One wrong turn, p.13
One Wrong Turn, page 13
His heart stopped.
Ben reached out and lifted the pregnancy test very carefully, very gently, then got to his feet and stepped towards the security light, angling it into the glare, his hands shaking, holding his breath.
‘Oh, Abi.’
Two lines that meant the absolute world to him.
And that brought a whole new terror crashing in.
35
You’re not getting out of this car.
My heart seized.
Did Paul mean soon, or ever?
I didn’t know. I couldn’t think. My emotions were in turmoil.
‘I don’t want Ben to be dead,’ I said quietly.
Paul ignored me.
‘Please.’
I cried and clasped a hand to my mouth, then lowered it gradually to my chest. My heart was still beating, but raggedly. I didn’t think it would ever beat the same way again.
I need you, Ben. Please. Hold on.
I couldn’t stop crying. My breathing was fast and irregular. I felt like I was choking on air.
I knew I needed to try to concentrate on saving myself, but I was so scared, and it was so difficult to focus on anything except Ben.
My legs shook. My hands and face were numb. My entire body felt as if it belonged to somebody else.
Bright headlights swept towards us from the opposite direction, momentarily blinding me. I dipped my head and my gaze fell on the charging cable where Ben’s mobile had been.
Stupid.
Had I missed anything else?
My gaze tracked upwards until I was staring at the lit screen of the satnav. It was currently showing the icon for my car following a thick blue line on a black background. I couldn’t remember if there was a distress function on the device, or some sort of emergency alert. But even if there was, there was no way I could tap at the screen and search for it without Paul stopping me.
Something else, then. Maybe—
An idea tore through me and I looked up into the rear mirror at Samantha. She was staring my way in the darkness, her face taut and drawn in the watery glow from the satnav, her eyes wide and shining damply.
Samantha, who had a phone of her own. Who’d used it to message Paul about paying for our fuel before everything had gone haywire.
She could make a call to 999. Or text for help. Do something.
I checked the road again, then quickly returned my eyes to the mirror, making certain Samantha was still looking at me.
Then I blinked.
Both eyes.
Slowly.
Because that was our signal, her signal, the best way to communicate with her right now.
Help, I was pleading.
And I knew she understood me because I noticed a flicker in her cheek. A tremor of unease.
She lowered her gaze and pressed her lips together as she contemplated her lap.
Or her phone?
A long, long second of waiting.
Then she looked back up and I did it again.
A blink.
Both eyes.
Slowly.
Remember. I tried to help you. Now you have to help me.
Samantha shifted in her seat uncomfortably. Then her lips parted and moved, and for a second I thought she was about to say something, but no words came out. Instead, she looked down and to her side at the empty car seat, a deeper sadness invading her features.
A shimmery energy travelled through me. What had happened to Lila? Was she hurt? Had she died?
I kept staring at Samantha as she closed her eyes for a moment.
Do it. Say something. Anything.
Because maybe she could talk to Paul. Talk him down. If he was distressed, or having a breakdown of some kind, she might be the best person to reason with him.
Or she could dial the police. She could do it now, from the darkness in the back. If she was clever, if her phone was on silent, she could call them without having to say anything at all.
‘What are you doing?’ Paul asked me. ‘Why are you looking at her?
I pulled my gaze away from the mirror, staring breathlessly at the fog again, aware of the soft red glow of the instrumentation on the dash, the way it bathed my fingers, mingling with Gary’s blood. Time was running out. Ben needed help now.
‘Don’t look at her. Just focus on your driving.’
I nodded, but all my focus was elsewhere.
I was watching from the corner of my eye for the tiniest bloom of light from Samantha’s phone. I was preparing myself to do anything and everything I could to distract Paul and make sure he didn’t notice if she made the call.
36
Ben
Ben snatched up the landline phone behind the service counter in the petrol station shop and braced his free hand on the countertop. His head banged. His vision slid in and out of focus. He punched in the number for Abi’s mobile and listened to it ring.
‘Come on, come on, answer.’
He pressed the receiver to his ear, clenching it tighter, and then there was a click, and a pause, and finally Ben heard the pre-recorded message for Abi’s voicemail kick in.
‘Shit.’
It seemed to take an age for the beep to sound.
‘Abi?’ He cradled the receiver to his mouth. It was difficult to know what to say, where to begin. He had to shut out the thought that she might never hear this at all. ‘It’s me. I’m OK. I’m looking for you. If you get this message, call the police. I’m calling them right now.’ A lump in his throat. ‘I love you, Abi. I’m so sorry about everything.’
His voice cracked as he hung up and punched in 9-9-9 for the first time in his life, shocked, scared, peering bleary-eyed through the glass at the front of the petrol station shop, surveying the deserted forecourt, his head throbbing sickeningly.
‘Emergency. Which service do you require?’
The female operator sounded clipped and professional, even a little jaded. Primed to deal with a distressed relative just as readily as a total stranger or a prank call.
‘Police,’ Ben said grimly. ‘And an ambulance. Quickly.’
He knew Gary was dead. He was sure Gary was dead. Abi was his priority, but asking for an ambulance seemed like the right thing to do.
