On the Run

Oliver's face dropped and he groaned. "But I didn't want to. I was forced into it," he wailed. "I told them no."

"But you went and did it, right?"

"Yeah, but it was Jamie and his bloody ex."

"Emma Wallis?"

"That's her, I didn't want to but they forced me, said it was easy."

"You give yourself up and we can have a nice chat down here and tell me all about it," the Inspector soothed and Oliver grunted.

"No. I want one of those immunity thingies. I give you everything I took from my share. I got a statue and a third of the money. I ain't got much of the jewellery, Emma took that, but I don't want to go to jail."

The Inspector hummed. "What money?"

"What you mean, what money? That's what you want, right? We had away eight hundred grand. I got over a quarter of a million between my feet in a bag here. It weighs a load, now do we have a deal?" The Inspector didn't answer and Oliver asked again impatiently. "I want to know, if I give you everything, do I get to go free? And I got lots of info on Doszak, like about him shooting someone, and where his girls come in for his brothel. I want protection and change of identity as well."

"No kid, no can do. But it will look favourably when it comes to court if you have given yourself up. We will say you helped and cooperated admirably and assisted us," the Inspector said automatically, his mind whirring.

Oliver snorted, shouted "bollocks" down the phone and threw his new Pay-as-you-go mobile into the grass. He had to get out of Edinburgh and ran down the road to catch the train just pulling into the small station.

There was only person he knew in Scotland, and she was studying to be a vet in Aberdeen. He wondered what the lovely Victoria Hambleton would make of him arriving with a quarter a million in used notes, a valuable statue in his backpack and a mountain-load of problems; he was about to find out?

* * * * *

"Davey," shouted the blue-eyed young man. "How ya keeping."

"Alright, Jamie. I see ya been pulling old statues now. Ya were post offices not art."

Jamie smiled and jumped down from the wall in the tiny back garden Dave Richards lived in. "I can do owt, me."

"Ya can get caught."

"I ain't been caught. But I need a passport."

The teenager squirmed. "Well that could be."

"Fucking piece of cake you said in the nick. Come on, I know you got contacts, and I got the cash to pay ya."

Dave took a deep breath. "I might be able to sort sommat awt," he said with a jaunty tone. "But I need two days."

"How much?"

"Five grand?"

"Five grand," Jamie cried out and then lowered his voice. "Five grand for a passport?"

"Don't ya want it to get ya out of this shithole. If ya want it ta fool the plod ya need to stump up cash."

Jamie threw a bundle of cash at his old cell-mate and watched as Dave lit his cigarette and took a puff of it. "Ma kicked off when I light up in da 'ouse," he said, by way of an explanation and Jamie looked around.

"Can I kip on ya sofa."

"Ya better kip in me room," Dave replied. "Ma will turn ya in if she sees ya."

Jamie snorted but crept up to the small bedroom Dave called his own and then settled down on the floor, removing a strangely stained sock with tips of his fingers. Dave was happy to "rent" Jamie his floor for the bargain price of £200 a night and for this he was given breakfast, dinner and free rein of the house while Dave's Mum was out working.

Dave had helpfully provided Jamie with a half-a-dozen grooming products to help him change his appearance so he had very short blonde hair, a small goatee beard and thinner eyebrows for his passport photo which got the anxious robber asking questions as to when the magical booklet would arrive.

"Later," Dave said confidently the following morning when Jamie asked about the passport for the fourth time. "I pick up later." Jamie felt his bag, it had remained at the top of Dave's wardrobe since he had arrived and he went up to check on it, when he heard shouting from downstairs.

He glanced out of the window in Dave's bedroom and saw a heavy-set man on the doorstep. It was either the Police or Jaroslav and it meant he either lost his liberty, or lost his life. Jamie grabbed the bag and darted into the bathroom, opening the window wide, and locking the bathroom door as quietly as he could.

He glanced out, the coast was clear and he dropped down onto the roof of the extension and then into the small garden.

