Jack Slater - No Way Home

Archways was a secure children’s home which happened to be less than half a mile from where they were sitting, here in Exeter.

‘God! I feel so… mixed up. Happy he’s been found and desperate to see him but at the same time scared to death. I’ll tell you – if I’d be able to see him when I got there, I’d be halfway to Plymouth by now.’

‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Pete countered. ‘You’d be there. And so would I, because I’d have used the blues and twos to get us there and sod the consequences.’

*

Emma didn’t really sleep that night. Her mind kept playing back the attack, the moments leading up to it and those that followed. Over and over, she relived it. Could she have done anything different? Should she simply go down to the police station and report it?

Her instinct was to hide. The last thing she wanted was to have to go through it all again, even just verbally. But, was she thinking straight? She felt groggy, her eyes sore and gritty from lack of sleep. She didn’t know how many times she’d got up in the night to puke, though by three in the morning there was nothing left to bring up. Her stomach ached from trying. It heaved again now, but she knew there was no point rushing to the toilet. She rolled over, moaning, and grabbed a tissue, holding it over her mouth as she retched painfully.

If she went to the police now, her past, which she had tried so hard to leave behind, would all be brought out into the open. The press would get hold of it. Her colleagues would find out. The persona she’d built since she got here would come crashing down around her.

She couldn’t have that.

Emma wiped her mouth with the tissue and clambered out of bed. Took a sip from the bottle of water she’d left on the bedside cabinet last night, swishing it around her mouth before swallowing.

No, she thought: she couldn’t come forward.

But, having decided that, what was she going to do about it? What could she do? She checked the time. The red numbers on her digital alarm read 6.38 a.m. The buses didn’t start until eight and she really needed to be at work by then. She had to get back to her car, see if it would start and, if not, call the breakdown service. Get it going. Get it moved. Otherwise, it would only be a matter of time before someone spotted it and the police came knocking on her door.

But, how was she going to get there? She certainly didn’t fancy walking it.

There was only one way.

Could she?

After last night, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to climb into another taxi, but what other option was there?

None, she told herself.

She reached for the phone, about to dial a number she knew by heart.

No.

That, she couldn’t do.

She picked up the phone book instead.

CHAPTER FOUR

Her tension increased with each passing second. As the seconds became minutes, she barely knew how she managed to stop herself from screaming or running from the flat in a blind panic.

She alternated between watching through the sitting-room window and watching the clock.

Five minutes passed.

The dispatcher had said ten until the cab arrived. But surely, at this time of day, it wouldn’t take that long? Maybe she should go down and wait outside. It was a bright and crisp day. No doubt chilly out there, but there was no frost. Perhaps the fresh air would do her good? But she didn’t want to be seen pacing out there, and there was no way she’d be able to hold still.

She crossed to the window, looked out. Her stomach lurched, one hand going to her mouth as she turned quickly towards the bathroom.

A taxi was pulling into the parking area out there.

She moaned through the hand clamped over her mouth.

With nothing left to bring up, she swallowed and looked out again.

She could ignore it. Let it go on its way. Have the day off sick.

She sighed. She’d already been through all this. It wouldn’t work. She had to go in. Today, of all days, she didn’t have a choice.

Stomach roiling, legs like jelly, she picked up her bag, checked its contents with shaking hands and headed for the door.

*

‘Bob. Is Tommy here?’

The custody sergeant looked awkward. ‘Yes, but I’m under strict orders. You can’t talk to him. Fast-track was adamant. Called me himself. He’s got to be processed through as if you didn’t even know him.’

Pete’s jaw clamped, teeth pressing together hard. ‘If that were the case, I’d have him straight into an interview room. He’s a material witness in an ongoing case of mine.’

‘I know. But, like I said… my hands are tied, mate.’

The urge to ignore the station chief’s orders and head down the corridor to his son’s cell regardless was almost overpowering, but he knew he couldn’t. Apart from anything else, there was a powerful electromagnetic lock in the way, the release of which was out of his reach, on Bob’s side of the desk. He sighed. ‘He’s OK, though, is he?’

‘Of course. We’re checking on him every hour.’

Every hour? ‘How long’s he been here?’

‘Since three. Five hours, nearly.’

‘Well, dammit, how…’ Pete stopped himself, forcing his body to relax against all his instincts. He already knew the answer to the question he’d been about to ask: orders from Fast-track Phil, DCI Adam Silverstone, station chief until he took the next step in his rapid and illustrious rise towards the higher echelons, whether he deserved it or not.

Which, in the opinion of just about everyone who actually had to work with him, he definitely didn’t.

He tapped the high counter. ‘OK, Bob. Just take care of him, yeah?’

‘Goes without saying, mate.’

‘Thanks. Can you tell him I was asking after him, at least?’

‘Of course.’

Pete nodded to the big man and headed along the corridor towards the centre of the building.

*

Emma’s whole body was quaking by the time she got down the stairs into the foyer. The taxi was parked directly in front of her, just a few feet away from the toughened glass doors that were all that separated her from the outside world at this point.

She stepped reluctantly forward, didn’t even think to check her mailbox as she stared hard at the dark maroon car parked sideways on across the entrance. In the deep shadow of its interior, she could just make out the shape of the driver. She frowned. Something didn’t look as it should.

Then she realised.

It was a woman.

‘Oh, my God!’ She couldn’t help saying it out loud as relief flooded through her. She pushed through the doors and hurried to the waiting car. Climbed into the passenger seat. ‘Hi. Sorry it took me a minute to get down here,’ she burbled. ‘Had to check the front door three times. You know how it is. I’d lose my head if it wasn’t screwed on. At least, that’s what my boss tells me.’ She laughed.

The driver, curly blonde hair covering her ears, but not enough to hide her big hoop earrings, looked at her like she was crazy, but also a customer. ‘No worries. Where to, love?’

Emma had prepared her story. Don’t flunk it now , she told herself. ‘The Old Mill. Early start today. Big party coming in and we’ve a delivery scheduled this morning.’

The woman put the car into gear and set off towards Pennsylvania Road. ‘On a Wednesday? I usually see your deliveries on a Monday and Friday, don’t I?’

Oh, shit. Trust me to get a driver that knows more about my alibi than I do. ‘Uh… yes. That’s why we got the party booked for today. But the suppliers phoned last night. They’ve got some kind of vicious bug going around the depot. Lots of drivers off sick with it.’

Wow , she thought, proud of her quick thinking.