round the trigger guard, hand ready to take off the safety, let it go.
But he didn’t.
He stopped, stood still. They all did.
The cellar was empty.
Glass shone his torch round. Nothing. Clean.
He walked over to one corner, scrutinised it with his torch. A small pile of bones was stacked neatly against the bricks. He examined the wall. There had been a cage here. He knew that, had seen it himself. A smaller one than East Hill, an abandoned one, kept in reserve. It had been removed.
His head moved frantically from side to side. He swung the torch wildly, checking if he was hiding somewhere, ready to spring out at them. Nothing.
Glass sighed. Looked at Wade. The unit were pumped up, minds engaged for action. They looked disappointed, angry. Like volcanoes denied the chance to erupt. Violent lovers spurned a climax.
Glass rubbed his face with the back of his hand. Felt anger well up inside him. He wanted to strike out, hit something. Or someone.
‘He’s not here… not here… ’
Wade looked around, checking for himself. He looked at Glass.
‘He’s not here, Sergeant… ’
‘I can see that, sir.’ Wade crossed to Glass. ‘I think you’d better have a word with your informant, sir,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Glass. ‘I’d better.’
‘Come on then, let’s go,’ said Wade.
The unit went back up the stairs, not wanting to believe they’d been denied action, swinging their guns around, checking just in case the target was waiting elsewhere in the house to surprise them.
They regrouped outside. Wade looked towards Glass.
‘What do we do now, sir?’
Glass thought. There had to be somewhere else, had to be… Think…
‘I… I don’t know, Sergeant… ’
Think… He had dismantled the cage… he would have put it somewhere else… Think…
Yes. He had it. He knew where it would be.
He turned to Wade. ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant. You can stand your men down now. Thank you.’
Glass turned, began to walk away.
‘Where are you going?’ Wade called after him.
‘To talk to my informant,’ said Glass, without turning round. ‘See what he’s got to say for himself.’
He could still do it. Still make the kill, find the child.
Salvage something.
There was still time.
Glass hurried to his car, drove away as fast as he could.
116
‘They’ve loaded up.’ Fennell, his finger pressed to his earpiece, turned to the rest of the group. ‘The trucks have just left the port. They’ll be on their way past here soon.’
The convoy had split up, and they were now parked in a superstore car park on the outskirts of Harwich. The store was closed, the car park – and the roads around it – deserted. Rain was still falling, the lights in the car park throwing out sporadic pools, no match for it and the darkness. The van was in the shadows of the main building. They couldn’t be seen from the main road, but they had a clear view of the road coming up from the port.
Another van in the convoy had driven to the entrance of the import-export lock-up and was in place, waiting. Their target was a set of warehouses off a gated trading estate down past the oil refinery. They didn’t want to move too quickly, give themselves away.
The third van was in place outside the port itself. Sitting next to the high metal railings with a clear view across the half-empty truck park to the offloading ramps. It was one of them who had called.
As soon as Fennell spoke, the mood in the van changed. There had been forced humour, tension building inane, unfunny things to hilarious levels, making the most unamusing utterances amusing. But his words changed all that. Now they were focused, ready. No more laughing. No more speaking. A team with a job to do.
Mickey looked across at Clemens. At first glance he seemed as concentrated as the rest of them. Eyes – and mind – narrowed down to the task before them. But Mickey studied him further. He was lost somewhere, out on his own. Lips curled, a slight smile of anticipation on them.
Mickey looked at Fennell. The other man was talking into his mic once more. Mickey felt he should have a quiet word, warn him that perhaps Clemens’ head wasn’t in the right place for this. That he could become a liability. But there was no way he would get a chance now. He just hoped someone else would pick him up on it.
And in the meantime, he would just have to watch him.
Fennell turned to them all once more. ‘Any questions?’
‘Yeah,’ said Mickey. ‘Do we know who’s there? Balchunas? Anyone else?’
‘We don’t,’ said Fennell. ‘But we can expect him. And maybe Fenton, I don’t know. Anything else?’
Mickey again. ‘What the trucks are actually going to do once they’re inside the gates, do we know that?’
Clemens turned to him. Sneered.
Mickey ignored him.
‘Good question,’ said Fennell. ‘No, we don’t. If things go according to plan, we step in, catch them in the act. Simple.’
‘And if they don’t?’ someone else said.
‘We improvise,’ said Clemens. ‘We do whatever we have to do to get them.’
‘Right,’ said Mickey.
Fennell turned back, in conversation once more. Mickey looked at Clemens again. His finger was never far from his trigger.
Fennell closed off his earpiece, turned to the rest of them. ‘The trucks will be passing us at any moment.’
They watched. Several seconds later – although it felt like minutes – two trucks carrying metal containers passed them.
‘There we go,’ said Fennell.
They let a certain amount of counted time pass, then followed at a distance.
117
Donna walked to the window, pulled back the curtain, looked into the street. Satisfied there was no one watching her or the house, she let the curtain drop, returned to her seat.
‘It’s all right,’ said Don, ‘you’re safe here.’
She nodded. Wanting to believe him. Knowing it was going to take more than words to make her feel that. Especially after what she had been through these past few days.
They had eaten, Eileen making a huge bowl of pasta carbonara. Both Donna and Ben had had thirds. She thought Ben would have just kept going if it hadn’t run out. And it was good, too. Proper food, she thought. The kind she only ever saw on TV, or other people eating in a restaurant.
And wine with it. Not the cheap stuff from Ranjit’s on the corner that she glugged by the bottleful and that left her burning inside for days afterwards, but proper stuff. Good stuff.
She had wanted to drink all of that, too. But had stopped herself. Made do with just one and a half glasses. Didn’t want her hosts staring at her.
Don’s wife had been very kind to her. She didn’t seem to mind the fact that Don had invited her and Ben along
