The driver grunted. ‘Takes months to get samples processed, not minutes like on the telly, and, by then, chances are your perp or whatever you want to call them has moved away. Might even have a new identity. Especially these days, with everything being so easy to forge on the computer.’ He reached across to the glove box and opened it. She couldn’t see what he was reaching for. The headrest of the seat in front of her blocked her line of sight.
Emma glanced at the mirror.
He was staring at her again, instead of at what he was doing. She felt a cold tingle around the back of her neck. He glanced away then, looked down at the glove box and snapped it shut. ‘And despite all the technology, all you need is one of these and a bit of intelligence, and you can get away with anything.’
He held up a small, square, plastic packet. A condom.
Jesus! Who did this creep think he was?
‘This would be a perfect spot, wouldn’t it? Dark. Quiet. Easy getaway. Don’t know where the nearest CCTV camera is. There’s those houses back there, but that would just add to the thrill, wouldn’t it?’
‘I…’ Her throat clogged. She coughed to clear it. ‘I’d imagine so.’
He nodded towards the wide verge on his side of the car. ‘I mean, you pull over there, nobody would take a blind bit of notice, would they? They’d just assume you were having a bit of nookie. A lovers’ tryst.’ She felt the car slow as he took his foot off the accelerator.
‘I think I’d like you to concentrate on driving,’ she said, her voice sounding small and feeble. She cleared her throat again.
‘You never done it in a car? You haven’t lived, lovey. Can’t beat it.’
Panic rose up within her, her breath getting short. This had been a terrible mistake. She’d known it even as she was making the call. Why had she even…?
‘If you were in the front here, you could change gear for me, if you know what I mean.’
She heard the metallic buzz of a zip and a whimper escaped from her throat.
‘Actually, you could even reach through from behind there. Relieve the stress a bit.’
The car juddered and shook and she realised that he’d pulled off the road onto the wide area of grass to the right. My God! ‘What are you doing?’
The car slammed to a halt. She heard the rasp of the handbrake, then he was turning in his seat, safety belt off, rising up to climb through towards her.
‘No! Jesus, no!’ She scrabbled for her bag. ‘Please, don’t do this!’
His eyes were mesmerising as they came towards her. She shuddered, glanced down at what she was doing. Her hands were shaking in feverish panic. She could barely control them, but then her bag was open somehow. She reached in. Felt the cool round metal and snatched it out. He was halfway through the gap between the front seats, head and torso up against the roof of the car like some kind of human cobra rising up over her to strike. She leaned back, both hands rising defensively.
Kid was the fourth name he’d answered to in his fourteen years, but he’d accepted it readily. It was kind of cool. Sounded like an Old West hero. A new name for a new life. And he’d been happy with both over the past few weeks. The fair’s season started at Easter. He’d wandered in that weekend and somehow stayed. Been offered a bed for the night, in exchange for manning a stall while the owner went off to answer a call of nature that a stomach bug had made both urgent and protracted.
Since then, he’d moved from the stall to a ride, then on to the dodgems. Had thought he’d found his place in life. But now all that was ruined. Had they known he was here? Had they been looking for him? Or was it just chance? Just dumb bloody luck?
He didn’t know and now wasn’t the time to be thinking about it.
He darted around a couple with a kid of about four and almost ran into a looming, dark figure. Stopped himself just in time, rearing back.
‘Hey! Watch it, sonny.’
‘Sorry, mate.’ He jumped to the left and went around the big man, between two big diesel generators, leaping over the fat, black cables that snaked away from them across the tarmac. Now he was in the semi-darkness of the promenade, between the fair and the shoreline, where few people bothered to go in the dark. He could make some time here, get some distance. He ran headlong eastward, towards where the fair’s caravans were bunched in an out-of-the-way corner beyond the naval academy. If he could get there, grab his stuff – not that he had much – and get away, he could hide out for a couple of days or so. Tonight was the fair’s last night in Plymouth before they moved on. He could rejoin them in the next town.
‘Oi!’ The shout came from behind him. A male voice full of authority. ‘Stop. Police.’
The kid ignored him, running on at full speed, feet slapping on the paving, breath rasping in his throat. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep up this pace, had never been great on stamina, but he had to get away. He couldn’t let them catch him.
Heavier feet than his own were slapping the pavement, coming fast behind him. He didn’t look back. He knew better than that: just kept going, chest heaving, throat raw, arms and legs pumping. He was almost past the big, pale block of the naval building. HMS whatever-it-was. Bloody stupid thing to call a building. How pretentious and up themselves did they have to be, to do that?
Uniforms. They were all the same. The forces. The fuzz. The lot of them.
Beyond the high stone wall darkness loomed, welcoming and safe. Only a few yards further and he could hide and rest until the coast was clear, get his stuff and be gone before they searched properly for him. He made the far end. Kept going. A dark bulk loomed at him out of the darkness.
‘Shit,’ he cursed, dodging right. But he was too close to the iron railing along the edge of the prom. He hit it with his shoulder, bouncing off into a pair of arms that snaked around him and clamped tight. ‘Whoah. Hold up there, sonny. Not so fast, eh?’
He writhed and wriggled. With his arms trapped, he kicked out instead. The figure barely seemed to register the first couple of blows, but then hissed in pain. ‘Damn you, boy. Stop fighting or I’ll hurt you.’
‘Try it.’ He brought his knee up and kicked backwards, his heel connecting with the man’s shin.
‘Ow! That’s it.’
He was lifted bodily off the ground, turned on his side and slammed down to the pavement, a knee coming down over his legs, the shin trapping them so that all he could do was thrash his feet back and forth, but that scraped his right ankle on the paving.
‘Shit. Get off me, bastard. Police brutality! I’ll get you sacked for this. I’ll tell ‘em you felt me up.’
Another figure appeared behind him. ‘Damn, that little bugger can run!’
‘He can bloody kick, too,’ the one holding him replied. ‘Where’s Karen?’
‘She’ll be along in a minute. Do you want my cuffs?’
‘I’ve got his hands. You could wrap his legs up, though. Little shit.’
‘You can’t do that,’ the kid shouted. ‘That’s against my human rights. Child cruelty. I’ll report you. Both of you. I want your names and badge numbers.’
‘We can do that, if we decide it’s best for your own safety,’ said the one holding him. ‘To prevent you from coming to harm while in our care. Health and safety: trump card