Caroline walked out of the stable to join him. Taller than Rowles, one year older, solidly built, her ginger hair cut brutally short, Caroline also held a pistol. She bit her lip thoughtfully, concentrating, as she took careful aim at Blackteeth.
'Actually, he is dead,' she said, quite matter of fact. Rowles looked at her, surprised.
'Really?'
'You hit him over the head with an iron bar. Twice. Of course he's dead. Idiot.' She said 'idiot' indulgently, with love, as if talking to a silly toddler or sullen boyfriend. My very own pre-pubescent Bonnie and Clyde.
'Oh,' said Rowles, nonplussed. 'Sorry, Matron.' He blinked back his surprise and refocused his attention on Mike.
'Shall we shoot them, Jane?' asked Caroline.
Mike looked into my eyes as I pretended to consider Caroline's question. That made his mind up. He began backing away slowly, heading for the gate.
'I think we'll be leaving,' he said. 'Coming, Fred?'
Blackteeth nodded and joined his mate, walking backwards, gun raised. As soon as they were clear of the wall they ran left, out of sight.
The farm was ours.
The children were safe.
We were too late to help Tim. He had pneumonia and didn't survive the day.
I had Rowles bury Olly, Jonny and Tim as punishment for his overzealous retribution. He didn't complain. He might go overboard at times, but he had never once questioned any order I'd given him, which is partly why I relied on him so much.
A team of older boys and girls from the school joined us, and we loaded the rescued children into the back of the lorry then set out for home. We left Rowles burying the dead. He could walk back to the school. That was another part of his punishment. It was only ten miles, and I wasn't worried about him. I was far more afraid for anyone that tried to cross him.
Bookworm came with us, too. I reassured him that no harm would come to him, but I still tied him up and put a sack over his head. I had questions I wanted to ask.
Half an hour later I swung the lorry into the driveway of the school and hit the brakes as hard as I could. The lorry skidded and ended up diagonally across the tarmac. I heard protests from the cabin behind me, but I couldn't worry about that now.
There was a roadblock ahead of us, flanked by armed men in combat uniforms.
I reached down, grasped the sidearm that I'd taken from Caroline, and considered what to do. One of the men was approaching the lorry, rifle raised. He didn't look like the usual rabble. None of the local wannabe soldiers wore uniform that convincing.
I thought about throwing the lorry into reverse and running, but it would require a three-point turn, and he'd be here long before we could escape. If he opened fire the children could be hit. I wouldn't put them at risk.
Charge the checkpoint, then? I seriously considered it for a moment, but eventually decided against it. I had to follow the rules I'd set down for myself: never shoot first and prepare for the worst but assume friendly intent until proven wrong.
I kept the engine running and the lorry in first, with my foot on the clutch. I had no idea who this guy was or which group he represented. They could be friendlies. I forced myself to stay calm and wait for him to show his hand.
But he and his mates had obviously taken control of the school. My school. That made me angry. I tried not to imagine what could be going on in there right now.
I cocked the pistol and rested it on my lap, then I rolled down the window.
The man stopped about ten metres from me, rifle raised.
'Are you armed?' he shouted.
'Yes, thanks,' I replied, politely.
'Throw down your weapon and step out of the cab. Keep your hands where I can see them.'
'Why?'
'Because I'm asking nicely, ma'am. I don't want to shoot you.'
'That's good. I don't want you to shoot me either. We have something in common. Now do you mind telling me who the fuck you are and what you're doing in my school?'
'Not your school any more, ma'am, I'm afraid. You'd be Jane Crowther, yes?'
'That's right.'
'Then it's my duty to inform you that in accordance with emergency provisions, and Royal decree, this estate is now under the control of the British Army. And you are under arrest for looting, kidnap and suspected murder.'
Chapter Eight
Kate's brother had a thing for soldiers.
If I close my eyes and concentrate I can almost see those bright eyes, that cheeky grin, and hear him saying: 'Imagine, all that time in uniform, being butch, sharing showers and never even copping a snog. I mean, talk about repressed. I tell you, Sis, a closeted soldier on a night out is my idea of heaven. So gloriously dirty!' Then he'd tell that unrepeatable anecdote about a captain from Aldershot, a rubber hose and a camcorder, and Kate and her friends would all be wetting themselves by the time he got to the bit where the lube tube exploded.
'Something funny, miss?'
I put my hand over my mouth and forced myself to concentrate. 'No, Captain, nothing at all. Just… wind.'
I was sitting in my office on the ground floor at Groombridge Place, but I was on the wrong side of the old mahogany desk. I loved that desk. It's amazing the sense of power and confidence just sitting behind a big desk can give you. Props like that help when you're making it all up as you go along, like I'd been. But today I was sat on a hard plastic chair with my hands cuffed behind my back while the man who had introduced himself as Captain Jim Jones sat in my comfy leather swivel chair, facing me across my desk. He pouted sourly and rubbed the back of his neck. He kept doing that. As nervous tics go it wasn't the worst, but it was starting to irritate me.
The captain was thirtyish, six feet tall, slightly built, with thin sandy hair and big teeth that looked like they were trying to escape from his face. Pretty rather than attractive. He seemed comfortable in his uniform, though, and when I'd been brought in here his men had followed his orders efficiently and without question. Command came easily to him, it seemed. Whoever these guys were, they were well disciplined.
He narrowed his blue eyes warily, as if daring me to give my assessment out loud.
'Well then Miss, as I was saying before your breakfast interrupted me, we've taken control of this establishment following a report that you were involved in the trafficking of children.'
There was something about the way he said 'Miss' that made me want to kick him in the shins. I suppose I should have stayed calm and pliant, played the innocent, but he was in my chair and he was patronising me. I wasn't in the mood to be patient.
'Okay,' I replied. 'Let's deal with that first, before we get to the question of who you are and by what authority you've taken control of my school. What report? From who?'
'We have certain assets in play, Miss,' he said. Smug git.
'Right,' I snapped, irritably. 'In English we say 'spies'. You've got a spy or spies in the trafficking network that I've been negotiating with.'
I paused for a second and ran through everyone I'd come into contact with since I'd started negotiations with Olly a few weeks ago.
'There was only one person in that organisation who knew where I came from, except Olly,' I said. 'The spotty one, Smith. He wasn't there this morning. Reporting in, was he?'
Jones was wrong-footed by that and almost stammered.
'I can't discuss ongoing operations,' he said curtly.
