See How They Run (10 page)

‘
B
e ready
,’ Renshaw said. ‘I planned to do this alone. It may not work with two— three,’ he corrected himself.

Twisting round, Alice saw that he’d moved the deckchairs aside and was scrabbling at the brickwork as if hoping to claw out a hiding place. She crawled towards him, arching her spine to keep Evie’s carrier from catching on the boards. Taking a second to orient herself, she realised this was the party wall with number 45. Lawrence Wright’s home.

There was a grunt of exertion from Renshaw, and to the sound of bricks shifting and sliding a shadow opened in the wall. He removed half a dozen in a single block, and now she could see an outline where the mortar had been pre-cut.

‘When did you do this?’

‘Months ago. Today we have some good fortune,’ he added drily. ‘The man next door is out.’

Alice leaned closer to the cavity and saw that Lawrence Wright’s wall had been cut the same way, the loose bricks sitting in place like tins on a shelf. Renshaw got to work, his upper body disappearing into the space between the walls. A sudden impact reverberated through the building and he backed out, cursing, his face and hair clouded with dust.

‘Too heavy. It slipped from my fingers.’

‘They’ll have heard that.’

‘All the more reason to hurry. It is a tight fit. Remove the papoose.’

‘No.’

‘You must. I will pass the baby through to you.’

Alice knew it was probably the right thing to do, but the thought of leaving her daughter in Renshaw’s care, even for a few seconds, while she crawled into the unknown …

‘Now!’ he hissed, and made to grab at one of the straps. Alice batted his hand away and removed the carrier herself, only to discover that Evie was wide awake and gazing at her with an absurdly placid curiosity:
What’s this strange adventure we’re having?

T
he next sound
from downstairs was a muffled impact, followed by a long groan from the woodwork, as if someone was testing the strength of the front door. Putting aside her misgivings, Alice handed the baby over and prepared to crawl through the wall. Even without the carrier, there was only just room to squeeze through. As she moved forward, Renshaw warned her to take care.

‘The other side is not boarded.’

‘Right.’ She had a vivid childhood memory of her dad slipping in the loft and putting his foot through the ceiling. He’d sprained his ankle and taught her several new swear words in the process.

It took only a few seconds but it was a gruesome experience, the air cold and foul, dust and soot choking her nostrils. Her hands were stung by loose grit, and dead insects crunched beneath her skin. A narrow void separated each skin of brickwork, hung with grimy cobwebs like the entrance to a monster’s lair. Alice was plagued by an image of the blackness suddenly widening to swallow her whole – and Renshaw, with her daughter in his possession, cackling gleefully as he bricked up the wall and sealed her in …

The neighbouring loft was in darkness, with only a faint square of illumination around the hatch. As her vision adjusted to the gloom, she saw there were half a dozen plastic storage crates sitting on the joists, filled with what looked like papers and books.

The timbers were rough with splinters and difficult to grip firmly. She was pulling herself forward when a slapping noise caused her to freeze. It was followed by a creak of movement. Her first thought was Lawrence Wright, now home and on his way upstairs to investigate the disturbance.

Then the sound repeated, echoing in the confined space, and she realised it came from overhead. Something on the roof.

A seagull, she hoped. Just a bloody seagull.

She wriggled and kicked, scraping over the joists while trying to avoid contact with the ancient rockwool that was packed between them. She knew it was an irritant to the skin, and also dangerous if inhaled. A terrible environment for a baby.

It seemed to take forever to bring her legs through, then clamber up into a crouching position, so that she could turn back to face the opening. There was another stab of pure terror that Renshaw would refuse to hand Evie over to her.

But he was urging her to go faster. He thrust the carrier at her, barely giving her time to retreat with Evie before he shoved the rucksack through. Then he surprised her by turning, pushing his feet towards her and squeezing himself backwards through the gap. That way he was able to drag the deckchairs back into place, he explained as he straightened up. To buy them a little more time.

