On the Run

With as much speed as she could manage, Emma ran down a side road as fast as she could, leaping over an abandoned bucket on the pavement as she hared down the side street, skidding at the corner and flying down another road. It was a cul-de-sac of brand new houses, but she ran to the back of the car park, climbed the wall and dropped into someone else's garden. There was silence, and Emma trotted out into the road, and started running along it, getting her breath back.

She had no idea where she was going and soon reached a main road, but knew she had to be going in the right direction as the Sun was roughly behind her as she left the train station and it still was behind her; she was definitely heading north which is where she wanted to go.

She needed to stay off the main roads; if the Police worked out that the van was hers and she was wanted, then they knew exactly what she was wearing and what she looked like, and in what town. She needed to stay out of sight.

Emma darted into an alleyway and then ran along it, coming up to a street full of terraced houses. She could hear a siren in the distance, surely they hadn't spotted her already? She had seen no-one.

She barely stopped, sprinting out into the road to cross to the pavement which she heard skidding, and glanced behind her, just in time to jump out of the way of a battered Vauxhall Nova bearing down on her. Emma landed on the ground and gripped her bag; she hadn't actually been hit by the car just had to leap out of the way of it.

The man stopped the car and leapt out, fumbling with his phone. "Oh my God, oh my God," he cried. "Oh stay there, I'll get you an ambulance."

Emma was shaken out of her shock and barked at him. "No!" He recoiled and she stretched her foot. "I'm fine. I'm just in a hurry."

"I'll give you a lift," he offered. "I am off to Stoke."

"Stoke?" Emma cried and he nodded. "Then I would love a lift."

"Gareth," he muttered and held out his hand. "Been seeing my girlfriend."

"Oh," Emma replied and she hauled herself up. "Stoke would be great."

"Yeah, she dumped me today. Got me to come all this way to say that she didn't want to see me any more."

Emma pursed her lips together and muttered "sorry" to him but he sighed and opened his passenger door.

"Are you sure you don't want to get it checked out?"

"No, I am fine," Emma told him. "Just need to make tracks."

"Well I'm so sorry. I just didn't see you. I was thinking about Marie and I don't think I was concentrating."

Emma slid into the passenger seat and waited for Gareth to start the car, to drive out of Nantwich. It might not have been her preferred choice of transport – a rusting car with less than a 1,000cc engine under the bonnet, but she was moving and she was with an unsuspecting member of the public.

She could be in a far worse position.

Chapter VIII

"Andrei," Dmitri called as they rifled through Tara Prutton's house. She had screamed when she saw them but a swift fist in the mouth from the oversized henchman had stopped her and Andrei came over to his boss.

"What?"

Dmitri passed a USB memory stick in the top of Oliver's drawer and told him "to load it up." Tara watched them, her eyes bulging as Andrei roughly retrieved her laptop and plugged in the memory stick.

"Careful," she muttered and Andrei glared at her, as Dmitri rifled through Oliver's drawers, spilling objects over the floor.

"It's just porn boss," he told him and then looked at a subfolder. "And some plans."

Dmitri strode over and glanced at the filenames. "He do job," Dmitri said gruffly and turned to the sobbing woman in the corner of the room. Andrei threw the laptop onto the bed so that it bounced up and hit the wall and Tara barked at them.

"Careful. It cost me a lot of money," she told them firmly and Andrei picked up the machine and threw it onto the floor as Tara's eyes flew open.

"Where are they?"

"I don't know," Tara cried. "I just don't know. They went out and never came home. Next thing the Police are here." Tara burst into tears and Dmitri looked at Andrei; her tears looked genuine but Dmitri wanted to know everything. "I want friends. Name of friends."

Tara sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Oliver. Some girl he worked with. He liked her. He liked some girl at College ages ago. He knew some guys down the road, but that's it. He loved reading."

"What girl?"

"Oh I don't know. He liked 'er. Some girl on reception or owt. I dunno."

Dmitri and Andrei looked at each other. "And Jamie?"

Tara wiped her eyes. "He um just got out. There's Emma, Sean, Ian, Freddie but he ain't seen any of 'em for years. He's been at job centre and with a new girl. He was talkin' 'bout her?"

"What girl?"

"'Oney or somethin'. I dunno. He tells me nothin'."

"Vatt about Prison?" Andrei asked.

Tara sniffed. "Ah some guy called Ian. They shared a cell but that's it. They good mates. Like brothers."

"Ian who?" Andrei asked and Tara shrugged.

