Shaun Hutson - Captives

'Put some fucking clothes on, Scott,' he said angrily. 'You're under arrest.'

'You've got no right to come bursting in here like this,' Scott snarled. 'What's the fucking charge, anyway?'

The plain clothes man looked at him, his eyes narrowed.

'Murder.'

SEVENTY-ONE

'I'm here to help you. But I can't do that unless you help yourself.'

Brian Hall leant on the edge of the table and looked down at Scott.

Hall was about thirty-five, dressed immaculately in a charcoal-grey Armani suit. He was clean-shaven and his hair combed perfectly. The contrast between the lawyer and Scott was stark. Scott was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt which needed washing. He sported a thick growth of stubble and his eyes were sunken, with dark rings beneath them. He'd managed to grab a couple of hours' sleep in the cell since they'd brought him in, but it was scarcely enough to refresh him. He looked as bad as he felt. Now he cupped both hands around the plastic beaker full of luke-warm coffee and lowered his head, staring into the depths of the brown liquid as if seeking inspiration there.

Hall had arrived at Dalston police station about twenty minutes ago and announced that he was acting for Scott. He'd been shown to the interview room where Scott sat with a uniformed officer close by the door. The room smelt of stale sweat and strong coffee. All it contained were the table and two wooden chairs, one of which Hall now gripped the back of, looking first at the policeman then at Scott.

'Talk to me, Jim,' he said. 'That's what I'm here for. I'm here to help you but I can't do that unless you talk to me. Tell me what happened.' There was a hint of exasperation in his voice.

Scott looked up at him and motioned towards the policeman.

'Could I have a few minutes alone with my client, please?' Hall said. The policeman nodded, got to his feet and walked out, closing the door behind him.

'Now will you talk to me?' Hall said.

'How did Plummer know I was here?' Scott wanted to know.

'I don't really see what that's got to do with it…'

'How?' snarled Scott.

'Word gets round, Jim. Once he heard you'd been arrested it was just a matter of finding out which police station you were being held at,' Hall said. 'He called me, asked me to help you.'

Scott was unimpressed. He lowered his head again, the knot of muscles at the side of his jaw pulsing angrily.

Plummer knew where he was.

'And are you supposed to get me out of here?' he asked, sardonically.

'I can't do that,' Hall said, flatly. 'You know that. They won't even post bail with the evidence against you.'

'I didn't kill those blokes,' Scott told him.

'I'm sure you didn't but…'

Scott interrupted him, angrily.

'I didn't fucking kill them,' he snarled.

'That's as maybe, but unfortunately the evidence points to the fact that you did.' Hall exhaled deeply. 'The three men were shot with your gun. Your fingerprints were found on the spent shell cases they found on The Sandhopper's deck. On top of that you've got no alibi for the time of the murders.' Hall walked slowly up and down. 'They've got enough evidence to throw away the key, Jim. My only advice to you is to plead guilty.'

Scott smiled humourlessly.

'Well, thanks for that brilliant piece of help,' he sneered. 'Did Plummer send you here just to tell me that?'

'I don't know what else to say to you. The evidence against you is overwhelming.'

'I didn't kill them.'

'Then who did?'

'John Hitch,' Scott said flatly. 'Hitch killed them with my gun on Plummer's orders. I've been fitted up.'

'That's ridiculous,' Hall said. 'If Plummer was trying to frame you, why send me here to help you?'

'All part of the fucking act. He's done me up like a kipper and I fucking fell for it. That's what annoys me as much as anything. I walked straight into it.' He clenched his fists.

'You say Hitch killed them. You may believe that…'

'I know it,' Scott snarled.

'All right,' Hall said, raising his own voice. 'You know it. You know it, but on the evidence against you there isn't a jury in the world that's going to believe you.' He lowered his voice slightly. 'You'll go down for life.'

SEVENTY-TWO

She could hear their voices from the sitting room. As Carol Jackson moved about in the kitchen she could hear the steady burble of conversation, punctuated every so often by a laugh.

She cracked eggs into a frying pan and stood over them while they cooked, wincing as hot fat spat at her from the pan. It missed her skin and stained Plummer's monogrammed dressing gown. Beneath it, Carol was naked. She had hauled herself out of bed about twenty minutes ago when she'd heard the doorbell. Plummer had told her to make breakfast while he spoke to John Hitch. The blond man had nodded a greeting to her, and Carol had been aware of his appraising gaze. She retreated to the kitchen to cook breakfast but the odd sentence floated to her through the smells of frying bacon and toasting bread. Words and sentences, some of which she found unsettling.

'Scott was arrested…'

'Three killed…'

'The boat was sunk…'

Scott was arrested. She had almost dropped the frying pan when she'd heard that. She wanted to rush into the sitting room and ask why, ask where he'd been taken, but she knew she could not do that. And she wondered why she felt such a sense of despair.

Or was it loss?

Was it despair for Scott or for herself?

You wanted him out of your life; well, now he'll be gone for good.

But that wasn't how she wanted it. She didn't want him hurt.

He won't be hurt, just locked up. Locked away for the rest of his life.

Carol ran a hand through her tousled hair and sighed.

Out of sight, out of mind.

She heard Hitch mention where he'd been taken.

The fat spat at her again and she jumped back in surprise and pain as, this time, it burned her hand. She ran it beneath the cold tap for a moment then dried it and returned to the pan, lowering the heat, scooping the eggs out and onto a plate. She called to Plummer that his breakfast was ready and a moment later he ambled in, followed by Hitch. Both men sat down and Plummer began eating immediately. Hitch accepted the cup of tea Carol offered him, looking at her as she turned her back on him. He gazed at her shapely legs, exposed as far as her thighs. Carol gave him his tea then sat down at the table next to Plummer, who carried on eating.

'When will it be unloaded?' he wanted to know.

'By the end of the day it'll be hidden. Safe. Then all we have to do is sit on it until the time's right,' Hitch told him. He glanced across at Carol. She self-consciously pulled her dressing-gown more tightly across her breasts.

'And there's no way Connelly can trace the job back to us?' Plummer said, shoving a piece of bacon into his mouth.

'Not without witnesses,' Hitch said, smiling thinly.

Plummer smiled and shook his head.

'Twenty million fucking quid,' he chuckled.

Carol looked at him. She couldn't even begin to imagine that amount of money. The figures were enough to make her head spin.

And Scott? She wanted to ask. Instead she glanced across at Hitch and found his gaze on her again.

'Nice cup of tea,' he said, smiling.

Carol smiled thinly in response and picked at the piece of toast on her plate.

The phone rang.

Plummer got to his feet immediately and walked through into the sitting room to answer it.

'Is that how you keep your figure?' Hitch asked, lowering his voice slightly. 'By not eating much?' He was gazing at her breasts again.

She shrugged.

'What do you mean?'

'You've got a good figure,' he told her, glancing quickly towards the door to make sure Plummer hadn't returned.