The two heavies, obviously sent from Jaroslav, saw him through the lounge window immediately and Jamie jumped over the gate and into the alleyway behind, sprinting down it and slipping the backpack over his shoulders. His felt his stomach lurch, he knew he was seconds away from a wrong move and being in deep trouble, and had no idea where he was going.

The alleyway gave way to a small road and he darted between two houses, looking behind him. The younger of the two heavies was chasing him and Jamie just sprinted, knocking over an old lady that the man jumped over.

Two cars had to swerve as Jamie emerged into the road of the High Street and then ran down it. The henchman seemed oblivious to the sounds of the horns, irritated at the two men who ran towards the centre of the inner city shopping street.

Jamie jumped over a car and tried to disappear down the back streets but he turned to see the tall man still thirty yards behind him. Jamie could feel his lungs burning, he wasn't use to physical exercise on this scale but knew he could not stop; he would die if he did.

His legs felt like ton weights but Jamie sprinted back up to the main street, and saw his salvation – an Underground station that was busy and ran across the road, nearly being hit by a bus as he did, and jumped over the unmanned ticket barrier.

Jamie nearly fell down the escalators, pushing people out of his way to cries of annoyance as he tried to get onto the platform. He didn't care what train he caught as long as he caught one. With as much effort as he could muster, he sprinted onto the Southbound platform and gave a relieved sigh as he saw a train approach.

Jamie jogged down to the other end of the platform to where a small crowd were sat on the bench; he knew Jaroslav's friend would be arriving shortly and didn't want him to know what train he was on. Instead, he stood behind the group as they embarked and watched as the doors closed and the train started to move. The tired Paul got onto the platform, looked in the nearest carriages and Jamie resisted the urge to wave; it would do him no harm at all for the man to not know what train he was on.

Jamie sat back panting, his eyes closed when the train entered the tunnel; he had escaped.

Jamie was still panting and out of breath when he disembarked four stops later; he had no passport, nowhere to stay and if Jaroslav had traced him to the Capital then the Police wouldn't be that far behind. He sat down in the park opposite the train station and thought, he still had the statue and the money. Feeling hungry, he opened his bag to get a twenty pound note to get dinner, and pulled out the previous evening's edition of the Evening Standard, helpfully cut up into banknote-shaped pieces of paper.

"Fucking cunt," Jamie exclaimed that caused a female jogger to stare at him as she ran passed. "I'll fuckin' kill him," Jamie promised no-one and started striding towards the station once again. Ian would be a dead man.

* * * * *

Emma smiled as she sat back in the small hotel room; the Midlands was quiet and she had not put as much distance as she had wanted between herself and Staffordshire but she had done so quietly, sneaking aboard a couple of local trains and then stealing some hiking gear from an outdoor warehouse. She longed to catch a long-distance train but the experience with Gareth had shaken her, and she wanted to quietly blend in and make her way down the country.

She still had a rather sizeable problem in that she had no passport and no escape but it would do her no harm at all to keep moving but to not panic. With her matching navy hat, fleece and walking trousers, along with her walking boots she fitted in perfectly when she came to stay at a small hikers' hotel not far from the village train station. She had thought about walking the two hundred or so miles to the coast until people were no longer looking for them but the two miles from the station up the hilly road soon changed her mind. She would try and hitch a lift or steal a car to get her as far South as she could.

Emma checked into the hotel, paying in cash and went up to her room, watching the press conference where her photo was shown; they were no longer the main news item, but they were still on the news. She looked in the mirror; she didn't look much like the picture with her hat on as it hid most of her flowing hair. Her lips were not as puffed up and her eyes were a lot more tired and weary from the photograph taken over two years ago that was being displayed on the news networks.

Emma's stomach rumbled and she set her loot underneath the table in the room, and went downstairs to the dining room; it was crowded but her little table was in the bay window and asked the busy waitress for a simple burger and chips. She got some looks from the diners as she squeezed past them and felt self-conscious; had they recognised her from the television? Her picture was in the newspapers and many of the residents were reading them and she had just had her mugshot on television.

Emma picked up a newspaper from the window sill and started reading it. She was annoyed when the report had incorrectly guessed her age (she was not that old) and described her as a "known criminal"; she had not been convicted of a crime in her adult life. She sat and thought for a minute, keeping the paper up high so that she could not be seen.