"I don't know," she spat. "He never told me."

"Where's 'e live?"

Tara looked at the floor and stared into the carpet; she knew, Jamie had told her, and she had never heard of it before. "Tel-something."

"Tel-Aviv?" Andrei suggested and Dmitri scowled at him.

Tara shook her head. "I dunno. It was a long time ago."

Dmitri took a deep breath and held out his hands, cracking his fingers together. "Telham?"

"Telford?"

"That's it, Telfard," Tara mispronounced. "Is it far away, like?"

"Fuckin' miles," Dmitri complained and picked up his mobile phone, dialling a preset number. "Ya better not be fuckin' with us," Tara was warned.

"I'm not," she added. "But I ain't seen them. I told the little cunt to go straight."

Dmitri was ignoring her and jabbed at his phone. "Paul," Dmitri asked the moment the phone was answered. "Ya near the Midlands?"

"Stoke. We had a lead but it's shit," the young man replied.

"Get to Telford. Your lookin for guy called Ian. Old cell mate of Jamie."

"What's surname?"

Dmitri looked at Tara and shook his head. "No idea," he muttered.

"OK we'll be there in thirty," Paul announced and Dmitri put the phone away.

"We'll be in touch," Dmitri promised and Tara looked at him.

"Why, I know jack shit."

"Maybe," Dmitri said. "But your boys have a big debt with Mr Doszak and he wants it payin'"

Tara yelped as they passed. "Ya can fuck off if ya think ..."

Andrei didn't let the middle-aged woman complete the sentence smacking her in the mouth for a second time and watching her collapse against the cupboards, blood trailing down her mouth and the furniture. "Fuckin' bitch," he moaned at Dmitri. "Needs a good slap."

Dmitri nodded towards him and started walking down the stairs towards the front door.

* * * * *

The angry woman looked up from the sofa as Inspector Richard Williamson wearily opened the door to his lounge and clapped eyes on his wife. "Sorry love."

"That's all I ever get," she said, her brown eyes boring into her husband and scowling at his presence. "Sorry I missed this, sorry I am late, sorry I couldn't be there."

"I know," the Inspector muttered and his wife got up from the chair, to her full height of 5'8". The main lights were turned off in the silent room and she was silhouetted by the wall lights, her pose aggressive and waved her fingers in front of her at him.

"It was our 15th anniversary," she told him. "I'll be back for five, promise, is what you said."

"Yes, I know," the Inspector replied meekly.

"And you even ignored my phone call," she shouted. "I don't ask for much." A tear left her eyes and rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away.

"I didn't hear it," he told her truthfully. "I never check my phone. I got caught up in a press conference I was told to attend, I came as soon as I could. We do have a major Police investigation on."

He offered his wife a card and some flowers, but she shook her head and pushed past him in the doorway. "Don't bother coming to bed," she said with a firmness. "You can sleep on the sofa."

The Inspector slowly shook his head and went to speak but his wife pushed a finger in front of her and told him that she didn't want to hear it. He sank down in the chair and closed his eyes; it was gone 9pm but he was in the Police force and she knew he was working on a major investigation that was being reported in the National news.

He pulled out a couple of witness statements from his bag and opened them; if he was going to be left alone then he might as well do something useful.

* * * * *

"No Mum, it's fine. I won't be home for tea as I am at work but I will find something to eat." Mikael scoffed at his partner; he was trying to locate three hardened criminals and then kill them and his partner was talking to his Mum about eating enough vegetables. Frankly, it was embarrassing.

"No Mum, I've got enough clean underpants." Mikael snatched the phone from Paul and threw it onto the back seat.

"We watch not we talk on the phone," he snapped at his protégé in his Scandinavian accent. "We watch."

The young Paul grunted. "She rings and she mithers," he moaned. "And she always wants to know where I am."

Mikael gave a snort and cocked his head towards the house they were watching. They saw a young guy in his mid-twenties walk up the street in a black tracksuit and then walk up the small steps to the property. He unlocked his front door, and Mikael turned to Paul. "That's him."

Mikael picked up a black hold-all from the back seat of their car and got out of the vehicle, taking a look around the street to make sure he was not being watched. "Now remember. Just do as I say. Nothing more," he warned his young charge and they knocked stoutly on the front door.

Mikael and Paul were smart; they were both wearing immaculate black trench-coats and smart trousers but Ian barely saw their clothing as the moment he opened the door he was propelled onto his back by the fist of the Danish henchman.

