card lying around at home with a window unlocked when you’re going away for three days. I think what happened is you told someone where your card was and that they stole it and used it with your full knowledge. Presumably they paid you for the privilege. It happens a lot, I’m sad to say.’
‘It’s not like that, honestly. I didn’t-’
‘Frankly, I’m not interested in whether you’ve been involved in anything illegal. And neither will any of my colleagues be. We’re far more interested in catching a brutal killer. So, who used your card while you were away?’
‘Listen, I had nothing to do with any killings. I swear. I’m not like that. Oh God, why the hell did I ever get involved? This is going to ruin me, you know. What’ll my wife say? The kids?’
‘It’s possible that no-one’ll have to know,’ Tina lied, knowing that if they were on the right track she’d never be able to keep it quiet. ‘Now, who was it?’
Stanbury removed his glasses and rubbed his hands across his face. ‘It’s a neighbour of mine. He’s a friendly enough chap and I’ve known him a while, but, to be honest, I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him.’
‘If he’s done what we think he has, then he won’t be a threat to anyone. He’ll be behind bars, probably for the next thirty years.’
‘I was broke, you know, really suffering. He paid me three hundred pounds to let him have the card while I was away. He said it was foolproof. No-one would ever know. He even told me to claim for stolen cash as well on the house insurance. God, why did I get involved? I’m a respectable man, I promise. I’ve never done anything wrong before.’ He gave her a pleading look, desperate for her to believe him.
Tina gave him a reassuring smile. ‘This neighbour of yours. What car does he drive?’
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘Just answer the question, Mr Stanbury.’
‘A Megane,’ he said. ‘A black Renault Megane.’
33
Tino lay on the bed in his holiday apartment for a long time, his face and ego badly bruised. He could still smell Judy Flanagan’s perfume on the pillow. It was strange, considering that for most of the time she’d been here she’d been asleep, but he genuinely missed her.
That first evening, when she’d still been conscious, they’d had some fun together. He’d started chatting to her in the cafe where she worked as a waitress, and they’d got on so well that she’d readily agreed to go on a date with him. He’d then taken her to Garfunkel’s restaurant in the West End, and a local pub, before heading back to his place for sex. She’d been good, too: enthusiastic, adventurous, admiring of his ample charms. Hygienic and nice- smelling as well, which wasn’t always the case with amateurs. In fact, they’d done it for several hours before finally it had been time to do what he’d been ordered, and administer the drugs that bastard police officer Mark had given him.
He’d almost decided not to do it, knowing that he could have been getting himself in a lot more trouble than he was in already (this was, after all, a kidnap), but fear, and the desire to avoid complete humiliation, had driven him on. Perhaps, he’d reasoned, if he did what Mark told him then that would be the end of it, and he could return to Holland and start again, putting the events of the past few days down to experience. But as the hours had turned into days, and he’d given Judy more and more of the drugs, so the realization had dawned on him that, rather than saving him from prison, Mark was making his situation ever more dangerous.
He’d felt guilty, too, awful that he’d got a pretty young girl to trust him and then betrayed her so cruelly, drugging her when she was defenceless. He’d tried to make up for it, talking to her in her sleep, telling her how sorry he was, trying as hard as he could to make her stay with him as comfortable as possible by washing her twice daily, and always making sure she had plenty of water. And now he’d betrayed her again when he’d had the chance to protect her. Who knew where Mark was going to take her now. To her death? It was possible. Why not? He’d lied about everything else. She’d called for him to help her, and when he’d finally tried he’d been beaten like a dog for his troubles. Humiliated, like he’d been back in Holland. Life had once seemed so good. Now it was dealing him a cruel hand.
He continued to lie there, cursing the world. Occasionally weeping, which angered him still more. And with Judy Flanagan never far from his thoughts. Judy, who might be on her way to her death. He couldn’t let it happen. For once, it was time to do something good.
He had to find Mark, to stop him. But how could he do that? He was all alone in a city of strangers, all of whom seemed treacherous and keen to do him harm.
One man might know. One man might be able to help him find Mark.
It might save a life. He thought of Judy being choked to death by that vicious little policeman and the thought brought on an angry flush. But still he didn’t move. Instead, he debated what to do in his mind, then debated it again. And again.
Finally, when he could stand the guilt and torture no more, he swallowed his principles, rose from the bed and went to phone Trevor Murk.
34
Stegs drove the Toyota back out on to the Marylebone Road, and turned west, driving through the still thin early-morning traffic on to the Westway and in the direction of the A40. The A40 became the M40, and from there he turned south at junction 1A on to the M25, officially the busiest stretch of road in Britain. It was quarter to seven, and the commuters of south-east England were waking up and heading out on to the roads like less-than- mobile wildebeeste in their daily ritual of slow torture. Occasionally, he picked up banging coming from the boot, but he knew Judy’d be all right in there. Pissed off, perhaps, possibly very frightened, but all right nevertheless. Such was the dilapidated state of Stegs’s vehicle that it had a large hole on the underside beneath where the spare wheel was kept which would provide adequate ventilation for Miss Flanagan. So there was no chance of opening up the boot and discovering a corpse in there, which would have been a little unfortunate.
The traffic on the M25 grew heavier as Stegs approached Heathrow, and for a while he was slowed down to less than twenty miles per hour, but things picked up again after junction 13, the Staines turn-off.
Stegs was heading away from the crowded, clogged-up roads of Greater London, making his way to quieter, more isolated pastures, where he could release Judy without her being immediately discovered and the alarm being raised. Timing was all-important at this juncture. If her old man was alerted to her freedom too early, then it would fuck up everything.
The M3 takes traffic to Southampton and the towns of the south coast of England, and gives the driver glimpses of the countryside that used to cover that part of the world before it was completely overrun with people and business parks. Stegs had come this way on holiday as a kid. While other kids had headed to France, Spain, the Greek islands and beyond, his family had always favoured the New Forest as a holiday destination. A sizeable national park containing hundreds of acres of unspoilt ancient woodland between Southampton and Bournemouth, it was definitely a nice place, but probably not the best of laughs for a ten-year-old boy. After all, there wasn’t exactly a lot to do, other than stroll through trees, and what self-respecting kid wants to do that? Stegs had been an only child, his mum having miscarried twice after him before giving up the idea of a second one as a pointless exercise, and his happy childhood memories were limited where holidays were concerned. If they weren’t in the New Forest, they’d be visiting affordable Second World War sites of interest in honour of his old man’s obsessions, which basically meant Normandy, and once, for a special treat, Dresden.
It was nine o’clock on a beautiful sunny morning, the sort that makes you feel glad to be alive, when Stegs pulled off the M27 at the turning to Bolderwood, in the heart of the New Forest. Driving through the thick walls of pine, he had to admit that the place did have a certain serenity about it; he even found himself contemplating bringing the missus and baby Luke down here for a long weekend at some point. He hadn’t treated the missus well of late, and it was about time to make a concerted effort to get into her good books. She’d be happy enough soon,
