Jack Slater - Nowhere to Run

He was now off the streets and the gear, and working in a betting shop. Or, he had been, last Pete had heard.

‘That’s right,’ added Ben, the spiky-haired and baby-faced newbie of the team, having moved into the office just over a year ago.

‘What did Louise think of the idea?’ asked Jane. Shockingly, her red hair, which she had always worn long, had been cut into a stylish bob, parted and swept back at the sides since he last saw her. It was a drastic change, but it suited her.

‘She hardly noticed, to be honest,’ he admitted. ‘She doesn’t take much interest in anything, lately.’

Jane’s face fell. ‘I’m sorry, boss.’

Pete shrugged as he reached his desk and sat down opposite her. ‘So, what’s the news? What’s been happening?’

They sat, the celebratory mood broken.

‘Well, today’s all about Operation Natterjack,’ Dave said. ‘Bloody stupid name. Everybody’s out, dragging drug dealers, distributors and manufacturers out of their beds and off the streets.’

‘Which is why Colin wanted me back in today, to keep you lot under control. Yeah, I know about that,’ Pete said. ‘What else?’

There was a pause. Then Jane shrugged. ‘Not a lot, really, boss. We’re just hoping for a nice, quiet day. Share a pizza for lunch. Keep the phones manned and wait for the glory boys to trickle back in with all their arrests, which they’re going to have to do the paperwork on while we sit back and take the piss.’

He looked from one face to another but no one had anything else to say. ‘OK then. A nice, quiet day it is. We hope.’

*

Lauren’s cheeks were wet with tears, her chin slick with dribbled saliva. She had pulled and pushed, twisted and wiggled the ends of the finger-thick rope around her wrists, but all she had gained were aching arms and fingers and raw, abraded wrists. She had been trying for what seemed like ages. She was exhausted, no longer caring about how disgusting the gag was in her mouth with the spit and the snot and the tears.

God, she wished she had someone who would come looking for her. Come and rescue her from this bloody middle-of-nowhere barn and the arsehole bastard who’d dumped her here. But there was no one. If she was going to get out of this, it was down to her.

She sucked in a breath and, biting down on the wet gag, set to work once more, pushing through the pain.

Curling her fingers up and around, she touched the knot at her wrists and hooked her short nails into the rough strands. She burrowed one slender finger into the knot then wiggled it around as much as she could. If she could just force the rope back through, then get a hold on it . . . She felt it slip just a tiny bit.

‘Yes,’ she gasped.

Tension and excitement mingled in her stomach. She felt queasy as she tried again. Yes, definitely . She adjusted her grip and tried once more, pulling it straight up and – yes! It finally released. She wriggled her wrists and shook her arms. The bindings fell away and her arms slumped to her sides as she fell forward, howling in agony as her shoulders, stuck for so long in one position, dropped free. It was several seconds before she dared to try to lift her arms to untie the gag.

Vision blurred with tears of pain and relief, she could see redness around her wrists, but not how bad they were, as she loosened the gag and spat it out, then reached for the rope at her ankles.

Pulling the knot around to the front, she was glad for the first time of the knee-length white socks they made her wear for school. Quickly, she untied the thin rope and got to her feet. She staggered and put her hand out to the dusty stone wall, waiting a moment until she felt steady. Now she just had to get through those doors and she would be free!

There was no catch or lock on the inside.

She leaned her full weight against the junction of the big, old wooden panels and heaved.

Nothing.

‘God! What now?’ Her voice sounded strange after being gagged for so long. She felt reluctant to make a lot of noise. Not that she had heard any sign of anyone since the man left, but . . . If she was heard by a friend of his, and caught, then . . .

She flinched as a hiss came from the rafters, above and to her right, all the way at the end of the barn. She looked up into the darkness under the roof tiles. Saw a pair of eyes staring down at her. Then another pair.

‘What are you looking at?’ she muttered to the two young owls.

Their parents had it easy. They came in and out of the barn through a hole in the corner of the roof. She had watched them numerous times. She, on the other hand, had to get through these bloody doors.

Pete heard the door open behind him. He finished pouring his coffee, put the jug back on the coffee maker and turned to see who had come into the small kitchen.

‘Jane.’

‘Hey, boss.’

‘So, come on. What weren’t you telling me earlier? What’s been going on while I’ve been gone?’ He took a sip of his coffee and moved aside so she could get some for herself.

‘Well . . . there hasn’t been much, really. Just the usual odds and sods. Burglaries . . . We cracked that string that we were working on when . . . well, you know. A hundred and eighty-seven, it ended up at. All down to one bloke. Derek Atkins. He’s due in court in a couple of months.

‘There was an illegal licence plate deal going on, down on the Marsh Barton industrial estate. We closed that down a few weeks back. They were making them and selling them for cash, without documentation, to all and sundry. Mainly crooks wanting falsies for getaway cars. Major coup, that was. The blokes doing it kept records of who they sold to, stupid sods. We got loads of leads out of that, for all over the place. Here, Dorset, Avon and Somerset, West Mids, Thames Valley, even the Met. I don’t know how many cases got solved out of that one bust. Anyway, they’re the highlights, I suppose.

‘Currently, DS Phillips has got a job on out at the airport, in conjunction with the Transport Police and Customs and Excise. A smuggling ring. They’re hoping to make some arrests on Wednesday, I think. And DS Hancock has got something else going on, on the industrial estate. A series of break-ins. Tools and equipment nicked and safes and cash boxes raided. I don’t know all the details, but I don’t think they’ve got much yet. What about you? How are you doing?’

Pete pursed his lips. He’d known Jane since they were in uniform together, eight or nine years ago. She’d been the first recruit to his team when he’d got his sergeant’s stripes, closely followed by Dave, and he knew full well when she was prevaricating. ‘Never mind me. What’s been happening about Tommy?’

Jane sighed. ‘Boss, you know how it works. You’ve got to stay out of that. If you don’t, anything we find can be compromised.’

‘I don’t need lectures, Jane. I need facts. I’m his dad. I need to know what’s happening and Simon’s told me sweet FA over the last month or more.’

Jane grimaced. ‘As far as I know, there’s been nothing to tell. He hasn’t got anywhere.’

‘Well, why the hell not?’ Pete set his coffee down before he spilt it. ‘Surely, a missing kid – and a copper’s kid at that – takes priority over a smuggling ring that the Transport guys should be handling on their own, anyway?’

‘Of course. But they’ve got nothing new to work on. They’ve run down all the leads they had. It’s like he’s just disappeared off the face of the earth, from what I can gather. And I have been keeping up with things on the quiet.’

Pete sighed, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Sorry, Jane. I’m just—’

‘Frustrated to hell and back, I expect,’ she cut in. ‘We’ve been helping where we can, but it’s Simon’s case, so . . .’ She shrugged. ‘How’s Louise coping?’