"Where's Jamie?" Paul asked.

"Jamie who?" Ian shouted nasally, his hand clamped to his nose and feeling a rush of blood fall through his fingers. "And you can't come in here."

"We fucking can," Paul said with a swagger and closed the door behind him. "I ask again. I ask one more time. And then I play. Where's Jamie?"

"Jamie. He not fuckin' here."

"We know that; we already searched it, you fuckin' cunt," Paul spat and Mikael gave him an annoyed glance before dragging Ian down the hallway to a dining room chair and threw him on it.

Paul entered the room carrying the holdall and Mikael extracted a pair of handcuffs. Ian got up to make a bolt for it but Mikael's fist in his Solar Plexus brought him under control and the two henchmen roughly restrained him to his chair. "Where is he?" Mikael asked and Ian shook his head, blood pouring onto his shirt.

Paul smiled and extracted a car battery from the bag with two long probes. Ian's eyes widened and Mikael roughly pulled down the black tracksuit bottoms he was wearing and sneered. "Dirty fuckin' chav. They never wear any fucking underwear," Paul muttered.

Ian sniffed and cried out, spitting blood as he panicked. "What ya doing? Ya crazy. No. I don't know anything. He isn't here and what ya doing?"

Paul ignored the desperate man and attached the black probe to the underside of Ian's flaccid penis who cried out in pain as the clip pinched his skin. "It hurts. Not there, please not there. He was here. He left yesterday. He wanted a passport but I couldn't get him one so he's gone."

"Where?" Mikael asked and nodded towards Paul who gleefully held out the red probe. "Where?"

"Away," Ian cried.

Mikael crossed his arms and looked into the blood-covered face of Ian who sniffed and then spluttered. "Last chance, where?"

Ian blubbed and shook his head and Mikael nodded towards Paul who pushed the metal probe into the moist tip of Ian's cock.

Ian howled in excruciating agony, his legs flailing about as he desperately tried to kick Paul away but the young henchmen put his body weight on top of Ian's knees and Mikael stopped the chair from moving backwards. Ian let out another blood-curdling scream as Paul pressed the probe in again and the tortured body writhed, still desperate to escape the pain. Mikael ignored the sobbing and asked again as Paul withdrew the red probe. "Where?"

"Buenos Aires," came the response and Mikael raised his eyebrows at the crying man. "He go to London to get a moody passport."

"Who?"

"Dave, Dave Richards."

Mikael nodded and patted him on the head. "See, it not difficult." He looked at Paul who disconnected the black probe and packed it away in the bag. Mikael unclipped the restraints and waited for Ian to go to attack him but Ian wanted to put as much distance between himself and his torturers as he could and scampered to the other side of the room, his tracksuit bottoms being pushed against his tortured anatomy

"You going to clean them. Ja?" Mikael asked and Paul nodded.

"Course, don't want anyone to get an infection," came the response and Mikael smiled as they walked out of the house and passed a girl walking up the steps.

"You ain't getting fucked," Paul jeered at her and she scowled at him as he walked past.

"Ya what?" She cried and then ran inside the house as Paul walked towards the car.

"You know Dave Richards?"

"I 'eard of 'im," came the terse response. "But I know a man who know everyone in London." Mikael boasted. "He will know him and where we find him."

* * * * *

"Thank you," Emma said, eating her fried breakfast and Gareth smiled at her. Her journey with him since he had picked her up in Nantwich could not have gone better and they talked on the road to Stoke.

Emma had told him she was going on a round-the-country trip seeing new towns which he seemed genuinely interested in and she had to keep making stuff up. She knew her accent could betray her and she spoke about visiting Chester, Bolton, Lancaster, the Lakes before heading down South. She had not been to many of these places but described them as "nice" or "soulless" and Gareth seemed placated by her flimsy descriptions.

Once they got to the Staffordshire city of Stoke, Emma had no idea where she wanted to go and asked to be dumped at a hotel for the night, but Gareth offered her dinner and a bed at his house. Emma hesitated, but rationalised if she they had found her van they might want to watch local train stations and Stoke wasn't as far away from Nantwich as she wanted it to be.

A night with Gareth and then she could try and blend in with the rush hour traffic to Birmingham and she had accepted his kind invitation; it did no good to be checking into a hotel where the Police expected her to be anyway.

Gareth cooked a lovely meal, steak and roast potatoes and Emma had taken a quick shower before watching a suitably violent film with him. Gareth was still emotional about Marie and Emma was happy for him to talk about her and their love than about her. She was a good liar, but every lie was a risk and it was easier if she didn't have to tell untruths.