Alice had fastened the carrier and was trying to pacify Evie, who hadn’t been impressed by their brief separation and looked on the verge of a tantrum. Renshaw brushed past her on his hands and knees, moving towards the hatch. As he reached it, Alice saw what was missing.

‘No ladder.’

A brusque noise from Renshaw. ‘We jump.’

‘But I can’t—’

‘I did not plan this with you in mind. Or the infant.’

He moved the hatch aside, throwing light and shadow into the loft. Alice saw a patch of grey carpet, far below, and felt like a parachutist peering from the aircraft door.

‘This is crazy,’ she muttered, to which Renshaw took offence.

‘You should thank me. You brought this about. Now I am saving your life.’

I
t was
an outrageous distortion of the truth, but before she could protest he had twisted and put his legs over the edge. The rucksack went first, dropped like ballast, then Renshaw leaned forward and fell.

He landed heavily, collapsing on the floor. Alice wondered about the odds of Lawrence Wright having returned within the last few minutes. Supposing he popped up now and confronted them, what would Renshaw do?

Fortunately no one appeared. Renshaw climbed to his feet, wincing as he tested his ankles, and beckoned her to follow.

Alice looked down and was suddenly paralysed. ‘I can’t.’

‘You must. Or else I leave you to your fate.’

Alice shut her eyes, swallowed, and told herself:
This is just a dream. A crazy dream. In which case, it can’t hurt to jump, can it?

She nodded, but told him she wanted to hand Evie down first. It meant another delay while she removed the carrier once more, Renshaw muttering crossly. Then a horrible moment, leaning over the hatch, when her knee slipped partly off the joist: she nearly dropped Evie, and could have tumbled out after her and injured them both. She realised she was shaking; her system so flooded with adrenalin that it was almost impossible to keep still.

Stretching up on tiptoe, Renshaw just managed to reach the carrier. ‘Let her go,’ he said crossly.

‘You don’t have her properly.’

‘Let. Her. Go.’

‘You’ll drop—’ Alice yelped as Renshaw somehow gained a little more height and snatched the baby from her grasp. Then he enraged her by setting Evie down on the floor at the end of the landing, abandoning her while he strode into one of the bedrooms.

Alice swung her legs round and virtually leapt from the loft, all fear for her own safety forgotten in her haste to get to Evie.

Renshaw was hurrying back as she picked up the carrier and fixed Evie to her chest. Ignoring her, he crossed the landing into another bedroom. Alice followed him to the doorway and saw him staring down at the street.

‘There’s a man out front, preparing to break in next door. The woman, Sian, is keeping watch, across the road.’

Alice gestured behind them. ‘And the man out back?’

‘I can’t see him. Probably he waits in my yard, by the back door.’

He put the rucksack on and made for the stairs. He moved with such an easy familiarity that Alice wondered if he’d been in here before.

Despite the danger, there was a foolish but undeniable thrill to know she was trespassing in someone else’s home. Passing a spare bedroom full of bottles and wine-making paraphernalia, she followed Renshaw downstairs. He paused at the kitchen door and gave the carrier a scornful glance.

‘The baby must stay quiet. If they hear us, all this will be for nothing. We must wait now in silence.’

‘Wait? But you’ve been rushing me—’

‘To be ready.’ He gestured with his thumb. ‘Out there, they are waiting, too. Probably for another car. And when they go in, we go out.’

Alice frowned. ‘You mean, sneak past them?’

‘Yes. So the baby …’ A finger at his lips. ‘No noise.’

L
awrence Wright’s
kitchen was compact but modern, with gleaming white cabinets and black speckled Corian worktops. The tiled floor had been recently cleaned: there was a sharp tang of disinfectant in the air, which reminded Alice of something.

‘That bucket in your kitchen … what’s in it?’

‘Nothing to concern you.’

