Time to Play (North East Police) (2 page)

It took him a few minutes to clamber to his feet, and when he did, he grabbed the nearest thing he could in temper. The rock impacted with the bedroom window; the bang echoed around the street. Glass sprinkled over the garden, and GC heard the roar of man-mountain inside, and realised he didn’t want to face that wrath twice, so he turned tail and ran.

It felt like his feet were pounding for hours as the path changed from paved to undergrowth. But he kept running, convinced the big man was right on his heels. Tree branches slapped him in the face as he ran, and he registered how much his jaw hurt. He could still taste the metallic tang of blood around his back teeth and for a moment he wondered whether something was broken.

When the ground slipped away beneath his feet, he felt his arms flail outwards as a scream escaped and he fell forwards. The freezing cold water was like another slap to his face and he inhaled sharply as his body went into shock and froze momentarily. It was long enough for the water to take him, though.

It had been raining persistently for two weeks now, and yesterday had been especially heavy. The River Wear had risen, bursting its banks in places and fast whirling rapids were now in places that had been calm previously. The flow carried GC away quickly, and he opened his mouth to yell for help. Seeing his weakness, the dark river sent a wave crashing into his mouth, the water filling it instantly and making him gag in response as it hit his throat. He felt himself cough and splutter, and panic set in.

Any remnant of alcohol and drug stupor fled from his mind as he fought the water, trying to stay afloat. He tried to swim, flapping his arms hard and wishing he had paid more attention in his PE lessons at school.

His teeth chattered as the water dragged him further towards the city. He opened his mouth to scream again, and was suddenly pulled underneath the surface as his foot snagged on something unseen. Struggling, he kicked his other leg at whatever it was and tried to free himself. But the river had other ideas and the tree gripping his foot held steady.

The waves shifted suddenly as a large branch interrupted the flow. GC felt the cold air on his face and gasped in a few eager breaths, shuddering breaths as he tried not to cry in fear. He tugged hard at his leg, his tears clogging his throat. But the tree held fast.

His movement did dislodge the large branch behind him though, and the end swung round suddenly and connected with the side of his head. The impact was hard enough to make him see black curtains closing in, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. His eyes fluttered closed, and the river pulled him back down.

GC didn’t feel the water replace the air in his lungs, he didn’t feel the tree release his ankle, and he didn’t feel the river carry him further into oblivion.

2
^nd
November, 0240 hours – container on a truck, southern England.

The steady drone of the diesel engines was a constant. Elvie Aquino was sitting huddled in a corner of the container. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and she was doing her best to ignore the strong smell of urine from the bottom end of her nightie. Sweat from the start of her journey had dried and set, making her clothes stiff. Her dark hair was no longer shiny; it hung in limp strands around her face. She couldn’t stop shaking and her teeth chattered loudly together whenever she unclamped her jaw.

She felt a tear escape and roll down her cheek.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

When her grandmother, Noni, had died a couple of weeks ago, she was supposed to inherit the lean-to and the people of the village were supposed to look after her until she was deemed able to do it herself. That’s how it was done in her village.

She’d been asleep when the men had come. They had put a hand over her mouth and carried her out to a car, a knife sticking against her ribs warning her to be quiet. From the car she had been put into a van, driven for a long time and then placed inside the container with nineteen other women. They were all older than her, though. Elvie was only fifteen.

Nita Thress, another girl in the container had quickly befriended Elvie, talking to her and telling her it would all be alright. Nita was older than her, and Elvie had happily let her take charge. But Nita was now ill. A lot of the women were.

Elvie didn’t know how long they had been inside the container, but it had been long enough for the women to drink almost all the water, and empty the tubs of rice and vegetables, even after they had gone slimy and started to smell. Now the container was starting to smell like death. There were no blankets to keep the girls warm in the decreasing temperature, no fresh water to keep them hydrated, and no toilet. They had all been defecating and urinating, and it had gotten to the point where it was no longer confined to one specific area.

