrenched opened and unseen hands pulled his twisted body from its cocoon of carpet. Trembling, Flynn closed his eyes, waiting for another blow to fall.

‘Flynn? You all right, son?’

Flynn opened his eyes and saw the familiar blue gaze of Lorimer staring anxiously down at him. The boy nodded then groaned as the policeman lifted him out of the car boot and tried to help him to stand upright.

‘Aw, ma heid,’ Flynn moaned, his hands investigating the recent scar. He did not resist as Lorimer’s fingers ran lightly across his scalp.

‘It’s OK. No apparent damage. But we’ll get you checked out just the same.’

‘Ah feel sick,’ Flynn swayed suddenly and turned away, grasping the boot of the car for support. Lorimer flinched as the boy’s breakfast exploded over the red paintwork.

‘Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and you can tell me all about it,’ he said gently, helping Flynn to straighten up.

‘Where’s …?’ Flynn’s question was answered as his gaze fell upon Allan Seaton and a fellow he knew only as Mick. They were being pushed into the back of a police car, their hands well and truly cuffed behind them.

‘Just how did you know where he was?’ Lorimer asked, his face grim.

Allan Seaton shrugged, ‘The big man, big Carl, he told us,’ he replied, avoiding Lorimer’s angry stare.

The policeman sat back. How the hell had Carl Bekaert known his home address? Or that Flynn had been staying there?