There was no way she would ever see that story retracted and if she was ever in court, the assertion that she was a known criminal would be in the back of the minds of the jury. She would be guilty before she had had a trial and that was unfair. She might technically be guilty but she should be tried in a court of a law, not in the court of the Daily Mail.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the waitress bringing her some food and she put her paper down, thanking her and selecting the tomato ketchup to squeeze over her chips.

"It's shocking, isn't it?" The waitress said as the newspaper fell open. "Priceless statues they said on the radio. Reckoned some big shot was lined up to buy them." Emma was speechless for a moment; why did the waitress mention it? "Yeah," Emma muttered and glanced around the room, half-expecting two dozen faces to be looking at her and screaming "thief" at her. She was scared and the gentleman next to her kept looking over at her.

Her fears were allayed somewhat when the gentleman, sitting on his own, lent across from an adjacent table. "Alan," he said with a giggle. "I haven't seen you all week, it's been lovely up in the forest. Have you come for the birds or the walks?"

Emma gave a nervous smile and forced a titter. "I've been travelling," she said, taking a mouthful of the burger. "Might have a look tomorrow. And the walks."

"Oh well, then I can show you 'round," he replied enthusiastically and Emma looked at his mud splattered trousers, and faded jumper; he looked like a geography teacher with his unkempt black hair and tatty glasses. "I know a lovely spot right in the centre near the river and ..."

"Ahh well, I've got plans. I'm meeting up with someone." Alan's face flickered and he glanced at her hat, holding up her long brown hair and extended down over her ears to hide most of facial features. "Isn't it a bit warm inside for your hat?"

Emma shook her head. "No," she said and took a big bite of her burger. "I like my hat on."

Alan sniffed and stretched his hands out in front of him. "So where are you off to? You said you were travelling."

Emma didn't feel comfortable around him and she shrugged. "Inverness," she told him. "It's a race," she lied and Alan's eyes widened.

"Where from? You sound like you are from up north."

"Bristol." Emma put her cutlery on her empty plate; Alan was starting to worry her as he was asking awkward questions and she nodded towards him. "I'll see ya around."

Alan picked up his phone and pressed a button, holding it out in front of him. "Hey, if you do want to go to the forest tomorrow, I'll happily take ya." Emma looked back and nodded, the unwanted eyes of the dining room on the single girl and she slipped out of the door and ran up to her room.

"Stupid, fucking, twat," she muttered and entered her room, sitting down on the bed and slamming the door. She had to think about things; had she been recognised? Alan had certainly eyed her and had been reading a newspaper but then so had everyone. Emma looked again in the mirror; she looked nothing like her photo but took a deep breath. Her liberty for ten years was at stake and she couldn't be too careful.

Emma glanced out of her window and onto the car park thinking; a couple were getting into a taxi but other than that it was empty. If she had been spotted then the Police would surely be closing in, and they weren't. The car park was full of Volvo estates and 4x4 monstrosities, not blue flashing lights. Furthermore, it wasn't a big story in the Midlands; sure she was in the papers but they were only worth seventy five seconds on the national news instead of the six minutes on the regional news. In short, she wasn't newsworthy in the Midlands.

She ran through the conversation in her mind; she had barely spoken to the guy and he certainly didn't seem overawed at her, he was just interested in taking her to the woods and playing on his phone. He was harmless, surely? Emma took a deep breath and tapped her chin with her fingers; she was overreacting but something still didn't feel right.

She hadn't survived years without being charged with anything without being aware and smart; she needed to listen to her gut instinct and something felt wrong. Emma relayed the conversation for a third time in her head and then swore under her breath; it was the phone, Alan had held it higher than he should have done. He must have been taking a picture, of her.

Emma looked under the table and saw movement in the car park; three dark blue cars had swung into the car park and eight men were piling out of them. "Fuck," she screamed and grabbed her bag, striding towards the door, stopping to open the visitors guide at the taxis page and leaving it on the table. If the Police were closing in, then if she could evade them it would help if she could leave a false trail.

