‘Hiding? Why should he be hiding?’
‘Never you mind. Just tell me what I want to know, and I’ll be on my way.’
‘I’ve told you, I don’t know where he is.’ Alex’s mind was racing, trying to think of some way of getting rid of him, or of incapacitating him while she called for help.
He clasped his hands on his lap. Their backs were covered in thick reddish hair. ‘It seems we’re at an impasse, then.’
Alex remembered that her mobile was in her handbag on the bed. If she could just get to it, make a 999 call… ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I need to go to the toilet. I won’t be a minute.’
He scanned the room, then said. ‘All right. I’ll wait.’
Everyone knew these flats had only one way in and out.
Alex slipped into her bedroom. If she could only dial 999 before he guessed what she was up to, she would be safe. They could probably trace the call if she just left the line open. Her hands were shaking as she took the mobile out of her handbag in the dark room and headed towards the toilet. Then she felt his presence looming over her. She hadn’t heard him, but there he was, standing in the hall, leaning against the wall, arms folded. ‘The toilet’s over there, I think,’ he said, pointing.
As she moved towards the door, he said, ‘What’s that in your hand?’
‘What do you mean?’ Alex tried to shove the phone in the pocket of her jeans, hoping he wouldn’t notice in the semi-darkness. But her jeans were too tight; she missed the pocket, and the phone fell to the carpet.
‘Oh, dear,’ he said, not moving. ‘Keep going. I think I’d better stay with you, though. You’re a tricky one, you are.’
Alex went into the toilet, and when he blocked the doorway behind her, following her inside, she realised the full extent of what he meant.
‘You can stand outside,’ she said.
‘I don’t think so. You’ve already shown you can’t be trusted.’ He shut the door and leaned back on it. ‘Go on, then, get your jeans down. Tinkle, tinkle. Chop chop.’
Alex reached deep for the last shreds of defiance. ‘No,’ she said, hoping she sounded firm. ‘Not with you standing there, you sick bastard.’
An odd smile crossed his face, not like the other one, but just as chilling in its way, then he opened the door for her. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Piss yourself, then, if that’s what you want.’
Alex edged out, careful not to brush against him. She thought they were going back into the living room but her blood froze when he opened Ian’s bedroom door. She rushed towards him. ‘What are you—’
He pushed her aside and blocked the open doorway, turning to look in on the sleeping child. Alex tried to get past him, to stand between him and Ian, but it was no good.
‘What a sweet scene,’ said Meadows. ‘It’s all right. Calm down, love. No one’s going to get hurt.’
‘You dare lay—’
‘Enough melodramatics. You know every bit as well as I do that if I wanted to lay a finger on him there’s nothing you could do to stop me.’
‘I’ll scratch your fucking eyes out.’ Alex launched herself towards him, arms outstretched, but he dodged aside and pushed her back. She hit the wall with such force that it stunned her, and she slid to the floor. Even then, as she was falling, she saw the dropped mobile phone and tried to reach for it, but Meadows was too quick. Before she could get a grip on it, he trod on it with all his weight and crushed it, then he shifted his foot to the index finger that she had almost managed to hook around it and trod hard on that, too. She screamed in pain. He put a finger to his lips. ‘Ssshhh,’ he said. ‘The boy’s sleeping. We don’t want to wake him right now, do we? No telling what might happen.’
Ian stirred in bed but he didn’t wake up. Alex bit back her pain and remained silent. She didn’t know what would happen if Ian woke up now and saw Meadows in his doorway, but it wasn’t something she dared contemplate.
Meadows squatted, his knees cracking loudly, and put his face close to hers. His breath smelled of Polo mints. ‘Look, Miss Preston. We don’t want any trouble. We just want Michael Lane. Your lad looks like a decent kid. It’d be a tragedy if anything happened to him, wouldn’t it? An accident walking by the river or falling out of a tree. Or on the roads. Not safe, these days, the roads. Kids get up to all sorts of dangerous mischief, don’t they. Know what I’m talking about?’
Alex nodded, cradling her throbbing finger.
‘So let’s keep it simple. Tell us where Michael Lane is, and everyone lives happily ever after.’
‘I… don’t… know,’ Alex gasped.
Meadows stood up and scratched his temple. ‘Know what?’ he said. ‘I believe you. But I’m also sure that if he hasn’t been in touch already, he will be very soon, and when he is, I want to know. Understand?’
Alex nodded.
Meadows walked towards the front door.
Alex held her breath. ‘How do I get in touch?’ she asked.
He turned. ‘That’s more like it.’ He handed her a card. On it was a printed number. ‘And there’s no use handing it over to the police,’ he said. ‘They won’t get anywhere with it, and it’ll only make things worse for you. And your son.’ He glanced at Alex’s hand. ‘Don’t forget. You’ve still got seven fingers and two thumbs left. Not to mention the boy.’ Then he took his raincoat off the hook and left.
Chapter 4
About the last thing Banks wanted to be doing so soon in the mucky grey light just after dawn on a mizzling March morning was stand around the Riverview Caravan Site looking at the smouldering remains of Morgan Spencer’s caravan. His days ended late, but they didn’t usually start so early. If there were any justice in the world, he’d be lying in bed listening to Today, waiting for ‘Thought for the Day’ to shift him into the shower. Or better still, he’d be cuddling up to Oriana’s warm naked body beside him with the alarm clock set on snooze. He shivered. No sense making things worse for himself.
DC Gerry Masterson stood beside him. She had been first in the squad room that morning, keen newcomer that she was, and, as usual, first to read through the nightlies, which detailed all the police-involved incidents that had occurred in the region overnight. Usually it was a matter of drink-drivers, the occasional domestic or late-night pub brawl that got out of hand, but this time, she told him, she had noticed one interesting item: a fire at Riverview Caravan Park. That rang a bell, and when she enquired further of the desk sergeant, she was able to discover that the caravan belonged to one Morgan Spencer. Now Banks stood beside her at the scene while the fire investigation officer Geoff Hamilton and his team sifted through the wreckage. Annie Cabbot was on her way. Winsome and Doug Wilson could be safely left to take care of everything else for the time being.
The air smelled of wet ash and burnt rubber, in its own way almost as bad as the smell of human innards at a post-mortem. The area was roped off, but people stood outside their caravans or crowded around the edges of the prohibited area. Some were wearing only dressing gowns, having been woken by the blaze; others were already dressed and ready for the day. A number of uniformed officers made their way through the crowd taking statements. So far, nobody had seen or heard anything. More like they didn’t want to get involved, Banks thought.
Banks spotted Annie arriving and waved her over.
‘Bloody hell,’ she said, when she saw the devastation.
Of the neighbouring caravans, fortunately, only one had been damaged by the flames, which was a small miracle in itself. Still, Annie told Banks, ex-police sergeant Rick Campbell would be mightily pissed off about his siding.
‘Do people insure these things?’ Banks asked her.
‘I doubt it. The ones who live here year-round probably can’t afford it, and the rest can’t be arsed.’