‘OK, can you tell me where you are and what has happened?’
Ben’s breaths came in pained snatches as he scanned the illuminated darkness outside. It was unnerving that nobody else had come along. Still the only vehicle on the forecourt was the little blue Hyundai parked a short distance away from the sliding glass doors.
‘A man has been killed, at the Stop’n’Go on the way out of Bodmin. He’s been beaten to death.’
It should have been a crazy thing to say. Only an hour ago, it would have been a crazy thing to say. But Ben knew he had to stick to the facts. Be clear and concise. His lawyer training kicking in.
A slight pause as the operator recalibrated. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Ben.’
‘OK, Ben, are you sure he’s dead? Are you next to him now?’
‘No. I’m in the petrol station and he’s out the back. I’m calling you on the landline.’
‘Do you have a mobile? Can you get next to him?’
‘Why?’
‘I need you to make sure that he’s dead. We might be able to help him.’
‘We can’t. His skull has been crushed.’
Another pause. Ben heard the crunch of a keyboard. ‘OK. Do you know the victim, Ben?’
‘His name’s Gary. He works here.’
‘And do you know who did it? Can you give me a description?’
‘His name is Paul. He’s white, sandy-haired, mid-forties, maybe six feet tall. But listen, he’s carjacked my girlfriend’s car and taken her in it. We picked up some people we shouldn’t have after their car broke down – Paul and his wife – and they’ve taken my girlfriend and—’
‘Are you calling from a safe place, Ben?’
‘What?’ He reared back, his impatience beginning to build. ‘Yes, I’m safe. I mean, I’ve been shot at, but I’m OK.’
‘You’ve been shot at?’
The keys crunched again.
‘Yes.’
‘Who is shooting at you, Ben?’
Ben pressed his fist to his forehead. It felt like his brain was in the midst of swelling out past his eye. He knew he wasn’t functioning to the best of his ability right now. He knew he couldn’t afford to make a mistake. He needed to do everything he could to put the focus on Abi.
‘No one. I was shot at, earlier. Maybe ten minutes ago. I’m calling because of my girlfriend, Abi, you need to find her car, put out an alert.’
‘Is this an active shooter situation?’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘Are you certain of that?’
‘Yes. Look, just listen to me. You need to get some police cars on the road. The A38, I think. Heading to Plymouth. They need to find my girlfriend’s car.’
‘Do you know what type of gun was used, Ben? Was it a handgun?’
Ben cursed under his breath. ‘What difference does that make?’
‘We need to know, Ben.’
‘A handgun. I think.’
‘OK. But nobody is shooting now?’
‘No, I told you.’
‘OK, Ben. Bear with me. I’m going to get you the help you need. Why don’t you tell me your full name?’
Ben spat out a lungful of air and hung his head, telling himself to get through this, be orderly and controlled, looking down through the tears in his eyes at the pregnancy test stick that was in his hand. He was still holding it, and he didn’t know why. He just knew he didn’t want to let it go.
‘My name is Ben Simmons.’
‘What’s your date of birth, Ben?’
‘Please, just listen to me, OK? My girlfriend is driving a black VW Polo. The registration is . . .’ But suddenly he couldn’t remember the registration. It wouldn’t come to him. He knew it, normally. It was the simplest thing. But right now his brain felt . . . stuck.
Come on.
It was the stress and panic, probably. Or maybe the blow to his head. His vision was a little clearer, but he still felt woozy. The pain in his temple was spreading, oozing across his brow with the intensity of a nasty migraine.
‘Look, it’s a crappy black VW Polo. It’s old. There’s a hubcap missing. On the left at the back. And I can give you Abi’s mobile number.’ He reeled it off. ‘She’s not answering, but maybe you can trace her phone?’
‘Ben, I need your date of birth.’
Ben didn’t respond. He was listening to the strange, whooshing noises in his head, staring numbly at all the crap that surrounded him as the full horror of the night rushed in at him. There were notes, and pens, and magazines stashed under the service counter. There was the cash register, and a card reader, and a set of keys, and a small television for the closed-circuit security system that was currently screening empty vistas of the forecourt. There was a display board for a multitool and torch that was on special offer ‘For a limited time only!’. There were shelves of cigarettes and vape cartridges and over-the-counter medication and—
‘Can you just forget about my date of birth for one second and tell me you’re going to start searching for my girlfriend’s car? The man inside with her is called Paul. I don’t know his surname. He has a gun. A handgun. His wife is in the back. Her name is Samantha. My girlfriend’s in danger. She’s pregnant. Please. Just tell me you’ll get some cars on the road and find her.’
His hand squeezed into a fist around the pregnancy test stick. He raised it up and clutched it to his aching forehead as he awaited a response.
‘Ben?’
‘I’m here.’
‘Ben, there’s been a major road incident on the A30 near Redruth tonight. A lot of our roads policing team are there. But we will get officers to you as soon as we can to get the answers we need and progress this. The officers are going to need to talk to you about what has happened tonight, and about the man who has been killed, but in the meantime—’
‘In the meantime, you need to find my girlfriend!’