The corridor was empty but she could hear voices coming from the main stairwell and ran to the fire escape at the other end of the poorly illuminated hall. She heard voices from the bottom of those stairs and looked up, quietly walking up them until she got to the second floor.

The second floor was deserted but unless she wanted to go onto the roof, she was trapped. She looked at the broom cupboard; it was locked but noticed that the roof hatch was missing a padlock. Without missing a beat, Emma swung her backpack on her back and climbed up the vertical ladder before closing the hatch behind her. She could see the unmarked Police cars in the car park and felt a breeze blow her backwards against a chimney.

It was not the first roof Emma had been on, but she was not used to being so high up and felt strangely exposed; not least because if anyone at the Police car looked up she would be seen. Emma scrambled around the back of the chimney stack, the wind carrying no sound from the ground up to her, and she looked around for another exit, or way down to the ground. If she walked back through the hotel she would now be recognised and the Police would be alerted.

Instead she stayed on the roof and looked around, until she saw a ladder poking up on the other side of the roof. She peered around the chimney stack and saw nobody in the car park and then inched her way out from behind the chimneys along the flat roof. Her heart was pumping furiously and her face was going numb with the strong winds blowing against her.

Emma could not see the car park as she slithered her way along the roof too afraid to look up in case the wind blew her off or she was seen. She got to the end of the ledge, her hands numb and her ankles tired and sore. She glanced over the edge of the building and saw that the small garden was deserted. She waited for a moment and then spun around, swinging her legs over the side of the building and grabbing hold of the ladder.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins and she breathed a sigh as she took her first step down, and then the second. The ladder creaked, it was old, but Emma held on and manoeuvred herself down it as quickly as she could, panting furiously. If she was seen traversing the side of the building then she knew she would be chased and arrested but jumped down onto the gravel and ran to the cover of the bushes on the side of the garden.

There was silence and she climbed her way over the shrubbery and slowly made her way out of the garden towards the edge of the car park, still hidden in the greenery. There was some activity by the Police cars and a harassed looking officer came out.

"The station," he cried. "She took a taxi to the station. We've just had the taxi company confirm it. I've got BTP going down there." She crouched down lower as six of the officers jumped into the two cars and skid around in the gravel before shooting out of the car park but at least two Police officers and one car remained behind.

Emma took a deep breath; she would need to get out of the area as it wouldn't take them long to realise she hadn't taken a taxi and glanced at the hotel. The Police car door was open and she peered through the twilight at it.

With a deep breath she looked back at the hotel, and realising that there was no-one watching the car, walked out, slipped into the vehicle and started it with the keys abandoned in the ignition.

Her hands shook as she slid the car into gear and left the car park. She had just crawled along a twenty-five foot high roof to avoid going in a Police car and was now speeding out of the Midlands in one. The irony was not lost on her, but if she had to guess, it wouldn't be long before they noticed the Police car was missing and she wondered if it had tracking on it. She had fifteen minutes at a push, but it was fifteen minutes she almost didn't have.

* * * * *

The Inspector frantically dialled a number and barked down the 'phone. "There was a call to this number a few moments ago. I want it traced as a matter of urgency." He waited until he got a response and then thanked the secretary on the end of the line. "Oh and I want a copy sent to me and to DI Hargreaves."

"What is it, sir?"

"That was Oliver Prutton on the 'phone," he announced to his junior colleague. "He wanted to do a deal. We get the money and the statue back and he walks. How much money was reported stolen?"

The officer picked up the file and looked through it. "None, sir. Just the three statues and a necklace, sir."

"That's what I thought," he said staring out of the window and looking down on the car park below. "Now Oliver reckons he's got over a quarter of a million pounds in used notes in a bag at the moment. And that is a third of it. And he also reckons that he knows about Doszak's girls and him shooting someone, and wants protection."

Terry Rowlands whistled. "That's a lot of money to go missing and for it not to be reported."

"I know that," he replied with a rubbing of his chin. "What I want to know is why?"

"Well he is lying. Trying to get himself a deal. Or they did nick the cash and Doszak got them through dodgy means."