Gesturing for silence again, Renshaw approached the back door, his battered brogues sliding on the damp tiles. The door was half-glazed, with a bolt at the bottom. There was a Yale lock, and a key which presumably corresponded to it, hanging from a hook next to the door.

Renshaw moved cautiously towards the window, looked out for perhaps half a minute, then slipped the key off its hook and unlocked the door. With another warning glance at Alice, he knelt down and drew back the bolt.

Alice waited, sure that the tension in her must be apparent to Evie. She’d begun to rock her, gently, without being aware that she was doing it; she’d found before that the carrier seemed to work wonders, and now the combination of movement and body heat was sending Evie to sleep again.

Slowly Renshaw eased the door handle down. Alice risked moving closer to him, wanting to scout out the route they would take. Lawrence Wright’s garden had been imaginatively laid out in a diamond pattern of flagstones and loose gravel, bordered by a colourful variety of plants in raised beds enclosed within old railway sleepers.

Renshaw opened the door a fraction, letting in sounds from outside: traffic noise and seagulls, and then a voice. The low murmur of a phone conversation.

And the voice was familiar. The man in the Freddy Krueger mask. The one who’d—

‘Got it,’ the man said, and Alice felt her legs go weak at the thought of how close he was: three or four feet away, hidden by nothing more than a flimsy wooden fence.

They heard a dull thud, then a splintering noise. He was forcing the lock.

Renshaw used the sound to cover them, opening the door a few more inches. Then he froze as a low buzzing noise filled the room. He glared at Alice:
What is it?

The second buzz was louder. It seemed to originate from Renshaw himself.

‘My phone,’ Alice mouthed at him. ‘In your pocket.’

In a panic, Renshaw scrabbled for the phone, almost dropping it as he tried to figure out the controls. The ring tone was set to increase in volume, and it was doing that very effectively. Alice was about to grab it from him when he located the power button and switched it off.

He shoved the phone away, glared at her again, and turned to the door. Once she’d recovered from the shock, Alice realised that it now seemed incredibly quiet.

The man next door had stopped what he was doing.

He’d heard them.

‘
W
hat will you do now
?’ Harry asked Ruth, when they’d walked back to their original meeting point by the Pump Room.

‘Probably stick around for another day or two. See what I can find out about these visitors you had last night.’

He nodded. ‘And then what? Assuming they don’t reappear … ?’

‘Back to East Anglia, I guess. There’s someone I need to see.’

She stopped, a little abruptly. Harry touched her arm, and said, ‘Go on. Please.’

Ruth sighed. ‘Greg had a source with links to the gang. Since his death she’s kept a low profile. Keeps changing the name she works under. I only tracked down a number for her a couple of weeks ago.’

‘Why haven’t you spoken to her before now?’

‘She’s refused to talk to me. I need to meet her face-to-face.’ Ruth was avoiding his gaze; she looked subdued, almost embarrassed. ‘She’s an escort. A call girl. She slept with my husband while he was trying to get information about Laird.’

Harry had no idea what to say. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah, well. Shit happens.’ Her shrug was too casual to be genuine; this cut her deeply, Harry was sure.

He frowned. ‘So, uh, why was your husband investigating Laird in the first place? Didn’t you say it was off the books?’

‘That, Harry, is definitely something you don’t need to know.’

It was a blunt response, and it came just as he was convincing himself that he should tell her about the parcel. Insulted by her manner, he changed his mind in that instant. If she wasn’t prepared to open up to him, then why should he confide in her?

They shook hands like a couple of politicians, cordial but each a little wary of the other.

Ruth said, ‘Goodbye, Harry. Stay alert, okay, but don’t drive yourself crazy, either.’

He nodded grimly. ‘Easier said than done, but I’ll give it a try.’

Ruth turned and walked away in the direction of Hove Lawns. He knew he might not see her again, and it struck Harry that this would be a good thing if it also meant there was no further contact from the gang.

