‘Stop crying, stop it! All your bitch of a mother did was cry. Oh she cried but she always came back for more. They all did. Dale, Stephanie. They all loved our little gang, they loved the vodka, they loved the cigarettes – they loved the office.’ He grinned as he leaned into the glove compartment and pulled out a bottle. ‘Drink.’
She inhaled the liquid as he forced the bottle into her mouth. As she swallowed, her throat burned and she coughed and spluttered.
‘Vodka, that’s what they wanted. Nice, isn’t it.’
Phoebe’s heart pounded through her head as he removed the bottle from her mouth and gripped it.
‘Just like you, your mother was easy to trap. That little maisonette on Beech Street, I lured her there. Come over, I need a bookkeeper. My name, yes, it’s Mr Smith.’ He laughed, staring as he forced the bottle into Phoebe’s mouth once again. ‘Drink, you little cow,’ he yelled as she choked and spat it over his neck.
‘Dale was easy. I got your mum to call and he came running, back to where it all began thinking he could save her. Stupid buffoon peed his pants when he saw me. I didn’t care much for him, not like your mother and Stephanie. He needed to go.’ He forced the bottle into her mouth. Her vision began to swim. She had tried some of her dad’s beer once but this hadn’t happened. She’d seen her mum and dad drunk, especially when they argued and her dad would start to shout at her mum.
Snivelling, Phoebe tried to break his icy glare. She thought of happier things, her nan, little Rory and Harrison, Aunty Clare, her mum, her poor mum. Tears and sobs filled the air as she let it all out. She would never see her mum again.
‘Have another swig.’ He’d kill her if she didn’t, she knew he would. He grabbed a long red sweet and began flexing it. ‘If you’re good, I’ll feed you. Your mum loved this.’ She closed her eyes but the wooziness wouldn’t go, her pulse beat through her temples and she felt a flush working its way across her nose and cheeks. The car door slammed and the side door to the garage slammed after it. She opened her eyes. He was gone. She released her hands from her coat, dropping the rope. It was time to go. She fought the drunkenness as she unknotted her feet. The car door opened easily. As she slipped out, she heard his footsteps outside the door. The room swayed just like when he had drugged her. She listened against the door. He spoke on the phone in a charming voice. For a brief moment, she heard someone shouting back on the other end of the call. It was a voice she recognised.
He yelled as the caller hung up. As she ran for the little window at the back of the garage, the room tilted and the door opened. She had to fight. Kicking and screaming, she bit his arm and ran, fighting the effects of the vodka as her woozy body hit the icy air, the rain almost sobering her as she felt him on her tail. As she spat out his blood, she felt bile rising up her throat. She couldn’t stop, she had no time to be sick or fall. A whoosh of air followed her as he caught up.
Seventy
Gina ran across the car park, slabs uneven, concrete lifting. Darkness was falling, along with more rain. She wiped her face and rubbed her eyes. Just like in the photo that Smith sent through to them, the church spire was in the background. Ronald Halshaw had openly been into vintage cars and had posted a photo of his old S-Type Jaguar on this very spot. She glanced at the photo and up at the church spire. Jacob and Wyre followed closely. ‘Keep quiet. I don’t want Phoebe hurt.’ Another team had headed to Beech Street for a coordinated attack.
Gina swallowed. After seeing the state he’d left Susan in, she hoped she wasn’t doing all this for a body. ‘It’s not all that secure.’ She glanced around, wondering which way to turn. Rows upon rows of storage units the size of garages lined up and went off in several directions. It was like a small estate.
‘The owner said the CCTV hasn’t been working for ages.’ Wyre crept forward.
Her silent phone vibrated. ‘Harte.’
‘We’re at Beech Street and we’ve found Ronald Halshaw’s maisonette. No one lives here. It’s empty but there is sign of a struggle in the hallway and a couple of Susan Wheeler’s business cards on the floor. Let me know how things go at the lock-up,’ Jacob said.
‘Will do.’ As she ended the call, she crept down another row and listened, holding an arm out. ‘I can hear an engine running. This way. Block the road off.’ A police car pulled forward. She signalled and several officers followed until they honed in on the right lock-up, noise rumbling behind the chipped grey garage. She glanced at the side door as a shadow darted past the glass pane. Beckoning Wyre over, she placed her ear against the frame to listen. ‘Police, open up.’ No answer. She stepped back and banged on the garage door. ‘Get me in there, now.’
The Jaguar crashed through the garage door and Gina dived onto the ground as the car swerved and veered onto the path, her body hitting the concrete with a sickening thud.
O’Connor ran ahead, just about turning off in time before being mown down. The police car at the end of the road blocked off the route with a crash, the windscreen had caved in. Ronald Halshaw grinned and revved the engine before finally ploughing it into the police car again until it shifted. As his car crashed through, it careered directly into the closed metal gates and a clump of mature trees.
‘Phoebe!’ Gina called as she ran as fast as she could. The front of the car had completely caved in and a thick branch poked through Ronald Halshaw’s arm. Gina peered through the bloodstained window, searching for the child. ‘Where is she? Where is she?’ She banged on the window as he gargled blood. ‘The boot, get the boot open.’ A uniformed officer nudged her aside and wrenched the boot open. Nothing, it was empty. ‘Phoebe? Phoebe?’ Gina shouted into the sky, rain trickling over her face.
She ran back to the front of the car. ‘Ronald Halshaw, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Dale Blair on Thursday the fourteenth of November 2019, and the kidnapping of Susan and Phoebe Wheeler. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence,’ she yelled through the pouring rain. O’Connor tried to apply pressure to the bleeding but the angle was too awkward. The driver’s door was half-jammed and he was trying to reach in through the smashed windscreen. Looking at Halshaw’s injuries, she knew she wouldn’t be interviewing him any time soon, if ever.
‘Ambulance is just around the corner,’ a PC called out.
Gina sprinted back towards the garage, almost tripping over the broken up tarmac. ‘Phoebe.’
She ran into the cold concrete structure but Phoebe was nowhere to be seen. How was she going to tell Mary that they’d lost her granddaughter?
Gina walked away and stood in silence as she stared up towards the church spire. Too late, that’s what they were.
‘Guv, it looks like Ronald Halshaw has been living here. In the cupboard at the back, there’s a case of clothes, along with a kettle and a folded up camping bed.’ Wyre scratched her face.
‘That makes sense.’ Tears filled Gina’s eyes as she thought about Phoebe. ‘He only took out a tenancy at Beech Street to lure Susan in. He had no intention of ever staying there.’
‘Guv, you okay?’
She shook her head, roared and kicked the wall. ‘No.’ She took a few slow breaths and regained her composure. ‘Where the hell is Phoebe? Phoebe?’ she called, all hope diminishing.
‘He’s gone,’ called a paramedic. ‘We tried to pack the wound but we think the smaller branch went straight through his heart.’
Gina peered through the window. ‘That’s okay. He didn’t have a heart.’ She felt no sympathy for the man whatsoever.