She slept with one eye open in his spare room, there was something about him that was a little suspicious but she was undisturbed and woke up refreshed the following morning.

Gareth was cooking a fried breakfast for them both and she realised that she had to eat it quickly if she wanted to hit the rush hour traffic. Gareth smiled at her and passed her the unhealthy food and sat down opposite her in his small kitchen to eat a smaller breakfast.

Emma gulped down the food and had finished before Gareth had barely started. "Can I give you anything for your trouble?"

Gareth looked up and withdrew a long-handled carving knife from the chair next to him and held it out in front of Emma, his hands shaking. "Yes. You can give me the statue and what's in that bag."

"Oh fuck," Emma cried and held her hands out. There was something in Gareth's eyes that terrified her. "You knew."

Gareth gave a nervous laugh. "Of course I knew. I guessed but asked if you walked down Hadrian's Wall in Lancaster and you said ya had."

"Did I?" Emma exclaimed and screwed up her face. "So?"

"Yeah well Hadrian never built his wall there," Gareth told her, quite unnecessarily and waved the vicious weapon out in front of him. "So I knew ya lying to I checked the 'net on my phone last night. Ya Emma Wallis. And with the statue I can woo Marie back."

Emma groaned. "Ya kidding me, right?"

Gareth shook his head and then nodded towards the bag. "Slide it over."

Emma took a deep breath and sighed, picking up the holdall and swinging it from side to side to give it momentum. "This bag?"

"Of course," Gareth muttered and Emma threw it at his chest with some force, knocking the knife from his hand. In a shot, Emma had pushed him off his chair and up against the wall. She stared at him through her furious eyes and smacked him in the chest, watching as her double-crossing saviour frantically tried to breathe.

Emma looked at the bag and glanced at him with a snarl. "I can still get the reward," Gareth muttered and Emma punched him in the mouth, watching as he fell to the floor and hit his head on the wall, knocking himself out instantly.

"Fuck," Emma cried and grabbed her bag, running towards the door. She had not intended to hurt him at all, she just wanted to be left alone to leave Stoke and make her way to Buenos Aires. Why did people keep interfering with her escape plan? With a snarl, she turned back and saw him, grunting to herself and then left the house, closing the door behind her.

If she was lucky she had an hour or two, if not she had minutes. Sprinting down the unknown road, she just wanted to find a train station or a bus. She just wanted to get out of Stoke before Gareth came to his senses and called the Police.

Chapter IX

Oliver took his new mobile phone out of it's packaging and turned it the basic device on, waiting for the manufacturers logo to disappear. He glanced around his almost desolate surroundings, he could see the train station in the distance along with the hotel where he had stayed the night and the main road that passed it and waited for the phone to boot up.

He glanced at his piece of paper and typed the Merseyside number into his phone, waiting for it to ring. "Hi," he said with a sniff when a cheerful woman answered. "I'd like to talk to Inspector Richard Williamson."

"May I ask what is it about. We have a media team, and we have a ..."

"I am Oliver Prutton," he said, almost hyperventilating. "He is leading an investigation to try and find me. I want to talk to him."

"Oh," she muttered. "I'll see what I can do."

Oliver rocked back and forth on his bench, watching the horizon. He had paid cash for his phone and done all his research at an Internet Cafe; he was untraceable he thought, but still knew he might need to make a quick escape.

A police car turned off the main road and Oliver tensed only for it to pull up at the tiny station and stop. "Hello?" A male voice answered and Oliver was shaken to the present.

"Hi," he said. "Inspector Richard Williamson."

"Yes, I believe you have some information about Oliver Prutton."

Oliver sighed. "Yes, it is Oliver Prutton. You are chasing me."

The Inspector snorted. "In the interests of fairness I should tell you that this call is being recorded and will be used as evidence against you."

Oliver's heart was beating furiously and he felt butterflies in his stomach. "OK. Well if I give myself up, hand everything I have in, do I get to go free?"

The Inspector gave a whistle. "So how do I know this is for real?"

Oliver sniffed. "Cos you would have searched my drawer in the Double Glazing," he told him. "And on top was a half eaten pack of Rolos and a pack of cereal bars."

Oliver heard some papers being ruffled and then the Inspector spoke again. "This isn't like in the movies," he told him. "You don't get to ring up and barter. You committed robbery; you aren't going to walk away with a caution."