Hearing Nita moan for water, Elvie climbed to her feet, ignoring the pins and needles in her legs from being pulled up to her chin for so long. She grabbed one of the few cups and went to the last bucket with water inside. It held about an inch at the bottom and Elvie had to use her hand to scoop a little into the cup. She took a small sip for herself, then walked back over to Nita. She picked up the girl’s head, and held the cup to her parched lips, allowing her friend to drink the last dribble.

Elvie placed her hand on Nita’s head, checking for a temperature as her grandmother had done when she was small. Nita’s head felt hot and sweaty as she thrashed beneath Elvie’s touch.

The fear she had felt at the start had faded. Now Elvie just wanted to get to wherever she was going. She had an ache in her head that had been a constant for days. Her hunger had eased today and she felt tired. Whatever was coming she would deal with when she got there. She missed her Noni terribly. Her gran would never have let anything happen to her. Laying her head on top of her knees, she started to cry silently.

2
^nd
November, 0610 hours – footpath along the River Wear, Durham

Wallace Pemberton was following his normal route. He’d been to the corner shop to pick up his newspaper, as he did every day, and had progressed down the road and onto the footpath that ran alongside the river. His west highland terrier, Poppet, was eagerly sniffing every plant and bush as they made their way leisurely along.

It was still dark, and the path was deserted: the joggers and dog walkers not yet braving the early morning. But Wallace liked the dark, and the walk kept his ageing muscles from seizing up. At almost ninety years old, his hearing was starting to fail and his eye sight wasn’t the best, but he was definitely fitter than your average old man.

He had his paper tucked under one arm, his jacket collar was pulled up around his neck and the flat cap sat perched on his balding head keeping the skin warm. Poppet’s lead hung loosely beside him, not that she would ever run off even without the lead. The dog was almost as old as he was, in dog years at least.

The sun was just starting to think about rising, and the sky to the east changed from black to blue slowly; Wallace was just approaching the cathedral. It stood on the opposite side of the bank to the path, lights illuminating the walls and turrets. It had stood for nearly a thousand years, and was one of the main tourist attractions in Durham. He had visited once as a young man, trying to impress his latest flame. They had walked all the way along to the lovers’ chair and shared their first kiss. So long ago he couldn’t even remember when. Her name had been Lacey, and she’d ended up his wife so his wooing had obviously done the trick. Lacey had passed on several years before, but Wallace always thought about her when he passed the Cathedral. He missed her a lot.

‘Love you, Lacey,’ he whispered with a nod as he passed.

The route Wallace took wasn’t short; it was probably five times longer than just using the normal streets to get home. But it was a nice walk, the odours of wild garlic and aniseed ripe in the spring and summer, and the crisp smell of winter approaching at this time of year. The leaves had started falling from the trees the month before, and Wallace trod carefully, mindful that he might slip.

He was just walking past the weir, when something caught his eye. It was trapped in the tumultuous water rolling at the weir itself, and it looked like clothing. Wallace pulled the hard glasses case from his inside pocket and placed the lenses over his eyes. The water ragged the object about a little more and suddenly, Wallace realised it wasn’t just clothing. It was a dead man. He should know; he’d seen enough of them during the war.

Wallace felt a pain start in his chest and move down his arm. He struggled to draw breath and the pain increased. He tried not to panic, he’d had a heart attack a few months back and had ended up being fine. His legs gave way and he sank to the ground with a soft sigh. Remembering what he’d been told last time, he coughed hard. Drawing in a shaky breath, he coughed a few more times. His newspaper floated off in the morning breeze as he freed the new-fangled mobile phone from his pocket. His grandson had insisted he carry it with him on his walks. Now he just had to remember how to use it.

The pain intensified and he coughed again. Pushing 999 and the green call button, he steadied his breathing to respond as the operator asked which service.

‘Police and ambulance, please,’ he gasped.

‘This is the police, sir, how can I help?’

‘Dead body … weir near the cathedral … need help.’ Wallace was trying his best to stay conscious, and he forced another cough from his tired lungs.

