Nowhere to Run. Jack Slater
it comes down to, sir, is who’s able to give the case most commitment at this moment in time. And I have to admit, Pete’s right. If he’s back with us fully and completely, it’s him.’
Silverstone turned to face Pete. ‘And are you, Detective Sergeant? Back with us fully and completely?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The DCI sighed noisily. ‘Very well. But I want you to share the case with DS Phillips. That way, if it does get too much, you can hand it over without any break in continuity. And it may tie in with what he’s already working on, which was why I chose him to begin with.’
Pete drew a long, slow breath. What was he – some bloody rookie on his first job? He’d been a detective since before this jumped-up twat got to bloody secondary school. He didn’t need his hand holding. He let the air out through his nose. ‘Sir.’ He turned away, grabbed the door handle and went back through to the squad room before he had a chance to let himself down.
‘Simon.’
The younger detective looked up. Tall but a couple of stones overweight, with curly brown hair and a baby face, he had been a DS just over two years and Pete still struggled to take him seriously in the role.
‘Hi, Pete.’
‘I’m taking that new case off your hands. The missing girl. DCI’s had a change of heart.’
‘You sure?’
‘Don’t you bloody start.’
‘I mean that he’s got a heart to change.’
Pete smiled. ‘No, but he’s changed something. What have you got?’
Simon handed him a sheet of paper. ‘Just what you heard a few minutes ago. And the parents’ address and phone number.’
‘Apparently, I’ve got to keep you in the loop. Might be a connection to your Jane Doe. What’s that about?’
‘She was found ten days ago in the river, down by Powderham Deer Park. About ten, eleven years old. Sexually assaulted, strangled and naked. We’re still trying to find out who she was.’
‘Shit.’ Pete let his eyes close for a second as he absorbed that information. Still trying to ID her and still trying to find Tommy. Some detective you are, he thought. ‘All right. We’ll have to keep an open mind on a possible link then.’
‘Yup.’
Pete went back to his desk and sat down. He put the report sheet on his desk, picked up the phone and, taking a deep breath, started dialling.
The phone was picked up almost before it had rung. ‘Alistair Whitlock.’
‘Mr Whitlock, this is DS Peter Gayle. I’ve just been handed your daughter’s case and I’d like to come and talk to you about it – and your wife, if she’s there?’
‘She is.’
‘Perfect.’ He glanced at the address. ‘We’ll be there in a few minutes, OK?’
‘Thank you.’
He put the phone down and stood up. ‘Jane, you’re with me.’
‘Boss?’
‘Interview time. The Whitlocks.’ He headed for the door.
‘Wh—We’ve got that now?’
‘Yes. Come on, chop-chop.’ He paused long enough to hold the door for her, then hurried on down the stairs, feet clattering on the polished concrete.
They were moving along the back corridor, towards the car park behind the police station, before she caught up with him. ‘How did you swing this then?’
‘By being open and honest. You didn’t mention the Jane Doe earlier, when I asked you what had been going on. None of you did.’
‘Yeah, well . . . We thought it might be a bit close to home, boss.’
He hit the release button by the back door and pushed through. The late afternoon air struck him with a chill that had not been there this morning. An after-effect of the storm they’d seen earlier, he guessed. ‘You’re driving.’ He followed her across the car park towards her car. ‘My son is missing, Jane. What we’re talking about now is a murdered girl. How would that be close to home?’
‘One paedo case, another potential one. We were trying to do you a favour, that’s all.’ She stopped at the side of her bright green Vauxhall Nova and pressed the button on the remote. The car beeped and the locks snapped open. They climbed in.
‘If there’s something to know, I want to know it, Jane. I’ll hear things eventually. If they’re sensitive, then maybe I’d be better hearing them from one of you, rather than some plod I barely know. Did you think of that?’
She sighed. ‘No, boss. Sorry.’ She slipped the car into gear and back out of her space. ‘Where are we going?’
*
Lauren charged headlong through the green twilight of the woods, the hail a distant clatter on the leaves far above. Down here, it was almost dry, the ground firm beneath her flying feet. She did not look back or sideways, just concentrated on what was in front of her. Running, chest heaving, jumping over brambles and ferns, darting around trees, kicking through low-growing weeds, she went as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her. She had no idea how far these woods stretched, what they held or what lay beyond. She just knew she had to run, to get as far away from that barn as she could, to have any hope of escaping the man she was sure was behind her.
Chasing her.
She had heard the twang of the barbed wire as he jumped over it, the crashing of heavy footsteps through the undergrowth. He had shouted once.
‘Hey! Come back here!’
But since then, nothing.
The noise she was making combined with the rattle of the hail on the leaves above her to cover any more distant sounds. But she knew he was still coming. He had to be. There was no way he’d have given up.
She hit a narrow trail, barely visible on the ground, and turned onto it. It was too narrow to be man-made – must have been an animal of some sort – but it had to be going somewhere and it was away from the barn, which was all she cared about for now.
She ran on.
The trail wove around trees and bramble thickets and weird little prickly bushes that she’d never seen before. She began to see light through the trees ahead. The edge of the wood? A pool? A road?
Her legs were getting wobbly and weak. Her chest and throat felt raw. It was hard to suck enough air into her burning lungs, but she had to keep going.
The brightness spread across her field of view. It had to be the edge of the woods. She had no idea what that meant but, whatever it was, she would deal with it when she got there. She just had to get there. Get away from the man behind her.
The trail was helping – it made the running easier – but she didn’t know how much longer she could go on. She tripped on a root, staggered, exhausted, put out a hand to a narrow tree trunk for balance and pressed on. She couldn’t stop. Not now. She glimpsed a grey sky between the leaves up ahead. Noticed that the rattle of hail had stopped. The storm was over. Then, lower down, she could see the bright green of leaves in sunshine. A hedge, maybe? A road?
She caught the glint of wire. A fence. The trail led right up to it and through into the long grass beyond. A huge, rough-textured oak tree stood just to the right, its bark green with algae.
She ran up to the fence, panting hoarsely and bent to climb through.
Then screamed as an arm darted around her waist and snatched her off her feet.
‘Come here!’