Silence.
Ben clutched at his hair.
He loved Abi so much. He’d screwed up so badly. He had to help her, save her. Do something. Fix this.
‘Ben, listen to me. You can speak to the officers on scene when they are with you. They can take the necessary details from you then.’
But that wasn’t good enough. Abi needed help now.
‘How long?’
‘I’m getting them to you as soon as I can.’
Which meant not soon enough.
Which meant there wasn’t going to be a search until it was already too late, and it didn’t sound as if they had enough units available anyway.
Unless . . .
Ben found that he was looking at the set of keys again. His vision seemed to telescope down to them. There was a leather fob attached to the keys. It was branded with a slanted letter ‘H’ with the word ‘Hyundai’ underneath. Looking up slowly, he stared at the small car outside, a new resolve hardening inside him, a plan forming in his mind.
‘I won’t be here,’ he muttered.
‘Ben?’
‘You need to tell them to search for my girlfriend’s car. Her full name is Abigail Claire Foster.’ He reached up to the shelf behind him and grabbed a packet of aspirin, popping out two pills, swallowing them dry. ‘You have to be able to find her car registration using her name and her phone number, right? Tell them to find her. Tell them she’s in danger. And hurry, please.’
He slammed down the phone, stuffing the pregnancy test stick into his hip pocket and making a grab for the car keys. After running around the counter, he streaked towards the exit of the shop, then skidded to a halt when he saw a carousel display of road maps. There was a spiral-bound road atlas that included the local area, and he took it. After a second’s hesitation, he ran back and snatched the multitool that had been on display on the counter, too. Finally, he spun back around and rushed out through the sliding glass doors, sprinting to the little blue car with the key fob extended at the end of his reach.
The car looked as if it hadn’t moved for hours. The exterior was speckled with moisture, the windows drenched with condensation.
Ben blipped the fob and the indicators flashed and the doors unlocked.
‘OK. OK, good.’
And then he was inside, pulling the door shut behind him. The interior smelled fusty. It needed a clean. After tossing the road map and the multitool onto the rubbish-strewn seat next to him, Ben forced the key into the ignition and twisted it.
The car stereo blasted thrash metal at him, stopping his heart, needling the pain in his head. He twisted the radio controls until the speakers fell silent and he could hear the car’s wheezy engine, feel the chassis shake. It wasn’t so different from the car he’d taken lessons in.
He knew how to do this. He knew how to drive. He’d failed his most recent test because he hadn’t spotted a cyclist coming out of a junction, and although he’d stopped just in time, it had been close. It had scared him. He hadn’t told Abi that was the reason he hadn’t taken another test yet.
Is this a bad idea?
He looked up for a moment, staring back at the petrol station shop. Leaving the scene of a murder was one thing, but taking the victim’s car, driving without a licence . . . As a lawyer, it could cost him his career.
You’re never there for me.
Ben’s hands went to the steering wheel. He tested the gearstick, then placed his feet on the pedals. The seat was too far back. Gary had been a big man. Ben found the lever under the seat and racked it forwards and tested the foot pedals again.
Lights, next. Ben flicked them on. He hit the wipers, but the screen didn’t clear. It was misted on the inside. Tugging the sleeve of his hoodie over his hand, he stretched forward and wiped at the glass. With his left hand he turned the air vents on full, directing them at the windscreen. With his right hand, he powered down the front windows, letting in the night air. Then he secured his seat belt, gripped the steering wheel and took a breath.
‘I’m coming, Abi.’
It took him three attempts to find reverse, the engine screeching in complaint. Then he let off the handbrake and pressed down too hard on the accelerator, raising the clutch faster than he’d intended, the car hurtling backwards, the steering on full lock.
‘Fuck!’
The car arced wildly, throwing him to one side, and then there was a crack and a minor jolt as the rear-light cluster glanced off a safety bollard next to the petrol pump behind him.
It didn’t matter. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow.
The clutch wailed again as he shunted the gearstick into first, and then he was jerking forwards, weaving erratically, snaking across the forecourt, his heart cantering wildly, plunging out into the night and the mist that covered the exit road.
He couldn’t hear any sirens approaching. Not even through the open windows of the car. He had to find Abi, fast.
Only, how long had it been now since she would have left with Paul? Even ten minutes might be too much. And he was a novice driver behind the wheel of a strange car at night for the first time, navigating in thick fog, suffering from a head injury. What were the chances he could really catch up to her?
‘Crap.’
The car wobbled and shook as Ben hit the brakes, the tyres slipping and wailing in complaint.
The roundabout lay ahead.
He had no way of knowing if Paul really had made Abi take the A38. Maybe they’d gone somewhere else entirely.
That’s when a new thought struck him.
And scared him.
Because it was a risk.
A huge one.
But in the moment, it seemed to make sense.
37
‘Where are we going?’ I asked Paul.
I wanted to distract him from Samantha. I wanted to give her space to think and act.
‘You don’t need to worry about that.’
I looked across at him. Looked again.
Did he get how crazy that sounded, sitting there with the gun in his hand after he’d shot Ben and bludgeoned Gary?