‘Sorry, sir, did you say there’s a dead body in the weir near the cathedral?’

Wallace grunted in reply, ‘send police … and ambulance.’

The call handler must have known something was wrong and asked, ‘is the ambulance for you, sir. Do you need help? You sound very breathless.’

‘Heart … attack.’

Wallace couldn’t say any more. The phone slipped from his grip and hit the concrete floor with a clatter. The call handler was still calling ‘sir’ as Wallace finally succumbed and slid backwards, his eyes closing and his head lolling to the side, his breathing raspy and shallow.

Poppet knew something was wrong; she had sat down beside him the minute he’d fallen. Now, she threw her head back and howled mournfully.

Chapter Two

2
^nd
November, 0620 hours – Marlo’s flat, Sunderland

The heavy buzzing from the bedside table invaded Marlo Buchanan’s sleep and tried to pull her into the land of the living. Doing her best to ignore it, she pulled the pillow round to cover her ears and tried to force her mind back into the dream she’d been having. But the buzzing persisted.

Groaning, she reached an arm from the warm confines of the duvet and blindly felt around for her mobile phone.
It seriously cannot be time to get up. I’ve been in bed like ten minutes. There’s no way that’s my alarm.

Finally finding the phone, she pulled it towards her and cracked open one eye to glance at the caller ID. Seeing who it was, she swiped across the screen and mumbled, ‘Go away. I’m sleeping,’ before hanging up. She hadn’t even had chance to put the phone down when the knocking at the door started, softly at first but then louder. She would swear she could hear someone talking through the letterbox too.

‘Christ what’s a girl gotta do to get some sleep around here. I get in at 2 a.m. and I’m getting knocked up at just after six? Jesus Christ, I’m actually gunna kill her,’ grumbled Marlo as she pushed the duvet off and got to her feet. She grabbed the hair bobble off her bedside cabinet and tied her dark hair in a loose bun as she walked through the flat.

She unlocked the front door and opened it slightly before turning and heading towards the kitchen.

‘You forgot,’ accused Deena Davis, her hands on her hips in mock anger.

‘Obviously,’ said Marlo with an eye roll at her friend. Then realising she might actually be offended, Marlo added, ‘Sorry, I was out late at a search last night and our jog just slipped my mind. I’ll make you a special coffee on my machine to make it up.’

Marlo’s eyes narrowed in on her friend, then widened suddenly. ‘Bitch! You’re not even dressed for a run. You weren’t going anyway!’

‘Wondered how long it’d take you. Where’s my coffee?’

Marlo made it and the pair made their way through to the living room.

‘So, if we weren’t running, why on earth were you banging at my door at this ungodly hour?’

‘I wasn’t banging. And it’s not ungodly, it’s almost 7 a.m. You’d have been up soon anyway. I’m on 8 a.m. start today.’

Marlo acknowledged the statement with a nod and took a sip of the hot coffee, sighing as she savoured the sweet caramel hit. That coffee machine was one of the best things she’d ever bought.

‘We still on for trying that new cocktail bar tonight?’ asked Marlo, suddenly remembering what day it was.

‘All being well. I’m due to get off at four but have a dentist appointment scheduled in at five. Then have to go home and put my face on, so say meet there about sevenish? That’s provided I don’t wind up being kept on of course. The dentist must think I’m a complete piss-taker. I’ve rescheduled the appointment twice already; once more and he’ll probably take me off the books. You know what the dentists are like nowadays.’

‘Yeah it is hard to get in. But you need to. No putting it off this time. That tooth needs pulling! How is it today, anyway?’

‘The same. Took some codeine this morning to ease it off. Hopefully the doc’s gunna just whip it out and save me more misery. What’re your plans for the day?’

‘At work ’til five. We’ve got a buyer coming to look at the boat. Wish the force weren’t selling it, it’s a lush machine. Shame we don’t get much opportunity to use it. All this cost cutting’s a nightmare. Did you see the briefing the other day about the potential cuts? I thought this was all over and done with a couple of years ago but we still have to lose another five million over the next year.’