So why, then, was there a sense of regret?

Pondering that, and unable to find an answer, Harry climbed the ramp to the main road and waited to cross at the lights. He took out his phone, saw there were no missed calls or texts, and rang home.

There was no answer on the landline, but that didn’t worry him unduly. It was just gone one o’clock. With such lovely weather, Alice could simply have taken Evie for a walk after lunch.

He tried her mobile. It rang three, four times, then abruptly cut off. Harry stared, uncomprehending, at the display. Why would Alice do that?

He went cold inside. The traffic lights had changed but he ignored the bleeping of the pedestrian crossing as he considered the only answer that made sense to him.

She wouldn’t.

A
lice thought
she could almost
feel
the man next door listening for them. Renshaw was glowering at her but she ignored him. Her focus was on Evie, praying her daughter wouldn’t choose this moment to make her presence known.

A few seconds of agonising silence, then a grunt as the man got back to work. Renshaw took a deep breath, eased the door open and signalled to Alice.

‘Once he’s inside,’ he mouthed. She nodded.

Breaking in was evidently a tough prospect. It took another minute before they heard the timber splitting; a clatter as the door flew open and hit a kitchen unit.

Alice was aware of the anticipation on Renshaw’s face: a faint smile forming.

Next came a scream, the dull thud of a bucket hitting the floor. Frantic activity in the kitchen; cries of pain and then the sound of water splashing.

By then Renshaw was moving, in a fast scuttling action, crouching below the line of the fence. Alice followed, taking careful strides to avoid the patches of gravel. At the end of the garden there was a waist-high wall with a wooden trellis mounted on top. Thankfully, the railway sleepers formed a step, and the top of the wall looked wide enough to stand on while they climbed over the trellis.

The only drawback was that they would be visible to anyone looking out of Renshaw’s windows. That was where the booby trap had come in, she realised. To divert attention.

Renshaw had charged the wall with too much momentum. He grabbed the trellis to keep from falling backwards, but it wasn’t strong enough to take his weight. Alice saw him teetering and managed to brace him, buying a vital second in which he grabbed a post and regained his balance.

Alice hurried after him, faster and more agile, but hampered by the baby carrier. The knowledge that the gang had guns was never far from her mind. From one of the back bedrooms it would be like shooting tin cans at a fairground.

Lifting her leg over the trellis, she felt a sudden cold sensation along her spine. She glanced back at Renshaw’s house and caught a man staring at her from an upper window, just as she’d feared. For a moment he looked bewildered; then he shouted something and disappeared.

‘They’ve seen us,’ she cried.

‘Hurry, then.’ A note of distress in Renshaw’s voice. He’d snagged his trousers on a nail, and had to wrench himself free before dropping into the alley.

Alice had to jump while trying to hold Evie steady. She landed inelegantly, falling to her knees on the narrow weed-strewn path. She felt a sharp pain as one hand slapped against the ground. A sliver of glass had embedded itself in her palm.

‘This way.’ Renshaw gestured in the direction of Port Hall Road. They ran in single file, Renshaw taking the lead, Alice desperately soothing Evie and trying to ignore the throbbing in her hand.

At the end of the alley Renshaw checked the way was clear, while Alice looked behind them. There was no one on the path, but she thought she could hear voices and movement from one of the gardens.

Renshaw made for an old Seat Ibiza parked a few yards away. Alice dimly recalled having noticed it before; a permanent fixture in the street.

‘Will it start?’

‘Yes, it will start.’ He shrugged off the rucksack and slung it on to the back seat. ‘Get in.’

Alice gripped the handle of the passenger door, then hesitated for a moment. She didn’t have to obey him. Renshaw would probably drive off without another thought for her safety. And yet, strangely, it was his indifference to her fate that made the decision for her.

The men chasing them would be here within seconds. On foot, Alice could never escape.

It was Renshaw who had put her in this danger. Now he had to get her out.